Chuuya's fists pummel into his chest, unrelenting and unresponsively angry.

"Chuuya—" Dazai begins to say, before another fist connects furiously to his jaw, knocking his head hard against the dungeon floor, "I—!"

Chuuya stops beating him, very momentarily, to stare down at him, tears trembling in his eyes as he grips Dazai's shoudler, "I fucking hate you."

The fists begin again. Something cracks weakly; nothing fatal. Chuuya doesn't mean to kill him. He means to convert four years of unresting suffering and betrayal into a physical issue.

"You fucking," Another punch, "Left me," Another, and another, "Alone!" More and more.

It's true.

Honestly, a normal person would've killed Dazai by now. He's a traitor to the Port Mafia amd more importantly, an emotional criminal.

"Chuuya!" Dazai cries out, finally wiggling his hands free, and catching Chuuya's fists, "Listen to me."

Chuuya's whole body shakes, but he makes no more movements to pull away from Dazai's touch. It's been so long. . .

Dazai sits up, effectively pushing Chuyya off his legs— where he'd been sat when bruising Dazai black and blue— and leaving him trembling and almost-crying.

"Why did you do that?" Chuuya whispers and Dazai can't tell if he means to ask why he moved away or why he left.

Dazai puts a hand on his cheek gently, tilting his vulnerable face up to look at him, before shuffling closer and wrapping his arms delicately around the shaking man.

"I had to."

"You're a fucking liar," Chuuya spits through heavy tears, staining and wettening Dazai's shirt with the evidence of his grief, "Bastard."