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Chuuya was dying.
For Dazai, the only certainty in life had always been death. As everything else shifted ceaselessly, turbulently - the solemn spectre of death had always hovered above him, had never left his side.
And now, it was with this certainty that he knew Chuuya was dying.
He knew because of the trembling effort that every breath wrought upon his heaving chest, because of the crimson red (oh, so beautiful) that seeped from his body and pooled on the earth beneath him, because of the look in his eyes.
Dazai had seen that look countless times before. He was no stranger to the way human bodies convulsed and bled as the life drained out of them, had watched it happen more times than he’d like to remember - and yet never had it been so horrifying, so lovely, as it was now - and he watched, transfixed, with equal parts despair and fascination rising within him.
Though he was dying, and was very obviously aware of this, Chuuya’s eyes held the same defiance that they had always, and Dazai was rendered unable to tear his eyes from the futile struggle that would inevitably claim his partner’s life.
He didn’t understand.
Chuuya had always been an open book to him, and over the years Dazai had pored over every yellowed page, tracing his finger along the black ink until it had been forever preserved in his mind. There were very few things which he did not know or understand about Chuuya.
He didn't understand why Chuuya clung to the mafia like a lifeline when they had done him more harm than good.
He didn't understand why Chuuya trusted him, cared for him, when all Dazai had done was betray him over and over again.
And now, he didn't understand how Chuuya could still fight with everything he had left for his god forsaken place in a world which Dazai had grown tired of years and years ago.
They were both invalids, really. The world had turned its back on them, taken everything from them again and again, and yet Chuuya still burned with the utterly useless and unbearably idiotic desire to live.
It was the most beautiful thing Dazai had ever seen.
He would not take Chuuya's hand. That sort of honor was reserved for the people closest to the soon to be deceased, for those who loved without restraint and breathed every breath with the intent to protect.
God knew how unworthy he was of that.
But he smiled, sharp and painful like broken glass, and offered, less than half joking; "Double suicide, bella donna?"
Chuuya opened his mouth, but he could not speak. His eyes hardened through the film that was slowly overtaking them, and beyond words as he was, the message was clear - Don't you fucking dare, dumbass.
Dazai barked out a laugh, and soon his shoulders were shaking with broken laughter. As he stilled, he noted the way Chuuya's breath came deeper and slower now, and he knew it would not be much longer until their time ran out.
He leaned in to kiss Chuuya's bloodied lips, fingers pressed to the inside of his pale wrist to feel the last unsteady beats of his heart. When Dazai could no longer feel his pulse, he pulled back and swept his hand over Chuuya's dull eyes, closing them for the last time.
He watched the shadows dance over Chuuya's motionless features, and realized with shocking clarity that they would remain that way forever, frozen and unmoving and dead until the earth reclaimed him - that he would never again snap at Dazai or call him a waste of bandages, that he would never again gaze at him with soft eyes when he thought Dazai wasn't looking, that he would never again trace his fingers reverently over Dazai's scars, that his existence, so bright, had faded away.
Dazai realized that the world had taken everything from him yet again.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out his gun, lifting it to his head.
"Sorry, partner," he said, with an eerily complacent smile, flicking the safety off with a resonant click. "I'm afraid I have to betray you one more time."
He took Chuuya's hand (anyone, as undeserving as they might be, had the right to hold the hand of a corpse). It was lifeless and rapidly cooling, but it was just as he'd remembered, and he savored the way their fingers fit around each other.
Belatedly, he realized that they had never said I love you to each other. But he would not say it now, not when it was too little, too late - not when Chuuya was too dead and too gone to hear, let alone reply to him.
So instead he laughed again, slowly, a bitter mockery of the way they had been torn apart over and over.
He would not say goodbye, because he knew they would meet again.
"Au revoir, Chuuya," he whispered.
And then he pulled the trigger.