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ah, dream! oh, sweet dream,
you're in my eyes— look, they come true
(x)
(... I seriously don’t even know where to begin.)
Osamu agrees wholeheartedly, but decides not to voice out his thoughts for now, because he simply can’t think of anything else — every hair on his body and every fiber of his being is very, very much immersed in the present experience, so to speak.
The roller coaster suddenly plunges down from its highest peak, and he is drowned in seemingly unending screams for what felt like forever.
“Well, that was exciting,” someone to his left says as they disembark later, albeit with a slight waver in their voice. Aptly called the “Ultimate Spiral,” this monstrous open train on tracks has gained popularity as one of this theme park’s best and most dangerous attractions. Although it is nowhere near as exciting as standing on a suspension bridge on thin wires, this is fine for now.
What isn’t fine, however, is waking up strapped to a roller coaster car teetering at the peak shortly before its sudden final descent. Whoever is pulling the strings behind this whole fiasco must have a horrible sense of humor.
“Good for you, I guess,” Osamu wearily dismisses the comment, fighting back an oncoming wave of nausea. His companion seems to be faring better overall, only taking a few moments to blink slowly before running ahead. “Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind, you slowpoke!”
(... Another date, huh. This should prove interesting.)
(I still haven’t forgiven you for last time, dammit.)
Osamu could only sigh in response as he lengthens his strides to match Chuuya’s quick pace. “I get it already, so be quiet, you slug.” Probably a less-than-enthusiastic response after finally putting two and two together, but he deserves this much slack once in a while. Geniuses need a break, too, sometimes.
And a generous break he is being given, it seems, albeit this is not his idea of fun at all. Truth be told, Osamu would have much preferred a lazy afternoon floating face-up in a quiet river far from the city, pondering the intricacies of life and death as the water entering his ears lulls him into a deep slumber. Replacing the waterlogged bandages after would be a huge pain, though— as his previous dream had oh-so-graciously reminded him.
Osamu slowly lets out a yawn at the dull thought. Observing Chuuya’s dream from outside was definitely a more entertaining venture than this. While he’d certainly managed to learn much about who they are up against the last time around, he’d also unearthed quite a good number of interesting tidbits on the side, as a result. Chuuya really is quite transparent with his feelings, even more so when he doesn’t say them out loud.
It’s very cute of him, really, Osamu notes, if only he weren’t so small and so prickly.
“Oi, Dazai,” the small and prickly one calls out, bringing him back to the present. The gaudy, bright red aloha shirt with white tropical flower patterns does not match Chuuya’s irked expression at all, only serving to emphasize his already-boyish stature a lot more than he probably would have wanted. Whoever managed to convince him to wear it must have wanted a good laugh, but Osamu isn’t going to give them that satisfaction— that right belongs to him alone, and he relishes it with a hearty snigger that makes him crouch down and clutch at his sides for a good number of minutes.
From the corner of Osamu’s eye, Chuuya’s dour countenance contorts into a full-on glower as his entire form glows red in rage, affecting a fairly wide area around them, except the very ground he stands on. Letting out a few huffs, Osamu finally lets his laughter subside and looks up to Chuuya in amusement. The teasing was fun while it lasted, but that has already reached its limit for today.
“What’s so funny,” Chuuya asks, and the belated timing of the question threatens to send Osamu into another fit of laughter, but he manages to hold it in for now. “Nothing, really,” he answers with a shrug, rising from his crouched position and patting down the dirt from his pants. It is then that Osamu notices his own attire for the first time— a matching dark-blue number that completely complemented Chuuya’s own red one, barely covering his fully-bandaged limbs and torso.
A flush immediately creeps up Osamu’s cheeks; he does not know whether it’s from a secondhand embarrassment he most certainly doesn’t feel, or from a twisted sense of amusement at how the tables are mercilessly turned at him.
Either way, Osamu promptly changes his mind about the current situation— this will probably turn out to be more interesting than he thought, after all.
-
They end up having to buy new shirts and caps from the souvenir store to quickly change into, with Chuuya literally having to put a (thankfully new) sock into Osamu’s mouth to keep him from talking, as the theme park security people search for them. While Chuuya’s earlier stunt thankfully did not open up a whole crater into the ground, it did badly ruin the floor mural of the theme park’s mascot, and made the younger onlookers cry as a result.
Peering through the bathroom stall they are hiding in, Osamu cautiously glances at the entrance and through the small windows at the sides. Their pursuers seem to have gone for now, and he takes it as a sign to finally emerge to the washroom area, with Chuuya trailing behind him. He is still visibly tense from the whole fiasco, his balled fists wrinkling a good portion of his new shirt.
(Oi, Dazai. I do not sulk. What the hell is this?!)
(Hmm, point. This isn’t like Chuuya at all, is it? Quite out-of-character, if I do say so myself.)
(Then fix it . This is your dream, dammit.)
Osamu does not deign to respond to this command. While he had interfered a lot with Chuuya’s thought process back in the previous dream sequence, this time he prefers to merely sit back and observe, and let the ‘natural’ stream of consciousness take its course, so to speak. Perhaps, this might let him learn more about how far their yet-unknown enemy will operate in a free-reign environment with minimal feedback from them.
Besides, seeing Chuuya act like this is quite entertaining, too— it’s as if he’s a whole different person altogether, and Osamu can’t help but want to know more .
(Sorry, chibikko , not this time.)
Promptly blocking out the agitated outbursts echoing in his mind, Osamu spits out the now-ruined sock from his mouth, and gently pats a hand onto Chuuya’s shoulder. “Shall we go? The outdoor racetrack opens this afternoon.”
“I still haven’t forgiven you, dammit,” Chuuya snaps back, but the way his shoulders have considerably relaxed at Osamu’s touch does not go unnoticed. Even while being angry, there is a peculiar warmth to the tone of Chuuya’s voice, like a bubbling stream that slowly overflows and gently fills up Osamu’s heart. While it is quite foreign and unusual, considering how they are both usually like, Osamu finds that he does like the feeling, after all.
Chuuya had called it a ‘wish-fulfillment process’ before, hadn’t he?
He isn’t really wrong, Osamu decides as he gently escorts Chuuya out of the bathroom. “Yeah, I know.”
-
It is not the outdoor racetrack that is open in the afternoon, it turns out. Chuuya seems to be taking the disappointment better than expected, but Osamu wouldn’t blame him at all if he isn’t. Still, he mentally files away the image of this Chuuya’s adorable pout into the growing list of things he plans to tease his ex-partner with after this dream is over— not that said ex-partner can do anything about it, of course.
(I swear I’m gonna kill you when we meet again, dammit! You hear me, Dazai?!)
(Yeah, yeah, I get it already, so could you not interfere with my dream, please? I’m enjoying it right now.)
They end up lining up at the bumper cars along with a group of rowdy teenagers and kids with babysitters. Only one car is left by the time they are let in, and they immediately get into a short debate on who should take the driver’s seat, because Osamu’s legs are too long to let him drive comfortably, and Chuuya’s “stubby legs barely reach the gas pedal.” Messing with Chuuya is always its own fun, after all.
By the time the operator gives the signal to begin, Chuuya seems to be more or less back to his usual self, or at least a pretty close approximation of it. Their car joins the convoy of racing teenagers speeding round the enclosed space, while dodging the couple of babysitters who are having a hard time with their own cars. As soon as Chuuya gets the hang of the controls, however, he immediately overtakes the annoyingly reckless kid with freckles and gives him a good bump before pulling away.
“Serves him right,” Chuuya shouts gleefully over the din of electric sparks and high-pitched frictional noises, and Osamu lifts his head back while laughing in agreement. It reminds him of that one time Chuuya lets him ride the back of his motorcycle to pursue a fugitive; he remembers most the feeling of the hot wind hitting his face and hair, and the way Chuuya’s blue eyes sparkled with exhilaration as they sped along the highway without a care in the world.
Osamu is jolted back to attention by the sudden stopping of the car, followed by the ringing of a buzzer alarm. Soon, a cacophony of hurried steps like marches fill his ears as someone shouts, “Park police! Have you seen a couple of boys in Hawaiian shirts in this area?”
“C’mon, Dazai,” Chuuya gently shakes him a few times. “Ride’s over. We have to go now.”
The distraction doesn’t last very long, as Osamu remembers they are still being chased. “— Oh. Right. Where do you want to go next?” With a reassuring smile, he takes Chuuya’s hand in his and nods in support. Chuuya takes this as a sign, gripping Osamu’s hand tightly in response, before pulling him along in the opposite direction. Their cautious steps eventually break into a full-on run, and for a while, everything feels just right .
-
They manage to sneak onto the lighted Ferris wheel at early dusk, and the view from the top gives them an amazing vantage point of the whole park and the bay beyond it, all bathed in the gentle rays of the fading sunset.
“I think I see them over at the Rialto,” Osamu offhandedly comments an observation, empty hands pantomiming binoculars as he peers at the glass window of the car. The park security people have already begun to slow down after hours of fruitless pursuit in the afternoon. Chuuya is still slumped over the bench opposite him, eyes closed and mouth gape open in exhaustion. It is something Osamu would definitely have taken a picture of for safekeeping (and blackmail), if he had only not lost his phone in the initial chase earlier.
Between the two of them, it is Chuuya who believes in Lady Luck just a little bit more, and the mere recollection of it still brings much amusement to this day. Just for this dream, however, Osamu is inclined to believe that they have it backwards this time, even though the good Lady has nothing in store for him at all.
Deeming them both safe for now, Osamu lets his guard down and settles into his own seat, watching closely as Chuuya continues to snore quietly, without a care in the world. He did always resemble an excitable puppy, no matter what he does— or, in this case, which version he is. He did make fun of Chuuya for being “horribly wrong-genre-savvy” before, but between the two of them, it is him who stays true to himself more, no matter the situation.
It is but a consequence of having to adapt to survive, Osamu reasons to himself; he didn’t have a choice back then, after all. Perhaps, if the two of them had met much earlier, he would have had another semblance of a choice apart from the Port Mafia.
Dreams really have the power of digging up unnecessary things better left forgotten, don’t they?
“Look at you, chibikko , finally sound asleep.” Osamu bends down to get a closer look at Chuuya’s face. A thin line of drool flows out from the corner of his mouth, and warm, shallow breaths hit Osamu’s cheeks as he inches closer and closer, until their lips nearly touch.
Their car begins its gradual descent from the top, and the moment is ruined, just like that.
“A—hh, that’s too bad,” Osamu says with a disappointed pout, “It’s your fault we didn’t get to kiss at the top, you horribly wrong-genre-savvy slug.” He gently flicks Chuuya’s nose, as if it were a punishment, before plopping back into his seat. Chuuya barely stirs at the contact, instead turning his head ever so slightly to the other side.
Osamu ends up having to princess-carry Chuuya as they disembark, keeping his head low as he quickly scans the perimeter for anyone who could recognize them. They still have an hour before the theme park closes; might as well have fun while they’re at it.
-
There is always a time in every boy’s childhood that they fancy themselves as the princes on white horses, saving the princesses with true love’s kiss.
While Osamu does not recall ever having had such ridiculous delusions of chivalry, he finds that he quite enjoys the experience of it, albeit on a rainbow-colored metal steed with a candy-cane stick through its middle, as the entire unit moves forward with the rest of its similarly-designed herd.
It’s a horrible way of describing a merry-go-round, and he knows it— gets a kick out of it, even.
The ride starts up again for the eighth time that hour, with no more other occupants for the last three of them. Osamu figures that the best way to hide from their pursuers is to remain in plain sight, and this time, it seems like Lady Luck is on his side, for once.
Chuuya remains asleep in the pumpkin carriage beside him, his head occasionally bobbing ever so slightly in time with the movements of the entire machinery. Strands of tangled hair get into his eyes and mouth, but he remains unperturbed in his slumber despite this. He really does look better when he is not scowling, Osamu confirms the observation with a smile as he looks on from his seat on the moving horse. It is quite reminiscent of the short moments they share after long battles, when No Longer Human dispels Corruption with a single touch, and Chuuya sleeps soundly under his watch, without a care in the world, just like this.
Theirs is a relationship just like any other— a cycle of knowing and forgetting, of losing and finding, and of everything else in between. And while he admits he is terrible at waxing poetic about the bond they had once shared, it is still something that will probably remain for a long time, whether Chuuya likes it or not.
A chime plays over the loudspeakers, announcing the closure of the theme park, as the various lights and sounds start to fade away with the night. The merry-go-round, too, comes to a halt for the final time, and Osamu dismounts from his horse to wake Chuuya up. “O—iii, sleepyhead,” he uses his most annoying singsong voice while shaking him gently, “time to go home, they said.”
Chuuya only responds with an unintelligible mumble, remaining curled up even as he turns his body towards the direction of Osamu’s voice. His lips are still parted, glistening with saliva as the rest of it continue to spill down the sides of his mouth. Not wanting to disturb him any longer, Osamu ends up carrying Chuuya in his arms again, if only because the park attendants there have been giving them dirty looks for making them close up the ride pretty late.
“You really are hopeless,” Osamu shakes his head with a weak laugh, and he is unsure who between them is the real hopeless one. “I really should have kissed you at the top of the ferris wheel earlier, so I wouldn’t have to carry you now. Sheesh.”
‘You can still do that, you know,’ an inner voice tells him, and Osamu is inclined to listen to it, for once.
He ends up planting a feather-light kiss over Chuuya’s forehead, the only part he could reach because of the awkward positioning of their bodies against each other while Osamu is carrying him. It isn’t quite true love’s kiss yet, but he decides he has already had enough excitement for one day.
(I think now is a good time to end this, don’t you think?)
(... After all the fun you’ve had with me after literally shutting me up? Hell yeah , it is.)
(Hey, now. You make it sound like going with the flow is a bad thing, you know.)
(—Ugh! You literally made a sock magically appear in my mouth after I threatened to kill you earlier, so yeah , it’s a bad thing!)
(Oh? Did that really happen?)
(DA—ZAIIIII!!!)
-
Chuuya’s indignant scream still rings in Osamu’s ears when he finally wakes up.
It is only five-thirty in the morning on the wall clock, a bit too early for comfort. He leaves his bed to make himself hot coffee— instant, as always, with more extra milk and sugar than usual.
Osamu is pretty sure it was not him who had silenced Chuuya for the remainder of the dream sequence. He himself hadn’t even noticed at all, until the very end.
It wasn’t like him at all— letting his guard down like that.
Had he, perhaps, been lured into a sense of false complacency, after the harmless first two times? Or had he been too preoccupied with the events within the third, that he hadn’t noticed how wide open he had inadvertently left themselves by deciding to observe?
An amused smirk forms as Osamu lifts the sickly-sweet cup to his lips— whoever is behind all this sure knows him well enough to strike him where it hurts.
If only he had seized the opportunity given to him earlier, comes the rueful thought, as he imagines the ghost of thin but soft lips on his own, sharp teeth nipping gently on his bottom lip until blood is drawn and drops of it mix well with his morning coffee.
He might have fucked this one up, Osamu ponders with a wistful smile.
That was quite out-of-character for him, indeed.