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Chuuya lay in bed, an empty wine glass next to him. The room was dark, though he could hear the occasional pop or boom of fireworks outside. In an hour, it would be a new year. Most people would be awake celebrating, eager to kick off a new chapter of their lives.
He wondered absentmindedly if any of them were like him, silently dreading the turning of the year. Even though it was just a day, it felt like a point of no return. As soon as it was midnight, the Flags would have died last year. Verlaine, N, all of it would be a year ago.
Chuuya shouldn't have been hung up on it. It was fucking stupid, anyway, but he supposed there was a reason he was in an old safehouse bedroom instead of the annual mafia party, or even his apartment.
It was just… this time, last year, he was with the Flags. They'd gotten him spectacularly drunk, and had incessantly recited the embarrassing stories that resulted. They had been laughing, and Chuuya had been filled with genuine joy (and stupidity; he still regretted some of the things he'd done that night).
Was he leaving them behind? The changing of a year shouldn't mean anything, yet at the same time it meant everything. He didn't feel ready for all of it to pass. Perhaps it was the wine talking, but at the moment all he wanted was to linger in memories rather than face the future and reality. He was strong, he knew that. But he did tire, too, and at the moment he was exhausted. He really didn't wanna pretend he didn't feel like shit, especially not tonight where everyone in the mafia would be celebrating a successful year.
How do you fly in the shadow of a flag, an echo of the past?
Chuuya closed his eyes. Maybe if he slept now, he wouldn't have to see the electronic clock beside him switch dates. Maybe if he slept, he'd wake up and find it was all some sort of convoluted nightmare. With a long exhale, he--
The lock clicked, and the door creaked ever so slightly, and Chuuya had jolted upright in less than a second, flinging his dagger at the now-open door without a second thought.
The intruder sidestepped perfectly, barely moving his head, and the next second Chuuya was catching another bottle thrown haphazardly his way.
Oh, shit. As if his night wasn't already terrible.
Dazai Osamu instantly flopped to the floor, breathing heavily. That didn't stop him from beginning to spout a steady stream of bullshit that Chuuya would likely have to deal with for the rest of the night.
“Chibi made me walk so far!” he exclaimed with a petulant drama that only a dirty fish like him could muster. “My slug just had to go moping about like an abandoned puppy, hm? To the very outskirts of town to join his doggy friends in the alleys! And he had the audacity to make me come fetch him like a good owner. At least I could walk faster because I'm so much taller than such a microscopic--”
“Shut the fuck up, Dazai!” Chuuya growled, but he lacked the energy to truly retaliate with the punch the mackerel deserved. Squinting at the bottle in his hands, he added, “And what the hell is this? Some sorta poison?”
Dazai grinned, tilting his head up from the floor. “Nope. Stole it from Mori. The fancy champagne, far superior to your stupid taste in wine.”
…Champagne? What the fuck is happening? I'm too tired for this, dammit. “Get out of here, bastard,” he snapped. “How the fuck did you get here, anyway? Why the fuck are you here?”
With a flippant sigh, Dazai dragged himself into a sitting position, letting his arms hang limp like some sort of creepy, bandaged octopus. “You've been so annoying for the past few months,” he complained. “Moping around, pathetic, all with a terrible fashion sense.”
“I don't-- I haven't been pathetic!”
Dazai shrugged, though his dead fish stare seemed to bore into Chuuya's soul. “You're tiny and pathetic, Chuuya. Who spends New Year's alone in some dirty safehouse?” He glanced upwards, eyes landing on the ceiling fan. “If you wanted to avoid another year so badly, you could've just--”
“You're not hanging yourself from a fucking fan,” Chuuya replied flatly, pushing himself to his feet. “Or poisoning yourself with your own alcohol. And don't act like you didn't spike this, because I know you did.” Suppressing a sigh, he picked up his wine glass and walked into the kitchen. He just wanted to sleep; at this point, his headache was beginning, and it wasn't at all pleasant. The presence of a mackerel would only make his suffering worse.
“Chuuya! You have that little trust in--”
“Just shut up! I don't have TIME for your bullshit right now!”
“Oh, but you should have plenty of time, chibi, with how you're trying to delay the new year with sheer force of will and wine.” Dazai's tone had taken a sharper edge. “That's not how the world works, but I wouldn't expect a small brain like yours to comprehend such things.”
At this, Chuuya whipped around, sending a dark glare Dazai's way. “Last warning, asshole. Shut up or I'll send you to the bottom of the ocean where you belong, I don't care how far I need to carry your twig body.” He turned again, uncorking the bottle and pouring some of the supposed champagne into his glass. If it was alcohol, great. If it was poison, maybe it'd make him pass out faster.
“Aw, is my chihuahua upset about something stupid again?”
He pressed his lips together, trying not to explode. Instead of responding to the jab, he took a swig of his drink. The taste was sharp: sweeter and fizzier than wine. Huh. Maybe it was actual champagne. He drank another gulp, feeling his mouth buzz pleasantly.
“Chuuuyaaa, won't you be a good dog and pour me a glass too? I've never tried suicide by alcohol poisoning…” Dazai trailed off.
Chuuya gave him a flat look. “You definitely have. And don't worry, if you poisoned this enough to kill me I'm making sure you die too.” He turned, setting the bottle on the counter and walking back to the bed.
Dazai leaned forward, snatching the second drink from Chuuya. “This better be good, I snagged it from Mori's top shelf. The one Chuuya can't reach.” His smile turned smug, a wickedness sparkling in his eyes that he seemed to reserve only for Chuuya.
I'm gonna have such a fucking headache tomorrow… He was already quite tipsy, and the wine seemed to be making him care about the current scenario for some stupid reason. “So why the hell are you here, Dazai? I thought you'd be acting all Demon Prodigy at the mafia party and scaring the shit outta your poor new recruits.”
“Parties are no fun when there's no tiny slugs to torment,” was Dazai's petulant answer. “You're being boring and hiding out here all alone like your life is ending or something. And killing you is my job!”
Chuuya massaged his forehead. “So instead of leaving me alone like a normal person, you decided to come all the way out here to harass me.”
Dazai stared at him, mouth parting in a soft gasp. “I must be training you well, your small brain finally--”
“Cut the bullshit, bastard,” Chuuya interjected, downing another large sip of champagne. When had his glass gotten half-empty? Why was the room foggy? “Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“You're still moping about your stupid Flags, aren't you? It's almost been a year since they died. As soon as the clock rounds midnight.”
Chuuya felt himself stiffen. “Don't talk about them like that,” he growled, brandishing another knife at Dazai. “Don't tarnish their memory with your stupid fucking words.”
“That's all they are,” the mackerel agreed, eyes keen, “memory. Ashes. Under the earth, in a grave, gone forever.”
“Will you shut up about it?!” He knew he was raising his voice, but the stupid bastard deserved it. “Don't fucking act like you knew them or grieved them, or that you know what this feels like! Don't pretend you came here for some noble purpose as a ‘good owner’ or whatever bullshit you spew. Get the fuck out.”
Dazai stayed where he was. “They're gone… everyone goes, really. Eventually. Death, blood, pain, they're all as inevitable as rain on a cloudy day. Is there really any value to it, Chuuya? Was there really any value to the Flags?”
That got another dagger thrown his way, which he lethargic ducked under.
“How dare you.” Chuuya's voice was low. “You always act like everything has no meaning, like the passage of time and memories and living all mean nothing. I hate you, and you even have the arrogance to assume your viewpoint is right because of all your ‘experience’ and oh so glorious intellect.” The room had grown distinctly colder since Dazai had first arrived, with tension humming in the atmosphere. The dark safehouse, once lonely, was now all too full.
The bastard snorted, of all things. Chuuya was too angry to even lunge at him, and he felt Tainted well up inside him, ready to crush the sorry excuse for a human being in front of him. “Chuuya's such a hypocrite, really.”
“Excuse me?” The air around Chuuya glowed crimson, seething with his Ability and the power (only?) to destroy.
“Pfft, well, you claim that memories mean something, yet you treat yours like they'll vanish the second that stupid clock changes. You say love and life matter, yet you waste your New Year's drowning in your sorrows and thinking about those who are dead. Sounds hypocritical to me.”
“You BASTARD!” A third knife, a third dodge. “I'm not drowning in my sorrows!” (the fact he took a sip of champagne a second later didn't help). “I'm not-- you're twisting my words like you always do.”
“Nakahara Chuuya.” Dazai's voice was dramatic, mockingly so. “Gravity manipulator, unable to form coherent sentences. A tiny chibi whose heart is too big for everyone but himself. It's wretched, how you let the past drag you down yet cling to it all the same like it'll disappear.”
“Because it will!” His voice cracked with the force of his words, and for no other reason at all. “All of it disappears! Of course a new fucking year, based on a single changing day, means nothing, but that doesn't change the fact it will all be gone. Again!”
Dazai just watched him, and Chuuya hated how a flicker of satisfaction shone in his dark eyes. “So does my dog think it's all worthless in the end?” Strangely enough, his question seemed genuine. Stupid fucking bastard with all his goddamn philosophical questions, like the reason for living isn't right in front of his fishy face.
“It's not worthless,” he snapped out of reflex. “You're just a dramatic asshole. You exist in your fucked up mind and don't pay attention to what's right in front of you, happening right now.”
“And I suppose you're the expert on living in the moment, drinking champagne in an empty shabby apartment far from home on a celebratory occasion?” Dazai could've won an award for agonizing sarcasm. “Wow, chibi must be exceedingly smart and wise.”
Despite himself, despite all the insults and death threats that instantly sprung to mind, Chuuya paused.
Live in the goddamn moment, huh? You fucking bastard.
He took another sip of champagne, but savored the taste a little more. I fucking hate you. “I'm wiser than you, dumbass.”
Dazai's eyes widened. “Your brutish nature could never match my charm and wit. There's an obvious reason why you are my dog, not the other way around.” He shuddered at the thought, though his demeanor had changed almost imperceptibly.
Chuuya could feel the grief of the Flags acutely; they were dead because of him, after all. And he supposed the grief wouldn't really change tomorrow, right? “I'm not the one who stole champagne and came all the way out here to cheer me up,” Chuuya retorted, watching Dazai's face carefully.
Predictably, the mackerel's expression soured. “You're even more stupid than I thought. I'd never care about a tiny, repulsive hatrack like you. You're just my slug, mine, and you don't get to mope about other people without my permission.”
“You're an insufferable piece of shit with no morals whatsoever.” He could feel a warmth in his chest; likely a physical side effect of all the anger Dazai naturally inspired.
The bastard only smirked, then glanced at the time. Chuuya followed his gaze.
11:59 PM, December 31 2019.
“To shit.” Dazai raised his glass, and Chuuya raised an eyebrow at him. The mackerel shrugged. “I have to honor my dog somehow.”
“You fucking-- fine, to shit too--” he raised his glass in return, “just because it describes you so well.”
“Awh, did Chuuya just toast to me on New Years? You know, traditionally that means you have to kiss me.”
“That's not what I meant!” Oh yes, this warmth was fury, not embarrassment and something else. “See, this is why you're a piece of shit! You twist people's words for your own stupid intentions!”
“I didn't know a chibi understood a concept as complicated as manipulation.”
“I'm gonna fucking kill you and Mori will never find the body. I'm not stupid, Dazai.”
“Ah, but I read a scientific study that short people have less intelligence, and because you're so tiny--”
“SHUT UP, YOU UNCREATIVE ASSHOLE!”
It was 12:01 AM, January 1st, 2020, and Chuuya didn't notice.
After all, there was unfortunately a mackerel in the vicinity that was due for a beating.
In all shadows, there is a bit of light and wind, even if they sometimes smell like a fish.