-- 10 years, 3 months ago --

Chuuya is spread out on his bed, arms outstretched to hold a book above him. He clicks his tongue every once in a while, not because the protagonist is a clueless idiot - okay maybe that too, but because he has to put down the book every few minutes to brush his stray bangs away from his eyes. He likes his long hair, although he can't deny that it gets in the way sometimes.

It's half past midnight when he hears a knock on his door. He sighs, putting the book next to him on the mattress, calling out in a bored "Come in."

The dark oak door doesn't creak, letting Chuuya's sharp breath be known as it catches in his throat. Without faltering, he springs towards the boy supporting himself with the doorframe, catching him before his knees sink to the ground.

Dazai is trembling in his arms, his coughing is wet, and before Chuuya can confirm what it is, the other boy twists so that he ends up coughing into his own sleeve. His shirt comes away stained and red. There is a small crimson line running down his lip and Chuuya watches it trickle down with horror.

He tries to explain, to tell him that it hurts, how he can feel the sensitive, torn skin rub against the bandages that are closer to sandpaper than cotton, but his voice has failed and all he can do is gulp down air in broken gasps. He won't stop shaking.

"Dazai, what happened to your eye?" He reaches out to caress his forehead with feather-like touches. His blue eyes are wide, his voice impossibly jittery.

There are many layers of white bandages winding around his right eye. They look fresh, with only the tiniest flecks of blood seeping through the cloth. It looks like if they tried to unravel it, there would be no end, tightened until it was almost painful to hide what damage had been done.

He flinches at the gentle touch, his trembling getting worse. Chuuya lifts him up as carefully as he can, leading him to the bed. As far as he can tell, all of the wounds are dressed, white snaking around his arms and crawling up his neck.

Dazai drops on the bed heavier than a boulder, hissing when his arm hits the mattress too hard. Chuuya is there, appearing next to him in a couple of seconds with a box of medical supplies.

"No need," he huffs, shying away from outstretched hands. If he had enough strength he'd have half the mind to push Chuuya off him.

"Don't be ridiculous!" The mother hen chides, unpacking everything and placing each item by the bed.

Dazai doesn't argue, lets him sterilize his cuts and redress his bruises and injuries. His breathing has calmed down, each rise and fall of his chest slow and controlled. Chuuya is gentle, his voice soothing and languid. He's all soft and light, barely grasping his hand in fright of causing the other pain. Dazai doesn't speak, doesn't think. He buries himself in plush pillows, thick blankets that smell like Chuuya.

When Chuuya moves on to unwrap his eye, Dazai places his hand on his. "Don't," his warning comes off as a plea. His voice is small and tired, a little dry despite the thick blood he was coughing up earlier. He hates it, wants to sound strong, intimidating. But still, Chuuya doesn't try to fight against him. He lowers his hand, letting it drop into his lap with a soft smack.

"Did Mori-sensei do this to you?" The question is dripping with poison,
eyes freezing over in an icy blue. Murderous intent surrounds them with the intensity of the gravity he can manipulate so easily. It's hangs around as a cloudy miasma, and suddenly, Dazai can't breathe again.

It vanishes just as quickly as it appeared, leaving the other to wonder if it had happened at all. But, he knew that he wouldn't be able to forget how Chuuya's fists clenched so hard they were the color of bone, the corrupting animosity that bled from his body like an open wound, the look of absolute fury on his face.

Chuuya climbs into the bed next to him, draping the soft blanket over them like a puffy cloud. He stares at nothing, and when Dazai hesitantly grasps his hand in his, he jolts. "Oh, do you want to go to sleep?" He asks, curling his fingers around the bigger hand, mildly annoyed by how small his hand is in the other's hold.

Dazai draws the redhead closer to him, burying his head in the long locks Chuuya refuses to cut. With their bodies pressed together in an embrace, he can feel the erratic beating of the other's heart, can count each second that passes with them entangled like this. Chuuya's arms find their way around his back, winding fingers through his dark hair. It's comfortable, Dazai blinks, comfortable and safe and warm. He clings to him like a lifeline, forcibly pushing the events from earlier that evening to the back of his head.

He tries to match his breathing with the rise and fall of Chuuya's chest, telling himself to calm down, it's safe, it's over. Nothing can pry him away from Chuuya, he's strong, he's here now in his arms, breathing and awake and alive.

Chuuya can't let him go. He won't let him go. He doesn't know what he'd do if he does.

"Stay with me," Dazai sighs, his trembling now gone for good. It's a nice feeling, he thinks, being completely at ease. It's new, unlike anything he's experienced before, a heaven from his mentor's kind words dirtied with lies and deceit.

"I won't let go," Chuuya murmurs back, tracing circles on his back arm soothingly. "Just go to sleep already, stupid."

"Not until Chuuya sings me a song~"
He croons in his ear, delicately lacing their hands together again. It's comfortable and safe and warm.

For a moment there is silence, then a soft 'tsk', then there is the most beautiful humming that has ever been present in his life. Chuuya's voice is melodious, rolling off his tongue in foreign tones. It is impossibly fragile, hushed, mellowly
soaring in sloping accents before lowering in smooth whispers in a language Dazai cannot understand, but can feel.

He lets it lull him to sleep, and when he wakes up in the same bed with Chuuya peacefully sleeping curled up next to him, the sun is bright, coloring his genuine smile and warming his cheeks.

The pain from last night's wounds flare into an angry sharpness, the coarse bandages constricting as they are rough. He doesn't wince, doesn't grimace.

Yes, it still hurt.

But somehow it's more bearable.

Perhaps it was the kindness of the morning, the comfort of the bed, the feeling of soaring, or the person sleeping soundly next to him.

-- 10 years ago --

Water gently laps at the stone wall by the river. Lazy streams of sunlight lathers the world of two children with warmth, encircling them in a fuzzy halo that shines in the grass and lingers in the sky. There they were seated on the stone, watching the water below their swinging legs, crying out in delight when some of it ends up splashing onto their clothes. Red and brown hair bounce happily as the boys shrink from the water playfully, the other laughing seeing that his friend's pants are soaked until the knees.

"Dazai," the drenched boy whines, "Stop laughing!"

His legs start shaking. He would rather die than admit it, but the water is bone chilling cold. Wringing the cloth, he glares at the ripples of water in distaste then at the other boy who hasn't stopped pelting him with taunts. Dazai's lazily drops to the bank, his smirk growing upon seeing the irritation on his face.

"Aw, Chu-chu~! But you're so cute being as small as you are!"

"I'm only two inches shorter than you!"

Dazai throws his head back and laughs, moving to the side to avoid the clean kick aimed at him. Riling up the redhead is his favorite hobby, something he had learned long ago. There was something implacable that appeals to him in those blue eyes that churn with thunderclouds, in the glares that cut him deep. Perhaps he'd find out what it was one day, perhaps not. But for now, he was content to keep looking at the one and only hotheaded Chuuya as if the answer was written in the sharp curve of his mouth drawn into a snarl.

"When we're older you'll be the one looking up at me! Stupid!" Chuuya swears with such fervor that he almost falls from his perch on the wall, eyes momentarily widening as he flails to keep himself upright.

Dazai bites his cheek to stop himself from bursting into laughter again.

With a huff, he rights his posture and sits straighter than before, clearly trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered pride. He regards Dazai with a look that's practically oozing with hostility, a look that dares him to spit out whatever taunts are resting on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, I didn't know you were so passionate about it! So that's what you want to be when you grow up?" Dazai smiles sweetly at the kitten baring his claws with the confidence of a tiger. Despite his lithe form, Chuuya was anything but weak, since he could literally slit his throat in two seconds if he was hellbent on sending him to his grave. He'd never acknowledge it, but he still always lost to the smaller boy in hand to hand combat.

"Yes - No! I mean! Ugh," He points at Dazai as if accusing him of a heavy crime, like, perchance, being involved in The Incident of his favorite hat going missing. "Unlike lowlife like you, I have plans for the future."

Dazai raises an eyebrow. "Does it have anything to do with ten cartons of milk?" He sits down into the soft grass, watching his friend trip over his words in a splendid display.

"You-!" Chuuya shakes his head in irritation before shrugging off the unnecessary comment. He slides down the wall, landing on his two feet with the practiced grace of a dancer. He stops in front of a bright-eyed Dazai clearly still amused at his reaction before sighing and settling down next to him, a hand resting on his knee.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Dazai's voice has taken a softer tone. Chuuya's eyes stay trained on the water, afraid to look up and see a face gentler than it has ever been. He doesn't know why, but it would be too embarrassing to see him looking back at him that way. Too embarrassing.

Too late, he thinks as Dazai turns his head so that he has no choice but to come face to face with hazelnut eyes that stare at his with curiosity and something else.

"Chuuya?"

"You'll just laugh at me!" He defends, swatting his hand away from his cheek and moving his gaze to the river. He can feel the questioning stare directed at him, but he refuses to look back, look at the boy sitting cross legged next to him by the water, look at him.

When Dazai falls into a stilled silence, he gives in.

"When I grow up, I want to be a singer," he points a finger accusingly at the other, giving him a look that could shut up a full grown man. "Don't laugh!" He reprimands forcefully, but when he sees that Dazai isn't laughing at all he lets the tiniest of smiles play on his lips, turning his thoughts to the future. "And I'll collect expensive wine and fancy hats with the money I make!" Now he has forgotten his initial hesitation, instead grinning at the idea of having the best hat collection in all of Japan. And just because he knows it'll piss him off, he adds, "Also, I'll get a dog and name him after the most annoying and loud person I know."

Dazai wrinkles his nose. "That's a nice dream, except for the dog part."

"Well, you'll just have to get used to dog Dazai, since my dream is gonna come true."

"Why do you have to name it after me?! You know I hate dogs!" Dazai practically squawks.

Chuuya giggles. To any onlooker, it would've been adorable, pure even. But Dazai knows the dark glint in his eyes is from mischief. Even when filled with a not-so-innocent intent, he finds himself relaxing at the light sound of the redhead chuckling.

"It's because you're so much like a dog!"

He gasps in pretend hurt, a hand flying to rest at his chest. "That hurts!" He sighs mournfully. "Besides," he adds, his pout twisting into a smirk in mock, "You're more like a sheepdog than I am, Chuuya," he goads with a lilt in his words.

He tilts his head in confusion. "In what way?" Well for starters, in that exact way.

"Chuuya-chan~! I didn't know you could do tricks. Such a good dog, always following orders from your owner. And you're owner is nobody but me!" Dazai is beaming. He takes in the baffled noises with delight, reveling in the many facial expression of the redhead.

"Get away with that, stupid Dazai!" He shrieks, turning red with anger. "I'm so done with you."

Chuuya collapses backwards into the field, feeling the grass tickle his cheeks. Spending mere seconds with this guy always feels as tiring as running a marathon. He shuts his eyes and listens to the branches of the nearby trees sway in the delicate breeze, thinking of nothing for a bit. I'm so done with you.

When enough time has passed to consider talking to the thorn in his side, Chuuya raises his voice over the wind slightly.

"Dazai."

"Hmm?"

"How about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?" He waits patiently, eyes wandering to the few streaks of clouds in the sky. He waits for a reply that doesn't come.

He steals a glance at him, wondering why those brown eyes dulled against the warm sunlight and the gleam of the water in the afternoon light all of a sudden. He was all jokes and smiles a moment ago, but now...

Those eyes see a place that Chuuya cannot - that Chuuya will not be able to see from their spot on the riverbank.

They are fixed on something far away, on something distant. Dazai's face is a marble blank slate, pale and cold and empty and unconcerned about everything happening around him. What happened?

He is here, yet Chuuya knows that his mind is miles away. Dazai's eyes are hollow.

Chuuya stills, unable to remove himself from the grass, unable to ask him what is wrong. There is that sinking feeling of worry and foreboding that makes itself known in his bones, weighing him down and rendering him useless. He is so taken aback that the next question that he has dies in the back of his throat, lets the wind carry it far away, to a land where the air is fresher and their lives - the life planned ahead for them by the executives and their many, many connections - are theirs to live.

When we grow up, who will you be?

(Years later he learns that there is no life outside of the Port Mafia.)

(Even more years pass and he learns that there is a life outside of the Port Mafia, but it is not for people like him.)

Instead, he reminds Dazai that their first mission is tomorrow and that he "better not keep me waiting at the rendezvous point, Mackerel."

Chuuya gets a low hum in response.

-- Present time --

"Fucking piece of shit ignored my calls."

Who would've thought that they would be hiding here all along? It was supposed to be a simple mission, estimated to be done before the moon had the chance to sink below the dark waters of Yokohama bay. He had been really looking forward to coming home to his apartment for a late glass of wine and a long, relaxing bath.

And yet here he was, standing by the bodies of his dead subordinates, all of them killed by ability users down to the last man.

The warehouse that allegedly is being used for the human trafficking operations of a small gang causing trouble for the Port Mafia was the secret hideout for The Rats in the House of the Dead all along. Who would've guessed?

And said ability users have him surrounded, immobilized and trapped in the warehouse just how they want him. It would only be so long when they find him propped against the many old crates towards the back, with holes thoroughly shot through his leg.

He is in no condition for close quarter combat, and long ranged abilities could take him out if he let his his guard down for at least one moment.  His leg is throbbing and relentless with sending him waves of pain, jolting through his body mercilessly. He could see Fyodor smirking at him in the corner of his mind, thin lips pulled so tightly it resembled gashes cut into his face with knives. Gotcha.

His blood is pooling into a lake of dark red, and as his list of options drain away with every call to a mafia member that ends with a dead line, it gets harder and harder to focus, to battle against the dark reaches at the sides of his peripherals that threaten to pull him into unconsciousness.

As a last resort, he reaches out to Dazai.

Surprise, surprise! Once a waste of bandages, always a waste of bandages.

"Haha. Even somebody like you is too  busy to listen to me. No, you're probably ignoring me on purpose." His throaty chuckle is mirthless.

"I'm here dying on my own, and you're probably banging some woman whose name you don't care to remember." The ridiculousness of it all has him gasping for breath. Or maybe it's because of all the warm liquid choking his windpipe? He doesn't care to find out.

He's probably on his last mission, staying conscious on borrowed time, and he decides to think of him? Not about Kouyou, his beloved and treasured sister figure in life, or the rest of the family he's leaving behind, but of Dazai? Why, why is it about scum like him? Why is it always Dazai?

His early years weren't the best of all childhoods, but it was the kindest chapter of his life. Maybe that's why it all comes rushing back to him then, because once upon a time, even someone as broken as him thought that somewhere through all this madness, there was a happy ending waiting for him.

A small part of himself says that there is another reason why he is thinking of that traitor and their shared childhood. He tells that part of himself to kindly shut the fuck up.

It all leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. All of it.

There is no more time to waste. He is mind-numbingly aware that this is the end. Letting the final howling screams of his subordinates fuel his anger and consume his heart, he doesn't acknowledge another growing feeling festering somewhere inside of him; Fear.

Breathe in.

Do you really hate me this much to not give me a chance to see you one last time?

Am I this insignificant to you? Was I even important in the first place?

I hate you. I really do. This is the last time you'll ever be able to betray me - to leave me behind, to leave me waiting.

I hope this hurts you. I hope that this stays with you until you succeed in ending your life. I hope this makes you bleed.

Breathe out.

I don't want to die. I don't want to leave. Let me be with you one last time, so please.

"O grantors of dark disgraces, do not wake me up again."

---

(Whoops did I forget to mention that this isn't canon compliant?)

If you read up to this far, I love you.