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God, Dazai felt like vomiting. Was hunger always this awful? His stomach turned nauseatingly, and he was acutely aware of the hunger gnawing at his insides. Sweat stuck to his skin like tar, making his clothes feel suffocating. Regrets about not cleaning himself up before sleeping tugged at the corner of his mind, but he couldn’t be bothered to fret over it.
Dazai sat up—now fully alert—which meant he had no hope of falling back asleep. He lurched out of bed, desperate to get rid of the strangling fabric that clung to him. Changing was a brief affair, as the hunger ripping through him was becoming much too agonizing to ignore.
All light outside had long since faded. The street below his dorm was unsettlingly quiet, with the sounds of traffic and passerby unusually absent.
His hands were damp with sweat as he grabbed his keys, shoving them into the pockets of his pants. He almost forgot his shoes in the haze of his exhaustion, but slipped them on at the last minute.
The environment outside of his dorm was eerie, something unnerving in the wind that whizzed through his hair and around Yokohama. He trudged down the sidewalk, following the familiar path to the 24-hour convenience store he often went to in the dead of night. The buzz of the LED lights of the sign grinded against Dazai’s nerves, but he pushed past his discomfort in favour of alleviating his hunger.
His mind drifted as he picked out various light snacks, just to hold him over until a more reasonable breakfast time. He was far too nauseous to eat much anyways.
The cashier was silent as Dazai paid, their eyes lifeless with fatigue. He felt an odd sense of companionship with them and their weariness, but didn’t mention it. He thanked them and left just as quickly as he came.
The atmosphere outside of the building was different than before, more subtle in its abnormality. There was still something creeping deep within the air, burrowed beneath the sparkling twilight.
Lost within the mazes of his own mind, Dazai began to sink into his own sludge. The silence that stared back at him reminded him of the worst idea he’s ever had, that this was who he truly is. This despondent, hungering, and lonesome version of himself was him; it was the person who hid behind all of the smoke and mirrors and facades. And the thought was terrifying. He refused to face it anymore. He shoved it away with all the force he could muster, but it lingered. He might never escape it.
The rest of the walk back to his apartment was mostly the same, with the occasional stray dog passing by. Once he began nearing the finish mark, though, something switched. The once almost unnoticeable eeriness began suffocating him, bearing down on him like a lead anvil. His entire body shuddered against the chill, a peculiar ache slowly cemented itself into his bones.
An odd scuffling sound came from Dazai’s left, like some feral animal was digging through the dumpster. A howl of wind blew through the silence that followed. He glanced over into the darkness of the alleyway next to him, and noticed a crouched figure sifting through the dumpster. A car darted by, the xanthic headlights illuminating the backstreet.
His eyes snagged a glimpse of something warmly familiar. A head of ochre hair came into view and filled his chest with a mellow heat. He was well-acquainted with the fire that began coursing through his veins, and Dazai had an unabashed fervour to walk over and hold that blaze in his hands, to cradle it and cherish it until it inevitably burned out deliciously.
Chuuya looked at Dazai, something intangible in his eyes.
And God, Dazai thought, I might just die here.
There was a flower in his chest, blooming, blooming, blooming, until he felt so full of pollen that he might pop and splatter his guts all over the brick wall of the alley. The ache in Dazai’s stomach was no longer born of hunger, but of something deeper.
There was this piercing blue glow in Chuuya’s eyes, shining like the sky on a green summer day. Dazai relished in the crisp breeze that came with, feeling the breath of it raise goosebumps along his spine. He felt his lungs and his heart tangle themselves together, pounding in sync against his ribs so hard that it hurt. His feet moved forward without his brain telling them to, his centre of gravity unsteady in the wake of Chuuya’s gaze. Dazai was being pulled to him, in orbit of him like some sort of moon.
“Chuuya?” Dazai whispered with hesitance in his voice. Chuuya seemed to register his presence finally, his eyes widening in mild surprise.
“Dazai?” Chuuya murmured back, his voice trembling against the stark silence in the air. Hairs on the back of Dazai’s neck stood upright; his stomach churned nauseatingly. Something was off. About Chuuya, about this place. It was all unbelievably wrong, but Dazai didn’t have the courage to back away. He was entranced.
Half-mooned eyes stared back at Dazai, hunger etched deep within the frost of them. The usual suffocating humanity that Chuuya held around him was smudged, cracked like a broken mirror. He slowly arose from his position near the dumpster, swaying closer to Dazai.
“Dazai…” he repeated, his voice softer with a cloying bitter sweetness. Dazai could feel his bones begging to step away, to flee—but he didn’t. He stood statue-still as he watched Chuuya saunter forwards.
Chuuya lifted one of his arms and threw it around Dazai’s left shoulder, pulling them ever so closer together. His mouth lingered threateningly close to Dazai’s throat, warm breath curling around his skin like starlight. Fangs—since when did Chuuya have fangs?—teased against the edge of gauze that covered the column of Dazai’s throat. Chuuya slithered his fingers delicately under the cotton, unravelling it like a silk ribbon and letting it fall to the ground like the feather of an angel.
“I’m so hungry, Dazai,” Chuuya whispered, his voice a river of honeyed milk. He locked eyes with Dazai once again, a pleading whimper pushing past his lips. “Please?” He trailed a single open-mouthed kiss on Dazai’s shamefully exposed skin. Stars exploded in Dazai’s stomach, and he felt blood rush to his face at the action.
With his words stuck in his throat, Dazai released a shaky breath. He clenched and unclenched his fists once or thrice, trying to work up the courage to reply. He wasn’t exactly sure what Chuuya was asking for, the only message getting through to his brain being oh my God he’s so close he’s so close why is he so close—
Dazai stumbled backwards as Chuuya leaned his weight against him, pushing him up against the brick wall behind them. Chuuya slid his knee between Dazai’s thighs, lingering threateningly close to his crotch. A shiver of thrill shot up his spine like a bolt of lightning. Chuuya whined petulantly at Dazai’s (involuntary) silence, burrowing his face closer to Dazai’s carotid. “Just a little. Please, Osamu?”
God, how could Dazai ever say no when Chuuya asked him like that? He felt his knees buckling under the weight of himself and the tone of Chuuya’s request. Dazai’s throat bobbed when he swallowed dryly, the only admission he could manage being a gentle nod.
Chuuya smiled up at him, fangs glinting in the meagre light. His mouth moved down to Dazai’s feverish skin once again, and the action just about sent Dazai into a full blown heart attack. His skull pounded painfully, his thoughts furiously knotting themselves together.
Dazai waited breathlessly. For what, he wasn’t sure. Chuuya licked a wet stripe along the line of Dazai’s neck, making him shudder violently.
Before he could say another word, before he could inhale another breath, before he could form another thought, Chuuya bit. Fangs tearing into tender flesh, searing into him as though he’d been branded. His legs wobbled beneath him, pain ripping through his body. Yet, just as quickly as it struck him, it was replaced by something entirely new. Sticky caramel ecstasy slithered through his veins. He could almost taste it, back in the depths of his throat. He was enjoying this.
A moan slipped from his tongue, echoing in the silent space between them. Dazai’s skin was taut from the suction of Chuuya’s lips, who was drinking him in as if he was a cup of ambrosia. His neck was slick with spilled ichor dripping down his collarbone, the scent of copper wafted through the air with metal blossoming on the tip of both his and Chuuya’s tongues. His senses were on edge, overly aware of every movement between them. Their bodies pressed up against each other, Chuuya’s tongue rolling over his neck, the crushing waves of pleasure crashing through his mind.
Dazai tangled his fingers between Chuuya’s valencia curls of hair, almost wanting to yank him away yet wanting more to push him in further to his skin and let himself be devoured, to wrap his fingers around the other boys heart and entwine it with his own, to get down on his knees and pray to him and worship him because God, Chuuya deserved that and everything else Dazai could give up of himself.
Chuuya sunk his teeth in deeper, and it felt as though he was gnawing directly on Dazai’s vertebrae. After a moment, he detached himself with a contented sigh, licking saccharine cruor from his teeth like some sort of predator. Blood continued to leak from the two divots on Dazai’s neck, staining the collar of his button-up shirt. Too soon.
Dazai’s eyelids were heavy, weighed down with the thick rancid oil of Chuuya’s gaze. With his fingers still twined in Chuuya’s hair, he leaned down, chasing the copper between Chuuya’s lips. Their mouths met hastily, nothing but teeth and desperation clashing together. He could taste his own blood on the tip of Chuuya’s tongue.
Chuuya grabbed both sides of Dazai’s face, forcing them closer together. Closer than they had ever been. Dazai snaked his arms around Chuuya’s waist, trying to hold onto him because he almost believed that the boy would disappear before his very eyes and he’d wake up in his own bed, alone. Again. His thoughts raced like the static of a tittering TV, circling around to the same phrase over and over and over and over and over again: I need him.
Kissing Chuuya was the best thing that had ever happened to Dazai. It made his entire pathetic life worth it, just to be able to be here and taste him. It tasted like coming home, like wanderlust, like love—the crooked, ugly maw of it sunk its yellowed fangs into the flesh of Dazai’s heart. But he couldn’t think coherently long enough to acknowledge it.
Chuuya’s tongue laved against the hard palate of his mouth. Dazai lost himself in the sensation. He could feel his teeth rotting against the sweetness pooling in his gums. Sugary strands of honey and decay festered between their lips, sickening him. Yet, it felt so natural to keep his lips slotted against Chuuya’s, lapping up his bleeding humanity like the moon soaking up the light of the sun.
Chuuya’s hands burned as they trailed along his body, eventually settling around his waist. He slipped his fingers under the loose hem of Dazai’s shirt, digging his blunt fingernails into the meat cushioning his ribs. Like he wanted to crack Dazai’s chest open and bury himself there.
Once they finally separated, lips swollen with saliva and blood, Dazai lurched back towards him, desperately chasing his fleeting touch. He was dizzy, his bones were chilled. He had felt so much warmer just a moment ago, tangled against Chuuya.
His mind grew foggier as he desperately tried to latch himself onto Chuuya, pulling himself towards his heat. Gone… he was slipping again. He was slipping away from Chuuya. No, he needed to stay awake. He needed to be with him.
But his body was done. He couldn’t keep himself upright any longer, and he slowly slumped into Chuuya’s invitingly warm embrace. His hands were cold but gentle, steadily supporting him as his body crumpled. Exhaustion suddenly coursed through him, and with a dull pang he remembered the throbbing wound on his neck. The only thing he could keep in mind was Chuuya. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t plead with him, he couldn’t ask him to stay. Please stay with me.
Then—gone. His consciousness slipped.
————————————
Dazai staggered into Chuuya, his body warm and lovely and sweet and so awfully fragile.
The remnants of his taste lingered on Chuuya’s tongue, but what had been so lush in his mouth just seconds ago now tasted like ash and carrion. The warmth of Dazai’s breath fogged against his flesh, aching in a way that felt so nauseatingly similar to moth wings shivering against his skin.
Chuuya had ruined him. He had let himself give into that attraction, that craving because he was just so hungry. Yet, now that he was full again, he couldn’t bear the knowledge of what he had done.
They were supposed to be, what… friends? The thought made his stomach churn with contrition. Chuuya had taken the charming little butterfly of a relationship they’d nurtured for the past two weeks and pressed it between his fingers until it was a twitching, pulpy mess. Crushed it under his heel like a spider on the tiles of his bathroom floor. Blown it out like a candle before bed.
He was nothing but a monster. A predator.
Everything had felt so undeniably wrong the past few days. The suffocating thirst had still been scraping like a knife against his lungs and throat, barely satiated by the few drops of blood that Albatross had given him. It had been frantically itching against the sides of his skull, wanting, wanting, wanting, until he had met Dazai under the moonlight. Chuuya had been wandering around the city all night, digging in dumpsters like some sort of animal to keep himself entertained. He had kept himself in check. Despite the agonizing want that had him in a vice grip at all hours of the day, he had never attacked anyone. He had never let himself lose control.
It must’ve been the way Dazai’s face had lit up when they made eye contact, the way his voice had wavered when he called out, the way his desires had presented themselves so blatantly. All of it had somehow caused Chuuya to lose his footing, tipping him off his ledge right into the whitecaps of the raging river he stood above. He had known from that moment there that he could never go back. Chuuya would never resemble anything close to a human, not after he had lost all semblance of control the moment such a simple temptation appeared.
Not that it mattered right now. He had more urgent things to lend his attention to, like the unconscious Dazai resting in his arms who was pressing all of his dead weight against Chuuya’s empty ribcage. Chuuya held his arms securely around Dazai’s sides, a mixture of shame and adoration curling around the base of his spine as he watched the other boy’s breath fog against the stark chill in the air.
Chuuya needed to get him somewhere safe. Not here, not in this place reeking of blood and gasoline. The most logical option would’ve been bringing him back to his own apartment, but Chuuya had no idea where he lived. He had never had a reason to. The only choice Chuuya had was taking Dazai home with him.
He looked again at Dazai's face. He looked so… peaceful. More so than his expression had ever been. It made Chuuya nauseous. With shaking hands, Chuuya gently brushed Dazai’s sweat-drenched bangs away from his face with a tenderness he didn’t know he still had. He was beautiful, even with a sticky pallor staining his face and his teeth yellowed from nicotine—he was beautiful. Chuuya couldn’t help but notice it now, with the dimmed stars above shining down so divinely on the boy before him.
Chuuya hefted Dazai up, letting his head rest on his shoulder so he could balance him properly without his feet dragging on the concrete. He was light—lighter than he should be. It made Chuuya uneasy.
Whatever. He needed to focus on the task in front of him. This is going to be a long walk.
—
Chuuya stumbled into the foyer of his dark apartment. Dazai was practically plastered against his skin, a clammy layer of sweat shining on his pale face. Chuuya’s fingertips grazed over Dazai’s cheek, feeling an odd chill radiating from flesh that should be warm. The idea that his misstep could potentially be something fatal, something irreversible—it was terrifying. He didn’t want to be the reason that Dazai or anyone else experienced the same agony that he had just a few days prior.
When Chuuya finally took a step forward, he could feel the exhaustion of the day creeping up on him. He didn’t get tired anymore, not like he did when he was still human—this new breed of fatigue was bone-deep and excruciating in the way it dug through his skull. And now, he just wanted to sleep. Even with how restless his slumbers were now, he still wanted to bury himself in his sheets and never uncover himself.
He didn’t want to be alone tonight. He didn’t have to be alone tonight. Dazai was here, in his arms, unresponsive but still here. And that alone was enough to comfort Chuuya.
He continued forward with newfound energy, carrying Dazai with him as he sauntered towards his bedroom. He didn’t bother turning on his lights, he had no reason to. He simply laid Dazai onto the left side of his bed, peeled his jacket and bloodied shirt off of him and covered him with a thin cotton blanket, tender in his ministrations. Chuuya averted his eyes, shame crawling back up his throat at the sight of Dazai unresponsive in his bed. He walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled hesitantly onto the mattress next to him. He watched him for a moment, noting how the moonlight bled wonderfully across his skin in a way that haloed around his motionless body.
His eyes glanced down to the ragged bandages twined around Dazai’s body. It just served as yet another reminder of the strange feeling Chuuya felt around him—some sparkling cocktailed mix of fascination and effervescence that fizzled in his teeth when he was near him.
Chuuya couldn’t help himself. He reached his hand forward again to caress Dazai’s cheek, but froze midway. Blood. There was still blood on his fingers. He needed to wash it off, scrub it off, boil it off. Anything to rid himself of the awful coppery crimson. He swallowed a gag at the reminder.
He hobbled back off of his bed and towards his bathroom, stripping himself of his trashed clothes as he padded forward. Jacket, sweater, shirt—all cascading from his hands and falling to the floor with an almost silent sluff. His footsteps were quiet as well, for no reason other than the fact that he didn’t want to disrupt the peacefulness fluttering through his apartment.
The lights of his bathroom flicked on with ease, illuminating the space like a second sun. He could almost see the porcelain tiles leaning towards the light, not unlike the way sunflowers do so in the summertime. They blossomed in it, eager to be met with the face of anything that even slightly resembled their mother.
He dug his bloodied fingers into his eyes, trying to chase away the odd sense of melodrama twirling around in his head. Instead of letting himself drown in his own melancholy, he turned on his faucet and watched languidly as the water spurted out. The liquid swirled around at the bottom of his sink before spilling sadly into the drain. He let it continue uninterrupted for a moment before finally sticking his hands under the flow of water and observing as it came away pink. He scrubbed with much more force than was probably necessary, but he didn’t want to risk letting it stain. He couldn’t.
After finally drying off his hands, Chuuya let his eyes meet with the mirror. But, instead of seeing his rumpled reflection stare back, he could only see the wall behind him. Gone. He was gone. It was almost as if he didn’t exist anymore, even though he could look down to his hands and watch them move, even though he could brush hair away from his face, even though he could feel tiles beneath his bare feet… huh? He couldn’t remember taking off his shoes. Did he? He must have. He must have.
Chuuya forced himself away from the bathroom after a few too-long moments of introspection, turning off the light again as he fled. He retreated to his bed, where Dazai continued to sleep undisturbed. He crawled under the sheets next to him, letting himself linger a little too close for comfort just to feel that spark of humanity flare up in his chest again.
And while Chuuya couldn’t sleep anymore, he could pretend with Dazai next to him.