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Stars shine bright. Brighter than anything in the sky, that’s why people are so drawn to them, seeking them out like a moth to a flame.
Dazai, is not bright. Dazai, is not a star.
He is the darkness that flickers curiously near the stars, never too far but never too close, as if scared to touch. He is the shadows that the sun casts during the day, and the darkness leftover in the night.
Dazai could describe many people as being stars. People who others are sucked into, who capture everyone in bursts of joy and shine. The first person who comes to mind is Chuuya.
Chuuya, is bright. Chuuya, is a star.
He is the sun in the sky that Dazai will orbit around. Never straying too far, scared of the unknown and darkness that is far too familiar. But never going to close, scared of the unknown and the brightness that burns dull eyes and pale skin. He is the star Dazai will follow (it’s ironic, how he follows around Chuuya like a lost, confused puppy. Chuuya’s supposed to be the dog) until he crashes or Chuuya blows up.
Dazai wasn’t sure how to act around Chuuya, as a result.
Chuuya was too unpredictable, too wild for his brain to follow correctly. He knew Chuuya, but sometimes it felt like he didn’t. What he does know, however, is that he finds himself as the moth.
Dazai brought his knees closer to his chest. Cold, sharp wind, sharper than a daggers or a scalpel, whips at his cheeks and curls his hair. His bandages are loose, and is glad no one would be out at this time of night. Dazai watches the stars, the shining lights reflecting in his empty eyes. Black holes sucking the life out of them . Tragic.
No one was ever awake and outside to see just how brightly the night sky did shine at night.
Dazai isn’t sure exactly where his mind is. He feels it soaring in the clouds and dying under the ground. His stomach seems to curl and twist, but from what he doesn’t know. (Hunger is out of question, he’s become numb to it.) His eyesight is a bit hazy, and he feels like he’s drowning in syrup. The brunette’s limbs ache and creak, a broken toy, ready to give out after years of use and use and use and use-
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
Oh so familiar voice grumbles out. No hands touch him, and he isn’t sure if he’s crying tears of joy or breaking down of sadness. He uses the sound of leather and the smell of leather and wine to ground his mind, yet it only seems to spiral it more.
Suddenly, the ground seems a bit too high and he feels a bit lighter than normal. His knees hurt and he feels like lowering them down, but he’s scared that it’ll just hurt more. Everything is suddenly so hard, why is everything so difficult?
“I’m gonna touch you okay?” Chuuya asks, hands hovering like a shield and it makes Dazai’s brain do peculiar things. He feels Chuuya’s hands taking him away from the ledge.
Dazai’s not even sure why he was even here, but his mind is panicking. It’s a black-hole and an explosion all at once, and Dazai feels overwhelmed. The gentle touch suddenly burns and it burns . Why is he panicking, again? Did he ever know? A whine builds in his throat and his lips part and his chest heaves. What’s happening? Who is this touching him-
“It’s just Chuuya, okay?” Chuuya said, hands coming off of him. The phantom touches graze him through layers of clothes and soft bandages. His bandages suddenly are a snake, wrapping and squeezing. “Just Chuuya.”
Just Chuuya. Just Chuuya. Why does that ground Dazia so much?
“We’re gonna get you home,” Chuuya says, “I’m gonna have to touch you more.”
Dazai would protest, but his tongue feels heavy and his lips feel light. He almost wants to cry, but his eyelashes are too heavy and his eyes are too sticky. He almost wants to move, but his skin is too tight and bones are too heavy.
He’s moving through space, where sound seems to not reach him, even if he knows it does. The oxygen is running out and the endless void, so so familiar because Dazai’s gazed into the void plenty of times as it stared back and back, is crushing him.
“I know, I know, baby,” Chuuya murmurs. “I’ll get you in some nice, soft clothing and take off your bandages.”
Dazai can’t find it in him to be mad at Chuuya, he’s never been mad, and especially never at Chuuya. Anger was an ugly, rotten thing that looks oh so beautiful on Chuuya, star shining ever so brightly, and Dazai was a black-hole, far too tired to give but always willing to take.
Chuuya’s house was a familiar one, one Dazai knew almost as well as his container. He liked the ginger’s penthouse. His container sometimes was too big, and other times too small, but with Chuuya’s place, each room he went to would be different and it wouldn’t be as bad.
Chuuya’s clothes were also familiar. Chuuya’s scent rubbed off on them, and Dazai would rather die than admit he enjoyed wearing Chuuya’s clothes. All of Dazai’s were uncomfortable and stiff.
Chuuya was too kind to someone like him.
Chuuya, gives too much. Chuuya, spreads around warmth.
Dazai, takes too much. Dazai, spreads around the cold.
But Dazai can’t tell Chuuya that, even when they should both know that it’s true. It always made Dazai so surprised when Chuuya kept giving and giving, even when Dazai didn’t deserve it. After the blood that soaks his hands that he can never seem to get off when everything gets too loud. After what he’s put the shorter through.
He can’t tell Chuuya that because the taller can barely remember what he’s thinking about, thoughts rushing in his mind too fast and thoughts sliding in his mind too slow. So he settles on being quiet and just lets Chuuya do what the ginger wishes to do.
“Feeling better now, baby?” Don’t call me such sweet nicknames. Please.
I don’t think I can handle anything good. Not me.
Chuuya must’ve roughly translated that into his language, because he keeps moving his fingers throughout Dazai’s hair. Dazai’s throat is dry and his heart hammers in his chest. Chuuya was so gentle and so good that it burned more than any star. Chuuya was too bright, too bright for the darkness that engulfed Dazai’s soul.
“It’s okay,” Chuuya tells him, and Dazai hangs onto his every word more than he ever has from any ceiling. “It’s okay to be dumb sometimes. Your brain doesn’t have to do everything for everyone all at once.”
Dazai isn’t sure what Chuuya exactly meant by that. But he listened because it felt like it was the only thing that he could do. He listened because it was Chuuya speaking, and he absorbed it faster than any black-hole.
The silence goes between them a bit. Dazai feels his eyelids getting heavy, and his limbs don’t ache as much as they had. He listened to Chuuya’s heartbeat, so, so human. Yeah. I think Chuuya’s my star in this world.
A star that Dazai would cherish more than a dog would be its master. One that Dazai would follow and follow and follow. Until he crashes into a million pieces. Until Chuuya blows up, taking Dazai with him too.
Dazai loves Chuuya.
He decided that was the best term for it. Yeah, love sounds about right. A pulling on his chest that would amount to nothing else. The touch that lingered on skin for hours after it, the smell and the voice that made his mind flip and spin.
And, as he’s falling asleep, Chuuya whispers into his hair,
“Did you know black-holes used to be stars?”