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Chuuya felt his presence before he saw him. The lingering shadow that moved across the poorly lit ally in a single fluid motion, too natural to be noticed by the common eye. But Chuuya had spent years with him. He knew how he worked, how could he not? He knew he would pop up at some point, waiting in the center of the street for their inevitable meeting. Maybe it would be this particular night, maybe it would be tomorrow. Or maybe he would never have to see that sick bastard’s face again.
The morning after he left, Chuuya went to work anyway. At first, he had though his partner’s absence was another one of his ‘practical jokes’ or stupid suicide attempts. It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave Chuuya alone for the first few hours of their shifts.
He was his partner. He trusted him, relied on him to be there when things turned.
But as Chuuya struggled, bleeding out after another fight without him, he realized he was alone. He had left him, and not for his usual ridiculous reasons. He was gone from the Port Mafia. For good this time.
Chuuya did not grieve the loss. He did not cry for him, he did not miss him. He had never needed a maniac partner and he never would. He was better off without him. Alone. He never needed a traitor, nor would he ever grieve one.
“My my my, Chuuya, you really haven’t grown.” That damn voice.
Chuuya grinned, willing himself not to end him then and there. No betrayer deserved that quick an end. “Still an asshole, I see.”
“What do you want, Dazai?” Chuuya’s back was still to him. He didn’t want to turn around. Turning to Dazai would mean finally facing the fact he had been abandoned by his closest friend.
But still, Chuuya spun on his heel so that he could see the man he was speaking to. So much time had passed since Dazai and Chuuya had shared the same space, and Chuuya couldn’t stand the calm air to Dazai’s eyes. His hands were buried in a beige coat, almost as though he was already bored with his company.
He was a different man than Chuuya had grown to know. He was not Chuuya’s Dazai- the Port Mafia’s Dazai- anymore.
Dazai didn’t speak for a moment, and Chuuya had half the mind to leave him standing there at the end of the dark street just like he had left him behind all those years ago.
“What the hell, Dazai?! Either tell me what it is you want or get out of my sight.”
Chuuya didn’t try to control his rage this time. He had been left answerless for too long now, and the seeds of doubt Dazai had planted bloomed into a garden of hatred that weighed down on Chuuya’s chest.
“You didn’t care then, so why come back n-”
“You know damn well why I’m here, Chuuya.” Dazai’s voice came like the rain. Soft and heavy, beating the ground until great canyons and valleys were formed on its surface. The earth shattered around Chuuya, leaving him suspended in his own thoughts, haunted by Dazai’s ghost. The violent crimsons painting his world faded, until all that remained was the cold chocolate of his old friend’s eyes.
Chuuya stopped breathing for a moment, hoping beyond all hope that Dazai wasn’t really there. Praying to whatever god could hear him that the man before him did not exist. Everything would have been so much easier that way.
“Oh.” The word left him in a whisper that echoed against the buildings surrounding them. Everything was quiet, like the world had somehow gone to sleep, leaving only the pair of them to taint the perfectly crafted stillness of the night.
“We both know it had to be this way.” He didn’t dare look at Chuuya, and the man was grateful for it. A blank stare over his shoulder was better than whatever he would have found in Dazai’s eyes. Neither of them wanted to look the other in the eye, for that would mean this was truly the end.
“So that’s it then,” Chuuya’s voice was delicate and smooth, unlike the raging storm that overtaken his mind.
Why. Why. Why.
Dazai didn’t move. Chuuya’s calm was the twist of the knife he had plunged into his own side. The dead, cold look in his eyes froze every part of Dazai’s body.
“So you just get to stand here, the better person when you are the one who knows nothing of loyalty.” Chuuya did not move his eyes away from the road behind Dazai. He couldn’t take another dose of poison.
“Chuuya, I never said-”
“Dazai,” his voice was soft for once, quiet in a way he was sure he had never been before. “Get the hell out.”
Chuuya tilted his head down, allowing himself the mercy of hiding his face from him. There was no way in hell Chuuya would show weakness to a man who had stabbed him in the back, even if it was Dazai.
“Chuuya,” he spoke as though he were consoling a child, unsure of what to say. What could he say? Nothing would ever change the fact that Chuuya deserved better than Dazai had given him. “If I could have you back, if only for a moment, I’m not sure I would be able to let you go again.”
“Then why did you leave in the first place?” Chuuya finally met Dazai’s eyes, burning into them with all of the hurt and resentment he had carried with him in the years after Dazai vanished. He wanted him to see what he had done. He wanted him to feel guilt for it.
Chuuya didn’t want Dazai’s goodbyes or apologies, he had just wanted him to stay. But Dazai would never stay just for Chuuya, everything he had done that day wasn’t for him. It wasn’t even for Dazai himself, and that was the part Chuuya could never forgive him for.
Dazai had left. He had betrayed his home and his family, yet not for himself. It was an entirely selfish act, but in the name of a dead man.
“It was nice knowing you, shortie.” Dazai’s smirk was frail, a desperate attempt to not implode at Chuuya’s words.
Chuuya’s remark fell monotone on the world. “See you in hell, asshole.”
Neither man dared to look anywhere but straight in front of them, for how can you meet the eyes of the person whose heart you broke?
They walked towards each other slowly, and for a fraction of a second Chuuya wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Dazai and never let go. Letting go was always the hardest part. It was when he left the Sheep, and it was now. So, instead of grabbing his partner and running until Yokohama was far behind them, Chuuya walked past Dazai. He didn’t register anything his eyes saw out on the street. The only thing that consumed his mind was Dazai doing the same to him.
Walking by, without a second glance.
Is this what it means to move on? No, moving on meant letting go. And neither Dazai nor Chuuya were ready to let go of the other. They had been through hell together, and despite it all, they may have even been friends.
Chuuya kept walking until the sun started to peak above the horizon. He walked on and on until was sure Dazai wouldn’t be there when he glanced over his shoulder.
After all, you can never let a traitor see you cry.