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Chuuya’s eyes remained trained on the same spot for three hours now. Blinking was the only movement his body was doing as his neck was reclined on the couch’s backrest, while his half of his body was sprawled on the seat. His legs had turned numb after hours of no movement.
The living room was cold and dark, only the moonlight illuminated the space and the autumn breeze breathes in through the windows. The carpet, usually so soft, felt sharp under his feet now. Silence engulfed the room. It would’ve been more unbearable for Chuuya if there were any noise, with the way how piercing Arahabaki’s shrills and deafening his thoughts are.
Chuuya's eyes remained trained on the same spot for three hours and twenty minutes now. Thoughts flash in his mind, blanking through multiple chaotic memories, his chest ached with every breath he took.
It was like he wasn’t in his body anymore. Like he wasn’t in control. Normally, he would despise losing control of anything related to himself and his ‘humanity’. But right now, it wouldn’t hurt to dip a toe in his unruly mind. In fact, it probably wouldn’t hurt if he immerse himself in its turbulent waves. It might not hurt. It might hurt.
But who is Chuuya without misery as his company?
Being the vessel of the God of Calamity, his traumatizing experiences in the hands of N and the researchers in that godforsaken facility, his lost memories, the betrayal of the Sheep, the death of his beloved friends, and when–
“–the fishy bastard left,” Chuuya whispered as his left eye twitched in silent anger (not in pain, no), his voice hoarse and rough after a few hours of silence. He heaved in a long inhale, exhaling softly as if containing the surging complicated emotions he dared not name.
Silence remained after the mafioso uttered his hushed outrage, still trying to calm his anger mostly. Subconsciously, his body was subtly shaking and his nails had already dug in his palms, causing them to bleed minutely.
In a sudden rage, Chuuya stood up immediately, his knees and back popped at his abrupt movement. Though his vision suddenly blackened for a moment and he immediately placed a hand on the sofa and his temple. With closed eyes, Chuuya’s knees weakened and he slowly descends himself to the carpeted floor.
A muffled groan left his bitten lips as he leaned his whole weight on the sofa and the floor. His muffled groan slowly turned into suppressed sobs, the hand on his temple moving on his chest, clenching the area as if to stop the growing pain in his heart.
It wasn’t usual for Chuuya to cry. In fact, it was infrequent for him to do so. He cried only four times in his life, excluding the years he had no memories of, and it was never in front of anyone (except Dazai, but he isn’t just anyone to him, isn’t he?), never in front of anyone.
“Ack…Ah…No…Sto-stop…I can’t cr–” Chuuya tried to reason himself, but it only made his sobs turn into choked cries. And suddenly he had a silent realization.
‘Maybe, just for once. I can let it all out.’
And with this thought, the wave of acceptance helped Chuuya cry easier. The hand on his chest and the one on the couch tightened their hold as painful sobs and cries ached and released some of the pain in his heart, at the same time. His body continued to tremble, as sobs wracked his slack shoulders.
Time passed by, and Chuuya remained unaware of it as tears cascaded down his trembling cheeks.
The redhead’s body became limp over time and so he slowly let his whole body plop down the floor, placing both his hands on his side carelessly. His breathing was still heavy and sobs escape through his lips from time to time. The pain will return, he knows. It would always linger in the back of his mind on good days and stands face-to-face with him on bad days. But it will be okay. He has to be okay.
After all, who is Chuuya without misery as his company?