The last sunset

Chapter 1: The sunset

The Last Sunset

The sunset painted Yokohama in shades of orange and crimson, casting long shadows over the city. Dazai Osamu stood on a familiar bridge, hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, his usual smirk absent from his face. The river below rippled in steady waves, reflecting the dying light. The evening breeze brushed past him, but it brought no relief from the suffocating weight that had settled over his chest.

The emptiness within him had grown too vast to ignore. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface of his carefree facade, but tonight, it felt unbearable. Dazai's mind drifted to death, as it often did. The thought of it had always been strangely comforting—like a promise of peace that was just out of reach. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to slip beneath the water, to finally be free of the world's demands.

He chuckled softly to himself, the sound hollow and humorless. "I wonder... would the water welcome me this time?"

The river beckoned him, its dark depths offering an escape. He stepped closer to the edge, the old, familiar desire pulling at him. It would be so easy—one step, and he could finally end it all.

"Not planning on jumping without me, are you, Dazai?"

The voice was sharp and unmistakable. Dazai froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. Of course, it had to be *him*. Slowly, he turned his head and found Chuuya Nakahara standing a few feet away, hands resting casually in his coat pockets, his fiery red hair glowing faintly in the last light of the setting sun. The wind tousled Chuuya's hat, but his gaze was unwavering, those striking blue eyes locked onto Dazai with a mixture of irritation and... something else.

Dazai let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ah, Chuuya. What a coincidence. Or are you here to save me from myself again?"

Chuuya snorted, his lips curling into a scowl. "Don't flatter yourself, idiot. I was just passing by, but I couldn't help noticing the idiot detective standing on a bridge looking all... melancholic." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent of concern that he tried—and failed—to hide.

Dazai's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "How romantic of you to care, Chuuya. I didn't realize you had such a soft spot for me."

"Shut up." Chuuya stepped closer, his expression darkening. "You think I don't know what you're doing? You're not fooling anyone, least of all me."

Dazai tilted his head, his gaze turning back toward the river. "And what exactly do you think I'm doing, Chuuya?"

"Same thing you always do," Chuuya growled. "Playing with the idea of dying like it's some kind of game. Except it's not. Not this time."

There was a long silence between them, the only sound being the rustling of the wind and the distant murmur of the city. Dazai's fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't move away from the edge. The weight in his chest remained, heavy and oppressive. Chuuya's presence did little to dispel it, though it was oddly grounding.

"I'm tired, Chuuya," Dazai said quietly, his voice lacking its usual playful tone. "Tired of pretending. Tired of... everything."

Chuuya's eyes softened, just for a moment. He stepped closer, standing beside Dazai now, both facing the river. "You think you're the only one who's tired? We're all tired, Dazai. We all have our demons." His voice was quieter now, less combative.

Dazai glanced at him, surprised by the softness in Chuuya's words. It wasn't like him to speak this way, not to Dazai, at least. But then again, Chuuya had always understood him in ways that others didn't. Despite their constant bickering, despite the years of animosity between them, there was a strange, unspoken connection.

Chuuya continued, his gaze fixed on the river. "But you? You're always running away. From the Agency, from the Port Mafia, from me." He paused, his expression hardening again. "You think dying will make it all easier? It won't."

Dazai chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm not running, Chuuya. I'm just tired of being stuck in the same game, with no real way out. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Chuuya shot back, his tone challenging but laced with something deeper.

For a moment, Dazai considered opening—really opening up. But old habits die hard, and instead, he deflected. "Since when did you become such a philosopher? Maybe the hat's squeezing your brain too tight."

Chuuya's eyes flashed with irritation, and he punched Dazai in the arm, hard enough to make him flinch. "Idiot. This isn't a joke. Do you think I'm going to stand here and let you throw your life away?"

Dazai rubbed his arm, a mocking pout on his lips. "Ah, how violent, Chuuya. If you're trying to knock some sense into me, it might take more than a punch."

"Then I'll keep punching until you get it," Chuuya growled, though there was no real malice in his voice. He glanced at Dazai out of the corner of his eye, his expression softening again. "Look, I know you're a mess, okay? But throwing yourself into the river isn't going to solve anything. You've got people who care about you—*stupid* people, maybe, but still."

Dazai fell silent, staring at Chuuya. For all their differences, all their history, there was something raw and real in the way Chuuya spoke to him. He didn't sugarcoat things. He didn't dance around Dazai's pain or try to make it go away with empty words. He was just... *there. *

"Chuuya..." Dazai started, his voice unusually serious. "Why do you care?"

Chuuya stiffened, looking away for a moment before answering. "I don't know. It's because I can't stand the thought of letting you win."

"Win?" Dazai raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Chuuya met his gaze, his eyes fierce. "You're not going to win by giving up. Not on my watch. I'm not letting you take the easy way out."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun had fully set now, and the city lights sparkled in the distance. Dazai's chest felt a little lighter, though the weight hadn't completely disappeared. Maybe it never would. But standing here with Chuuya, with his stubborn refusal to let Dazai slip away, it was hard to feel completely lost.

"Fine, fine," Dazai said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You win this round, Chuuya."

Chuuya scoffed, though he couldn't hide the slight relief in his expression. "Damn right I do."

Dazai took a step back from the edge of the bridge, falling in line beside Chuuya. The tension between them had eased, replaced by their familiar banter. But there was an understanding between them now, something unspoken yet undeniable.

As they began to walk away from the bridge, Dazai glanced at Chuuya, a rare hint of sincerity in his eyes. "Thanks, Chuuya."

Chuuya snorted. "Don't get all sentimental on me now. Just remember, the next time you try something stupid like this, I'll be there to kick your ass."

Dazai laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the night. "I'll keep that in mind."

They walked in silence for a while, the city's noise filling the space between them. And for once, Dazai didn't feel the overwhelming urge to escape. Not tonight, at least.

Maybe Chuuya was right—he didn't need to run. Not when there were still people willing to chase after him.