Chapter Text
Laughter rang out across the dimly lit bar, the kind of laughter that spilled over from one table to the next, filling the air with a sense of pretentious camaraderie. The space was busy with patrons mingling shuffling from one end of the room to the other as the heavy scent of alcohol and smoke created an almost tangible haze. A certain redhead was here because he had been dragged out by Tachihara, insisting he needed to unwind after a week of back-to-back assignments, the kind that left him too tired to argue.
Chuuya swirled the ruby liquid in his glass, eyes fixed on the way it caught the light. Someone was sitting beside him — a woman, her perfume cutting through the haze of alcohol and cigar smoke. Her voice was soft, lilting, and it barely registered as she leaned in closer.
“You’ve got the most striking eyes, you know that?” she said, her tone flirtatious. “Bet they’ve gotten you out of trouble more than once.”
Chuuya nodded absently, pretending to listen, but his gaze remained fixed on his drink. The words rolled over him like waves, their meaning lost in the static of his own thoughts. She laughed at something he hadn’t said, a tinkling sound that should have been pleasant but only grated on his nerves.
He was here, wasn’t he? Among familiar faces, at a table littered with empty glasses and half-eaten hors d'oeuvres. It should have been enough. Yet a phantom ache in his chest only deepened with every passing second. He tipped the glass to his lips, the burn of the alcohol sharp against his tongue. It wasn’t enough. Not tonight.
“Are you even listening?” the woman asked, her voice taking on an edge of impatience.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Somethin' bout…my eyes?”
She rolled her eyes, "Forget it ", the flirtation draining from her expression as she got up from her seat. "What a waste of a pretty face” she huffed as she turned away, leaving Chuuya to the solitude he hadn’t even realized he’d been craving.
Pushing back his chair with a screech that made him wince, he stood abruptly. Tachihara eyed from across the room with a look that seemed to ask “You ok?”
In response he mouthed the words, “Just need some air,” maybe more to himself than his friend.
The cool night air hit him like a slap when he stepped outside, the noise of the bar fading into a muffled hum behind him. He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the screen as he called for a driver. The ride home passed in a blur of headlights and shadowed streets, the city a smudged painting outside the window. By the time he reached his apartment, the edges of his mind were pleasantly fuzzy, though the phantom pain in his chest remained sharp as ever.
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Chuuya jolted awake, his heart pounding against his ribcage and a silent scream lodged in his throat. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps as he sat up, the sheets tangled around his legs. The room was still dark, save for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. For a moment, he didn’t know what had woken him — A dream? A nightmare? His hand moved instinctively to the space beside him, only for his fingers to brush against a cool, empty mattress.
Reality hit like a fist to the gut. Of course, there was no one there. There hadn’t been for over a year. He clenched his jaw, dragging a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. The silence of the apartment pressed down on him, heavier than the weight of the blankets. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the floor cold against his bare feet.
For a long moment, he just sat there, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The flashes of memory came unbidden — a familiar laugh, the ghost of a touch, a pair of garnet eyes that always seemed to hold a secret just for him. He pushed the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly, like shadows in the corners of his mind.
His gaze drifted to the nightstand, where his phone lay face down next to an empty glass of water. He reached for it, then stopped, his hand hovering mid-air. Who would he even call? The only person he wanted to hear from wouldn’t pick up, and the thought of hearing that familiar voice was almost more unbearable than the silence.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse in the quiet. But even as he said it, he knew it was a losing battle. The ache wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
The morning light seeped through the blinds of Dazai’s apartment, casting pale stripes across the walls and floor. He stood near the window, one hand tugging the curtain slightly aside as he gazed at the city below. The streets were already alive with motion, people rushing to work, the usual chaotic rhythm of the morning. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Another new day,” he murmured, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room. They held no real conviction, just the hollow cadence of routine. He let the curtain fall back into place and turned away.
The room was tidy, almost unnervingly so, save for the small clutter atop his desk—papers, an old pen, and a book he’d been meaning to finish but couldn’t bring himself to. Dazai moved with practiced ease, opening a drawer near the desk to grab his wallet. The motion was thoughtless, automatic, but something inside caught the faint glow of the morning light.
A small photograph.
His hand stilled, hovering over the wallet as his gaze fell to the image. The edges were slightly worn, as though it had been handled too many times, and the colors had faded just enough to suggest it had been taken a while ago. The faces in the photo were barely visible in the dim light, but he didn’t need to look closer to know every detail by heart.
His mind flickered back to the moment the photo was taken — the sounds of an uneventful afternoon, the easy laughter and weightless insults, the warmth of a hand brushing his as he smiled at the camera. It felt like another lifetime ago, yet the feelings were as raw as if they'd happened yesterday.
A familiar warmth spread through his chest, uninvited and bittersweet. The smile on his lips this time was genuine, but it wavered, weighted by the ache that always followed. He traced a finger lightly over the image, the gesture almost reverent. The memories tied to it were too sharp, too vivid, and he knew better than to linger.
With a sharp inhale, the brunette shook his head, breaking the spell. He grabbed his wallet and closed the drawer in one swift motion, almost slamming it shut as though that could lock the sentiments away with it.
He let out a single, soft, humorless laugh and shook his head and shoved the wallet into his pocket.
Dazai’s eyes flickered to the reflection in the mirror on the wall. He straightened, attempting to smooth the bandages that covered his collar. His focus was steady, but his hands betrayed him, trembling just slightly as he made a few minor adjustments.
He caught a glimpse of himself— tired, distracted. Even the facade he’d carefully constructed felt thinner than usual, the cracks he occasionally felt were on display.
He exhaled sharply, as if trying to rid himself of the weight of the thought. He pulled the mask on tighter, making sure it stayed in place.
The routine called him back again — checking his phone, gathering his things. Dazai moved with purpose now, each step deliberate as he readied himself for work. The small, mundane actions that kept him tethered to this new life and an anchor pulling him back to reality.
As he opened the door to his apartment, he watched the city stretch out before him. The faces of the people passing by were like blurry images on a screen, detached and fleeting. None of them knew him, and he preferred it that way. They weren’t supposed to. He was supposed to be nothing but another face — a shadow drifting through his own life.
But as he closed the door, locking it behind him, the faint ghost of a smile still lingered, along with the dull pang he carried with him every day.