─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chuuya had fought angels before. He had torn through their gilded wings, shattered their divine swords, and spat curses at their so-called righteousness. He never lost. He never fell.

So why was he on the ground now, bloodied and weak, staring up at crimson eyes that held neither mercy nor scorn—just quiet amusement?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You really are stubborn,” Dazai murmured, kneeling beside him. His black wings stretched behind him, tattered and frayed at the edges—proof of his fall. Proof that he had once belonged to the heavens Chuuya despised.

Chuuya bared his fangs, hands trembling as he tried to push himself up. “Screw you.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dazai chuckled, reaching out as if to steady him. Chuuya slapped his hand away, but the moment he did, his vision blurred. The pain in his side pulsed like fire, spreading through his limbs.

A scoff. “Still pretending you’re fine?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chuuya hated him. Hated the way Dazai looked at him like he already knew how this fight would end. Like he was waiting for something.

And the worst part? Chuuya didn’t know what it was.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───