Work Text
He sat lone in a bar, the red head—or ginger, however you may call it—sipping a glass of wine, the crimson liquid swirling in it's container as the man spins the glass on a tilt. He'd much rather be in the comfort of his home, but instead, he's in the lowest of the lows, surrounded by people who may not live without a drink and a cigarette in their hand. It truly disgusts the man, Chuuya, to no extent. Perhaps, a vexation upon his being, and the bright lights do not serve him any comfort. Cheering, yelling, violence can be heard, echoeing off the walls casting an almost suffocating atmosphere for those who have drunk themselves off their feet. "This is disgusting", Chuuya muttered under his breath once again, acting as a form of comfort, slightly. "Why am I even still here? I could- hm... Whatever." he thought, though, his thoughts could practically be seen through his face, the hat on his head not covering his expression in the slightest, a grimace could be seen as the ginger watches the pitiful men ask for more and more drinks. "Another! Another" they cheered, bouncing off the walls and into Chuuya's ears. A sigh escaped his lips, before ending the night with a simple: "I'm done with this... I'm leaving.", paying the bill, and ultimately keeping his word. As he walks through the chilly night, his footsteps being juxtaposed compared towards the previous low, almost silent. He huffed out some air, a faint bit of dragons breath in it's place, thinking to himself—and which he remained in his resting face, stoic—"I wonder if that idiot, Dazai has broken into my house yet..." as per usual basis, one could call it a routine... Or habit. The brunette never knew when to stop, it seemed. Nonetheless, as the ginger neared his home, unlocking the door (which is odd because Dazai usually picks the lock), and entering his house. Surprisingly, there isn't a sloth sprawled out across his couch with a gun in hand; to murder himself with (or kill Chuuya, we'll never know.) "How relieving!" Chuuya audibly expressed, before quieting down and finally going to bed. ---- ོོོ☀️⊹ ---- With the blinding sun peaking through the curtains, being kissed by the sun was a true delight, in Chuuya's eyes. Though, it was a work day. Like everyday. Every day. Every day. Everyday was a work day.Every day. Every single day. - - - - - - Today will be a good day! Chuuya just knew it! He didn't wake up wishing he were to pick a different path, he didn't wake up hoping that he'd get fired! (Although that means death) he didn't wake up wishing that he wore a different skin! None of that. As an executive, he should probably start getting ready right about now.. (4:28 am.) Yeah, right now, actually.. No time for breakfast. He stands up, puts on his normal attire, and starts to head off. Of course, not without his beloved hat. (That Dazai mocked but who cares.) As soon as he walks into his work place, he gets called in by Mori. The boss. "A mission this early? Wow... Whatever." Chuuya- he said underneath his breath, convincing himself that he wasn't complaining, though he was. As he opens the two large wooden doors, the type that a child would call heavy, he bows. "You needed me, boss?" he speaks out, before Mori says, "yes, Chuuya," the name seems almost unrecognizable for him, Chuuya. Slightly uncomfortable, but it's whatever. "I need you to... Get rid of Dazai Osamu. He has truly become an.. Issue, shall we say." ... Today will not be a good day. A cold sweat runs down his face, before saying, of course; with much relactance. "Yes, boss." "Good. I expect it done by tomorrow."Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a good day. The ginger should've thought to himself. He should've been excited. He should've been relieved. He should've been prepared. He should've been. He should've. But he wasn't. Chuuya was never. Chuuya was never ready for anything, and he never will be. He should just get it done today.He will get it done today. As Chuuya heads into the warehouse—to contemplate something even mind readers mayn't decipher—a familiar head of brown hair was there. How awful. Dazai. Gun in hand, intelligence through the roof, and a slightly hungover Chuuya. "Ah, hello! I didn't expect you to come here so early." Dazai calls out, leaving Chuuya frozen in place. "You- what are you doing here, dumbass?!" he yelled out, stumbling over his own words. "I'm not that dumb, Chuuya. Anyways, I'm going to take this perfect opportunity to get rid of the pathetic thorn in my side." ... ... ... ... ... Crimson liquid was everywhere. Blood... Or was it wine? The liquid he was so familiar with... Well, now, if you think about it.. He was always familiar with both... He just liked one a lot more. I guess there's no difference between the two anymore. His eyes are hazy as he falls down to the floor, providing the man with more comfort than most would expect. He can barely speak, feel, move... Just think. He can only think. As the brunette comes closer, holding the gun to Chuuya's forehead, he says, "hm, because I'm so polite, I'll give you some last words." ... ... ... .. .. .. . . . Maybe this is the right time to say it.