conundrum. (arranged in haphazard rondo)
In lieu of soukoku episode release & soukoku week, I decided to post a soukoku fic at last ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ
tl;dr: An introspective overview of Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship over the years, told in five brief parts; from childhood, to the Dark Era, till the very end; and me postulating the ending of BSD encompassing much angst and tragedy.
- table of contents -
i. The Worst Day Ever
ii. The Scariest Day Ever
iii. The Absolute Worst Day Ever
iv. The Happiest Day Ever
v. The Worst Day Ever
i. The Worst Day Ever
There wasn’t really anything that happened between them.
“Your face pisses me off.”
“As does yours.”
“I’m glad it’s mutual.”
Perhaps it’s meant to be. Their first look at one another left a sour aftertaste at the back of their tongues, like the revolting bitterness of herbal medicines. It’s strong, it’s repugnant, it’s also inexplicable – arising as naturally as the Sun from the east. The French use the saying, “le coup de foudre”; perhaps between them lightning struck too hard, and the nasty burn that it left behind sizzled on for many years to come.
It’s not like Chuuya can ever forget that day – he even went on to elegantly coin it with a name of utmost sophistication (‘The Worst Day Ever’). It’s as if he is forced to endure the taste of cheap, oxidized beer; the odious gaze of those black eyes from across the room left in him a prickly sensation of disgust, coupled with the urge to flee at once.
Not that he could. “Now, lads, no fighting,” instructed Kouyou, her tone motherly. Her eyes shot him a knowing look, and Chuuya understood the threat that came beneath that beaming visage. “The Boss insists you lads be cordial.”
“How ‘bout no.” Chuuya mutters, eyeing the other boy suspiciously.
“My sentiments exactly,” says the boy with a subdued glower.
Kouyou’s smile only widens to terrifying proportions, and she says nothing, turning to grin at the man standing behind the young boy. It is the boy’s caregiver, Mori; a figure whose role paralleled hers to Chuuya. The man shrugs, amused.
Meanwhile the boys are engaged in their own interaction of silent looks, scrutinizing one another with disdainful contempt; between them stood a battlefield of sheer eyepower and pride, alongside equal prowess of detestation flung at one another carelessly like spears, hitting all but their target’s unyielding ego. Neither relents. Neither triumphs either.
Their stalemate is abruptly broken when Kouyou, with her heavy kimono and large traditional umbrella, steps in regally between them, the slight smile of her face both mystifying and alluring at once. Both boys are halted, and turn their gaze towards her subliminal beauty in stunned wonder.
She turns to each of them, tossing charming glances through half-lidded eyes – enrapturing them with the exquisite sheen glimmering in her eyes. She grins. Mori watches on, respectfully amused at Kouyou’s wit.
“Orders are orders, lads,” says she, emancipating an immeasurable amount of matured charisma.
The two boys dumbly nod, eyes fixated and enthralled like the bewitched; unquestioning.
It is only much later that Chuuya realises what he had agreed to, and groans in unfathomable regret and angst at perhaps the worst command of all time.