Maybe It Could Count for Something (I Hope)
It was three weeks after Dazai had vanished - with nobody having a clue where to, or if he even was alive - that Chuuya no longer could ignore one of the glaring problems that were his responsibility now that the bastard was no longer around. Akutagawa. The excess of work that fell on his shoulders now (thanks to one asshole) was eating up most of his time, and honestly, he could have made some room in his overloaded schedule. But. But he was just too busy, and it was just too much of a bother to make time for that with everything else going on. It would come later. Thus, his time packed with too many other matters that needed his attention, Chuuya dodging the younger man because of work had been real and completely justified. At least, that is what he tells himself. (It was not wholly the truth, though.) The glances Akutagawa shot him from afar the few times they had seen each other had also not been encouraging either. So if he was honest, really honest, it came down to it that Chuuya felt just not ready to deal with whatever Akutagawa was struggling. He did not know Akutagawa that well, but he long before recognized the unhealthy way Akutagawa looked up to Dazai - giving his all and going way too far to please his mentor, over and over again.
Chuuya was not a good man, he stained his hands with blood and more when required, but he had never gotten pleasure out of unnecessary cruelty. There was a line he did not cross. Because no matter how far Akutagawa had gone to get his approval, no matter how much he had suffered at the hands of Dazai, nothing had worked. And whatever Akutagawa would seek to fill the Dazai-shaped hole left behind with the disappearance of the bandaged freak, Chuuya knew that nothing would help - nothing would be enough. Akutagawa would have to learn to let go of his obsession. He would have to learn not to measure his self-worth with whatever Dazai did or thought of him. And perhaps Chuuya could help him with that if Akutagawa would let him. In some way or another. Akutagawa fell under his responsibility now, after all.
All through these thoughts, Chuuya ignored the murmur at the back of his mind that he also was still not willing to face whatever surged through his body, billowing just under the surface, whenever Dazai appeared into his thoughts. Him suddenly disappearing without a word, leaving them all (read: Chuuya) wondering what caused it - if he was even still breathing— But he did not care for that asshole - the traitor. He did not, damnit!
Or so he told himself.
Fuck.
Chuuya sighed, making a face, shaking his head as he stepped through the empty hallway. He forced his mind away from the unwanted mess that was the tangle of feelings he did not want to look too closely at; that sort of shit he preserved for other times, other times in a quiet place with no one around and with some strong alcohol preferably. Just as he was to round a corner, his gaze caught a sight. Feeling a bit of the ever-present fatigue catching up to him, he stopped his tread and walked back a bit. And so he found himself standing in the doorway of a small and half-lit office at 11 pm. Papers covered the dark-wooden desk that stood against the wall, a forgotten and empty mug on the corner. Atop was Akutagawa sleeping without a sound and cheek pushed against one of the many documents. A pen loosely held between slack fingers, the ever-present scowl still etched onto his features. Chuuya took a silent step forward and into the room, not sure what to do, he could leave, it was what his mind told him to do, but something in his heart stirred at the display of his new apprentice. His eyes roamed over the slack face that appeared even paler than usual. He took note of the dark circles from the screaming lack of sleep, the black hair clinging to his too thin cheeks. If Chuuya had to put it into words, he would say that Akutagawa appeared brittle nearly. Not that he would ever say that out loud, but still.
He took another step forward, and Akutagawa stirred. Chuuya stopped in his tracks, watching as the younger man blinked awake from his short slumber before shooting up from his chair, Rashomon sprouting to life, some papers slipping from the desk and to the floor with the sudden movement. For a brief moment, Akutagawa stood there, body molded into a fighting stance before his tired eyes registered who exactly was standing before him. His rigid expression slacked a bit, and his shoulders fell an inch. Though, the tension was still there between them, simmering under the surface. Akutagawa drove a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "Chuuya-san." There was an edge to his voice, a warning somewhere, though he looked a bit feeble, just having woken up from a probably not very restful sleep. "Uhm." And Chuuya took pity on him, taking another step forward. At the moment, Akutagawa did not look at him like he wanted to murder him if he came too close, and that was something at least Chuuya mused. He held out the container in his hand that was still hot. "I've got some hot chocolate. Take it." He had gotten it for himself actually, but who cared about the small details anyway. "Oh." Akutagawa stared a bit nonplussed at the container for a moment but then took it from him, pale fingers wrapping around the warmth.
There was an awkward silence before he looked up to find Chuuya's gaze, and suddenly, he looked even more empty than before, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He coughed. "Thank you, Chuuya-san." And Chuuya hummed in response, the heaviness in his chest feeling a bit less smothering than it had in weeks. At least he had been able to make someone's day a tad better.
And that could count for something, he hoped.
All the mistakes are mine.
