Soukoku - One Shots

Blinding Lights

"I said, ooh, I'm blinded by the lights
No, I can't sleep until I feel your touch
I said, ooh, I'm drowning in the night
Oh, when I'm like this, you're the one I trust..."
Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

"Chuuya, explain to me why we're going for a ride in the dead of night." Dazai mutters.

A frown and his mouth thin as he surveys an auburn mane out of his dispassionate eye.

Dazai hasn't slept in two days. He'd blame caffeine because he typically sips at least four or five cups on weekends and twice as many on days of hard work. Or at least, where he gives a semblance of physical presence in pm's activities. Which means swinging in the closest chair or dragging around the room like a zombie from a b-movie. He'd have blamed caffeine, of course, but not in this case.

Insomnia has been bugging him and the triggering cause is a mission that has led to poor results. So why doesn't he sleep? Because he, the demon prodigy, the youngest executive of the Yokohama Mafia, was fooled by a gang of street kids and ability users.
No, it can't happen.
Not to him.

Which is why he's standing there, drumming his foot against the floor, while the ticking of the sole reverberates within the walls of the great hall. He waits for his partner and his fanciful idea of a bike ride to sedate his nerves.

Not that Chibikko has never had any bizarre ideas. This is perhaps the tenth since they met. Except for the one he crossed his mind the previous days, breaking through the kid's den to snatch alcohol and some pack of cigarettes for Chibi. They got a second-hand package, a few broken limbs and insomnia.

Chuuya grabs the green leather jacket and wears it, sliding the zip to the top. He fixes the lapels with a few taps while his eyes flicking to Dazai, diving into cool dark irises assessing him: he looks like a candle burning from both extremities. "Usually it relaxes me, maybe it'll help you too." He advises, hiding his fist into the small pocket and lifting a bunch of keys that rattles under his fingers.

There is a small pendant with a cloth goat, belonging to his period with the Sheep, two keys that opened his old apartment in the slums and a garage where he, Shirazu and Yhuan hid the stocks of liquor stolen from Port Mafia - oh, the irony - but if Dazai had tried to guess, he never would have understood what the two keys used in the composition are used for. They're a shred of a past that should be forgotten. But for Chuuya it's more like a lucky charm to remember who he is.

Dazai rolls up his eyes and casts out a sigh of condescension. After all, he hasn't other commitments. Not at two o'clock at night at the very least.

"I don't want people to see me hugging you on a shocking-pink motorcycle." the executive's face wrinkles.

Chuuya straightens his back and shields both arms on the leather fabric. An "Hah?!" escapes his lips that are now arched into a hard half-moon.

Although the jacket belongs to his old life the redhead keeps it for his reckless motorbike tours. Because a sport bike, even if painted in bright pink, needs a suitable clothing for the occasion. Chuuya has never been shy about fashion, especially when it comes to his outfits and Dazai certainly doesn't complain.

He takes an air drag from the lungs. " A dog riding a motorcycle is a show that is not seen every day, however." he raises his eyebrow and curls his forehead to mark his teasing.