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He surely knew he had died. He was the center of it. The only one left. The acceptance he felt in that amount was like the first time he felt like there was something beyond the black pit. As he stared into the dark eyes of his mentor that had such kindness and, the words he spoke the ones he longed for.
Blood poured out of him as he slowly lost consciousness, the dazz that came from the blood loss. The blood was all but draining from his head, split between two pieces. It was the second time. The second time he died, the first time wasn't this clear and yet bleek. His eyes were registering the blur of light and the soliloquy of the piano as his heart danced along until it slowed to a crawl.
'I'm dead,' Akutagawa looked around the white abyss he found himself. 'Yet, I can feel it: my pulse beating.' The mafioso wondered if this was the afterlife. The nothingness—he could feel his own body, yet it felt foreign to him. He had imagined an eternal night without a dawn—this was it.
He envisioned it so many times. The idea left him with a sense of pride, knowing he had done what was asked of him. However, that wasn't what he felt now. Those kind words Dazai had spoken with a medley to play him out. He had done his best. He had protected Nakajima until he couldn't anymore. He fought that thing until he couldn't anymore.
The white expansion called to him, asking if it genuinely was enough. Sadness crawled at his chest. If he was honest, he had imagined so much more afterward. Being the hero, seeing the real Dazai, not the one his mind had made up. For some reason, he had seen a future of standing next to Nakajima as an ally. And now it was bubbles floating above him far beyond his own reaching. He didn't even know he had had a dream until it was several paces behind him.
He wanted to be seen and cared for. And maybe, just maybe, find someone who saw him. It was weird they had only been enemies for such a short time compared to how many times they had teamed up. He started to think it was possible to see him as something else. Blood was pooling on the floor. It was so vibrant against the blinding white.
Finally, he took in his surroundings. The tears drying from his eyes, what was once a white nothingness, was now a ruined airport. A thought came to him, akin to lightning touching down, shocking the ground.
Was he in the sword? His heartbeat raised. If this wasn't the end and where he was, was not some blinding in-between, then that must be…
"Atsushi," he saw it; a giant medieval door opened wide. "this time we won't be defeated."
He made his way to the door and walked into the dark nothingness.