Two people who couldn’t seem to find their place in this world, bringing disaster and destruction upon the ones who dared to cross their path.

That’s what your relationship had been like before he left without a word. Dazai, following Odasaku’s final words, directed his steps in a direction adjacent the one the mafia (including you, Chuuya) had chosen- he distanced himself from the shadows your allies resided in, became a detective. A detective who’d left a particularly bloody trail throughout Yokohama. The savage had been transfigured into a saviour- too bad said saviour still lacked a heart to adapt the humaneness people were now expecting of him.

You were a drug Mori had intoxicated Dazai with to stir the youngster’s naturally competitive spirit. You didn’t love him; understanding was the feeling that wove its invisible ties around the two of you. Chuuya understood the emptiness filling Dazai, and he, in return, seemed to grasp your struggles better than anyone else.

You hadn’t exchanged a word ever since he left. Dazai had chosen his path, you had chosen yours; those paths so happened to part and never cross again; up until that night.

There was something Chuuya had wanted to tell the brunet, probably something of little importance. Alike so often, you didn’t knock before pushing open the window to Dazai’s room. The former mafia executive had never bothered with closing anything- the list ranged from windows down to books.

“…Chuuya, my-oh-my… how utterly disrespectful can one be, dropping by at such an ungodly hour.”

You were greeted by the usual, lazily dragged tone of voice, sounding more hollow than the last time Chuuya had heard it. Dazai was sat in front of a mirror, leaning up against the wall to his left. A smile was frozen on his lips. The mirror of Erised, showing whoever looked into it the very reality said person wished to be their own. A dangerously addicting delusion, one which Dazai, by the looks of it, had been staring at for a prolonged amount of time.