Chapter Text
How it began:
A powerful boom shook the walls, and the room erupted with searing flames.
Dazai was thrown back from the sudden explosion. His head slammed against the wall as the roof above him began to cave in. White hot pain tore through every limb on his body. As his back hit the ground, Dazai let out a blood-curdling scream.
Not like anyone was going to come. He had lost hope in someone saving him a long time ago.
The world felt like it was about to collapse. Dazai could barely breathe through all the smoke as the fire edged closer. He tried to push himself up with his bloody hands, but his leg was stuck under a piece of debris. Dazai tried using every ounce of strength left to free himself, but collapsed back onto the ground, defeated.
The world began to spin as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The flames danced around him, threatening to devour everything Dazai had worked so hard for—every plan, every lie, every useless hope for a better life. It felt like one horrible nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
It was Dazai who told Chuuya it was safe. Who had promised everything would be alright.
Chuuya.
He was still inside. He could be bleeding out on the ground, waiting—like he always did—for Dazai to come through. Just like he always had. And Dazai–he couldn’t do a single thing to save him.
His partner, his best friend, the man who had kept him company when no one would even look at him, the man who asked him how his day was when no one else even bothered to ask him his name, the man who stood by his side even after seeing what a shitty person he was.
He had trusted Dazai. And what had Dazai done? He had gotten him killed.
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of voices calling out to each other. Dazai looked up to see a silhouette in the smoke. For one horrible second he thought it was Chuuya, but he didn’t recognize the voice.
He could barely make out what it was saying. He caught the word survivor—clearly, they meant him. But right now, he didn’t feel like one at all. Perhaps he would've been better off if he had simply died in the explosion.
The figure rushed towards Dazai with urgency, ignoring the deadly flames around them. His vision was too blurry to make out the face as they crouched down to examine his condition. Dazai didn’t even bother listening to what they had to say. It was just a bunch of empty promises. Soothing lies meant to drag him farther from the truth.
How could everything be okay when Dazai had no idea if Chuuya was even still alive. He needed to find him. He needed to feel his heart beat, see the rising and falling of his chest, only then would everything be alright.
Dazai’s attention snapped back to the person next to him. They knelt down beside him and started to haul the piece of debris off his leg. With one final shove, the debris collapsed beside him.
Dazai had no time to feel relieved because the flames were only growing closer by the second. He felt as though he was slowly being cooked to death in a giant oven.
Clearly, his rescuer felt the same way. Without warning, they grabbed Dazai’s arms, trying to pull him to his feet.
“Don't touch me!” Dazai shrieked, the contact slicing through the fog of his mind like a blade—too sudden, too close. The touch made him feel like a helpless dog trapped in a tiny cage. He shoved them away and tried to make a run for it. The moment he put his full weight on his left leg, it collapsed under him as white agony shot through his veins.
An agonizing scream sounded behind Dazai. He turned his head to see that the man who had been trying to save his life, had fallen into the fire. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh. He watched in horror as the man's skin began to blacken and char due to the hellish flames that whipped around their body.
Dazai was frozen. He couldn’t force his limbs to move, but he also couldn’t force himself to look away. It felt like the piercing scream was tearing at his soul.
Then, it went quiet.
There was nothing left of the man's body. Nothing to prove he had once existed. Nothing to show how he had died in vain trying to save a hopeless child. Not even anything left to bury.
Dazai had killed him. He had recklessly pushed him into the fire. It was his fault. The man hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t deserve this. It was Dazai who deserved to die in a fire.
He realized he was shaking uncontrollably. Even though he was surrounded by fire, he felt cold.
Suddenly, a part of the roof collapsed across from Dazai. The crash made him flinch, curling himself into a tight ball as the embers sprayed everywhere.
No matter how much he wished for the sweet release of death, Chuuya could still be out there.
Dazai used all his remaining strength to haul his useless body across the floor. His muscles ached and every nerve in his leg screamed with agony. He could barely see through the smoke as it continued to fill the room.
The whole roof was coming down. He only had seconds before he ended up dead like his rescuer. Except Dazai knew he would end up in hell instead of heaven.
Careful not to get too close to the bright flames, Dazai crawled toward the exit. He moved as fast as his body could take him. Even a sloth would've gone faster. He had to stop every time coughs began to rack his body. Dazai needed to get out of this smoke.
He shielded his face with his hands as more of the roof collapsed, narrowly missing his only good leg.
He hopelessly continued to pull himself to the door, knowing it would only lead him deeper into the inferno. But he had no choice–not when there was a chance Chuuya could still be alive.
Finally, he collapsed on the other side of the doorway. The room caved in just as he crossed the threshold, the crash echoing across the burning ground floor.
Every breath he managed was a battle. Maybe he was already dead, and this was his punishment. He certainly could have mistaken this place for hell.
As he pushed himself to his knees, a figure emerged from the smoke—small, slouched, framed by flickering firelight. Dazai’s heart skipped. The coat, the silhouette… it had to be Chuuya.
It didn’t matter if it was real. He had to check. He had to believe.
His chest heaved with pain as he forced his body forward. The world was a blur of red and orange. Every inch felt like a war—against his own body, against the fire, against the grief that clawed at his throat.
He wanted to stop so badly, but the new spark of hope pushed him past the pain and exhaustion.
As he approached the figure he called out in raspy breaths, “Chuuya…?” The word left him like a prayer. “Is that you?” His vision was blurry–and not from the heat.
Why didn’t he respond? Chuuya was never this quiet. But it didn’t matter. It had to be him. Who else could it be? Dazai needed it to be him.
He pulled himself closer, blood smearing behind him, pain crashing through every joint. The world narrowed in on his last thread of hope in this living hell.
“Chu, it's me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I knew you'd–” He reached out, trembling. If he could just touch him.
Dazai grasped the sleeve, his bandages soaking through with blood.
It crumbled at his touch. The arm came loose from the socket–burnt, crisp, unrecognizable.
His breath caught.
“No,” he whispered, “No, no, no–”
His hand shook violently as he fumbled to check for a pulse. There was none. This was a dead man. A stranger. It wasn’t Chuuya.
It never was.
He stumbled backward. Stifling a sob as the world felt like it was suffocating him. Chuuya’s figure–a hallucination. Another false hope in this hellish nightmare.
Dazai slammed his fists into the ground, his scream torn from his lungs, wild and broken. He wanted to cry. To sob until his eyes burned. But he had no tears left to shed.
He clutched his head with both hands, forehead pressed to the scorched floor as his voice broke again and again.
“I killed you…I killed you…I let you die,” His voice was hoarse and fractured, “This is my fault...”
The corpse before him offered no comfort.
But somewhere, deep inside his blackened heart, a tiny voice whispered: What if he's still alive? What if this isn’t him?
Dazai lifted his head.
“I'll find you,” he rasped, “If you're still alive…I'll find you.”
Then he dragged himself forward—through the smoke, through the pain, through the loss.
Because even if the fire had taken everything else, he refused to let it take his hope.