Chapter Text
“Blow away, like smoke in air.
How can you die carelessly?”
The pain enveloping his body seemed blinding.
Chuuya doesn't remember why he was here, only that there was a strange hollowness where his heart was supposed to be. He reached a hand up to squeeze at his shirt where it layed wrinkled against his chest, the telltale rhythm of a beating organ making its presence known. But strangely, the reassurance of his heart still there did nothing to expel the overwhelming emptiness he felt in his chest.
He was but a mere shell of a man he once knew.
Chuuya tried extremely hard to stop the tears from escaping his eyes, building their home at his cheeks and damping his sleeves where he laid his head on. He was curled into a fetal position, somehow trying to lessen the absolute anguish he felt. He had so many responsibilities, a whole organization to take care of now. None of them included his boss.
Because Dazai Osamu was dead.
Chuuya was sent out on a mission outside the city. He accepted despite not wanting to, reluctant to leave The Bossʼ side. After all, if Chuuya wasnʼt here to protect Dazai, who knows what could happen?
It was a two days and one night mission, easy to take care of. Just the location required for it was far. Chuuya had been sent on many missions before, even farther than outside the city. But something about this one was nagging at him constantly, an uneasy feeling in his chest all throughout his journey.
If Chuuya was sure of one thing, it was to trust his instincts. Too bad they didnʼt exactly come with a description of why exactly he was feeling this way.
He couldnʼt really do much about it, so he finished the mission quickly, the alarmed feeling in his gut never left. Chuuya tried his best to figure it out, and even pondered on calling the brunet to check up on things but decided against it. They werenʼt allowed to remain in contact whilst on missions, due to the dangers of being traced. If they returned at the given time, it was all good, and if they didnʼt, then a squad would be sent after them to investigate.
Chuuya shook his head, tapping his foot anxiously against the breaks of the car. He sped up slightly, almost going over the speed limit. The feeling in his chest grew, bubbling up and spilling over. The redhead couldnʼt help it anymore, he sped past the speed limit, uncaring. Only one main thought remained.
Dazai.
He got to the Port Mafia building, slowing down after spotting the increasing crowd of people, mixed with the PM members and regular citizens. He tensed, forcing himself to park the car and step out of it. The hushed whispers of the crowd now louder, as they werenʼt being blocked by the car windows.
“What the hell–”
“Who would do such a th–”
“Somebody call an ambulance!”
Chuuya startled at that, stepping forward and pushing through the crowd, using his ability to slightly push people away, enough to provide him a way to the front. The sight he came across was disgustingly gruesome. There was blood splattered everywhere, on the concrete, on the body of the person whoʼd dared jump down from such a tall building, pooling beneath the body steadily. Their face was hidden beneath the vibrant red.
The redhead spotted something that caused him to freeze.
The unmistakable bandages wrapped around the body could belong to none other than Dazai. Chuuya staggered, his eyes widening. He surged forward on trembling legs, falling to his knees beside the brunet. His hat fell off, along with his coat. Chuuya gently lifted the brunetʼs head, placing it on his lap.
He felt for a pulse desperately.
When he didnʼt find any, he looked up frantically, his gaze running over the crowd helplessly, who gave him pitying looks. Chuuya looked back down at the body, an empty feeling in his chest.
“Oi, bastard.”
No reply came. Chuuya felt almost disappointed, as if he was expecting to hear Dazai start talking.
“Shitty Dazai!”
Chuuya patted the brunetʼs blood-covered cheek with his gloved hand, “Wake up and stop with this stupid prank of yours!”
The brunet remained unaware of the nagging the redhead was giving him, his heart stopped and his brain no longer working. His body remained still, loosing its warmth rapidly. Chuuya hopelessly felt for his pulse again. Only to receive none.
“Dazai...”
Chuuya almost felt pathetic at the way his voice cracked on the words he spoke, “W–wake up, oi...”
He felt someoneʼs hand shaking his shoulder, trying to get him to let go so they could take the body away and clean up the mess. But Chuuya didnʼt want them to. The blood, the body, it was all proof that the brunet had done this and Chuuya wasnʼt eager to lose that when he hadnʼt even come to terms with Dazaiʼs death himself.
Chuuya coaxed himself to stand. He stood on shaky legs, dazed. He could see himself barking orders at the people, uncaring whether they were citizens or not. The redhead left them to deal with the mess, not being able to handle the sight of the bloodied body anymore.
The redhead had seen more bodies than any average person or even most of the PM members did in their lifetime. He was used to the horrendous sight of guts and the stench of blood that clung to his skin. He was no stranger to putting that blood there. Most often than not, it was his handy-work he was witnessing.
But the blood always belonged to strangers. People he wasnʼt attached to. People he didnʼt protect.
People who didnʼt need protection, except from their pasts.
Dazai was one of them.
Chuuya hated that bastard. As the boss of the organization Chuuya called his second home, Dazai was insufferable and plenty hard to deal with. A lot of the times, the one who posed a threat to the brunet was himself. The redhead was aware of that. How could he not be when he was unwillingly—not so unwillingly—dragged around with that shithead because he had a duty to protect Dazai?
And Chuuya failed at that one task.
The redhead hated the brunet for doing this. But above all, he hated himself more for not listening to his gut and putting the pieces together.
Chuuya didnʼt even have anything or anyone to put the blame on temporarily. He had frantically searched Dazaiʼs office, his room, his desk—Chuuya turned everything upside down and yet—he found nothing that could indicate a firm reason behind the sudden successful attempt of the brunet.
He turned the blame on himself, not able to help it.
His anguish spread throughout his body, the image of Dazaiʼs dead body and the blood on his hands would not wash away, despite his many tries. When Chuuya had gotten back to his apartment from the hastily planned funeral, he barely paused to take his coat, hat and shoes off before he rushed to the bathroom to heave into the toilet.
He leaned against the wall after standing up on trembling legs, rinsing his mouth out in the sink before he turned to the shower, stepping into it without taking his clothes off. Chuuya turned it on, without setting the temperature. A wave of ice cold water hit him, causing his body to steadily tremble.
He slid down the wall, pretending like the water running down his face wasnʼt mixed in with tears. Although the warmth of the water dripping from his eyes was enough of an indicator of the truth he was trying so hard to avoid.
Chuuya curled up, putting his head down between his knees.
Somehow, despite being aware of the reality, he still expected to hear the door to their—his, it was just him now—apartment opening, followed by an irritating shout of his name with the intentions of annoying him further.
A weak sob escaped, so unlike him that he felt nothing like himself. He curled up even further into himself, his grip almost painful, his nails digging into his skin. Chuuya tried so hard to stop the constant flow of tears, but whatever he tried, his mind would always drift back to the brunet and the coldness he emanated when Chuuya held him in his lap on the ground.
Chuuya wasnʼt sure what to make of the truth that Dazai was dead.
One thing he was certain of was that he was well and truly alone once again, with his heart crying out in the emptiness that surrounded him.