Oneshot -Pushing and Pulling. Home.
Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs
Ship: Soukoku
A/N: This is the fanfic version of the comic with quite a bit more detail in it than the comic did. It has Dazai's direct thoughts leading up to his attempt from the beginning of the comic, as well as a look at Chuuya's own thoughts.
TW: blood, self-harm, suicide attempt, language
A/N: Also posted on Ao3
Nothing…
Numbingly empty…
A mirage of thoughts ran rampant throughout his mind with no end in sight. They pushed and pulled him down with arms of inky black darkness into the sheets below.
The tug had been growing worse, harder to ignore over time. It came on gradually, leaving him little chance to fend them off before he realized it was too late. It had taken him too long to notice the grip of the demons in his mind.
He didn’t want to admit that even after defecting from the Port Mafia, after surviving for two years underground, after doing everything for Odasaku, he hadn’t changed.
Even after all of Fyodor’s bullshit, and he and Chuuya had finally become partners again -though now it meant more to them.
He hadn’t changed.
It had been a while since he had genuinely attempted anything, what with Chuuya’s watchful eyes. That and when he was around Chuuya, the darkness of his thoughts often receded, soothed by the ethereal man he had the undeserved privilege to call his lover.
Sadly, with their differing jobs, it was simply impossible to be with Chuuya every minute of every day.
In fact, Chuuya was currently away on an abroad mission. He was set to be back sometime tomorrow after having been gone for an entire month.
Without Chuuya around to soothe the demons in his head, he fell.
He fell victim to the grabbing hands.
Pushing and pulling.
Inky blackness.
His face contorted in a frown as a restlessness overtook him.
‘He’ll be back tomorrow.’ He tried telling himself through the cacophony of countless thoughts. Fruitless, really, but he didn’t want to hurt Chuuya. Not again.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Blackness.
Darkness.
It filled his lungs like thick black blood.
Sweet like honey with the seducing promise of relief.
A quiet mind.
With no thumping beat of a heart.
Pushing.
Pulling.
His feet hit the ground before his mind could stop him.
Pushing.
Pulling.
His hand reached for the door to the bathroom.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Chuuya had stopped messaging daily sometime after the first week. Too busy with his mission.
Chuuya hadn’t messaged him since last week.
Pushing.
Pulling.
What if he was hurt?
What if he didn’t come back.
Pushing.
Pulling.
What if he didn’t want to come back?
Pushing.
Pulling.
His clothes hit the floor by the door, the bandages on his arms and legs following.
Pushing. Pulling.
The blade cut, stinging.
Through his skin.
Through the bandages still covering his chest.
Red.
Pushing. Pulling.
Inky red blood flowed out. Seeped into his skin.
Into the pristine white covering him.
White never did suit him.
Pushing, pulling.
The water from the faucet meshed horrendously with his rampant thoughts.
His vision was flooded with a bloody red color as his arm reached out in front of him to stop the running water.
Waves of steam rolled off and over the tub.
Pushing, Pulling.
The water bled red as he stepped into the tub.
Burning.
A pleasant burning from where the blade had cut through him and from the water as it came into contact with his skin.
The burning water seeped through his bandages, further burning.
Burning to combat the endless, bone-deep, freezing cold.
The inky red blood polluted the water.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Pushing and pulling him into a soothing embrace of darkness.
Quiet.
_____________________
The door clicked behind him softly.
He could feel the exhaustion deep in the marrow of his bones as he hung up his coat and haphazardly kicked off his shoes into the genkan.
He called out into the quiet house.
“Dazai! I’m home!”
He was greeted with silence.
He was supposed to arrive home the next day, so perhaps Dazai was asleep?
It was well past 2 in the morning.
But Chuuya knew Dazai always struggled to fall asleep. And since Dazai began to live with him, he relied on him to sleep.
‘I need my Chibi heater to stave off the cold! If you leave, then I’ll be left freezing and awake!’
The memory flashes through his head as he places his hat on the dining room table.
“Dazai?”
Silence.
He made his way towards their shared room when he noticed the bathroom light on.
He knocked softly on the door as he called out to him.
“Dazai?”
There was no response.
A seed of fear sprouted into a hideous flower in his gut.
Dazai wouldn’t… He had been clean for so long now.
He called out again, hopeful to get a response this time.
“Dazai? Are you in there?”
Silence.
He reached to open the door, unlocked.
His mind went blank as he looked at the bloody scene in front of him.
He stood there for a second that felt more like an hour, a day, a month.
He could see the steam from the likely scalding temperature of the water.
The blood was a vibrant red. Fresh.
The scent of iron filled his nostrils.
Then the panic set in.
He suddenly felt like a victim to the gravity he normally had flawless control over.
He rushed forward to check Dazai’s pulse, with little care for the blood staining his clothes.
Through his own rapid breathing, he was able to subtly feel Dazai’s slow pulse.
There was so much blood.
He let his mind wander to what could have happened while he was gone while he fell back to old habits. Picking up Dazai’s limp body, unplugging the drain, pulling off what remains of his bandages. Rinsing the blood still on him, redressing his wounds with two layers of bandages to avoid any more bleeding.
When he got to the ‘clothing Dazai’ step in his habitual process, Dazai began to stir into consciousness as he pulled up boxers over his legs.
He hardly noticed as his mind continued to drift. His hands moved to pull one of Dazai’s heavenly soft sweaters over him.
He left Dazai sitting on the stool in the bathroom as he finished cleaning the mess, mumbling to himself as his mind returned from drifting.
“…got Dazai cleaned, bandaged, and dressed…”
He pulled off his blood-soaked gloves, tossing them into the trash.
“Dinner can wait I guess… and I’ve got to change…”
He looked over himself, clothes stained red in blood.
“Dammit! And I’ve still got that report…”
A soft sniffle from behind him pulled him from his thoughts.
Behind him was Dazai, still sitting just like how Chuuya had left him to clean up.
He crouched down in front of him, reaching out to wipe some of his tears. Hesitant on whether Dazai was up for touch.
When Dazai didn’t shift away he brought his hands down to gently run along Dazai’s thickly bandaged knees.
He was at a loss for words, not having quite come to terms with the fact that if he had returned tomorrow, as was planned, Dazai would have been dead when he found him.
“…Do you wanna talk about it?”
His voice hardly sounded like his own, tentative, shaky, unsure.
Finally, a response reached his ears.
“Not really…”
Dazai’s eyes were blank, devoid of any feeling, as he looked into them.
He closed his eyes, sighing, both at finally being able to hear his voice and at the emotionless stare.
Then, Dazai spoke again.
“Can we… talk tomorrow?”
He didn’t realize he had been frowning until he felt his lips pull at a small smile.
Before they had gotten together, Dazai would never have asked to talk about something. If he didn’t bring up something then Dazai would never do it. And even when he did try to bring something up, Dazai would attempt to deflect and distract him from the conversation.
“Yeah… tomorrow. For now… I’ll change, we can order food and watch a movie. How’s that sound?”
“Cuddle?”
A soft chuckle left his lips at the hesitant tone Dazai spoke in.
“Yeah.”
Chuuya was hardly paying attention to the show, thinking of everything they would have to talk about tomorrow.
He felt Dazai nuzzle into him, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked down at the soft brown curls against his chest. Dazai’s head was turned toward the TV but from what he could see, Dazai’s eyes were closed, asleep.
He smiled, letting his eyes close.
He could feel sleep begin to overtake him now that he was finally home.
Home being the man in his arms.
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absolutely on board with this
Imagine an AU where everyone saw in black & white until they met their soulmate, then they saw colors for the first time.
Cue Dazai being kicked into a wall & upon opening his eyes the first colors he sees are within flaming red hair & piercing bright blue eyes. A green jacket hugging the kids figure as his foot remains planted on Dazai’s chest.
Chuuya sees stark white bandages across one eye and beneath an ill fitting white dress shirt. Dark chocolate colored locks. One honey brown iris with flecks of maroon shining in the sunlight. A black coat lying beneath him.
They both freeze for a moment, staring intently at each other, eyes blowing wide at colors they've never seen before.
Then they make eye contact, holding it for one beat, then two.
Then slowly it dawns on them what this means and, of course, their expressions move from awe to irritation. They bicker immediately, neither of them willing to give into fate.
Chuuya scoffs. "Oh fuck no, no way my *soulmate* is some shitty kid from the fucking mafia."
"How eloquent. As if such a tiny, brutish *slug* could ever be *my* soulmate." Dazai mocks in return.
Bonus points if the colors fade when they’re not together, until they accept they’re soulmates that is.
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