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

xx. there are no limits

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋'𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴

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𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

     THEIR CUPS OF TEA long forgotten on her cupboard, clothes belonging to all strewn on her bedroom floor, and the way the sheets are tangled around their slowly cooling bodies leave no questions to their previous activities. In all honesty, none of them are entirely certain as to what brought the heavens down and led them to this situation by hand, but there's certainly no complaints to be heard in the comforting blanket of silence that's beginning to settle on the sparsely decorated room.

     With her back pressed against Chūya's front, and her front against Dazai's front, the redhead's left arm around her waist and affiliated fingers linked with those of Dazai's left as the brunet's right arm sits just above his former partner's arm, fingers and knuckles absentmindedly drawing patterns on both Angel's lower back and Chūya's stomach, it's hard not to be comfortable. In fact, the comfort allowed for Dazai to risk his confidence and security in removing the bandages he cloaks himself with on a daily basis; baring his battlefield body for only Chūya and Angel to see.

     There was no judgement of any kind as they soothed the brunet and kissed over the plethora of scars both self-inflicted and not, neither of them put off by what the youngest male keeps hidden from the world. In truth, his body is second to no one — and neither is Chūya's, if Angel is being honest — and he shouldn't feel the need to hide away how he does. Although, she's not sure if she's the one to talk with the way she turned to doing the same thing not long before he left the Port Mafia, but especially after due to how vicious the underlings in the Mafia got and left her worse for wear.

     Trailing her fingers over one of the larger scars on Dazai's chest, Angel watches as the skin around the scar tissue quivers. "Your body has forgotten that I mean it no harm, my love, and I'm sure your mind is not too far behind. With how little proper human contact your skin has had in the past four years, it's a surprise that it's not more sensitive."

     Chūya peers over her shoulder to watch her fingers dance along the brunet's scars. "I get why you wear those stupid bandages, but it's still ridiculous, Dazai. You don't need 'em."

     Instead of turning into his usual self with starry eyes, Dazai meets the red head's gaze evenly. "You're uncharacteristically not like yourself, Chūya. I was expecting you to make some snarky jab and—"

     "Make you feel worse? Nah, don't feel like it. Best get used to it, bastard, 'cause I ain't pretending to hate your guts anymore." At Dazai's raised eyebrow, Chūya continues. "You're a pain in my ass, but you sure as hell ain't the worst person I know."

     Angel simply smiles at the words they share, closing her eyes and letting herself be swept away but their hypnotising voices without a care in the world. Even as their words turn teasing and borderline harsh, there's a strange gentleness that only the three of them can hear, calling out in a desperation only heard when one was calling for the other as Angel's life was departing this wretched world. There's nothing worth disguising behind irritation and agitation, but they cannot help but try to swathe themselves in their best defences in fear of the bloodletting weapons they deem worthy to call truthful and harmful words.

     It's crystalline and pure, their bubble. There's no chance of anyone piercing into their world without knowing the intricacies of how their otherworldly dynamic works, and even then there's a very minute chance. They're cut off from the outside world, and they'd have it no other way; they've no need for anyone outside each other. In their bubble, there's no need to say what they really mean, because they already know; there's no need to hide, because they already bare their souls; there's no need for regulatory limits, because they've no fear of hurting those in their bubble.

     At least, that's how Angel sees the malicious relationship the three of them been caught in since both Chūya and Dazai became Twin Dark and Angel was taken in as their subordinate. There's blood and teeth, scars and mauled flesh, and endless trauma of their shared and diverted pasts everywhere they look, but there's comfort in the disfiguration and malevolence. They have only to fear the lashing words that drive them to torment one another; driving a deeper rift between themselves outside of these four walls and their contained, crystalline bubble world that's dipped in carmine.

     Sometimes even their innocent flesh is bathed in so much of that vivacious colour that they're indistinguishable from their surroundings, but it only takes the smallest combined touch of each other to wash it away in a moment.

     Chūya chuckles, his chest rumbling at Angel's back. "You're a damn bastard."

     Dazai grins in response, shoving the redhead lightly. "Like you're one to talk."

• • • • • •

Just a little something for y'all before I write the chapter for the final episode of the second season. After that we're on to Dead Apple and then season 3 – neither of which I've seen yet, so they may take a while to get out.