A bunch of unrelated fics of SKK.
(Mostly centered around Hurt Chuuya and Comforting/Caring Dazai.)
Total Word Count: 125k+
Note: I take no credits for this fic. Itʼs currently an on-going series on ao3, posted by a friend of mine. Iʼve already ask...
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Summary: No matter how many times he went over it, turned it around in his head, separated the letters and dissected them, Chuuya only got one answer in return.
I wasnʼt good enough.
Or: Chuuya reacts to Dazai defecting in a way not even Dazai predicted. But the brunet has to deal with the consequences, nonetheless. After all, leaving a completely wasted Chuuya in potential danger wasnʼt on Dazaiʼs list of things to do.
Warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt/Comfort, ⚠ MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠ SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND SUBSTANCE/ALCOHOL ABUSE, READ WITH CAUTION.
Word Count: 6788
✒
Why?
The thought circulated Chuuyaʼs head like a broken record.
Why? Why? Why?
He didnʼt get an answer back. Not that he expected one, sitting in the silence of the room with the loudness of his thoughts. One persistent word, one question, yet the answer he begged for was not the answer he got. No matter how many times he went over it, turned it around in his head, separated the letters and dissected them, Chuuya only got one answer in return.
I wasnʼt good enough.
Chuuya thought of dark brown eyes as cold as the soil, yet the warmest shade of one of the most beautiful sunsets filled with reds and golden he could ever witness, with dark brown waves of hair falling into a messy pattern of fluff Chuuya wanted to run his fingers through, accompanied with the scent of rain and a long-forgotten campfire diminished of itʼs flames.
Iʼve never been good enough.
The gravity manipulator thought of another redhead, the hair a shade darker and eyes the color of brown, not exactly the right shade. Chuuya thought of the bond between the two, a Mafia Executive and a low-ranked grunt. He thought of the warmest of smiles that only appeared on Dazaiʼs face in the presence of a dead man. The ease with which they talked, communicated, bonded with each other.
Chuuya thought of river water and soaking bandages, empty laughter and the worry that simmered just below the surface, hidden behind a facade of annoyance.
He thought of a melody sang by the most calming voices he had ever heard and never wanted to stop, the sound of beautiful laughter of a pair of teenagers and the warm, fluttery feeling accompanying it.
Kneeling down onto the floor of his empty apartment, he let himself break.
