Dazai didn't sleep that night.

He couldn't.

Instead, Dazai's eyes remained wide open, staring up into the expanse of the umber, rustic ceiling above him.

Alone, he scanned the intricate details of the boards, delicately tracing the brown planes that divided the wood up into controlled quadrants much like a monochromatic chess board devoid of all clarity. Unless of course, one took the time to notice the small differences. A crack or a slightly darker slab of wood. The way some planes were slightly larger than others, which could allow one to better be able to map out where those black and white squares should be, should one's mind apply itself.

Tomorrow, he would be reunited with the Agency.

Tomorrow, he would be reunited with Kunikida, Ranpo, Poe, Yosano, Naomi, Kyōka, Kenji, Tanizaki, and Fukuzawa.

As much as he kept himself closed off from the world, the agency was probably the closest thing he'd ever had to a family, Chuuya aside.

He missed them dearly.

When they reunited, he would eagerly greet them with his usual playful and rather flippant demeanor, but deep down somewhere within his fractured heart he would be bursting with relief. For even if everything else had gone to shit, at least he still had them.

And Chuuya.

Always Chuuya.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Then hours.

The sun rose and the humming of cars thrummed through the air around him like a bow to a violin.

Until it was morning.

And he knew it was time to go.

Climbing out of bed, Dazai made his way to the bathroom mirror.

Dark, heavy eyebags were carved into his face like the trenches of the war reflected in his heart. His hair had grown out a bit since Meursault, now curling just beneath his chin. Meanwhile, his skin was pulled taut against his face and his eyes seemed even more dull than usual.

Turning on the sink, Dazai made a small effort to wash his face. To wash away the exhaustion from sleepless nights and grime from all that had happened in the past few days.

And while cupping the water into his hands and bringing it to his face did very little to solve those problems, it was at least a step. No one could deny that.

Turning off the sink, Dazai made to leave his bedroom and head out into the living room, as he turned his prior conversation with Kunikida over in his mind.

Yesterday, Kunikida had called him with the intent of meeting the following morning in an alleyway not too far from the apartment. With him, he had Ranpo, Poe, Yosano, Kyōka, Kenji, Tanizaki, and Fukuzawa.

Despite being relieved that they were all alive, Dazai had still been a bit confused as to how they'd found him at first. Granted, Kunikida had been quick to assuage most of the worries that he might've otherwise had.

Apparently, before Ango had headed out to the docks to meet his fate, he had gotten ahold of Kunikida and informed him of everything going on in case he didn't make it out alive. Which, of course, he didn't.

The reminder of Ango's death had felt like another stab to his gut, amongst the many other things that had been plaguing him so recently.

Still, while Dazai was relieved to know that there was a plausible explanation as to how Kunikida had found him, he nevertheless found a bit of apprehension continuing to circle in his gut regarding the whole situation.

Dostoevsky still had The Book, and next to Chuuya, Kunikida was probably the second most trusted living person he had in his life. So if this ended up being too good to be true, he didn't know what he'd do. The mere thought of such a thing was practically unbearable.

In the end, however, Dazai decided that he'd just need to trust him and figure out everything else down the road. He'd performed many similar miracles in the past, and as much as those cruel voices in his head fought to drag him down, he forced it all away.

It would be okay. He had to believe that it would all be okay.

Leaving such thoughts behind for the moment, Dazai turned the doorknob, leaving the bedroom, and walking out into the living room.

Chuuya was already awake, a cup of tea in his hand, while his eyes scanned a newspaper. He looked distraught, his face pulled into a grimace.

And then Dazai saw the leading story and understood. All he had to do was look at the picture heading it

The building. The explosion. The place where Atsushi had died.

Dazai's heart stuttered in his chest, but he forced himself to hold back anything else that threatened to rise to the surface.

He would deal with it later. Maybe never.

Chuuya wouldn't be happy about that though. He'd probably want to talk to him about it and how it made him feel. It was something that Dazai had always envied about Chuuya. He was entirely unafraid to wear his emotions on his sleeve, uncaring about what the rest of the world may think.

Dazai wished he could be like that too. It probably felt freeing, cathartic even. However, such a grand change was easier said than done.

However, none of that mattered now. Not when they had other matters to tend to.

"It's time to go, Chuuya."

It was subtle, but Chuuya flinched where he sat, having been so invested in the story that he'd failed to notice Dazai's approach. Dazai watched as quickly flipped over the newspaper to hide the leading story.

Despite everything, the kindness of such a gesture made the ghost of a smile pull at Dazai's lips before he recomposed himself. He didn't deserve Chuuya to protect him from the rest of the world, especially not from something that he'd done and knew had been his fault, at least in part. However, the fact that Chuuya did so anyway pulled at his heartstrings.

He really did love him, despite not knowing how to even begin to say it.

"We'll get The Book back, you know that right?" Chuuya asked as they headed out the door, and departed from the apartment. "Especially now that we've got your agency folks with us."

"Yeah, of course." However, whether or not Dazai actually believed what he said was left entirely up to interpretation.

The morning air was cold as they arrived at their destination, a hidden alleyway bordered by tall dark infrastructure that cast a grand shadows. Overhead the sun was just beginning to rise in a sky painted blue with shimmers of purple hiding in its midst.

A gentle breeze wafted through the otherwise still air, dancing through the curls of Dazai's hair.

After all this time, he would finally be reunited with Kunikida and the rest of those at the agency. At last, it was happening.

It'd been so long since he'd last seen them now, but their faces had never faded from his mind. Kunikida with his ever-present serious expressions and amusingly easy-to-irritate personality. Ranpo with his signature glasses and endearing sweet tooth. Poe, more of an honorary member, with his raccoon and attention to detail. Yosano with her quick attitude and cunning personality. Kyōka with her kind heart and love of crepes. Kenji with his sweet naivety despite all he'd been through and love for humanity.

And Fukuzawa.

The man who had believed in him enough to give him a second chance.

Next to Chuuya, those people were his family, and although he would never admit it out loud, he loved them.

And he would be so happy to see them again.

Yet, there was a large part of him that was terrified that when they learned about what had happened to Atsushi, they would blame and resent him for his death. He was scared that their backs would turn and they would walk away for the last time.

Despite Chuuya's reassurances, Dazai knew that he had played a rather large role in what had happened. Honestly, he wouldn't even blame those from the agency if they hated him after learning of what had happened. If he were them, he would hate himself too. He frankly already did.

But life moved on.

Dostoevsky was a bigger problem at the moment, and he and Chuuya wouldn't be able to conquer the demon alone and escape unscathed. Especially not now with him having The Book.

And admitting that to himself, that he needed their help, almost made him hate himself even more.

For almost his whole life, he'd never felt comfortable accepting help.

From a young age, back when he'd gone by a different name, amongst the Tsushima's, that had long been abandoned, he'd learned that to ask for help was to be considered a failure. Successful people didn't need help. Intelligent people didn't need help. Anyone worth something didn't need help.

These lessons had been ingrained into him in more ways than one.

Until he met Chuuya. His first-ever partner.

When they'd first started working together, Dazai had worked so hard to give off the illusion that he was the one in control.

Sure he and Chuuya were partners in title, but Dazai, of course, had all of the ideas. Dazai didn't need Chuuya's help, but rather just kept him around as someone to do the dirty work. He made bets that he knew he'd win so that he could call Chuuya demeaning things like his dog and feel superior to the other.

But at the end of the day, all it was, was him making a desperate attempt to convince himself that he was still in control. He wasn't receiving any kind of help, by having Chuuya as his partner.

He wasn't a failure.

Chuuya was just a dog. A braindead dog who did his bidding.

And such a lie that was.

As days turned into months, which then turned into years, he was forced to see the truth of things.

Chuuya had a beautifully strategic mind, especially in the heat of the moment, he was always unafraid to speak his mind and was, in all honesty, insanely intelligent. In a total state of veracity, Chuuya was the final puzzle piece that had been missing his whole life, because while they were two separate entities, cut into their own shapes and with their own spread of the bigger picture, when they came together, somehow against all odds, it made Dazai feel complete. A hidden-away piece of his heart hoped that it made Chuuya feel the same way too.

As much as he loved to tease Chuuya, at the end of the day, Dazai had never truly seen him as his dog. Chuuya was his partner. Chuuya was his best friend. Chuuya was someone who had taught him that accepting and going to others for help was not solely reserved for the weak, but rather a wise and strategic benefit of life.

It was funny how all the biggest lies he'd ever told were to himself.

Next to him, Chuuya shuffled in place, rubbing a hand up and down his arm to help with the circulation.

"Hey, Dazai. You alright? You were zoning out for a second there, idiot," Chuuya's voice was tinged with sarcasm, in an ineffectual attempt to mask the true undertone of worry in his words.

"Of course," Dazai replied, "I'm always fine."

Next to him, Dazai heard Chuuya holding back what sounded like laughter.

"You? Always fine?" Chuuya teased, bumping his shoulder against Dazai's own, "well now I believe you even less."

"I don't know," Dazai said, his eyes flicking away from Chuuya's, "it's just that this will be my first time seeing them in so long, and it just worries me because I need them back in life… and I need their help, but what if they turn their backs on me after learning about what happened to Atsushi? Chuuya, if we don't have them to help us get The Book back from Dostoevsky, then I'm- look right now, it's just you and me, and we work well together, incredibly well actually, but against The Book? We can't do that alone. We need their help, because if we don't get it then I'm terrified about what that means. I just… I don't want to lose them... and you. I don't know if I can handle losing anyone else. I'm just so tired, Chuuya. I've never felt this tired."

An arm made its way across his shoulders, drawing his eyes and full attention back to Chuuya.

"You aren't gonna lose me, Dazai, and you won't lose them either. They'll show up soon and then together we'll defeat that bastard, Dostoevsky. Then afterward we can all head down to Bar Lupin, and get wasted. It'll be great. Sound good? So quit your moping or whatever the fuck this is, and just believe in me, okay?"

"Yeah, I know."

The sun continued to rise as the pair waited for the agency to arrive until a full hour had gone by from the original meeting time and still, no one showed.

"Something's not right," Dazai mumbled under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "Kunikida would never be a second late to anything, much less an hour. He even has this little notebook for keeping track of his day. Honestly, it's always seemed a bit neurotic to me, but it did prove to be good entertainment for me, in finding ways to throw him off his schedule. Although I suppose I only did that when nothing particularly important was going on, so it still doesn't explain his deviation. He should be here. I know he should be here."

Next to him Chuuya stiffened and seemed as though he was about to voice his agreement, however before he could a chilling scream cut through the air making them both fall silent and still.

It was coming from the building behind them, the entrance to it being a purple door that was just waiting to be unlocked.

And that scream... Dazai knew that scream.

His heart plummeted in his chest, and then he was running.

He couldn't lose anyone else.

Not now. Not again.