Work Text:
Cold. That was the first thing Ango thought when he woke up that first morning without Oda. He misses the warmth by his left side, the rumbling snores of his lover late into the night. He misses every second he spent with Oda. A feeling he knew he would carry with him as long as breath was still in his body.
Ango groans and closes his eyes again. He wants to go back to sleep. Pretend this isn't real and that his life with Oda is still there, not some memory for him to obsess over later. Unfortunately, his life has never been that kind and his phone buzzes. Work needed him, naturally. His body ached. Not unusual, he supposed when you jump out of a building to avoid an explosion. A sigh. No use on dwelling on that. Or the inevitability of it all. Or how he wanted to take it all back. A dull ache in his heart hurt worse than the bruises and cuts on his body.
Reaching for his glasses, Ango pauses when he sees Oda's cigarette pack. He reaches out, tempted to touch it. To relive, to indulge himself for once. To see Oda grabbing a cigarette and lighting it with a laugh as he teases Ango for his bead head. His laugh is just another memory, a facade of the future he thought he could have with.
Oda caused that bed head. He always did with those soft gentle caresses and subtle shift in his eyes that told Ango he wanted him... he couldn't think about it anymore. It hurt too much. It would always hurt, he muses. And it's his own damn fault too.
He wasn't supposed to get involved. But between shared laughs and drinks, a warmth spread in Ango that he hadn't felt before. That he thought he would never have. A warmth he thought he didn't deserve. He still didn't. And his actions proved that to him. Ango wasn't built for love, and he certainly wasn't meant for Oda's love. He told him that too. An earnest confession after they shared a kiss in the dim lighting of Bar Lupin.
Oda didn't listen though, and Ango let himself get carried away. A mistake he would not repeat in the future.
Glasses fixed on his face; he gets up for the day. Showers, dresses, pours his coffee. Oda would make his coffee while he showered. And write messages on the mirror in the steam. "I love you more every day" or more recently "I can't wait to marry you".
There would be no wedding now. And the only flowers in Ango's future were for Oda's grave by the sea. A pity, he was looking forward to taking Oda to the florist. He always enjoyed watching Oda carefully examine each flower as he determined which kind would be best for the kids. It was sweet, and a nice reminder of who Oda is. Was.
At least his grave was by the sea. He always wanted to write by the water, and maybe now he can. Maybe he would have been able to if he had never met Ango. Ango can't spend long dwelling on that though.
His phone buzzes again. Ango didn't tell them he needed time off. No one from the special division knew about his relationship. They couldn't. The only people who did know were either dead or wanted nothing more than to send a bullet through his forehead. And Ango needed this job. It was the only thing he had left that he hadn't completely fucked up. Oda was dead and Dazai was gone. A sigh. Dazai hated him, and Ango hated himself too. He briefly wondered if Dazai killing him was more appealing than his current state. He shakes his head. Foolish, and Oda would be mad at seeing him so soon. He downs his remaining coffee and puts his coat on. He glances to the kitchen table.
It's empty. It's always empty now. No books or papers or plates sat there. No indication that Ango did anything other than eat alone. Where Oda would sit and enjoy his coffee is an empty chair by an empty table owned by an empty man. Ango thinks that all he is now.