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Summary
Grieving someone still alive, Chuuya had learned, was quiet, relentless. The knowledge that this moment, this warmth, this weight against his chest, was temporary in ways he didn’t have control over.
Chuuya hated that he loved Dazai’s wrists, loved the helpless flutter of their pulse. That they were thin enough to slot perfectly in his hand. That they carried so much history—bandages, attempts, jokes made sharp enough to cut—and still felt alive under his fingers.
Loving Dazai felt like loving someone already half gone. Not because he wasn’t here—he was, warm and breathing, in spite of it all—but because Chuuya knew how often Dazai tried not to be. Every time it happened, Chuuya felt the loss before the outcome, like his chest was bracing for an impact that never quite came.
or: the day after another failed overdose, dazai buries his head and sleeps.
Whumpuary 2026 - Day twenty-three - Numb, Wrist-grabbing
Series
- Part 12 of Whumpuary 2026