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“He did, he said so long & then
he walked away, he walked out from that door,
the weird smile that he wore, shiney like brass,
his smile that didn’t look like someone living.
His eyes like water in a pond the color when it clears,
or something. He talked like someone somewhere else.
Would cut his speech up into little pieces.
He used to think of little things that didn’t matter.”
“Yes, just like that. I wonder if he knew that he was dying.
He would laugh and tell you that the stars became him
when he stared at them. And that was just a while ago.
A while ago. Swore that the clogs that he was wearing weren’t his.”
Silence, blessed silence.
With the amount of psychopathic nuts the Port Mafia employed there was a chance as slim as Dazai actually succeeding in killing himself that there was ever peace and harmony and more importantly silence in the mansion slash top notch safe house the Mafia owned.
This slim as hell chance was right now and Chuuya would not dare to do anything to disturb this heavenly moment.
No suicide freak slash partner slash bane of his existence with his rambling about a beautiful suicide and the perfect girl he needed for this, no lemon obsessed bomber – seriously? Lemons? The Port Mafia really did employ lunatics! - and no doggie apprentice with mood swings who'd destroy property on a whim was around right now.
Just Chuuya, the really comfy couch he was lying on and a bottle of red wine. Absolutely perfect.
Oh, and Kou, but she was at least silently working on a miniature kimono and had the grace to shut up.
Where was he? Ah yeah, it was perfect and nothing would disturb him right now. His next mission was scheduled for the day after tomorrow so he had no responsibilities at all right now, safe for getting as drunk as possible.
A loud crashing sound shattered all his dreams of a peaceful day and getting drunk off his ass without disturbance. He really should've known, like he said, lunatics.
The crashing and banging sounds increased in volume, the walls slightly shaking, so the culprit was coming nearer and... crash!!
Did this bastard just destroy the main room's wall?!
Indeed, there was a lurking hole in the wall right now and Chuuya could see Rashomons decreasing shadow form.
Of course, of fucking course it was Akutagawa. Who else was so dumb to actually destroy their own property and who else would be this pissed off on this wonderful lazy day? Where was Dazai when he needed him?
Thanks to the shock waves that accompanied the attack Chuuya spilled his wine right onto his trousers and Kou seemed to have lost count on where to stitch next, so naturally both of them were unamused and sending glares the perpetrators way.
But if their glares were menacing then there was no word to describe the look on Akutagawa's face other than beyond livid. Heck, his whole stance looked livid and outright pissed if you'd ignore the disheveled and torn state of his clothes, the bruises and cuts on his face and arms and oh, was that a footprint on his chest?
Chuuya chuckled darkly, so Dazai did quite a number on him this time, most likely beating him up and belittling him at the same time in any possible way. There was at least this one thing his partner was good for.
Kou, thank god for her never ending patience, had the grace to actually approach the fuming teen trying to calm him down.
“You know,” she began, “just because your teacher was a little rough, there is no need to destroy any property. The boss will not be so benevolent if he finds out about this. Don't be childish.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because the raven haired boy practically howled and nearly spat out of anger.
“A little rough?! Are we talking about the same person? He nearly killed me this time! I had no chance, he used his ability to the fullest...”
Well, that was nothing new with Dazai, after all he was a rather stern teacher. Chuuya lay down again, this was none of his business.
But Akutagawa wasn't finished: “Then suddenly he screamed at me and kicked me out.” His whole facade suddenly fell and left behind was a young teenager that looked more like a beaten dog than a ravenous beast.
Heartbreaking, if Chuuya would actually care.
“I don't understand what I did wrong this time.”
Chuuya did not listen to what Akutagawa had more to say, his mind set on a single sentence that sent him in a frenzy.
He screamed at me.
That was not good, not at all. Dazai did a lot of things, most more idiotic than the thing before and totally irrational at times, but: Dazai. Did. Not. Scream. Not ever.
He never raised his voice no matter how much Chuuya aggravated him, no matter how much pain he was in or how many mistakes the people around him made.
This was more than a little concerning, in fact it was near terrifying; if the suicide freak lost it this much this time, then there was no way of knowing what he was up to now and what went on his insane head.
Kou also caught up on that and gave him a look that reflected his own racing thoughts and the same dread he felt and that froze his whole body.
Without needing to hear any more Chuuya averted his gaze and left the room, knowing which way to go by heart, heading towards the training room and the idiot he called his partner.
Peace and silence were long forgotten.
Chuuya sighed when he saw his partner hunched over, bloody arms outstretched, firm face set on them as if he was personally offended that he wasn't dead yet.
“Seriously? You failed to off yourself again?”
Slowly he approached the other man seated on an old box, ignoring the other's darkening aura radiating not now Chuuya.
“So. What's got your panties in a twist this time? Your little mutt still being a disappointment? Or did you finally take a look in the mirror?”
Despite clearly not in the mood for their typical banter, Dazai was quick as ever to retaliate: “The thought of spending any more time on missions with you and the ugly rat you call a hat was enough to consider a not so beautiful suicide.”
Indeed, this time Dazai's weekly suicide attempt did look a lot more messy and bloody than normal, even for him. Normally he preferred what he called a “beautiful suicide”, quick, unbloody and most important painless – from the amount of still flowing blood Chuuya could easily spot on him this looked more painful than anything else.
When Chuuya reached his partner and saw his arms he had to let out a low whistle.
Both outstretched arms were freed from Dazai's trademark bandages, in their place were more than a dozen crisscrossed cuts, courtesy of the knife that still lay next to the brown haired man. Painful indeed.
Chuuya knew Dazai's arms bare of the bandages – he had the questionable honour of changing them more often than he'd like to after all – and he knew what an actual suicide attempt looked like.
This was not one of them. And that was far more severe than his partner's typical antics.
“What, are you speechless know? Or.. oh my! Chuuya are you actually concerned? Hah, I always knew that you actually cared about me!”
Dazai really did have the nerve to joke, even in this situation! The grinning smile he showed him now was clearly fake; this was weak, even for his partner's normal stepford smiling tendencies.
Still he did take the bait. “Care about you? You wish! I am merely concerned with the mess you make when you finally off yourself in such a bloody way. And the fact that your little doggie is bitching in the common room downstairs, radiating more pissy attitude and mood swings than Kou on her period.”
At that Dazai let out a small chuckle and averted his non-bandaged eye, away from the still bleeding cuts and definitely away from Chuuya's knowing look.
“I might have been a little too harsh to him. He is still a child after all,” he said and finally straightened his hunched form.
We are all still children. People only tend to forget this in our business.
Apparently regaining his composure Dazai tried to stand up. And this was the moment Chuuya's alarm bells rang. The thing was, he tried.
His partner obviously struggled and nearly fell while trying to stand. Just how much blood did this idiot lose? How deep were those cuts?
Chuuya didn't worry. No, he definitely did not worry for this suicidal idiot. It was just to ensure that the Soukoku elite team was at it's fullest power that he did what he did next. Rather roughly, he shoved his partner back down on his ass and turned away from him.
“You wait here,” he told him and left the room in favor of fetching what he needed to resolve this mess.
A few minutes later he returned, arms full of medical equipment and a bottle of booze. Dazai did not try to stand again, in fact it seemed like he didn't move at all. At least he's listening for once.
The suicidal idiot did raise an eyebrow and looked at his partner suspiciously though. “You do know that I can handle this myself, don't you?” He inquired, apparently offended that he was treated like a child, when Chuuya knelt down in front of him and spread out everything he needed for this.
“I see how you handle things. You can't even manage to kill yourself.”
He took one bloodied arm into his hand and examined the gashes. They were pretty deep and would surely scar. But that was nothing new, the other was covered in scars after all.
There was no retort this time. Instead Dazai only hummed and decided to stare at the ceiling. Chuuya took out the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads and got to work, cleaning the cuts.
People might say about the Soukoku team what they want; that they are efficient and highly murderous was what surely first came to mind. That they hate each other and throw insults back and forth is what people that know them better would say.
But there were also moments like this, where they took care of each other and had the other's back, because this was what partners do after all.
It wasn't the first time by far that Chuuya took care of Dazai this way, cleaning and bandaging his wounds.
The first time he was able to see what was under those bandages he nearly gagged and got a feeling in his guts he didn't know he was capable of concerning the other man.
The first time he saw those scars he lay awake the whole night pondering if he was responsible for at least a few of them.
(The first time he saw the burn marks on his arms, courtesy of cigarettes, he stopped smoking. He hasn't touched a cigarette ever since; he preferred booze anyway.)
With skilled and experienced movements the smaller man disinfected the cuts and put tissues on them before taking out fresh bandages and wrapping them around the outstretched limb. Dazai didn't flinch nor did he acknowledge the process in any way.
Before starting with the other injured arm Chuuya paused and took his bottle of alcohol – Whiskey, he needed something strong now. There was a lot of blood.
Whatever set the taller man off, it must have been severe. Normally the cuts weren't this deep and especially not so many.
“Give me something of that, too,” came the demand from the suicide freak. “This stings and isn't beautiful at all. By the way you're even smaller on your knees now and I have to look at your ugly mutt more than ever.”
The sheer nerve this bastard had! Demanding something and moreover insulting him, even when Chuuya already did everything out of the goodness of his heart!
Still he gave him the bottle after taking a good swig out of it. Maybe he would shut up this way, though he did not even convince himself with this thought.
It surely wasn't on purpose that he took Dazai's other arm a little more roughly and treated it a little more vigorously with the rubbing alcohol; the yelp he received from the other was more than satisfying.
“For real this time, what happened? You're even weirder than usual.”
Normally they didn't do this heart to heart talk. They might have been partners but they still hated each others guts after all. Though this was not a normal situation, weekly suicide attempts and patching each other up aside.
Dazai normally didn't go as far as this, not being able to properly stand up on his own and even showing him his cuts without much pondering and roughhousing on Chuuya's part.
“Did the brat do anything to you?” No, that was no concern, not at all. He was merely inquiring if the little dog was stirring up trouble, which meant extra work for him and chaos throughout all the Port Mafia. Though mainly a trainee and Dazai's apprentice, Akutagawa meant business and Chuuya was not interested in taking care of his partners problems.
Chuuya's attention was brought back towards his partner when the taller man only sighed softly.
“No, no not at all. He's still as obedient and well-behaved as always. In fact,” he began and damn there was this darn smile on his face again, “everything is just peachy. No prob, no need to worry your ugly little head about it.”
Dazai was truly infuriating. It was always the same with him, just pushing his worries, problems and insecurities as far away from him as possible, putting on that fake smile (though nobody but Chuuya was able to see through it, an ability he was internally boasting about).
In the meantime the idiot's other injured arm was properly bandaged and taken care of, Chuuya's work finished.
Still none of the two men moved or changed positions, with Dazai still sitting on his box and gaze firmly fixed on the bottle in his hand and Chuuya kneeling in front of him. Silence.
Just when the smaller man wanted to get up and leave his partner be, admitting defeat in getting some infos out of him, the other started talking.
“There was no real reason. No trigger if you want to call it that. Funny, right? I guess it was just... a bad day.”
A bad day. Simple as that.
No action or insult that lead to this mess, no real immediate outside reason that possibly could've triggered Dazai and led to the desperate decision of hurting himself, cutting himself up.
Just a bad day and whatever messed up form of self-preservation he had inside his head; it was so simple that Chuuya nearly had to laugh out loud.
He didn't though. He didn't laugh or said anything, did not even insult the idiot he called his partner like he always did. Instead he only crouched forward and leaned his head on the other's thighs, sighing.
Moments later he felt his partner's hand on his head, removing his trademark hat and slowly petting his hair.
If Chuuya would look up he'd see the bandaged hand he was just holding in his own hands and Dazai's unreadable gaze on him, a wild mix of emotions in his one visible eye.
There was no need for words and especially no place for banter, not now, not ever in this situation; they were behaving like different people, not like rivals, more intimacy between them though not quite friends.
It was enough, no clarification for what they were right now was needed or demanded.
Dazai, the ever dumb idiot that he was, had to ruin it of course.
“Why do you always do this? You know that one day I will die and all your actions will be in vain.”
He knows that.
“Huh, we're partners after all. And I know you're too dumb to know, but this is what partners do,” Chuuya scoffed and squeezed his eyes shut, just not to look in this knowing eye.
“Also you always save me from “Corruption's” effects... I guess I'm just trying to repay the favour”.
“Oh Chuuya my dear,” the other began.
Don't say it. I know.
“You can try all you want but there is no way to save me.”
It hurt. Something deep inside him hurt.
Stop talking, I know what you'll say.
Why wasn't he stopping? Chuuya desperately wished back the silence from before.
“Only I can end myself. And only I decide when and where, nobody can change that.”
He knows. He knows. He knows.
He still cared.