Work Text:
The man sat on a bed he knew all too well. In his hands was a fish plushie, one of a mackerel to be exact. It was a gag gift, never meant to hold this much sorrow, nor witness what it must have. The fish resided in a room of which its owner died in hardly two days ago. Was it two days? Time had morphed into nothingness. Is this what depression felt like?
Chuuya sat on the bed, staring at the toy in his hand. He hadn’t brought himself to cry yet, maybe he never will. It was his enemy after all, the man he discovered above a kicked chair the other night. He could only stare at the floor as he mourned in the room, not being able to bring himself to look anywhere near where the rope was hung, before being teared down.
The room was awfully quiet. No banter, bickering, or even silent comfort that had once commended between these walls. It felt stupid to sit in an empty house, staring at such minute things. He did it anyway, since there was nothing else for him. The man hadn’t been to work since the incident. Chuuya Nakarahara, not going to work? The anticipated reaction would have been for him to bury himself in papers, but he had no motivation to do so. He only put the effort in today, since it was the day of the wake. He had to get dressed and had to attend. It’s not like he didn’t want to, it just took so much energy. Such small things he thought he’d never struggle with, previously finding joy in them. Now every waking minute felt like a chore. Was this how Dazai lived? Everyday of his stupid, useless, life?
From the bedroom he could hear the front door open. Chuuya didn’t get up. He didn’t even look away from the plushie as the person came into the doorway.
“I thought I’d find you here.” It was Akutagawa. It was an odd sight to see him in something other than his coat. He was dressed very similarly to Chuuya, also in a black suit. He seemed to let the silence stretch on, dully staring near the other man’s shoes.
“The Detective Agency is going to open where it’s being held soon. I was told it was an open casket. Are you still willing to go?”
Chuuya laughed weakly, “for women to swoon for him in the afterlife. It’s what I expected.” He had to prepare himself. It’s not something he’ll ever be able to unsee. Slowly, the executive set the fish plush to the side.
“We can go now.” As expected, the car ride was tense. The driver didn’t say a single word, which was for the best. As they neared the building, agency vehicles were easily identified outside. They must have been preparing this for hours now. The Mafia had been invited, so there shouldn’t be a shoot out or anything of the sort.
Upon entering, the first person to greet them was the tiger boy. He seemed like a shell of a being, the teenage girl beside him seemed even more quiet than usual, if that was even possible. They seemed uneasy, as if no one knew what the right thing in the situation was to do.
“Mr. Nakahara… and Akutagawa,” he muttered, slight distaste as he glared at the latter, “thank you for coming.” Clearly he didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He looked exhausted, probably having cried till he couldn’t anymore.
“Don’t call me that,” Chuuya whispered back, “and what do you take me for? A selfish bastard like your mentor?” Akutagawa bumped his shoulder, a silent “shut up.” The ginger swallowed thickly and turned away.
“Right, sorry.” The conversation ended there as they stepped further in. Their boss Mori was already there, standing beside Fukuzawa. Both men radiated nothing, like they magically shut off every human reaction possible. There were some other members of both departments spaced around. There were a good amount of Mafia brutes lined up as well. Not sure who would attack a funeral. A blond man looked stressed out of his mind, curled up at the far corner of the room. Mostly everyone was silent as Chuuya studied them throughout the room. Then his eyes hit the casket. From where he stood, he couldn’t see inside, but he knew what was there. The ginger was so focused that the steps approaching him didn’t register.
“May I accompany you? If you’re ready, of course.” Mori’s tone was gentle, almost understanding in some weird desolate way. Chuuya’s eyes flicked only momentarily to his boss before he began to step forward. Akutagawa hung back as Mori followed the man toward the casket. As the body came into view, it stirred every emotion that was trying to stay hidden.
Dazai looked peaceful. Finally at rest. He wore a white suit, very similar to that one mission they had. His bandages were on, but clearly reapplied to be fresh and neat. The biggest thing was the obvious makeup on his upper neck and on most of his visible skin in order to bring color back to it. The neck coverage was caked on, clearly having to cover rope burns or something of that kind. The offerings around were almost laughable, sake and rolls of bandages.
Mori stayed a step behind Chuuya, watching the man stare down at his partner. Most of the room had their eyes on him as well. Slowly, he began to reach a hand in. His boss went to interject, but stayed out of it. Grief was unpredictable.
Chuuya's hand went into the casket, brushing his fingers and the back of Dazai’s lifeless hand. It was cold, almost freezing to the touch. He naturally has cold hands, but not like this. The feeling suddenly clicked something inside the executive. Osamu Dazai, Ex-Demon Prodigy turned Detective, was dead. Osamu Dazai was dead. He finally got what he always wanted.
“You asshole!” Chuuya screeched, almost collapsing into the casket as his knees gave out. Somehow he’d gotten hold of the dead man’s head, which didn’t help alleviate the reality of the situation. The commotion immediately put the Mafia brutes on guard, and a group of them ran to help their superior.
“Boss!” They pushed past Mori to grab hold of Chuuya, like they thought the man was going to faint right then and there. That wasn’t the case, so he immediately fought back against them.
“Don’t touch me!” He yelled, enabling his ability to send the men grabbing him flying back, narrowly missing the other people standing around. His chest heaved, breath heavy. He lost the grip of the hand as he slid down the side of the casket, falling toward the ground. Mori caught him by his shoulders before he could fully collapse.
“You… fucking… asshole.” He was sobbing. A few tear stains were on the pristine white suit Dazai was dressed in.
“Chuuya, get up,” his boss ordered. The scene couldn’t get much worse, everyone was watching now. The ginger ducked his face into his knees as he finally sat down, a moment later punching the side of the casket. It was not a real one, since no dent was made. Mori was crouched into front of him, a tight grip on the shorter man’s sleeve. His face was deadpan.
“You need to get up. You’re an executive.” It was impossible to tell whether that was supposed to comfort or humiliate the red head.
“I don’t care about that right now,” he muffled from between his knees. There were slight trembles throughout his body, meaning he was still crying.
“At least come with me into the hall,” Mori persuaded. Chuuya tore his arm from the older man’s gripping, getting up on shaky legs. He glanced at the body once more before wiping his face with his sleeve. He cursed under his breath as he passed people to get to the door. It was straight embarrassing, crying over a deemed enemy.
Once in the hallway, Chuuya desperately clung to the wall, trying not to collapse again. Mori stood in front of the door that they’d just come from.
“Cry all you want not, maybe just don’t destroy the place. Even so, such actions wouldn’t bring him back.”
“Don’t you think I fuckin’ know that?” He directed his anger toward the older man, spinning around to face him. Immediately he was regretting it, schooling his face.
“Sorry… boss,” he apologized, silent sobs still withering in his body.
“It’s natural I presume, just didn’t know it’d take that to break you.” The comment only made more feelings and memories boil inside the executive. Despite how much he hated Dazai, no one could ever replace him. Now with him gone, if Chuuya were to ever enable corruption he would die without the chance of being saved. It would be a horrid, graphic suicide. And yet again, it would solve nothing. Double Black was forever gone, no return in sight.