Back to square 1 : A Soukoku married au

In all amist

Chuuya glanced over his shoulder for what must've been the fifth time in as many minutes, his footsteps echoing in the narrow, empty alley. Shadows flitted in the corner of his vision, barely noticeable but enough to set his instincts on edge. They'd been tailing him for days now, hovering on the edge of his awareness. He'd known something was off but hadn't breathed a word to Dazai. The last thing he wanted was to give that infuriating bastard one more thing to worry about.

It had been four days since Dazai started working around the clock, growing more tense with each passing moment of Chuuya's absence. Chuuya hated the idea of adding to his partner's stress, even if his instincts told him it was unwise to face this alone. Still, he'd handled worse before, and whoever these people were, they would be sorry for making him play cat-and-mouse for so long.

As if on cue, a figure stepped from the shadows ahead, blocking his path. Chuuya smirked, rolling his shoulders as more figures emerged from the darkness around him. Six men, maybe seven—it didn't matter. He'd take them all on.

"Seriously? You all think you're enough to handle me?" Chuuya sneered, flexing his fingers as he prepared to fight. "Come on, then. I'm done with this game."

The first attacker lunged at him, and Chuuya met him head-on, swift and fierce, a blur of crimson hair and relentless fists. He moved with practiced precision, twisting and striking, his coat flaring as he dodged attacks. The men fought back with grim determination, and Chuuya felt the thrill of the fight rise within him, a fierce grin breaking across his face.

But these men weren't amateurs. Their attacks were calculated, coordinated, and he found himself narrowly evading a blow aimed at his ribs, only to counter with a well-placed kick. One by one, his opponents dropped, but the remaining men closed in, striking harder and faster.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, his breaths coming quicker as he struggled to keep up with the onslaught. His strength was waning, and he cursed under his breath, wishing he'd told Dazai about these shadows before now. A slight hesitation gave one of his attackers the chance they'd been waiting for—a searing blow struck him in the side, and his vision blurred as his knees buckled.

Before he could recover, another man activated his ability. A bright, blinding flash engulfed his vision, and suddenly, Chuuya's world went dark.

In the darkness of unconsciousness, Chuuya's mind drifted, his memories and thoughts melting into a strange, hazy vision. He stood in a room filled with muted light, the air thick with warmth and laughter. Ahead of him stood four people—two adults and two children.

Chuuya strained to see them clearly, but their faces were obscured, shrouded by a fog that refused to lift. Still, a familiar ache tugged at his heart as he took in the scene. The taller man seemed... familiar, impossibly so. His stance, his presence, the way he seemed to command the space reminded Chuuya of Dazai in ways that made his chest tighten. The resemblance was haunting, even though the man's face was blurred, a shadow in his mind's eye.

The two children—a boy and a girl—ran around the room, their laughter echoing in his ears. Something about them was achingly familiar too. Their hair, the shapes of their smiles... the boy even moved with a certain defiance that felt like his own. And the girl—she had Dazai's playfulness, a glint in her eye as she darted around the room. The scene was painfully surreal, and yet, it felt right, as if it were a memory from a life he'd never known.

But just as Chuuya reached out, trying to call to them, to step closer and see, the vision began to fade, slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers. The fog thickened, obscuring the figures until they were nothing but shadows again, and the warmth of the dream turned cold.

When he woke, the first thing Chuuya felt was the hard, unyielding surface beneath him, the ache radiating through his limbs, the dull pounding in his head. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the dim light above, his vision swimming. He recognized the ceiling immediately—an old, dusty warehouse, long abandoned, judging by the cracked beams and cobwebs dangling from the rafters.

"Dazai..." His voice was barely a whisper, rough and raw, as he struggled to focus. He didn't know if he was still dreaming, if this was another trick of his exhausted mind, but the name slipped from his lips instinctively, like a plea. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see Dazai, to hear his partner's voice, to feel his hand on his shoulder, steady and reassuring.

But his vision swam again, darkness clawing at the edges of his mind. He tried to fight it, tried to stay conscious, but his strength was gone, drained from the fight and the strange, haunting dream. His eyelids grew heavy, and he sank back into oblivion, his last thought lingering on Dazai, his heart clinging to the hope that somehow, his partner would find him in this desolate place.