I Don't Smoke (bsdxmha)

Glass, shattered and torn

There's a sour taste in Dazai's mouth. He knows it's because he has to face the person who knows the second most about him; Mori takes the cake, obviously, because he made Dazai into the person he is today.

The glowering sunset illuminates his small room. It's the same view as earlier in the day, bustling people trying to find their way to their homes. It must be nice, Dazai muses, to have a home. The playground across the road is the same one he and Chuuya found themselves drunk in. It lacks any presence as it did all those months ago - a bad location to have a playground in.

"You almost died," A voice says to him from the doorway.

Dazai turns around to meet Chuuya's warm eyes, the brown specs mixed into blue that dance around his irises. A characteristic frown descends onto his face.

"And you weren't supposed to save me," Dazai spits. Betrayal is the worst type of emotion, something that clings to a person like a cobweb, something that he was well aware of.

"Yeah, well I did. Mori told me all about your friend. He also told me about that multiquirked man and his doctor associate that you didn't bother to explain."

His breath hitches. Mori and Chuuya were conspiring against him.

"Can't you take a hint, Chuuya?" Dazai explodes, fists clenching the fragile sheets. He fears that they are going to rip under his grasp. "First, you're abandoned by those doctors, then the Sheep, and you just can't stand for me to leave too. Even better; that doctor Mori told you about, he worked on the Arahabaki project." Dazai smiles, something cruel. "He abandoned it. He stopped caring about you because even in your inhuman state, you weren't important anymore. He chose me. That's why he left. That's why - "

"Stop it," Chuuya barks. "You're trying to get me to get mad and leave. I know how this works, Dazai. I'm not falling for it."

"You couldn't possibly understand," he argues, desperate as sweat drips down his temple. His vision blurs. "You don't belong anywhere, Chuuya, you're just some leech to the people around you. The poor Sheep. I bet Shirase wishes he had killed you that day."

"You don't think that," Chuuya replies, eyes roaming Dazai's figure. "You don't think any of that. Just let me help you, Dazai."

He reaches a trembling hand out to the figure in the doorway.

"I can't do it - "

"You don't have to do anything," Chuuya says, full of conviction.

It takes a moment for Dazai to realise that something is wrapped around him. Chuuya's body is warm against his notoriously cold skin and bone, something so unfamiliar to him that he freezes for another moment. The sun highlights Chuuya's back as he brings a hand to the other's bright orange hair and leans in, resting his chin on the other's shoulder.

"Thanks," Dazai whispers into his ear. "But I still wish I had died that night."

"I know. I know Dazai, I've always known," Chuuya whispers back, something small yet strong, threading his hands through Dazai's matted curls. "I'm not going to watch you kill yourself and be alright with it. Sometimes you're cruel, but it's just so you can hide yourself from the world. I know what it's like to grow up pretending to be something you're not."

Dazai has no defence on the tip of his tongue, no lies trying to worm themselves out. He simply sighs - an unlikely action for someone like him. The stitches on his arms itch. His hands are cold, and he's so tired.

Dazai finds himself with his head leaning on Chuuya's shoulder as they watch the final wisps of light dissolve into the horizon. The stars are, as usual, slighter brighter than Yokohama's smog-blocked ones in the sky - they dance among the sky like ballerinas. The traffic is welcome to fill in their silence.