ANGEL'S ASHES, bungou stray dogs [on hold]

xviii. healing wounds of the past

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋'𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯: 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦
𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵

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     IN THE END, THEY don't end up going to the extraction point — actually, Angel is certain Dazai was going to leave Chūya fast asleep on the battlefield just to be a cheeky little shit — and instead they go to the apartment outside the Port Mafia's walls Angel started renting when she and Chūya were going through an extremely rough patch after one too many close calls on missions. The thing that stopped Dazai leaving Chūya behind, and leaving after he saw both the redhead and Angel safely here, was a sharp glare from the youngest in their midst, warning him that he still has quite a lot to face up to.

     Once Angel is seated, Dazai gently lowers Chūya onto the floor, the sleeping man's head coming to rest in her lap — and it's only gently because of the way she's still glaring warningly at the brunet. The bastard then plops down across from her, wincing as his bruised muscles and the slices, grazes, and bruises on his body protest at the sudden, harsh movement. He groans and sags back against a door - the door leading to Angel's room actually — with a huff of irritation, obviously having given up on fighting her right now. Dazai's gaze moves to Chūya out of habit and takes note of the wounds covering his former partner; Angel's current partner, and lover.

     "You really do care for him, don't you?" Angel murmurs, brushing messy red hair out of Chūya's sleeping face. "No matter how much you try to cover it up with agitation, you can't help but care for him."

     The brunet simply watches at the white-haired girl, noting how her fingers instinctively begin to run through Chūya's long red hair, slowly ridding it of knots out of habit. She's certain that Dazai's remembering when it used to be him acting like a child and laying his head in Angel's lap, playfully demanding for her to play with his dark hair. He'd be tense at first, but, once a rhythm was established and her nails had scratched gently against his scalp, he'd relax so much he'd fall asleep on many an occasion. Right now, he has little hope of that ever happening again no matter how her fingers itch to run through his thick hair once again.

     "It's the same for him, you know. He cares about you in his own way. You saw that tonight: when we realised Lovecraft didn't have an Ability and you got badly hurt, and when you pulled that stupid prank with your arm. That whole dying thing as well." Angel sends him a sharp glare at that. "You're such complete assholes to each other, Osamu, but you both care so fucking much about each other it almost nullifies that."