Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The scent of hospitals is not something a person could ever easily hope to forget.

And though Dazai Osamu is not by any means a ‘person’ – for that would imply that he is a human, which he is most certainly not – He finds that the fact still remains true.

The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic stings his nose, causing his eyes to jolt open. He has to squint for a moment, blinking rapidly to force his eyes to adjust to the blinding brightness of the room. The first thought that circulates through his muddled mind is I survived, again. A thought which was growing increasingly repetitive as of late.

His gaze wandered downwards along his body. A pale blue hospital gown clung loosely to his bones, yet it fit him more perfectly than anything he had ever worn before. It was as if it was made for him, or rather, he was made for it. Wires protruded from all different parts of his body, sticking out from beneath the thick layers of bandages enveloping his arms and neck. He could also feel a thin bandage wrapping snuggly around his left eye.

Forcing his addled body to sit up, he let out an exasperated groan. Spikes of pain shot along his back, and his head throbbed and rang out an unforgiving, loathsome melody. Of course, it wasn't enough that he had simply survived, life just had to mock him for it as well.

He struggles through the pain, letting out a few small whimpers as he repositions himself on the flimsy hospital bed, his bones aching hollowly. He could still taste the gritty charcoal on his tongue, yet thankfully he had no memory of drinking it. Perhaps he had already been unconscious at that point, or perhaps he had just forgotten it.

He observes the long cord protruding from his forearm, and clutches it carefully, before ripping it out, as one would peel off a bandaid. He winces, a pained grimace appearing on his face, before he schools his expression into an indifferent one, making his way to the small, sterile bathroom. The heavy orange wooden door creaks shut behind him, emitting a hollow slam followed by a smooth click as he pushes in the lock.

He glances around the minuscule room, more out of habit than anything. All of the handrails are made in a way that makes it impossible for him to even hope at harming himself in any way. It brings a slight scowl to his face, though there is a hint of hidden mirth in the gesture.

Dazai knows for certain, that if he thought hard enough, he could without a doubt find a way to still injure himself in this very bathroom. The possibilities are endless really. Though every possibility he conjures up involves a great deal of pain, that of which he is not willing to endure on top of the already persistent pain throbbing in his back and head. Instead, he turns to the pristinely clean sink, waving his hands in front of the sensor and cupping them underneath the lukewarm, hard stream of water. The water fills his bandaged hands, soaking into the cotton uncomfortably, and he brings them to his mouth, washing away any remnants of the gritty, unpalatable charcoal taste. It does little to soothe the unpleasant taste or texture on his tongue, but there isn’t much more he can do at the present moment. He should have chosen a different method, though he was desperate at the time. Perhaps next time he will take inspiration from the book he had picked up.

After Dazai has rinsed his mouth as thoroughly as he could, he turns his dismal gaze to the mirror. The eyes, or eye rather, that stares back is so empty and devoid of life. It’s funny, he thinks, how his eyes can be so lifeless, and yet here he is, still breathing, still living, albeit resentfully. In any matter, it is not the gaze of anything human. His eyes hold not even a sliver of light, any light they might have once held had been diminished long ago, and not even the vaguest of whispers remain in them. Empty, desolate, and cold. Like a night sky without any stars to show. His skin is unbearably pale beneath the green tinted fluorescent lights, watercolor hues of purple and mahogany spanning out beneath his eyes, a sign of the ever present exhaustion that overwhelms his entire being.

He slowly pinches his cheeks, pulling and stretching, molding himself into something that vaguely resembles a real human being, though it is essentially useless. Dazai will never be anything more than a grotesque amalgamation of bones and flesh, sickeningly twisted and shaped into something that looks human but is only a mere copy. He lets his hands fall back to his sides, instead opting to stare at himself for far too long. He stares until the reflection morphs and distorts into something that resembles him more truly. Until he sees the unbearably grotesque creature that he truly is inside.

He pulls his gaze away when he hears a firm, muffled knock against the heavy doorframe.

“Dazai, I hope you're not up to anything in there.” A sickeningly honeyed voice calls out from beyond the door. Dazai just barely stifles a groan, bringing his hand back to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. He corrects his expression into something that just barely conceals the ever-growing pit inside of him, wearing a cheerful smile instead. The door swings open and hits the rubber door-stopper with a dimmed bang.

”Why of course not Mori!” Dazai grins, his voice perfectly mirroring the childlike tone he knows will please Mori. Dazai will do just about anything if it means he won't be forced to endure long weeks of in-patient psychiatric care. He knows Mori has the power to prevent that from happening, as he has the past dozens of times.

“How are you feeling? I must say I was pleasantly impressed that you managed to swipe the keys to the medicine cabinet, but then again I should have expected as much.” Mori returns the grin coldly, a surgical kind of preciseness to his carefully crafted expression.

”Like death.” Dazai replies to his question, opting to ignore the last bit. Perhaps Mori should be more aware of his belongings if he doesn’t wish for them to be stolen. “You know, it’d be a big help if you could pull some strings and get me some morphine. Preferably a lethal amount.” Dazai states facetiously.

Mori's grin doesn’t falter, instead he just strides towards the bed and takes a seat in the visitors chair, his white coat swaying just below his knees. He takes a worn hand to his hair, raking his fingers through it. “I'll see what I can do about the discomfort.” He states indifferently, taking a teal colored binder from the footrest of the hospital bed and flipping it open. Dazai watches curiously as his brows furrow almost inconceivably.

“All good things I presume?” Dazai jumps onto the bed, grimacing at the hollow aching pain he feels at the abrupt movement.

“Just the usual.” Mori smiles, handing him the chart.

The hospital staff had never made it particularly difficult to get his hands on the chart, so Dazai had of course read them before. Some of the words were difficult to understand, though he could make out most of their meanings. Some of them were just so sloppily written that they were purely indecipherable. Though, Dazai could manage to make out most of the vague ideas. It was all obvious stuff. Patient admitted for suicide attempt. Persistent suicidal ideation. History of attempted suicide. Patient shows signs of depression. Lists of all the different medications he had stuffed down his throat. And so on. Tucked into the pocket of the binder were sheets that were intended for Dazai to fill out. Questionnaires and lists of resources he could contact. All of which he did not intend to fill out or use in any way. He let out a bored sigh, tossing the binder to the floor with no regard for it at all. Instead he laid back on the thin mattress and stretched his aching limbs as if he were a cat, before crossing his arms behind his head and sinking into the thin, suffocation proof pillow.

Dazai gets a good two minutes of peace, though honestly, with Mori? Even that much was impressive.

“Dazai,” Mori starts. Dazai opens his unbandaged eye to send a piercing glare towards him. He was clearly trying to sleep, but of course Mori had other plans. Mori ignores the glare, instead forcing a smile, his eyes crinkling with the force of it. “I trust you are aware that I cannot keep neglecting your mental wellbeing. It would be negligent of me as your guardian, and it is my belief you’d rather not return to your life in the children’s home, or on the streets.” Mori's gaze turns colder as he adds on the last part, though still, his smile never falters even once.

There was a time when Dazai may have been impressed at Mori's ability to turn every simple statement into a game of cold, calculated manipulation, but now he finds he is hardly amused by it. Still, he pastes on a childish smirk, gleefully accepting the challenge.

”If my choices are between the looney bin or the slums, I’ll gladly take the streets.”

“I wasn’t necessarily referring to in-patient care. There are other options that may suit a child of your state far better.”

A child of your state.

That was one of the things that festered the resentment Dazai felt towards Mori. The way he referred to him as if he were some sort of an experiment, a test subject. He knew better than anyone he wasn’t human, but he was at the very least far more capable than being a simple lab rat.

“Is that so, enlighten me.” Dazai deadpans, entirely bored of this conversation. Mori should know better by now than to waste his breath trying to convince Dazai to receive treatment, it was pointless after all. Talking had never solved anything for anyone, there was only one thing that could fix the broken parts of Dazai, and that was to simply rid himself of existence entirely.

“I’d like you to attend a simple youth support group. It will be hosted by one of my colleagues specializing in pediatric psych care.”

”ah, you see, I totally would, but unfortunately I'm just so busy with other things. Dying is way harder than one might think, you know.” Dazai states sardonically, waving a flippant hand at Mori and going back to his feeble attempts at rest. Mori’s grin only intensifies, genuine amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

”You will attend it, Dazai. Just two weeks, and if you decide you still loathe the idea, I'll stop pestering you about it altogether.”

Dazai genuinely ponders it. He knows that if Mori so wishes, he does have the authority to send him to a psych ward. Plus, the idea of Mori finally laying off about his ‘mental wellbeing’ is nice to think about. Perhaps it would be a worthy endeavor. Besides, its only two weeks, then he will be allowed to die in peace. He feels a small smirk overtake his expression, a small gleam hidden deep within his desolate stare.

An exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I can suffer through it.” Mori and Dazai both knew full well what that meant. If he was going to suffer through something boring and meaningless, he was going to make everyone around him suffer all the same.

Mori smiles, and if it wasn't him Dazai was talking to, he almost would have thought it genuine.

^^^ 

Dazai makes his way through the eerily silent halls of the hospital, save for the distant sound of heart monitors and other various medical machines. He sneaks past the nurse station by blending into the shadows. The long corridors are lit with a soft navy blue glow so late in the night, and the cold sterileness of everything makes Dazai feel like the air has been stolen from his lungs.

He slides his fingers along the chipping walls, a single blue line cutting through the blinding white painted clumpily on the walls. He traces the crevices and cracks amidst the sea of white and blue. It feels as though he can hear whispers of the lives that have been saved and lost all the same through the gaps in the chilled brick walls. He wonders absentmindedly if one day he will join in the sea of ghostly whispers of lives long passed.

He slides along the tiled floor, traversing the hospital as if it were his own home. He knows these halls better than he knows himself, he thinks.

He had switched out the hospital gown for clothes Mori had oh so generously appointed him. An oversized black zip up hoodie, which he wore only around his shoulders, and a white longsleeve t-shirt, the cuffs rolled up just above his elbows with checkered red and black sweatpants, his bandages peaking out from beneath the comfortable clothing. Mori had never been one for the style he supposes, though it's not like he necessarily loathes the gesture. The hospital gowns can grow itchy after some time, and don't do much for warmth in the ever-cold atmosphere.

Mori had refused to have him discharged against medical advice, which Dazai made sure to dramatically complain about. He was a renowned pediatric surgeon, so why he forced Dazai to remain at the hospital, heaven only knows. Perhaps Mori had grown tired of Dazai’s bickering and complaining.

Regardless, he was stuck here for however long the doctors decided until he was in proper medical condition. He thought about running away, though he’s certain he wouldn’t get far before Mori or one of his many coworkers (whom he treated more like his personal servants) were sent after him to haul him back. Thus, despite his wishes, he remained for the time being. Though, that didn't mean he was going to comply with the nurses wishes for him to stay put in the stuffy hospital room.

Dazai makes his way up many flights of stairs, the pain in his back somewhat dimmed but still present. He reaches a door that reads ‘rooftop’ in bold black letters and shakes the doorhandle, checking if it’s unlocked. He sighs as the handle hits some sort of barrier and makes a mechanical whirring sound. He glances at the red card reader and sighs, pulling a keycard out of his pocket that he had swiped from Mori earlier after he had fallen asleep. The man really is terrible at noticing when his things go missing, or perhaps he does notice and just simply doesn’t care. Dazai thinks the latter is more likely.

He pulls open the handle after the card reader flashes green and practically struts across the rooftop, relishing in the way the icy February air touches down against the bare skin of his face, dusting his nose and cheeks in a soft rosy glow. It never snowed very often in Yokohama, and when it did it was incredibly light. Dazai didn’t particularly wish for more snow, though at times he thought it would be peaceful to bleed out surrounded by blankets of fresh shimmering snowfall, his corpse becoming buried and long forgotten. Though, bleeding out wasn't an option unless he had taken a strong enough amount of painkillers beforehand. He mentally notes that perhaps that method would be worth trying later on, though it would probably prove to be rather messy.

He saunters over to the edge of the rooftop, walking along it with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched to the side, as if he were walking a tightrope. He slowly opens his eyes, looking down over the edge as his toes hang just barely off of it. The fall would probably be foolproof. He doubts even the great Mori would be able to piece his brains back together after something like that. He considers it for a moment, a hollow smile overtaking his face more out of the habit of acting than anything else.

Truth be told, Dazai never feels much when he’s alone. Especially not in moments like these, so close to crossing the boundary between life and death. Instead he allows himself to imagine the possibilities of what could have been. Perhaps, somewhere off in a distant universe, he had been born into this world as a true human. Though, even if that were the case he doubts any version of himself, human or not, could ever truly receive happiness.

Dazai sighs, watching his warm breath condensate in the cold and form a cloud that spins and withers away, as fleeting and meaningless as a life.

Dazai turns back towards the door. He simply doesn’t wish to die on such a cold night.

 ^^^

Mori drives him back to his house in a sleek black car with a window tint so heavy, nobody could ever hope to see through it.

The drive is spent in relative silence. Mori had attempted to make conversation at one point or another, about how he feels both physically and emotionally. Dazai cannot find in himself to humor the man with the same boring old conversation yet again, so instead he stares out the window in silence, watching all the passersbys that couldn’t hope to see him back.

The support group begins meeting on Monday. Only two days. Dazai wishes with all his might that he had just jumped off the roof that night.

Perhaps he still has a chance to die before he is forced into these entirely useless meetings, though, it seems he holds a resounding capability to escape death. Even if it is all he has ever yearned for. The universe has a way of playing cruel tricks on people, he guesses.

Mori had informed Dazai that the groups would be held for just an hour every weekday, and that a man named Sakunosuke Oda, a child psychologist, would be in charge of running them. He had also loosely gone over the rules, all the whilst wearing an anticipatory nervous expression. Dazai just so happened to tune out that part of the conversation.

There would be a total of four children partaking in the group, all with sordid backstories, that of which Dazai also did not listen to. Mori had a way of rambling on about excruciatingly boring topics on a regular basis.

The car pulls into a modern style black house. The exterior of the house was overly chic and luxurious, and the inside was even more ostentatious. Any other child with Dazai's history may have thought the house to be a palace of sorts. He had been told time and time again how lucky he was to have been adopted by such a wealthy man. Dazai, however, took no pleasure in the lavish display of wealth. The house was more a prison than anything, he thought.

Carefully placed security cameras monitored all facets of the house 24/7. Mori had gotten the cameras not long after Dazai had moved in and had made many grand escapes. The cameras, of course, didn't hinder his escapes at all, though he allowed Mori to think they had. One of these days he would leave and never return, but for now, he figured it wouldn't hurt for Mori to have a small peace of mind.

Dazai stepped out of the car, carrying what little belongings he had. He sprinted over to the garbage bin and tossed the papers he had been forced to take with him in there. They were of no use to him anyway. He heard Mori sigh in the background, and it brought a small smile to his face as he walked up the driveway.

Dazai's room was empty and barren, much like the rest of the house. There was a plain desk and chair, a twin sized bed, a lamp and finally a small space heater. Dazai found he was always cold even when the heater was turned on to full heat. On top of the desk sat nothing but a few rolls of bandages and a few empty notebooks.

He placed his bag down on the bed and walked over to the closet, taking out a pair of sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a large hoodie. His closet consisted mainly of button up shirts and pajamas. In the back of it hung a black, high collared coat that Mori had given him just a few days after he had moved in. His eyes lingered on it for a while, for what reason he couldn't say, but eventually he closed the closet and headed towards the bathroom, setting his clothes down and turning the faucet all the way towards hot.

The steam floods the bathroom almost instantaneously, swirling around and making Dazai feel ever so slightly light headed. He pulls off the clothes that still smell of the hospital and moves to take off the multitude of bandages. He struggles to unravel the ones around his abdomen, though, for the rest, it's practically muscle memory at this point.

He steps into the shower and closes the heavy glass door. His skin stings under the piping hot water, though Dazai wouldn't necessarily say he feels any pain. It's uncomfortable at first, but soon the water serves to soothe the ache in his body, not that anything could ever hope to soothe that of which lies within his mind.

He scrubs at his skin relentlessly with a gritty washcloth until every inch of his body is glowing bright red, and scarlett spots trail the areas which he'd scrubbed. He does this until the scent of the hospital is surely gone. He has always hated hospitals, ever since he was a young child. He hated how they poked and prodded at him, how they made boisterous claims that they were going to cure him.

The disease that Dazai harboured was something incurable. A disease that ran deeper than his blood or his bones. An infectious blackness that poisoned him and anything he touched. Dazai was fundamentally broken from the moment he took his first breaths on this earth, and he will remain that way until he takes his last. Everyone would do better to learn that fact now and just stop trying to fix him altogether, just as he had so long ago. Or perhaps he had never even tried in the first place.

He turns off the faucet and dresses himself, before stepping into the chilled room. The window beside his desk lets in a frosty chill that so startlingly contrasts with the warm air of the bathroom, that he quickly rushes to slam it shut. He takes a thick, clean, white roll of bandages, and flops onto his mattress, unraveling it and starting on his left arm.

His skin feels foreign beneath his fingertips, like something that is not his own. Though, he knows that it is his, for the marks he had made there remain to this day like a memory you can never forget, no matter how hard you try. He momentarily traces along the various scars, some fresher and some older. There are so many that they seemingly blend together, twisting and bending around one another to paint a grotesque image. An alien feeling wells up in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He shoves it away and finishes wrapping the bandages, smoothing out any bumps, concealing the disgusting, tainted sight with something pristine and clean.

Then, he flicks off his lamp and lays in the desolate darkness, eyes closed, and body unmoving. As he eventually drifts off to sleep, an anticipatory sense of dread for the next day simmers throughout his body. He absentmindedly begs whatever being is responsible for chaining him to this meaningless life, to just let him die in his sleep. Though of course, his wish would never come so easily. For Dazai Osamu is a sinner, sinning purely with his inhuman existence, and thus, he will be forced to deal with this prison people call “life” until he can no longer bear the weight of it. That is the painstaking reality of this cruel world in which he exists.

Chapter Text

Chuuya waits in the lobby of the police station, absentmindedly scuffing at the carpet with his boot, glaring at the blocky ankle monitor chained to his leg. Fluorescent green toned lights flicker overhead, causing a slight throbbing in the back of his skull. He slumps further into the chair, his hands stuffed tightly in the pockets of his familiar green jacket. He wishes he were anywhere but here.

The room is suffocatingly small, though there aren't many people, besides himself. That much, Chuuya is thankful for. Rows of chairs line the mint green painted walls, and various picture frames are strewn out in a lousy attempt to decorate them. Though, to Chuuya, they still look incredibly barren and lifeless. Just the mere sight serves to aggravate him.

Kouyou sits next to him, her posture calculated and perfect, much like everything else about her. She was in charge of fostering him for the time being, though she wasn't much older than him, only being nineteen. If anything, she proved to be more of an older sister than a mother figure.

Even in her young age, she proved to be incredibly successful. She worked as a fashion designer, and had gained quite a bit of wealth and popularity for her more traditional line of clothing called “Golden Demon”. Chuuya thought it was a rather obscure name, but he'd die before telling her that. Regardless, due to the prosperity she was met with, it granted her the opportunity to take in those less fortunate than herself. Chuuya just so happened to be the one that landed in her care.

Despite Chuuya's distaste for the foster system, he didn't necessarily dislike Kouyou. Rather, he respected her somewhat, and looked up to her. Perhaps it was a respect born out of fear, for Kouyou could be incredibly scary when she was mad, even to Chuuya, who was rarely scared of anything that didn't directly threaten his or his loved ones wellbeing.

She’s kind, but incredibly strict, and had a way of covering her true feelings underneath a layer of poised perfection. Still, she let that carefully crafted exterior slip with Chuuya on occasion. Sometimes allowing a rarely genuine laugh to slip through, or she’ll make
a comment about how she'd always wished to care for a child like Chuuya.

Chuuya isn't entirely sure of the fact, but when speaking about children, and why she chose to foster, she seemed to tense almost inconceivably, though Chuuya had always been observant of people. He figures maybe she isn't able to have children of her own, or perhaps she had come from a background similar to his own. Though he's sure she would never have landed herself in the hands of the Yokohama police when she was younger, the possibility that she came from foster care or a less fortunate situation was still there.

It was one of the many reasons he cared for her so deeply, despite only being in her care for a short time. It was clear something unfortunate happened to her that she didn't wish to speak of, and still, she found a way to make a name for herself. Chuuya can only hope to accomplish half of what she's managed in her short life.

A mechanical buzz sounded and a man stepped out holding a clipboard. He called Chuuya's name, and Chuuya stood up. Kouyou briefly scolded him for his poor posture, before smoothing out his hair and wishing him luck. He would need it.

Chuuya didn't necessarily hate Hirotsu, it was more so the man's distasteful career choices. Who in their right minds chooses to be a probation officer anyway? He wonders silently.

Hirotsu leads him down the long winding halls wordlessly, bringing him to his office and closing the heavy metal door with a loud bang behind him. Chuuya slumps in the uncomfortable seat, picking at a hole in his worn out jeans.

The office smelled faintly of old paper and cheap disinfectant spray. The walls were a dark green, with faint gold accents here and there. Picture frames lined the walls, presumably of family members and such. On the wall behind the desk was a framed diploma.

Chuuya took a seat in one of the cheap metal chairs, wincing at the sound it made as it scratched against the concrete floor. Like nails on a chalkboard in the tense silence of the room.

“Morning, Chuuya.” Hirotsu's hardened voice spoke as he sat across from Chuuya. He folded his hands atop the desk and leaned his chin on them. Chuuya attempted not to roll his eyes at the man's odd fashion choices. A monocle sat on his left eye, something which Chuuya can confidently say he's never seen anyone outside of a TV screen wear before.
On top of that already odd choice, he wears a long green coat and a tan scarf, his silver hair slicked back with gel. Chuuya thinks he should take some pointers from Kouyoj on his attire. However, instead of mocking the man's pathetic, and almost humorous attempts at fashion, Chuuya simply chooses to reply with a slight head nod.

Hirotsu hums thoughtfully, rearranging a stack of papers on his desk. “How have things been since the last time we met?”

Chuuya shrugs, kicking against the chair leg obnoxiously. “Same as always, Gramps.”

Hirotsu's eyes flickered up to him, slight disapproval of the not-so-endearing nickname evident. “And you've been keeping up with the daily check-ins.” Hirotsu points out. It's an obvious fact, given he's the one receiving Chuuya's calls every morning.

Chuuya sighs, leaning his head back against the backrest of the seat. “Yup.” He deadpans, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Every day. Happy?” He states with a childish attitude present in his tone. He so hates these meetings, and the dread that courses through him as he anticipates them each week. He thinks they are entirely useless in the first place, let alone every single week. He already has to call the man every day for God sakes. Even if Hirotsu hadn't chosen a terrible career choice, Chuuya could only manage hearing the man's voice so much without feeling like ripping out his hair.

“Good to hear.” Hirotsu nods, reading over one of the many papers strewn across his desk. “Attendance for community service is on track as well. That's positive.” Chuuya rolls his eyes, though he doubts Hirotsu catches the gesture. “However, we need to talk about the GED tutoring.”

Chuuya tenses, crossing his arms. “What about it?” He asks, his tone tense. He hadn't been attending any of the useless tutoring sessions as of late. He figured this would come up eventually.

“You've missed three tutoring sessions in a row. That’s a violation of your probation requirements.”

Chuuya scoffs. “I already told you. Sitting in a room filling out worksheets is useless. I haven't gone to school practically my whole life, I can't learn all that shit in a couple weeks.” He states defiantly, masking how inferior he feels admitting that aloud.

Hirotsu sighs, his voice hardening. “A waste of time or not, it's a probation requirement. You chose to work for your GED rather than attending high school, and this is part of that path. Attendance isn't optional, Chuuya.”

Chuuya straightens in his seat, leaning forward to glare at the man. “Yeah? And what happens if I keep skipping? More of your useless lectures? More rules that aren't gonna change shit?”

Hirotsu leans back in his seat, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose irritatedly. “If it continues, I'll have no choice but to file a formal violation. That could mean stricter supervision, additional community service, or even an extension of your probation. All of which I would hope you want to avoid.” He states in a strict tone.

Chuuya clenches his jaw, slumping back into his seat, his fists balled in his pockets. “You're treating me like some kid who can't do shit for himself. I don't need this crap to have a life.” He says, eyes looking anywhere but the man.

“I am not trying to punish you, Chuuya. I believe you've had enough of that already.” Hirotsu sighs, his tone coming out softer but still hard. “You don't have to sit through the same tutor every week if you think it's not helping. You have potential, I assure you–you just need structure. Which is why I'm giving you another option.”

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, drawing his gaze back to the man. “Another option?”

“Yes.” Hirotsu says. “You may choose someone else to assist you in obtaining your GED if you decide that would be a better use of your time. I only require that you attend sessions with this person at the very least twice a week, and provide me with some sort of proof of progress. If you do that, the probation requirement is fulfilled.”

Chuuya smirks. “So I can pick anyone? And I don't have to deal with that dimwit you call a tutor anymore?”

Hirotsu sighs, but nods. “Yes. Anyone that can teach you competently. However this is not regulatory. I'm giving you this option because I believe it will be beneficial to you. This means no skipping, no excuses, and no half-assing it. If you do, the rules come back, and I won't hesitate to enforce them.

Chuuya taps his boot against the concrete floor thoughtfully. “Fine, I'll think about it. Don't expect any gratitude though, jackass.”

Hirotsu allows a small, tight-lipped smile to crawl to his lips. “I don't need gratitude. I only need results. That's your choice, Chuuya, make it count.

Chuuya pushes the chair back and stands up. “Yeah…make it count.” He mutters.

^^^

Chuuya arrives at the hospital on Monday around fifteen minutes before the allotted schedule. He’s spent that time strolling around the building, taking note of the few flowers that had managed to begin blooming, despite the still cold conditions. Red camellias decorate the shrubbery, having endured the harsh temperatures of the winter, and still remaining vivacious.

He picks one and twirls it around in his fingers as he walks back around to the front of the building.

As he nears the entrance, he notices a boy, and an older man walking towards the building. The man wears a long white coat, his slightly long hair slicked back with a few strands falling askew into his face. He looks to be a doctor, probably one of the staff here.

The boy however, is rather unsettling. Chuuya can't make out much from a distance, but even his presence gives off an air of unease. He wears a long high collared black coat, and a white button down shirt with the sleeves cuffed just above the elbow. His arms and neck both have a thick layer of bandages wrapped around them neatly. Chuuya also notices the thin bandages that cover half of his face. He reads from a book with a red and white cover as he walks towards the hospital building, shrugging off the man's hand on his shoulder annoyedly.

Chuuya hesitates, but eventually walks forward. Upon closer inspection, he can make out that the book cover says “The Complete Guide to Suicide”. What an odd topic, Chuuya thinks to himself. Though, that pretty much confirms his suspicions that this boy is most likely going to the same place as him.

He pushes down the simmering feeling in his stomach and speaks up.

“Hey, uh…” The boy turns to look at him. Chuuya almost physically recoils when he sees the boy's eyes, so dark and lifeless. He averts his own eyes, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Are you guys here for that, uh…support group thing?” He tries not to look embarrassed as he says the words out loud, though he's never been quite good at concealing his emotions with anything but anger.

The boy doesn't respond, his eyes flickering down to the flower Chuuya holds, before they return back to his face. His expression remains completely indifferent, devoid of any emotion.

It's the man who speaks up first. “Yes, we are. Would you like some help finding it?” The man asks. He gives a smile so spine-chilling and blaringly fake, that Chuuya grimaces just a bit. He can just tell that these two are related somehow, beyond just a doctor-patient relationship. Regardless of any of that, he returns the smile half-heartedly and nods.

“Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks.”

Chuuya watches as the man places a hand on the boy's shoulder once more and as the boy rolls his eyes, before going back to reading the strange book.

They walk into the hospital in tense silence for a few moments, before Chuuya feels the need to fill it with something, so he speaks.

“So, I didn't catch your name.” He says, turning his head towards the man. The man gives another cold smile.

“Ah yes, how rude of me. My name is Ougai Mori.” He says. Then he turns to the boy, who is still reading the book with a look of intense amazement. Chuuya furrows his brow. The boy certainly is…odd. Annoyingly so, even.

“Are you not going to introduce yourself, Dazai?”

The boy – Dazai – groans and closes the book with more force than necessary. He turns to Chuuya, with that same devoid stare and speaks. His voice doesn't match the way he looks in any way, it's childish and has a slight attitude to it.

“Dazai.” He says plainly, staring at Chuuya.

“Just Dazai? No first name?” Chuuya asks, intent on making polite smalltalk, aggravating and unnerving as the boy may be.

“Yup. My parents only gave me one name, you know how it is.” He says sarcastically.

Chuuya furrows his brow, annoyed at Dazai's arrogance. “Jeez, I was just asking. No need to be an ass.” Mori fixes him with a semi-glare, so cold that Chuuya shrinks into himself a little. Dazai doesn't even seem to notice the gesture.

“Come now, Dazai. Don't be rude, he was only asking.”

Dazai groans yet again, stuffing his face into his free hand.

“My first name is Osamu.” He says the name as if it physically pains him to speak of. Though, Chuuya brushes it off and nods.

“Well, it's uh… nice to meet you, Dazai.” A lie, but a polite one nonetheless. Kouyou would be proud of his painstaking efforts to be polite to someone so full of themselves. He smirks ever so slightly at the thought, proud of himself.

Dazai just mutters a bored “yeah, yeah.” As they reach the conference room in which the group will be held.

There are chairs arranged in a circle around the center of the room, and two of them are already occupied by boys, both seemingly quite a bit younger than Chuuya and Dazai. There is also a man with burnt red hair standing at the end of the room, writing something on the whiteboard there.

Mori says his goodbyes to Dazai, which he does not return, and gives a polite wave to Chuuya. The two of them walk in and sit down on two of the remaining chairs.

The room is decorated exactly as one would expect for a youth support group. Decorative signs hung on the wall read Healing begins with honesty and other bullshit mottos.

Chuuya glances over at the other boys in the room. One of them, seemingly the youngest in the room, has silver hair, cut jagged and unevenly. He wears an old raggedy hoodie, that looks well used and beat up, along with Capri-style black jeans of a similar manner. He bounces his leg up and down, biting at his cuticles anxiously.

The other, who looks almost like a direct opposite to the silver haired boy, wears an oversized black hoodie, which hangs off of his bony stature. He has short unkempt black hair, with two longer strands that have white tips. His skin is drastically pale, and his cheekbones are hollowed out. He looks ill, to say the least. Though, he doesn't act like it. He glares at anything that so much as breathes too loudly.

Daza, for his part, seems completely uninterested in any of it, instead leaning back in his chair as if he is auditioning for the role of a tortured poet in a middle school play. Chuuya rolls his eyes, the boy is so blatantly bad at acting that it peeves Chuuya a bit.

The man glances around the room, and nods. He walks over to the remaining chair holding a clipboard and starts speaking in a gruff, emotionless tone. “Alright.” He says. “Welcome to the first support group. My name is Oda Sakunosuke. We’ll start with introductions and a feelings check-in.”

Chuuya slumps in his chair, his hands jammed in his pockets. He bounces his leg up and down and scowls at the floor as if it has personally offended him somehow. This feels incredibly childish, though, he supposes that's because there are literal children in the room.

“First, let's state our names, age, and how you feel on a scale from one to ten.”

Dazai raises a hand, and starts without anyone telling him to. “My name is Dazai.” He starts. Chuuya stuffs his face in his hands. Dazai only smirks as he sees this and continues. “I’m fifteen, and emotionally…probably a negative twelve because this astoundingly sucks.”

Oda stares at him blankly for a moment. “We haven't even started yet.”

Chuuya glares at him, any desire he had to be polite in the good name of Kouyou simmering out of him. Plus, Mori isn't here anymore, so he can't be as callous as he pleases towards the obnoxious boy. “Can you be normal for, like, five seconds?”

Dazai grins. “You see, I would, but it's so funny seeing you whine like a dog.”

“I am not a dog asshole!”

“I said ‘like’ a dog. Dummy. And now that you mention it, you could be easily mistaken for a dog, with your incessant barking!”

“Must you speak?” The black haired boy speaks up irritatedly, glaring daggers at Dazai. Dazai's grin only widens, seemingly enjoying antagonizing everyone.

“Yes. I'm communicating my feelings.” He says dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest in a terrible attempt at acting. “Isn't that the purpose of this?”

The silver haired boy sinks further into his hoodie, eyes harshly trained in the floor.

Oda clears his throat. “Maybe we can try going in a circle.” He says, looking at Chuuya.

Chuuya sighs. “Chuuya Nakahara. Fifteen. I'm…uh, I don't know, a four or a five I guess.” he kicks at the leg of his chair and clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. He will most certainly be begging Hirotsu to not attend these shitty meetings later on. “And I'm here because social workers don't view punching people as a ‘suitable coping mechanism’” he says in a mocking tone.

Akutagawa mutters. “Depends who you punch.” he not-so-subtly glances at the boy next to him, who is absentmindedly bouncing his leg in an obnoxious manner. The boy stops and shrinks in his seat.

Oda ignores that. “Dazai? Would you like to go again, or pass?”

Dazai smiles. “Dazai. I feel like this is boring me half to death.”

Oda sighs. “Would you like to go next?” He asks the silver haired boy. The boy jumps and then clears his throat awkwardly.

“U-um,” the boy swallows loudly, eyes darting around the room. “I'm Atsushi Nakajima. I'm eleven. I…uh, I'm…a three or four, I guess?”

“Trying not to break something I presume?” Dazai states, clearly making a jab at the boy's anxious disposition.

“No! I…I just don't want anything to get any worse than it already has.”

“Good luck with that.” Chuuya scoffs. “Dazai's here.”

Atsushi stares at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“You wound me.” Dazai feigns injury, bringing a hand to his chest dramatically.

“God you're so annoying.”

Oda sighs tiredly. “And you?”

“Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. I'm thirteen, and probably at a solid two because this group is already giving me a migraine.”

“You've been here ten seconds.” Chuuya points out.

“Time is relative, and incredibly irritating it seems.”

Dazai grins. “Wont it at least be interesting to see how long we can all survive each other?”

“I hope it isn't too long.” Atsushi mutters under his breath, bouncing his leg once more, the floor practically shaking with the force of it.

Akutagawa brings a hand to his hair, pulling at it exhaustedly. “Maybe you should have stayed home then!” He snaps.

Atsushi's eyes widen, looking like he might just cry from being yelled at. He shrinks further into his hoodie.

“Alright, how about a grounding exercise? Why don't you all just try being silent for one full minute?” Oda says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dazai snickers. “Silent for a whole minute. I doubt any of them can manage it.” He whispers to Chuuya.

“Well clearly you fucking can't.” Chuuya mumbles.

“This is pointless,” says Akutagawa.

“I guess I can try.” Atsushi says, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

“Try? Or fail spectacularly?”

“Would it kill you to shut up, asshole!?”

“If it would, I would have already done it, idiot!”

“Just one minute of silence.” Oda says exasperatedly.

^^^

The group continues that way until the hour is up and Chuuya thinks he may just end up back in juvie or maybe even prison. This time for homicide. He is the first one out of the room as soon as Oda dismisses them, and as he inhales, it feels like the first breath of fresh air he's gotten in a lifetime.

He checks his phone. No texts or calls from Hirotsu or Kouyou. In fact, the group was let out about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Chuuya guesses this was due to the way Atsushi had begun practically hyperventilating and Oda had to rush to comfort him. Chuuya sighs exhaustedly.

He figures he has enough time to loiter around the hospital and cool off a bit before Kouyou picks him up. He starts walking, trailing his fingers along the sloppily painted walls.

Chuuya has never been too fond of hospitals, though he can't seem to pinpoint why that is. Something about them just makes the hair on his arms stand up. Perhaps ghosts are real, and actively haunting him at this very moment.

He wanders until he finds a vacant stairwell, clobbering up the steps. He climbs nearly five stories, before finding a door that reads ‘Rooftop’. He tries the handle, sighing at the whirring sound and the flash of red in his peripheral vision. He turns to leave, preparing to climb down the stairs yet again, when the door opens behind him. He whips around, expecting a nurse or one of the many hospital staff to be there. Instead, he finds the person he least wants to see.

"Ohh, hey Mori, I was just-" Dazai trails off. "Oh it's you. Are you stalking me or something? We only just met Chuuya, but I have to say, I'm flattered."

"Why would I ever stalk your sorry ass? I was just trying to get a breath of fresh air after you stole it all from that room with your rambling."

"Ugh, this is my spot."

"How can it be your spot? If anyone's, it's the hospital's spot, idiot."

Dazai pulls a hand to his chest. "You wound me. And I'll have you know I'm actually quite smart, thank you. So your insult doesn't count."

"Yeah, im sure." He walks across the rooftop, sitting as far away from Dazai as he can, his legs dangling over the edge. He has always had an affinity for heights. It's nice to watch the world from so high up, feeling unchained by gravity. It's a sort of freedom, in a way, one he can't find in the confines of foster care.

"I am! Watch!" Dazai hops over to Chuuya's spot near the ledge, and Chuuya's heart almost jumps out of his chest, thinking Dazai is about to either jump or fall off. Not that he cares about Dazai at all, or feels anything more towards him than pure hatred. He would just prefer not to see his brains strewn across the pavement down below if that was an option.

Though, Dazai doesn't jump off. Instead, he sits down and sticks out his fist in front of Chuuya, cupped by his other hand. Chuuya stares confusedly for a second before Dazai groans and says "rock, paper, scissors." in a tone that makes it sound like that much was obvious.

"How the hell is rock paper scissors gonna prove to me you're smart after you just jumped near the ledge of a tall ass building?"

"Just do it, you'll see."

Chuuya sighs and mirrors Dazai's hands. They simultaneously raise their fists in the air and throw out one of the options. Dazai chooses paper, while Chuuya chooses rock.

"Again." Dazai states, and Chuuya complies, rolling his eyes, but still intent on winning. He had always been competitive, a habit carried from his days in foster care and on the streets.

They play somewhere around fifteen matches before Chuuya shouts. "What the fuck!? You're cheating!"

Dazai raises his eyebrows up and down, his fingers making a chopping movement, still in the form of scissors. "I am." He states proudly "I can easily predict what your next move will be. The tension of your arm, your gaze, and the timing in between movements. I can also influence your choice with subtle gestures."

"Bullshit! That's impossible!"

"It's very possible, you're just dumb. Dumb and short."

"...What?"

"I said, you're dumb and- Ow! What the hell!?"

"Dont call me short! I'm only fifteen. I'm still growing, jackass!"

"That's what a short person would say! Ow! Stop doing that!"

"Stop calling me short!"

Dazai groans and clutches his arm. "Great, now I'm gonna have a nasty bruise tomorrow."

"Oh you'll be fine, you can just cover it with your creepy collection of bandages." Chuuya says without thinking. He grimaces after the words leave his mouth, realizing that it's probably a sensitive topic. Even if he hates Dazai, he normally wouldn't stoop that low.

Dazai however, just grins, and Chuuya finds annoyance seeping in all over again.

"So do you believe that I'm smart yet?"

"What I believe is that you're full of shit."

"I swear I'm smart. I passed my GED with flying colors at fourteen. Fresh into high school. You can ask Mori!"

That catches Chuuya's attention.

"You... Got your GED?"

"Yeah, well it was that or truancy court. I was not about to endure something so excruciatingly boring when I could be doing way better things. You know, for instance, dying."

Chuuya bites his lip as Dazai kicks his legs against the building. The thought in his mind irks him in every way imaginable, but well, he doesn't have many other options. Shirase and Yuan and the rest of the sheep have about as much education as he does. He could ask Kouyou, but she was busy with other pursuits, and he didn't want to be bothersome to her. He groans, placing his head in his hands.

"...what?"

"How smart are you exactly?"

"Uhh, smarter than you, that's for sure."

"Like, smart enough to tutor somebody?"

"Yeah, I guess, though I'd probably hate it..." He trails off, a look that indicates he's come to some sort of horrifying realization on his face. "I am not tutoring you!"

"Why the hell not!?"

"Uhh because you're disgustingly stupid and I have better things to do? Duh."

"I am not stupid asshole!"

"You are. Stupid and tiny, and I'm not tutoring you. That's final."

"Why? 'Cause everything you just told me was bullshit and you're actually too stupid to tutor anyone?"

Dazai just stares with a conflicted, and shocked expression on his face.

"I must say Chuuya, I didn't take you for the type that so obviously manipulates people."

"So is that a yes?"

"Absolutely not! I'd rather die than do anything with you!"

"You're literally sitting here talking to me right now!"

"Correction: I'm sitting here arguing with you, for one, and for two, that's because you slimed your way into my spot like a gross little slug!"

A hard punch lands in the same spot on Dazai's arm, and he whimpers pathetically, clutching it with a grimace on his face.

"Stop doing that! I'll have you know I hate pain!"

"There's more where that came from if you don't just agree!"

"Why are you so desperate!?"

"Because it's what my stupid probation officers keep scolding me about and I just want to get back to my normal fucking life already!" Chuuya shouts, much louder and voice thick with unnamed emotion.

Dazai stops, seemingly out of breath and stares at Chuuya with a wide eyed expression.

"Fine," Dazai says, averting his eyes to the bustling city below. "I'll tutor you. But if you prove to be as stupid as I think you are then I'm done. No begging or manipulation will work on me."

Chuuya scoffs, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "It just did."

"No! That was because I'm choosing to do so out of the kindness of my heart! Not because of anything you said!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Chuuya's phone rings in his pocket, buzzing against his thigh. He fishes it out and reads the caller id, Kouyou. There are also three unread messages at the top of his screen.

"Shit," he stands and turns to Dazai. "Bye asshole, and uh, thanks... I guess."

"Aww the chibi can be polite!"

"The fuck did you just call me? I should throw you off this roof right now!"

"I didn't peg you as the romantic type either, you're just full of surprises."

"Will you-! Ugh!" He presses answer on the call screen and sprints to the door, flipping off Dazai as he leaves.

As he walks down the multiple flights of stairs, a groan escapes his lips as he realizes the hell he's just signed himself up for.

Chapter Text

The first thought in Dazai’s mind upon his first encounter with Chuuya was simply–His eyes. An awestruck observation. Very little in this world served to impress Dazai, but the breathtakingly abstract art of Chuuya's eyes was so genuinely beautiful that Dazai couldn't help but stare far longer than he should have. Beyond the wonderfully rare coloration, honey brown and pale blue, there was something else in them that struck Dazai, and made his alien heart flutter within the confines of his chest. They were so expressive, a beautiful light far brighter than any Dazai had ever seen glimmering deep within them. He wondered what mixture of paint could be used to capture such beauty, or if it was possible at all. Perhaps it was like a photograph, for you could never truly capture the essence of a moment unless you were there yourself, gazing upon it with your own two eyes. He was shaken out of his thoughts by Mori, whom he scowled internally at. He gave a rough introduction of himself, acting as though he had simply not cared in the slightest. Though the reality couldn't be further from the truth.

The second thought upon interacting with the boy was this: how can one person be so incredibly annoying? and that was the more prominent thought which he carried with him throughout the excruciating hour.

The other boys in the room hardly served to present any change within Dazai's mind. They were bland, boring, the same shades of people Dazai had always seen. Akutagawa, a boy with a fiery temper, and such a blaring distaste for life, that of which stood out to Dazai purely due to the familiarity of it. Though he grew bored after some time, annoyed at the boy's bland, repugnant insults. He could use a bit of creativity, Dazai thought. Even if life is meaningless, it won't hurt to act as if it were the opposite, just as he had always done. Though, regardless of his boredom with the boy, Dazai could tell that what he truly longed for was for something to bring about meaning to his life. Those eyes so closely reflected Dazai's own, it was difficult not to notice. The boy could never magically receive meaning in life without effort made towards obtaining it.

Then there was Atsushi, a boy so lacking in any self confidence that he practically brimmed with discomfort. Dazai guesses that the discomfort he holds stems not from any environment or person specifically, but from a deeply-held hatred for himself. One that haunted his existence everywhere he went. He could guess that the boy felt as though he needed to prove his existence was worth something. Seeking meaning for himself rather than waiting for it to drop from the sky. Though, the way he went about it was hardly of any use. Good deeds were never repaid in the end.

The two might do well to learn from each other, he thinks. They both wish for a stamp of certification that proves they are worthy of life, they just go about obtaining it in opposing ways.

Finally, there was Oda Sakunosuke. A man whom Dazai could not get a good read on so effortlessly. He carried himself in a way that carefully concealed any scars hidden deep beneath the skin. His voice, emotionless and lacking any depth, whether it be artificial or not. He was simply barren, desolate of any forms of expression. And yet, Dazai still found that the man was more human than himself. He was rather intrigued by this fact. He wished absentmindedly to learn more about the man. Though, he'd rather observe him from a safe distance. Dazai never did well with any kind of relationship, especially not that of a therapist-client relationship.

Regardless, as he stared down at the raging River just parallel to his feet, he found that the ever-present sense of dread directed towards the youth meetings subsided somewhat. He wasn't by any means looking forward to it, but rather, he didn't loathe it quite so much.

The thing he did loathe however, and felt a consuming sense of dread over, was the hellish proposal he had so stupidly accepted. He called Chuuya stupid and idiotic, though at the end of the day, he was the one who had allowed himself to be swayed by the emotions of something so startlingly human. He had allowed himself to stare far too deeply into that expressionate gaze, and had momentarily forgotten the qualms he held towards the boy.

Though, it's not that the boy wouldn't be able to find another tutor, should Dazai just so happen to go tragically missing, his lifeless body being found and fished out of the river weeks later. Nor would he miss him. Dazai is certain that nobody would, he had taken measures to ensure that his death would not be of any inconvenience to anyone. Ensuring a smooth end to his dreadful existence.

He sighs, running a hand through his icy hair. His breath materializes before him and dances out of existence. How he wishes to cease that breath for good.

Thus, he slides the coat off his shoulders, carefully folding it and setting it against the grass. He loathes the coat, though he figures Mori may want it back. It's only a polite final gesture, that's all. Even if Mori is undeserving, he does it regardless.

He looks up at the sky, gloomy shades of light gray staring back at him. He thinks it's only befitting that the sky should perfectly mirror the dull dimness of his existence on the day he finally departs from this world. A small genuine smile crosses his lips. Then, he allows himself to step forward, gravity pulling him down and making him clash with the water beneath him. Inescapable–that's what gravity was. It was destined to always pull him down, sinking further and further into the depths of his own misery until he could no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps there was never any light to begin with, and Dazai had only imagined it to soothe the darkness that threatened to consume him whole.

He felt his last exhale escape him, bubbling up to the surface. He thinks it funny, how all that shows he had once existed on this earth will be a stream of bubbles, lost within the heavy river stream. Though, it's not that he could have hoped for anything more. He knows he had deliberately made it so. That way, his exit would be cleaner, easier. He wouldn't leave behind a mess for others to deal with. He had caused enough agony with only his presence, the least he could do was go out quietly.

And as his consciousness begins to drift, his lungs burning and desperately pleading for an air that would not come, his life did not flash before his eyes, for it was a barren, miserable life. Instead, the possibilities of what could've been play out in his mind. He pictures himself in a bar, surrounded by two figures whom he can't quite make out, though he feels a sense of comfort regardless. He just simply drinks and chats with the figures in his vision, his skin still bandaged, and his eyes still devoid and lifeless. He is not unfrightened of his own existence. And though he is still not entirely happy, he is human nonetheless. Something imperfect, but real, and tangible. Something that could relate and be related to. Something that wasn't quite so isolated.

Next, he sees blurry faces pass by, ones which he cannot fully recall, being so far obscured by time, and ones that he would have never thought he would see. He sees long flowing locks of honey brown and a blurred face. Then shorter, dark black hair, appearing almost a sinister purple, and a more familiar chilling stare, and though muffled, he hears a similarly familiar cold voice above him. Though it seems to have lost its usual chilling nature, instead replaced with something more akin to panic. He wonders, with his addled mind, why that is.

He is hoisted out of the water, his lungs constricting against his will and forcing him to inhale the awful air. He keeps his eyes closed, praying that by some divine intervention, he will be swept away yet again. Though, of course. Life had always had a way of playing cruel jokes on him.

He blinks open his eyes. Glaring at the sky as if it has personally offended him.

“Dazai,” a breathless voice comes from beside him. “Welcome back.”

Dazai remains silent, blinking up at the dreary sky, before sitting up and banging his fists once, harshly against the muddy soil beneath him. “God damnit!”

^^^

He shivers on top of his mattress, even with the warmth of the black coat wrapping around his shoulders. He catches vague snippets of Mori's incessant rambling about hypothermia, and how Dazai really shouldn’t mess around in rivers at such a cold time of year. Mori, of course, knows that Dazai simply has no regard for his life, though he deliberately feigns obliviousness quite often.

He stares at the blank wall in front of him, which returns the blankness of his expression. His vision blurs at the edges, so much so, that Dazai is uncertain whether it is his vision, or if he is simply looking through the eyes of someone else. He feels as though the true him is floating somewhere in space, lost to this existence, to this world, and that the body sitting on the mattress is not his own. Yet, Mori's cold, calloused fingertips against his face snap him back to the cruel reality in which he still resides.

He flinches away from the touch initially, though Mori doesn't even seem to notice, even though Dazai is sure he had and is just pretending not to. He slowly, carefully undresses the soaked bandage around Dazai's eye. Taking a fresh roll and rewrapping it with a sort of preciseness that one could only gain after years of practice.

The bandages around his eye are not necessary in any way. In fact, he couldn't say why he wears them. They just bring a vague sense of comfort to him. Something about hiding himself from the world. The eyes are the windows to the soul, they say. Perhaps Dazai fears that someone may look too deeply, see that he does not harbour any soul within his empty stare. That someone may view him the way he views himself. That may be the worst scenario Dazai's mind could possibly conjure up.

After Mori dresses the bandages on Dazai's eye, he quickly disinfects a cut he had somehow gotten on his cheek, and though not deep, Mori still treats it with all the care of an esteemed surgeon preparing to cut open a patient.

A fragile experiment. That's all Dazai was to Mori.

Then, he moves to the bandages around Dazai's arms and neck, and Dazai finds himself vehemently resisting. “I can do it myself.” He attempts to make his voice sound annoyed, and childish as always, but it comes out as nothing more than a desolate whisper.

Mori sighs. “Would it harm you to accept help once in a while? You don't seem to be in a state to care for yourself properly right now.”

Dazai feels himself shrink at the cold words. He hates Mori for treating him like an experiment, and he hates himself because the words Mori speaks are true. “It might.” He mutters under his breath. Even so he reluctantly acquiesces, sticking out a bandaged arm for Mori to examine and redress, even if it makes him feel exposed, even if it is something easily exploitable by Mori. He just cannot find it in himself to protest as he usually would. For he doesn't feel like himself as of now. Perhaps he never had in the first place.

Mori's expression hardly changes as he unravels the bandages. Though the slight flicker of emotion that passes through his eyes does not go unnoticed by Dazai. He’s probably thinking how grotesque and unnerving the sight is. And yet still, Dazai cannot find it in himself to do anything about it, except to shrink further into himself.

Mori stands after he finishes and makes his way to the closet, picking out a pair of fuzzy socks and mismatched pajamas, and handing them to Dazai. Dazai glares half-heartedly at him, though Mori just sighs and says, “You'll freeze to death in those clothes. It would be negligent of me to let that happen, don't you think?”

Right, it would be negligent of him. Dazai turns the words over in his mind as he stumbles to the bathroom and changes. He steps back into the room and flops down on the comfortable mattress. He grimaces as he sinks into it, something so gross and obscure should not have such luxury things.

Mori lingers in the doorway a moment longer. Dazai groans. “What?” He asks, though it lacks its usual hardness.

“Nothing, just…on second thought, nevermind.” Mori says, flicking off the lamp and turning to leave. “Get some rest, it seems you could use it.” He states, more as an order than a suggestion. Dazai just sighs and lays on the bed.

He sleeps, though restlessly and in small segments. Dreams plague his mind, though upon waking, he cannot remember what they were. Only a vague enervation courses deeply within his bones, blacker than any poison he could ever hope to drink.

^^^

Though exhaustion still courses through his blood, Dazai peels himself out of bed the next morning, and morphs himself into something presentable, though still so blaringly fake that he winces in the mirror.

Mori is already waiting for him in the sparklingly clean kitchen as he makes his way down the stairs, reading a book that Dazai cannot make out the title of. Mori notices him, and stuffs the book away quickly, flashing a cold grin in his direction. “Ready?” He asks.

“As I'll ever be.” Dazai states with a slight eye roll. Mori's smile becomes more genuine as he sees it, though for what reason Dazai cannot place.

The drive to the hospital is spent in silence, much as every other time. Though there is something unspoken that settles in the air between them, and it is not quite so tense as before. Instead feeling as comfortable as can be with the state of their present relationship. And Dazai, though he would usually loathe it, finds that, in his state of perpetual exhaustion, the comfort isn't so bad. Perhaps just for this brief, fleeting moment, he may allow himself the pleasure of warmth, even if it is Mori whom he finds it in.

^^^

The conference room is just the same as it had been when he'd left last. The same bluish-grey walls blocked him in. False miscellaneous mottos lining the walls, and the whiteboard still has the same rules jotted down with a dying dry erase marker.

However, this time he finds that he's the only one in the room besides the man named Oda when he enters.

“Hey, you're quite early.” He says in a deadpan voice, though Dazai inquires to himself if his tone is intentional, or just purely out of habit. Perhaps the man just simply doesn't possess the ability to even feign emotion.

Dazai briefly considers turning around and leaving wordlessly, though Mori would most certainly have his head for that, he’s sure. And decapitation was such a messy way to die.

“I am indeed.” He states instead, sauntering over to the chair farthest from the man. He is interested in him, sure. But getting too close to people never ended well. He had already made that mistake once with a certain hot-tempered delinquent. He didn't intend to make it twice.

“You missed our last meeting.” Oda observes. Not looking up from his clipboard that he seems to be doodling on.

“I suppose I did. I hadn't noticed.” The way he says it comes off as sarcastic, though, truth be told, he truly didn't notice through the stream of exhaustion and disappointment at his failed attempts that plagued his body and mind.

Oda just hums in response, seemingly incredibly focused on his doodles. Dazai wonders what a man so devoid of emotion could possibly be doodling so intently.

“Would you like to see?” Oda asks, apparently noticing Dazai's staring. Dazai feels his face heat up and he averts his gaze, having not even noticed it trained on the clipboard. Despite himself, he nods. He finds he holds an odd fascination for the man.

Oda nods, finishing off the last details before flipping the board around and handing it over to Dazai.

Dazai accepts the board, and thoroughly examines it. You can tell a lot about a person through acts most would deem small and insignificant. However, Dazai cannot tell if, or what, these drawings allude to in the slightest.

There are a few doodles, surprisingly well done, of a black cat. Its eyes are large and dark, like that of a frightened child on the verge of tears, and its fur is scraggly and seemingly charred. Dazai finds a small comfort in the drawings, though for what reason, he could not say. It clicks when he notices one of the cats wearing bandages along its tail and one eye.

“Is this…supposed to be me?”

Oda nods, his expression unchanging. “It is.” He states with that same monotone voice. Dazai feels the heat rising to his face once more. He doesn't know whether he should find the gesture endearing, or alarmingly creepy.

“Are you like a stalker, or something? Because if you are, I'd say you're doing a horrendous job.”

“Not a stalker. You just remind me of a burnt black cat.”

“And…so you decided to draw me, as a… burnt cat?”

“That's right.”

“And you don't see how one may perceive this as creepy? I mean, we've only met once.”

“You leave quite an impression.”

“...Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“I…see.” Dazai can confidently say he's never had such an odd, and awkward conversation in all his life. Though, it doesn't bother him much, rather, it only serves to increase his interest in the man. He hands the clipboard back and the man goes back to drawing, entirely unbothered by the incredibly strange conversation that had just taken place. Dazai stares at him with a bewildered expression as the man scribbles away.

“Hey, shitty Dazai.” Dazai's gaze is pulled away as he cups his face in his hands. He was silently wishing that Chuuya would just so happen to fall tragically ill with some never before heard of disease, and subsequently be unable to attend. Though, as Dazai should have learned by now, the universe is cruel.

“...what did you just call me?”

“Well, since you've come up with so many creative nicknames for me, I figured it wouldn't hurt if I gave you one back.” He says with a prideful smirk, his hands stuffed into the pockets of the same green jacket he had worn the last time.

“I'll have you know, Shitty Dazai is entirely lacking in artistry. Such a stupid chibi.”

“Shut up” Chuuya says through gritted teeth, taking a deep inhale of breath before continuing. “Anyways, I checked with my probation officer and he said it was fine that you tutor me.”

“How great.” Dazai mutters flippantly, the sound muffled by his bandaged palms against his mouth. He silently wishes that a car will crash into the building and just so happen to take his life at this very moment.

“Yeah, sooo…I kinda need your number, asshole.”

Dazai looks up as if he is talking to the most brainless being alive.

“I don't have a number.”

“...how do you not have a number?”

“it simple, stupid chibi, I don't have a phone, implying that I don't have a-”

“I'm in the fucking foster system and I still have a phone.”

Dazai rolls his eyes. “Yeah I could have guessed that much.”

“The fuck did you just say!?” Chuuya stomps forward and grabs Dazai by the collar of his shirt. Dazai grins and holds up his bandaged hands in retreat as Chuuya winds his arm back.

Despite Chuuya's height and blaring idiocy, Dazai doesn't doubt that he can throw a punch. Otherwise, he wouldn't have ended up with that fun little ankle monitor strapped to his leg for just simply punching someone. He also does not wish to be on the receiving end of said punch.

“Chuuya, I'd prefer if we kept the menacing to a minimum. I'm not keen on losing my job.” Oda's voice comes from behind, still not bothering to look up.

Chuuya sighs and lets go of Dazai's collar, stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets, all the while sending a deathly glare towards Dazai.

“Whatever. Do you have, like…an email or something?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ sound.

“Do you have fucking anything?”

“Hmm, well let's see. I had peace of mind, but then this agitating dog started barking in my ear. Any advice on how to get it to stop?”

“You fucking-”

Atsushi, whom none of them had noticed walking into the room, clears his throat uncomfortably. Eyes averted to the wall away from the commotion.

Chuuya groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

“So how the fuck am I supposed reach you for tutoring.”

“I don't know. How about you try not reaching me at all, ever thought of that.”

“Do you have amnesia or something? You don't have an option anymore if my memory serves me right.”

“Perhaps you’re the one with amnesia, because I don't remember any of that.”

Chuuya averts his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Your attempts at gaslighting are terrible.” he grumbles.

Dazai sighs melodramatically. “Fine! You can have my number, you vile slug!”

Chuuya's face brightens before falling into a scowl. Dazai ignores the way his heart jumps in his chest, perhaps those pills he had stuffed down his throat had given him heart problems. He’ll have to ask Mori about that later.

“You bastard! I knew you were lying! You're so carelessly manipulative!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He says, flipping open the sleek black flip phone with a flick of his wrist, and typing in something with one hand. He has to pull up his contact information, for he doesn't remember his phone number. He had grown so used to not having a phone during his time on the streets and in the system, that he had never gotten into the habit of using it regularly.

Chuuya pulls a chair around and straddles it, annoyedly eavesdropping on Dazai's screen.

“Who's…‘Doctor evil?’” he asks incredulously, eyes skimming over Dazai's call logs.

A vicious smirk spreads across Dazai's face.

“Oh you know. None other than the great Mori.”

Chuuya gapes at him in utter disbelief.

Chapter Text

Chuuya pounds his fists against the door repeatedly.

“Dazai let me the hell in already!”

He had blown up Dazai’s phone all week waiting for some indication as to when they could start their tutoring sessions, and Hirotsu has not been happy about the delay, to say the least. He had considered giving up and just asking Kouyou to tutor him, but she had been particularly busy as of late with manufacturing her new line of clothing and dealing with marketing and advertisement. And since he didn't want to pull her from her work to deal with his education, or lack thereof rather, he had instead pestered Dazai until he finally received a vague answer as to a date, time, and address. Of course, Dazai wouldn’t have made it quite so easy though.

So here he stands, in the blistering cold in front of a nauseatingly luxurious house, waiting for the bastard to just open the damn door.

Chuuya should’ve expected that Dazai lived in such an ostentatious home, what with his arrogance and odd taste in clothing. However, it’d be an understatement to say he feels slightly out of his comfort zone, wearing his raggedy green hoodie and torn up jeans in such a wealthy neighborhood. He clenches his fists inside of his pockets as he watches his breath materialize in the winter air.

He’s just about to give up and begin the long walk back to his not-so-luxurious neighborhood when he hears the squeaking of door hinges and a tired voice.

”God, do you ever stop barking? Couldn’t wait even five seconds to see me?” Dazai calls out. He stands in the doorframe wearing a mussed t-shirt of some creepy looking Pokémon character and fuzzy checkered sweatpants. His hair is a mess of tangles and random askew strands, and his bandages hang loosely from his arms and neck, with the one on his face practically falling off. Chuuya hardly manages to hold back a laugh at the strangely domestic sight. He hasn’t known Dazai long, but in that time he's only ever seen him wear pristine white button down shirts and a long black trenchcoat. It’s odd seeing Dazai resemble something more befitting of his age.

“…what? Stop staring at me, it's creepy.” Dazai says while rubbing his eye and attempting to fix the bandage around his head.

Chuuya prays that he doesn’t notice the blush rising to his cheeks, and that he’ll just assume it's from the cold. He clears his throat and shouts, “Were you seriously fucking sleeping? You were the one who told me to be here at this time!”

”What would you expect me to be doing at seven in the morning!? And for the record, I have no memory of that!”

”Oh bullshit, you really need to get better at gaslighting people if you're gonna use it so often.”

Dazai puts on a shit eating grin. ”I don't use it often, only on stupid tiny chibis such as yourself.”

”Wow, I'm honored.” Chuuya groans sardonically. “Let me in, jackass, it’s freezing out here.”

”You know, I was pretty busy with other things…”

”What? Fucking sleeping!?”

Dazai glares at him childishly and goes to close the door.

”Wait, wait!” Chuuya jams his boot in between the doorframe and the door and winces as it slams into it. “Seriously, Hirotsu’s gonna kill me if I don't show him proof of progress by the next check-in.”

“And that’s my problem, how exactly? The world could do with less annoying dogs.”

Chuuya groans and buries his face in his hand. He does not want to beg for anything from someone like Dazai, but, well, he really doesn’t have any other options at the moment. So he puts on his best face of desperation and tries. “Please, Dazai.” He mumbles, scuffing his boot against the ground, unable to meet Dazai’s gaze. It feels incredibly pathetic, but he's tried everything else he could think of.

”Awww, see. Now was that so hard?”

”You fucking- Im gonna kill you!”

Dazai sticks his tongue out childishly, then opens the door wider and moves to the side to let Chuuya in.

The interior of the house is even more pretentious, Chuuya notes. He hadn’t taken Mori for a man who would display his wealth with such useless things like interior design and flamboyant furnishings, but there’s only so much you can tell from one interaction, he supposes. Regardless, the warm air against his rosy skin is a nice contrast. During his time on the streets, winters were particularly harsh, so he had always been adamant on never taking any amount of warmth for granted.

Dazai leads him around the winding halls and multitude of rooms in silence, save for the occasional yawn or annoyed grumbling about Chuuya walking too close. Chuuya, for his part, is too awestruck to argue with him much. The house probably could’ve housed him and the entirety of The Sheep and still had an abundance of space left over. Dazai eventually stops when they reach the living room, and wanders over to the bookshelf. “So, what exactly am I supposed to be teaching you?” He questions, eyes skimming the assortment of books. Most of the shelf consists of various medical texts that would be of no use to either of them. Chuuya watches as he picks out a random one with a title he cannot decipher the meaning of for the life of him, and begins flipping through the pages in a bored manner.

”Isn't that your job to figure out?”

”Must I remind you this was your idea that you wouldn’t stop pestering me about?” Dazai deadpans, still not looking up from the heavy book in his hands.

”I wouldn’t have to pester you if you would answer your damn messages!”

”I’m a very busy man, you know?”

”Yeah? With what, sleeping?”

”Uh dying? Duh.” He states facetiously.

Chuuya groans and flops onto the couch, careful not to mess up the very specific arrangement of pillows. He curses his past self for voluntarily signing himself up for this entirely unhelpful bullshit.

“There isn’t anything of use here…let's go raid the bookshelf in Mori's room. He probably has something in there.”

”I am not rampaging your dad’s room.”

He watches Dazai tense as the words leave his mouth, though he doesn’t understand why. He turns around with an expression like he’s just been stabbed through the stomach. An odd sight, on his usually expressionless face, Chuuya thinks. “…what?” He asks, picking over his words to figure out what was wrong with them.

He had of course noticed the way Dazai had always referred to the man as ‘Mori’ instead of ‘Dad’ or anything else, but he had just figured it was due to the odd relationship the two of them seemed to have, or out of Dazai’s rebellious nature.

”Mori isn’t my dad.” Dazai says in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. Chuuya furrows his brow at the way Dazai refuses to meet his gaze as he speaks, instead opting to pick at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

”He’s…not?”

”I don't have a dad.” Dazai states more harshly this time. And after living with a group of orphans and being one himself, he knows that the topic is something that many people prefer not to talk about. Though, he still has a multitude of questions. Like, for example, how the hell did Dazai end up in the care of Mori if he’s not his dad? Maybe he’s a relative? Or maybe Dazai is an orphan such as himself. It would make a lot of sense, in hindsight.

Chuuya hesitates, but eventually curiosity wins out and he decides to ask anyway. “…Then why do you live with him?” He says, sitting up on the couch to face Dazai.

”Because Mori is annoyingly persistent and will do just about anything to get what he wants.” Dazai mutters, still refusing to meet Chuuya's gaze. “Now stop barking and come with me like a good dog.”

That probably leaves more questions in Chuuya's mind than it answers. Regardless, he drops the topic, because even if he hates Dazai, he likes to think of himself as somewhat of a good person, and he's not about to force Dazai into a conversation he so obviously doesn’t wish to speak about. Instead, he reluctantly acquiesces and follows Dazai up the long winding staircase, because admittedly he feels a little bad for bringing up what’s clearly a sensitive topic and making the boy uncomfortable in his own home.

^^^

Mori’s room is evidently locked when they arrive in front of the heavy mahogany doors. Though, as Chuuya was quickly learning, nothing so small would stop Dazai. Nor would Chuuya's numerous protests and concerns it seems.

Dazai is surprisingly good at picking locks. He uses a bobby pin he had taken out of his hair, and skillfully maneuvers it until there is a small click. Chuuya hesitates in the doorway as Dazai gleefully skips into the room, but eventually he caves and enters, genuinely curious about what on earth Mori would even have in his room, which is evidently not much of anything.

The walls are painted a dark mauve color, and the heavy black curtains are drawn shut, painting the room in a rather gloomy atmosphere. It’s furnished with only the basic necessities, a wooden bedframe, a nightstand on either side, and a lamp and desk with a plethora of papers strewn across it. Dazai walks over to a bookshelf in the corner adjacent to the bed and begins sorting through the variation of books there with his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully.

Chuuya goes towards the one directly next to it and is immediately so taken aback by the medical texts with such obtuse titles that he grimaces a bit at his own inability to comprehend them. Regardless, his eyes wander over the multitude of books, not even bothering to make any attempt at deciphering them. He finds a textbook on mathematical reasoning and decides it might prove useful, so he takes it. Then, his eyes catch something else.

Laid on the desk, rather than on the bookshelf is a smaller book with a bright blue cover. “What's this?” He asks, walking over and picking it up. Perhaps he should have been more wary of snooping through Mori's belongings–who is practically a stranger, but he reads out the title before he has any time to think about it.

“How to talk so kids will listen, and listen so kids will talk.” He reads aloud, smirking a bit.

“...What!?” Dazai shouts, appearing beside Chuuya in the blink of an eye and pulling the book away from him. Chuuya watches with a grin, ready to tease him, as Dazai's face flickers with various uncharacteristic emotions. It looks like he's fighting with himself over what, or if he should feel anything about the book.

“Why would he…?” He trails off, his face settling on a conflicted expression. Though, Chuuya's always been good at reading people, so he doesn't miss the flicker of something melancholy hidden deep within those empty eyes. His grin falls immediately, as does any desire he had to tease Dazai over it.

He shrugs, looking down at his boots as he kicks the corner of the desk. “Maybe he really does want to be a good parent to you…and you've just been missing it?”

Dazai looks at Chuuya with a deeply confused expression. “Mori doesn't want to be a parent to me.” He states confidently, though his expression betrays his tone.

“I don't know.” Chuuya says with his eyes trained on Dazai's. “I don't remember my parents, so I couldn't say for sure…but from what I've seen he does care about you.” He says, entirely confident in the fact. “Disgustingly irritating as you may be.” He adds on, just for good measure.

Dazai averts his gaze, though he still holds the book tightly in his grasp. If Chuuya didn't know any better, he'd almost say that Dazai's cheeks flushed a bit. Though, he knows Dazai. He's empty and emotionally subdued, he wouldn't be caught dead blushing over anything Chuuya could have ever said…right?

Dazai clears his throat. “Whatever, stupid chibi, you should know better than to snoop through things that don't belong to you. That's probably why you have to wear that in the first place!”

Chuuya furrows his brow, not understanding what Dazai's talking about. His gaze follows Dazai's down his leg, his eyes landing on the ankle monitor strapped there.

He punches Dazai, maybe a little harder than necessary. “No asshole! This is because I broke someone's nose because they wouldn't stop running their mouths! Something I'm about to do to you if you don't stop being such a dick when I'm trying to be nice!”

Dazai grins widely, the gesture appearing almost sincere. The look is such a nice contrast from the grim look he wore only seconds ago, that Chuuya decides to drop it, though not before muttering a string of colorful insults beneath his breath.

They walk out of Mori's room, and Dazai leads Chuuya to a different room.

“I could cut it off, you know.” Dazai mutters as he grasps the handle of the door, his eyes conspicuously averted.

“Cut…what off?”

Dazai gestures to Chuuya's ankle monitor once more, and Chuuya can't help the small snort of laughter that escapes him. “What are you an idiot? That would land me in juvie all over again.”

“Well, the offers there.” Dazai shrugs, walking into the barren room and dropping down the books they had collected onto the bed.

“So, where do we start?”

^^^

The time on the digital clock on Dazai's desk reads 10:15, and yet, Chuuya finds he has learned nothing of substance in the nearly three hours he's been here. One thing he has learned, however, is that Dazai has an annoying habit of rolling around on the floor when he's stressed.

“I told you a million times, Chuuya! You have to use the distance formula!”

“What in the ever loving fuck is the distance formula!?” Math has admittedly never been something Chuuya takes pride of his abilities in.

Dazai groans exasperatedly from his spot on the floor, and Chuuya finds his eyes lingering for far too long on his face. He hates to admit that when Dazai's long dark hair isn't concealing his face, he isn't really that terrible looking. His deep, blue colored eye bags remain, and half of his face is still buried beneath a sea of bandages, and yet, he looks…

Chuuya would rather not finish that sentence, on second thought.

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Dazai bites out, his dark eyes finding Chuuya's with a childish glare.

“Roll on the ground like a fucking fish?”

Dazai gasps melodramatically in offense, sitting up to look at Chuuya more directly. Chuuya does not miss the sight of his full face, at all. “I am not a fish! You're just saying that to distract from the fact that you're a tiny, slimy little slug!”

Chuuya points a finger at Dazai. “You are a fish! A disgusting, ugly one! Like a mackerel!”

“Why did you choose the worst fish!?” Dazai whines. “Surely I'm like, I don't know, a betta, at least.”

“Nope, you're a mackeral, a disgusting, slimy, beady-eyed mackeral!” Chuuya chants, giggling a bit at Dazai's pout. He leans forwards and flicks Dazai's forehead, though there is no heat to the gesture whatsoever.

Dazai brings a hand to his forehead in mock offense, his hand sliding up under his hair and pushing it back. Chuuya stops laughing and instead tilts his head, eyes wandering over Dazai's face thoughtfully.

“...what? I may be a fish, but don't even think about eating me. Cannibalism would be a particularly gruesome way to die.”

Chuuya laughs. “I would never eat a disgusting mackerel. Can I try something?”

“Try something…?” Dazai asks suspiciously.

Chuuya doesn't wait for a sign of approval, and instead moves for his backpack. He empties its contents onto the carpet and begins picking through them.

“You just carry this stuff around with you?” Dazai asks incredulously, looking at the assortment of makeup and hair things with an apprehensive expression.

Chuuya shrugs. “Kouyou gave all of this stuff to me, I don't wanna lose it or anything, so I just keep it with me- aha!” He holds a hairbrush and a few hair clips and ties, staring at Dazai menacingly.

“No- no! Bad doggie! Bad!” Dazai says, attempting to put distance in between him and Chuuya while holding out a placating hand.

“C’mon Dazai, don't be such a buzzkill.”

“I am not a buzzkill, I just don't want your slimy little slug fingers in my hair!”

“Slugs don't even have fingers, dumbass.”

“That is not the point!” Dazai squeaks out. He forces himself into the small space between his bed and desk and holds his arms in front of his head defensively as Chuuya closes the distance.

“Pleaseee” Chuuya says, mocking their earlier encounter on the doorstep.

“That's not gonna work on me again stupid chibi!”

Chuuya sighs defeatedly, letting Dazai believe he's won, but Chuuya is nothing if not persistent. He waits a couple of seconds before jumping forwards at Dazai and prying his hands away from his face.

“Stop! Stop it! Dogs are not supposed to attack their owners!”

“I am not a dog!” Chuuya hits him on the head with the plastic hairbrush, emitting a hollow thumping sound. Eventually, he manages to pry Dazai's hands away and begins harshly brushing the numerous knots out of his hair. Dazai grumbles and protests, but eventually gives up, though he remains tense under Chuuya's touch, refusing to meet his eyes. And again, if it was anyone other than Dazai he was talking about, Chuuya would almost certainly say the boy was blushing. He reminds himself that Dazai would never, but he still smirks regardless.

“There, now you're not so ugly. Still a mackerel though.” Chuuya says proudly, sitting back to admire his handiwork.

Dazai groans, his fingers feeling along the empty spot on his face where Chuuya had pinned back his hair with a star shaped hair clip.

Chuuya pulls out a small blush palette and grins at the way Dazai's eyes widen and he visibly tenses. “Relax shitty Dazai, it's just for the mirror.” He opens the palette and turns it around for Dazai to see himself.

“...I look stupid.” Dazai says, turning his head around to see more fully. Chuuya doesn't miss the small inclination of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth though.

“Oh bullshit! I just did God's work! You can finally fucking see you.”

“Aww, if the chibi wanted to see my face so badly he could've just asked.”

“Shut up.” Chuuya says, punching Dazai in the arm, though heat rises to his face.

Dazai smirks and meets Chuuya's eyes, and Chuuya is a little awestruck when he finds that Dazai's don't look quite as empty as they once did. His chest swells and he thinks his heart skips a few beats, before racing to make up for where it had lacked. Chuuya coughs into his hand and clears his throat.

“So…uh. I still don't understand that distance formula, or whatever. Better get back to tutoring.”

Dazai groans, but reluctantly accepts.

And as he rambles on about some obscure math topic, Chuuya finds himself unable to listen to the fullest extent. The only thought that circulates through his mind is: what the fuck.

Chapter Text

Here is the indisputable truth: Dazai Osamu hates Nakahara Chuuya with every fiber of his inhuman being.

He hates that annoyingly red hair, those painfully expressionate multicolored eyes, the sickening constellations of freckles that line his cheeks.

So why, when Chuuya pushes his hair back so gently and places a star shaped hair clip in it, does he lose all control over his accursed, alien heart? He had always been able to control it with such meticulous accuracy, and yet, when enraptured, lost in that beautifully abstract stare, that sea of freckles, all control escaped him instantaneously. And yet again, he finds himself wondering if the multitude of pills he had taken just weeks prior had irrevocably damaged the heart, that of which hums an inescapable rhythm within the confines of his chest.

“How have the group meetings been for you so far? I've heard Oda has taken quite a liking to you.” Mori's voice comes from across the bar in the kitchen.

Dazai just hums low in the back of his throat, a bit annoyed by the abruptness in which he'd been startled out of his thoughts. He feels a blistering heat rising to his cheeks as he realizes he's spent an indiscernible amount of time thinking about stupid Chuuya. Of course the slug would find a way to slither into his brain even when he isn't here. Chuuya was infectious like that.

Then there was Mori. Dazai had yet to bring up the book he had found laid out on Mori's desk. Though, he's sure the man had noticed the displacement of it, if his excessive awkwardness and tense posture were anything to go by. Regardless of whether or not it had been mentioned between the two of them, something in the air between them seemed to shift yet again, and Dazai was uncertain if it could ever go back to its previous state.

Not many things scared Dazai, and it wasn't that he was necessarily frightened of it, but change was something he had always detested. Change had never brought about anything good or worthwhile. And so, the rate at which Mori and his relationship was changing was enough to give Dazai whiplash.

He had known Mori for almost two years at this point, having met him shortly after his fourteenth birthday, and falling into his care not long after. And in that time, not much had shifted very drastically between them. Mori had remained cold and calculating in his handling of Dazai, and Dazai had remained ever distant and reserved. It was the way things should be. For the fact remained still, Dazai did not have a father, nor did he wish for one.

And yet, here Dazai finds himself, sitting across the counter from Mori and picking at the breakfast the man had made him. Something Dazai had never done in his time living in the house. Why? He couldn't tell you. It was one of the rare occurrences where an alien emotion seeped into Dazai's unfeeling mind and gripped him, forcibly driving his actions in ways he'd surely regret later on. Still, he forces himself to stomach the overcooked and under-salted eggs in front of him, putting on a somewhat pleasant expression, as he's aware of Mori's eyes on him.

After he's finished eating and has rinsed off his plate, he briefly fixes up his hair in the bathroom mirror.

His eyes linger for a moment on the green star shaped hair clip on the counter. Chuuya had left it there after they'd finished tutoring, perhaps he should give it back. He glances at nothing in particular, biting at his lip as he ponders over it. Then, with a reluctant hand, he takes the clip and tries to place it in a similar way Chuuya had in his hair.

He feels utterly stupid, and still, Chuuya's words ring out in his mind and drive him to keep it in. Dazai has never felt such inner turmoil at his own emotions before, for he's never had to deal with them at all prior to meeting Chuuya. Chuuya was the catalyst of all of this swirling discomfort within him, and that alone was enough to hate him.

And even still, he finds that the persistent enervation ringing through his bones subsides in an almost unnoticeable way. Why? He could never be certain.

^^^

The sky is an ineffably soft shade of blue, and the barren trees are a contrasting shade of amber, like the eyes of-

God, can Dazai get that stupid slug out of his mind for even three seconds? How he hates the boy for inevitably creeping into his mind no matter how many guards he surrounds it with.

“Hey Mori,”

“Yes, Dazai?”

“You know that medication I stuffed down my throat? What was it? Midodrine and…uhh valsa- something?”

“Valsartan. Yes, what about them?”

“Can they cause heart problems?”

Mori pauses for a prolonged amount of time, sparing a glance in Dazai's direction from his spot behind the steering wheel. “Why do you think you have heart problems, Dazai?” he says a bit worriedly.

Dazai shrugs, averting his gaze. It feels a bit stupid to admit it aloud, now that he thinks about it. “I keep on having heart palpitations.” He mutters.

“Hmm.” Mori hums thoughtfully. “Heart palpitations can indicate many things, it's unlikely the doctors at the hospital would have missed any signs of stress on your heart. Are there any specific instances when you have these palpitations?”

Dazai sinks into his seat, resting his head in his hands as he glares out the heavily tinted window. “Well…you know um, it happens more often when I think about this one person.”

He doesn't look to see Mori's expression when he says it, though he can practically feel the knowing stare against the back of his head. Mori was probably not a reputable source for this anyway, if it wasn't heart problems. For he's sure the man is equally as inept at emotions as himself. “Well, Dazai, perhaps…” Mori starts in a slightly awkward tone, having to clear his throat halfway through. “Perhaps you'd care to share who said person is? It may allow me more insight into the situation.”

Dazai groans, rolling his eyes. He can confidently say he has never felt quite so out of his element, and just overall uncomfortable. If he could, he would choose to just curl up and die in this very car. “It's the slug.” He mutters into the palm of his hand.

“Sorry? I didn't quite catch that.”

“It's Chuuya.” Dazai bites out, his voice coming much harder than intended.

“...I see.” Mori says, sounding like he knows something Dazai doesn't.

“What?” Dazai asks, finally looking at Mori's face, trying to read between the lines of his carefully calculated expression.

Mori looks just as out of his element as Dazai, however, which makes him just a tad more comfortable.

“It's…nothing.” Mori clears his throat as they pull into the hospital parking lot. ”Well, would you look at that, we've arrived just on time.”

Dazai stares at him annoyedly. “Mori, I know you know something. Spit it out.”

“I don't know anything, Dazai.”

“Yes, you do.”

A sigh. “Perhaps this is a situation that you'd be better to sort out on your own.” Mori tries. “I'm not the best with…these things, you know.”

“What things?” Dazai asks, desperate to know what Mori is thinking.

“You know, maybe you should ask Oda about this. He's much better in the psychology department than I am.”

“Psychology…?” Dazai wonders aloud, though Mori has already exited the car, making a swift escape from the tense conversation.

Dazai cannot fathom how problems related to his out of control heart could possibly relate to his mind in any way. Though Mori would be nothing without his doctorate, and so, Dazai decides he’ll take his advice, even if he believes it will bring no answers to the questions he harbors.

^^^

The conference room is already inhabited by the time he arrives. He finds Akutagawa and Atsushi bickering in the corner of the room over the papers they're both folding. Or rather, Akutagawa cruelly shouts at the boy while Atsushi shrinks into himself.

Then there's Chuuya, who is sitting in one of the chairs with an already perfectly folded piece of paper lying beside him, as he shouts at a game on his phone.

Dazai finds himself both wanting to look away from the boy, and to stare for all of eternity. And yet again, his heart pounds painfully in his chest, making no changes when he attempts to stop it. Chuuya leans his head backwards, staring at Dazai upside down, a lollipop sticking out from behind his lips.

“Oh, hey Mackerel. I saved you a paper.”

And Dazai should not feel so conflicted over a piece of green construction paper, but still, he finds the increasingly repugnant cycle starting all over again, and he has to not-so-discreetly grip at his chest to stop it. He averts his eyes and nods a bit too mechanically.

“You're wearing it!” Chuuya shouts like it's an accusation, beckoning both Atsushi and Akutagawa to look up in sync.

“How distasteful.” Akutagawa comments.

“I think it's cute!” Atsushi says optimistically, before shrinking under Akutugawa's glare.

“Hey asshole, that's my clip. You don't have to be such a dick all the time.” Chuuya points his sucker at the boy in an accusatory manner, which he just rolls his eyes at, going back to scolding Atsushi over his imperfect folding methods.

Dazai just glances between them, not bothering to comment on the interaction. He absentmindedly reaches a hand to graze the mint-green clip holding back his messy hair.

“I was gonna give it back to you, since you left it like the stupid forgetful chibi you are.” He says when Chuuya turns back to him.

“Keep it, I have plenty, and I left it there on purpose, so therefore your insults are stupid and groundless, asshole.”

Dazai is two seconds away from swiping one of Mori's scalpels and carving his traitorous heart out of his chest.

Instead of doing something so gruesome and painful, he takes a seat next to Chuuya and holds the paper Chuuya had given him. One glance over at Atsushi and Akutagawa tells him that they are supposed to be making origami flowers, so Dazai begins folding the paper messily.

“You're doing it wrong, dumbass.” Chuuya says, sparing a glance from his game to the paper Dazai holds as he hunches over in concentration.

“Oh really? Enlighten me.” Dazai deadpans.

“Fine I fucking will!” Chuuya reaches over and swipes the paper from Dazai's hands. Dazai just barely stops himself from recoiling as Chuuya's calloused, yet still unbearably soft hands graze his bandaged skin.

Chuuya folds the paper into a flower skillfully, and tosses it at Dazai's forehead, letting a small grin cross his lips at Dazai's dumbfounded expression.

“Maybe you aren't such a useless mutt afterall.” Dazai says, admiring the paper in his hands with all the care one would give a newborn baby.

“Would you stop with that shit! I'm not a mutt at all!”

“Sorry, I meant slug.”

“I will fucking kill you one of these days, mark my words.”

“I don't wanna die by the hands of something so gross and slimy, thank you very much.” He lies with ease. Dazai admittedly has pictured Chuuya’s face as the last he sees, but that's neither here nor there.

“Oh by the way, when can we do our next tutoring session?” Chuuya says, placing his phone back into his pocket. “I've been meaning to ask you, since you never answer your damn texts.”

Dazai shrugs. “Whenever, if you swear you'll actually listen instead of playing dress up at my expense.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Well clearly you liked it, seeing as you're wearing the damn clip.”

“I told you I was going to give it back!” Dazai’s voice cracks, betraying him just like everything else seems to be lately.

“And you had to wear it to do that?”

“Will you two stop so blatantly flirting with each other? It's aggravating.” Akutagawa groans.

Both Chuuya and Dazai simultaneously fall silent, wearing similar expressions of malice, which are admittedly hard to decipher beneath the sea of red painting both their faces.

“I hope you know, you're next on my hit list after this shitty mackerel.”

"I'm first? I'm honored, Chuuya! Such a loyal dog!”

“Didn't I just tell you to stop doing that!?” Akutagawa shouts, followed by a string of painful sounding coughs.

“Maybe you should focus on your lung cancer instead of us.” Chuuya winces.

“I do not have lung cancer.” Akutagawa hisses, malice clear in his tone.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, I suppose.” Dazai says, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair. Atsushi faintly giggles in the corner, cut off abruptly by Akutagawa’s hands around his shirt collar.

“Do not doubt my willingness to kill you tiger boy.”

“Where does that even come from!?” Atsushi squeaks in response.

“You have the eyes of such an odious beast.” Akutagawa rasps, overcome by yet another string of coughs.

“If you ask me, those two are the ones who need to stop flirting.” Chuuya mumbles under his breath.

“Looks more like they might kill each other.” Dazai comments.

“Eh, same difference.”

Dazai begins writing down a list of coping mechanisms he's picked up over the years, one for each petal on the lifeless paper flower in his hands, just as the writing on the whiteboard instructs. All the while he and Chuuya kick at each other beneath the chairlegs.

^^^

When the group is over and just about everyone has left, he stands in the mostly vacant room, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket as he stands in front of Oda.

“Did you need something, Dazai?”

“I…um, Mori told me I should ask you about something.”

“And that is?”

Dazai rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to think about the proper way to phrase the question. He finds that there is no proper way to phrase it, but he tries regardless, desperate for an answer that may soothe this incessant flittering of his heart.

“Do you know anything about…um, heart palpitations?” he winces as the words leave his mouth. Out of all the possibilities, he had certainly chosen the stupidest way to phrase it.

“...Heart palpitations?”

“Yup…specifically in regards to…someone?”

“Is this about Chuuya?”

Dazai gapes momentarily. He had most definitely not taken Oda for the kind of person who can read into people well. Perhaps he had just made it painstakingly obvious. He internally kicks himself for it.

“Sorta, I guess.” He mutters, picking absentmindedly at his cuticles.

“And, these heart palpitations…they only happen when you talk to Chuuya?”

“or, you know, when I think about him, or see him, or hear his name or-”

“I think I've heard enough.”

“So do you know why…?”

Oda stares at Dazai for a moment with a blank expression that Dazai cannot decipher for the life of him. “Do you really not know? I took you for the smart type.”

“I am smart! I just don't like to waste my time on stupid matters such as these.”

“I believe you are wasting your time on matters such as these as we speak.”

“Will you just tell me already!?” Dazai whines, feeling like he could just crawl out of his skin at this very moment.

“You probably like him.” Oda states matter-of-factly.

“I do not like him! I hate him!”

“Okay, then you hate him.”

“Hatred doesn't make your heart run a marathon in your chest!”

“Then you like him.” Oda states in the same blank manner as always, seemingly having an ever expanding well of patience.

“I hate him!”

“Right.”

Dazai groans and falls to the floor, rolling onto his side, with his hands over his face. “I can't get through to him, this guy is a natural airhead.” He whines to no one in particular.

“I believe I gave you all the answers, but perhaps not. I'm sorry.” He states in a monotone voice.

Dazai grabs at the roots of his hair and tugs hard, not even feeling the pain of it amidst his prevalent confusion. "If there's a god out there, please end my suffering now.” Dazai groans aloud towards the sky, or ceiling rather.

“May I ask you a question?”

“What.” Dazai bites out, irritated.

“Would you like to play a game of cards?”

Dazai pauses, being halted from his thoughts almost immediately. “A game of…cards?”

“Yes, a game of cards.”

“I'm not a child, you know. Card games are incredibly boring.”

“Perhaps not. How about this then, let's make a bet.”

“What do you even have to offer, you don't seem to have that much money.”

Oda pauses thoughtfully.

“That's true. How about this then? We’ll play poker.” He says, grabbing chess pieces from somewhere in the room. “These will be our stakes. Texas Hold’em Heads Up rule. If you can manage to win all sixteen pieces, I'll talk to Mori and you won't have to attend these groups anymore.”

The bet is enticing, Dazai must admit.

“And if you win?” He asks.

“You have to honestly answer any questions I ask.”

“And you truly believe you can win?” Dazai asks incredulously. He doubts such an airhead could possibly win against his rather brilliant people-reading skills.

“I do.”

“Fine, deal the cards then. But I'll have you know, I've never lost at a game like this.” He says, sitting up and grinning.

^^^

“Mori's previous occupation was head physician for the military's infantry unit during the great war.” Dazai says, leaning his head against his arm with a childish pout as he lays on his stomach on the floor.

“Hm, interesting.”

Oda and him have played fourteen rounds, all of which have gone to Oda, and Dazai is beginning to run out of answers to the questions he has.

He should have expected that it's impossible to read the expression of an expressionless man, but still he continues playing, analyzing every move Oda makes, and finding nothing.

“You're annoyingly good at this. Are you cheating?” Dazai asks apathetically.

“I've been told I excel at poker.”

“Hm.”

They play another round, and yet again, Dazai loses. He sighs melodramatically and rolls onto his back. “I give up! It's quite literally impossible to beat you!”

Oda just stares at him, expressionless as always.

“Well? Ask your question.”

He watches Oda place his hand on his chin, seemingly searching for a question, before he looks back at Dazai. “Okay, answer me this. Why do you want to die?”

“...huh?”

“Why do you want to-”

“I heard you the first time. Why is that your question?”

“Because I want to know why someone would want something so foolish.”

“How Interesting.” Dazai says, drawing a hand to his face. “Youre rather insensitive for a psychologist.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“I'll admit, many people have said the same, I've never taken kindly to it before though.”

“Really? Well, would you care to know the reason as to why I say that?”

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt.”

“I call you a fool, because anyone would be a fool to die before visiting ‘that place’”

“What place?”

“Its a nice, tranquil place. Not too far from here either, and you need no special qualifications to get in. Though, not everyone can appreciate the true value of it.”

“Are you giving me some sort of riddle? Are you trying to catch my attention with some make-believe nonsense?”

“I don't see what the point of that would be.”

Dazai hums. “I guess you're right.” He says, averting his head away from Oda. “I can't get a good read on you at all.”

The room is silent for a prolonged moment, and Oda begins packing up the makeshift chips they had used.

Dazai turns the question over in his head. He's explained his all consuming desire for death countless times, and every time he's met with an incredibly stupid and senseless response such as “Life is what you make of it.” and “you have to make your own reason for living.” He does not understand these sentiments in the slightest.

Why would one search for meaning, if the end is inevitable anyway? No reason one could ever find will ensure a longer life, or immortality. So what is the point in living in the first place? And why should he fulfil such a meaningless existence, if all that would come of it is an endless pit of sorrow and grievance?

“You said it was foolish to die, right?”

“The mortality rate for the act of living is a solid one hundred percent…but if you look at the world beyond the scope of just humans, you'll find beings that are essentially immortal, ones that do not possess a lifespan.”

Oda hums, beckoning him to continue.

“Therefore, death is nothing more than a function of life–one of the many inescapable facets of humanity. It is nothing more than a promise, the final act in the script of human life.”

Oda appears thoughtful, searching his hollow mind for an answer. “So, by that logic, life is not something to regret then.”

“No, it's worse.” Dazai states as if it were an indisputable fact. “Even if we are all irrevocably doomed to the same fate, all human beings are born with the guaranteed desire to escape death at any and all costs. A desire that will never be fulfilled, no matter what anyone may try.” He says the words like he is reading from a script, one he has repeated hundreds of thousands of times and has subsequently grown to memorize. Though this particular script is not one that needs memorization, for it stems from deep within himself, imprinted in the abhorrent blackness that lingers in place of his absent soul.

“It means that human desire is nothing but a chain that binds us all. We are all believers of a hypothetical theorem that states: we must live merely because our predecessors did.” He says, entirely confident in such a fact. He holds out a bandaged hand above him, splaying his fingers as if he were reaching for the stars–stars that he is doomed never to touch.

“Any arguments against that reasoning?” He knows that any argument one may provide against his logic, would be completely bogus, utter nonsense. For he has broached the question to himself far more than any other had. He had spent many long nights debating such a topic within the confines of his own mind, and to every counterargument he could provide, he could provide a counter-counterargument with much sounder logic, to debate against it. He finds his reasoning, and subsequent desire for death knows no reputable bounds.

Oda is quiet for a long moment, and Dazai thinks he might've won the argument, but then he speaks up, his voice less monotone, but still relatively emotionless.

“Is that really why you wish to die?”

“No” he says with a small grin, devoid of any light. The darkness that festers within him seeps through the gaps between his smile, showing the world that he truly is an odious, abhorrent, inhuman being. A beast that is met with the punishment of simply knowing. Knowing the truth hidden deeply within lies. Knowing that at the end of it all, his life will have been no more meaningful or important than a bug beneath a shoe.

“It is merely a play on words, I suppose. There are some topics too complex to be described with things so trivial as words. And when tasked with such things, it's better to stay-”

“Better to stay silent?” Oda finishes. “Perhaps it is so.” He starts. “Perhaps everything you say is true, and only you can fully comprehend the truth of this world. Even so, you're still a fool, I can assure you that much.”

Dazai sighs exaggeratedly. It truly is impossible to get a point across to the man. He has grown so tired of discussing such topics, only to be met with the same misunderstanding each and every time. Still, he finds he's never had someone reply in such ways before. There is no blatant sense of optimism, or falsely-logical reasoning. Just a simple statement of ‘you are a fool’. Oda truly is a spectacle to behold, Dazai thinks.

“I don't particularly care about correcting idiots. By the way, what was that place you talked about earlier? You still haven't given me a direct answer.”

“If you go you’ll know.”

“Why don't you just explain it to me now?”

“It is as you say. Words are not to be trusted.”

“And yet you read novels.” Dazai deadpans, eyeing the book laid out on the man's lap.

“Ah yes, it is such matters that trouble me deeply.”

Dazai stares at Oda. Then, he is suddenly overcome with the overwhelming urge to laugh, so he does. It's the kind of laugh that riddles your bones, and it causes him to collapse in on himself, clutching his stomach with the force of it. He must say, he cannot recall the last he'd felt true, genuine laughter such as this.

Finally he manages to get the words out. “You're certainly an interesting breed, and humble, I respect that.” he sighs exasperatedly.

“Perhaps I don't hate these groups as much as I had thought I would.”

They sit in a relative silence for a while, though it is not tense or uncomfortable in any way. Rather, it is tranquil, like rain softly falling against tree leaves, or the calming sting of snowfall against bare skin.

"Hey, Oda?"

"Hm?"

"What should I call you? Besides Oda I mean."

"You may call me whatever you'd like I suppose"

Dazai thinks over it for a moment. A short name like Oda is so unbecoming of such an intricate man, and the full version 'Sakunosuke Oda' is simply a mouthful. Eventually, he lands on an option that he holds quite an affinity towards.

"Alright! Odasaku is your new name! Anytime someone asks your name from here on out that is how you have to introduce yourself, got it!?"

"Odasaku...what an odd choice. I like it."

Chapter Text

Chuuya Nakahara does not dream.

Though nightmares are not to be included in the spectrum of dreams.

In truth, he's been ceaselessly riddled with nightmares nearly every time he’s slept, for as long as he can remember. Which, in retrospect is not much time at all.

Some nightmares, he can remember the details of, muddled as they may be. Others, any information about it floats through his brain for the first few seconds upon waking, before dissipating, leaving him with only an indescribable tightness buried beneath his ribcage.

This particular night terror turned out to be the latter. The image of stark white walls flashes before his eyes, and some heinous sound rings out in his mind before everything goes entirely blank. His mind a clean slate, and his chest a whirlpool of needless and groundless emotions.

Though the poison lurking deep within his chest this time around proves to be much tighter than it usually was. So much so, that he finds it incredibly difficult to breathe, or move, or even sort his thoughts out in a comprehensible manner, as he clumsily crawls out of his bed.

It feels as though the world is crashing down all around him, spinning and swishing and being pulled down with the fully exerted force of gravity. He's the only one aware of it, and that fact only serves to make his sense of imminent dread far worse.

He doesn't know if he should scream, or attempt to stop it, or just accept his gruesome fate.

He clutches the white tank top hanging from his chest, because loose as it may be, it treacherously suffocates him all the same, and he finds he is quickly running out of air.

His heart pounds painfully against his ribcage, as if it is trying to escape him, to flee whilst there's still a chance.

Eventually, he finds himself curled on the floor, clutching desperately at his chest, and squeezing his eyes shut pitifully as he tries to suck in air to his painfully constricting and contorting lungs.

A few stray tears fall down his face, and though normally he'd be mortified at such a thing, he finds it is rather trivial in comparison to the growing bright whiteness that floods his peripheral vision.

Is this what dying feels like?He asks himself. Though the question is lost on its way to comprehension much like the others. Every thought, emotion, and observation is lost in the ravaging river stream that is his thoughts.

His body trembles embarrassingly. He has never felt quite so small and helpless before. He doesn't remember much of his life admittedly. Segments of his amnesia-riddled memories only come to him in horrifying nightmares that always end in similar ways such as this one. Though, still, he can't pick a single moment from the array of memories he does have at his disposal, in which he had felt such a horribly fragile way.

Most of his life before the sheep had been blocked out, scribbled over with black sharpie for his mind's convenience. He had heard many doctors say this is a trauma response, a defensive measure his mind weaponizes against itself. Perhaps, if the memories are so driving that he'd need such a defense, he's better not remembering them at all. That's what these night terrors most certainly tell him, anyway.

Though he can't deny that the lack of memories is harrowing, to say the least. It feels as though he's missing some essential component of being. A childhood is not something a person can go without, an inescapable facet of life, and Chuuya cannot even remember his.

Well, perhaps his mind fails to remember, yet his body remembers startlingly well. Well enough that he lays in a disheveled mess on the floor, gasping for an air that will not come.

Like clockwork, Kouyou swings open the door.

“What are you thinking, ignoring Hirotsu's call? What's-” She says, her tone the most angry it ever got, though it seemingly dissipates as her gaze wanders to the floor in front of her.

“Chuuya? Are you all right?”

Chuuya can't find it in himself to do anything but shake his head weakly, pathetically. He's not alright, he feels like his brains just might explode out of his head at any given second, that doesn't make it any less painful to admit though.

“Okay, hold on just one second, I'll be right back.” Kouyou asserts, stepping out of the room.

Chuuya tries to beg her to stay, he doesn't want to be alone while he dies, if death is a guarantee, the gods could at least grant him that one wish. Though, nothing comes out but a choked, desperate sob, as Chuuya fails to inhale any air.

Kouyou comes back just a second later, holding a damp washcloth, the sleeves of her white sleep yukata rolled up delicately. “Here, sit up.”

Chuuya can't sit up, he can't move at all, save for the relentless trembling that makes his muscles ache unfathomably.

“Okay, that's fine.” She seems to be understanding Chuuya's wordless replies with perfect accuracy.

“Just try and help me out a bit.” Kouyou hoists Chuuya up to a sitting position, and he slumps enervatedly against the cool metal bedframe.

“I'm gonna touch you, okay? Don't panic.” Kouyou slowly, deliberately moves his askew strands of auburn hair away from his forehead, her fingers gentle, yet firm in the way only Kouyou could be.

Chuuya sighs finally at the presence of something soothingly cold against his forehead, feeling as though he is finally able to take in air again, as ragged and gaspy as his breaths may be.

“Are you alright?” Kouyou asks, thinly veiled worry evident in her tone. She does not even attempt to mask her worried expression, and Chuuya feels a bit guilty at the sight.

He clears his throat, still slumped against the bedframe. “Yeah,” he rasps out. “Sorry.” He says in between ragged, uneven breaths. Though he's breathing nonetheless, an improvement, from his entirely disheveled state prior.

“Was that…the first time that's ever happened to you?” Kouyou finally asks after a long moment of awkward silence, her hands moving to adjust the damp cloth on his forehead.

Chuuya knows she means well, and is a caring person by nature. He's just not used to letting people care for him so easily.

He had served as The Sheep's sole caretaker and protector for so long before he had messed it all up and gotten himself, as well as Shirase and Yuan hauled away to juvie. Though, admittedly, he had lied and taken the fall for them even then, landing them with much shorter sentences and probation than he had received.

His exhausted heart feels like it's being wrung dry in his chest as he longs for the presence of the only true family he's ever had. Though, he and The Sheep no longer have any story to tell. Their time together is over, and Shirase would be taking over where he had failed.

He's probably somewhere working numerous jobs at this very moment, trying to gather enough resources and connections to rebuild The Sheep to their former glory, having forgotten all about Chuuya. Or perhaps he believes him to be a traitor, perhaps he thinks Chuuya truly was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing, pretending to care for them, all the while waiting for the opportunity to sell them out and win some sort of grand consultation prize. That was the impression Chuuya had taken the last time they'd talked. Shirase is seemingly unaware, entirely ignorant to the fact that Chuuya had sacrificed his own freedom—something he valued so deeply—for theirs.

He shakes the thoughts out of his mind, for he's not sure if his heart can take much more of this crippling loneliness. How he wishes his stupid mind would just black out everything and allow him to start anew with the new makeshift family he was slowly piecing together, bit by bit. Though, he's not sure if anything will ever fully fill the hole The Sheep had carved from his heart.

He realizes he's been overthinking the simple question for far too long when he notices the way Kouyou points him with an extremely worried look.

“Since being here, I guess.” Chuuya shrugs, finally opting to answer the question, all the while picking at a hole in his dark green sweatpants with his broken and brittle nails until it frays. “It used to happen pretty often on the streets.”

The words he speaks are true, though they feel foreign. Like he has to reach far into a sea of muddy water to fish them out. His time with the Sheep feels like practically another lifetime, though, in reality it was only a few months ago.

Then, there's the odd attacks he gets. It's true that it isn't the first time it's happened to him. And yet, every time feels like the first all over again. The pain in his chest grips just as tightly, and his muscles tremble all the same, deeply rattling his bones. He can confidently say he doesn't think he'll ever get used to them or find an adequate way of dealing with them.

Kouyou nods, humming thoughtfully. She still seems a bit taken aback, though her poised exterior returns. It's a comfort, to say the least.

“Perhaps you should bring it up in your…what are they called? Support groups?”

Chuuya sighs, averting his gaze. He is a bit reluctant to the idea of someone picking through his mind, and so, therapy has never really appealed to him.

Of course after his seemingly traumatic past, of which he can't recall any of, he had been forced to consult with numerous child psychologists. Though none of them seemed to stick quite right. So he had simply grown to avoid them altogether. And when he had run away from a particularly difficult foster-home situation and found The Sheep, something so trivial and often viewed as a necessity amongst typical citizens such as a therapist, was a luxury they couldn't afford.

The Sheep never needed fancy degrees in psychology. All they ever needed was each other, and that was enough.

It powered each and every one of them through their darkest, most vulnerable moments, and in the end they all came out clean on the other side of it. In a way, they were each other's light at the end of the tunnel.

And now, Chuuya no longer has that. Oh how he had taken it for granted. If he was presented with the choice to simply start over with a clean slate, redo everything from the very first encounter, he would instantly accept the offer.

Though, because the universe is cruel, he would never receive something so gracious. Sometimes, when he allows his drowsy thoughts to wander, he finds himself questioning why all of this suffering had been forced upon his shoulders, if he stood nothing to gain from it. No lessons learned, other than that love is an eternally fleeting thing, ephemeral by nature. No matter what forms it may present itself in. It is better not to accept it at all, then to inevitably feel the pain that comes with losing it.

Perhaps there is simply something fundamentally wrong with him. It was the only logical answer Chuuya could ever hope to present himself with.

Regardless, he finds that these questions are better sorted through and answered on his own terms, rather than having some stranger pick apart at his mind, revealing the darkest parts of it that Chuuya himself can't even stand to face.

Though, when you land yourself in juvie, and then in probation, he guesses it's a little hard to avoid mental care.

Still, the groups are a good alternative to therapy. They're somewhat tolerable, and nobody necessarily has to speak about anything that makes them particularly uncomfortable.

It's nice, being in a group of kids equally as fucked up as you, rather than sitting in a desolate room with a total stranger boring holes in the very essence of your being. Plus, it's a rather nice space to think about his woeful existence, rather than alone in the confines of his bedroom. At least, that's what Chuuya thinks.

And yet, he still finds that he'd rather not discuss the topic of these nightmares with anyone but himself.

Still, he doesn't want to be rude to Kouyou in any way, and perhaps turning her suggestion down wouldn't be perceived as rude to the normal person, however, Kouyou seemed to have impossibly high set standards when it came to trivial matters such as politeness and proper manners.

So he settles for a compromise between the two. “I'll think about it, Kouyou. Thank you.” Not a promise, but not a no either.

Admittedly, he will not be thinking about it, he had already decided against it internally. But that information was for his ears and his ears alone.

^^^

Sleep does not return to him that night, and he finds himself lying awake in bed until the sun shines through his window and the morning birds sing headache-inducingly.

He settles for making tea with an excess amount of caffeine and assisting Kouyou with a bit of sewing for the new line she's designing called ‘Tears and Sorrows’. Another incredibly odd name, though Chuuya doesn't doubt it will be appealing to its target audience.

Eventually, Chuuya decides that if he doesn't get to sleep at all, then Dazai most certainly doesn't get to sleep all day long. So, instead of waiting around for him to wake up and answer the previous messages, he opts to blow up his phone until he is startled awake by the numerous notifications.

Nakahara C:
“When can I come over?”
Delivered Saturday at 10:15 AM

Nakahara C:
“Dazai.”
Delivered Saturday at 10:20 AM

Nakahara C:
“Shitty fucking Dazai, you disgusting ugly mackerel, answer your damn texts.”
Read Saturday at 10:30 AM

Nakahara C:
“I swear to God I'm two seconds away from just showing up uninvited and strangling you to death.”
Read Saturday at 10:30 AM

Mackerel:
“I need to get you a muzzle so you'll stop barking.”
Received Saturday at 10:30 AM

Mackerel:
“And for the record, you're the disgusting, ugly, volatile, slimy one.”
Received Saturday at 10:30 AM

Chuuya takes that as his cue that Dazai is at the very least, awake and alert, and grabs his things, allowing Kouyou to fuss over his hair on the way out.

^^^

“Did you seriously just let yourself in?” Dazai gapes. “I didn't even say you could come over.”

"didn't have to.” Chuuya huffs.

He had run all the way here. Running and other various forms of exercise tended to quiet his mind when his thoughts grew unbearably loud, and it has yet to fail him. Though, it’d be a lie to say he wasn't feeling incredibly exhausted from that on top of his apparent lack of sleep.

Dazai, for his part, seems to have gotten just about as much sleep as Chuuya. The ever present discolored circles beneath his eyes appear much darker than usual, causing his eyes to look even more hollow and unnerving.

“Are you…uh, okay?” Dazai asks, not meeting Chuuya's eyes.

Chuuya is genuinely taken aback. Dazai was the last person he would've ever expected to hear concern for his wellbeing from. “Yeah? Why wouldn't I be? I mean, I have to deal with your ass so I'm obviously annoyed, but other than that,”

“I just…you look tired. Like excessively.”

Chuuya scoffs, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking anywhere but at Dazai. This conversation is not one he wants to have with anyone, but especially not with him. “Thanks asshole, I could say the same about you.”

“I'm serious, you stupid slug! How am I supposed to teach you anything if you can't even stay awake!”

“I'm fine, idiot.”

“You don't look fine.” Dazai points an accusatory finger from his spot on the couch, closing the book he holds to directly face Chuuya as he talks.

“Dazai,” Chuuya sighs, bringing a tired hand to rub at his face.

Dazai stares at him for a moment, seemingly pondering something, before he finally says, “just take a nap. I'll still be here when you wake up. Plus, I'd rather not have to look at such an ugly sleep deprived slug.”

Chuuya gapes at him.

Admittedly it's been so long since he can remember words like that leaving anyone's mouth. ‘I'll still be here when you wake up’. Such a trivial statement, and yet, one that riles something in Chuuya's chest all the same. He reminds himself that Dazai is not by any means a kind person, and that he probably hadn't even realized the words would have such an affect on Chuuya, but still, Chuuya can't deny his heart beats the slightest bit faster within the confines of his chest.

He clears his throat awkwardly, trying and failing to sound normal when he speaks again. “You’re really gonna make me walk all the way back home just to take a stupid nap?”

“I never said you had to go home. Mori has an abundance of space in case you hadn't noticed. You can use one of the guest rooms or the couch or something.” Dazai says with a light shrug, his tone sounding a bit different in a way Chuuya can't quite place.

Chuuya ponders it for a moment. He can't say that the thought of sleeping doesn't appeal to his exhausted mind. He sighs, slumping in defeat.

“Fine, but if I have to sleep then you have to sleep. You look just as terrible as I do.” He says pointing an accusatory finger at Dazai.

“...what? I am not sleeping with a grimy slug.”

Heat rises to Chuuya's face and he lands a hard punch on Dazai's shoulder. “I am not grimy!”

“I'd beg to differ.”

Chuuya groans, bringing his hands to pull at the skin on his face. “It's not weird unless you make it weird.”

“Plus I don't really wanna sleep alone.” The words escape before he has a chance to think about them, and upon seeing the startled look on Dazai's face, he immediately regrets it.

Dazai stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and looks down at the floor. “Fine, stupid chibi. But if you start snoring I'll strangle you.”

Chuuya can't help the small smile that spreads across his face. “I don't snore, asshole.” He says, grabbing Dazai's wrist and pulling him towards the stairs.

^^^

As cramped and uncomfortable as Dazai’s twin sized bed may be Chuuya finds that it does not diminish the comfort he finds, and he relaxes quickly to the sound of Dazai's careful deliberate breathing,

Dazai presses himself against the wall with an apprehensive expression, contorting his body uncomfortably to allow Chuuya an apt amount of room, and Chuuya can’t help the small breath of laughter that escapes him.

“What!? This is incredibly weird!”

”I told you, it's only weird if you make it weird.” He rolls his head to the side to gaze at Dazai as he speaks to him.

He used to sleep huddled together with the members of The Sheep, as a means to make it through the harsh winters without freezing to death. And when he was taken to juvie, he had always had a bunkmate. Even in foster care, far before he had ever dared to dream of freedom, he had always slept in a shared room, or in the orphanage with many other children like him. So, when he first came into Kouyous care, and was given his own room, it was a big change. Many children who had come from a situation similar to his may have viewed it as a sort of luxury to have their own space. However, Chuuya found that he missed the company. The absence of a steady stream of breath allowed his thoughts to creep in and grow far too loud. He would have never assumed he would have found such a familiar comfort with Dazai, who he's only known for a couple of weeks, of all people, but he supposes life works in funny ways sometimes. And as he lays next to the boy he barely even knows, he finds the ache within his chest subsides just ever so slightly, and replaces itself with a vague fluttering feeling.

Dazai stares directly into Chuuya's eyes, as if he's debating something within himself. Then he sighs and asks, “What are you thinking about?” Before maneuvering himself into a more comfortable position on the bed, still careful not to invade Chuuya's space, and turns to his side to look directly at Chuuya. They lay in such close proximity that Chuuya can feel Dazai’s soft string of breaths against his face.

Chuuya sighs tiredly, his eyes meeting Dazai’s unbearably gentle gaze. That stare so empty and tired, devoid of any light. And Chuuya does not like Dazai by any means. He feels nothing but hatred towards the boy, he has to remind himself again.

But when met with that pained, lifeless gaze, that which still remains so gentle even now, Chuuya can’t help but wonder just how much Dazai’s had to endure to end up so deeply, irrevocably scarred. Chuuya’s not stupid. He’s witnessed enough heartbreak, seen and felt enough pain, to know that everything Dazai does is nothing more than an act; a mask that covers the pain within. Dazai’s callous exterior is nothing more than a string of bandages that carefully conceal the trail of scars that lay just beneath the skin, where the sun will never reach.

In those dark heavy eyes, he sees himself staring back at him. A version of him that succumbed to the pain, that allowed himself to falter under the weight of the world on his shoulders. And something inside of Chuuya so desperately wishes to soothe the boy before him, and show him that light does exist in the world if you search hard enough.

But now is not the time for that, and Chuuya hates Dazai deeply, so instead he opts to answer the question with a small shrug.

”What about you?”

Dazai returns the shrug, his eyes flickering down to Chuuya's neck. Hesitantly, he brings a gentle, bandaged hand to just barely graze the skin there, and Chuuya feels himself shiver involuntarily. Dazai’s eyes widen in horror and he pulls his hand away like he's been burned.

”Sorry- I was just- uh…you have a scar there you know.”

Chuuya just stares at him, his heart pounding painfully. “Oh…I guess I do.”

”…yeah…sorry” Dazai stutters out awkwardly, his face a vibrant shade of red, and while Chuuya would usually jump at the chance to mock him over it, he supposes it would be entirely hypocritical. So, instead he does something that he will most certainly regret later on—and yet, he can’t find it in himself to care about any of that now. He allows himself to bask in the unexpected intimacy he's found instead, and softly grips Dazai’s hand, bringing it back to the spot on his neck. Dazai’s eyes widen with something vaguely resembling fear, but he doesn’t protest, even if he can’t bring himself to meet Chuuya's gaze.

“I don’t remember how I got it.” Chuuya says, his voice barely above a whisper as Dazai’s fingers graze the raised skin there. Dazai’s eyes meet his own hesitantly, beckoning him to continue. “I don't really remember much about my past. Everything I know about it has to be told to me by others.”

Dazai smiles softly, and Chuuya almost thinks it genuine. His hand resting on Chuuya's neck moves up to brush away a few askew strands of hair falling into Chuuya's eyes. “I wish I could forget mine.”

Chuuya hums in the back of his throat, allowing his eyes to fall shut as Dazai’s soft hands brush against his face. “It’s not as great as you might think. It’s like I'm missing puzzle pieces.” Chuuya mumbles, fighting against the heavy cloud of fog that threatens to consume him and pull him into sleep.

Dazai sighs softly. “I don't think you’re missing anything.” He whispers, so soft that Chuuya can only barely make it out.

Chuuya finally allows himself to be lulled to sleep by the gently spoken words, trusting that when he wakes, Dazai will still be there beside him, and this time, he does not find any nightmares as he rests, for the first time he can remember.

Chapter Text

The seasons change far too quickly, and soon Yokohama is a lively spectrum of hues ranging from gentle pastel pinks to loud and vibrant greens, like something reminiscent of an impressionist painting.

Dazai has always held a certain distain for the passage of time, because, to him time truly was nothing more than mockery of the fact that he was resentfully still breathing on this earth. However, perhaps it would be somewhat hypocritical of him to say such things now, seeing as he hasn’t made any grand attempts to die for an unbearably long amount of time; though, it’d be a lie if he said he had made any grand attempts towards living either.

Thus was what had become of Dazai’s meaningless existence. He only drifted across the barrier between life and death, never truly accepting his existence, though not attempting to cease it either. In truth, he had not particularly noticed this change in his own ideals, for he had been far too busy with other things. Most importantly, Dazai had still not managed to pry the whereabouts of this mystical location of which Odasaku had spoken of out of the man. Anytime he had asked about it, all he was met with were vague, nondescriptive answers. In fact, this was growing to be such a common occurrence that Dazai had begun to wonder whether the place Odasaku had spoken of was real, or just a stupid attempt at manipulating Dazai into living that Dazai had unknowingly fallen for. Regardless, Dazai had regretfully informed Mori that he would be continuing to attend the support groups, all for the sake of finding even the slightest bit of information to go off about the place Odasaku spoke so highly of. Dazai cannot remember a time when he had felt quite so invigorated over something so trivial, perhaps he never had. He finds himself rather conflicted over whether or not he should feel happy about this fact. Though, Dazai had always been particularly good at compartmentalization, and particularly bad at deciphering emotions. Therefore, Dazai simply pushes said thoughts to the back of his mind and focuses on the bigger picture of finding out the whereabouts of the location.

However, even for a prodigy such as himself, he supposes there’s only so much one mind can compartmentalize, genius as that mind may be, and thus, he finds it entirely impossible to keep those irritating freckles and locks of vivacious auburn hair out of his mind for even two consecutive minutes.

Dazai was still tutoring Chuuya, and he’s proud to say they’ve made a large amount of progress over the time. Dazai was now confident in Chuuya's abilities in mathematical reasoning, language arts, and science. In truth, Chuuya was most perfectly capable of taking the GED test now, though, for some odd reason whenever Dazai brings this fact up, Chuuya just shrugs it off and tells him he needs more time to prepare. While Dazai doesn’t understand this, he still finds himself agreeing every time. Perhaps its the fact that without the tutoring, Dazai will no longer have any reason to forcibly keep Chuuya around him. He does not like Chuuya, but he can reluctantly admit its not so bad to have someone to keep him company at times.

He now sits at his desk in the warmth of the sunset, typing out various messages on his phone, and absentmindedly sketching in one of the blank notebooks on his desk.

Dazai:
”sooo, will you tell me what that place is yet?”
Read April 29th at 7:06pm

Odasaku:
”It is as I’ve said, words cannot do it justice”
Received April 29th at 7:06pm

Dazai:
”Odasakuuuu you can’t even give me the vaguest of hints?”
Read April 29th at 7:07pm

Odasaku:
”Hmm, here is your hint: it's a truly amazing place.”
Received April 29th at 7:07pm

Dazai:
”You know, when I said ‘vaguest’ of hints, I was just kidding, right?”
Delivered April 29th at 7:07pm

Dazai:
”Odasakuuuuu :,)”
Delivered April 29th at 7:08pm

Dazai sighs dramatically to no one but himself, bringing his head down painfully against the desk. The pencil he had been holding rolls off the desk at the abrupt movement, and Dazai groans, going to pick it up.

Just as he retrieves the pencil and stands back up, there is a harsh banging noise against his window. Dazai stands staring at the curtains in front of his window for a moment, thinking perhaps a stray bird had flown into the glass or something like that, until there is another. Dazai walks forward and swings the curtains wide open, his eyes scanning the street below.

Chuuya stands just outside of his house, holding a fistful of rocks in one hand, and winding the other arm back, aiming for Dazai’s window. Dazai can’t help the small smirk that crawls to his lips at the incredibly stupid and juvenile gesture, something in the pit of his stomach twists sickeningly. He opens the window, cupping his bandaged hands around his mouth. “We have a door, stupid slug!”

Chuuya’s face lights up as his eyes meet Dazai’s. “Doors are overrated, shitty mackerel!” He shouts back, mimicking the way Dazai cups his hands around his mouth. “Get down here! Or I'm going without you!”

”Going where!?”

”Doesnt matter just hurry the hell up!”

Dazai makes a big show out of groaning and slamming his window shut, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around, though he can’t seem to wipe the grin off his face as he does it. He sprints down the stairs, skipping the last couple of steps and trying to run past Mori as quick as possible.

”Dazai, where are you going?”

Dazai immediately halts in his tracks as if he were a cartoon character, he turns to Mori and flashes him a bright grin. ”I have important business to attend to, you know how it is.” He waves a flippant hand in the man's direction, turning towards the door.

”Dazai.” Comes Mori’s tired voice again. “At the very least you could tell me when you’ll be back. I am liable for your wellbeing, in case you’ve forgotten.”

”Ill be back sometime tonight.” Dazai groans, turning back towards the door. “Probably” He adds under his breath.

Mori frowns ever so slightly, but does not protest, instead giving a slight nod and turning back to the paperwork he’s looking over.

When Dazai gets outside, Chuuya is standing on the front porch holding some sort of plastic bag. “Finally, slow ass mackerel.”

”Thank Doctor Evil for that, not me.” Dazai says with a slightly mischievous grin, shrugging his shoulders as his hands rest in the pockets of his slacks. He’s ditched the usual black coat, though his attire still remains mostly formal, a white button down shirt with the top button undone, and a black pair of slacks with tennis shoes. Chuuya on the other hand, is wearing a black t-shirt that loosely clings to his shoulders and a pair of worn out jeans.

“Whatever, hurry the hell up, we gotta get there before the sun fully sets.”

”Mind telling me where we’re going yet? We don't have any tutoring scheduled. What’s in the bag?” Dazai reaches a hand for the bag and Chuuya slaps it away immediately.

”It's a surprise, dumbass. Stop asking so many damn questions.”

Dazai sighs, slowing his pace a bit so he can match his pace to Chuuya’s extremely short legs. He doesn’t know what grand occasion constitutes a surprise, however, though he’d never admit it, he doesn’t mind spending time with Chuuya rather than sitting alone in his room, so he decides to go along with it and follow the boy.

^^^

They arrive at the Marine Park beach when the sun is just a sliver on the horizon. The water glistens, reflecting fragments like glass shards onto their skin and painting them in a saccharine, hazy, glow. The stinging scent of salt water wafts through the chill breeze, invading Dazai's senses.

In truth, Dazai can’t remember the last time he’d ever been to a beach, surely he had to have at some point in his life, living in Yokohama and all, but it feels like an entirely new experience.

Chuuya pumps a triumphant fist in the air, the plastic bag crinkling with the abrupt movement. ”Hell yeah! We got here just in time!”

He brings his hand down and smiles brightly at Dazai, practically beaming.

The beach is almost entirely empty, with it being so late in the afternoon and so early into spring. A chilled breeze wafts through the area, picking up the loose top layer of sand and carrying it along blissfully.

Dazai remembers waking up with Chuuya in his arms in just February. He remembers thinking he could stay in that moment for the rest of his time, even if it meant he would be forced to live an eternity longer; as long as he could keep revisiting that one moment forever, it would’ve all been worth it. However, here, with a gentle breeze brisking softly across his skin, and the warm light of the sunset painting Chuuya in a sort of holy glow, Dazai thinks this moment tops any he’s ever had.

”Do you like it?” Chuuya asks, gazing out at the horizon with a smug expression on his face.

”I love it.” The words flood out of his mouth easily before he can think about them, and he is about to add on some sort of insult or complaint to make up for his blatant optimism which was so unbecoming of him. However, Chuuya just turns to him with a smile full of infinite, infectious light, his ethereal, ever-expressionate eyes brimming with true, genuine joy.

And as Dazai looks at the sight before him, and his heart escapes all control once more, he finds that the infectious blackness inside of him subsides just the smallest amount and he returns the smile just as genuinely. ”What's the grand occasion?”

”It's nothing really…I just…felt like it, I guess.” He says in a tone that sounds almost unsure.

”Is it really nothing?” Dazai asks, turning to stare him directly in the eyes with an accusatory look.

”…It’s my birthday. But it’s not really a big deal, I haven’t ever celebrated it before, at least from what I can remember.” Chuuya shrugs, kicking up the sand with the toe of his boot.

Dazai’s heart sings out a disconcerting melody beneath his ribcage, practically rattling his bones with the force of it and the rush of blood startlingly evident in his head. The only thought that rings out in his mind is why? Of all people Chuuya could’ve chosen to spend his birthday with, why had he chosen Dazai? Surely, they weren't that close, Dazai was nothing more than a tutor to Chuuya, and after the tutoring was over, so too, would their relationship be over. So why had Chuuya chosen to celebrate his birthday for the first time with Dazai; someone who he’s so adamantly expressed his hatred towards time and time again? However, he can’t find a way to properly mash together all of those thoughts into one coherent sentence, so instead he settles for one question sitting at the forefront of his mind. “Why didn't you tell me? I could have gotten you a present and made it a good first celebration! Stupid Chibi!”

“It was a spontaneous choice! I was gonna just celebrate with Kouyou but-“

”…but what?”

Chuuya’s cheeks redden the slightest bit, though Dazai can’t tell if it's from the lighting or something else. “Nothing, let's just start doing the stuff.”

”Stuff?” Dazai raises a brow and squats down next to Chuuya as he begins sifting through the bag. Inside of the bag lies a thin sheet, which Chuuya fans out over the sand for them to sit on, as well as boxes of sparklers and firecrackers. Dazai giggles a bit as he pulls them out, and Chuuya sends him a half-hearted glare. “What, asshole?”

”Chuuya is so childish!”

”Hey! You’re supposed to be nice on my birthday!”

”I never claimed I would be nice, you ask too much of me Chibi.”

Chuuya lands a punch on his arm, though the action lacks any heat. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and sets it on the sheets, ripping open the box of sparklers with his teeth. “So, do you want one, or not?”

”How deadly would you say a sparkler is?”

”Dont even think about it dumbass, all you’ll get is a nasty burn.”

“How about a whole box of them? How painful would you say burning to death is?”

”Dazai, I swear to god.” Chuuya groans, bringing a tired hand to his face.

Dazai sighs dramatically, flipping his palm over to accept a sparkler from Chuuya.

Chuuya lights his own sparkler first, a bright glow erupting in front of his face. Dazai finds himself momentarily entranced by the way his multicolored eyes sparkle with the light. Chuuya stands up and waves the sparkler around like he’s a child discovering fire for the first time, and Dazai’s chest twists sickeningly, the sight almost too endearing. ”Come here.” Chuuya gestures for Dazai to stand up, and lights Dazai’s sparkler with his own.

Dazai has admittedly never played with fireworks before, or seen much of them outside a T.V. screen. His birth parents hadn’t been ones for fun family activities, and Mori was far too busy to ever force Dazai to partake in such trivial things, not that Dazai would’ve accepted had Mori offered it anyway. He immediately understands why Chuuya had been so enraptured by the sparklers as he mirrors Chuuya’s movements from earlier and waves it in the air, leaving a trail of bright sparks.

”Jesus, careful with that.” Chuuya says, just narrowly avoiding being hit by Dazai’s sparkler.

Dazai slowly turns to him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

”Don’t you fucking dare Mackerel, ill kill you.”

”All the more reason to, don't you think?”

”Dazai! Dazai stop! You fucking psychopath!” Chuuya breaks out into a sprint, laughing and stumbling a bit on the sand as he tries to evade Dazai.

Dazai chases Chuuya for around five minutes, the sand kicking up beneath their feet and getting flung into their faces. His chest brims with something so sickeningly saccharine. It's such a juvenile thing, chasing each other on an empty beach with sparklers, a joy Dazai never thought he could find in something so boring and trivial. Though, if he had been doing this same thing with anyone else, he's not sure if he would find such joy. So, perhaps, he thinks, it's not so much the action in and of itself, but who he is doing it with.

In truth, Dazai thinks he could spend all of eternity gazing into those ethereal eyes, and never run out of stars to count. He could spend all of his time carefully counting each and every freckle that trails the boy's skin and never tire of it in the slightest.

Death is something guaranteed, the final act of a meaningless life, the end of stage play that holds no grand underlying message. Life simply is, until it is not. And so, life has always been something so unbearably useless to Dazai, and he never quite cared for partaking in useless activities. Yet, here, in the warm light of the sunset with the boy he so detests running in front of him, he finds he does not care about any of that now. Death is still guaranteed, and one day this moment will be nothing more than a vague memory that will inevitably flicker out and die with himself, and yet, Dazai simply cannot find it inside of himself to care. He thinks, if he could prolong this moment, for even a second longer, it would all be worth it. This dreadful existence might just consist of something worthwhile, something transcendent, as ever-lasting as the promise of death.

Dazai finds himself laughing carelessly, genuinely, like he's a child experiencing true joy for the first time; and in some aspects, he supposes that statement holds truth. His smile is shaky and unsure, for his smile has never been more than a carefully crafted mask based on his perception of others, never something genuine. And still, he smiles nonetheless, allowing this overwhelming feeling to consume him whole, even if it will be the death—or life of him, rather.

Death seems like something so trivial in comparison to the sparks in his chest he feels from simply getting a glimpse of Chuuya's infectious light.

Dazai catches up to Chuuya, reaching a bandaged hand to the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards, though he seemingly miscalculates, and he tumbles to the ground in a fit of pure, unadulterated laughter.

When he finally opens his eyes again, Chuuya lays partially atop of him, his face so close Dazai can feel the careful string of breath, and smile so bright Dazai thinks he may just be incinerated.

“I've never seen you laugh like that before.” Chuuya says, bringing a careful hand to brush away Dazai's hair from his face, allowing the light to touch down on his pale stricken skin. Dazai hums in the back of his throat, his eyes never leaving the boy's star-filled gaze.

“Happy birthday, Chuuya.” He smiles, softly, but genuinely. And for the first time, the blackness within him is entirely unnoticeable, for Chuuya’s light shines so unbearably bright that his own blackness finds nowhere to hide.

^^^

The sun sets over the horizon, consuming the beach in a shroud of infinitely dark twilight. They lay on the thin blanket, the comforting silence between them fluctuating in waves as they point out various constellations and patterns among the stars.

“Look! That one looks like a slug! I'll call it the Chuuya!”

Chuuya scoffs, landing a small painless punch to Dazai's arm. His hand falls back down to the blanket, brushing against Dazai's just slightly. Dazai bites his lip, contemplating if it would be too much. Eventually, he gently takes Chuuya's hand into his own, for even if this light he feels was destined to inevitably burn him, perhaps it would all be worth it in the end.

Chuuya glances over at him, locks of strawberry hair falling against the blanket, and Dazai returns the gesture trying to decipher what the boy's eyes say. Those eyes could tell Dazai things no amount of words could ever even hope to express. Chuuya lets a small melancholic smile spread across his lips, a forlorn look in his eyes.

“Hey, Dazai?” He says in a tone so soft Dazai wouldn't have been able to pick it up, if not for their unbearably close proximity.

Dazai hums in the back of his throat.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks, bringing a gentle hand to swipe a strand of hair out of Chuuya’s eyes.

“This is the only birthday I can ever remember actually enjoying, so thanks, I guess.”

Dazai feels his heart sink in his chest all over again, falling endlessly into the pit of darkness inside of him, and he finds himself at a loss for words. His face heats up unbearably, and he can only pray that Chuuya doesn't notice the redness of his face under the glow of the moonlight. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feeling drier than any dessert. He turns his face away and clears his throat. “Yeah well, it would be irresponsible of me as a pet owner to let my dog go unhappy, don't you think?”

“I am not a dog jackass!”

“You are! A tiny, annoying one!”

“Every time I try to be nice.” Chuuya sighs exasperatedly, though the faintest impressions of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

Chapter Text

Chuuya sits blankly staring at the clock on the wall, his thoughts drowned out by the mechanical whirring of a printer somewhere in the distance and muffled chatter from other workers at the police station. The walls of Hirotsu’s office are the same dull green as they have been for the past three months that he’d been forced to sit here and have the same conversations time and time again. Chuuya absentmindedly counts the number of paint scratches on the wall as he bounces his leg, perhaps a bit obnoxiously.

”Chuuya, are you listening?” He hears Hirotsu sigh tiredly, and when he snaps his head back to the man, he’s dragging a hand across his face.

”What did you say?”

”I said,” Hirotsu starts a bit annoyedly, though he takes a breath and regains his composure before continuing. ”Your reading score has jumped nearly eight points since our last visit. And your last math mock was scored ninety-two percent.”

Chuuya shrugs a bit aggressively, leaning back in his chair and allowing his gaze to wander back to the clock, which ticks incessantly as if mocking his silence. “Yeah, well, the test was easy.”

Hirotsu raises a brow, which Chuuya catches out of his peripheral vision. “It wasn't, and you know it.” He says, setting down the papers he holds to instead train his gaze on Chuuya. “These results show you’re more than prepared to take the official exam. So, why haven’t you scheduled it yet?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, a deeply annoyed scowl evident on his face as he slumps further into the chair, picking at his cuticles under the desk. “Because im not ready. Obviously. Those mock tests—they aren’t the real thing.”

”Chuuya,” Hirotsu starts, leaning forward to place his chin on top of his folded hands. “You’ve been saying that for nearly six weeks. You’re performing at a level that surpasses the requirements. Your tutors' notes all say the same.”

Chuuya stiffens a bit, averting his gaze from the man. “Yeah, well, maybe the bastard is just overestimating me.”

Hirotsu tilts his head to the side, a look of confusion present on his face. “He provided detailed rationale for every improvement you've made so far. That’s not overestimating. That’s a professional assessment.”

“Whatever.” Chuuya bites out, his tone laced with bitterness. “Doesnt mean I won't bomb the real test.”

Hirotsu remains quiet for a long moment—a careful, perceptive stare boring holes into Chuuya's hardened exterior. He feels as though his thoughts are being sorted into neat files. Hirotsu exhales softly through his nose, arranging the papers on the desk into neat stacks. ”You’re making excuses, Chuuya. And not even your usual creative ones.” He looks up from the files, giving Chuuya that knowing stare that Chuuya has grown to resent over time. “Mind telling me what’s really going on?”

Chuuya immediately bristles, feeling himself tense in the metal chair. ”Nothing’s going on. I just—I don't wanna rush it, alright?”

Hirotsu raises an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving Chuuya. “You’ve been avoiding it, not pacing yourself. Those two things are entirely different.”

Chuuya looks away, clenching his jaw in disdain. “I'm telling you. I'm not ready.”

Hirotsu sighs once more, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “You are. But I'm beginning to think readiness isn’t the real issue here.”

Chuuya freezes for just a second, before rolling his eyes and slumping impossibly further into himself. However, Hirotsu has proven time and time again to be annoyingly observant.

Hirotsu’s voice comes more gentle with the next sentence, his words carefully chosen. Chuuya has to fight not to scoff at the way the man treats him like a frightened animal. “You’ve been working with this tutor for months now. You’ve grown comfortable with the routine—or more so with him, I should say.”

Chuuya snaps his head up from where it had been directed at his hands, he doesn’t even realize that his cuticles had begun to bleed from the incessant picking. He points Hirotsu with the most vicious glare he can muster. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Hirotsu is quiet for a moment, picking over his words with great consideration. “It means…” He trails off, his gaze landing on Chuuya once more. “Connections can make change feel threatening, at times. Progress often forces shifts in the people we depend on.” He pauses for a moment. “Sometimes, that’s what we’re really afraid of.”

Chuuya scoffs past the increasing tightness in his throat, shoving his stinging hands into his pockets and balling them into tight fists. “You’re reading way too much into this, old man. He’s just my tutor.”

Hirotsu gives a small nod. “Perhaps. But your behavior tells me you’re worried about something shifting once you pass. You’ve been adamantly avoiding the test in a way that doesn’t match your academic ability.” His tone softens, and Chuuya thinks he might just throw up. “Chuuya, im not asking you to confess anything to me—Im only asking that you’re honest with yourself.”

Chuuya shifts uncomfortably, his hands moving to clench the edge of the chair. His head feels unbearably dizzy, and his stomach churns. “Look—“ He starts, his throat thick. “People leave, okay? It just— happens. So if something’s working, why mess with it?”

Hirotsu nods slowly, his expression gentle, but still grounded. “Chuuya, people leaving isn’t trivial. Especially when its something you’ve experienced far more than most your age.” He folds his hands back on the desk. “But, holding yourself back just to keep someone around… that only hurts you in the long run.”

Chuuya's face burns, he averts his gaze to glare at the floor as if it had personally wronged him. “Im not doing that.”

”Then why does your progress stop the moment it requires letting go of the structure he provides?”

”It just—“ His voice cracks pitifully, and he has to pause and recollect himself. “I dont… I dont wanna screw things up.”

“With the exam?”

Chuuya shakes his head slightly, entirely out of his comfort zone. He can hear the sound of blood rushing in his head. The answer to the question is obvious, though its one he’d never admit in a million years. He can’t just outright say that he doesn’t want to lose the first person who’s ever celebrated his birthday, or brought an end to the ceaseless nightmares with only his mere presence. He’d already made the mistake of caring far too much, and it had only ended in pain. ”He’s…good at teaching, alright? I dont wanna be some obligation he doesn’t have a reason to keep around once I'm done.” The words slip out far sharper than he’s intended them to and he cringes a bit at the honesty. He scowls and pulls himself deeper into his jacket.

Hirotsu’s voice doesn’t change in the slightest, it only remains calm and steady. “Chuuya, if someone’s connection to you depends only on your struggle, that is not a stable connection. And it is not your job to shrink your life just to keep someone from walking away.”

Chuuya doesn’t respond, too focused on blinking the wetness out of his eyes. He tells himself that the bluriness in his vision is purely from anger and frustration at the stupid conversation.

Hirotsu continues after a short while. “You deserve growth that isn’t contingent on whether someone stays or goes.” His voice becomes more firm, but still retains that sickening softness. “And if this tutor values you, he will remain in your life because of who you are, not because you haven’t passed a test yet.”

Chuuya huffs out a breath that is a half-scoff, his throat still unbearably thick. “You don't get it.”

”No, I simply see more than you think. It’s my job to work with kids like yourself.” He sits back.”You dont have to tell me the details. But i need you to understand this: you are ready. And postponing your future wont guarantee anyone stays by your side.”

A long, tense silence stretches between them, supercharging the air in the room. Chuuya takes a deep, strained breath as he feels his chest tighten, not keen on breaking down in front of his parole officer of all people. Finally, he musters up the courage to ask in a low mutter, “…Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Take the exam. Build your future. And trust that the people who matter will choose to walk alongside you, not behind you.” Hirotsu says confidently. “And if the people you value don't choose to remain in your life, then perhaps they never deserved to be there in the first place.”

Chuuya sighs shakily, rubbing one hand over his face in hopes of hiding his traitorous expression. “Fine. Ill—“ He grumbles a bit harsher than he intends, before taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. “Ill look over the testing dates again if you’ll quit it with this shit.”

”Good.” He allows a small smile to overtake his expression. “And Chuuya? You dont have to lose someone just because you've grown. I assure you, healthy connections adapt.”

”Jeez, what are you a therapist?” Chuuya scoffs, though he finds that all fight has drained from his body, replaced with a vague exhaustion.

”Not a therapist. I’ve simply seen enough kids in your position to know that you're not all as tough as you claim to be.”

Chuuya scoffs once more, though, the rushing feeling in his head seems to settle just a bit.

^^^

Chuuya stands outside the house he has grown far too familiar with in the past few months. Hirotsu's words ring out an unwelcome tune in his head. He would never admit it in a million years, but he respected the man greatly (even despite his absurd career choices). Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to take his advice into consideration and just take the damn test that everyone was so adamant he needed. His hands clutch the stones he had picked up on his walk over, his fingers torn and stinging. He had been stressed out over this for far longer than he’d care to admit. The very idea that Chuuya would be throwing away his future for someone who he claimed to hate was enough to make him feel pathetically nauseous. Chuuya has never been one with any form of control over his own emotions, and so all he can do is feel helpless over this groundless fear he holds.

So what if Dazai wanted nothing more to do with him once he passed? Hadn't Chuuya been the one to set this whole relationship up in the first place? Dazai had no obligation to stick around after he fulfilled his end of the deal, and therefore Chuuya was only being selfish by wanting him to stay.

He takes a deep breath, tossing the stone up and down. He supposes it's better to get hurt now rather than later after he's allowed himself to grow even further connected with Dazai. It would be like ripping off a bandaid. After all, he hadn't known Dazai nearly as long as he had known The Sheep, so surely it wouldn't hurt even half as bad when Dazai left. He exhales shakily and tosses the stone as hard as he can into the window, the sound echoing through the street.

Dazai comes to the window almost immediately, sticking his upper body out the window and waving his arms in the direction of the front door. “Stupid brainless Chibi! Door! Doorrr!”

Chuuya can't help the small laugh that escapes him, his anxiety all but forgotten the moment he sees the incredibly stupid sight. “Come on!”

Dazai groans dramatically, dragging his body back inside and slamming the window shut.

It takes about five minutes of Chuuya pacing back and forth on the front porch before Dazai finally opens the door, glaring at Chuuya half-heartedly. “Where are you dragging me this time?”

Chuuya smirks, turning and starting down the front steps. “Why would I ever tell you?”

“If you're planning to drag me to some secluded alley and kill me, at least make sure it's painless.”

Chuuya turns and gives him a deadpan stare. “How did you know?”

Dazai gapes at him. “I'm wounded, you wound me. After all I've done for you.” He brings a hand to clutch at his chest, feigning injury.

“You're so dumb it's unbelievable.” Chuuya turns and walks away, leaving Dazai to his act.

“You’re the one who can't use a door!” He shouts, running to catch up and pointing an accusatory finger at Chuuya.

^^^

The arcade lights flicker in various hues of neon, the sounds of electronic beeping, coins dropping, and synthesized voices flooding his senses. He takes a moment to glance around the room, feeling like he's seeing an old photograph.

Chuuya had spent forever and a day in this arcade when he was younger and still naive to what would come. It was one of the few activities that the members of The Sheep could scrape together enough money for. In particular, he managed to spend an indiscernible amount of time arguing with Shirase over who was better at the claw machines, and then wasting most of the change they had saved up in order to settle the dispute. Chuuya had always been the winner, however Shirase would still brag to their friends about the few times he won, and Chuuya had never protested.

He finds a melancholic nostalgia settling over him as he glances around, unsure if this was the best choice.

“Earth to slug!”

“Jesus fucking Christ mackerel, you don't have to shout in my ear.” He elbows Dazai in the stomach and watches with a smirk as Dazai groans and folds in on himself.

“Stop abusing me you brute! Slugs aren't supposed to be violent!” He shouts over the sounds and blaring music.

Dazai makes his way over to one of the claw machines pushed up against the wall, looking so entirely out of place in his overly formal attire, that Chuuya can't help but smirk.

“I bet I can beat you.” Chuuya says as he walks up. Dazai immediately whips around with a glint in his eye and holds out his hand. Chuuya rolls his eyes and pulls a bag of coins from his pocket, tossing it at him.

They play about three rounds (all of which Chuuya is victorious in) before Dazai begins whining childishly and makes his way to a different game.

“I don't like playing with cheaters!” He shouts over the music, disappearing to a one player game somewhere and fishing his own coins out of his slacks.

Chuuya laughs a bit under his breath, messing with the small trinkets he had collected from the machine.

He isn't entirely sure what his intention was with bringing Dazai to this place. It was sort of a spur of the moment decision. He had originally intended to spill everything on Dazai when he arrived at his house, but once again his traitorous emotions had won and he had ended up here of all places.

That was a whole other bag to unpack. This specific location held such bittersweet memories for Chuuya. He wasn't sure why he had chosen here of all places to have such a dreadful conversation. Perhaps, in a way, this place had become somewhere that he found a weird, bittersweet sort of comfort. Maybe it was just a childish attempt at comforting himself when Dazai inevitably told him he was done with him. He cringes at the thought, even if he doesn't doubt it to be true. pathetic he repeats in his mind.

His thoughts are cut off abruptly as he catches something out of the corner of his eye. He makes his way over to one of the claw machines that stands out from the rest. It's painted in a vibrant, eyesore yellow and themed with some random Pokemon characters that Chuuya knows nothing about. However, one of the characters stands out to him. He can vividly remember Dazai wearing an old wrinkled T-shirt with a creepy looking character on it earlier on in their sessions, and it had stood out to him due to the sheer contrast it held from the other, typically cute, characters he had seen from that franchise. He sighs, biting his lip as he glances over to where Dazai's run off to, before fishing the coins out of his jacket pocket and placing a quarter in the machine. It takes him about two tries before he manages to get the plushie, and he takes it out of the compartment, staring at it blankly for a moment.

“Chuuya! I bet I can beat you on-”

Chuuya snaps his head in the direction of the voice, stuffing the plushie behind his back. His face heats up unbearably, and he thinks he may just wither away and die right at this very moment.

“...What are you doing?” Dazai questions skeptically, his gaze directed at the machine rather than at Chuuya.

Chuuya sighs, bringing a hand to his face and holding out the plushie embarrassingly. “...Don't you like this creepy ass thing?”

Dazai doesn't reply for a while, and it only serves to increase the sinking feeling in Chuuya's stomach and the blood rising to his face. He removes his hand from his eyes after the silence stretches for far too long and hesitantly glances at Dazai, who stands gaping at the plush dumbfoundedly.

“Hello? Earth to Dazai. Did you fucking short circuit?”

“Mimikyu!”

“uh…what?”

“It's Mimikyu! How did you know!?” Dazai shouts, smiling widely. He looks like an excited child.

Chuuya shrugs, his face a bright shade of red, noticeable even under the fluorescent neon lights. “I saw you wearing a shirt of it or something.” He mutters, shoving the plush into Dazai's hands.

Dazai stares down at it with a beaming grin, and Chuuya can't help but return the smile when he realizes it's genuine.

“Hold on. I'm gonna win you something.”

“You don't have to do that dumbass. You suck at those anyway.”

“Stop barking, stupid doggie. You never let me get you a birthday present, remember? And for the record I'm amazing at them, thank you very much.”

Dazai is not amazing at them, so it seems, as it takes him nearly fifteen minutes before he’s able to grab the one he wants. He pumps his fist in the air triumphantly and leans down to grab it. “There, no need to thank me.” Dazai grins.

This one Chuuya is familiar with, as it's by far the most popular one that nearly everyone had heard of. He takes it and stares down at it fondly, petting the soft yellow fur. Even if Chuuya has never given an ounce of care towards Pokemon in any way, he appreciates the gesture all the same. His chest tightens a bit. “Dazai…I gotta talk to you about something.”

“...okay, um…wanna go outside so we can hear better?” He says, his smile dropping from his face as he hears Chuuya's sudden seriousness.

“Yeah.” He says, not removing his eyes from the plush.

The sun slowly inches towards the horizon, painting the sky in an array of warm pinks and oranges. Chuuya stares at that, rather than at Dazai while he tries to find the words.

He feels a bit stupid for taking something so trivial so seriously, but he can't help but feel like his world’s crumbling all over again. The familiar all consuming dread he had felt on the last day he spoke with any of The Sheep comes back fully, causing his hands to tremble around the plushie a bit. The location he had chosen to have this conversation at certainly doesn't help.

“Chuuya, out with it already. Your twitchiness is freaking me out.”

Chuuya looks over at Dazai, then at the plush in his hands, finding he can't look Dazai in the face as he says it. He takes a deep breath. “You know how I had that meeting with my parole officer today?”

“...yeah? What, is he locking you back up? Have you finally decided to take me up on my offer to get rid of that stupid ankle monitor?”

“What? No dumbass.” Chuuya scoffs, kicking at the dirt underneath the bench they're sitting on. He squeezes the plushie a bit. “He wants me to take the GED test.”

“...Oh. When?”

“No later than next week.”

Dazai nods, bringing his knees up to his chest and fidgeting with his stuffed animal. “I'm sure you'll do great.”

Chuuya stiffens. “What…you aren't gonna call me a dumb, stupid chibi?”

He shrugs. “You are an incredibly stupid chibi. Better?”

Chuuya just frowns at him. He sighs as he turns back to the sunset. “...do you like your creepy ass stuffie?”

Dazai smiles a bit, not looking at Chuuya. It's not nearly as genuine as it was earlier, and Chuuya's chest twists a bit. “Yeah, I love Mimikyu.”

“Why? It's freaky.”

Dazai shrugs. “Its the most realistic one.”

“What makes it realistic?”

“Well…it disguises itself as Pikachu.”

“Why? How does that make it realistic?”

“It wants humans to love it, the same way that they love Pikachu, so it pretends to be Pikachu, but it can never replicate perfectly.” His tone is oddly subdued as he speaks, sounding almost forlorn.

Chuuya stares down at his own plushie, then back at Dazai, an odd feeling settling in his stomach. Before he has a chance to decipher what the hell any of that even means, or why Dazai had explicitly won him the Pikachu plush to go along with his, Dazai speaks up, turning to face Chuuya fully.

“Um…do you wanna steal some of Mori’s money to celebrate after you pass your test?” He says, his eyes darting anywhere but Chuuya as he faces him.

Chuuya pauses for a minute, his brain screeching to a deafening halt. Then, he breaks out in a fit of laughter, the anxiety lifting from his body immediately.

“...What? How is that funny? Am I missing something?”

“Nothing- nothing.” He says, smiling at Dazai. “Yes we can get ice cream shitty mackerel. But we’re not stealing Mori's money, I'm trying to finish probation, not get more time.”

Dazai smiles back just as brightly, the tension absolving from his posture. “It's not like Mori needs all that money!”

Chuuya punches Dazai in the shoulder, though the gesture lacks any heat. He finds it incredibly funny how quickly Dazai manages to lift the weight off of Chuuya's shoulders without even noticing it. For the first time, he doesn't loathe to admit the fact that perhaps he doesn't hate Dazai as much as he thought he did.