Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing to notice in darkness was the absolute, frightening feeling of not being able to see anything. The second thing was, the sound of complete silence, except your own breath. It was such an alien thing, to think that there was truly no other person here, watching, as Sumire Tsushima, Child Prodigy at the current age of 9, was actually scared of this emptiness.

_

A young girl, appearing no older than nine, darted her crimson red eyes stained with some chocolate in them, around the absolute darkness. Or in her words- Her own consciousness. Her lips curled upside down as a result to not seeing anything useful to crack this ‘hallucination’, her face formed a very poor attempt at a pout as she very grimly stood in the dark. “Again..?” She thought, reluctantly accepting that she’d waste time here.

She gazed forward into the endless black ink of her consciousness.

“I knew it wasn’t a hallucination.. This is too vivid, too real.. “A symptom of an overactive, developing brain.” He said. As if. I get that neither Mother nor Father take it seriously.. But really? The doctor too..? At this rate everyone’s ganging up on me..”

The young brunette thought as she looked around her, to find something- anything, that could explain this. … While the seconds passed in her head, ticking loudly and anxiously, her calm began to fray. She hunkered herself to the level of the chilly floor. Her fingers brushed against the surface, the sudden touch of the frosty floor jolting her to an alarming shock. The girl’s eyes widened, perplexed by this. Usually, when she’d have a nightmare like this one, coming in contact with a surface from the tips of her fingertips would snap her back into reality. However, this time it seemed to be different. Very different.. 

…

The sudden sound of footsteps startled her. It echoed through the void, along with the faint buzz of coldness.. 

A sharp ringing pierced her ears as she lifted her gaze. “I-It’s her..” The thought came unbidden, trembling at the edge of her mind.

It was a version of herself. The only difference was that this ‘version’ had no color—except the faint hue of blue and white.. And a diamond-shaped blue gem shimmering on their forehead..?

“..What are you doing here?” Sumi said, earning a hysterical, devious, and evil laugh in response. 

“Oh? You seem uneasy about my presence.. What a shame. I was looking forward to being acquaintances—perhaps even friends,”  they said, as they held their hand above their chin. Suddenly, they vanished.

“What are you- Where-!” The words tumbled from her lips in a panic. They had appeared again—this time kneeling behind Sumi, that same unsettling smile curling across their face.

“It’s been quite a while since we last met, has it not? And you’ve grown so much..”  They stood up, brushing the dirt off their skirt, walking away from Sumi. “Who even are you..?” Sumi asked, standing up herself as she turned to look at this blue version of herself.  “Hæhæhæ!.. I’m so very delighted you asked..” The shrill sound of their laughter echoed through the realm—it was not helping the ear ringing Sumi already had. 

Sumi held her ears in an attempt to dull the noise of their laughter. They walked towards Sumi again, circling her with a perturbing smile on their face. “I’m you.. In every possible universe.” “W-what..? … You’re joking.. That’s not—not possible-!”

“We both know that  it is very much possible, especially with NO LONGER HUMAN. I must admit, at first, I thought we weren’t capable of it. However, one of us has successfully proven me wrong—using tools out of reach to get what he wanted.. a smart one, indeed.. As a result, he caused US ; The connection—or more simply put, the ‘bridge’ between all the universes..” 

Sumi resolved herself, actually putting her brain to use. “You mean.. A singularity..? ...So- My- Our- YOU are the cause of all this!?” Her eyes widened as the revelation hit her like a truck.  “You catch on fast, don’t you? But yes. That is what you could call it.”  

Sumi’s eyes widened, and then slowly steadied. “You’re not me.. You’re.. NO LONGER HUMAN .. Aren’t you supposed to guide me, or help me-?” They chuckled, turning around to face Sumi. “Oh, but that I am. By teaching you, the way of this world.”  Sumi frowned, a thin line creasing between her eyebrows, the confusion on her face apparent. “What do you mean..?-” she uttered. “You will find out, in time. When the execution is finally.. Executed.”

Just before Sumi could process what they said, the once-dark realm was now filled with Kanji.

Then, the words began to spiral.

Bright blue letters filled the space, spinning and twisting in chaotic loops. They multiplied, forming swirling patterns around her, moving too fast for her to read. The characters were familiar—Kanji, she thought dimly—but their meaning was lost in the storm of motion. Amid the chaos, a light appeared. A door, brilliant and white, broke through the darkness like a beacon of hope. It glowed with a warmth that pierced the cold void. For the first time, the girl felt relief, a spark of salvation flickering in her chest. She took a shaky step towards it. 

But they moved too. Their hands shot out, gripping Sumi’s arm with unnatural strength. “Oh ho ho! Where do you think you’re going?” They shriek, gripping Sumi’s hand tighter. “LET ME GO-!” She yelled, trying to get out of their grip. “Now, why should I do that..?” They chuckled, pulling her back with both arms now.

The door began to fade.

“No!” Sumi, struggling to free herself. She yanked at her arm, but the grip was ironclad. They didn’t speak this time; they only held her tighter, their eerie smile growing wider.

The white light dimmed until it vanished completely, leaving the girl surrounded by darkness once more.

The void cracked.

Pieces of the blackness splintered away, revealing shards of vivid images beneath. Memories—her memories—flashed around her like shattered glass. Moments she cherished, fragments of her past, swirled together in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion.

But the ground beneath her was breaking too.

The floor crumbled, and she fell.

Sumi screamed as the fragments of her memories dissolved into nothingness, leaving her tumbling into an endless expanse of neon blue. Letters—those same unreadable characters—floated past her in glowing streams, their light casting an otherworldly glow on her terrified face.

The blue version of herself was falling too.

They drifted above her, spinning lazily in the void. Their smile never wavered, a twisted mockery of calm that sent chills down her spine. The two of them tumbled together, over and under each other, as if they were trapped in an endless, weightless dance.

Sumi’s heart raced. She clutched at the empty air, desperate for something to grab hold of.

And then, the blue light began to fade.

The neon world dissolved, replaced by the same oppressive blackness as before. Sumi’s stomach churned as she fell, faster and faster, into the abyss.

Her breath hitched as she glanced at the blue version of herself. It was still there, falling with her, their smile growing wider. The sight filled her with dread.

“What is this..? Why- Why am I the one curse into such darkness? What is the purpose of this..?” Sumi whispered, her voice trembling.

The blue figure didn’t answer. They simply smiled.

And they kept falling, deeper and deeper, into the unending void.

Osamu Dazai woke up from his slumber in a sense of fear (yes, fear) and dread. He’d completely sweated through his clothes and the sheets. A sudden wave of nausea hit him like a truck. Immediately, the brunet sat up straight and held his mouth with his hands in a poor attempt to stop vomiting right here, on the bed.  

He bolted to the bathroom, swinging the door open with a huge ‘Thump’, and kneeled down in front of the toilet seat, opening it as quickly as he could before letting out a string of gags, vomiting his stomach out.

He’d been like this for a week now. 

Chuuya Nakahara, his former boyfriend, now husband (he really had to get used to the silver ring, tied to a necklace in his neck, it only happened a few months ago, on his birthday), was on a mission in France, lasting a week. Apparently the Port Mafia owed some weapons in return for jewels to the French Mafia, so of course Mori decided to dispatch Chuuya for the mission. He was half-French, and practically a master at jewels to know if the French Mafia were giving the PM the real deal or not. “A match made in heaven..” Dazai thought grimly as he wiped the barf off the corner of his mouth, trying to gauge if there was anything in his stomach left to throw up. 

After waiting a minute or two, he deemed that there was nothing really left in his poor tummy and stood up, gripping the bathroom counter at the sudden dizziness washing over him.

“It’s just a cold,” he had said. “I’ll be fine. Go to your mission.” He had said. “Aww, Is my widdle hatrack worried-” He had also said, which had earned him a smack from Chuuya. 

Whatever he said last week did not apply to whatever the hell he felt right now. He felt sick, he wanted Chuuya to pamper him, and he wanted to drop dead. Begrudgingly, he admitted to himself that he was, in fact, not fine.

Never mind that, he was the Demon Prodigy, for Arahabaki’s sake. He could handle some small illness. Dazai steadied himself on the counter, looking up at the mirror, frustrated for some reason. The reason was probably : He felt so goddamn nauseous all the time, he wanted to die (a painless death didn’t even matter anymore, he’d be just as happy with a painful death too), he felt bloated, he felt dizzy, he had the overwhelming urge to claw his flesh out and pull his hair out in the state of vexation he was in. 

He gripped the counter with both hands and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked horrible. His hair looked like a rat’s nest, he had dark circles under his eyes, he was sweating, and he looked so freaking pale. His breasts ached, no, his whole body ached. He looks so fucking ugly. But he bets that if Chuuya were here, he’d say, and quote, he’d say : “Tch.. You look like fucking hell, ‘Samu. But you’re my hell now, so sit your bitchass down and let me take care of you.” 

… Yeah, he’d probably say that. Dazai cringed at the thought, sticking his tongue out as he thought about how sappy Chuuya would be for saying that. But Chuuya wasn’t here right now, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be until the next week or two. Which meant Dazai would not be resting now, and instead, working his butt off in the mafia (Not really, but yeah).

At around 10:50, Dazai walked into Lupin after a rather tiring day of work. He seated himself on one of the bar stools, slumping down on the table. Before the bartender could get his usual, he waved his hand and muttered : “No need. I’m not drinking today. A water would be fine, though.” The bartender nodded and got him a cup of water, setting it down on the table. 

At 11 o’clock, Odasaku walked into the bar. Dazai’s eyes lit up a tad, the brunet sat up straight, twiddling with his cup of water. Without taking even a sip of what he ordered, he stared at Odasaku. 

“Hey, Odasaku.” Dazai said with a mirthful note in his voice. 

Odasaku greeted Dazai shortly before taking a seat next to him. The bartender gave Odasaku his usual before Oda uttered : “What are you doing here? And why did you only order water?” before taking a sip of his drink. 

“Firstly, just thinking. Y’know, philosophical and metaphysical things. Secondly, I caught a cold or something. Been having a headache and I don’t wanna deal with a hangover tomorrow.. Plus, I can’t stomach anything.” Dazai said, sighing deeply as he slumped against the table again.

“Huh. Do you have a stomach bug or something? You should take some medicine. And, philosophical and metaphysical things? Like what?” The older man questioned, swaying his drink around in his glass. 

Dazai pondered for a moment before answering, “For most things in life, it’s harder to succeed than fail. Wouldn’t you agree?” he said with a smile. Odasaku somehow knew where this was going. 

But despite that, he answered, “True.” Before taking another sip.

“That’s why I should attempt suicide rather than commit it! Commiting suicide is difficult, but it should be relatively easier to fail at attempting suicide! Right?” Dazai said with a dark gleam in his eyes.

Odasaku sighed, looking down at his glass for a few minutes before answering, “You’re right. Although, are you sure this isn’t about Naka-” 

“I knew it!” Dazai glowed, clasping his hands together. “Eureka, as they say! Well, there’s no time to waste. Let’s test the theory. Barkeep, got any detergent on the menu?” 

“No,” the elderly bartender behind the counter replied while washing a glass. He was already used to Dazai’s stupid antics. “Youngsters these days..” He thought grimly.

“What about detergent with soda?” “No.” “Nothing, huh..?” “Looks like you’re out of luck.” Odasaku said, before adding, “Are you sure this isn’t about Nakahara, thou-” 

“No. It’s not about him.” Dazai said immediately, pouting while he took a sip of his water.

… Odasaku nodded, then took a sip of his liquor, and asked Dazai, “So you’re in a philosophical mood tonight, huh? Did you mess up at work or something?” 

Dazai let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I messed up. Big-time.” He pouted. “It was a sting operation, see. It all started when we got word that some merry little group wanted to steal our smuggled goods during delivery. These friendly fellows were willing to snatch the bread out of our mouths, so I was certain they’d be some sort of imposing band of fearless warriors. I lay in wait to ambush  them—my heart was racing with excitement. I thought if it all went well, I could die a heroic death on the battlefield. But the dozen or so armed guys who showed up were a real scrappy bunch. The only thing worth mentioning is the machine gun-equipped canvas truck with a rocket launcher attached. I was so disappointed that I set up a trap in the warehouse, but when we surrounded them and attacked, they ran away crying. Thus, I unfortunately avoided death once again. What a boring waste of time…”

What Dazai didn’t mention was the absolute hell he’d had while doing all that. His chest ached so damn much, and he felt nauseous the whole time. Odasaku looked at him for a second before asking, “What group were they with?” “We caught one of the little balls of energy before he could escape, so he’s being tortured as we speak. Probably shouldn’t be long before he talks.” Dazai said, twiddling with his cup again. 

… 

After a while of Odasaku and Dazai chatting (and Dazai persuading Odasaku into trying his tofu), a voice came between them. 

“Odasaku… You should’ve spoken up right there.” Ango had come. “You’re too soft on Dazai. You should be calling him out and whacking the back of his head with a hammer for every two out of three things he says, or else he’s going to go off the rails. Look around. Notice the awkward silence of all the people wanting to say something. Even the barkeep is trembling a little.” 

“Hey, Ango! Long time no see! Looking good!” Dazai raised a hand with a smile. 

“Can’t say the same for you.. And you’re calling this ‘looking good’? I just got back from doing business in Tokyo…and it was a day trip. I’m as worn out as an old newspaper.” 

“Barkeep, the usual, please.”

Dazai Osamu got home, or rather, the lavish apartment Chuuya had bought after The Flags had died. Chuuya couldn’t take in the fact that Albotross wasn’t there, and there would be no noise of the latter drinking above him. So, to fresh things up, he bought a new apartment on an impulse and.. well, he doesn’t regret it, or so he says. Dazai immediately clocked that Chuuya wasn’t sober when he bought it. 

Dazai typed in the code and walked in the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Immediately, he dropped his act of ‘being ruthless and cold’, and groaned exasperatedly, throwing his black coat onto the sofa. He then started unbuttoning his vest, while heading towards the bedroom. 

When he’d finally gotten down to his undergarments and bandages, he went into the bathroom for a nice warm shower. Yes, he would usually hate showers with all his gut, but after the soreness of his chest and body became harder to handle, he’d been urging to take a hot shower to dull the pain. 

Plus, he felt clammy and sweaty from the nightmare in the morning and the constant throwing up that’d been happening for the past week or two.

As he slid down his undergarments, tossing them into the laundry basket, he looked at his body in the mirror. He was bloated, clammy, and great. His eye bandage was bleeding again. He unraveled the bandage, threw it into the trash, and resentfully decided on a bandage change. 

Taking off his bandages (which he did while whining and groaning like a toddler), he finally stepped into the shower, and let the hot water dull the ache in his body. Gosh, today was terrible. He missed Chuuya. He missed how the idiot hatrack would welcome him home with some crab on the stove after a long day, and silently let him relax with cuddles and kisses. 

He was too tired to even think about his body or anything today. All he wanted to do was eat some canned crab, take some cold supplements like Oda told him to, and maybe read a book and text Chuuya. 

-

After the shower, he decided on some extra-soft bandages since the normal ones felt too itchy, and began wrapping them all over his body. He must be truly tired if he wasn’t feeling dysphoric right now. It happened a few times before. Mostly when he’d gotten hurt to a gruesome level, but eh, whatever. It was a good thing. 

Eventually, he selected one of Chuuya’s oversized shirts, some soft cotton undergarments, and oversized sweats. 

He walked into the kitchen, soft footsteps tapering across the apartment. Dazai searched the cabinets for some canned crab, taking a can out and setting it on the counter. He then kneeled down in front of the freezer and slid it open, searching for some ice cream. Great, there was some chocolate flavored ice cream left in a tub!

He eventually ended up in the bedroom, reading some romance story (and after he cringes, he'll switch to dark literature) on his kindle (which Ango had gifted him for his birthday), and ate ice cream (do not ask) and canned crab. A weird combination.. But then again, he was weird himself, so it ruled out, right?

The night ended.

Who knew that day at the bar would end up like this?

“Odasaku!” Dazai yelled as he ran as fast as he could, trying to reach Oda. He sprinted into the building and over to the ballroom, passing the myriad of corpses through the corridors along the way. When he finally burst through the huge oak doors, he saw his dear friend bleeding on the ground. 

“Odasaku!” “Dazai..” Dazai rushed over to Oda, then checked his wounds. The bullet had punctured a hole in Oda’s chest, blood piling up on the floor. The would was fatal.

“Y-you’re such an idiot, Odasaku.. The biggest idiot I know.” Dazai said, his voice cracking in between. God, since when had he become this emotional?.. Tears piled up in his eyes as he realized only one person would be leaving the building alive today.

“Yeah..” Oda whispered, a small smile on his face.

“You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to-” the lump in his throat felt so big, as the tears finally escaped his eyes, “-die.”

“..I know.” The sight of this kid crying was the most unexpected thing Oda had ever experienced. He smirked, the satisfaction of doing something worth the cost rippling through his aching chest. 

“Dazai.. There’s something I want to say..” The redhead said, his voice dipping on the edge.

“Don’t. Stop. We might still be able to save you! No, we will save you. So don’t say such-” The thought of Odasaku, whispering his last words in Dazai’s arms was unbearable to the latter. 

“Listen.” Oda said firmly as he wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai’s. “You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live..” 

“Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that—?” 

“You won’t be able to find it. You might’ve found a will to put it off for a while, but you won’t be able to find a reason.” Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. His will of course, had bloomed when he’d met Chuuya. Chuuya had been exhilarating, Dazai’d been obsessed to figure Chuuya and his humanity out. Chuuya had given him a will to live longer. But that didn’t give him a reason ; something logical. Something he’d be willing to stick to at all times. His heart had been empty with no reason to live when he’d joined the Port Mafia. Chuuya had filled half of the hole in his heart. You could say Chuuya was technically a reason ‘to put off with dying for a while’. 

But the other half was still aching for something. So it didn’t stop him from attempting to die. Chuuya could stop him when he wasn’t in a insanely destructive mood, but if it were to the point it had been when he’d attempted at 14, Dazai would be looking for a rope.

“You should know that. Whether you’re on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill that hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.” 

This was the first time someone had understood him so well. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted from the bottom of his heart to know something. He asked the man before him:

“Odasaku.. What should I do..?” 

“Be on the side that saves people,” Oda replied. “If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see the difference between right and wrong, but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.” 

“How do you know?”  “I know. I know better than anyone else.” Dazai gazed into Oda’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction. It was clear that those words were supposed to be some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Oda was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that.

That was why he could bring himself to believe it. 

“Okay, I will.” He said with a small smile, even if it wasn’t a happy one.

“‘People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die,’ huh…? He was…right…” The color in Oda’s face gradually disappeared until he was almost completely pale. He smiled. “I could really go for some of that curry…” 

With trembling fingers, Odasaku reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before sluggishly placing one in his mouth. By the time he pulled out a match, his fingers were too weak to hold it anymore. Dazai took the match and lit the cigarette for him. Then Odasaku closed his eyes, smoking the cigarette as he smiled, filling to the brim with satisfaction.

The cigarette fell to the ground. The match went out between Dazai’s fingers. Dazai looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. His tightly shut lips trembled. His tears falling down his face freely, dropping onto Oda’s face, tapering so quietly.

Odasaku was dead and Ango had betrayed them.

That night, Dazai couldn't cry, but he wishes he could. Just this once. He wouldn't have minded being vulnerable just this once. But he forgot how to cry when he wanted to, how stupid.

Yet his beautiful doe eyes, with that rich chocolate brown color in them, had glistened with tears the whole night.

Osamu Dazai woke up to the sound of his phone ringing loud enough to make his ears bleed. He was surrounded by empty bottles of Sake and empty cans of crab, along with a tub of half-eaten ice cream on the cold floor. After yesterday, he’d cried his heart out with food and occasional vomiting in the bucket next to him, which was reeking of it disgustingly. 

“Fuck.. My head..” He picked up his phone. Half a million messages from the Port Mafia stared him back in the face. The hungover brunet put his phone back on the floor, deeming all those messages useless to check up on. He was too tired to answer any of them, anyway. 

Odasaku’s funeral would be in 2 weeks, Dazai thought.

…If he wanted to leave the mafia, he’d have to start prepping now. First was packing his bags, finding blind spots all over Yokohama and finding that special divisions agent, Chief Tornado..? Tanedo.. Taneda! Yes.. Finding him for jobs on the good side and finally, asking Ango to get his crimes cleared. And of course, being on the run all over the world for a good few years before joining that job.

He had a lot of things to do.

-

After freshening up, he started packing his bags. He had to leave for Odasaku. Otherwise he’d be disappointing the only one who understood the deep and inhumane ache of his heart. But.. leaving Chuuya.. It was hard to make a decision between following Odasaku or staying with Chuuya. They both meant so much to him. He wanted to listen to Oda, but he also wanted to stay with his other half.

But Chuuya would always be there. Odasaku wasn’t anymore. Chuuya would always be with him, even if not physically. They would be separated for a while, but their fate is that they are destined to be together no matter what. Call it ‘soulmates’, if you will. Chuuya would understand with time. Yet, it hurt. So, so much at the mere thought of leaving his beloved behind and without a goodbye.

He had let himself get attached. And now, he’s paying the price.

Sure, he could’ve asked Chuuya to leave the mafia with him, but.. after what happened to the slug at 16, he ultimately decided against it. Accepting the mafia as his family had been a long, torturing and gruesome process. Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to go through that again. 

He knew he was being selfish and emotional (a shock), but Chuuya had finally made himself home after so much time. The mafia was his family. Dazai didn’t want to waste all that on him. Plus, he didn’t want to make Chuuya make the choice between himself and the Port Mafia. The redhead was far too loyal for that.

He wouldn’t drag Chuuya into his mess.

… Yet, before he left, he regrettably left a note behind for Chuuya. 

’Dear Chuuya, 

The past 3 years with you have been arguably the best of my life so far. Yet, I still cannot find a reason to live in that hellhole called the Port Mafia. I will always remember you, wherever and whenever it may be. As you are reading this, I am gone. Please do not grieve me, and move on, as that is my wish. I’m sorry. I cannot bear the ache of my heart anymore. Forgive me, my love. Take care of yourself. You changed me forever. And I mean it, take care. I love you with all my heart. I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you anymore. Forgive me, again, for that. Forgive me for everything.

Love, O.D., your other half.’

The brunet knew he was being cheesy, but he couldn’t help it. These were his last words to Chuuya. 

With a one look over his shoulder, he left the apartment, the note lying on Chuuya’s desk, waiting to be read.

In the middle of a verdant mountain trail atop a hill overlooking Yokohama was a cemetery with a view of the ocean. There were many new graves lined up—among them a small white burial marker without a name. Dazai stood before the burial marker, dressed in black mourning clothes and holding a bouquet of white flowers. “……” He squinted as the strong sea breeze suddenly gusted past. The white flowers fluttered in the wind. “I’ll leave this photo here.” He took out a picture and placed it before the burial marker. Frozen in time were the smiles of those three men. “I really wish you could’ve tried that hard tofu I made…” Dazai closed his eyes, then stood absolutely still, rooted to the spot. 

“I hope you’ll be proud of me, Dad.” A bittersweet smile graced his lips, and for once, he looked like a kid—a child, and not an adult beyond darkness.

- 

After calling Ango and checking in to manipulate him into clearing his criminal records—which he didn’t need to do since Ango had no problem doing it—the latter had suggested Chief Taneda to him, in hopes that if Dazai would have his respect and support, he’d be able to get most jobs on the good side without an eye batted towards him. After all, the Chief was known to ace those sorts of tasks. Nevertheless, Dazai did not want to be affiliated with someone like him, it’s not about Chief Taneda at all, just the pure hatred he has for his former drinking buddy. But eventually, after persuading Dazai with something along the lines of: ‘It’s what Oda would want’, the younger gave in and agreed that he’d give it a shot, under the conditions that if the Chief ‘pissed him off’, he’ll never be accepting Ango’s help on things like this again.

So that’s how he’s ended up waiting in some cafe for a bald old guy with glasses and a stick. Dazai ordered a delicious dessert to accompany him, sighing at how ‘lonesome’ and ‘bored’ he was as the waitress had half a mind set on smacking that pitiful look off of the brunet’s face. Dazai had put on a disguise for today too, sunglasses and a mask, plus some blue contacts. It suits him better than Chuuya he thinks, smirking to himself slightly before his smile disappears once the awaited man enters the cafe. Chief Taneda instantly catches his gaze and offers him a bootlicking smile, making his way towards their table. Dazai’s carefree act disappears and his posture straightens along with his body language. It’s way more firm now, and a frown sneaks its way under his mask. He stood up and offered a small bow, “Taneda-san,” while the bald man reciprocated it before the both of them sat down, the chairs screeching against the floor whilst everyone else spared them a glance prior to going back to their chatter and work.

“Dazai-san,” The Chief says, and Dazai offers him a tight smile after taking off his mask. “Sakaguchi recommended you to me, and it seems that you need some fishing out?” Dazai’s smile widens, straining even more as he replies, “Why yes! Ango said you could assist me in getting a job on the good side?” Taneda lets out a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Former Port Mafia Executive, yes? And even the Boss’s right-hand-man. What a list of achievements you’ve earned yourself.. As for the matter we’re here for.. With your list of crimes and reports, it’ll take a long time to get your name off those papers—but I suppose I could arrange for some plans and enlighten you with the list of opportunities you have. But please, quench my thirst and illuminate to me on why you’re searching for a better job off with the do-gooders when you had a well-paying and high rank in the Port Mafia?” Taneda draws out, stroking his beard whilst he waits for a response from the ex-criminal in front of him and for a waitress to come and take his order. 

“My reason is simple,” Dazai grits out, clenching his teeth before speaking up again, “a friend of mine died due to a tragedy that happened in a conflict between the PM and another organisation. Before passing, he advised me to do some good and save people instead of hurting them, so here I am.” His voice is so strained, some person else would’ve pissed their pants by now, hearing the cold anger of it, yet somehow, Taneda sits unfazed—he’s either oblivious or really good at acting. “Well then, I’d like you to hear my first suggestion. If your loyalty stands clear and firm to the good side, then I’d fancy it if you took up a place in the SDU with your skills and all, we’d be much better off.” And that’s where he lost Dazai, because as soon as Chief Taneda finished that sentence, Dazai stood up and bowed. “Thank you for your time and patience, this has been a wonderful meeting, but I am not joining the SDU, and I’d prefer if we never meet again, thanks.” He straightened himself and left the cafe.

Taneda stared at Dazai’s retreading back in slight shock, the smile on his face widening from being dumbfounded for so long. The waitress then came over to him, and instead of offering him a menu, she offered him a check. So Dazai had left without paying, too. What an amusing man.

The bus ride to Osaka was quiet and depressing. The cheap bus rocked up and down as they passed a bumpy road. It was midnight. Dazai had to bite back the nausea and the overwhelming urge to vomit.

It’s just the aftershock of everything that happened, he thinks to himself. Yet, deep down, he knows it’s more than that.

The darkness of this world has become clear to him. For once, he's found himself listening to someone else. Odasaku had been right, Chuuya nor anything else would be able to quench his thirst, to fill that void in his heart. Nobody and nothing would be able to fill it, and that is the sole reason he believes he isn't human. A human would have a reason. A human, like Chuuya. Chuuya wants to live. He has that determination that you can only find in the most humane of all. That is but the reason Dazai had fallen in love with Chuuya in the first place. Chuuya, in all his misery and had managed to keep wanting to live. He'd never let that fire dim. That fire would only blaze further. Dazai, on the other hand, is beyond this world. He is not a human, he is an alien, a thing not from this world. He doubts that he'll ever see a humane trait in himself. 

… He misses them. He misses them all. The chatter of the bar, the love of two fathers, and the love of his husband. A lump forms itself in his throat, but he swallows it down, darting his eyes to the city passing beside him.

He hopes he did the right thing.

Chapter Text

The execution had finally been executed, huh?.. Odasaku dying had been the execution all along.

The futon was uncomfortable. It was itchy, and the pillows were of bad quality too. The blanket was so thin, you could see through it. But it was cheap, and one of the only ‘underground’ safehouses in Osaka, so it was a win, ultimately, no matter the discomfort. 

Dazai Osamu lay on his futon, tired and nauseous to the core, sleeping as he mulled over what could possibly be causing this sickness. He’d been sick for at least a month now, give or take.. And sure, his immunity system was not that good, but even he knew that a virus staying so long even though he took medicine was abnormal. So now he was lying on his futon, half sleeping half thinking, on whatever the hell this sickness was.

…

It could be the aftershock of Odasaku’s death. Oh, how he felt sick remembering his lifeless eyes when he was cradling the older male’s body in his arms. But something told him that it wasn’t just that. And to back that up, he’d been sick even before Odasaku died.

…

Dazai groaned exasperatedly and twisted his face into one of annoyed resignation. The brunet sat up and looked around the cheap hostel room for wherever he put his burner phone. He pulled open the drawer and turned on his phone. … After searching his symptoms up and researching them, he had freaking cancer. 

Fucking God- damnit!

“Fuck-!” He cursed, his face twisting into one of anger. The brunet had finally thought to change himself for the greater good—for Odasaku. And he was getting along with it, too! What would Odasaku think now? He has done nothing to redeem himself for all the evil he’s done.. And that’s how it’ll always be, won’t it? He’ll always stay evil. Odasaku will be disappointed in him—how pathetic he was, giving in to cancer because he can’t be bothered to change when it finally becomes real. What a cruel hell he’s in.

‘Shit, this means I’ll never see Chuuya again either, huh..’  His first reason, ever, to live, was Chuuya. Who knows how the hell he fell in love after he met a ginger dwarf with anger issues. What did he find in Chuuya anyway? … It definitely wasn’t his stupid smile.. The way he scrunched up his nose when he felt any strong emotions in particular, or when he killed a guy in 5 seconds.. All of those were too normal reasons. … Perhaps it was that feeling of pure bliss whenever he was with the latter. That feeling of not having a single thought in his mind while staring into those blue-brown eyes which looked like chocolate and ocean mixed together, circling around his pupil.. 

He loved the shortie with all his heart. The only reason he didn’t want to ask Chuuya to leave with him, was because he didn’t want Chuuya to betray the mafia after he just got used to them. He knew how hard it was for Chuuya to accept that he’d never be able to leave the mafia because of how loyal he was, and because he’d be dead without the mafia.

Dazai didn’t want to break that. And besides, it was far too late to ask the ginger idiot to leave with him now that he’d already left and Chuuya was probably drunk and mad (read: so furious he could rip Dazai into pieces) at him. 

… As much as he didn’t want to, he’d probably miss Chuuya so much- … Was he-..crying..?

Crying. Over a man. How pathetic he is. To what level he's hunkered himself to. Mori would dislike this a lot, and he does too. Such vulnerability is not to be shown by the likes of him. 

Dazai brought his hand up to his face, feeling the dampness of his tears on his soft cheeks. “Haa.. I’m seriously crying over him..” He wheezed.. “This sickness is doing wonders to me, huh..” He whispered in the dark of the hostel room.. … He’d book an underground doctor later, just to check.

-

He woke up early the next day. 4:39 a.m. He couldn’t sleep after he mulled over the thought that he might never get to complete the task Oda wanted him to: Save some orphans and do good. Huh. He really would never get to do anything good, huh?.. It was just like Mori said. He was made for the mafia. There was no escape, was there? Why would someone like him even deserve to save? Or even live? What was the point in living anymore?.. Dazai was a master of all things, yet the only thing he couldn’t do was be good.

Oh, how he hated himself.

- 

He finally found the motivation to get up from his bed at around 7:37 a.m. The brunet got up from bed and went into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His chocolate brown eyes held eye-bags under them. His hair looked like a rat’s nest, all grown out and messy. He looked as pale as a swan.. His nipples hurt, his chest ached under the binder.. And oh, so much more. 

He raised his hands to his head and tried to brush it through his fingers to make it look at least half-decent. He sighed after a while, giving up. He washed his face and threw on a coat, slipping his phone in his pocket. He put on some glasses, tied his hair up and wore a scarf, hiding half of his face. He walked through the cold streets. Damn, why the hell was it so cold..?

Osaka was not that cold in autumn, everyone would say, but Dazai felt his bones shiver from the cold. His hands were cold, despite having gloves on them, his body was warm, despite the shivering, and his heart was.. cold. Despite the love in it.

What a strange feeling.

-

The soles of his shoes clicked against the street, being one of the only sounds except the birds chirping in the street. The air smells so.. so suffocating, so metallic and like rust. He almost throws up in the dumpster. The city was still rather empty, compared to the afternoons here. But it was that early, so Dazai didn’t think much of it. All he had to think about was finding this underground clinic, and praying to god that the doctor’s hair wasn’t black. 

How he still remembered the gunshots and the scalpel gliding through his skin, the pain throbbing through his entire body, the surgeries that weren’t required, the posey belt wrapped snug around his waist and to the bed. The hurt of the suicide attempt and not dying-

Ah. He was here. 

The clinic was a run-down clinic, with graffiti over its windows. It was in an alleyway, so that much was expected. He stepped closer, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

- 

‘He’d be proud of me for trying,’ he thought as he sat in the waiting room.

- 

“Mr. Tsushima?” A tall, female doctor with dark brown hair, highlights of blonde peeking out from her ponytail, approached him. 

He thanks whatever gods are up there, that she doesn’t look like him. 

“Yes, that’s-” The metallic taste in his mouth deepens, and he has to swallow his saliva to get rid of it for a moment. “-me.” He stood up, a light graceful bow escaping his body out of pure habit.

“Come in.” She said, before turning around and holding the door open for him. 

- 

“So, what seems to be the problem?” She asks, clicking her pen rhythmically, holding her notepad up to her chest, one leg crossed over another on her chair. 

Dazai has to resist the urge to pull that pen out of her hands and break it. 

“I’m.. sick. Nauseous and.. tired, my chest has been sore, and I find myself avoiding some foods and eating some I wouldn’t usually think of.” He says, settling for something simple. 

“How long?” She asks, staring at  the brunet on the cheap hospital bed. 

“Since.. August, I think.” The sickness had started at around mid-August, but it’d been mild and hideable back then. Dazai hid it until sometime in September, a week or two before Chuuya left for his mission.

“..And you’re transgender?” She asked. She didn’t sound offensive or disgusted, just normal.

“Yes. Female-to-male. Although, I haven’t had Testosterone that often, my last time was a few months ago. Neither have I had any surgeries.” The last time, a few months ago, in January, he had gotten T-shots behind Mori’s back. That had backfired quickly, earning him a few gunshots as ‘punishment’. Why that bastard didn’t want him to get hormones? No one knows, and he doesn’t want to know either. 

“Okay.. And.. Do you have a partner?” She asked, her eyes snapping up to him as the brunet took a little longer to answer.

“..I had one until a few weeks ago. He.. We broke up.” He said quickly, though he didn’t see how this information was relevant unless-

“Have you been sexually active with him?” … 

Nothing—nothing, could prepare him for where this was going.

“Yes. Until mid-September.” Dazai forced out, the nausea getting worse as the possibility revealed itself.

“..Have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?” 

Pregnant.

Pregnant. 

He would’ve laughed a few months ago, but now, after all the proof and evidence—he wanted to- to- he doesn’t even know!

“I..” Pregnant. Pregnant? How could he possibly have overlooked that possibility? It had been right under his nose this whole time-! 

“..Here are some test kits, that I find are usually very accurate, if you’d like to take one now, you can just go to the bathroom down the hallway and-” 

“No thanks. I’ll just.. take these and go.” Dazai uttered, snatching the kits away unconsciously, before stuffing them in his bag stiffly. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt more than his heart. He gave her a light bow and a small mumbled ‘Thank you’, before disappearing from the clinic.

That word kept ringing in his head the whole way to his safehouse. 

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant-

He reaches the safehouse on autopilot, twisting his key into the keyhole with that same stiffness as before.

It can’t be, he thinks. Or- that one drunken night under the covers, where they had been too horny and out of it to remember- He hopes it’s just a very bad flu, although he knows that his hope will be in vain.

The fucking irony. He was a port mafia executive a few weeks ago. He was a criminal. He’s on the run. He’s all alone. And- was he pregnant when Odasaku had died in his arms? It suddenly might make sense why he’d cried so much these past few weeks. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

Sure, he promised to do good and save some orphans, but he hated this world too much already. Breathing felt like a curse, most of the time. Living felt so agonizing and god, was this world cruel. He’s sure the mass of cells would prefer anyone as his parent, other than him. He was a monster. And he’s a monster, who is destined to die alone and slowly. Ok, sure, maybe he didn’t completely despise kids, but he hated being a parent with a burning passion. He wouldn’t drag this innocent life, deserving of way better than the likes of him—into this mess of his world. Hell, even Odasaku would understand if he wanted to abort it.

He should’ve remembered to take Plan B that morning, he should’ve avoided this somehow, he was a genius, mastermind, and yet- yet- just one vulnerable moment and now he might be pregnant.

Whatever. Worrying about it before having it confirmed is just useless. He should at least take the test before jumping to conclusions. It’s stupid anyway. He shouldn’t be able to carry a child. And he won’t. He doesn’t want to, and he never will. His body is not able to do it. He’s a man. He doesn’t have the organs to- 

Even gaslighting himself didn’t stop the thoughts from coming back. 

But. 

But. 

Odasaku would want to keep it. Odasaku would love to see his kid grow up. The older man would love to be an uncle or even a granddad-... But Dazai is not Odasaku. Dazai cannot be, as much as he tries. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going with all this.

- 

The brunet quietly, and subconsciously pours himself a few glasses of water, gulping them down as quickly as he could, the impatience driving him crazy. 

He has to know. He needs to know. 

The bathroom was filled with silence—except the sound of water droplets falling from the faucet. He could hear his own breathing—labored and heavy, as he held the kit in his arms. Taking a deep breath, which doesn’t do any comfort to him, he opens it. 

After taking the test, he paces in the bathroom. He would roll on the floor from the stress, but he’d rather not get a gazillion different germs on him. He’s supposed to wait for 5 minutes, minimum, the test packet says. 

It’s agonizing. He’s usually patient, but faced with this, he can’t find himself waiting a second longer, somehow, he forces himself to. 

Somewhere in his head, it finally comes to him that 5 minutes have passed. Every inch of his body is telling—screaming at him to turn around and take the test in his hands, to see the result that he’s already anticipated. 

He doesn’t want to. It’d only confirm the shitshow of a situation he’s in. His chest aches, not from soreness, but from absolute fear. What is he going to do if he’s-? 

… He snatches the test from the bathroom counter and forces himself to look at it.

Pregnant, he reads. 

His knees buckle by their own, and he’s slumped against the cabinets, his hands shaking as the positive result stares him back in the face.

He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant. He’s-

He would prefer cancer.

It’s a joke. A joke from the heavens because of all the wrong things he’s done. A joke from god. A joke from someone. A joke from the doctor- He can’t be pregnant. He’s a man- he- he-.. he can get pregnant. A lump, painful and big, forms in his throat. He can’t speak. He can’t move. He can’t control his heartbeat. He can’t think- 

The ringing in his ears intensifies.

He is not at all fit to be a parent. This baby would need him, and he can’t do anything about it. He cannot be there for a child, it’s impossible for someone like him. Loving Chuuya had been a fluke—a miracle that he could actually love. But could he ever love this baby? Could he be vulnerable to it? Could he protect it? Could he be there when it needed him?... This baby would need him and be completely reliant on him for the first few years of his life, and he is in no position to be a parent for it. He could not protect, nor could he love a child. He felt cornered and naked. However in this cruel, unforgiving world would he be able to raise an innocent, pure baby? The monster within him is the complete opposite. It’s cruel, unforgiving, manipulative, emotionless, absent, grim, awful- the list goes on. He’s a killer, a manipulator, a torturer—nothing like a parent. He does not have a single maternal, paternal—parental instinct in him. He has never had thoughts to protect a child, let alone have it- and he never will. It’s just how he is, and nothing will ever change that. He’s being kind to this baby. This baby will never have to live in this terrible world and never have to meet someone as disgusting as him.

His eyes start to sting. Whether from anger, frustration or the overwhelmingness of this situation, he doesn’t know. But the next thing he knows, he’s sobbing. The act of hyperventilating starts and he can’t seem to get his breathing back into control again. 

“Pregnant.. Haha! Fuck-!” He clenches his fists tightly on the pregnancy test, the sheer pressure being enough for it to almost break. ‘I can’t be a goddamned parent, I can’t even be human half the time. I’m a criminal, I’m on the run. And now the universe decides to tie me to a baby?!’ His thoughts quickly spiral.

Laughter, hysterical and loud, bubbles about the bathroom. Laughter, which quickly turns into sobs, which turns into laughter again, which turns into- Him throwing the pregnancy test as hard as he can against the wall. It gets stuck in the cheap wall, a crack forming and powder falling from it.

Tears, big fat tears escape his eyes in frustration. He can’t breathe. It’s so suffocating, so, so, suffocating- He can’t- His breathing quickly turns uneven and even more heavier, as he tugs at his hair—his hands shaking violently. What does he feel? Shock, Fear, and Anger. 

Anger quickly simmers into frustration and pure rage. 

At whom, you might ask? 

Why, Chuuya and himself, of course! 

“FUCK-! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” A string of curses escape his patched up lips, as he stands up and starts pacing around the bathroom, this time, in pure anger. “I fucking hate that bastard!” He screams, but it does little to soothe him.  

He looks down at the ring on his ring finger, and frowns at it, wiggling it off and then throwing it across the room.

He has to get rid of it. That’s the best thing to do. He will not carry a child. It’s unacceptable. He can’t raise a kid- It’s a thorn on a rose. He has to cut it off before he bleeds from it, but- 

But it’s Chuuya’s. Chuuya. Chuuya, who had taught him how to love and care. Chuuya, who made him feel human. Chuuya, the only person who would deal with his bullshit when no one else would. Chuuya, the only one who could completely take over his mind. Chuuya, the only one who could soothe him. 

Chuuya, the love of his goddamn life. 

Chuuya would be so thrilled. He’d be so happy to have a baby. He’d cry at the thought of finally having a family. The hatrack absolutely loved kids. He would be so excited and happy to be a father. Chuuya would love the baby more than himself. 

That’s the thing stopping him, isn’t it? That’s the thing stopping him from reaching out for the nearest knife and stabbing himself, getting rid of this mass of cells. 

This was Chuuya’s dream. Chuuya would always smile at those babies or kids at the supermarket. The way his eyes would slightly stare at the baby section with longing—Dazai knew. And he would start to feel afraid that Chuuya would hate him for not wanting to give him that. Chuuya would always be excited to choose outfits or baby bottles for some of Kouyou’s girls that would be expecting. 

In hopes that someday he would also have a tiny little one to love.

The truth is, Dazai hesitates. He hesitates to kill the fetus immediately. He shouldn’t. His anger simmers down to fear again, and doubt, hesitation and.. protectiveness?

His eyebrows ease and the crease disappears. He walks over to his ring and crouches down, picking it up again and slipping it on again. “Fuck you..” He whispers, holding the ring close to himself.

It’s the only thing keeping him sane. Chuuya would want him to keep the baby.

But Chuuya isn’t here right now, and Dazai will not prevail over some stupid hormones and risk the baby’s fetus’s life.

He tells himself he’ll abort it because of the dangers of being on the run. 

It’s really because he’s pathetic and afraid of being a parent. Of screwing up. Not that, but.. no baby deserved to have someone like him as a parent. Aborting it was being kind.

The tears escape his eyes yet again, as his head dips forward.

The next few days were a haze of feelings, nausea and running. Dazai couldn’t remember anything that was happening. All he could think about was the infiltration in his womb. A parasite. A jumble of cells. He felt so cold. 

He wants to die. He’s depressed. Suicidal. He has too many issues. He can’t be a parent. He has to get rid of it. Get rid of this abnormality, of this burden of- of.. of Chuuya’s baby. He quickly snaps back to reality, not letting himself spiral further.

Right. He was going to call an abortion clinic. This one was a trustworthy one, at least he thinks. The process would go smoothly and quickly. Within an hour. Dazai wouldn’t even have to feel a thing, he could be put on local anesthesia. 

Yet. Yet. He hesitates. His thumb hovered over the call button, as he sat, hunched over on his futon. 

Why does he hesitate? He shouldn’t. Even if it’s Chuuya’s. 

Groaning, he sinks into his futon again, covering himself in the thin blanket and kicking his feet in the air in irritation. Why? Why him? Why now? Why this? He hates this. He hates being pregnant. He hates letting himself be vulnerable. He hates almost getting attached to it subconsciously.

Going to the clinic in person would solve it, he thinks. The clinic would be right in front of him, and all he’d have to do is walk in and order an abortion, and wait for it to play out.

But the sickly feeling of getting something taken out of him, much less, something so pure and innocent- No. He mustn't let himself get attached—he repeats to himself like a mantra. 

In spite of that, his hand hovers over the warmth over his abdomen for a split second before clenching itself and resting on his thighs. 

He feels sick, not only physically but also mentally. He wants to claw his flesh out, it all feels so asphyxiating. So wrong. He wants to watch the blood drip down his arms. At least that would distract him from this. But he can’t. He tells himself it’s because he’s too lazy to reach out for the knife. 

It’s because he doesn’t want to hurt the baby.

Such a strange feeling.

His heart was beating against his chest as he stood in front of the clinic, the cool morning breeze only serving to fray his calm even further. 

He has to go in.

Why can he not? It’s disgusting. He feels disgusting because of it. It makes him suffer. It takes up more and more of him everyday. It makes him feel things he never has and shouldn’t, and it makes him want and do things he would never, too. It’s an alien. It’s a parasite. It’s invading him and killing him from the inside. He’ll only grow colder with every second he lets it stay inside him. 

He wants to die, so how could he-

Ah. That’s the problem. 

All he wants is a purpose to live. And god just handed him that on a silver platter. But he doesn’t want to accept it. Why? Does he really have any reason not to-

Because it might grow to know the mistakes and the darkness of this large world. Because they might end up wounded and hurt. It's pathetic, really. Wanting an abortion just because you’re scared of letting them be vulnerable. His mind is as blurry as a fog. He can’t think straight. Hell, his ten year old self would’ve made an essay on why he should abort it by now.

But he’s gotten softer, hasn’t he? 

He’s gotten prone to love and exposure. He’s not himself anymore. The thought of walking in and letting this purpose of life get crushed disgusts him. 

This little parasite has gotten him down to his knees. Just like their father would. ‘Barely a few cells and you already take after him, huh?’ he thinks. “Fuck this,” he whispers, his breath visible as the cold renders it white in the air. 

He’s gonna keep it. But only because of Odasaku and his promise to the man. Not because of Chuuya. Never. Definitely not. He’ll have to tell the traitor rat about this. He hasn’t thought about Chuuya yet.

For once in his life, he wants something with his whole heart. Perhaps this little mass of cells could make him whole again.. Piece the broken bits of his heart back together, piece by piece. He’s being too selfish. He should let this little (very little) being go away, perhaps be reconceived to a better couple, but..

It’s his child, Chuuya’s child. And damn it, he loved everything Chuuya could give him. This little fetus was no different. It’s untouched and innocent, it has the potential to live a happy life, something that he and Chuuya never had.

It almost feels like he loves it. He must not. He’ll only carry it to term, push it out and give them to an orphanage, in hopes that this baby would be loved and cared for.

He does not care for it, he tells himself.

France is cold at this time of the year. It gets rainy and chilly, and just the perfect time to wear those fashionable coats you get at designer shops. 

Chuuya Nakahara has just finished with his mission.

Chuuya walked down the bustling street, bundled up in a scarf and coat. He’d gotten a team dinner earlier at a restaurant, celebrating that they’d finally sealed off the jewels and weapons trade mission, after a long wait of months.

However, even wine didn’t help the uneasiness and worry in his bones. Dazai hadn’t texted him since two days after he left for the mission. 

He tells himself it’s because Dazai’s probably on a mission that requires him to not use his phone, or the idiot tried to cook and blew up his phone somehow, but that doesn’t stop the worry from consuming him. The idiot might’ve had a depressive episode, or worse.

So that’s why, he cut the celebration short and told his subordinates that it was time to go back to Yokohama, first thing next morning. And now, he was walking down the street in hopes that his stress would stop, somehow. He missed the bandaged idiot, even if he would never admit it. Plus, the idiot had been sick as hell for the past few weeks. Chuuya had checked in everyday with a: 

‘Hey, idiot. How are you? I’m good, my day was shitty, how was your day? Did you eat? Did you take your supplements? You better. Or else I’ll come there and tie you to the bed and feed you myself. Take care of yourself, Mackerel.’

He grumbles as he can’t get his stupid husband out of his head. “Stupid idiot..” He mutters under his breath, the sound even more muffled by the scarf. “Stupid sick fish..” He mumbled, walking down the rocky path, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He should get some medicine here, he thinks. And those damn crab crackers they only sell here. 

- 

He comes home to Yokohama, while it’s raining. 

The rain cascades over the city, the smell of it refreshing and grounding. The pavement is wet, the crickets are chirping somewhere, where the birds have gone to sleep, and the feeling of it is for once, nothing like it should feel.

Chuuya feels uneasy as he walks home.

He always felt like this, the feeling that something was going to happen to the idiot and the red head couldn’t do anything about, before an episode of the bastard’s. Under all that muscle and tissue and blood, in his heart, he feels it coming.

The rain before a storm.

-

He steps in the apartment, taking the stairs, despite the lift being perfectly functional. Perhaps he wants to take the long way up, just to put off seeing what kind of mess the brunet must’ve gotten himself into. The heels of his shoes clack against the coolness of the stairs, doing nothing but fraying his discomfort further.

He stops in front of their door.

It’s the same as always, the classic rug and the nameplate reading: ‘Nakahara’. But why does it feel so different? Why, when it used to feel like comfort and warmth when he was in front of his home, now, it feels like if he’ll move an inch further, the ground will open up and swallow him whole?

‘Geez, get a grip of yourself, Chuuya,’ he thinks.

His gloved hand hovers over the still doorknob, before hesitantly pushing it open, as he sticks his key in and turns it around.

The apartment is unusually quiet.

“Mackerel? Bastard? Come the fuck out, I’m home!” He yells, throwing his keys on the couch. He sets his luggage down on the floor, and the buzz of his gravity turns off. “Fish, if you’re gonna play a prank, the dark emo feeling isn’t gonna help you. Just come out already.” He yells out again, taking off his shoes and hanging up his coat and scarf. 

“Osamu?” Still, no answer. 

He tells himself not to panic. The idiot is probably out on a mission, maybe out of town, maybe he lost his phone and he couldn’t text Chuuya-

The extra pair of keys and the bandage dispenser’s phone on the couch says otherwise, though. 

“‘Zai? Osamu? I know you’re home. Just get on with scaring me or whatever already.” He steps further into the apartment, throwing his gloves off onto the kitchen island. “Okay, that’s enough, Dazai. Just come out already, you bastard, it’s not funny anymore.” Okay, this was just getting plain stupid.

“…” 

What if the idiot- Chuuya’s pace gets faster, as he sprints to the bathroom upstairs, slamming the door open. 

Nothing.

What the hell. “Bastard, where the hell are you?! I’ll tear your fucking limbs apart if you tried to kill yourself-!” He walks up to their bedroom, slamming the door open and storming in their other bathroom.

Still nothing.

“Real funny, jackass, I swear, I’m going to get you back for this.” He mutters, then checks the guest bedroom, only for his guess to be wrong, again. The guest bathroom is empty, too.

The only room left…

He hurries towards his home office, yanking the door open and looking around the room for a hint of the idiot. He walks up to his desk, until-

Something’s out of place, or rather, something got added.

It’s a note, written in cursive. The idiot’s handwriting. The latter usually wrote in normal handwriting unless the writing was poetry or, official, or.. important. 

He picks up the soft paper, gripping it tightly as he skims its contents. 

’Dear Chuuya,

The past 3 years with you have been arguably the best of my life so far. Yet, I still cannot find a reason to live in that hellhole called the Port Mafia. I will always remember you, wherever and whenever it may be. As you are reading this, I am gone. Please do not grieve me, and move on, as that is my wish. I’m sorry. I cannot bear the ache of my heart anymore. Forgive me, my love. Take care of yourself. You changed me forever. And I mean it, take care. I love you with all my heart. I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you anymore. Forgive me, again, for that. Forgive me for everything.

Love, O.D., your other half.

P.S. - I couldn’t have asked for a better partner, thanks for everything.’

He physically cannot move.

What the fuck, he thinks. Was this a fucking suicide note? Did the bastard just- leave him behind? … When it finally hits him that the bastard has left, he starts shaking.

Not with sobs, like a normal husband would, but with anger.

His grip tightens, and it crumples the paper as a result. His eyes went dark with rage as he struggled to focus on the letters before him. He reads it.

Again and again and again and again and again and again-

‘I am gone.’  

Is the only sentence from the letter that registers in his usually quick brain.

What the hell. How could this bastard just disappear after everything they shared? They got married just a few months ago, and now this bastard leaves him?

Red-hot, piping fury floods his veins, making his blood boil until his whole body shakes from the weight of it. Gone. Gone. Gone. 

He laughs hysterically for a minute or two, then grins like a madman and lets out his anger loudly, his voice enough to make a deaf person flinch.

“GONE?!” His voice rips through the air like a wild animal, so guttural it sounds like something breaking. “GONE-?! BASTARD! You fucking COWARD!” He roars, slamming his fist down on his desk, the papers flying away like birds from the force. 

The oak wood smashes under the impact of his fist, blood dripping down from his knuckles, but he can’t notice it for all he cares. The only thing ringing through his mind like a siren right now, was that—Dazai had left him. The bastard had fucking left. After all that time together. Weren’t they happy? Did he do something wrong? Was he cursed that whoever he meets, and trusts, leaves him one way or another?

He doesn’t give a single fuck about the blood dripping from his fist. Not when there’s a thousand times more painful burning ache in his chest. 

“How DARE you?!” He screams into the office, the sound bouncing off the walls, making it even louder. He steps back from the table, clenching his hands in his hair, pulling at it like it’s an outlet for all this anger. His words are jagged, cutting through the air like razors—each one more sharper than the last. 

“How dare he leave me behind like this?! Stupid fucking- Why the fuck did I fall in love with him?!” He shouts, his steps backwards growing more, and more sloppier until he has to use his ability to steady himself and not fall. 

His hands lash out in every direction, slamming into whatever's near him. The desk. The chair. The walls. He doesn't care. It's not enough. Nothing is enough to destroy this fucking feeling tearing through him. The sense that he's been completely fucking discarded like he was nothing more than a pawn, a mistake, a joke. 

His hands hurt so much. But nothing can hurt more than the deep sense of betrayal in his veins in his body. 

“Stupid- Stupid- Stupid bastard!” He keeps punching the wall, the crack widening enormously with each punch. “Bastard drags me into the fucking port mafia—then leaves himself?!” The last punch shatters a hole in the wall, rendering him even more furious. 

“You leave me with this shit?!” He howls, a guttural scream of fury that echoes off the walls. “You're fucking sorry? After everything we've been through, after everything I did for you, and this is how you repay me? With a goddamn letter?! A fucking note?!” He yells into the room, although there’s no one to listen to him.

“Fucking shitty jerk! After all the vulnerability I show you, you still chose to attack me at my weak spots!” He grits out, slamming his fist into the shelf, and a hole breaks through it immediately. 

“After all the pain I went through, trying to understand him, he fucking leaves me and goes to die in a ditch somewhere?!” He tries to control Arahabaki, booming inside of him with anger, repeating the words: ‘TRAITOR, TRAITOR, TRAITOR’, in his mind.

“BASTARD! Why the fuck would you leave me-?!” He finally yells, sinking down to his chair just from the pressure of it all. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, his veins popping and gravity starting to get out of control around him; he pushes his anger down, and instead, sits there with the strong feeling of hurt and loss. His anger hasn’t completely simmered down, but instead broken down to other emotions, too.

“..He left me, too.” He whispers into the empty room, not a single soul there to listen to him.

-

His car got bombed that night. He’d deal with whoever did it later. But for now, he could care less with the alcohol pumping in his veins, the wine hitting the back of his throat bitterly, burning his thoughts away.

He opened a Vintage Petrus 1989 that night. He’d kept it for a future special occasion, but he couldn’t help but give in to the urge to drown himself in alcohol, trying to dim the feeling of betrayal and hurt.

They all leave him. No matter how much they promise that they’ll stay. He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it up, then taking a drag. 

He was fucking pathetic, sitting on his bathroom floor, burning the mackerel’s things away, and drinking wine and whisky like it was water. 

No matter how loyal he is, they’ll always leave him. 

His phone flickers with unread messages to the brunet. He knows there’s no point, but sending it to the idiot’s number sends an odd wave of false satisfaction through him.

• Blue Mackerel 🐟 -

00:47

Dazai. 

You fucking bastard.

Don’t you dare be dead.

I’ll fucking kill you if I see your dead body.

You better not be dead.

Come home, dammit.

You better come home or I’ll kill you.

1:39

Osamu.

I fucking hate you.

You could’ve at least told me something. 

If you hated the PM so much we could’ve left together.

But no. You just have to go on and kill urself.

Fuck you.

I hope I never see you again.

His eyes sting, glistening with tears before he blinks them away. He’d been betrayed too many times. He would not cry. He will not cry. It’s stupid to cry. He will not cry because his partner left him. His partner, who had promised to be the one to finally stay after everyone had betrayed him.

No fucking way he’ll cry over that coward. He’s furious at him. He hates him.

Yet, the only thing he doesn’t burn is the gold ring on his finger.

Chuuya Nakahara is called to the Boss’s office first thing the next morning. He walked through the building of Mori Corp, hungover and sorrowful as his lips stayed upside-down in a tight-lipped frown.

He walks to the boss’s doors and waits for the guards to open the door, letting out a grunt: “Open the door, idiots. The boss has summoned me.” 

The two low grunts looked at each other, sharing a glance before nodding and opening the door. 

Chuuya walked in, taking his hat off, and bowing before the boss.

“Ah, Chuuya-kun, no need for the formalities. Please, come here and enjoy this wine with me. It’s German, but I think you’ll find some pleasure in it.” Mori proclaimed, an uncanny smile twisting in his face.

“Yes, of course, boss.” Chuuya muttered, walking forward and sinking down in the chair in front of Mori’s desk.

“Now, how did that exchange mission of yours go?” “Smoothly, boss. The weapons got deported and we got the real deal in return.” Mori smiled, his smile sinister, yet only to those who knew him under the kind play. “Excellent.” 

Mori mulled over something for a moment, a light frown gracing his face before he turned it into a smile of frustration, pouring Chuuya a glass. “You see, Chuuya-kun..” He started, pushing the glass over to Chuuya. “I’m rather vexed with Dazai-kun at the moment..” 

“And why would that be?” Chuuya asked, his clueless act giving nothing away as he picked up his wine glass, swirling it around before taking a sip. He would not allow his calm to fray, nor would he show his true emotions to Mori. He might not be as good at Dazai at hiding his emotions, but damn it, he was good at it.

“Dazai-kun has defected from the Mafia.” Mori said, his smile looking awfully a lot like cold anger, at something he couldn’t control.

For a moment, just a moment, he was happy for Dazai. His anger from yesterday had simmered down to resentfulness and grief, yet a small part of him had opened that Petrus to celebrate. To celebrate the fact that Dazai had finally gotten the peace he wanted, whether he be dead or alive. 

But the words still cut through him like a knife. Hearing it from the boss himself was a whole other thing than seeing a note from the idiot about it; for all he could’ve known, the idiot might’ve just played a prank on him.

The confirmation feels worse.

“What?” He asks, tuning his voice around to something akin to anger, with a hint of disbelief and annoyance. He sets his glass down with a hard clink, his face twisting into the one he had when he processed the note.

He doesn’t even know anymore if he’s acting or not.

“What a nice joke, Mori-sama.” He says, the disbelief in his voice might’ve even fooled the bandaged bastard himself. 

“..You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” The Boss twirls his scalpel around, his smile getting more and more tense by the second, their gaze locked in with each other.

“He’s- He left? That bastard actually left? No- he’s dead. He can’t have betrayed me-” Chuuya feigns incredulity, his acting skills being on stage. 

“Chuuya-kun. The both of you were..” Mori takes a sharp breath. “..quite close, I have to say. Did he tell you anything before leaving? I’m asking this as your boss.” 

“..No. He didn’t tell me anything.” Chuuya says, his eyes certain and his voice not wavering a bit.

“Ah.. But that’s the problem, isn’t it..? I cannot blindly trust my personnel as a boss of deception and lies, now, can I? That would lead to the downfall of the Mafia..” He draws, playing an innocent act, before snapping into the terrifying boss he truly is: “Kouyou-san will be handling your interrogation. She’ll be here in a moment. I’m truly apologetic for doubting your loyalty, however you were the one closest to Dazai-kun. You would not hesitate to do anything for him.” 

Chuuya would open his mouth to protest, but damnit , he knows it’s true. He hopes Ane-san will go easy on him. That woman could be horrifying when she wanted to be.

“If you prove to be loyal, I will be putting you on the search team for Dazai-kun. You are the only one who will ever get close to understanding his true intentions, as his partner. However, if you prove to be unfaithful..” Mori smiled, the dark look on his face making Chuuya’s stomach churn at the sight of it. “..let’s just say, the punishment will be.. painful.”

Chuuya frowns, his fists clenching as he looks at the early morning view of Yokohama through the tall windows beside them. To think, the bastard may be somewhere outside there, dead or alive.. It sent a deep sense of betrayal yet some vicarious pleasure coursing through his veins. Dazai finally got the relief he wanted, at the expense of Chuuya’s hurt. The betrayal hurt more, though.

And the betrayal won. “Of course, Boss.” He brought his hat to his chest again, bowing before turning around to leave. 

“I’ve taken a liking to you, Chuuya-kun. You’re loyal and I can expect you to pull off anything as one of my best mafiosos. It would be a shame if we let that go to waste because of Dazai-kun.” Mori chirped.

“...” Staying silent after pausing for a moment, he finally left the room.

Kouyou was waiting for him outside with a look of betrayal and pity. She would be truly let down and mad if Chuuya had put Dazai over the Mafia. Yet under her facade, she’d be consumed with pity and sadness. Chuuya looked up at her with a look of guilt, even though he hadn’t done anything.

This was going to be a long week.

Dazai does not know why the fuck he blowed up Chuuya’s car first thing he came to Yokohama. Perhaps this is what they called ‘pregnancy hormones’..?

Osamu Dazai came to Yokohama yesterday, in hopes of telling Ango about the news. 

Yet, the first place he stopped by was their- Chuuya’s place. He keeps telling himself it’s because he wants revenge, since Chuuya’s swimmers went in him to- Ew. Disgusting. Dazai sticks his tongue out, another wave of nausea hitting him as he lay at some other underground hostel. Fuck, does he love- hate Chuuya. 

But what he doesn’t admit is that the only reason he ever bombed Chuuya’s car in the first place was because hormones had taken over him and he’d gotten a little too emotional and put the bomb in it as a form of a goodbye, so Chuuya would know he’s still alive.

But he’d never say that out loud. Never. He’ll take it to the grave.

So here he is, in some other hostel in Yokohama, in one of the Port Mafia’s blindspots. He let out an utterly bored groan, waiting for Ango to pick up the phone.

He’d bought a burner phone and tampered with it, so it couldn’t track anything. 

‘Call declined’.

Fuck, at this point he was just gonna break into Ango’s house and say: ‘I’m with child, I need a few more IDs and fake identities.’

Dazai kicked his feet in the air in frustration. “Fuck you, Ango!” This pregnancy- infiltration of privacy and body was really bringing out the worst in him. He tells himself it’s just a few more months, and then it’ll be all over, and he won’t have to deal with the baby anymore. 

-

After 2 days of constantly calling Ango and failing, Dazai decided it was time to visit the bastard at Lupin.

Telling Ango was necessary, whether he liked it or not. Plus, he had no one else to tell this news. Ango would keep it a secret, Dazai is sure of that. And he will make the fake identities and things he needs for the next nine months, or Dazai would just manipulate it out of him.

… 

Currently, though, he’s staring through the glass windows of a bakery shop instead of walking straight to Lupin, mouth watering at one of the cakes there. Ah, how sweet and- Nope. No. Hell no. He was not craving. Absolutely not. The demon prodigy would not succumb to some stupid, unnecessary pregnancy craving-

-

He walks to Lupin with an extra bag in his hand.

He’s wearing an oversized pullover, black slacks and a dark brown coat. His bandages were off, and were replaced by clothes that covered his scars instead. He’s wearing a beanie (fuck, he didn’t want to), glasses and a mask. 

All just to avoid being looked at by the mafia.

Now, it’s 9:17 p.m. 

He’s going to wait around a bit, take a few detours, maybe, then show up at Lupin in the dark of the night.

-

He spent his time sitting around at a park, eating the cake. 

As he lingered by the park bench, gawking at the kids like some kidnapper—he wondered if this little baby- fetus would grow to laugh and play like that someday. He hopes they’ll have a happy life with better parents that aren’t like him. 

Parents that aren’t like his.

He rarely thinks about his parents these days, but god, does he hate them. The only loving parent he had was ‘mama’. Oh, her gentle touch, her awestrucking face, her smooth hands, her soothing words.. 

He missed her. She died when he was 5.

Of course, his father was a real bastard. He hopes this little.. he really has to get a better name for it.. being will never have to suffer a fate like that. 

He really does. 

… He snaps back into reality when he realizes all the kids have emptied out and it’s getting dark. Picking up the leftovers of his cake, he throws it in the trash. 

He checks his phone for the time. 11:57 p.m. He decides to walk a few blocks around the place to gauge for spies or people watching him, to clear them out, then finally go to Lupin. 

He catches 2 of them. Not explicitly watching him, but searching. 

-

At around 1:43 a.m, he decides to go to Lupin Bar. 

-

This place might look the same, but it feels so different now. Their laughter, the light atmosphere, the presence of his dads- friends…

..it was all gone.

Dazai takes a seat, and god, does the bartender jump a bit when he sees him. “Not a word to anyone about this or I’ll slit your throat so painfully you wished you weren’t born.” Dazai mumbled, sinking his head down in his hands, waiting for the traitor to appear. 

“..Of course, sir. Anything you’d like?” The bartender quickly regains his composure, bowing a bit before going back to polishing his glasses.

“Something nonalcoholic..” “What, like a smoothie? This is a bar.” …A new bartender, tall yet youthful asks him. They had a cherry red jellyfish cut. Black nails, and a killer eyeliner. 

“And who are you?” Dazai asks, in absolutely no mood for this person’s bullshit. 

“River. New bartender.” Dazai scrutinizes them up and down, then notices the ‘they/them’ pin on their chest. 

… “I’ll slit your throat if you let a word out, too. Get me some soda.” He says, with a look so dark you could piss your pants.

That doesn’t faze the teen though, as they stick their tongue out and go fetch him a lemon soda.

“I apologize for their behaviour, sir.” The older bartender said, getting a glass for the soda as it got poured to him.

“It’s fine.. Just.. Do you know if Ango still comes here?” The bartender nodded, “He should be here sometime now.” 

…Just at that moment, the door clicked open.

“Bartender, my usual, plea-” The government spy freezes at the sight of his friend. “Dazai-?” The shock can’t be kept out of his voice, as his eyes widen tenfold.

“Sit down, Ango.” Dazai says, betraying nothing but the usual coldness he had as the demon prodigy. 

Ango can’t do anything but comply, the guilt consuming his actions as he gets his drink. He takes a sip, stealing glances at Dazai, before breaking the tense silence. “I thought you were angry at me? You said you’d never ask me for help again if Taneda-san got under your skin-” Ango frantically said, after all, Dazai was a man known for keeping most of his promises. “You still owe me.” Dazai gritted out. “Yes, but-” “..I’m pregnant.” 

Nothing, nothing, could've prepared him for that. “Please tell me that was a joke, Dazai.” The older man utters, his eyes widened with shock and Dazai swears he would laugh if the situation wasn’t so serious. Ango would never suggest for Dazai to think about having a child, let alone actually having one—it’s not that his opinion matters, but did Dazai really go and get himself knocked up right after he left the mafia, being on the run? Or.. the other possibility- Dazai’d been pregnant even before he left. Which would say that he had been with child when Ango betrayed them, and when Oda died- God, he wishes it’s somehow neither.. 

Dazai spares a look at him, then frowns, setting his head down on the table in his hands, sighing: “I wish, you wish, we all wish I were joking..” He can’t bear to look at Ango, despite being the one in control here. That disappointed look he still dislikes, despite having crossed Ango off as a close one. Ango looks at Dazai with an expression of sympathy—by that tone, he can say that Dazai didn’t do it on purpose, and even if he had, he would’ve ripped that child out by now. So the only explanation.

“You were pregnant when Odasaku died and I betrayed you.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. His hand hovered above Dazai’s shoulder, before he retracted it, setting it between them. “Are you.. okay..?” He settles for that. “Do I look like I am?” The brunet spat it out like venom as he turned his head around in his hands, looking up at Ango with those tired, empty eyes. Now that the government worker has a closer look at him.. 

Dazai doesn’t look fine at all. His unkempt hair is cascading all over his face, having grown longer since the last time Ango saw him. He had dark circles around his eyes, tainted by the slightest of red at the corners. His eyes were tired and resigned—even more so than before. Ango tries to comfort his friend, “..No. It’ll.. get better.” I hope. He isn’t one to comfort, or even be there for someone, but he tries to be there for Dazai after everything he’s done. “Don’t even try with me.” Dazai mutters, looking away again.

…

“I suppose since you’ve come here, you want to.. keep it..?” Ango questions. He would provide some advice in not to. But who is he to do that, really? The guilt rushes through his veins like a stream. Dazai is not fit to be a parent on the outside, not capable of it with all his issues, everyone would say with a glance towards him. But you’ll need more than a glance at him to deem that. The truth is, Dazai is complicated. But he is capable of it, deep down there somewhere.

The only reason that Dazai wants to keep it is probably because it’s Nakahara’s. 

That man has done a lot for Dazai. The longest he went without killing himself was only because of Chuuya. Chuuya made Dazai feel human, and happy. Ango has to thank Chuuya for that someday, when this clusterfuck of a situation is over.

“..Yeah. But only until.. they’re born.” Dazai grits out, clenching his teeth bitterly at the thought. He’s not attached, he tells himself, but his attempts are almost in vain. 

Ango winces, god, Dazai was truly tied up there. “You’re not planning on telling him, are you?” He asks. He knows it’s an impulsive question, but he can’t help but articulate it.

“..No. It’s better for the baby this way.” Dazai says, taking a sip from his soda.

A father should at least know that he fathered a child, but Ango can’t tell Dazai that. He’s in no position to, and nor is Dazai in any position to be able to say it to Chuuya. Ango knows that Dazai would, if he could. Nakahara would be thrilled to have a child, after all.

“Ok. Okay. Are they healthy?” “..I haven’t had an actual appointment yet.” 

“..What do you want me to do for you?” Ango finally asks, getting straight to the point. “Get me some identities with pregnancies, I don’t care if they’re male or female. And get me better plans for countries with better hiding possibilities and good OB/GYNS. And get on faster with my record. Please .”

“..Ok.” Ango mutters. “But I’ll have to tell Chief Taneda about it again,” he mumbled after that. “Fine.” Dazai said, his voice strained.

Dazai’s at the verdant mountain top hill again. He sets a bouquet of flowers down on his grave. Strange to think that Odasaku would always stay 23, and Dazai would (preferably not) grow a bit older. He sits down on the redhead’s grave, even though it may be disrespectful to, he knows Oda wouldn’t mind it.

“Odasaku.. I hope you and the kids are doing well.” He isn’t a man who believes in god or heaven, but for Odasaku, he hopes they’re at peace somehow. 

“..I’m having a kid myself now.” He pictures Odasaku’s shocked face in his mind, and he smiles bitterly, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. 

He imagines how Odasaku would be happy for him and Chuuya. He’d love to babysit the child, and play with them. 

“..I decided to keep it. But only until..” His voice breaks. “Until I find a better home for them. I hope you’ll be proud of my decisions.” He mutters, pouring the sake he bought over Odasaku’s grave.

He imagines Odasaku’s awestruck smile at the news. He imagines the children happy to have a little sibling to play with, he imagines Chuuya’s thrilled and ecstatic face, he imagines how happy they would be, he imagines everything he couldn’t have in this life. This life was cruel to him. He hopes that this little being might be able to change it. 

They will.

Chapter Text

He does not know how many days it’s been, restrained in this cell.

The Port Mafia is an affluent and rather wealthy organisation. Towers so tall you can’t see the end of them, the insides so well-maintained your jaw could drop. The taste in furniture being so exquisite and extraordinary it would rival that of a kingdom.

But the cells, oh the dungeons were a whole other story. Turns out, the perks of being a criminal organisation is that you have the best torture chambers, filled with weapons and methods to force the truth, or just the screams out of you. Depends on what the person tormenting you wants. 

But in a world full of ability-users, you couldn’t imagine what kind of hell it could be.

He hasn’t had a good meal in weeks, only an apple stuck to his mouth or some water that you can’t get enough of in places like this. He empathizes deeply with Verlaine now, feeling the torture of his earlier sessions throb through his body. But he couldn’t understand why someone would want to stay here willingly. Though he supposes Verlaine got let off easily as a valuable assassin, and the French man never got to feel this.

The sweat is dripping down his forehead and his blindfold is so tight it’d leave marks for weeks. His hands and legs are tied to a chair, and his once clear and smooth skin is now rough and scarred. Yes, he’s always been scarred with the pains of his past, but these ones are new and fresh, the pain still stinging with alcohol and bandages over them.  

There’s a peculiar stench in the air, not an ounce of freshness in it. He supposes it’s something along the lines of the rusty air with blood, body odor, sweat and alcohol. Perhaps rotten food too. His only senses which weren’t restricted were his skin, to feel the pain, and his nose, to breathe. His ears had been sealed off in between sessions, with tight earmuffs only to be taken off while asking questions. Kouyou would also spare him the blindfold while torturing, though. ‘The eyes never lie’, he remembers her saying.

The Port Mafia’s torture methods are brutal. Only the higher-ups know what it entails to avoid or perform it. Well, now that he knows, he supposes he could tell you.

It’s not weapons nor is it manipulation.

It’s raw, unfiltered pain, from abilities to the most innocent things ever. For all the redhead knows, people here have had it worse than him. He’s lucky that his tormentor is Ane-san, a sister and not a stranger to him. She’s going soft on him, he thinks.

Why does the boy not use his ability, you ask? Because even if he managed to activate it, the cellar is built with a counter-ability which confines his ability in just the room itself, and even if he managed to get out of his shackles and chains, Kouyou would come back and punish him even more.

So that’s how it’s been going for Chuuya Nakahara these past few days. Dark, depressing and painful.

…He smells the faint scent of perfume and instantly straightens up, his head cocking to where he supposes the door is. He can hear the faint sound of the door opening and shutting, the chains clinking against the titanium door.

Not even a moment after, he feels Kouyou’s hands take off his hearing muffs, he finally lets out a sigh, waiting for her to torture him some more.

“Lad, you’re free.” She mumbles, starting to unfasten his blindfold. Her voice feels like heaven to him, the only hope he’s had in these past few days shooting up like a star.

“Really? Did you fuckers finally realise I’m innocent in all of this?” He spits out, the distaste in his voice clear. “Yes, they went through all of your belongings and I’ve deemed you have nothing more to hide.” She spoke, the blindfold eventually falling off as he looked up at her. Her look wasn’t what Chuuya’d thought it’d be at all. He’d expected indifference or disgust, or some negative feeling, not-

A pitiful face staring back down at him. It comes to him again that she’s Ane-san , she’s family, and not some Port Mafia grunt staring him back in the face. For the first time in days, he looks at her with eyes seeking comfort. “Oh, lad..” She mutters, the guilt in her voice clear as she leapt in to give him a hug.

It’s the only form of warmness he’s had since he left for France. “I’m so sorry, Chuuya. You’re so hurt, all because of me..” She says into his hair, as she’s running her fingers through it. His eyes widen for a second before he breaks his wrists free from the chains and hugs her back, tightly. He clings to the warmth she can offer him. It’s not the warmth he wants, but she does just fine soothing him. “It’s fine, Ane-san. Not your fault. After all, Mori-sama forced you to do this and it was bound to happen with that bastard leaving anyway-” The woman’s grip tightens, firmer yet more gentle somehow. 

“Chuuya, I’m so sorry about what happened to you and Dazai..” She spoke again, yet this time her voice failed to succour him. 

“..It’s fine, Ane-san. I’m fine.” 

Finding Dazai is like finding a pearl in the ocean, the chances of it are impossible. Chuuya would like to believe that the bastard is out there somewhere, but with no trace of him, he’s forced to believe otherwise. However, Mori won’t stop at that. He’ll order searches for a year or two before deeming Dazai dead.

Dazai leaving has left a huge impact on the mafia, and god, if Kouyou and Mori aren’t trying to fill up the dent he caused. So many positions are left open, so many spots are left uncovered, and if the bastard was alive, he had the key to the downfall of the mafia.

It left a huge impact on people, too. Akutagawa was now even more quiet and depressed, Mori had a cold anger that Chuuya had never seen on the boss, and the others were overall just more.. resigned and lifeless without the former port mafia executive to cause trouble.

The biggest impact was on Chuuya.

Chuuya had been searching for Dazai the whole time nonstop. He’d been restless ever since Mori had put him on the search team. Chuuya was the one constantly mapping out all the blind spots the others would never think to look at. Chuuya was the one who was up at night, trying to think like Dazai, and figure out what the idiot would do. But that particular stage had been crossed out right after the idea came, because no one could think like Dazai.

God, he was going insane searching for him. And he’d stooped to a new level of low when he went to Lupin to drink after the first few weeks of searching. 

-

The music was calm, perhaps it was jazz? It was old, that much you could hear.. and it was nothing like how the person sitting at the bar felt like. 

Chuuya was drunk.

The ginger had drunken himself to a terrible stupor, the only thing keeping him awake was the occasional burning at the back of his throat as he mixed up every hard drink the bartender could offer to make his thoughts fly away.. but how would they, without wings? The ache of his stupid heart could never compare to anything he’d felt before. This depressing feeling of being alone.. Maybe this was how the bastard felt? Was this why he left? All that time Chuuya spent in trying to convince Dazai he wasn’t alone.. Now he understood the irony of his words. There was truly no cure to this. Not even getting shit-faced drunk would solve it. Since when did he start getting so many problems? He sure doesn’t remember having this many. The old bartender spares him a sympathetic look again. It was truly pitiful, how he looked; empty shot glasses all around him, his hat and coat thrown away somewhere at the bar, the ginger’s face flushed so much you almost couldn’t tell his hair from his face.

He could drink to forget himself in it, he could kill to numb himself by it, he could yell to relieve himself with it, but nothing—nothing he could do would ever let him forget his lover, and numb the pain of his broken heart, torn to pieces by everyone who’s stomped on it. His heart, so fragile with bandages struck all over it—which somehow kept pumping with it, had finally taken the last blow, and now..now, there were no bandages to cure it. It was broken, and it was broken, forever.

What a pathetic mess Osamu Dazai has brought him to.

Chuuya lets out a slurred order, waving his hand up to the bartender. “Anotherrrss… Bottle of wineee..” The drunkenness in his voice was clear, even a five year old would be able to estimate that much. The bartender, though tired of Chuuya’s bullshit, scowled slightly before turning it into a forced smile. “Sir, that’s your 7th bottle, I’m sure it’s time for you to go home now.” He gritted out, the polishing in his glasses becoming stiffer and harder as he channeled his anger out on it. “Shut up.. Assholeee.. Jus’ gimme another.. bottle..!” Chuuya yelled, snapping as he slammed his fist down on the table, his ability going out of control for a split second—causing a dent in the wood. 

“Hey! Shut your ass up and get out before we call someone on you!” A teen’s voice echoed through the bar, to which Chuuya shot his head. The older bartender quietly stepped back, in no mood for the conflict bound to happen. “Yeah? And who are you to tell me that, yer brat?” Chuuya slurred out, smirking cockily, tilting his head towards his side, thoroughly annoyed and high. “I’m a bartender!” They proclaimed, putting their hands up to their waist and glaring at Chuuya with eyes of fury only a teenager could have. Unmatched to Chuuya’s glare, though. “Why you little-” Chuuya was interrupted by his phone chiming with a message. He took his phone up with lightning speed—his hope skyrocketed for a second, before sinking down to what it was before. 

It was just a notification from Akutagawa—a report, indicating that he hadn’t found any clues on Dazai’s search yet. How disappointing. His last app opened was messenger, with close to infinite angry voicemails sent to Dazai, all of them cursing his name and yelling how happy he was that the bastard finally left. The anger was real, the words weren’t, but there was some underlying worry, and.. even if he didn’t want to admit it—love. So much of it. Despite being betrayed by the idiot, some sadistic, selfish and ugly part of him still loved the idiot, with whatever broken pieces of a heart he had left. 

“Whatever…” He mumbled, and tried to stand up, instead, failed and fell headfirst on the ground. 

. . .

“Are you gonna pick him up or should I throw him out?” River asked the older bartender. The bartender just shrugged and cleaned up all of Chuuya’s glasses. “Ok. Throwing him out, it is.” They took his coat and hat, put it on him, and started dragging Chuuya out of the bar until he was slumped up against the alleyway wall. They brushed the dirt off their hands and went back inside the bar. 

However, before going in, they spared him a glance. … “So you’re that guy’s boyfriend, huh.. Interesting.” They muttered, a small smile on their lips as they walked back into the bar.

He showed up late the next day, reeking of alcohol no matter how much he tried to wash the smell out. Such a professional mafioso he was,  hungover while searching for clues about the bastard’s investigation. He’d been staring at intel and paperwork for hours now, everything so irritating to him. He’d taken some painkillers for his headache, but man, they didn’t help. He kept clicking his pen and turned over the paper, signing the report off. He needed an outlet to blow off this stress.. He needed a cigarette.

Sighing exasperatedly, he pushed himself away from his desk, the chair gliding through his huge office. He stood up from it and opened one of the windows, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket as he took a lighter out to, lighting the flame up to the cigarette. Then he put it in his mouth, taking a drag. The cigarette wasn’t calming him down, though. Nothing would, and nothing could, except catching a glance of that familiar brown mop of hair and those beautiful brown doe eyes.. 

He smothered the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke trailing up from it as it broke down to mere ashes in his hands. He looked out the window, the view of the city absolutely charming at this time of night. The lights twinkling and the feeling spectacular—yet bittersweet for him. This view was the same one he’d be gazing upon at night with his idiot, eating some dinner and laughing at some stupid show on TV. How sad, here he was now, all alone, with no one here to love him. They always left, huh?... How stupid he was for thinking it could change this time.

His angsty thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing on his desk. He sighed, wiping the ashes off his hands and walking over to his desk, looking over his phone, the unknown number staring back at him. He picked it up, scowling at it—he answered it. “Hello? Nakahara here. Who is this?” 

… Absolute, awkward silence. It had barely been 2 seconds before the other person hung up. “What the hell?! Damn waste of time-!” Chuuya groaned and slumped back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking prank callers these days..” 

It was however, not a prank call.

-

… “...” As his hand lowered the phone from his ear, his face crumbled up to an ugly sight—tears glistening those pretty brown eyes. He ran his hand over his face, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand vigorously and aggressively. He would not cry, damnit. 

It was the start of November. The start of Novemeber—cold and sorrowful. “Stupid slug..” Dazai muttered under his breath, looking away from the phone in anger. He estimated that he was around 12 weeks now, so he had to get an ultrasound to check if everything was okay and such. He had a bump.

He hated it, the bump slowly getting bigger as the symptoms got worse—and he was even hormonal and more depressed now. What a joke, everyone said that women glowed during pregnancy. He was dimmed down, so he supposes that was a myth. He was in Brandenburg, Germany. Luckily, Mori had told him to study German at some point just for fun, Dazai didn’t mind since he knew the basics already from learning in his childhood.  Today, however, was a special day. Today, he was going to get his first ultrasound. 

He’s cooked, as the youngsters say.

-

Dazai is agitated and nervous as he sits by the waiting room. What if he’d fucked the kid up? He hadn’t gotten an ultrasound or any checkup to see if the baby- fetus, he corrects in his mind, was okay. After all, he had been drinking the night Odasaku passed away, particularly, a lot. So either he’s killed the baby already from malnutrition or he’s fucked it up with some disease, because there was absolutely no way that the baby was fine.

He leaned against the wall, tapping his feet against the ground in a repetitive motion—an attempt to ground himself from spiraling (he does that a lot these days). He sighed exasperatedly, waiting and waiting for a lady or a guy to come up to him and ask for him. He groaned loudly, no one in the room to listen to him. Drawing his hands down his face, the nausea hit him again and he gripped his coat tightly, covering his mouth with his other hand. He shouldn’t have reacted so hard to his boredom, it would’ve saved him this. And soon, the dizziness comes tumbling in too, before he- faints. 

"Ach, du bist wach!” A nurse says, sitting beside him in a white coat and looking at him with relief. Dazai quickly translates that to- ‘Oh, you’re awake’. “..English?” … “Oh, you speak English?” The blonde lady says in a German accent. “Yes, can you please speak english..?” She chuckles, the sound finally bringing him back to reality. He was in the check-up room, a computer and wand on the table beside him—along with some small tub with gel. Right, he was gonna have an ultrasound. “My English is bad, so bear with me.” She said. Dazai recalls something about Germans saying they’re bad at English, when they could get a whole degree for it. “No problem..” He mutters groggily, sitting upright against the hospital bed. 

“Mr. Tsushima, yeah?” “Yeah. Sumire Tsushima.. Which is Shuji now.” The words escape his mouth automatically, and his chocolate brown eyes dart around the room. “Anddd.. you’re transgender and pregnant?” She asks, snapping her gloves on. “Yeah.. Ultrasound.” Dazai mumbles. 

“Alright, let’s see your baby.” She says, Dazai lifts his shirt up, the scars all over his bump. She says nothing, though, she’s probably used to things like this as she’s an underground doctor. “This might feel weird a bit.” She applied the cold gel on his stomach, Dazai tries his best not to flinch. “Alright, now, anything I should be knowing about? Blood? Weird discharge?” “Not really, but I eat significantly less..” The brunet mumbled, closing his eyes. “Do you have an ED?” “..Yeah.” … “Ok, but please try to eat a little more, or drink smoothies—those help with a weak stomach. Soup, too. And try to have your cravings once in a while, too.” She said, picking up the wand, and finally setting it on Dazai’s stomach, gliding it around. 

“Okay! Let’s see..” … She glided here and there, furrowing her eyebrows a bit before she eased them. “There’s your baby!” Dazai’s breath got caught as his eyes zeroed on the computer screen—it was a little- a little- it actually looked like a baby . That was his and Chuuya’s baby . So innocent and small- God, he was gonna cry. The nurse chuckled at his dumbfounded expression. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” She asked, smiling at him. “Y-yes, please.” He tumbled out, gripping the hospital sheets tightly. 

She did something technical, clicked a few buttons and-

Tha-dump. Tha-dump. Tha-dump. Tha-dump. Tha-dump. Tha-dump. Tha-dump-

Dazai’s heart freezes, he’s pretty sure it skipped a few beats—and he’s frozen for a few seconds. This was his baby. His actually baby. This innocent little heartbeat was proof that Chuuya and him could really male something pure and good out of each other. Hell has frozen over as Osamu Dazai melts down to a crying mess.

“You have a healthy baby.” She grinned, looking up at Dazai’s teary face. Dazai fished out his phone and started recording the sound, the nurse rightfully stayed quiet until Dazai stopped recording. “Would you like to know the gender?” Dazai paused, then a ghost of a smile graced his face. “No, knowing they’re healthy is enough for me. Could you print the ultrasound out..?” “Sure! How many copies?” “..2.” Dazai mumbled, even though he didn’t know who he would give it to. Perhaps Ango?..no. Eh, whatever, he’d just keep it for the memory.

The nurse went through all the things he had to get and do for the next few weeks, and Dazai mentally noted down all of them in his mind. Man, pregnancy was hard to deal with. 

-

Being on the run from the world’s top criminal organisation while pregnant is absolutely not recommended, but what choice did our favourite former port mafia executive have? It’s absolutely the worst, feeling dysphoric during these times. He can’t even bind anymore, what kind of stupid rule was that? And he can’t cut himself because it’s apparently somehow harmful to the baby. And god, his bump is not ‘glowing’, all he wishes were that Chuuya were here, holding his hand through every step and comforting him through every minor change that Dazai hates, assuring him that he still looked beautiful and that he was so strong for going through this.

But Chuuya isn’t here, and he can’t change that. There’s no going back now. 

Throughout the months, Dazai’s nausea keeps getting worse and worse, and god, does he hate it. His breasts grow rounder and fuller than they were before, and he hated it. He absolutely hated it. He wanted to carve the abnormalities out of his chest and- his whole body, in fact. He was so stressed and disgusting that he threw up every time he saw himself in the mirror- He wasn’t himself anymore. He looked like a frail and pale pregnant woman who hadn’t had enough vitamins. He wants to kill Chuuya for doing this to him. God, he wants to die so much. 

But. But, there are moments. 

There are moments where he doesn’t want to die completely, where he’s not crying or angry.. where he’s full of love for the small baby inside him. He almost talked to his bump one of these days—he stopped himself in shock, and didn’t want to admit it ever again. There are moments when he’s caressing his bump unconsciously, and god, he didn’t want to stop. 

At 17 weeks, he felt a small nudge.

-

Dazai was lying on the worn out sofa at some shaggy place in Los Angeles, caressing his bump, watching some bad soap opera on the TV. The actors were literally so bad, he thinks, a pout forming on his face. “I can act better than them! And I'm not even an actor!” He grumbled, as he popped a hot cheeto in his mouth, crunching it in his mouth. He caressed his bump and mumbled, “Right, mini-slug?” … He knows it’s truly stupid to talk to the bump when there’s almost no chance that the little bean inside him won’t respond, but- 

Nudge.

His eyes widen, and he snaps his eyes to his bump, raising his shirt and unraveling a few bandages. His bump had gotten a little bigger, and god had his weight skyrocketed. “Nope. You did not.” He gritted out, his dumbfounded expression making him look like an actual fish—Chuuya was right to call him that. 

He paused the stupid soap opera and started caressing his bump, poking around to feel for some nudges. … “Huh. Just gas.” . . . Before he turned on the soap opera again—he felt another small thump around his stomach. He dropped the remote and took out his phone, pressing record as he filmed his tummy. What a stupid thing to do, but god, he could care less right now. “Kick again, you little shit.” He poked his stomach hard, earning him a harder kick from the inside. “You’re kicking!” He exclaimed, a wide grin appearing on his face. 

His little baby finally showed some sign they were alive, holy shit. 

He giggled, and the baby kept kicking him as he kept filming. “Holy fuck, you’re real.” He caressed his bump—as reality hit him. He was gonna have a baby in just a few months. A baby he would be giving away as soon as they were born. “Fuck, you little shit..” He mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to bite back the sobs and the lump in his throat. His eyes are stinging, but he refuses to cry. He stopped the video. “You’re real.” He said, staring down at his bump, a small smile appearing on his lips before he even knew it—these small euphoric moments were the reason he kept going. He had to go through with this and give this little slug a chance at a good future. His shoulders shake as he leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling at a poor attempt to get the tears away.

He failed.

-

Running away from the mafia isn’t the hard part—it’s carrying the extra weight. Because god, if it isn’t annoying yet endearing to feel those kicks while hiding from the mafiosos. The baby is completely like Chuuya, and Dazai’s hellbent on the fact that they’ll have Chuuya’s strawberry blonde auburn hair. He’d be surprised if they didn’t. The pregnancy goes pretty smoothly though, against what Dazai expected. His body was so damaged that a miscarriage would be expected even before he had any tests or checkups about it. 

Ango visits once in a while to check on Dazai, and damn Arahabki if the hormones don’t amplify his anger when he sees him. The 2nd ultrasound, though, somehow always ended up in Ango’s hands (Dazai caught him smiling at it once, maybe Ango was happy to see a kid call him uncle, but the baby wouldn’t be around long enough for that). The brunet spent his first 5 months abroad, then slowly started to settle around the outskirts of Yokohama—setting the mafia off to fake leads, of course. The pros of being pregnant while on the run is that your disguise is infinitely better and no one will suspect an expecting mother of being an undercover criminal on the run. 

There are moments, though, where he’s driven to tears of frustration. He’s mad at himself and Chuuya for letting it get to this point at moments where he keeps throwing up, or moments where he can’t sleep from the nausea and insomnia, even though he’s exhausted as shit. He hates those moments the most.

His due date is somewhere around mid-May. But he managed to get back to Yokohama at 8 months, with Ango’s help—he needed it, even if he said he wouldn’t use it anymore. His bump is goddamn huge, his chest has grown to- what? 32DD? And his thighs have gotten thicker and milkier. He’s gotten bigger and curvier, overall. Although, he still insists that the bump looks like a watermelon strapped onto him. Perhaps it does, who knows? At any rate, the baby is definitely more active towards the end, though. They keep kicking up a storm in there, and Dazai can’t bring himself to be mad when it’s primarily his fault for not eating enough—they’re starving, he supposes. 

Yet somehow he finds himself smiling sometimes at the mirror instead of glaring and scowling. The hormones have finally taken over his brain, he thinks. Anyhow, at 8 months, he’s fully given up on trying to still look like a man. He’ll go right back to it after he’s given birth, he says to himself. His hair has grown to his shoulders (he ties it up frequently, though), the constant female hormones raging in his body enhance his feminine features and he starts dressing more comfortably, knowing that it’ll be over in a few weeks time. He won’t have to wear long maternity dresses for comfort anymore, and he can go on the run faster.

That all goes to hell at 33 weeks, though.

It’s still the last week of April, the 23rd, when everything goes absolutely wrong.

-

Osamu Dazai is lying on the couch in a safehouse he’s bought with all his saved up money from his executive salary—eating some pickles with mustard on them. It’s truly an amusing (read: horrifying) sight, seeing the demon prodigy on the sofa, heavily pregnant, eating his cravings. The brunet is watching some show on TV again—a documentary of sorts. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep with the jar of pickles and the mustard bottle beside the sofa to be left unattended as he succumbs to his slumber.

He wakes up to something wet on his panties. Still drowsy, he slowly sits up and his hand goes to caress his bump out of pure habit. He blinks once, then twice. And his eyes widen as soon as he sees the pile of blood around his legs.

What a nightmare he's found himself in.

Chapter Text

He’s being rushed into the hospital when his consciousness returns. 

Osamu Dazai stirs awake, tied to a gurney as the medical staff rush him into some room in the hospital. The fluorescent lights flash above his eyes, but the only thing he can focus on is the hard and stark pain in his abdomen—his stomach feels empty despite the baby in it and a lump comes forward, a sudden wave of nausea hitting him as he has the urge to throw up. He grips the cheap sheets tightly, trying to ground himself and not succumb to a panic attack or worse. 

He’s always hated hospitals.

He was supposed to have at least a month more—even more than a month. He was supposed to be at home, figuring out where he was going to drop fake trails next, which information brokers he’d have to silence, which hospital was best for being underground but professional enough to take care of complications without sending him to another hospital.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Gravida in the third trimester—estimated 30-35 weeks! Active vaginal bleeding, get her straight to L&D! Page OB stat! We’ve got a fetal heart rate—135! Holding steady.” Someone yells, but it all fades into background noise as Dazai bites his jaw, trying to push back the nausea and dizziness threatening to overcome him. The pain hits later and harder. Dazai clenches his jaw even tighter, gripping the sheets so tightly he’s surprised that they haven’t torn apart yet. “Two large bore IVs, oxygen and continuous fetal monitoring!” The same voice yells again, and Dazai supposes it’s a nurse. He feels gut wrenching pain in the lower regions, which are a hundred times worse than any menstrual cramps he’s felt, and that was a thing, considering the fact that he’s fainted from those. And then there’s the bleeding too.. He’s rolled into a room which is too bright for his liking and closes his eyes, trying to wash everything out.

It doesn’t work.

His clothes are taken off and he wants to rip them from piece to piece. He feels vulnerable—maybe even the most he’s ever felt, and god if he doesn’t want to claw himself away and they start taking off his bandages too. His eyes blaze with a fire so intense it could burn forests. It only lasted a while, though, as they put him on hospital robes again and a pad. A blood pressure cuff is wrapped around his arm, and they poke two needles in the other arm—IV lines, he supposes. They poke a few other needles in him and he feels sick to his core. He wants to rip all his flesh out.. Perhaps he would be at peace then, left only with his soul..? He wonders what it’s like to be dead. Maybe it’s a blissful paradise where you can relax—or perhaps for people like him, a burning ache. Or.. a nothingness beyond imagination..? Somehow, he feels a tad happier. … He believes it’s oxytocin and other hormones.

“Contracting irregularly!” He supposes that’s the nurse, her voice is soft yet firm, but it’s also stressed. “Keep her NPO, get an ultrasound to check placenta position.” A calmer voice says. Dazai lols his head towards them. It’s a lady in what seems like her mid-thirties. She has brown hair, thank fucking god. The lady smiles and holds her hands above his mid-section before pressing down and observing. “Uterus is firm, tender. Classic, this is an abruption until further notice.” She said, and she leaned over Dazai, looking down at him. “How dilated?" She asks the nurse. The nurse is between his legs and- “Uhh.. 4 centimeters, cervix is 70ish% effaced.” She said slowly—a newbie, he guesses. “How far apart?” The older woman spares a quick glance in the direction of the younger lady. “..11 minutes?” Dazai isn’t sure if that was supposed to be a question. “She’s progressing. If she keeps bleeding this much, we'll lose both mother and child. But with the cervix at four, vaginal delivery is possible, faster than prepping a crash section. But only if she keeps at it.” The older doctor looks down at him again, then spares him a smile. “We think the placenta, if you know what that means, has separated and that’s why you’re bleeding. It’s called a-” 

“Placental abruption, yeah..” Dazai mumbles, his gaze unfocused and his voice hoarse. “Okay.. The baby is stable, and you’re already dilating, so we’ll wait a bit to see if you progress. If you do, we’ll do a vaginal birth, and if you don’t, we’ll do an emergency C-Section.” The thought makes him sick to the absolute core. Imagining that those sterile gloves would carry scalpels to his scarred stomach and slice it open, letting the blood drip and cutting through his organs to remove something that was his—what if they made a mistake somewhere? What if.. his baby wouldn’t survive..? What if he walked through this path of despair, grief, suffering and love, only for this child… the sole reason he entered this path of thorns in the first place, would take their last breath before Dazai got to see who he went through all of this for. Who kicked his ribs—very hard, they unfortunately have the stupid chibi’s feisty kicks—every day, whether he was trotting away from the scums called mafiosos or lying on a cheap futon, crying with his eyes empty because of wounds too deep to heal.. some even cut by himself. Who gave him the reason to continue breathing even when things felt like too much. Who was made out of him and.. Chuuya.

He wishes the other man were here.

He wishes, that the shortie would be here, holding his hand with those calloused ones of his own, kissing his knuckles, telling him that it would all be okay, offering him small encouragements and reassurance—Dazai was never one who was desperate or needy, but finding himself before Chuuya.. It was another experience for him, taking everything the ginger could give him. He might call Chuuya his dog, but really, who is he himself to say that? … He wishes that his partner would banter with him, with flushed cheeks and quietly muttered words, trying to take his mind off things when it got too loud. He wishes he’d get to have one last look at beautiful, breathtaking, serene, etherical, striking eyes. One an ocean blue, and the other a fiery wood brown—everyone, even the Chibi himself would say that those eyes are separate, that both eyes are a different color with nothing to do with each other. But Dazai would say otherwise. He’s looked into those mesmerizing eyes for hours—long enough that he can tell you that there’s a few flickers of the opposite color here and there, circling around those black pupils with the spark of reason, life, and fire in them.

But he’ll never get to see them again, and he doesn’t deserve to, either.

-

Suffering. He’s fucking suffering through the seconds, minutes, hours, whatever. The everlasting night falls upon him, shedding its beautiful light through the windows barely covered by the curtains. It’s been hours since he’s been contracting at 4 centimeters. Dazai’s always had a high pain tolerance, being able to handle anything that comes his way when death laughs in front of him—unfortunately, it is but to taunt him and not give him the peace he so desperately yearns for. How cruel. But faced with this, he finds himself wishing his body wasn’t so immune to drugs—or else he would’ve chugged a whole liter of morphine by now. His body feels like it’s on fire, and not in a good way. It burns like the pits of hell when he moves, and it feels like his skin is being torn apart from the inside every few minutes. Contractions are the worst. 

A nurse walks in, shutting the door behind her as she turns to look at the brunette staring out at the night sky. “The night is beautiful, isn’t it?” She tries to spark a conversation, or at least a word from Dazai. The man only caresses his bump and continues to stare at the city outside. “...Miss, would you like to call someone?” She asks, walking over to check his vitals and the child’s. “..No thank you.” He cooled his voice into a softer tone, more feminine. After all, there weren’t many transgender brunettes with bandages who didn’t have anyone to call during something as intense as this. He has to maintain the picture they’ve formed of him. A helpless, suffering gravida whose boyfriend chickened out last second. She leans over, and she has to check how much he’s dilated at. He doesn’t want it, but he has to let her. Taking a deep breath, he leans back on the soft pillow, his thoughts coming to a fuzz as it passes.

“Welp, seems like you’re at 5 centimeters and about to enter active labour. Contractions at every 7 minutes, I suppose. You’re progressing, that’s great!” She chirps, appearing beside him again, walking off to the sink to throw her gloves and wash her hands. ‘Progressing, my flat ass. The only thing progressing is my anger at the hellspawn and Chuuya for putting this stubborn thing in here.’ He thinks, pouting as he rolls his eyes over to the window again. “I advise you to get some sleep. You’ll have a lot of pushing to do later. We’ll check on you both every 5 minutes, and if you feel stark pain, then just press the red button on your bed.” She tells him, offering a soft smile and walking off again. 

The moon is glowing upon his pale face, leaving its luminous peace in everything it shines upon—it’s a small comfort to everything he’s going through right now. An exasperated sigh escapes his lips, and he stops caressing his bump, he looks down at it, then pouts. “Why do you have to be born in April, you little—” Even in these moments, he still finds himself getting pissed at Chuuya no matter where the redhead was. Seriously, Chuuya cursed him to have this baby just a few days before the shorter’s own birthday. His frown eases into a small smile, and he looks out the window again. He must not have grown an inch, he predicts.

His mind wanders. 

The pro of finally going into labour was that this pregnancy would finally come to an end, and he’s gonna have to.. give up.. this baby.

He didn’t think about it, it’d slipped his mind in all the chaos the past few weeks’ve been. He’ll have to orphan this child. This baby. The thought comes as his eyes sting a little, and his head leans back against the ceiling. The caressing begins once again and he closes his eyes. He can’t keep this baby. He’s on the run and a criminal—this baby would be a target if anyone knew that the demon prodigy was the father. But why does he want to… ‘Well, tough luck.’ He prints into his head, a lump suddenly rising from the pits of his stomach to his throat. A small whimper escapes his mouth without him controlling it. He covers his mouth and closes his eyes once more, eyebrows furrowing. 

In all his life, he’s never felt this, this—this protective feeling. It surges through his veins like strong ocean waves over a beach. He’s stopped drinking, cutting, attempting, smoking, every single harmful thing just to grow this baby. This baby gave him a reason to take care of himself. Why. Why does he want to stay to see this baby grow, to see them smile, and laugh, and have chubby cheeks and- and have their mouth full of something yummy and giggle and be happy and play at the park with the other kids—... A sob makes its way through his throat and he quietly starts crying. Furiously and erratically, he wipes his tears away. It’s no help though, as they keep falling. He stops trying. His baby shifts and he’s off to another world. Why—why does he want to protect this baby so much. Why does he care so much about whether they get hurt even the tiniest or not—?! The baby shifts again and it only fuels his anger and protectiveness. This feeling felt like something out of the depths of his mind, the primal instinct to cover this baby up in a blanket and keep them safe from the whole world. To kill whoever dared to even lay eyes upon them. On this innocent, pure, unharmed-

He faints.

-

The first seconds in which his consciousness has returned are the easiest. It’s itchy. It feels so itchy against his skin—the cheap hospital sheets. They didn’t feel itchy earlier, why do they feel itchy now? What’s changed? He blinks, but it does not help. His head feels like it’s being split into two and the drowsiness accompanied with the dizziness is the worst he’s had in months. He blinks once again, and a light blinds him. He shuts his eyes again, processing everything that’s happening—his efforts were in vain, strongly so. The emptiness in his stomach feels fake, as he can still feel his baby moving inside him. The bile suddenly comes up to his mouth, and he’s instantly aware of everything happening around him.

“Miss, are you awake?” What a dumb question in all this storm. He tries to sit up- The stark pain is nothing he’s felt before, it feels like he’s being torn apart, and it’s worse than a period. A hundred times worse. The urge to throw up all his insides, to just leave this body grows stronger and he doubts he can get through this. For a moment, all he is is scared- no, terrified, and alone. Reality hits him hard. He’s gonna have to go through this pain, multiple times, then finally, this pain multiplied by ten times. For once in his life, he’s completely terrified and vulnerable. His eyes—once of endless emptiness and cruelty are now filled with vulnerability, which he hasn’t shown in years. His eyes fill with tears—the most raw ones he’s ever shed. He’s bitten too much, and now he doesn’t know if he can swallow it. There’s no going back.

The contraction ripples through him like an earthquake, and relief hits him so hard when it’s over, he doesn’t even realize he’d been clenching his jaw, he’d done it so hard it was downright painful now. He slumps back against the pillows, and looks up at the nurse beside him. The one who’s been watching over him. “Yes, I’m.. awake.” He says softly, the voice almost unrecognizable compared to his face, printed in pain and sweat. He hates it. He hates, despises, loathes all these fluids and all these things.. It’s too much, all the blood, the sweat that’s soaked through his clothes and is dripping down his forehead, the IV lines in his arm, and the unfamiliar space.

It’s still night.

“Uhm, you’ve been passed out for 19 hours, and you’ve been progressing, so we decided against waking you up. You’re at.. 9.5 centimeters. We’re prepping for pushing.” She said, eyes looking over him in sympathy as when he finally lets himself look scared, she noticed how young he looks. “Is there anyone you’d like to call before..?” Dazai wishes, he really does—that he could call Chuuya, and not like the silent ache like earlier. This ache is more primal, filled with need. He needs someone to support him through all this, but the universe is cruel to him. He can’t have the older man by his side. He’d risk the secret of this baby if he did. “No.” The word escapes his lips almost forcefully, and he looks outside.. It's begun to rain once again. He gets lost in the beautiful sight, before another contraction ripples through him, and he swears this one hurts more and lasts longer. The nurse’s eyes widen a tad, and she yells something with a heartbeat. This pain is way harder than earlier, and he bites back a scream. He grips the sheets so tightly, they actually rip a bit. His hands then instinctively move to his lower back, trying to massage the pain out, but it doesn’t work. 

It feels like he’s being torn apart, and he feels it quite literally.

The doctors finally come in after a minute or two, and the contraction is over, he lets out a deep sigh, his teeth still clenched, bracing himself for another round of hell. 

-

It takes him thirty minutes of pushing, and it is literally burning and tearing down there. He's been burned before, and this feels a hundred times worse than it—the feeling is the worst he’s had in his whole life—his body is burning, and it’s tearing apart from the inside. For once in his life, he’s completely vulnerable, if anyone were to attempt an assasination on him, he’d be powerless with all the pain unfolding before his fingers, with him not being able to stop it with drugs like he usually could when it got too much. He loathes this feeling more than the evil world that has raised him to the man he is today—this world that has beaten him up, stomped on him and spat at him with disgust, used him till there was nothing left to use. He’s being touched, seen and taken care of by people he doesn’t know and he hasn’t even the slightest inkling of who they are. To all his mind is capable of, they are but bodies with blank faces, like ghosts perhaps? No—even though they weren’t real, at least he knew those faces enough to imagine them in. He’s in a place he doesn’t know. The lights are so blinding. Why do people make them so blinding? Is it a requirement? A torture method of some sorts, to blind people in the most excruciatingly painful moments of their lives? To let them die in agony? … People are truly evil then.

This is precisely why he hates hospitals, clinics, anything with that smell of antiseptic. But what choice does he have, in this cruel situation? Faced with the risk of losing this child—he pushes on for some reason. He’s never done it for someone else. Perhaps he has, but only mundane and far less self-sacrificing deeds. He’s never… gone this far for someone before. And he’s never thought about doing it either, but he supposes that makes sense, as he didn’t think twice before deciding to keep this child for such selfish reasons.

But he has to push on. 

The lights are stinging his eyes, making him blink his lashes away, and it doesn’t look pretty. The constant pain is making him suffer. And the loud yelling and nausea is making him dizzy to his deep core. He’s on the brink of passing out. He’s rather close to death, he thinks. 

But why doesn’t it feel good this time?

He wishes that he were at home with Chuuya, watching some shitty movie with bad actors, pointing out the plot and letting Chuuya hit him for spoiling it—even though the strawberry head was smart enough to figure it out for himself. Watching the actors probably fall for each other… a romantic movie then. One where Chuuya would stick his tongue out and those wrinkles would appear between his eyebrows as he complained. 

It was never about the movies.

Eventually, Chuuya would fall asleep on his shoulder, and the movie would fade into the background, the noises no longer disturbing them. It would just be Chuuya breathing, and his heartbeat that would play in Dazai’s head. And after a moment or two, his heartbeat would sync with Chuuya’s. Unwillingly. Then—then, Chuuya’d cuddle into him and Dazai would huff and pull him closer, thinking about how lucky he is to have earned this kind of love with the kind of person he is. He’d run his slender fingers through Chuuya’s hair, then admire that beautiful, ethereal and breathtaking face with everything in him. He’d kiss the top of the shorter male’s head, and the hearts would undoubtedly appear in his once empty eyes. He was a sap when alone. But he will take that to the grave, damn you.

Perhaps these are the moments that are replaying in his thoughts. After all, the human brain replays its happiest and most impactful moments minutes away from decomposing. Or was he truly not humane enough to be granted that much—

“Ok, Miss, I need you to focus on me, yeah?” The voice snaps him out of the pain and spiral, momentarily distracting him, and it’s a welcome distraction. It’s the head nurse, from between his legs. She looks at him with a smile, but he barely registers it. The only things working right now are his pain sensors and ears. And thoughts. Not his brain, though, it stabbed him in the back, then grew wings and flew away like a fairy. Dazai closes his eyes, and nods a little, lolling his head towards her. Ok. The light isn’t blinding him anymore. It felt slightly better—

He jinxed it. The next moments are absolute hell, and a contraction ripples through him. 

He gritted his teeth tightly, biting back a hard groan—his eyes shimmered so beautifully with tears yet to come. He focuses his gaze back on the doctor. She’s seated between his legs, a blue medical blanket above them. He feels both better and worse. He doesn’t know what she’s seeing, luckily, but he also doesn’t know what she’s seeing. A sentence with two polar opposite meanings. His eyes focus on her, forcefully so. “Good, now on the next contraction, I want you to push, okay?” She says, looking at him with a determined smile. Easy said, not done. He manages a shaky nod, showing that he’s agreeing, but on the inside, he’s cursing every single person he can think of—Chuuya showing up on the list multiple times, somehow. He bites his teeth together for the millionth time, and swallows back a guttural scream when it comes. 

The pain is overwhelming, setting every nerve, muscle and vein in his body on fire. It burns so much. White, hot pain fires through his body—every inch being tortured by the sensation of his muscles tearing apart. His face grits itself and he grips anything he can, then—his body does it on instinct. It pushes. He pushes. His legs are shaking, he’s sweating, and he’s indisputably bleeding. His body arches, and it doesn’t feel good at all. His face twists into one of utter pain—one he’s never allowed himself to have. ‘It hurts. Stop it. It hurts so much. I want it to stop.’ He can feel—the doctor yells something and suddenly it’s burning. He wants it to stop. ‘Stop. Please. I can’t take it anymore.’ “You’re doing good! One more push!” The doctor yells, and he curses under his breath, surprised at how it doesn’t turn into a yell. He somehow finds the strength in his soul somewhere, to continue this, and he pushes again, then—

A cry. 

It’s the best sound he’s ever heard in his life. He slumps back into the pillows with relief, the best he’s ever felt. The sensation of pain has suddenly run off when he focuses his ears. A baby’s cry. It’s loud and furious. The baby is alive. His baby is alive. “It’s a girl!” The doctor says before rushing her off somewhere. He sighs, and the dizziness creeps upon him and wraps its arms around him. He has a baby girl. A beautiful one, probably. And she cried just like Chuuya inevitably would if he were here. 

He doesn’t catch a look at her, but he finds it in himself to smile.

…

He faints, again.

One blink. Two blinks. Three blinks. It’s morning. But it’s still a little dark, the clouds covering the sky. It takes him a few moments to register what has happened, and he instinctively moves his hand to his rather vacant stomach. He frowns, too drowsy to notice why he’s confused. It hits him like a truck. She isn’t there anymore. Where is she? Where’s his daughter—no, why does he care? Wasn’t he supposed to just… leave now? Yes, that was his goal. He was supposed to make himself scarce from her. He can’t afford to look at her and get attached, but his heart aches. It aches, and it’s an ugly feeling. He wants to scream in frustration. He has the choice, really. He could leave easily, and let her be handled by the hospital, let her have a better life, one he undoubtedly can’t give her. She deserves better than the likes of him.

He sits up, slowly. He doesn’t feel any evidence of stitches, but he does feel that throbbing and stark pain, just not as intense as before. It’s left an aftermath of despair upon him—he’ll probably feel it more intensely throughout the next few days. The hospital room is more clear to him now, the haziness and dizziness have set sail, leaving his mind clearer than before—but not completely unfogged. His brown, hazel eyes lock themselves upon the sight outside, the rain pattering against the window, a steady comfort. It’s early morning. The start of the end… or the end of a chapter…?  Nevermind, too useless to think about that. … If Odasaku were here, he’d want to take care of the child. He’d be a good.. grandad? Uncle? Who knows. But he’d be a good family figure to her… ‘Since both sides are the same, become a good person. Save the weak, protect orphans. Regardless of whether it's justice or evil, to you, there isn't a big difference between the two... But, doing that would be better.’ Those words hold a special place in his mind and heart. Odasaku’s words had left a dent in him… but a good one. He sighs, leaning back against the headboard. He could leave, again. He could just abandon this and leave her in good hands.

But he hesitates, as that is not what his heart tells him is right. 

Dazai’s never been one to listen to his heart, but after finding out about his mini-slug, has he honestly ever thought about anything with his mind instead of actually embracing his feelings? His heart aches so darn much. He wants to see her so much. The only sound in his mind right now is the echoing cry of his little shrimp. His eyes widen when he realizes he’s been giving her nicknames for the past two minutes. ‘Shit, I’m getting soft—’ He grits his teeth into a flustered scowl, but it easens into a sad frown. His ears pick up on the soft clicking of heels against the cold floor. His head snaps to the door and he’s instinctively reaching towards his back for the pockets of a coat he’s burned. Right. The door opens, and the nurse stands there for a moment, studying him before walking over to him with a smile. “You’re awake.” She observes his vitals before taking a seat beside him. “The delivery went… well. We were able to—” It fades into a background noise as he looks out at the door, waiting for something that isn’t coming. “...” His lips stay pressed into a thin line, and the nurse notices the furrow of his eyebrows and his uneasiness as he clenches his gown. “Your daughter’s in the NICU, and she’s healthy so far. Would you like to have her?” She changes the topic, and Dazai’s throat is dry. 

She’s healthy. She’s healthy. She’s healthy. Fuck, he wants to see her, to pull her close and never let her go—is this how Chuuya felt all the time? So loyal and protective. He’d teased the older for it all the time, but now that he has something so precious to protect, he can’t find it in himself to even deny it in his mind. He loves her. He hasn’t seen her, and he’s already attached and protective to his core. He lets out a shaky exhale, and the nurse is still looking at him expectantly. “Miss?” It feels wrong to hear that, they’ve all been misgendering him the whole time, but if he says he’s trans, that’ll just go to the hospital record and the little shrimp’s more likely to be tracked. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. The nurse, sensing his hesitation offers him a kind smile. “You’re young.” Well that certainly wasn’t what he expected her to say. “The father bolted?” The opposite, really, but he keeps his mouth shut for once. “Look, I know it’s hard, and with the fact that you haven’t called anyone in the past… 37 hours, I’m guessing she was an accident, but you have to give her a chance. She’s beautiful, and I’m sure you want to hold her at least once before offering her to some other people. Say goodbye to her.” She advises him, and he wants to slit her throat and yell at her that it’s his choice and she’s in no position to give him her stupid wisdom, but… she’s right. A father should at least say goodbye to his child. He’s frozen for a few more moments, before he finally blinks and nods jerkily. “Okay, I’ll see if you can hold her, and I’ll bring her here if I can.” She says and smiles while walking off. 

She’s unprofessional, he notes. But perhaps that was the push he needed. He tells himself, he’ll just catch a look at her and then he’ll go. 

But it won’t end like that, will it?

A few dozens of minutes pass while he stares out at the window, looking at the sun slowly coming up and the rain still continuing. The familiar clack of heels and rhythm startles him and he looks up, fast. It’s accompanied by the sound of wheels—he’s gonna catch a look at her. Fuck. He’s trying to somehow make himself more decent as if this is a job interview. He wants her to like him. And he’s desperate for it. He holds his breath while the nurse rolls her beside him, she’s in a bassinet, and he can’t see her face, but there are tubes around her, probably going into her nose and such. She’s asleep by what he can tell, she’s still. The nurse smiles. “Would you like to hold her?” She asks, and Dazai nods jerkily again. She slowly picks her up, and gestures for him to hold his hands out. Dazai does it, fast and—she settles her in his hands.

She’s beautiful. Her face is tinted the slightest of pink, and a small tuft of dark, auburn peeks out of her baby hat. Her face is relaxed in an innocent expression, and her lips are so small and pink. Her eyes are sealed shut, and she’s wrapped so tightly. The curve of her lips is like his, but her nose is more like Chuuya’s. The shape of her face is also his, so delicate and round. The shape of her eyes is also his, but he’s not sure about that one yet. She’s so soft, he notices after touching her cheek with his thumb. 

Dazai’s heart skips a few beats, and he holds her so gently. He holds her so tenderly, as if she’s more fragile than glass. “Hi,” he whispers so softly, that he can’t recognize his own voice. His eyes suddenly shimmer with tears, and he smiles without meaning to. Everything’s out of his control, and for once, he doesn’t care. She’s here now, and that’s all that matters to him. The nurse leaves him alone with her. He lets himself cry, so hardly—he starts sobbing as he looks down at her. What a pathetic sight, the demon prodigy crying because of a mere baby.

It doesn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing does. She’s so fucking tiny. He loosens the cloth around her, and she stirs a tad, letting out a small whine. He coos at her. He’s never let himself be like this before… She furrows her eyebrows, puffing out her chubby cheeks. “A few hours old and you’re just like Chuuya..” He mumbles, but it sounds like he’s holding in by a thread. She tries to open her eyes. It takes her a few moments, but eventually, she gets there. She opens her eyes and—his brown stares at him back in the face, but—there’s a few flecks of Chuuya’s blue in there, swirling around her pupil, dancing, almost. Her wide eyes look at him for a second before they water up, and she lets out a small cry. He rocks her a little, instinctively, not knowing what the hell else to do. She quiets a bit, curiously looking up at him. So fucking cute. She’s beautiful. He loves her so—he lets out another choked sob, bringing his finger up to her fists to feel the soft baby skin. He smiles at her, and this one is the most realest of his life. She’s his, she’s alive, and she’s his reason. 

When he bursts into another array of tears, she furrows her eyebrows and suddenly starts crying too, waving her fists in the air furiously, and Dazai can’t help but laugh breathily. She definitely gets her fire from Chuuya. She’s ethereal and mesmerizing. She cries and cries and cries and—Dazai can’t get enough of the sound. He brings her up to his face and kisses her cheek. She calms slowly, her tightly clenched fists stopping their movements in the air. He marvels at her for what feels like an eternity, but he wants this moment to never end. 

He can’t stop smiling and crying, the feeling in his heart is so—so intense. He feels giddy and his empty stomach is full of butterflies, and he looks like an idiot, grinning at his kid after hours of labour, with his hair all messy and looking like he went through five stages of insanity. But he… he.. he loves her. “I love you.” He whispers, bringing his face up to hers and nudging their noses together. She stares back at him curiously, then silently keeps observing him. Dazai giggles. He’s never felt so full of—of life, before. To think all it took was a single drunk night. He wishes Chuuya were here, and he predicts that the other man would burst into tears and keep crying the whole time. A typical family man he was, somehow. Dazai can’t take his eyes off of her. They hold their gaze—father and daughter. Both of their eyes are almost the same. The only difference is the specks of blue in hers, and somehow not the emptiness in Dazai’s, because it isn’t there anymore. All there is is love. So much of it. Unconditional, fierce and messy love. He’s attached, no doubt.

The rain thunders and casts over its friends, the clouds, above Yokohama, but all that matters to him is the bundle of joy in his arms. He could finally understand what joy and love felt like in its final form. Sure, he loved Chuuya, but it wasn’t so sudden like this. He could control it back then. Right now, with the hormones still in his blood and his heart skipping beats, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. The hole in his heart, which earlier wouldn’t be filled by anything, no matter how hard anyone tried, was now getting filled. Little by little. By the little gremlin who didn’t even try. His reason. His goal, his—his, reason and goal for a better life, his human baby. He hopes for once that he’ll live long enough to see all of her.

There’s not a trace of hesitation in his voice as he speaks, “I’m keeping you.” His voice is soft. Softer than it’s ever been. He doubts it sounds masculine—it’s raw and unfiltered. He doesn’t care right now, he just wants her to like him. “I’m keeping you, and I’m never going to let you go, ok?” 

A thought hits him, and the rain peaks at that moment, his baby girl curiously waiting for him to finish even if she can’t understand jackshit (he wants to pretend). 

April 25th. 4 days before Chuuya. A child who’ll help him live, who’ll stop him from trying to kill himself.

“Shizuko." He finally says. “Welcome to the world, Shizuko Nakahara.” She’d be his reason to live. Odasaku was wrong about one thing, though. There was something that could fill the void left in his heart. This little bundle of love. A proof of Chuuya’s humanity and Dazai’s ability to feel.

A child of love, who would fill the void in both of their hearts.