Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking Up

Waking up from a dream can be disorientating, as the unconscious world fades away and reality returns. At least, Chuuya expects that’s what waking up feels like; it’s been so long since he’s dreamed on his own, he’s forgotten what it feels like to slowly crawl back to awareness from the depths of sleep. Waking up from the drug-induced sleep of dreamsharing is instantaneous: one minute, lucid dreaming, the next minute, awake.

Chuuya loves waking up. Sure, dreaming is great too; being in complete control of the world, getting to destroy entire city blocks with just a thought. Total. Calamitous. Power. But waking up and returning to reality provides an anchor to his humanity that Chuuya never wants to lose. Yes, having the power of a god while asleep is a feeling unlike anything people can experience in the real world, but its living in the real world that makes that power so special in the first place.

He wishes this was all a dream. That he could wake up and find himself in a reality that is not this nightmare he has created. He wants to love waking up again.

The Shore of Your Unconscious Mind

The water is salty. That’s the first thing Chuuya notices as he becomes aware of his surroundings. The second is that there is a surprisingly strong current trying to drag him away from the shore. The waves aren’t huge but are crashing into the back of his head with enough force to make his attempts to stand up a struggle.

Suddenly, hands are wrapping around his forearms and Chuuya is dragged to his feet, out of the ocean.

He spits out some of the salt water that has gotten into his mouth and blinks, trying and failing to get the stinging sensation to leave his eyes. He brings the back of his hands to rub at this face. Slowly, his blurred surroundings start to clear, and Chuuya takes a moment to orient himself.

He is standing on a beach, his back to the ocean. He can hear the waves still crashing against the shore; he his standing where the waves can still reach him, and as the they fall back towards the ocean, he sinks into the sand below his feet. The beach around him is empty, and there is nothing but the dunes for as far as he can see.

Well, the dunes and Dazai.

“Why the hell did you make this level a beach, Shitty Dazai?” Chuuya scrubs at his eyes again, trying to make the stinging of the saltwater go away but only managing to make it worse. “And you couldn’t have dropped us off on land instead? My shoes are soaked.”

“Scared of a little water, Chuuya? Or were the waves too big for the Chibi to handle?” Despite his mocking tone and wide smile, Dazai is just as soaked as Chuuya, his dark hair hanging in front of his eyes and dripping water down his face. His tan coat looks as if it weighs a hundred more pounds with the way it clings to his frame.

“If you wanted to be with your own kind, I could have taken you to the fish market by my house and introduced you to the butcher, stupid Mackerel,” Chuuya bends down to pick up his hat as it gets pushed past his legs by the next crashing wave. As he adjusts the hat on his head, pushing his hair back so it doesn’t hang in his eyes, he waits for Dazai’s reply. Instead, he is met with silence.

Chuuya looks back at Dazai, curious as to why he hasn’t retorted with his own insult. Dazai is staring down the beach. One of the sleeves of his coat has come unfolded and hangs down to the fingers; he is sinking into the sand as the waves recede, not bothering to pick up his feet to keep them from being buried. These are quick observations Chuuya makes as he looks over his partner, but its Dazai’s face that is startling. His mouth is frozen in a smirk. His eyes are fixated on the horizon; they are dark, almost black, and reflect no emotion. Chuuya does not know how long they stand there, him looking at Dazai and Dazai looking at the beach.

Suddenly, a huff of laughter escapes from the architect’s lips. Dazai turns to look at Chuuya again, his eyes dark with some unreadable emotion, maybe relief, maybe anger. Chuuya refuses to be shaken by this, barreling forward in his obstinance. “Well? What’s with the beach? And where are the projections?”

Another huff of laughter. “C’mon slug, I thought it was obvious.” Dazai moves one of his hands through his hair, then brings his other hand to the back of his head as well, forcing himself into a more casual posture. That makes Chuuya even more pissed off than the dig at his intelligence.

“Just spit it out already, Shitty Dazai. I’m too soaked to keep up with your riddles right now.”

“Oh, alright, I’ll help Chuuya understand, but only because I’m such a good master. You see, I didn’t make this beach.” He pauses here for dramatic effect, turning to face Chuuya a little more, right hand leaving the back of his head to gesture out towards the beach while his left stays hooked in his hair. “We went one level too deep, I’m afraid. Welcome to Limbo.”

Another wave crashes into the shore. There is now a breeze where before there was none.

“Hah?!” Chuuya exclaims. “What the hell do you mean, Limbo?”

“Hmm? Surely Chuuya learned about Limbo before getting into the business? Unconstructed dream space, infinite subconscious? Its dreamsharing 101.”

“I know that dipshit! I mean how the hell did we get here? I’ve only ever heard of people dropping into Limbo from dying when on too heavy sedation.” Chuuya has stripped off his outer jacket and is working on taking off his shoes without having to sit down in the sand. It’s his own shitty attempt at trying to stay calm. But everyone knows that people who drop into Limbo are never the same again when they finally wake up – it’s practically a death sentence that Dazai just served to them on a silver fucking platter.

“Well, that’s certainly the most common way to get here,” Dazai says with a light tone. It’s the phrasing of that sentence that has alarm bells going off in Chuuya’s head; it’s the same sort of phrasing and tone of voice Dazai uses when he has his own suspicions confirmed but doesn’t want to reveal the answer to everyone else just yet. He knows something that he suspects Chuuya doesn’t – in fact, he’s known since the beginning.

Chuuya is used to his anger being hot like a flame, but as he realizes what it is Dazai isn’t saying, his anger turns ice cold. “You knew.” It’s not a question. “Last level, right before we fell asleep, you said ‘This should be it.’ You knew we’d end up here!”

“Mmm, I had certainly hoped so.” Dazai is faced fully away from Chuuya now, both hands dropped to his sides. Chuuya can feel his anger becoming white hot again.

“What the hell, you piece of shit! You knew full well that we’d end up in fucking Limbo and you didn’t tell me your plan at all?!” Chuuya grabs Dazai by the arm, forcing him around so that they are facing each other. Taking hold of the coat’s collar, he yanks Dazai down to eye level. Dazai yelps in surprise but doesn’t make any moves to get out of Chuuya’s grasp. “Stupid, Shitty Dazai! You are going to tell me your plan right now, or so help me I will drown you in your own subconscious ocean.”

“No need to be so violent, Chibi,” comes Dazai’s relaxed response. He even has the audacity to close his eyes while giving Chuuya a fake, condescending smile. “I told you before we went under, I’m doing some experiments.”

Chuuya growls at this, his right hand squeezing the coat as tight as he possibly can. “Experiments usually means testing out new sedative combos or architectural designs, not figuring out how deep into a dream Limbo is!”

“Sounds like Chuuya just assumed he knew what I was doing, so really it’s his fau-“ Dazai doesn’t get the chance to finish his taunting as Chuuya’s left hook connects with his mouth. He loses balance and falls into the sand.

Before Dazai has the chance to make any other dumbass remarks, Chuuya turns to leave. “I don’t want to see your face or hear your voice for the next forty-eight hours. If I even so much as see you in the distance, I’ll kill you.”

The redhead storms away down the beach, shoes held in a tight grip in his right hand and jacket crumbled into the fist of his left. The ocean waves crash against the shore, louder and more violent than before; dark clouds seem to appear out of nowhere as the breeze, which had previously been warm and unnoticeable, grows almost unbearably cold and aggressive. This change in weather remains unperceived by Chuuya.

Dazai brings his arms to rest on his knees, which he has drawn in towards his chest. His chin sits on top of his hands, and he stares into the unrestful ocean, expression once again unreadable.

Dazai, Chuuya, Age Fifteen

Dazai has never understood why the dreams he builds should be normal. Or, no, that’s not correct – dreams that are basically indistinguishable from the real world make it easier for the extractors to hide from the subject and their projections. Logically, Dazai understands the theory behind why his dreamscapes should just be plain cities or forests or hotel lobbies. But it’s much more fun to add in something impossible: a jungle growing in tandem with skyscrapers, a snowcapped mountain surrounded by a tropical sea. And yes, these types of dreams tend to get projections set on the team faster than what a “normal” design would, but maybe Mori should recruit better extractors.

If he could, Dazai would be a one-man extraction team. He’s already the best architect in the business, and years of being Mori’s right-hand coupled with his innate intelligence makes him a damn good extractor as well. But alas, most of the jobs Mori takes require a team to complete, even if Dazai insists he can do those jobs by himself with enough planning.

“I know I shouldn’t ask this, but why is there a crater in the middle of the city, Dazai-san?” Hirotsu is one of Dazai’s favourite extractors under Mori’s employment. That is to say, he has enough experience to be fairly decent, but Dazai still thinks he would have been better off doing this job alone.

“Hmm? It adds flavour, don’t you think?”

“The projections are already starting to stare at us.”

“Then maybe we should stop admiring the scenery and get the information we came here for. The bank is probably our best bet – it’s a few levels down from where we are now.” Dazai stands up from where he was perched on the steps. While this dream was built in somewhat of a hurry, he is quite proud of the design; a large spiralling city, mostly filled with slums and poorly made houses, all built within a giant crater. This dream was designed to be huge and particularly difficult to navigate, because their subject used to be a professional extractor as well. Apparently, he was someone who Mori used to work for and had information about dreamsharing that Mori wanted to get his hands on. Dazai was not fully aware of what they were looking for, only that it was important their paths never cross with the subject’s; easy enough.

“Well?” Dazai hops over the two steps between his previous seat and the street, landing next to the old man. He stretches, arms lifting over his head and eyes closing. “Shall we get go-“ The blow to his back is definitely unexpected.

Dazai crashes hard into the wall to his left, white flashes of pain jumping up his side and through his head. His body lands haphazardly in a pile of rubble, arms resting on angular stones and legs spread in front of him in a way that makes them immediately go numb. There is a teenager standing over him.

He looks to be about the same age, with startling red hair and bright blue eyes. His face is all sharp edges, which only helps to amplify the smug look on his face. The boy places his foot on Dazai’s chest, hands resting in the pockets of his army green jacket.

“They’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel, those Mori Corp extractors,” the teenage laughs, “sending in a kid.”

“You should know I really hate pain,” is Dazai’s non-response to the redhead’s taunt.

The teenager continues, undisturbed. “I’m gonna give you two options: die now or die after giving me information. Either is fine with me.”

“Kill me now then.”

“Sheesh, are you this suicidal up top, punk?”

“You’re a punk too, you know.”

“Enough chit-chat. Tell me about this Arahabaki you’re looking for,” the teenager says, putting more pressure onto Dazai’s chest. He smirks in reply.

“Oh? Arahabaki? How interesting.”

“So you’ve heard of it?”

“Nope.” He gets a kick to the face for that, pain exploding in his head. He ignores it though, mind moving fast to figure out who exactly this kid is. A teenager who knows how to hijack a PASIV and take control of a dream. On top of that, Mori warned him of another group – more like a gang really – who were hired to get the same info from the former boss. Ah, that’s it. “Those who step into the Sheep’s territory will be met with vicious retaliation. So you’re the King of the Sheep, Chuuya Nakahara.”

“I’m not their King, alright. I’ve just got a good card up my sleeve,” the teenager, Nakahara, growls.

“Oh, you’re a cocky, overconfident child. I hate people like you so much.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I hate condescending little pricks like you more than anything in this world.”

Before their banter can continue any further, they are interrupted by a powerful wind. The world lights up a violent purple as the ground starts to quake beneath them. Shit – they’ve been found out.

“How about we continue this up top, huh?” Dazai offers, taking the opportunity to push out from underneath Nakahara. In one fluid motion he grabs his gun and shoots Nakahara in the head. Just as swiftly, he turns the gun on Hirotsu, and finally on himself.

Architecture

Its more than forty-eight hours later that Chuuya sees Dazai. Or Chuuya thinks it’s been more than forty-eight hours, but there is no real time in this place, just a vague sense of it. Since he has been alone, his anger has simmered down to a more manageable level – still there, of course, who wouldn’t be pissed in this situation – but his anger at the stupid architect isn’t boiling over like it had been before.

He built himself a house a little further inland from the shore. Someplace to sit, to come to terms with the whole situation and figure out what the hell to do next. And as much as it pained him to admit, the next step was finding Dazai. He intends to find out everything the architect has planned, get every last bit of information, and then figure out a way to wake up. After that, never speak to Dazai again.

Chuuya leaves his temporary housing, exiting out the front door onto a brand-new sidewalk. Huh, that wasn’t there before, and he certainly hadn’t built it, which means that Dazai has been keeping busy. Chuuya continues following the sidewalk leading further away from the beach. There’s more than just sidewalk, actually: there’s a road to his right, more houses similar in design to the one Chuuya resurrected - though more colorful than the simple beige of his house – palm trees and flowering bushes lining the pathways. It looks like any other normal beach- town neighborhood.

Then, Chuuya looks further ahead. There is a skyscraper tumbling to rubble in the distance.

At least he knows where that shitty architect is now.

---

This is not what Chuuya was expecting. At all.

He has left behind the simple beach-town neighborhood and stepped into what can only be described as a Time Square- Ancient Roman - Traditional Japanese mash-up filled with thousands of faceless people.

Skyscrapers tower overhead, made of a combination between modern steel and ancient red brick. Sidewalks and asphalt paved roads travel outwards between the buildings in every direction, though the only road that leads to more buildings at the moment is the road Chuuya walked here on. In the middle of these skyscrapers is a large open area. The ground there isn’t paved, but instead a soft texture grass. In the center of this space is a Roman colosseum. Chuuya has never been to Italy, so has only ever seen colosseums in pictures, but this one seems massive in comparison - it’s at least twenty-stories tall. Otherwise, it looks like a pretty exact replica. At the far end of the square, Chuuya can just make out a traditional Torii gate, leading beyond the confines of the city.

None of this strikes Chuuya as unusual. He’s been Dazai’s partner for several years now, and so has come to expect strange architecture in his dreams. What does grab Chuuya’s attention is the projections.

Thousands of people are moving around him, aimlessly meandering through the square. The ambiance of a busy city catches his ear, the sounds of idle chatter among strangers. What’s upsetting about this image, though, is that none of the projections have faces. Where there should be a face, instead there is a blank, featureless blur. Chuuya also notices that all of the projections are wearing the same clothes, just in a handful of different colors. They are all his height – its creepy.

“What the fuck?”

“Chuuya!” Dazai’s too-chipper voice calls out. The rumbling of construction stops as a skyscraper pauses halfway through being built. Dazai bounds over, an idiotic smile plastered across his face. “Did you like my contributions? Awfully boring design for a house, by the way, but I figured I would be nice and match Chuuya’s terrible architecture if only for the sake of beauty.”

“What’s wrong with these projections? Where are their faces?”

“I made them in a rush.”

“Made them?”

“Yes, made them. Keep up, Chuuya.”

He can feel his anger starting to simmer again. A growl escapes from his throat.

“Now, now, Chuuya. Behave and I’ll explain.”

“Bastard,” he huffs through gritted teeth. He’s met with a million-watt smile.

“Limbo is completely shared dream space. Both of us are simultaneously subject and dreamer. Under normal circumstances, the dreamer creates the space while the subject fills it with their projections. So, since we are both subjects here, our subconscious minds are fighting to fill the gaps, which it turns out actually just leads to a nullified, empty space. I had to consciously make these projections, which I did in a rush, so they might be missing some key features.”

“Oo-kay. Right. And the rest of this?” Chuuya pointedly stops looking at the projections, gesturing to the surrounding buildings.

“Do you like it? I built the colosseum first, then decided it needed some skyscrapers to go with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great. I meant, why are you building all this in the first place. Shouldn’t we get going?”

Dazai gasps, his eyes lighting up with over-enthusiastic joy. He brings his hands to his cheeks. “You really mean that? Oh, Chibi, I knew you’d like it!”

“Shut up, I was being sarcastic,” he grabs the architect’s wrist, yanking it away from his face, and starts forcefully dragging him back towards the beach. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“Au contraire, slug.” Dazai slips his hand out from Chuuya’s grasp, stuffing it back into his coat pocket. “We can’t leave yet.”

The anger is simmering again. “And why is that, asshole?”

“I still have things I need to learn.”

“No. You’ve gotten plenty of info. We need to leave, unless you want to end up…” he stops himself before he says the name, but its too late now. The smirk that was on the architect’s face disappears, a careful mask of neutrality slipping on instead. Chuuya huffs, unsure what he’s really angry at anymore. “Fine, we can stay for a little longer. I can get some forging practice in anyway.”

The new mask slips on lightning fast as a playful grin expands over Dazai’s face. He claps his hands together, “I knew you’d understand. Good boy!”

“I’m not your damn dog, bastard. And do something about these projections, they’re creeping me out!”

---

And so, Dazai and Chuuya begin their new routine. Dazai continues to build, erecting new and more complicated designs. His imagination runs free without restrictions or deadlines to fight against. One day, Chuuya leaves his house to find the entire world has been folded in half, looking up to see roads and buildings above him like a ceiling. Chuuya entertains himself by working on his own skills; he’s always wanted to be a forger, be able to shape his appearance and take on the face of someone else. He also spends time in the colosseum, fighting against projections and keeping up his skills as a hitter.

There are several rules set out between the two in this place, in order to keep their sanity and civility. Most important is that they are given their own, private areas. The agora at the center of their world is public space, and many of the surrounding buildings as well. But, at the far ends of the square are traditional Torii gates which mark the boundaries of their private neighborhoods: Dazai’s is blue, Chuuya’s is red. The area beyond their gates is theirs alone, and the other cannot pass through without permission.

Chuuya has filled his private neighborhood with a lot of personal things. But, the only one that really matters is the Old World. The pool hall was painstakingly crafted from memory, down to the badly faded sign outside to the broken down jukebox in the corner and the fraying, green-felt tables. Most importantly, though, are the people who live inside; the five men all stand around the pool table to the far right, playing and drinking together.

Chuuya stops by the Old World often, probably more than he should. He doesn’t stay for long, usually just long enough for a few rounds of pool and a couple of drinks. He’ll talk with the Flags, mindless conversations filled with inside jokes that he doesn’t get to tell anymore.

It’s nice, to talk with his friends again. He misses them so much sometimes its hard to express, but here, he can forget about the truth for a little while and just talk to them.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why he doesn’t complain the longer they stay here. Dazai continues to build, continues to say they can’t leave yet, that he needs more time. And Chuuya just lets him, because here the Flags are alive, and he can still get drinks from his favorite bar.

---

They don’t do everything apart. Maybe for the first year or so they did, but it gets lonely in Limbo when you’re on your own.

Dazai and Chuuya start building together. Their world grows larger, influenced in equal parts by both. They spend months crafting a perfect house to live in together, one that has everything they want.
And suddenly, months grow into to years. The time passes without either really noticing, but they are content to stay in this world they have built together. At least, for a while.

Extraction

When Dazai said that Mori should recruit better extractors, this is not at all what he meant. Chuuya Nakahara is very intriguing, and he seems like a lot of fun to mess with, but he isn’t exactly someone Dazai wants to work with.

Actually, that’s not true. Dazai is about to win their bet, and when he wins, Chuuya will be his dog forever. That sounds like fun.

The two are currently sat on a train, waiting for their mark to come to them. Dazai knows its Randou: the point man’s story had too many holes in it to be the truth. Which means that he’s the one whose been working with the former boss and has the information that Mori wants.

Chuuya is sitting across from him, hands in his pockets, staring out the window at the passing trees. “How much longer do we have to wait here?”

“Any minute now, slug.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re right, how about Fido, since you’re about to become my dog?”

Chuuya growls in response, no doubt a quick insult on the tip of his tongue. Instead, the door to their compartment opens, and in walks Randou.

“I knew it!” Both boys exclaim at the same time.

“There’s no way you knew!”

“Yeah, right, like the Chibi could have figured it out.”

“Of course I knew, it was obvious right from the start!”

“You’re just saying that to try and impress your new master.”

“Boys, please,” Randou says calmly, sitting down in the empty seat next to Chuuya. “Why am I here?”

“You’ve been working with the previous boss. We’re here to extract the information from you that Mori-san is after,” Dazai replies, patting the PASIV next to him.

“Right, and why would I willingly go under with you two when I know what it is you’re after?”

Before Dazai can answer him, Chuuya speaks up. “Because, you want information too. I’ve heard that there’s been someone interested in recruiting Arahabaki.”

“Yes, I’ve been wanting to meet them. They’re destructive power in dreams is unparalleled. With Arahabaki at my side and the information I have gained from working with the former boss, I’ll be the most powerful extractor in the business. But what do you, child, know about Arahabaki?”

“That’s simple,” Chuuya says, sitting up straighter in his seat and turning to face Randou directly. “Arahabaki is me.”

---

They go into the dream together.

They fight.

Dazai is awestruck by Chuuya’s sheer, destructive power (not that he’ll ever say it out loud).

They do not learn what information Rimbaud had.

Mori, though, doesn’t seem upset by their failed mission. Instead, he welcomes Chuuya into his Corporation with open arms, sated to have the prodigy Arahabaki under his employment.

Forgetting

Bar Lupin was made with more care than Dazai thought he was capable of. The details are as exact as he can make them, down to the squeaking floorboard by the entrance and the light in the back corner behind the bar that always flickered no matter how many times the bulb was changed. Dazai spent the most time perfecting the balance between the smell of cigarette smoke and the smell of aging whiskey.

As soon as its done, Dazai sits down at his usual spot and waits. He watches the ball of ice float in his half-cup of whiskey, occasionally dinging it against the side of the glass.

“I need your advice, Odasaku,” he says when he hears the door open to his right. There’s no need to look; the only other person who could possibly show up here is Chuuya, and right now he’s off fighting in the colosseum (plus, Dazai built this place in his own private neighborhood, so Chuuya would never come here anyway).

“Well, color me surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you willingly ask for advice.” His voice is gruff and monotone with an underlying kindness that is so achingly familiar Dazai forgets how to breathe: its perfect. Odasaku takes his usual seat at the bar, bringing the glass of whiskey that was already there for him up to his lips. His eyes move to look at Dazai, his head tilting slightly in the same direction.

“You know, waking up has always been my least favorite part of this job. Dreamsharing provides a perfect escape from reality; a job where I get to contort the world to my own desires, where I get to control every detail and execute plans that always work out to my benefit. And now I’m confronted with a choice: do I wake up from this perfect dream I’ve made, or do I stay asleep?”

“I think I’ll need more information.”

This is why Odasaku was Dazai’s best friend. He’s kind and insightful. He has an efficiency with his words that manages to convey so much more than what is spoken. This is an invitation to fully explain himself, and a promise to listen and provide guidance.

“I came here with a single purpose: to learn more about Limbo, so that I can undermine Mori and get revenge for your death. I had planned to stay for as little time as possible and then return to reality. What I didn’t count on was that dumb, loyal dog following me down here. And when he offered to come with me, I was so focused on my goal that I didn’t stop to consider the consequences. I was just happy to have someone else to suffer with me.”

“Why would Nakahara’s being here stop you from wanting to leave?”

Dazai stares at his drink. The whiskey has been diluted by the melting ice. He swirls it around half-heartedly, then, for the first time, turns to fully look at the man sitting next to him. Odasaku’s dark auburn hair is messy. His eyes look tired. He’s wearing the same outfit he wore the last time they met at this bar: a brown button-down shirt with white stripes, black slacks, and a tan coat.

Here, as a projection of Dazai’s own creation, Odasaku can be kept in a flawless state for eternity.

“This world is perfect, Odasaku,” Dazai says instead of directly answering his question. “And waking up has always been my least favorite part.”

Silence fills the space between the pair for a moment too long. Dazai starts to squirm in his seat, his finger tracing the rim of the glass in faster rotations in anticipation of whatever answer the projection is preparing.

“Listen.” Oda’s voice is firm, demanding attention. “You once told me that you might find a reason to live, being the architect of impossible dreams filled with violence and bloodshed. You won’t find it. Whether you’re dreaming or awake, nothing will fill that lonely hole inside of you. You will wander the darkness for eternity.”

“Odasaku...” This projection of Dazai’s own creation, a perfect replica of his closest friend. Those words coming from anyone else would only succeed in pushing him further down the wrong path. But coming from him, they only leave Dazai feeling like a helpless child. “What should I do?”

“If both dreaming and awake are the same, then stay in the world that brings you closest to happiness. At least that will bring a little more light into your life.”

“How can you know that for sure?”

“Of course I know – I know better than anyone.” He raises his glass of whiskey here, an invitation. “Because…” Dazai raises his own glass. “I am your friend.” The clear sound of glass colliding echoes in the empty bar.

“I see.” The architect smiles to himself, lowering his now empty glass back onto the bar top. He stands, grabbing his coat from the seat next to him. He pats Oda’s shoulder as he passes by, touch lingering a second too long. He turns around at the bottom of the stairs, looking over Bar Lupin, now complete. “I’ll do that.”

---

The fact that this is where he goes shouldn’t surprise him, but standing outside of Mori’s old office brings a huff of laughter to Dazai’s lips. Of course it’s here: the place where Dazai first learned about dreamsharing, where he was first brought into this world of violent creation for the sake of manipulation and selfish politics. This is where he was born.

The door creaks open. The office is dark, but it looks exactly like it did all those years ago, when it was just himself, Mori, and a single PASIV. It smells like chemicals and antiseptics; it smells like childhood.

Dazai goes straight to the cabinet in the back corner of the office. It was in this cabinet he used to hide his personal mixes of sedatives, his share of the money from their jobs. It was his cabinet. Inside, there is a safe; it’s made of featureless, polished steel. When he opens it, its empty.

Good.

Its simple. Dazai reaches into his pocket and pulls out his totem. He places the spinning top on the largest shelf, takes a breath, and then shuts the door.

As he leaves the old office, Dazai thinks about all the ways he can annoy Chuuya today.

The Dark Era

Odasaku is dead.

Dazai is sitting at his side, gripping his hand so tightly he can feel bones grinding together.

“Why did you go along with what he wanted?”

Mori has desired knowledge about the limits of Limbo for as long as Dazai has known him.

Somehow, he managed to convince Odasaku to be his test subject – probably something to do with his orphans.

Oda went under for only a few hours up here, but what must have been decades down below.

Mori has everything he’s wanted: knowledge that no one else in the business has access to.

It’s all Mori’s fault.

Odasaku is dead.

---

Chuuya is running.

It’s the first thing he learns upon waking up from his latest job – one of Mori’s forgers has died. Not that surprising, given their line of work. Usually that kind of information would be sad to hear but not particularly difficult to overcome. Then he hears the name: Oda Sakunosuke.

Dazai can be very unpredictable, even to his partner. There’s really no telling how he might react to his best friend dying. He could go the stoic, cover the pain with shenanigans and bad jokes until it all comes crashing down a few weeks later route; or, he could try to blow up the office. The only way Chuuya can assess the situation and mitigate the problems is if he sees the architect face-to-face. So, he’s running.

He barges into Dazai’s safehouse an hour later and finds… not what he was expecting. Dazai seems calm – suspicious. He’s setting up a PASIV in the middle of the room, filling it with a sedative that Chuuya can’t identify from this distance. His movements are fluid, well-practiced and confident. Once the vial is empty, he looks up, black locking onto sapphire. “I thought you were working.”

“It was an easy job. Finished up an hour ago,” Chuuya replies. He takes a few tentative steps into the room. “I heard what happened. I, um, are you… alright?” It’s not very eloquent, but then again, they rarely discuss actual emotions.

Dazai just blinks at him, then turns his attention back to programming the PASIV.

“What are you doing?” Play along if he doesn’t want to be direct about it.

“I’m doing some experiments.”

“Have room for one more?” This gets an immediate reaction. Dazai’s head whips back up to look at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. A million thoughts must be going through his head in this moment, and Chuuya pinpoints the exact second he settles on a decision and his mind goes blank again. The right side of his mouth ticks upward, almost imperceptibly, into a smirk.

“Sure, if my loyal dog wants to come along, who am I to stop him?”

Chuuya lets the insult go, muttering a slight ‘not your dog, asshole’ under his breath more out of instinct than anything else. He’s just here to stop the architect from doing something drastic: that’s his job, as the idiot’s partner. And if he feels anything other than simple obligation to be here, then he sure as hell isn’t going to acknowledge it.

They get ready, like they have a hundred times before. Dazai takes the couch while Chuuya sets up the reclining chair. When they’re both attached to the PASIV, Chuuya notices his partner take a few extra moments to look around the room before locking eyes with him once more. A quick moment passes before Chuuya realizes he’s asking for permission; he gives a small nod in response. Immediately, Dazai starts the machine, and the cold rush of the sedative begins to flow through their veins.

Inception

The day he realizes what’s wrong is not a particularly special day. They are sitting at the beach, using the sand to plan out a new neighborhood. Dazai is trying to teach him about Penrose Steps, and wants to create a building that is simultaneously one hundred stories and one story.

“Stupid slug, you’re ruining it,” he pouts, swiping his hand through the sandcastle. In the distance, the rumble of a building collapsing echoes through the open air.

“Whatever, I give up. I’ve never claimed to be an architect anyway,” Chuuya says, sitting back and letting his arms support him from behind. Dazai smiles at this, taking the victory, and starts building again.

They lapse into silence, the only sound the waves gently crashing behind them. A particularly large wave suddenly rushes up the beach, drenching Chuuya where he sits. He hops up in surprise, growling as he realizes his pants are now soaked.

“Son of a bitch!” He exclaims. Then, turning to point at Dazai, who is still perfectly dry and laughing, “Did you do that?”

“What? Of course not! Sounds like Chuuya is assuming I’m in control of every bad thing that happens to him, but really it’s his fau-“

“Shut up, mackerel,” he cuts him off, flicking water in his face. He huffs some air out of his mouth, “This reminds me of the day we first got here, except I was considerably more angry at you then, for good reason.”

“Huh? What’s the slug on about now?”

“What do you mean, dumbass? Don’t you remember our first day here? I know it was a while ago, but I also thought you had a perfect memory.”

Dazai stares at him like he’s grown another head. He tilts his own to the side, amused smirk still plastered on his face. “When we first got here? Silly Chuuya, we’ve always been here.”

Chuuya’s heart stops. He’s forgotten. Somehow, Dazai has forgotten that they’re trapped in Limbo, that they’re asleep. Before he can voice his concern, though, Dazai stands up and wipes the sand off from his pants. “C’mon, this isn’t working. I think I need to see what I’m doing in order to properly build a paradox. Plus, Chuuya needs new clothes.”

After a few minutes, Chuuya moves to follow after his partner, a plan already forming in his head.

---

Dazai has gone to work on his paradoxical architecture. Chuuya has left him, saying that he plans on changing and then stopping by the colosseum for some exercise.

Now he stands in front of Dazai’s Torii gate, staring up at the boundary which he has not dared to cross in all of their time here. This is a betrayal of trust; going through with this means breaking a deal that the two had formed ages ago. But, he needs to find out what happened, what Dazai did to make himself forget the truth.

He can hear the rumbling of Dazai’s building in the far distance. He steps through the gate.

---

We need to escape, Chuuya rationalizes to himself. He’s standing in Mori’s old office – Chuuya himself has never been, but he’s heard enough about Dazai’s long history with Mori to recognize the room. Sitting in front of him, inside of a medical cabinet filled with pills and vials, is the safe which holds Dazai’s deepest secrets. Chuuya knows what is waiting inside- he was one of the best extractors in the business, and he knows Dazai better than he knows himself sometimes.

We need to leave this place. We can’t live in Limbo forever.

Chuuya’s hand hovers over the safe, hesitant for a moment. He doesn’t want to betray Dazai’s trust, but Dazai won’t listen to him. This world isn’t real, and they need to wake up.

He opens the safe, not needing to find a combination or force his way in – Dazai’s mind is open to him, unresistant, which somehow makes it a million times worse.

Inside is a spinning top; it sits on its side. The safe is huge for such a small object, but there are no other secrets Dazai has hidden away. This fact startles Chuuya for some reason. Perhaps, at some point in time, this safe kept a hundred hidden things inside; and perhaps, if Dazai was trapped in this dream with anyone else, that would be the case. But no, they’re partners and for all of Dazai’s unpredictable behaviours, he did trust Chuuya implicitly. So inside of Dazai’s safe, kept tucked away in his childhood home, there is only one secret.

It's simple. Chuuya reaches in, picks up the top, balances it on its head, and sets it spinning.

This world is not real. This is what Dazai has forgotten. By spinning this top – Dazai’s totem, his way to distinguish dream from reality – Chuuya can help him remember that he’s dreaming. And now, they can escape together and finally wake up.

Chuuya closes the safe’s door, careful not to jar the top despite knowing that it will continue to spin forever in this place. As he leaves, he does not stop to look at Dazai’s memory of his childhood, doesn’t want to pry into his mind any more than he already has.

Chuuya thinks about the train tracks outside of their city as he closes the front door behind him.

Totems

They are seventeen years old. They have been partners for two years now but have singlehandedly become the most formidable extractor-architect duo in the business. No job is too difficult for Double Black (and isn’t that cool – they have a badass name for their partnership and everything).

They are seventeen years old. They have been partners for two years now. Dazai hides his affection behind insults and custom- designed pranks that are sure to get the Chibi beyond angry in two-seconds flat. Chuuya hides his affection behind insults and physical violence that is sure to hurt that idiot for days to come (without being seriously impactful - except maybe that one time he broke his arm, but that was well deserved). They have inside jokes that are impossible to decipher from the outside; they can have entire conversations through looks and facial expressions alone; they hate each other more than the devil hates righteous men; they love each other more than a god loves his most loyal priests.

They are seventeen years old. They have been partners for two years now. They have found a hill outside of Yokohama, with a single tree towering high above their heads (“It only seems ‘towering’ to you, tiny Chibi!”). It’s night, and they are far enough outside of the city for some stars to be shining through the clouds. This is where they come for some peace and quiet; time for themselves.

Dazai goes first. Wordlessly, he reaches into the inside pocket of his black overcoat and pulls out a grey spinning top. He grips it with all of his fingers, clutching it tight in his palm before dropping it into Chuuya’s. “In dreams, it spins and spins without ever toppling over.”

Chuuya admires the simplicity of the totem. It’s elegant and innovative and fits Dazai so perfectly he’s almost embarrassed he didn’t figure it out sooner.

Chuuya goes next. He strips off his right-hand glove, flips it over so that the opening is facing Dazai – an invitation. Dazai reaches forward, hand slipping into the glove. Annoyingly, the glove is much too small for him; he laughs at the realisation, but keeps whatever insult is on the tip of his tongue to himself for once. “In dreams, when I take these off, I can do anything.”

“Anything?”

“You never noticed?”

“Of course I noticed. I always pay attention to Chuuya. I’m just not sure that’s how I would describe it, that’s all.”

Chuuya coughs, choking on air in surprise to Dazai’s honesty (as if this entire conversation isn’t the most honest and trusting they have ever explicitly been with each other). “And how would you describe it, then?”

“Calamity personified,” he replies. His face is stoic, but his eyes seem more full of life than Chuuya has seen them in a while. For a moment – just a moment – they stare at each other, a new level of understanding passing between the two, surrounded by an orchestra of summer cicadas and rustling leaves. Then, “But you’ll never be able to build like I can, which is why I definitely wouldn’t use the word anything.”

Suddenly, his glove hits him square in the face. It takes Chuuya less than a second to recover from the shock before he’s pulling the glove back on and chasing after Dazai, yelling obscenities all the way.

Waking Up

To be old souls forced back into youth is a strange experience. Chuuya and Dazai had lived together in their shared dream for fifty years before waking up, and while their bodies never really aged in Limbo, their minds certainly had.

More than that, going from gods of their personal heaven to mere mortals again was even harder to cope with. They could no longer build and level entire neighborhoods in one day; they could no longer make something from nothing. Instead, they were forced to reckon with the physics of the real world.

At first, Chuuya had figured Dazai’s depression was similar to his own in this regard. Whenever Chuuya lost a pen or dropped a bowl, his first instinct was to simply conjure up a replacement. He would find himself staring at his gloved hand for a second too long before the realization dawned on him that, no, he is awake.

On top of his own feelings of detachment from reality, their frantic escape from Yokohama to avoid Mori’s prying eyes distracted Chuuya from noticing Dazai’s worsening behavior. They had woken up on the floor of Dazai’s shipping container ‘safehouse’ (if the damn thing could really be called a ‘house’ of any kind). It had taken them a few moments to reorient themselves; after all, it had been over fifty years since they were here, it was a little difficult to remember where they were and what they were doing.

As soon as they had remembered, they were up and moving. Before going into the dream, Mori had been the only person in the world with knowledge about Limbo. Now, Dazai and Chuuya had that same knowledge, probably even more than what Mori had. On top of that, Dazai had intentionally betrayed Mori and left his organization and Chuuya was an accomplice (unwitting at first, that’s important to know, damn lying mackerel). Therefore, Chuuya and Dazai were traitors and the only people in the world who had the same knowledge about Limbo that Mori had, so were the only people in the world who could stop him from becoming the most powerful person in the dreamsharing business.

So, they packed as quickly as they could and were leaving Yokohama two hours later.

---

Chuuya’s racing mind finally catches back up with his body about 200km later on the highway. Its night now, the sun having set a few hours ago – at least, that would be Chuuya’s best guess. He looks to Dazai sitting in the passenger seat, who seems completely entranced by a small spider crawling up the window to his side.

He lets the silence hang between them for a few more minutes, the only sound the wind rushing past outside the car and the AC blowing within. “We should figure out where we’re going,” Chuuya speaks in a low voice; he doesn’t want to startle Dazai or himself.

“Hmm,” Dazai hums in agreement, still staring at the spider who has, for the moment, stopped its journey upward.

“Do you think this is far enough away? We could stop in the next village and get a motel room for the night.”

“Yes, that sounds alright.”

“Maybe tomorrow you can call that drinking buddy of yours - didn’t he turn out to be a spy working for the government’s dreamsharing agency?” It’s here that Chuuya should have noticed that something more was going on. Usually, any mention of Sakaguchi Ango was enough to make Dazai angry, but right now his only reaction is a light huff of air escaping from between his lips. Chuuya, though, is focused on the road.

“He could help,” Dazai whispers, turning to face the front windshield, head resting against his palm.

Rain begins to patter against the car, adding to the ambiance of the AC blowing, and the wind rushing, and the heavy silence of a new reality.

---

What ends up happening is this. Dazai contacts Ango, who, in a desperate attempt to correct a fatal mistake, is more than happy to betray his government and help out an old friend (not that betrayal is a difficult thing for Ango to be pushed to do). They are given new documents, provided an address for a temporary safehouse to use, and given the contact information for a legal dreamsharing agency based out of Yokohama that they can contact later: the ADA.

Dazai is the one who insists on getting in contact with such an organization. Mori cannot be the only one who has this information about Limbo: it will make him too powerful. Sharing what they’ve learned with another organization – or, at least, working for another organization and keeping the information to themselves for bit – is necessary for keeping Mori from winning. Dazai will never forget what Mori did to Odasaku for this knowledge, and he will stop at nothing to ensure that Mori never wins.

And so, Chuuya and Dazai begin their new life.

---

It started so small at first. Chuuya would catch Dazai staring out the open window of their high-rise apartment for a little too long, or turning a knife over in his hands a little too recklessly, or spending a little too much time spinning his totem over and over again at the kitchen table.

The actions were innocuous enough, and they were so busy both hiding from Mori and working with the ADA to figure out how to take him down that Chuuya didn’t realize just how dire the situation was becoming. Throughout the months, he would take knives out of Dazai’s hands, or lead him away from the open window, or just mindlessly talk to him when he seemed to get lost in his own head. Chuuya was having a hard time adjusting to reality as well, so he assumed that was the problem his partner was facing.

He finds out what’s really wrong about three months after they first wake up.

Chuuya returns home from buying groceries, struggling to open their front door with his hands full of paper bags. “I had to go to the store at the far end of town, but I got crab just like you asked,” he says, closing the door behind him with his foot.

He slips his shoes off, then shuffles into the kitchen. By the time he’s put the grocery bags down on the counter, he realizes that the architect hasn’t responded. Strange. “Dazai? Are you here?”

Leaving the kitchen, the redhead looks around their apartment. The TV is on, but its muted; there’s a half-drunk glass of whiskey on the coffee table; Dazai’s shoes are sitting by the front door in their usual spot. He has to be here.

Chuuya walks down the hall towards their bedroom, taking a quick peak inside to find it empty. “Dazai?” Still no answer. So, he turns and walks back to the bathroom. He knocks against the door a few times, “Hey, bastard, did you hear me? I got you that crab you wanted, so I should be getting showered in thanks right about now.”

Still no answer. He waits for another beat, then, opens the door.

Inside, leaning against the bathtub, is Dazai. In his left hand is a kitchen knife, and laying by his side is his right arm, stained red with blood. There is a moment of sustained quiet as they stare at each other.

“Shit!” Chuuya’s mouth and body move before his mind is able to fully comprehend what he’s doing. On his way to Dazai, he grabs one of the hand towels by the sink. He falls to his knees, not caring for the blood that will stain his pants and socks, and reaches across Dazai’s body to take away the knife; he throws it out of the room and hears it clatter against the hardwood floor of the hallway. As he starts clearing away the blood, trying to simultaneously stem the flow of blood and assess how bad the cuts are, he hisses, “What the hell were you thinking?”

Dazai winces at the anger and volume of his voice. He closes dull eyes and rests his head against the tub, his neck stretched long and Adam’s apple jutting up towards the ceiling. For a while, it is silent between them, the only sound the rough scuffing of towel on skin. Chuuya is grateful to find that none of the cuts are too deep, but there is still an awful amount of blood on the floor.

The architect breaks the silence, though it is with a whisper so quiet Chuuya is sure it was meant to be for Dazai’s ears only: “I just want to wake up.”

“What does that mean?” Chuuya can’t keep the edge out of his voice, though he tries to match Dazai’s volume.

Dazai just keeps his eyes closed, and tilts his head away from his partner, “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing. What do you mean?” Chuuya raises his voice, keeps it stern and demanding an answer. His partner responds, lifting his head from where it rests and opening his eyes to reveal dull, almost black irises.

“I mean that I just want to wake up, slug. How much longer are we going to go on pretending that this is reality, huh?”

“Dazai, this is reality. We woke up from Limbo months ago. Don’t you remember?” He’s trying to keep his voice level, but he can feel the tension in his throat. His hands have stopped wrapping the arm in bandages as he moves to hold Dazai’s limp hand in both of his own.

“No, we’re still dreaming. And it seems like you’re the one who’s forgotten,” Dazai says. His voice has gained some strength, and his fingers twitch in Chuuya’s hold.

“I haven’t forgotten anything. Where’s your totem? That will prove we’re awake.” His statement is met by Dazai frantically shaking his head.

“No, its broken, somehow. My totem doesn’t work anymore.” He slips his hand out from Chuuya’s hold, clasping it together with his left.

“Then I’ll show you mine,” the extractor placates as he takes off his right glove, placing it in Dazai’s lap. “See? Nothing is happening. We’re awake, Dazai.” His statement is met with more furious head shaking, his partner’s eyes closed again.

“I’m telling you, slug, we’re still asleep. And we have to wake up. I don’t know how you’re not understanding, or why you’re not trusting me. We’re still asleep. We’re still asleep.”

Chuuya can tell that Dazai is getting more agitated the longer the conversation goes on, but he can’t just let it go. He tries a different approach. “If it’s my dream, then why can’t I control it?”
“Because you don’t know you’re dreaming!”

Chuuya can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Dazai genuinely raise his voice. It’s enough to bring him out of his own internal spiral, to give him clarity over the situation.

Dazai has been possessed, completely enraptured by one, simple idea. The idea that this world is not real. The idea that Chuuya put into his head. The realization brings a sinking, nauseous feeling to his stomach: I did this to him.

“Okay,” he says, absently reaching out to place his hand on top of Dazai’s head. “Okay, come on, mackerel.” For now, he needs to reassess; take everything one problem at a time. First, get Dazai off the floor. Next, he’ll figure out a way to fix this.

---

Over the next month, they have the same argument many times. Dazai still spends countless hours spinning his top at the kitchen table and staring out the window to the ground below. Chuuya tries to find solutions; ultimately, he will fail.

You’re Waiting for a Train

Dazai used to hate waking up from his dreams. Not his own dreams, of course – he rarely slept on his own, what with his insomnia and other abysmal sleeping habits – he can’t even dream naturally anymore. But dreamsharing, that was a different story. In the drug-induced sleep of the PASIV, he could build anything and go anywhere: he could escape the nightmare of realty for just a while and be in complete control of the world. It was the closest he ever came to happiness if that’s what it could be called. So, waking up was Dazai’s least favorite part.

But recently, he’s been eager to be awake. He’s known for some time now that this was all a dream. He wasn’t sure how he could have forgotten that he and Chuuya had gotten stuck in Limbo together, but he remembers now that this world is not real.

It’s been frustrating that Chuuya can’t see what he sees, but that’s not exactly unusual.

Dazai knows that everything will be alright in the end. He’s a master strategist after all, and the best architect in the business. Dazai has a plan; a way to finally wake up and ensure that Chuuya comes with him.

---

They’re meeting at a hotel. It’s the anniversary of their first meeting, simultaneously five years ago and fifty-five years ago. Dazai made the arrangements, buying a fancy room on the top floor of the most expensive hotel in the city. Chuuya is bringing a bottle of 1989 Petrus for himself and a few cases of sake for Dazai. He’s looking forward to spending the night alone with his partner without the stresses of work.

Instead, he finds a room that has been completely destroyed.

The sofas are overturned; the coffee table has been split in two; the empty vase is shattered across the tile floor. As Chuuya takes another step into the room, his foot crushes a wine glass, and the ringing sound echoes in his ears. “Dazai?”

He spots the architect out of the far window. Directly across the street is the second tower of this hotel; apparently, when Dazai booked this room, he managed to book the other top-floor suite as well. He’s sitting on the windowsill of this other room, precariously positioned at the edge, swinging his feet like he's sitting on park bench instead. “Hi Chuuya. Come join me?”

“C’mon, bastard, why don’t you go back inside. I can meet you over in that room – I’ll bring the sake I bought for you, and we can play video games or watch a movie.”

“Hmmm, no I don’t think so.” He sounds so casual, like they really are just discussing what movie they’re going to watch that night. “Why don’t you join me on the ledge.”

“No, shitty Dazai, that’s idiotic.”

“If you don’t join me on the ledge, I’ll jump right now.”

Chuuya grabs the side of the window and carefully swings one of his legs over the edge. “Alright, mackerel? Now, will you please stop this nonsense and go back inside?”

“I’m asking you to take a leap of faith.” Dazai chuckles to himself. Chuuya can’t hear anything over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears – anything other than Dazai.

“You know I can’t do that, Dazai.”

“Yes, you can. And, really, you should. I sent a message to Akutagawa-kun, letting him know where we are, and to inform Mori about our plans. I also filed a letter with an attorney, explaining how I’m fearful for my safety, how you’ve threatened to kill me,” he smiles through this explanation, and tilts his chin towards their hotel room – their completely destroyed hotel room. “I’ve freed you from the guilt of having to choose between this world and reality.”

“Why would you do that?” The panic is settling into every space of his being. “Dazai, why would you do that?”

“You can either stay here, and get arrested by the cops or be killed by Mori, or you can come with me. Let’s return home together – come back to reality with me, Chuuya.”

“Dazai, wait, we can figure this out, but we need to leave, please.”

“It feels so strange, really,” Dazai muses to himself, voice light and eyes closed in what Chuuya can only describe as relief. “Like the night before going back to your hometown.”

“Dazai, listen to me. Come back inside.” Chuuya is trying very hard to keep his voice level, but the fear is overwhelming as he watches Dazai swing his feet carelessly beneath where he is sitting.

“C’mon Chuuya, it’s time to wake up.” Dazai shifts his body so that he’s sitting more precariously on the window’s ledge.

“Don’t do this, Osamu!” If they were dreaming, Chuuya could fly over there and save him right now. But they are awake, despite everything Dazai believes – everything that Chuuya has forced him to believe.

“You’re waiting for a train,” he taps his fingers on the ledge in anticipation.

“Osamu, I can’t!”

“A train that will take you far away,” his voice is lighter than it has been in months.

“Please! Don’t do this!”

“You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can’t know for sure,” Dazai shifts his gaze from the ground to instead look straight at him, brown eyes betraying genuine happiness.

“Osamu!”

“But it doesn’t matter,” a quick breath in, “because you’ll be together.”

Dazai slips off the ledge. His arms are spread wide, as if welcoming someone’s embrace. As if a martyr on a cross happy to provide salvation to those he loves.

Chuuya screams like the world is ending.

Chapter Text

The night air is cool, a soft breeze moving off the sea. Chuuya stands leaning against the railing, staring out at the water below him, wine glass in hand. He tenses slightly as he feels a presence approach him from behind but relaxes once he sees the figure out of the corner of his eye.

Dazai is dressed in a white three-piece suit. His posture is relaxed, his brown hair moving with the wind, some of it tucked behind his left ear. In one hand, he holds a bottle of sake, while the other supports his weight as he leans over the railing. Dazai is smiling.

Chuuya stares at him, taking in the shape of his face and the color of his eyes. He waits for Dazai to speak first.

“If I jump, will I survive?” Dazai is still looking at the water below, one of his fingers tapping the sake bottle without rhythm.

Chuuya tears his eyes away from Dazai, taking another look at the ocean waves crashing against the rocks. “With a clean dive perhaps,” he says. Then, around the lump forming in his throat, “Dazai, why are you here?”

The man in question finally looks up, amber eyes locking with sapphire. The smirk on his face somehow widens as he sings, “I thought you might be missing me.”

Chuuya can’t help but lean in towards Dazai, still as mesmerized by him as when they first met all those lifetimes ago. “I am,” he says it like a prayer. “But I can’t trust you anymore.”

The reality of his waking world is impossible to comprehend. Missing Dazai is like missing a limb. And yet, when he dreams, Dazai is alive again. And even though he tended to sabotage more than help these days, Chuuya can’t help but feel immense relief every time Dazai makes an appearance in his dreams.

Chuuya swallows the lump in his throat and leans in further towards the remnant of his dead partner.

“So what?” The shade smirks, stooping down slightly to meet him.

This Dazai is not to be trusted. But his own Dazai is dead, betrayed by the thoughts in his head put there by the person he trusted most in the world. The tragedy of Dazai’s death is not lost on him, and the grief is overwhelming on the best of days, but for right now, Chuuya can pretend that everything is alright.

The spinning top in his pocket is heavy.