Chapter Text
The first thing that came back to him was his sight. He looked down at his hand, trembling as it grasped a revolver smoking from the barrel as if it had just been shot several times. The second thing to come back to him was his sense of smell. The familiar scent of copper permeated the air, resting on his tongue, and invading his nostrils with every shallow breath he took in. Finally, his body regains autonomy, and he moves his head from the gun in his shaky grip to the body leaning on the white wall with blood around it.
And then-his memories. And the sinking realization that this wasn’t just anyone’s body. It was Dazai’s.
Bile kept up his throat as the past minutes flashed by in a haze. He saw the small, shocked look in Dazai’s widened eyes as he landed beside Fyodor. The shake in his voice as he attempted to drown them, his panicked yell as the elevator dropped, the muffled and wet sounds of pain as he dragged his body down the hallway, the desperation flooding his eyes, making Dazai seem unsure and scared as he begged him, begged Chuuya to break out of it--
“Chuuya. Come to your senses. Our fate will not end in a place like this, because you and I are destined to-- “
The shock as he pulled the trigger, eyes wide and impossibly terrified, face screwed in pain. Then, acceptance, the small, relaxed smile, and words of relief after—
“…Haha... At long last. I’ve been……looking forward to th…”
The gun fell from his grip. Clanking, sending the sound echoing off the empty walls. Chuuya’s throat bobbed as he took a slow, cautious step forward as if this were a moment frozen in time and his movements would be disrupting the fragile balance of time itself. Distantly, in his mind, he knew he bent down to a knee to be closer to Dazai, but in his daze, it seemed as if one second, he was watching the scene through a screen and then next thrust into the horrible reality of what he had done.
He watched, eyes roaming from wound to wound. Wounds that he caused. To his chest, unmoving, stagnant, still. To his eyes, unfocused, empty, staring uselessly at the floor. Despite it all, despite the crushing truth of what he had done, despite the awful fact that Dazai was dea--
Despite it all, Chuuya had never seen his partner look so at peace. It was as if the weight of the world had finally left his too-skinny shoulders, and they sagged in relief from carrying such a heavy weight for too long. It reminded him distinctly of the story of Atlas, yet Atlas never achieved freedom from his punishment from the Heavens. His eyes, when everyone’s eyes dulled and died out, Dazai’s seemed to come alive, shining a magnificent brown with flecks of gold catching the florescent lights from above.
Despite the irrefutable fact that he was gone, Dazai seemed more alive than he had ever been before.
It was beautiful, and Chuuya wanted to memorize every detail of Dazai’s face to memory, so that when he thought of Dazai, he didn’t think of the horrible thing he did to him, but rather, the beauty and peace that seemed to radiate off him.
But Dazai was always the one with the better memory.
Instead, he stared, transfixed by the peaceful gaze of his partner. He stared at him to make up for all the times he didn’t. He stared, eyes not daring to venture to his forehead, thankfully, by any graceful gods out there, Dazai’s hair, longer than Chuuya had ever seen before, covered the last fatal wound that sealed his fate—
But-But Dazai spoke. How? A shot, point blank in the forehead…It was a death sentence. No one, not even Dazai’s protegee who could regrow limbs, would survive such a brutal execution, let alone speak after the bullet had connected.
He glanced at Dazai, his chest was still, his gaze unfocused and far away. Chuuya worried his lip between his teeth and hesitantly reached up to Dazai’s head, moving the overgrown locks of hair as gingerly as possible away from his face. And there, where unmistakably, Chuuya had held a gun against his partner’s head, and pulled the trigger against it, was nothing but a slight burn as if a hot barrel had been held against the skin for a minute or so. Painful, but not deadly. Not a death sentence.
He clenched his eyes shut, euphoria and disbelief running through his body simultaneously which made Chuuya want to both strangle and kiss Dazai until he remembered there was still the issue of Dazai not breathing, not technically ali—
Chuuya burst through the door, for the tainted sorrow burning through his limbs as a wave of euphoric power gave him a headrush as he smashed through the worthless dealers in the warehouse. It was too easy, it always was. Chuuya would stand guard outside and wait an hour and by then, all the valuable information, alliances, merchandise, anything at all was in Dazai’s hand. The manipulative bastard he was, letting himself get ‘kidnapped’ and playing the innocent kid act when everyone knew that Dazai—the ‘Demon Prodigy’ and youngest mafia executive was the last thing from innocent just by reading off his rap sheet.
Chuuya was finishing up crushing the last goon to the floor, as he finally turned his head to Dazai, unironically sitting, bound in a wooden chair, a singular yellow light flickering above him as if these goons had learned torture from bad Western Hollywood movies, which, to be fair, was probably the truth.
“Hey, Mackerel,” Chuuya called, stepping over someone, “Are you coming or what?”
Other than the sounds of waves crashing against the port outside of the warehouse, it was silent. Chuuya continued closer, a hand scrubbing at his scalp and tone curt, “Come on shitty Dazai, I don’t wanna be here all night.”
Oddly enough, Dazai did not have a snide antagonistic retort, nor did he move from his slumped-over position in the chair. Chuuya, now beside Dazai bent down so he was looking up at Dazai’s lowered face. His face was slack, eyes closed, and most frightening of all, not breathing.
“Dazai?” Chuuya swallowed hard, his eyes roaming his partner’s too-thin frame for any life-threatening wounds he hadn’t seen before. He hadn’t heard any gunshots, but that didn’t mean they had a knife, but if that was the case, Dazai would have broken free and used his own pistol and signaled Chuuya to come in. And even that took a lot of effort, or so Chuuya would assume because they had done this tactic several times, and Dazai has left with varying serious injuries that he acted as if they were nothing more than a paper cut.
“Oh fuck,” Chuuya cursed, pacing around the room debating who to call first, or if he should grab Dazai and get out of there, but then Dazai’s ability would nullify his, but if Dazai was dead, no, he wasn’t dead, but if he was-
“Nee, did the Chibi really think his owner kicked the bucket?”
Chuuya turned, mouth agape as tremors racked his body, whether he was tremoring in fear or anger, he didn’t know.
“You bastard! You scared me!”
Dazai, the shit he was, rolled his eyes before breaking out of his bonds, an air of indifference surrounding him, “So the dog really was afraid his owner died, be still Chibi, I simply lowered my heart rate to only make it seem as if I were dead. It was a great opportunity to practice the skill, who knows, maybe one day-“
Chuuya cut him off with his fist, glowing red from his ability, smashed into Dazai’s nose and a light blue lit the room, cutting off his power, but not his fist. Blood poured from Dazai’s nose, but he acted as if it were nothing more troublesome than a fly buzzing around his head. He smiled, a sly and sick imitation of a smile he often saw on their boss’s face, as his tongue darted out to lap at the blood pouring from his nose.
Chuuya turned and stormed away, not bothering to wait for Dazai and as the cool breeze from the ocean hit him in the face, his will collapsed. Salty tears pooled in his eyes threatening to spill. Whether or not the tears were from fear of Dazai being dead, from anger at Dazai doing such a horrible thing, or from happiness.
Happiness that the bastard didn’t die.
That had to be it. It was all a part of Dazai’s plan. A stupid, reckless, dangerous, and above all completely and totally idiotic plan. In a few minutes, or less, Dazai would take in a breath, and his eyes would regain that calculating, piercing hold they had always held, and he would laugh at how stupid Chuuya was and insult his height and Chuuya would punch him, but then hug him and they would leave this place and go somewhere with doctors and nurses, and they would fix him and everything would be okay.
Okay other than the twin mangled legs sticking in odd, inhuman angles, the matching bullet wounds in the meat of his shoulders, and the one right under his ribs.
But Dazai would be okay. They would both be okay and laugh about this whole thing. And Chuuya would ask what Dazai was going to say before he ‘shot’ him execution style and ask how the hell he managed to evade a headshot when Chuuya knew he pulled the trigger, and then Chuuya would hug him and tell him that he was so sorry, and Dazai would tell him that he cries too much.
But they would be okay. It was all Chuuya wanted. Everything else could be worked out.
Chuuya stood, wiping a heavy hand across his face, and turned to look up to the security camera where Dostoevsky was watching. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the confusion that must have been pooling in his eyes. Maybe he had given it away, but it wouldn’t matter. Soon, Dostoevsky wouldn’t exist, not if Chuuya had a say in the matter.
“What…” Dostoevsky’s voice called from the speaker breathless, “How?”
“All you said was don’t let him touch you,” Chuuya grinned, the final piece, how Chuuya was actually Chuuya right now instead of a vampire, finally clicked in place, “What you didn’t know, was that he didn’t have to touch me directly.”
That stupid intelligent bastard.
It was something neither one of them knew, the limit that Dazai could use his ability. He had thought, as did Dostoevsky, that Dazai’s ability was limited by him touching someone directly. Somehow though, whether it was on purpose or something Dazai decided to keep under wraps, the mackerel figured out that he could extend his abilities through objects as a tether.
Then it clicked, the gun he had pressed against Dazai’s forehead. Touching both him and Chuuya at the same time. A tether. Something he could use to extend his ability through and nullify the vampirism that had taken hold of Chuuya.
“If I were you,” Chuuya warned, allowing his ability to flow through his body, a red haze threatening death surrounding his being, “I would start running.”
As Chuuya imagined Fydor scrambling backward about to flee from the room, there were sudden gunshots. Seventeen exactly, Chuuya took the information in, noted that someone had emptied a magazine, filed it away for later, and floated up closer to the security camera. He tilted his head in confusion, he had heard the bullets, but no one was speaking. Who fired the gun? Who else was here? Was it a trick? Was Dostoevsky trying to escape right now?
“Chuuya,” A familiar voice called out, “Dazai nullified the vampirism, correct?”
He stared arms crossed at the camera; he knew that voice. Slightly whiny, pompous, and annoying…
“Ango.” Chuuya replied, “Yea, yes. Dazai—Fuck, Dazai we need-“
“I know. Get him and meet me outside. Hurry.”
“Wait!” Chuuya said, “What about Dostoevsky?”
It was quiet for a moment, and Chuuya thought that Ango had already left, but then Ango’s voice cracked over the line, with a tone that spoke finality, “Taken care of.”
He stayed a moment longer, which he knew he shouldn’t have done, but hoping that Ango would say something more. About Dostoevsky. About Dazai. About this place. How did Ango know? Was this part of Dazai’s plan? Something he trusted the person who betrayed him but not his partner. In a way, Chuuya understood, despite his faith in Dazai’s plans, he remembered the shock at seeing him by Dostoevsky under the vampirism effects. That was not a part of his plan.
Ignoring it, he landed a few meters away from Dazai, filing the thought for another time, preferably one with Dazai present so he could finally get some answers. Before he was beside Dazai, he saw the rise and fall of his chest, a bit irregular, but he did have broken legs and several bullet wounds (Chuuya swallowed down the bile remembering he was the one to blame for the wounds). Despite it, he let a breath of relief wash through him, a thousand pounds of fear, guilt, and sorrow sloughing off his shoulders.
He knelt beside Dazai and shook his head, eyes staring up at the ceiling, and held his hand in his own ignoring the trembling that shook through his body. Chuuya turned to Dazai, his head still down, and felt a laugh bubble up his throat, his voice, although he’d deny it came out wobbly and wet.
“You stupid Mackerel.”
He waited for a response, holding onto Dazai’s hand, using that as his tether to him, but he didn’t respond. Using his other hand, he tilted his head up cautiously.
If before, Dazai had looked peaceful, now he only looked to be in pain. His eyes clenched shut, crinkling at the outer corners. His mouth was slightly ajar, fast, shallow breaths puffing warm air against Chuuya’s face. A sheen of sweat gathered along his brow, forming small round balls that ran down his face.
“Dazai?” he held his head upright, throat dry as he spoke, “Dazai, wake up.”
But he did not. His eyes remained clenched, shallow breaths, and more sweat. Dazai’s hand suddenly went limp in his grip. Chuuya bit his lip and bunched some of his hair in his grip. He held his forehead against Dazai’s and took a deep yet shaky breath. After a moment, Chuuya let go, easing Dazai back against the wall and trying to gently, move his legs.
Dazai’s eyes snapped open, he bit his lip and blood welled up, staining his teeth and chin as a guttural cry escaped his mouth. Chuuya stopped immediately, bending down to cradle Dazai’s head in his hands.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh god, Dazai. I’m sorry.”
Once his breathing returned to steady shallow breaths rather than the harsh rattling sounds he had heard before, Chuuya returned to his task. Avoiding his legs altogether, until he was ready to lift, then he took and cradled Dazai’s arms around his neck before reaching his arms backward to hold onto his thighs, hoping, praying, that it wouldn’t make him cry out again. Chuuya’s already waning composure couldn’t handle hearing him cry out again like that.
Steeling his nerves, Chuuya began to lift, his brow furrowed as he turned to Dazai’s head lying limp on his shoulder and then pushed harder to where he was standing, his own breath coming out in harder puffs. He stared at the fluff of brown hair on his shoulder, he could feel the warm shallow breaths through his jacket, but most of all, what shocked Chuuya even more than the increase in weight was the absence of ribs poking his back.
“You-You’re heavy.”
Chuuya stared, eyes widened and momentarily distracted. When he first met Dazai when they were fifteen, he could tell that he never ate enough, that it was almost, and had been a detriment to him. Even through the layers of bandages, he wore, the dress shirt, and the thick black overcoat that hung off his shoulders, Chuuya could feel his ribs poking him in the back. When Dazai defected and the next time Chuuya saw him in the ADA he was still too skinny. And maybe he wasn’t carrying Dazai on his back then, but he could tell during their fight with the Guild when Dazai moved a certain way the sharp protrusion in his midsection.
Now, it seemed a layer of healthy fat had developed protecting his ribs from trying to force their way on the outside of his body. And his skin, the fingers that grazed Chuuya’s neck, the cheek pressed against his shoulder, was warm. Which also threw him for a loop. The entire time he had known Dazai, his skin was ice cold. Reminiscent of a corpse, but now, it was warm.
Chuuya shook his head, “Let’s get you out of here.”
He tried to walk as fast as he could with Dazai on his back, but Chuuya dared to only go so fast in fear of Dazai slipping. So, he kept an even pace as he navigated the long and winding hallways with Dazai hanging limply on his back and shoulders.
“…..”
Chuuya slowed his walk to turn his head to his shoulder, he hadn’t heard what Dazai said, and if he was coming to his senses, then Chuuya had a few things he wanted to say. As he watched Dazai weakly lift his head, it tilted up, then down. As he won the small battle, Dazai’s head lolled to the side facing Chuuya. He swallowed down his words upon seeing the unfocused and pain-filled brown eyes staring through him. Seeing that in Dazai’s gaze was unnerving, when he looked into his eyes, he expected cold, calculating, planning, cunning, anything other than this. He swallowed hard and turned forward, determined to get out as fast as he could.
“We’re almost out of here Dazai. Just…Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
Dazai lazily turned to him, a smile, a true and gentle and heartbreaking smile on his face, he drew a shaky breath in, “H-hey there O-Odasaku.”
Chuuya’s brow furrowed, “What? No, Dazai it’s me, its Chuuya.”
Dazai sighed a shaky thing that rattled in his chest against Chuuya’s back, and laid his head back down on his shoulder, “It’s… been a while.”
Chuuya fully stopped, turning his head, and giving his complete attention to Dazai. The rattle from his chest before was more prominent now that he was paying his full attention to Dazai instead of navigating their way out. The sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead now spread all over his face, gathering on the bridge of his nose dripping on his shoulder, under his eyes, and rolling down in rivets into his collar. And his eyes if he had thought his eyes looked alive before then what was this? They were almost glowing in a rare childlike wonder that Chuuya wondered if Dazai had ever experienced before. They rolled around, switching from ceiling to floor to the walls and to Chuuya, but despite that beautiful glow, they were unfocused, staring through everything around them. And the smile. It wasn’t one of his cunning deceitful smirks that reminded him of Mori. It wasn’t one of those smiles he gave out to his coworkers. No, this was something genuine, full of life, exuberant.
It was the happiest Chuuya had ever seen Dazai.
He nudged Dazai with his head, trying to direct his attention toward him, and plastered on a smile that burned his lips, “Come on, Dazai. It’s Chuuya. Oda isn’t here.”
Dazai’s eyes roamed his face, finally settling on a point beyond his ear, the same smile still stretched beautifully across his face, seemingly making Dazai look about ten years younger, “I did…I did what you said…save the orphans…I hope…I hope I did good.”
Then, something Chuuya had never witnessed before or ever imagined could happen, tears, actual real tears gathered in his eyes. Pooling and the bottom, his brown eyes becoming glassy, as the tears steadily streamed from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks, half disappearing in the oversized collar of the prison uniform, and the other half falling on Chuuya’s leather jacket.
Chest rattling on his back as Dazai sucked breath after breath in, desperately trying to fill his lungs.
“Odasaku,” he whimpered, his voice coming out in a rasping whisper, “…It hurts…I…I never wanted…. didn’t want it to hurt…”
Chuuya felt his heart pumping between his ears, his eyes unable to stop staring at Dazai, but he knew, he could see that this was a losing battle. Dazai’s head lolled, his eyes aimlessly roaming the room, staring into nothing, the way his hands around his neck began to fall outwards, off his shoulders.
He titled his shoulders in quickly, pulling Dazai’s arms in, adjusted his grip on his thighs, and hefted him up higher on his waist. Dazai’s head rolled towards his neck, a whimper of pain and shallow breaths making the hair on his neck stand up.
“Fuck,” Chuuya pursed his lips, willing his legs to move faster, “Hold on, okay? Dazai. Hold on, I’m going to get us out of here, and then we’re going to get you some help, okay? Good fucking doctors and nurses that will fix you right on up, okay?”
He risked a glance to his shoulder, Dazai’s eyes fluttering between open and closed, mouth hanging open, and shallow wet sounds escaping him.
“Don’t you dare give up on me now, you stubborn piece of shit.”
Chuuya grasped Dazai’s thighs tighter, his knuckles turning white, in the back of his mind, behind the layers of panic, fear, and urgency racing through his body, he noted that Dazai had even gained weight there too. A fleeting thought, one that made him want to retch ran through his mind.
Despite everything, this may have been a good thing. Fed three square meals a day, a shower, and regular sleep schedules.
A sigh of relief washed through him, as the doors approached them. Chuuya pushed it open with his foot and ran through, a few yards away a helicopter on a helipad, the blades already turning, he could make out Ango’s form pacing back and forth and someone else guarding the hatch.
“Open the door!” Chuuya yelled, shifting his shoulders inwards again to keep Dazai’s arms secure.
Ango stopped his pacing to watch the pair rapidly approach, he turned to the guard and with a nod of his head opened the door, Ango helped Chuuya up the steps supporting Dazai’s weight on his back, so he didn’t fall off.
As soon as they are in, Ango is moving around searching through boxes and throwing gauze behind him in Chuuya’s general direction. He turns and sits Dazai down on the bench, guiding him down to lie on his back. He could feel his nerves fraying, panic starting to seep in his bones, and he pressed gauze onto the bullet wounds on his shoulders, but there was still the third under his ribs and his legs…
Chuuya turned to Ango, who was still, frustratingly, sifting through boxes, throwing objects behind his shoulder. When another pack of gauze grazes his ear, he growls.
“What are you doing? Fucking help me!”
Ango stilled, his head slightly turning to the side, voice steely, trying to be calm, but fraying at the edges much like Chuuya’s nerves, “I am. He was poisoned too.”
“What?” Chuuya takes a shaky inhale through his nose and out through his mouth, but his hands still shake and blood soaks through the gauze and onto his hands, “How long ago?”
Ango didn’t bother turning around, and this time, Chuuya didn’t mind it when a random object hit or almost hit him, as he continued his search for something, “I-I don’t know. A half-hour? An hour ago? I was in a bit of a rush to get here.”
“Fuck.” The curse came out breathy, but Chuuya persisted and pressed harder on the wounds, making sure to keep his body weight off the lower half of Dazai’s body.
Dazai’s eyes rolled across the top of the helicopter, the brown of his eyes barely visible as his pupils were blown, he gasped, “Odasaku?”
Chuuya grimaced and Ango stilled, turning his whole body towards Dazai, taking a step closer and biting his cheek. His voice, which was trying to hold onto some stability, crumpled, “What did he just-“
“I… missed you…Odasaku.” Dazai struggled, his chest rising and falling erratically as his head lolled to the side staring at an empty seat, “It’s okay… Mhm, I did.”
Ango turned towards the pilot and yelled, desperation creeping in his voice making Chuuya’s heartrate skyrocket, “Hurry up!”
Chuuya’s gaze rapidly cycled through to Dazai, then Ango, and then the empty seat Dazai was staring through, the same happy smile etching its way onto his face.
“Noooo… I didn’t…didn’t tell him.” He went on, his voice slurring, “You… would looove him. Like cat. Yes…still too spicy.”
“He’s not making any sense,” Ango said, worrying his lip between his teeth.
Chuuya swallowed hard and grabbed his face turning it away from the empty seat towards his own, he wanted his voice to sound commanding, so Dazai might be able to realize the severity of the situation, yet it came out small and afraid, “Dazai…”
It seemed to do the trick though, and Dazai’s eyes finally met his. Dazai exhales, “Chuuya?”
Chuuya nods his head, encouraging him, elated that finally, finally, Dazai was seeing him, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. It’s Chuuya. Don’t worry, okay? We’re gonna get you patched up, okay?”
His eyebrow furrowed, causing the sweat there to pool together in the crease, “Why…Why is Chuuya here… with us?”
“Us?”
Dazai’s eyes roll over to the empty seat, “Me and…Odasaku,” Dazai’s eyes flutter, “Chuuya’s not supposed to be here…”
Chuuya grabs his face, rubbing a thumb across his cheeks as Dazai’s eyes begin closing, “No! Keep your eyes open Dazai. Keep them open. That’s an order.”
Dazai grimaced, clenching his eyes closed, “Hurts.”
That simple, small word whispered from Dazai made Chuuya’s chest tighten, his fingers, soaked with his blood tightening more whilst shaking. He looked up at the helicopter’s plain black ceiling, willing the tears burning in his eyes to stay, not to fall yet. If he started crying now, then he didn’t know if he could stop, and right now he had to be strong, he had to push the feelings away and be strong for himself, and for Dazai.
“I know,” He ran a thumb gently across Dazai’s cheek, biting his lip to convince the cry that wanted to escape his throat to stay inside, “I know, but I need you to stay awake, okay?”
Dazai’s eyes slowly opened, his overblown black pupils seemingly searching for something in Chuuya’s face. Black pupils connected with Chuuya’s own blue eyes, and crinkled at the corners, much like how when someone smiles genuinely, their eyes crinkle along with the smile, but no smile was on Dazai’s lips. His mouth was ajar, shallow, even shallower, raspy breaths inhaled and exhaled. Chuuya pursed his lips, pushing on one wound hard and the other continuing to rub a bloody thumb across his cheek.
The sounds around the two filtered away into background noise. The roar of the helicopter was lost somewhere in the void that surrounded them. Ango’s urgent clambering between boxes, cursing when he could not find whatever it was that he was looking for. Chuuya’s attention lay solely on Dazai’s face, willing through his own eyes to Dazai’s to keep them open, to stay awake.
Dazai’s mouth opened a centimeter larger, and a hot silent word deflated his chest. Chuuya swallowed and leaned his ear over his mouth to hear what he said, but he was met with nothing. No breathing, no words, nothing. He lifted back up, staring where he had been, where Dazai’s eyes had been open, the black hole that they were, but they were closed. Not clenched shut in pain, but closed as if he were planning to take a nap.
He hears a gasp to his left and reluctantly drags his head away from Dazai to see Ango, face pale, hands shaking, mouth and eyes held open, a hand reaches for his chest as he whispers, “Dazai…”
“What?” Almost like someone had punched him in the gut, robbing his lungs of air, his words came out breathless-terrified, “What is it?”
He watches the hand over Ango’s chest tighten around the rumpled dress shirt, knuckles turning white, he looks like he is about to pass out, which Chuuya relates to, his head feeling paper light, and his body wanting to collapse, his vision blackening around the edges, but not fully committing to taking over his entire sight, just a creeping blackness at the edges of his vision.
“His heart…” Ango says slowly, “It…It stopped.”
It’s like a slap to the face. Or being dunked in a tank of freezing water.
The air completely evaporates in his lungs, leaving him heaving breath after breath, begging for air, his lungs burning in need of oxygen.
Whatever was holding him together, which was the fact that even if his eyes were closed, Dazai was still alive, broke. Like a floodgate being ripped to shreds from thousands and thousands of pounds of water rushing forward, Chuuya’s damn broke the tears that were held at bay steaming down his face.
He took both hands, ignoring the sticky wet blood in between his fingers that painted his face as he grabbed it, and shook him. Dazai’s eyes did not open. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled. Dazai’s eyes did not open.
“Osamu!” he yelled, slamming a hand down on his chest, willing him to wake up, take a breath, and make some horrible joke about how this was a part of his plan.
He grabbed him by the shoulders next, lifting his body so he was sitting up halfway, and shook. Dazai’s head lolled from side to side, lifeless.
“Wake up Osamu!” he pursed his lips, bringing his body to his, wrapping his arms around Dazai’s limp body, begging, “Please!”
He held his ear to Dazai’s chest, waiting, listening between his own erratic breathing and shoulder-shaking cries, but there was nothing.
No breathing. No heartbeat. Nothing.
Chuuya screamed.