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Dazai.
Dazai
motherfucking
Osamu.
Chuuya never wants to hear his name again.
If that's even their name, anyways. He doesn't know. The bastard lied about so much, how is he to know they didn't lie about that?
Names are a fickle thing. Insignificant, really, in the grand scheme of things (of life). But they matter. Names matter, and it's so
stupid
, but they matter, and Dazai mattered and Chuuya-
His apartment feels empty. Lonely. It's a stupid thing to say. Dazai doesn't even live in it. The only signs they were ever here is the stupid, stupid coffeemaker on the counter (Chuuya doesn't even drink coffee) and the ridiculous amount of bandages stuffed under the bathroom sink. Chuuya throws the coffeemaker out of the window. It has a sticker on it, which he's pretty sure Dazai got custom-made. A picture of a slug and a mackerel, high-fiving in a cartoonish art style. He watches it crash. It breaks into a thousand pieces.
It doesn't make him feel happy.
The bandages stay. The bandages stay because the bandages are Dazai and Dazai is gone and Chuuya doesn't want to admit it. Doesn't want to admit that he was wrong and everyone was right and Shirase was right and
and he wasn't enough.
Dazai is gone.
He feels tired.
His legs are tired and his heart is heavy and he just. wants. to. sleep.
There is a bottle of Petrus, waiting in the cupboard.
He wonders what Dazai would think if he opened it. He kicks himself for thinking about that. They clearly don’t care about him, so-
He doesn't care about them.
Not anymore, at least.
The bottle of Petrus is warm. inviting. Chuuya thinks he'll open it. Maybe he'll drink it straight from the bottle. Who even cares, anyways? This is in celebration. He's finally gotten the bastard off his back. Honestly, the Mafia should rejoice this. He can’t think of a single person (other than himself) who was stupid enough (other than himself) to like them. Kouyou will be happy. Tachihara will be happy. Akutagawa...
well, he won't be happy. But he'll be better off,
so.
Chuuya will be better off.
Won't he?
The bottle of Petrus is good. Better than he expected. He just wishes he could share it with Dazai. Watch him choke and splutter before staring at Chuuya with an indignant look. Somebody wasting his wine had never been so funny. They'd always had no taste for good wine. It
makes
made him laugh.
The Petrus isn't tasting so good anymore.
・・・
The next morning, Chuuya loses his car.
It’s just one big, final fuck-you. One last I hate you from the one person he thought understood him. But clearly, he’s wrong. This is most definitely Dazai’s doing, and he most definitely doesn’t care about Chuuya.
You’re like me.
The fuck do you mean by that?
You don’t think you’re human. I know I’m not human.
We’re kindred spirits, you and I.
Yeah, right. I’m nothing like you.
Pretend all you want, ______. You know I’m right.
…fuck you.
What do you say? Should we stick together?
I think we should.
Yesterday, Mori said he would be questioning Chuuya for information regarding Dazai.
He doesn’t think that’s happening anymore.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
Fuck.
・・・
It’s for the best.
Keep telling yourself that, and maybe it’ll become the truth.
Dazai’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t really care. Everyone who mattered to him is either dead or dead to him. He needs to get the fuck out of Yokohama. The smell of memories threatens to choke him.
The bomb wasn’t overkill. It wasn’t . Mori would have suspected him, otherwise. He had to throw him off of his tail. Besides, it’s just a car. He could easily get another.
It’s a lot more than just a car, and you know that.
Shut up shut up shut up shut-
A chain sits on the seat beside him. Ripped off of Chuuya’s very own hat. Next to it lies a tan coat, stained red with blood.
im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im-
He doesn’t have time to grieve.
There’s a job he needs to get.