(｡'-д-)。。
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 multitudes of pages reopen old tales and wounds; throughout the lifetimes, throughout the sentimental moments, and throughout history. a gentle, welcoming lull that beckons you into its embrace ⸺ alongside the companies of eccen...
Notes : soukoku, chuuya-centric, angst — about 1k~ words.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I hate you."
—ARE WORDS that they sputter more than often. So does it really make a difference if one of them uttered it with a feeling of hate so genuine that it can't help but pierce through whatever thin ice the both of them have been trying to live on?
Maybe so. Or maybe they're just both emotional, and need some time on their own. Regardless, Chuuya isn't so sure if they'd be able to mend yet another scar of theirs that has been forcefully tweaked and opened, with purpose or not.
Screw it, that's what he's always thinking everytime they've just had a serious argument.
So would this particular one make any difference?
At the same time, who is he to judge? No, no, who is Dazai to say all those stinging words to him, all over again to no end? Sure, that might be the usual shenanigan they're used to dealing with everyday, but dear god; has he really changed, that bastard?
Has stepping into the world of light and salvation changed him whatsoever?
Because Chuuya is so very sure, that using the term 'savior' or 'innocent' would possibly be the most far-fetched nickname someone could give. What "innocent" detective speaks so condescendingly, with words laced with desensitized malice and with no regard whatsoever to the one he's speaking to? To him?
What innocent detective would even think of actually reopening the wounds of his tired-enough partner with millions of needles smothered with salt; paying no mind to the internal (external) screams of agony he's letting out?
Better person my ass, that jackass hasn't gained a single speck of sympathy, not at all. And even if he has, Chuuya sure isn't one to obtain the luxury of experiencing it.
Chuuya believes that he's the one who's beginning to live in the present, to get rid of his past grievances and regrets and focus on fulfilling his duty as a Port Mafia executive. But of course, a determination someone like him would dare to have can never be let off easy, right?
As such, here he is. Coming back to the throne of survival he never deserved to have, sitting amongst the array of tombs alongside his precious hat and wine— ranting, not quite on his own.
"—and can ya believe it, Pianoman?! That bastard just straight up blamed your sorry ass for inviting me to that shitty small gathering you guys were having!" He raises his wine and sways it side-to-side, as though there's someone to accompany him in his world of oxidizing solitude.
"That mackarel fucker is just too fucking depressed to even thought about how fun it'd be to go to hangouts and bullshitting with people like ya, I bet."
Radio silence.
'..I wonder if he's ever had fun, like we had.' was left unsaid.
Ah, what a joke. Dazai's probably already happy enough to bring up his stupid height in every single conversation they've had! When was he not happy, when all he's doing is just cackling and laughing from the insufferable teasing and pranks he does to his coworkers?
