Work Text:
POV: Chuuya Nakahara
I hated the silence he left behind.
It wasn't just the absence of footsteps echoing down the dark Port Mafia corridors, or the lack of smug retorts during missions. It was the silence in my chest, like something had been ripped out and buried before I could even scream.
Dazai left when we were eighteen.
No warning. No note. No damn explanation. One day he was standing beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes full of that quiet chaos I could never quite read-and the next, gone. Like smoke through my fingers.
I told myself I was angry because of duty. Because as my partner, he owed me something. A word. A look. Even a shitty joke. But the truth ran deeper than that. I hated him because I loved him.
I never said it. Hell, I barely admitted it to myself. I thought it would pass-like a bruise fading under skin. But Dazai wasn't a bruise. He was a scar stitched into my skin.
And will always will, the boy who's gonna be the death of me.
And I still wonder, as I sip from my red wine, or puff up a cigarette under the moonlight if he still remembered about me after all these years, where he was? If I'll ever see that dumb smirk on his stupid face ever again. Get the chance to tell him about my true feelings. No. That's never going to happen.
He'll make fun of me for it, perceive me as weak.
I've got to stay strong, I don't need that bandaged idiot in my life to survive. I tried to convince myself but deep down I still yearned for him to be beside me.
I finished 2 bottles of wine the night he left, the night I'll forever remember. The loneliest of them all.
The day after I smoked 4 cigarettes in a row if not more. Blowing smoke who disappeared in the air just like Dazai did. Shit, everything reminded me of that idiot, of my love.
He was stuck in my head. Haunting me down, like a damn ghost.
Will I ever see you again?
Will you ever understand what I feel for you?
Fucking bastard.... I still love you.
There were moments, before he disappeared, when I thought maybe he knew. The way his eyes lingered when he thought I wasn't looking. The time he caught my wrist during a mission and didn't let go-even after the danger was gone. The way he smiled, almost soft, when I called him an idiot.
But he never said anything. And neither did I.
Because love was a weakness in the Port Mafia. And Dazai... Dazai was an expert at finding weaknesses and cutting them out.
I looked for him, for a while. Even when I told Mori I didn't care. Even when I pretended I was glad he was gone. But Yokohama's a big city, and ghosts like Dazai knew how to hide.
So I kept going. I smoked. I drank. I fought. I drowned him in curses and silence. And yet, on the quiet nights, when the stars blinked above the city like distant regrets, I still thought of him.
Not as my partner. Not as my enemy.
But as someone I once loved.