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Language:
English
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Published:
2023-08-16
Completed:
2023-10-08
Words:
6,142
Chapters:
3/3
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34
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Nobody at all

Summary:

Chuuya was exhausted. He had been for a while now.
He knew he was at the end of his rope, but he had to keep going forward.
It was just so hard, why couldn't anybody see how much he was hurting?
Was there somebody, anybody who would finally care enough to help?
It didn't seem so.

 

Or: chuuya goes through a bad depressive episode and doesn't think anybody would help him. And at first it looks that way, until...

Notes:

Hello!

For those who are familiar with my work, I'm sorry for taking such a long break, but my mental heath is going about as well as the bsd manga is.

ANYWAY, I hope you guys will enjoy this huge bucket of chuuya angst.
I love him to death and am projecting a lil too much, so i decided to just put it into writing.

Have fun reading!!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Chuuya sighed as he finally shut the door to his apartment. It had felt like the day would never end. His paperwork had been piling up, because he’d been out a lot on field mission, lately. And there was nothing more horrible than sitting at a desk, working through stuffy paperwork for hours on end. 

By now, the only thing Chuuya wanted to do was open a bottle of wine, and then head to bed. 

He knew it wasn’t normal to drink as regularly as he did, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like there was anybody to stop him, anyway. 

He’d given up on somebody coming to check on him a long time ago. 

Every now and then Kouyou would send him a concerned glance, when he’d overdone it the night before, and the circles under his eyes were even more prominent than usual. 

It’s been happening more often recently. 

Chuuya hadn’t even noticed he was zoning out, working entirely on autopilot, until he snapped back into focus and found himself standing in front of the fridge. 

He tiredly rubbed over his face. God, he was so exhausted. But he couldn’t go to bed without drinking something first. 

The dark thoughts in head had been getting louder for a while now, only spurred on by Arahabaki stirring the flames that engulfed his mind. 

It’s not like he couldn’t go to bed without alcohol. It was just so hard , ignoring the whispers in his ears, commenting, encouraging whatever dark desire he had in the back of his mind. 

For the first time, he finally understood Dazai. And wasn’t that just a scary thought. 

He wouldn’t kill himself, he couldn’t. 

There were people he’d leave behind, Akutagawa, Kouyou... 

His life wasn’t his own, and he’d come to accept that. 

But that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He just wanted somebody to notice. He wanted somebody to see that he was hurting, that he was at the end of his rope, and still steadily declining. 

And yet, there wasn’t anybody. Nobody to help with the nightmares. With the increasing numbness he felt, every time he failed another mission that left casualties. 

In the end, he’d learnt that it was easier to let himself be numb. It helped combat the horrible loneliness he felt, whenever he thought about his dead friends, about the betrayal he’d experienced, the hurt when his partner left the mafia. Left him to go live a better life, leaving him behind in the dark. 

Chuuya knew he’d never escape from the shadows clinging to him. 

And so, he held his head up high and continued onwards. 

 

 

When Chuuya opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the stinging light of the sun, burning like hot iron into his skull. 

He groaned and tried to turn around to bury himself in his pillows, but he never made it that far. 

With a loud thump he was suddenly on the floor. 

“Fuck.” 

He didn’t remember much from the night before, but it seemed he had failed to go to his bed and instead, ended up crashing on the couch. 

While he heaved himself up on his feet, he realised that his head was positively throbbing with a stabbing pain that way only made worse when he got up. 

The world was swaying dangerously, and he barely managed to stumble to a wall for support, neatly avoiding slamming head-first into the coffee table. The coffee table that was littered with two empty bottles of wine and another one that was also good on its way to being empty. 

That explains the headache. 

After patting himself down for his phone, he found it in his pocket and turned it on to look at the time. 

He wasn’t late, yet, but he certainly would be if he took his time. 

Chuuya made his way to the bathroom, where he dug out painkillers, probably downing one too many of the pills, but better safe than sorry, he decided. The cold tap water was wonderful for his parched throat but settled only just in his stomach, leaving a churning sensation that he was praying would go away before his shift started. 

The rest of his morning routine was so practiced, he didn’t have to think much. Showering, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed in something that didn’t reek of spilled alcohol. He ended up forgoing breakfast and simply settled for some tea to sooth his headache and upset stomach. 

It actually did help a bit. 

By the time he made it to work, he almost passed as presentable. He probably shouldn’t be so good at being able to hide his condition so well, but he’s had years of practice. 

And so, he made his way to his office, curtly greeting his subordinates with a nod. It made him feel a bit guilty for being impolite, but he didn’t quite trust his voice not to betray him so early in the morning. 

 

Unlike yesterday, that day passed by like a breeze. Chuuya wasn’t able to recall much of it, his mind had grown distant and hazy, blocking out the thoughts that usually kept him awake, but also hindering him from properly getting any work done. 

Chuuya didn’t notice this, though. He was lost in his head, a fog having settled over his mind. 

He thought somebody might have tried to talk to him, at some point. Coming into his office to say, something. 

He didn’t know, he didn’t care. 

When he left the building, he wasn’t sure if he was actually supposed to go home, yet. It felt right to go home, though, so he didn’t stop in his departure. 

It was probably not a good idea to ride a motorcycle in his condition, but Chuuya didn’t care. Nobody was there to stop him, anyway. 

He was glad when he finally arrived at the door to his home. Everything felt so heavy, he wasn’t sure if his limbs would have supported him any longer. 

The air in his apartment was stale, he didn’t open a window when he’d left for work, so the lingering smell of alcohol was still there. 

He didn’t have the energy to open a window. 

Chuuya headed straight for his bedroom, chucking off his constricting clothes on the way, haphazardly throwing them on the floor, not caring where they landed. 

He was left in only his boxers and went to his closet to pull out a hoodie. It was too big on him, making the sleeves hide his hands. 

While he might have sworn to himself that he’d get rid of everything that mackerel bastard had touched, he couldn’t help but keep it. 

It was soft and comfortable, and if he closed his eyes tightly, he could almost feel warm arms embracing him. 

Chuuya buried himself under his blanket, leaving his head to stick out for air, but otherwise cocooned himself entirely. 

If he tried hard enough, he could pretend the burning in his eyes didn’t come from the loneliness burning painfully in his chest. The gaping wound that had never been able to close after it was made all those years ago. 

He pushed his head into his pillow, willing himself to fall asleep. It didn’t matter what time it was, or whether he had more important things to do. 

Nobody was there to stop him, anyway.