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- The very first time I remember you, you are blond and don’t love me back.
The park was always a nice place to hang out on a peaceful, summer afternoon. Dazai was laying in the grass underneath a willow tree, enjoying the cool breeze and watching the clouds drift by. If these serene days lasted forever, Dazai wouldn’t mind.
“Chuuya Nakahara,” Dazai whispered. The phonetics of this name resembled that of a spell that made Dazai’s heart skip a beat.
- The next time you are brunette, and you do.
“What did you just say?”
Dazai was on the living room couch, with a small brunette cuddled in his lap. His figure towered over her even in a sitting position, but he liked to think he was a soft, warm protective shell for his (angry) princess.
“I… love you,” Chuuya mumbled into the arm that was wrapped around her.
“I can’t hear you,” Dazai teased.
“I…” Chuuya was slightly louder now. “I—”
“Hmm?”
“You suck! I’m gonna die,” Chuuya screamed, burying her face into her hands and blushing fifty shades of pink and red.
- After a while I give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything.
Dazai remembered the bright red tomatoes, the tall grass, and the petunias that lined the garden. Every morning, without fail, Chuuya emerged from his house with a canteen smelling of fresh fertilizer, and carefully mix its contents with a gallon of water. Then, he would feed his flowers and plants this mix while humming the tune of lullabies sung to children startled by nightmares.
He listened, in a nearby bush, to Chuuya, and watched this delicate, small-framed person with his black hair tied in a ponytail haul bagged soil from his shed to expand this garden. Once the human finished his morning routine, Dazai came out from the shade and slither up to the tools that still carried his scent. It always smelled like sweat, but basked within the sour odor was a tiny hint of citrus. Dazai loved that.
“Holy shit, that’s a snake!”
Dazai, startled, looked in the direction of where the voice came from. It was Chuuya. The next thing he saw was the lad grabbing a rake, and Dazai could surmise he was about to get the ever loving shit beaten out of him. So, as quickly as possible, he slithered away, back into the shadows, back into the bushes. But Dazai would still watch Chuuya stand at the edge of the garden for a couple seconds, put his rake down, and storm back into the house cursing about “damned snakes.”
- because even if you don’t exist, I am always in love with you.
This was the third life in a row where Dazai never met Chuuya. The torturous wait chipped away at Dazai’s heart, with each day less patient and less willing to see another sunrise.
Are you in another country?
Are you okay?
What are your parents teaching you?
Do you get enough sleep?
Are you still eating three meals per day?
Are you hungry?
How tall have you grown?
Are you sad?
Are you happy?
Please let me see you again.
- I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together,
“Honey, where are the kids?” Chuuya asked upon entering the house. In this life, Chuuya was a confident woman with a blunt attitude and said “yes” when Dazai lowered to one knee.
The question was justified too: The unusual quietude implied the kids weren’t home yet. Normally, there was at least one crying kid and another laughing at said crying kid.
“Still at school,” Dazai replied, bringing Chuuya a cup of jasmine tea he poured earlier.
“It’s almost 4:30pm! You were supposed to pick them up at 3:20pm.” Chuuya dropped the bag she was carrying. “Oh my god, have they been waiting for a full hour ?”
“Yes. So you should go pick them up.” Chuuya looked like she was ready to shank and/or strangle Dazai. “I kid! All three of them got detention and won’t be released until five. Aren’t they cute?”
“What?”
“They apparently ganged up on and beat up a bully. Does that remind you of anyone?”
Chuuya snatched the cup from Dazai’s hands and chugged its contents. “Go fuck yourself,” she said, shoving it back into Dazai’s hands. He laughed. When they were young, Chuuya would get into all kinds of trouble beating up people who picked on Dazai. Now their kids took after their mother.
“Say, let’s go pick up the kids together!”
“No, you go by yourself, asshole.”
Dazai leaned in and gave Chuuya a peck on the cheek. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“No.” Chuuya lowered her head as her cheeks took on a vibrant, red color.
“It’ll be fun. When was the last time we picked them up together?”
“You know they will fight about who has to sit in the middle, right?”
“It’s not like they don’t already fight about who gets to sit shotgun.”
“... But I’m tired.”
“I’ll drive, darling,” Dazai sang.
Chuuya was silent for a moment. “Fine.”
“And you can tell the kids how you swooped in and saved me from that bully in third grade!”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
“Okay, okay.”
- when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.
7:57am
Two high schoolers were bolting down the streets of urban Japan, jumping over trash cans and taking shortcuts through shady alleyways. Sometimes, one of them would crash into an innocent bystander, and the other would turn around and yell a curt apology before refocusing on their hectic run.
“Get your shitty ass in gear—we won’t make it at this rate!” The auburn-haired youth yelled to his companion.
“Aren’t you the one being too slow with your short legs?” Dazai retorted.
“What’s that?! Say it again, I dare you!”
“You’re slow, shorty!”
“I’ll punch you, just you wait!”
Only one more block to go, but they had little time left. They could see from afar that the school gate was already closing at its steady, turtle-crawl. If they didn’t make it past the gate, they would be considered late and get penalized heavily (detention, extra cleaning duty, extra homework—whatever their tired homeroom teacher decided on).
“Fuck!”
Both students arrived just in time for the gate to slam shut in their face. Out of breath and out of energy, they stood still, beads of sweat dripping from their hair and nose.
“I guess we’ll need to scale a wall,” Dazai remarked.
“Yup.”
This gated school had enough money to build a brick wall around the perimeter, which was a hassle to tardy students like Chuuya and Dazai. But this wall would not stop the two partners in crime from escaping certain punishments.
First, Chuuya had to get to the top of the wall. This was easy: All he had to do was step on Dazai’s shoulders, and jump to grab onto the edge, then pull himself up. Second, Chuuya had to pull Dazai up. This flawless teamwork got them through this first hurdle, built upon years of trust and practice (the first time they tried this, it ended in bruises, scrapes, and a fractured ulna).
The second hurdle was getting into the school without getting spotted by teachers.
The two teens snuck up to one of the empty science classrooms on the first floor, diving through bushes and running from tree to tree—at this point, it might be easier to take the punishment. And when they tried to pry a window open, all were locked tight. Chuuya sighed.
“We’re dead.”
“Not if I can help it!” Dazai wiped out his phone and nimble fingers already typing out a text. “I happened to have a couple connections. And send,” he said as his thumb pressed the final button.
“Internet chatrooms do not count.”
Dazai glared at Chuuya. “I made a new friend yesterday in detention. He can let us in. Probably.”
“Probably? Detention?”
“Ah, yes. I forgot to do my homework, so I had to stay behind to finish it. And my new friend—I don’t know him, so I’m not sure if he even checks his phone.”
“You mean you don’t even know if we can get in?!”
“Worry not! I have faith.”
“I will beat your punk a—”
The window opened and a gloomy-looking kid peeked out. “Good morning.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Aku!” Dazai nudged Chuuya. “See? Now we’re all set.”
“That was unreasonably fast.”
“No time to chat, let’s go!”
“Wha—”
Dazai grabbed Chuuya and and hurled him through the open window. He heard a distinct crash, followed by several disgruntled noises. A chuckle escaped Dazai’s lips as he thanked Akugatawa again, climbing through the window himself.
- I love how you play along with my bad ideas,
“Ow, ow! Be gent—Ow!”
“Your incessant screeching is killing my hearing, my friend.”
“I had to endure your whiny little bitch phase ten minutes ago—you can sit through my screeching.”
The mafia hospital was a single rectangular room of four beds at the center of their main base. Two of them was occupied, one by Dazai, and the other by Chuuya. Both of them had come back beaten and bruised from their mission, and now were imprisoned in this overly white room until both were bandaged up.
“I was shot in the leg—” Dazai talked as though he was proud of his wound, “—which gives me the right to complain. You don’t.”
“Excuse me, shithead, my shoulder is currently dislocated. I will dislocate yours and you tell me how it feels.”
Dazai laughed. “You punched the enemy so hard you dislocated your shoulder?! Ha! Do you sprain your hip after kicking an enemy too?”
“You fuck, I had to catch your shitty ass after you got shot. Who in the right mind would think, ‘Oh, there’s a hole in my leg. Let me throw myself from the third floor window and hope my partner on the ground can catch me.’ Are you suicidal?!”
Dazai smiled. “But you still caught me.”
Chuuya only huffed in response.
- before you grow up and realize they are bad ideas.
“You’re cheating,” Dazai declared.
Two ten year old boys were in the kitchen, both tasked with cleaning up dishes for the night. Unfortunately, a little comment about efficiency turned into a full-blown argument about each other’s strength. Instead of postponing the fight to a later time (when neither are handling delicate china), they decided that whoever could hold the most number of dishes was the stronger of the two.
Dazai could only handle 28.
And he is placing the 50th plate onto Chuuya’s stack.
“No, I’m not. You’re just jealous.”
“You’re using your ability, aren’t you?”
“No, I am not. Baseless accusations.”
Dazai narrowed his eyes. Fifty plates was enough to tower over the shorty, and yet Chuuya wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He wasn’t stupid.
“Don’t be so smug.” Instead of grabbing another decorated porcelain plate, he jabbed his index finger into Chuuya’s cheeks.
“Don’t tou—” The horrified expression on Chuuya’s face was all the proof Dazai needed to confirm his hunch. Unfortunately, this fleeting moment of victory was cut short as Chuuya’s knees buckled from the full weight of fifty plates, and the stack slid from the boy’s hands. The chinaware shattered like fireworks all over the floor, the thundering cacophony echoing throughout the kitchen—It was without a doubt the other, much more powerful mafia members heard them.
“Shit.”
- (And in our times together I have many bad ideas.)
Dazai had fucked up.
Chuuya laid amidst the crumbling building, the foundation destroyed thanks to the over-powered, unrestrained use of Corruption. He was on the ground, heaving, coughing, half-choking on his own blood. His face contorted in pain, hands grasped at the choker that seemed to act as a noose.
Dazai had nullified Corruption too late.
His strategy had failed.
He never took into account the dilapidated state of the building beforehand: A newbie mistake that he swore in a previous life he wouldn’t make again. This was his second chance, and he blew it.
If only he’d researched the opponents more. If only he’d given the columns and walls more than just a casual glance. If only he’d stayed by Chuuya’s side.
“I’ll get you to safety if it’s the last thing I do,” Dazai hissed through gritted teeth. But it was already too late.
The ceiling above them collapsed—concrete flooring, metal wires, ceramic tiles—the package deal and all, fell. If only he had Yosano with her sadistic tendencies or Kenji with his cheerful knack for destruction, or even Atsushi and his unbeatable tiger—such an event wouldn’t even be an issue. Alas, Dazai was still in the mafia, and had yet to meet the Yosano, the Kenji, and the Atsushi of this life.
In a last-ditch effort, Dazai threw his body over Chuuya’s, a soft, futile barrier against the unyielding concrete. He felt it: The bricks smashing into his skull, the distinct cracking sound of his arms and legs, the warm liquid that stained his hair, his clothes, and that dripped from his chin onto the motionless body below him. Dazai gasped, losing feeling in his lower body while pain shredded through his upper half.
“Chuu…” He could feel more and more weight added onto his back. If only he was stronger, he could be the impenetrable wall that shielded his cherished Chuuya. “... ya.” Dazai couldn’t. The weight was crushing him, he knew, and he couldn’t stay like this for one more minute. Some shield he was.
Lower and lower, his body was pressed closer and closer to Chuuya’s. Was his partner still alive? Was he still breathing? Damn it. He didn’t care at this point. All he thought about was to protect Chuuya, because if he can survive for a couple hours, maybe the other mafia members will come and save him. Just wrap his useless hands around Chuuya’s head and use his pelvis and spine as a makeshift ceiling. If Dazai died like this, maybe rigor mortis will turn his pathetic flesh to rock.
But Dazai knew this wouldn’t work.
I’m sorry I have failed you.
- When we meet as adults you’re always much more discerning. I don’t blame you.
A nice morning. A cool autumn breeze, the gentle singing of cute little songbirds, and the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Everything suggested a turbulent-free day of relaxing for Dazai. He was sitting at a local coffee shop, enjoying the first day of his vacation from the hectic life of a businessman. Maybe I’ll order a piece of cake today .
“May I take your order, sir?”
Butterflies suddenly erupted in Dazai’s stomach. This feeling . Dazai turned to the waiter standing next to him, and his eyes widened. Chuuya .
“Sir?”
“Uh… Um…” Dazai probably looked like an idiot right now.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes! Yes.” Chuuya smiled at this response. His smile is so pretty. Unlike the smug smirks I get from the last lifetime. “Can I get a cup of your home-brewed coffee and a slice of strawberry cheesecake please?”
“Of course! Anything else?”
“Ah, um, yes—Can I have your number?”
“Absolu—wait, what?”
Dazai beamed.
- Yet, always, you forgive me.
There had to be forces outside of anyone’s control when it came to Chuuya’s height. His parents and siblings were all over or close to six foot, and even when he consumed two gallons of milk per week, he was unable to grow past five foot flat. And this height issue became excruciatingly apparent when Chuuya couldn’t even touch the handle of an average horse’s saddle.
“Help me up!”
Dazai wanted to laugh. The awkward way Chuuya would jump up in an attempt to grab the saddle, then fall back down reminded Dazai of a short toddler trying to reach the cookie jar on top of the fridge. He really wanted to laugh.
“Help me!”
“Okay, okay, calm down; You’re spooking the horse.”
Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s waist and hoisted him up. Unfortunately, Dazai may have given Chuuya a too big of a boost, because he, instead of being safely nested on the horse, lost his grip on the saddle and slid off the other side, face-planting into the dirt below.
“Oops.”
Chuuya reemerged holding his bloody nose, and glared . If looks could kill, Dazai had no doubt that he would be three feet under with no chance of coming back as a zombie.
- As if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for
“How are you doing, kid?”
Dazai looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. “It hurts a little, but I’m better than before!”
“That’s good to hear! Let me check your pulse.”
Chuuya reached for Dazai’s wrist and gently pressed two fingers to his skin. For two minutes, both sat in silence. For these two minutes, Dazai was happy to have Chuuya once again so close to him. Except this time, his object of affection was the one protecting and saving him. Dazai counted, one, two, three—until it was time for Chuuya to release Dazai’s wrist to jot down some notes onto his clipboard.
“No drastic changes. Your heart rate seems to be higher than this morning’s though.” That’s because you’re here.
Chuuya patted Dazai’s bald head. “Have you had dinner yet?”
Dazai shook his head.
“I’ll tell the nurse to bring you something. You just had surgery, so you’ll need it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” With that, Chuuya left him there, alone in that sterile environment filled with iodine, rubbing alcohol, and loneliness.
The only thing Dazai looked forward to everyday was Chuuya’s visit. These short exchanges, these brief moments of contact—Chuuya in his doctor’s white coat and Dazai in his puke-green nightgown.
Dazai had two months to live tops. His spinal cancer was particularly aggressive, metastasizing way before it was even caught. But he still wanted to live. Just a little longer. Just a little bit longer. He wanted to see Chuuya more, to touch him more, give him flowers and presents and kisses—He was afraid that once he closed his eyes, it would be the last time he’d ever see Chuuya.
- all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,
“It’s still light out, but I’m already bathed in darkness.”
Dazai looked up at the sky, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Where are you, Chuuya? I miss you.”
His gaze lowered to see the rooftops, the balconies, and the patios.
“I just want to see you. I just want to see your smile when I call out your name.”
He glanced down, to the empty streets, parked cars, and full trash cans beneath.
“Is it wrong to yearn for you?”
Dazai took a single step forward.
- and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.
This was supposed to be a regular work day for Dazai.
He got up at six in the morning, his phone singing that God-awful Friday music he had carefully selected. There was no way he was able to sleep through the first stanza or return to a state of restful bliss after the second. He got dressed, then lazily dragged himself to the bathroom to continue his morning routine.
Today wasn’t supposed to be any different.
He barely punched in for work when his radio blared static nonsense. A pause. “We need reinforcements at the side street nearest to 360 third street. A body was found.” And Dazai, a loyal police officer, responded to the call.
If only he could turn back time.
Dazai arrived at the crime scene, lackadaisically parking his cruiser as though the yellow “DO NOT CROSS” tape bestowed him exclusive rights to be a rude bastard. Even so, one could say that Dazai parked however he wanted even when he donned civilian clothing and rode his tiny silver Honda.
Before he could find the detective in charge of the scene, before he could take in the fresh morning air and ruin the morning dew sparkling on the grass that grew through the cracks of concrete, his eyes fell on the body. It lay, half naked, on its back next to the gunk-spotted dumpster. A pool of blood coagulated underneath the corpse’s rigid limbs, but whose skin seemed baby-smooth where knife wounds did not dot its surface.
Dazai dared to walk closer. But with each step, he wanted to hurl, to regurgitate the little stomach content he had. He recognized the body. How could he not? The round-ish face, the gentle cheekbones, the long lashes—Dazai recognized who lay on the cold, concrete floor, lifeless as a doll. His stomach churned.
Now standing in front of the cadaver, his breath hitched when the acrid scent of blood and other body fluids rammed into his nasal cavity, covering the scent of pine and trash. What was this? Why was this? His fingers trembled and lips twitched. Before Dazai knew it, he was kneeling next to Chuuya, hands reaching out for Chuuya’s. Maybe, just maybe, this was all an illusion, an elaborate prank, and the motionless body was still warm.
“Officer! Do not touch the body. Please follow protocol.”
In this life, Chuuya was already dead. And Dazai wasn’t allowed to cradle the lifeless corpse of his loved one.
- I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.
Being strangled is far from elegant. Dazai was on the floor, a cursed Chuuya on top of him, hands wrapped tightly around Dazai’s neck. They squeezed, crushed Dazai’s windpipes, cutting off air supply and blood circulation. It was painful, and excruciatingly so.
Saliva dribbled from Dazai’s mouth, and no matter how many times he mouthed the words “I love you” to Chuuya, the smaller man wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He was too blinded by Q’s curse to understand what was going on—to him, Dazai was the one attacking. Blood seeped from Chuuya’s eyes, which stained his cheeks red, a crazed look that gave the appearance of the insane compounded by the gibberish screeches of Chuuya.
“Ch-Chu—” Chuuya only pressed his thumbs harder into Dazai’s throat.
Dazai clawed at Chuuya’s arm, tried to push him off of him, but nothing: Chuuya was too strong.
“I—I’m…” Dazai tried to gasp, but he was unable to make any sound. His vision faded, ever so slowly, darkness trickling into his peripheral vision. “S-so—” The black invaded his sight further and further, until all he could see was the void and his arms went limp.
I’m sorry. Please don’t think it’s your fault.
- But when all’s said and done, I’d surrender to you in other ways.
“I swear I’ll kill you,” Chuuya slurred.
“Okay.” Dazai yanked the half-empty wine bottle from Chuuya’s grasp and untangled his fingers from the fragile wine glass he was holding, handing both to the tired-looking bartender.
“I’ll kill you,” the small mafia man cried in his drunken stupor.
“You do that.” Dazai grabbed Chuuya by the waist and swung him across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He turned to the bartender and mouthed a short apology before turning to leave. No one needed to see a drunk Chuuya cry about his woes.
“I hate you so much,” Chuuya exclaimed and slammed his fist into Dazai’s back.
“I love you too,” Dazai whispered and pushed the heavy pine door open, the cool breeze of the night a blessing after an evening of bitter scent of alcohol.
- Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder
“Hello ladies and gents, welcome to No Longer Derping. I am here with MuddyHatGaming—say hello Muddy.”
“Hello!”
“We are here to play a Would You Rather challenge that’s been floating around YouTube lately. It looks like a lot of fun, so I roped Muddy in for a session. Muddy, would you like to explain the rules?”
“Of course, Derpy! Both of us will take turns reading prompts from Would You Rather , and must make the appropriate choice—that is, whatever the majority of previous players selected. If we pick the ‘wrong’ choice, we lose a point. We both start with five points, and the first to zero loses. The loser must agree to whatever the winner wants them to do.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know, promote the winner’s channel on Twitter?”
“That is so boring.”
“Dye your hair neon green.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
“But that’s just an example.”
“Nope! If I win, you’re dyeing your hair neon green. Thanks for the idea!”
“Oh my god. I will drive across the country just to punch you in the face.”
“I’ll look forward to it. I have an extra set of pajamas you can borrow.”
The undignified noise Muddy, or Chuuya, made brought a smile to Derpy, or Dazai.
“Well, let’s get started! First question...”
Dazai liked this relationship. They were thousands of miles apart, but they were connected via their YouTube channels. He was able to see Chuuya from time to time, but he was always able to hear his beautiful voice. The screams, the shouts, the ragequits… He liked Chuuya’s reactions to the games they play, from Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes to Lovers a Dangerous Spacetime . Both channels were barely two years old, but their friendly banter and ruthless teasing catapulted them into popularity. They became reliant on each other for content, but Dazai relied on Chuuya to ebb the loneliness away.
- is this the last time?
Dazai knew that Chuuya was a great singer. But he, now a teenage girl who donned thick glasses and braided her hair, never in any lifetime thought that Chuuya would become a celebrity.
He was the vocalist of a rock band, described in magazines as a singer of passion, with a powerful, yet angelic voice. This Chuuya, born three decades earlier than Dazai, had Type B blood, a thing for toes, and a knack for being involved in BL series (which Dazai didn’t mind at all).
But Dazai couldn’t touch Chuuya. She was an average human with no talents, and only enough money to buy the worst seats of any concerts. She, just a little kid, shined her school shoes with extra thick grease, while Chuuya shone on stage, bright as a star: The way he would dance and jump on stage, taking off his hat and throwing it into the audience… He answered fans’ questions with a smile and eyes twinkling, like a little boy who achieved the best of the best. But this was okay. This was fine. As long as Chuuya was happy, Dazai had no complaints.
Dazai would remain mesmerized by the lyrics that swarmed the concert hall, in the back where no one could see her. Other people called her a “fangirl” or an “obsessed fan”, but to Dazai, Chuuya was more than just a “idol”. He was her everything.
It hurts.
- Is that really you?
Walking into the main office of the Armed Detective Agency, Dazai was greeted with the odd sight he never got used to: Chuuya drinking milk at his mahogany desk. Not the milk part—he was still short as hell—but it was the very fact that Chuuya was in the Armed Detective Agency itself.
In all lifetimes when he and Chuuya had abilities, the redhead remained in the mafia, and died in the mafia. What was so different this time? Did someone else take his face, his voice, his attitude, his personality, his eyes ? No. No matter how Chuuya looked, talked, and acted, Chuuya was Chuuya. Dazai always recognized him.
This was his Chuuya.
“Tsk tsk. Still chugging milk like a loser?” Dazai flicked Chuuya’s hat.
“Fuck off.”
Yep. His Chuuya indeed.
- And what if you’re perfectly happy
“Today again a little snow falls,
on sorrow already spoiled
today again even the wind blows
through sorrow already spoiled,”
Dazai recited. The first stanza of Soiled Sorrow , by Chuuya decades ago. He was no longer alive, but his legacy was carried forth in these small words inked on sheets of dead trees. This was proof of Chuuya’s existence, and these words comforted Dazai on sleepless nights and when his dreams were of the nothingness.
Chuuya was long gone, and all Dazai could do was remember the smiles, the friendly banter, and the more vicious banter of previous lives, while reciting the regret and desolation of Chuuya Nakahara. Dazai was unable to hold the precious being who held his heart, unable to provide comfort, unable to give small kisses on the forehead and cheeks and hands and neck—unable to hold Chuuya once more.
All Dazai had was a black-and-white picture of a man clad in black and the poems bathed in despair.
“Even in this life, you like your hat, huh?”
- without me?
Dazai was a twenty year old woman now. A confident, young lady in college studying engineering. She was smart, beautiful, and talented, but yet she remained single—she was too preoccupied with her thoughts for Chuuya to focus on anyone else. Dazai realized that, perhaps, her love for Chuuya bordered on an unhealthy obsession, as though Chuuya was the air that salvaged her hurting lungs.
Suddenly, she saw.
Frantically, she turned around, looking into the bakery shop that she had just passed—Chuuya. Chuuya!
Her face beamed. Chuuya of this life was a young woman like Dazai, with to-do-for curves, hazel eyes, and short, blonde hair. But… She had her arms wrapped another man, her voluptuous breasts pressed against his side. Her eyes sparkled, but only for that man.
Dazai lost her smile and her lips thinned into a line. She bit the inside of her cheeks, in a futile effort to stop herself from bursting into tears in the middle of a busy street.
Chuuya was happy. That was all that mattered to Dazai. Even if Dazai wasn’t in the picture.
- Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. It’s only fair
“Dazai! Fucking get me down, you punk!”
“That is some nasty language, my friend. Your mother will be sad.”
Chuuya grabbed whatever was closest to him, which happened to be a tea cup, and threw it at Dazai. However, instead of shattering on the bandaged twelve year old’s face, it floated upward and hovered near Chuuya on the ceiling.
“Get me down!” Chuuya screamed, though it sounded more like a dying lizard’s screech.
“No,” Dazai sang. “You stay up there.”
“I can’t control my power, so get me down you shitty monkey !”
While Chuuya spewed more rage-filled curses at Dazai, Dazai only laughed. To see Chuuya this lively, this energetic, allowed him to sleep soundly at night. Chuuya can stay up there, perched like the sun that shone upon the darkest corner of an abandoned barn. If he touched this light, would he burn?
- that I should be the one
Chuuya mewled, pawing at Dazai’s nose. Dazai’s nose twitched when one of the kitten’s claws scratched the sensitive skin. If he could speak, he’d tell Chuuya (or more specifically Chuunyan ) how much he loved him, but he nevertheless needed to stop using him as a scratching post. Dazai couldn’t however, for he was a dog, so he licked Chuunyan’s face, the kitten’s fur now a slobbering mess. Chuunyan hissed, then scurried away to hide underneath their owner’s bed.
That’s okay, Dazai thought. They still had a lifetime ahead of them.
- to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes
When the rubble stopped raining down upon the eviscerated hill and when the moon emerged from its hiding spot behind the dust, Dazai realized just how large of a crater Chuuya had created with his Corruption. Just how much blood he had vomited.
The smaller man’s chest rose and fell at a rhythmic, but exaggerated motion, as though he had difficulty breathing cradled in Dazai’s arms. Dazai wouldn’t blame him. He wiped the blood that seeped from Chuuya’s nose, but he only ended up smearing globs of red on the beaten face of his Chuuya.
“Don't perform Corruption without me present!” Dazai’s voice trembled. He didn’t mean to.
“It’s not like... Anything bad happened, you ass.” Chuuya coughed, spewing more blood onto himself, and now onto Dazai.
“You came this close to dying.” Where was Dazai’s usual cool, collected self? “One more second and you’ll be gone for good. What if I came too late? What if I don’t come at all?”
He looked down at his lover, weakened to an almost pathetic state. Not that he himself was any better, of course—His current behavior reminded him of a frantic mother sobbing, grasping at the black silk that covered her daughter’s dead body at a funeral on a rainy April morning. A gentle, large inhalation brought Dazai’s attention back onto Chuuya, who, he just realized, had been squeezing the hand that rested on his shoulder, the one that held Chuuya close to Dazai. Large, sincere, cerulean eyes peered through the strands of auburn hair at him.
“I trust you.”
- until I find the one where you’ll return to me.
“After I finish cleaning up this garbage, your punk ass is next. Got it?”
This was the Chuuya who stood on top of a mountain of unconscious bodies, kicked in the face and punched in the gut.
This was the Chuuya who stopped numerous bullets with his bare hands, the flesh of impenetrable steel.
This was the Chuuya who created a crater with the boulder he hauled through the air, just in time to save Dazai from a certain execution.
“Ugh. So this is how it is. No wonder I felt so unmotivated all day.” Thank you.
This was the Chuuya who could manipulate gravity and spat “I hate you”’s freely.
Who loved alcohol and his hat. Who was respected by his subordinates and who lead the mafia as a young executive. Who donned gloves except for when he would perform Corruption.
Who was strong and unyielding, like a stone wall.
Thank you.
I missed you.
But I’ll never tell you.
Even if it’s for one night.
Please stay by my side.