// after //

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is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars
for you?

❝is that too much to expect? that i would name the starsfor you?❞

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“you're foolish,“ is the first thing dazai says once chuuya finishes the last letter. “utterly foolish. a fucking clown, no, the entire circus-

“i get it,“ he bites out, dragging a palm down his face. “no need to spell it out for me.“

“are you sure about that?“, the brunette counters, elbow resting on the hardwood table, chin cupped in his palm. “because to me, you don't look like someone doing everything in his power to stop her from thinking she's not enough, chuuya. to stop her from leaving.

“she is enough. has always been. but... she's already suffered too much due to- to me.

dazai sighs softly, running a hand through his silksoft hair. “you really believe she just gave up on you? the both of you? have you been reading what she wrote?“

this has him thinking.

oh, dear god. the things one does for love.

he scrambles for the ticket, a slip of paper and a fountain pen, answering the brunette's small smile with one of his own.

he writes. he writes and writes and writes, and when he's done, he closes the cream-colored envelope with all the care in the world. closes off his feelings in a small, tangible space.

he hands him the letter. “you'll only hear this once in your life, so you better remember it, got it?“, he mutters quietly. “thank you. for your, uh, work. i can bet that it wasn't easy to play a messenger dove for us both.“

dazai just rolls his eyes and flashes him one of those bright grins he has. slipping the envelope into his pocket, he stands up with a sigh. “i had to postpone our date for another hour, but atsushi understands. he just... wants the best for you two. he isn't at fault, you know that, right?“

“i know. god, i know. but who is, then?“

“...that's easy,“ he whispers, already halfway out the door, looking over his shoulder. “no one, chuuya. absolutely no one. sometimes, life's just like that.“

and with that, the door clicks shut. softly.

×××

“are you sure you don't want to open it?“, gin inquires, their voice nearly drowning in the chatter and clutter of the departures hall. “what if he wrote that he needs you, too?“

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