Right, right, so you found a place with a better view. Too bad you're still as much of a pain in the ass as you always were. You found a warm and sunny spot while I stayed behind in the dark and cold night.
[ People change, but it's not some magical thing wherein one cataclysmic event instills morals and wisdom upon them; rather, they teach themselves how to behave and what views that they should hold. They train themselves to live a certain way. As it turns out, an old dog can learn new tricks.
Different, but the same.
Chuuya heaves an exasperated sigh, his mood souring further. It's not the words that irritate him, but this entire damn situation. They didn't have a relationship where they needed to confide secrets and feelings, they weren't controlled by sentiment, and that had allowed them to be honest and exist in each others space in a different way. Some undefinable way that others couldn't understand.
He hates Dazai. Plain and simple.
People aren't meant to have to tear their own guts out and hand them over to a person like this. Maybe he should have killed him. But Chuuya's hands have slipped back into his pockets by now, and they don't budge.
No, he thinks that letting a single man die had been a different kind of calculated choice. It was one that Chuuya couldn't make, and it's why he admires Mori as much as he does. If his men die, it's never because he pulled the trigger on them. But maybe it was a miscalculation too. He's not a genius like those two to know what the entire deal was, and he really doesn't want to; just like he doesn't need to know about this guy, who Chuuya only ever knew for their connection.
And rather than push on that, and perhaps in some effort to deflect from some deeper thing that the other isn't ready to speak, Chuuya asks: ]
no subject
[ People change, but it's not some magical thing wherein one cataclysmic event instills morals and wisdom upon them; rather, they teach themselves how to behave and what views that they should hold. They train themselves to live a certain way. As it turns out, an old dog can learn new tricks.
Different, but the same.
Chuuya heaves an exasperated sigh, his mood souring further. It's not the words that irritate him, but this entire damn situation. They didn't have a relationship where they needed to confide secrets and feelings, they weren't controlled by sentiment, and that had allowed them to be honest and exist in each others space in a different way. Some undefinable way that others couldn't understand.
He hates Dazai. Plain and simple.
People aren't meant to have to tear their own guts out and hand them over to a person like this. Maybe he should have killed him. But Chuuya's hands have slipped back into his pockets by now, and they don't budge.
No, he thinks that letting a single man die had been a different kind of calculated choice. It was one that Chuuya couldn't make, and it's why he admires Mori as much as he does. If his men die, it's never because he pulled the trigger on them. But maybe it was a miscalculation too. He's not a genius like those two to know what the entire deal was, and he really doesn't want to; just like he doesn't need to know about this guy, who Chuuya only ever knew for their connection.
And rather than push on that, and perhaps in some effort to deflect from some deeper thing that the other isn't ready to speak, Chuuya asks: ]
But which one of us is happy?