[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.)
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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.)