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The phone is incredibly heavy in his hand. Chuuya isn't sure if it's because his senses are slowed down and his movement sluggish from alcohol or if it's rather because of what it means - what Chuuya wants to do with it, the need of calling a certain number even when he knows it's useless.
He himself is not sure why he keeps doing it even if he already knows the outcome - the easiest answer would be blaming the alcohol, but the truth is that the wine doesn't do anything but giving him the courage he needs to actually dial the number and try calling it. The truth is that Chuuya feels the need of doing it even when he is sober, but he can't bring himself to actually do it, not when the rational part of his brain reminds him that it would be no use, that he would just be left feeling worse than before. When he's drunk, though, it's different; when he's drunk, Chuuya doesn't think before taking the phone and calling, and he speaks and yells into it even when there is no one on the other side.
The truth is that Chuuya gets drunk precisely to find the courage to make a call that he knows won't be answered.
He has lost count of how many times he has done it in the last year. The call doesn't even go through, usually, but sometimes it goes to voicemail and Chuuya's heart skips a a bit or two when he hears the voice, his breath catching in his throat before he realizes that it's registered.
Tonight, alone in his home with an half empty bottle of wine before him, a glass just refilled brought up to his lips, he's not as drunk as he usually is, but the phone is in his hand nonetheless, his finger hovering over the call option. He presses it before he can think about it too much, feeling stupid and pathetic (but he's alone, no one is watching him and the call will end like all the others before, so it's okay, as long as he is the only witness of this moment of absolute weakness).
He stops, glass raised midair, heart running too fast in his throat, when the call goes through and his ears register the sound, the long tone that is telling him that somewhere (where, he wonders, knowing that he won't receive an answer) another phone is ringing, waiting to be picked up.
It's not the first time it happens, and Chuuya reprimands himself for his foolish reaction. It doesn't matter, after all, he won't pick up anyway, leaving Chuuya feeling like the biggest idiot in the whole world - because he knows, he knows and yet he keeps hoping against hope that something will change, that while he is here thinking about calling, somewhere else there is someone else who is hoping for his phone to ring.
It takes a long interminable moment before he realizes that the ringing has stopped and that, in its place, he can hear the soft breathing of someone on the other end of the line.
His first reaction, as soon as he realizes what is happening, as stupid ad that may sound, is to take the phone away from his ear and end the call. He doesn't, but only because his mind is filled with cotton and before the command can go from his brain to his muscles, he hears a deep sigh followed by a voice that Chuuya had thought he would never hear again in his life.
"Did you call me just to stay silent?"
Dazai's voice reaches him like a punch in the guts, and Chuuya has to remind himself to breathe, his hands shaking, the glass still half full of wine dangerously close to fall. He puts it on the table, his heart pounding so hard in his throat that he feels like he won't be able to breathe for the rest of his days.
Despite all the times he called, he has never thought about what he would do if Dazai actually did pick up. There are a lot or things he would want to tell him and none of them he will ever have the courage to actually say, drunk or not - not when he knows that he's on the other end of the line, listening to his every word.
"You never answered before", it's the first thing that came out of mouth, and he hates himself for it, because he knows how it sounds, he can feels the desperation and the relief filling every word, and he could blame it on the alcohol, but both he and Dazai would know that that is not really true.
"I know", it's all Dazai says, and Chuuya feels everything he's feeling turning into blind rage. The indifference in Dazai's voice makes his blood boil, the careless tone of the few words he spoke makes Chuuya want to hurl his phone against the wall, seeing it break as it would mean that everything that still links him to Dazai (and that it's so obviously one-sided) could be destroyed with it.
His free hand clenches is a fist, so tight his fingernails almost pierce his skin.
"You should stop calling".
His fist slams on the table, and it's a miracle the glass doesn't fall over.
"Fuck you", he half growls half laughs, the words barely able to come out between his clenched teeth. "You really have no right to tell me what to do".
Dazai only hums and says, "I guess you're right".
Chuuya looks at the glass of wine, take it in his hand again, his eyes losing themselves in the dark liquid like it holds the answers to all his questions. At the same time, he thinks he's not drunk enough for this (and that he will never be drunk enough for dealing with this situation) and that he wished he was completely sober, so that he could focus on every little detail - the way Dazai's voice sounds through the phone, the way he's breathing, every word he says, everything they could mean. He wishes he could burn it all in his mind, he wishes he will wake up tomorrow without remembering that all this ever happened.
But the latter would be so much easier, he muses, so he takes the glass and drinks it all, looking for some liquid courage. As soon as it's empty, Chuuya fills it again.
"You answered", he says, closing his eyes and trying to focus - on what, he himself isn't sure. Before Dazai can reply with something taunting that will no doubt make Chuuya want to strangle him more than he already does, he speaks again. "Why?", he asks.
Dazai doesn't reply right away, and Chuuya waits for him, drink in his hand, wine on his tongue. It makes it easier, so he keeps going, drinking and pretending that this is all a dream, or nothing but another meaningless conversation with himself.
He can almost see him, like Dazai is right in front of him - like he has never left. He's looking at Chuuya, his eyes fixed on him, a pensive expression painted on his face while he thinks about Chuuya's question, considering if telling the truth or not.
"Maybe I'm drunk", he says in the end, and the Dazai before Chuuya gives him his usual smirk , laughing at Chuuya like he always does, like there's always something that he knows that Chuuya ignores.
Chuuya scoffs, and drinks another sip of his wine. He didn't really expect Dazai to answer him seriously, but it still makes his pressure raise and his blood run to his head.
"Bullshit", he says, his words falling onto each other, his tongue heavy in his mouth. "You're never drunk".
He has seen Dazai drink a lot, but he has never seen him drunk, not even once. He's not sure if he's just good at hiding it or if he simply doesn't get drunk even if he stays up all night drinking.
"Are you?", Dazai asks after a moment.
"What?"
"Drunk", Dazai clarifies. "Are you drunk, Chuuya?"
Chuuya adjusts his grip on the phone before it can slip away and fall on the floor. For some reason, he doesn't want the call to end - he wants it to last for as long as possible, he thinks, and he wants to forget it ever happened the next morning.
"Not nearly enough for this", he murmurs, emptying his glass for the umpteenth time that night. The bottle is almost empty.
Dazai chuckles at that, and Chuuya sees in his mind the way his lips curves and his eyes shine for a second (if he hadn't already known, that's what makes it clear that it's only a mere fantasy, product of his intoxicated mind, because he has never seen Dazai's eyes shine like that - not for him, at least, he thinks with a painful pang in his chest).
Silence follows, and Chuuya listens to Dazai's breathing, linking it with the image in his head, and he can almost pretend that he's really there with him, that he could reach out and touch him, take his chin between his fingers and kiss him, slow and passionate - so different from the kisses they have really shared. He has never allowed himself to do it but maybe, maybe now that he has alcohol giving him courage (now that Dazai is not really there and Chuuya can let his imagination wander) he could let himself indulge his desires.
There are so many things he would want to tell him, and they're all crowding in his confused mind, a mess that he can't put in order, questions pressing on his lips to be let out, confessions and pleadings weighting on the tip of his tongue waiting only to be heard. Why did you left? Why didn't you tell me?
I miss you. Please come back. What am I even doing here if you're not?
He doesn't say any of this, though.
“I hate you”, he says instead, growling into the phone, repeating the words over and over in his mind until he actually starts believing them. “I hate you so fuckin' much”.
“Then why did you call me, Chuuya?”, Dazai throws back, and Chuuya hates him, he hates him so much he feels like he's going to explode for it. “Why have you kept calling all this time?”
“Why did you answer, Dazai?”, Chuuya shoots back, repeating the question still not expecting a true answer.
“Maybe-”, Dazai starts, then stops, like he's changing his mind, and his voice turns serious. “Maybe I wanted to know how you were”.
As if you actually care, as if you ever did.
“How are you, Chuuya?”, Dazai asks directly, when he realizes that Chuuya is not going to answer.
Chuuya sees the Dazai in his mind smiling, his lips curving around his name, and he has never hated him more. He ignores the way his voice had sounded, soft and sincere, he doesn't let himself believe that Dazai could really care (even if there is a part of him that wants nothing more than that, a part of him that wishes it was really true).
“Fuck you”, he says. “I'm f'cking peachy”.
He doesn't care that it's the most blatant lie ever. Dazai asked the question even the answer is painfully obvious, even if the simple fact that Chuuya has been calling him while drunk and refuses to end the call even while claiming that he hates him it's answer enough.
He empties the bottle, drinks the content in one go, feels it go to his head, slowing his senses and his words even more.
“Next time we'll see each other”, he says, as resolute as he can be when he finds it difficult to speak properly. “I'm gonna kill you”.
They both know is not true but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because Chuuya can hear Dazai's smile in his next words.
“You can try”, he says. And then, softly, almost too low, but no enough that Chuuya can't hear, “I can't wait for it, Chuuya”.
This time, Chuuya lets himself believe that the soft tone of Dazai's voice means that they're on the same page.
It's a promise – he's not sure if it's good or bad, and he thinks Dazai doesn't know either; but it's a promise, a promise that they'll see each other again, and that's everything Chuuya needs right now.
He ends the call without another words, knowing that this was the first and last time Dazai would ever pick up (and maybe, it will also be the last time he would call).
~
The next morning, despite the headache and the bad taste in his mouth, he remembers it all, and he's grateful for it.