★彡[ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ]彡★

Together

There was a peculiar chill settled over the alleyway Dazai slipped into, a single shaft of sunlight filtering onto the pavement and highlighting the flecks of dust dancing in the air.

"Oh, woe is me!" Dazai sighed dramatically as he strode forward, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, "Defenseless and alone is such a dark, narrow alleyway! I sure hope nothing bad happens!"

He came to a stop, eyes dancing over the seemingly empty stretch of concrete before him. 

He chuckled darkly, "I must admit, it's no easy feat escaping from Special Divisions -- how did you do it?"

Not a heartbeat later, Mary Shelley was suddenly next to him, facing the opposite direction. Her shoulders faintly brushed his, lips at his ear.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, voice eerily soft.

"Oho, sneaky!" Dazai said merrily, "I like that! Hey, would a lady as lovely as yourself perhaps be interested in committing a double suicide with me...?"

Mary Shelley frowned, eyebrows clinching, "I thought you didn't like me."

Dazai's smile thinned, "I don't"

He could still vividly remember the state Chuuya had been in because of her. It wasn't something he could easily forgive.

"Alright, alright. Chit-chat's over." His glittering brown eyes slid in her direction, tone soaked with venom, "Why were you following us?"

Mary Shelley snorted, "Why do you think?"

"You're a desperate fujoshi who reads too much into subtext?"

He still couldn't see the foreigner's face, but he could sense the anger now radiating from her form. He felt the muzzle of a gun press into his gut.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dazai yelped, dark expression suddenly replaced with something very animated, "I just want to talk! No need to get so violent!"

As he said this, he reached into the waistband of his coat and drew the pistol he had never returned to Higuchi. He twirled it between his fingers and pushed it into her stomach.

To anyone who passed by, it would look like the two of them were enveloped in a very awkward hug.

"Just want to talk, huh?" Mary Shelley muttered dully, then in a slightly more aghast tone added, "What type of sicko brings a literal firearm on a goddamn date?"

Dazai's eyes widened slightly. He shook himself, forcing a laugh between his teeth, "Oh my bad. I guess you weren't following us. Seeing that that man and I were not on anything resembling what you just said."

"Oh right, I shouldn't have asked," Mary Shelley said, rolling her eyes, "Clearly it's the same type of sicko that disappears into the darkest corner of the city when he's about to be confessed to."

Dazai suddenly felt hot, the hand holding his gun sweaty. He cleared his throat, "Aha, see? Wrong again."

He pressed the gun a little harder, "Besides, if I hadn't come here, you would have been putting a bullet through the poor guy's unbelievably dense brain, am I right?"

Mary Sheley finally turned her head, a faint smile playing on her lips, "Mission's a bust. Thought I'd be entitled to some petty revenge."

"I'm almost jealous," Dazai said, "I thought I was the one who held you against your will to face death itself."

"You were," Mary replied casually, as if they were discussing which sauce went better with salmon, 

"That's exactly why it would have been so fucking funny for that red headed disaster over there to spill his guts out and then proceed to literally spill his guts out."