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Summary
“Get out,” Chuuya repeats through gritted teeth.
“No.” With his nose and throat stopped up with blood, Dazai's voice is muted but no less forceful for it.
Chuuya's eyes burn through him before he takes another deep breath. Dazai thinks he's going to have to provoke him further until a hand tangles in his hair and half-drags, half-throws him to the floor.
Dazai lands on his knees hard enough that he knows they'll be a constellation of red and purple by morning. He can only hope more of his body is painted the same shades soon.
“Last fucking chance,” Chuuya warns. Dazai just smiles up at him, a terrible thing, blood staining his teeth.
Or, Dazai is only soothed by Chuuya’s rage.