You long to end your life, so you never will die || bnha / bsd

Dewdrop at the tip, left glinting as twilight fades;

"Woahh!" Several students cheered as the rice flipped into the air in a stunning display. It flew like a wave, landing neatly back into the steel pan. Chuuya flicked his wrist again, throwing the rice back into the air and catching it again.

"I didn't know you could cook!" Mina watched with shining eyes. "You could totally be a pro-chef!" A few chimed in agreement, and others even recorded with their phones.

Chuuya scratched the back of his neck. "Well... it's not that much." Internally, he was trying to suppress a satisfied smirk as he glared at the teachers' surprised expressions. Take that, bastards.

"Where'd you learn how to cook?" Midoriya asked from the stove beside Chuuya. In Midoriya's hand, he held a wooden spoon as he mixed the curry bubbling in front of him.

"Yeah, you don't seem the type!" Uraraka added, laughing.

Chuuya rubbed his nose, trying to hide his jubilant grin. "Nobody believes me when I say that I'm actually good at cooking. I've had to support myself on the streets so I've gained a few skills." The redhead laughed and tossed the fried rice into the air again, but the few around him stayed silent. Wait. Chuuya felt his body stiffen, and a few grains of rice escaped the burning hot pan as he realized his mistake. "Uh..."

"Ah..." Midoriya paused, turning back to his pot. "I—I'm sorry, Nakahara. I didn't mean to—"

Well, no going back now. "What, you've never seen someone like me before? Whatever." He continued to cook at the stove, but his hands were noticeably tenser than before. Fuck... this is so embarassing, having to act like such a whiny brat... As he tossed the rice into the air, a noticeable amount leapt into the fire below.

Uraraka's face dimmed when she noticed that. "I'm sorry as well, Nakahara. I'll... go."

He stayed silent. The crowd around them dispersed, and Chuuya could tell that his ears were redder than the setting sun. Luckily, or unluckily for him, it seemed that nobody noticed.

Except, of course, Dazai.

"Oooh, finally some fun from you~" Dazai sang as he popped out from behind Chuuya's back.

"Shit... I played the part you wanted me to, happy now?" Chuuya bit his lip angrily.

Dazai giggled, poking his partner's cheek with a sopping wet carrot. "Really, you're something else. Making fried rice when we were told to make curry—"

"We had the ingredients anyway!"

"—flaunting your rice-tossing skills—"

"Might as well..."

"—trying to act all humble—"

"...well, it really wasn't much..."

"—and slipping up stupidly!"

"It..." Chuuya felt his insides churn in frustration. "Okay, what the hell about that then? It's not like I did anything wrong by acting this way. Sure, it's not helping us get back, but it's not as if you've done anything to help either. I just wanted to—"

"Relive your days in the Sheep?"

The pan handle snapped in half.

"You..." A reddish glow slowly appeared around Chuuya's body. He lifted his hand, trembling slightly as he held himself back. A bandaged set of fingers wrapped itself around his wrist, and the red died down.

"Chuuya, this isn't Yokohama. This isn't the Port Mafia. This is another world, another version of the one you dearly love." Dazai's eyes were dark. Darker than coal, a shadowy pair of jewels inlaid in a grim expression. Embellished with streaks of blurring sunlight, the warm air suddenly felt a little bit colder. "Don't forget that we're not here for them."