you look at me
and i remember the day
at the riverbank
when we were gods
(never let me forget that)
you smile at me
and i feel the warmth
like summertime
or fire
(it consumes me)
you kiss me
and i forget all else
and remember that i
would follow you anywhere
(living or dying)
-- p.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
Being back in Yokohama is a whirlwind of emotions for (Y/n), but she can't say she hasn't missed the city she considers her roots. The pace, the lights, the people, the dreams are all as much a part of her as the blood in her veins, and despite all the risk she's taking in being back in the city of the Port Mafia, she truly is happy to be back home.
The shadows are glad to have her back as well, or so it seems by the livelier than usual patterns they form against the dying sunlight as the night takes reign and a whole new part of Yokohama wakes up.
She smiles to herself, tilting her face up to breathe in the familiar air and then wrinkling her nose in regret because as is the case with all metropolitan cities, the air of Yokohama is tinged with residual pollution that has only gotten worse over the four years of her absence. It makes her want to laugh, ridiculously enough, as she matches the sound of the soles of her boots against the pavement to the soundtrack of the city.
Since her departure from the underworld, there are a lot of things (Y/n) has learned to fall in love with. Herself, her brother, and her city being a few of them.
She catches sight of a familiar young man standing in wait on the bridge, hands in his pockets as he watches the current in the canal beneath, and she wonders if Dazai could be another addition to her growing list.
The thought makes her pause, and the break in the constant stream of sound causes Dazai to look over and meet her gaze. A stationary moment passes between them, some sort of sacred silence she cannot quite place that requires a second of simply watching the other-- a luxury they have not had for a little over four years. She takes the opportunity to look over him as she had not been able to at the Agency where her professionalism was demanded.
He's just a tad bit taller, his cheeks a little fuller and hair a little longer. More than that, it is the lack of volatility in his eyes and the void left behind by the questions he still doesn't have answers for but has found it within himself to ask rather than silencing his mind by violence. It makes her realize that she isn't the only one who has grown in these few years.
He used to be the boy she thought she could love, but this version of him is an unfamiliarity, and she ponders how they will work towards a different equilibrium to balance the new parts of themselves. It is a little intimidating, she admits to herself, to be faced with what had been a whisper of a wish of her heart until the day before yesterday.
She thinks she might be dreaming.
The situation is close to giving her déjà vu. The last time she'd been on a bridge with him, they were saying goodbye, and years later, in entirely different places from then, they'll say hello. She half expects him to begin walking away to keep with what she knows.
But Dazai holds out a hand for her to take, and even in dreams she knows enough to cross the distance between them and slip her fingers through his like she had done so many times before they parted.
This much, at least, is familiar.
He's quiet as he studies the way their fingers slot in place, a slow smile unfolding on his mouth that he directs at her.
A golden, sun-like warmth blossoms in her chest that she can't convince herself is a consequence of the approaching summer. This flood of affection feels almost foreign, but it isn't. It's just been a while since anyone has made her feel it, but similar to riding a bike, it comes back to her in waves that take her breath away.
"You've changed, Nightshade," he observes, leaning closer and searching for something in her eyes.
She stays still, letting him into her space because even after all this time, she trusts him enough to share her oxygen with him.
"So have you," she returns, stepping closer and eliminating most of the physical distance between them, leaning into his warmth when he raises a hand to place against her cheek in a gesture of such tenderness, it makes her forget that only a little while ago, they were both regarded monsters.
Dazai smiles, small but warm-- the kind of smile he's only ever thought of giving her. "Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?"
She brushes her lips against his in answer, pretending to not feel the curve of his smile when he kisses her firmly, with all the gentleness he can muster in the almost experimental way they touch each other again. Perfection and balance are different now that they've both grown into who they are, but (Y/n) thinks it still exists in the way his mouth molds against hers and makes her feel like she's tasting stars because why else does it feel like she's burning inside out?
Once again, that much is familiar to her.
Kissing him has always felt like tasting constellations and ambition. She would think that this is what dark matter would feel like if she could remember to think about anything but his warmth against her.
"You have changed," he says again when they've pulled apart and can breathe again, "but you're still my Nightshade." He grins, cheeks rosy with youth and the high of having a lover in his arms. "The sweetest poison."
(Y/n) thinks about a time when she would go to the ends of the earth for this boy, and she thinks not much has changed since then.
"Always yours," she tells him, and he smiles and kisses her again, repeating her promise against her mouth, an oath lost in the space between them.
He'd been alone after he left the Mafia, but with his Nightshade in his arms again, a part of the void within him fills with the knowledge that he isn't alone anymore. It feels like healing.
Maybe he can learn to fall in love, too.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
you never knew
the stars had a flavor
until you first kissed him.
it turns out
they taste like ambition and ancient fire
desperation and self-destruction
determination and dark matter
and the mind numbing fear
of being left alone
again.
(he's not alone anymore)