Work Text:
When Chuuya walked into the Port Mafia headquarters that morning, he was instantly confronted by a buzz of activity. Everyone seemed more tense than usual. He didn't immediately see any reason for it, and Kouyou and Dazai were nowhere in the vicinity. A few workers shot him strange glances, further cementing the peculiarity of the whole situation.
With a frown, Chuuya headed up to his office, taking the stairs as soon as he noticed the crowd outside the elevator.
Once he entered the office, a relatively small one on the 7th floor, he allowed himself a moment to calm his nerves before diving into work. The jewelry business was running smoothly, as it had been for the past few years since he'd been assigned the project. The work nowadays was mostly boring: signing reports, keeping an eye on finances and foreign relations.
He was surprised, however, when he opened his inbox. A plethora of unread emails greeted him; scanning the subject lines he noted that the situation with Mimic had apparently been resolved, but the damage control teams were having a rough time with the case. There was one email from Kouyou, however, that caught his eye. Something about doing solo missions?
But before he could investigate further, there was a knock at the door. He sighed, really hoping it wasn't a certain shitty mackerel coming in to dump even more work on him and make his life infinitely more difficult. “Come in,” he grumbled.
He was pleasantly surprised to see Hirotsu step inside. “Chuuya,” he greeted. “The boss would like to see you. There is an important matter on our hands that you must be informed of.”
The man's tone instantly had Chuuya on guard. There was a severity in it; Chuuya guessed that something with Mimic had gone terribly wrong. Maybe it has something to do with that agent drinking buddy of Dazai's . “Of course,” Chuuya responded, hopping up from his desk. “I'll come right away.”
Hirotsu nodded, looking satisfied, and led him up to one of the top floors. He left Chuuya right outside Mori's meeting room. Chuuya rapped on the door none too gently, entering after a polite, cold “come in” sounded from the other side of the polished wood.
Mori sat at his desk, fingers entwined pensively. Kouyou was sitting in a chair near him, along with another executive, Ace, that Chuuya was only vaguely familiar with. The one person distinctly absent from the room was Dazai (and Verlaine, but that wasn't a surprise).
“Chuuya,” Mori greeted with a polite nod. His tone was friendly, but there was no mistaking the tense atmosphere. “Please, sit.”
“Boss.” Chuuya inclined his head respectfully in return before taking a seat next to Kouyou.
“As you may have already figured out,” Mori began, “the situation with Mimic was resolved last night. The head of the organization and his followers have all been taken out, cleanly.”
Chuuya frowned. Then what's this whole damn fuss about?
However, Mori wasn't done. “Unfortunately, it was not without a sacrifice on our end. Sakunosuke Oda, one of our best fighters, was killed in the conflict after singlehandedly defeating their leader. And… Dazai got involved. He went to see Oda, and was presumably there when the man died.”
Of fucking course. Chuuya nearly snorted. I knew this mess had to be related to that bastard.
He still wasn't prepared for the next words to leave Mori's mouth. “I am unsure what exactly Oda said to Dazai, but I have not heard from our youngest executive since. I believe it is incredibly likely he left the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. “Left the Port Mafia?” he replied blankly.
Mori nodded, his eyes glued on Chuuya, seemingly looking for some sort of reaction. “Furthermore, it seems the agent Sakaguchi Ango has ties more complicated than we assumed. We are currently working to uncover the extent of his affiliations, but the man covered his tracks well. That, along with Dazai's defection, has left the Mafia in a less than ideal scenario.” He sat up straighter, looking at Chuuya expectantly.
“He defected.” The words felt redundant, even idiotic as they left his mouth, but Chuuya felt like his brain had briefly short circuited. Could it be? Could Dazai, the partner who'd terrorized his life for the past three years, actually be gone? “He hasn’t just up and vanished for a week like that time nine months ago?”
Mori shook his head. “No, I am certain that Dazai has indeed abandoned our organization. We have the resources to adequately pursue him, but he is dangerous. Dazai would not hesitate to use his intimate knowledge of the mafia if we pressed him, though I may have you sweep common safehouse locations. Now, naturally, we must consider your new role in this organization: you will be unable to use Corruption, as ‘soukoku’ is missing its other half. You have proven your loyalty many times over, so I ask now that you help fill in the gap left by Dazai's departure. You were familiar with his work, no?”
Chuuya finally got his voice working properly. “Of course, boss,” he responded easily. “That asshole shoved his reports onto me more often than not.” He tried to keep his tone light, disguising how much Mori's words felt like a punch to the gut. Soukoku’s other half... Unable to use Corruption…
He couldn't bring himself to believe it. The mackerel was always there, like a fucking bandaged ghost whom he couldn't get rid of, destined to pester him forever until Chuuya could kill him. And now… Dazai was gone?
“Thank you,” Mori replied smoothly, snapping Chuuya back to the present. As if taking on that work was an actual choice, he thought with an internal snort. “I will send you the necessary information later today. Please contact me or Kouyou if you have any questions. We will be focusing much of our resources on the government agent and physically searching for Dazai, so much of the executive's work may fall to you. Let me know if it is too much, Chuuya.” He smiled thinly.
“I can do it, boss,” he responded, trying to force some semblance of confidence into his voice. Trying not to betray how overwhelmed he suddenly felt, overcome by a strange wave of emotions and new assignments. “Just tell me what you need.” Kouyou shot him a look, but he ignored her.
“Excellent.” Mori stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I promised I would go shopping with my dear Elise.” A fond smile surfaced in his expression. “I can't keep her waiting.”
With that, he nodded to them and left.
Kouyou also stood with a slight sigh. “I must say,” she stated cautiously, “I am surprised you're taking the news of Dazai's defection so well. You two have been partners for three years.”
Chuuya snorted. “I hate him,” he expressed, with no small amount of passion. “My life'll be so much more peaceful without a sh--” Fuck, he forgot Kouyou didn't like his swearing habits. “Um, without a bastard like him wearing me down all the time.”
Like a phantom, Dazai's voice murmured in his head, you can't get much further down with your height, chibi~… Damn it what the fuck it took all of Chuuya's self-control not to throw something. The mackerel must have infected his mind somehow.
Kouyou seemed unsatisfied, but she nodded, turning away to leave. Chuuya followed her out the door, returning to his office in a daze.
His office was still quiet. No pranks, no lazy assholes draped over an armchair in the corner, nothing. Dare he believe Dazai had actually left the mafia?
He felt a surge of joy and anger at the thought. Joy, because Dazai was gone and his hat and wine collection would be safe (or at least he desperately hoped so). And anger, because Dazai had once again given him a shitty goddamn mess to clean up. By betraying the organization and simply leaving without any warning. Chuuya supposed that that was the only way Dazai could have left; Mori might have succeeded in stopping him otherwise.
Then there was Odasaku, the one person who’d genuinely tried to befriend Dazai, in his own way. No, not just tried. Odasaku had been Dazai's friend, otherwise Dazai wouldn't have defected. Odasaku had understood Dazai, reaching him in a way that no one else had. Chuuya had nothing against Odasaku, per say, and from what he knew of the man, his death was a great loss to the mafia.
But Dazai had betrayed the mafia for him. Chuuya felt a twinge of something uncomfortable at the thought. Maybe the mackerel had poisoned him as a parting gift…
Come to think of it, that was what felt so wrong about this whole scenario. Dazai must have done something to him; after all, they probably weren't going to see each other any time in the near future. Another strange feeling; maybe that bandaged bastard did do something. (Of course, later he would come home to a bombed car, and heartily curse Dazai and the universe for condemning him with such an asshole).
But no. Dazai had left, because of Odasaku, without any sort of goodbye. Almost like… the three years of their partnership and mutual unspoken sexual tension meant nothing to him. Had he even spared a thought for Chuuya and the fact he wouldn't be able to use Corruption on missions? About Arahabaki? Without a nullification ability around, Chuuya's inhumanity suddenly felt much stronger, twisting into an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. When they fought Verlaine, Dazai, for a moment, had genuinely seemed to care about whether or not Chuuya was human.
Maybe that was it. Chuuya grit his teeth, trying to block out emotions that felt like treachery. But part of him still whispered maybe you aren't human and can't be treated like one. He let out a quiet, bitter huff of laughter. And Dazai had the nerve to consider himself inhuman when his experience was visceral and clear.
Determined, Chuuya sat down at his desk, opening his computer in an attempt to distract himself. He still found himself boiling with anger at the thought of Dazai that fucker knew that I'd get all the work didn't he, but that didn't matter because Dazai couldn't terrorize his life anymore. Everything would be much less interesting.
He'd have to open a bottle of Petrus when he returned home. To celebrate the occasion, obviously. The mackerel had finally left.
Why did he want to scream? Why were there a thousand other emotions clamoring for his attention?
Most of all, why did he fucking care so much that Dazai left because of Odasaku?
He knew why. The truth was inevitable. He'd trusted Dazai, the Demon Prodigy of all people. He'd trusted the manipulative shitface, who'd left without a word or gesture.
And as much as Chuuya hated to admit it, he'd thought he'd known Dazai, just as much as Dazai was able to grate on his soul. And to think that Odasaku meant more than Chuuya (even if such feelings were irrational and Chuuya wanted nothing more than to burn them all away and punch something, preferably a certain brunette asshole)... hurt him more than he wanted to acknowledge.
And it felt like a brutal reminder that Chuuya couldn't be human, real, like Odasaku and everyone else.
He returned home that night with a strange weight in his chest, ready to celebrate or do something to get the whole mess with Dazai off his mind.
That was when he noticed the smoke and flickering fire ahead of him. Alarmed, Chuuya launched himself forward with Tainted Sorrow, landing in the driveway. He was confronted with the smoldering wreckage of his car.
There was no other explanation. “Dazai, you fucker,” he ground out, stomping forward to inspect the damage. Nothing looked salvageable.
Well, fuck.
The fire hadn't made it anywhere else, fortunately. That made it relatively easy to put out, though no less inconvenient. By the end of it he was fuming, even angrier at Dazai.
It was definitely time for some wine.
With a satisfied smile, he entered the kitchen, taking down a prized bottle of Petrus. If anything, he could at least celebrate the fact he wouldn't find his possessions randomly stolen or drawings on his face proclaiming him as Dazai's dog when he woke up from Corruption. After the commotion over Dazai’s betrayal had died down, Chuuya had no doubt that the mafia would be a more peaceful place.
He collapsed on the couch after getting a glass of wine.
He was exhausted.
Worst of all, he was alone, alone with a strange sense of emptiness he wanted to pound to dust and watch burn alongside his car.
He didn’t want to think anymore. He’d spent the whole day thinking too much.
Chuuya stood, grabbing the bottle of Petrus and heading to bed. He still took the effort to change out of his work clothes, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything else. It was as if all his ordinary vigor had died out.
He drank more, hoping that he’d pass out quickly and everything would feel normal tomorrow. Maybe then he could celebrate properly.
~~~
Chuuya awoke suddenly that morning, about half an hour before his alarm was set to go off. He was breathing hard, and Arahabaki was twisting, agitated, within him, along with some other unidentifiable emotion. The pain of the power chained inside him was worse than normal… but he didn’t dream, so a nightmare didn’t make any sense.
Still, he felt strangely queasy, and made a quick decision to forgo eating; he couldn’t afford to be sick today. The splitting headache he was experiencing was enough torture already, and Dazai’s betrayal had unearthed so many new shitty assignments for Chuuya.
So it was with an empty stomach he changed clothes, shrugging on his black trenchcoat. He headed out the door, arriving at work a short time later on a magenta motorcycle (cause no matter what shitty Dazai said it wasn't hot fucking pink). The headquarters was still full of energy, so Chuuya headed quickly up to his office to escape the chaos. No doubt he would be sent to search all of soukoku's common hideouts later, but for now Mori had given him a heap of new work. For a lazy asshole who spent way too much time stealing Chuuya's couch and playing video games, Dazai really had been an integral part of the mafia. Particularly regarding intelligence operations.
Briefly he wondered if this was just a ploy to get Chuuya to do all of Dazai's work for him. But this was important business, and despite the fact Dazai was lackadaisical as fuck, he liked being in control. He wouldn't actually trust anyone else with this shit, and he only forced Chuuya to do all the ‘boring mission reports’. So the fact Chuuya had access to this information now meant that Dazai had truly defected and Mori was taking it seriously.
Typical of the shitface to leave Chuuya behind with all the hard work…
He sighed, focusing back on the intel on his computer. The files were organized in an inexplicable manner that must've only made sense to Dazai himself. Chuuya was tasked with going through all of them, updating the information and reorganizing it. The files were interesting to say the least, but after four hours of being hungover and staring at the screen, the words and numbers all began to blur together (honestly, he was surprised he lasted even that long).
With a huff of irritation he let his head fall against the desk, instantly regretting it as a spike of pain flashed through him. Maybe he should've taken some painkillers
Reluctantly he dragged himself to his feet, steadying himself with Tainted Sorrow when a wave of dizziness overtook him. He wasn't one to admit to injuries or vulnerability, but even he knew that he wouldn't be adequately productive with this kind of sharp, throbbing ache in his head.
Chuuya was fortunate enough to have a stash of ibuprofen in his desk for situations such as this one. This wasn't the first time he'd come to work feeling awful, though usually Kouyou forced him to go home if she caught wind of it. But Kouyou, along with everyone else in the Port Mafia, was busier than usual.
After taking a swig of water he downed three pills (triple the amount he was supposed to take for his size, but that was beside the point, his height shouldn't have anything to do with his comfort). It would be at least half an hour before they kicked in, so Chuuya reluctantly returned to work and fought through the headache.
He was unaccustomed to sitting at his desk in his office for extended periods of time. Because of his power, he was usually sent on at least one mission throughout the day, though many of them were usually mundane. Chuuya's presence mostly served as an intimidation factor, especially when it came to negotiations with other organizations in Yokohama. Those missions were boring, but at least one of those would be a break from the monotony of just sitting . All. Day. He clenched his fists in frustration. While he knew deep down that Dazai had actually left the mafia, part of him still wondered if this was Dazai's way of making his life hell for a few days.
He resisted the urge to crush his computer more than a few times before the ibuprofen finally lessened the pounding in his skull. For the next five, grueling hours he kept at it, moving from information updates to maintaining the mafia's reputation and relationships. It was fucking exhausting, and if Chuuya wasn't so furious at Dazai he might've actually respected his partner for the work he did. Of course, Dazai and his shitty manipulative mind probably found this all easy as fuck, maybe even boring. If there was one thing he was good at, it was pushing people's buttons.
6pm came and went, but Chuuya was so wrapped up in his work that he didn't notice. His headache was gone, but it had been replaced with a roiling nausea that Chuuya was trying his hardest to ignore. Or maybe it was a different feeling that was clenching his insides; he once again considered the possibility that Dazai had poisoned him. As if the mackerel hadn't fucked up his life enough. Chuuya sighed.
Finally, at around 8pm, he'd finished ensuring that Dazai's work and job didn't go to shit. Now he just had to sign a few papers and send a few emails for his jewelry duties. He'd tuned out most of the varying pains he was feeling at this point, determined to prove that he was at least still loyal to the mafia.
A knock on his door interrupted his work. Before he could even open his mouth, Kouyou had entered the room, a few emotions swirling in her usually neutral face. She locked eyes with Chuuya, taking in his appearance. He felt suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze, so he greeted quickly, “Ane-san. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything else the boss needs?”
With those words, Kouyou's cold, professional expression snapped back into place, though it was softer than normal. “Mori would like you to sweep varying safehouses that you and Dazai have used over the years.”
Chuuya jumped at the opportunity, eager to finally get out of the office and go on a mission to distract himself. “Does he want me to leave immediately?” he asked.
“He requests that you be available as soon as possible,” Kouyou responded, her tone indecipherable. “Mori knows that you are most familiar with your ex-partner's habits, so he would like you to go alone.”
Now the displeasure in her voice was clear, but Chuuya for once wasn't focusing, his mind caught on one word: ex-partner. Even though he'd spent yesterday considering and celebrating the prospect, the word felt unnatural when it came to him and Dazai, to soukoku. Suddenly realizing he'd been silent for a few moments too long, he hurriedly replied, “I can leave now, I already know where to search.”
He hopped over his desk, pulling on his trench coat and moving to walk out the door. But Kouyou caught his arm. “Chuuya,” she said firmly. “You don't have to do this, you know.”
“Ane-san, I'm fine,” he said, meeting her scrutinizing gaze. “I just want to get out of the fu-- the office, the search won't take too long.”
Reluctantly Kouyou released him. “Be careful, Chuuya,” she stated softly, an uncharacteristic amount of emotion in her tone.
Chuuya flashed her a smile that had never felt so forced. “I'll be fine, and I'll go straight home once I'm done,” he assured her briskly before striding out the door. (Or trying to; he was too fucking short to accomplish a ‘stride’, but he would never admit that to anyone, including himself).
And he was fine, albeit tired. As soon as he stepped outside, he felt better. The crisp wind caused his coat to flutter out dramatically behind him, and it was a refreshing change compared to his stuffy office. He let out a relieved sigh. The search would most likely be short; if Dazai was actually gone, then Chuuya knew he wouldn't be anywhere near those hideouts.
Still, he hopped on his motorcycle, zipping off to an abandoned apartment complex, the closest safehouse to the mafia headquarters. It still took him a decent ten minutes of driving (well, speeding) to reach it. He parked his bike, headed towards the back entrance, and… paused. The rickety staircase was all too familiar, and it felt… empty. Too quiet, too peaceful in the night.
Irritated and exhausted, Chuuya shook off the feeling, climbing the unsteady stairs and trying not to make too much noise.
A vacant, dirty apartment greeted him. He'd expected it, but that did nothing to lessen his anger towards Dazai and his betrayal of the Port Mafia. After checking the whole place he hopped back on his bike, speeding off to the next safehouse.
The results were the same there, and the same in every other place Chuuya entered. Dark and empty, devoid of a telltale fishy stench.
He'd told himself it would be a short search, that he wouldn't put much effort into it. His headache had already worsened, severely, but he pushed through the pain. He could still see straight enough to drive.
What was meant to be a short search turned into an all-nighter in which he scoured every single one of their hideouts, safehouses, and even daily haunts. There was no sign of Dazai anywhere. Not that Chuuya had expected there would be. If Dazai didn't want to be found, then Chuuya had no chance at finding him.
He'd just about decided to head home when he suddenly noticed that the first rays of sunlight were peeking over the horizon. With a start he realized that he'd been outside all night, driving around the entirety of Yokohama and its outskirts.
Well, fuck. He'd been looking forward to sleeping, but it seemed like that would have to wait. He couldn't afford to skip work, not with all the shit he had to do. But he also couldn't run on no sleep for the entire day; his surroundings were getting hazy and he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Fortunately, he spotted a cheap-looking café on the corner.
He parked his bike, and it took all of his concentration not to stumble as he walked inside. For some reason, something about the place looked familiar, but he was too exhausted to pursue that feeling.
Chuuya sat down heavily on a bar stool, ordering three cups of brewed coffee. Probably more than he needed, but he didn't want to risk anyone noticing his exhaustion. Kouyou might send him home, then Mori would be disappointed, and there might be a number of other problems. Besides, maybe extra caffeine would give him the energy and drive he’d been strangely lacking for the past two days.
Suddenly, he was aware that someone had just sat down next to him. Maybe it was later in the morning than he'd thought…
The person beside him looked to be in his teens; Chuuya would guess around 18, his age. He wore a strange brown jacket and hat, with square glasses folded in his front pocket.
Now, he turned to face Chuuya, slipping his glasses from his pocket and putting them on. “Hello,” he stated, and something in his voice was almost similar to Dazai's. Not in cadence or pitch, but there was an undertone of scrutiny. It had always made Dazai sound pretentious in Chuuya's opinion, but this boy was different. He seemed friendlier than Dazai, but something about him was even more unnerving. “You're out early,” the teen continued.
“What's it to you?” Chuuya retorted, too drained to even attempt to be pleasant. In a few moments he would be done with his coffee and--
Suddenly the boy's eyes, previously half-lidded, opened fully, and there was something keen in those emerald depths that made Chuuya distinctly uncomfortable. “He's not coming back.”
Wait. What the fuck? Chuuya jolted fully upright, staring at the teen. “What?” he growled, instantly on guard. Was this some kind of shitty trick?
Seemingly unfazed, the boy continued, “You've lost someone dear to you. And they're not coming back.”
“He wasn't dear to me,” Chuuya snapped, incredulity seeping into his tone before he realized what he'd said. Fuck, he really was tired, and the dull headache wasn't helping. Quickly he backtracked with, “who the fuck are you?”
“It doesn't matter,” the boy said breezily, but his eyes were serious in a way that made Chuuya feel exposed, known. “Don't overwork yourself. You are, after all, human.”
The words felt like an icy bucket of water had been suddenly poured over all his senses. He stood abruptly, glaring at the boy. “That's awfully bold for someone you've just fucking met. You don't know a thing about me, so stop trying to guess shit that you don't understand.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the place, downing the last of his coffee and chucking the cup into the trash can on his way out.
The boy's sharp green eyes followed him the whole way.
~~~
The next day involved more searches, more headaches, and more tedious reports. Things were calming down already, though Kouyou was still busy dealing with Ango.
It was almost dying down too quickly, and it made Chuuya uncomfortable. Dazai’s departure felt… anticlimactic. Like everyone was trying their ‘best’ to find him, when they (Mori most of all) knew that Dazai was gone for good. It was a shocker, certainly, but Chuuya was surprised to find how much simpler everything felt.
For one thing, his office was fucking quiet . There were no whining bandaged bitches or irritating video game audio plaguing his ears. He could get all of his work done without a prank or two ruining his whole day (that did NOT mean he was going to ever forgive Dazai for blowing up his fucking car). For another, he could go wherever he pleased without someone else tagging along and complaining the whole way. It was like the universe had finally blessed him with peace for once.
And it all felt wrong in a way Chuuya hadn’t anticipated. He kept expecting something to happen as a result of Dazai’s manipulation, but there was just silence. It was as if Dazai had just disappeared.
Chuuya wasn’t lonely, he hated the bastard too much for that, but life was a lot less interesting.
As the day concluded, and another one began, and days stretched into weeks, Chuuya felt himself slowly becoming more and more overwhelmed. The work hadn’t lessened, he barely got any sleep anymore, and he was drinking more caffeine than ever before. He ate less (because he was busy, there was no other reason), and various headaches plagued him more often than not.
Then there was the issue of Arahabaki.
He’d woken up in the middle of the night with a gasp as a wine glass had fallen off his nightstand and shattered on the floor. His bedroom had been trembling from gravity manipulation, presumably something he’d done in his sleep. But Arahabaki had been more restless than usual, tearing at his insides and giving him a splitting migraine.
It was the first time in a long while that Chuuya had, for a moment, felt afraid. He didn’t have a backup anymore; he couldn’t call Dazai and feel the sweet relief of nullification keep Arahabaki at bay. If Chuuya lost control, there was no turning back. He would die, and Arahabaki could destroy Yokohama. Never before had Chuuya felt more like an artificial vessel for some inhuman power that didn’t belong in the world, except for maybe when he’d first met N and Verlaine. But even then Dazai and Adam had been there, both of whom were now gone.
Chuuya still slept with his gloves on, but he’d shoved his hands in his pockets that night, unable to fall asleep again.
~~~
One month later and Dazai had still vanished from the Port Mafia’s radar. However, he hadn’t moved against their organization in any way (likely knowing that Mori would retaliate, and even he would have a difficult time withstanding the full onslaught of the mafia).
That night, Chuuya decided to break open another bottle of wine to celebrate one month living mackerel-free, this time without the smoking wreckage of a car to deal with fuck you Dazai, a hundred times over.
It didn’t matter that the past month had been one of the worst in his life, because things had to get better from here. He’d gotten closer to the Akutagawas, the Black Lizards, and new subordinates under his control. Mori had slipped him a discreet email the other day saying that Chuuya had done an excellent job stepping up to the task, and that he was well on his way to earning a position as an official executive.
Right now, however, all Chuuya wanted to do was enjoy some wine in silence. Then sleep. Preferably for a week straight, but that was never going to happen, so he’d settle for an uninterrupted six hours. Maybe wine would somehow help (not in the morning, but Chuuya was gonna ignore that fact right now).
His apartment was still eerily quiet. He’d been spending so little time at home lately that he hadn’t noticed the distinct sense of emptiness pervading the whole place. At least maybe he could get some sleep.
But as he drank more, the sentimentality and vulnerability that he’d buried for the past month was slowly bubbling to the surface of his thoughts.
It was possibly the millionth time he’d thought it, yet the sentence still caused that uncomfortable twinge in his gut. Was this some long-lasting poison? The alternative was too gross to consider.
The alternative was that Chuuya cared. Not about Dazai betraying the organization, but Dazai betraying him and his trust and their partnership as soukoku. The alternative was that Dazai had dealt him a blow that he'd have a difficult time recovering from.
Even if that was the case, though, he could work through it. Even if everything felt like shit now, someday he would feel ‘okay’ again. Right?
Someday, he wouldn’t feel betrayed or cast aside in favor of some other friend. Someday, he would be able to leave all of this behind him. Someday, all of this wouldn’t hurt. Right?
Maybe someday he would be able to confront Dazai about all of this. Punch some sense into the bastard.
Maybe someday he would be able to once again feel the chilling kiss of Dazai’s nullification ability sending Arahabaki to sleep.
But for now, all Chuuya Nakahara could do was wait… and maybe hope that one day the person he hated most in the world would come back and once again make him feel human.