Soukoku One-Shots

Promises

Dark Era

It had been a very, very long day. Yet another mission, yet another victory, and yet another night spent on Chuuya's couch watching some French show Dazai couldn't understand. He laid with his head in Chuuya's lap, eyes half-closed as gentle hands carded through his hair—newly washed and dried, because Chuuya insisted that no stinky mackerels would sit on his couch until they weren't covered in blood and dust and god knows what else.

"Chibi?"

A lazy hum was all Dazai got in response—attesting to the exhaustion weighing down heavy on their bones.

"When I die, will you write my eulogy?"

Dazai didn't have to look up at Chuuya to guess his expression. The hand in his hair stopped.

The question itself was innocent enough at first glance. A simple, hopeful inquiry between two friends is what it might look like to an outsider. To Dazai and Chuuya, however, who were anything but friends, it was something very different. Not a single trace of hope could be found in a question like that.

"No," was the answer he received, and the determined tone of finality in that single word would have been impressive if Dazai wasn't distracting himself by gasping and pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"That's cruel! If the situation called for it, I would write the most beautiful eulogy for Chuuya," he huffed, sticking his lower lip out in a childish pout. Chuuya snorted, but it was half-hearted and lacked the usual irritation. Dazai cut the dramatics and turned to look up at Chuuya with a completely neutral expression, betraying nothing about his true intentions with such a question or how he felt about the answer. "Why wouldn't you?"

The following beats of silence, regardless of the yammering on the TV, were some of the most uncomfortable moments Dazai had ever experienced with Chuuya. They weren't used to silence. They yelled at each other, fought like children, and stitched each other up after a long day, but they never sat in silence. It felt like an undressing, to sit in such a thing without any barbs at Chuuya to guard his heart. It felt like he was being forced to tear open the skin on his chest and bear his ribcage to the silence and to Chuuya, behind which was a sticky, blackened heart. Dazai hated it.

Unfortunately, Chuuya didn't seem to share the sentiment. He let the quiet drag on for what felt like half an hour before taking in a deep breath and making an apparent effort to keep from looking down at Dazai. He shrugged. "Because you're not dying on my watch."

Dazai blinked. Something in his mind stuttered and the buzzing of his thoughts went mute. "What do you mean?"

Chuuya huffed a breath. "Don't go getting the wrong idea. I'll kill you someday." Something about the way he said that made it hard to believe, Dazai thought. "But that means I have to keep you alive until then. Whatever it takes." That last part was hushed, so quiet that Dazai barely caught it.

He did.

Turning back to look at the TV screen, Dazai let out a hum and pretended his chest wasn't bubbling with a multitude of things he didn't want to name. "That so? Whatever it takes?"

Chuuya didn't respond.

Dazai decided to sit up, propping himself next to Chuuya and looking over with a deceptively open expression. Chuuya frowned, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"I want you to make me a promise," Dazai stated plainly, as if he were ordering lunch at a restaurant and not asking for an impossible favor. They both knew that promises didn't exist in the lives they led.

Chuuya's eyes only narrowed further. "What."

"Promise me you'll never use Corruption to save me. Ever."