bsd oneshots from ao3

(soukoku) A Bittersweet Chapter 109

(spoilers for bsd manga chapter 109 obviously and a bittersweet ending)
Chuuya's eyes flooded through an ocean-like gradient. He travelled through the depths of the eigengrau waters all the way up to the glimmering and occasionally foamy shore. His head pounded like the beat to a particularly infuriating rock song and his eyes were glazed over in fog. He groaned and with his free hand rubbed his eyes. Free hand?

He looked down and noticed his hand occupied with a familiar object, one he handled occasionally. A gun. His finger rested on the trigger and his arm was dropped, having wavered away from pointing at something. That "something" lay ahead of him in a heap of cotton and blood. What lay ahead of him was Dazai Osamu.

Chuuya's eyes widened in horror at the grotesque spectacle he'd been gifted from his fever dream self and, not all too sure what he was doing, crouched down to the body -after dropping the foreign gun- and gripped him firmly by the shoulders. He dug his cotton-smothered nails into Osamu's shoulders, but pulled away as he noticed the gushing bullet wounds, not wanting to touch them despite seeing many in his time.

"Dazai.?" he spoke, his voice hasty and cautious. "What happened? Come on, this isn't funny, get the fuck up?!"

"Oh, but he can't," a cocky voice sung.

"Hah?! Who's there?" the mafiaso growled, on the defense and swivelling his head around in panic.

"You won't find me anywhere in proximity, I'm watching the cameras," the male soothed, "It's Fyodor Dostoevsky here."

"Right..?"

"You were in a vampirific state previously. It appears that has worn off now, perhaps he nullified you last second. You were under my control and I ordered you to kill him. All you did was as I said," Dostoevsky spoke calmly, his voice everywhere and anywhere in the corridor.

"You're kidding, right? Dazai doesn't just die. Not to the likes of you. The mackerel can't even kill himself?!" Chuuya snarled, but as his eyes focused back on the body infront of him, he felt wary.

"Look at the corpse before you, Nakahara. That's Dazai Osamu with bullet wounds in many places, but more importantly, one in his head."

Chuuya froze up. He couldn't see from the angle of the male's head, yet surely if there was one in his skull he'd be..

He put a hand to the chin of the brunette's head and pushed it up, cringing at the blood smothering his still face. He could already see the bullet wound from under the dishevelled hair he had on his head, nevertheless gently pushed it to the side and saw the indent, trickling with blood. He bit his tongue and gasped slightly, his brow furrowed, hands refusing to move. Somehow, this all seemed like a hallucination, yet was all too real to even compare to a psychotics' flaw in imagery.

The eyes that were originally closed, opened and met Chuuya's ones that were rippling with emotion. The redhead gawped, ever so slightly hopeful.

"Hey, you're awake.! Was this your plan or something?" he spoke, but was only met with a gaze of somebody who's not all there in the head. "Oi, you waste of bandages. Cmon, we've got to get out of here.."

Dazai stared like a lost animal, then gave way to a crooked grin on his features. A hopeless, but charming grin.

"You're you?" he spoke, his voice cracking and breaking.

The Port Mafia member didn't like that tone. Not in the slightest. He'd do anything right now to hear that ear-splitting, teasing voice he'd usually receive, but only a miracle could bring that back.

"Yes, yes, I'm me. Now, we've got to-"

"Thank god. I did want to see you once more, kind of. I'll admit it shamefully, though I suppose my dignity doesn't matter much right now.."