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"Dazai?"
Half-awake on his bed, Chuuya can barely register a soft whisper, a gentle hand brushing his red curls back, and a sort of bittersweet, fond smile before drifting back to sleep.
“Take care, Chuuya.”
~
“I’m Nakahara Chuuya and I received a summons from the boss.”
Two Port Mafia members open Mori’s office door for Chuuya.
“Boss, it’s Chuuya. I’m coming in.”
“Ahh Chuuya-kun, thank you for coming.”
Mori puts a book back into his shelf and turns around to give Chuuya a calculative smile.
Chuuya takes off his hat before standing a few feet away from Mori’s desk.
“What do you need me from me, Boss?” He asks, but he already knows the answer.
“I need you to answer a couple questions.” Mori’s voice falls somewhere between serious and light-hearted as he returns to his desk.
“Of course, Boss.”
“Do you know where Dazai-kun is?”
“No, Boss.” Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I owe Dazai that much at least.
“Did he tell you anything?
“No, Boss.” He never tells me anything.
“I see.” Mori smiles, but his eyes don’t look warm.
“Do I have to worry about your loyalty as well, Chuuya-kun? After all, you are - no - you were Dazai-kun’s partner.”
“No, Boss.” Chuuya remains calm the whole time as he repeats the same answer, but his mind is screaming.
“Hmm...your current composure reminds me of Dazai-kun a bit,” Mori remarks with a hint of amusement in voice and Chuuya blinks in surprise at being compared to Dazai. “Except you’re more respectful than my student. He always looked indifferent whenever I was teaching him a lesson.”
Chuuya shivers imperceptibly at those words. He is well aware of the meaning behind the last word. Because in the end of those lessons, Chuuya was always the one tending to Dazai’s wounds and on some nights, pressing his lips against them.
“Do you need a lesson, Chuuya-kun?” Chuuya opens his mouth at first, but he can’t exactly say yes or no, so he doesn’t respond as his pale blue eyes bore into Mori’s watchful red ones. The corner of Mori’s lips curve.
Mori gets up from his seat and slowly makes his way towards Chuuya. “Can you lend me one of your knives?” It’s not a request, it’s a command and Chuuya obeys, handing Mori a knife.
“Thank you. You’re so much more obedient than Dazai,” Mori says, pleased. Chuuya tenses, but doesn’t respond as Mori stands behind him, removes the choker around his thin pale neck, and places it on the wooden desk. He closes his eyes and waits. Suddenly, the cold knife is pressed against his throat and he can feel Mori’s breath against his ear.
“Chuuya-kun, without Dazai, you can’t use Corruption.”
I know.
Memories of Dazai saving his life several times by just grabbing his wrist flash into Chuuya’s mind.
“Do I also have to worry about your capabilities, Chuuya-kun? There is no use in having an ability you can’t control.”
Those cold words echo into Chuuya’s head, the words that are Chuuya’s thoughts spoken aloud from another person.
Mori cuts a red line into his skin and Chuuya can feel the warm blood dripping over his neck to his collarbone. “I want what’s best for the Port Mafia and I have no qualms about killing dispensable and disloyal members in the organization.”
The knife digs slightly deeper into his throat and Chuuya winces.
This isn’t punishment, this is a warning that the knife will dig in even deeper if Chuuya makes poor choices in the future. And Chuuya understands why Mori has doubts regarding his loyalty and capabilities after Dazai left.
He can’t control Corruption.
He can’t answer Mori’s questions.
He can’t come up with strategies like Dazai.
He can’t even tell what Dazai is thinking, whereas his partner can read him like a book.
Chuuya knows. Because he’s the who has to live with these facts and yet he doesn’t know anything. His thoughts grow so loud, he forgets about the tingling, chilling sensation of the knife on his neck.
“But I wouldn’t want to lose two important members of the Port Mafia, especially in a short span of time. You’re still a valuable ability user and I do not actually wish for you to be dead, Chuuya-kun.” Chuuya notices the soft tone of Mori’s voice in the last few words. Mori moves the knife away from Chuuya’s neck and returns it to the redhead before walking back to his seat and giving Chuuya back his choker.
“Chuuya-kun, as a precaution, there will be eyes everywhere, watching you until I deem you trustworthy again. We wouldn’t want any outsiders to know any critical information or for you to associate with Dazai-kun in any way, so don’t do anything that will make you seem suspicious.”
“I understand, Boss.”
“Good, you may go now. Have a good evening.”
Chuuya bows politely and leaves Mori’s office.
The Port Mafia members take in the sight of his bloody neck, but they don’t say anything as he makes his way to the elevator. This, Chuuya thinks as his lithe fingers trail lightly over on his throat, is nothing compared to what Dazai did. Chuuya hasn’t cried yet, because crying means Dazai actually left and Chuuya just can’t accept that fact. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling right now. He’s just tired.
He has to walk back to his apartment, because a certain someone blew up his car. The car where he tried, but failed miserably to teach Dazai, that suicidal freak, how to drive, the car where they shared secret kisses and rare smiles...
Good riddance.
~
It’s three in the morning when Chuuya lies on his bed with his phone, the light illuminating his face as he stares at his messages from the night Dazai left.
Dazai, where are you?
Are you okay?
Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has
been disconnected or is no longer in service.
Are you fucking serious? Is this a joke?
You bastard!
Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has
been disconnected or is no longer in service.
Why?
Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has
been disconnected or is no longer in service.
Why? It’s a simple question, but no one ever tells him, because the answer is always complicated.
Chuuya sighs and closes his eyes, screaming internally. Waiting for Dazai to reply to his messages is like waiting for an echo that never comes. He always knew something was wrong with Dazai, but he didn’t know what. He knew he couldn’t help Dazai, but he tried, he really did. Odasaku’s death was the last straw for Dazai and the bastard finally left the Port Mafia, left Chuuya. Chuuya can only hope Dazai finds what he’s looking for wherever he is. He opens his eyes to see the messages once more and he feels a tear trickle down his cheek as his fingers tap on the screen of his phone.
Take care, Dazai.
Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has
been disconnected or is no longer in service.