#just Chuuya wallowing in misery

[demonprodigy-kingofsheep]

Lost in the cityscape, where I try to find you (part 1)

Dedicated to @originalartblog aka Nawy. Thank you for your arts, Nawy, I hope you know I come back to your teen skk everytime I have a rough day, for they cheer me up immensely.

Day 1 

It had been mere minutes since eighteen year old Nakahara Chuuya had landed at the airport after a month-long mission in the west. And already, he had been assigned to his next one. 

He stared at his driver incredulously through the rear view mirror of this newly purchased sleek red Mercedes, his fist tightening on the cream leather armrest. 

“What do you mean Dazai has gone missing?”

The driver gave him an apologetic look. “I personally don’t know much about it, but Hirotsu-san asked me to pass on this message to you as soon as you arrived. The boss requests that you find Dazai-san immediately and try to bring him back to the headquarters. The Black Lizard unit is too occupied with a scuffle involving another organization, but either way, the Boss said that he trusts only you to find him.” 

Chuuya frowned. Dazai going missing without a trace? Mori needing a word with him? This seemed a bit sketchy. Dazai might be lazy, but he was not the type to leave the mafia without any kind of intimation.  

As a reflex, he automatically dialed Dazai’s number. His partner had some explaining to do.  

“Bastard, pick it up,” he growled into his phone as it gave up after a series of full rings. Three times he had dialed Dazai and was met with silence, as if he was a world away. With a short huff, he slipped his phone inside the pocket of his black jeans. 

Well, it wasn’t like that stupid guy answered his calls out of their missions anyway.

But still, he felt something off about it. “Stop near the headquarters and get down,” he told his confused driver. “I’ll take this car by myself.” 

“But- but it’s my job to-” 

“To listen to what I say. It’s my own car anyway, not the Mafia’s.” Chuuya softened his tone, “This mission might be too dangerous for you. Leave it to me and go help someone else.”

It was a lie. Searching for Dazai wasn’t supposed to be that difficult of a task, but he wanted to do that alone. Having unnecessary inputs from anyone would distract his intuition, and he wanted to focus to get this mission done soon. 

The driver brought into his lie, though. After all, Chuuya did have a reputation of taking on the most dangerous missions. “Alright, as you wish,” he said. 

Once the Chuuya got into the driver’s seat, he snapped on his seatbelts and drove straight to his destination, one that he knew existed but had never actively paid a visit before. “I’m gonna break his phone into pieces using his thick skull,” he grumbled as he steered using one hand, another checking the reception for a signal tracker in his phone. “It’s not like he needs it after all.” 

Chuuya’s trip to the landfill that Dazai lived in was effortlessly smooth, thanks to his top-class luxury sedan. He had been more than happy to switch over to driving his own car recently rather than rely on the Mafia’s compromised chauffeur service, especially after the whole Verlaine incident. As a treat for surviving yet another year in the mafia, he had flipped through a few catalogs and splurged on the most expensive car in the showroom. 

But now he had to step out of it, and the stench of the toxic dumping ground hit his nose like a truck. However, being a person who was used to stenches worse than that, he strode towards a lonely blue shipping container lit by the sun in the middle of an abandoned ground- the shipping container that Dazai called his home. 

“Oi, Dazai,” Chuuya bellowed as he kicked the flimsy door open, “Stop ignoring me!” 

The door fell off its hinges, its thud echoing throughout the empty darkness inside. Chuuya reached for the table lamp- guided by the pale, feeble light of the sun that streaked in through the gaping hole where the door had stood- and pulled on its cord, switching it on. 

This was the first time he saw the condition Dazai lived in, and to say the least, he was shocked. An amber light threw the entire “room” into visibility. A desk stood, stacked with paper, the bed was bare and unmade with nothing but a thin blanket that probably did nothing against the cold. The room was bare, as soulless as the person who lived in it. 

Chuuya faintly recalled Kouyou telling him how the environment a person lived in would be reflective of their personality. No wonder Dazai was depressed. Just standing in the room for a few seconds made Chuuya so claustrophobic that he wanted to puke. 

What on earth was Dazai even thinking, living in a place like this? 

However, there was no time to ponder over that. A good look around told him Dazai had clearly not been in the room for a while. He rummaged through the drawers- which were mostly empty except for a few handy tools- and the fridge, which was just stacked with canned crabs and sake. Chuuya grimaced. He grabbed a sheaf of paper and scanned through their contents. It was handwritten, by Dazai himself, something about some ‘Mimic’ and singularities. The rest of his handwriting was almost illegible, marred through criss-crossing lines and dots and more frustrated scribbling. 

Chuuya confiscated those sheets. Despite the fact that only Mori might be able to decipher it, he judged it to be either a valuable clue to Dazai’s destination, or classified documents that risked discovery if they were here in Dazai’s absence. 

A small beep from his phone made him look back. His phone picked up a strong signal from Dazai's transmitter, emitting from a location near the port. All the people in the mafia had transmitters implanted within them, for others to keep an eye out, for easy contact, and for bringing back bodies. 

Dazai’s transmitter was still working. 

Chuuya got into his car once again, chucked the bundle of papers in the back and twisted the key. “Wonder what ditch he had crawled into this time…” he murmured as he made his way, full speed, towards the location on the map. 

The place Dazai’s transmitter sent signals from was down Yokohama Harbor. Ships were docked in a line, and the road traffic lessened due to noon. Chuuya parked his car and walked over to the area where the light pulsed in his phone, only to look up and see no one. The wooden platform next to the sea was empty, the fountain at the other side gurgling an empty song. His eyes scanned the nearby area till they landed on a dustbin. 

“Oh, no way,” he cursed as he walked over, imagining Dazai’s wretched face laughing at him, as he peeked into the depths of the bin. 

A smear of dried blood and a microchip lay buried amidst the tobacco stumps and crumpled paper cups. 

Chuuya straightened and turned around, facing the wooden sidewalk and stainless steel railing that marked the start of the endless sea ahead. 

For a second, a horrible thought settled into his mind. 

What if…?

“No,” he said aloud to himself, firmly refusing to entertain even the possibility of that intrusive thought. “He’s alive. I know it. Cockroaches like him don’t die so easily.” 

As if that lit a spark of denial within him, Chuuya looked around for a place to continue his investigation further. Fortunately, there was a stall selling boba tea not far away. While Chuuya was personally an espresso guy, he needed that information, plus he was hungry, so there was no time to be picky. 

He strode to the stall and sat in one of the four chairs placed under an umbrella to shade him from the sun. The boy who ran the stall seemed quite happy to have a customer, for most of his potential customers were flocking to a new, air-conditioned stall nearby in the sweltering afternoon. 

Chuuya didn’t even bother scanning through the menu. “Fix me up with whatever you’ve got the best,” he told the young boy, who looked perplexed but still nodded. Maybe he had never seen a customer act this way before. 

As the boy was preparing his tea, Chuuya seized the opportunity to ask questions. 

“Do you work here everyday?” 

The young boy tilted his head. “Since the past week, yes. Couldn’t afford to pay fees for my professional swimming classes, so took this up as a part-time.”

“I see. So how’s your day going on?”

“Same old, same old. Winter has begun and there’s more crowd as the sun sets, so evenings are a little hectic.” 

“Did you notice anything interesting recently? Anyone acting… a little off? Trying to jump into the ocean or something?” 

The boy looked at him startled, almost dropping the cup he was about to hand Chuuya. “Do you mean, like, committing suicide?” he asked, eyes widening. “Did they find any bodies around here?” 

“No, no. Nothing like that. I just thought a scene like that might make a job like this more eventful.” 

A part of Chuuya was mildly relieved, but he knew it was child’s play for Dazai to slip away from the eyes of the crowd whenever he desired, so it was still not out of the question. Chuuya took the flask from him, reached into his wallet, and slapped a stack of money around ten times the price of the boba tea he brought.

“S-Sir,” the boy looked like he was about to faint, “This is too much-” 

“Do me a favor, will you?” Chuuya said nonchalantly as he walked away towards the direction of his car. “I’ll be back in a few days. If you see a person wrapped in an ungodly amount of bandages, just let me know.” 

—

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, with Chuuya making a quick trip to almost all of the Port Mafia bases scattered throughout Yokohama and inquiring about Dazai's whereabouts. As expected, no one had seen him since the past few days. But Chuuya did collect information about some events that had happened when he was absent, about a mafia underdog named Sakunosuke Oda who had apparently been dispatched to finish off the leader of an enemy organization named Mimic in exchange for the government recognizing Port Mafia as a legitimate, licenced gifted organization. Certainly a win for their side, despite the loss of life that occurred during the strife, including that of Oda’s. While this made sense of the papers he found at Dazai’s place, what he did not understand, however, was if the incident was related to Dazai and his disappearance from the Mafia. 

Every lead was a dead end. It was frustrating, and Chuuya did not know what to make of the whole situation. 

By midnight, he had exhausted all his immediate options in and around the city. Feeling heavy to the bone, he parked his car and dragged himself to a local bar, hoping that a bottle of whiskey would be enough to drown the day and all that came with it. He slumped into a chair next to the bartender and automatically placed his order, barely registering the words in his own head. His thoughts echoed a million questions; his feelings, about as composed as a rowboat tossed into the middle of an ocean tempest. 

For three years now, he had wished and hoped a day would come when he and Dazai no longer needed to work as partners. The day when their intertwined fates would finally branch out into different directions. That day, he thought, would be the best day of his life. 

Now that the day seemed to be here, he was a mess.

As the bartender placed his drink in front of him, one question screamed the loudest through the recesses of his brain. 

Is he truly gone for good this time? 

Chuuya paused, the drink halfway towards his lips. A beat of silence later, he dared to think of one more. 

Am I truly free? 

His eyes widened, lips now parted in the stark realization of the situation he found himself in. 

Through the rush of anxiety and the stream of concern at the thought of Dazai lying dead in a ditch somewhere, he felt- to his utter horror- a twisted sense of relief. 

No one will ever see through Chuuya as clearly as Dazai did. No one will predict his movements with such accuracy, plot insidious plans that assert control over him, dig into Chuuya’s past as a man-made vessel for a god, torment him with childish pranks, drive him into a fury with just their mere existence. 

It also meant he could never use Corruption again. Not unless he was willing to die.  

While that was technically a loss for the organization, it was nothing but another tick in a list of wins for Chuuya. He hated using Corruption- to give up control of himself to an otherworldly entity with no mercy towards friend or foe, relying solely on Dazai to bring him back and keep him alive, suffering from internal bleeding so bad that it took weeks for him to heal. 

Never again. 

A choked laugh bubbled up his throat. He downed the whiskey with trembling hands, slammed the glass on the counter, and looked up at the bartender. “Gimme a bottle of the most expensive wine in your collection,” he declared. “Tonight is a night to celebrate.” 

The dim amber lights across the bar lulled him into a state where he could see past memories playing in front of his eyes in weirdly high definition. He remembered all the times he had cursed Dazai, telling him that he hoped that he’d die so that Chuuya would never have to look at his wretched face again. 

How did he feel about his curses coming true? 

Well, he only realized he had never really meant them in the first place after all. 

Shame creeped into him for the words he had just uttered as the bartender placed a brown bottle of wine carefully on the counter. “A rare Petrus, 89,” the bartender said, “I hope it fits the special occasion.”

Chuuya had swiped his card and curled his fingers around its cool neck when the hair on the back of his neck stood as he picked up the shockwave- right before the sound of an explosion rang out right outside the bar. 

Like everyone else, Chuuya involuntarily ducked under the table, hand covering his head as he did, but he was the first to recover. Noticing that their lives weren’t in immediate danger, he grabbed the nearest thing that could double as an extra weapon- the bottle of wine- and rushed out to meet the culprit, only to be greeted with the shattered, smoldering remains of his brand new luxury sedan. 

Head swimming and ears ringing, Chuuya slowly approached what was left of his car. A single tire rolled towards him, bumping his leg before tumbling flat on the ground. 

Chuuya stared at the tire for a long time, nostrils filled with smoke, barely registering the chaos around him. Never before had he felt this exhausted, ashamed, frustrated, and defeated in his life. 

So he simply sat down on the broken tire, ripped the seal of the vintage Petrus, pulled open the cork using his teeth, and chugged down the hideously expensive wine right out of the bottle as he watched his car burn. 

It was truly a celebration of a new low. 

—

#Ao3 was down so I posted this here #just Chuuya wallowing in misery #canon compliant #post dark era #Chuuya after Dazai leaves the Mafia #Chuuya is… working on his feelings #he’ll get there eventually #when will Chuuya finally snap challenge #place your bets #angst #angst no comfort #skk #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #bsd #skk fanfic #soukoku fanfic #tis a three-parter #which means more chuuya angst coming up!!! #I just don't know when lol

[chuuyaaf]

C-can I request a high school au?, what if dazai convinced fem!reader to pretend to be his gf so that the girls he was hitting on would go away because they wanted to get serious with him, Scenario with lots of angst and a fluff ending please!

This turned into a full-on fic.... I just really love this idea. And highschool AUs?? Love it (there’s also underage drinking, so be warned) Also, a freshman is a first-year high school student, in case anyone was confused. -Zi

“Be my girlfriend!” 

You were sure the shock was written all over your face. You had a crush on Osamu since the eighth grade and now he was really asking you to date him?

“Not really, of course, I just need people to leave me alone.”

Oh.

Oh.

Of course. Why would he date you? He’d probably flirted with half the school by now and had girls practically chasing him. I’m so deep in the friendzone he trusts me to be his fake date...

Despite the aching in your chest as his request, for some reason, you agreed. So, now you sat at your friend group’s lunch table, fake flirting with a guy you were hopelessly in love with.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Atsushi asked as Dazai wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The freshman looked somewhat uncomfortable and a bit concerned that this would all go wrong.

“Of course! I don’t have to get into a real relationship and everyone leaves me alone! It’s perfect!” Dazai said. “Besides, Y/n agreed!” He gave Atsushi the full, gleaming smile you adored and you nodded slowly. It physically hurt to be in his arms and still only be a friend.

The only people aware of your crush were Kunikida, a close friend, and Chuuya a friend of both you and Dazai. They had advised you to say no, but you didn’t know what was worse. Pretending to be his fake girlfriend or watching every girl in school try to get him to date them.

Chuuya tried reassuring you that he really didn’t want to date them, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Who’s to say he won’t ask one of them instead? Or maybe he’ll actually fall in love and leave you behind? No. This was the much better option.

So, you slowly suffered in silence.

It got worse as time went on. Most girls respected that he had a girlfriend and moved on, but there were a few who seemed relentless. They’d come up to you, insisting you dump him or try to sabotage you in some way.

Of course, it never worked since you weren’t dating in the first place. He only laughs off each attempt. Sometimes he’d say that he didn’t even know why they believed you were dating. You’d laugh along with him. If Kunikida was there, he’d shake his head slowly and scold Dazai for being an idiot (of course, Dazai had no idea what he did).

Most times you’d rant to Kunikida or Chuuya and they’d patiently listen, much like you would do for them. They’d lend you what support they could in their own unique ways.

If you wanted to feel better, you’d call Kunikida. He’d come over and make tea and the two of you could talk and watch TV together until late at night.

But if you felt like wallowing in your own misery, you’d call Chuuya. He was the type to indulge your more self-destructive tendencies.

“You should tell him,” Chuuya said, late one night. The both of you were on his bedroom floor, drinking from a stolen bottles of his parent’s wine. You weren't quite drunk, but you definitely weren’t thinking straight.

“No way. I’d have to plan something, I’d be putting our whole friendship on the line when he clearly doesn’t like me. I can’t lose him. You stared at his bedroom ceiling, the dark colors making the room look smaller in the dim light of his bedside lamp. “Besides, I don’t I’d ever do that sober.” You giggled, realizing that you’d probably drank more than you thought.

“Then do it now.” He said, reaching over to grab your phone from your pocket and waving it in your face. He took another swig. It was becoming clear that the two of you should probably put the alcohol down.

“Are you kidding?” You said, questioning his sanity.

“No!” He shoved the bottle of red in your face. “Chug this and do it.” You hesitated before grabbing the bottle, taking a few large sips before finding Dazai’s contact.

You have no idea what time it was. You hadn’t bothered to look at the clock so you were shocked when he actually picked up.

“Y/n? Everything alright?” He asked. You had clearly woken him up, his voice deeper and groggy. Honestly, it sounded amazing.

“F-fine.” You couldn’t tell if the stuttering was from nerves or wayyyy too much wine, but you took another swig. Chuuya took the bottle out of your hand setting it aside. He whispered that you’d probably had too much. You let him take it. If Chuuya was telling you to stop drinking, you’d really gone overboard.

“You don’t sound fine? Is someone else there?” He sounded a bit more awake now. With your thinking impaired, you didn’t bother lying.

“Just Chuuya.” You heard a sigh on the other end. He never liked it when the two of you hung out alone. It usually meant you were talking about him (which was correct about 99% of the time). “I have something to tell you.”

Chuuya was beside you giving a lopsided smirk. “Alright then. Afterward, get some rest though, it’s almost 4am.” That late already?

“I’ve been in love with you since middle school. And I know we’re only fake dating now, but I really want to go out with you.” There was a pause. “Like for real. Not fake dating.” You added, hoping you were making sense.

Then, the line went dead.

Dead.

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

Maybe laughing? Him asking why you ever thought you’d be good enough for him, or maybe even anger. Him yelling about you ruining a good friendship or messing up his little fake-dating plan.

You were expecting him to hang up.

“No fuckin way,” Chuuya said, looking over at you as you stared down at the screen. “That bastard.” His voice had more malice in it that his usual insults toward Dazai. You only laid back on the floor, letting Chuuya comfort you as tears silently poured down your cheeks.

At school, lunch was like your safe-haven. Your group would all eat together, though Chuuya sat at a different table, you had a nice group of people to socialize with. It was a short time where you could ignore the pile of work you had due and focus on being with your friends. Friends that usually, that included Dazai. So today, you sat in an empty hallway, hoping none of the teachers would walk past and see you sulking against a wall.

You stared at the ceiling, slowly eating the food you had brought as you thought about the call with Dazai. You shut your eyes tight.

How stupid do you get? Calling him?? Never take Chuuya’s advice. Next time, I’m asking Kunikida. Hell! Ranpo would’ve had better advice than Chuuya.

You didn’t bother opening them, even when you could feel someone’s presence in front of you. If it was a teacher, they would’ve yelled at you already. It was probably a worried friend or something.

“Y/n?” You knew that voice. You recognize it anywhere. You cracked open your eyes, recognizing the boy’s tan jacket. “You alright?” Dazai asked, taking a seat next to you. You only stared down at your legs, hoping your silence would answer his question.

“I’m sorry for hanging up.” His voice didn’t waver at all. You nodded, not trusting your voice to give him a real answer. “You didn’t sound exactly sober and with Chuuya around I knew you probably weren’t in the best headspace and hanging up was a stupid response, but...” He trailed off.

His fingers touched your chin, tilting your head toward him. You focused all your energy on not tearing up. “Now that you aren’t drunk with whatever Chuuya had, did you mean that?” Yet again, you didn’ trust your voice. You knew there was no point in denying it though. You’d go back to the depressing cycle of loving him and watching him chase someone else. So, you nodded.

A small smile spread on his face. It wasn’t one you recognized from all the times he’d flirt with your classmates. It was more genuine. His lips met yours as his fingers pulled your head closer. You kissed back desperately, hoping you didn’t just make this all up.

“I love you too. I... always thought you loved Chuuya. I didn't want to chase you... so I figured fake dating was about as close as I’d get.” He pulled you closer, letting you drop your head on his shoulder. Though the action was calm, the way his hands clung to yours showed how desperate he had been for any sort of real affection.

Affection you’d gladly give him.