π‘ͺ𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 π’ˆπ’†π’• π’šπ’π’– 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 π’Žπ’š π’—π’†π’Šπ’π’”

They say getting a matching tattoo is a beautiful way to celebrate your connection with your partner. Having matching tattoos links you together for life. But what happens when you also share the same soul β€”
and the other person goes away, leaving the other part betrayed and the pain is beyond unreasonable? Well let’s find out.

CW:

-Alcohol & Drug Abuse.
-Explicit Sexual Content.
-Mentions of Suicide / Depression
-I only write happy endings! lmao
Underneath Dazai’s bandages lies a myriad of tattoos that narrates the story of β€˜The Demon Prodigy Days’ better than any word can explain. Touching with the pad of his finger the prominent veins under his right arm lay one with more meaning -
that the entire fairytale about demons and death on his back that envelops his shoulders with the flames of hell.

/No/

Even the one covering his thighs, a dragon that overflows, almost dancing around his other leg, waves of lilies adorning every single path the dragon touches
was not as impressive as the one he adores to look once his bandages are all over the floor.

β€œI hope you didn’t cover up yours, Chuuya,” he says with the most innocent smile that will ever cross his face.
β€œBecause I didn’t, in all of these years hiding is the only thing that makes me wake up in the morning.”

Touching the healed tattoo one that brings him so many good and bad memories along his reputation of a merciless and crude demon that not even values his own life,
there is another side of him that only a few knows about.

A pair of red camellias and a slug with a hat is better to look at than his room flowed with bottles of whiskey, sake and vodka. And he hopes that every time he touches the slug, Chuuya feels his fingers caressing -
the matching tattoo; one he got inked next to him and out of the eyes of their line of work.

He despises that. The way he left, setting his pride aside and walking with a tail between his legs. Trembling and grabbing one of the bottles that he can’t even distinguish,
under his current state, gulping down the liquid that burns his throat; tripping over his stupid beige trench coat β€” a color that reminds him of another redhead life took away from him, mocking and playing with his own death wish.
β€œI’m a fucking joke, to whoever entity is above – I& #39;m going to screw over my plan for a bit, just let me survive this time around,” putting down the bottle he was swigging around, dripping vodka all over the tatami floors of his tiny but modest new apartment a full contrast -
of his previous life style, not that he misses living in a luxury apartment, is not thatβ€” its just an entire matter of not having the presence of him, every space seems the same without him, bland and lifeless β€œI need just to see him, β€”
I’m not going to push my luck further than that.” He can’t because he was almost at the end of the deal, and even if he broke promises before, not caring a shit about the other endβ€”this time around it isn’t that simple.
He did make a promise that can& #39;t break or he would be damned for good.

/Be on the side that saves people. / β€œIt’s not easy, you don’t know that, Odasaku,” he starts to dress up, a plain black long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans,
he doesn’t even own that much of clothes at the moment, for what if he can’t even go out without a wig or a pair of sunglasses covering half of his face. β€œSince you really accomplished my death wish, you bastard.”

Walking to the bathroom, and looking back at his reflection, cool
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