Beneath The Moonlight

A Full Moon Without Its Beast

Something empty hollowed in solidarity within Yokohama's Armed Detective Agency, an unusual silence lazed with the numbing atmosphere. A strange feeling of having left something behind; something that was never meant to depart.

For not even a sharp-minded and foretelling detective could predict death.

Gathered in the midst of the dim office, the Agency sat or stood scattered; shock still wafted through the air.
Quiet murmurs, whispers, all so hushed and smothered was the only talk in the office, whether it be asking for more tissues or if not, silence in thought.

However, they all look after each other. Comforting each other, rubs on the back, a hidden cry. Yet now it was clear that there was an urgency to openly discuss what had just happened, and attempt to clear the suffocating air.

"Yosano-san," the doctor turned at the call of her name, and an attempt at scrunching at her weakened eyes was made to not worry Tanizaki who informed in a slightly strained whisper, "The President is asking where Dazai-san is.. have you by chance seen him anywhere?"
She didn't need to think to answer, "I'm sorry, I haven't. Have you asked the rest?"
"Yeah," his eyes fell to the ground before averting to the entryway into the main office towards everyone, which Yosano slowly followed with her own gaze, but specifically landed on a distraught Kyouka seated, arms bound tight around her stomach and head past her knees facing downward. It was the same feeling of pity and sadness she felt for the last hours she had been comforting her.

"They hadn't got a clue either."

It didn't take a moment's time for the President to soon join the rest of them in their quiet somber, but it was enough for them to finally pick their heads up for conversation.
"Everyone." Attention was brought to him soon enough, and the old man sauntered with a quieter demeanor than ever over, eyes shut and face sat.

"The Port Mafia has been informed of Atsushi's passing, and have agreed to attend his funeral which will be held two weeks from this day."

—-

Silently observing the dimmed city lights of Yokohama from above, an icy breeze that he barely took notice of, the return of an unusual yet dreadfully familiar sorrow growing deep inside of him.

A poison Dazai Osamu didn't quite enjoy.

Releasing a hollow sigh, he watched in silence as his shaky breath spun into a smokeless smoke in the empty night air, renouncing the thought of a cigarette. One which his ex-partner would be sure to be carrying.

And for the first time, he wasn't aware of the mafia executive's presence before he appeared in his hindsight beside him, though it induced no shock.

Chuuya Nakahara warily eyed the way his friend unsecurley leaned against the century old railing that surrounded the roof of the mafia's skyscraper-high headquarters, before hesitantly joining him, but with more caution.
"Oi, careful of that. We sure as hell won't pay for damage, y'know. Clean your own guts off the pavement."
He gave a glimpse towards him in expectation of no reaction, but was met with a side-glance. "I know you'd pay the expenses either way, Chuuya. Even hold the funeral, pay for the flowers, the venue, grief cards and debts. All of it."

After finally being used after hours, Dazai's usually smooth voice was frightfully calm yet hollow, raw.

"Hah?" Chuuya gave a short snort, "When hell goes cold."
"It's true. That I know, because you're beside me at this very moment." The under-laid serious tone of Dazai's murmur made Chuuya look at him again, clutching at his hat that almost was swept away by the breeze.
"I know why you're here."
Chuuya's eyes then fell away from the detective's grave face, expecting him to object or turn his very rare act of comforting into something he claimed he didn't need. But in all honesty, Dazai wasn't purely all the reason Chuuya had decided to come find him.