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The last time they saw each other was two days before he left the organization for good. And maybe if either of them had known that ahead of time, just maybe they would've had more to that day that last morning.
It had been like any other morning. The older had awoken at the crack of dawn; the younger of course hadn't slept a wink all night. The two of them simply went about their own routines like it was any other day– because it was. Looking back, Chuuya could vaguely recall Dazai mentioning something going on with another group. He couldn't quite remember the name.. something short and apparently too irrelevant to stay ingrained in his mind. Dazai had seemed stressed about it in the way only Dazai could, in the subtle ways his eyes flitted about and the barely noticeable way he carried himself. No one would've picked up on it other than Chuuya however.
Although Dazai was an Executive, and therefore didn't often go into detail about his assignments. Chuuya knew better than to try and ask. If Dazai felt he needed to know he'd simply tell him. While that felt a bit one sided, Chuuya understood, and thus didn't mind.
That morning was normal. Normal for Double Black, at least. Chuuya in the kitchen of his apartment finishing his second cup of coffee, Dazai watching him from where he usually perched himself by the door. Dazai might as well have lived there with him, given how often he found himself in the redhead's apartment. And although they bickered, the older one didn't seem to mind. It was better in his mind than the storage container he'd dragged the brunette out of a few years earlier. That morning Chuuya and Dazai had simply been as they always were. Dazai eventually got a phone call, and with his eyes darkening left with only a mere glance in Chuuya's direction, which the ginger understood. A basic form of "see you later", or "don't wait up". If only Chuuya had known that would be the last time he saw Dazai until years later, when the hurt and anger was already so deep neither felt it could be fixed; perhaps he'd have given him a proper goodbye instead of the half wave he gave in reality.
That night, Dazai didn't return to the apartment. That morning, Chuuya drank his coffee alone. The following day was similar. Each boy did their own work: Dazai hunting down Mimic for his dear friend Odasaku, Chuuya spending the day under Kouyou.
Then it happened the day after. Word soon spread that a lowly grunt had been killed in action. The grunt that many said Dazai was friends with. And Chuuya did recognize the name. On occasion when Dazai was nowhere to be found, Chuuya would ask later, and Dazai would merely reply, "With Odasaku and Ango."
Odasaku. Oda Sakunosuke. Oda Sakunosuke had died in combat with a rival organization to the Port Mafia. And when Chuuya arrived home, the brunette was still missing. Although it wasn't unusual—as Dazai often disappeared for days before showing up again like nothing happened—Chuuya couldn't help the uneasy feeling gripping him. He remembered the pain he'd felt when his friends died in the past. He feared Dazai would not take it well. He called him, just to check on him. No answer, straight to Dazai's annoying voicemail.
He called a few more times in the same half hour, only to get the same thing, a bored sounding voicemail. Chuuya left message after message saying to call, to text, something to let him at least know he was alive. Nothing. Absolute radio silence. The worry eating him alive eventually got so bad he felt he couldn't stay still in his home, returning to headquarters to.. well, he didn't know exactly. He just knew if he stayed there by himself he'd only think about what the hell it was the suicidal brunette was up to.
Chuuya then simply waited in Dazai's office, pitifully trying to figure out where he might be. It seemed no one knew. Kouyou popped her head in after some time, shaking her head softly at the boy and giving his hair a soft pat. She was one of the few who knew the true extent of he and Dazai's complicated relationship, even if she'd had her own warnings about the younger.
"I can't explain it, Ane-san. It just feels like something's wrong," he admitted to her as she made him tea, now in her office instead. She glanced back over at him, sighing ever so quietly and handing him the cup. "Now, boy, isn't it quite normal for him to disappear for days on end? Why should today be any different?"
"Because.. didn't his friend get killed?? Besides, he's never been predictable, it's Dazai we're talking about."
"Yes.. I suppose only time will truly tell, Chuuya. Now then.. go home and rest while you can, I'll inform you of any updates."
And with that, he was defeated. He knew better than to defy Kouyou, instead he thanked her for the tea, doing as she requested and going home again. Maybe he was simply overreacting.
And then it happened. Chuuya was mere meters from his car when it exploded, sending him flying and knocking him to his ass several meters away. The air smelled of smoke and.. blood?? Was he bleeding?? He sat up, coughing against the smoke filling the air around him and checking himself for injuries. He was fine though, save for a small scratch leaking blood down his cheek.
And Chuuya was devastated. To those that heard later or those that saw, they assumed it was over the loss of such a beautiful vehicle. But the ginger knew only one person could've gotten away with this so utterly cleanly. Dazai Osamu. And to Chuuya, the message in the car bomb was clear.
He wasn't coming back. It was meant as one last prank. One last message to him. One last "don't wait up". With a single act, he made it evident that anything he and Chuuya had ever had was simply to pass time. Every kiss, every secret, every word they shared. All of it was utterly and completely for nothing. At least.. it had been to Dazai, apparently.
And it was for that reason that when Chuuya eventually got home after the car bombing was dealt with, that was the reason he found himself in a pathetic heap on his kitchen floor. That was why he had found his best wine, the Petrus '89. He found himself trying to bury this horrible ache he felt ripping through his chest like the claws of a fierce beast. He hadn't been aware before that he was capable of sobbing so incessantly. And even when he was blackout drunk, he still laid there on cold tile, crying over the image in his mind of a tall lanky brunette clad in bandages and air of darkness following him. A tall lanky brunette boy, whose bandages or rare as hell smile Chuuya would never see again.
And as for Dazai? He was walking in a void. Ever since he left Odasaku's body to be collected he'd been shrouded in some horrible feeling he could neither shake nor describe. He'd walked out of Mori's office for the last time, still surrounded by it. He'd gone to his newest home in it, only to find nothing of importance to take with him to wherever it was he was going next. At the storage container, it was the same story. Anything he'd left after Chuuya had forced him out of it so long ago he didn't want. So Dazai simply hid in one of the safe houses no one knew he owned, not even Mori himself. Not even Chuuya. Dazai knew they wouldn't find him, not unless he meant for them to. And for charges of betrayal.. well that meant execution. Unless Mori had other twisted ideas to keep him alive. Dazai wouldn't mind dying after all. It would make sense for Mori to intentionally leaving him breathing simply to torture him.
But something was bothering him. For whatever reason, he felt compelled to see Odasaku's house. He knew where it was too. Or at least, how to find it. The Mafia didn't have an intelligence unit for nothing, after all. A single call under a faked name, and there he was. Odasaku's apartment.
Upon setting foot inside, the first thing he noticed was how “Odasaku” it seemed. It was decent, for even low ranking grunts made a fair salary in the Mafia. The place was enveloped in earth tones, with a few pieces of furniture scattered throughout the home in ways that simply made sense.
In the very back was where the bedroom was. The place he felt it was safe to assume his deceased friend had spent most of his time here in. Inside there laid a place to sleep, a nightstand, and a small table dresser next to the door that must be a closet. Out of pure curiosity Dazai opened it. It wasn't far off from his expectations. A few different clothing pieces, mostly earthen tones with a bit of color every so often. He noted a vest that seemed only for special occasions. Far more clothes than Dazai has ever owned before.
It felt wrong to leave his things here. Soon, clean up efforts would be sent to clear the place out, sell it and get rid of the belongings. They'd end up in the trash, or handed down to others in the Mafia. Dazai didn't like imagining Odasaku's things ending up in a mere garbage pile. Or belonging to anyone else.
Yet, Dazai knew he couldn't take everything with him. It would raise suspicions, and that he couldn't afford. Leaving tracks was undoubtedly a bad idea. Still, he couldn't wear these clothes forever. Not because he minded, hell he'd worn the same clothes for as long as he could until someone complained about his smell, usually being Chuuya. But these clothes.. they held the stench of Odasaku's blood, of his final cigarette. Keeping them on made Dazai's skin itch. Odasaku would've hated him for taking his clothes. But at least like this, not everything would be thrown away like it was nothing. But, with any luck Dazai would be dead soon anyhow. Staring at the articles of clothing, he cocked his head to try and decide.
And then he saw it. A trench coat the color of sand, hiding away in the back. He could faintly recall the deceased wearing it maybe once or twice. So there, in the bedroom of a dead man, Dazai, the Port Mafia's Demon Prodigy, shed his black robes of death and destruction.
He slowly unwrapped the blood stained bandages on his arms, washing off Odasaku's blood from his hands in the sink. He scrubbed and scrubbed for God knows how long, until the pale skin was pink with irritation. He'd leave the others alone for now, simply replacing the ones on his horridly scarred arms with the small supply he'd found in the tiny first aid kit Odasaku had in the barren looking bathroom.
To pair with the coat he picked a selection of beige colored work pants, along with a shirt he'd spotted fairly quickly among the earthy colors of the wardrobe. A pale blue, long sleeved pinstripe button up, seemingly never worn beforehand. Atop that he took the vest, too accustomed to wearing them now to go without. As he'd suspected, the clothes were a bit big on him; Odasaku had been taller and in all honesty heavier than Dazai's twig of a figure. But, they worked, and with time perhaps he'd grown into them better. Or be dead. Preferably the latter option.
And lastly, out of simple curiosity he went over to the dresser table. Opening it, he found simple things in it such as socks, underwear, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the small brown box taking up half of one drawer. Inside lay what seemed to be what small amount of fine jewelry Odasaku had owned. Funny, Dazai had never taken him for a jewelry man– probably because he couldn't recall him wearing it often. But sitting there next to a watch, was a bolo tie. With an opal stone as its centerpiece. Opal.. Odasaku's birthstone. Without words, Dazai simply took the tie, putting it on to finish off his new appearance.
Then, Dazai took the clothes he'd arrived in, went out into the forest and burned them, before doing one last thing. He had one more thing to take care of before he left it all for good. He hadn't forgotten about him. How could he?
Dazai approached the ginger's car as casually as he could muster, although no one was around to witness this anyway. If he was correct, Chuuya wouldn't be back out for at least another half hour, giving him plenty of time. Dropping to his knees he crawled underneath the car, working quickly to strap the device to the undercarriage. If you were to ever ask where he got the thing under such circumstances, you'd be wasting your time as Dazai would simply shrug. Continuing, he made sure the wires were properly connected, this was right and that made sense, until he shimmied back out from under the car, walking briskly across the street to wait for the short boy's return.
There he waited in the shadows, invisible to everyone passing by until he saw him. He'd be able to spot those fiery locks from anywhere. He waited, making sure to only press the button for detonation at the last second. Not too soon, but definitely not too late. He didn't want his dear Chuuya harmed because of this. And he watched from his spot, making sure the older boy was truly fine, watching suited men scramble around to find the perpetrator, watching a new car come and take Chuuya away. And then he left. He decided to wait for a week or two before going to Taneda, give the rumors of either his betrayal or suicide some time to simmer in the Mafia's ranks. It would give him time too. Time to say his goodbyes in his head to a pair of blue eyed redheads, one now dead, and one now heartbroken.
Odasaku he would always grieve for. He'd find himself visiting his grave year after year, or in Lupin pretending to be eighteen again. He would always miss his talk of curry, or updates on how his orphans were doing. He had always been willing to listen to Dazai talk, even about the most morbid of topics. He had been one of those friends one makes once in a lifetime if at all. The kind who are irreplaceable. The kind you miss long after they're gone. And Dazai wondered if the hurt would ever truly mend, if he'd ever be able to think maybe Odasaku would be proud. Wasn't that the point of this? Perhaps he was right, perhaps saving others lives instead of taking them.. perhaps it would be a tad bit more beautiful. And Dazai had made it a mission now: find an orphan along the way, honor his memory. Be a better mentor to the next than he had in the past. He'd be good.. even if to make up for all the time he never could before.
And as for Chuuya? He would miss Chuuya dearly, but the car bombing had to be done. He and Chuuya had been partners, people would talk. And Dazai couldn't bear the idea of the Mafia rejecting Chuuya, not after the Sheep did, not now that the Mafia truly was his family. He didn't like the idea of him being scrutinized for aiding the escape of a traitor; the very thought was stupid, Chuuya was loyal to a fault. He knew he'd hate him, but perhaps that was for the best. With luck Dazai would be dead within the year regardless. Chuuya could find a new partner, one that he'd actually get along with. One who didn't tease him.
That didn't mean Dazai wouldn't miss his Chuuya. His smile, his laugh, the way he rolled his eyes at him when he irritated him too far. How Chuuya would subconsciously rest his fingers on Dazai's wrist, checking for a pulse. Or how he similarly would lay on his chest to hear his heartbeat. He'd miss sleeping with him, both literally and intimately. He'd miss hearing him drunkenly prattle on about anything. He'd miss Chuuya's insults that had no real menace behind them. Or the scars on his lithe body, or how he'd never seemed afraid of seeing Dazai's own. Or the way he'd craved Dazai's ability on bad nights when the struggle within him became too loud. He would miss holding him in his arms, running his calloused fingers through that mess of hair. He'd miss it all, even soothing Chuuya when he worried about him. Comforting– or at least, Dazai's attempt at comforting— him when he cried, which he found ironic as he hated to see him the slightest bit upset. The way they could read each other like a book. Dazai would miss how the redhead had made him feel.. human, in some odd way. He had been one of the few people who had ever managed to calm him down from a state of panic. He'd been there for uncountable attempts of suicide, always there to patch him up, to ask if he was alright. In the infirmary room waiting for him to awaken. He'd miss the sense of security he felt with him, how he could shed his bandages around him. He could bathe with him, fall asleep with him. Chuuya had never once in their entire relationship been afraid of him. Hell, he had too many things he could list about him that he'd miss. He would simply miss Chuuya, all of him, the good, the bad, everything.
But Chuuya would despise him for leaving. And he knew that. He knew Chuuya would have never agreed to go with him to.. who knows where. The Mafia had become his home, and Dazai knew he couldn't take him away from that. Chuuya hated him now, but at one point he hadn't.. and that, that would have to just be enough for Dazai. He'd always think of him; maybe one day he could finally apologize, or explain. Dazai would have to settle for feeling like this, for caring for Chuuya from a distance.
After all, facades were nothing new to him.
And Chuuya could pretend to be over it all he wanted, he could say it didn't matter anymore, he could even claim to be glad he'd disappeared– but on late nights, Dazai's face would be the last thing he fell asleep to. Chuuya's voicemails he left that night would be a small comfort to Dazai on late nights of his own. Both would go on thinking the other wished him dead, that the other hated him. "Why else would he have left?" "Why wouldn't he hate me when I abandoned him?" But both would learn how to feel from across that distance. Both would attempt to soothe the ache they felt in their own ways. Both would sleep around despite it never feeling the same. Chuuya never took another partner in response; Dazai teased and pestered his new one for some sense of familiarity. Life went on, even with the two of them so far apart. Even with both pretending what they'd shared was nothing more than the first attempt of a relationship between two messed up teen boys. Even if both said it had meant nothing.
After all, facades were nothing new to either of them.