Chapter Text
Dazai’s dying, lungs hollowed out by the sounds of his coughs, airways clogged by the camellias in full bloom being generated by every single cell of his body. Each cough that escapes Dazai’s lips squeezes out more and more flowers, creating a lovely carpet, much like a trail of bread of two orphans finding their way deeper into the forest of the witch.
Chuuya can only stand outside the door to Dazai’s room, back shaking against the flimsy door, fists trembling with helplessness as his ex-partner welcomes the last of his days with open arms and savage coughs. The official order from Boss Mori is to not interfere with the petty messes of geniuses who are too stupid to catch this fairytale-like disease, so Chuuya’s here, simply observing, simply listening, simply clutching at his own heart as another wave of coughs rack through Dazai.
Boss Mori definitely will not let this chance go – a way to get rid of competition without him having to lift a finger or a scalpel.
Chuuya knows that the retribution awaiting him for not following orders is a fate worse than death. Chuuya knows that Dazai knows.
The grandfather clock strikes twelve, the resonating note booming through the entire floor.
Dazai’s coughs still, just as predicted by Dazai himself.
Chuuya flings the door open, just as the electricity shrieks and cuts off in the entire base. In fifteen seconds, as Chuuya had requested, people from the Armed Detective Agency come rushing from one of the emergency vaults he had left open after an inspection. In twenty seconds, infamous underground doctor Yosano-sensei is with Chuuya, rushing inside Dazai’s room.
“…Chuuya, did you get me a lovely lady to commit double suicide with?” Dazai asks him with barely a hush of his voice.
Chuuya looks at the pitiful form of his partner made to surrender by a simple disease of the heart. This is the last time they’d be this close.
“…Just go to sleep, you bandage bastard,” Chuuya manages to say through similarly-choked lungs.
Yosano-sensei quickly cuts Dazai’s chest open, immediately finding the lump of flowers giving him the disease – a disease that causes one to cough up flowers for as long as his unrequited love isn’t returned. The only cure is for either his beloved to return his love – or for the source of the disease, his unrequited love, to be removed, taking away all of his emotions for that once-beloved.
“…Are you sure about this, Nakahara Chuuya?” The doctor asks him, her knife inches away from cutting up the source of Dazai’s disease. “You’re essentially dooming yourself with this decision.”
Because they’re partners, Dazai isn’t the only one stupid enough to catch the hanahaki disease.
Chuuya swallows against the threat of flowers spilling out of his lips. He’s going to be fine, at least for the next few months, he surmises. He’s only coughing up the flowers once a week, so it’s possible that the disease hasn’t hit him that hard yet. There will be plenty of time to search for a cure for him, he thinks. Dazai’s coughing up camellias by the lungful, while he’s simply coughing up this… bleeding heart?, every once in a while.
“I’ll be fine,” Chuuya says after he swallows the flower back, his throat tingling with the motion. “The payment has been deposited in your account.”
“If only all Port Mafia Executives are as easy to do business as you,” Yosano-sensei mutters, as she hacks the lump of camellia buds into countless pieces. Since slicing open Dazai’s chest apparently counts as half-killing him, Thou Shall Not Die activates, healing Dazai back.
“Please leave within the next minute, Yosano-sensei,” he says, as he hears the distant sounds of his subordinates rushing to their room. “And please take that piece of trash with you.”
“…If you’re sure.”
Chuuya only nods because words fail him at this point.
He stares at his partner – ex-partner now – as she hauls him effortlessly away from their home for the past ten years.
I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you any other way.
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
The next time they see each other, Chuuya’s gaze only lingers for a few moments, sees Dazai wearing a tan coat that reeks of summer and the light, sees Dazai wearing a light-hearted smile that smells of friendliness and hope.
“…Who is this lost child?” Dazai asks loudly when their eyes meet, confusion and mild interest clouding his gaze.
And Chuuya’s heart skips a beat.
And his lungs fill with the cry of bleeding hearts.