“So what are you going to do?”

She paused. “What?”

Their gazes connected, unblinking. Dazai traced his index finger across the lacquered surface of the table. He didn’t look away. “It’s been a year since I joined the Detective Agency.”

“So? What are you getting at?” A little bit of that signature Port Mafia edge entered her voice--a dangerous, hidden blade that cleaved flesh like butter.

He merely smirked a little. “I don’t know how you were in the two year gap where we had no contact, but this past year you’ve been wilting.”

A drop of sweat ran down her spine. Wilting? Instead of replying, she scraped the bottom of her bowl. “This curry tastes really good.”

If anything, he seemed more amused. Of course. Dazai was always willing to play these games with her. And he always won, too. The man propped his feet up on the table, silently daring her to say something.

She bit her lip. “Can you take your feet off of my table?”

He let out a patronizing sigh before obliging. “Sorry, they just feel so heavy these days, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” he leaned forward a little, “the skin on my feet is tender. It’s used to the bite of Port Mafia slacks. Abrasive, yes. Hard to swallow most of the time. Now that I’m wearing comfy loafers as part of the ADA, my feet don’t hurt anymore.” His gaze sharpened, and the floor dropped away beneath her feet. “But the weird part is, they still feel heavy. Those god-awful slacks at least had a bit more support. Despite how comfy these loafers are, my feet ache for the tiny bit of support they had before.”

She struggled to grasp a hold onto the conversation. “I-I see. It seems you’re in a predicament. So now what?”

His hands tightened around the glass of water by his plate. Sylvia’s throat constricted, as if it were her that he was strangling. “It’s simple,” he purred. “I have to make a choice. Either I follow my heart and return to the past, or I cut that longing out of my life and don’t look back. It’s not like I can wear two pairs of shoes; I only have two feet.”

Something deep inside her twisted--hard. Chuuya. Tears welled up in her eyes as her throat closed in rage, but she said nothing. There was nothing to say. This was a battle she had to wage against herself. In all honesty, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it coming. The closer it drew to April 29th, the quieter she got. Her gaze lingered on the sunsets longer than usual--the only place where she could see such a brilliant orange now that he was gone. Even in the most mundane parts of life, she unconsciously searched for signs of him. That’s the drugstore we used to go to to get Dazai’s bandages. That’s the fire hydrant he once kicked so hard it started spraying water everywhere. Those are his favorite brand of cigarettes.

The Port Mafia held her deepest fears, and brought out the things in herself Sylvia was most afraid of. But yet…it had Chuuya. Whoever’s up there, please know I tried. I tried so hard. At what point had she fallen in love with him? She’d muttered the “just friends” phrase as a curse to ward away her true feelings time and time again. Her heart spoke to her in tongues, or so she’d convinced herself. But this whole time, she’d known.

And now there was no more room in her heart for both the Detective Agency and her love for Chuuya. It was high time she picked one.