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There was not a single person Chuuya Nakahara loathed more than Osamu Dazai.
While the reasons he had for doing so changed from moment to moment, he had a pretty good reason to hate him that morning. He had only just stepped outside of his apartment, just beyond the threshold, before his car erupted into flames. The explosion could undoubtedly be heard from miles away and if he hadn’t activated his ability at the last second to avoid tumbling over, he’d have ended up right back inside his apartment with a broken limb or two. He clenched his jaw, a string of curses pressed between his teeth as he reacted, ears no longer ringing from the proximity of the blast radius. If he’d had time to think, really think about why the other would do something like this, alarm bells might have sounded sooner in his head, but all he could focus on was the need to wring the slender brunet’s neck.
Dazai had come to his apartment late the night before, in worse shape than Chuuya had ever seen him. Of course, there had been times when he’d found Dazai after one of his more severe attempts, when the man looked more like a fawn than a mafia executive. He’d seen the other’s pale skin in tatters, absolutely shredded from the man’s sessions, times where he disconnected from reality and needed to prove that he was alive by any means necessary. Chuuya couldn’t even begin to understand the feeling, not to the same extent. Hell, there were times he wasn’t certain that Dazai had been human either, but when the man broke, he broke hard. That was unfortunately something Chuuya hadn’t been able to familiarize himself with. The Demon Prodigy was all charm, carefully placed masks in the shape of bandages and the sound of self deprecation. Despite it all, vulnerability was not something that came easily to either of them.
So when the other had shown up at his door step, bandages soaked in blood and the one around his eye missing, he couldn’t help but stare for a moment in shock, even if he’d answered the door in frustration.
“Who the hell is–”, The words immediately turned to ash on his tongue as he met an emotionless gaze, two eyes rather than the one he’d expected.
“Dazai?” He questioned, irritation dropping substantially as his gaze trailed over his form. He was shaking like a damned leaf, his own gaze piercing directly through Chuuya as though he’d had no idea where exactly he ended up. As cliche as it was, he was happy that his dumbass of a partner hadn’t gotten lost somewhere along the way. Or worse. Though, even as he took the other in, he would have never admitted to that fact aloud. Nor did he admit to it as he reverently undressed Dazai, carefully unwrapping his bandages in case the blood had been his own. He didn’t admit it when he drew a bath for him and helped him get, what he’d learned to be Oda’s blood, off of his uncharacteristically soft skin. And he definitely didn’t come clean when Dazai had been laid in his bed, pressed against his chest until broken sobs melded into even breaths as he fell asleep.
Of course, Chuuya had expected his absence the following morning. He hadn’t expected an explanation or a damn thank you but it would have been nice. There was no way he could have expected the destruction of his car either, but it wasn’t beyond Dazai to act out. The asshole.
He’d have to take the bike to work and let the fire team handle the rest. Mori would kill him if he didn’t show up on time.
–
It wasn’t until much later that Chuuya had begun to suspect that something was really wrong. Dazai hadn’t shown up to a mission briefing, which wasn’t all too unusual, but considering he was Mori’s favorite pet, the boss should have known where he was. He didn’t know if he planted a tracker on him or if he just had his men follow Dazai around, it was a bit creepy to the red-head but apparently a necessity when taking into consideration the boy’s suicidal tendencies.
“He was with you last night, was he not?” Chuuya tried not to flinch at the accusation, no matter how calmly it had parted from Mori’s lips.
“Yes, sir. But he was all kinds of messed up. Maybe he just needed a break today? I don’t think that’s too far-fetched.” The pit in his stomach said otherwise. He’d blown up his car and had gone missing, the two must have been related in some way? He was still consumed by the anger he’d felt that morning, but it had begun to dull in favor of a growing anxiety. Had he been more logical, he might have put together that it was one last act of rebellion before taking his life, but Chuuya couldn’t see through the haze of his emotions and irrationality. He needed Dazai to be okay, so he was okay. There was nothing more to it.
“I see.” Mori replied, introspectively.
“You’re dismissed.” He continued, not even looking in Chuuya’s direction. He refrained from rolling his eyes, as he murmured a ‘yes boss’ before making his exit.
–
The air in the halls of the facility was growing far too thin. The more Chuuya thought about his conversation with Mori, the more anxious he’d gotten. His body didn’t feel quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was similar to the feeling that had taken over his body a few times before when Dazai had made serious attempts on his life. His lungs felt like they weren’t getting enough air as he wheezed on every breath. His stomach churned uncomfortably with nausea and a worry so fierce it shouldn’t have even been wasted on a man like Dazai, but no matter how hard he tried, Chuuya could never actually bring himself to hate the other.
At the revelation, the redhead could only walk faster. He needed to get out of the building, he needed to find Dazai, he needed to breathe–
As he picked up the pace even further, the ghost of honey brown eyes taunted him, floating around his mind’s eye like a parasite, like a love song, like a poem. God, he’d really messed up hadn’t he? There was going to be a day where he would never be able to tell Dazai what he actually meant to him and he’d wasted so much time pretending otherwise for what?
His footsteps became an echo in his mind as he finally reached the double doors he’d been chasing after, pushing through them with much more force than necessary as he fell to his knees, chest heaving from the intensity of the run. Chilled air filled his lungs, even as his throat continued to close. The pain spread down to his lungs like a fire, the admiration and affection melded into something ugly and he’d begun to wonder if Mori had poisoned him.
The answer wasn’t so simple as the fire reached its climax in the center of his chest, burning away all of the oxygen he continued to breathe in. He clawed at his throat desperately, hyperventilating as tears sprung to his eyes.
Dazai was dead. The chill that spread through his entire body put out the fire in his lungs, like the revelation was enough to save himself from impending doom, like it was enough to save Dazai. He doesn’t know exactly when it happened or how, but his body had only just managed to get the memo. He was too late.
Almost as if it were on cue, his phone started ringing in his pocket. The cold dread had never left, but it intensified as Chuuya answered the phone. Words failed him, but he already knew. He didn’t speak.
“Is this Chuuya Nakahara?” The person over the phone spoke carefully, like they were defusing a bomb. He could only bring himself to hum in acknowledgement.
“Osamu Dazai has been found dead. Your number was found at the scene, I’m so sorry for your–” Before the other could finish speaking, Chuuya closed his hand around the phone and crushed it. The pieces slipped between his fingers as they trembled, tears already made their way down flushed cheeks as he collapsed even further into himself.
His throat began to burn and it took several moments to realize it had been because he was screaming. He hated Dazai more than he ever had at that moment. He was so fucking unbelievably selfish. How dare he leave Chuuya all alone again?
His knuckles began to bleed from the punches he’d begun to throw against the concrete, a mantra of why’s falling from his chapped lips.
The truth was, Chuuya Nakahara had always loathed Osamu Dazai because he knew it was always going to turn out this way. No matter how much he loved him.