(this is going to hurt like a thousand stings, he can sense it before the gauze even comes close, and what wouldn't he do to avoid this, postpone it, even if it will hurt more.
his eyes close, almost too tight, as he waits, such a damn baby, and he lets it out in one breath.)
[And without warning, Chuuya's swiping the medical alcohol soaked gauze over the cuts, carefully cleaning away any blood and dirt trapped in them. Dazai can hiss and whine, but this will get done, damn it.
Wait a second--] Wait-- What the fuck?!
[And now he's pausing as his brain finally processes what Dazai just babbled. With the alcohol soaked pad still on Dazai's arm, baffled and blushing.
Dazai should probably not distract him if he doesn't want this to hurt worse, unfortunately.]
(the eyes closed didn't help at all with withstanding the pain, they squeeze even further, his foot tapping upon first contact with the damn alcohol, it stings, it hurts, it's not comfortable, holy fuck, he's never been so uncomfortable in his life.
and then chuuya just keeps it there. it hurts even more with the liquid dripping into his cut, and he just sinks teeth on chuuya's shoulder, letting out a noise as if it's really The Worst Pain Ever Endured By A Human Being.)
Why are you so slow at this!!!! Let's give up!!! Let's just leave me to die!!!!! Ouch, ouch.
(muffled by the way his teeth are not letting go.)
Chuuya pauses, and Dazai bites him. How is that fair?! A sharp hiss of his own escapes Chuuya's lips, his shoulder jerking in response to the bite, grip tightening on Dazai's arm because why is he not letting go?!]
You big baby, stop biting me!!! And stop saying weird shit to distract me, it's only going to drag this out!!
[Let's just pretend all the talk of kissing and now biting is not doing weird things to Chuuya right now.]
but at least the bite is done by the time he thought chuuya was going to let his skin breathe, but he didn't!! god!! he hates you a million times, to the moon and back, and he just rests his forehead where he last sunk teeth in.)
[Fuck, Chuuya needs a moment to breath after that. He finishes cleaning as quickly as possible because the warmth of Dazai's forehead against his shoulder and that whining edge to his voice is doing weird things to Chuuya's gut after that bite, and he really, really needs to focus on something mundane or unsexy right now.
Once that's done, he'll toss the gauze aside and grab up the needle again.]
Gonna start stitching, just try to relax and stop whining.
I hope your aftercare is good. I'm very distressed.
(see, at least he got chuuya to stop this godawful torture. is this what kyoyou has been teaching him? the next one is gonna start up again, and he rubs his face against the muscle of the shoulder, right where it's sore.
just because this is gonna hurt like a bitch. see, this is why he doesn't like to look at it. there are so many stitch marks, so many little things, it sucks, it sucks so much.)
[And why. Why did he say that. Why does Dazai have to make this sound sexual when he's trying to concentrate, why does he have to rub up against him like a fucking cat in heat, he hates this!
He sets about stitching, trying to focus on his work rather than the warmth of Dazai against the lingering soreness of the bite, or that whiny tone of his voice that just makes Chuuya want to-- ugh.]
You've got enough alcohol in you to catch fire if I light a match, any drink you're getting after this is water or tea. Maybe juice, if you're a good boy.
(and yet, who's here, dealing with all your bullshit, dazai? he's thankful, he's just a piece of shit. he could do this alone, later, lonely, but as uncomfortable as it is, it does remind him he isn't all such, all the time.
it still feels vulnerable, and while that is not a completely unfamiliar look for both of them, with how their lives sit on the other's hands ever so often, with how this is not nearly the first time chuuya does this-- ah, he doesn't like it. so, his chin presses against the site of the bite, as to keep his head standing on the shoulder.)
[He's always dealing with Dazai's bullshit. At this point, Chuuya's an expert in handling the dramatics, he's just not so good at handling the... other bits.
There's a new awareness between them that Chuuya can't quite grapple nearly as easily as everything else, and even as he works on setting neat, small stitches to Dazai's cuts, there's a part of Chuuya that can't ignore the press of Dazai against his shoulder.]
What Dazai? Or do you just like whining my name on repeat?
(oh. chuuya didn't just ignore him. didn't just tell him to shut up, or yell at him real loudly. must be the concentration, but it does catch dazai's attention and it makes him back off a little bit.
it's with things like these that they don't talk. he doesn't have to. at this point, what result is he expecting? chuuya's eyes have already seen more than dazai would have liked, anyway. so, instead of being obnoxious, he'll sigh a little, resting his forehead on the crook of chuuya's neck with his eyes closed.
he doesn't have to actually say how much he hates that.)
[He lets out a sigh as he stitches, trying to focus but also aware this is Dazai looking for a distraction. Unfortunately, he's distracting Chuuya in a way he didn't intend, most likely.
Ugh, why is it always like this? Why can't he just ask.
Well, the reason why is obvious, of course.]
What do you want after this? Tell me. I'll do you one solid, as long as it isn't getting you more alcohol.
(chuuya, your bitch ass also can't ask. but it's... almost nice that he's asking. for a second, he's ignoring the pain, ignoring how much it stings to have the needle join his skin back together.
chuuya's stupid neck has his stupid scent and his stupid self is a stupid source of stupid safety.)
[They're both terrible at this shit, aren't they? But Chuuya lets out a huff of amusement at the simple request, some of that earlier tension dissipating. Dazai didn't even have to ask for that, geez.]
Deal. Once we're done here, I'll get you the smokes.
[And it won't take Chuuya long to finish, as long as he can focus on this. There's a lot more cuts on this arm, but Chuuya is quick and gentle, careful as ever when it comes to caring for Dazai's wounds. He starts chattering about his plans for tomorrow, a dish he wants to try cooking, some chores that need doing. It's idle and not particularly engaging, but hopefully something Dazai can listen to.]
(what a wasted opportunity. he could have had so much, but no, all he wants is something familiar, that won't worsen him later. he's so tired, so sleepy, the drunkenness staring to weigh in his bones, in his muscles, and he presses a little more onto chuuya's neck as he pulls the last stitch together.
it's not the only injuries, but these are the ones he knows will need attention, so he won't go through the ordeal of removing the bandages on his thigh, on his calf, on his arm. attentive ears listen, and he nods every now and then, as if that's a lifeline he doesn't have enough energy to respond to.
once it's done, he doesn't even feel like leaving.)
[With Dazai settled down, Chuuya can finish the stitches fairly quickly. He's well aware Dazai has burned himself out, the protests and teasing all a well-practiced method of avoidance. If it wasn't Dazai's health at stake, he might even humor him a little more.
But once the final stitch is tied off and tended to, thread cut and tools tossed to the side to be dealt with later, Dazai doesn't even twitch. Chuuya tugs off his now filthy gloves one by one, and in the next moment, there's a hand stroking over Dazai's hair slowly, a quiet 'Thank You' and 'I'm Sorry' all in one.
He still has some scolding to do, because this alliance won't work if Dazai up and disappears on him... but Dazai is drained clearly, and he's probably not going to process shit until a little later.]
(he's needed this. honestly, all he needs, just a moment, just some reassurance, some moment to breathe. there's even a layer of extra honesty with the bare hands, even if perhaps the intention was just not to mess with dazai's already messy hair.
the other is taken into his. chuuya won't have to scold him. dazai knows. he's just having a time, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought...
... perhaps he thought wrong.
the squeeze is an apology. the way his nose gently nudges the other's neck is an apology.)
Let's smoke. I didn't steal any from you for the trip.
[There's a lot between them that can be conveyed without words. Chuuya knows in a way that Dazai needs this to ground himself, to settle himself in the present moment. And maybe just a little, Chuuya needs it too. To reassure himself, even if he'd rather die than admit it.
Dazai isn't allowed to leave him. Not here. He'll drag him back kicking and screaming every time, because Chuuya's not sure how he'll handle being alone again, with only Fyodor and Gogol as familiar faces.
He squeezes Dazai's hand back in response, inclining his head in an acknowledgement.] Yeah. You wanna stand or stay here?
[His hand lingers a few seconds longer in Dazai's hair as if reluctant to leave, before departing to reach to his pocket to pull out his smokes and light.] Y'know, stealing 'em doesn't change the taste none.
(determination and restraint are what get him away from the other's skin, as if leaving a comfort zone he doesn't quite feel like moving from. the hand stays with chuuya's own, a gentle run of his thumb against the back of it so chuuya knows not to worry.
long, long legs stand, and redoing the bandages would take too long, so he'll just take his coat, leaving the hand so that he can put it on to cover the wounds and scars before they're back joined.
hardly does it matter if dazai leaves. like a curse, they'll be back together, it seems. it's been that way since forever, at this point.)
[Chuuya pulls himself to his feet as well, and though the handholding is probably not necessary at this point, neither of them seem ready to let go beyond the brief moment for Dazai to tug on his coat. His fingers curl around Dazai's palm the moment he's back in his grasp almost instinctively, as if wanting to tether the other man to himself for a few moments more.
When they reach the window, Chuuya taps out two cigarettes, one for each of them, and sets the pack on the windowsill in easy reach. He tucks his own unlit stick into his mouth before he holds out the lighter to Dazai first, offering him a light.
Dazai might think it doesn't matter if he leaves, but it matters to Chuuya. As wild of spirit as Chuuya is, There's a core part of him that needs the familiar in his life, trusted people and a place to belong to.
He wouldn't handle it well, if Dazai up and disappeared without a trace again.]
(it's just one of these things that make them hate each other so much. two stupid souls in two stupid bodies that are pretty much just one. they don't need to talk, they don't need to tell the other what they need, and neither of them will accept saying it out loud. it's awful, to have a shared mind, where your vulnerabilities are so clear for the other to see, almost tangible.
it's also so wonderful it's disgusting. today can just go on the pile of things they will pretend never happened, with all this unwillingness from both of them to depart from where they find safe, if they can openly say that to themselves at the end of the day.
cigarette, mouth, fire, a drag, the wash of nicotine as grounding as the hand he holds, and presses a kiss to. another quiet apology, this time not for the reluctance and avoidance, nor for the deal that could crumble without him.
perhaps for simply not saying anything before he left, perhaps for leaving altogether. who knows, dazai doesn't. he's apologizing for something.)
[Chuuya's sure someone more fanciful than he was would say that looking at a mirror of yourself was never a pleasant experience. But Dazai wasn't a mirror, he was a person... and so was Chuuya.
It meant they worked together almost seamlessly, it meant they could understand the turmoil that clawed beneath each other's skin. But neither of them enjoyed being seen so completely: the good points, the dark and twisted, the deepest, most painful vulnerabilities that could leave them snarling like an injured animal in a leg trap if brought into the daylight.
Today was yet another one of those moments. Dazai was mourning, likely had never stopped mourning, and grief refreshed and dragged into the light was the bitterest of poisons. While Chuuya had been scared, for the briefest of moments, that Dazai had left him alone in this new world.
The things loss did to a man, eh?
When Dazai lights his cigarette, Chuuya isn't expecting the warm press of lips to his hand, and his fingers twitch, his grip on Dazai's hand squeezing just a little tighter in response, some of the tension in his shoulders seeming to fall away.
He sees the gesture for what it is. He's surprised that it's given at all... and yet, maybe he shouldn't be.]
Dazai... Tell me about Oda?
[Maybe, just maybe, he wants to know about this man who made Dazai try like this.]
(there are things their connection can't explain. things they've seen, things they've done. being seen, not necessarily heard, and that leaves gaps that it won't fill. dazai'd elected not to talk about oda to chuuya, respect rather than sharing his feelings on the matters at hand - but then he asks, and dazai's eyebrows raise a little.)
Odasaku... People thought he was weak, you know, due to him not taking lives. It's the opposite. He was incredibly powerful, a one-man organization. Truth was... He wanted to write novels. He thought he couldn't write about people while being like that, so he stopped. He was... Kind. He wasn't like me, he said what he meant, and meant what he said.
(there's a little bit of a laugh, one nostalgic, one that misses.)
After Dragon's Head, he took in five orphans. He was... A great father figure to them. When they were killed, he lost it. I asked him not to go, but he went either way... And he died in my arms... His last words... Were that I would never be better, not really, but if I tried to be a better person, my life'd be a little more wonderful.
(and he was right. his hand is a bit shaky against chuuya's, but he squeezes it in an attempt to stop it from trembling.)
When I saw the jacket, I thought he might have been here, so I looked, the blood was still fresh. I didn't find anything.
[He remembers Oda. Not in any personal way-- Chuuya's jobs often required maximum fire power, his work most often than not with the black lizard or similarly aggressive squads. A man like Oda and Chuuya just didn't end up in the same circles in the Mafia, and it certainly begs the question how Dazai met him.
But the picture Dazai paints is a vivid one. A man with power he didn't want to use, who wanted a mundane dream, the kind that seemed outrageous to those who grew up like they had, having to kill or be killed all their lives. He remembers Dragonhead, too. Oda lingering in the danger zones.
Saving what little life he could in that bloodbath... it was admirable, in many ways. It was also risky, for a single man in the mafia to raise a bunch of children himself.
A life that's just a little more wonderful, huh....? It's long been apparent to Chuuya that there's no fixing Dazai, that his struggles weren't something you could just cure. But he can no longer deny that there's... something different about him, since they reunited in that basement dungeon.
He's put in effort for things Dazai might never have put in effort for before. There's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. It says too much, to someone who knew Dazai like Chuuya did.
(He'd resented it, denied it.)
He squeezes Dazai's trembling hand in his, thumb brushing along the bare skin at the back of his hand in soothing motions.
Grief refreshed. Hope destroyed as quickly as it sprouted, heart flying high on wax wings before the plummet to the ground. It was a painful, terrifying feeling. It's really not at all surprising that Dazai would run.]
(there truly isn't any fixing, there's taping, bandaiding, stitching, and hoping it holds for as long as it can before it has to be done again. darkness screams and quiets, but it's always there, his loneliness never fully leaving, but the sheer thought that maybe it could makes his feet move forward instead of sinking in place.
all this is complicated. even talking to chuuya is complicated, it's something that ever so rarely occurs, if at all. it's been four years, and now that chuuya can hear all this, he is, and dazai doesn't feel proud of it. while dazai can't say it, can't express it any better than the other, he cares about chuuya more than he should. leaving him in the dark, and leaving, after he put chuuya through tragedy itself feels like something.
something he likes to ignore. he'd do it again, if he thought it was for the best. yet, who's here, caressing his skin, unafraid of it? chuuya himself. there's a sigh, before he dips his face to rest against their fingers, and kiss chuuya's hand once again.
apologies he won't say out loud, but he knows that chuuya understands all the same.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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his eyes close, almost too tight, as he waits, such a damn baby, and he lets it out in one breath.)
ObviouslyIwanttokissyouweshoulddefinitelydoitrightnowbeforeyoutorturememerciless.
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[And without warning, Chuuya's swiping the medical alcohol soaked gauze over the cuts, carefully cleaning away any blood and dirt trapped in them. Dazai can hiss and whine, but this will get done, damn it.
Wait a second--] Wait-- What the fuck?!
[And now he's pausing as his brain finally processes what Dazai just babbled. With the alcohol soaked pad still on Dazai's arm, baffled and blushing.
Dazai should probably not distract him if he doesn't want this to hurt worse, unfortunately.]
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and then chuuya just keeps it there. it hurts even more with the liquid dripping into his cut, and he just sinks teeth on chuuya's shoulder, letting out a noise as if it's really The Worst Pain Ever Endured By A Human Being.)
Why are you so slow at this!!!! Let's give up!!! Let's just leave me to die!!!!! Ouch, ouch.
(muffled by the way his teeth are not letting go.)
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Chuuya pauses, and Dazai bites him. How is that fair?! A sharp hiss of his own escapes Chuuya's lips, his shoulder jerking in response to the bite, grip tightening on Dazai's arm because why is he not letting go?!]
You big baby, stop biting me!!! And stop saying weird shit to distract me, it's only going to drag this out!!
[Let's just pretend all the talk of kissing and now biting is not doing weird things to Chuuya right now.]
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(HE CAN AND HE WILL??????
but at least the bite is done by the time he thought chuuya was going to let his skin breathe, but he didn't!! god!! he hates you a million times, to the moon and back, and he just rests his forehead where he last sunk teeth in.)
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Once that's done, he'll toss the gauze aside and grab up the needle again.]
Gonna start stitching, just try to relax and stop whining.
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(see, at least he got chuuya to stop this godawful torture. is this what kyoyou has been teaching him? the next one is gonna start up again, and he rubs his face against the muscle of the shoulder, right where it's sore.
just because this is gonna hurt like a bitch. see, this is why he doesn't like to look at it. there are so many stitch marks, so many little things, it sucks, it sucks so much.)
And you didn't even offer me a drink. Monster.
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[And why. Why did he say that. Why does Dazai have to make this sound sexual when he's trying to concentrate, why does he have to rub up against him like a fucking cat in heat, he hates this!
He sets about stitching, trying to focus on his work rather than the warmth of Dazai against the lingering soreness of the bite, or that whiny tone of his voice that just makes Chuuya want to-- ugh.]
You've got enough alcohol in you to catch fire if I light a match, any drink you're getting after this is water or tea. Maybe juice, if you're a good boy.
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(and yet, who's here, dealing with all your bullshit, dazai? he's thankful, he's just a piece of shit. he could do this alone, later, lonely, but as uncomfortable as it is, it does remind him he isn't all such, all the time.
it still feels vulnerable, and while that is not a completely unfamiliar look for both of them, with how their lives sit on the other's hands ever so often, with how this is not nearly the first time chuuya does this-- ah, he doesn't like it. so, his chin presses against the site of the bite, as to keep his head standing on the shoulder.)
Chuuya. Chuuya. Chuuya. Chuuya.
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There's a new awareness between them that Chuuya can't quite grapple nearly as easily as everything else, and even as he works on setting neat, small stitches to Dazai's cuts, there's a part of Chuuya that can't ignore the press of Dazai against his shoulder.]
What Dazai? Or do you just like whining my name on repeat?
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it's with things like these that they don't talk. he doesn't have to. at this point, what result is he expecting? chuuya's eyes have already seen more than dazai would have liked, anyway. so, instead of being obnoxious, he'll sigh a little, resting his forehead on the crook of chuuya's neck with his eyes closed.
he doesn't have to actually say how much he hates that.)
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Ugh, why is it always like this? Why can't he just ask.
Well, the reason why is obvious, of course.]
What do you want after this? Tell me. I'll do you one solid, as long as it isn't getting you more alcohol.
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chuuya's stupid neck has his stupid scent and his stupid self is a stupid source of stupid safety.)
Smokes.
(simple. see? simple.)
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Deal. Once we're done here, I'll get you the smokes.
[And it won't take Chuuya long to finish, as long as he can focus on this. There's a lot more cuts on this arm, but Chuuya is quick and gentle, careful as ever when it comes to caring for Dazai's wounds. He starts chattering about his plans for tomorrow, a dish he wants to try cooking, some chores that need doing. It's idle and not particularly engaging, but hopefully something Dazai can listen to.]
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it's not the only injuries, but these are the ones he knows will need attention, so he won't go through the ordeal of removing the bandages on his thigh, on his calf, on his arm. attentive ears listen, and he nods every now and then, as if that's a lifeline he doesn't have enough energy to respond to.
once it's done, he doesn't even feel like leaving.)
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But once the final stitch is tied off and tended to, thread cut and tools tossed to the side to be dealt with later, Dazai doesn't even twitch. Chuuya tugs off his now filthy gloves one by one, and in the next moment, there's a hand stroking over Dazai's hair slowly, a quiet 'Thank You' and 'I'm Sorry' all in one.
He still has some scolding to do, because this alliance won't work if Dazai up and disappears on him... but Dazai is drained clearly, and he's probably not going to process shit until a little later.]
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the other is taken into his. chuuya won't have to scold him. dazai knows. he's just having a time, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought...
... perhaps he thought wrong.
the squeeze is an apology. the way his nose gently nudges the other's neck is an apology.)
Let's smoke. I didn't steal any from you for the trip.
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Dazai isn't allowed to leave him. Not here. He'll drag him back kicking and screaming every time, because Chuuya's not sure how he'll handle being alone again, with only Fyodor and Gogol as familiar faces.
He squeezes Dazai's hand back in response, inclining his head in an acknowledgement.] Yeah. You wanna stand or stay here?
[His hand lingers a few seconds longer in Dazai's hair as if reluctant to leave, before departing to reach to his pocket to pull out his smokes and light.] Y'know, stealing 'em doesn't change the taste none.
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(determination and restraint are what get him away from the other's skin, as if leaving a comfort zone he doesn't quite feel like moving from. the hand stays with chuuya's own, a gentle run of his thumb against the back of it so chuuya knows not to worry.
long, long legs stand, and redoing the bandages would take too long, so he'll just take his coat, leaving the hand so that he can put it on to cover the wounds and scars before they're back joined.
hardly does it matter if dazai leaves. like a curse, they'll be back together, it seems. it's been that way since forever, at this point.)
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When they reach the window, Chuuya taps out two cigarettes, one for each of them, and sets the pack on the windowsill in easy reach. He tucks his own unlit stick into his mouth before he holds out the lighter to Dazai first, offering him a light.
Dazai might think it doesn't matter if he leaves, but it matters to Chuuya. As wild of spirit as Chuuya is, There's a core part of him that needs the familiar in his life, trusted people and a place to belong to.
He wouldn't handle it well, if Dazai up and disappeared without a trace again.]
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it's also so wonderful it's disgusting. today can just go on the pile of things they will pretend never happened, with all this unwillingness from both of them to depart from where they find safe, if they can openly say that to themselves at the end of the day.
cigarette, mouth, fire, a drag, the wash of nicotine as grounding as the hand he holds, and presses a kiss to. another quiet apology, this time not for the reluctance and avoidance, nor for the deal that could crumble without him.
perhaps for simply not saying anything before he left, perhaps for leaving altogether. who knows, dazai doesn't. he's apologizing for something.)
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It meant they worked together almost seamlessly, it meant they could understand the turmoil that clawed beneath each other's skin. But neither of them enjoyed being seen so completely: the good points, the dark and twisted, the deepest, most painful vulnerabilities that could leave them snarling like an injured animal in a leg trap if brought into the daylight.
Today was yet another one of those moments. Dazai was mourning, likely had never stopped mourning, and grief refreshed and dragged into the light was the bitterest of poisons. While Chuuya had been scared, for the briefest of moments, that Dazai had left him alone in this new world.
The things loss did to a man, eh?
When Dazai lights his cigarette, Chuuya isn't expecting the warm press of lips to his hand, and his fingers twitch, his grip on Dazai's hand squeezing just a little tighter in response, some of the tension in his shoulders seeming to fall away.
He sees the gesture for what it is. He's surprised that it's given at all... and yet, maybe he shouldn't be.]
Dazai... Tell me about Oda?
[Maybe, just maybe, he wants to know about this man who made Dazai try like this.]
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Odasaku... People thought he was weak, you know, due to him not taking lives. It's the opposite. He was incredibly powerful, a one-man organization. Truth was... He wanted to write novels. He thought he couldn't write about people while being like that, so he stopped. He was... Kind. He wasn't like me, he said what he meant, and meant what he said.
(there's a little bit of a laugh, one nostalgic, one that misses.)
After Dragon's Head, he took in five orphans. He was... A great father figure to them. When they were killed, he lost it. I asked him not to go, but he went either way... And he died in my arms... His last words... Were that I would never be better, not really, but if I tried to be a better person, my life'd be a little more wonderful.
(and he was right. his hand is a bit shaky against chuuya's, but he squeezes it in an attempt to stop it from trembling.)
When I saw the jacket, I thought he might have been here, so I looked, the blood was still fresh. I didn't find anything.
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But the picture Dazai paints is a vivid one. A man with power he didn't want to use, who wanted a mundane dream, the kind that seemed outrageous to those who grew up like they had, having to kill or be killed all their lives. He remembers Dragonhead, too. Oda lingering in the danger zones.
Saving what little life he could in that bloodbath... it was admirable, in many ways. It was also risky, for a single man in the mafia to raise a bunch of children himself.
A life that's just a little more wonderful, huh....? It's long been apparent to Chuuya that there's no fixing Dazai, that his struggles weren't something you could just cure. But he can no longer deny that there's... something different about him, since they reunited in that basement dungeon.
He's put in effort for things Dazai might never have put in effort for before. There's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. It says too much, to someone who knew Dazai like Chuuya did.
(He'd resented it, denied it.)
He squeezes Dazai's trembling hand in his, thumb brushing along the bare skin at the back of his hand in soothing motions.
Grief refreshed. Hope destroyed as quickly as it sprouted, heart flying high on wax wings before the plummet to the ground. It was a painful, terrifying feeling. It's really not at all surprising that Dazai would run.]
So that's why....
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(there truly isn't any fixing, there's taping, bandaiding, stitching, and hoping it holds for as long as it can before it has to be done again. darkness screams and quiets, but it's always there, his loneliness never fully leaving, but the sheer thought that maybe it could makes his feet move forward instead of sinking in place.
all this is complicated. even talking to chuuya is complicated, it's something that ever so rarely occurs, if at all. it's been four years, and now that chuuya can hear all this, he is, and dazai doesn't feel proud of it. while dazai can't say it, can't express it any better than the other, he cares about chuuya more than he should. leaving him in the dark, and leaving, after he put chuuya through tragedy itself feels like something.
something he likes to ignore. he'd do it again, if he thought it was for the best. yet, who's here, caressing his skin, unafraid of it? chuuya himself. there's a sigh, before he dips his face to rest against their fingers, and kiss chuuya's hand once again.
apologies he won't say out loud, but he knows that chuuya understands all the same.)