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The world was so peaceful in the late evening—the sky bruising into hues of oranges and purples. Chuuya relaxed further into her seat. A few papers she needed to sign were scattered across her coffee table, but she ignored them for the moment. Her foot tapped lightly against the floor in a soft rhythm that did everything except sooth her mind from the inevitable. She was just about to take another sip of her tea when she was interrupted by the familiar sound of those footsteps and the click of her front door.
There she was, in all of her smug glory. Osamu Dazai, the woman she despised, hated, and loathed. They seemed to repeat this annoying cycle over and over like clockwork. Dazai would burst into her apartment, steal her expensive booze, annoy her to the point of insanity, and then disappear—like she was just someone to toy with. Every time, she fell for it too. And once again, Dazai is throwing her coat somewhere off to the side and flopping onto her couch with a smug expression.
“It’s been a while slug.”
She hums, staring into Chuuya’s eyes with that same lazy confidence she never seemed to lose. Delivering it like she hadn’t seen Chuuya in years, like she hadn’t ruined her just last week.
Chuuya made a promise to herself—end this ‘arrangement’ or die trying. Even though that was getting progressively harder with each word Dazai spoke.
“Dazai, you can’t be serious.”
She sighs coldly before taking another sip of her tea. She wasn’t going to let Dazai in, not today.
“If you’re so opposed to my late night visits, why do you never lock your door, hm?”
She asked condescendingly—Dazai knew she caught Chuuya.
With no answer, Chuuya scoffed and looked away. She knew seeing that bastards shit-eating grin would send her spiraling all over again, so she saved herself the trouble.
“Why is it suddenly so hard for you to leave me alone? You seemed perfectly fine doing it before.”
She huffs—her voice betraying the bitterness, the betrayal. When Dazai had left with not even a text for four years. Leading Chuuya to think she was dead in a ditch somewhere, but no. The piece of shit was alive; and worse, on the side of the agency. The same agency she thought they hated. Clearly someone had been lying, or had grown soft and pathetic.
Dazai was quiet for a long moment. Her face scrunched in that certain way. The way that said her words had burned her. So much so, Dazai physically recoiled a little—moving a bit back on the sofa. Her eyes held an ounce of regret, something unusual for the unapologetic detective. Chuuya almost felt bad, like she had just kicked a puppy, but Dazai’s expression quickly schooled back into a softer smirk.
“I like seeing Chuuya’s annoyed face.” She teases gently. “All red and bothered.”
Chuuya is, in fact, feeling very bothered by this conversation, and the way Dazai deflected every uncomfortable conversation away from the point. She felt herself sinking into frustration and forced herself to calm down.
“So you like seeing me suffer? Real mature.”
She says with barely contained rage. She knows Dazai has picked up on the atmosphere, and she knows Dazai most likely doesn’t care.
“Would I sound even more cruel if I said yes?~”
She asks but it’s not genuine. Dazai doesn’t like seeing Chuuya suffer. She doesn’t like how utterly human she seems right now. Curled up into the space on the sofa next to her. Clutching the arm-rest like a lifeline. It could inspire guilt or something more complex, if only she wasn’t so selfish. Selfish enough to keep these visits up because even if it hurts Chuuya, Dazai pain would feel worse; losing her like this.