#eight.scribbles

[eightscribbles]

don't forget me (i beg)

cut: he takes it too far during a misunderstanding.

copy: soukoku

paste: arguments, emotional manipulation (?), swearing

undo: "Have YOU ever been beaten and left behind?!" "I hope you're happy with yourself." "Oh, that's easy for you to say. Someone who's had EVERYTHING they've ever wanted!" "Shut up! Just- just Shut up!"

redo: hello :> i decided to start reposting works from my ao3 (unknown_borealis) because this blog was lookin a little too ded.

divider from @cafekitsune's tufted 002 post! thank you sm

title from "someone like you" by adele

please reblog and like if you enjoyed :D

The door clicks open and Dazai slips in. 

“Where have you been?” Chuuya sits at the table, a book open in his hands. Dazai shrugs indifferently. 

“Doesn’t make a difference to you, does it?” He sets down his bag and puts his coat up. 

“Oh, it doesn’t? And that’s why I’m sitting here, waiting for you even though you didn’t give me a single word of warning that you’d be late back?” Chuuya scoffs. 

“What a kind dog, waiting for his master.” The joke’s getting old. Chuuya lets out an aggrieved huff and turns away. 

“No one asked you to wait for me, you know.” Chuuya whips his head back around. 

“...What did you just say?” Chuuya slams his book shut and leaves it on the table. He stands up and stalks towards Dazai. 

“No one asked you to wait for me. You could have just gone to sleep.” Dazai picks up his bag and steps towards the bedroom, but Chuuya grabs his arm.

“No, hold on. I waited half the fucking night for you. I sat here, waiting for you to come back, hoping you weren’t dead, and this is the thanks I get? Are you fucking serious?” 

Dazai rips his arm out of Chuuya’s grasp like it burns him. “Leave it, Chibi.”

“No, I’m not going to fucking leave it! I’m waiting for you because I want to, and you haven’t heard a single thank you out of your mouth!” 

“Have you considered the fact that I don’t want you to wait for me? It’s not that big of a deal.” Chuuya’s seething now. Each word out of Dazai’s mouth boils his blood more and more. Of course this stupid prick with all his mafia executive friends wouldn’t care about one person. 

“Easy for you to say! Someone who’s had everything they could ever want, mister “youngest underboss”. I bet you have people everywhere waiting on you hand and foot.” Dazai stops, still facing away. Chuuya ignores him and continues to rant. 

“Born with a silver spoon shoved up your ass, weren’t you? Became the youngest, best underboss, everyone listened to you, followed you like lost ducklings, have you ever been beaten and left behind? Do you even know what it’s like to watch someone die in front of you?”

“I-” Chuuya doesn't let him finish. Dazai doesn’t get to say a word if he’s going to continue being an asshole.

“No, just shut up. You don’t get to say anything. I know you were the best in the mafia or whatever, but here, you aren’t any better than me or anyone else. If anything, you’re the biggest asshole of us all. So I hope you enjoyed that little trip, because I am not going to wait for you ever fucking again. Hope you’re real fuckin’ pleased with yourself, bitch.” Chuuya storms straight past him and goes to the front door. “I’m not coming back.” He slams the door shut and pulls out his phone, asking Tachihara to meet him at the bar for a night out. He’s had enough of Dazai’s bullshit. 

In the red haze, he doesn’t notice anything about Dazai. He doesn’t notice Dazai’s hands beginning to shake, doesn’t see the memories of a beloved friend flash through his eyes. He doesn’t see Dazai slump against the wall, holding his bag to his chest as tears start to fall.

He doesn’t notice when an hour later, Dazai stumbles to his feet and takes out something from his bag before exiting the house in a daze, beginning to wander the streets wherever his feet take him. He doesn’t notice when a group of bloodthirsty, opportunistic bandits spot the mafia executive and take their chance. 

He doesn’t notice the small, red box, hidden in a pocket of Dazai’s bag. 

[eightscribbles]

doesn’t it hurt? when you look through your memories, and realise you’re forgetting them?

when you try to find nostalgia but all you find is emptiness, when you realise that you’re forgetting the way they looked, the way they smelled, the sound of their voice and the feeling of their hug?

doesn’t it hurt, when you look back and you realise that a single mistake brought years of memories tumbling down?

because when strangers go to friends, and friends to soulmates, how can they go back to strangers?

how can souls be so easily separated, lost in the void of careless mistakes and broken promises?

how can a bond, forged through fire and hardened by steel, be so brittle as to snap when the weight of regrets is placed upon it?

how is it that memories cultivated, nurtured through thick and thin, can flow away like water through a sieve?

and yet

that’s just how it is, isn’t it?

[eightscribbles]

he wonders, why was he made to destroy.

he stands under the sun. he holds a rifle and aims it at the target.

he shoots.

bang.

bullseye.

he shoots again.

bang.

bullseye.

he shoots again and again and again.

bang, bang, bang.

and still he wonders why he is so destructive.

but when he comes home, she is there.

she, who cooks him meals like garlic fried rice and savoury ricotta salad.

she, who greets him with a sweet smile and a kiss to the cheek.

she, who holds him through the demons that plague his sleep, and who wipes the blood from his hands when the shackles of the past hold his power down.

she, who is his rock, his beloved, his queen.

she, who has given him so much and yet continues to give, whose hands create so much and yet she gifts if all to him, him, him, him who is so undeserving of her love and yet craves it like a starving man.

she, who teaches him how to live.

and in a world where he can only destroy, she picks up the shards of his soul and holds him together, until one day they will fall apart again.

[eightscribbles]

what it could have been (what she'd hoped it was)

“i thought you were interested in me,” she murmured, voice barely audible. hope, barely a spark, flickered in her eyes. hope for a relationship, hope that whatever they once had could be salvaged.

just a week ago, they’d been in the maldives. they’d been happy, for whatever it was worth.

they’d been together.

and yet, now, his harsh laughter cut so deep into her chest she half expected to start bleeding. he had that cold look in his eyes, that shuttered mask he only put on for strangers.

she’d let him in; she’d let him see the parts of her even she didn’t want to see. she’d let him know her, and he’d burned it to the ground and laughed.

“don’t get it confused, princess.”

she never thought the nickname she’d grown to love could sound so much like a death knell.

“you were never an interest; you were an obligation.”

[eightscribbles]

burning brighter (just not by my flame)

he doesn't remember.

he doesn't remember anything they did together.

he doesn't remember their childhood, the chases around the garden, the whispered shy confessions and the stolen kisses behind the school.

he doesn't remember their argument, the way he stormed out.

she was the one who had to find him.

she is the one who has to take him along in life now, rebuilding old memories and fostering new ones

but she also has to watch him fall in love with a different person.

every day, that little voice screams in her heart, telling her to talk to him. to fight for what they used to have.

their argument plays over and over in her head, and she's terrified to rekindle the relationship with him.

because what if the accident was her fault? after all, if she hadn’t been so useless, hadn’t failed in making him happy, the accident would never had occurred

so she stays back, forever in the shadow of her sun

as he burns brighter by the flame of another

[eightscribbles]

wish upon a star

“i wish i never loved you at all.”

“don’t say that.”

“why? because you don’t want to pass up the chance to betray me?”

“because then you would have gone through a life without anyone who was truly able to appreciate you, your kindness and beauty and purity. and that wouldn’t have been right."

"stop. don't- don't do this-"

"you deserve to be seen; my eyes were just not worthy to behold you.”

[eightscribbles]

fourteen years, what if it were more

in another life, i would really have liked playing pretend on the playground with you.

maybe then we could have lived a life we could enjoy together…for longer than fourteen years.

but you know what?

fourteen years isn’t too bad.

at least i met you.

you, and all our friends…

they made this life worth living when my happiness lost its meaning.

so thank you.

for helping me get a glimpse of the kind of life i would have imagined while playing pretend on the playground.

[eightscribbles]

fruit (an offering, maybe)

he gets up at the ass crack of dawn every day to run and always buys fruits from this small roadside stand run by an old lady

he always gets two fruits - one for himself, one for them, because they always insist (“i don’t wanna steal yours, you’ll have less. but i want some too…”)

he can never resist that pout.

and, well, what’s the weight of a few extra fruits if it makes them smile?

until they aren't there to smile anymore.

he can’t bear to ruin the mood of the sweet old lady who gives him two of each fruit every day

so he buys two

and he leaves the one he doesn’t eat in a platter on a dining table

maybe, if he closes his eyes and prays hard enough, he’ll wake up to them being gone