Tempus Fugit

One soul in two bodies

There's this feeling I get,
When I'm only with you
A feeling that tells me
I'm one with you.
From the moment I met you
Though I found you annoying
I also thought
There's no other place I'd rather be.

After a few heartfelt, raw and intimate minutes of crying in relief and utter joy that everything was going to be fine, the two got up from the cold kitchen floor and began to laugh as they stared at each other's puffy faces.

"So... you gonna show me the paintings you made of me?" Chuuya finally asked, a smile present on his lips as he stared at his partner, he'd never get sick of looking at him.

"Yeah, my favourite ones are in my room, the rest are in the back of my closet."

"You tryna say something by that?"

"Chuuya, I can't make fun of you when I refused to acknowledge I was bisexual until we went to the future and even now I don't make it known I like men, to everyone at the Agency I'm a straight playboy."

"Imagine the looks on their faces when you tell them you've been in love with the same person for the past five years," Chuuya chortled.

Dazai snorted in response, eyes fluttering shut as he thought" And that it's a man, I don't think they'd believe me, well... other than Ranpo."

"Why him?"

"He knows everything, there's not a lot that can slip by him."

Chuuya groaned "great, another freakishly smart person, as if you weren't enough to put up with."

Dazai merely laughed, placing his hand on the doorknob of his bedroom, turning it, his exuberant laugh falling into a small smile, this was it, Chuuya would know about Paris.

Most of his room had photo's in frames rather than paintings but then again the only paintings were ones of Chuuya. The smaller stepped into the room, looking around in awe, there was a king-sized bed in the middle, the frame was a simple oak one, it matched the kitchen table, but there were plenty of pillows and decorative pieces on the bed itself to make up for it.

There was a painting above it too, a very peaceful one. It showed a cottage, similar to the type you would seeing fairytales, tangled with flowers and vines, tall grass in the areas that weren't frequented and next to that were two small kids, dressed in ragged country clothes, running hand in hand away from the ginger woman at the doorway. Chuuya could only assume that it was he and Dazai, running from Kyōyō after they'd done something wrong.

He smiled fondly, then turned his attention to Dazai's desk, it was brimmed with art supplies of all sorts, some tat even Chuuya didn't know the purpose of. It was accompanied by yet another painting above it, though it also had sketches pinned to the wall near to it, the space was messy but that was to be expected, art is messy. The painting had a slightly more sophisticated tone to it. Chuuya sat with one of his legs crossed, his elbow resting on a table, gloved hand pulling his hat over his face to obscure it, save for the smirk that lay underneath. The table sported different wines as well as half filled glass and different assortment of grapes.

"You made me look really good in this one," Chuuya pointed out as he stared up at it, it was scary and genius how Dazai could come up with something like this, it was also flattering that he took hours to paint him.

With that, he turned to look at the other side of the room, more specifically the wall there - seeing as it was locked by the door when they entered.

He closed the door.

And then his heart felt like it had been thrown off a cliff unwillingly only to spring back like it had gone bungee jumping.

Because there, on Dazai's wall was a giant canvas, of a beautiful ginger man, crying in the middle of Paris, right in front of the Eiffel tower and that ginger man happened to be Chuuya.