The Port was dimly lit, accompanied by a feeling of vacancy.

Dostoevsky, Gogol, and Sigma were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn't long until they were standing before the Bay, the caliginous water almost seeming to mock Chuuya from where he stood.

The tenebrosity of the night, which reflected against the depths, made the water impossible to see through. It was as though a hidden terror lay just beneath the surface, hiding narrowly out of view from his gaze.

Suddenly he was back at Meursault, his sense of up and down gone from reality and replaced with madness.

The strength began to leave his limbs, as his body convulsed in the strangling tides. He could feel his once-racing heart begin to slow. Arahabaki was still screaming, but it didn't matter anymore, not as the darkness began to close in and he could feel consciousness slipping through his fingers. The water ran in and out of his body, poisoned oxygen that sought to be his doom.

Subconsciously, Chuuya took a step back from the edge, his breathing quickening as his eyes warily scanned the unforgiving depths.

He didn't want to do this. He really did not want to do this.

It was then that a hand settled on his shoulder. Kind, gentle, and affirming. All things that his fifteen-year-old self would have laughed at if such terms were used to describe the man who was now standing next to him.

The wind whistled around them, leaving Chuuya's hair to tremble in its grasp as a cold shiver ran down his back.

"I won't force you to do this," Dazai said, but the words sounded hollow because there was no other way. They both knew it.

That didn't stop the terror though, because he was still there. Back at Muersualt with the part of his soul that had never left. He was still drowning in that room. He was still being strapped down to a table and getting waterboarded by Camille.

He was still fucking there.

A phantom burning sensation seemed to encapsulate his whole body, as his breathing began to grow harsher and he suddenly discovered that he couldn't actually give Dazai an answer. Everything was just too much and all at once.

He was there. He was still fucking there and he would never escape. He hated it.

"Chuuya?"

Dazai was now standing in front of him. His brows were furrowed and his head cocked ever-so-slightly to the side.

"Chuuya? If you can't do this, you know that's okay, right? It's my fault it's down there anyway, so I can figure out something else and just get it myself. You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I promise."

At the mention of Dazai going down to get it, Chuuya was finally able to break free of his trance, or at least as much as he could. The strangling sensation of fear still clawed at his throat and threatened to pull out all of the air from his lungs, just as the water once had. Still, he was present. Present enough at least.

"No," Chuuya said, shaking his head, "no, this is stupid. Goddamn it, this is so fucking stupid. I don't know why I'm feeling like this. I just- damn it. Dazai, you're not going down there. We both know you can't swim the 80 meters down and back without drowning, which isn't even considering just how goddamn cold the water is and the whole untangling process of the chains that you decided to wrap The Book in. I just- I'll do it, but I need a moment. Just a moment and then, I'll… I'll go and get it. I'll go and get it."

A part of Chuuya expected Dazai to resist. Maybe even a small selfish part of him actually hoped for it, but in the end, such a thing never came to be.

"Okay," was all Dazai said instead, "but it won't be like Meursault this time, alright? I promise you that I won't let that happen again."

"Y-yeah… yeah okay," Chuuya replied, his voice wavering as he swallowed back the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface.

Flashing Chuuya a reassuring smile, Dazai took a step back, but his eyes remained on him all the same.

Everything would be okay.

Dazai wouldn't let him drown. He just had to trust him like he always did.

Taking one last deep breath, Chuuya stared into the unforgiving depths of the darkness below. Then, without a second thought to avoid any further hesitation, he descended into the frigid water.

Water poured from the spout of the hose and coated his forehead. The rag clung to his face. Chuuya forced himself to remain still. He didn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Images of the past assaulted his mind, as he forced himself faster, increasing his mass to impossible amounts, as his desperation spurred him onwards. He tried to remind himself that he wasn't back at Meursault. That this wasn't that room nor was he being tortured by Camille, but his mind wouldn't listen. It taunted him like some devil hidden within. He begged the flurry of images to just go away, but that voice in his head refused to listen.

It just seemed to laugh at his misery.

Everything burned, as the water mercilessly assaulted his body. His body spasmed and his lungs felt like they were about to burst from his chest.

The water around him was claustrophobic and nausea turned his stomach. He had to keep going though. He had to do this. After all, he couldn't let Fyodor get The Book. Who knew what he'd do with it? So Chuuya forced himself to continue onward despite the panic and the fear, as difficult as it was.

Finally, after what felt like nearly an eternity but in reality was only about a mere thirty seconds, Chuuya felt the looseness of sand beneath his feet.

The Book had to be close.

It was then that a certain tugging feeling erupted somewhere deep within his conscience. It was difficult to explain, but perhaps it was almost as though someone was tugging him along with the help of a metaphysical rope. Despite the fear that continued to engulf his body, this sensation was somehow calming. It slowly began to drown out the voice in his head, which filled his mind with horrible memories, instead replacing them with feelings of steady resolve.

Following the feeling, it was only a few more moments before Chuuya managed to find The Book. It seemed to have a sort of ethereal glow in the otherwise pitch-darkness of the Bay's floor.

It was bound in chains that would've been nearly impossible for the average person to unbind. However, for Chuuya, it was mere child's play, as he quickly tore The Book free of its prison.

Holding it was odd because while the depths surrounding him left everything soaked through with water, the Bay seemed to avoid The Book, just barely dancing away from it by what had to be mere millimeters, almost as if it were some kind of royalty.

About a minute had gone by and Chuuya could feel his lungs starting to burn and ache with the lack of oxygen, sending a fresh jolt of panic down his spine. The only thing that was stopping him from succumbing to his distress seemed to be The Book with its intoxicating aura of utter calm.

He needed to get back to the surface.

Pushing himself off the sandy floor and keeping a firm grip on The Book, Chuuya began to propel himself towards the surface.

It was almost over now and then he'd never have to go swimming again.

Except, as what had to be another full minute went by and his lungs continued to cry out in that painfully familiar agony, Chuuya found himself beginning to fill with dread. It had only taken him half that time to make it to the floor of the Bay. Why hadn't he breached the surface yet?

He needed air.

Chuuya's body spasmed in the depths of the Bay and suddenly, the aura of calm coming from The Book wasn't enough to keep him from feeling the full extent of his panic.

Which way was up again?

Frantically, he began to swim as fast as he could in all directions, but there was only that cruel darkness. Not even the bottom of the Bay.

He was lost in a never-ending hell.

Drowning again.

The white-hot panic coursing through his mind sent sparks of electrifying adrenaline up and down his spine. Perhaps the only thing that had propelled him into holding his breath as long as he had.

It had now been three minutes since he'd last taken a breath.

And suddenly he couldn't stop himself.

Hot saline tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes, becoming indistinguishable from the water that surrounded him.

He hated this.

It was happening again. Why the fuck was it happening again?

His mouth opened of its own accord and he took in a deep breath of what his body had convinced itself would be oxygen.

It wasn't. Of course, it fucking wasn't.

He couldn't do this again. Dazai had assured him that he wouldn't drown this time. Yet, somehow here he was.

No, that was cheap, he couldn't blame Dazai.

He could only blame himself.

What kind of idiot couldn't tell up from down? What kind of idiot managed to drown themselves three times?

A stabbing feeling plunged through his chest, as his lungs continued to take in deep breaths of the icy water against his will.

He was about to call upon Arahabaki in a last-ditch attempt to save himself. Except, the moment he attempt to, he was almost instantaneously stopped by some kind of mental block.

He didn't want to go.

Not yet.

He should have never agreed to this.

He should have listened to Dazai when he offered to find another way.

But now it was too late.

With that, he was plunged into darkness. One just as cold and consuming as the water that surrounded him.

Then, there was nothing.