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rokutouxei · 3 years

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the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 20 OF 22

I wonder if you knew

that part of you was missing. I wondered where the other halves had gone.

- "Loose Threads", Sarah Kay

Theo does not push. Even when deep in his heart he just wants to call. Even when he’s dialed in her number so many times he’s memorized it. Theo sits alone in the bookshop reading like he did last fall, alone. Arthur doesn’t bother him about it.

He hears about the roadtrip from Arthur, in the form of an approved application for leave. He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t ask about her. It’s been weeks since they’ve last met, at this point. Sure, they’ve seen each other in hallways, down the streets sometimes but—nothing more. In between the exhibit, and Vincent, and going away, they hadn’t ever gone to their usual spot anymore. The Rooftop remains empty, uninhabited, and Theo imagines it haunted, with only the spirits of his past enthusiasm of going up there still left in that space.

He returns to his usuals. Vincent, the bookstore, their little home in campus. Like the past few months did not exist. Like she didn’t come barging into his life and went around turning it upside down. Like this, Theo can pretend nothing is wrong. That there are no arguments. That it’s just a misunderstanding that will disappear into thin air. That nothing happened at that Airbnb.

Theo, what if I told you I loved you?

He hears her voice over and over again, shouting in his head, an echo that never stops.

Did she mean it? Did she say that as a loose confession that didn’t need to carry its own weight? Was it a hypothetical that was only meant to lead Theo astray? It wouldn’t have changed a thing, he would have wanted to say, I will still push you away, I will still want you to go—

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he knows if she told him then, that she loved him, he would have begged her to stay.

To come back.

But she didn’t, and that’s for the better, he thinks. Better like this.

She doesn’t deserve someone who will hold her back. She doesn’t deserve someone like him.

But just as he wonders about how time is a silly thing, how the universe once took its time bringing the two of them into a companionable friendship, how now the days pass by in such a blur he fears one day they’ll just breeze by and he will forget her—

She sends him a message.

[ 04:38 pm | coolest person on the planet ] 🔭?

He knows exactly what that means.

Whatever’s flowing in her veins now isn’t blood, just half exhaustion and half despair, the high tones of panic the only thing keeping her awake.

She thought that she’d be able to wait it out. That she would only need to buy herself some time for the nerves to go away, for her to be able to shrug this all off and let it go the same way Theo has—easily. She spent days running back and forth between the Administrative buildings and her department trying to get this paper signed and this request filled. Then when there was nothing to do, she spent afternoons reading books, forgetting to eat or get up until she just dozes off in her bed. She tried her best to let it pass.

But Dazai was right. She needed to talk to Theo. It really was the only way she could quiet her loud heart.

She knows what it is that is exhausting her, what is keeping her up at night unable to sleep, turning her phone on and off, hesitating, wondering, her mind running in laps, stepping on the same puddles, tripping on the same obstacles.

She knows what it is and she is ready to put this marathon to rest.

When she comes up to their usual spot at the Rooftop, it already feels like an unfamiliar place. They haven’t been there in weeks. She thought they’d never come up here ever again. She’s sitting on top of the outdoor table with a can of Diet Coke in her hand. She’s wearing the bright yellow dress.

(Like some sort of good luck charm.)

Her heart begins to pound once she hears the door open, but she urges herself to focus.

When he comes into her vision, she realizes Theo looks just the same as ever. Just the same old Theo she’d wrestled to be friends with last fall. His ocean blue eyes, the soft brown of his hair, that same inapproachable neutral face. His boyish features, his hands in his pockets, the sharpness of his gaze.

It’s still the same old Theo she got dared to say hi to, and something about that hurts.

“Fancy some company?” he asks, leaning against the ledge, eyeing her carefully.

She snorts. “Wouldn’t have called you up here otherwise.” Pointing at another can, she offers, “Fancy a drink? It was all that was left at the store.”

He teases: “Not alcohol today?”

She shakes her head. “Big day tomorrow.”

She wants to tell him but she doesn’t know if he even wants to know. It’s that kind of thing she still wants to tell him but long stopped feeling like she could. He takes the can she’s offered and opens it. The sound of the carbon fizzing fills the space between them.

It’s Theo that breaks the silence.

He takes a sip of his drink, and then, looking away from her, as if even looking at her hurts, he asks: “Why did you call me up here?”

(The truth is she hadn’t meant to. The truth is that Arthur had set this up for her the same way he did the very first time she talked to Theo. The truth is she wouldn’t have if Arthur hadn’t made her. The truth is she would have let it slide as she should have with her passing interest in Theo.

But she didn’t.

So when Arthur said “You owe me one, don’t you?”, she said, “Yes, I do.”

And when Arthur said “Then talk to Theo one more time,” she said: “I don’t know what good this will do.”

But she does anyway.)

She shrugs, never tearing her eyes away from the view below, as if knowing that once she turns to face him, she will lose all of the self-control she’d built up. He doesn’t need to know everything, anyway. “Dunno. Wanted company—quiet company. This is our spot, so I figured why not call you. You shouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to.”

“I want to,” he clarifies. He sounds hurt; as if her implying any otherwise was a personal offense. She can feel it, the hum of it. She has to grind her teeth against each other to make sure she doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean to. “I’ll always want to spend time with you.”

She exhales a tiny puff of air, partly in disbelief. “O-kay, there’s no need for flattery.”

(Theo doesn’t do flattery and she knows that.)

The truth is that she doesn’t really know what she called Theo for. Or maybe she does have an idea, but she is smarter than that tiny version of herself that believed in that idea. She doesn’t want to keep her hopes up anymore.

So Instead of the dramatic conversation she had dreamt up for them to have, the big reveal, the collapse and the hug and the warmth and the undeniable pang of it all—they are quiet. Theo is quiet. Like he always is. When he is in his space, Theo doesn’t talk unless he is talked to.

She wishes he would initiate the conversation this time. Maybe if they tried again, they would get it right this time. If he would only ask her to talk, ask her what’s wrong, get her to admit the things she is too scared to admit, fearing what they mean, what they imply, what the consequences might be.

She begs him, in her mind.

But he doesn’t.

So she stops begging.

“I’m gonna miss this,” she says, instead. A whisper so tiny she isn’t entirely sure if she meant Theo to hear it.

“Which?”

“This, you know?” she tries to elaborate. “Hanging on the rooftop… looking down at the city below… we’ve made this sight quite a place.”

He chuckles. “Change your mind about it?”

She makes a face, but does not point it at him; still refusing to look him in the eye. “Hell no,” she says, venom in her voice. “I still want to go away. So badly.”

You will, the thought hangs over the both of them heavily, unsaid. You already will.

That shouldn’t be a bad thing at all. Not when it was the one thing she’s been so desperate to do for all her life. But what if he was right the first time—what if she doesn’t find what she is looking for out there? What if she has just all this time been tricking herself? What would it be like to crawl back here, defeated?

Would this place wait for her?

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss it. You know that feeling?”

In her head, she knows Theo but also somehow she feels like she doesn’t. For a split second, she wonders: Does Theo find it easy to let go of things? When he decides to unwrap his hands around something, does it deem it something he no longer has any right to miss?

She doesn’t know these about Theo. But she knows she is asking: do you know what it’s like, to let go of something you know you will miss?

He stares at her side profile like it’s the last time he ever will, and says, “Yeah, I do.”

“It’s your fault,” she says, teasing in her tone, crossing and uncrossing her legs nervously. “We made this place special, and now it’s like this to me.

He hums. “Should I apologize?”

“Definitely.” She turns to look at him with a small smile, pointed gaze. “It was you that made it feel like home, you know?”

She’d practiced saying this a million times in the mirror, and while at first the word ‘home’ tasted weird, tasted different, not the kind she wanted to associate with this place, this town, this little dot on the map—eventually, she learns it’s right.

It makes Theo’s expression just the tiniest bit as well and—that makes it worth it.

She remembers the first time they went here—fall of the year before, a few days after the Halloween party. All of the now-green trees were in shades of bright red and orange, like they were on fire. They had a fight. And now look how far they’ve come from that.

Look how they’ve come full circle.

She remembers, then she shuts the memory away.

“Missing something is a tolerable feeling,” she says.

It’s tolerable. It’s better to miss something than to sit down in the pain refusing to let it go.

But Theo adds: “Only if you know it’s also longing for you too.”

She smiles, even if it’s painful. “You’re right.”

For a while, she is quiet. She sits there, wondering how long she should keep this going, how long they can keep this going, like the box of Schrodinger’s cat, unopened—as long as no one opens it, there is only peace in the unknown.

She doesn’t want the unknown anymore.

“Hey, Theo.”

“Hmm?”

There are a million things to be said clamoring their way up her throat.

Did you ever have feelings for me?

Did you ever return mine?

Is it okay if I’ve fallen in love with you?

Theo, what does it mean when you say—

For the first time since they’ve met today at the rooftop, she looks at him. Turns to him with the full force of her gaze, like she’s looking right through him, under his skin, like looking for something.

Her voice is soft, like a baby bird’s.

“Will you miss me?”

Silence. A long, uninterrupted silence that she feels seep into her bones with every second that passes. When she’s about to say haha, never mind, he answers:

“Hmm, who knows.”

The words sink like lead in her stomach.

“…Oh.”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it slips out of her mouth anyway. Theo turns to gauge her reaction, but she quickly turns away from him, facing the city.

Maybe it is her fault for expecting anything more from Theo at that exact moment. She doesn’t remember quite when they started playing this little game between themselves but—the game has gone on so long she doesn’t know how to play it anymore. That she doesn’t want to play it anymore.

But there’s no quitting a game like this until there is a winner, until there is a loser.

Until victory is decided and loss hits like a steel clang of the guillotine.

She groans loudly, leaning backward onto her palms looking up at the sky. The sound makes Theo look at her, and the feeling of his gaze on her hurts. “You make this so hard,” she says, defeatedly.

“What—”

“I know I’ll miss you,” she says, interrupting him. She turns to face him, and the eye contact makes something ache inside of her, but she holds it. “I know a year isn’t a long time but it’s long enough to miss something, and I’ll miss you.”

When he smiles in response, she wonders if it’s a smile of pity. “Why are you so sure?”

“Because,” she says, simply. “Because. Because you made this place feel like home. Nothing’s ever done that before.” She bites her lower lip and finally looks away. “You made it… more than the things I hated about it, and that’s not a skill everyone has.”

That’s the most roundabout way she can think of to say I’ve fallen in love with you and it’s the best she can do.

Theo shifts from where he’s leaning on the ledge, and approaches her where she’s sitting at the table while he asks, “Is that why you called me up here? Is that what we came up here for you to tell me?”

“Maybe? I’m not—”

She feels his fingers urging her to turn to him, but then the next thing she knows there is only softness. She slides her eyes shut in surrender. Her one hand curls around the sleeve of his shirt as he kisses her; soft and slow and gentle, the way an apology would be like if it were something you could hold. His lips are slightly chapped where they meet hers and maybe he has the tiniest hint of stubble but she pushes herself into him anyway, kissing him back even with the fear that this is the first and the last time she’ll be able to give him her love, like this.

Putting all she can pour into the kiss.

And then it ends, almost too abruptly. He parts from her and she leans toward him almost on instinct. She holds herself together. Only looks up at him, her heart already in his hands.

“Take care out there.”

His hands already in his pocket, his eyes just the littlest bit remorseful, she wonders if this is some sort of karma from the universe. Teaching her: this is what it’s like, to be left behind. Theo gives her four words she will hang on to until the longing in her burns out.

She smiles at him and nods. “Mmhmm.”

He reaches out to ruffle her hair one last time before he turns his back on her, waving behind him as he leaves the rooftop without anything much to say. The warmth of his lips and the sound of who knows? the only things really settling in.

And it is only once he’s gone that her mind makes sense of it. The painful realization that no matter how much she tries to convince herself, some part of her will always be tied down here. A rock, sinking slowly down the abyss of an ocean of love for Theo.

She calls a cab bright and early at eight in the morning. Her flight is at eleven, and the airport is two hours away. She’s kept away all the belongings she isn’t bringing with her in a few rented lockers downstairs, and now she’s standing at the stairway in front of her small apartment complex with two suitcasesz by her side. It’s late summer, and the ginkgo tree across her building is still bright green, but she imagines what it will look like in the fall, a bright show of fan-shaped leaves coating the street yellow when they drop.

She doesn’t know what will happen from now on. She’s leaving behind unfinished seams and she’s sure she will come back to them frayed. And she is so afraid, but—

She’s headed in the direction she’s wanted, and if he doesn’t want to come with her, he will only get left behind.

The exhibit opens at ten, so at eight in the morning, Vincent and Theo are already at the gallery, cleaning up and preparing. The building had an event that ran until late the night before, so they couldn’t set up any earlier than the morning of. Vincent is hanging paintings onto the walls, careful of the hooks, consulting back and forth with the ordered list he and Theo had planned out with her what feels like a million years ago. Theo is carrying the tables into the buffet area, smoothing out the table cloths and thinking—what a shame it would be to eat her favorite meals, the ones he’d ordered in secret specifically because he knew she liked them, and how he’d have to avoid maybe most of the food to be served today, knowing that they’d probably leave a weird taste in his mouth.

His phone makes a little ding of a message entering and his heart falters for a moment, hoping for the best, expecting the worst; the way he takes it out of his pocket comically slow; like it was a ticking time bomb instead of a smartphone.

[ 08:17 am | Doyle ] You didn’t take her to the airport?

Without preamble or context.

It takes all of Theo to answer him with the truth.

[ 08:18 am ] She didn’t want me to.

She doesn’t expect him to be there, like the sort of thing that happens in TV dramas—the one left behind racing into the airport and ignoring all sorts of security protocol; rushing to the boarding gate through a barrier, just so that they’ll be seen by the one they love one last time before they leave forever. Well, she’s not leaving permanently, but a year is a murderer to a teetering not-relationship, and she doesn’t even know if they’re still friends at this point, so it’s pretty much the same. She doesn’t expect him to burst through the scanners and shout her name and tell her the three words she’s long wanted to hear out of his mouth, no matter how hard she denies it.

No, actually, she would have been okay with hearing even just I’ll miss you, a reassurance that departure is not the end of everything, but.

Who knows?

Instead, she does her best to not look back behind her when it’s her turn to stay in line to board the plane, facing just forwards as if turning her head would make her change her entire mind about this damn thing. When the scanner at the front pings after checking her passport, the lady handing her the boarding pass, it feels like shackles being cut off, she feels free.

And yet not so.

So on her walk to the plane, she takes her phone out and checks her messages one final time for any clue, any last mercy. But there is none. Only the group chat with her friends, Dazai, Isaac, and Arthur greeting her excitedly, crying emojis and “make sure to message us before takeoff!” and “make sure to message us upon landing!” and “send a selfie once you get to your new fancy dorm!”, the kind you’d love to hear from your friends, and—

The kind you’d love to hear from someone you loved.

And she couldn’t have admitted it then, clearer this time around, sitting at the rooftop of the physics building, the one place she feels she’s made specifically to be hers and Theo’s, but—she would have, had he said he would miss her. She would have, had he said she was anything more to him. And sure, maybe, it was “implied”, as Arthur liked to say, but she wasn’t any Sherlock Holmes to emotions, and how hard was it to say, anyway? Why would it have killed him to just be honest with her for once?

Was she asking him for too much?

No matter. She sends a selfie to the group chat once she’s finally on the plane, her carry-on under her seat, her seatbelt fastened, her head against the plane window.

[ 10:23 am ] See you all again soon, guys! 💖

There’s a throng of people. Of course there is—this is, after all, finally, the capstone project, the graduation exhibit of the College of Arts’ legend Vincent van Gogh, the one the entire community had been waiting on for a long time. Said legend gives a short, teary-eyed speech thanking everyone who’s been with him all this time that garners an adoring round of applause, but Theo…

Theo doesn’t hear anything.

Instead, he’s standing by the paintings, the ones Vincent had made out of photographs of her, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Where is she now? Is she on board the plane? How much did she tell Vincent—how much did she not tell him? And why? Why did she tell Vincent but not him? Why could she not have told him herself? Why did they have to play this mind game with each other?

Only an avalanche of whys as his eyes stare through the red of the fabric she’d held in his brother’s little studio nearly a year ago, long before they were friends. Long before they were anything at all.

When they were something like this, still.

Like strangers.

He doesn’t know it yet, but all of it is out of her court.

It’s all in Theo’s hands now.

And at the side of the gallery, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows, Theo squints at the bright blue sky. He pretends not to be keeping an eye out for airplanes.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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dearosamu · 4 years

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DESPERADO - PURGATORIO

SYPNOSIS: she, a dancer with personified problems all the while more that intrigues osamu dazai who came into her life amidst the chaos that is [name] [last name].

WARNING/S: implied nsfw

three - four

dinner was .. entertaining, more or less. but it seemed such a drag to [name].

she hated dazai. she hated letting someone else pay for her. she hated how her younger brother liked him easily out of all people.

though, dazai with any means, isn't good with children. even with yumeno basically flooding him with questions he could easily answer, yet the questions itself were too .. peculiar.

"osa-chan, how did you meet onee-chan?"

"have you two known each other before? onee-chan, why didn't you tell me!-"

"yumeno, no i don't. he's just..an acquaintance from work." [name]'s eye twitched from the sentence that left her mouth.

"hmm," yumeno picked on his cake tart before taking a bite. "whyth ish thathf soth?" his question came out muffled.

"don't talk when your mouth is full, yumeno."

the boy only groaned and nodded before swallowing his food and asking his question more properly. "why is that so? onee-chan and osa-chan seem close.."

[name] scoffed while dazai only chuckled. "mhm, we do seem very close don't we, [name]?"

"don't even consider it."

"oh dear, i dream of it."

"you're gross."

"you're pretty."

"please," [name] rolled her eyes. "flattery won't get you anywhere."

"but i am trying," dazai grinned teasingly referring to what she does for a living. [name] stared at him with disgust, slapping his arm which she only received a stuck out tongue in return. yumeno looked between the two confused.

"onee-chan, what does osa-chan mean by that?"

dazai looked at yumeno with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "well you see yumeno-kun, your osa-chan wants to court your onee-chan, but she rejects me every time!" he dramatically lifted an arm to his forehead.

"dazai.." [name] spoke his name in an irritated tone, wanting to pummel the male six feet to the ground already.

"oh really?" yumeno's lips curved a cheshire grin, tarted with cake crumbs. "do you think she'll accept one day?"

"i hope so," dazai sighed dreamily. "i await for the day i'll get the chance to spoil her rotten."

"don't get your hopes too high," [name] interjected. "what even makes you think i'll ever like you? you're a jerk."

dazai waved her off. "you'll see, mon cherie."

"what's with the nicknames?"

"simply because you are one of a kind."

"har-har, i'm flattered," the woman replies with gritted teeth.

"onee-chan! what are you having anyway? you're not gonna eat?" yumeno interrupted upon seeing the woman only drinking her cold beverage.

"no, i'm not hungry."

"but you should eat!"

"yumeno, no--"

"listen to him [name]~" dazai crooned. "you really should eat. yumeno-kun, what do you want your onee-chan to have?"

"cake tarts!" yumeno cheered.

"big sister can't eat cake tarts, she'll get fat," [name] said, taking a sip of her [f.d.].

"eh? onee-chan, fat?" yumeno blinked. "but onee-chan, you don't care if you eat too much or get fat don't you? isn't that what you said when you ate a big chunk of-"

"ahaha, yumeno that's enough of you," [name] nervously laughed as she covered yumeno's mouth with her hand to stop him from embarassing her any further.

dazai chuckled at the sight. "you worry if you get fat?"

"shut up and no i don't," she denied.

"how cute."

"why are you even here?" the woman groaned.

"because yumeno-kun invited me for dinner." [name] scoffed.

"then can you leave if i ask you to?"

"yes."

"then why won't you leave?"

"because i was invited and it would be rude to come here and then leave so sudden," dazai answered, crossing his arms. "besides, i am hungry."

"you're such an idiot," she huffed.

"why, thank you."

"that was not a compliment."

"if it comes from you, then it is," dazai winked. a vein popped out of said woman's forehead.

"you're really annoying, you know that?"

"countless of times, yes."

[name] only groaned once more for she had to endure this for the entire evening

---

"i'm not your personal favorite, so why did you ask for me?" akutagawa asked dazai slightly confused but amused at the situation. dazai only responded with a light groan before slumping on the leather chair. "my little kitten is a bit off-put at the moment," he pouted. "i don't really favor anyone else here."

"chuuya-san is here you know." akutagawa says in a questioning tone but it sounded more like a statement.

"yeah, but that good for nothing hat rack simply isn't enough to please me. plus we hate each other." akutagawa scoffed. "you should see how much money he makes in a day."

"ah, but i think you provide much better service than him," dazai grinned at akutagawa teasingly, in which the latter huffed at this action. "[name] and chuuya-san may come off as rude to their clients, but believe me when i say they're good at what they do."

dazai exhaled through his nose as akutagawa sat on his lap, running his hands through his brown locks of hair. he came back to the strip club to meet his belladonna for a night out alone. as usual, chuuya was there to bash on him and to insult the male. before leaving, chuuya informed dazai that [name] did not go to work today; something about calling in sick but dazai went on in and called for akutagawa instead. he was conflicted about coming to the strip club but he could not refused for had oda didn't invite him, he wouldn't even be there in the first place.

how oda was able to put up with dazai's perspective of things was honestly impressive since it was no secret that dazai enjoyed oda's view of things since he was less systematic than dazai. he'd often accompany dazai with whatever he had up his sleeve but it's not really safe to say that his plans never had excellent result. its dazai after all.

things went downhill once he got back to his office after having dinner with [name] and yumeno. higuchi had been waiting for dazai to get back to report terrible news that their sales are going down and a few people -- to be more specific, con artists had been scamming people with their products that they previously sold at auctions and it made people believe that the corporation were only after their money and sold fake items in their past auctions.

dazai had been stressed over by his colleagues and needed to cool off, though thinking of ways to somehow restore the mafia's reputation and to get rid of the people who were dumb enough to even try and bring down the mafia.

"think you can handle it?"

"psh, you called for me of all people," akutagawa rolled his eyes before placing a chaste kiss on dazai's head. "but i promise to make you feel good."

still, it was weird to see [name] -- even akutagawa stri- dance for him. he'd even expect it to himself that he'd be denied of his desires, but it was still given to him with little difficulty. he was a mess inside.

"you know, it's not like you to switch out on dancers."

"needed a change," dazai mumbled. "is that a problem?"

akutagawa pursed his lips. "not really, it's just that when i used to be your regular, you wouldn't let anyone touch me," he placed a hand on dazai's broad shoulders. "you were possessive."

"that was back then." dazai growled lowly.

akutagawa hummed. "what's on your mind?"

"nothing that i'd like to speak about." akutagawa sighed heavily. "i'd press on you to tell me, but you've always been stubborn." it was a trait he and [name] both shared.

"always have, always will." dazai stated with a close eyed smile.

"..right since this isn't a therapy session." akutagawa deadpans. dazai placed both his hands on akutagawa's thighs and hips, knowing he had permission to.

"i trust that you'll get rid of all my stress away?"

"like i said before, i promise i'll make you feel good."

---

oda patiently waited for dazai, knowing he always takes longer on his time -- specially if it's with akutagawa. he knows he never really keeps his meetings 'formal' with the younger male. dazai stumbled out of the black curtains looking very much disheveled then he was when he entered the strip club, his neck tie missing and a few bruise marks were on his neck. they were small, but visible enough. a sly grin was on his face which reminded oda of a cat.

"had fun?" oda downed on his third shot of vodka.

"you bet i did," dazai snickered as he stumbled to the stool next to oda. "can i have some of that special sake you keep at your place? you know how much i love those."

"sure. when you're much more sober that is," oda shook his head. "you probably had akutagawa hit you up with heavy shit."

"oh, come onn!! it was only a little~!" dazai slurred, throwing a hand over oda's shoulders. "it's not like i got overly high again!"

"tell me that again once you're actually sober would you? this is why i always give akutagawa head warnings." he removed dazai's hand from his shoulders, making the brunette whine and slump on the counter top. oda held a hand against his temple and massaged it, muttering things about dazai not listening to him again of the sorts.

"come on odasakuu! not even a little bit?" dazai pouted as he turned his head sideways from the counter to face oda.

"no."

"please?? i swear i'll only get one shot!" dazai insisted, shaking oda's left arm. oda groaned before reluctantly agreeing to dazai's request. ".. fine, but don't blame me if you can't get home."

"relax! i can take care of myself just fine."

"i'll message my assistant then," oda huffed, taking out his phone and texted his assistant to bring a bottle of sake to his office later. dazai hummed, twirling his index finger on oda's glass of tequila.

"he's still around?"

"you bet." oda tapped away one his phone. after a few seconds, he slipped it back into his pocket and turned to dazai. "chuuya told me you didn't visit your favorite?"

"she would not appreciate seeing me here," mumbled dazai. "plus she didn't even go to work today."

oda let out a soft chuckle. "you think she ever did? that girl hates your guts."

"it gets worse," dazai groaned, standing up from his seat and heading towards the exit. "i'll tell you later at my office."

"still want to keep on leaving people hanging?"

"i'm just a poor man, odasaku."

"please, you just got laid and run a company. you're basically the definition of spoiled."

".. quiet you."

---

oda poured a minimum amount of sake on dazai's glass, who accepted it with glee. he downed on it and sighed in content. "you keep the best stuff, odasaku. why don't you ever give me some?"

"wouldn't want the risk of a suicidal man holding a bottle of sake running around the building naked .." oda muttered, taking a seat on one of dazai's office couches.

"hey! i do not get that tipsy! i'll have you know that i hold my liquor very well." dazai boasted, holding a hand to his chest.

"sure," oda leaned onto the coffee table, placing his chin on his interwined fingers. "anyways, humour me already with what you were supposed to tell me."

"well, i ran into [name] into the mall yesterday with this kid--"

"she has kids?!"

"jesus odasaku, no!" dazai exclaimed. "it's just her little brother.. i think.." dazai said lowly.

"god, dazai," oda huffed. "you're such an idiot."

"why are so many people calling me an idiot??" dazai sulked.

"because you are one," oda shook his head, sighing. "do they have any caretakers?"

"no. [name]'s the one taking care of her little brother."

"what did you do this time?"

"i just ran into her in the mall since i was hurrying to our business meeting, but her little brother ran into me and asked between two things he wanted to buy. [name] didn't want me to talk to him but he asked me a question and i gave him an answer. i also insisted that i pay for yumeno's sweets instead and later then he invited me for dinner and i made [name] eat. i basically paid for her entire day." dazai explains.

oda sunked even further into the cushioned couch. "you really are an idiot .." he muttered, shaking his head. "first of all, you pay her ridiculous amounts of money just for her body -- which, in her eyes, is already degrading on it's own -- and now you pay for her too?"

"i don't get what's the problem here," dazai mumbled. "i have the money, she needs the money. it can work."

"no, dazai. it doesn't work that way." oda scratched the back of head, thinking of a way to explain the situation thoroughly. "think of it this way; [name] and yumeno were abandoned by their parents at a young age for whatever reason and that left [name] to raise her little brother by herself. she struggles with financial problems as she had no one to support her and her little brother."

"and what you're meaning to say is?"

"she dislikes the fact that you figured out the limbing situation she is in. and possibly only giving her more money out of sympathy. she doesn't want to connect her home life to her job."

"but i'm helping her, aren't i?" dazai grumbled, frustration slowly building up.

"in her case, she feels as if you're intruding," oda frowned. "it really is none of your business to be sticking your nose around what she does in her personal life and her connections with people." oda poured a small amount of sake on his glass and took a quick gulp.

"you really think that's why?"

"hey, i'm not entirely sure. it's just an analysis i have figured from what you've told me." he shrugged.

"then why won't she take me?" dazai pouts. "i have the money that she needs to live the life she wants for her and her brother. it seems too easy."

"that's probably just from her nature," oda chuckles. "now, about that plan to rebuild our reputation and to get rid of the con artists ..”

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai scenario #dazai fic #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #desperado #oda sakunosuke

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ol-razzle-dazazzle · 7 years

Note

certainly you've gotten this one before, but dazai with chuuya in hospital after using corruption? conscious or not, your choice ❤

Can I just say that this is a 10/10 ask it watered my crops, thank you. I was having a non-good day and this made it like 53x better bless

Just warning you, there’s some angst shit and mentions of suicide, death, blood, all the edgy stuff one would expect if you know Dazai’s character. It’s heavily implied self-harm/suicide, but nothing too graphic? So it’s under a read-more. If any y’all want me to tag just say please

If you aren’t into this kinda thing, then please please please drop an ask and I’ll write something fluffy, I’d love to do that!

Hospitals were a strange thing to Dazai. Hospitals were cold; was the place where life and death occurred and people are fraught with logical, calculated emotion. A place for festering. A place he hated, but had a fascination with, and always came back to.

Chuuya was also a strange thing to Dazai. Hotblooded, the time he felt most alive was when he was killing people side by side with him, haphazard but oh so beautiful, when the night was so black you couldn’t tell if it was bruises or the ground or the sky; and sight so red you couldn’t tell whether it was his partner ever so close to him or the splattered blood.

A fascination, that he would always come back to. Because when one is in danger, one needs a healer.

But if that was the case…then why did he use it? If he knew that he couldn’t without dying, unless Dazai was there…

It was a dark night. Black as the ace of spades, and as black as well…let’s not get redundant with team names shall we? And in a dark alleyway, as Dazai is rather fond of walking through them, is (as fate would have it) a cursed miracle. The crackle of wine shards, and the crack of bones. With eyes adjusting to the darkness Dazai couldn’t even tell anymore whether which red was blood or wine. But he heard nothing. Nothing but the soft, sharp, creaks of glass. There was no laughter, no revelry in madness or murder and mayhem.

There was a quiet sob. Dazai could feel the walls closing in around him, as if the world was becoming as twisted literally as it was metaphorically, and he found him there. Silent. Breathing quietly.

Dazai often wondered something. What was worse, a person that cries with a frown or a smile? Which is the more damaged? When everything seems to run well, but that underlying emptiness, that black hole that churned your insides much, much slower than the one’s an out-of-control executive would use.

But he realised then. A smile is worse, absolutely. Because the smile is the equivalent to something much more damaging.

Silence.

It was a dark night. A quiet night.

A lonely night.

Because the one thing tragic to the universe, but to no one else, is a tree falling in the woods, torn apart at the seam and pressure…and no one is there to hear it.

Perhaps, that’s why he wanted his end to be that way- no bother, no pain. But as fate would have it, on this cold, lonely, dark, quiet night of death…there would be some semblance of life, for two aberrant people, two people that were tainted and twisted by the very things that made them (in)human.

It was a white, pale day. Sickly, but still living, still breathing. A faintness of hope, but the fact that there was no ‘light’ to walk into made Chuuya feel automatic frustration, cursing under his breath.

“I’m sorry that I woke you again.” Dazai’s voice, shook- with slight humour, with fear, it was hard to tell when Chuuya couldn’t see his face, adjusting to the lighting.

“You bastard…why did you come here?” Chuuya closed his eyes, hoping with some denial that if he just thought it was a dream it would go away.

“I think the better question is…why did you make yourself beckon me?” His eyes shot open, and it was then that he was reminded of the fact that people see better when they have fear or adrenaline coursing through them.

“I-” Chuuya started, sitting up seeing the blood. His head pounded. The red started to grow on his exposed hands, crawling through him like a virus…

“Chuuya.” Dazai settles a hand on the other man, and he feels like he has no strength to recoil away. He looks up, for a painfully long time, studying Dazai’s expression…and like everything that idiot does, it’s a myriad. A myriad that all too painfully reminds them of their own thoughts for each other. Pain, nostalgia, understanding, isolation. A sad smile, eyes sullen but warm, and for all his lying, Chuuya knew that was probably the most honest expression Dazai ever showed.

He looks down at his hands. There’s no red or black, but white.

“Waste of bandages.” Chuuya scoffs, and a smirk can’t help but creep onto his face at the irony.

“Well, they recommend you don’t drink in hospitals.”

“Well hellooooo nurse.”

“They didn’t help me out, not even any extra bandages…”

“You just want some free stuff and a morphine addiction.”

They both smirk and sneer at each other, but there’s still that sullen in their eyes. They sigh together, and Chuuya feels a warmth still on his hands, as the dead air and shot breeze permeates through the stuffy room.

“I…” They both start.

They both stop.

I hate you, I love you, I miss you, I leave you, I want to kill you, I want to kiss you.

“I” is the best thing they can say. Because there’s too much, too much pain and joy and they don’t know whether to stab each other or hug each other.

Perhaps, just this once, it could be simple. It could melt away.

And when their lips are together, they can’t say anything more. When their hands, bandage to bandage are clutching each other closely there’s no knifes to pull.

And when their lungs beckon the need for the cold, dead air, they murmur. “I know.”

That’s all that needs to be said. No logic, no thought, all and nothing in a void of love and black.

Because when you’re both in danger, you both heal. Alone, but alone together. Is there a boundary between two splotches of black, or are they just black? If hate and love are two sides of the same coin, where does it tip the scales to one of the other?

And for once in each other’s death and life, they were happy to see each other again.

Maybe they could feel so more often.

#request #this was actually really good to get out #chuuya #dazai #soukoku #my writing #bsd #bungou stray dogs

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