As a last-ditch effort to convince Dazai to stay on this miserable planet, Mori-san had gifted him a camera for his 15th birthday. Take a picture of everything you find beautiful, he'd said, watching as Dazai's bandaged hands turned the small camera over and around in confusion, Maybe this way you'll realize there's an endless amount of beautiful things to see in this world, and that you'll have to live a full life to see even a fraction of them all. Think of it as a challenge, Dazai-kun. Mori-san's eyes had twinkled with mirth when Dazai's expression shifted at the word 'challenge.' Then, he'd sent Dazai off to take pictures of beautiful things. Reluctantly, Dazai had gone out, dragging his feet along the docks of his port-side city. The sun had been setting, painting the sky in a brilliant pinkish hue. Only, that wasn't the reason Dazai remembered the exact color so vividly—nor was it the reason he remembered the salt on his lips from the ocean breeze, or the faint smell left behind by the carnival that had been at the port a few days ago, or the sound of the sea. No, he remembered these details because Chuuya had been there, possibly on break, leaning against the railing with the wind blowing through his hair and a cigarette held between his lips. The sun had lit up his skin, highlighted his freckles, and make his eyes shine like jewels. The embodiment of beauty.

Chuuya had turned at his arrival, quietly surprised but also not; like his place there was expected. He'd puffed out a tendril of smoke, smirked, and said, "Yer stalkish tendencies are showing, mackerel."

Dazai was broken out of his spell of staring at the sound of Chuuya's familiar voice. He didn't respond, at least not until after he'd raised his camera, adjusted the setting, and snapped a picture of Chuuya's grinning face haloed by the evening sun.

That was only the beginning. At first, Chuuya questioned Dazai, asking him why the hell he was always snapping a picture of him with that stupid camera, but after about ten pictures, Chuuya surrendered. Sometimes he would even move a little bit if he noticed Dazai staring to long and reaching for his coat pocket where he kept the camera so that the shot would be nicer. Soon enough, Dazai had a wall of memories, decorated with almost a hundred different scenes of Chuuya simply existing.

Mori-san had been right after all. No matter how many times Dazai captured Chuuya's beauty on film, it would never be enough. Every picture was different in its own way, and Dazai felt like he needed to immortalize every angle. He must.

It was October. The weather was cool. Dazai's—memory wall, as it was now called, easily had over a hundred pictures of Chuuya. There were very, very little that just had only a pretty landscape. Chuuya was the subject of Dazai's photography. Dazai would even go as far as to say Chuuya was his muse.

"Chuuya." Dazai whispers, gazing at his partner through the lens of his camera. His stomach was satisfied by the dinner they'd just eaten together. Naturally, Chuuya was doing the dishes (the slug complained that Dazai did it wrong repeatedly, which ultimately led to him being banned from ever doing the dishes.) There was nothing particularly special about the moment, but Dazai felt the pull to take a picture. To capture this domestic, almost gentle moment.

Chuuya looks up, expression open at the call of his name, and Dazai takes the photo instantly, the flash lighting up the dimly-illuminated kitchen.