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The city was drowned in the soft, perpetual hum of the streets, where the traffic moved like veins in a body and the people walked along like ghosts. It was a gray evening, the sky weighted with thick clouds, as though holding its breath. Chuuya stood beneath a streetlight, his gaze fixed on the crowd of people. There was no real reason why he was standing there, aside from the fact that he had nowhere else to be.
It was one of those rare moments when his mind was silent, no anger, no bitterness, no need to prove anything to anyone. Just a hollow quietness inside of him. And in that silence, he saw him.
Dazai.
It was just a glimpse—Dazai’s figure moving through the crowd, his gait too familiar to mistake. For a split second, Chuuya's heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat. It had been years, years since Dazai left the mafia, and yet there he was, walking like a ghost, like he had never left. The memory of the way Dazai looked at him, the way Dazai once said those words—I love you—flooded Chuuya's mind with the force of a tidal wave.
He didn't move.
He just stood there, frozen, watching as Dazai's form disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the city's rhythm. The words were still there, hanging in the air, the ghost of a love never spoken again.
Chuuya felt the weight of the silence settle over him, cold and heavy. His chest tightened. He knew, deep down, that the last time Dazai had left the mafia, he had made a choice—a choice to cut ties with everything that was once familiar, including Chuuya. It was as if he had ripped himself from Chuuya’s life entirely. And in that silence, Chuuya realized something that felt like a punch to the gut: he was a coward.
When Dazai had confessed, when he had looked at him with those tired, broken eyes and whispered the words that could have changed everything, Chuuya hadn’t said a thing. He hadn’t responded in kind. He hadn’t even tried to salvage whatever had been between them, as if he was scared to allow himself the chance to be loved in return. Scared of the vulnerability it would bring. Scared that Dazai’s love was just another way to betray him, like everything else in his life.
But now, watching Dazai again, Chuuya could feel it. His heart clenched painfully, the love that he had buried deep inside him for so long resurfacing with a vengeance. It never went away, not truly. Chuuya had just buried it under layers of pride and anger, telling himself that he didn’t need Dazai, telling himself that he would be fine without him.
But that was a lie.
The truth was that he was still in love with Dazai, and the thought of it made his skin crawl with shame.
He should have said something. He should have stopped Dazai when he had the chance, stopped him from leaving, told him the truth. But now Dazai was gone, and Chuuya was left with the gnawing ache of a regret that would follow him forever.
Days passed, and the world didn’t stop turning. Chuuya went through the motions of life as he always did—working, fighting, trying to forget. But nothing ever felt the same.
One day, he saw him again.
This time, it wasn’t just a passing glimpse. Dazai was standing outside the Armed Detective Agency, his back leaning against the building as if waiting for something. His posture was lazy, his usual smirk stretched across his face. But something about the way he held himself seemed different—more guarded, more closed off.
Chuuya hesitated. Part of him wanted to walk away, to pretend that he didn’t recognise him, that he didn’t care. But the other part, the part he could never silence, knew that he couldn’t leave now.
With slow, deliberate steps, Chuuya approached. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and for the first time in years, he felt vulnerable. His pride was at war with his heart, but it didn’t matter anymore.
When Dazai noticed him, his smile didn’t falter. He didn’t seem surprised, as if he had known Chuuya would come. But his eyes—those eyes—were distant, cold in a way Chuuya hadn’t expected. The warmth that had once been there, the intimacy they had shared, was gone. In its place was the same indifference he saw in Kunikida and the others, the same detached professionalism that Dazai had adopted when he joined the Agency.
It hurt. It hurt in a way Chuuya hadn’t anticipated.
“Chuuya,” Dazai said, voice light, but there was an undercurrent to it—something unreadable. “I see you're still alive. How’s the underworld these days?”
Chuuya’s mouth went dry. He fought to keep his composure, but he couldn’t help the bitterness that slipped out. “And you. How’s your new life, Dazai? Did they fix that hole in your soul, or are you still running from yourself?”
Dazai’s smile faltered for just a second, but it was gone before Chuuya could pinpoint the change. “It’s… better. Different.”
Chuuya wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Dazai by the collar and shake him, demand that he explain everything—that he tell Chuuya what had happened, why he had left, and why he couldn’t just say it again. I love you.
But instead, he said nothing. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, a coward, like he always was.
Dazai’s gaze flicked to the side, almost as if he was bored, before turning back to Chuuya. “It’s good to see you, Chuuya. But I’m not the same person I was.”
The words stung. Chuuya didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know how to fight against the overwhelming feeling that everything had changed, that they had both become strangers.
Dazai's expression softened for a brief moment, but it was fleeting. “You know,” he said, his tone almost teasing, “you’re still the same, aren’t you?”
Chuuya clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Dazai was the one who had changed, who had moved on, and yet Chuuya was still stuck in the past. Still stuck on him.
“Goodbye, Chuuya,” Dazai said quietly, almost as an afterthought, before he turned to walk away.
Chuuya watched him leave, the distance between them growing with every step. It was only then that he realised—he had already left a long time ago.
And Chuuya? He was still here, standing in the same place, unable to move forward, unable to let go. Because even though Dazai had hurt him, even though Dazai had moved on, Chuuya knew the truth: he was still in love with him.
As he stood there, lost in the echo of his own thoughts, Chuuya couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever been anything more than a passing shadow to Dazai. But even if that was true, he knew one thing for certain.
Dazai had been the first person to make him feel seen.
And for that, Chuuya would never be able to forget him.