𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓫𝔂 | 𝘥𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶

𝓋𝒾𝒾𝒾. 𝒶𝓊𝑔𝓊𝓈𝓉

She would not mind living forever if forever was spent running through the streets with Chuuya and Dazai, pretending to be the children they never got to be.

For a moment she wishes she could trap herself within for eternity, she feels as though she has swallowed a sun that now swelters in her chest, filling her with warmth that starts in her heart and spreads out into parts she didn't think she had. It's dizzying and euphoric, and she sees now why youth is so romanticized.

"What're you smiling about, punk?" Chuuya asks, roughly placing his hat onto her head, probably to give himself some respite from the heat without admitting the irritation the sun is causing him.

She hums, placing the hat on an unsuspecting Dazai's head instead (because it's too hot for a black hat at noon) and turning to address her red-haired friend. "I was feeling lucky, Chuuya."

Immediately, she's met with his incredulous stare.

"Lucky?" he repeats. "For what?"

After all, what reason could walking calamities have for feeling fortunate in mid-August?

(Name) shrugs. "This," she gestures. "Us. It's been a while since I've felt like I could trust someone, and I guess I'm luckier now because of that."

Her words linger tangibly between them, and she lets them if only to laugh internally at the expression of discomfort on Chuuya's face as he tries to figure out what to say in response to something so blatantly sentimental.

"I'm luckier too," Dazai inputs, gazing ahead. "At least now I have (Name)'s lovely looks to distract me from Chuuya's ugly face."

Reaching around her to violently twist the brunet's ear, Chuuya snarls. "Listen here, you little shit," he begins, cut off when (Name) snorts loudly at the comical pair. Letting go with a huff, the eldest of the three crosses his arms and looks away. "Yeah, I guess you both aren't completely insufferable," he mutters grudgingly, ignoring his partners' exchange of knowing looks before they both clap him on the arm, making him yelp.

"How sweet," Dazai coos. "Look at us bonding."

"Shut up, shitass," comes the immediate command, but neither Dazai nor (Name) care to take it seriously.

In this moment, when they are greater than just sad stories, they are alive. And maybe someday, when they are no longer together-- when they are no longer young and, therfore, immortal in their connection to each other, this moment will be just another story. But for people like them, who have known so much sadness, having happy stories to tell is a privilege that they must hold onto lest it gets ripped away from them.

The mismatched patter of their footsteps on the pavement as the stroll through the streets of their city is proof of their existence in an epiphanic kind of way. Proof they had once walked these paths, lived their lives alongside so many others and left behind a part of their stories for the world to read. They leave their mark on the city they call home, distributing little bits of themselves around street corners and the shoulders of those who brush past them, and they become imperishable.

"Why are you being so sentimental anyways?" Chuuya grumbles, tying his hair up higher than usual to keep it away from the nape of his neck, clearly put out by their veering into the unfamiliar territory that discusses their unspoken loyalty to each other.

Caring for one another would be seen as an anomaly in their workplace, but what else could be expected from children who'd finally found someone to belong with and a story to belong to?

Rolling her eyes at him, she hooks an arm around his neck, making him grunt at the violent motion. "Why is the stick higher up your ass than usual?" she returns, grinning when Dazai snorts and Chuuya shoves her away. "Sorry for caring about my friends and wanting them to know that."

The redhead spares a side-eyed glance before sighing, his form deflating slightly. "I didn't sign up for this," he mutters, gloved hand rubbing at his face.

"No," Dazai agrees, "you joined because you were stabbed and posioned and dying."

"Fun origin story," (Name) inserts.

"Thanks, I'd forgotten," Chuuya snarks at the brunet who only shrugs, arms folding behind his head. Waiting a beat to let their conversation settle, the eldest of the three turns to seriously address his partners. "Okay, in all honesty, what the fuck are the two of you playing at?"

(Name) and Dazai exchange glances before the former shakes her head.
"You'll have to be nore specific, Chuuya."

His eyes narrow. "Rumors are one thing," Chuuya begins, "and I've never put much stock in them, but I'm not blind, you know. I see the both of you."

Dazai nods, face solemn. "He has discovered the purpose of eyes," the boy announces, voice deep and eyes closed, expression unchanging even when (Name) starts to laugh abruptly.

Huffing, Chuuya crosses his arms. "Fine, don't tell me," he grumbles, turning to them with a raised eyebrow, "but I hope you idiots know what you're getting yourselves into."

She is about to reply, although she doesn't quite know what to say, when she is distracted by familiar fingers sliding down the curve of her wrist to wrap around her own, pulling her just a little closer to Dazai. His smile comes into view when she turns to him, and for a moment, she is stolen by the reminder of how beautiful this boy is.

"Haven't you learned by now?" Dazai coos. "I always know what I'm getting myself into."

It's a testament to the thought he has given to this undeniable...something between them. Proof, once again, that Dazai Osamu never takes a risk that isn't calculated, and he never sets himself up for hurt that he can forsee.

"We're gonna be okay, Chuuya," she says with so much conviction, she almost manages to convince herself beyond the foolish hope she has given into. "All of us are."

The redhead snorts, picking up his pace as he strides ahead. "I sure hope so, (Name)."