[ How blatantly Chuuya dodges even attempting denial over missing him isn't merely noticed, instead it hits Dazai harder than a solid right hook. But the explosion of pain aching through him with every heartbeat isn't mercifully flesh deep. That sailor's mouth of Chuuya's, filled to the brim with brusque swearing in the immediate aftermath, is meant to throw him off. And it'd work for anyone and everyone who doesn't read Chuuya like the cliffsnotes to a convoluted book that doesn't need prying open for him to understand it completely.
The admission, which it is, settles somewhere inside Dazai's chest. He wants it to stay there, nestled inside a heart he's hollowed out time and time again, until it was sufficiently numb. But of course it sinks like a stone, anchoring itself at the very pit of his stomach. The answer Chuuya is waiting for, the why Dazai bowed out of contact and has been dodging him ever since, rises in the back of his throat like a bad taste he swallows down.
No one wants to hear you run away from them for their sake. Their freedom. To permit Chuuya to be whoever and do whatever he wants.
Chuuya has a good thing going on here. On this world he's no longer one of the Port Mafia's most valuable pawns, and so long as Mori sleeps Chuuya has no lingering obligation to the organization. He's free as the creature he owns, calling a mansion home and building his found-family of people worthy of his endless devotion. Dazai's a smart man, and it doesn't take more than a single night to figure things out, then remove the one element out of place in Chuuya's path of etching out a happy home for himself. And that's fine. Dazai has always embraced that he's an outsider, an eternal wandering vagabond outside looking in, when it comes to any degree of normalcy. ]
Maybe not. [ He lowers his glass, sliding fingers thoughtfully across wet beads of condensation. ] Does it have to be?
[ It's not that Dazai feels particularly attached to this place at all. The ADA is gone, and so is Yokohama, and every plan knitted together like a meticulously assembled needlework masterpiece now lies in shreds. People who trusted and relied on him, who would expect Dazai to come to their rescue if they were conscious, are being held captive in an induced sleep, when they'd been perfectly fine before the supposed world-ending Storm. But if those in power are to be believed, then it's either this or oblivion.
And Odasaku. He'd never forget about the fact that particularly painful ghost of his past lies among those held in stasis, like a yet-awoken hope which only this place can promise. He'll wait an eternity, until his bones are ash and dust, for Odasaku to wake once again.
If he can hold onto the unreasonable wish that Odasaku may awaken once more, then at the very least Chuuya should be able to find the happiness that's eluded him since he was yanked into the cold, stark harshness of this life. ]
A mafia executive and an ADA member living together should be a sign that anything is possible.
[ Dazai's focus comes full circle and back to the glass that was never his, evidenced by two very different sized mouth marks overlapping, one atop the other. One finger traces along the lip of his stolen drink, the caress producing some hollow echoing sound that hums along in the space between them. It's a faintly eerie if not otherworldly melody, reminiscent of a siren's song bestowed by a sailor's would-be lady love before she devours him whole. ]
I'd never imagined I'd live long enough to see Chuuya actually overthink things!
[ The war brewing here is just another battle. And the planet is merely a different slab of earth beneath their feet. If it's similar to back home, then is there anything wrong with that? Dazai's too much of a pragmatist to ever believe for an instant that paradise exists. So the recent horrors are practically expected, no matter how he regrets their impact.
But all of that is irrelevant to the point. Chuuya is making himself miserable over the future, the way he used to when Mori's iron-clad grip tightened like a noose around them, watching Soukoku perform like a pair of mice in a maze Chuuya loathed to run through but determinedly obliged.
There are too many things worth embracing to scoff at getting a second chance to rewrite your own life story. ]
no subject
The admission, which it is, settles somewhere inside Dazai's chest. He wants it to stay there, nestled inside a heart he's hollowed out time and time again, until it was sufficiently numb. But of course it sinks like a stone, anchoring itself at the very pit of his stomach. The answer Chuuya is waiting for, the why Dazai bowed out of contact and has been dodging him ever since, rises in the back of his throat like a bad taste he swallows down.
No one wants to hear you run away from them for their sake. Their freedom. To permit Chuuya to be whoever and do whatever he wants.
Chuuya has a good thing going on here. On this world he's no longer one of the Port Mafia's most valuable pawns, and so long as Mori sleeps Chuuya has no lingering obligation to the organization. He's free as the creature he owns, calling a mansion home and building his found-family of people worthy of his endless devotion. Dazai's a smart man, and it doesn't take more than a single night to figure things out, then remove the one element out of place in Chuuya's path of etching out a happy home for himself. And that's fine. Dazai has always embraced that he's an outsider, an eternal wandering vagabond outside looking in, when it comes to any degree of normalcy. ]
Maybe not. [ He lowers his glass, sliding fingers thoughtfully across wet beads of condensation. ] Does it have to be?
[ It's not that Dazai feels particularly attached to this place at all. The ADA is gone, and so is Yokohama, and every plan knitted together like a meticulously assembled needlework masterpiece now lies in shreds. People who trusted and relied on him, who would expect Dazai to come to their rescue if they were conscious, are being held captive in an induced sleep, when they'd been perfectly fine before the supposed world-ending Storm. But if those in power are to be believed, then it's either this or oblivion.
And Odasaku. He'd never forget about the fact that particularly painful ghost of his past lies among those held in stasis, like a yet-awoken hope which only this place can promise. He'll wait an eternity, until his bones are ash and dust, for Odasaku to wake once again.
If he can hold onto the unreasonable wish that Odasaku may awaken once more, then at the very least Chuuya should be able to find the happiness that's eluded him since he was yanked into the cold, stark harshness of this life. ]
A mafia executive and an ADA member living together should be a sign that anything is possible.
[ Dazai's focus comes full circle and back to the glass that was never his, evidenced by two very different sized mouth marks overlapping, one atop the other. One finger traces along the lip of his stolen drink, the caress producing some hollow echoing sound that hums along in the space between them. It's a faintly eerie if not otherworldly melody, reminiscent of a siren's song bestowed by a sailor's would-be lady love before she devours him whole. ]
I'd never imagined I'd live long enough to see Chuuya actually overthink things!
[ The war brewing here is just another battle. And the planet is merely a different slab of earth beneath their feet. If it's similar to back home, then is there anything wrong with that? Dazai's too much of a pragmatist to ever believe for an instant that paradise exists. So the recent horrors are practically expected, no matter how he regrets their impact.
But all of that is irrelevant to the point. Chuuya is making himself miserable over the future, the way he used to when Mori's iron-clad grip tightened like a noose around them, watching Soukoku perform like a pair of mice in a maze Chuuya loathed to run through but determinedly obliged.
There are too many things worth embracing to scoff at getting a second chance to rewrite your own life story. ]
Especially when he's finally allowed to be happy.