Chapter Text
“Good morning good morning Kunikida!” The door of their shared apartment swung open as Dazai sauntered in with a grin. It was far too early for the chronic insomniac to be cheerful, even as an act. Kunikida was getting ready for work, packing and then re-packing her bag three times, as usual. Dazai thrust her phone at the taller girl, who squinted at the bright screen (she never used her phone before 7), and saw a pair of tickets.
“Dazai, it is far too early for you to be so vague. What are these for? Are you expecting me to come?” Kunikida checked her watch, seeing she still had 30 minutes before leaving to ensure she had exactly 5 minutes to wait until the train arrived, and decided to humour her friend.
“So, get this! A girl I know told me there’s a bar near here hosting a lesbian night on Saturday! And apparently not many people have bought tickets because it’s not being advertised well.” Dazai threw herself back onto their sofa, clearly dishevelled with her shoes still on. Kunikida did not want to ask where she’d been all night.
“And naturally, you decided to buy two tickets to force me to come with you?”
“Of course! It’ll be fun. You could use a night out. It starts at 7.”
Kunikida pulled her diary out of its spot in her bag, which revealed she didn’t actually have anything scheduled on Saturday night. It would be nice to go out, especially if it wouldn’t interfere with other plans. Dazai threw a pen across the room, as though able to read her mind.
“Fine. I’ll put it in my calendar. How much do I owe you for the ticket?”
--
Saturday rolled around fast. Dazai stood in front of her closet, trying and failing to pick out an outfit. It had been fun to tease her best friend all week about this night, her plans to set Kunikida up with some hot girl because she was, naturally, the world’s best wing woman (a complete and total lie). But now, the mere thought of it was too much effort. She took another swig of the canned cocktail in her hand. It was god-awful, but it would make this easier.
Her hands brushed along the clothes before her, a thousand options but no answers. It was the middle of Spring, the temperature completely average. And yet, every dress was just wrong. Every cute blouse filled her with more despair. On the verge of giving up, she threw herself onto the bed, sighing dramatically. Then she saw, tucked away in a small box on the floor, an old, never worn, beautiful black top. Memories long buried flooded her mind, reminding her of that day. The last time she saw...
“Oi, Dazai. Are you even slightly ready?” A sharp knock at the door. Kunikida, lingered in the entrance, evidently anxious to leave. Her hair was tied back in its signature style, a low ponytail that trailed down her spine gracefully. She wore a pair high waisted black trousers with a grey shirt over the top of a white t shirt. Simple, effortless. But Dazai could tell how much thought had gone into every little choice, could picture Kunikida digging furiously through her closet all afternoon. A real shame she’d been asleep, it would’ve been fun to poke fun at her actions.
“You do realise it doesn’t start for another hour right? Nobody will be there at that time. And it’s a 15 minute walk? I have all the time in the world to look good.” She pulled the blouse out of its box, trying to brush off the small layer of dust covering it’s lacy collar. Turning to the other girl, she winked, “Are you just here to look at my lingerie?”
Always so easy to fluster, Dazai grinned as a red blush covered her friend’s face. “Obviously not! I’m making sure you won’t take another three hours. Or get too drunk before we even take a single step outside.”
“Relax! I’ll be 30 minutes. We can be early if you really want that.” Stifling her laughter (to avoid being yelled at), she adjusted the bandage around her arm, and grabbed a short skirt at random. “Now go have a drink. Lighten up so you can have some fun.”
With a sigh, Kunikida turned and walked out, muttering something about how disorganised she was. Oh well. She knew what she was signing up when she chose to live with Dazai.
Thirty minutes exactly. That’s all it took for her to pull together a half-decent outfit, and make herself look slightly less like a total shit show. Her hair was still messy, but at least her makeup was nice. Good enough. And she’d somehow downed another crappy canned drink and was feeling alive. Or... well, at least as alive as she was capable of.
“You look nice.” All that Kunikida said as she stepped into their shared kitchen. The ultimate compliment that she would give nowadays, all too aware that anything more would result in teasing. “Are you going to eat anything before we go? Please do not get thrown out. I will not be holding back your hair tonight.”
“Ehhhh, I could, but it’s more fun if I don’t. And anyway, you’ll always hold my hair back, you’re just too kind.”
Kunikida was just... like that. When they’d first met, fresh out of university and in need of someone to live with, she had been overly strict, but kind, caring. The type to pick up Dazai’s favourite cereal when she was getting groceries, because she knew the box in their cupboard was empty. When they’d hooked up after a drunken night out, she had insisted on a serious discussion that ended with an agreement to just stay friends.
When Dazai had overdosed in their bathtub, Kunikida was there, holding her hair as she stuck her fingers down Dazai’s throat and prayed she would be okay. They’d lived together ever since, even through two more attempts.
Always so caring, always so reliable.
“You’re a disaster. I’m not even going to try.” She shook her head. “We should leave soon. If we get there 15 minutes after it starts, then it still won’t be too crowded.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Apparently they’ve only sold half the tickets. It won’t be crowded at all.” A bottle appeared in her hand at some point, she couldn’t recall picking it up, but another drink was always welcome.
“Still only half?”
“Yup, remember that girl I was seeing last week? She knows the organiser. Well, I did too. Anyway, still only 150. It’s going to fail miserably, but at least she’s got enough money to recover from that.” Dazai didn’t talk about her ‘old friends’ often, and it piqued Kunikida’s interest.
“Oh?”
“Well, that’s if she stopped being a ‘discreet’ cokehead. Politics is well-paid, I guess.” Dazai laughed, loud. with a trace of fondness. Nights out at university full of booze, drugs, and sex were some of her favourite memories. Even if they were always juxtaposed with some horrible blood-covered breakdowns in their aftermath.
“You know what, that’s not even unexpected for you.” Kunikida checked her bag, a small shoulder bag that Dazai knew was somehow holding every essential imaginable (it was a mystery how she was able to fit it all in there), and then checked it again three times. The same routine. Dazai might be avoiding therapy because she was simply too far gone, but Kunikida was plainly too prideful to admit just how all-consuming her OCD was. “Let’s go.”
--
The walk was quiet. Dazai was tipsy, sure, but the peace of the beautiful evening, a clear sky and not a single soul around, did little to quell the anxiety beginning to bubble inside her.
“Does this ‘old friend’ know you’re going to be here? When did you last speak to her?” Kunikida asked, eyeing Dazai’s skinny body as she bent down to pet a stray cat.
“Ummm... last year maybe? We saw each other at a cafe near the canal and I didn’t do anything reckless.” Lie. She’d come dangerously close to punching her and jumping to a frozen, watery death. But she’d smiled and sat through the apologies, pretending the hatchet was buried. A story she wouldn’t tell Kunikida yet. Keeping her backstory a mystery was more fun. And she’d probably give some wise advice about how it’s been long enough that Dazai can learn to forgive.
That wasn’t useful. Dazai knew how to forgive. She just didn’t want to.
“Okay, so we won’t get turned away. Thank god.” They’d arrived, so that was a good thing to clear up.
The bar was about as busy as they’d both expected. That is to say, as good as empty. There were maybe 50 people scattered around, sitting in groups under dim warm lights. It was a large space, but still felt comfortable, reminding Dazai of her old regular bar. Homely. Ironic that it would be so similar to Lupin.
In the corner closest to the entrance, she noticed a few of their mutual friends. Ranpo, ‘private detective extraordinaire ,’ had a bright pink drink in one hand and a lollipop in the other, quietly observing the other patrons. Her girlfriend, a reclusive author they’d only met a handful of times (in spite of how often Ranpo would turn up at their apartment to raid their cupboards and talk about some case she was advising on), was next to her, fiddling her hands and mumbling nervously. Her emotional support animal was nowhere in sight, to their shock. Dazai had never seen Poe without the little racoon (who chooses a racoon for an emotional support animal?). As good a place to start as any, really.
“Hey!! Kunikida!! Dazai!! Over here!” Before they could even make their way over to the bar, the detective was waving, narrowly avoiding getting the lollipop stuck in another girl’s hair. Dazai cringed, already worried that she would be infamous in this crowd. If both her and Kunikida recognised the first people they saw, how many more would know who she was? She’d probably slept with a third of the people here, and fought another third. Luckily, it seemed the music, some crappy rock song she vaguely recognised, drowned out the shout, and nobody paid any attention. Ranpo’s peculiar little plan was thwarted.
“Ranpo, Poe.” Kunikida nodded to both, shuffling into a seat next to them. “How are you both?”
Poe muttered something, drowned out by the music, but Kunikida heard it perfectly and smiled at her.
“I figured you’d both be here, so I already picked up your usuals. Free bar for the first 50 drinks.” Ranpo picked up a glass and handed it to Dazai. The usual indeed, a double whiskey and diet coke. There was a bottle of beer on the table that was clearly meant for Kunikida. “You’ll owe me a drink later for that.”
“How did you both get here that early?” Famously, Ranpo was useless at navigation. The only reason she was at their place so often was that they lived in the same neighbourhood, but Kunikida usually walked her home so she didn’t get lost.
“I didn’t want to be the last person here.” Poe spoke up. Dazai bit back a joke about how that didn’t mean they had to be the first.
“Exactly! Plus this way I can observe everyone as they come in. Atsushi is here somewhere. She came alone, so I guess the others had plans. I already expected that though.” Ranpo took another sip of the sugar rush in her hand. Of course. Tanizaki always spent Saturday’s with her younger sister, and Kenji and Kyouka weren’t really the party type. Yosano was probably busy at work. This was her ideal night though, so it wouldn’t surprise anyone if she did turn up in a few hours.
Ranpo was right. Their seats were perfect for observing the crowd of women. Figure out who they knew, who only Dazai knew (and would probably avoid for as long as possible). And, of course, any new faces to go home with. There were plenty she half-knew, unimportant faded memories from a drunken hookup or flirting at an overpriced cafe. They weren’t really worth a second consideration.
First, she saw Atsushi, with her home-cut mullet and baggy jorts, standing with Kyouka by the bar. How she’d made it past Ranpo’s watchful eye was a mystery. Atsushi was holding a pint - clearly trying too hard to look like she belonged here - and half arguing, half flirting, with a girl with long dark hair and a gothic outfit. Oh. Akutagawa. Impossible to not recognise. They had met at university, where Dazai had accidentally become something of an idol to the younger girl, then a fresher, during her final year. Not someone she wanted to talk to until she was well and truly hammered. It was hardly surprising that they were.. either about to fight or dramatically make out in front of everyone. A pair of young girls, desperate for approval and full of emotions. When she had first met Atsushi, something about her reminded Dazai of the sickly goth 18 year old from before her little vanishing act. It would be interesting to see how that played out over the night.
At a table near them, she saw three strangers, clearly not Japanese, talking quietly amongst themself. An aura of disdain and exhaustion emanated from one, a pale, sickly girl about Dazai’s age (though admittedly most of the people here clearly were). She was dignified, elegant, stirring a straw around a clear glass, but clearly looked like she had no desire to be here. Interesting. Something about her was... unique. Otherworldly. Maybe just evil. Next to her sat a taller girl with androgynous features and split coloured hair, pointing at an old, torn up menu and seemingly explaining what they were to the others. The third member of their odd group would stand out anywhere. An overly frilled white blouse with flared sleeves, striking white hair, and a grin on her face that was almost off-putting. There was a trace of was either blood or dye streaked down her arm.
Dazai would make sure to speak with them later. New faces were seldom as intriguing as they all were.
The only other group that attracted Dazai’s interest were a table of four, clearly engaged in a heated argument. She recognised Tachihara, having met her a few times - it always ended the same way, a trip to a bathroom stall together, followed by a cigarette outside and a promise to never talk about it again. She was next to a girl who looked shockingly too young to be allowed into a 20+ event, shouting over the music at a pair that she also didn’t recognise. Certainly not the people Tachihara used to spend her time with. None of them had the distinct energy of hedonism, degeneracy or edge that she associated Tachihara with. A slender white haired girl with closed eyes, and a muscular, short-haired one sat noticeably close together. More people to meet, but no new outcomes.
The night was still looking like it would end with Kunikida holding back her hair at this rate. Her careless days were technically ‘behind her,’ but she was always up for an unexpected encounter and an unfamiliar bed.
Her drink was empty. The bar was deserted, save for Atsushi and Akutagawa. She could go over and risk having to explain the whole ‘disappearing for almost 2 years and now reappearing at a lesbian bar’ to Akutagawa, who was likely already aware of her presence (she always had a way of noticing Dazai even in the biggest crowd), and therefore probably wasn’t surprised to see her. It would still be awkward to explain that to Atsushi though. Or she could just go out for a cigarette.
A cigarette, definitely.
She fiddled around in the tiny bag she’d packed in all of a minute, trying to find a lighter, to no avail.
“Kunikidaaaa,” She whined, “Let me use a lighter. I know there’s one in your bag.”
Because of course there was. Even if she didn’t smoke, Kunikida carried everything.
“Bring it back, I don’t want to spend over my budget just to replace something you lost.” The lighter from her roommate had clearly never been used, but wondering why she had one at all was futile.
“Thanks!” And with that, she slipped back out the door, smiling as sweetly as she could at the bouncer on the door, who she could have sworn looked familiar. She passed by the tall, split-haired stranger, making a mental note that she was speaking Russian on the phone. Unfortunately, Dazai’s own Russian was terribly rusty, and she could hardly make out a word.
The smoking area, for as large as it was - probably a good choice for an event like this - was almost empty, except for two people stood in the corner talking quietly. A pair she’d know from a mile away.
“Ango, Oda. How nice to see you both again.” Something in Dazai’s persona shifted. None of the need to be bubbly, none of the fake giggles or unnecessary jokes. They’d seen her at her most dead inside, after all. They were her closest friends at one point. Her relief from the stresses of, well, everything.
“Dazai?” Without even turning her head, Oda knew her. Warmth spread through her body, the feeling of being remembered and loved. Maybe she should take the imaginary Kunikida on her shoulder’s advice. Maybe she could let herself forgive.
“It’s been forever, Odasaku! How have you been?” She didn’t mention the obvious fact they hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 years, or how pathetic it was that she’d tried to avoid her.
Oda Sakunosuke. Ango Sakaguchi. Their first meeting had been when Dazai was 16, with her whole life planned out for her. Of course, with her connections, it hadn’t been hard to get a fake ID. And with that came an easy way to pretend her real life didn’t exist for a few hours. A small bar nestled in a back alley had become a second home, and her newfound best friends, both 20 and just as much barely an adult as Dazai, were a second, better family. When Ango was stressed and still working 40 hours a week just to support getting through university without anyone’s help, or Oda about being a parent to some orphan she’d been forced to adopt (her nephew, but the point still stood), they’d gather at Lupin and drink until the world felt like a less horrible place.
When, on her 21st birthday, her adopted father had disowned her and thrown her out, they’d had to carry her to a hotel so that she wouldn’t pass out. Not their homes. Six months later, Dazai had found out that Oda had planned to come back the next day to help her move into somewhere safe. Then ended up in the hospital with a gunshot wound instead. Forgivable. A natural consequence of being part of the wrong crowd. She had long healed that wound, though the scar from it was still faint, and she had hardly spoken to her since out of pure cowardice.
Ango wouldn’t jeopardise her future career, and had done nothing. Not even bothered to check on Dazai once.
Dazai would forgive, but not forget. She focused instead on lighting the cigarette in her hand and taking a long drag.
“All good. You?” Oda smiled, enveloping Dazai in an unexpected hug. “I hope you’ve been okay.”
“Of course. I’ve been great!” She smiled, mask slipping back on again. Not the usual one, though, but the specific one from when she was 18, dead inside but lying through her teeth if asked about it. Another long inhale.
The conversation seemed to die. She found out they were the organisers, they thought it’d be nice to arrange something for the city’s lesbian population, even though the turnout was far from ideal. Ango asked exactly what had happened on that day two years ago. Dazai avoided the question. Some mysteries were good, after all. The memory of the river, icy and painful, was not one she wanted to think about in that moment. She told them about the novel she was ‘writing’ (and by that, she meant working on incredibly slowly). By the time she was two cigarettes down, it was 8pm, almost an hour after they’d arrived, and she actually felt the those old wounds healing properly.
Past friends, yes. But still friends. Still the girls she knew and loved before everything fell apart.
--
Dazai, Oda, and Ango walked back inside together, a feeling of family that she had long buried being unlocked. The place was much busier now, with the number of attendees being double what it had been, but its previous occupants had moved, so it felt right that she should get another drink. They remained together, and she waved to Kunikida, who was sat with Tachihara and her strange group. She was staring at the muscular woman with that distinctive look of ‘I could fight her’ shining in her eyes.
As Dazai stood with a new glass of whiskey, half leaning her back against the counter, a voice she never thought she’d hear again came screaming over the music.
Chuuya.
A short girl, dressed to the nines with a glass of red wine between two fingers, was standing talking to (shouting at) Akutagawa. She glanced over, eyes widening as she noticed Dazai.
Despite her best instincts, she didn’t turn around. She let the fire begin to burn in Chuuya’s gaze, let her hands clench into fists, without moving a muscle. Only when the short girl began to storm over, heeled boots stomping on the wooden floor like gunshot wounds, did panic begin to set in.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you fucking kidding me? Two whole years without so much as fucking text, and the first time I see you is at a fucking lesbian bar?” Her bark was always as bad as her bite, and Dazai wasn’t sure if she’d experience both tonight. A punch would be welcome though. A small part of her wanted to, longed to return to those sun-covered mornings and moon-drenched nights. To feel Chuuya’s hands on her back, her lips on her neck, to become one with her again.
Too much had changed though.
Oda stepped in before she could say a word.
“Chuuya. Calm down, you’re making a scene.” Oh, people were looking. Kunikida had stood up ready to jump into action, Ranpo was sitting further forward, grinning like she knew this would happen, and even the dark-haired Russian girl was watching with surprising intrigue.
“Calm down Oda? Calm the fuck down?!” Her voice got louder, more rough, laced with years of hatred and regret.
“Go and get some air. Breathe. You should know not to act like this by now.” Ango’s tone was rational and persuasive. It was so obvious she was in politics just from one line.
Dazai had to wonder what she meant by that though. How much had changed for Chuuya? What had she missed?
Or worse... was she actually just implying Dazai was oh so fragile and would break at the slightest touch? Maybe it was the alcohol, but she would not stand for something as ridiculous and frankly insulting as that. It was definitely the alcohol, as it took her more than a second to fully register that Ango was sticking up for her either way.
“If you want to fight, Slug,” The old nickname rolled off her tongue perfectly, “We can take this outside?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Kunikida roll her eyes, relaxing slightly.
“I’m going out for a cigarette. Fuck. I’m not wasting my time with you.” And with that, she took a glass of wine from someone’s table - the girl who had been drinking it started to argue but quickly shut her mouth when she saw Chuuya’s snarl - and stomped out of the door. Akutagawa, still standing between Dazai and where Chuuya had been, shifted nervously, unsure of what to do.
Atsushi’s worried voice broke the tense silence.
“Dazai? What was that about? Do you know her?”
“Are you stupid? Of course she does. Do people act like that around strangers in the miserable middle of nowhere you’re from?” Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed into a dead, angry stare.
“I’ll tell you about it some other time. It’s quite the steamy story.” Dazai shifted back into a playful expression, watching Akutagawa half-choke on her drink, then actually start choking. Atsushi immediately went to help, of course she did.
“I...” Cough. “Do not need...” Another one. Was Akutagawa’s lung problem getting worse? “Your help. Fuck off.”
Ooh. That was new. For all her aggression, she’d never heard Akutagawa swear. She stormed off in a much more dignified manner than Chuuya, ruffled skirt flowing around her.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you about that later. Want a drink?”
They talked for a while, trying to change the subject and lighten the mood, standing around comfortably by the bar counter. Dazai ended up buying shots for the Russians as a joke, discovering nobody actually knew who they were. Considering the fact that most of the people here were at least vaguely familiar, that was all Dazai needed to know to decide she would be making friends. The thought of waking up in an unfamiliar bed was no longer appealing, however.
Anything to take her mind off of Chuuya for the rest of the night.
Ango went out for two more cigarettes in the span of one hour, more than she’d ever smoked before.
“Running this event is stressful. We’ll lose money and I came straight from work. I’m exhausted.”
Well that answered a question. Ango definitely wasn’t doing coke anymore - she never complained about being tired back when that was an option.
Both times she returned, she was quick to confirm Chuuya was there, and that somebody was probably taking her drinks outside, as she was supposedly drunker each time. Sooner or later, she’d re-appear and all hell would break lose. Or so Ango was convinced.
“You could just... explain? Like about what happened or whatever.”
“You just want to know my oh so mysterious life, huh Ango?” She laughed, as light-hearted as she could manage. Her eyes stayed focused on the door, missing the way Ango sighed silently.
“She thought you were dead, Dazai. Most of us did.”
“Well I’m not.” She was glad Atsushi had already left to talk to Poe.
She’d met Atsushi at a bar a few months ago, and had taken an immediate liking to her. She knew Kunikida and Tanizaki from university, so was naturally accepted into their group. The only people who had been told anything about her past were Yosano and Kunikida, though she was certain Ranpo knew more than both of them combined. Atsushi wasn’t aware of anything, and that was far from the ideal way to reveal it.
With that still lingering in the air, she turned to get another drink. By now, the 100-person crowd had dwindled slightly (she’d see if Ranpo knew exactly how many people were left), and the bar was empty. Perfect. Taking her drink, she immediately left, strolling over to the pair still sitting in the same corner.
“I’m surprised you’re still here.” She and Ranpo said at the same time, in perfect sync.
“This isn’t exactly your usual scene, and I thought Poe would’ve been uncomfortable. Don’t you hate crowds?”
“Oh, well, yeah, but Ranpo wants to be here. And I’m thinking of new story ideas, so it’s fine.” Poe said - not mumbled, which impressed Dazai just a bit.
“And you? I thought you’d leave after that little disaster. You seem good at running away.” There was no edge in Ranpo’s voice, just an observation, though it felt like a blade was stabbed into her chest, ripping her apart.
“I have a feeling that it’s best to stay. The night will only get more fun, after all. Say, how many people are even left here now?”
“I’d accuse you of trying to change the subject if I knew you weren’t calculating how much money that organiser friend of yours will probably lose. There were 103 people here at when it was busiest, but it’s now only 84.” Ranpo picked up another colourful drink, blue this time, and shrugged. “Guess this isn’t what people expected. So many leaving in only,” she checked her, no, Poe’s phone, “3 hours. Almost impressive. Oh, but plenty left after hearing that ginger girl say something about cutting your guts out. That’s probably part of it.”
“Oops.” Dazai laughed, trying to sound awkward but knowing it was empty, a completely soulless sound. “Where’s Kunikida got to, anyway?”
“Last I saw she was tipsy and saying she could take that girl,” Poe pointed at Tachihara’s table, the same people still there, “In a fight.”
A lightbulb turned on in her head. She turned on her heel, not saying another word to them (lest Ranpo rightfully accuse her of trying to make a bigger scene than Chuuya had).
“Listen up!” She cleared her throat, shouting louder this time, “Arm wrestling competition! Who’s up for it?” She stood onto a seat at an empty table, grabbing a napkin, “Any competitors, come and sign up - and bring a pen!”
Several faces perked up. Kunikida, all of Tachihara’s friend except for the white haired girl, even Atsushi. What an easy way to create entertainment.
Kunikida brought a spare pen, and somehow she had 16 names listed. 2 came to cross their names off after seeing that one girl, who Dazai now knew was named Tecchou, write her name down. Unsurprising. She refused to allow the forfeit, it was more fun that way. And 16 makes for the perfect tournament.
Dazai mostly checked out after achieving that mission. She passed the pen and napkin over to one of the Russians - Sigma, they introduced themself as - and sat on the side, watching the tournament. Ranpo opted to put a bet on who she expected to win, and soon the various spectators began to put money in. Even the other two Russian women opted to contribute.
Most had their money on Tecchou, as expected, but Dazai knew better. Kunikida was too smart to decide she could beat someone if she wasn’t confident. Ranpo did the same.
It very quickly went from 16 to 8. The tiny girl - Teruko - was surprisingly strong, and managed to triumph over Tachihara, who rolled her eyes at Teruko’s bragging and went out for a smoke. Dazai watched her leave, and Chuuya return. She was actively avoiding Dazai’s gaze.
Then both Kunikida and Tecchou won their respective matches, but she paid them no mind, instead trying to subtly watch Chuuya. She didn’t really focus in on Atsushi either. Why bother when the outcome for all three was obvious?
And then it was 4. Dazai knew she should be paying more attention, but Chuuya, sat alone in the corner, had captivated her. She had changed so much, yet so little. Better dressed, sure, but still with that signature style. Her waistcoat hugged her waist flawlessly, but she was finally wearing a shirt underneath, rather than pretending a sports bra and waistcoat was a flattering, even formal (Dazai couldn’t help but giggle at that memory), choice. Her nails were long, sharp, claw-like, but she was bold enough to keep the two important ones short. It somehow made her seem classier.
Her focus was only broken when cheers erupted behind her. It was down to 2. Kunikida and Tecchou. Exactly what both had wanted, apparently.
She needed a smoke. Kunikida would win without her watching.
It was empty outside. The fresh air had turned cold, but it was soothing. Staring at the sky with a lit cigarette, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind her, it was peaceful. More people leaving. It couldn’t be more than 50 left now. As good as empty again. Yet not the distinctive sound of Chuuya’s heavy heels. Her coat, a light tan that didn’t really compliment her outfit but was important nonetheless, did little to keep the icy feeling in her veins out.
Does anyone need to know what happened? Does Chuuya? Did she want to have to remember in detail?
It was a messy haze to her. She remembered being out shopping with Chuuya, a stolen kiss in a store or two, going to a bar after for a few fancy drinks, and then the phone ringing. Everything simultaneously crumbling and breaking free. Freedom and despair. The smell of whiskey and Ango’s expensive perfume. Vomit. A clean hotel room. More vomit. Blood.
Then the iciness of the river.
Waking up in a hospital bed. Yosano at her bedside, the student doctor in charge.
The door swung open hard. She was pulled out of the hole she was digging in her repressed memories.
“Can’t believe I lost, Jouno.”
“You owe me the money from that bet.” A punch muffled by clothing.
Ah, of course. Tecchou, and presumably the white haired girl, who was carrying a cane in one hand but clearly refusing to use it. Nothing particularly worth engaging with right now.
Her cue to go inside.
--
It became a blur. Not a drunken one, just an overly mundane one. Like she wasn’t in her own body anymore. A drink, talking, listening to Kunikida humbly brag about her martial arts training. Yosano finally arriving. Another drink. Oda saying something about how she needed to stop now. Insisting she wasn’t even drunk. Chuuya’s eyes boring into her. The bathroom mirror reflecting her pathetic appearance. Akutagawa attempting to make conversation, desperate as ever. Atsushi getting just a bit touchy with the goth girl. That Russian girl - Fyodor - offering her a shot. That made it eight? She forgot to make conversation.
1 in the morning.
“There’s only like 25 people left now? Wow. We should just make a group chat for next time, I mean, why bother with renting a bar for 25 people?” Tachihara was passing her phone around. She knew most of the women here anyway, so it almost made sense. Somehow she had convinced most people to comply. The couple who didn’t take the phone weren’t anyone Dazai recognised, though maybe one was in the arm wrestling competition. A sore loser, probably.
“Why exactly am I being added to a group chat with that shitty Dazai? Can’t Tachihara read the room for a minute?” Her voice was trying to be quiet, and failing miserably. Dazai could pretty much see Jouno roll her closed eyes.
The world was starting to spin. It was too loud, too quiet, all too much. She needed a break. Chuuya was refusing to say a word, but her eyes had been focused on Dazai for hours. The only way to step away was to go outside. Nobody followed, preoccupied in their conversations. Tachihara probably had her number saved. Only Ranpo’s lips curled as she walked past.
The night was a comfort. Peace. She could almost see their apartment, and it would be so, so, easy to just leave. Did Kunikida have her key... she couldn’t fully recall. The ashtray was full of used butts. She sat down on the curb, cigarette in hand.
“I hate you, you know.” That distinctive voice, raspy and yet so sweet. The sound of chunky boot heels.
“I know. You’ve made it clear.”
“I hated you before. Always so smarmy, so conniving. But I didn’t really. And then you disappeared.” She was slurring slightly. The smell of red wine and tobacco and that smoky amber perfume grew stronger as she approached.
“I thought you were dead. Thought you’d bled out in your fancy apartment. I checked, and you weren’t there. Not even a trace of you ever having lived there. All I could think was, I was too fucking late, you were gone. You were gone and I knew it was my fault. I didn’t know how but I fucking knew. What did I do?” Dazai remained silent. Chuuya stepped closer. “And then, fucking hell, I’m barely over grieving a year later and who turns up at my door? Akuta-fucking-gawa. You aren’t dead. How the fuck did she know and I didn’t? And it ruined me. You seriously just... what, faked your fucking death, and let Akutagawa find out you were alive, but not me? Not even a text, a call. I thought...” She trailed off. “Whatever. Just tell me. What the fuck happened? Why couldn’t you just tell me what was wrong?”
“Chuuya...”
“Shut up. Did you know I’d be here? I noticed your blouse by the way. Seriously, of everything to wear, why the fuck was it that? Rubbing it in my face?”
The one thing Chuuya had bought her that day, knowing it was Dazai’s favourite brand and so perfect for her. What should have been a perfect memory, until it became tainted. The only reminder of the last day she could live that life. Chuuya sat down next to her.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ve never worn it.”
Then the tears started to well in Chuuya’s eyes. She was clearly wine drunk, overly emotional, and finally letting out so much. Dazai was drunk, and her head was spinning softly. Their hands finally touched. Chuuya’s hand moved to rest on her cheek. The cigarette fell from her fingers.
“I fucking hate you. You’re evil. Escape your father, whatever whatever. Live a happy life. You’re still cruel.”
“I know. If I’d been escape, I’d have brought you with me.”
Silence.
Dazai tried, through the haze of alcohol and nicotine and exhaustion, to reason with herself. To no avail. She leaned in. Chuuya reciprocated.
Their lips had barely touched when Atsushi’s voice called out.
“We’re leaving now! Get home safe and I’ll see you soon!” Her arm was wrapped around Akutagawa’s waist tightly.
They both heard the giggling from the pair as they walked out into the night. For as much as Dazai knew that would happen, it was always nice to be right.
“Well. Where were we?” She whispered into Chuuya’s ear, lips intertwining again.
Two whole years of trying to forget, of knowing that it was too late, all thrown away with one movement. Why try to forget anyway?
Chuuya’s lips were as soft as ever, the taste of expensive red wine clouding Dazai’s mind. Her hand moved to Chuuya’s knee, creeping up slowly as they got closer, deeper, as the shorter girl’s arm pulled her ever closer. She could stay here forever, she thinks, the cold air surrounding them and Chuuya’s tongue exploring her mouth. Her body felt safe, in a way it hadn’t for so long. A break in her soul was healing. Warmth pooled inside as Chuuya’s other hand moved from her face to her hip. They broke away to breath for only a second, before Chuuya was biting Dazai’s lip hard enough to draw blood.
Neither knew how long they were sat there, concrete digging into Dazai’s skin under her skirt and her hand inching up Chuuya’s thigh.
“They’re closing soon by the way. Oh, and congratulations. Ango owes me a drink.” Oda’s head disappeared back inside.
“Those fuckers are betting on us?” They both laughed, synchronised just as they always were. Fated. “Oh and I’m not coming back to yours.” Chuuya’s attempt at aggression sounded... less angry than usual.
“Sure. Not like I’d want to go to your apartment anyway.” Dazai laughed, watching the ginger’s eye twitch.
They went inside with pinky fingers interlocked.
--
“We’ll do something else soon, alright? I’ll arrange something.” Ango was starting to tidy up glasses, ushering Tachihara off of a table and back into her shirt as the speakers cut off abruptly. Wow, they’d missed so much in so little time. The green-haired woman smiled as she saw the pair take a seat.
“Oh. This,” Dazai ripped a napkin in half and scrawled her number down. Poe’s pen, she’d be angry about it being used tomorrow, “is my number. I lost my phone in the river two years ago and ended up with a new one.”
“I could’ve got that from the group chat, you idiot.” Chuuya laughed. “Whatever. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. Maybe. If I hate you less.”
“I should hope you do! I’m a great kisser.” Dazai smirked, pointing at Kunikida, “She can attest to that.”
Chuuya’s face seemed to flicker with rage as Kunikida approached.
“I don’t even want to know what you just said about me. We’re leaving in 5 minutes. I don’t trust you to make it home on your own.” She nodded at Chuuya courteously.
“Wait. How the fuck did you lose your phone in the river? Two years ago?” Chuuya’s smile faded.
“I’m sure you know.” Dazai winked, and Chuuya, for all of her concern, only sighed.
The remaining few trailed out in a small crowd, discussing plans for the next one. They dissipated, group by group, first Tachihara and company, then Fyodor’s trio, and so on, until only 2 remained.
Chuuya sat down on the seat of a sleek motorbike, Dazai leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll see you soon, midget.”
“What the fuck did you call me? I’ll punch you in the clit right now.” Dazai couldn’t help but laugh. Some things really don’t change.
Kunikida was already halfway down the road, being surprisingly patient for once. Chuuya gave Dazai one final look, her anger short-lived, and turned the key of her bike. Dazai only smiled in response, ignoring the anxiety gnawing at her that this was all just a dream and she’d wake up tomorrow covered in blood and tears. It was real, she could feel the blood on her lip from Chuuya’s biting.
The stars, barely visible due to the city lights, seemed to twinkle brighter as she watched her ride away.
The past may never be forgotten, but at the very least, this was a chance at something new.