Paradise Fall//beast au

Chapter IX: 831

"I'm so sorry, boss..." Min-Ji apologized between her sobs. "I-I'm so sorry!"

"Dazai..." Chuuya murmured as he was looking at his boss who couldn't move an inch, as if he turned into stone.

"[Y/N]-chan..." He whispered. "She..."

.
.
.

She is dead.

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"How..." Chuuya was the one to break the silence after Min-Ji tried to stop her crying. "How did this happen...?"

But Min-Ji didn't reply. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it fast, knowing that if she tried to speak, tears will fall again from her dark blue eyes.

"For fuck's sake..." Chuuya snarled before snapping, grabbing the poor girl by the shoulders as Dazai just stared at the floor in disbelief, his vision slowly getting blurry and the voices around him felt like they were from far, far away. "Say something, Min-Ji! How the fuck did this happen?!"

"W-we don't know--"

"How the fuck do you not know?! Do you hear yourself?! Just how much of an idiot are you?!" Chuuya continued yelling, his own eyes feeling like they were burning from the sorrow he felt.

"BECAUSE WE DON'T KNOW IF IT WAS MURDER OR SUICIDE!!"

The echo of Min-Ji's voice slowly faded away in the silence that took over them all, as the girl broke down into tears.

Chuuya took a step back, letting go of Min-Ji's shoulders who was now trembling, not daring to look at the two men. The ginger head's eyes closed for a second, taking in the news before his boss's steps could be heard as he walked away, pressing hard on every step he took.

Chuuya sighed before following his boss to his office, but only to be kept outside.

"Please, Chuuya. I need a moment. I'll call you in later. Just... go, leave me alone"

"Yes, boss..." Chuuya murmured as the doors of his boss's office closed in front of him.

With almost mechanical steps, Dazai walked towards his desk where a couple of papers were waiting to be signed by him and after that, by his wife.

But that wasn't going to happen anymore.

In a fit of rage, Dazai pushed almost everything that was resting on his desk on the floor, before slamming his fist on the piece of furniture a couple of times, so loudly and hard, that he left a crack in the wood.

His knuckles turned violet with a bit of shades of red before from the wound, blood started to spill on the desk. He paid it no mind and threw the rest of the objects on the floor, the glass of a photo frame that he had smashed at the contact with the tiled floor, the sound of shattered glass waking him up to reality.

He stopped for a second, grabbing the desk for balance as he looked at the empty seat in front of him.

This was reality.

It was all real and not just a bad dream.

His wife, the woman he had proclaimed so many times before that he loves, was now dead.

He looked at the picture and felt how the anger was leaving his body, just to be occupied by a heartbreaking sadness, before he picked it up to have a better look at it.

It was the same picture his wife had in her office. A picture with them both on their wedding day.

He looked at her, his wife, at her pretty smile and how happy they both looked that day.