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The noise is getting loud.
Louder, and louder.
A voice, shrill and merciless, screaming, taunting, laughing.
Pathetic. Inhuman. Worthless.
Chuuya clutches fistfuls of his hair, sliding down the cold bathroom tiles. His breath comes in jagged gasps.
It’s your fault they died.
Your fault.
Do you think you deserve to live after all that?
"I..." His voice is barely above a whisper, trembling and broken.
You should've died instead. Why kill all five?
Why kill your friends?
His body curls in on itself, knees pressing into his chest as his fingernails dig into his scalp. "Shut up.....Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!"
Verlaine should’ve killed you. You should’ve gone with him—suffered alongside him. It’s not like your misery would’ve ended.
A cruel laugh echoes in his mind.
Look at you. Miserable. Weak. I love feeding on your pain.
"..Stop..."
You should die.
They didn’t deserve you. You were the cause of it all.
The Sheep’s pain? Yours.
Your stupid loyalty? Theirs to bleed for.
Drop it. Die. Let me have your body, Chuuya.
Chuuya’s hands slide down his face, trembling fingers dragging across flushed skin. His eyes are glossy, and his vision is blurry.
He fumbles blindly, his hands roaming through his kneecap pockets, searching.
If I can just find it—
I can end it.
I can die.
I can repay for my sins.
Finally, his fingers curl around something familiar. He pulls it out, and stares at it through tear-filled eyes.
"...Hah..." He exhales shakily, the sound bitter and empty. The gun feels cold and heavy in his hand, so different from the usual thrill it brought during missions.
He presses the barrel to his temple, his thumb brushing the trigger.
This is for you too, shitty Dazai.
A humourless, broken smile tugs at his lips.
I’ve been a real pain in the ass.
"Sorry," he whispers.
Sorry, you had to waste your time on me.
Sorry, you had to drag me out of hell every time.
Sorry, you had to always follow me into the battlefield, in case I used corruption.
Sorry, you had to–
"Chuuya?"
The voice pierces through the haze like a knife, sharp and jarring. Chuuya flinches, his grip instinctively tightening around the gun as his unfocused eyes snap toward the doorway.
There he is.
The familiar mop of unruly brown hair that Chuuya adores running his fingers through—gentle, soothing motions as he hummed some half-remembered tune to the sleeping brunet. The memory hits like a punch to the gut, and his throat tightens as a faint, bittersweet smile tugs at his lips.
Dazai stands there, wide-eyed, frozen in pure, raw shock.
Why... do you look like that?
I thought... you hated me.
Hah..it wouldn’t matter anymore okay?
Chuuya averts his eyes, staring at the cracked tiles beneath him. His finger trembles against the trigger, almost clicking it—
"CHUUYA!" Dazai yells, desperation breaking through the air as he sprints forward.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
But even with his long legs, he’s not fast enough—not with the limp in his step, an injury he refuses to acknowledge.
Because right now, Chuuya matters.
And if he doesn’t get there on time–
The world blurs and the gun is knocked out of Chuuya’s hands, clattering to the floor. The sound rings, sharp and loud in his ears, making Chuuya flinch violently. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps and he stares at Dazai, chest heaving and his vision spinning.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!"
It’s not Arahabaki's voice this time.
It’s Dazai's.
Chuuya doesn’t respond. He can’t. His body feels hollow, and his mind is drowning under the weight of the voice still whispering in the back of his head.
Weak. Coward. You’re nothing without me.
“Answer me, dammit!” Dazai yells, gripping Chuuya’s shoulders so tightly it hurts. His breath is uneven, his face pale, eyes wide with a mix of fear and fury.
“I wasn’t thinking,” Chuuya mutters, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
“Not thinking?!” Dazai’s voice cracks, and his hands tremble against Chuuya’s shoulders. “You had a fucking gun to your head, Chuuya! You—” He cuts himself off, his words choking in his throat.
Chuuya doesn’t meet his gaze. His eyes stay fixed on the floor, his hands limp at his sides. “What does it matter to you?” he whispers, bitterness lacing his words.
Dazai flinches.
“What does it matter if I’m gone?” Chuuya’s voice rises, trembling with anger and anguish. “You hate me, don’t you? You’ve always hated me! So why the fuck are you here, Dazai?! Why do you care?!”
The words sting like a slap, but Dazai doesn’t let go. His knuckles whiten as his grip tightens and something inside him twists. “I don’t…I don’t hate you.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Chuuya snarls, finally snapping. He shoves Dazai back, but the brunet doesn’t budge. “Every fucking thing you do—everything you say—it’s always to piss me off! To remind me I’m just some stupid, reckless idiot who can’t do anything without screwing it up!”
“That’s not true,” Dazai says, his voice softer now, a desperate edge to it.
“Then what is it?!” Chuuya’s voice breaks. “Why do you even bother? Why are you here?!”
Dazai stares at him, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and fear.
“Because I can’t lose you,” Dazai finally whispers softly.
Chuuya freezes.
The oppressive weight in his chest suddenly lightens. Arahabaki’s voice, once deafening, begins to fade, replaced by silence. Sweet, blessed silence.
Chuuya’s breath hitches, his trembling hands falling limp at his sides. He looks up, dazed, to see Dazai standing inches away, his hand resting lightly on Chuuya’s shoulder.
His body sags forward, and Dazai catches him, wrapping his arms around Chuuya as the smaller man buries his face in Dazai’s chest. Chuuya doesn’t sob or cry, but the tremors in his body speak volumes.
Dazai moves his hands to Chuuya’s hair, his fingers threading through the ginger strands in the same soothing motion that Chuuya always used to calm him down. He drops his voice even lower, barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose Chuuya."
Chuuya’s voice cracks, his words tumbling out in a frantic, guilt-ridden mess, each one sharper than the last. “My friends... my friends fucking died , Dazai. My brother... my brother was after me. He took them away from me because he wanted me!” His breath hitches, ragged and uneven as he clutches at the front of Dazai’s coat. “If I had to just—just gone along—”
“Chuuya.”
Dazai's hands come up to cup Chuuya’s face, thumbs brushing against the other’s tear-streaked cheeks, steadying him in a way only Dazai can.
“Chuuya,” He says again. There’s no mockery, no teasing.
Not Chibi, not hatrack, not short-stunted or vertically challenged.
Just, Chuuya.
“I’ve known you for years, Chuuya. I know how much you love, how much you give, and how much you hurt because of it. You carry the weight of everything—even things that were never yours to carry.”
Chuuya’s breath catches, his chest heaving as he stares into Dazai’s eyes. There’s something in Dazai’s gaze—something that feels like trust and safety .
“But I should’ve —”
“No,” Dazai cuts him off firmly. He tilts Chuuya’s chin up slightly, his brown eyes locking onto blue, unyielding but filled with something achingly tender. “There’s nothing Chuuya could’ve done. Nothing that would’ve changed what happened. You’re not the monster your brother is.”
Chuuya trembles, his head lowering in embarrassment to hide the tear that slides down his cheek. “I feel like I am."
Dazai’s grip on him tightens, his forehead gently resting against the other. “Chuuya's human—stupid, stubborn, annoying—but never a monster.”
Chuuya’s shoulders shake as a sob escapes him. “They counted on me, Dazai,” He chokes out, his voice barely audible. “And I let them down. I should’ve been the one to die, not them. I should’ve…” His words falter, lost in the spiral of his anguish.
"Chuuya can’t keep punishing himself for what he couldn’t control. What matters is that he's alive," The corners of his mouth curve up ever so slightly. "Chuuya didn’t go with him. And I think that’s what they would’ve wanted. For Chuuya to live."
The room falls into a heavy silence, the only sound of the uneven breaths between them.
Chuuya’s vision blurs again, and he looks away, clenching his fists. “Why….” He croaks, his voice barely a whisper. “Why do you care so much?"
Dazai exhales shakily, his fingers pausing in Chuuya’s hair before resuming their slow, soothing movements. He swallows hard, struggling to find the words, the walls he’d spent years building around his heart threatening to crumble entirely.
“Because Chuuya stays,” he admits quietly. "Chuuya stays, even when I make it so damn hard for him to.”
Chuuya’s breath catches in his throat, his grip on Dazai’s coat tightening as he listens.
“And I push him away,” Dazai continues, his voice breaking, “because I’m scared. Everything that’s worth wanting will be lost the moment I obtain it. It’s a curse, Chuuya. I thought... I thought it’d hurt less if I kept everyone at arm’s length, ” His hands tremble as they find their way to Chuuya’s face, tilting it upward. "I almost lost Chuuya," He whispers, voice trembling as his thumb gently traces the curve of Chuuya’s wet cheekbone, as if he’s afraid it might shatter beneath his touch. "Does Chuuya have any idea what he means to me?"
Chuuya blinks, heat rushing to his face. He ducks his head for half a second, trying to hide the flush creeping up to his ears. '...Idiot,” he mutters, voice embarrassingly soft. “Stop speaking in third person. You sound ridiculous.”
Dazai smiles, then lets out a quiet, breathy giggle. "I just like saying Chuuya's name."
The voice in Chuuya’s mind quiets, the shadows retreating just slightly in the warmth of Dazai’s presence. He snorts, looking up, cheeks still stubbornly red. He remembers exactly how he ended up falling for the damn bastard standing in front of him, who wormed his way into every corner of Chuuya’s heart.
His heart thumps painfully against his ribcage.
I like you so much, do you know that?
"Chuuya?"
Dazai's voice brings him back to reality.
“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Yeah..?”
“Yeah.”
“You won’t go?”
“No.”
“Then…just for tonight..please don’t.” Chuuya’s voice is small, vulnerable, like a child asking for comfort.
“I won't,” Dazai hushes, resuming caressing through Chuuya’s long waves. “I won’t.”
Of course, when Chuuya wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache and tear-rimmed cheeks, he sees the brunet softly snoring next to him.
Chuuya’s heart tugs at the sight, a mixture of relief and something warmer settling deep in his chest. He smiles and scoots closer to the taller man, careful not to disturb him, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you know how much you mean to me…Osamu?” Chuuya whispers, watching the brunet’s eyelashes flutter against his words. “You make me feel human.”