𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏𝘼𝙇 𝙎𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙎, 𝙤𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙪 𝙙𝙖𝙯𝙖𝙞

𝙎𝙄𝙓

11:39 PM, June 7th, 2014

Staring at the empty suitcase that sits against the wall beside you, your heart hurts. Your head might just be worse. You don't want to believe it—that this is your only option. It's not. Can't be. You refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe that this is really the ending you're choosing to take.

Deep down, you know he's right. You know that this is the only chance you'll get. The first and last chance you have to run.

It's just hard to believe that it had come to this.

Hard to believe that you were ready to throw your life away for him—your future. Hard to believe he knows everything about you, and you know nothing about him. Hard to believe that all of his words were just empty promises. Hard to believe he was telling you he loved you while being with another woman.

The final straw—the other woman.

You'd known for a while. Had a feeling. He wasn't as focused on you, not that he ever was. More joyful. Cheery. Even if you hate to admit it, it was nice. Like being in a loving relationship.

A loving relationship that you would've done anything to have. You imagine the way he looks at her. The way his hands run over her skin. The way he speaks to her—it's a stark contrast to the way he is with you, and even if it kills you to think about, you're almost glad to find out that he does have a heart.

Maybe you just weren't the one meant to see it.

A long time ago, you believed in soul mates. True love—all that bullshit. Now? You'd do anything to believe it was true, to believe that it was just a situation of right person, wrong time.

You're lying to yourself. A common habit as of the last few months— empty promises to yourself that it would be the last time, that he'd never do it again. It was the only way you would've even survived this long. Even if it hurts to admit that, you know it's true deep in your heart.

You weren't living. No, you were surviving. This isn't the life your parents imagined for you—not even close. You were a nice girl, at least, that's what you like to think. You deserved better than this. Or.. really, is it just your sins catching up to you?

No. No one deserved this. You could've been been the worlds worst person, and you wouldn't have deserved this. Maybe.

You were driving yourself insane. You could imagine every decision you'd ever made, asking yourself which was the wrong one. The short answer? All of them. Everything you'd ever done in your life had been leading up to this moment, and if you had chosen differently, maybe—just maybe—you could've saved yourself.

With a sigh, you reach for your phone, fingers shakily dialing his number. Glass prickles at the skin of your fingertips, a small sting following each movement.

He answers quickly—too quickly. Doesn't give you a chance to even jumble together your thoughts. Even if you had a moment, would you take it?

"[F/N]," he shakily calls, a heavy breath leaving his lips. He's afraid that when he finally hears a voice, it won't be yours. "[F/N], are you there? I—"

"It's me." You respond, hating how weak your voice sounded. How small you sounded. It wasn't too far from the truth—you were just a scared little girl. "I'll do it. Okay?—I'll.. I'll do it. Can you—can you come pick me up?"

He let's out a sigh, and whether it's in relief or fear, you don't want to know. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be.. right there. Bring necessities, okay? I don't know how long we have."

Even if it hurts to admit, you know he won't be back tonight. He never is. Really, you have all the time in the world.

"Yeah." You exhale, head falling back against the wall with a gentle thud. "I'll be outside when you get here."

You can hear the jingle of keys through the phone—it makes you nervous. Everything makes you nervous as of late, though. "Be careful, please." He says, and he's begging. He means it, and it makes your heart hurt.

"Thank you," you murmur, pinching the bridge of your nose in between your finger tips, a sigh leaving your lips. A thank you—and it's genuine. You owe everything to him.

"..Kunikida."

9:27 AM, June 8th, 2014.

The hot coffee resting beside his desk had long since gone cold, the cup remaining half-full regardless. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, not after he watched you board a flight to Switzerland. Too worried about if you'd make it safely. Too worried about what Dazai would do once he realized.

And it seems he's about to find out.

Judging by the urgency of which he enters the office, and his appearance—disheveled. Shirt buttoned quickly, hair disarray, and smelling like another woman.

He could kill him. He wants to, truly. Whether it be on your behalf or his own, he didn't want to know. Even though, deep down, he knew. It was for you. Everything he did was for you.

"Where the fuck is she?" He says, glancing around the office with furrowed brows. Once his eyes land on the small smile on Kunikidas face, he already knows what he's done.

His collar is grabbed, body shoved up against the wall before he can even react, not that he would've done anything.

He didn't want to believe that Dazai was hurting you, physically or mentally. It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing that the man he had introduced you to was ruining your life. He could've stopped it, but he let it happen. You'd never be the same person ever again, and he could've stopped that from happening.

But now, hands tugging at his messed up shirt collar, eyes dark and venom hidden in his words—he knows. Even if he hates the thought, he knows.

"What the fuck did you do? I'll fucking kill—"

His words are cut off by Ranpo and Junichiro. He almost wishes they didn't stop him—that they let him hit him. At least it would've justified the punch he just landed on his jaw.

Standing to his full height as he fixed his shirt collar, adjusting the tie while he clears his throat. "Let him go," he says to the two men. Arms crossed and brows furrowed as he scans over his appearance.

"[F/N]," he starts, not missing the way Dazais fists clench when your name falls from his lips. "Isn't in Japan as of now."

"What the fuck did you do to her—" He barks, attempting to lunge at him before he's once again contained by four arms. "I'll kill you. Don't think I won't."

Kunikida adjusts his glasses, allowing his arms to cross as he looks down at the other man. "I don't doubt that you wouldn't." He hums, leaning closer as he speaks. "But you won't ever find out where she is. Not that I planned to tell you. I'm the only connection she has back here."

He takes pleasure in the way his face falls. The way his breathing slows, even if it's barely noticeable. For once, he had the upler hand over him. And even if he didn't like using you to 'blackmail' him, it was necessary. Necessary for your safety, and his own.

"She told me."

Dazais brows furrow once again—eyes narrowing over him. "You're lying. She didn't say anything. She's still in Japan. She has to be—"

"Aside from you—I'm the one she trusts the most." He murmurs, practically rubbing it into his face. "I helped her leave. Booked the first flight away from here. Away from you."

Dazai goes silent—gaze faltering as his heart thumping heavily in his chest. A steady rhythm, that he prays is going to stop sometime soon.

"Now, I'd appreciate it if you got to work some time soon." He pauses, glancing down at his watch. "You're late."