Figments of Beauty

IX

Late October, 2012

Chuuya was drowning.

The hazy red that gouged his eyes and scraped at his ears was familiar, and it smelled like death. His muscles throbbed with the force of something pulsing under his skin, wailing and banging giant fists against his bones.

He couldn't breathe. He gasped and choked and wheezed, but his lungs were too full with the thick red and he couldn't breathe. Everything felt so big and so loud and it all sounded like screaming and fire as his chest burned and his skin ached and something felt so impossibly angry inside of him somewhere as it raged and seethed and twisted claws of black stone around his soul and squeezed and—

"Chuuya."

When his eyes flew open, all he could register was the dark. It was dark, and it was the familiar kind of dark he knew to be his apartment at nighttime.

What was unfamiliar, though, was the dark figure sitting next to him, blinking brown eyes.

"You're awake." His voice was slightly scratchy, but there wasn't any discernible emotion there.

"So are you," Chuuya muttered. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah."

He sighed, brushing away the hair stuck to his forehead. "Sorry." Dazai didn't say anything, but he didn't move away either. Chuuya frowned. "What?"

"You get those a lot." Not a question.

Chuuya's frown deepened. "That's none of your business."

"It woke me up, so I think it is."

He sighed again and, for the first time in weeks, thought about the Sheep. He'd been having nightmares for years, now, and they were always kind about it. Yuan would gently shake him awake, turn on the radio or grab some old pudding cups, and they'd just sit together until he felt like he could sleep again. She never asked him about them, and her pity was minimal. After a while, it vanished completely, and it became something almost like a routine.

Characteristic of Dazai to be an asshole about it.

"Yeah. I get them a lot. Doesn't fucking matter," Chuuya grumbled, sitting up and making to grab a glass of water.

Dazai's expression was unreadable as he watched Chuuya from the floor by the couch. "It does when it interrupts my beauty rest."

"That doesn't fucking matter either," Chuuya snorted.

Dazai blinked. "We're models, Chuuya."

The sound of the tap was the only response to be heard.

When Chuuya made his way back into the room, stifling a yawn, he found Dazai watching him with the same strange expression. Was he waiting for a thank-you? If it were anyone else, Chuuya wouldn't have hesitated. But Chuuya would rather die than thank Dazai Osamu for anything, even if he were drowning in pain and red a few minutes ago.

"You just gonna keep staring?" Chuuya asked, arching a brow.

"You were thrashing around like a fish out of water," Dazai supplied, completely disregarding the question. Typically so. "I've never seen someone look so crazed before."

Chuuya's jaw tightened as he sat back down on the couch, finishing the glass of water. He contemplated tossing it at Dazai so he'd shut up, but quickly decided against it so he wouldn't have to clean up the glass. Instead, he opted to stay silent.

"It's rude to ignore someone when they're talking to you, chibi."

"Shut up," Chuuya snapped.

Dazai, of course, did no such thing. "Was that nightmare the same one from the other day?"