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Chuuya Nakahara does not dream.
Chuuya Nakahara has never been able to dream.
He prepared himself to rest, giving into the vast emptiness that was his state of sleep. Expecting to wake up in the morning just as he left everything at night.
Instead, he woke up again in the middle of the night. He was in his bedroom, as he was before, though he had difficulty feeling the comforter he had spent so much on at Dazai’s request.
Feeling dizzy, Chuuya got up from his bed and scanned the room.
Something was very wrong.
Nauseously, he moved through his bedroom. The furniture swayed with the spinning of his head. It hadn’t felt like he drank that much the night before.
Each step he took caused the floor to creak, each breath filling his lungs with freezing cold air.
He turned sharply back to his bed upon realizing the odd silence that hung over the room The bed was empty. Had Dazai left? Without waking him first??
This was definitely wrong.
Where was Dazai? Where was Chuuya, even? This certainly didn’t 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 like his bedroom.
Catching his own reflection in the doorknob was a jarring sight. He was fifteen again.
Chuuya took a moment to examine his face– his younger self’s much softer features, the way his widened eyes still had some life to them. Even then, he’d lacked humanity.
Shaking his head, Chuuya pushed open the door, unsure of what to think. Outside, where his hallway should be, was instead that park from seven years ago.
The park where he’d first witnessed Dazai’s true bloodlust.
And there he was, the boy himself, waving at Chuuya and inviting him over with that damn smile that captivated his heart to begin with.
It was as if Chuuya was watching a movie, his body on autopilot as he walked over to fifteen-year-old Dazai. With every step, the scene grew darker yet. This wasn't commented on by either him or his partner; it looked like it would rain soon, they needed to get out of there.
Chuuya approached, only to be met with the barrel of Dazai’s handgun aimed at his face.
“What do you think you’re doing, mackerel?” Chuuya’s eyes were immediately trained on the weapon, watching the way Dazai’s bandaged fingers tightened around its handle, resting on the trigger.
“Now isn’t the time for nicknames, Chuuya.” He sounded serious.
This was so unlike Dazai– what was happening?
Dazai pressed the end of the gun to Chuuya’s forehead. The cold metal was the only thing he could feel– not even the wind brought any feeling to his hair or along his back. He was frozen in place as Dazai’s empty eyes pierced his very soul. It always felt like that barren husk of a boy was staring through him, rather than at him.
“You’re no longer of use to me, Chuuya.”
“What…?”
“You mean nothing to me.”
Chuuya’s breath caught in his throat, unable to wrap his head around the bizarre situation.
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
His voice picked up in tone. He hated yelling at Dazai, yet he always did.
“We’re similar, Chuuya. Two 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, forced to act as humans. But even I am more human than you will ever be. You were right; a heart is not suited for something like you.”
Those words shattered him in a million places.
Dazai pulled the trigger.
Jolting upright, Chuuya struggled to catch his breath. Blankly, he stared down at the tussled blankets, the presence of someone next to him easily detectable.
He felt lost. Whatever he’d just experienced had voiced his deepest worries– he was utterly unable to wrap his head around it.
Lifting his hand to his chest, he grasped the fabric over where his heart would be. The beating that kept him alive echoed in his ears.
Movement from beside him caught Chuuya’s attention, his head snapping to face its source.
Dazai.
He flinched as his partner grew closer, catching both of them off guard, though it didn’t deter Dazai’s actions.
A bandaged arm slid over Chuuya’s trembling shoulders, pulling him much closer to the man he had been sharing the bed with.
“Chuuya, what’s wrong?”
Dazai rested his head against Chuuya’s shoulder, leaving a tired kiss on its warm surface. Again, Chuuya flinched, this time jerking away from Dazai’s embrace.
He looked at his own partner as if he had seen a ghost. This was the man he loved, yet he couldn’t help but feel shaken.
Was he even still alive?
Chuuya checked his pulse. He was still alive. His fingers against his wrist provided an odd sense of comfort. Sometimes it was nice to know he was tangible.
Dazai seemed to hesitate, giving Chuuya that distance he appeared to want at the moment.
“Chuuya?”
Dazai sounded worried. Dazai never sounded worried, at least, not unless there was an issue.
Chuuya’s world was still spinning– he felt trapped.
It was the same experience as when he used corruption, that inability to control his own actions forced to sit and watch his own violence. It was the worst horror movie one could imagine.
Because it was real.
He woke up to Dazai holding him close.
Blue eyes shot open as a gasp for air escaped him. Desperately, he held onto the loose shirt Dazai had pulled on.
No bandages covered the scarred blanket of safety he had been wrapped in– even Dazai wasn’t enough of a loser to wear his bandages to bed.
The brunette didn’t stir. Odd, considering Dazai was a light sleeper.
What the hell was happening??
Was he awake?
Chuuya couldn’t take it. He wanted to break down and give into the secure feeling of Dazai’s arms and never get up, even if it wasn’t real.
He gripped the fabric of that loose shirt. It was horrible, but Dazai liked it.
A tired groan came from his partner, followed by something that sounded like ‘Chuuya, go back to sleep.’ But he couldn’t be sure.
Hours pass of Chuuya lying still, too afraid to shut his eyes. Too afraid to go back to whatever his cruel mind would force him to witness next.
Morning light hit his eyes like the neons at the old arcade used to, prompting him to bury his face further into Dazai for shelter.
The buzzing of their alarm filled the air, disrupting any quiet that the room could’ve had.
Chuuya was exhausted.
Dazai soon woke as well, noticing how close his partner had gotten. He embraced the touchiness as much as he possibly could. It wasn’t often that Chuuya was so outwardly clingy.
With a kiss to Chuuya’s forehead, Dazai finally said something to get the ginger’s attention.
“Good morning. How’s coffee sound?”