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In this world, a broken heart is a disease.
More lethal than any touch of poison, this disease- Hanahaki , they’ve named it- comes in three strains, all bringing blood-stained flowers to the lips in wretched, choking coughs:
The Widow’s affliction, of which the patient is stricken with flowers symbolic of death and grief grafted into the lungs, each breath drawing forth a painful reminder of the irrevocable nature of Death and what one has lost,
Misfortune’s strain, which sneaks into the chests of those who have lost their love due to the cruelty of fate, be it through misunderstanding, infidelity, or simply falling out of love. This strain brings flowers of pitiful and heart-wrenching longing,
And finally, the most feared of the three- Heartbreak, the most painful, as it brings unchanging flowers of loss, warning, and pain out of cruelly unreciprocated love.
Why is Heartbreak the most terrifying version of Hanahaki?
Because it is the only one that kills its host.
Terminal, fatal, inescapable- there is no cure to Heartbreak. Once one has contracted that strain, there is no more hope for that person. Death is not swift for them either, as it depends on the weakness of the afflicted’s heart; no one can guess when you could succumb to Heartbreak.
(However, fate can be cruel. Why?
Because Heartbreak and Misfortune are oh-so-painfully similar and near-impossible to distinguish, their only difference their end results.)
Now, the true question, the dilemma:
Which strain has the highly-revered Nakahara Chuuya contracted?
(Even he doesn’t know, but will force down those flowers until he runs headfirst into death.)
---
Chuuya was sick.
That much was certain.
He knew the symptoms, knew the warning signs- shortness of breath, chest pains, blood in the mouth, initial fever- but he chose to ignore it. He had a job to do.
But even he couldn’t deny it when it reached fruition- when it left him on his knees choking on nothing, on air, not an ounce of oxygen in his lungs until pain tore his throat open, and the uncomfortable feeling of something forced itself out of his lungs, out of his mouth until he sat retching and choking on a handful of blood and saliva-soaked petals. He’d picked up one of the petals and had examined it with a horrified sense of curiosity, tracing a thumb over the soft pink edges before crushing it in his fist.
He remembered his blood boiling, simultaneously drawing out the sickening feeling he felt tugging at his stomach when he realized just how stupid he was, how weak he’d been, how close he’d gotten, and remembered the syllables of a forgotten name falling from his stained lips in half-uttered curse:
“Dazai.”
That man knew how to get under anyone’s skin, how to make them dance, squirm, talk, but oh how he’d done so much worse to Chuuya; he’d made him feel, come alive, ( Love, his mind tried to remind him, but he forced the truth away under his tongue), only to disappear without a single trace.
He’d left Chuuya heartbroken, and now his own heart was punishing him.
How cruel, Chuuya thought, that I am the one who has to suffer when all I did was fall.
He hated him- Dazai Osamu, that demon. Partner his ass - Chuuya had been nothing but his plaything from the beginning.
( You know that’s not true, you know he cared-
If that’s true, then why did he leave?)
His heart and mind were at war with each other, and it was tearing him to pieces. Yet, despite the carnage, Chuuya hadn’t cried once.
No, he wouldn’t waste a damn tear on that traitor.
He can go to hell for all I care, he thought viciously. But the problem is that I cared too much.
But he was a Port Mafia executive- he wasn’t going to let some stupid flowers distract him. He’d just push through the pain, just as a true mafioso should.
Show no pain, show no weakness, but most importantly: Never show your heart.
----
A few months after the flowers had started, Chuuya had finally given into the niggling curiosity of what they were and had researched them after finding himself incapacitated by the blossoms. ( Is this was Akutagawa feels like on a constant basis with that cough of his? He remembered thinking in a pain-filled haze as he hid himself in the corner of an abandoned corridor after he’d felt that tell-tale tickle behind his tongue.)
Rolling a few of the blossoms between his fingers, he pulled up lists upon lists of lists of pages for “pink flowers” and restrained a groan as he pocketed the now-ruined petals, propping his chin on his hand as he started his search. He knew the meaning was crucial to discerning which type of Hanahaki he had, and the quicker he knew the quicker he would be able to repress it.
Fingers drumming anxiously, he searched through pages of roses, lilies, camellias, tulips, and so on until he froze. These have to be it. They have to.
Clicking the link, he pulled up the page until the massive petals of a begonia turned his computer screen pink, the image perfectly matching the ones he could feel burning through his front pocket.
“ Description of the Begonia Flower
With Begonias, as with everything else, there are a lot of different species, which provide different looks and colors. But, in general, a Begonia is very easy to recognize. You will find that a Begonia is a very simple flower, it looks great and it is easy to distinguish. With a Begonia they have a winged capsule that is going to have seeds in it and outside of that they are going to have the flower with the leaves and the colors. The Begonia has larger leaves and they are generally very colorful. The flowers are also colorful with white colors, pink, yellow, shades of orange and much more. What has happened is over the years, more and more hybrid Begonias have come out and they have created new colors and new styles.”
Wincing at the shoddy description, he continued to scroll through, eyes skipping over the lines until he settled on what he was looking for. “Okay, symbolism, that’s what I need, so, what do these mean then?” he muttered to himself. Squinting, he leaned toward the screen, heart pounding in his chest as he started to read it aloud. “ These flowers have less-than positive meanings, as they warn of misfortune, loss, and danger on the horizon. Be careful when attempting to gift these to someone.”
Danger, loss, warning, danger, danger, danger (Dazai)-
Chuuya shoved the laptop away from him before pressing the heels of hands into his eyes, a frustrated sigh slipping from his mouth. “Of course. Of fucking course. ”
Damn you, Dazai. Damn you. Look what you’ve done.
(But demons know not of broken hearts.)
“ Do you feel the same when I'm away from you?
Do you know the line that I'd walk for you?
We could turn around and we could give it up
But we'll take what comes, take what comes
Oh, the storm is raging against us now
If you're afraid of falling, then don't look down
But we took the step, oh, we took the leap
And we'll take what comes, take what comes…”
---
Months bled into years, and Chuuya had become an expert in hiding his illness, masterfully finding excuses for his cough and hiding the petals that forced themselves from his throat, each one always as razor sharp as fine glass no matter how much medication he’d managed to smuggle.
Sometimes he was able to hide them in his sleeves, slip them into his boots, his gloves, his hat , but sometimes he’d have to swallow them back down. They always tasted bitter and vile, always that sordid blend of plant-blood-bile-saliva that coated his tongue. Everything tasted like those disgusting flowers, and not even the acrid bite of wine could wash it away, no matter how many times he’d tried.
(The first time he did, Higuchi had found him half-asleep in the bathroom, dressed only in his dress pants after shedding his clothes and tossing them about his room. Apparently, he’d refused to leave the bathroom despite her urging, as he’d be called by Mori to talk about some upcoming deal Chuuya had been in charge of, but at that moment Chuuya wanted nothing more than drown himself, whether in the cheap wine he’d dosed himself with or in the bath. Damn, I really am that pathetic.)
He knew others suspected something, but he knew that he’d kept it hidden well just enough that no one knew of those vile pink petals. And it worked.
For a while.
Now, year four of Dazai’s betrayal loomed over Chuuya’s head, and he’d only gotten worse. It was a wonder he could even speak normally now, with his throat raw from the constant violent onslaught of flowers, his vision stained in pink pink pink. (He’d often wondered how it would feel to slit his own throat- would it bring him relief?)
He’d retreated further into himself, hiding behind smirks and smiles and fake bravado so sugary sweet he wanted to vomit, so disgusted with how far he’d fallen, how he was oh-so-slowly breaking. He hated it, hated himself.
It was if those damn flowers had burned themselves into his ribs, his spine, behind his eyes; he saw no way out, no way past them. ( “If the afflicted has fallen ill with Misfortune and their unrequited love is truly returned, then they may be healed. This has also been recorded in rare cases of Heartbreak.” Stop this useless hope, you idiot. It’s all his fault; he’s not coming back.)
Chuuya huffed out an angry breath at the thought, rubbing a hand down his face. “You alright, Nakahara? Y’seem kinda tired,” some subordinate of his (he couldn’t remember his name, though it wasn’t as if it was important) had asked.
Chuuya waved a hand at him, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “It’s nothing,” he said sharply, “I’m fine. Let’s just get this job over with.”
“Roger. Men, move out!”
With a groan, Chuuya opened his eyes to see the squad rush into the open doors of the warehouse they were raiding, and soon the air was alive with the sound of gunshots of blood-stained screams.
Same old, same old.
He wanted to go home and sleep.
What the hell are you thinking, Chuuya? Get your ass in gear! he chastised himself. With that he made his way inside, hands glowing a dull red as he lazily activated his Ability. (He remembered the rush he used to feel when he activated it, the elation, the lust, how he was able to feel his nerves burst into life, the intoxication when he used to use that, followed by the feeling of a hand around his wrist, his neck, his waist, the blood-red bond of trust he used to have, of - NO. Forget it.)
The job didn’t take long, as Chuuya had suspected. In wake of its ease, he’d anticipated to be let off early today, only to get a message claiming Mori wanted to see him. Mori? But why would he want to see me? That’s odd.
After all, that man never did anything without some ulterior motive. Chuuya felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. Better not be late.
And so, he found himself face-to-muzzle with Mori’s guards, hearing the soft call of “Chuuya, how nice of you to come visit!” from over their heads. Chuuya felt something uncomfortably sharp in those words, and they left goosebumps in their wake.
Guards granting him entrance, Chuuya strode in to see Mori in his usual seat facing the windows, the small table and the seat next to him empty. On the ground beside him, Elise sat in a bright pink dress scribbling on the stone of the floor with chalk. Chuuya felt an itch deep in his chest at the sight of the bright fabric, and he prayed it wouldn’t amass into another full-out episode. What are you, Pavlov’s dogs?
Coming to stand just behind the empty chair, Chuuya bowed hesitantly. “Good evening, Mori,” he said stiffly.
Mori didn’t look away from the window, instead gesturing for Chuuya to sit. Perplexed, Chuuya complied, stripping off his outer coat and hat hanging both over the arm of his chair. “Is there a reason you called me?” Chuuya asked tentatively, put off by his complete inability to read Mori. ( He reminds me of Dazai-)
Finally, Mori turned to Chuuya, a lazy smile on his face. “Chuuya, it’s been so long since we’ve talked, just the two of us!” he exclaimed happily, but Chuuya’s gut clenched at the words. The last time they “talked” was about Dazai’s betrayal, and Chuuya had gotten scathing remarks on how it’d been his fault that Dazai had left, how Double Black had been broken. He’d left the room with livid bruises in places no one else would be able to see, and a slice so clean that Chuuya hadn’t even felt it, now a faint scar at the column of his throat.
“I suppose it has, Mori,” Chuuya answered, crossing his legs in an attempt to stave off the nervous energy.
Mori chuckled. “You seem uneasy, Chuuya,” he noted, “is something wrong?”
Chuuya shook his head. “Nothing at all. If anything, I’ve been bored with the jobs you’ve been giving me,” he said, voice languorous and even.
Mori’s laugh was more raucous at Chuuya’s reply. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he replied.
As a reflex, Chuuya smiled in response. Play along.
“Are you sure that’s all, however? There’s nothing else troubling you?” Mori asked, face now sober once again. “There’s nothing wrong with your Ability, is there? After all, you probably haven’t used that since he left, is that right?”
Chuuya ground his teeth. What, does he think I’m suicidal? “There’s been no need to use it,” Chuuya answered instead, ignoring the obvious bait.
Mori hummed. “I’m sure,” he said serenely.
It was now that the itch in Chuuya’s chest had turned into a burn, and felt it creep up his tongue. Not now, for the love of all that is holy- it seems the fates wouldn’t listen as Chuuya felt a cough tear itself out his throat, pressing a hand against his lips to contain it.
Mori’s fingers interlaced into front of him, those disturbingly violet eyes glinting curiously.
Oh fuck.
“Are you alright, Chuuya? That sounds like a pretty bad cough you’ve got there,” Mori said concernedly. “I think I’ve got some tea that can help with that. Would you like some?”
It’s not like I can say no. “Sure,” Chuuya rasped before he started coughing again. I don’t feel any petals yet, he thought, so if I can just hold out a little longer-
“Here you go,” a small voice said to his left, and he looked down to see Elise handing him a pale blue teacup with a faint smell of something medicinal curling from it.
“Thank you, Elise,” Chuuya answered, slightly startled by her appearance, and watched her trounce back over next to Mori, who gave her a sweet smile.
Chuuya inspected the cup, peering into the dark liquid before cautiously taking a sip. He nearly recoiled from the taste of it, and winced as it burned all the way down. Chuuya shuddered.
“Nasty, isn’t it?” Mori said at seeing Chuuya’s reaction, and Chuuya nodded weakly. “Though it tastes revolting, it’s always eased the worst of my coughs.”
Uh huh. Despite his better judgement, Chuuya took another sip, cringing when it hit his tongue, but miraculously felt the ache in his chest ease, if slightly.
“Thank you,” Chuuya said, setting the cup on the table. God, I never want to taste that shit again.
“Better?” Mori asked, that curious glint still in his eyes as he watched Chuuya.
“Burns a bit, but… it guess it did help,” Chuuya answered truthfully.
Mori nodded his head, seemingly satisfied with Chuuya’s response. “Good, good. Well, if that’s all you needed, you’re free to go,” he said.
Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Mori turned back to the window. “I have no need of you anymore, so you are free to leave,” he reiterated.
What the hell is he up to? “Are you certain that’s all you had me come for? A check up?” Chuuya asked, and he couldn’t keep the sardonic bite out of his words.
Something Chuuya said seemed to amuse Mori, and Chuuya saw the corner of his lip curl. “Something like that,” Mori answered cryptically. “Now, don’t make me repeat myself again, Chuuya.”
Chuuya nodded, albeit hesitantly, before grabbing his coat and folding it over his arm, tugging his hat back over his eyes and making his way toward the entrance. However, he barely took four steps before something twisted in his gut, a harsh burn spreading from his stomach up to his throat. He paused, pressing a hand to his stomach in confusion. What the-
“Something wrong?” Mori asked musically, voice a lilt dipped in the faintest condescension.
“I- no,” Chuuya tried, before a sharp pain accompanied with a spasm in his stomach forced him to his knees, dropping his coat. Fire burned up into his chest and throat and he slapped a hand to his mouth in horror. Shit shit shit-
Another wrench in his gut and Chuuya was choking, retching uncontrollably, his mouth flooding with blood and vile that seeped from between his lips and fingers and dripped to the floor, soon accompanied by the familiar feeling of petals forcing themselves out of his lungs. Blood and vomit-stained pink fell to the ground, a dizzying spiral of red-white-liquid-pink so glaringly obvious in their meaning, and Chuuya wanted to slap himself. The tea, he realized, turning to see the innocent cup still sitting in the table. I shouldn’t have been so stupid! His eyes burned and watered, and his entire abdomen hurt, intent on emptying itself of everything.
A figure kneeled down next to Chuuya, placing a hand on his shoulder, and a sharp smile appeared in the corner of his eye. “Have you forgotten so quickly forgotten I used to be a doctor?” Mori asked smoothly, and Chuuya felt the hand on his shoulder move until it tangled itself in his hair, knocking his hat to the ground before lifting Chuuya until all he saw was the horrid face of a Cheshire Cat grinning down at him. “I was quite adept at identifying the sick instantly.”
Chuuya didn’t reply and only panted, not bothering to try and wipe the spit from his lips.
“Syrup of Ipecac- nasty stuff, huh?” Mori continued. “Induces uncontrollable vomiting, but I’ve found it is also quite useful in isolating Hanahaki.” Chuuya’s eyes widened and his stomach (what wasn’t burning) dropped. I can’t lift a finger against him, especially not in this state.
Mori’s fingers suddenly tightened in Chuuya’s hair and pulled his face closer to his own. “The Port Mafia does not allow weaklings within its ranks,” he hissed, “and yet you’ve succumbed to the worst illness of all- love ,” he spat the word before wrenched Chuuya’s head and shoved him back, forcing him to the tile with a sickening crack that left Chuuya groaning.
Mori stood, and Elise came to stand next to him obediently, small hand worming into Mori’s. “I ought to kill you here, but I’m afraid Kouyou would throw a fit, and I just can’t have that,” he sneered as Chuuya forced himself up, rubbing the slime off of his face, anger and shame boiling in his eyes.
Mori’s anger suddenly melted off of his face, only to be replaced with a cruel and victorious smile that mimicked the expression he’d worn earlier. “However, this turn of events has given rise to something even better, you see, Chuuya- despite you being one of my most valued members, you’ve remained something of a wild card,” he started. “You’ve never had an underlying desire to drive you, or something that seemed to give you pleasure other than violence, but now, now I know what feeds that heart of yours.”
Chuuya froze, and his heart stopped. “No…” he whispered, and Mori’s grin grew.
“I know your weak spot, and you have no power over it,” Mori declared. “Of all things in this world- money, fame, blood, victory, sex- and you chose him ; it’s almost laughable!”
Chuuya staggered to his feet with a wince, dragging his crumpled coat up with him, hands blindly reaching for where his hat had fallen. His fingers clenched into fists. “Shut up,” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry- what was that?” Mori asked sweetly.
Chuuya shot him a look that could’ve leveled buildings- venomous and scared. “Shut up!”
Mori tsk’d. “Now now, are you commanding your boss to ‘shut up’? Well, that just doesn’t seem wise,” he scolded. Chuuya could feel his nails bite through the stained fabric of his gloves.
Cold fear flushed through him and he could do nothing but glare at Mori. “You bastard,” he hissed. Mori only smiled.
At that, Chuuya slung his coat over one shoulder and turned on his heel, marching angrily toward the door flanked by the two guards. Just as he was about to step out, he heard Mori speak up. “I do have to say- repressing Hanahaki for four years? That’s a rather commendable feat,” he sang.
Chuuya’s eyes widened, his back still turned to him. He knew this whole time….
Of course he did- don’t be stupid.
Chuuya grit his teeth and walked out, his footsteps accompanied by the sound of Mori’s laughter and the sound of his own racing heartbeat.
---
Chuuya felt as if he was walking on needles, constantly under the cruel eye of Mori and the scrutiny of the rest of the Mafia.
No one else knows, they can’t know, you’re just paranoid- but no matter what angle he looked from, he could feel himself breaking under the weight of their looks, under the weight of those damn flowers melting him from the inside out. He could feel the disease eating away at his lungs and his energy, sapping away his strength for even the simplest of moves with his Ability, and he wanted to scream. He was getting sicker, weaker, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He felt useless.
Mori was right- the weak have no right within their ranks, and his own weakness was starting to become horribly evident, the worst of which almost ended in him collapsing in the midst of battle.
All Chuuya had to do was incapacitate some psycho by trapping him under his gravity-increased thumb before trying to interrogate him, but something had gone wrong; just as he activated For the Tainted Sorrow, his entire body burned, his chest the magma-hot source, and he stumbled, feeling as if he was crushed under his own Ability.
In the end, he released it and staggered back, breathing uneven and chest flushing in pure terror. The rest of the Black Lizard he’d been directing were able to get the psycho down, and Gin had come over to Chuuya with concern in her eyes.
“I’m fine, Gin,” Chuuya wheezed, but Gin had pulled his arm across her shoulder, having him lean on her. The look she gave him was resolute.
Of course she’d know, Chuuya realized with a helpless laugh, she’s known me for a long time, and with a brother like Akutagawa she’d be a master at reading people.
Thankfully, she never said anything after that incident of which he’d been endlessly grateful for. But the fact of his illness remained, hanging over him horribly like an impending storm.
Chuuya just grit his teeth and forced it all down, tying it under a curse with his name on it.
I won’t let him ruin me when he’s not even here.
But it wouldn’t be so, as the heart isn’t as quick to forgive as the mind.
No, because four years later, Dazai Osamu decided to show his face once again-
Now a traitor chained to the wall with that stupid smile on his face, as if he had the world under his thumb.
Chuuya wanted to cut that smile from Dazai’s lips, wanted him to bleed until it put the pink of those damn flowers to shame.
But oh how he’d enjoyed their reunion (he’d rolled the word between his teeth with cruel vindictiveness), enjoyed the banter, the button-pushing, the feeling of his fist cracking across Dazai’s skin- he’d felt a spark and a tug that he hadn’t realized was missing, and smiled maliciously as Dazai dodged him, knowing that he could still know his place. (It left him magnificently breathless.)
“So, you did miss me,” Dazai teased, voice that low and dangerous octave that pulled at Chuuya’s heart lopsidedly.
Chuuya grinned wickedly. “Only the feeling of kicking your ass,” he retorted, flexing his fingers before swinging at him again.
(Un)fortunately for him, Dazai had grabbed his fist, stopping Chuuya dead in his tracks (and sparking that fucking itch behind his breastbone). “Always so fiery,” Dazai chastised. Chuuya wanted to wipe that condescending look off his face.
“And you’re still as shitty as always,” Chuuya growled, wrenching his hand from Dazai’s, ignoring how part of him screamed for that contact again. Shut up.
Chuuya had left in (friendly?) humiliation, wanting to laugh at how Dazai had turned the tables in his favor. Nothing’s changed, huh.
After that moment, he’d felt almost better; his chest felt lighter, and it didn’t hurt as much. He didn’t cough as much, and he hadn’t seen those petals in a long time. He foolishly thought that maybe he’d been able to get over it, maybe he’d been able to beat it, beat him - but then….
His Hanahaki had come back full force and with a vengeance, catching him completely off-guard while checking the clean up of the Karma Transit building. To add insult to injury, Mori had come to oversee it as well, and had given him a falsely curious look, but Chuuya could see the disgusting amusement in his eyes as Chuuya hastily clamped a hand over his mouth. “Still sick then, Chuuya?” he’d asked innocently.
Chuuya had debated between flipping him off or glaring at him and had thankfully settled with the latter, earning a chuckle from Mori. “You best watch that cough of yours then,” he warned, “you never know when it could get the best of you.”
Chuuya worked his jaw, before turning to give him an over-exaggerated bow. “Your concern is duly noted,” he said dully, mouth quirking into the faintest of smiles when he saw a tick of irritation in Mori’s face.
“That tongue of yours won’t get you anywhere,” Mori replied before turning to leave, leaving behind a furious Chuuya.
‘Get the best of me’? Bullshit. That bastard can go burn, Chuuya sneered, but his resolve hiccuped as another petal slipped past his throat and caught in his teeth, bringing with it a trail of fresh blood. He pulled it from his lips, wiped his mouth, and dropped it to crush it beneath his heel like a spent cigarette butt before turning to leave.
Walking aimlessly down the streets of Yokohama, Chuuya let his mind wander, feeling its poisonous edges seep to the forefront of his brain, dredging up every dark spot it could muster, seemingly intent on destroying him from the inside out.
Y’know Mori’s right- without using your fullest Ability, you really have become weak. You’re nothing more than a paper-pusher at the moment.
He clenched his fists, viciously grinding his teeth. Shut up. There’s no point in dwelling on his mind games.
Then why would he leave?
Was it because you served him no purpose?
You should have known from the start- you’ve never been the favorite.
You should know this.
Shut up. “Shut up, you worthless…. Just shut up,” he mumbled harshly to himself.
But his chest hurt, his head hurt, and he could feel himself unraveling, coming undone.
He tasted blood (Did I bite my tongue?), felt his head spin, felt energy hum and sing under his fingers and up his arms.
Look at that- you’re losing control, and people are starting to look at you.
Can you feel it?
You’re nothing but the pawn of the duo- you never had any power.
Chuuya slapped his hands over his ears, fingers digging into his skin enough to sting. “Shut up!”
You’re making a scene!
Leave me alone.
But I can’t- I’m your twisted heart, am I not?
You’re nothing like me- nothing.
Oh, but that’s not true now, is it? Now, let me ask again: Can you feel it? Can you feel yourself succumbing to the darkness, to your own mind? Your broken heart?
Now Chuuya was crouched in the middle of the street, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. “Leave me alone!”
What happened to the ever-sharp Nakahara Chuuya, the most lethal martial artist of the Port Mafia? You’ve let your heart become soft.
Can. you. feel. It?
I-
You hurt, you’re sick, you’re sad, you’re pathetic- isn’t it time to let it all just burn?
Chuuya’s breath hitched sharply. “No-”
A sinuous voice started to laugh, and Chuuya’s vision swam- was the laughter coming from inside his head or from his own mouth? He couldn’t tell.
I haven’t summoned you.
Did you think mere lines of weak poetry could keep me chained? Don’t be so foolish.
It’s time to play, Chuuya.
It’s time to break, it’s time to burn, it’s time.
Now- RISE.
Chuuya’s eyes snapped open, breathing returning to normal. Calmly, he stood, feeling an open maw behind his eyes like a vacuum before an explosion.
Then, he started to laugh, before searing lines of pain raced up his arms, his back, his neck, curling under his eyes and his cheeks, sickly rust-red, and he reveled in it.
Such power, such dizziness- he’d almost forgotten it.
He could feel some rational part of him screaming, terrified at himself, but he ripped it to shreds as his fingers sparked hungrily.
Gloves gone, hat dropped, coat removed.
Then he raised his hands, and entropy began with the sound of terrified screams.
This world is mine.
Now, he knew not of pain, of suffering, of his heart, of himself-
Now, the only thing he knew was corruption.
“ There's nights we had to just walk away
And there's tears we'll cry, but those tears will fade
It's a price you pay when it comes to love
And we'll take what comes, take what comes …”
---
Dazai Osamu was in the middle of a rather enthralling dream when he was rudely awakened by a stack of papers being dropped next to his head. His eyes snapped open with a broken screech before sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, then turning to see the unimpressed scowl of Kunikida glaring down at him. His arms were crossed, and his foot was tapping impatiently. “Now is not the time to be sleeping,” he chastised before clearing his throat. “We have a situation.”
Dazai stretched over the back of his chair. “You have an entire agency you could bother,” he whined, “so why’d you have to wake me up?”
Kunikida sighed, giving him a level look. “It’s rather serious, and it’s best to have everyone on board if things take a turn for the worst.”
“Oh come on, Kunikida,” Ranpo piped up from the window, “it’s probably nothing as it is; there’s no need to get all huffy about it.”
Dazai felt himself bite his lips in an attempt not to laugh, knowing that would only piss Kunikida off further. Well, that could be fun, but I’m too tired to deal with that right now. “So then, Kunikida,” Dazai interrupted, “what’s got you in such a tizzy?”
Kunikida raised an eyebrow, and Dazai could almost see the annoyance threatening to break out. It was always ceaselessly entertaining to play with him- he was just too easy.
“According to civilian accounts, there’s a Gifted on a rampage in the main square,” Kenji answered cheerfully, and Dazai gave the boy a strange look at his tone. Best not bother with him- he’s always like this.
Kunikida sighed heavily again before sitting down at his desk, pulling up his laptop to read off the report. “The perpetrator appears intent on razing the entirety of Yokohama, and scattered reports have him using some sort of ‘ red energy balls’ to cause mass destruction and explosions.”
Dazai’s happy-go-lucky sleepiness drained away, leaving only cold dread behind. “Red energy?” he repeated.
Kunikida nodded, not noticing the change in mood. “Spectators apparently saw a man on Main Street start screaming at himself before he started ‘laughing evilly’, and hasn’t stopped since,” he continued.
That sounds almost like… no, it couldn’t be; he’s not that stupid. “Are there any other descriptions of the man?” Dazai asked suddenly, his voice serious and low.
Dazai saw Atsushi shift in the corner of his vision at his question. “Dazai, is something wrong?” he asked, but Dazai ignored him.
“Kunikida.”
Kunikida gave him an odd look before scrolling down, scanning the lines before shaking his head. “The only conclusive thing I could find in the current accounts are that he was short of stature, dressed formally, and…. a redhead? There’s not much to go off of.”
Dazai felt his fingers clamp down on the edge of his desk with a sickening feeling in his gut. “ Shit.”
“Dazai, what is it?” Atsushi tried again, but Dazai only shoved back from his desk, standing and snatching his coat.
“Oi, Dazai, where are you going?” Kunikida barked, and Dazai whipped around in irritation.
“How long has it been since it’s started?” he demanded, words sharp and commanding, chilling the entirety of the room.
“Only about fifteen to twenty minutes ago,” Kunikida answered slowly.
Dazai grit his teeth. “I don’t have any time,” he muttered under his breath before stalking towards the door, only to be blocked by Atsushi.
“You can’t leave until you at least explain what’s going on,” Atsushi said lowly, arms spread to keep him from leaving.
“Atsushi, move,” he said quietly.
Atsushi fixed him with a resolute look. “No.”
“Atsushi-”
“Dazai, you are not to go off on your own, regardless of the situation,” Kunikida spoke up, coming up behind him and grabbing his shoulder, forcing him to face him. “Tell us what’s going on.”
Dazai ran his hands irritably through his hair. “But there isn’t any time-”
“Time for what?”
Dazai bit his tongue, a flash of anger sparking in his chest. Kunikida can be pretty damn stubborn when he needs to be. “What’s going on is that there’s a ticking time bomb in that square that only I can fix, and if we wait any longer than either the port’s going to be destroyed or he’s going to die,” he conceded, words a slurry of panic and frustration as he jabbed a finger towards the windows. (He could feel the looks he was getting from the rest of the agency, but he couldn’t bother to give a damn at the moment)
“He who?” Atsushi said, his response almost making Dazai jump.
Dazai let out his breath in a low sigh, curling and uncurling his fingers, trying to carefully respond. “It’s an old… friend of mine from the Mafia,” he tried, his words fragile as eggshells to the hungry ears around him, “his Ability can be used to wreak utter havoc if it’s not managed properly, which is where I came in.” He smiled sharply, the edges fake as he gestured wryly to himself.
Kunikida crossed his arms again. “We can’t just let you barrel in there by yourself despite of past relationship-” Dazai winced at the choice of words- “so it’s best if we quickly send out a dispatch group.”
Dazai huffed again. “Fine, if that’ll get you off my back,” he answered angrily, but Kunikida didn’t flinch at his tone. “Strictly offensive people can come with me to keep him contained, but a defensive group will need to stay back and help evacuate.” Dazai finished.
He saw various heads nod at his words before he turned back toward the door, hearing people stand up and scuffle as they prepared themselves. He paused. “Those coming with me- make sure you take off anything that can strangle you,” he warned, throwing the words over his shoulder before he marched past Atsushi out the door.
He wanted to laugh if he wasn’t so frustratingly worried.
You idiot. What did you do?
---
It wasn’t hard to follow the path of utter carnage to the main square, where a horrid symphony of screams and destruction announced that they’d arrived. Dazai looked behind him to see those who had joined him- Atsushi, Kunikida, Kenji, Yosano- and felt his stomach lurch. I can’t let them get hurt because of this.
“We’re close; be careful everyone,” Dazai warned as they slowly inched toward the center square.
As they neared it, Dazai’s eyes latched onto the figure in the midst of it all, heart clenching when he saw the familiar red markings glowing harshly up pale skin, feeling the sense of terrified awe he always remembered from his days as Double Black. Chuuya.
“Isn’t that… Nakahara Chuuya ?” Yosano asked incredulously. “What the hell is he doing?”
“I thought he was a gravity manipulator?” Atsushi added confusedly.
Dazai shook his head. “He’s got a second level of his Ability called ‘Corruption’,” Dazai answered, not taking his eyes off of Chuuya, “it’s essentially a trump card that he can’t turn off.”
“That sounds rather pointless,” Kunikida said, but Dazai wasn’t able to respond before the building next to them crumbled as a sphere slammed into it.
“Guys, stay behind me and do not try to engage him; just keep him from escaping,” Dazai reminded emphatically.
“Shouldn’t we try attack-?” Atsushi tried, but Dazai cut him off.
“You can’t- believe me, I know from experience,” he answered solemnly. Atsushi look faintly terrified.
Dazai turned to Kenji. “Do you think you can create a spot for you guys to hide behind?” he asked.
Kenji nodded sweetly. “Sure thing! It won’t be hard,” he replied. “Will you be alright, though?”
Dazai flashed him a grin that felt a little too stiff. “It’s me; of course I will.”
With that, he turned around and walked straight toward Chuuya despite the muffled shouts from his teammates, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Oi, Chuuya!” he called, seeing him pause at his voice before whipping around.
At the expression on his face, Dazai felt his body go numb, eyes widening. Oh god no-
Despite the blood streaming from his eyes, his ears, his nose and caked around his lips and grime smeared into his skin, Chuuya gave him a smile that rivaled any crazed one Q could have given him; it was just so wrong. “Dazai! You finally came to play!” he sang, and Dazai felt a curl of revulsion tear through him.
He fixed Chuuya with a cold glare. “What are you doing?” he asked levelly.
Chuuya spread his hands and cocked his head innocently. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you expecting Chuuya?” he answered apologetically, before breaking in horrible laughter that scraped Dazai raw. “God, I wish you could see your face!”
Dazai clenched his hands. “Let him go, Corruption,” he demanded, feeling a bite of irritation at the laugh he got.
Corruption clicked its tongue. “Now, you know that’s not how this works,” it scolded, twisting Chuuya’s features into something awful as it played with the crimson energy bubbling at its fingers.
It’s never had full control of him before, he thought, panic tickling at the back of his mind, but he stood his ground. “I’ll repeat my question,” he said, “what are you doing?”
Corruption chortled, and Dazai grimaced at the ugly sound. “I’m only having a little fun,” it said, “after all, it wasn’t long before your dear Chuuya was going to break after all.”
Dazai’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
Corruption gave him a pitying look. “Didn’t you know? The poor fool was sick this whole time,” it said sweetly.
“What?” Dazai breathed, thinking back to when he’d been with him earlier back at the Mafia. He couldn’t remember any indication of Chuuya being sick at all- if anything, he’d looked so alive.
Corruption gave him a cruel smile, blank eyes boring straight into Dazai as it stepped closer to him, nearly closing the distance. Now, Dazai could see the tears and slashes in Chuuya’s clothes- Oh man, he’s not going to be happy about that- and the blood drying on his face. “He was rather heartbroken when you left him, you know,” it started, grinning wickedly, “you left him in ruin, and I’m afraid his heart couldn’t take it. Even daddy dearest noticed, and oh how beautifully Chuuya bled.”
Dazai’s breath stuttered, and fury burned behind his eyes. That asshole-
Corruption closed its eyes and shrugged. “It wasn’t long then before he succumbed,” it said.
Something caused Dazai to pause. He could tell he was being baited, but he couldn’t waste any more time dancing around. “Succumbed to what?” he asked lowly.
“He fell in love , and then had his heart broken,” Corruption answered victoriously, before bursting into giggles, covering its face as it laughed, “and the idiot couldn’t even tell the difference between begonias and camellias!” Its hands fell from its face as it looked straight at Dazai, fingers reaching unflinchingly down its throat before ripping out a handful of petals to flaunt at Dazai.
Hanahaki?
“Are you starting to get the picture now?” Corruption asked, before showering Dazai with the pink petals.
Dazai felt horror tug at his heart, and he wondered how stupid he could have been. How long has he been suffering like this, because of me?
“Eventually, he crumbled like the weakling he is, and I was finally allowed to come out and play,” Corruption said, “and I want to play with you until I burn this city to the ground.
Dazai growled lowly in his throat. “‘Allowed’? Don’t be ridiculous,” he spit, “Chuuya’s terrified of you; he wouldn't just submit to you.”
“Then how am I here now?” Corruption taunted, shifting its features just enough to mimic Chuuya perfectly.
“Don’t try and play with me,” he snarled, but Corruption only snorted.
“I’m afraid I already have,” it said, “have you taken a look at yourself? You’re no better than him!”
The anger on Dazai’s face melted away as the words settled in, and cold dread pooled in his stomach. He’s wound me up just like a toy.
“Well, now that that little bit of fun’s over,” Corruption said lazily, flexing its fingers, “I guess I have nothing left to do but destroy this town you all love so dearly before this body crumbles away!”
“Don’t you dare ,” Dazai warned, voice predatory.
This time when Corruption smiled, Dazai found himself face to face with nothing but Chuuya and a smile he hadn’t seen in so long; It made his heart ache. “Watch me,” it said, and raised a single hand into the air, a sickly red glow spreading and melting from above his fingertips, and Dazai felt every nerve in his body scream.
He lurched forward, stretching his hand across the impossibly wide gap between them, his body moving automatically as his fingers crackled with his white Ability. I can’t miss-
“Think you can catch me?” Corruption laughed condescendingly, but didn’t move from its spot.
“Give him back!” Dazai screamed before reaching to clamp his fingers around its- Chuuya’s - wrist, ignoring as it screeched and wailed and tugged against his grip. He wrapped his other arm around Corruption’s neck, eyes closing as his mouth numbly whispered his desperate mantra of please work please work please work.
Suddenly, he felt it- him?- stop struggling, arm going limp and breath going ragged as Dazai’s Ability faded. “What? What did I…?” he breathed, and Dazai’s heart lept at the familiar voice. Yes.
“Oh thank god,” Dazai breathed, dropping his arm from around Chuuya’s neck.
At the sound of his voice, Chuuya looked up at Dazai, and something incomprehensible flashed in his eyes before he staggered, legs giving out from under him. Dazai brought both of them down to the ground, careful not to hurt him, his fingers still tight around Chuuya’s wrist.
Chuuya looked around at the destroyed square before down at himself, eyes going wide as he realized what had happened, what he’d done, and pure terror twisted his features. He looked up at Dazai, his free winding in the front of his coat before Dazai heard his breath hitch.
“I- Dazai, you-” he tried, but wasn’t able to get any more out before he broke into full-bodied sobs, burying his face in Dazai’s chest. Chuuya’s fingers clutched desperately onto Dazai’s, a silent plea of please keep me human and Dazai felt his heart break. (He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Chuuya cry )
Without a word, Dazai pulled Chuuya onto his lap, cradling the back of his head and lacing Chuuya’s shaking fingers between his own as Chuuya cried his throat raw.
He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew nothing he could spit out would be good enough for what he’s done to Chuuya. He wanted to ask him so many things, wanted to tell so many things, wanted to let himself feel elated that Chuuya was back here in his arms once more, but there was nothing more he could do than pull him closer. This is the least I can do, but... he deserves so much better.
Eventually the tears ebbed, and Chuuya weakly pulled his head back up, chest still hiccupping. He opened his mouth to say something before his eyes went wide and slapped a hand over his mouth, leaning around Dazai to retch and choke, clawing at his chest and throat before he forced a shaking hand down his throat, blood and saliva streaking down his chin.
He gagged before removing his fingers; pinched between them was something that looked like a clump of barbed roots with faintly rotting petals clinging to it. Chuuya had a look of revulsion combined with confusion as he dropped the thing to the ground. “But I thought…” he mumbled, voice raw and raspy and stained with exhaustion.
The idiot couldn’t even tell the difference between begonias and camellias! Dazai’s eyes widened. “Chuuya, your Hanahaki…” he started hesitantly, wincing when he felt Chuuya flinch, “what flowers did you have?”
Chuuya looked away from Dazai as he fell back against his chest, body too tired to try and move away. “Begonias,” he answered bitterly, the syllables slurring tiredly into each other.
Dazai huffed a faint laugh. “Those weren’t begonias,” he said, “those were pink camellias.”
Chuuya’s eyes flicked back to him, but his eyes were already hazy and unfocused. “Huh?”
“It means that you… oh, never mind,” Dazai said as he felt a soft snore vibrate against his chest. Fast asleep as usual and disarmingly cute as always, he thought wryly as he stood up, carrying Chuuya bridal style, but…. at least he’s okay. Sort of.
He headed back towards the rest of his group, which had hidden behind an overturned car. They eyed the unconscious man in his arms suspiciously as Dazai made his way back over. “See, I told you I didn’t need any help,” Dazai called childishly, but the others weren’t fazed.
“What was that, Dazai?” Atsushi asked incredulously, “It was like you walked headfirst into a hurricane!”
Dazai’s arms tightened instinctively around Chuuya. “Like I said- old friend of mine,” he answered evasively, “I know how to handle him.”
“I’m sure you do, after all that,” Yosano mumbled under her breath, insinuation not lost on Dazai. (He chose to ignore it)
“He needs medical attention as soon as possible, and it’s best that we clear out before the rest of the Mafia comes sniffing,” Dazai said, dissatisfaction clear on his face.
He got a perplexed look from the others, but he only smiled thinly before he turned and headed back toward the ADA.
I’m here now, Chuuya- but I don’t know if I’m already too late.
---
After coercing Yosano to let Chuuya rest for the night in her clinic, Dazai faintly remembered pulling up a chair next to Chuuya’s bed and promptly passing out, only to wake up sitting on the ground with his head pillowed on the blankets with Chuuya’s fingers intertwined with his own. Half asleep, he murmured a fuzzy “Did he have a nightmare or something?” before extricating himself from Chuuya and wiping the drool from his face with a half-disgusted groan.
Looking back down at him, Dazai was almost tempted to laugh at how ridiculous Chuuya looked (flushed face, slack lips, wild red curls stuck to his cheeks and forehead), but at the same time Dazai wanted nothing more than to just leave him there purely out of guilty fear. Would he be mad at me? Knowing him he’d probably be furious.
Yet even that train of thought couldn't stop him from reaching down to trace at the corner of his eye, gently brushing aside his hair before running a fingertip down his cheek, a soft smile on his face. He looks so helpless like this, and seems almost kind, Dazai thought to himself before snorting, sharply retracting his hand. Don’t be stupid.
“Ah, so Tweedle Dum’s finally awake,” a voice called from behind him and Dazai jumped.
Oh crap, I think she's still here, which means she just saw me-
“Tweedle Dum?” Dazai asked lazily, sitting back down in the chair and spinning around to face Yosano, who was giving him a knowing look.
“You two are a pair of idiots,” she explained bluntly, amusement plain on her face.
Dazai mockingly placed a hand to his chest. “You wound me!” he cried dramatically, and Yosano rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, well that's what you get for not only dropping a near-comatose patient recovering from Hanahaki on me- who’s a Port Mafia Executive , mind you, but also passing out yourself before I could treat you all in one night, ” she chastised.
Dazai sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, Doctor.”
She waved a hand. “Don't be- after all, there's still a time where I'll have to treat you, and you can bet that I'll have my fun then,” she said wickedly, and Dazai shuddered.
“I'll do my best not to get injured then,” he said before turning back to face Chuuya.
She stood then, coming to stand next to Dazai. “What the hell does his Ability do to him?” She asked soberly, evaporating the teasing atmosphere from before. “I've never seen someone sustain this much damage from their own before.”
Dazai shrugged helplessly. “Even he's not completely sure,” he answered truthfully. “All we know is that if it isn't nulled, the energy required for it will just end up killing him; we’ve… already gotten close to that.”
Yosano crossed her arms, sighing at his expression. “Okay- just what is- or was, as it may be- he to you?” She asked, straight to the point.
Dazai froze, surprised. “What do you mean?” He asked, playing dumb. He didn't look up to see her.
“Don't try that with me,” she warned. “I was there when that thing spoke about him, and that coupled with his Misfortune seemed to be pretty telling.” She looked down at him expectantly.
He plucked at his bandages, squirming under her gaze. “An old friend of mine, just like I said,” he finally settled on, but the hollow words scraped him raw.
She slapped him in the shoulder, drawing a yelp out of him. “Bullshit- old friends don't get acute Hanahaki when you leave them.”
Dazai winced.
“So? What is it then?” She pressed.
He shook his head. “I don't really know. I think.” He paused, nervously biting at his lip. “Maybe.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. You seem uncharacteristically uncertain.” You seem afraid.
He narrowed his eyes at her before sighing and pushing himself out of his chair. “I'm going to go get some fresh air,” he mumbled, before suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. “Yosano… what time is it?”
She looked at her watch, repressing a look of amusement. “It's…. 10:45 in the morning,” she answered musically.
Dazai’s eyes widened. “I slept that long, and here of all places?” He whispered, horrified, and she only laughed.
“I'll let you know when he wakes up then, alright?” She called, seeing a bandaged hand wave a hasty goodbye as he rushed out, door swinging shut.
She shook her head, looking down at the man still asleep on the bed. “You two really are a pair of idiots.”
---
Two hours later and Dazai had gotten a call that Chuuya had finally woken up, and he’d made his way to the clinic faster than he would have liked to admit, only to be greeted by the sight of an adorably grumpy Chuuya sipping from a cup of tea. Unsurprisingly, Dazai had laughed upon seeing it, earning a glare that could put Medusa to shame.
“Just tell me where I am, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya had grumbled, only to nearly drop his cup when Dazai stopped laughing long enough to answer. “You brought me to the goddamn ADA?! What the hell is wrong with you?” He shouted, which only spurred Dazai’s laughter further.
(One yelling match and a broken teacup later and Chuuya had been declared healthy, fully eager to get out as quickly as possible.)
Dazai was now waiting outside in the hallway for Chuuya to leave, and was absently tracing the lines on the slats of the walls before a barked “ Hey ,” broke his train of thought. Turning towards the sound, he’d slapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter when he saw Chuuya stop in front of him with a ratty white blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“Oi, stop laughing, I lost my coat and your doctor said I could keep this so I wouldn't freeze,” he complained.
“I'm sorry, it's just that you look so cute wrapped in that shawl of yours!” Dazai crowed, bursting into full-blown giggles when Chuuya flushed and feebly kicked at Dazai’s shin.
“You- just- shut it,” he spluttered, and Dazai snorted unattractively.
Eventually, the laughter died down and Dazai looked back down at Chuuya. Anxiety curled around his ribcage as the silence grew painful between them, but his tongue felt as if it was made of lead melted to the bottom of his mouth. “Chuuya-”
“I'm sorry,” Chuuya blurted, and Dazai did a double take.
“Huh?”
“I'm sorry I was so weak that Corruption was able to take over, and that you had to see me like that…” he mumbled, abnormally small despite his usually massive presence. He refused to look Dazai in the eye, and his fingers fiddled at the edges of his blanket. (He reminded him of a child)
Dazai blinked. “What are you, an idiot ?” Dazai asked bluntly, and Chuuya jumped, dry annoyance drawing over his face.
“What was that?” He asked lowly, and Dazai almost laughed again. That’s just so like him…
“It's not your fault that you were sick since I guess it's my fault from the start,” Dazai said awkwardly. “Though it is your fault for not telling me when we met back up the other day,” he tacked on.
Chuuya grit his teeth. “You piece of-”
Dazai held up a finger, cutting him off. “Ah! That doesn't sound like an apology to me!”
Irritation flickered over Chuuya’s face. “I'm gonna wring your neck with those disgusting bandages of yours,” he threatened, but Dazai paid it no heed.
He clicked his tongue. “Oh Chuuya, you're just too easy to play with!” He chirped, and earned a poorly- aimed punch to the head which he dodged easily.
“Will you stand still so I can-” Chuuya started, only to dissolve into a fit of weak coughs. Apparently surprised, he pressed a hand to his throat and his chest in confusion.
Dazai tilted his head. “Do you not remember what happened yesterday with the roots?” He asked in confusion. “It was pretty nasty.”
Chuuya faintly nodded. “I… sort of remember, and also something about camellias,” he said.
Dazai smiled. “Yep,” he said, popping the p, “your Hanahaki’s allllllll gone now that you know which flower was the right one.”
Chuuya tried to glare at him, but there was something just soft enough to melt to the ice of it. “So that means you…. know,” he said quietly, shamefully, almost shying away from his own words.
Though Dazai felt his chest warm at the response, he kept the silly façade up, trying to force away the painful reality. “That means you looooove me,” he said cheekily.
Chuuya’s face darkened. “No, I-”
“Admit it, you do !” Dazai sang, feeling satisfaction purr in his stomach as Chuuya’s blush began to clash with his hair.
“Dazai, I swear to god-”
“Admit it, admit it!”
“I-”
“Come onnnnn !”
Something twisted in Chuuya’s features before Dazai found himself with his back shoved harshly up against the wall and a pair of lips pressed against his own, a hand tangling itself in his hair and yanking.
Instinctively, Dazai reciprocated, every nerve screaming yes yes yes as something burned red hot between them, something that just felt right . His breath hitched as he pulled Chuuya closer to him, reveling in the feeling of him pressed up against Dazai’s body.
One of his hands lodged itself in Chuuya’s hair while the other one traced down his back, slipping further and further and-
His eyes snapped open with a gasp of pain and that same hand flew to his mouth incredulously as Chuuya stepped back, satisfaction burning mischievously in his eyes. “Chuuya, you-”
“Hmm?”
“You bit me!” He cried, but the only response he got was a smirk unlike any he’d seen spread across Chuuya’s face. (It was dangerous and dark and… flirty?)
“You got a problem with that?”
Absolutely not . “You made me bleed, you heathen , what kind of a kiss was that ?” He yelled, tongue tracing the wound on his lower lip. (He desperately tried to ignore how Chuuya’s eyes tracked the motion- whether intentional or not- and failed miserably, feeling his blood pulse.)
“Enough of one to answer your question,” Chuuya drawled before turning dramatically on his heel and walking down the steps, white blanket and bed-head in all.
Dazai sagged against the wall, pressing one hand to his lips as his heart raced . What the hell was that ? (He didn't bother dwelling on it.)
Out of all the outcomes he'd dreaded and feared and scraped himself empty with, that certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. Was he happy that Chuuya wasn't mad at him? (Maybe.) Was Chuuya still mad at him? (Probably.) Did he enjoy that kiss? ( Yes-)
His thoughts were interrupted when someone cleared their throat, and he saw Atsushi, with a slightly bewildered expression on his face, standing at the now-open door of the ADA.
Oh god, did he see-
“Dazai.”
“Yes?”
From the blush on his face, I’d guess-
“Work is- not the time to settle your relationship issues.” The response was so dry it nearly caught Dazai off guard, but the stutter halfway through ended up losing some of its intended effect.
Dazai smiled nonetheless and stood back up, brushing down the front of his shirt. “I'm sure I have no idea what you mean.”
A smile quirked in the corner of Atsushi’s lips. “Of course, Dazai.”
Dazai threw him a lazy smile before he strode past Atsushi, put paused when Atsushi cleared his throat again. “You have blood running down your chin,” he said matter-of-factly, a spark of amusement barely contained in his eyes.
Dazai felt his smile falter and stomach dropped as his fingers swiped at his face to indeed find fresh blood streaked there.
He whipped around to face Atsushi. “Not. A. Word,” he whispered harshly, and Atsushi laughed.
“Your secret- or well, lack thereof, is safe with me,” he said breezily as he pushed past Dazai. “But I'm still not writing your report for you.”
“You little brat,” he said light-heartedly, only to earn a flash of a dark smile.
What mess did I just get myself into ? He thought helplessly.
Sighing, he sat down and leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, staring out the window to watch the people mill about like ants. His tongue and his lips tingled, still faintly tasting like cheap tea and Chuuya , and he felt his heart hiccup as he ran a thumb over the edge of his bottom lip.
Oh well.
“Oh, I'll take your hand when thunder roars
And I'll hold you close, I'll stay the course
I promise you from up above
That we'll take what comes, take what comes…
love
(We’re walking the wire, love-
We couldn't be higher up-
So look out down below.)