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“Don’t you fucking dare!” Chuuya hissed.
Dazai was a complete and utter mess. His shipping container had always been messy, but never to this extent. Trash became the new flooring, blood as wall decoration, the coin-sized hole that Paul had made was still there. As for Dazai himself; well, it’s safe to say that he didn’t know the last time he washed himself or his clothing.
“I—“ Dazai choked. He firmly grasped his pistol, which was violently shaking.
“You’re not doing it, Mackerel! You can’t! What about that cat you adopted?! What about the agency?! What about me?!”
“Chuu, please, you don’t understand—“
“—What don’t I understand? You’re planning on killing yourself and I’m gonna stop you. You can’t do this to me. You just can’t! Do you know how much we’ve been through?!” Chuuya was holding back tears at this point.
Dazai simply looked down, contemplating, “It’s not you. It’s never been.”
“It still fucking affects me, don’t it?! Don’t you dare even attempt to pull the ‘I’m a monster’ card! It’s bullshit and we both know it,” Chuuya reached out his hand for him, only to be met with flinching.
“I’m sorry.”
…
Three days later.
…
A casket was lowered into the ground. Condolences were kept hushed whispers while passing by his supposed lover.
Chuuya Nakahara had been catatonic for days. What could he say in this situation? He should’ve taken the gun from that damned bastard to begin with. He shouldn’t have screamed at him. He should’ve said goodbye.
Everyone had left the cemetery by the time Chuuya looked around. Dazai had gotten a relatively plain gravestone, considering that he was a known criminal.
O. Dazai.
Chuuya read that godforsaken name over and over again more times than he could count. Sometime during it all, he collapsed to his knees and started crying for once in what felt like forever.
And just like that, Corruption had taken over. Red rushed through his body. His mind went foggy. All he could think of was getting to his “enemy”.
Ripping through the ground, Chuuya dug up the fresh grave with his own hands. By the time he reached Dazai, night had fallen over Yokohama.
Chuuya pried open his casket, crawling inside of it, and looking at the sky. He silently prayed that Dazai’s ability was still active postmortem, but that was a futile effort.
“The stars are pretty tonight, Daz,” Chuuya whispered in his ear and giving him one last kiss as the inevitable sleep washed over him.