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Chapter Text

Dazai was finally free and Atsushi couldn’t help but hate the thought of it.

It had been four months since Dazai’s funeral and Atsushi hadn’t stopped being sad, every day his eyes brimmed with tears and every day they would fall in a way that would bring any rain storm to shame.

He hasn’t stopped being angry either. He glared daggers whenever Kunikida opened his mouth, he shrugged off reassuring hands from Yosano, and he almost killed Chuuya on multiple occasions. He was angry, he was grieving, and it still felt like it was his fault.

Maybe it was, he was starting not to care, he was starting to let things go, he was pushing instead of pulling and for the first time in months he could breathe. So he did, even when the nagging voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t worth it, he still lived. He did it all even when he didn’t want to in the name of the man he killed, in the name of the man who loved him like a son.

Hirostu’s words keep replaying in his mind, “proud” as if Dazai had any reason to be proud of a murder like him. But Dazai was kind like that, he would forgive till he hated, and obsess until he needed something. 

It was hard, remembering Dazai was hard. The gaping hole in his life grew until he was swallowed by it. Grief was a funny thing, it burned but it healed too. Anger was as kind as Dazai was nice but it was as resilient as Dazai was human. Flickering flames stayed lit until the end, Dazai was painfully, beautifully human. He deserved to be treated like one, he never was. 

Atsushi wasn’t even ready for the past and yet there he was, getting debriefed on a worthless mission about the return of the people who almost killed him. The Decay of Angels were back apparently, Fyodor was spotted near a warehouse and they were tasked with investigating it.

“One last thing,” The president's weary voice lined the solemn air, “It appears that Dazai is alive and is with the terrorists, I trust you’ll make the right decision when the time comes,”

Atsushi froze at that, he couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream, the world felt wrong. Lines blurred at the edges as he watched everyone else ask hushed questions.

Dazai had always been a sensitive topic, from the constant suicide attempts to his death everything was hard to talk about. And Atsushi couldn’t help but feel angry at that, Dazai didn’t deserve to be hurried past and ignored but he was. For as long as Atsushi had known him he always had that look about him, the type of dead stare that’ll send shivers down your spine but the light of a thousand suns. He was beautifully imperfect, horrifically scarred. It was unfair, it was reality.

But now the president had said that Dazai was alive, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe they could forget their hatred and put aside their anger in the name of someone they never once loved.

Dazai faking his death was something only he could pull off, it hurt to know that Atsushi wasn’t trusted enough for the older man to tell him about his plan but he couldn’t care now. All he wanted was for Dazai to be okay. 

The warehouse was cold and grey, the sea was barely visible through layers of smog and mist. The colors blurring together in a blinding haze.

Kunikida led them through the fog and to the tall steel doors. 

Kunikida’s gruff voice infested the air, “What are you waiting for? Open it,”

One swift kick from Atushi and the metal fell to the ground with a clang. It took everything in him to not bash Kunikida’s head in instead.

Despite himself, Atsushi couldn’t help but hope that Dazai would be their enemy if not their ally. He could handle it if Dazai needed things they couldn’t give, things they wouldn’t give but he would never recover if Dazai hated him. 

Even though he deserved Dazai’s hatred he couldn’t live with it, not after everything that happened, not after he gave up everyone else for the bandaged man.

They didn’t have to look for long before they found him. His bandages were off now, scars scattered his porcelain skin. Burns and rugged lines infected his arms and neck in a beautifully hideous show of fragility.

His uncaring gaze, one hardened through years of uncertain certainty, one that used to be as soft as it was kind. Brown eyes studied sunset and for a moment everything was okay, for a second Dazai’s body relaxed and they were back to joking at the office until Kunikida glared and told them to get back to work always fighting back a smile.

But they weren’t, they could never be that way again because when Atushi blinked Dazai’s eyes were as cold as they were apathetic.

That’s right, this wasn’t even the real Dazai. Dazai had died a thousand times, he had a million masks, the real Dazai was buried long before his funeral was held.

A drifting stare, a moment of weakness and Dazai had knocked out Kunikida and stuck a knife in front of Atsushi’s throat. Atushi always said bravery was fighting through fear, he had always been brave, a knight forced to shine, but in that moment he was as cowardly as a child.

The knife on his throat was decoration, if Dazai wanted him dead he would be already. No, that knife was there to show the brief care between mentor and mentee being severed. Bridges burned and the ashes traced Atsushi’s face through warm tears.

“Don’t fret Atsushi-kun, I’m proud,” Dazai spoke with a small smile, his words were everything to Atsushi but the white-haired boy still wanted to fight for his mentor.

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to bring Dazai back.

“Come back Dazai-san, please, we need you, I need you,” Atushi begged, his words messy and childish but he said them anyway. 

He needed to say them anyway.

“I thought I taught you not to press your luck Atsushi-kun,” Dazai warned, his smile fading into something akin to a threat, “I’m happy where I am and I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon,”

In that moment Atsuhi realized that Dazai deserved this, he deserved to be away from the people who did nothing but hurt him. He deserved safety and freedom, even if he was with the enemy Dazai would never be the enemy. He could never be, not after all he gave up for them. Not after everything he did for them.

Atsushi nodded, he wanted Dazai to be happy even if that was without him, “Thank you, I’m sorry,”

The knife slowly lowered and Atushi turned around only to find no one there.

Dazai was finally free and Atsushi couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

Chapter Text

Dazai was finally free and it was suffocating.

He’s never been so lost, so unsure. When he saw Kunikida the only thing he could feel was anger, fresh and boiling through his veins. He’d resented him for years and it hurt to even be around the blonde. But they worked well together. There was a time when Kunikida used to compliment him, back when he was far from being good, back when he didn’t deserve it. Kunikida used to see the good in him. And then he became obsessed with perfection.

At first, Dazai hated the change, he waited and endured years of torment in the hopes that things could just go back to the way things used to be. Back when they could talk without arguing, before they were shattered beyond repair, when they could laugh clearly and smile bright.

But then there was Atsushi, he was a bright child, a little too stubborn, a little too selfless but he was perfect. Dazai had hoped that the relationship he nurtured with the boy could last as long as he protected it. He was wrong, of course he was. But still he held the blade of betrayal close to his heart. His hands split open and blood coated his world but that was nothing knew. He was used to it. It hurt for every reason but the right ones, if there even were wrong reasons.

He stayed when he didn’t want to, he protested and relented countless times but he never left. He couldn’t leave Atsushi like that. His student, his friend, his son, he never thought about leaving him, he couldn’t, he could never do that to the poor boy, never. But then Atsushi grew cold, he drifted farther and farther until Dazai could only feel the memory of his love. Because that what they had, no matter what happens now, they had each other once, even if it was only for a moment they had each other.

He held onto the ghost of it until he first heard that Atsushi hated him. That broke him, it cut and it stung. It burned and festered. He wasn’t enough for the only person he wanted to be enough for. He couldn’t look at his mentee the same after that.

The creaking of the old warehouse door was as familiar as it was terrifying, h knew Chuuya would come eventually, he knew he would have to face him but that didn’t mean he wanted to. In truth, he was terrified that he would see Chuuya and forget his resolve like he did all those times before. Learning to let go was never forgiving in its burn but he needed to say goodbye, even if it wouldn’t last forever he needed to see Chuuya for the last time.

“You’re actually here,” Chuuya muttered, his eyes wide and wet, Dazai hated the look he gave him.

It was too familiar, too welcoming, He wanted to rip the look right of Chuuya’s face. He only smiled instead.

“What brings you here, Chuuya-kun?” Chuuya shuttered at the formality, Dazai knew they made him uncomfortable, he knew that he reserved them only for strangers.

But that’s what they were now, “ like holding a knife by the blade ”, Dazai thought.

“I wanted to see you,” Chuuya admitted after a while, the silence was cut through by soft words and Dazai couldn’t handle it.

“Always the overly honest one, say what you need to say, I’ll listen as long as you leave after,” He couldn’t live with himself if Chuuya stayed. He would never be the same if he did.

The haunting silence, like cigarette smoke, was layered with waves of regret and anger in its warmth.

“Uhm, the way you acted with Oda, you were never like that with me,” Through admissions Chuuya’s nescient was made known through his hideous words.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you just didn’t know me that well?” Dazai asked angrily, his tone as sharp as a knife, cutting through the air right into Chuuya’s heart.

“Of course, I know you, I love you, you were my best friend for years, I know you,” Chuuya’s eyes flickered back and forsyth from the floor to Dazai’s face, never quite reaching his eyes.

Even now Chuuya could never really see him.

“What’s my favorite color?” Dazai questioned, his eyes one fire with the blaze of a broken heart.

“Dazai come on, we never talked about that stuff,” Chuuya tried, he was looking for open doors in an abandoned house.

“When’s my birthday then?” Dazai snapped, his heart panged with ever unspoken word.

“Sometime in August Dazai I don’t know but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, I know you, you’re everything to me,” Chuuya’s sugar sweet words were drowned in acid by the ones he could never say.

“You never knew me, you don’t know a single thing about me,” Dazai’s voice cracked with the force of a thousand late nights of wondering, of pleading.

“I know you when you get like this, I know you overreact, I think you need to calm down,” Chuuya spoke through a sigh, everything about his relaxed stance and nonchalant voice made Dazai’s heart race and eyes sting, he was always so infuriating.

“Did you think I needed to calm down when you hit me too?” Dazai’s words festered in the air and sank in his gut, Chuuya’s shocked expression was almost worth it.

“Dazai come on, things were different then, we were different,” Chuuya tried to reassure but the damage had already been done.

They could never go back to being teenagers dangerously in love and wild for each other. They could never be the same again because Chuuya grew mean and Dazai grew distant.

“Really? Cause I know you're exactly the same,” Dazai spoke through gritted teeth, Chuuya was always like this, some things nothing change, no matter how much Dazai wished he would Chuuya would never change.

“You can’t- I changed for you, I did it for you Dazai, why can’t that be enough?” Chuuya asked, his voice painfully young and unsure, it was disgusting.

“Because I wasn’t enough for you to stop, I never was, my tears weren’t enough and my cries weren’t enough, the only thing you became content with was my worship but you are no god, you’re barely a person now, I love you but I would never choose you again, not now not ever,” Dazai half-shouted, he hated being angry, hated showing emotion but this needed to happen, they needed to to be like this, no matter how painful or hideous, they needed this.

“You can’t say that, what about me? What about us?” Chuuya was practically begging now, it was beautifully wrong.

Dazai was always the one begging, always the one enduring, but now things were finally different. Because Dazai chose to leave for no one but himself, he no longer lived for the comfort of other people. He was different and he hated it, he needed it so much more.

“There hasn’t been an “us” in a long time Chuuya, we can’t be anything anymore, it’s gone. We’re gone, Chuuya, it’s time you accept that.” Dazai’s words hurt and bruised them both, neither wanting to let go of something long dead, Chuuya was mourning the living with his eyes closed while Dazai watched through broken lenses.

“Then what about you? Are you still gonna let people do whatever they want to you? Maybe even invite them to do it?” Chuuya seethed, his eyes cold and oh, this was so similar to how things were before they were recked and ruined beyond repair, Dazai truly hated it, he hated being reminded of the times he laughed and smiled with Chuuya by his side, it was brutal but it was beautiful.

Now they were nothing. All because Chuuya was cruel and Dazai was insecure. 

“Chuuya stop it,” Dazai pleaded, he needed Chuuya, he wanted him, but he couldn’t have him, not if he wanted a life without slamming doors and shattered promises.

“No, I won’t, you need to hear me when I say what I do, you need to understand that when I talk I talk for you. I don’t need you, you need me, you can’t leave. No one else will love you like I do,” Chuuya’s face was practically as red as his hair by the time he was done spitting words at Dazai.

“That’s not love,” Dazai whispered, tears beading in his eyes and falling with any hope he had left, hope for them to be something.

If not lovers then maybe friends, if not that then they could be allies, they didn’t have to be enemies. But this was how they always were. Fighting wars no one saw, screaming matches hushed through mumbles and stuttered apologies.

“What?” Chuuya’s eyes wide with anger and uncertainty filled Dazai with a sense of soul-crushing fear, he hated this.

He hated that they were always like this, he hated that they could never be anything more than shattered glass on grey pavement.

“That wasn’t love Chuuya, I loved you but you could never do the same. People who love each other aren’t like us” The tears falling were as selfish as they were martyrs, the crushing feeling was overwhelming and empty, Dazai hated it but he hated Chuuya more, “And I, I can’t do that anymore, I just can’t, not for you, I love you but I refuse to die at your hands,”

“I would never do that,” The soft fear in Chuuya’s eyes was as evident as his fury.

He was scared of losing Dazai, of losing his punching bag, losing his fucktoy, losing his partner, losing his lover, of losing his best friend. But he already did, the moment Dazai faked his death was the moment they were severed. They were broken a million times over but when Dazai left he swore to never go back into the arms of the man that nearly killed him. He could never go back, not now that he was happy, not when he was finally living and not just surviving.

“Go Chuuya, I can’t have you here anymore, you’ll only ruin me and I’ve been broken enough for one lifetime,” Dazai pleaded and for once in his life it worked. 

Chuuya left with that sour look on his face and tears in his eyes. It wasn't the end, it would never be the end but it was something. He finally had something, something he could have, something he could hold.

Dazai was free and he could finally breathe.

Chapter Text

Dazai was finally free and he hated every second of it. 

He looked through frosted glass like he had all those years ago. He used to be so young so naive, now at twenty-three he was as angry as the world was cruel. It was an empty type of anger, an awful type of cruel. He wanted to fight and scream. He was tired, so painfully tired. 

He got good at drowning on dry land. Got used to fighting after he surrendered. He knew haunting silences like the back of his hand but he didn’t want to anymore. He didn’t want to go to war just to die. He didn’t want to exist just to be in pain.

That wasn’t life, and he wanted to live. He really did. He was terrified of losing it all on a whim but he had nothing left. He had no one. The Decay of Angels were nice but they were wrong.

Sigma was trapped and Fyodor was as cunning as he was cruel. Dazai hated that awful rat. Fyodor was a sick bastard and Dazai could hardly stand being in the same room as him after all he’s done to the city he adored but Dazai needed him. Fyodor promised revenge and Dazai was too angry to refuse.

The meeting was tense and filled with cold stares.

“You can’t make any foolish wrongs here Dazai, don’t ruin what you barely have,” Fyodor's words stuck to the air like tar and ash.

His violet eyes scorched Dazai's rotten brown, a fight never won, a battle never finished but nevertheless they continued. They had to.

“Don’t mistake my promise for mercy, you’re not the only one with blood on your hands,” Rich words, one that held more weight than Dazai was willing to admit.

“Then we’ll leave Chuuya-san to you,” Fyodor’s silky voice was like sandpaper to Dazai’s patience, he truly did hate that stupid rat.

With a plastic smile Dazai nodded his agreement, “Don’t expect much more of him than sand,”

Fyodor’s cruel grin was nauseating as he got up to leave the small, dark room, “He’ll hate you before he’s gone,”

“He should,” a whisper was all he could muster at the harsh truth.

It made Fyodor scoff all the same.

Dazai watched as Chuuya made his way through two pitch-black doors and onto the dimly lit street. He hated seeing him like this, living like he’d done nothing wrong, walking like he never knew Dazai.

It was like he was nothing to the older man, he knew he was. That only made what he was about to do easier.

Silently, he walked behind the redhead. He had meticulously planned that day over and over until it was perfect, he needed it to be perfect.

They had reached the end of the dark street, street lights flickered in the distance as Dazai carefully pulled out a syringe of Benzodiazepine, he needed it to be quick, he needed it to be quiet.

He quickly shoved the syringe into Chuuya’s neck while covering the other's mouth. Chuuya fought, his legs attempting to kick Dazai, his nails digging into the side of his hand. 

Dazai watched the fight slowly drain from Chuuya’s body as he gave into unconsciousness. When he had fully collapsed Dazai observed the damage. Bruises littered Dazai’s pale form, blood slowly oozing out of the bite and nail marks on his hands but the job had just begun. He was almost disappointed, Chuuya had done far worse once.

Dazai dragged Chuuya’s limp body into the back of his car and before he knew it he was back at the abandoned warehouse.

He carried the body into a concrete room and tied him to a steel chair at the center of it. It was cold in the warehouse, the biting chill of winter cut through his many layers like a knife.

Dazai studied the face of the person he once loved, the person he would have died for. Chuuya did kill him, he killed him every time he came home with lipstick on his neck, when he stumbled through doorways. Chuuya killed Dazai a million times over it was only fair that Dazai would do it at least once.

The knife sliced harshly through thick layers of fat and skin. Dazai couldn’t help but hope that when his body was cracked open his flesh didn’t look like a stain, he hoped it wasn’t as ugly as Chuuya’s was. Maybe not, maybe he was doomed to die as ugly as he lived but he he hoped anyway. He had to.

Halfway through his third cut, he realized that Chuuya was awake. His cries were drowned out by Dazai’s hatred. Every flinch only made him want to drive the knife deeper into the older man. Chuuya never cared when Dazai flinched, never cared when he bled, he didn’t bat an eye when Dazai cried when he begged and pleaded for him to stop, for Chuuya to just believe him.

He didn’t care and now neither did Dazai. He drove the knife through each of Chuuya’s hands, if he had any chance of surviving this the redhead could never use them again. Dazai wanted him broken, he wanted him dead.

Dazai’s kingdom of sand collapsed under him and all he was left with was the stranger in a room that wasn’t his. He missed Chuuya, he could never have him again. He wouldn’t survive again. But how he wish he could undo everything and go back to when they were kids, back to when they weren’t broken. But they were wrong then too. Dazai didn’t want to believe it before but Chuuya had always been cruel to him. It was wrong in all the right ways, perfection littered in every half-hearted mistake.

The cold steel coated with crimson slashed through flesh like paper. Every noise of complaint was ignored in favor of the glint of the knife.

The mad look in Dazai’s eyes, the smile on his face, suddenly he was fifteen and manic all over again. He would never go back to those days, he hated them more than anything but he found himself getting closer and closer to the person he used to be.

The person he was before he lost himself to false humanity and lost promises. He missed when he could joke without fear, when he could laugh freely.

And maybe that’s why he had to kill Chuuya, to be free. He craved the space outside his metal cage built from the hands that used to caress his face. He missed Chuuya, he missed himself more.

He looked at Chuuya, his face flushed and eyes bloodshot, “Please Dazai, please just let me go,”

Disgust flared in Dazai’s chest, even now Chuuya was ordering him around. Even now Chuuya was still the one in control.

Dazai had to prove that he was stronger now, he wouldn’t fall back into Chuuya like he had so many times, he couldn’t survive that again.

Blood dripped and collected on the ground as Dazai took a shaky breath. Anger rushed through his veins as hatred infested his lungs.

“I don’t need you anymore,” Dazai’s words held the weight of a thousand late nights of pleading, he could only hope Chuuya felt it too.

He could see Chuuya’s eyes go wide as crimson blood soaked onto the floor, “Dazai please,”

Chuuya’s begging was heard by no one but himself and for the first time genuine anguish was reflected in his cold blue eyes. He was going to die and he knew it.

“I don’t want you anymore,” was the last thing Dazai said before slicing open Chuuya’s stomach.

He watched blood spill out the large gash as fat and muscle gave way to the nature of steel.

Breathlessly Chuuya spoke through a mouth full of blood, “ I hate you so much,”

Those were the last sounds that came out of his body that night, and the next day, soon a week had passed and Chuuya’s decaying body stayed silent.

The only thing that stayed the same in that room was the ever-familiar form of a brunette hugging himself repeating the words, “I know,” over and over again.

A month going by was what it took for Dazai’s grief to subside into something more logical, into something feeling a lot like peace. He was finally free, what a peaceful thing.