Dazatsu one shots~

Can we?

Tw: blood, abuse, self harm, gore (just a bit)
I'm sorry for this one, but I needed to get it off my system.

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A deafening crash reverberates across the dark home. The piercing screech that bounces off the walls just as bad.

Dazai covers his ears, trying to alleviate some of the hurtful sound waves. The screams seem to become distant, the brunette could only guess why. The ringing in his ears didn't seem to stop in the slightest.

You see, he's been stuck in this place ever since he lost his home. Not really a loving home but it was a much better placement then this current one. He knows of only one other existence in this facility, a young boy (perhaps a year younger than he) with glowing white hair. One single streak of black lay permanent on his long strand.

The boy's bangs could use some work, but even that was the least of their problems. Dazai only ever catches glimpses of the boy, never seeing his whole picture. It's when he started yearning to see, Dazai envisioned the other, trying desperately to conjure up the image.

They'd both converse regularly — in secret — telling of each other's stories. Dazai would mostly comfort the other; it's not like he were complaining, just he didn't see the reason to because this young boy didn't deserve such treatment.

He never smiled, no matter how much comedy Dazai implemented in his words. The boy is named Atsushi, the first time Dazai ever heard it, was from a meek whisper that could've been the wind. Atsushi had given it so softly, Dazai had to strain to hear it. They only spoke through a big crack on the wooden door.

This hunk of oak separated the two of them. The split had been made from their "owners" kicks, trying to aim a pointed foot at Atsushi's side. But the boy had been too quick and dove out of the way, it was his first mistake. Dazai wasn't strong enough to stop it.

He himself was chained to the wall, the clinking of the iron not loud enough to be heard as he inches closer to that familiar wooden door. He presses his palm against its cold surface, the faint tingles traveling to his fingers. Sighing, he leans his forehead on the door, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as the distant screams don't stop.

Fingernails dig into the hard wood, leaving light brown marks on the smooth surface. He starts picking at the open crack, peeling away the excess wood. Splinters dig into the underside of his nails, blood pouring out from the cuts.

The digging becomes much more desperate, deeper and deeper until red streaks accompany them. A metallic taste in his mouth blinks him back into existence.

He could hear footsteps thundering from behind the door, one powerful slam before it was eerily silent once again.

He starts anticipating for the next visit.

A small noise. As silent as a mouse's step; makes its way to the door. Dazai could hear little puffs of breath, wincing with the way they were inhaled.

Once again digging his fingers into the crack and breaking a piece off. He shouldn't make much noise, their owner would do something way worse. He lowers the piece onto the floor by his side, creeping back to peer into the other room.

Atsushi drags his bloody body closer, his face covered in bruises and wounds. Dazai seethes with anger, he hates seeing Atsushi like this. He brings his hand through the opening, not caring of the way the splinters tear at his flesh.

Atsushi weakly brings his hand up to grasp at his palm. Dazai leans forward even more, tightening his grip in reassurance. His wrist starts leaking blood down his arm, staining the only clothes he has. Observing the way Atsushi's body quivers, he couldn't imagine the torture he endures.