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He found the envelope tucked away in the back of the desk drawer, not sealed, but with the flap tucked in. Meant to be forgotten for years, meant to stay hidden. Out of sight, out of mind. Or, that’s what the intention was.
But here he is, sitting down and pulling out a letter that was never supposed to be read, unfolding it and holding it flat against the desktop, eyes immediately drawn to the familiar, bold lettering adorning the top of the page;
Dear shitty Dazai,
I hope this letter doesn’t find you.
He can’t help but smile bitterly at the opener, lightly brushing a fingertip over the heavy underline that digs into the paper so much that it nearly tore through the other side.
But then he keeps going.
I hope, wherever you are, you’re happy with yourself.
It’s a little weird, reading those words over. They never were friendly with each other, not since the day Chuuya kicked Dazai into that wall all those years ago. They frequently told each other how much they hoped for the other to get injured, actually, so the sentiment on the page is a far cry from how they acted face to face.
I hope that you found someplace safe, away from this mess you left behind.
It’s easy to misunderstand, but Dazai could figure out what he meant. Things got… messy, when he left. Deemed a traitor, but his seat was left open for him, leaving a minor power imbalance in his wake that Chuuya took upon himself to fix, regardless of whether or not he found out why he left.
I hope that you make it through the bad days, even if you don’t have someone there that will yell at you.
It didn’t matter how strained things got between them. Chuuya was always there when Dazai couldn’t get himself out of bed that day. Tried so hard to make the day bearable.
They never talked about it, after the fact.
And Dazai never did tell him how much he appreciated it, if he did.
I hope that if we ever see each other again, that you’re doing better than you ever did with me.
They could yell at each other how much they hated the other until they were blue in the face, but it didn’t stop the days they’d spent at the arcade, playing like the normal teenagers they couldn’t be.
They always brought out the kids in each other. The ghosts of something they lost when they were way too young.
If we ever see each other again, I hope I can finally tell you this stuff myself and all the other things I left unsaid before.
God, there were so many things he never mentioned. Dazai could see it in his eyes, he knew he could. During the last couple of months before he left, there were so many nights they spent together, hidden away under the blankets of the bed as they gave each other what little they could.
It was always a “no feelings attached” deal.
After so many times, clearly it meant more. It always did.
I hope that someone’s there for you, even if it can’t be me.
They always were possessive of each other. It wasn’t healthy, but… Chuuya was one of very few good relationships Dazai had in his life. And Dazai pulled Chuuya into Yokohama’s underworld. Maybe it was only fitting that they’d be stuck together.
Inseparable… until they weren’t.
I hope that someday I can finally tell you—
… That line is crossed out, but even now he can fill in the blank.
I hope you’re alive.
I hope you’re loved.
I hope you know that.
And whenever you’re ready, I hope you come find me.
— Chuuya
The words are clear, but the page is littered with old tear stains that have long since dried. And before there’s even a chance of fresh ones being laid down, the letter is carefully folded back up and tucked away in its envelope once more. Except, instead of being returned to its home in the back of a cluttered drawer, it’s stowed in his pocket, to be placed somewhere else.
And, letting out a slow, unsteady breath, the only sign that any of those words really had reached him after too many years, Dazai takes a step back from his ex-partner’s desk.
They’d only reunited recently, and the amount of times they’d seen each other since then was... abysmally low, and neither meetings were the time nor place for heart-to-heart conversations.
A dungeon where they fought, the air charged with the tension of everything that had been festering since the day he’d left.
The single night they reunited to rescue Yumeno, when Chuuya still trusted Dazai with his life.
So when he hears the distant creak of the front door opening, a certain chibi calling into the apartment with apprehension (understandably so, considering the door had been left unlocked), the brunette does something he wouldn’t have predicted himself doing.
He makes that opportunity himself.
Leaving Chuuya’s room, he walks out to the living room, smiling at his scowling ex-partner with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
“Hey, Chuuya. Let’s talk.”