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The streets of Paris throb with celebration, the sun blending with the horizon to create a perfect sunset landscape. Chuuya and Dazai, who have come out of La Rochelle after stealing clothes from a dainty boutique, are now in Paris. Their aim is simple: get to the airport in Paris that will take them to Tokyo. Or at least, Chuuya’s aim is that simple. Dazai doesn’t have a care in the world, as usual. And the fact that the entire country is in the throes of Bastille Day helps only the bandaged squandering machine.
But that doesn’t mean the party mood of France and Dazai’s chaos will stop Chuuya. Chuuya moves through the crowd with purpose. His steps never falter. When someone bumps into him, he just mutters under his breath, “Pardon”. It is a perfect French accent, one he learnt from Verlaine. He hates that he learned SOMETHING from Verlaine.
He can sense Dazai following him a little behind. He can also sense Sigma floating behind them both with Chuuya's gravity holding him up. The French are too busy being merry to notice a floating unconscious man.
Chuuya thought that the cheers, the music and the parade would drown out his former partner, or better, separate them both for some time. But no, he can still hear him from far behind his back, his annoying voice not blending with the rest of the noise. It must be the Japanese accent that is making Dazai's voice so distinguishable from the rest of the auditory elements…
…Even a toddler can call out his flimsy excuse.
But Chuuya can't help it. He may be in love, but that doesn't mean he wants to be in love, especially with someone like Dazai Osamu, especially after the last four years.
So, Chuuya walks ahead determinedly, ignoring the sounds of Dazai speaking in French, grabbing champagne and wine from people's hands with, “Ooo, for me?~ Merci beaucoup ^^” and flirting with women with, “Bon fête, mon chérie~”. Unfortunately for Dazai, he is not the ideal man in terms of French beauty standards. Plus, Parisians do not have the same performative politeness as the Japanese. So whoever Dazai bumps into, they openly stare with displeasure. Chuuya doesn't know that. He keeps on walking ahead.
Chuuya passes by a bakery, the scent of fresh baguettes, fromage, brioche, and tarts wafting out. Dazai's voice fades away. Chuuya is relieved, but a part of him is reluctantly wondering if he has gone into the bakery shop.
Soon, he exits the hustle and bustle of the festival. The area around the airport is still populous with traffic and people, but not as densely. They must keep the roads clear around the airport to avoid traffic jams. The pavement is lined with street performers. Chuuya walks by a violin player. She's pretty good, and the melody relaxes Chuuya a little.
The relaxation does not last for long. Something, or rather someone, takes hold of Chuuya's wrist and whirls him around. It's obviously Dazai, who's holding up a box of presumably something he got from the bakery without paying...again. Because of Dazai’s touch, Sigma flops to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. People stare, some in concern, some in annoyance. Dazai waves them off, painting Sigma as a drunken idiot who partied too hard. He then turns back to Chuuya and waves the box in front of his face. “Hey, hey, chibi~ Let’s have a little break.”
Chuuya wrenches his hand away. “Like hell, I will. I need to get back to Yokohama.”
Dazai pouts, like he is being thwarted. “Oh, come on!~ We need to celebrate our own little victory.”
Chuuya freezes. He doesn’t notice his ability reactivating after Dazai’s touch. No one pays attention to the man who is supposed to be unconscious out of intoxication, who has now sprung up again. Chuuya's anger flares up as it usually does at Dazai's audacity. He is not even surprised anymore, but that doesn't stop the volcano from exploding.
“I even snagged a wine bottle for you~” Dazai says in a sing-song voice.
Chuuya slaps Dazai's hand away. “You bastard! Port Mafia needs me back at Yokohama! Heck, your stupid detective agency needs you too. And you want us to…to fucking celebrate?!”
Dazai is unsurprisingly unremorseful. He simply shrugs and says, “They can wait for a little while.”
Chuuya scoffs bitterly and looks away. “Tch…of course, you'd say that,” he mutters under his breath.
A moment of silence, and then Dazai speaks up with a sombre and soft voice, “Chuuya… don't push yourself.”
Chuuya looks back at him sharply. “Don't you fucking dare use that deceitful tone at me! I am not one of your detective friends that you convince yourself you belong with, or one of your women you use for your amusement.”
For a second, Dazai says nothing, his eyes remaining calm and soft in a way that makes Chuuya nervous. Then, right at the next second, the silly and carefree look reappears. “Fine, I guess I'll eat the treats by myself~”
And that…makes Chuuya finally snap.
He grabs Dazai's collar threateningly. “You waste of space… You really don't care, do you? Everyone we know is in trouble because of that Russian rat. And all that YOU can think of is pastries?!” He then pushes him away with contempt. “You are sick. You. Make. Me. Sick. Always have. From the day you put the Sheep at gunpoint to that terrible speech of destiny back at the Meursault. Seriously, what were you on about? You actually think we are destined to be together or some shit??” Chuuya throws his head back and laughs loudly and mockingly. It makes people stare at them again, but he is beyond caring at this point. “Yeah right! Destined to be together, my ass! You couldn't even stay with me at the Port Mafia or take me with you, and you preach about partnership and fate?!”
When Chuuya stops laughing, he looks at Dazai with pure icy disdain. “You should have died alongside that rat. The mackerel and the rat… How fitting.”
Chuuya turns around. “Stay away from me. I came to the prison due to Mori's orders. I have no reason to interact with you any longer.” He walks away, boots clicking away on the pavement. “And this sleeping beauty is coming with me, since I know you don't care about him either.”
He is going back to his one constant in life: the Port Mafia. Yes, it is a twisted concept, a kind of constant no one should have, but he finds it to be better than Dazai’s unavailability and emotional manipulation.
Twenty minutes later, he's sitting on a plane to Tokyo. He doesn't care to see if Dazai is there. Sigma is sitting completely slumped beside him. The flight takes off and soon he is soaring over the city of lights. The sun is down and the late evening has begun. Chuuya looks out from the window, not to search for Dazai, but to see what he is leaving behind. The Eiffel Tower stands with more grandeur and magnificence than it ever has in Chuuya's eyes. And for the first time, he feels a sense of satisfaction for saying what he said.
As he exits France, the sky fills with the roar and beauty of fireworks from the celebration of their festival. The bright light makes his icy blue eyes shine in a way neither Dazai nor the Port Mafia ever could. Chuuya feels as if the world is celebrating him overcoming his love for Dazai, ignoring Dazai's bullshit, and choosing his own self, and he feels appreciated for once in his life.