Work Text:
World has just ended; atleast that's what it felt like for Akutagawa. He'd won the fight against Atsushi, he should be happy. He should be celebrating, this is what he wanted right? No, that's not quite right, then whyd he do it? Why did he still fight Atsushi after all these months? he'd hardly put up a fight it wasn't right. So why did he kill the waretiger?
Looking down at the bloodied corpse of his nemesis. "Why didn't you put up a fight... stupid waretiger. You had to let me win right." Why does he feel like this. Is this regret? He shouldn't feel sad, he won. He won. He had just won against the waretiger, his nemisis. He knew he could obviously. But it didn't feel right. This was wrong, this was all wrong. "Well... get up and fight! I said fight me waretiger! Get up! What are you waiting for!" But the words fell upon deaf ears, ones that'd been gone since rashomon sliced right through his heart. "...you can't be dead. It couldn't have been that easy..." right? He didn't want thier fight to end. It wasn't ment to end like this. They were ment to fight eachother, he didn't want thier fued to be over, not so soon atleast.
He felt something roll over his face, it felt different than blood. "What in the world..." He hastily raised a hand to his cheek... it was clear? He's- no that cant be. He can't be crying over the stupid waretiger. He wanted this. He's wanted this since he'd discovered of Atsushi existence, so why... why was he crying. Why does he regret it. Why does it... hurt?
Atsushi and his stupid self-sacrificing tendencies... can't he just be selfish for once and just fight back... now he's gone. He doesn't know how long it's been, just stairing. Stairing at someone he killed. Killings never felt this way before so why does he care. He can't stop asking himself why. He's gotten stronger. He was able to do it, yet he still finds it hard to believe he'll ever have Dazais approval. Isn't this what Dazai wanted, for him to get stronger... he knows he should leave, go home. Celebrate by opening that fancy wine hed been saving for those long six months. But his legs don't move, he can't. he can't move. He could've been standing there for what felt like hours, it could've been five minutes, he doubts he'd know the difference either way.
He's walking now. He doesn't know when he started walking he's not even thinking about it, his feet following the familiar steps he takes home everyday. Although it feels different this time. He doesn't feel like he's in control, his mind is foggy, clouded with unfamiliar feelings and a disconnection from the real world he'd never experienced before. He'd settled upon a conclusion, it only made sense that maybe the world wasn't ending; he was just dying.