Nakahara Chuuya wipes rain out of his eyes and curses at the downpour. The sound of the rain against the debris on the ground drowns out every other sound, whether it be the words from the wall of approaching enemies or the last breaths of his dying subordinates. Some of them are alive, others dead, and none are on their feet. Chuuya is the last one standing, and he does his best to ignore the steady trickle of blood dripping from his head.
And that possibly broken arm… and that rib… and maybe he could barely stand with that bullet hole through his leg. OK, Chuuya is barely standing, and would not be if not for his ability.
By no means was it Chuuya's first time facing such a situation, but it's been a long time since he's had to go without that annoying bastard constantly chirping by his side. Even if he was beside Chuuya right now though, he probably wouldn't be able to hear the other's voice over the storm. Chuuya doesn't know if that should be a matter to be happy over or not.
He can't help but wonder if that bastard would've done a better job.
Chuuya admits that he admires that bastard for being a constant twenty steps ahead of his enemies, if grudgingly. He doesn't admire his work ethics, but there is no denying the fact that Dazai is a genius when it comes to strategizing.
Chuuya can't predict the actions of his foes, but he at least knows what he needs to do.
The bullet soars from the barrel as Chuuya pulls the trigger at an approaching enemy. He hurls the body that starts to bend over into its comrade behind. He hears his own voice ordering the retreat of his subordinates. He drops the gun empty of bullets.
Of course there are the ones who do not wait for a second word and turn, and then there are the ones who stay with resolution. Was that Tachihara's voice that he hears over the rain? Chuuya thanks the ones who stay wordlessly before blasting them away with his ability, as gently as he can manage. He hopes they are far enough to avoid death. He hopes he won't be the one to bring them death.
More enemies approach and Chuuya curses under his breath. Just how many of them were there? But he supposes it won't matter once he activates Corruption.
Chuuya knows he can't control Corruption, knows that it will rage on until his own death. And a part of him can't help but wonder if he would be able to live on if that bastard and his always smug smile stood beside him.
Maybe he owes an apology to that bastard, but it wasn't like he kept his side of the agreement anyways, what with him trying to kill himself every other chance given.
He shakes his head to clear his mind and takes a step forward.
Chuuya flips off the enemies that would lead him to his death, smiles, and chants that cursed verse.
The rain halts in midair.
And falls again, performing a tempestuous requiem as it drenches dead enemies, a circle of mafia, blood-soaked concrete blocks, and the mangled leftovers of what used to be a Port Mafia Executive.
Dazai leans against the railing on a bridge, propping himself up with his elbows. The flickering streetlights don't emit nearly enough light for the river to be seen, but it still gives off an inviting feel from below. Dazai wonders why he hasn't jumped yet.
Maybe it was because of that agreement they had decided on, but it's a agreement that's been long forgotten.
The downpour had stopped not long ago, and the banks are all but flooding. Water gushes downstream at a terrifying speed with a roar that silences all other sounds. Dazai is still dripping from the recent rain and doesn't move even as cars that pass splash more water towards his back. He doesn't move even as a familiar past colleague stops beside him in that green jacket.
He eventually turns around, slides his hands into his pockets and smiles at the other, "Tachihara! What business do you have—"
"Chuuya-san is dead."
He is not.
"Come on now, Tachihara. As short as that hat rack stands, there's no way he could be dead so easily."
He can't be.
"Chuuya-san tried to save us. He used Corruption and— and he—" Tachihara breaks off, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
Dazai turns back towards the river and tries not to shake, but he allows his hidden hands to tighten into a fist, dig into his palms.
"Chuuya-san defeated all the enemies long before he— he died," Tachihara begins again. "If you didn't betray the Port Mafia, if you didn't betray Chuuya-san himself, he would still be alive."
Dazai waits until he breathes in and out before opening his mouth, "Well, he was always going on about how he would give up everything for the Port Mafia. So there's always that, isn't there?"
"Your partner for years just died you bastard," Tachihara snarls. "Don't you feel anything?"
Blood seeps under his nails and across his palms, but he doesn't loosen the fist, "Oh, I don't know. Relieved? That hat rack and I never got along that well anyway."
Tachihara grabs the front of Dazai's coat and draws the latter closer, "You—" and flings him to the ground. "Chuuya-san's funeral will be in six days at the usual place. I'll see you then, Dazai-san."
The streetlight that had been flickering finally dies off and only Dazai's silhouette on the ground is left. He's been soaked to the bone for a while, and he doesn't mind curling up in the middle of a puddle.
He sends thanks to the river for drowning out the sounds of his sobs.
Sunlight peeks through Dazai's curtains unwelcomingly. It's a harsh, intrusive, and overwhelming light reminding Dazai of the new day.
Dazai does not want to wake up. He doesn't want to face the world, not today.
But he doesn't want to sleep. He's scared that his dreams will haunt him more than the world itself.
He's not sure how much longer he spends staring up at the ceiling before his phone sings a bothersome trill from beside his pillow. He jumps. It was the ringtone that he reserved for— Nevermind. He reaches over, flips it up and put it to his ear.
"Are you not going to show up for Chuuya-kun's funeral?"
It's a voice he knows well, but definitely did not belong to the name that was listed under the number. Dazai goes for as intimidating a voice as he could manage, "What do you want?"
"I'm sure Tachihara-kun has already passed the message onto you. So why is it that I do not see you here?"
Because I don't think I can make it through because I don't deserve to stand beside him because I don't want to see him like that because how could he not hate me after all that I've done because—
"Because there's no need for me to show up. He and I never did get along, after all."
There is a long pause where none of the two says anything and there is only quiet buzzing from the speaker.
"He'd want you to be here." Dazai drops his phone and pulls his covers over his head.
Quiet whispers break out in the room as Dazai enters. He sits down in the chair closest to the door and the person beside him moves away to another spot.
Dazai can't see him from this spot, only the black wooden coffin lying in a sea of chrysanthemums and lilies. It's probably a good thing. Dazai doesn't know if he would be able to control himself if he saw him.
No one says anything to Dazai, and he doesn't expect them to. A traitor to the Port Mafia should not even be here. But he supposes they were told to let him off for today.
And so he sits, and he waits. He's not sure exactly what he's waiting for, but he waits.
And he zones out and remembers their days together.
Dazai remembers the first time they met clear like crystal. He remembers following Mori down the halls and seeing Kouyou come the other way. He remembers the short boy hiding behind Kouyou's kimono folds and the blue eyes that he couldn't take his eyes off of. He remembers being led away and not being able to turn away from that ugly fedora.
Dazai remembers the first day they worked together. He remembers watching the back of the other as he knocked down enemy after enemy. He remembers shooting down the one enemy the other missed discreetly. He remembers patting the other on the back and getting yelled at.
Dazai remembers that one agreement they made.
Everyone in the room stands straight up and gets into a line to pay their final respects. Dazai joins the line at the back before he realizes and wonders if he should get out. He makes for the door and feels a hand on his wrist stop him.
Gin shakes her head at him almost disapprovingly before joining her brother further ahead.
The line keeps on getting shorter as more and more return to their seats. Nearly two hours pass on the clock towards the back but Dazai feels like only minutes has passed. He stops in front of the coffin and looks in.
It's Chuuya. It's his ex-partner. Dazai knows Chuuya's face well.
The person resting in the coffin is not quite the Chuuya Dazai remembers.
This Chuuya's skin is wax-white, yet marred by pieces of torn, raw flesh. The tips of Chuuya's fingers are still dyed in that black of Corruption. His eyes are closed and his face arranged in a serene expression. Dazai knows Chuuya could not have left the world peacefully, not after being pushed to the point of using Corruption and then suffering from the raging ability.
"Ha! Shitty Dazai, I won the bet!"
"What bet? Chuuya, I know you're short but I never thought it could lead to hallucination and incorrect memories."
"You bastard! Don't play dumb with me! I know you remember!"
"Do I~"
"To hell with you! Whatever. Don't take your own life, that's my request. It's a pain dragging your half-dead ass back every—"
"What a nice river! See you later, Chuuuuuuuya~"
"I JUST FUCKING SAID—"
"Then Chuuya is not allowed to die before me."
"Huh? That's easy. Why would I?"
"Then we may have an agreement."
His hand reaches over to touch Chuuya's cheek, the way he had done so many times in his imagination, the way he had prevented himself from doing in real life.
Chuuya is cold.
Chuuya is so unbearably cold under Dazai's fingers. It's not right. Chuuya was always warmer than Dazai, has always been the one to heat up Dazai's freezing hands. It's just not right, seeing Chuuya so broken, so gone—
Chuuya is gone.
It hits Dazai like a rock rolling down a hill, or maybe the Himalayas. Chuuya is gone and he's never coming back.
Dazai will never be able to bicker again with him, wrap his arms around him, or bury his face in his shoulder.
He thought his leaving of the Port Mafia would keep Chuuya safe.
He's an idiot.
Dazai stands on the railing of a bridge. The rain falls relentlessly and Dazai is soaked to the bone. He listens to the almost comforting roaring of the river.
He really shouldn't have bet him that time.
