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Arahabaki is a god.
Gods do not have emotions. Therefore, gods do not get attached.
It is as simple as that.
And yet.
Arahabaki has been watching over his cub for fifteen years now. Almost sixteen, considering the pup would be celebrating his twenty-third birthday quite soon. Arahabaki has never felt things such as happiness or contentment, and yet, there is a very tangible sense of pride flowing inside his mind.
Pride.
Pride over his whelp.
How laughable. In the early days, right after he was captured and thrown inside the half-baked little thing of a boy, he could only feel resentment. Anger, frustration, rage towards everything, including the one he was stuck inside of. The pup was so fragile and frail, how was he supposed to accomodate to it? His mind so easily broken, his emotions so easily manipulated— Arahabaki was not a weak god, by any means, and he was more than hateful for having been put inside such a puny little body.
But he'd held himself back. There was a glimpse of something inside the boy— something that captured his attention despite everything. Potential; it was potential. Arahabaki could not materialise himself inside the physical world. The best he could do was appear as a sort of hallucination in his pup's mind. So, he took the form of a dog. He spoke to the boy. Half-heartedly, at first, before growing more and more interested.
The pup had not been aware of his existence until very late in his life, so Arahabaki had done his best to make up for lost time. The cub and he had many conversations, often in the very early morning or during the sleepless nights the pup had to endure. It was called insomnia, he was told, and this discovery led to many others, as the cub did not mind at all teaching him about all of the things Arahabaki was unaware of. And as payment, Arahabaki taught the whelp how to survive, and how to use his senses.
"Humans are terrible when it comes to their instincts," he would say, sitting at the boy's feet. "If you learn how to trust yours, then you will forever have an advantage over them."
"You say that like I'm not human," the pup huffed.
Arahabaki had slowly turned his head towards him, his maw curling as if to grin. "You are not; you are my cub, are you not?"
Silence followed those words, and they had never discussed the whelp's humanity again for a good ten years.
But years forge personality; years forge friendships; years forge relationships and sentiments. Feelings. Emotions.
Arahabaki had not been prepared to deal with such things. He had always been a calamity— a god of destruction, blood, and death. The only times he had felt things were pain, and the vague awareness he had been granted with before being merged with his cub. Sometimes, when the pup's emotions were strong, Arahabaki could get an idea of what they were like.
Happiness tasted like the sunrise and curling up with your muzzle in your mother's fur; sadness felt like loosing her, watching the blood drip, drip down her paws. Anger felt like watching the humans beating her down with their sticks and their rocks, and attempting to bite their ankles in vain. Fear tasted like the blood in your mouth as you were grabbed by the scruff and thrown away from your mother's lifeless body, knowing no one could save you now. And love felt like nothing at all, but Arahabaki knew it was the dearest of them all.
Watching over his cub as he experienced life and all of its adventures was a prospect Arahabaki had been frustrated about. But the more time passed, the less angry he grew, and the more he began to feel attachment towards the pup.
The first time Arahabaki had registered this was right before the most important decision the whelp had ever taken. He'd laid down before the boy, watching his chest rise and fall sharply. He was sweating profusely, and blood oozed out from the wound in his stomach. Arahabaki was resting his large head in the pup's lap as he felt his own strengths slowly slip away as a result of the cub's injury.
"Why do you always look like a wolf?"
The pup's voice had been quiet. He hummed, the vibrations echoing in the ground below him.
"Not a wolf, cub. You must learn the difference."
"R—Right." The boy sucked in a sharp breath. "A dog, right?"
Arahabaki blinked slowly. "Yes." Then, "I appear in this form because it is the most comfortable one for me; I was once a small pup, like you, and I died as one. It is only natural for me to keep my appearance canine-like."
"I guess…"
But the cub was already too exhausted to listen. Arahabaki felt a sharp tang of— fear? Was it fear?
"Do not fall asleep. Do you hear me, child? Do not fall asleep. He is coming."
Blue eyes glanced up to meet his. "...Who?"
And Arahabaki licked the cub's hand as gently as he could with his tongue the size of an entire arm. "A flower almost fully wilted away."
"He before fuckin'..." a slow exhale. "Fuckin' hurry up, then."
"He is coming," Arahabaki had repeated. "Stay awake, cub, he is coming."
And he did come.
But after this day, the emotions simply came and went as they wished. Whenever his pup would feel despair, it would bleed onto him as well, and make him weep raging tears of fire. And whenever the whelp smiled at that odd dark-haired boy, Arahabaki would feel at ease, and let himself drift off to nothingness — if only for a short while.
Arahabaki knows he can say this without a doubt, now; he had watched over his cub for fifteen years now. And every single one of them had been worth it.
Gods to not get attached.
And yet…
"Whelp," he practically growls. "What is this?"
Chuuya laughs at his disgruntled expression. Over the years, he's become quite good at reading emotions on a canine face.
"They're flowers, Baki," he explains with a serene smile that is still a little odd to see.
"Flowers." He narrows his eyes at the strange assortments of bouquets sitting on his bed. There's so many, of all colours, it's giving him a headache. When he was still alive, he could only see so many colours. But since he's become a god, it's different. All of them are noticeable, and most of them are blindingly bright. Usually he shrouds himself in darkness, so he can only see in white and black, but for once, his pup has required of him to actually look— for a mysterious reason he still doesn't have the answer to.
He doesn't like the smell of most these flowers. They're too overwhelming. Some of them are bearable, but that's about it. He snarls.
"I don't understand why you are making me endure this." Had it been anyone else, he would've bitten their head off. But it just had to be his cub.
"Relax," Chuuya rolls his eyes. "It's really not that bad."
He's still in his pajamas, sitting cross-legged on his bed. His red hair is as messy as it can get, and his breath still smells of old food— he has just woken up. And yet, his eyes are clear, and his smile is bright. Definitely a special occasion, then.
Arahabaki grunts, his black tail thumping against the floor. If he hadn't been a spirit, he would've cracked the floor open. "Fine. Tell me what it is."
Chuuya seems very pleased with himself as he gestures to the flowers scattered across his bed. "Choose your favourite."
"My favourite?" Arahabaki blinks. "You speak of the flowers?"
"Duh. What else?"
He hides his amusement as well as he can; back when he was still a small pup following his mother around, he would've gotten his muzzle bitten for showing such an attitude. But, well, there is little he can do for his cub's snark now.
Arahabaki thinks about what to say next. "I am not very experienced in the flower department."
"Yeah, well, me neither. But I don't think picking your favourite something requires a lot of knowledge, to be honest." Chuuya toys with the petals of a rather long, pale pink little thing.
"I suppose."
He looks at the flowers, then at the whelp. The only thing he has ever liked in his life were his mother, his siblings, and his cub. When he looks at the grand display of plants there, he cannot see anything that reminds him of the two former. The latter, however…
He lifts one large, shadowy paw, and points to a flower with bright yellow petals of an abnormal length and a dark center. "This one," he mutters.
"A sunflower?" Chuuya sounds amused.
He picks it up carefully, brushing the long petals with his fingertip. Arahabaki watches him with something he knows is called fondness, and he cannot bring himself to say a word for a long moment. His pup is so much older now, his hair so long, his eyes so bright— when did he grew up?
Chuuya doesn't speak again for a little while. "Did you know that flowers have meanings?"
"Do they?" Arahabaki hums. "I am not surprised. Humans like to give things purpose when they do not need to have one. Flowers could simply be pretty things meant to admire and be looked at, could they not? Why the need to complicate things?"
"I haven't ever thought about that," Chuuya replies easily with a shrug. "Humanity is complex. It'd make sense for it to turn things surrounding it just as complex."
Arahabaki considers the answer. "Well, in any case. What is the meaning of this one, then?"
Chuuya's eyes brighten considerably as he smiles. It seems discussing flowers is a thing that brings him joy. Arahabaki makes note of it mentally. The boy scratches his nose for a second, before focusing on the question.
"The sunflower represents adoration, loyalty, and happiness," he declares, sounding like a child reciting what his parents said word for word. "They're the flower of dedicated love."
Arahabaki isn't surprised in the least that the flower made him think of his cub; they're the exact same thing. He has never encountered a being as loyal as him, and without the sharp emotions the boy felt, Arahabaki would never know what joy was. And adoration, well… the whelp does seem to be infatuated with the odd dark-haired wilted flower, doesn't he?
"I see," he settles as a response. "They remind me of you."
Chuuya's cheeks turn slightly pink. "Dazai said the same thing."
Oh, no.
Not again .
Arahabaki sends a silent prayer to every parent in the world that has to deal with this kind of talk as well. He sighs.
"Really?" His voice comes out very dry. "Tell me about it."
Chuuya's blush deepens. "Well, fine." He glances away, sheepish. "So, I wanted to give him flowers, right? To celebrate our third year anniversary. And, erm— I was fuckin' nervous, cause that's not the thing we usually do. It's too corny, right?"
"Right," Arahabaki repeats. He is tired, and he is old, but somehow he finds it in him to continue bearing this lovey dovey talk.
"So, I just kind of asked him what sort of flowers he like. And the fucking bastard— he just goes, 'Sunflowers are nice' . So I ask him, 'Really? Why?' And do you know what the idiot tells me?"
"I am dying to know," he says. And apparently he doesn't sound sardonic enough, because the whelp continues.
"He tells me," — there is now a very visible red flush to his cheeks and ears — " 'Ah, they kind of remind me of you, chibi' and he leaves. He leaves. I couldn't believe him. That raises so many fucking questions."
"Does it?" Arahabaki feels a hundred years-long sigh build up in his chest.
"Of course! 'Cause that'd mean— that'd mean that he thinks of me, right? I mean. I guess. I'm not sure. He never fucking makes sense."
Chuuya groans, covering his face with his hands for a few seconds. Then, he lets out a deep exhale and shakes his head. "Anyways. I didn't call you to talk about boys."
Arahabaki smiles wrily. "No, I certainly hope you did not."
"Right. So. Sunflowers, huh?" Chuuya's gaze falls upon the discarded flower on his bed. "I'll keep that in mind. Any other one?"
Arahabaki looks at the big mix of plants again. There's small ones, big ones, ones with large petals, others with spiky leaves, blue or yellow or red or pink or multiple colours at the same time, and they all smell different. He feels slightly overwhelmed by so many choices. Usually he had his cub to make the decisions for him.
Maybe he's grown too old for this.
"The round-ish one here," he points with his muzzle. "With the deep red petals."
"Ah, you mean the camellia? It's one of my favourite flowers, too." Chuuya grins. "They symbolize passion, love, and attraction."
Thankfully, the whelp doesn't make any reference to a certain mate of his. Arahabaki would rather disperse himself rather than hear of it again. Sure, he was rather young when he died, and so he had never thought of taking a mate himself, but— were all pups so eager for it? Or did he just so happen to have a rather passionate cub?
Whatever the case, Arahabaki thinks 'love' is far too complicated of a thing to deal with. He much prefers his state of half-spirit, half-god, who spends half his days sleeping in the void and the other half keeping company a loud and bubbly almost-adult boy rather than being a human and having to handle all of… this.
Chuuya clears his throat. "If I could give you a flower…"
His hand reaches for a strange flower with an array of multiple tiny bright indigo petals all bunched together. A peaceful smile curls his lips as he presents it to Arahabaki. The smell is subtle, earthy and fresh— different from some flowers stacked on the boy's bed with scents as aggravating as their colour. The flower is familiar, and remind him of the early days, when he was still short on his paws, and travelled the world in company of his mother and his three siblings— when the world was a limit of smells and colours, and he knew only the safety of his home.
"What does it represent?" Arahabaki wonders aloud, tilting his massive head to the side to get a better view of the plant.
"Gratefulness," Chuuya replies with a smile softer than the one before, "And honesty."
Arahabaki spends a moment silent, his head bowed. At last, he finds it in him to speak. "You have grown, cub."
"I know." He doesn't sound anything less than fond, now, and gentle. "Do you remember what day it is today?"
"Fourth of June," Arahabaki recites. He doesn't understand the question.
"And it's…?"
"It is…" Realisation dawns on him. The whelp has taught him that, once. "Mother's Day?"
A gentle laugh. "Yup! And do you know what people do for their moms, on Mother's Day?"
Arahabaki thinks. "They… buy gifts?"
"Sure," Chuuya slips out of his bed with ease, then sits right in front of him. He is so much smaller than the god, but he does not look even a little bit scared. "But more often then not, those gifts are…"
This time, the answer comes easily. "Flowers."
Chuuya nods, a laugh escaping his smiling lips. Arahabaki considers this pup he has been watching over for fifteen years— this pup who has taught him more than he could've ever learned on his own, who was so, so young compared to him, but so mature already. This pup who was not his own, but might as well be.
He lowers his head until his muzzle his pressed against the boy's forehead. "You are giving me flowers for Mother's Day." It still feels odd to say, but he can feel the distinctive swell of joy in his nonexistent heart. "You whelp."
Chuuya laughs so brightly, like he is the sun itself. He throws his arms around the large beast at least three times his size, burying his face in the shadowy fur of his throat. Arahabaki does not complain. He allows it, knowing that the neck is the most fragile vital point on any living body. If his cub so wished it, he could sink his teeth into his artery. But Arahabaki has come a long way since his first day on earth; and he knows Chuuya would never harm him.
For the very first time since the days he still had his mother and siblings, Arahabaki feels content. No, not content— happy.
He does not have human arms, and cannot hug back his pup properly, but he lifts a giant paw and settles it on the boy's back as gently as he can. And, once Chuuya pulls away, he licks his face a few times— more than he's ever done before. His pup's eyes shine like pearls, and yes, he feels it, more vividly than the other times;
Pride.
Arahabaki slips away into nothingness for a long, long time after that day. But, somehow, Chuuya has a feeling it isn't because of anything bad. He looks at the bouquet of hydrangeas sitting in a vase on his dinner table and smiles, thoughtful.
The flowers sit everywhere in the house, now. And every time his daughter asked about it, her eyes big and wide and curious, Chuuya sat her on his lap, covered her cheeks with his hands, and told her tales. Tales of a small, clumsy pup who ran after its mother as fast as its paws could carry it, and tales of a god, furious and heartbroken, who caused chaos everywhere it went.
Chuuya told her tales about a guardian, too— and a half-dog, half-wolf spirit that was more of a parent than anything he had ever known before. And though it is subtle, after each time, he thinks he can hear the low rumble of a fond laugh, somewhere burried deep in his memory.
Because gods do not get attached.
And yet— sometimes rules are always meant to be broken.