[Chuuya reaches into his pocket to pull out his pack, passing one cigarette and his light over to Dazai silently. Not everything needs to be talked about right now-- especially after the weight of the conversation they'd just had. Both of them need a moment perhaps.
so Chuuya just walks along with Dazai quietly, letting the silence settle between them.]
(another squeeze of the hand is silent gratitude for the silence and for the nicotine. the way his hand fixes its position into more confidence, holding firmly, perhaps won't be for chuuya's benefit this time. maybe it is for dazai's own.
they don't have to talk. they don't need to, anyway. dazai knows chuuya's processing the truth, with the added value that it came in no indirect way from dazai himself, a man who hardly will be so upfront with the truth needlessly. meanwhile, dazai aches. he misses odasaku, and this place even took him away from the one home he could be with odasaku - where he sits, in the graveyard, eats, drinks, talks, and reminisces.
the smoke trickles from his nostrils, and he offers the stick to chuuya. two can be miserable, but often, they've been miserable together.)
[frankly, the very fact that Dazai had been upfront in and of itself said far too much about the weight of it all. Dazai had been looking for… something stupid from Chuuya today, distraction or punishment, maybe some twisted form if self-harm, and it might have been a breaking point that had led to these confessions.
He wonders how heavily things are weighing on Dazai’s mind, for a leak to spring in his emotional dam like this.
Chuuya accepts the offered cigarette and takes a drag, letting the smoke sink into his lungs before letting out a slow exhale and handing the stick back to Dazai.]
(it's just a question, in a way that takes the attention out of the tragedy he endured, and the amount of information chuuya has to process, a welcome breather as he takes the stick back to his lips. it's a valid one, too. the two of them, playing games, making stupid bets, attempting to kill each other, the shipping container, the first apartment chuuya got.
Hah! We did, you kicked him dead. We were coughing all the way to the container!
(the fucking irony. chemical dump, where a soul couldn't live, coughing over a cigarette. he's even laughing now from the memory - it felt a bit like home to him, as much as anything ever could.)
I'm saying your container wasn't conducive to plant life, let alone human. [Sorry Dazai but he is not going to hold back on his opinions here, beloved shipping container or no. He follows Dazai into the tavern at a sedate pace, letting the man lead.] What'd Oda drink, anyway?
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so Chuuya just walks along with Dazai quietly, letting the silence settle between them.]
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they don't have to talk. they don't need to, anyway. dazai knows chuuya's processing the truth, with the added value that it came in no indirect way from dazai himself, a man who hardly will be so upfront with the truth needlessly. meanwhile, dazai aches. he misses odasaku, and this place even took him away from the one home he could be with odasaku - where he sits, in the graveyard, eats, drinks, talks, and reminisces.
the smoke trickles from his nostrils, and he offers the stick to chuuya. two can be miserable, but often, they've been miserable together.)
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He wonders how heavily things are weighing on Dazai’s mind, for a leak to spring in his emotional dam like this.
Chuuya accepts the offered cigarette and takes a drag, letting the smoke sink into his lungs before letting out a slow exhale and handing the stick back to Dazai.]
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(it's just a question, in a way that takes the attention out of the tragedy he endured, and the amount of information chuuya has to process, a welcome breather as he takes the stick back to his lips. it's a valid one, too. the two of them, playing games, making stupid bets, attempting to kill each other, the shipping container, the first apartment chuuya got.
somewhat interesting times.)
Remember our first cigarette? We nearly died.
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Depends on what part of our ‘youth’ you mean. Sure as fuck don’t miss puberty.
[the intense frustration every med check in which he had not grown much.]
but yeah, i remember. Didn’t we swipe the pack off a dead guy?
[not like he’d be using it, after all.]
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(the fucking irony. chemical dump, where a soul couldn't live, coughing over a cigarette. he's even laughing now from the memory - it felt a bit like home to him, as much as anything ever could.)
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[???? someone not Chuuya would probably question how this is fair. He snorts at the mention of Dazai's... choice of accommodations, shaking his head.]
Y'know, at the time I wasn't entirely sure if it was the smokes or the sheer amount of chemical waste that was causing the coughing.
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(no, it wasn't, he's just pulling chuuya's leg, enjoying the nicotine before he passed the cigarette over.)
Surely the smokes.
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[Because tit for tat was their way, even back then. Chuuya accepts the cigarette, taking another draw before passing it back once more.]
Ha! Maybe, maybe not.
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(it was for NO ONE'S LUNGS REGARDLESS OF SIZE.
there's solely a single drag, so he finishes the cigarette to enter the tavern.)
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(a joke, certainly, before he finds a sit and stretches thin arms over his head.)
Coffee-based drinks, sometimes we would drink whiskey. Myself, Odasaku and... Ango.
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[more likely Dazai lived there because of it, than the opposite. Chuuya takes a seat next to Dazai, flagging down the bartender as he does.]
Don’t know if they have coffee based here. Whiskey then?
[He’ll look to dazai for confirmation before ordering, though he snorts at the mention of ango.] right, you hung out with doc glasses back then.
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(since, well, he had that too when the trio got together. good times before it all went to complete and absolute shit.)
Yeah. Before, you know! He turned out! To be! Ango.