Chapter Text
Dazai does not cry. Crying is for people, humans, more specifically. Dazai is neither one of those, for Dazai does not feel or think the way they do. He simply reacts in a way he sees fit. But is it normal for the tears to force their way out of his eyes? For there to be an aching in his chest he has never felt before?
He does not know, for time is moving too fast for him to react in the way he normally does.
He tries to speak but his voice is caught in his throat. How could it go so wrong? Dazai’s plans are immaculate, so how could it fail? How could he allow his partner to get injured to the point of near death? How could he?
How could it ever come to this? Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, the action serving to block out the horrible scene in front of him. He racks his brain for the memories, before they slam into him like a truck—
“Dazai! C’mon already!” Chuuya barks loudly, his teeth chattering from the cold. His legs are starting to go numb—not just from the weather—but from standing here for what feels like hours while the shitty mackerel grumbled and fussed over a mission he said he’d planned for properly. The original plan was apparently “unrealistic”. Infuriating.
“Stop your barking for a second, would ya? Honestly…such a yappy little dog,” Dazai’s eyes scanned the snow under his feet before finally turning to Chuuya. “Okay! I’m ready!” Dazai smiles triumphantly, as if he hasn’t just forced himself and Chuuya to stand in the cold for approximately 15 minutes.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Chuuya shifts his weight between his legs, albeit a bit aggressively, attempting to wake them up from the seeping numbness that has faded into pins and needles. “What even is the plan? Or are you gonna keep this one from me too?”
Dazai ignores him, sighing so heavily you could see his breath fogging in the air. “Patience, Slug.”
The warmth of Chuuya’s blood sinking into his clothes is almost too much to bear, for it’s a pleasant feeling—like taking a hot shower after you’ve been in the snow for hours.
It makes Dazai sick, like he wants to hurl for even feeling “relief” from something as sick from Chuuya’s blood seeping into his clothes, his skin.
Dazai is sick.
Why does this have to happen to him? If only he could remember what went wrong—
Chuuya stumbles, grabbing onto Dazai to avoid falling face first into the snow. “Where the hell are we even going?” Chuuya’s voice is strained, breath fogging thickly in the air as he stands up straight and returns to Dazai’s right side.
“You’ll see!” Dazai drags out each syllable, his eye flicking towards Chuuya, before he gives him a sly grin. Of course.
Dazai turns and continues walking, paying no mind to where and what he’s stepping on. Broken glass, tree trunks—it doesn’t matter. It’s all buried under the snow anyways.
“Dazai,” Chuuya…
Chuuya? What does he say after that? What happens afterwards? Dazai can’t remember what went wrong.
Maybe it’s Chuuya’s dead weight in arms keeping him from remembering. Dead weight because Chuuya’s breathing is so low and shallow he might as well not be breathing at all.
Because he’s dead.
Dazai thinks this like it’s a fact—something he can’t argue with. Even if Chuuya is still breathing currently, it isn’t even steady enough to count.
Dazai adjusts Chuuya’s weight in his arms. He isn’t even sure when he started standing—is Chuuya lighter? Or is Dazai just stronger? Those are both unwelcome outcomes.
The snow crunches under his sneakers. It’s too loud. Chuuya’s breathing is too quiet. Everything is too loud. Why can’t he decide which it is? Why?
Dazai focuses his attention on what he can see instead. He wishes he hasn’t. Chuuya’s jacket is blood soaked and his coat is long gone. What’s even worse is the constant drip of the once warm blood that has now turned cold.
Dazai can’t count Chuuya’s breaths while walking. It’s useless to even try so he stops. The action is so mundane it makes him wonder if there’s even a point to trying to go… back? Whatever. He should just die here with Chuuya.
That thought leaves his mind as quickly as it came, because Chuuya doesn’t want to die so Dazai shouldn’t let him.
Dazai sits, adjusting Chuuya so he’s able to sit up against Dazai and so he can hear his heartbeat as well as the short puffs of Chuuya breathing.
Breathe. Dazai hasn’t been breathing. He gasps for air and the tears that he’s been holding back so carefully push their way out of his eyes until the warm, salty liquid is making his face glisten in the moon light.
It’s so cold.