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They had all just entered the agency. In a dream off in some faraway land, kunikida would scold them all for staying up so late.In that same dream, Dazai would have one last chance to annoy him. In that same dream, he would look at Dazai with hidden fondness once more.
In this dream, Atsushi would have been able to save them both. In this dream, they would walk to the agency in peace, as a whole, not one part gone. In this dream, they would all wake up to Kunikida knocking on their doors, saying it's a Monday, and get ready for paperwork.
In this dream, Yosano would have a chance, just one single chance to heal him. In this dream, Atsushi would buy him a new notebook for Christmas.
In this dream, he would wake up whenever Kyoka or Kenji had nightmares, and although he would complain, he would make them tea to ease their nerves.
Of course, this was all but a dream, a thought living in the back of their minds, forever. They would walk back to the agency after an abundance of police checks and security issues, and while they would get there, a piece would be missing.
No one would scold them for not going to work in the morning, no one would make schedules for each and every work day, no one would take the time to double check the paperwork before sending it into Fukazawa.
No one would make Kyoka or Kenji tea. No one would give out over stolen stationary. No one would care half as much as he did.
He cared so deeply about them all, about his stupid, stupid ideals. The ideal woman, ideal pen, ideal Daai (if there was one.)
he wasn't here to care any longer, and that's what made the silence in the agency deafening, agonising even when they got back, because there was no one there to scold them, no one there to care.
All the stuff in his apartment was gone by now, his favourite pen, his notebook spares, his silverware, every essence of him was gone.
Because now he was the one gone.
Time still moved, day by day, week by week, he was gone, but he was still very much present. He had left his mark on the agency, a mark that refused to leave, ever as stubborn as he once was.
Gone, definitely, but definitely not forgotten.