Chapter Text
As Arthur laid on the concrete floor of the warehouse, he felt the ghost of Paul’s hand on his cheek.
With half-lidded eyes, Arthur turned his head into the brushing of fingertips as best as he could. Warmth spread throughout his body as Paul’s touch faded. Arthur attempted to chase after the apparition, but his body groaned at any movement.
This was it, Arthur was dying.
Muffled voices ricocheted above him. “Stay… us… help!”
“Ch… gone… stop!”
A rattle escaped past Arthur’s lips as the jagged, ruined concrete against his back disappeared. A dizzying lightness washed over Arthur as the world spun. A sharpness of red and speckles of black crossed his vision.
Ah, they were trying to save him, Arthur deduced.
As stubborn as Paul.
Arthur closed his eyes.
He hoped that Chuuya found even a sliver of peace in his death.
***
“Are you going to shoot, Paul? Me, who saved you and gave you a life as a human being?”
“Sorry, Rimbaud. But I want to save myself. I want to save the other me.”
***
Arthur awoke in a spectrum of consciousness.
First, it came as an acute red, his body flushed in a searing pain as his bones throbbed. Then it came as a glacial blue, the pinpricks of arctic frost as cold air hit his skin against the restraints cutting into him.
Finally, it faded into a muddy yellow as he was bundled into something soft and warm, like being embraced by rays of light through a setting sun.
Like being kissed by Paul.
“P… Pa..” Arthur mumbled as the sound of a heart monitor arose through his consciousness.
“Randou?” A voice melted with the heart monitor.
“Give him more time,” another voice chided.
A grunt. “It’s been three days.”
“Chibi is quite the impatient one-”
“Stop calling me that!”
“-it’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
Silence.
“I know.”
Arthur’s face pinched up as sensation returned to his frame, a stabbing pain shooting throughout his body.
“Randou?”
Arthur jolted as a hand touched his arm.
“He’s waking up,” the voice-Arthur’s mind registered it as Chuuya’s-stated.
“I’ll notify Mori,” Dazai’s voice broke through.
“Come on, Randou, open your eyes,” Chuuya murmured. “Come on.”
Arthur’s eyes cracked open, a flash of fluorescent lighting occupying his vision. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as the room came into focus.
The first thing Arthur centered on was Chuuya’s small figure, his hands curling and uncurling against the hospital bed Arthur was laying on. Hesitancy painted his features, eyes round and lips in a fine line.
“Ch…” Arthur rasped before devolving into a fit of coughs.
Chuuya disappeared from his vision before pressing the lip of a water bottle to Arthur’s mouth. The first drop hit Arthur’s tongue and Arthur tilted his head back to invite more water. He choked as the water touched his throat and Chuuya ripped the water away from his lips.
“Slow down,” Chuuya scolded.
“Where…” Arthur’s voice trailed off.
“You’re in the Port Mafia infirmary,” Mori’s voice entered the frame. Arthur turned to his-former?-Boss, an aloof Dazai standing next to him. “How are you feeling Randou?” Mori stepped towards Arthur’s bedside.
“Or should I call you Arthur Rimbaud?” Mori added.
Arthur considered Mori for a moment. “Rimbaud is fine.”
“Okay, Randou ,” Mori hummed, checking Arthur’s vitals. “Hm, yes, your vitals are normal. Tell me, how much do you remember?”
Arthur contemplated skewing the truth. He may have gotten his memories back, that much is clear, but a case of confusion wouldn’t be too difficult to posture.
Arthur sighed. Then again, how much would he have to gain in delaying the inevitable. His execution was surely set and he’d hope to shorten his subsequent torture session. Not that he couldn’t withstand it, but he certainly didn’t have much information to give anymore.
And Arthur was tired.
“All of it,” Arthur confessed.
Mori smiled, a sharp thing. “Good, I suppose we could get the conversation out of the way. Unless we need Kouyou to assist?”
Arthur shook his head, waving Mori’s threat away. “I recognize my defeat.”
Mori hummed. “Humble as ever, Randou. I’ve always had a soft spot for you, you know? Such powerful ability and stamina. Every time the old Boss sent you on a mission, no matter how doomed from the start, you always came scurrying back. Like a cockroach.”
“I resent that comparison,” Arthur stated blandly.
“I saw quite a potential in you,” Mori continued. “That’s why I made you a Sub-Executive. Though, I now see that I was wrong to do so and I hate being wrong.”
“Your point?”
“I already have your motive. What a noble one indeed, saving a friend.”
Shame pooled in Arthur’s gut as he remembered the fragmented pieces of Paul.
“I worked alone,” Arthur supplied. “I’m not sure what information you seek.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” Mori stated. “Tell me, Randou, how would you like to go? We could do firing squad, poison, I could slit your throat right here like our dear old Boss?”
“What?” Chuuya exclaimed, jolting. “You just saved him! Why would-”
“I can’t simply let traitors go,” Mori said. “Randou has caused quite a bit of trouble within our organization. There’s already whispers of a rebellion and I’d hate to send Dazai for such a pointless errand.”
Dazai huffed. “Great, more work.”
“This way will send a more concrete message.”
Chuuya scowled. “You can’t just-”
“It’s fine,” Arthur reassured Chuuya. “You made a noble effort, dear boy.”
“No! Don’t just accept it, you have things to tell me, you can’t-”
“Take my words to heart,” Arthur advised. “Keep them there, you are human. Do not make the same mistakes as your predecessor.”
Chuuya’s eyes became wet, his face stricken.
“How heartwarming,” Mori mocked. “As for your execution-”
Chuuya shook his head, a red glow emitting from his body. “I said, no!”
Unfiltered glee sparkled in Mori’s eyes. “You really ready to take on the Mafia, Chuuya?”
Chuuya glared as the medical supplies clinked and furniture rattled.
Dazai sighed and placed a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder, cutting off the red glow as the room settled. Chuuya pushed Dazai away, but Dazai’s grip remained firm. “Stop toying with them, Mori.”
Mori chuckled. “I can see why you like riling this one up, Dazai. Such a short temper.”
“Let go of me, you bastard!”
“I suppose I could let him live as a favor,” Mori relented. “Of course, I would need something in return.”
Arthur inhaled sharply.
“Like what?” Chuuya asked.
“Loyalty goes a long way. I can't exactly have a Sub-Executive with such knowledge roaming free, after all.”
Chuuya blinked. “Didn’t he already give you his loyalty?”
Mori hummed. “Why, yes. I would need someone to watch him if he were to continue in our organization.”
Chuuya continued to stare.
“You’re going to have to break it down for the lil’ Chibi here, Mori,” Dazai teased. “Smaller brains means longer processing time.”
Chuuya elbowed Dazai in the side. “Why you-!”
“My life for Chuuya’s freedom, I suppose,” Arthur summarized and Chuuya froze, taken aback. “Such a cruel and unjust decision for a child.”
“Life is full of cruel and unjust decisions,” Mori mused.
Arthur shook his head. “I’ll make the decision for him then. I will not have Chuuya shackled to the Mafia.”
“Is that so? Why the change of heart? You did try to kill him.”
Arthur stayed silent for a moment as he mulled over his thoughts. Yes, he had tried to kill Chuuya, but that had been to get closer to the enigma of Paul Verlaine. His friend, his partner, his lover, the last strings that tied him to this thing called life. Arthur had always taken advantage of his humanity. When he had met Paul, someone so devoid of human nature or a name, yet so full of compassion, he wondered if he could siphon all of the reassurances of his own humanity and gift them to Paul.
Obviously, Arthur had misunderstood.
Paul’s dying wish was to save Chuuya, to raise him by the French Countryside. And maybe a part of Arthur’s actions had been that Paul never indulged in the idea of doing it together. It was quite a drastic way to break up with someone, but Arthur understood. He should’ve made it clear that his devotion layed with Paul, not the government.
All Arthur could do now was grant a version of Paul’s dying wish with his death, just like back then.
“Granting an old friend’s wish, that’s all,” Arthur murmured, eyes glazed over as his mind wandered.
As his heart beat to the sound of Paul, Paul, Paul.
Mori tsked. “Loyalty, what a crueler mistress. Well, your execution shall be set-”
“I’ll do it,” Chuuya gritted out. “I’ll watch over him, I’ll swear my loyalty. Just, don’t kill him… please, don’t kill him.”
“Chuuya-” Arthur started.
“We can work a deal.” Mori grinned like the cat that got the canary. “I’m sure you two can keep each other in check with, of course, Dazai watching over the both of you.”
Dazai groaned in the background. “Babysitter duty, really, Mori?”
“I’m sure you’ll become quite the close bunch,” Mori stated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ar-Paul’s hat. He set it on the bed next to Arthur’s hand.
Arthur stared at the hat, a hot and suffocating weight pressing on his chest.
Paul’s quiet eyes only seemed to say, “I guess I can take it.”
“ Normally in the mafia, whoever recruits you takes responsibility and care over you. As a symbol of that, it is customary for the recruiter to buy an article of clothing and give it to the newbie,” Mori explained to Chuuya.
Arthur’s finger and Chuuya’s eye twitched.
“ Would you do the honors?” Mori asked, sly.
Arthur let out a shaky breath as a trembling hand reached for the hat. He should’ve died, inspiring Chuuya to find his own humanity. Not bind him to a torn organization, only to be used as some sort of weapon.
Arthur picked up the hat and brought it to his chest. He breathed in deeply and for a moment he smelled Paul’s cologne. A fossilized memory crystalized in Arthur’s mind; the night of Arthur’s birthday and how Paul had captured his heart in gestures. How Paul had turned the radio on, a slow and sweet French song playing. How Paul had taken Arthur’s hand and pulled him close, their chests pressed against each other. How Paul had hushed Arthur’s protests with a brush of his thumb against Arthur’s bottom lip.
“Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?”
How Paul had silenced his snarky response with a tender kiss.
How could Arthur ever forget him?
“Chuuya Nakahara,” Arthur announced, voice quivering. “Reflected in your eyes I see the ghost of a man that found no peace in his dying moments. I hold my dying words to be true. We are nothing but an amalgamation of beautiful figures. You will search your life for a purpose, just as ghosts before you have, and I implore you to believe that your purpose is to live. Until then, do you dedicate your life to the Port Mafia?”
Arthur extended the hat to Chuuya.
Chuuya marveled at Arthur, a timid hand taking the hat with light and fragile care.
Chuuya bowed his head. “I will devote all my blood.”
We are tied, I will sacrifice my life for yours, Arthur vowed.
Mori grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Thus, sealed Chuuya and Arthur’s deal with the Devil.
***
Mori gave Arthur another dose of morphine before leaving with Dazai.
The drug hit Arthur hard, leaving him in a murky haze. Chuuya opted to stay in the room with Arthur, leafing through a torn magazine as Arthur faded in and out. Paul’s hat laid on Chuuya’s lap.
Chuuya scoffed, throwing the magazine on the bedside table. “This is lame.”
“Sorry I cannot entertain more,” Arthur murmured weakly.
Chuuya frowned, pressing his cheek into his palm.
Arthur began to drift off again when Chuuya’s question yanked him back.
“What was Paul like?”
Arthur jerked his head to stare at Chuuya. Chuuya kept his head down, staring at the hat.
“You mentioned him when you were, you know, dying,” Chuuya continued. “You said he was your best friend.”
Arthur’s eyes glazed over. “He was…”
“What was he like?” Chuuya pressed again.
Arthur paused for a moment. “Conflicted,” Arthur settled on.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and grunted, “Great. That’s not vague at all.”
“It’s hard to put my dear friend into words,” Arthur stated. “How does one describe such a person after years of trust decimated in a singular night?
“After all, I thought I knew Paul. His fears, his dreams, his capabilities. I believed I had memorized it all, only for him to betray me for a reflection of himself.”
Arthur’s mind wandered to Paul’s last birthday, his eyes dull as he stared at his gift.
“You mean me, right?”
Arthur hummed. “Paul’s mind and I were his undoing. Paul couldn’t grasp his own humanity, not after the scientists had done to him.”
Chuuya went still. “What?”
“Paul was like you,” Arthur broke gently to Chuuya. “An experiment. They called him Black No. 12. I gave him his name.”
“He…”
“He wanted to spare you his life,” Arthur continued. “I was too foolish, too sick with affection to realize that he never wanted his life. He wanted to raise you away from them.”
“Oh.”
Chuuya’s eyes went glossy, drawing Arthur’s focus.
“I’ve upset you,” Arthur realized.
Chuuya wiped at his eyes. “No, no, I’m just…” he faltered. “Surprised, that’s all. I didn’t-he didn’t know me.”
“He knew enough to spare you.”
Chuuya lifted the hat from his lap, staring at it with awe. He pressed the fabric to his face and Arthur wondered if Chuuya smelled Paul’s cologne as well.
“Tell me, has the world been kind to you?” Arthur asked softly.
“I guess?” He answered. “I don’t know, the world is the world. After the explosion, I was taken in by this group-the Sheep.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
Chuuya shrugged. “They’ll figure it out.”
That surely won’t end in disaster. “Have you spent the whole time in Suribachi City?”
“Here and there,” Chuuya replied. “I… not really sure what you’re looking for. Sorry to disappoint and all that, but I’ve been living, surviving really. Not really anything worth your best friend’s life.”
Arthur bit his lip. “You surviving is honor enough.”
Paul’s legacy -Chuuya looked lost and Arthur resisted the urge to take his hand, to assure him as a father would to his son after a nightmare.
Chuuya cleared his throat. “Well,” his voice cracked on the word, “You should get some sleep. Fuck if I know what that Demon has in store for us tomorrow.”
I’m sorry. The words stayed behind cracked lips.
“Bye,” Chuuya said, stilted and awkward. “See you tomorrow.”
With that, Chuuya left Arthur with his thoughts.
That was when the first tear fell.
A lone droplet fell from the inner corner of his eyes, lukewarm and docile. The next came violently, his lungs stuttering as an ugly sound escaped throat. He buried his mouth into the thin, polyester blanket, muffling his cries until he was suffocating.
“ Paul ,” Arthur shuttered, left in shattered remains.
Tonight, he mourned.
Tomorrow, he would atone.