It's been months ever since Dazai waltzed into his life. It's been months ever since he joined the Port Mafia. It's been months ever since Mori partnered him with Dazai, ever since the Double Black was formed.
And it's been three days since Dazai left as easily as he'd entered into his life.
Without a trace, and unexpected. He knew something was up ever since he walked out the door, uttering words in reply to his question regarding where he's going.
"I'll come back,"
"I'm just gonna go meet up with a friend".
He finds his bottom lick stuck between his teeth—he doesn't know if he was going to rely on Dazai's words, trusting that the said man wrapped in bandages would step into the Mafia's base with snarky commentaries, or if he should look for Dazai and think of the possible places he could've gone to.
Chuuya knows Dazai more than anyone in the Mafia. But frankly, even what he knows is nothing but the tip of the iceberg of who Dazai really is. He's nothing but a manipulative asshole with a way of words and a mind that somewhat holds calculations at his wake.
And that's the thing.
He knows better than to be attached. Better than to care about anyone, ever since he was declared part of the Mafia. To care about someone while in the world where violence is the key to living and oceans are replaced with pools of blood, is nothing more than a stupid idea. The said person you'd care about will be what your enemies would see as your weak spot. It'll be used against you till you give in. And somehow, despite knowing all that he allows himself to feel concerned—he allows himself to let worry wash over him.
Chuuya sits atop the couch, staring at the opposite end where Dazai would usually sit, thinking of the countless ways to irritate the shit out of him. Suddenly discomfort is felt as his azure eyes land on spaces where Dazai's body would be. The silence is rather deafening, even for him. Too used to to the environment where two voices would be bickering day and night, echoing against the walls.
"Chuuya-san, where's Dazai?"
"Dunno. Probably off somewhere tryna commit suicide. He'll come back."
He'll come back. He kept on convincing himself that Dazai would just walk in, blabbering about the new suicide scheme he came up with. He kept on making up scenarios, how Dazai would've probably strayed in the rivers of Yokohama, trying to drown himself. That the bandage-arm would bicker with him day and night about who hates who more would have his presence near him once more.
But as time went by, the sentence itself was hard for him to believe. He'll come back. Will he really?
The voice which accompanied with his, arguing, bickering all day turned into nothing but silence in the night.
Footsteps were heard, echoing against the walls. His vision meshes into a figure that he was so used to seeing -- taller than him, with brown messy hair and bandages on the left of his eye, medical gauze around his neck and both his arms.
"Dazai!" He yells out, stumbling from the position he was in just earlier. You came back.
"Chuuya." A different voice. And even if his mind tried to do tricks again, make it sound like his partner's, his other half, his Dazai -- it would never feel the same.
The warmth, the playful tone lying underneath it when he calls his name.
"It would never feel the same."
His thoughts slip through his mouth, tongue moving as if he's not in control of what he's saying. "It would never feel the same."
"And neither would he ever be coming back."
He wont ever be coming back. Why, does it feel this way? How pathetic, to feel this way when all he's told Dazai was how much he wanted him out of his life.
How happy he'd be without him.
Why must it, that it had to be this way? Instead of a burst of joy—instead of his lips breaking into a smile, he's left with nothing but a heavy weight against his chest.
Maybe the sheep betrayed him because he wasn't enough. Did Dazai leave because he wasn't enough either? He reminisces about the childish bickering between both of them, about who hates who more.
"I hate you and your short-ass, you chibi." The familar voice makes its way into the endless void of his mind, echoing. As if slowly fading away, like the memory of his warmth and presence next to his.
He sighs, scoffing. Tears threatening to fall. He dare not let a tear drop, nor will he let his hands reach out and rub them off.
" It reminds me of my fondness of my humanity."
And I let that go just for you. Just to hold your hand.
"I hate you more, chibi!"
He snickers, a curl on the edge of his lips starts to form. He can feel his voice wavering, how there's a lump in his throat and tears glossing his eyes that he feels pathetic. "You know what, Dazai?"
"I hate me more."
Suddenly, all the words that Dazai uttered to him were all that he can hear. Every single touch, every single time his warmth danced against his, let it be when he stopped him from destroying himself or simply so that he'd be able to touch him .
Every emotion that bloomed in his being ever since Dazai came into his life, had its vase fall and break against the ground.
Every touch that he had felt, the way his skin touched his, the way their bodies would collide against one another—molding into one another's arms as if they were one. The way his touches were firm, but gentle as if he was to break if he was too harsh. The way three words would slip pass their lips, high and riding on the momentum and build up of emotions they had gathered when they opened themselves up to one another.
"I love you." He knows more than anyone else that those three words were nothing but lies built from overwhelming feelings after sharing one bed and letting their warmth dance on their skin, on their scars.
It was said too carelessly and freely to be real.
Every single place Dazai touched burned. It was the only thing that he was able to feel ever since he heard Mori's words, every single touch, every single kiss.
"Neither will he ever be coming back."
And just like that, like a dam being broken—everything just set free. His tears, his feelings, his everything.
It starts off with a little spark—a small fire forming by the dead of leaves which slowly grew uncontrollable. He'd wish for the rain to come, to engulf his body and tell him to stop. To let him regain his senses again. To stop hurting over a man who's never thought of his existence and left without a care. And Dazai is his rain.
It seems like sometimes you just have to let time do it's job and let the fire set the forest of his emotions ablaze.
He'd wished the fire would burn the pieces of memory he had with Dazai as well.
It's inescapable—The fact that Dazai was his other half of Double Black. The fact that Dazai had made him feel things he'd never feel before. The fact that Dazai had touched and seen places that only his eyes landed on will never go away. And most especially the fact that Dazai had left him without a trace.
It's funny how Dazai's last words was ironic to what he's done.
He said he'll come back.
And yet, he never did.