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Although the day that they finally are able to restrain the infamous Dostoyevsky should be a celebration, Chuuya finds himself alone and completely drunk.
Funny enough, Chuuya doesn't know why he's drunk in the slightest, or why he's at a bar instead of partying with the Port Mafa.
Maybe it's to get rid of the tingling sensation in his hands, maybe it's just because he wants to satisfy his cravings for wine, or maybe it's just because of the fact that there is nothing really to celebrate.
Yes, Dostoyevsky has been contained, but before the government laid their hands on him, he had wiped out all Abilities from the face of the Earth.
Everyone with Abilities had felt that cold draft of air that swept through the very marrow of their bones, leaving as quickly as it had come. It devoured their powers, leaving an empty hole in its wake.
Chuuya had felt that feeling crawl through him, wrapping its hands around the warmth in his soul and taking it. There was a sudden light feeling in his chest as if someone had carved a hole in his rib cage.
But...
If For The Tainted Sorrow had truly been taken away, then why did the tingling sensation still reside in his hands? Why is he still able to feel Arahabaki stirring inside him? Why is he able to pull on those threads that leashed the monster within him as he could have before Dostoyevsky took all their powers away?
The wine is starting to take a toll on him, his vision blurring the slightest, his ears burning with warmth. Chuuya loosens his tie, attempting to lose the warmth enveloping him.
Ack.
Everything is so confusing, so annoying. Every single thought about the past, the present, and the future disturbs him to the point where Chuuya needs to drink himself to the brink of unconsciousness.
Mind hazy with the corruption of alcohol, Chuuya drains the last of his wine and leaves the bar stool, unsteady on his feet.
The cold air kisses Chuuya's burning cheeks once he walks out of the saloon, mouth still sweet with the lingering taste of Merlot and his sense of direction disoriented. The scent of petrichor causes his nose to wrinkle and his stomach to flip uncomfortably.
He starts walking - stumbling - over the cobblestone pathway, his legs crossing each other until he suddenly trips, falling face-first onto the slick stones. Defeated and weary, Chuuya decides to lay on the cool ground for a minute or two. It isn't so bad, laying on the ground.
Sure his vest is just about soaked with water, but the temperature is frigid enough just to cool his feverish body. Chuuya is just about to close his eyes when arms wrap themselves under his arms, lifting him upward.
Chuuya nearly trips over his feet again, but this time, instead of falling over on his side, his body ends up sagging against someone else's.
"Chuuya, Chuuya. What are you doing out here on this jubilant night?" A voice murmurs besides his ear; an alluring one.
Chuuya knows who it is. Well, at least he's positive it's the person who he thinks it is, but his brain is muddled and a headache is prodding at his temples.
The soothing voice comes again, this time farther away from his ear, but it's audible enough to be heard: "Come on, I'll take you back."
"I don't want to be taken back." Chuuya hiccups, punching feebly at the taller man, "Shitty Dazai. Just let me be."
He retorts his own claim when his stomach impetuously flips, causing him to bend over as a gagging noise comes out of his mouth when he hurls onto the ground. As he dry heaves some more, Dazai's there by his side rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Chuuya sways involuntarily when he finishes, but the grip around his shoulders keep him standing.
"It's not an option," Dazai continues smoothly, dragging Chuuya along with him as he walks. "Let's go back and get you cleaned up, alright?"
Although the redhead is irritated at the brunet for placing an abrupt halt to his intoxicated moment, he doesn't protest when Dazai hails a cab and takes him back to the Port Mafia.
But what Chuuya hates the most about this situation is being weak, being the one who seems vulnerable.
Chuuya despises the fact that he's allowing himself to be manhandled by the one and only Dazai Osamu - the Port Mafia traitor, nonetheless. He detests that he's letting that beautiful betrayer enter his apartment - the exact same one they shared four years ago.
Most of all, he abhors that he's actually trusting that bastard to help him get over his hangover.
Chuuya hears the familiar clinking of his keys and catches a glimpse of his couch before he passes out in Dazai's hold.
Chuuya wakes up to Dazai helping himself to the food in his refrigerator and a plundering headache. To much of his surprise, his clothes have been changed but his mouth tastes bitter and sour. He vaguely remembers what happened last night, but as he reaches for the glass of water and painkillers on the stand next to him, he realizes that his gloves are gone.
"Dazai!" he yells through his splitting headache, downing the water and pills before it can escalate any more.
The dark-haired man pops his head from behind the kitchen door, a small smile on his face as he notices the fuming Chuuya.
"What is it, Chibi?"
"Don't you dare fucking call me Chibi again or I'll carve your guts out."
"Awww. But that was my nickname for you years ago."
"Years before you left me," Chuuya retorts, his eyebrows creasing.
A moment of silence hangs over the two at the mention of Dazai's betrayal to the Port Mafia. Chuuya doesn't know what to do at this point. He could take advantage of this situation and guilt-trip Dazai or tell him to get out of his house. On the other hand, he wants to beat up that piece of shit for being a traitor; for leaving him; for all those invisible crimes he committed when he suddenly vanished into thin air. An impromptu rush of rage envelops the redhead, and he decides to go with guilt-tripping the son of a bitch.
"That was four years ago," Dazai stiffens.
"'That was only four years ago." Chuuya mocks, his anger rising. "And you still have the audacity to appear in my apartment again?"
"Look-"
"No, you look. I don't give a fuck of why you wanted to help me nor am I going to thank you. All I want you to do right now is get the fuck out of my house."
Chuuya's eyes catch the moment where a spark of guilt flashes through Dazai's eyes and his heart swells with something near the border of satisfaction and sadness.
"Leave," Chuuya commands, pointing at the door.
Silently, Dazai makes his way to the door, pausing slightly before he shuts it behind him.
A pregnant silence fills his apartment when the door clicks shut, leaving Chuuya isolated in his apartment.
The rage that had bubbled within him when the 'Four Year' topic was brought up vanishes, and it is only then when Chuuya feels the tingling feeling in his hands again, traveling from his wrists to the very tips of his fingers.
Thankfully, the pills have done their work, and Chuuya's headache is nothing but a mere prodding in his brain.
"Fucking bandage waster," Chuuya grumbles as he enters his bedroom, "He expects me to forgive him after all he's done. Hah. What an id-"
Chuuya stops short, his hand frozen on the door handle. On his bed lays his clothes - washed thoroughly - with his hat sitting on top. A wave of nostalgia rolls through Chuuya, reminding him of the times when Dazai had hauled his drunken ass back to their apartment. Something caves inside Chuuya, leaving him with a painful ache in his heart.
He swallows as he finds his gloves folded neatly next to his clothes, also thoroughly cleaned. He places them on, the warmth of the black fabric running over his hands, stopping the sensation in his hands. Chuuya sighs in relief, but the fear of Arahabaki going haywire still lingers in his chest.
Something as sharp as a knife stabs Chuuya through the back when he walks into the kitchen. His throat is suddenly dry, and something he hasn't felt in a long time - regret - seizes his body. Dazai has made him breakfast, as he had done in the past.
And for a second, Chuuya almost feels guilty for kicking the man out of his house after all the things Dazai has done for him.
But only for a split second.
"Chuuya-san, why are you tugging on your gloves so often?"
Chuuya blinks, becoming aware of his hands that are tugging at the rims of his gloves. Higuchi is staring at him, her face mildly concerned when he doesn't reply.
"Chuuya-san?"
"Huh? What?"
"I asked you why you're tugging on your gloves. If they irritate you, I can order new ones-"
"No, no, no," Chuuya interrupts, forcing his arms to stay at his sides, "it's fine. Just a bad habit. Don't worry."
Higuchi raises an eyebrow before returning to her paperwork. "Do you know where Akutagawa-senpai is?"
"Akutagawa? Wasn't he dragged to the mall by Gin?"
Higuchi nearly drops her pencil. "The mall?"
"Well, it's his sister who's dragging him, so he doesn't really have a choice," Chuuya chuckles.
"Without any bodyguards?"
"Wha-?"
At once, Higuchi is up and about, snatching her coat off the coat hanger.
"Where are you going?"
"Uh... To the mall?" Higuchi tenses, as if waiting for Chuuya to scold her for not finishing her work before leaving.
"Can I accompany you then? Dostoyevsky's gone, so there isn't much we need to accomplish today."
Higuchi's mouth is open when she says, "Su-sure. U-Uh-"
"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" Chuuya adjusts his hat, his jacket flowing freely behind him as he pivots on his foot. "Let's get going."
Higuchi practically twirls into the mall when they arrive, barely able to contain the smile that etches up her face when she notices Akutagawa on the second floor.
Chuuya follows along, glancing around the shopping center. How long had it been since he's been in one? Probably back when Kouyou tried to drag him here to doll him up (a memory he prefers to forget, especially when Dazai caught a glimpse of his makeup and outfit).
"Chu-Chuuya-san?" Akutagawa coughs into his hand, "What are you doing here?"
"Can't an Executive take a break once in a while? Plus, I asked Higuchi if I could accompany her," Chuuya shrugs.
Before Akutagawa can answer, Gin comes out of a store, her usually spiky hair and mask attire replaced with long hair and a white dress that flowed to her calves.
Unlike her brother, Gin shows no surprise in Chuuya's appearance and instead looks more pleased than stunned.
"Oh, Chuuya-san! What a pleasure to see you here," she smiles.
Chuuya is about to reply when Higuchi barrels from behind him, her attitude ecstatic when she plants herself in between the siblings and Chuuya.
"Akutagawa-senpai! Do you know how dangerous it is out here without any bodyguards? You could get hurt!" Higuchi scolds as if Akutagawa is a five-year-old child.
"Shut up, Higuchi," Akutagawa snaps back, "I didn't want to be here in the first place."
Gin suddenly snorts, something that she doesn't usually do, which nearly scares the living crap out of the group. "You did after I told you Atsushi would be here."
Akutagawa averts his eyes, hiding his mouth behind his hand when he lets out a string of (forced) impromptu coughs.
Higuchi smothers a gasp, evidently feeling betrayed at her senpai's actions. Chuuya rolls his eyes at how dramatic his co-workers are.
Wait. Did she just say... Atsushi? If Atsushi is here, then-
"Chibiko!"
Ah, fuck. Speak of the devil and he shall come. Chuuya snaps his head behind him, glaring daggers into Dazai as he approaches with the shy Atsushi at his side.
"What a coincidence to see you here, chibiko!" Dazai announces gleefully as if everything that had happened this morning was a mere dream.
The temperature seems to drop when Chuuya growls back, "Fuck off."
"Ah, ah. Still mad at me? It's been four years already. Certainly, you can't hold a grudge for that long."
Chuuya knows that Dazai is teasing him; he's been partners with Chuuya long enough to know that the resentments that the redhead holds are for a lifetime.
"You left me for four fucking years and you now decide to waltz back into my life? You wish," Chuuya spits, standing his ground.
"What do you want me to do, then? Beg for forgiveness? Become your dog?"
"I want you to get the fuck out of my life."
Dazai frowns, and the atmosphere takes a turn from moderate to severe. Everyone in the group is sweating bullets by now; careful not to push Dazai's buttons by asking him to stop his quarrel with his ex-partner.
"Give me one day," Dazai heaves a sigh, "One day and I'll make it all up to you."
"You think one day with you is going to make me forgive you?!"
By now, Chuuya is at the verge of succumbing to the hot rage bubbling beneath his skin. He wants to knock the living lights out of Dazai for making the Port Mafia - making him - suffer after those four years. If Dazai thinks he can make Chuuya forgive him within 24 hours then - dear god - he is so fucking wrong.
"Just one; you and me. No distractions. Promise."
Chuuya nearly snorts when Dazai mentions a promise. "Promise my ass. You promised to be a part of Soukoku until the day you die and then what?! You leave. So if I agree to this date, you'll surely break your so-called promise."
"Well," The corners of Dazai's mouth turn upward into a sly grin, sending shivers down Chuuya's spine for no apparent reason, "I was thinking more along the lines of a rendezvous, but a date would suffice, too."
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I-"
"So is that a yes or no?"
"YOU-"
Chuuya absolutely loathes himself. In fact, he despises every part of himself that agreed to accompany Dazai to go shopping or whatnot in the mall. After he had accepted, the weretiger had followed in his mentor's lead and asked Akutagawa - who started coughing violently into his palm, though Chuuya thinks he had choked - to go window shopping with him. Higuchi, of course, was in a state of despair when her "senpai" took on the offer and was (thankfully) taken away by Gin to escort her on a journey to find the best churros.
"Where the hell are we even going?" Chuuya grumbles as they descend toward the first floor.
"We can go grab a coffee if you want," Dazai hums, patting Chuuya on the head.
"I'd much prefer wine, thank you very much."
"Chibi, this is a mall, not a wine cellar."
"Do they have coffee that tastes like wine, then?"
"Alcohol is bad for your health, especially for someone as short as you."
"I. Am. Not. Fucking. Short. You piece of shit."
"I'll pay~," Dazai says, using his credit card as his last trump card.
"Fine. But you owe me a bottle of wine when we get back."
The coffee shop smells of strong caffeine and cream - a fragrance that makes Chuuya feel out of place - when the pair enters.
Chuuya orders a mocha frappé while Dazai-
Chuuya has no fucking idea what Dazai has ordered, but with that smirk on his face, Chuuya knows that Dazai's about to sin.
The dark-haired man saunters over to where Chuuya is waiting with something that makes Chuuya regret all his life decisions.
"What the actual fuck did you fucking order?!" Chuuya screams at Dazai's face, grabbing the attention of the nearby customers.
"Oh, this? It's water with whipped cream. With ice," Dazai smirks with a malicious glint in his eyes.
"I know it's water with fucking whipped cream, " Chuuya growls.
"Then why'd you ask?"
Chuuya can literally taste the amusement that's oozing out of Dazai's every word. At this point, Chuuya is one-hundred percent convinced that Dazai is toying around with him.
"Because," Chuuya waves his hands around, wishing that he still has his Ability so he can blast the bastard off the face of the Earth, "It's whipped cream on water."
"So?"
"It's cursed. You're cursed."
"Ah, you've just noticed that I'm cursed? After all these years of partnership?" Dazai mocks hurt, placing his hand on his heart as he recoils in counterfeit pain, "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."
"Stop shitting around," Chuuya aggressively inhales his coffee before continuing his mini-lecture, "I swear I'm going to ditch you here."
"Gah! Chuuya leaving me? Oh, the horror. I shall never drink coffee again," Dazai flutters his eyelashes as he places the back of his hand on his forehead, "Whatever shall I do? Oh, woe is me!"
Chuuya flicks Dazai on the forehead, causing him to snap his head back dramatically.
"That's not even coffee, you disgrace," Chuuya smothers a chortle, though his attempt is proven feeble when his lips twitch upward.
"Ow... Chibi's much more aggressive and violent today."
"I am NOT a chibi!"
"Says the five foot three Mafioso."
Chuuya throws his empty coffee cup at Dazai's head, earning gasps from the crowd around them.
"Tch. I'm leaving," Chuuya pivots on his heel, shoving his hands in his pant pockets.
"Waiiit!" Dazai whines behind him, snatching Chuuya's hat before he can leave.
"Oi! Give me my hat back!"
Dazai sticks his tongue out in a raspberry, waving it above his head; a place he knows Chuuya can't reach.
"Bastard!" Chuuya growls, but however high he attempts to jump, his height
"You know you can't grow taller, why not just give up?" Dazai twirls Chuuya's hat on his index finger.
"You piece of-" In a swift motion, Chuuya aims a kick at Dazai, his foot making an impact with the other's stomach, sending Dazai collapsing.
Dazai groans, his hand reaching out toward Chuuya's ankles as Chuuya picks up his hat, placing it back on his head.
"That hurt, you know-" Dazai complains, brushing himself off when he stands up, wincing slightly.
"Serves you right," Chuuya spits, though a tinge of amusement is able to slip into his voice. "I think it's time for me to leave now, anyway. Bye."
His jacket undulates behind him as he turns away with a huff, his arms crossed in frustration.
"Wait! Chuuya!"
Chuuya pauses midstep.
"At least accompany me to buy something," Dazai whines, "it hasn't even been a full day yet."
"So?"
"I promised you a day as an apology, didn't I?"
"That doesn't mean that I need to spend it all with you." Chuuya rolls his eyes.
"You didn't even let me prove my worth yet, Chuu-ya."
"After that stunt you pulled in the coffee shop? I doubt you're worth anything, anyway."
Chuuya hears Dazai suck in a breath, but he knows it's his ex-partner being the overly dramatic person he is.
Either his drink had been spiked or the caffeine had gotten to him, but Chuuya finds himself saying, "Fine, fine."
Dazai beams with joy, tugging Chuuya along into the center of the mall.
"Where are we going now?" Chuuya demands, his fingers itching underneath his gloves.
"You'll see. You don't need to do much, chibi. I know you've never liked spending time on useless things."
Chuuya clicks his tongue, averting his gaze from Dazai's euphoric grin.
"You can wait outside," Dazai gestures to the bench outside of a store.
"I'm not a dog," Chuuya spits.
"Well, you never did fulfill our bet we made when we were fifteen, did you?"
Chuuya internally curses Dazai and his sharp memory, wishing that he'd never made that bet with Dazai in the first place.
"Bastard." Chuuya crosses his legs as he takes a seat on the bench. "Do what you fucking need to do and then I'm out of here."
"Okay~ Whatever you say, chibikko-chan."
Before Chuuya can even throw another insult or kick at Dazai, the man disappears into the shop, his lapel coat trailing behind him.
Unamused by Dazai's discreet actions, Chuuya takes out his phone to kill time.
There are a couple of messages from Higuchi, asking where he'd gone and what he was doing. Akutagawa, on the other hand, didn't concern himself over Chuuya (he was probably wrapped up with Atsushi somewhere, Chuuya laughed to himself).
He replies to Higuchi rapidly, telling her to leave without him if she and Gin finished their "quest" first.
When he looks up, the clock's hands on the wall in front of him has passed ten minutes. What the hell is taking Dazai so long to do?
Grumbling to himself, Chuuya leaves his seat, walking over to the store that Dazai had entered a few minutes ago. To his surprise, it is a classy jewelry store that sold mainly rings and necklaces.
Chuuya raises an eyebrow while tugging on his gloves. Peering through the window, he can see a man - Dazai - standing in front of the cashier. And by the looks of it, he is most definitely flirting with the lady at the desk.
A tinge of anger rises in his chest, and Chuuya has to swallow to rid of the feeling.
The bastard has broken his promise, so Chuuya is technically free to leave. But his feet are rooted to the ground, his eyes glued to Dazai as the man places a kiss on the woman's hand.
He can't seem to move, no matter how much he wills himself to. He's seen Dazai flirt with countless women during their years together, so why did this make any difference?
Chuuya forced his eyes to peel themselves away from the window, his hands clenching into fists.
He never should have trusted Dazai; he'd given him enough chances already.
In the end, Dazai is and forever will be a lying and deceiving piece of shit.
The doorbell rings a few minutes after Chuuya comes out of the shower during the evening. He quickly tugs on his gloves, rubbing his hands together to rid of the increasing tingling sensation before he reaches for the doorknob.
He doesn't bother looking through the peephole when he slams open the door, his brows furrowed at the person standing in front of him.
"What the fuck do you want. Didn't I kick you out of this place already?" Chuuya barks, swinging the door back into place.
"I need a place to stay tonight." Dazai opens his mouth.
"Well? Go find yourself a place. Goodbye."
There's a brief flash of hurt in Dazai's eyes, faster than a human eye can catch, but then again, Chuuya is no ordinary human, is he?
"Look, I can explain-"
"I don't want your crappy explanations. I've given you enough chances. Now leave."
Chuuya flings the door in Dazai's face, but much to his dismay, Dazai blocks it from closing by using his foot.
"I need one night. Please. Kunikida used my dorm room for something else."
"Serves you right."Chuuya starts pushing on the door, smashing Dazai's foot in between the frame and the edge of the door.
"Mori told me to crash with you tonight," Dazai heaves a sigh.
Chuuya halts, his head snapping to Dazai.
"Mori?!"
"Do you need a stool to hear me from down there or what?" Dazai chuckles.
"Boss would never."
"Oh?" Dazai muses, fishing an envelope from his pocket. "I beg to differ."
There is no doubt about it. The seal on the back of the envelope is definitely Mori's - one of a kind, only belonging to the director of the infamous Port Mafia.
Chuuya rips the top of the envelope, unfolding the paper inside it.
It is Mori's handwriting, alright. Loopy and written in cursive, the instructions were clear: Let Dazai stay for the night.
"What fucking deal did you make with him to do this?" Chuuya waves the envelope in front of Dazai's face.
"Nothing. I just asked." Dazai shrugs nonchalantly, pushing away the door to let himself in.
As a Port Mafia executive, Chuuya cannot bear to think about disobeying Mori's commands, even when it included a certain brown-haired man by the name of Dazai Osamu.
Dazai collapses on the couch, whistling his suicide song. Chuuya kicks the door close and locks it.
"Alright, vagabond. You take the floor, and I take the bed. No further questions."
"Yes, sir," Dazai chirps rather happily.
"I'll be making dinner, so don't you dare mess with anything."
"I won't~"
Chuuya knows better.
Tonight's supper is curry with potato croquettes. And as usual, Dazai's already prepared the table for two.
"Oh? You're cooking for me tonight? How lovely of you to do that, Chuuya." Dazai smirks, winking at Chuuya.
"Hey! Don't get so cocky. You're only staying here for one night and one night only." Chuuya digs his spoon into the rice.
Dazai hums, scooping up a spoonful of food. An awkward silence resides between the two; they both were never good at starting conversations.
"You know, Chuuya, sometimes you remind me of a housewife," Dazai says randomly as Chuuya is finishing up with his dinner.
Heat rushes to his cheeks at the mention of the term. "A housewife?!"
"Yes. Chuuya the lovely housewife who cooks food and cleans the place."
"I am not a damned housewife!" Chuuya hisses, slamming the butt of his knife on the table.
"Housewife~ Housewife~ Will my dear housewife care for me when I'm sick, too?"
The knife twirls in Chuuya's hand once before it launches itself at Dazai, lodging into the wall behind him. Dazai's smile doesn't falter in the slightest, as expected.
"You clean up your own messes, you piece of shit. Like the flower petals in the bathroom. At least you could have the decency of sweeping those up," Chuuya rolls his eyes, recalling the moment he'd stepped into the bathroom and witnesses a pile of red petals scattered on the white tiles.
"Hm? What flower petals?" Dazai muses nonchalantly, though Chuuya swears he could have heard Dazai's voice waver suddenly.
"Don't act dumb. Those flowers were for someone, weren't they?" A sense of betrayal strikes Chuuya and he grips his spoon tighter in one hand, the force exerted enough to bend the utensil.
"Oh! Those flower petals!" Dazai snaps, his eyes lighting up. "What? Did you think they were for you, chibi?"
Chuuya's jaw drops an inch as he sputters, "N-No- They were for some poor woman you wooed over, isn't that right?"
Dazai fell back in his chair, two arms covering his face.
"Ah! Chuuya accuses me of having an affair outside of ours! How crude of you, mon cher. Don't worry, I will never cheat on you, darling." The last word comes out as a purr, sending shivers down Chuuya's spine.
"Don't you darling me, bastard!"
"Aw, Chuuya's so cute when he's angry. I could just squish your cheeks~"
"JUST TELL ME WHY ALREADY!" Chuuya fumes, stabbing his spoon in the leftover curry sauce in his plate.
"Well, if Chuuya insists," Dazai clears his throat, "As much as I wish it was for a woman, those petals were from flowers I picked out at the florist for Tanizaki before I came here. You know, the Detective Agency member with orange hair and a jacket tied at his waist?"
"Uh-"
"Anyway, he told me to get some flowers for Naomi, his sister when I was on my way back from the train station. After I'd bought them, I realized that it had thorns, so I took the liberty of removing them before I would give them to him."
"So you can remove thorns in your spare time but not finish your work," Chuuya says dryly.
"It's for a woman, Chuuya. Women deserve the best."
Chuuya rolls his eyes, "Then what about the bloodstains in the sink? Did you murder somebody in the bathroom while I was cooking?"
Dazai laughs heartily, "No, no, no. None of that. I merely pricked myself a couple of times, that's all."
Chuuya raised an eyebrow at the memory of the amount of blood in the sink; it certainly did not match up with the amount lost when pricked by a simple thorn.
Brushing it off, Chuuya heaves a sigh, standing up in his seat. "You're doing the dishes tonight. I'm done here."
Dazai puts his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, though Chuuya knows perfectly well that it's to set him off more.
Despite the fact the Chuuya doesn't trust Dazai with the job of washing mere dishes, his hands are shaking, and he no longer can carry nor hold a dish properly.
He's eager to pull off his gloves and let his hands be free, but he resists the temptation for the gloves are the only thing keeping the monster in.
So he turns to his second option - smoking.
As Dazai busies himself with the dishes, Chuuya exits onto the balcony. The cool air hits his skin, and instantly, he feels a tad better.
He rummages through his pant pockets for his lighter and cigarettes, his hand coming in contact with them within a few seconds.
With trembling hands, Chuuya somehow manages to light the cigarette, then proceeds to take a long draw from it.
The familiar scent of smoke soothes his nerves, and the fuzzy feeling in his hands dissipates for the time being.
Although his co-workers had told him to quit smoking a long time ago, Chuuya had never found a way to fully quit. Now that Arahabaki is the only ability in the world as of now - uncontrollable and threatening to unleash itself from its vessel - how can Chuuya tell them that smoking is the only way to keep it in?
The cigarette vanishes as a hand removes it from Chuuya's fingers.
"My, my," Dazai says, "chibi's smoking again. Don't you know that smoking is bad for your health?"
Ironically, Dazai lifts the end of the cigarette to his lips before he, too, takes a draw.
"Hypocrite," Chuuya mutters, crossing his arms on the balcony railing. "Give it back."
"Nope," Dazai says, popping the 'p'. He crushes the head of the cigarette against the ashtray, discarding it.
"Piece of shit." Chuuya takes out a new one. He's about to light it when a hand clutches his wrist, prohibiting him from completing the action.
For a split second, panic flares in Chuuya's chest when he watches with wide eyes for Dazai's ability to nullify his own.
No blue light comes from his wrist, and it is only then does Chuuya remember that all the abilities had been stripped from the world. His tense shoulders relax, and his gaze falls.
"You're smoking a bit too much these days, aren't you?"
"What's it to you, anyway?" Chuuya puts the cigarette between his lips regardless of if it is lit or not.
"A little birdie told me that you were burning through your supply like a forest fire."
Chuuya grits his teeth, cursing Higuchi for leaking his secrets. "There's nothing wrong."
The corners of Dazai's lips twitch, and his hand travels from Chuuya's wrist to his hand.
Chuuya flinches at the sudden movement, but Dazai's grip is too strong for him to snatch his hand back.
"You know, if there's anything wrong, you can tell me, right?" Dazai murmurs, bringing Chuuya's gloved knuckles to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss upon it.
Chuuya flushes, his cigarette nearly dropping past his lips. He turns his head to the side, yanking his arm back from Dazai.
"I told you it's nothing. Okay?!" His voice rises higher than he intends to, shocking even himself.
After a momentary silence, Dazai replies, exiting through the balcony door.
"If you insist. Goodnight, Chuuya."
Chuuya doesn't respond.
Dazai leaves early in the morning with a note saying that he'll come back later tonight, as per Kunikida and Mori's request (though Chuuya finds that hard to believe).
Chuuya's hands are still tingling, but at this point, a small ball of warmth resides in his chest, writhing and squirming inside his ribcage.
Doing his best to ignore the feeling, Chuuya makes himself a quick breakfast of cereal.
And unlike the suicidal maniac, Chuuya is rational and pours the cereal in first before the milk (he's told Dazai thousands of hundreds of times - it's a sin to pour in milk before cereal, but does the bastard ever learn? No.).
At least Chuuya's wide awake enough to do that.
When he places the milk and bowl on the table, Chuuya notices a small white-colored box sitting idly in the middle.
Curious, Chuuya picks up the box, feeling it with his hands. At the side of the box is a note, which Chuuya plucks off with ease.
My apology gift
-Dazai
Inside the box is a pair of ruby earrings that could reach all the way to the midpoint of his neck. The hook connecting to the rubies are studded with diamonds, glittering in all their glory.
Chuuya's breath catches in his throat, his eyes blinking rapidly. How much had this cost Dazai?
Chuuya takes out the earrings, weighing them in his palm. Underneath the jewelry is a receipt, which Chuuya unfolds.
The price is cut off, but the discount is left for Chuuya to see. And it hits him.
Dazai hadn't been flirting with the cashier. Instead, he had been bargaining for an affordable price.
For him.
For Chuuya.
Dazai had gone through all that work for Chuuya and all he had done was attempt to slam a door in dazai's face.
A flood of guilt overwhelms him. Slowly, Chuuya places on the earrings, their weight settling on his earlobes.
He turns his head side to side, feeling as the jewelry swayed according to his movements.
A snap of a camera brings him back to his senses.
"Whoops."
Chuuya's hands fly to the earrings, about to take them off.
"Don't take them off," Dazai says from the doorway, "they match with your eyes. Keep them on. I like it. See?"
Chuuya squints at the screen, and indeed, the ruby red clashes with his blue eyes, causing him to look sharper.
"Just because you like them doesn't mean that I should wear them," Chuuya huffs as he takes off the jewelry, his ears craving for the weight of the earrings again.
"I-" Dazai is cut off with a string of coughs, his body growing rigid as his shoulders shake violently. "'Scuse me."
Chuuya watches as Dazai rushes to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him with a thud.
His eyes fall from the door to the box as he places the earrings back and shuts the box.
Maybe he will wear it later. Setting the box down, Chuuya goes over to the bathroom door.
"Oi, Dazai, you out yet?" Chuuya pounds on the door.
"One second!"
Chuuya hears the toilet flushing and the running of water from the faucet before Dazai comes out.
"Come on," Dazai says as if he's just fixed his bolo in the bathroom, "we have an appointment to go to."
"An appointment?" Chuuya parrots, but nonetheless, he grabs his hat and coat and saunters out the door with Dazai. He needs a distraction from the warmth writhing in his chest anyway.
"You'll see~" Dazai singsongs, taking Chuuya by the hand.
"Oi, oi!" Chuuya practically sprints to catch up with Dazai, or else his arm would surely be torn off due to the force used when Dazai drags him.
"It's right around the corner," dazai says almost way too enthusiastically.
Chuuya clicks his tongue, falling into step beside Dazai. Dazai's hand is still wrapped around his, and Chuuya tries to ignore the fact that Dazai's touch rids of the fuzzy, tingling feeling in his hand.
"A bar?" It isn't much of a surprise; Dazai had always favored bars, and lo and behold, here they were.
"Lupin, my favorite bar. They serve some great red wine, too." Dazai winks.
Chuuya can't help suppressing the smirk that blossoms across his face. His partner knows him all too well. But something is certainly fishy.
"Just one question," Chuuya pauses outside of the bar.
"Yes?"
"Why are you doing all this for me? Don't you have better things to do at the Armed Detective Agency or whatnot?" Chuuya cocks his eyebrow.
"Can't I spoil my chibi once in a while?" Dazai reaches for Chuuya's hat, sticking his tongue out as he did so.
With one hand on his head and whilst dodging Dazai's hand at the same time, Chuuya says, "You know that I hate you, right? With every fiber of my being? Then why do you endeavor to please me with gifts and treats?"
Dazai merely hums, placing a hand on the crook of Chuuya's waist, bringing him closer.
"Oi! What are you-"
"Wear your earrings for me, Chuuya," Dazai mumbles, his lips brushing against his ear.
Chuuya's lips part slightly, leaning into the warmth of Dazai's hand. He tries to tell him that he can't, for he's left the earrings at his apartment and he has no intention whatsoever to wear them again.
But all that comes out is a feeble choke, the words Chuuya meant to say broken in his throat.
"Here." Dazai's hand leaves his waist as they travel to his ears, his fingers brushing his earlobes while he places the jewelry on Chuuya's ears. "I took them when we were leaving."
The familiar heavy weight settles on both sides of his head and Chuuya resists the urge to touch the rubies attached to the gold. His fingers tingle again, a spasm running throughout his hand, from his wrist to his fingertips.
"Dance with me." Dazai's hand finds its way back to Chuuya's hip.
Chuuya gazes up into Dazai's soft eyes, his shoulders relaxing. The tingling dispels immediately when Dazai takes Chuuya's smaller hand in his own, fingers intertwining with Chuuya's.
"Please?" Dazai asks, and Chuuya feels his heart throb at the tone of his partner's voice - light and gentle.
Chuuya places his hand on Dazai's shoulder, his arm high above him due to their height differences.
Slow music starts playing in the background, and Chuuya tries his best not to scowl at Dazai. The bastard had probably planned this all along, as expected.
Dazai moves sideways, bringing Chuuya along with him. The redhead follows Dazai's movements elegantly, his own steps matching his partner's.
They twirl around the room, Dazai's eyes closed as Chuuya stares at their feet, pretending to be focused on their footwork.
Abruptly, Dazai stops, causing Chuuya to nearly walk into his chest.
"Stay," Dazai says in barely a whisper, his arm snaking around Chuuya's waist to bring him closer despite the shorter man's squirming.
Chuuya's heart flutters when he presses against Dazai, feeling the warmth radiating off of him. His cheek is pressed against Dazai's chest, his ear right on his heart.
Chuuya relaxes slightly, one hand pressed on Dazai's stomach as an attempt to push himself away from his partner.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Chuuya finds himself closing his eyes to the sound of Dazai's heartbeat, strong and steady. He counts them beat by beat - one, two, three, four, five...
Chuuya continues counting, keeping focused on Dazai's heart rate as if his heart were to stop at any moment.
His gloved hands clutch at Dazai's lapel jacket when he thinks of Dazai ending his life, joking about ending his
life.
Sure, he's used to Dazai rambling on and on about suicide when they were fifteen, but the thought of it now makes Chuuya queasy.
He doesn't know how he'll react if Dazai dies, when he dies.
He doesn't know how he'll be able to cope with it; another part of his soul would be carved out, just like when his ability was stripped away from him.
But what disturbs Chuuya the most is that... he doesn't know what he'll do if he loses his one and only partner.
Dazai spends two more weeks in Chuuya's apartment, in what used-to-be-their apartment.
Chuuya learns to get used to Dazai's teasing again, but at least he knows that he can still punch the living lights out of that bandage waster whenever he wishes.
They sleep together in a bed now, much to Chuuya's dismay. Dazai had crawled into his bed too frequently in the dead of night when Chuuya was sleeping that Chuuya had to let him slide into the covers next to him before they fell asleep.
Dazai blames it on the cold temperature in the apartment, though Chuuya has told him multiple times to adjust the damn thermostat himself. Of course, the man pays no heed to Chuuya's words and instead infuriates him more by twisting and turning in his sleep.
"I'm going for a quick walk! I expect breakfast to be made when I come back!" Dazai sing songs while he swings open the door with a cherry expression plastered over his face.
"I'm not your damned housewife! Go cook your own food!" Chuuya pauses. "Wait, actually, don't cook. Go fucking buy your own food."
Dazai chortles, shutting the door.
Chuuya heaves a sigh when he returns to his housework. He needs to do the laundry for the both of them because the lazy bastard won't contribute to any of the chores unless he's been fed, and Chuuya will not as easily oblige to that order.
He huffs, taking the laundry basket in both hands. Chuuya makes his way toward the washing machine, tossing the first few articles of clothing into the swirling water.
He grimaces at his gloves before he tosses them into the soapy water as well, something he knows he will regret doing. Without his gloves, the fuzzy feeling in his palms come to life, no longer dormant underneath the silk fabric.
Just like his partner, Dazai's also decided to ditch his lapel coat for the day, as Chuuya finds out when he digs through the rest of the pile.
"Son of a bitch," Chuuya mutters to himself while he bundles up the jacket, preparing to toss it into the machine.
Just as he's about to, however, his palms feel a slight bump in one of the pockets.
"Aight, what the hell did he leave in here now?" Chuuya's fingers work their way to the right-hand pocket, connecting with the object. He pulls it out - a small, orange bottle filled with white... pills?
Fortunately, there's a label on one of its sides, and Chuuya scans over the text quickly.
His breath stops, the gurgling sounds of the washing machine fading into a sharp ringing noise as Chuuya pieces all the information together.
He knows why Dazai's been so close to him lately, knows why he spends most of his time before meals in the bathroom, knows why Dazai's been so, utterly, disgustingly affectionate to Chuuya.
All along, he's been played with like a rag doll, like a marionette on strings, utterly helpless against Dazai's lies and captive to his sweet, sweet words.
And Dazai, Chuuya swears to the god raging with fury inside him, will pay dearly for his deceit.
Chuuya waits in agonizing patience for Dazai to return home from his pathetic excuse for a walk.
Once the door opens, Chuuya clutches the bottle in his hand with such strength the plastic nearly splits into pieces.
"Chuuya~" Dazai flounces into the house with that stupid grin on his face. "Is my breakfast ready?"
Chuuya sits in front of the door, his legs crossed and eyes narrowed into a ferocious glare.
"Eh? Did Chuuya wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" Dazai continues with his facade.
"You're a fucking bastard," Chuuya says in a growl.
"Eh? I can't hear you from up here."
"You can hear me perfectly fine, you motherfucker!" Chuuya snaps, kicking his chair away when he stands up in a swift motion.
Dazai's taken back, the smile frozen on his face. Chuuya's jaw is clenched to such an extent his teeth hurt. Rage consumes him completely, devouring him whole when Dazai continues to stand there like a dumbass.
Chuuya throws the bottle of pills at Dazai's face, and it could have hit Dazai directly between the eyes if not for his quick reflexes.
His partner catches the bottle with one hand, his face dropping by the inch.
Chuuya savors the look of despair on Dazai's face when he realizes what the bottle contained, what secrets that had been leaked.
"I-" Dazai starts, but Chuuya cuts him off with a snarl so loud it rocks even the apartment building itself.
"YOU HAVE THE HANAHAKI DISEASE, DON'T YOU?!" Chuuya roars, the warmth in his chest intensifying with every word that rolls out of his mouth. "You had the Disease all this time, and you never fucking told me!"
"I wanted to-"
"YOU CRASHED INTO MY APARTMENT!' JUST BECAUSE YOU NEEDED TO CURE YOUR DISEASE, ISN'T THAT RIGHT?!"
Dazai hangs his head.
"ANSWER ME, OSAMU! ANSWER ME!"
Dazai inhales, "Yes."
"YOU ONLY PRETENDED TO BE AFFECTIONATE TOWARDS ME SO YOU COULD WOO ME OVER, RIGHT?!"
Dazai hesitates this time, but Chuuya's too furious to let him defend his claims.
"You used me, didn't you, Dazai Osamu?! You used me for your own good, to heal yourself of the disease." Chuuya's throat constricts, his voice wavering, sore and raw with all the yelling. His chest burns with the monster waiting to unleash itself at Dazai, to make him pay, calling for death, death, death; death to the traitor. His hands tingle with the urge to destroy something, to lay waste to his apartment, smash everything in sight.
Dazai shudders, and with a small voice he answers, "Yes."
The answer strikes a blow into Chuuya's heart, a thousand spears stabbing through his soul.
He is so, so, so fucking foolish to have thought that Dazai cared for him after their many years of being apart. He feels so stupid to have trusted Dazai again, to have let him play him like a piano, to let Dazai manipulate him with each key he pressed.
The apartment falls silent, save for Chuuya's light, ragged breaths.
He says then, with a lighter voice, broken and shaky, "What am I to you truly, Dazai Osamu?"
Nothing but a toy. Nothing but a doll in rags, forced to obey my whims. Not a part of Soukoku. Not my hatrack. Not my chibi. Not my partner, Chuuya expects Dazai to say.
"No one," Dazai says instead with a steady tone, surprising Chuuya if not the least.
"Then leave." A sense of deja vu hits Chuuya as he raises his index finger toward the door. "Leave and take your stupid pills with you. LEAVE!"
He doesn't want to see Dazai anymore. He can't handle his face, his voice, the soft touches he leaves on Chuuya's skin - intimate brushes. He doesn't want any more of Dazai, no more, no more, no more.
He could care less about the Hanahaki Disease, heck he wishes that it would kill Dazai off right on the spot so Chuuya wouldn't have to deal with the hole Dazai's left in his chest since they were fifteen.
Dazai shuts the door behind him without another word, which Chuuya is grateful for. He collapses onto his knees, his organs feeling as if they'd been rearranged as if his limbs were placed into other positions. The god in his chest bites at him, feeding off his anger, his sorrow, sending tingles down his arm to his fingertips.
With an ear-splitting yell, Chuuya bottles his emotions in his scream - lonely, dark, empty. Devoid of emotion, he's been used with, been played with, nothing but a puppet abandoned in a desolate place, forever fated to be alone for the rest of his life.
He makes sure he yells loud enough for Dazai to hear from outside the door; his heart-shattering, painful scream, and he wants Dazai to hear all of it: This is what you did, what you've done to me. Are you happy at last?
When he's finished, his voice is raw tenfold, his throat dry from all the yelling. He's sure his neighbors heard it, but he could care less.
He could care less about everything - could care less about whether Mori would call him in for another mission at the break of dawn, whether Dazai left and never returned, whether he lived or died.
Fool Chuuya once, the blame is entirely on him for believing that Dazai would stay as the other half of Soukoku, as the bandage that fixed his broken heart. But, fool him the second time, that was Dazai's fault - his fault for leaving the Port Mafia, breaking Chuuya's heart, then coming back and repeating the process, again and again and again.
And some people say, third time's the charm.
So this time, when Dazai does come back and beg for Chuuya's forgiveness, he won't allow him to.
He won't allow Dazai to come into his apartment again, won't allow Dazai to contact him, won't allow Dazai to toy with his feelings.
But most of all, Chuuya won't allow Dazai another chance to set things right.
Dazai retches into the toilet bowl for what seems like the hundredth time today, the red of his blood traveling through the water in swirls.
His mind swims in a haze, the bright red of the flower petals sticking out violently against the white of the toilet. He tastes the sweet nectar of the flowers, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.
Dazai spits out the remaining petals lingering on his lips then proceeds to wash his face and mouth after ridding the evidence of his disease.
If only Chuuya had listened to him. If only he'd been able to explain that no, he wasn't using Chuuya as a mere plaything. If only he'd been able to tell Chuuya that the Hanahaki Disease was because of him, because Dazai loves Chuuya but Chuuya doesn't reciprocate those feelings.
The disease had started when Fyodor rid the world of abilities, a week before he'd met Chuuya outside of the bar.
He's never wanted to use Chuuya for his own needs, but he had realized his feelings for the redhead several weeks after he'd left the Port Mafia. When he saw the redhead again during the Shibusawa ordeal, the disease captured him in its hands, shackling him in its hold.
At first, he'd decided against the idea to go up to Chuuya and tell him that he loves him; he knew the short stack wouldn't believe that Dazai, out of all other people, loved him and was suffering because he didn't share the same feelings.
But the pills Yosano had given him just weren't working, ineffective against the disease. Every day, he would cough up camellias, bright red, an eyesore.
In one last desperate attempt to cling to life because there's so much he hasn't done yet, he turns to wooing his partner in loving him back again.
He'd started with simple things, presents, jewelry, teasing, then took another step forward and slept in the same bed as Chuuya.
However, no progress was made; Chuuya was still as hostile as he was before, save for when Dazai's jokes would get him to blush beautifully.
The fear that hit him like a truck when Chuuya stood in the doorway after he went to Yosano's for more pills was suffocating, blocking his air passages and squeezing the life out of him.
He confessed to all his sins - yes, yes, yes.
Yes, I used you to heal my disease; yes, I don't think of you as anyone important; yes, I never loved you in the first place.
He lied instead of explaining things, lied instead of having to face the horror on Chuuya's face when he would be told that he has to suffer more, had to go through a new cycle of pain all because of Dazai.
He loves Chuuya too much to watch his chibi suffer, so when he knew that Chuuya would never love him back in the way he had when they were teenagers, Dazai purposely placed the bottle of pills in his coat pocket and left the house.
He purposely let their bond of trust break, snap in two and fray at the edges. He purposely let their relationship end with an interrupted chord, ugly and indistinct.
He purposely stood outside the apartment door, heart-throbbing as he listened to Chuuya's howl of pain; pain caused by him.
And he left, left because he wants to spare Chuuya of his misery. Now that Dazai was out of Chuuya's life equation, the redhead wouldn't need to think about Dazai anymore, wouldn't need to care about his ex-partner any longer.
His hands shake when he takes a paper towel to dry his hands on. The lump in his throat seems to enlarge, and he hastily grabs the handle of the bathroom door.
As he's opening the door, he swears an oath.
Dazai swears that he will not let Chuuya suffer any longer, even if it costs him his life.
To atone for all the horrible things he's
done in the past and the present, Dazai will gladly pay with his life.
Weeks go by without the sound of Dazai's voice or his teasing remarks and Chuuya's left in his loneliness. At the same time, Chuuya presses back against the creature writhing in his chest, using his fists to pummel dummies instead every night, sweat sticking to his neck as he tries his best to rid of the fuzzy feeling in his hands. He imagines that the dummy is Dazai, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he teases Chuuya about his height. Fist after fist, he releases all his anger onto the plastic model; die, die, die.
There's a hole in his heart he's tempted to fill; he tells himself he doesn't need Dazai, doesn't need him in his life and it's better to entirely forget about him. But something holds him back; maybe it's the lingering presence of the suicidal maniac in his apartment or the fact that Chuuya can't seem to get him out of his head.
So, he decides to go out for a quick walk before resuming his paperwork.
"You sure you don't want me to accompany you, Chuuya?" Kouyou asks softly, a cup of hot tea in her hands.
"No," Chuuya blurts out, "No. No thank you. It's just a quick walk, I'll be back before you know it."
Kouyou merely nods her head and Chuuya's out the Port Mafia doors in several heartbeats. He tugs on his gloves, breathing in the cold, crisp air of the morning, his footsteps tapping against the asphalt. The tingling in his hands has been growing more irritable by the day, the monster in him howling at Chuuya to let him out, to let him destroy something, anything.
He pins his arms to his side, his hands clenched into tight fists as he enters the convenience store in haste, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the counter.
Chuuya's quaking hands fumble to pull out his wallet and his ID, practically shoving the money at the cashier.
Gritting his teeth, he lights one as soon as he's out of the store, pressing the unlighted part to his lips. He takes a long draw and finally, the feeling starts to simmer away.
His body relaxes, his shoulders sagging while he breathes out smoke through his nose and mouth. His eyes scan the sidewalks as he leans against the wall next to the doors of the convenience store, hoping that none of his subordinates will pop out of nowhere and surprise him.
Just as Chuuya's about to take another draw of his cigarette, a mass of brown fills his vision. He ends up choking on some of the smoke, his head snapping to the side to catch another glimpse of the person.
His lips part to shout out an oh-so-familiar name, the first syllable resting upon his tongue idly.
"Da-" He takes a step forward, an arm outstretched to grab the person's arm.
The stranger turns to him, an expression of confusion filling their features.
Chuuya's heart drops to his chest when he realizes that he's gotten the wrong person - one with brown hair and black eyes and freckles.
The rest of the name dissolves in his mouth, his fingers curling into a fist as he pulls it back to his side.
"Sorry, wrong person," he apologizes and turns away, his fingers crushing the cigarette he'd lighted moments before.
With a disappointed gaze, Chuuya extinguishes the light of the cigarette on a nearby ashtray, his eyes half-lidded.
He had been certain that the stranger had been Dazai. With the same build and clothing, he resembled Dazai to an extent where Chuuya had mistaken them for being the suicidal maniac.
Chuuya swears at himself for being such an idiot; Dazai is never coming back and that's final. He isn't going to disrupt Chuuya's life anymore, he isn't here, he would never be in Chuuya's sight ever again.
But everywhere Chuuya turns, he sees something related to Dazai - take that stranger for example. Everything from the slightest glimmer of a light blue to a tan-colored has Chuuya thinking of Dazai. His breath would stop short in his throat, causing a strangled noise to come from his mouth when he sees something vaguely similar to Dazai, and the sense of disappointment and tinge of regret when Chuuya realizes that no, that isn't Dazai but something made out of his imagination.
His phone rings abruptly, dragging him back to reality, far away from his crowded thoughts. The caller ID on his screen states Kouyou, but Chuuya would have picked up the call nonetheless.
"Hello?" he answers.
"Chuuya, dear?"
"Yes, Ane-san?"
"Mori's called an Executive meeting in ten minutes. Just a heads up."
"Oh, thank you. I'll be there on time."
Chuuya ends the call with a 'beep', shoving his phone back in his pants pocket.
So, a meeting, huh. Maybe it'll distract him from his troubles for the time being.
Maybe.
"Mimic's come back."
Those three words are nearly enough to send Chuuya into a state of temporary paralyzation.
Mori's eyes slide around the room, drinking in the expressions of his Executives. Chuuya struggles to keep his face straight though the fear has landed itself in its stomach, turning him sick to the core.
The last time Mimic had attacked, Sakunosuke Oda had paid with his life against his fight with Andre, Mori had almost been killed, and Dazai Osamu left the Port Mafia.
Chuuya's knee bounces up and down while Mori continues to talk, his teeth grinding together.
"We thought they'd all died four years ago, but some of them had been living underground for the past several years. Unlike last time, we had no heads up before Mimic resurfaced in Japan. Their presence in this city had been undetected until this morning, and from all the available intel we've gathered, they're going to strike at noon."
This time, unlike their leader, his substitute has not decided to attack the Port Mafia."
Chuuya lets out a sigh of relief through his nose.
"This time, Andre's substitute is looking for someone with wits more than the capability to fight. And so..." Mori places his hands together, intertwining his fingers as he places his chin on his hands.
The tension in the room thickens and Chuuya feels a lump forming in his throat, suffocating and tight. He doesn't need to be told where this is going. His heart hammers in his chest, his gloves becoming unbearable with the heat and sweat that's pooling underneath the fabric.
"Mimic is going to attack the Armed Detective Agency," Mori chuckles humorlessly, "Letting both our enemies fight to the death is like killing two birds with one stone - easy and efficient."
Next to Chuuya, Kouyou nods her approval.
"Well," Mori stands up front his seat with Chuuya and Kouyou following suit, "let's see how this all plays out, shall we? Let's go, Elise-chan."
Kouyou and Chuuya dip their heads when Mori exits the room with Elise (who had been in the corner of the room this whole time) by his side.
The door shuts with a soft bang, leaving Chuuya and Kouyou bathing in a soft pink light of the meeting room.
"You're not going to let Mimic get to them, are you?" Kouyou asks softly when Chuuya takes a step forward, about to leave the room.
"Yes."
"You know they're going to target Dazai first, right?"
Chuuya swallows.
"Yes. I don't care. He can go die. He's always wanted death, let him live his dream."
"He was your partner, was he not?" Kouyou's voice lowers into a lighter, softer tone.
A blanket of silence drapes over the student and his mentor, the humming of the lights being the only sound in the room.
"He was," Chuuya states blandly, "He's not anymore."
Dazai's broken his heart, his soul, his last remnants of hope. He deserves to die, that son of a bitch. Dazai deserves to die for all the things he's done to Chuuya, all those inexplicable things he's done, all the things he's made Chuuya suffer through for his selfish desires.
Kouyou doesn't contradict Chuuya's statements anymore but instead opens her parasol and proceeds to walk out of the room.
Chuuya watches underneath his lashes as she takes the handle of the door and turns it, then pauses.
"Chuuya..."
"Yes, Ane-san?"
"Please be careful."
Then the door shuts in front of him.
Dazai can't take it anymore.
His lungs are practically bruised from the inside, sore and filled with camellias. He coughs up more petals than the number of stars in the galaxy, throwing up blood multiple times in the process.
He breathes in wheezes, his diaphragm screaming with pain as blood forces its way up his throat, the metallic tang coating his teeth and tongue.
By now, everyone at the Armed Detective Agency knows that Dazai has the Hanahaki Disease and that he's going to die soon if that Mafia executive doesn't love him back.
They try to help him in every way possible, but as the days progressed, there were no improvements to his health.
Today, he's asked to be left alone in his dorm room, the curtains drawn and clothes discarded like trash on the ground. Dazai tosses and turns in his futon, occasionally jolting upward to sprint to the bathroom, hurling his guts out in the toilet.
Scattered red petals stain the porcelain tiles as if the ground were bleeding puddles. Dazai clutches the edge of the sink as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blood smearing across his blanched skin.
Dazai stares at himself in the mirror, disgusted with his reflection. Dark circles lay under his eyes, accompanied by a pair of cracked lips. His hair is tousled and uncombed; he is the living dead at this point.
His legs are barely able to support him while he goes back to his futon, collapsing under the covers.
He won't be saved.
Even Yosano can't save him, with or without her ability.
It was hopeless.
The look on Chuuya's face when he realized that Dazai had been using him makes Dazai's heart ache suddenly, his eyes drooping in sorrow.
He wishes he can apologize before time is up, before he departs the world in a whirlwind of camellia petals. He wishes he can tell Chuuya that he genuinely loves him, wishes he can bury his nose in his partner's hair while he explains his actions, apologizes for all he's done wrong.
But the memory of how fiery Chuuya's eyes were when he told Dazai to leave his apartment restricts the suicidal maniac from barging into the executive's apartment (not that he has the strength to anyway).
The clamoring of his thoughts stops short when Dazai hears the door's handle click, turning.
At first, he assumes that it's Atsushi or someone from the Agency, but as the silence prolongs, Dazai crawls out of his bed, suppressing a violent cough. He reaches for his nightstand, for the gun placed inside one of the drawers.
He takes off the safety catch on the gun, cocking it and pointing it at his door. His heart pounds with fear; he has no defense whatsoever in his vulnerable state.
The silence shatters into a million fragments when bullets pepper through the doors, embedding themselves in the walls behind Dazai.
Dazai doesn't fire back blindly, saving the bullets for when his opponent decides to show up. With a grunt, he heaves his weak body out of the window, stumbling when his feet crash onto the concrete outside.
Dazai then runs, adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream like caffeine. He runs to where his legs take him - the Agency.
Dazai gasps for breath when impromptu coughs seize his body and he has to stop to cough up blood-soaked petals. His hand fumbles for the doorknob, and his body collapses once the door is open.
"Dazai-san!"
Skinny arms wrap under his armpits and hold him, easing him onto a chair.
Dazai dry heaves onto the ground, gagging when nothing comes out.
"Dazai! What happened!"
Dazai raises his eyes up at Kunikida.
"Mimic," he says. Dazai's too familiar with the organization's attacks and tactics.
"You mean-"
"The organization who attacked the Port Mafia all those years ago."
Atsushi steps up, his hands hugging his elbows as Kyoka stands by his side. "Why are they here?"
"Probably to wipe us out as well," Dazai predicts, "All they wish is Death, and the only ones capable of granting their wish at the moment is us."
Atsushi opens his mouth to speak again when the building shudders, a large explosion wiping out the lower levels of the Agency.
Part of ceiling collapse onto the detectives when the building gives out, crumbling to the ground.
Dazai can only see black and gray when he feels himself falling, making an impact with several pieces of debris.
Something smashes into his temple and renders Dazai unconscious.
When Dazai awakes, his lungs are still filled with the smell of flowers, this time mixed with the musky scent of dust and cement.
Coughing, Dazai pushes at the block of concrete above him with the remaining strength he has, a dull throb at the side of his head.
Sunlight blinds him momentarily while he looks around at what used to be the Armed Detective Agency.
Thankfully - when Dazai counts all the people rising from the debris - all the Agency members are alive. Battered, but alive.
Without their abilities, they are no longer able to defend themselves well enough with only weapons as their form of defense.
So when the bullets start raining down upon the members, all they can do is seek cover behind the blocks of roof and wood, shielding their bodies. Screams form around them, citizens abandoning their houses out of fear, running to a safer place.
Kunikida's the first one to fight back, pulling out a light grenade and tossing it at the attackers.
It goes off with a flashbang, and Kyoka cocks a gun fast enough to shoot down the opponents.
"DAZAI!" He hears Kunikida yell his name before something pierces his abdomen, a strangled gasp slipping from his throat.
"Well, well," a foot is placed on his fresh wound, causing Dazai's breath to hitch in pain, a string of coughs bubbling in his chest, "Dazai Osamu, am I right?"
Dazai bites his bottom lip when the heel of his captor's foot digs into the injury, ripping it wider.
He can feel his breaths become uneven, spots of black splattering across his vision.
"I thought you'd be a more formidable opponent, with your intelligence and all." A sigh accompanies the click of a tongue in disappointment.
Dazai strains to look up at the stranger, but the man clutches a part of Dazai's hair and brings his chin off the ground.
"Instead, you run off to your friends like a dog with its tail between its legs," the stranger taunts again.
Sparks erupt in his vision when Dazai's chin is slammed against the jutting edges of small pieces of rocks, his teeth clattering.
"Kill them all."
Dazai's eyes fly open, his eyes wide as he hears the sounds of guns cocking, pointing themselves at his comrades.
Dazai's abdomen screams with pain when he attempts to take a deep breath and his jaw is clamped shut due to the pain.
He can't tell Kunikida to run, can't tell Kyoka, with her arms spread out, her body acting as a shield for Atsushi, to run, can't tell Tanizaki, who is hiding his sister behind his back to flee, can't tell Fukuzawa and Ranpo and Yosano to run.
"At my command," the man above him says, causing Dazai to twist in his grip, ignoring the pain and the blood seeping into his lapel coat.
"Not so fast, you motherfucker."
A set of feet stomp against the gravel, shoes crunching against the broken bits of plaster.
Dazai looks up to meet fiery orange hair and sapphire blue eyes, their brows furrowed in rage.
A helicopter chops in the distance, leaving the person they'd just dropped off.
"Chuu... ya," Dazai breaths, his heart nearly stopping when he sees his former partner, who he'd sworn he'd leave, facing Mimic.
"Oh? Nakahara Chuuya of the Port Mafia, is it? Delighted to see you here."
Chuuya takes a glance at the speaker, then at Dazai, who's positioned under their foot. Dazai swears he sees a flash of utter rage and despise flash through Chuuya's eyes.
"Let them leave," Chuuya says confidently, "Let Dazai and the others leave. I'll finish you all myself."
"Oh? Him here?" Dazai's picked up by his hair once more, his neck craning while his back stays positioned, flat against the ground. "Is he your lover?"
"Shut the fuck up and let them go," Chuuya growls.
"So he is, isn't he. You still care for him to an extent, huh? The two parts of Soukoku: Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu. Rumored to be lovers at one point, and the rest is history."
"I don't care about him anymore," Chuuya states blandly, removing his gloves, "But I won't allow anyone but me to end that bastard's life."
Dazai's struck by confusion when Chuuya takes off his gloves, dropping them onto the ground while his glare to fixated onto the man above him. Chuuya never takes off his gloves, even when fighting. Unless it was Corruption, but that is... that's impossible, right?
The possibility hits Dazai like a ton of bricks. How hadn't he seen it before? The tugging of Chuuya's gloves, the increased amount of smoking, the shaking hands.
How had he been so utterly blind about this?! Arahabaki was a god, not an ability. And Dostoyevsky had once rid the world of abilities, but he hadn't managed to strip the god of calamity and destruction of its powers.
But if Chuuya were to use Corruption now, there would be no one to stop his rampage until he died.
A hollow feeling settles itself in Dazai's stomach, and the thought of throwing up seems surprisingly pleasant as of now.
"CHUUYA, DON'T!" Dazai hollers. he doesn't hold back the pleading, desperate tone in his voice when he shouts out his chibi's name, his nails digging into the ground.
He can't let Chuuya die like this. Not in this type of way. Not in such a lonely, dark, empty place. Not with Corruption, Dazai couldn't let his partner die in such a morbid way.
He still has things to tell Chuuya, still has to apologize to him, still has to confess, still has to- has to-
It's too late already. Chuuya's lips are moving, forming words to summon the beast within him.
"CHUUYA!"
"Grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again."
A blinding red light consumes the area and a scream tears at the air. Patterns crawl up Chuuya's skin, red swirling up his neck, his face, his arms, consuming him, possessing him.
His pupils turn white and Chuuya lets out a low laugh, his fingers twitching with the power beneath his skin.
Dazai can only watch helplessly as Chuuya launches himself at the unsuspecting army of 40 men, ripping through their barricades with ease, destroying weapon after weapon, tearing souls from their bodies.
Laughter rumbles from Chuuya's throat while he throws balls of gravity at his opponents, obliterating them right on the spot. Blood starts to dribble steadily from his nose - the first sign of the borders of his limits.
Mimic fights back eagerly, waiting for their death to arrive by the hands of this chaotic beast.
Everyone's struck more by awe than horror when Chuuya descends upon them like a blanket of death, killing everyone on sight.
The battlefield grows silent after multiple rounds of bullets - all deflected by Corruption.
Chuuya continues, his palms forming balls of red, tossing them at the ground, one after the other, forming holes. His laughter bounces off the broken walls of the demolished houses, his mouth wide open in a malicious grin, craving destruction, more, more, more.
Dazai drags himself on his elbows over to Chuuya, stopping short, several inches in front of the man.
He pushes himself to his feet, a searing pain passing through his stomach as he lets out a string of coughs, the sweet scent of camellias filling his nostrils.
Chuuya's about to launch another ball of black and red at the ground when Dazai wraps his arms around the shorter man's waist, his breath shuddering at the crook of Chuuya's neck.
"Rest, Chuuya," Dazai mutters against his partner's ear, though he knows it'll do little to help Chuuya out of the infinite darkness he's trapped in.
Somehow, someway, his voice works its way to Chuuya's brain and the executive collapses in Dazai's hold, bringing Dazai to his knees.
Chuuya's head is placed on Dazai's knees, his body twitching with the overflow of power coursing through his veins.
"Chuuya..." Dazai places a hand to Chuuya's cheek, his voice wavering.
Dazai knows Chuuya can't hear him, he'll never be able to hear Dazai again.
Another violent jolt of Chuuya's body sends him hacking out blood that splatters onto the concrete. Dazai places his arm under Chuuya's head as his fingers brush the bangs away from Chuuya's forehead.
Chuuya's still jolting violently in Dazai's hold, his eyes twitching, pupils still white. Dazai looks at the scene before him and he wants to vomit.
He can't bear to see Chuuya like this, it hurts him too much to do so. He promised himself he wouldn't let Chuuya suffer again because of him but the idiot just had to come and rescue him even though he knew it would cost him his life.
It is all his fault again. His fault, his fault, his fault. His promise to himself, to Chuuya, has been broken and now Chuuya's dying and he can't do a damn thing about it.
He knows that it'll take time for Corruption to eat Chuuya entirely, to kill him, and Dazai just can't bear to watch Chuuya suffer any longer. Just thinking about him dying without anyone by his side, encased in a cocoon of darkness, makes Dazai sick to the core.
"I'm sorry," Dazai's lip quivers when he struggles not to let his tears fall, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
His hand shakes as he reaches for the knife strapped to Chuuya's thigh, removing it from its sheath.
"I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry." Dazai's lips tremble when they place a last farewell kiss upon Chuuya's bloody forehead.
"Forgive me, mon cher," Dazai sinks the tip of the blade deep into Chuuya's heart, his body racking with sobs.
When he removes the knife, Chuuya's as limp as a doll, his lips slightly parted but his eyes are wide, staring off into the distance.
Dazai couldn't have watched Chuuya suffer. It was too tormenting, too agonizing for both of them. He did what he had to do.
Tears leak down his face as he closes Chuuya's eyes, staring at his former partner's bloody face - still serene even when in death.
Dazai cradles Chuuya's body in his arms as he screams into the sky, screams at how unfair life is, screams at how Chuuya had died by his hands, in his arms' hold.
He screams and screams even with the knowledge that it won't be able to bring the dead back to life.
The world is a birdcage, faded in color. Even if I lament, I can't get out of this prison.