#chaosbled

Verlaine hadn't even known that Chuuya could speak french. Had he always been able to, or had he learned in the past few years? It forces him to reflect- about how absent he's been from the boy's life for so long. That sour feeling stings like poison, and he's suddenly overcome with the unfamiliar weight of shame.

How could he ever have abandoned this child? He'd convinced himself that because Chuuya was different, he'd be fine. He hadn't understood how Chuuya had had that hope inside him - it had been such an alien concept to Verlaine that he'd assumed that Chuuya could never break like he had. Because they weren't the same... yes, he'd thought that they were fundamentally different.

Maybe they still are, on some level. Back then, Verlaine was certainly wrong to think he'd understood Chuuya. But maybe... they're more alike than he had thought.

He knows that right now, he's not being rational. Chuuya's words, his tears, his utter terror- all of them together were more than enough to shake Verlaine, and he might end up feeling differently when he calms down. But still... with kindness in his eyes, the assassin holds Chuuya close to him. He stays there for a moment, taking in the warmth of his body; the fact that he's alive... and then, with care not to wake him, he picks him up, carrying him in the gentlest way he can.

He hadn't planned to ever leave and go outside; hadn't thought about it in a very long time. But now, leaving feels natural. There's nothing strange about it, not as he carries Chuuya through the building and outside, and not as he takes him to the car that's been waiting for him... for once, Verlaine is glad that Mori went through the trouble of preparing so much for the day he would leave, despite Verlaine's insistence that the day would never come. It's a cold gratitude, because the anger he feels at that man still burns within him, but even so. It's time to bring his little brother home.

till the end of forever you need to be loved unconditionally. you need to be reminded that love is not temporary, that you deserve it. that those who love you will not leave. you need to be loved the way angels love humanity. or how devils love angels. you need to be loved in greatness, in fullness, you need to be loved hard and fierce. loud, shout it to the ends of the earth, your love won’t leave. you need to be loved when nothing else will be. you need to realize you are worthy even through the end.

Tagged by: @chaosbled (( thank you <3 ))

What a strange feeling... As Chuuya talks about the punishments Mori would put Dazai and himself through, he grits his teeth. The Mafia Boss clearly holds no care for Chuuya - there's not an ounce of humanity or worth to be found in him - but even so, Chuuya still wants to protect him? Verlaine can't understand it at all. The city Chuuya holds so dear... Verlaine wishes he could understand what it was like to want to protect it. To care about humans at all. He feels bitterly jealous, yet deeply sympathetic, though he's aware that right now that care that Chuuya feels is acting more like a noose around his neck than a blessing.

He doesn't know what to say. Because he can't promise Chuuya that he'll never leave. He can't see the future, and he doesn't trust himself to try. But he has to say something.

"I'm here, Chuuya. I'm not going anywhere." While it's not a promise, he finds that as he speaks, he truly means what he's saying. And in that moment, Verlaine realizes that he hadn't truly admitted to himself how much he still cares about his brother until now. Even with the differences between them, the jealousy... momentarily, Verlaine remembers Rimbaud, and for a second, his breath is taken away from him entirely.

He didn't appreciate Rimbaud while he was there, and then he was gone. But Chuuya... is still here.

"I don't understand you, you know. Why you're so loyal to Mori, and to Yokohama. But... whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. So please, at least know that I'm here with you.

He holds Chuuya tightly, and curses himself for not being able to do more.

Still, he wasn’t completely heartless.

The basket he somewhat awkwardly shoves through the slot where the kid’s food tray was passed to them, contained an assortment of somewhat pricy goodies; chocolate, candy, a plushie of a purple dragon he’d spotted at the checkout that was kind of cool, a Nintendo Switch with a few popular games. There was also less fun items but probably still needed - a couple nondescript pyjama sets in their size, an oversized red hoodie, a hairbrush & package of ribbons, clips & ties, a little hand mirror ( plastic, he wasn’t stupid enough to give them anything that could be used as a weapon ), & some sanitary products because he wasn’t sure if the lower ranking mafiosi guarding the cells knew the teen’s name, let alone their biological information.

He’d done something similar for Q a few years ago, possible because the thought of a child being locked up like an animal made him feel a bit queasy.

There was also a notebook & a case of oil pastels & high quality markers. He didn’t know if they could draw, or liked to, but… well, writing had helped him get through a lot of pain, & he’d heard wrt therapy was good for kids.

“You’ve been in here a while,” he says as he leans against the locked cell door. “I know nothing can make this place nice to be in but I figured it might help you be a little less…” Bored? Sad? Afraid? He couldn’t pretend to know how they felt, he’d spoken to them all of maybe three times over the years. “…anyways, if you need anything & it’s urgent, the guards have my person number.“

kohaku is a feral cat of a person. they're cute but they do lash out with claws. it's best to approach them carefully. which chuuya does. kohaku eyes the basket for a second. gauging the level of peace offering brought to their barred door. they take it of course. looking through with swift fingers.

it's the hoodie that really does it. they slide it on, soft fabric adorning their skin for the first time in a while. they slide over their head immediately. shrinking into the red for a moment. before looking up at him. eyes shining just a little bit. they feel like a small genderless blob for the first time since they have been put down here. it's exquisite.

clothes in the port mafia are a luxury and a symbol. they try to ignore the ringing of mori's words in their ears. clutching the hoodie tighter and sticking their hands in the little pouch pocket.

" thanks. " it's a hard word to say out loud. they admittedly haven't been shown a lot of kindness in a while. but they want to make sure he's heard it before he leaves. kohaku is fairly smart or they would like to think. the jury is currently out on whether that's the truth. " i like it. "

geez verlaine did get in some kind of big trouble? or they're letting Q out again? which is unlikely. is it for them? even more unlikely. the teenage girl* stands up. releasing the their now tied hair. " what brings you to my cell. get lost on your way out? "

@chaosbled sent . . .

“ please say something… anything. even if it’s telling me to shut up and leave you alone… just say something. “ ( 15!AU Chuuya @ Esme )

Esmé knew better than to say anything, not when she knew her head was anything but clear despite her best efforts to return to the security of cold rationality. Yet she couldn't keep the slightest twitch from the edge of her lower lip, thinly veiled behind her hand wiping at the powder at the corner.

She sets her hand down on the desk. The pen and the faint whirring of the road on ground level is all the noise she's heard in days.

When there is a loss on either side, choose that which will minimize the damage. A simple enough principle. Except she can't gauge the level when it's solely about her. Throw the Mafia's interest or her impulsively adopted wards into the mix, and it only takes a split second for her to make decisions. Her priorities are easy enough to distinguish then.

Not in the moment though.

She's good with words. A silver tongue, really, but for once she's resigned to silence. What is she supposed to say? It's not as if Chuuya knew. If anything about the situation was unclear to her, she could at least ask him if he'd known exactly who the kid caught in the crossfire was. Oh, how she wishes she felt the need to rip him to shreds; anything except the confusion of simply what to do with him. It's as if it's a review in the lesson of attachments. As Chuuya pleads for her to speak, she pleads to whatever will hear that she finds something to respond with, to make sense of whatever will eventually surface from her numbness.

Well, at least she knows she can't sit behind her desk and stare into his face.

Standing, the drag of her chair like a knife through butter in the silence, Esmé pulls her coat over her shoulders and glides right past him to make for the door he's just come through. All she can do is reach a hand up to squeeze his shoulder on her way out; not that she knows why. It was instinct, and those have not failed her yet.

Is the tightness in her throat a precursor of tears or bile rising in her stomach?

The circumstances behind their meeting today make that obvious. For today, for the first time in years, Verlaine feels the fresh air of the outside world on his skin. The basement abode that he called his home for too long lies empty, though as far as the Port Mafia is concerned, he still remains there in waiting for his next mission or task to be given.

Chuuya is the only one who knows the truth. In fact, it's Chuuya who brought him out here today - in complete secrecy from the rest of the Port Mafia that means so much to him. Whatever he wants to talk about... Verlaine can't possibly figure it out. But he can only assume it's something that he can't tell anyone else - not even Mori, not even that Dazai - and that he can't risk anyone overhearing what he has to say.

As for Verlaine... it's only a dull interest that had him agreeing to the request. The outside world has nothing for him anymore - he still believes that, and to be honest, he doesn't care much about whatever Chuuya has to tell him. But that traitorous curiosity he'd felt... and a brotherly affection that Verlaine thought had long since been smothered... it seems they've managed to bring him out anyway.

"I think it's been long enough by now, little brother." As he speaks, the familial term slips out automatically, though Verlaine has not used it in over six years. ...It seems today is a day of breaking all sorts of laws once set in stone...

"What did you have to tell me? You should know that I have no interest in the outside world anymore."