I just imagine Chuuya sitting at Dazai’s desk with the PM boss’ red scarf laid out in front of him and his first and only ultrasound picture he had gotten after he realized what was growing inside him and before it was too late. Chuuya swearing he would find that damned book and burn it…or maybe bring back what’s his, what he EARNED after all this hell in this fake world. Him staring at the ink stained along the scarfs edges, at the ink printed across photo paper showing his baby he never even got to hold once…

He thinks of how if Yokohama could bleed it would as black as Dazai claims the Port Mafia turned his blood. He thinks he might like to see it drained dry and his hands painted with its darkness. After all what does he have left to live for? What the point if everything can be taken away with spilled ink and words on a page?

And finally he thinks maybe he understands Dazai a lot better now. Maybe he was on to something with chasing death and letting it greet him with an offered hand.