If Ben & Sophie did a car commercial together



Sometimes, Chuuya wonders if things had been different if they had been made differently.

If neither of them had powers, would they have died on the streets, just another pair of useless, forgotten orphans?

Would they have met at all?

Would they have still have this love hate relationship that grounded him so much?

Would they have been happy?

Would Dazai still be as cocky as he was and Chuuya just as feisty?

Would they have their love that knew no bounds, wherever they went, whatever they did still exist?

Chuuya doesn’t know.


Chuuya wonders if he had left the Port Mafai with Dazai, would things have been easier.

If he had left, would the pangs his heart gave out every time he saw Dazai disappear?

Would they have been in a happier relationship that wasn’t interrupted by their affiliations?

Would using his powers be easier because he would know someone would have his back every time he used Corruption?

Would the loneliness at night not happen?

Would he not have to drown his sorrows in wine because he had no one to talk to?

Would he still have someone he trusted?

Would their relationship be this volatile?

Would he still be able to trust Dazai with his life, never fearing betrayal?

Chuuya agonizes over the answers.


Chuuya wonders what life would have been like if they had never joined the Port Mafia.

Would their hands be clean of the blood that now stained them, never to be washed off?

Would Dazai be as manipulative as he was and Chuuya as bitter?

Would they have been able to do something on their own free will with no hidden intentions?

Would their dreams still be plagued with visions of blood and death or would they be full of mundane, joyful things?

Would they be able to hold conversations without the fear of someone hearing it and using the information against them?

Would Dazai still wear the stupid bandages he always has wrapped around his arms and Chuuya his choker?

Would they still fight everyday, using their powers for evil?

Would Dazai not have the desire to commit suicide?

Would their relationship still hold the same fire that fuels them each day?

Chuuya doesn’t think anyone has the answers.


It’s not like he could go find them anyways.

His time has come to an end.

The war with the Guild has been harder than expected and Chuuya has paid the price for their underestimation.

Struck down by an attack he didn’t see coming, he thinks he’ll die alone until Dazai appears, distraught when he sees Chuuya lying on the ground.

It’s been a long time since Dazai’s been that ruffled.

“Dazai,” he asks softly. “What if things had been different?”

Dazai stares back at him, expression unreadable, hands slick with blood.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers, shoulders slumping in defeat, tone listless as he cradles Chuuya in his lap. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you knew everything?” Chuuya teases even as he feels his eyelids grow heavier. Dazai leans down and presses a lingering kiss on Chuuya’s forehead.

“If I did,” Dazai murmurs, tears slipping down his face. “I would have taken you far, far away from here.”

Chuuya cries because Dazai’s falling apart and it hurts. He knows he’s the cause of it.

“Dazai,” he whispers softly. “Don’t cry.”

“Hypocrite,” Dazai returns, holding Chuuya closer.

“It’s the rain,” Chuuya lies. Dazai glances up, a sad but genuine smile playing across his lips.

“The heavens are weeping for you Chuuya.” Dazai’s open, vulnerable, raw.

Chuuya wonders if he’ll ever see this side of him again.

Not the Port Mafia executive Dazai, not the Armed Detective Agency Dazai, not the Dazai who always did something with a hidden motive Dazai.

The Dazai only he knew, only he saw.

The Dazai he holds unrequited love for.

Tachihara spots them, mouth opening in panic before he darts off, the fight forgotten.

Chuuya doesn’t want to leave.

He wants to find the answers to his questions.

But he can’t.

So someone else will.

“Dazai,” he says again. “There’s something in my pocket.”

Dazai doesn’t question him, pulling out the tattered piece of paper Chuuya always keeps in his coat. Call him silly but Chuuya always has them on hand, hoping the answers will just show up one day.

“Chuuya,” Dazai finally says after a few long moments. “How stupid.”

His hands are shaking and the rain is making the ink run, ruining Chuuya’s beautiful handwriting.

“It is stupid,” Chuuya agrees, air rattling in his lungs as he struggles to draw another breath. “But will you do it for me?”

Dazai smiles again, this time, a heartbreaking one, his eyes filled with tears as he tilts his head to the side, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“Of course Chuuya. You don’t ever have to ask.” Chuuya coughs wetly, bright, red blood splattering onto his lips.

“Thank you Osamu.” Dazai wipes the blood off of Chuuya’s lips, and presses their foreheads together.

“Ha,” Dazai says in a shaky voice. “I can’t remember the last time you called me by my first name.”

“Osamu,” Chuuya sighs again, eyes sliding shut.


“Yes?” Chuuya replies, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t go. We can find these answers together.”

Chuuya wants to, he so desperately wants to.

“I’m sorry.” He can’t.


Dazai shouting his name is the last thing he hears before everything fades away.


Chuuya hears the steady beep of a monitor.

His head throbs.

His body aches.

He feels like his eyes are caked in concrete.

Painfully, he cracks them open.

A woman is hovering over him, a sharp look on her face that fades to relief when she sees he’s awake.

“Welcome back to the world of the living Nakahara.”

Chuuya remembers her.

Akiko Yosano.

Detective at the Armed Detective Agency.

Was she dead as well?

That didn’t make sense.

She had just said, “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

In response to his confused face, she laughs dryly. “I’ll go get Dazai while you figure things out.” She gracefully walks out and Chuuya is left to his own devices.

He should be dead, the injuries, the blood loss, he had been half dead-

He had been half dead.

Perfect conditions for Yosano’s ability, Thou Shalt Not Die.

Why had he not thought of it when he was dying? Why hadn’t Dazai?

More importantly, who had?

Certainly not Dazai. To be fair, both of them had been to panicked to think straight so it wasn’t really Dazai’s fault.

“Nakahara-san! I’m glad you’re alright!” Tachihara stands in the doorway, a bright smile on his face.

Ah, Tachihara.

“You,” Chuuya croaks out, voice rusty from the dryness in his throat and mouth. “Deserve a promotion.”

“N-N-No it was nothing!”

“Chuuya!” Dazai, rude as ever, shoves aside Tachihara and rushes in, nearly launching himself at Chuuya before Yosano yanks him back.

“Please don’t half kill him.”

Dazai inhales deeply and Chuuya notices the dark circles around his eyes and how gaunt he looks.

Yosano seems to sense that Dazai’s not going to ruin her hard work and exits again, tugging Tachihara with her.

Dazai stands there, another unreadable mask placed on his face.



“Don’t you ever do that again.” Dazai’s almost begging.

“I won’t,” Chuuya reassures him.

Dazai embraces him gently, pressing his soft lips against Chuuya’s chapped ones

“Hey Chuuya,” he says, all serious now.

“Yes?” Chuuya’s ready to sleep again, he still feels tired.

“Your questions.”

“What about them?”

“You asked me what if things had been different. I don’t know the answer. You don’t either.”

Chuuya sighs. He would love to talk but he’s exhausted. “Get to the point Osamu.”

“How about we find those answers together? How about we make things different?” Chuuya closes his eyes and breathes deeply, feeling the burn.

“That… That sounds good.” Dazai’s smiling. He can’t see him right now but he knows Dazai’s smiling.

“Get well soon Chuuya.”


As soon as Chuuya is discharged, Dazai’s waiting for him, a bag packed.

“Ready?” Dazai asks, beaming. He’s still wearing his bandages and coat.

“Of course,” Chuuya replies haughtily.

Dazai extends a hand out to him and Chuuya takes it without hesitation.

They go find their answers.

They make things different.



Would you look at that.


@senren you’ve dragged me into this skk hell and it looks like I’m not getting out any time soon.

Somebody stop me.


Somebody slap some sense into me because ANGST IS MY STYLE WHY AM I NOT WRITING THAT.

*clenches fist*

I couldn’t.

*groans like an idiot*

Another gift because uh, the last one was three weeks late???

Somebody please slap some sense into me. 

Hahahaha, heads up, I usually don’t write this fast. 

I actually don’t know why this came out. I was feeling angsty but I couldn’t keep it there :(((