Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The end of Dazai didn’t burn. It was a simple fact, one so common and quiet that it hung in the room like streamers on a birthday.

Dazai’s death was painful. It hurt for every reason and none. The worst was over, the suicidal maniac finally getting the death he deserved, the death he needed in order to live. But this was wrong.

Being dressed in all black while mafia members curse the sky and agency members cry into walls was wrong. Dazai never should have died, it was a fluke, a misunderstanding, someone was wrong. Because it was Dazai and he couldn’t be dead, it was the person who made food after long nights, the person who memorized birthdays and whispered suggestions into ears, it was the person who raised Atsushi like a son and loved him like one too.

He was always so happy, so willing, so caring. He sacrificed himself again and again only to be treated like a mistake, like a killer in a room full of saints but that was wrong, they were wrong.

Atsushi would do anything to go back and scream till his voice was hoarse that Dazai deserved better because he was better, at least better than most of them. It hurt to know that no matter what he did he would never get to see his mentor again, it killed to know why.

Chuuya may have done the finishing blow but the agency were the real killers. They practically forced him out until he was so far away from their dim protection that he was put into jail and then brutally murdered.

Like poison, they hollowed out his life until it was nothing but a shell of what he once had, what he deserved.

Chuuya may have killed Dazai’s body but Atsushi knew that that wasn’t Dazai true death, no. His death was the moment he stopped being treated like a person and more like a dog.

The day Dazai walked into the agency and Kunikida sighed, the minute Ranpo talked over Dazai during a meeting, the second Atsushi stopped joking with him, that was his death. The death of Dazai was painful and slow but it was as meaningless as a child's hundredth breath.

The thought echoes through the near-bursting room, ‘he should have made it home’ . But Dazai had no home, both organizations made sure of that.

There was no casket, there was no body, there was nothing left of the bandaged man but the layer of dust collecting in his empty dorm.

There was nothing and Atsushi was sorry. He wanted to run to the ashes of his mentor left on the battlefield and apologize for being silent. He wanted to scream his sorrows in the same wind that carried Dazai away from any home he could have had. They couldn’t find a body, bullshit, it was Dazai, he deserved a proper funeral.

He should have stayed by the older man's door until he came home just to know he was safe, he should have made him food when he was sick, should have asked questions when he smelled blood because that’s what Dazai did.

For being deemed heartless and naive the brunette would always bring extra umbrellas on rainy days, would take on the harder jobs when he saw someone struggling, he was kind, he was caring, he was smart, he was dead.

Missing him wasn’t enough, Atsushi needed Dazai to walk through the door and say it was all a prank, that he was never really dead. He couldn’t help but want to be selfish, and then it hit him, he’s only been selfish with Dazai.

The older man let him take as much as he wanted so he did, there was no second chances when the person you ruined is dead.

Looking around he could see it in the others too, they were all wrong. They treated the only person who loved unconditionally like a condition and they lost him for it. Not to another life, not back to the mafia but to the thing Dazai craved more than anything.

He should have tried harder to save Dazai, should have loved harder than the others hated. He should have followed him that day, and defied the president's orders at least once to prove he could care more about Dazai than he could about saving his own skin.

He messed up, he fell short and the cost was one he never wanted to pay. The death of a friend, the end of an ally, the loss of a father, it was everything at once and yet nothing at all.

The dim hope that Dazai would have wanted him to love the agency despite their prejudice and unaccepting acceptance faded as Atushi saw the tears collecting in the rest of the agency's eyes.

They never cared, not about Dazai at least. They were sad that he was gone but that’s not the same as missing, not the same as waking up breathless from crying in your sleep, not the same as waiting by the door for someone who would never come back, someone who couldn’t ever come back.

Atsushi missed Dazai more than life itself, he only wished that the others did too.

The night was cruel without Dazai there to walk him back to his dorm. All the little things hurt more than he once thought possible, but he knew better now. He should have cherished the small conversations with his mentor when they could still talk, he should have loved him openly instead of waiting for silent rooms and empty air to say the truth.

They can’t even be in the same room anymore. Atsushi used to wait for everyone but Dazai and Kyouka to go home until he talked freely to the only person who treated him like the child he always was.

He’d forgotten how young Dazai really was, only twenty-two and already gone with the wind. A four year age difference between them and Atsushi had subconsciously made the choice to distance them through the stiff lens of good and bad.

He had believed Kunikida when he had said that Dazai was as untrustworthy as he was lazy. He had listened when Yosano said that the bandaged man was just as bad as Mori. He practically worshipped Ranpo when he said how reckless Dazai was in his predictions and he was just a worthless asshole who deserved all the pain he caused tenfold.

It was wrong and deep down Atsushi knew it too. He just wanted something to believe in and Dazai was never the one for blind faith so he searched and searched until he found hate.

Anger is comforting in its warmth but painful in its heat. Atushi always believed in forgiveness but he knew that he didn’t deserve it, not now, not that Dazai’s dead, not when he practically shot him himself.

It may be unfair but he hopes that Dazai’s happy somewhere, if not for anyone but himself he wishes that Dazai is finally at peace. He could never dream of anything more than bliss for the person he never wanted to live without.

Ranpo sat at the empty chapel biting his nails. It was a foolish miscalculation, he oversimplified and saw a monster instead of a man.

It was cruel and it was wrong how they saw Dazai through the lens of idiotic ignorance disguised as love. At some point in those three years Dazai was at the agency Ranpo had stopped seeing the younger man as a friend and more of a traitor.

It was a dumb, hopeless endeavor but he did it anyway. He shouldn’t have. He knew the outcome the moment he started but he thought they had more time.

Dazai deserved a chance to be loved at least once without it being taken from him in the name of hard feelings and unrecognized past regret. He should have treated him better, should have protected and defended him without letting regret seep into his hatred.

He should have fought for more time. Should have overlooked mistakes and targeted the real pain. He should have let go of his hatred and let the hope for his friend to get better shine through years worth of built-up resentment.

Dazai never did anything to warrant the hell he went through and Ranpo knew it, it would take a fool not to even without some dumb made-up ability.

Ever long night where he knew Dazai was struggling, that he was hurting, it didn’t matter much now but he regretted not comforting the younger man. It would have been easy even without his glasses, he knew it would have helped.

Dazai was never the one to accept help but they should have pushed, he was never the type to say what was on his mind but they should have known anyway. Ranpo’s grief was hardly useless but it was worthless, it’s only purpose was fueling the guilt growing in his stomach.

Dazai never ate, at least not enough, Ranpo could see it in the light sway in his stance and the fogginess in his eyes but he never said something. He never even mentioned it to Akiko and what stung the most was that Dazai knew he knew. 

Dazai died thinking his friends didn’t care about him and he was only partly wrong. He should have been wrong, if it was low self esteem they could have worked on it, if it was trauma they could have talked about it but it was reality, and you can only change the future.

They were both geniuses but Dazai was always better and knowing what people felt, he had a way of sensing it and Ranpo hated to think of why. They were ticking time bombs but Ranpo’s was in the wrong direction, he only wished he hadn’t been too disgusted to see it before.

It was wrong, the way they were disgusted by Dazai was wrong. He didn’t deserve it but he was as much of a friend as he was a punching bag. Dazai made the people around him better, he took in all of their bad and managed to stay good.

He was never a saint but he wasn’t a demon either, he was just a person trying his best to be good and he was, he was so good. No one told him, Ranpo remembers it all, no one ever told Dazai that he was good. It was unfair, he tried so hard and was only ever hated for it.

“Ranpo, let's go home,” Yosano’s silky voice invaded the dense air like poison,

“No,” Ranpo refused, his voice tight and eyes watery.

They didn’t even have a casket, Chuuya relayed Dazai’s last words but they were morphed coming from him, his tone was nothing like Dazai’s. They traded kind for nice and they didn’t even care to realize it before now.

“No amount of sulking will bring him back,” Yosano sighed,

Ranpo couldn’t help but hate her in that moment, either she had no idea what Dazai did for her or she didn’t care, neither one was fair to the now dead bandaged man. Yosano was being cruel, she was doing exactly what she had done for the past two years, and that thought only made Ranpo angrier.

“I’m not sulking,” Ranpo muttered, he turned away from Yosano, she had always been his best friend, his sister but now they were both killers and it hurt to be the only one to see it.

He used to know Dazai like the back of his hand but he could barely scrape together enough about the younger man to make a speech at his funeral. Was it even a funeral when they couldn’t find enough of his body to piece into a casket? For the first time, Ranpo didn’t know, it should have hurt more than it did but all he could think about was the child he failed, the adult he murdered.

“Not sulking, just thinking,” He uttered, words clogged in his throat as the look on Yosano’s face turned from curiosity to understanding.

He hated how well she knew him and yet she barely knew Dazai. They both thought they did but Ranpo was the only one to notice his pain even if he didn’t care before.

He was as much of a monster as Dazai was a person. He used to call Dazai useless, reckless, a bother, a curse but he never called him human, never called him good, and now that he’s gone all he can do is hope he can hear when they cry over him, as they scream apologies into silence and whisper guilt into floor boards.

“Okay,” Yosano whispered, “Promise to come home when there’s nothing left to think about?”

Her tone was as gentle as the hand she used to rub his back, he didn’t deserve her kindness, he didn’t even know if she was kind.

“Yeah, I promise,” Ranpo replied, his eyes stung as memories replayed in his head and traced his cheeks.

They were both killers but Ranpo was the only one to know it.

Chapter Text

No one laughed the day Dazai died, at least not in the mafia. People whispered and brought gifts, even the ones who never met him knew him, he was feared, he was respected, he was wanted. 

Hirostu had glared daggers at Mori the day he brought Dazai into the mafia, he was too young, too caring to be brought into a place so evil. But even places filled with shadow have light somewhere and that was Dazai, his smile lit up rooms and his anger shook worlds.

It hurt to remember how bright Dazai truly was in a place so full of darkness. He played games with Hirostu, laughed with Chuuya, and loved him too. He hated Mori with everything he had and still granted him life, Dazai might not have been merciful but he was as kind as the sky was blue.

Hirostu wishes they had talked more, had laughed more because every bit of Dazai was taken, all they had now were the memories of a lonely boy left in a sea of darkness. The child that was forced into murder, forced into abuse, he was a product of his life and he broke it down brick by brick. He was as strong as he was stubborn, he was perfect in all the wrong ways, broken in all the right ones. He was the prodigy of time and the child of none.

Dazai deserved better than a funeral without a body, he deserved better than to be betrayed by the only people he trusted, and as Hirostu walked up to the stand he realized that he might be the only person left who saw Dazai as the child he always has been.

“Dazai was more than just an ally he was my friend,”

“We never got to meet on the best terms but he was always happy to see me, I wish I could say the same for most but I knew him better than I know myself, he let me know him and I’ve never been more thankful for someones trust more than his,”

Dazai had always been kinder than he let on. He felt bad for the hurt of the children even if he caused half of it. They would miss him but no one missed him when he was here. No one cared when he went missing, no one batted an eye when news came by that he was in prison. 

He was finally free, it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did but Dazai could finally be happy even if it was without them.

“He had always been treated like a monster, even when he was barely a kid he was hated for being stronger than people were comfortable with,”

Hirotsu was swarmed with guilt, he should have snuck Dazai out of the mafia his first night. Should have fought Mori, should have killed his boss himself. It didn’t matter much now but they were family, father and son, subordinate and superior none of it mattered to the cold hands of death. But Hirotsu couldn’t help but hope that it did, that maybe Dazai could still see him. Maybe Dazai was happy to see him.

He could only hope but it was enough, he would make it enough.

“I always hated the way he was treated and now that there’s nothing I can do I wish I had done something, anything to ease his pain, if not as his subordinate then as his friend,”

“He deserved better than this, he deserved better than us, he was far too kind, far too loving to be in the same world as us,”

‘Hirostu-san I’m stuck on this level play it for me,’

‘Of course Dazai-kun,’

‘Wow, you’re really bad,’

‘My apologies Dazai-kun,’

‘There’s none needed, it was just an observation,’

‘Yes, Dazai-kun,’

Dazai was more than just a friend, he was everything. He was playful and sweet, cruel and kind. He has been the only constant in the harsh light of life but he was reduced to an ember in his once blazing fire.

“He didn’t deserve to know us, he didn’t deserve to die so young. He always said that if he had kids he’d want me to meet them, I have, and I can say he’d be so proud of how much you’ve grown, Atsushi, Akutagawa, he loved you like his own. Live good for the man than never got to live”

The tears that fell were loving, they were thankful, they were filled with guilt and memories.

‘Hirostu-san, can you help me on this mission,’ ‘I’ll be there immediately Dazai-kun,’

‘I’m sorry to call it just won’t stop bleeding,’ ‘Dazai-kun? Where are you?’

‘Thank you,’ ‘There’s no need, I’m just doing my job, Dazai-kun’ ‘Thank you Hirostu-san’ ‘Of course,’

Hirostu’s tears were filled with grief and anger, it was unfair, it was reality. No matter what he did he could never bring him back. Son or stranger it didn’t matter anymore because Dazai was dead.

Dazai deserved better. It was a funeral, one without a casket, one without a body, only a meager photo took the place of the only child he would ever have.

The last thing Dazai told him was a thank you, in his last moments Hirotsu knew Dazai was thankful for the nothing he got and the everything he brought back.

Knowing Dazai was painful, it hurt and it bled, it scarred and it burned but it was pure. Dazai’s love was as pure as the morning sun and Hirostu would have given everything for a chance that Dazai would have seen it too.

Hirotsu walked back to his seat he realized that he was the only one who deserved to be there. The only one who stayed up all night when Dazai had the flu, the one who came running when Dazai didn’t answer his phone, the one who cleaned him up after attempts.

He was the only one who cared and it stung to know it.

Kunikida flicked through the pages of his ideal book secretly hoping to rip them out. He was wrong. Every one of his ideals was wrong. It was wrong it was all wrong. He prided himself on always being above, being strict and being right.

He was a fraud. The light he believed was his was a mirror of his partner’s, the man he cursed more than once. The person he almost killed a million times.

His greatest pride and worst mistakes were all met with Dazai in the middle of them.

Dazai protected him, nearly died for him, he did die for him. Every fact was blurred at the edges and every moral torn apart. Dazai was supposed to be the evil one, supposed to be the wrong one. But he wasn’t and the world was over.

Looking back at it now it was obvious were he oversimplified and underestimated but he was never supposed to see the day were Dazai didn’t make it back home.

Dazai should have been ruder, should have been less patient, less kind. Then Kunikida wouldn’t be wrong. Then he wouldn’t have a lump in his throat and tears streaming down his face. He wouldn’t have to grieve if Dazai was as bad as Kunikida thought he was, as bad as he wanted him to be.

The moment the news came back he was ruined. He was happy, truly happy that his partner was murdered, then he was frustrated at the dead man for complicating thing like he always did. And then… then there was nothing. He worked and he wrote. He made preparations for the funeral, it wasn’t perfect without a body but who cares? It was just Dazai, no one would even notice.

He had stayed at Dazai’s grave all night trying to figure out whether or not he cared or not. Sure tears were falling and his chest ached but those were natural reactions to stress, and he couldn’t care. It was wrong for him to care about someone so awful and inconsiderate, so loud and obnoxious.

He didn’t even notice when Ranpo sat next to him. They sat together in silence for 1,267 seconds before Kunikida finally broke the suffocating quiet, “Can you at least say something?”

Ranpo slowly tilted his head into his arms and wiped his nose with his sleeve before turning his attention to Kunikida’s shoes.

“You don’t deserve it,” Ranpo sighed, eyes blood shot and hurt, “Neither of us does,”

They both stared at the grave before them, one with anger and the other with guilt. But it was wrong, Kunikida was never supposed to be angry. It went against everything he stood for to be cruel.

And then it hit him, he was cruel to Dazai, he shouted more times than he could count, broke more of the other’s bones than he realized. It was wrong, they were wrong. He destroyed and reality left in his ideals the moment he first struck Dazai, the second he yelled at him he wasn’t perfect anymore.

“I know,” Kunikida muttered, fresh tears infecting his resolve to stay strong and not grieve the only person he always wanted to die.

The quiet tears that racked Ranpo’s body must have shaken the last pieces of stubbornness out of Kunikida as his eyes started to water.

He must have been kind in one life; he and Dazai could have been friends if Dazai wasn’t so insufferable, if Kunikida wasn’t so emotional they could have worked.

They waited together, they grieved together, never saying a word till Ranpo finally broke the silence at sunrise.

“Promise to come back to the agency when you’re done breaking your own heart?” Each syllable slurred together through exhaustion and yet they still managed to pierce through Kunikid’as hatred like a knife.

“I will,” Kunikida’s reply came cold and fast like a knife through the heart.

“Don’t break it too much,” Ranpo warned, his eyes sharp yet understanding.

As if the laziest person Kunikida knew would ever understand someone so hard working and focused. But for a moment he was almost fooled, for a moment he wanted to believe that they could be the same one day.

“I won’t,”

His replay was stale and rotten, just like Dazai’s eyes. The only thing Kunikida could clearly remember, was Dazai’s cold distant eyes. He always had a mask on, it would take a fool not to notice but his eyes always stayed the same.

His dull brown eyes were the color of rotten fruit and held the darkness of the universe. They were always so empty, like the light was foreign to them. And maybe it was, Dazai was a monster after all. He’d fool you with cheap party tricks and stereotypical attractive looks but he was as cruel as the rapids were deadly and Kunikida vowed to never get swept up in his current.

In life or in death he could never love Dazai Osamu the irresponsible murderer because he was Kunikida Doppo, the perfectionist. Even if it could never be fair, even if he could never be right again he only had his ideals left, he would be a fool to abandon them now, after everything that’s happened, after everything he’s lost, he could never put them down again.

Chapter Text

Chuuya stood at the back of the chapel waiting for everything the universe could never give. He was waiting for Dazai to come back. Waiting for someone to comfort him. Waiting for someone to wash the blood from his hands.

No matter which way his mind flipped it it was his fault. If he hadn’t been so distracted he would have noticed corruption slipping past his control. If he had just listened to Dazai to follow the plan like always. If he hadn’t been so angry he would have seen it in the moment but when ignorance and frustration are the closest thing to family someone has left they reach for it when they should pull back.

It was his fault. The gunshot, the incineration, being burned alive was an awful way to go, painful and cruel. Dazai hates pain, he hated pain. Fuck. He really did and yet he hurt himself a thousand times over just to be next to Chuuya, he didn’t notice it then but he did now and it hurts.

It hurts because Dazai was supposed to be here, they were supposed to plan a party, not a funeral. Dazai deserved to be here more than anyone else, he had sacrificed so much, lived through more bullshit than anyone else and yet the one thing to finally do him in was invited to the funeral.

It was almost pathetic how much Chuuya wished it wasn’t his fault, hell, it was pathetic. He wanted someone to blame other than the person who pulled the trigger. He wanted to blame Fyodor, Kunikida, Mori, anyone. He just didn’t want to be the one who did it.

He didn’t want to be the one who started the fire, didn’t want to be the one who recklessly kicked a gas pipe open and watched as the helicopter blew up, the fire destroyed everything but him. Arahbaki may have saved his life but he would die a hundred times for a chance for Dazai to live.

The brunette might not have ever fully recovered from the prison break but at least he would be alive to complain about it. Instead, they had a lousy funeral, one without a body, Dazai’s soul could never find peace even in death.

Maybe if Chuuya had tried to save Dazai’s ashes instead of watching as they were scattered by the wind they could at least have an urn.

If he had just listened to Dazai, followed his plan nothing like this would have happened, but stupidity was the most comforting thing about him. It usually created dumb fights, slamming doors, but it never ended in death. This was new, this was painful. He had always blamed Dazai for everything but he’s beginning to realize that it might have been wrong.

Dazai was a person just like him, they were both painfully human and yet he never told him that. Chuuya was convinced Dazai lived up to his old moniker, convinced Dazai was a cunning monster who would fight and manipulate till his last breath. He wanted Dazai to be a demon so he could treat him like one, he knew it was wrong, he would be a fool not to but it felt good.

Dazai was his personal punching bag and it felt good to be known so well. It felt good to be angry, it felt good to be seen.

Chuuya had spent years looking for reassurance in his humanity and every time Dazai would say he was human, he would defend Chuuya to anyone who disagreed, he killed the people who thought Chuuya was a monster and he fought the people who questioned it.

To Dazai, Chuuya was everything, he fought a million battles for the redhead and he’d fight a million more if he had just been given the chance. But to Chuuya, Dazai was just someone. He was just his ex-partner, just another enemy, just another mistake.

They were wrong in every way that felt right.

He could still remember that cold, rainy night when Dazai finally told him what happened on one of their missions. He remembers getting angry, calling him a whore a slut . “Did you finally grow a back bone when they broke your back?”

He was awful to him, kicking him out into the storm while he cried and begged Chuuya to listen. He wouldn’t stop apologizing and that made Chuuya even angrier. It was dumb, he was being a jerk, but it felt good to hurt Dazai and he didn’t want to stop so he never did. 

There was no damage done until there was. Till Dazai wouldn’t even look at him. Until Dazai broke down crying when he raised his voice. There’s nothing wrong until you’re in the same room and still feel worlds apart.

The moment you enjoy hurting the one you love is the moment it’s over. No amount of apologizing can fix a change of heart and no matter how hard he tried to be better he knew Dazai could never truly forgive him.

No amount of hurt can kill love but it does change it, twists it into something ugly and scarring. Dazai might never have stopped loving Chuuya, and maybe that hurt worse than anything else. Chuuya could have had anything and everything he ever wanted but he was too blind to see it when he had it.

To Chuuya love was never worth saying out loud. His love for Dazai was no exception. Maybe he should have said it, at least once. Just so that he could say it, so that Dazai could hear it, maybe even believe it.

He knew Kouyou was waiting for him outside, probably worried he’d do something stupid, something oddly like Dazai.

As he walked out of the chapel he realized how much he missed Dazai’s strange habits, he could never be there to do them again.

“Ane-san,”

“Chuuya-kun,”

They greeted each other, cold and still. How do you act normal when your world collapsed?

Would anything be different now if he had cared a little more to know better, to try and understand Dazai even when it was hard, even when they were wrong? Would any of have mattered at the end of it all?

“Do you think Mori would have told me the plan?” It was a stupid question, he already knew the answer but he wanted to believe in something, he wanted to think that he could have done something to save Dazai.

“Mori never would have told you,” Kouyou looked at him, eyes full of pity and something else he couldn’t place.

“Why?” A breathless question, one meant for children but Chuuya asked it anyway.

“Lad, you’re the strongest fighter but you're also the most ignorant fighter and you have let that ignorance be the most valuable thing about you,” Her words stabbed where she knew they would, sympathy on her mind but reality on her tongue.

“But Mori wouldn’t…” Chuuya’s unsteady voice trailed off as he slowly began to realize what he lost.

“Only a fool would give up his greatest weapon, and Mori is no fool, ” Kouyou admitted, every word was like a gut punch.

“He was my partner, Ane-san, what do I do?” Chuuya half pleaded hald questioned, it was a disgraceful sight, he never would have done it before but everything was different now, everything was different now that Dazai was gone.

“You stopped being his partner long before he betrayed the mafia,” Her voice, cold a bitter, he knows she never really liked Dazai but Chuuya never knew she felt pity for him, that she was happy he left the mafia even while cursing his name.

“I don’t understand,” Every admission was like a knife to the heart, each word killed, every syllable was a death sentence.

“You never did, not when it came to him,”

And with that, she left. She left like Chuuya was just another mafia grunt, like she didn’t raise him. It hurt. It stung and it bruised. And Chuuya hated it, he needed her more.

The days that passed after the funeral were wrong. Nothing could ever be right again, not now, not after Dazai died.

Grief took the place of hatred and Chuuya was angry, he was angry that he had to grieve, angry that he couldn’t do anything to quell the pain hollowing out his chest.

He would never understand how much love can change someone. He waited by doors like the dog Dazai always joked he was, he waited for someone who could never come, he waited for someone he killed in hopes that they could fix him.

He loved like a ghost. He haunted his own life and he thought it was worth it for a chance that Dazai could come back and say it was all some elaborate awful prank.

He never wanted to disappear before, it was always Dazai who craved for cold nothingness but Chuuya could see why now. He could finally understand Dazai’s thirst for death after the younger had already left for it.

If he tried hard enough he could almost delude himself into thinking Dazai was still here, that they just had another fight and he would be back with a thing of flowers and an apology on his tongue. He couldn’t even remember the type of flowers Dazai got him, it had only been a week since his death and Chuuya’s already starting to forget him.

It was painful, it was terrifying, he couldn’t bear to lose any more of Dazai than he already had.

He had ignored Dazai to the very end, always insulting and interrupting, and without even noticing it he had erased Dazai from his life. It hurt to know that he could never see Dazai again, never get the chance to whisper faux apologies or plastic “I love you ”s.

No one loved Dazai like Chuuya did, no one hurt him like Chuuya did either. They were a constant uphill battle, gasping for breath after every fight blood dripping to the floor after every late night. They were as wrong as they were perfect. Every punch Chuuya threw matched Dazai’s weeping and every scathing remark Dazai whispered crushed Chuuya’s soul.

They had found comfort in the most dangerous of places and found love in each other's poison. They were as broken as the world let them but they were each other’s and it was perfect. Until Dazai got scared, until Chuuya made him scared.

Chuuya would yell until his voice grew hoarse and Dazai would cry until his eyes fell shut. Chuuya would punch and Dazai would try to block but Chuuya was always faster, always stronger than he was. It was exciting until it was grieving. It was adrenaline until Dazai was packing his stuff and moving into the agency dorms.

They were seamless till Chuuya hurt Dazai for the first time. It was a stupid argument. Chuuya had stayed out later than Dazai and when he found him still awake he thought he was cheating. It didn’t even make sense now but back then he was so convinced of it.

“Welcome home, how was your day?”

Dazai had ignored the fact that it was already a new day, the glare of white from their digital clock read two thirty-nine. He also ignored the pungent smell of cigarette smoke that made his jaw clench and face scrunched up slightly. Dazai ignored the obvious drunken rage that radiated from Chuuya, Chuuya’s heavy breathy clung to the air, almost as heavy as the stench of the smoke he had promised to never touch only weeks before.

“Oh, cut the shit,” Chuuya hissed, words slurred and spit filled.

“Have you been drinking?” It’s a question Dazai already knew the answer to, it was obvious by the caution he had in picking every word, carefully choosing his tone.

Dazai was terrified of Chuuya and Chuuya hated him more than anything for it. He could see the way Dazai studied him, saw the way he flinched when Chuuya started walking towards him. The redhead knew Dazai wished he would walk right back out those doors he once guided Dazai through.

“Where is he?” Pushing words through clenched teeth never suited Chuuya, it makes him sound mean, it makes him act reckless, it makes him cruel.

“Who?” It was obvious that Dazai tried to keep the fear out of his voice, each inflection a little shakier than the last only solidified the faux truth in Chuuya’s mind.

“The guy you’ve been fucking, where the fuck is he?” If the way Chuuya seemed to tower over Dazai’s shrinking form, only inches from his face, didn’t make Dazai’s eyes hazy and unfocused the younger man probably would have told him to ‘fuck off’.

Chuuya acted as if he didn’t come home with hickeys on his neck when they hadn’t touched in weeks, like he didn’t have lipstick stains in the shades of red Chuuya knows Dazai can’t stand. But He didn’t care about what was true, He only cared about what made Dazai look bad.

Dazai stayed silent through it all, he always was a stupid fucking liar. 

“So that's it,” Chuuya laughed, a dangerous, humorless laugh. One that makes Dazai break eye contact and focus on the spotless floor, “They told me about you, you know?”

“They warned me not to date you, that you're insane, broken, used. But I didn’t listen,” Chuuya’s words cut through the heavy silence like daggers, each word was meant to hit in Dazai's most vulnerable of places, “Do you wanna know why Dazai?”

Dazai just stared at Chuuya, his eyes glossier with every shared breath, the tension was suffocating, Chuuya was suffocating.

“Answer me!” Chuuya screamed, shoving Dazai back off their cheap bar stool and onto their dark wood floor.

Dazai’s head collided recklessly with the cement wall. The adrenaline pumped through Chuuya’s veins making his pulse race and muscles ache. And then it all came crashing down.

He was on top of Dazai, Chuuya’s hands were squeezing his neck. The little amount of air Dazai had managed to inhale was forced out as Chuuya slammed his back against the cold ground.

“You slut, who else could love you? I pitied you, you were pathetic so I gave you a chance and this is what I get?” Chuuya yelled, each word meant to stab and rip.

They were cruel, that’s why he said it.

Dazai’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears, his mouth parted slightly and face pale and red as he gasped for air.

“So fucking ungrateful,” Chuuya had continued to scream profanities and insults, promises of punishments, and lies of unfaithfulness even as he punched Dazai’s face.

He only stopped when Dazai stopped struggling, fear lingered in his eyes as Dazai stared at Chuuya’s hands bleeding with scratch marks.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai’s hoarse voice invaded the empty air, “I really didn’t do anything, I’m sorry Chuuya,”

Dazai looked so lost, tears ran down his face and collected with the blood on the floor. That only made Chuuya angrier, of course, Dazai would leave a mess after cheating on him. He was a fool to not see it before.

He had been so cruel, so apathetic towards Dazai’s feelings that he didn’t even notice the other slipping away.

He slowly made his way towards the agency in hopes of anything but himself.

He found Yosano sitting alone at Dazai’s old desk, a half-empty bottle of wine by her side and an untouched cup of whiskey in front of her.

“If you’re here for comfort you won’t find it,” Her silky voice destroyed the previous silence.

Every word slurred with exhaustion and grief.

“I know, drinking alone isn’t really my style though,” Chuuya admitted, a slight smile was all his remark got but it was enough for him to pull up a chair and sit in silence as they finished the bottle.

Maybe Chuuya will never be right again, maybe he never was right to begin with but he would try. For Dazai he would try to be better. He would fulfill the promise he never got to keep for the man he killed. For Dazai, he would do anything