delineate
or
(the one where Chuuya dies protecting the city and Dazai discovers a chibi-shaped hole in his life.)
I could wish for nothing more than to die for a childish dream in which I truly believed in.
Dazai looked at the way the sun shone through the blinds in Chuuya’s apartment. The dust swirled, outlined by the scorching rays and Dazai wondered just when the Chibi got under his skin.
xix.
The first time they met, Chuuya had driven Dazai into the wall. They’d fought and insulted each other.
While heading back to headquarters, Dazai had wondered, remembering the fiery locks and boundless vitality where exactly the energy came from.
Recruiting him had been endlessly easy. Everything had gone the way he’d known it would. The wolf was betrayed by the sheep and the Port Mafia gained a new dog. Yet he wondered, remembering the resigned yet determined look on his face, what exactly made the red-head trust and if he would be able to do so oneday.
vi.
Dazai had sauntered into Chuuya’s room one night, months after they’d become soukoku. After one of their raids had ended in much bloodshed and gore.
He hadn’t cared if the Chibi was awake or not, knowing that the fool wouldn’t be able to sleep due to his guilt of letting their men die.
Flashing him a cheeky smile and bursting into the room, he’d raved on about a new medicine for growing taller. But as he looked back at the slug, he was met with an azure gaze heavy and knowing. As if the chibi had known that his mind refused to be quietened, as if he’d known that Dazai was here to escape not to antagonize.
And when Chuuya had made space for him on his couch and let him put on some boring documentary that lulled him to sleep, Dazai wondered if he should have left then.
ix.
It wasn’t a bright move on their opponent’s part to kidnap Dazai. Because no one really kidnapped him, he let himself be kidnapped. But the men surrounding him were blessed in their ignorance and congratulating themselves for getting their hands on one half of soukoku.
Speaking of soukoku, the other half burst through the wall spilling debris and crushing people, dawning like the sun on a bloodied wasteland. Getting the men to heel was a matter of minutes and they were dealt with.
And when Dazai had looked upon Chuuya covered with dust, grime and blood grinning and smiled back, he wondered if he felt a flicker of excitement then.
xxix.
The port mafia was never one for vacations or their like. But Dazai had managed to attain a ‘mission’ from Mori just the same. It took the two of them past the city limits of Yokohama and into the quiet countryside.
Dazai looked at Chuuya beside him, asleep with his red hair blowing in the wind. Saw the sun shining on him, liquid gold dripping on his features, amber dust surrounding him with a halo. He looked every bit a god then. A sleeping, powerful and venerable god. An unattainable god.
He wondered if he’d felt a flicker of want then.
iv.
Years later, after Dazai had defected and shed all that tar, all that mafia black for the light, the good- he'd gotten a chance to work with his partner(ex-partner now) to rescue Kyusaku, the child Mori had lost control of.
Chuuya had harped on and on about hating him but Dazai had seen the expression on his face when he'd talked of Dazai leaving and drinking a whole bottle of Petrus. He could see that tangible despair hanging over Chuuya like a grey cloud. He remembered distinctly feeling wrong somehow, seeing that blank and empty expression on his partner's face. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Dazai was the one who was grey, Dazai was the one who was blank, Chuuya was always-
(redredredredredred
red as the sun, red as blood
redredredredredred)
So he'd remedied the situation immediately by telling Chuuya of the planted bomb. And when he'd seen the red bloom on Chuuya's face like a camellia unfurling its petals, the ache in his chest subsided and settled, peaceful.
Now, Dazai wondered how he'd been foolish enough to set aside that feeling for 'hatred'
vii.
Standing in the middle of Chuuya's apartment, Dazai felt discombobulated. A bit disconnected and hazy with nothing to hold on to. It was as if the axis of the world had shifted and he was floating in mid-air, body light and mind numb.
(and there was no gravity, no gravity, no gravity, no Chuuya-)
His steps felt heavy and far away. From the window he could see Yokohama burning in the distance, could taste the dust that had settled after Chuuya had killed Fyodor Dostoevsky. He could, he could feel-
("Dazai."
"It's okay I know what he wants now. It's you isn't it? Your ability is the only one that can nullify all abilities. Your life to make that happen is the price. And you would give it to him. It won't be that easy you shitty mackerel. He wants this city, your city, our city in ruins. That won't happen"
-static-
"If there's someone who will kill you, it's gonna be me you bandaged bastard. Dazai, I, I- Thank you for well-
-I think the Prince can rest now yea? His job is to save Snow White so that's what he's gonna do. So long, Dazai Osamu. Partner)
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(In a world inside a book, Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu two beings delineated to the other, find each other again.)