Not my fault

The sound of an electrocardiogram was the only sounds that Chuuya could hear. The sensations of needles in his arms told him well enough though. He was in the hospital. How.. How did I get here?

The door slammed open, and he could hear Mori and Kōyō's voice throwing veiled insults at one another. Chuuya's eyes fluttered open to look at the two adults who'd entered his room, and yet his eyelids felt heavy. His body was numb with medicine and injuries, and his memory was annoyingly foggy. His mouth moved to speak, but his tongue felt paralyzed. He closed his mouth and looked at his surroundings instead.

It was your typical hospital room, although a bit cleaner than ones he'd previously seen. The furniture was white and pristine, there was a small bouquet at the end of his bed. White egret orchids.

Chuuya looked at his hand and blinked slowly. There was a red string tied to his little finger, but it seemed to be cut off after a few inches, like it'd been cut with a blade. "Hm?" He managed to mumble, confused. Maybe his eyes were just tricking him, and it was just some bothersome tube connected to his body that injected medical fluids into his veins. He blinked again, this time a bit more agitated, and the string was gone, with nothing in its place.

Mori's low voice seemed to address the small man as he said, "Ah, you're awake now? Good. It's been a couple days." Chuuya tried to nod his head, but it most likely came out as more of a flinch. Not the ideal motion to make around the person who could have you killed with the snap of his fingers. "Do you remember what's happened these past couple weeks, Chuuya-kun?" Mori asked, resting his head in the palm of his hands and leaning against the white wall. It almost looked as if he didn't belong there, with his black and manipulative demeanor against the pure white of the room.

Chuuya shook his head. He scoured his memories for a better answer, but he truly couldn't remember the past two weeks. The last thing he remembered was offering Akutagawa a drink, then feeling a burning sensation in his neck. The rest was dark and hazy. Mori clicked his tongue, and this time, Chuuya genuinely flinched. "Nobody else can remember either. I was hoping you would, what with your bizarre level of power and all, but it seems you don't either. Unfortunate." He sighed. "Want Kōyō to fill you in on the blanks?" Mori asked with a serious tone. Chuuya nodded, his eyes traveling to Kōyō with almost a begging expression. Not one you'd usually see on the infamously cocky Chuuya Nakahara.

Kōyō sighed and sat on the end of Chuuya's bed, carefully moving the orchids and letting her beautiful kimono relax on the new, soft surface. "I don't want to tell you too much, for your own sake. I'm afraid that if I say more than you could handle, you won't be able to pick up the pieces of your own well-being again." Her voice was hurt, yet worried at the same time. She was truly concerned for the young man, and this only disconcerted Chuuya further.

"There was an ability attack from Bram Stoker, a member of the Decay of Angels. It was a vampirism ability, and it worked like the vampirism you'd see in books nowadays, you... You were turned, along with many others. During this attack, Dazai-" Chuuya's lip furled with annoyance just at the sound of his old partner's name. "-and Fyodor Dostoevsky were locked in a prison called Meursault. With the help of two other members from the Decay of Angels, Dostoevsky escaped. Dazai... did not. He was murdered. Bullet to the head. I won't say more than that, Chuuya. I'm sorry." Kōyō explained, a gentle tone to her always tender voice.

Dazai's... dead?

Who?

Who killed him? What were his last words? Why...

Why did he die?

Questions filled his thoughts, and the thought of Dazai dying at the hands of somebody who wasn't him made his blood boil with anger. He wanted revenge, more than anything. Dazai was his to kill, and his alone. Chuuya sat up and grabbed Kōyō's silk sleeve firmly. He spoke, his voice was husky with indolence, "Ane-san! You have to tell me what happened! Please.." His eyes were incandescent with fortitude, and his tone was imploring the woman. She succumbed for the sake of seeing and being enticed by this weaker side that Chuuya was displaying. Mori was also somewhat interested as well, he'd never seen the young man like this. 

Revenge was all that Chuuya's mind could think, all that his mind desired. A life for a life. He swore that Fyodor Dostoevsky would encounter the strength of gravity. His vision was painted crimson with rage. Chuuya glanced at his little finger, and the red string appeared again, still cut short. Huh....?

 His attention diverted for a few seconds to stare at the faint red string wrapped around his finger. What is this? He thought. Chuuya shook his head and scrunched his eyes closed. No. Revenge. He told himself, gripping Kōyō's sleeve tighter. He was barely holding on to his sanity, only by a surprisingly human lust for vengeance. Every fiber of his being buzzed, telling him to find and kill Fyodor for making it out instead of his partner.

"Who the fuck did this?!" He barked, his sapphire eyes were brimming with fury. His voice was strangely deep when he growled, " Tell me the name of the bastard, because they're gonna die fucking begging for their life!"

An aberrant silence fell over the room, Mori and Kōyō's eyes traveled to Chuuya with grim expressions. Lips twitching up, the young man assumed that they were pitying him. Yeah! They're just pitying him. Right?

This was probably a pretty sight to the sadistic Mori, watching Chuuya slowly fall apart after waking up from a vampire contagion with no memories and finding out his soulmate was dead. Shot in the head. It's almost laughable to Chuuya how nobody speaks, only staring at him mindlessly.

It's terrifying.

Kōyō frowned, her lip quivering with poignancy. She wrapped her slender arms around Chuuya's shoulders, and buried his head in the crook of her neck. What..?

Ane-san.. Has never hugged me.

It's terrifying.

It's not my fault, right?

Right?

Chuuya's arms returned the hug, and he heard Kōyō murmur delicately in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Chuuya."

Chuuya's eyes widened, his eyes were pricked with tears that began spilling down his face. He squeezed Kōyō tighter and bawled into her silk kimono. He... He was the one that killed Dazai, wasn't he?

Kōyō allowed the young man to cry, stroking his fire colored hair and whispering gentle comforts to him. Mori frowned, and left the room. Chuuya wiped his tears and whimpered, his hands shaking. His anger was directed at himself now, and it was maddening, driving him to the edge of insanity even.

"I'm sorry." Kōyō murmured once more.

 His soulmate was killed, and he was the one who did it.