The Marionette • Chuuya X Reader

5: Mirrors

You aren't sure what it is that changed in Chuuya, for one second you're watching the face of a resentful man, speaking words of a deep hatred for a person he relates to you, and next his whole face softens, guilt clear on his face, his grip on you loosening.

His responsibility?

Your breathing slows down, taking a step back and easily pulling your wrist out of Chuuya's hand, your anger deflating, the only thing left now being the pain of the hole left in your heart from the news that you were never special, just another wooden figure without a face dancing when someone commanded them. From the corner of your eyes, you see Kouyou watching from her doorframe, curiosity on her face hiding away a thoughtful smile as she walks back in and closes the door, leaving just you and Chuuya in the darkness of the Port Mafia.

"You just said don't want anything to do with me." You point out after a moment of silence between the two of of you, your heart beats slowing down, the rhythm inside you slow and sad.

"I don't want anything to do with Dazai."

"But you just said-"

"If you want to leave then just leave, go run back to your 'master'. But I'm willing to help you...I know what it's like to be taken advantage of." Chuuya snaps, fixing his hat on his head and walking away without allowing you to argue anymore, cheeks tainted pink from what you assume is embarrassment from his complete change of attitude.

You watch him walk away, heart twisting as the echo of his words stay in your mind as he disappears into one of the doors which you know nothing about, your face relatively inexpressive face full of visible mixed emotions.

Is it the patience Kouyou mentioned to him? Is it pity?

What did he see?

You scrunch up your nose in confusion, a headache created from your spinning mind, your hands squeezing each other to stop them from shaking. You try to ignore the pressing question that has been circling your mind ever since Chuuya told you, but it's practically impossible.

What happened to Dazai?

Part of you is relieved he isn't dead after all, while another part of you is shadowed with the fear that if you ever saw him again, there is no real telling what you'll do or feel. Right now, you do feel the need to find him and confront him about it all, like seeking out an answer taken away from you, but after hearing Chuuya's offer...you decide you won't.

Nothing good will come out of it...

Chuuya said I don't belong to Dazai anymore, although my loyalties are with him and not the mafia...I don't want to be just another wooden puppet with no face.

You've won this time.

Letting out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, you turn and walk away, blocking out any exterior noises, keeping your strides slow and without sound as you follow the halls to the elevator once again, picking up the coat you had dropped and then entering and pressing one of the buttons and watching it light up in a trance, dropping floors until the door opens up and you walk out. When you do, you raise your head as coloured light pours through the stained glass windows well known on this floor in headquarters. You stop for a moment, turning to face the windows glowing, taking in as much as the distorted view as you can. The now afternoon sun adds a warmer tone to the colours, and the over stimulation of sight feels comfortable, the colours as jumbled up as your own mind, the different hues reminding you of all the shades of emotions you were forced to repress and keep away hidden, so much so that you can't recognize them anymore.

You feel lifeless, but the colours make you feel alive.

"Who are you?"

You jump in surprise, turning around from the stained glass to see a man, probably only a year or so older than you, looking at you with not so much curiosity as a guarded dislike, his striking grey eyes clearly showing he's on edge with your presence. His raven black hair with white tips is a surprising contrast against his porcelain skin, and his dark attire only adds more to his own darkness also evident in the shadows of his eyes.