To Pretend That Horrible People Cannot Make Good Art Is Another Way To Conflate Beauty And Talent With

🫸⚡️⚡️⚡️ *yassifies your black doom*

EMO VI + ABS

The plan was simple.

Go to this world.

Check in on the Agency.

Make sure that everything went according to his counterpart's plan.

Leave.

The most important part: do not cross paths with Chuuya.

But when he spots ginger hair and a tacky hat from afar, it's only a matter of seconds before he's pinned to the ground, a familiar knife pointed at his throat.

"What kind of disgusting ability is this?" the man above him barks, words filled with venom.

"This is not an ability." Dazai states, calmly.

"Don't you dare imply you're him," the knife brushes against his throat, a sharp vessel for the man's rage. "Boss died. Threw himself off the Port Mafia building."

Dazai swallows. This Chuuya looks different from the one he has known for seven years.

He's not as vibrant. He doesn't shine as much he does.

He looks like he almost gave up on living.

"Chuuya—"

"You have no right to say my name, you fucking imposter."

"Please, listen," he pleads. Damn, he doesn't like this Chuuya. "I am Dazai, just—not the one from this world. Not the one you knew."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chuuya questions through gritted teeth.

"I came here from a different timeline," he explains, careful, "I do share some memories with this world's Dazai, though."

"If you truly are Dazai," the name burns like liquid fire on his tongue, "then you must be a pathological liar as well. Why should I believe you?"

Dazai smirks. This Chuuya is a ticking bomb and he's ready to light his fuse.

"The first time he made love to you," he chooses his words carefully—they had sex plenty of times, but making love was new to them—"he told you he lov—"

Chuuya's fist meets Dazai's cheek.

It's painful, but Dazai didn't expect anything less from him.

"How the fuck did you come to this place?"

"I take it that Chuuya believes me." he grins, satisfaction making its way across his face. "It doesn't really matter. Let's say my ability comes in handy sometimes."

His Chuuya would have laughed at him. Probably told him he's a pain in the ass.

This Chuuya stays quiet and just... walks away?

Dazai's brow furrows.

"Where are you going?" the brunet asks, still sitting on the ground.

"I got nothing to say to you. You can go back to your fucking timeline." he snarls, that gloomy look plastered on his face.

"My, my, holding me accountable for what my counterpart did?" Dazai singsongs in his usual cheerful tone.

The next second he's avoiding the knife thrown at his head.

"I'm giving you one last warning," he growls, and Dazai swears he sees a reddish hue where Chuuya's brown eye should be. "Go. The fuck. Away."

"I just want to talk. About everything."

"You said you're not him, hah? Then you're nothing more than a stranger to me."

"I can explain why—"

"I don't care!" the ground shakes, courtesy of Tainted, but doesn't move beneath Dazai's shoes. "If he truly cared he would have told me about his fucking death plan instead of hiding everything from me!"

A long silence follows.

"Five minutes," Dazai pleas, "and I'll explain everything. Then I'll go back to my world."

Ten minutes later they're in the Port Mafia building, more precisely in Chuuya's office, which previously belonged to Dazai.

The detective glances at the empty chair and he can see it—the ghost of his counterpart, legs crossed, and the redhead standing fiercely on his left, covering his blind side.

There's something terrifying about it. A bond that was way different from the one he shares with his Chuuya; an unmatched level of trust and intimacy.

Imagining himself as the Port Mafia boss is making him sick to his stomach.

"I don't have all day," Chuuya complains, arms crossed. "Go on. I'll listen."

Once Dazai is done talking, the tension in the room is palpable.

"Why," Chuuya mutters, gripping the red scarf hanging over his shoulders, "Why didn't he tell me? Why did he send me on that fucking mission in London? I could have saved him."

"That's the point." Dazai sighs. "Saving him wasn't part of the plan. It would have ruined it."

"So ruining my life was the safest option, hah?" he scoffs, bitterness seeping through his words.

"You would have done the same for him."

'Yes', Chuuya wants to scream. 'Yes, and the fact that he prevented me from doing it keeps me awake at night'.

"You know," the redhead begins, breaking the silence, "I sensed something was off. At some point I realised we weren't on the same wavelength anymore. He treated me like shit then almost worshipped me as if his life depended on it."

"I guess you have figured out why."

"Yeah," the realisation burns the back of his throat. "He tried to detach himself. To make it easier for both of us."

'But he couldn't' is left unsaid.

"I don't know what you do to us, Chuuya," he blurts out, his mouth talking on its own, "It's terrifying."

He finds it easier to be a little bit honest with a Chuuya he's never going to see again.

If it makes him a coward, he doesn't care.

The redhead remains quiet and Dazai spots a myriad of emotions in his eyes.

Hurt, anger, sadness, longing.

"Am I happy?" Chuuya suddenly asks, "In your world."

"Are you happy in this one?" Dazai asks back, unsure.

"You want me to say 'yes' so you can feel better about all the mess your counterpart left for me to deal with? 'Cause I won't."

"This is the only world in which Od—"

"I know." he stops him. He doesn't want to hear that name again. "I just wish he talked to me instead of making all decisions on his own as if I didn't matter a damn thing to him. I guess I was useful as his strongest weap–"

"Don't." Dazai interrupts him, his voice firm. "You've never been a weapon. Not to him. Not to us."

The silence that follows eats them both alive. Talking to this Chuuya is filling Dazai with uneasiness for some reason he doesn't understand.

Seeing him so empty, inevitably similar to himself, makes him uncomfortable.

Does his Chuuya feel the same? Is he hiding all that resentment as well?

"Well, this took more than five minutes. I'll leave as I promised." he announces, suddenly unable to stand in that room anymore.

"Wait." Chuuya calls, his voice unsure.

He walks to Dazai until they're facing each other.

"I have one request. Then I'll let you go."

Dazai knows where this is going. That's why he didn't want to meet this Chuuya in the first place.

"Can I..." the redhead hesitates, "Have one last kiss before you go?"

Dazai's heart aches for the first time in ages.

"I'm not him." he states, voice flat.

They stare at each other's eyes, lost in the moment, and Dazai barely registers the way Chuuya is delicately pushing him against the desk until he's sitting on the black surface.

Neither of them dare speak, for any word would ruin the sacred religiousness of the moment.

Chuuya slots himself between Dazai's legs, bringing their bodies impossibly closer, and his hands reach for his scarf.

He removes it, his movements painfully slow, and Dazai swallows as the red cloth is placed around his shoulders.

Dazai's throat wobbles.

Chuuya's vision blurs.

Dazai feels seen as the redhead's eyes wander all over his face, scanning every feature so that he can store it in his mind until the last memory of the two of them fades.

A gloved hand reaches for Dazai's bandaged neck, caressing the fluffy brown curls, and Dazai's arms instinctively circle Chuuya's waist.

Would his Chuuya be mad at him if he found out?

"A Port Mafia traitor from another world, wearing his precious scarf... He would be feral." Dazai mutters, the forced proximity making him dizzy.

"He owes me." is all the current boss of the Port Mafia says, his eyes fixated on the detective's chapped lips.

His right hand comes to rest on the left side of Dazai's face, covering his eye, and their lips finally connect.

The kiss is tender, almost heart-shattering—it's nothing like the ones he shares with his Chuuya, and it's surely way different than the ones this Chuuya used to share with his counterpart—and yet its bitterness is suffocating.

This life wasn't designed for them, Chuuya thinks, but for now he'll just pretend his former boss is right in front of him.

It can't hurt more than it already does anyway.

Dazai pulls away first, fully aware that the longer this lasts, the more it's going to hurt, and Chuuya heaves a shaky breath in return.

He tries to keep the ghost of his former Boss close to him, but all his efforts are pointless against death.

"I'm going now," Dazai announces, placing the red scarf back on Chuuya's shoulders.

'It doesn't suit you at all', he thinks.

The detective twirls a ginger curl around his finger before walking away. "Take care."

"You will come back, will you?" Chuuya asks, both hopeful and hopeless, and Dazai wonders if this is how his Chuuya felt when he left the Mafia after Odasaku died.

Dazai smiles, quietly. "No. I have no right to be here."

"Always leaving me behind, no matter which universe you fuckers come from." Chuuya mocks him, but he speaks in loneliness. "Go, before I kill you."

"You wouldn't, neither of you." he replies, smiling to himself. "He's doing fine, by the way. Has gone through a lot, but never once lost his colours."

'You're both too good for us and that's why you'll never fully stop hurting', he thinks.

They steal one last glance at each other before Dazai finally disappears behind the door.

"Goodbye, Chuuya."

I will never escape these two I fear

I saw a reference on Pinterest the other day and KNEW I had to make it about skk.

Apple stolen, heart stolen

no sentence fills me with utter loathing so much as "i asked chatgpt"

YAOI PONIES!!!!!!!!!!!!

bsd wan 192: dazai, chuuya, age fourteen – if i had the power

translation by me | don't repost outside tumblr! | << 185