Unravel Me

17: Bleeding

Tw: suicide attempt, blood

   "Useless fucking bastard."

   Chuuya was muttering to himself as he walked down the block. It was earning him a couple of concerned looks, but he didn't really care enough to be bothered by them. And anyway, he was preoccupied with another issue—Dazai wasn't reading his texts.

   Normally, Chuuya wouldn't give a shit. In fact, he'd be relieved not to be hearing from that irritating moron. Tonight was different, though. They'd made plans and, as much as he hated to admit it, Chuuya had been looking forward to them.

   They'd messaged back and forth a bit a couple of hours prior, but the conversation died while he waited on a response from Dazai. The three dots had been there, so he knew that Dazai had to have been typing something back. He probably got sidetracked. He had mentioned that he was busy helping out at his family's place, so how pissed was Chuuya allowed to be, really?

   Nah, fuck that logic. Chuuya was pissed, and he felt that he did have every right to be. How hard would it have been to have sent a quick update on what time he'd be back at his apartment? He'd said that he wasn't messing with Chuuya when he'd invited him over, but had that been a lie?

   There was that familiar feeling—the ache of being cast aside.

   When Chuuya arrived at the door of Dazai's apartment, he decided he'd try one last time to do the polite thing before letting his emotions guide his actions. He knocked a few times, but when that didn't garner a response he pulled up Dazai's contact and hit the 'call' button next to his name. The sounds of ringing kept playing in his ear until they were finally replaced by the voice of that stupid mackerel.

   "Hello?"

   "Hey, what the fuck is your prob—"

   "Wait, what? I can't hear you."

   Chuuya was already bordering on yelling into the phone. "Why the hell haven't you been responding to my—"

   "You know what? How about you just leave a message and I'll call you back when I get the chance, okay? Byeee"

   BEEEEEP

   It was a wonder that Chuuya didn't crush his phone given how tightly he was gripping it. It was his lifeline, his anchor, the only thing holding back the flood of rage that was causing his body to quake. Oh, how he wanted to punch his way through that fucking door, find the annoying bastard, and ring his scrawny giraffe neck. But he would exercise restraint. He needed to keep a clear head. Dazai must've had a spare key outside somewhere, right? If he wanted to find it, he'd have to stay calm and try to think like that idiot. Where would he hide his key?

   Chuuya felt along the top of the doorframe, checked in and under the pot of the dead fern that Dazai was too lazy to throw out, and even went so far as to pop off the cover of his outside light. Still, nothing. Chuuya was running out of ideas. He took a step back and made a mental checklist of everything he'd already searched. All that was left was. . .

   "There's no fucking way."

   Sure enough, when he lifted the edge of the doormat, he saw a flash of bronze.

   "That hypocrite," he huffed as he let himself in.

   The main living area was shrouded in darkness—the only source of light being the pale glow of the moon coming through the split in the curtain. It was quiet, which Chuuya found unsettling given the nature of the person who lived there. "Hey, Dazai?" He called out. When there was no response, Chuuya moved further into the apartment. "Are you home? Sorry to barge in, it's just that someone has been ignoring me all night." Once in the hallway, he noticed the crack of light peeking from under the bathroom door. "Dazai?" He knocked on the wood, but got no response. "What the fuck," he grumbled before pulling his phone out again. He'd keep calling until Dazai picked up, and then he'd demand an answer from him. He had to know what made him think he could just blow Chuuya off after they'd made plans.