Work Text:
Through a hole in the wall I admire you,
A hole in my heart, a hole in the wall
You always peered back in, a relentless gaze piercing my very soul
For who cared to listen
To the ramblings of a mad-man
Save someone with the same sense of self,
Or lack thereof.
These days, Dazai is very rarely present. He was, in all honesty, very aware of his lack of humanity; lack of presence in the looming building that resided along the port of Yokohama. He simply chose to ignore it, ignorant bliss was how he had decided to live his days; you see, if he didn’t think about it, it was almost like it wasn’t happening. Perhaps his coping skills were a hamartia of sorts, who was bothering to keep track of these things anymore?
There was, of course, one thing— person, rather, that he was acutely aware of: Chuuya Nakahara. They had done mission,
after mission,
after mission,
after mission.
And Chuuya was now sitting behind Dazai, just close enough that he could feel his breath on his collarbone, smell his cologne; it truly was an intoxicating scent, one that seemed to ground him in a way nothing else had managed to achieve.
That was another thing, Dazai had taken up the habit of reading. He had churned through novel after novel in the past week, anything to take himself out of the real world, really. He was always capable of tuning out whatever mundane task was being done in the background, and though he sometimes found difficulty tuning out all the noise (oh how often the noise vexed him, driving him to the very brink of insanity!) there was little that distracted him from the words spilled onto the pages in front of him, the pages and stories where true love heals and solves all, even the crimes of a certain Raskolnikov, a story he truly couldn’t wrap his head around.
In which true love suddenly glorified infidelity, in which it cured all suicidal ideals, where one moment changed the outcome of everything—
It really was quite stupid. But Dazai preferred it this way, he didn’t care to think about the people he had been ignoring; the ones who undoubtedly presumed him dead or hated him by now. He didn’t care to focus on the all too familiar feeling of acid rising in his stomach, begging for something to busy itself with, or the grip of Chuuya’s knife in his grasp, he focused on the words in front of him.
He had to, lest he think too much about when exactly he had become detached from this world, or when he would, against his will, have to return.
Anyways, the point is Dazai rarely ever gets distracted from his reading, unless he was going down a never-ending hole of thinking, his insecurities surfacing in the dullness of the afternoon.
That was where Chuuya excelled,
Through a hole in the walls of Dazai’s never-ending thought cycle.
With his arms wrapping around the waist of a man much taller,
His thoughts silencing into a dull ache in the night,
That was where Chuuya excelled,
Peeking in through a hole in the wall of his cell membrane,
The curtains that part just enough to see his heart—- no, to see through his heart.
No matter how many times he’s pushed away, a flare of sunset hair always peers back through
For who else would listen to the ramblings of a mad-man
But someone who understands entirely what it must feels like to have such humanity,
Or lack thereof.