Hold On (I Still Need You)

Six

Chuuya pulls his jacket around him tightly, an unnatural chill leaving him shuddering. The whole area seemed to have moved on from the shooting with no after thought, and something about that didn't sit right with him.

"Chuuya, I didn't take you for the heroic type." A young voice says, and he turns to find a boy watching him. His uneven bangs fell to the side, and Chuuya gritted his teeth at the curiosity.

"Oh, it's you." Chuuya responds, looking at him.

"Well yes, I mean- the agency got a call," Atsushi stutters.

"Look kid, I don't have to deal with your lot for two days yet, so leave me alone."

Chuuya strides away. Not listening to whatever Dazai's protegee called after him. He was tense, which was weird. Things didn't unsettle him like this, not anymore.

Simply enough, he didn't bother with flying back up to his floor. Rather just shoving the door with his shoulder and keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

The stairs were a good focus. He knew each flight was twenty, and that made it an easy train of thought. One, two, three he'd glance up to see if anybody was passing him. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. The routine of it became passing.

When he finally found himself looking at his door, his knees were sore and the noise from the vents, along with his own breathing, had become irritating. Chuuya wanted to shut the world off for a few moments, to make everything quiet.

But that wouldn't do for the voice whispering in his ear.

You really are heartless, Chuuya. It started. That woman, you could have stopped the bullet. The image of the woman falling flashes through his mind. The life disappeared as the shut punctured her throat and blood began to trickle out.

You aren't able to save people, are you? It continues. Chuuya is able to blank his mind, but feels something twist in his gut at what he knows Arahabaki was reminiscing about.

The crack of a gunshot rings out, and it takes him moments to recognize that it wasn't real. That him jumping against the door as he shut it was a reaction to his own mind.

The voice had disappeared surprisingly. The sting in his head no longer tormented him, and he almost sighed in relief at that.

It was then that he felt a twinge in his stomach. Oh, I haven't eaten yet, have I? Chuuya thinks to himself. He moved towards the second room of his apartment that worked as a kitchen, living room, and dining area.

It was clean, he was grateful for that, but the space was dreary and lonely. So he grabs a bottle from his fridge, and some leftovers that had been sitting there for days after Koyo made him eat with her.

He stands aimlessly looking at the coffee table and couch he had set up, before turning and going directly to his bedroom.

It's why he stayed here. The space large enough for a desk, small chair and footstool, along with his bed. The windows were something he'd often loved, the view of the city and light welcome. But today, with blood coating the street, he huddled onto his mattress, pulled the blankets over his head, and flipped on whatever crappy TV show would stream on his phone.

Chuuya ate what he could manage of the cold food, before opening the bottle of tea he'd forgotten on his counter. It wasn't bad tasting, but lacked the burn and dulling effect he wanted. In fact he'd tried to take something that would satiate that from his fridge, but a throbbing pain had gone through his arm, so he'd given up. Chuuya knew he was tired. Could feel it every time his head drooped, but forced himself awake as long as possible.