Hyōketsuda Freezes you.
Netsusawa burns you.
Hyōketsuda Netsusawa is both simultaneously.
The cure for one is the aggravation for the other.
If there was a way to survive with one that chance was thrown away instantly.
Death was inevitable.
And Chuu...
A/N: HEEYLOO! I'll probably be writing an A/N for every chapter bc they're super fun xD Here r some songs u can listen to while reading :) they're not a playlist and u don't have to listen to all of them SONGS: DAYLIGHT-David kushner, STITCHES-Shawn mendes, FALLING APART-Michael schulte §. §. §. §. §. §. §. §. §. §. §. §. TRIGGER WARNINGS! -suicidal talk (lots) -a very ooc chuuya (You'll understand why soon, dw xxx😘) .............................................. A very serious and non-spoiler drawing of CHUUYAS KITCHEN (for future reference <3)
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+. .+ +. | ^^^^^^^________^^^^^^^^^________ Dazai paced around his living room staring at the one hundred plus text messages he'd sent to Atsushi, debating whether he should send another fifty just for the fun of it or to give the poor kid some well-deserved peace, when an unknown Caller ID popped up on his phone. He listened to the buzz for a moment before concluding that, yes, he should in fact answer and that, yeah, it's probably a business call. Then again business calls are usually to business numbers....ah oh well. Dazai shrugged and tapped the answer button. "Hello, Dazai Osamu speaking ! How can I help a fine maiden like y—" "how do you do it?" "..huh?" He asked, confusion evident on both his face and voice. "How do you live like this? How come you can still smile? How come you've lived like this your whole life? Why can't I Still smile? Why is it so hard?" The voice blurted out hoarsely. Dazai was struck silent for a moment before his brain started to process the question's that were asked and, more importantly, who asked them. "...chuuya?" Dazai asked uneasily. He felt unsure of his own allegation, but it was almost as if he knew deep down that no matter what, he would always recognise that..voice..he used to hear so much off. "I don't want to die Dazai. But I'm tired. So tired." Chuuya murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion. "..." Dazai was stunned, never had chuuya expressed such dire feelings. He was transparent, Back when dazai was still in the mafia he could read him like a book. However he was still extremely closed off about everything. Even when Dazai left the port mafia he held it in, replacing the sadness, guilt and loneliness with fury as vile as a blade. He was frequently angry, so much so that the people around him often forgot he could feel other emotions too. In particular sadness. Chuuya had opened up to Dazai before, but In the few times he had he was extremely drunk(almost blackout drunk)and had forgotten about it. He remembered it happened twice, but he knew the second time Chuuya definitely remembered. Either way, both times Dazai was inhumanly blunt, harsh, but also oddly compliant.
The first Time Chuuya went to dazai for consolation was half a year after their first mission together. Chuuya had begun banging on the door of his shipping container, lacking the usual offensive remarks. Dazai had sighed, curious on who would be dumb enough to knock on the demon prodigy's door at 2am but also intrigued someone knew he lived there. He'd half believed that it was some thieves who wanted to steal some cargo but if that was true then mori would probably want him to take care of it. If it wasn't then he'd probably still kill them, mori wouldn't like if his location got out. This made him sink deeper into his bed. He was really tempted to do exactly what mori didn't want him to, but he was too lazy to get lectured (the last time spanned for 2 hours, he was still shocked he didn't vomit from having to hear that mans shitty voice for so long) With no other option he Groaned and dragged out the gun that rested beneath his pillow, slipping out of his bed and stropping towards the door— inwardly cursing himself for not applying bandages on his torso. He had grown used to it's comfy texture and he hated the way his scars rubbed against his shirt, it made him itch with self-loathing. Dazai grunted, pulling open the door, and a certain red haired alcoholic-to-be, fell into his arms like a little princess and started crying about how his life was sooo miserable and insisted to draw on Dazai's messed up bandages. They'd sat on the stiff bed for hours. Dazai was not for the love of god planning to ever take his bandages of so he just let Chuuya take his arm and draw on them like that. Yeah, he still didn't know how he managed to not taunt him about those 5-year old type pictures(if your could even call them that) for all of eternity. Meh, To be honest the irritation of being woken up was all he remembered clearly. And the drawings but that was only because he'd kept the bandages. Oh And chuu......oh Shit. Chuuya.
