It's not even Christmas yet

Chuuya left the bar when he couldn't stand the repeating Christmas music anymore. Despite his hopeful thinking, not even alcohol could make it bearable as time passed. At least not as fast as Chuuya wished it would. He decided he had suffered enough just as the fourth loop of the same five songs started. He never was a big fan of Christmas and all those awful songs didn't help to raise his excitement for it. It had quite the opposite effect, really. Oddly enough, he thought that today, just a few evenings before Christmas, he might enjoy the company of strangers in a bar more than being alone at home. Oh, how wrong he was about that. It was almost impossible to expect cheerful, good spirited people in a bar at a time like this, that much, he knew. But he didn't expect it to be miserable to this extent. Most people in there were either extremely alone and with no one to celebrate, deeply indulged in self-pity or drunk pseudo-philosophy or they were extremely ungrateful, having people at home waiting for them while they rather drank themselves unconscious, rambling about their shitty life before they pass out. It was all in all just a depressing place with even worse music. How could people listen to those songs for almost an entire month? He lost it after not even an hour. While he hadn't had the best life so far either, he couldn't bring himself to spend his time like this. Sighing, he put his hands in the pockets of his coats and, since there was no where else to go now, headed straight home. He would've frozen his ass off, without said coat. And yet, no snow had fallen. It was a shame. Snow made everything seem cleaner, empty and sterile, in a way. Snow buried everything under a white cap and hid shit nobody wanted to see, it was the only good thing about winter. But no. There was all the usual Christmas and winter shit except for snow. What a joke.

While he couldn't stroll through the snow due to it not existing, he still took his sweet time to get home. It probably took him longer than usual, though he couldn't really tell. Whenever he visited that bar, he did so directly after work. When he went home then, he was normally too drunk as if to remember how exactly he got home, or how long that took him, for that matter. To his credit, that didn't happen to often. Once every few months. Basically every time when he had the overwhelming desire to feel normal, for once. Sitting in a bar filled with strangers who didn't care about each other at all was a welcome contrast to running around as an executive of the Port Mafia. It was a pleasant feeling, not being known. Once in a while, he needed that. He knew it wasn't smart, his way of handling things. Going there after a job well done, at least he hoped it was well done everytime, wasn't save, neither for him, nor the poor bastards in the bar. It was most likely that someday, someone would follow him in an attempt to take revenge. And maybe this person wouldn't wait until he'd stumble out of the bar, drunk as fuck, though that would be the smartest choice. But people didn't always act smart or rational, especially when it came to strong longings like revenge. Some people tend to just get caught in them, focusing in on their goal while not seeing the big picture. That day on which Chuuya would be that goal wasn't today, though, and probably wouldn't be for quite a while. Still, that didn't mean for him to provoke it by drinking himself into oblivion in a public bar. It wasn't even really worth it. His visits there barely ever eased his mind and yet, he tried it over and over again. After all, someone pretending to be normal was still not normal. 

So it was a first for him, following this path home almost sobber. The little alcohol he had before the music chased him out wasn't nearly enough to get him drunk. But when he arrived at the apartment complex he lived in, he questioned his own alcohol tolerance. Maybe the christmas music had gotten to his head, twisting some of his synapses. He was seeing things. Surely, he was seeing things. He must've been seeing things, otherwise, there was no explanation for whatever the fuck was going on in front of the door of the building. Someone was sitting there, seemingly asleep, head hanging low, face hidden beneath brown hair. Still, Chuuya immediately recognized that all too familiar way of slouching. The cold really got to him now, as he froze in place. He was torn between leaving, turning around and just walk off would've been so easy, really, or confront the man in front of his door. His inner fight with himself ended in him crossing the distance between him and his visitor in god-speed, thoughts running wild as he stared down at him. Holy fucking shit, that really is Dazai. What's he doing here? I thought that waste-of-bandages had left for good. Damned traitor. I should kick his face in right now, at least kick him so hard he'd have trouble breathing for months. How could he just leave me like that? I should kill him, I should really fucking kill him and serve his useless head on a silver plater to Mori. I missed him but why the fuck is he here? He's not supposed to be here. Is leaving the Port Mafia just a joke to him? Does he really think he can leave and reappear whenever he feels like it? Why can't he think about the consequences of his own damn actions for once? He vanished for months. Why didn't he find me sooner? Why did he come here at all? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I should- I should-