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A/N - I highly recommend that you press play on the song above and let it run throughout this chapter! ;)
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Dazai had mindlessly headed into a bar.
He didn't tell anyone where he was going—and for good reason too, of course. Dazai always had a reason for doing what he did, in fact, he always knew what he was doing, there was always an underlying intention or agenda hidden behind his actions.
He rested his hand on the rough paintwork that coated the door and pushed it open. Rough wooden splinters cut into his palm; shards of black paint crumbled to the floor. The hinges squealed as though they were a warning, but their plea was silenced by a wall of noise. Laughter overpowered the jukebox. Conversations swirled in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hid within the collaboration of mephitic odours. A sharp smell of alcohol wafted towards him, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. There was even a hint of sick tainting the fragrance of the room.
Dazai breathed in deeply—before he continued walking onwards without pause.
The bar curved into the room, dark and barely lit. Through the windows, the diamonds of lead panes, trickled in the sallow light of street-lamps. The smell had changed significantly over the years. Once it was of cigarette smoke only, the perfume that clung to clothing, skin and furniture alike. Now it was of stale beer and body odour. There were establishments that were more like restaurants now, all clean with waiting staff. Not here. Not at the "Dog and Broom." It was always a den of debauchery, alcoholism and the great unwashed of the city. It still was. Nobody ever came here with anything even remotely wholesome in mind.
And that's when Dazai's gaze had instantly landed on the person sitting in a booth faraway from the others with his back turned to the door. Dazai's eyes had suddenly darkened as he began to take slow, purposeful strides towards the man slumped in his seat, a sadistic, foreboding smirk curving his gracious lips. His dark waves flopped onto his forehead—and his footsteps echoed throughout the measly bar, sounding overly loud in the man's ears—the man who was patiently waiting at the booth; anticipating Dazai's arrival. Dazai's footsteps to this man had sounded like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner.
And then—the man had instantly straightened his posture as he felt a looming figure standing closely behind him; towering over his seated form.
"Long time, no see." Dazai's deep voice had suddenly infiltrated the atmosphere. His voice rumbled like a storm deep inside of him whenever he spoke in such a serious tone. It was low and soft, but powerful enough to send chills permeating through one's body. When he started to speak—his low, thunderous voice had crashed like a wave through the room, until the room was filled with only his voice; a voice that had asserted dominance and power in an incredibly fear-inducing way. A voice of a man whose past was shrouded in darkness; a voice that had still, to this very day, made the orange-haired man's hair on the back of his neck bristle. "Chuuya."
