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The creaking of Chuuya’s apartment door being opened sounded awfully like a sigh of relief as the ginger awkwardly shuffled into his house, luggage floating behind him.
He had just gotten back from a 3-month-long overseas mission doing fuck knows what, and he was fucking tired, okay?!
“I’m home!” Chuuya called into his house. Normally, that annoying asshat that had practically forced himself into Chuuya’s home permanently would be crawling all over him by now spouting shit about how he had “missed his dear doggy!!” (If anything, he was acting more like a dog than Chuuya was whenever it happened!), yet today the house felt oddly hollow. Had Dazai stepped out for something?
Chuuya scoffed immediately. The day Dazai willingly went to the convenience store was the day a unicorn pranced its way down from a rainbow and deemed Chuuya the new ruler of Munchkinland (He ignored how Dazai would giggle at how well the profession would fit Chuuya).
Chuuya lowered his bags to the floor and switched on the hallway lights. Even if Dazai was home (awake or asleep), the lights would somehow never be on; it was as if the man was nocturnal or something!
“Dazai? You home?” He called, hoping for something, anything to confirm whether Dazai was even in the building- let alone alive.
Silence.
“Osamu…?!” Chuuya knew that simply evoking Dazai’s given name was like an immediate call button for the brunette. (and a turn-on)
Nothing.
The polished wooden floorboards creaked as Chuuya stepped lightly. He wasn’t stupid; having two of the Port Mafia’s executives under one roof was a recipe for disaster, and while Dazai never unintentionally got kidnapped, this felt different.
As he reached the kitchen, he was greeted by a glossy black envelope, complete with the fancy wax executive seal that Dazai bought to seem more “fancy and important,” as he liked to put it. Chuuya’s name was lettered on the back of the envelope in scrawling silver calligraphy. He worried at his lip; Dazai only used his extremely fancy handwriting for extremely important occasions, and Chuuya was almost scared to find out what this one was.
Sure, Dazai had sent him letters and texts and emails and once even a fucking carrier pigeon to notify his partner of his upcoming attempt and bid him a (never permanent) farewell. Yet this, once again, felt different.
It still felt like a goodbye.
Just not a permanent one.
With shaking hands, Chuuya carefully thumbed open the envelope. He was greeted by the formal (not fancy, it was different from the calligraphy- fuck you mean it's ‘weird’ to have the different types of your partner’s handwriting memorised?!) writing Dazai used to write the reports he was eventually forced to do.
To my dearly detested, loathed love, adored archenemy Chuuya,
By the time you are reading this (no, I will NOT be dead, rude of you to assume that!), but I will have defected from the mafia.
Knowing you, you haven’t checked your messages or emails since you’ve gotten back from that overseas mission of yours, so this is the first time you are hearing about this.
While it is selfish of me, I am somewhat glad that this is how you find out, by my (surprisingly honest for once) hand instead of Mori’s. I really hope that you aren’t that attached to your car (jk, I know you are!!!), but I’ve placed a bomb under it…lol.
I don’t regret it, as it will hopefully throw anyone off your scent, therefore removing you as a suspect of helping me in my defection. I’ll pay you back for it… eventually.
I won’t disclose much about why I defected in the first place, in case this letter somehow gets intercepted, so I’ll just give you a quick summary:
Ango Sakaguchi is a double agent and was spying on the enemy organisation, Mimic, for the Port Mafia and spying on the Port Mafia for the government. Sakunosuke Oda is deceased and was killed by the leader of Mimic in a duel to the death.
Both of them were drinking buddies and close friends of mine. I’m sure you know how it feels to lose friends all at once. But Odasaku’s last wish was for me to be a good man, and I cannot let the dying words of a friend go to waste, so that is what I’ll do.
I would tell you where you could find me (if you wanted to), but a) this letter could be intercepted, b) I have no idea when you would get back, and c) I have no idea where I could be by the time you read this letter.
I would like to give you some words of wisdom or comfort or some heartfelt mojo… but I’m so strung out on methadone right now, I’m doing a good job just holding my pen!
Nah, I’m kidding… just wanted to quote Ghost Stories at ya one last time!! >0<
Right, forgot to mention that. We probably won’t see each other for at least 2 years while I’m in hiding; to you that’d be like two years' worth of vacation, I bet! Oh, and I’d like you to destroy this letter once you’re done crying and slobbering over it like any good doggy missing his master does! (plus, I know that with YOUR temper, destroying this letter will be a piece of cake, hehe!)
Well, all the best (not),
~Your (ex) partner in crime, significant bother and esteemed rival, Osamu Dazai
(p.s. left you some Petrus in your wine cabinet so you can drink ur sorrows away. lol)
—---------------------------------------------------------
Chuuya clenched the letter between his gloved hands and glared at the tear-splotched and blurred words like they had personally wronged him (they had). That damn Dazai had not only defected from the Port Mafia, but he’d blown up Chuuya’s car, damn it!
Yet, despite the anger bubbling inside him like a hot soup on a winter’s day, he felt the sadness simmering just below the surface. Dazai had lost two of his only friends on the same day, and Chuuya could relate to that. He remembered how destroyed he felt when he found Albatross and the rest of the Flags’ bodies.
Chuuya hoped that Dazai would listen to his friend's advice and become a good man. It would obviously take time, but it could probably happen. He wiped his eyes and promptly crumpled the paper before using his ability to compress it smaller and then ripping it up. To hell with whatever bullshit the Boss would say, Chuuya felt like committing one teensy weensy good act for his (now ex) partner one last time.
As the mafioso watched the minuscule shreds of paper swirl away with the mingling of the rush of water and the sound of the toilet, he couldn’t help the smirk that crept across his face.
Now, where the hell did Dazai say he put that Petrus?