Work Text:
YEAR 16XX
There is a small hut owned by a man, whose name or face no one ever seems to remember. It is a known fact that anyone can go there to have a drink if they can pay for it.
It is a place where three young men visit regularly…
“I’ve been thinking of learning how to write lately.”
“Oh? Being a fisherman isn’t boring enough for you, OdaSaku?”
“Writing can be useful, Dazai. Don’t listen to him, Oda.”
“I can’t see how it would pay for his food or this alcohol, Ango, not around here anyway.”
“Maybe, but I’d like to write the stories I come up with. You know, to leave something behind.”
“Aren’t you too young to be thinking about that?”
“Says the one rambling about suicide all the time. Let him be, Dazai.”
“Rude~ What do you think, Mr Owner?”
It’s spoken as Dazai’s gaze falls on the one sitting in the corner – the man is dressed in simple, dark blue robes vividly contrasting with the bright colour of his hair. His head is low as always, trying to give his customers privacy as they relax in his humble home, but he shifts at the question so that his answer can be heard clearly, eyes are still hidden behind the curls falling down on his face.
“Following your desires is what makes you human, isn’t it?”
It starts another long debate between the three men as they drink some more. They’ll stay until the night comes and then leave their separate ways, until the next visit, and the next, and the next—
And until only one of them comes back.
“You know, Mr Owner~, he never left it behind.” Is spoken between silent sobs and drunk hiccups. “Never wrote it in the first place. Didn’t have the chance to learn how to.” His cup is refilled without question and Dazai drinks it all in one go again, anything to stop feeling this way. “Ehh… He liked it here, I did too. Your alcohol’s good, but it just doesn’t taste right anymore…”
There were other people before, but they all went home after sunset, leaving the brunette as the only lingering customer for the quiet redhead to serve. And he does it without asking for anything in return, doesn’t ask for money for the liquid being poured. He only watches the misery of this person who used to smile under his roof every week.
“Would you like to feel it again?”
“Feel what? The alcohol? Oh~ maybe I can die from it~”
“No. Anything but what you’re feeling now.”
It would be nice to feel nothing, no sorrow, no hurt. But wouldn’t it be like betraying his friend? Like forgetting him? The only thing Dazai knows for sure is that he wants is to turn back time and exchange his life for the one that was stolen from him, but he can’t do that. No one can. However, the voice that keeps him company is gentle, soothing, and he doesn’t feel too bad about following it. He’s only human after all.
“I do.”
He drinks the reddish liquid given to him.
He feels the silky threads binding him.
He gets lost in pleasure.
And when the Sun rises again, he leaves with the promise to come back again.
But he never does.
--
YEAR 18XX
There is a small house owned by a man, whose name or face no one ever seems to remember. It is a known fact that anyone can go there to have a drink if they can pay for it.
It is a place where three young men visit regularly…
“I’ve been thinking of learning how to write lately.”
“Oh? Being a guard isn’t boring enough for you, OdaSaku?”
“Writing can be useful, Dazai. Don’t listen to him, Oda.”
“As long as it pays for your food and alcohol~”
“I witness some interesting things happening while on duty, I’d like to share them with others someday.”
“That may be fun if it’s you. I’d probably die of boredom if they were Ango’s stories.”
“Stop being rude to me.”
“Would you read them, Mr Owner?”
The man sits at the faraway table where all his customers can see and wave at him when they wish for more drinks. His kimono is simple, but elegant – deep blue with a black, irregular pattern. His bright, orange hair is put up in a messy bun, but the loose strands falling down on his face hide his eyes from Dazai’s view. He stands up and comes closer to refill the three men’s glasses.
“All humans enjoy stories one way or another, do they not?”
The conversation continues. They talk about the port being built, about their jobs, their lives. They’ll stay until the night comes and then leave their separate ways, until the next visit, and the next, and the next. Years will pass as they grow older, wiser, maybe start a family, but they will continue to meet here—
Until only one of them comes back.
“You know, Mr Owner~, he left many books behind.” Is spoken between drunk hiccups and exhausted sighs. “They are really interesting, he was a good author.” His cup is refilled without question and Dazai sips it slowly. “But he won’t be writing anymore and I already memorised all of them. Ango has his family to take care of, so I’m the only one left with nothing but boredom to keep me company.”
The doors were closed some time ago as it is a quiet night, only the brunette lingering at his table with the same alcohol he’s been drinking for decades. He remembers the first time they came here together – so long ago, when they were barely adults. It was smaller then, poorer, but this place grew just like they did. There are more colours now, more tables, a wider variety of drinks and the owner…
Must have changed at some point? Dazai doesn’t remember the face that greeted them those 20 years ago, but as he looks up at the person pouring him drinks now, he looks young, barely in his twenties probably. He has beautiful, flame-coloured hair tied in a high ponytail, but his eyes are hidden. The last owner’s son perhaps? Did he have any family back then?
“Would you like to forget it?”
“Forget what? His books? No, lad, the only thing left for this uncle here is to pass the time as I mourn my friend.”
“Forget the boredom.”
Dazai looks at how graceful and elegant the other’s movement are as he sits opposite to him. The redhead is nothing short of beautiful, but—
“Does the youth like to experiment with older men now? You’re still in the years when you can aim higher than some over-40-year-old drunk, boy.”
“That’s not an answer.”
No, it wasn’t. Because Dazai doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to hope. He’s always been tired of living and now it will only get worse as everything around him turns grey. He never settled down with any of the women he slept with, never had children and now he lost his best friend. He wishes he could feel something more than just the pain of existence, even if it’s just for one night, but will it be enough? Will it fill the hole inside him? Will he be able to continue this if his hope is shattered because it wasn’t enough?
“If that was possible… then yeah, I would.”
He drinks the reddish liquid given to him.
He feels the silky threads binding him.
He gets lost in pleasure.
And when the Sun rises again, he leaves with the promise to come back again.
But he never does.
--
YEAR 20XX
There is a small bar owned by a man, whose name or face no one ever seems to remember. It is a known fact that no matter what you do in your life, you can always go there to have a drink and relax.
It is a place where three young men visit regularly…
“I can’t do this.”
…or they would, in another life.
But this time the world wasn’t so kind, it took their friendship and a man’s life all too quickly, too sudden, leaving only the betrayal and a broken human behind.
“Hey, Mr Owner, would you like to commit double suicide with me?”
They’re not alone, there is a woman in an exquisite, floral patterned kimono sitting on one of the stools far from the brunette leaning on the cold wood next to his empty glass, but he doesn’t care and neither does she. His head is clouded, but not with alcohol, he still hasn’t had enough to silent the thoughts swirling in his mind. It’s clouded with agony, anger, sorrow – emotions that are too human for him, emotions he wishes he wouldn’t feel anymore.
“Would you like it to stop?”
Stop this pain, stop this life…
“Yes.”
A glass with a reddish liquid is placed before his half-lidded eyes. It doesn’t smell like any alcohol Dazai has ever drank, but it’s sweet and tempting and he doesn’t care anymore, he just drinks it.
And his mind halts.
His body is being gently pulled up and placed on the softest material he can remember touching, but that thought doesn’t stay for long. He feels warm and good and alive, there’s no emptiness inside, no darkness swallowing him whole.
“Do you want me to take you apart?”
There’s a moment of clarity after hearing these words, like the spell is being lifted so that he can answer without being pushed. His mind stops spinning and his eyes focus on the deep blue looking down at him, surrounded by the cascade of orange hair. It’s mesmerizing, the most beautiful colour Dazai has ever seen, but oddly familiar at the same time, and it’s waiting for him to decide what he wants. His hands weakly move to grab the arms resting on both sides of his head.
“Please.”
He’ll beg if that’s what it takes to feel whole again, but it’s not needed. The moment he answers is followed by hot, sweet lips devouring every inch of his skin and the pleasure flowing through his body. He doesn’t protest when his cloths and bandages are carefully taken off – he wants them off, wants more of this heat on his skin.
Something binds his hands, something too silky to be rope and too thin to be cloth, but submitting to it feels like the most natural thing. His legs are spread wide with the same threads that seem to be coming from nowhere, and he feels exposed, but the stare he catches is admiring. Ravening. He’s embarrassed, but he pleads for more.
He melts into every kiss planted on his mouth, trembles at every stroke of the hand on his cock and arches into every quick thrust. He feels full and hungry at the same time, he wants it to last forever, to always be connected this deeply.
Nothing exists outside of here and now. There is only pleasure and heat and desire and it’s not enough. He’s being filled over and over again, and he accepts it every time, he asks for more and it’s given to him until he’s so high on the overwhelming sensation of it all that he’s sure he’s floating.
He’s not thinking straight but when he sees two, sky-blue orbs so close to him, he chases them until the kiss soothes his mind, slowly carrying him into sleep.
When he wakes up, there is no more pleasure, but there is still peace inside him. He doesn’t fight being cleaned, he leans into it. He doesn’t fight being dressed, soft caresses of gloves fingers make him smile. He leaves with one, last kiss and the promise to come back again—
“Found a new prey, Chuuya?” A woman in the pink kimono asks when the redhead comes back to clean the bar. She was never asked to leave, she never has to leave, even with no one there.
“No.” He answers as a new drink is slowly lowered on the counter by a shining web thread. “Simply reunited with the old one.”
“Will he be coming back?”
“Not anytime soon.” He pours red wine for himself and clinks their glasses, a high pitched sound echoes in the bar. “Sweet as it is, a spider’s venom is still just a poison.”
—but he never does.