Chuuya woke up with a start. She felt cold sweat on her forehead and a tightness in her chest. She tried to wipe the fear off her face with her arm before she dropped it due to stiffness and chose to cradle it instead. She had another nightmare, one about Dazai. It seemed that it was all she could dream about these days.
In every dream, she saw Dazai's lifeless body on the ground, blood pooling around her with a beauty that would rival renaissance paintings. She saw Dazai's dark amber eyes staring blankly at her, silently accusing her of failure. It wasn't anger, but acceptance. They were never going to be something of value, something that Chuuya could think of at night and treasure it deep in her heart, they didn't matter like that. She saw Dazai's outstretched arm cupping her cheek with a soft familiarity, and she saw Dazai's thin lips forming her last words. "I'm sorry, Chuuya."
Her words weren't meant to comfort or soothe. They were foolish, and selfish. Everything about Dazai was. Chuuya just wished she had been more self-centered with her own life, that she wouldn't have chosen to throw it all away over Chuuya, to stake her life on people that didn't matter.
In the end, her words failed her, and her soft affections meant nothing in her last moments. She should have never said anything to Chuuya, it wouldn't have mattered if Chuuya kept her hand to Dazai's wrist searching for a pulse, or if she stayed to watch over Dazai with glazed eyes hours after her death. Not even if she smoothed out Dazai's wrinkled suit and whispered sweet reassurances while tucking a wild strand of hair behind her cold ear.
None of it would have ever mattered, because Dazai wasn't there. She wouldn't ever be here again.
She was. She used to be here. Chuuya's eyes glistened with unshed tears, a hot fire bubbling up inside of her chest. Dazai once existed on the same planet that Chuuya did. She survived and made decisions that changed people, and she wouldn't have the chance to do it over again. There would be no life with Chuuya, or an epilogue with peace and people who cared. Dazai was everything, and now she was nothing.
Chuuya's body had lost feeling entirely since she last saw Dazai. Emotions controlled her being more than bodily functions, and she could barely feel her fingertips. When she tried to push Dazai out of mind, it felt like she was being pulled by unbreakable strings.
It was terrible how even that reminded her of Dazai.
How dare that damn bastard plague her thoughts even in death. Chuuya choked, her throat raw from crying. Ever since Dazai's departure, she couldn't speak or utter a single word. Everything revolved around that inconsiderate shithead. How dare she leave Chuuya like this. She took in a deep breath and shook her head, trying to calm herself down. She reached for her phone and checked the time. It was 3:17 am, earlier than when she usually woke up. Dazai slept the least out of the two of them, despite being the tallest. She never understood the concept of rest and care like Chuuya so desperately wanted her to. Chuuya supposed what she wanted for Dazai didn't matter anymore. She sighed and put her phone back down on the nightstand, forgetting to plug it back in.
She stared at the ceiling, searching for a piece of Dazai in every shadow. The crickets outside moved on. They stayed a constant throughout generations of Yokohama. They never knew Chuuya was mourning. Time moved with Chuuya, and Dazai stayed the same in Chuuya's memory. She knew memories distort with time. Maybe Dazai would evolve into something entirely different inside of Chuuya.
Eventually, dryness pricked her throat. She got up from her bed and walked to her kitchen, took out a bottle of red wine that Dazai hated, poured herself a drink, and gulped it down. Chuuya slumped onto the cool tabletop, soothing her warm face; it reminded her of Dazai's last embrace, cold and unforgiving, yet so comforting. She could only be seen as helpful when her layers were entirely peeled off, only in death could Dazai be honest. It was all she had ever known. Time passed. The alcohol burned her mouth and numbed her pain, bringing with it heat in waves.
Chuuya knew Dazai never wanted a painful death.
She wondered why she still dreamed about Dazai. It had been six months since Dazai's death. Six months had passed since Dazai had sacrificed herself to stop Fyodor's plan to destroy Yokohama. Six months since Chuuya lost the only person who ever understood her.
Chuuya hated Dazai. She hated her for leaving Chuuya alone. She hated her for betraying the Port Mafia and everything they once stood for. She hated Dazai for making her care. She hated Dazai for dying.
But she also loved Dazai. She loved her for being her partner. She loved her for challenging her and making Chuuya stronger. She loved her for living. Dazai lived for Chuuya, and she died for her too.
Chuuya never told Dazai how she felt. There was never enough courage to confess her feelings to the one who mattered most. In that way, Chuuya was weak, because she never even had the chance to say goodbye.
She poured herself another glass and stared down at it. It was swirling in the cup, and if she looked closely enough into the dark brown liquid, she could see Dazai looking back at her. Chuuya felt tears sting her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve and put her head in her hands. There was no use for Chuuya if she couldn't save Dazai.
She wished she could see Dazai again. She wanted to hear her voice, feel her touch, and smell her flimsy perfume that once masked the scent of cigarettes and whiskey. If Dazai was alive, Chuuya could tell her how much she missed her, how much she needed her, and how much Chuuya loved her.
Chuuya wished she could be happier.
