AN: Really, I have dived into Soukoku Hell. I love it. I can't thank hellosweetie17 enough for introducing me to this. This work is inspired by a photo I found. I love the work. The artist is fantastic. Come find me on Tumblr and Archiveforyourown ^_^!

O grantors of darkness,

Do not wake me, again.

I enjoy nothing anymore but my wretched dreams.

~Chuuya Nakahara, Sheep Song

Chuuya exhales, letting the smoke billow into the cold air. He takes another drag of his cigarette, his eyes flickering towards the red-lit tip as the embers burn. Leaning against the wall, he shifts his gaze towards the rain pouring like a waterfall around him. His umbrella the only thing keeping him safe from its wrath. Exhaling, he hikes his knee against the wall, settling his hand against it.

He didn't know why he was here, of all places. It shouldn't have bothered him after all these years. Seeing him alone at the bar, clinking the ice in his scotch against the glass. The look on his face speaking volumes. Stupid mackerel.

Which left him here, standing in the back alley of Lupins, wallowing in his own self pity. Taking another drag, he flicks the ash to the side, slowly releasing the smoke letting it burn through him. He wasn't stupid. Fuck, he had known. He had pretended that it didn't exist. If he didn't think about it, then it never happened. Look at how well that went.

Merde! It was all that waste of bandages fault.

Tipping his head backwards, he runs his fingers through his bangs, keeping his cigarette loose between fingers. Exhaling, he closes his eyes, ignoring the sting behind his eyes.

Dazai had seem happier, back then. Happiness that he could never bring him. He was trained to seduce and kill. It was only natural for Dazai to wonder how much was an act and how much was real. Chuuya had wanted to pretend that he didn't smell the strange cologne, the later nights, the secret phone calls...

Fuck!

He thought he had buried this deep down as he watched his car go up in flames. Dazai's parting gift. Chuuya would never let anyone know how much it hurt when Dazai had looked at him that night.

His sorrow filled eyes had stared accusingly at him and he had utter the words that made Chuuya painfully aware of what Dazai thought about their partnership...their relationship.

"Well done, Chuuya. Ane-san must be so proud of her whore. It seems Mori-san finally found a use for you, after all," Dazai had sneered at him. "Thanks to you. I died, today."

It wasn't till later that he found out the truth. Odasaku had died. And Dazai thought…..

Chuuya flicks his cigarette towards the ground. Shakily, he cups his face feeling the warmth of the leather against the wetness sliding down his face.

Dazai really believed that everything was lie: the stolen moments; the days surrounded only by each other; the euphoria of their skill; kisses stolen surround by red...Chuuya had lived in his ignorance and paid for it the moment Dazai stole his heart.

Mori-san is the greatest manipulator. They had played right into his hands…

Of course, Dazai would think it was a set up and went along with it ….until…

Odasaku.

The tipping point before it all came crashing down around them.

Chuuya had ignore it all.

He had wanted to believe he was enough. That Dazai could have…

But, it was all a lie. Meticulously crafted.

Chuuya holds back the sob that wants to tear through him as tears cascade down his face. Shitty Dazai, making him feel this way after four fucking years. Leaning forwards, Chuuya holds his face within his leather-clad palms; his body trembling as silent sobs of pain vibrate through his body. The rain mirroring his own failures and misery while howling against the umbrella; only held by his crumbling strength.

He was never enough. Odasaku had a pureness that Chuuya lacked. How can he compete with that? Odasaku had wanted to change; he carried out his duty without a kill. Dazai had admired him for his restraint, his power, and for his will. It really shouldn't have surprised Chuuya that Odasaku won Dazai's heart without even trying.

Dazai had loved that man without abandonment. Protected him. Cherished him. Chuuya had become the other man. The obligation. The assignment...

The regret welling inside of him, a torrent within the sea of his own despair. If only he had seen...If only he had known….If only ...If only…

Chuuya releases a dry hollow laugh that quickly turns into sobs of bitter agony. Wasn't that the fucking joke? Chuuya Nakahara—the moron who fell in love with a man too blinded to see the truth of it.

Chuuya was never assigned to love Dazai. He had done it all on his own, much to Mori-san's delight.

Only to be cast aside…

Merde! He was so fucking stupid. The fucking waste shouldn't be able to do this to him… He was passed this. Wasn't he?

Sobbing, Chuuya braces himself against the wall, never feeling the hand that grabs his wrist or the water that begins to cascade down his body. He's lost in his own misery, his own regret of the love that was never real. The voice whispering into his ears a phantom of a memory.

"What's wrong, my petite mafia? Je te manque?"

Chuuya sobs harder, not caring how drenched he is as his body falls. He's just so tired, he can't ...He just can't…

"Stupid fucking Mackerel, why?" he sobs to no one in particular, as a knee settles in between his, holding him up.

"Why what, hat rack? Look at me," the fictional Dazai whispers into his ear, forcing Chuuya to shudder, the wet of his clothes clinging to his form.

"You're not real," Chuuya voice cracks, leaning his head forwards onto the warm shoulder, his tears mixing with the rain.

"Silly, chibi~! Of cou—"

"You never are. Why did you leave me? Pourquoi n'ai-je pas été assez!" Chuuya sobs brokenly, his misery reflecting in his unseeing tearful blue eyes. "Dis-moi pourquoi! Je t'avais aimé! I still do..."

Chuuya barely has time to register the warm mouth that devours his own. Firm soft lips press hard against him, forcing him to gasp as a warm tongue explores his mouth. The firm grip on his hands trapping him against the warm solid body and the hard brick wall. Chuuya moans, his eyes fluttering closed, wishing this to be real.

The familiar heat against his own. The taste of cheap sake mixed with the unique taste of Dazai, more addicting than any wine Chuuya could've tasted. The grip against him loosens, settling against his hips instead. Chuuya wraps his arms around the wet bandaged neck, clingy to his hope. The nip to his bottom lip the only sign that it's over all too soon. Chuuya refuses to open his eyes, leaning his forehead against his imaginary lover.

If he open his eyes, he'll be gone again…

And he doesn't think he could…

"My petite mafia, look at me," the imaginary voice commands, just as sinful as he remembers. He's not quite sure if he shudders from the cold or that voice.

"Non, you're not here," Chuuya whispers softly, his chest heaving with each breathe. "Je ne peux pas te perdre à nouveau."

"Chuuya, look at me," Dream Dazai orders, his voice dark and black with a hint of punishment for disobeying.

Chuuya trembles and slowly opens his eyes. As his vision clears, sorrowful brown eyes stare back at him with concern. Pulling back softly, Chuuya stares at him, wondering if he's still dreaming. Placing a hand upon this Dazai's cheek, he cups it tenderly before smacking it hard.

Dazai lets loose a pitiful cry, grabbing his cheek mournfully. "So cruel, chibi~! How can one so small be so cruel~!"

Chuuya inhales a sharp breath; his hand shaking as he traces the swelling bruise. "You're real."

Dazai leans into his touch with a smirk upon his lips before pulling him closer by his hips. Chuuya feels the possessive hold against him as a hand nudges his chin upwards.

"I'm here, Chuuya," Dazai whispers against his mouth before devouring his soul. Chuuya whimpers at the onslaught wrapping himself around the man he loves.

If this is a dream, then he never wants to wake.