˚✮ Ghost in the Abyss ✮˚

Chapter 7: A Leader's Burden

Watch our beloved cat dad react to his kit dying :<

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Fukuzawa Yukichi stood at the window of his office, his reflection faint in the glass as he gazed out at the fading sunset. The city below him thrummed with life, an ever-beating heart that felt so distant from the hollow ache in his own chest. For a moment, he closed his eyes, his breath slow and deliberate as if trying to steady the storm inside.

Dazai Osamu was dead.

The words, despite how long they had been lingering in his mind, still felt foreign. How could someone like Dazai—someone who had been a constant source of chaos and life—simply be gone?

Behind him, Fukuzawa heard the faintest whisper of air. The presence that always seemed to follow him since Dazai's death. He hadn't said it aloud, but some part of him could sense it. A shadow lingering in the corners of his awareness, just out of reach.

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On the other side of the room, Dazai stood, watching silently. He wasn't used to feeling... well, anything like this, not since he became a ghost. His existence now was cold, detached, like being underwater where every sound, every sensation was watered down. But seeing Fukuzawa like this, seeing the leader who had always been so composed unravel ever so slightly—it made something in him twist uncomfortably.

Fukuzawa-san, you really cared that much? Dazai mused, though the words felt hollow, as though saying them out loud would break some kind of unspoken rule.

Fukuzawa's expression, regret, pain, and guilt, told Dazai everything he needed to know. The way his former boss's shoulders slumped, how his jaw clenched tightly, gave away more than any words ever could.

I didn't think you'd take it this hard, Dazai thought, though he knew that even if he could speak, it wouldn't lessen the burden Fukuzawa carried.

Fukuzawa's gaze remained fixed on the skyline. "How did I let this happen?" he muttered, barely audible.

Dazai flinched. That one question pierced through him. It wasn't spoken to anyone, and it wasn't meant to be answered, but Dazai knew the weight behind it.

You couldn't have stopped me, Dazai wanted to say. No one could. This was my choice, Fukuzawa-san. Yet there was a pit forming in Dazai's chest as he realized that, despite his best efforts to distance himself from everyone, he had failed to predict just how much they'd hurt in the aftermath.

For Fukuzawa, the silence of the room felt suffocating. His mind swirled with memories—every interaction, every conversation he'd had with Dazai. The day he'd brought him into the agency, hoping to give him some semblance of peace. The moments Dazai's dark humor had surfaced, always hinting at something deeper, something far more broken than Fukuzawa had ever fully acknowledged.

And then that last day. Fukuzawa clenched his fists. That day, Dazai had been quieter than usual, but still himself—still making light of serious matters, still brushing off concern with that infuriatingly carefree attitude. And now...

"I failed him," Fukuzawa whispered, his voice laced with anguish.

Dazai felt like he should roll his eyes, make some snarky comment, but the weight of Fukuzawa's grief stilled his usual nature. It wasn't your fault. But what good was that now?

The door creaked open, pulling Fukuzawa from his thoughts. Kunikida stepped inside, his expression as somber as Fukuzawa had ever seen it. His usual fire and determination had been dimmed, his shoulders heavy with his own grief.

"Kunikida," Fukuzawa greeted, though the word was little more than a whisper.

Kunikida nodded slowly. He had always respected Fukuzawa, had always seen him as a leader who could bear the weight of any storm. But now, standing in the midst of this tragedy, Kunikida realized that even their strongest pillar could crack.

"I came to check on you," Kunikida said carefully, his voice tight with emotion. "You've been in here for hours."

From where Dazai stood, leaning against the wall as though he could still feel its solid surface, he watched the exchange. Kunikida, you're always worrying about everyone else, he thought. Always carrying the weight of the world. Even now...

Fukuzawa's gaze shifted back to the window, the dimming light casting long shadows across his face. "I'm fine," he said, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Dazai watched the conversation unfold, his chest tightening as he realized that they weren't just grieving his absence—they were grieving everything they'd never said, every part of him they didn't understand. His humor, his recklessness, his constant dance with death—it had all been a front, and now the pieces were falling apart for those he left behind.

Fukuzawa exhaled slowly, turning to face Kunikida. His expression was one of deep sorrow, his voice low as he spoke. "I failed him, Kunikida. As a leader, as someone who should have seen... should have stopped him."

Kunikida's brows furrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "You couldn't have known. Dazai hid it from all of us. He always did. You did everything you could."

"But it wasn't enough," Fukuzawa said, his voice cracking at the edges. "I should have known. I should have been there."

Dazai's eyes narrowed as he stared at the floor. You couldn't have known because I didn't want you to know. That was the truth. Dazai had spent his life keeping people at arm's length, ensuring that no one ever got close enough to see the cracks beneath his surface. But now, seeing Fukuzawa broken, regret etched into every line of his face, Dazai wondered if maybe—just maybe—he had underestimated the people around him.

"I should have protected him," Fukuzawa continued, his voice quieter now. "He was a part of this agency. My responsibility."

Kunikida shook his head, stepping closer. "You gave him a place to belong, Fukuzawa-san. That's more than anyone else ever did for him."

Fukuzawa's gaze remained fixed on the window. "It wasn't enough."

Dazai swallowed hard, though the gesture felt strange—like a habit he hadn't yet broken in his new ghostly form. You gave me a place, but I didn't want to stay. He didn't want to admit how much Fukuzawa's words stung, how much they reminded him of the loneliness he had always carried.

In the corner of the room, invisible to both men, Dazai let his gaze fall to the floor. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He hadn't expected his death to unravel them like this. He had believed that the agency would continue on, that they'd find a way to move forward without him. But now, watching Fukuzawa bear the weight of his loss, Dazai felt the sting of regret for the first time.

He had always sought the release that death promised, always seen it as the only way to escape the pain and emptiness. But standing here now, a ghost trapped in the world he had tried to leave behind, Dazai wasn't so sure anymore.

"You couldn't have stopped him," Kunikida said firmly, though his voice trembled with the weight of his own grief. "He... Dazai made his choice."

Fukuzawa nodded slowly, though his eyes remained filled with doubt. "But I could have done more."

The silence that followed was thick, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily in the air. Dazai watched them, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected his death to leave such a deep scar on the people he'd left behind.

As Kunikida left the room, Fukuzawa stood alone once more. He didn't move, didn't speak. And for the first time, Dazai wished he could. He wished he could say something—anything—to ease the burden that Fukuzawa carried. But he couldn't. He was nothing more than a ghost now, a shadow of the person he had once been.

The room fell into silence, save for the soft rustle of the wind outside. And as Fukuzawa stood there, staring out into the night.

Dazai remained beside him—unseen, unheard, but not as distant as he once thought he could be.

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-1304 words-