blood money || YANDERE!Chuuya Nakahara

Twenty One: Antlers.

You're re-escorted back into a cell, this time, with Chuuya Nakahara in front of you. His arms are crossed and he's tapping a foot on the ground, his irritation only growing when you continue to keep your eyes closed and your breathing steady.

"Well?" You break the uncomfortable silence, "You came here for something."

He clicks his tongue, and punches his fist into the wall next to him, "What's up with you?"

"We have many questions to catch up to," You say, continuing to keep your eyes closed, "You want to get inside of me. Figure me out. Configure what's wrong."

"I need to understand," He says through gritted teeth, "What are you on about."

"I needed to get away from you," You finally open your eyes, and Chuuya's shoulders drop at the realisation, "I needed it to be clear what I was doing without the Port Mafia waving its hand in my vision every second."

"I was trying to help."

"You weren't," You say. Then, "You know, I've lost my inner voice a long time ago. It doesn't sound like me anymore. It used to sound like Mori. I was Mori when I was a kid. Now, it doesn't sound like anyone anymore. There's no one inside of me. I think...I've been drained of everything."

"But I haven't been," Chuuya says, "I can help you."

"Can you?" You say, your voice edging on a laughter; a sarcastic, sardonic laughter, filled with despair and self deprecation, "You have a clarity about me that you're refusing to share because of your loyalty to Mori."

Chuuya blinks, adjusts his tack. He watches you step closer to the bars, closing the distance between you and him. Only inches now, but separated by the barrier. White line be damned. You're in a competition with him to find out who you are.

"I can get you out of here," Chuuya murmurs, his breath fanning over your cheek. You feel its warmth rest on your skin before it dissipates into nothingness, "I can get you proper help if you let me."

"I can't trust the Port Mafia."

He takes a step back, an angry sneer on his face, "The other choice is the Armed Detective Agency; are you saying you're only trusting Dazai over me?"

"I don't mean that at all," You say, "I'm just saying I need to be alone. I want to trust myself before I can trust anyone else."

"You will be alone," Chuuya says, but they sound more like a plea rather than simply words, "I can't bear that thought of you being alone."

"I think it'll be best for me," You say, taking a step back, "And when I figure it out, there will be a reckoning. I hear a voice in my head that's not mine; I hear them saying words no one's ever said to me. It isn't my imagination. It's something else."

"Do you remember what I said, years ago? Before your defect?" He asks. His words sound like they're being said backwards, its meaning vacant and emptied out.

"I remember fragments here and there. You said I belonged to you."

He smirks, "Atta girl. And you still do."

"Do I belong to you?" You say, "Or does the past belong to you?"

"Everything you stand for. Everything you are. Everything you see, hear, taste; they're all mine. Your memories. What you've forgotten, what you can remember. You're mine," He says, his hands on the bars now, "When I say you belong to me, it means every aspect of you belongs to me. You're mine until one of us dies."

"Possessive as usual," You say, deadpanning, "I wonder if that's you or Arahabaki speaking."

His face turns into that of war, "It's me. Arahabaki has nothing to do with this."