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If each person got a score balanced by how much good they did in life versus the bad, Dazai’s sure he’d be in the negatives. So far ‘in the red’ you’d forget the sea wasn’t always made of blood.
He doesn’t think about abstract and faith-bound concepts like hell though. Never bothered him much to begin with. It just seemed inconsequential to worry about an eternity he couldn’t reach no matter how many times he jumped or how much blood he spilled— Did you know blood doesn’t stain skin? You could sink your arms in it down to the elbow and come out spotless with enough alcohol and willpower. It dries into flaking dust; you can rub it out between your fingers.
However, death doesn’t wash out. Just builds under the skin like mold under floorboards, always growing up and never away.
So, Chuuya.
Dazai swears it’s connected. He promises, and apparently keeping promises was something he did these days. No fingers crossed behind backs— he promises.
A new man.
A better man.
Whatever the fuck that means.
When he was seventeen, he made a promise to Chuuya when they were both nearing blackout levels of drunk. Back then, he never needed to cross his fingers for people to know he wouldn’t keep them. Promises, that is, but maybe people too.
Dazai could be empty like that; a smoke screen Chuuya never bothered to reach through. Would say to him all the time, “You’re just saying fuckin’ words right now.”
Fuckin’ words.
It was one of those things that’s funny at first. You know, you laugh until suddenly it starts clicking through the gears in your mind, and then your smile feels more like pulled skin than joy.
Most things for people who lived lives like him worked in reverse.
You’d watch a dead man’s hand break under the weight of your boot and freeze, nausea rising with the stench of rot. It’s the sort of thing that changes lives, and not for the better. But then you go drinking, dance with people who know nothing of what you’ve seen, and suddenly that crack sounded more like pop-rocks than bones. Looking back, it’s funny how a body is so paradoxically fragile and resilient, and you laugh. A bad thing happens, and you enjoy it. You’ve got to. Brains had to work in reverse for someone in this line of work to take another step forward.
On the anniversary of the Flag’s deaths Dazai was around. Had made sure of it.
Chuuya didn’t ask why Dazai knew where he was, how he knew he’d be there, why he was back from the mission early— smokescreen, remember?— hadn’t said a word when Dazai slid into the seat next to him. His gaze was steadily trained on the bottom of his glass even as Dazai leaned slightly into his space to ask the bartender for another wine and a malt whiskey.
Looking down at Chuuya’s glass, he wondered if this was Chuuya coming to terms with his bloody ocean. Death was drowning him into the red.
Couldn’t have that right?
Everything is opposite-day when you live in hell: Welcome to the Funeral Party!
Dazai had managed to get Chuuya out of his seat and back to his apartment only one hour into his arrival. His trick?— you give a dog a treat before the bone.
Kiss him on the cheek, the nose, the hair— you create a treasure map Chuuya is desperate to finish until he follows you into your bed.
Once he was there, Dazai tucked him into the covers tight enough that he couldn’t escape without a struggle or his powers. The latter base was promptly covered by Dazai linking their hands together as he sat beside the bed. With a childlike awe, Chuuya admired their hands. Seemed coherent enough to understand that Chuuya had managed to get something vulnerable out of Dazai despite the state he was in. Always too clever even when drowned in liquor.
There was a soft smile on Dazai’s lips as he brushed the tangled strands of red out of his eyes.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow. Drank me under the table today, I’m impressed.” Luckily he had the foresight to grab water on his way into the room. Set it on the nightstand for the morning.
Chuuya’s hand tightened almost painfully over his. There was an innocent sort of fear in the way he whispered out, “Are you leavin’?”
It felt like the air had been beaten out of his lungs with a baseball bat.
How the fuck is this fair?
“Won’t if you don’t want me to. You kind of have me trapped here unfortunately.” Dazai half-heartedly tried to pull his hand away without any luck. Hadn’t expected it to work.
“You’ll be here next time?”
Dazai laughed at the serious set of the other boy’s face— almost wanted to drag a finger to smooth out the furrow of his eyebrows. Wasn’t really sure what ‘next time’ entailed, but he could take an educated guess.
“Yeah, yeah.”
That wasn’t enough, it seemed.
“Promise?”
The moment Dazai noticed Chuuya had put a pinky up to seal the promise, he thinks his heart might have ripped itself to shreds. Preemptive guilt, probably. Always had a bad habit of that.
“Promise.”
Crossed pinkies and touched thumbs.
They never spoke about it, but then again, neither of them had ever been the talking type.
After being reconnected and becoming some sort of acquaintance again, Dazai figures he might as well make good on his word.
Always one for dramatics, Chuuya is at the pier watching as the sun sinks into the ocean with a cigarette flickering between his lips. Smoke twirls a halo around his hair, and the overhead pier lights spotlight him before the inky abyss of ocean in front of him. Splashing waves crashing up the sea wall turned into gold confetti under the beam of it; he was a crowned king in mourning. Maybe it was the god in his genes, but Chuuya never failed to look otherworldly. Untouchable.
Dazai slips closer to the scene and pushes down any resistance in his throat that seeks to preserve the picture. Chuuya wears every emotion well, Dazai reminds himself, not just misery.
Slipping into the space next to him, Dazai hums a quiet tune. Chuuya’s doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, just makes a series of rings with the smoke in his mouth before wordlessly offering the cigarette for Dazai to take a draw from. He hesitates for a second, if even for the sake of drawing out the moment, before taking his own drag.
“Why are you here?” Chuuya’s head tilts fully towards him, resting lazily on his palm. Didn’t miss the way Chuuya’s eyes follow his mouth as Dazai blows smoke back towards the ocean.
This is a game of picking words carefully. Dazai moves his hand to offer back the cigarette, but the redhead doesn’t look over at it. Just waits for his answer.
“Figured you would be in the mood to do something stupid.”
Giving him a curious look, Chuuya brings Dazai’s hand with the smoke up to his face for another draw and pushes Dazai’s hand back towards him. The hand lingers against the skin of his wrist.
“And what are you?”
A giddy smile overtakes Dazai’s face. If he squinted his eyes, he could pretend the endless abyss of black ocean reflecting moonlight was a chasm full of stars. They created their own version of Tanabata.
“That something stupid.”
Only meeting on a day of misery. It is pain that intertwines them.
Dazai expects a kick and a curse for the comment. Chuuya’s hand instead moves to pull his head down towards him with a firm grip on his chin and breathes the smoke in Dazai’s mouth into his own, their lips barely grazing. Taken by surprise, Dazai stumbles sideways and coughs over the smoke in his throat.
There’s a gentleness in Chuuya’s expression that Dazai can’t place. All smart retorts have been vacuumed shut by the comfortable air swirling around them.
“This is a shitty idea,” Chuuya backs up from his spot on the railing and makes his way towards his motorcycle, pauses when he notices Dazai isn’t following. Says, “You coming?”
There’s a glint on the sharp edge of his canine when he smiles at Chuuya.
It’s only once he’s standing directly in front of the bike with Chuuya looking expectantly up at him that Dazai realizes he’ll need to get on the back.
“I forgot how ridiculous your motorcycle is,” he huffs, but doesn’t make any further comments as he swings around the back. Helmet already on, Dazai knows there’s probably a scathing glare sitting underneath the thick barrier of plastic.
A little muffled, Chuuya demands, “Shut the fuck up and hold on. If the ADA comes after me for you committing suicide on my bike, I’m gonna be pissed.” Yanks him forward until Dazai’s chest is pressed against his back and reaches for his other hand to properly hold on. “I go fast. If you don’t want to get hit by a car you should listen.”
Dazai rolls his eyes but takes advantage of the proximity to hook his head over Chuuya’s shoulder.
“Sounds painful. Better not.” There’s a smile in his voice he can’t force down. Like choking on sunshine.
Without warning, they pull off from the curb and shoot down the empty street. If a gasp startled its way out of him, Dazai would never admit to it.
This road travels along the sea wall, and he already knows where they’re going. Wind whips around them so hard that Dazai has no choice but to clutch in closer in an effort not to freeze to death, but the lights flashing over Chuuya from overhead make a strobe light out of him. His body feels weightless here. In an effort to hide a smile Dazai knows no one else can see, he presses his mouth deeper into Chuuya’s shoulder. With how fast they’re going, Dazai’s sure his jacket would turn into the wings of Icarus and fly him into the moon.
By the time they reach the bar, Dazai’s face is numb and flushed with his hair sticking up all over the place, and Chuuya doesn’t fail to make fun of him for it the whole way in.
It’s a cozy bar hidden between some back alleyways with the decor of a Victorian wine cellar. Not mafia territory, but close enough for them to be comfortable— or at least that was the reasoning when they had first found it. Mafia territory was less of a comfort when you left a knife in most of their backs. His face is likely used as target practice for new recruits.
They chose their respective spots in front of the bar, and Dazai figured he should know what they were working with before he got them anything.
“How bad are you feeling right now?”
Chuuya huffs but there was pain in it. The strain in letting grief wash in and out of you.
“Pretty fucking horrible. Make whatever you order a triple.”
In an effort to replace that emptiness with something more familiar, Dazai reaches forward to take the hat off his head and put it on his own. Flicks the rim just for a theatrical flare.
“You’ve got it, hatrack. This all better be on you because I’m not paying for your expensive tastes.”
The hat is snapped back onto his head before Dazai gets the chance to check how much better he most likely looks in it. Jealousy is a disease.
Chuuya retorted, “Believe me I know it’s on me. It always is.”
There’s a jab at something sensitive there that Dazai will choose, just for tonight, to ignore. This is all part of the character building process, he thinks. Dazai is never really sure; Oda never left behind a do-gooder manual.
A little fucked up of him, if I’m honest.
They nearly clean out the bar of all their liquor by the time their done. Almost certain the only reason they hadn’t been kicked out was because of the terror in the bartenders eyes as a glass hit the wall so hard behind him it exploded into dust. With his tiny and idiotic slug brain, Chuuya had told him only after the fact that he’d wanted to see if he could make a bomb with anything he put his mind to. The unfortunate answer to that was yes, and Dazai ensured they had at least one point of contact to neutralize Chuuya’s power (no other reason) to prevent another ‘accident.’
Dazai, only a tiny bit more coherent than Chuuya, made sure they left a little extra cash on their way out of the place. Although, he doubts anyone would be stupid enough to call the cops and get on the wrong side of a Port Mafia executive. Surviving the malice of the mafia was impossible.
Well, unless you were Dazai. He has an innate ability to be the exception in every circumstance.
Stumbling out of the bar, Chuuya roughly drags him over towards the nearby bus stop. Takes a moment to admire their similar hand sizes despite the height difference between them. The romantic notion overcomes him that maybe they needed to stay that way so the two of them could always seamlessly find a place within one another. Like puzzle pieces constantly shifting shape but keeping one side still— the side facing each other. Dazai concludes it’s the alcohol thinking for him.
Only a liquid consumed with the purpose of filling a void dreams of love. Of creating a solution out of chaos. Of having a positive purpose.
But poison is poison.
By the time they slump onto the chairs under the bus stop overhang, Chuuya's face is set with stony determination. ‘Good or bad?’ Dazai wonders but doesn’t know. His ex-partner had a spontaneity about him that left Dazai flipping coins for answers. Hated that about Chuuya as much as he loved it.
“So where to next, my liege?”
The tip of his lips quirks up in the hint of a smile that Chuuya didn’t return. The frown on his face makes his own grin grow.
“Stop makin’ up stupid fuckin’ n’cknames. Lemme think.”
Dazai sighs and looks up at the sky past the overhang, but only a black mist of smog was visible in the Yokohama city lights. The silence lets Dazai's mind drift back to the Tanabata star-crossed lovers comparison. Today was July 6th, which meant…
“T’morrow is Tanabata.”
Chuuya got up to check the bus times. A good idea. Dazai probably should’ve thought of that first.
“Don’cha mean today.” A gloved finger unsteadily drags across the sheet in an effort to check for the next one coming.
“No,” Dazai pulls out his phone just to prove a point. “We still have two hours left ‘til the clock hits twelve.”
It’s then that Chuuya’s swirling eyes twinkle with newfound determination. In the overwhelming emotions wreaking chaos in his mind, Chuuya was starting to find clarity.
“We’re going stargazing.” Not a question. A command.
Things are on his terms today.
In some absurd turn of events, Dazai found it within himself not to be an asshole. Just nods as Chuuya plops down nearly on top of him.
Doesn’t comment on that either.
“The next bus is headin’ down the street now. It takes us outta the city an’ north.”
I trust that’s right.
Not sure he can do much better in his own drunken stupor.
Dazai lets a soft grin overtake his face at the offhanded thought. Chuuya flushes when he realizes it’s being aimed at him, and half-heartedly pushes Dazai’s face to look the other way. Mumbles a quiet, “Creep.”
The bus arrives, and they get on with minimal hassle if you exclude Dazai nearly face planting on the steps up. Nearly only because, even inebriated, Chuuya's reflexes could rival a super soldier. Stumble to the back laughing about it anyway.
They’re the only ones on the bus besides the bus driver. It’s quiet, and Dazai watches nearly enamored as Chuuya smooshes his face against the glass to get a better look at the passing streets. Nearly only because Dazai doesn’t trust himself enough to be certain he knows what love feels like. He does believe though, that if there was any love in Dazai’s heart, it might’ve been spent out on the way Chuuya giggles when he catches him watching and pulls his face in for a quick kiss.
Chuuya doesn’t let go just to whisper, “Yer fuckin’ starin’.”
Letting his head fall back against the seat behind him, that lightheadedness was clouding over his rational thinking. Alcohol was kicking in full force now.
“You’re nice to stare at.”
Reeling back a little in embarrassment, Chuuya goes back to resolutely keeping focus on the world whirling past the window.
“I’d oughta cut your tongue out. Do you ever shut the hell up,” he hisses, but pulls his hand out of the glove to intertwine their fingers together. A win for Dazai.
He hopes the bus driver isn’t paying attention, that they can keep this little imaginary bubble containing the two of them inside. Wants to keep it to himself in fear of the morning sun he knows will steal it. The hiding they do was something he always felt was necessary, and maybe it had been in the beginning. But putting things in boxes and shoving them into shadowed corners got old very fast. It was a mistake Dazai made from thinking of relationships in terms of numbers and not people; he’s not sure Chuuya ever came to forgive him for it.
So in Dazai’s same breath, he hopes the bus driver will play a witness tonight. That this memory will leave complete and without the muddy yellow-layer of alcohol that it’s bound to be wrapped in when he wakes up. Wants proof from a source outside of himself that the both of them can come together in ways other than war, even if they only find it within themselves to connect in mourning.
To have a witness is to breathe life into a moment until it gains its own beating heart. It only dies when the last person walks out.
The bus starts to pass more forests, but Dazai has trouble making out anything more distinct than that because of the glare on the window.
“Chuuya,” Dazai nudged him from his spot resting his head on Dazai’s shoulder. “Check if we c’n see stars.”
Glaring momentarily, Chuuya complies to cup a hand around the glass and take a closer look.
“… Think so.”
Good enough for me.
“Press the button, we’ll get off at the next stop.”
*•*•*
They thank the driver while crashing their way onto the road, and there’s something weary in his expression when he pulls away. Looked a little afraid, and Dazai puts together that the guy must know more about the gang life in Yokohama than he’d originally assumed. His mouth sours at the knowledge.
But, he doesn’t get time to wallow in it as he’s being dragged to the most rundown 24-hour corner store he’s ever seen in his fucking life. The cracked walls of the building looked like a sore excuse for a landmine coverup. Could imagine himself splattering to pieces the moment his foot hit the tile. Chuuya didn’t have any of the same reserves, just marched into the place like a man with nothing to lose.
Maybe tonight Chuuya was.
Makes sense why he’d allow Dazai as his company anyway.
Before they could both step inside the store, Chuuya narrows his eyes in consideration and pushed him back out towards the parking lot. The loss of the warmth of Chuuya’s hand in his had him whining before Chuuya could get a word in, and the redhead looks spectacularly unimpressed. The frown might’ve been ruined by the slight uptick of his lips. Liquor made it harder to fight down the emotions bubbling in your throat and across your face.
“Stay here. Don’t move.”
With a petulant expression, Dazai grumbles, “Aren’t you s’possed to be the dog.”
Got a swift smack upside the head for the slight.
“Stop yappin’. I’ll be right back.”
When Chuuya came back out of the store, he had more dangerous cheap alcohol in one hand and a bag of some mystery items in the other.
“That shit will kill us. Do y’know how horrible alcohol poisoning feels?”
Chuuya uses his hand as a puppet to mock Dazai speaking— like a fucking four year old— and hands over the bottles to take out the things inside the plastic bag. The level of pettiness rivals Dazai’s, and he’s almost offended.
“Here. I gotchu that chocolate one yer so damn obsessed with.” Chocolate ice cream bar. The notion makes Dazai’s smile feel a little wobbly, so he turns to face the empty street. Looks like the forest goes for miles.
“What did you get?”
Chuuya pulls his out of the bag to show it off.
“The one that’s got all the nuts on it. Trying somethin’ different.”
Something different. Dazai tried not to think about the connotations of that. Wanted to let words be words here. Fuckin’ words.
“Ha! Chuuya likes nuts,” he giggles out but it promptly shut down by a hard punch to the arm. In a state of inebriation, Dazai forgot the real reason he tried not to piss Chuuya off: violent tendencies.
“Ow. Fuck!”
Might need to get my goddamn arm amputated after this.
“Shut up and eat yer fuckin’ ice cream.”
Dazai rubs his arm over the area in an attempt at self soothing as Chuuya strides forward again.
“Jesus Christ, fine.”
They walk down the road until Dazai can find a place he’s sure will be listed as the Number One Wherever-the-hell-they-landed Stargazing Spot. One hand is being used to hold the food and the other is used to link their fingers together. A good position, from Dazai’s perspective, as every time Chuuya starts to drag him in all his blazing fury, Dazai can just spin him. Uses the leverage he has with their hands to twirl the redhead over and over again until he eventually laughs and forgets about his mission to pull him around like a dog on a leash.
Sloppy dancing makes for messy eating. He’s not sure even half of it made it into his mouth, and Dazai’s glad Chuuya had the foresight to bring water and napkins.
After crunching the last bite down, the two of them rinse off their hands, but Chuuya gives him a curious look. There’s a light twisting around the surface of his eyes, and they glisten more like fire than ocean. Fundamental paradox.
Always defying expectations and dissolving boundaries.
A god in a cage is still a god.
“You’ve got…” Chuuya starts but doesn’t finish. Just threads his fingers into his hair and kisses him. Deepens the kiss a second later after swiping a tongue along Dazai’s bottom lip that left his mouth gasping open. It only lasts a few seconds, but Chuuya laughs as Dazai tries to follow him back for another kiss— gives him another peck to appease him.
“Taste like ice cream and rum. I can’t tell if that’s fuckin’ disgusting or not.”
Dazai rubs a heavy hand over his face. “Well, considering that’s all I’ve had to eat so far, that checks out.” There’s a lighthearted exasperation in his voice, and he wishes it would come out a little less fond.
Finally looking around where they were, Dazai saw a clearing up ahead. Empty space, grass, flowers, and (most importantly) stars.
Easiest way to someone’s heart is to have them lead you there themselves; this principle applies to more than just the emotional barriers of human beings.
“That clearing up ‘head has a rare flower I was reading about. Coincidence seein’ it all the way out here,” he notes, just loud enough that Chuuya will hear him.
Truth is: Dazai can’t see shit. It’s nearly midnight and there are no noticeable light sources except the moon for miles. There could be a bear laying in that field, and he still wouldn’t be able to make it out. Does it matter?: No.
“Wait, we can use that place to drink the rest of this ‘n shit. It’s flat and outta the way enough.” That dumb look on his face has Dazai wanting to laugh again. Thinking full force in such intensity that his brains about to leak out his ears.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Good idea.”
An unceremonious tumble into the grass, and Dazai can’t help but think about bugs. Chuuya force feeds him the ‘mystery alcohol’ with enough vigor that it temporarily distracts him from the thought. Bugs be damned, they were getting wasted.
With Chuuya’s assistance, all their alcohol is downed in minutes. There’s an uneasy tingling in Dazai’s stomach that tells him that they’re fucked.
Someone was bound to throw up or die. Maybe both. The universe doesn’t discriminate like that— it’s the little things.
“Did we make it in time?”
Dazai takes his eyes off the boundless sky above them to look down at Chuuya. It’s in that liquor-love loneliness that a ‘ the views the same’ gets pulled from the goo of his mind. Distracted, lets out an unintelligent, “What?”
“Tanabata,” he clarifies.
“Oh.”
A 00:00 stares back at him when he opens his phone. In an overwhelming state of excitement, Dazai twirls a lock of Chuuya’s hair between his fingers.
“Yeah, we did.”
Dazai watches in near awe as Chuuya’s smile turns syrupy and wet. Ignores the tears building along the corner of Chuuya’s eyes in favor of placing a quick kiss against his lips.
“Good.” It comes out rough like a voice strained from nights of screaming.
A thought hits him.
“The night’s clear today, do y’know what that means?”
Chuuya flops down to fully lay over the grass, and Dazai falls along with him.
“Nope.” Chuuya pops the ‘p.’ Lifts the bag to find another one of those poison cans and cracks it open.
“You didn’t learn about Tanabata in school?”
“Didnt even finish fuckin’ middle school. Doubt you did either.”
Slow blink. It takes a second to remember.
“Yeah, well. When it rains, it means the two gods were stopped from meeting that year.”
There’s a flurry of red as Chuuya whips his head over to lock his sights on Dazai.
“Since it’s clear, that means the lovers met?”
A gust of wind blows Chuuya hair across his face, and Dazai uses the tips of his fingers to push them back into place. Fingers linger over the pattern of freckles they drifted over.
“Something like that.”
Scoffing, Chuuya flips up to wrap his legs around Dazai’s torso, arm bent to let the red hair form a curtain between their faces from the close proximity. He’s caged into the grass as Chuuya drags him into a rough kiss. Gentleness of the moment serving as the timber for the future fire. These soft patches between them crumble into dust under pressure.
“Yer so fuckin’ sappy and gross. Y’know that? Can’t stand you.”
Dazai sputters out an airy laugh that has Chuuya resting his head against his chest, just to absorb the sound.
In the sky above them, he could’ve sworn he caught the tail flash of a shooting star. It was nearly impossible to tell when everything blurs into lines when he moves his head fast enough. Chooses this time not to look a gift horse in the mouth and makes a wish anyway.
Barely remembers what he asks for.
*•*•*
From Dazai’s (severely limited) understanding, he blacks out somewhere between Chuuya tackling him into a bush and definitely before passing out next to a cliff.
Or what he assumes is a cliff.
Had originally woken up with blue sky floating above his head and being fully crushed under Chuuya’s body weight as he was koala-hugging him to death. Boa constrictor levels of strength in such a tiny body— Dazai would be scared if he wasn’t the constant victim of it. Fear grates down into soft edges.
When he had attempted to sit up properly using his hand for leverage, he noticed it fell through air. Confused, he turned to see they were barely purchased on a ledge.
Squeaked out a rough, “Shit!”
In a sleep heavy haze that was quickly ebbing away, Dazai yanks them both back from the edge and further into the grass. It’s then that he notices they were in the same clearing they had first arrived at. Which could only mean terrible things.
He starts rapidly patting Chuuya's face in an attempt to wake up. “You need to get up, we have a situation,” Dazai whisper-yells. Sensing the panic in his voice, Chuuya springs up to see what happened. Sways on unsteady feet.
“What the fuck? What are you talking ab—” Chuuya begins and the words close in his throat, catching on the same thing he saw.
“Oh shit.”
Dazai struggles to push himself up until Chuuya takes pity on him and pulls him the full way. Both standing now, Dazai can see the full damage.
“Oh shit is right.” Pauses and considers how to phrase his next question. “Do you… remember what caused this?” Chuuya, obviously, but he was fishing for specifics.
“You said you wanted to see corruption and bet that I couldn’t make a black hole bigger than the size of my hand. It’s your fault for betting me in the first place— What was I gonna do? Back down?” Chuuya’s tone got defensive at the look of divine judgment coating Dazai’s face.
That definitely sounds like something I would do.
Says, “There’s no way I did that.”
The look Chuuya levels at him in return for the comment could melt bone.
Dazai presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and prays that he’ll wake up without a migraine and damage control situation to deal with.
“I told you this was a shitty idea.”
“Yeah, well, maybe next time you need to learn to trust me less.”
Slow blink.
“You want me to trust you less?”
If the situation was any less severe, Dazai might’ve found the wide-eyed disbelief in Chuuya’s face funny.
But it wasn’t, and it’s not.
“When it ends up with us having to cover up a crater half the size of the moon, yes, Chuuya. I want you to trust me less.”
They both move to stand at the ledge. Weird to think they might’ve been more responsible teenagers than adults. Aging backwards.
“So…what do we do then,” Chuuya mumbles out.
Not for the first time, Dazai wishes the sun came with an offswitch.
“We could fill it up?”
Another blank stare.
“It’s fucking enormous! What the hell am I supposed to fill it up with?! Trees?!”
Dazai smacks a hand over Chuuya’s mouth to stop the volume of noise, and the other boy licks his hand for it. Reels back disgusted and tries to suggest something— anything.
“There are pebbles everywhere, just use those.”
A stupid idea, he knows that. He also knows the blame for this probably won’t fall on him, all things considered.
“I’m not even gonna respond to that. I have no idea what we should do.”
In typical Dazai-fashion, he’s struck with a great idea.
“Why don’t we just leave it and pretend we were never here,” his smile falters at the unamused expression on Chuuya’s face. “Oh, come on. Someone else will figure something out. Call your Port Mafia lackeys.”
“I can’t have my subordinates see this!”
Dazai cups his face and forces him to look at him and not the gigantic (potential) fuck-up they created.
“Chuuya, I know that this is going to sound like a revolutionary idea to you,” he draws out sarcastically slow. “But you can lie and say you got caught up with an enemy or assassination attempt.”
“I obviously used corruption,” Chuuya deadpans back.
“Then I was the enemy. Wouldn’t be the first time you destroyed public property to try and strangle me.”
For a split second Chuuya looks ready to argue but ultimately concedes.
“Then what the hell are they supposed to do about the goddamn crator?”
“Tell them to plant trees here or something. Doing a good deed and all that.” Chuuya smacks him upside the head for the comment but doesn’t immediately dismiss the idea.
“There were trees here before we got here, dumbass. If anything it’s probably considered a neutral deed.”
Dazai rubs the spot and pouts.
“Well aren’t you a grinch. Sorry my moral calculator wasn’t sufficient enough for you.”
Rolling his eyes, Chuuya huffs.
“I don’t accept your apology. Now come on I have no idea where the fuck we are, and I need to get back.”
Back to the leashless dragging. Dazai’s honestly not sure why he’s just letting this happen. The night with Chuuya rubbed the sharpest edges of him into dust. Wishes he had the pride to feel angry about it.
By the time they get to the bus stop, both of them look wounded and ragged, but the driver doesn’t mention it, just takes the money and keeps driving. There’s mud on Dazai’s bandages and his head is still floating on air. Even with the ringing migraine, Dazai takes the time to meticulously pull the sticks out of Chuuya’s tangled locks.
The disheveled state of them reminds him of fallen stars.
Chuuya nudges against him and starts to repay the favor, even if Dazai doesn’t have anyone to look good for these days. Low expectations that just kept plummeting— his special talent.
“We’ll do this again next time?” Dazai mumbles as he starts to drift off against the other boy’s shoulder.
Chuuya twirls his hair between his fingers, still ungloved.
Whispers, “Yeah, promise.”