Soukoku ~short story~ DazaixChuuya

Begging

Chuuya collapses onto a bench, staring through blurred vision at the motel in the distance. I'm drunk, I need to go home, he thinks, trying to convince himself to turn around. 

Mori had given him the news about Dazai only a few hours ago- Chuuya had headed straight for the bar afterward. With his brain foggy from the pain he hadn't known what else to do. Mori said he had no idea why Dazai had left. Chuuya had demanded that he must have been captured, that he was being held somewhere, but Mori shook his head, a look of pity on his face as tears had involuntarily streamed down Chuuya's sharp cheeks. How stupid I must have looked running out of there...

His brain had fought it, but Chuuya knew Mori was right: Dazai hadn't been captured, he wasn't being held, he'd simply left. And when that realization hit him Chuuya thought: He left me here? After forcing me to join the port fucking mafia he left me here? 

His thoughts had quickly turned to: What am I saying? I don't need that waste of bandages.

Now, Chuuya stood from the bench, determined to march back the way he'd come, thinking I don't need him, I don't need him...but found his feet weren't listening to him. The neon light of the motel sign drew nearer and nearer.

I don't need him, I don't need him, He forces himself to rehearse it, but he is failing miserably to convince himself. The truth is, after being forced to join the mafia and being betrayed by the Sheep, all he knows is Dazai. Every mission, Dazai is there. As annoying and big-mouthed as his partner is, his relentless teasing does dull the depression the occupation brings and has become some sort of permanence in Chuuya's life.

Chuuya frowns drunkenly as he stumbles up to the familiar red door of the motel. He hadn't even bothered to check Dazai's apartment before coming here- he'd known he'd choose this atrocious motel- he always chose this one. Using his sleeve, he wipes the tears from his eyes and straightens his stature. I'm here to confront him, I can't let him see how messed up I am.

Taking a deep breath, he lifts his foot, kicking it against the door. He waits, doesn't hear any motion, delivers another round of kicks to the door. "Open up you bastard!" he shouts, dizzily regaining his footing.

Moments later, the doorknob is turning and Dazai is standing before him in the doorway. Chuuya has seen him so many times and in an array of emotional states but somehow is still unprepared for the way he looks in the doorway at that moment.

The tall brunette's light brown eyes are tired slits, through which he is staring down at the small redhead, and his expression is completely blank. Not bored or apartheid, but completely blank, and it strikes Chuuya for the first time since he found out that maybe something is wrong.

"Chuuya, what a surprise," Dazai smiles half-heartedly, clearly not surprised at all. 

He knew I'd come? Of course he did. Chuuya gazes up at him with glazed blue eyes, trying to take in his ex-partner's face, trying to get a read on him, but his drunken state made it even more difficult to read Dazai than usual. Part of Chuuya wants to remove his clenched fist from his pocket and drill it into the brunette's jaw, but another part of him just wants to hug him.

Why do I love him so much? Why can't I be angry right now? Tears of frustration rise behind his eyes, but Chuuya pushes them down with all his strength.

"Why are you here?" the brunette asks. The flatness in his voice stings Chuuya.

"What? Like you don't already know you bastard," Chuuya tried to mimic the other boy's flat tone, but the alcohol slurred his speech.