Chapter Text
"Dazai!"
Chuuya was calling Dazai's name repeatedly as he chased the latter around the playground.
It was summer, the sun beating down on the two best friends as they played, the heat as sweltering as a mass of flickering flames. An azure sky was cloudless above them, birds swimming across and singing a sweet melody to the boys.
"I'm gonna catch you, Dazai!"
"Nuh-uh, Chuuuuya," Dazai retorted teasingly, swiftly sprinting further ahead to prove his point.
The redhead couldn't pass his friend, no matter how hard he tried. To add insult to injury, the friend in question began running backwards, facing Chuuya and sticking his tongue out at him. Chuuya groaned in vexation, but couldn't keep running anymore. He bent over and started gasping for air.
"Is a certain shorty out of breath?"
Chuuya's bright sapphire eyes met the chestnut gaze of Osamu Dazai, a fleck of concern barely visible lingering inside. The former lunged at his friend, but Dazai effortlessly dodged. "Don't call me shorty!" Chuuya cried, getting slightly pissed off.
In response, Dazai tilted his head to one side, a mask of mock confusion settling over his features. "But you are a shorty."
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are."
"I'm not!"
They continued in a similar fashion as they started to walk home, the summer heat becoming unbearable.
His nose stung; his eyes and cheeks were wet; his heart hurt like someone had cut the stitches on a wound. Dazai slowly registered the unlit room he was in -- nothing like the vibrant playground he was just at.
The playground.
Reality became an inescapably sea, forcing Dazai to swallow his pain, his sorrow and his guilt; forcing him to let it fill his lungs and choke him. He curled into himself, waiting for those feelings to subside and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want this -- it was starting to become too much.
A few heartbeats later, the brunette boy rolled over and swiped his phone from the side table. Instantly, the refulgent glow of his wallpaper blinded Dazai, making him flinch back and squint to check the time. Four twenty-two a.m. was what he read. He groaned internally -- it was far too early to get ready for school, but equally he didn't want to go back to sleep. He felt another agonizing beat of his fractured heart.
Today will be insufferable, Dazai thought dejectedly, raising a pale hand to his head and pushing his hair back.
For you see, dear reader, every day is a shitty day whenever you dream of the person who used to be your closest friend. Dazai knew this well; it was a daily occurrence for him, after all.