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Dazai had been on autopilot for weeks; he had been surviving on minimal sleep, minimal food, he couldn’t even begin to tell you the last time he showered or brushed his teeth. He probably couldn’t even tell you if or what he ate yesterday, let alone what he was up to.
He also couldn’t tell you why he was currently sat in one of the torture chambers of the Port Mafia, his back curling in a probably unnatural and very uncomfortable way against the walls, a metallic scent had been intoxicating his senses for… however long he’d been in this shitty room. It began to fade into the backround like most else, and Dazai couldn’t help but feel that even the voice in his head had begun to disappear into a dull whisper.
Currently, he was thinking about a lot of things, probably the reason his own thoughts were overwhelming him.
He wished he could become more than his body, maybe then he could find a purpose to live. Not that he really wanted that, of course, but it was a nice thought to have. From the moment you’re born your body begins to rot, leaving you to wilt away into nothing long before you’ve fulfilled your purpose.
From the moment all living things are created they are promised one thing and one thing only: death.
Not safety, not happiness, not even life.
They are promised death.
For the first time ever, mind you it was the briefest of moments; it happened quicker than a heart could beat, Dazai thought he might want to live.
He quickly dismissed the thought, there was nothing to live for, such a boring existence belonged to the stray dogs, and Dazai was no such thing. He then remembered that wanting to live was a foolish thought, that he was in the mafia and life was barley a promised thing, and then he remembered that with all hope comes despair, just like with all the humanity comes all the monstrosity.
He briefly heard the sound of footsteps, and his heart twisted. He decided it must be Mori for him to have such a disgusted feeling boil up inside of him, and he sighed as he prepared to leave his safe haven.
“Dazai, Mori sent me to come find you. Why the fuck are you down here of all places?” Oh. It wasn’t Mori, it was Chuuya.
He decided to play off the way his heart twisted as annoyance and not infatuation. “Is there a better place to contemplate ones existence?” Dazai’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, he clearly hadn’t used it in a while.
Chuuya said something in response, but Dazai wasn’t really listening.
Was it fair for somebody to be so pretty? His eyes were unbelievably blue, and his lips were so soft it was almost tragic how badly Dazai wanted to kiss him.
Alas, he admits it. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Chuuya, but could one really blame him? He was practically a ball of hormones and testosterone, just barley sixteen. It was only natural for him to have these feelings…
And then he remembered that the boy he was pining over was now climbing into the space with him, his legs just next to where Dazai’s head was.
Dazai smirked at the thought he had. “You fit perfectly.” he said, earning a nudge from Chuuya. Unlike his usual hits after snide remarks, it was gentle; comforting in a way. It was a very Chuuya way of caring, and it made Dazai’s heart soar in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for. He now understood why they called it butterflies.
“It reeks in here.” Chuuya says, scunching his face up so that it contorted into one of disgust. Dazai once again registered what was said, but he had no will to respond to the comment. He was right, the scent of metallic and various other smells he tried not to think too hard about was migraine-inducing at best, but it didn’t matter much to him, he probably didn’t smell much better himself. Dazai was suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that Chuuya’s thigh was comfortably resting on Dazai’s shoulder, and he felt very much like a blushing virgin when he realized he’d probably been staring at Chuuya for a very long time, if his rose-tinted cheeks were anything to go off of.
Dazai suddenly felt like praising the ground for all its efforts, the sudden thought in no way resembling a futile attempt to disregard the hormonal instincts he fought so hard against anytime he was near Chuuya.
The ground, for all its poetic injustice, surely serves the greatest purpose of all. One that, like many inanimate objects, fulfills a much better roll than that of a human. Dazai thinks if he were anything other than human he’d wish to be a gun, something that was used for one purpose and one purpose alone before another came along to fill its place. Right, back to the floor. The floor is stepped on a million different times a day, its purpose to protect the ground beneath it, for a floor is not the ground but a protective surface over it, as skin is to bone. It must be exhaustive, always having to keep something else from being tainted. It began to remind him of Chuuya, and he decided that his circular thinking caused him great fatigue, he could never get through a thinking session without Chuuya coming into the picture somehow.
The two didn’t exchange many words, let alone glances. They sat there in silence as the day surely turned to night, as their thoughts surely grew darker or… more hormonal, for lack of a better word. Yet they would spend many days like this, in tight, more than enclosed spaces, letting their thoughts consume them with nothing but each others presence to calm them when need be.
Perhaps, that was all they ever needed.