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Everything hurt.
His skin felt out of place. Every inch of it burned in waves agonising throbs, like a patchwork of pain, as if it had been peeled off with hot pokers and the pieces stuck haphazardly back onto his muscles. His muscles, additionally, may very well have been soaked in acid and fibres brushed apart with a nit comb.
But his bones were hotter still, practically ablaze. They ignited the rest of his body with pain like they'd been hollowed out and filled with lava – flowing and unstable like bones shouldn't be.
However, it all paled in comparison to the noise. He could only hear was the deafening sounds of roaring flames, though they were almost completely drowned out by screaming – crazed or agonised, he wasn't sure, probably both.
Then, all of a sudden, it was calm.
It felt as though he'd been submerged in water. His skin hissed and fizzled out, muscles soothed and knitted back together, lava cooled back into sturdy bone. The roaring flames died and the screams faded to somewhere distant.
Something brushed past his face – not quiet soft, but gentle as it brushed away a lock of hair from his eyes that he hadn't even registered was there. Nor had he registered the grounding weight over his hand, keeping him from drifting further into the depths of the sea.
A warm breath against his ear pulled him from the waters and back to life. He gasped, reaching for words that never came; his vocal chords strained, aching like they'd been torn out and used as a skipping rope before being reinserted. He tried to open his eyes instead, but they were far to heavy, weighed down by lead.
A quiet whine pierced the air, his throat contracted with the strain.
Another weight – a hand – moved to cup his face, brushing away a sticky trail from his cheek. The breaths were by his ear again, warm and comforting as his heart fluttered in a familiar dance.
"Rest Chuuya," a voice said. "I'll be here."
And Chuuya cast himself adrift again.
.•°•.
When he finally came to, a week had passed.
Chuuya groaned, sending tremors through his aching body. Every muscle twitched and spasmed as he awakened them alongside his consciousness.
Everything ached in a way he'd never experienced before, like he'd pushed himself to the brink and flung himself back to life like a rubber band.
He tried to sit up and his entire being throbbed in disagreement. He groaned again. "Easy Chuuya," someone chided, as a steady hand pressed between his shoulder blades and something plump and sturdy was stuffed behind his back to help him stay upright.
The hand left, travelling up his spine to his neck, then round to his ear, resting against his cheek. It was ice against his skin but the all-too-familiar cold was a comfort.
"D'z-ai," he coughed out, struggling to open his eyes.
The presence beside him chuckled as it stroked his face. "That's right Chibi."
Gods, as much as he hated that name, Chuuya was relieved to hear it. He reveled in it as Dazai's hand slipped from his cheek to join the other in holding Chuuya's left hand.
Then, he finally forced his eyes open.
He'd expected to be squinting against hospital lights, only to find himself staring at an empty, egg-white ceiling, lit only by the dim light of the lamp on his bedside table. His free hand stroked the silk sheets of his bed.
He was home.
His gaze drifted along the line of maple-wood bookshelves sat against the opposite wall, briefly lingering on the slightly open door, before coming to rest on Dazai.
The teen looked...haggard: his tie was undone, laying limp around his neck; his coat had been discarded, leaving him in just a crumpled shirt and slacks. However, most glaringly of all, was the lack of bandage around his eye; Dazai stared at Chuuya with both his eyes.
And Chuuya stared right back.
The colour of Dazai's eyes was disputed among the Mafia. Some thought the Demon Prodigy had blood-red demon eyes to match his moniker, like their boss. Others thought that single, visible eye was much darker, darker than the deepest chasm of his soul: an all-encompassing black.
Now, looking right into those eyes, Chuuya could say with certainty that both were wrong. Dazai's eyes were brown. They were darker towards the outside, fading into an amber colour that surrounded his pupils. They were...pretty. Dazai's eyes were big and round and pretty and Chuuya couldn't look away.
"Da-zai?" He croaked, reaching for the other's face with a shaking hand.
Dazai didn't move away like he'd expected, allowing Chuuya to stroke a trembling finger down the line of his jaw before it fell back onto the bed, limp.
Dazai patted his cheek gently as he chuckled. "I'm fine," he reassured. "Chuuya should check himself in a mirror."
Chuuya rolled his eyes, but forced a smile on his face, ignoring the way it pulled uncomfortably at his cheeks.
Then his eye caught on the back of his hand – the one not held in Dazai's – and he stilled. His breath caught in his throat, hardening to ice, choking him.
The burns were faded, as if they were a decade old and not a week. But Chuuya could see the definition in them: faded swirls that carved across the back of his hand and weaved up his arm, reaching all the way to his shoulder and beyond his vision. He raised his hand and traced the scars along his neck, around his ears, slicing into his face.
He couldn't help the whimper that escaped him when it all came flooding back.
'Granters of Dark Disgrace, you need not wake me again.'
The roar of a beast as it battled a screaming god.
Screaming
Scr eam ing
Scr ea
m ing
F
a
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f
a
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"-ya..."
"-uuya..."
"Chuuya!"
The Beast vanished from view, replaced with brown eyes full of concern, or perhaps curiousity – with Dazai it was hard to say.
Dazai's hands squeezed his face, directing his gaze to Dazai's, whos deep, brown eyes swept over his face.
"Chuuya," he said, voice distant like it came from behind several glass walls. "You need to breathe."
Huh? Was he not doing that? Was that why his lungs were burning? Or why Dazai's face was swimming in his vision?
"Breathe."
Oh, right. He sucked in, coughing from the suddenness that had him choking on air.
Dazai patted him gently on the back until he finally regained control of his breathing.
"D-zai?" He coughed out. He had to know what happened, if they anyone else made it.
"V-ain?" He tried to ask. But, as always, Dazai understood anyway.
"You took him down Chibi. You won," Dazai reassured, bringing his other hand up to pat Chuuya's in a pathetic congratulations. "N was crushed and the King of Assassins is sitting in the Port Mafia basement. I think Mori wants to recruit him, to help us train some more assassins up..."
Dazai kept talking but the words all faded as Chuuya fell into water once again, alone with the echoes of Verlaine's recruitment, alone with the echoes of his dead friends, of Albatross' last words.
"No."
Dazai raised an eyebrow at him, definitely a curious look in his eyes this time. "No? No what, Chibi?"
Chuuya looked at Dazai, eyes hardened like crystal. "No," he repeated. He knew Dazai understood what he meant.
Dazai smiled at him, eyes darkening as the pupils expanded to give them the appearance of deep pools. They seemed to suck Chuuya in, pulling him deeper into darkness. "Well then Chuuya," he said, his tone seemingly playful (but Chuuya knew better). "I think you know what you need to do?"
Dazai watched him carefully, eyes pulling him into the darkness. And for once, Chuuya allowed himself to be sucked in.
.•°•.
"Chuuya, don't do this," a voice that sounded far-too-much like Pianoman implored him as Chuuya stormed the corridors of the Port Mafia building.
"Yeah man, this isn't you," Albatross agreed. At least, Chuuya thought it was. Maybe his voice was higher, more musical. After all, the last he heard it, the voice was hoarse with the whisps of death.
Chuuya curled his fists, his footsteps sunk deeper into the linoleum floors leaving angry craters with every movement. The scent of it clung to him like a stubborn cold.
Death death death deat
h death death death death dea
th death death d
eath death death death death dea
th death death death de
ath death death death de
ath death death death deat
h death death death death death death dea
th death dea
th death death death death death death.
The concept was deeply familial. It followed Chuuya everywhere he made his homestead, echoing around him and dancing between everyone he considered close. It was as if he himself was the Grim Reaper, executing everyone close to him, protecting and slaying with equal measure.
And this time, the Grim Reaper would be selfish. He would cut down a soul for his own benefit and no one else's.
Not like his target had a soul anyway. They were both false. False gods, false people.
Not human...
Something was wrong.
Something inside him had changed, something was different. Corruption had eaten at his soul and carved it into something Chuuya couldn't recognise.
Something sharp. Something deadly. The knife was poised, ready to exact vengeance.
Blood of the covenant was thicker than water of the womb and it's certainly stronger than matching strings of code.
"Chuuya, he's your brother." Lippman this time.
"Only humans have brothers," he spat, rounding the corner with thunderous stomps.
"You haven't even fully recovered Chuuya."
"Don't be an idiot, kid."
Chuuya ignored them.
"You can still have a place in the light, son."
Chuuya stumbled, a single mis-step as he startled. He hadn't been expecting that voice.
"Weren't you supposed to take me into the light Detective?"
Chuuya swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Monsters don't belong there," he said, voice hoarse.
The door was plain and unassuming: just a single steel panel with a door handle and keypad attached. It didn't look a like a door to the basement, or like a mass murderer was sitting somewhere behind it. Chuuya punched his access code into the keypad with shaking hands.
The door to the darkest pit of Hell opened with a quiet beep.
Chuuya pushed it open, fist clenching so tightly around the door handle he left the impression of his fingers. The stairwell behind was bathed in shadow; a set of concrete steps descended into the silent void that both called and repelled him.
He could leave. He briefly pondered the thought of returning to his apartment but became angered at the thought of the silent ceiling that would lie above him. He didn't think he'd be ready to return home any time soon when the apartment above him would be vacant.
His steps were certain as he entered the darkness, undeterred when the door swung shut behind him, sealing him within the shadows and the monster that lurked there.
'Monsters, now,' he thought, bitterly.
The echo of his footsteps against the stone was the only sound that accompanied Chuuya into the basement – a steady rhythm that mimicked the beating of his heart against his ribcage.
"Hello?" A voice called from the shadows as he stepped off the final stair into the room. A haunting greeting that caused Chuuya to flinch away, just barely able to keep from throwing himself back up the stairs. Instead, he reached for the switch on the wall. Immediately, harsh, white light cut through the space, casting away the darkness.
Chuuya blinked, eyes adjusting to the brightness, and the figure in front of him was brought into focus: a bedraggled, blond braid; pale, grey eyes; a pointed nose; a dirtied and torn beige suit; and a weak, tired smile that didn't belong on his porcelain features.
"Chuuya." His voice was raw but somehow gentle.
Gentle?
Chuuya glared.
"I see you're feeling better," he said, when he realised Chuuya wasn't going to speak.
"Hey Chuuya!" The pink haired man greeted, just loud enough to be heard over the thunderous booms from upstairs.
Chuuya glowered at him, glare even more pronounced with his prominent eye bags. The vein in his forehead twitched as Albatross grinned, casually fixing his sunglasses.
Beside the idiot, stood a blond-haired man with an exasperated smile on his face. Seeing Chuuya was about to pop a gasket, the actor lightly pushed Albatross behind him and away from the teen's wrath. "Hello Chuuya," he said. "We're having a little gathering upstairs, and thought it pertinent that you join us!"
Behind Lippman, Albatross gave an enthusiastic nod. "Yeah! Doc's mixing up some probably-unsafe drinks, Pianoman has agreed to teach Iceman piano and we're going to get the old grump drunk enough to agree. It's gonna be lit!"
The excessive bass shook the ceiling, vibrating through Chuuya's bones and knocking a budding headache through his brain. A manic grin crossed his face. "Your house is going to be lit on fire if you don't turn the damn music down!" He threatened through gritted teeth.
Undeterred by Chuuya's ire, Albatross nodded, a faux serious frown crossing his brows. "I see, you haven't quite recovered from your training mission with Iceman yesterday."
"Eh!?"
"I understand. There's only so much energy a little 15-year-old red-head possesses."
"LITTLE!?"
Lippman slapped his hand over Albatross' mouth before he could say anything more disastrous. "We'll turn the music down," he reassured, already dragging the pink-haired party animal away.
"Come join us when you're feeling better."
"Chuuya?"
He blinked, focusing back on the figure in front of him, Lippman and Albatross' retreating silhouettes already fading from his mind.
"You...you are feeling better?"
Grey eyes watched him with concern. Concern that made Chuuya's skin boil. How dare he act concerned, like he believed Chuuya's pain would simply pass in a week.
"Better? My family is dead," he spoke, forcing his voice through a monotone filter lest he scream. "They won't get better."
Verlaine sighed and his gaze shifted downward to study his hands; they were pale, dirtied only by dust. Shouldn't they be covered in blood?
"You're angry. I understan–"
"No," Chuuya inturrupted. "No you don't."
A strange wave of calm came over him, like the cold wash of No Longer Human. He stared at the figure in front of him: a shallow, pathetic imitation of the suave assassin who tore open the gate to Arahabaki. It was hard to feel angry at this ghost, with it's knotted hair, dark eye bags and hollow cheek bones. The King of Assassins was wasting away before his eyes. Chuuya envied him, really. He wanted to waste away too, get rid of this darkness inside him before it hurt anyone else. Verlaine had been angry when Chuuya met him. And now, it was as if the anger had been washed away like the blood on his hands, like it was all meaningless and unimportant.
And suddenly, like a switch had been flicked, the anger was back.
"You took everything from me," he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder the sob building in his throat would come out. He clenched his fists tightly to keep them from trembling.
"I know."
"You took my family, my humanity, my chance in the light, everything..."
"I'm sorry."
Chuuya screamed.
The hot rage building within him reached a crescendo and his body erupted. He leapt at the man, fists flying, connecting with every inch of flesh he could reach.
"KILL ME!" He screamed, punches dissolving into desperate swipes at Verlaine's face. "KILL ME LIKE YOU KILLED ALL MY FRIENDS!"
And the man just stood, taking it all, reducing his attacks with the little gravity he was still able to manipulate and never once retaliating.
"COME ON!" Chuuya cried, throwing himself at the assassin again and again. "TARE ME TO PIECES! PUT A HOLE IN MY HEART! KILL ME YOU MONSTER!"
But his attacks grew weaker. And eventually Chuuya found himself sobbing in Verlaine's arms, weak fists beating limply at the other's chest.
"I'm sorry."
Chuuya fell limp against Verlaine's chest and sank into the dark wave that overcame his thoughts. He couldn't understand. Verlaine killed them. He killed all of the Flags. Why wouldn't he finish the job? Chuuya was still here. Wasn't he one of them? Was this Verlaine's true plan to cut his ties to humanity? All the thoughts and questions whirled in his mind like a hurricane, wrecking the landscape, tearing up his head. Thunder and lightning crashed in his skull, loud and bright and painful. The questions grew louder, screams and cries and wails that barely carried over the turbulent winds. Louder and louder and louder and louder and–
Maybe it was the soft, gentle hands in his hair, the ones that had torn off Doc's legs and ripped out Lippman's heart. Or maybe it was the heart beating rhythmically in the chest he was held against, like Iceman's and Pianoman's used to do. Or maybe it was the shaky breaths, like the ones that Albatross and Murase had taken as they'd drifted into a realm Chuuya stood at the gates of but could never enter.
Whatever it was, Chuuya didn't even think as he put his hand through the chest he was held against, through the ribs that cracked under his fist, and through the pumping muscle that twitched as it was forced out, and through the spine that fell apart like a house of cards, crumbling to dust beneath his fingers because he needed it all to disappear, for it all to be gone, for everything to be dark and quiet and–
The hand in his hair stilled, the heartbeat silenced, the shaky breaths puttered out.
The body dropped.
And Chuuya felt–
–empty.
Everything faded into nothingness leaving Chuuya with only the blood in his hands. The familiar liquid. Just red. Red. Red that
dripped,
dripped,
dripped
onto the floor, trickling through his fingers.
Isn't there something so...human, about that colour? About the
drip,
drip,
drip
of red?
What makes a human?
Drip...
...drip...
...drip.
What makes a soul?
Drip...
...drip...
...drip.
Can something die if it never lived in the first place?
Drip...
...drip...
...drip.
Can something artificial live?
Drip...
...drip...
...drip.
Can Chuuya say he didn't kill when the evidence just
dripped,
dripped,
dripped
through his fingers?
The red, the blood, the life that sustained a being – all left to just
drip,
drip,
drip
onto the concrete floor.
Drip...
...drip...
...drip.
A hand settled on Chuuya's shoulder but he couldn't feel it. He just watched the
drip,
drip,
drip
of Verlaine's blood hit the floor.
If the person who accompanied the hand had been talking, Chuuya didn't hear. The only sound he perceived was the
drip,
drip,
drip.
The hand crawled up to his neck, curling around it. And perhaps it was some dormant survival instinct that spurred Chuuya to move, to twist away, spraying droplets of blood as he swept his hand with the movement.
The large, brown eyes – the ones with the ring of amber around the pupil – watched him, saying nothing and everything.
"Chuuya," Dazai breathed, like the name was something precious, something sacred. The brown eyes shone, glinting slightly red with the reflection of blood.
"Da...Dazai?" He croaked, voice hoarse from the screaming that had long since run out.
The hand reached out again, settling in a gentle hold over his face, cold as the thumb brushed away tears Chuuya hadn't even noticed.
"Chuuya," Dazai repeated, in the same breathless awe as before. Chuuya frowned at him, confused, as the other reached out with his other hand to grasp Chuuya's bloody fist in his own.
"D-Dazai? What're you–?"
Dazai brought Chuuya's red-painted knuckles to his lips and his words caught around the lump in his throat.
"Why are you crying?" He whispered, words catching over Chuuya's fingers and dancing across the back of his hand like butterflies across a field of wildflowers. They seemed to seep straight through the skin, vibrating through his bones to his chest and squeezing at his heart.
The blankness snatched at him in his moment of distraction, stealing him away with the
drip,
drip,
drip
of a life he'd snuffed out.
The life of a demon, something in him argued. You slayed a monster. Yes, that was true.
But what does that make you?
"Chuuya." The voice wasn't breathless this time. The brown eyes looked straight through him, spying something deep within himself and yet they didn't shy away.
"I'm a monster," Chuuya whispered, casting his eyes away. He could keep Dazai from this. He could save Dazai from the poison in his soul before it killed him too.
But Dazai grabbed his face again, taking it in his hands with all-too-gentle touch. He brought it closer to his own, far too close, far, far too close. The brown and amber called him closer, inviting Chuuya into Dazai's soul. The cold was comforting and Chuuya hated it. He needed to get away. He needed to–
And then Dazai's breaths were against his skin, lips pressing against his own as they whispered, "You're beautiful."
And for once, the words from Dazai's mouth didn't feel like a lie. So, Chuuya stopped resisting.
His bloody hand fell into place around Dazai's neck, bringing him closer, without care for staining his bandages. The other arm wrapped around his slender waist, bringing their bodies together. A fire sparked in him, something that burned away the shadows of monsters and the poison of death as he pressed harder against Dazai. Their teeth clacked against each other's and Chuuya tasted blood when Dazai bit his lip but it all burned with the same, painful fire that Chuuya craved. He chased it further, too focused on the taste of Dazai's tongue and the softness of his hair and the sharpness of his hip bone to care when Dazai's hands slipped from his face to his thighs. He didn't fight when Dazai picked him up to bring their faces closer, merely bringing both hands to Dazai's shoulders to hold them steady.
Dazai slammed him into the wall and Chuuya gasped from the pain that sparked across his back. Dazai sucked up the noise, squeezing Chuuya's thigh for good measure. The pain felt wonderous, like more wood on the fire burning in Chuuya's core.
Dazai's lips pulled away and Chuuya whined with the emptiness, frowning at him. Dazai smirked and something devious twinkled in his eye. He moved his face closer again and Chuuya almost groaned with relief, eagerly leaning forward to taste Dazai's lips once again, only for the other to dip at the last moment. He, instead, latched latched onto Chuuya's neck with his mouth and sucked on his pulse point, hard.
The sparks of pain turned to pleasure and Chuuya moaned, hands fluttering against the back of Dazai's neck in an attempt to to keep himself together as Dazai threatened to pull him him apart by the seams.
Dazai laughed against his neck, deep and chocolatey and lavish in Chuuya's ears. Then he bit down on Chuuya's neck, slicing into the flesh and drawing blood which he eagerly slumped up like a vampire. Chuuya writhed and whined but the hurt felt too good to resist. He succumbed to the wave of pleasure that had him falling limp in Dazai's arms, vision blackening for a moment of euphoria.
.•°•.
Chuuya awoke a couple of hours later, lying on the floor with aching thighs, burning across his neck and chest, and a stabbing, throbbing pain between his legs.
His shirt hung in tatters from his shoulders, bearing his chest to the empty basement. Well, not empty, but Chuuya didn't really consider Verlaine's empty gaze witness to the innumerable gouges and bite marks and scratches that dotted his torso, lazily oozing with blood. He mindlessly stroked the particularly painful gash below his collar bone.
Chuuya screamed, nails raking across Dazai's back as the other thrust deeper. The taller man froze instantly. And in the break, Dazai drew a knife from his belt and slashed blindly at Chuuya's chest. The red-head's eyes shocked open, mouth widening in a silent cry of pain as Dazai squeezed tighter around his throat.
"I don't like pain Chuuya," he hissed before biting on the other's earlobe.
Chuuya choked, gasping for breath as he tried to apologise, plead, anything to get Dazai to continue to give him this pleasure.
"No scratching."
The brown eyes stared at him expectantly but Chuuya could do little but nod desperately. However, that seemed to satisfy Dazai, who loosened just grip around Chuuya's neck and recommenced their earlier rhythm.
Chuuya's entire body ached in a way he'd never felt before: entirely different to corruption and yet the intense fire within him had almost felt the same.
Now though, Chuuya just felt empty and ashamed. He'd really let Dazai use him like that, like some pathetic toy. And worse, he'd do it all over again just to taste the fullness, the fire, the heat that drove away the monsters in his head and the shadows in his soul.
Chuuya curled in on himself, hugging his legs like a lonely child. Maybe he was? No. He wasn't even human.
But Dazai made him feel.
Not human. He didn't think either of them were quite human. But with Dazai, Chuuya felt less hollow. They shared the darkness together.
No matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he loathed the craving for the bandaged bastard, he couldn't resist.
Chuuya needed him. And he couldn't let go, lest he be lost in the darkness alone, forever.