Chapter Text
Two young teenage boys, around sixteen or seventeen years old, dashes through the street in the darkness of the night. The part of the city they're racing through was thoroughly abandoned, with the two dark-clad figures being the only living creatures seen in the area.
The reason for that being that it is so late in the night, most creatures of the light would be in the comfort of their beds. The second, more profound reason, being a blizzard that had just started, and no sane person— even the dwellers of darkness —would risk being outside to be swept up in it. It'll be hard to run a deal under this weather, so the world— even the criminal organizations that thrive in the night—had been put to a halt.
The two boys had their heads hung low, shielding their eyes from jagged ice pallets raining down on them like bullets. Their footsteps rushed on the frozen concrete, coats billowing in the wind that grows stronger each passing second. They seemed to be arguing animatedly, but their voices were drowned by the thunderous roar of nature's rage. Undefeated, godlike, transcendent in the face of weak, puny mortals.
Then,
The jingle of keys fished hastily from one's pocket.
The click of the key's mechanism turning and slotting into place.
Click
The silent creak of a doorknob being turned. Of a door being pushed open, before hastily slammed back closed.
The heavy breathing of two shivering boys, both slumped against the door side by side.
White powder-like snow dusted their dark clothes, a thin layer of frost lining the edges of the fabric. Translucent ice pallets adorn mahogany locks and auburn curls like crowns made out of smuggled jewels—the blood-soaked jewels the redhead is and the brunette was in charge of.
Crowns. How fitting for the two prince of darkness. 'Double Black', was what people call them.
How that very name makes the dwellers of the night tremble in fear. How that very name keeps their enemies out of their territory. How the very name depicts them both; their prowess; their capability; the strength they possess; the power they wield. It paints an eerie picture of Dazai and Chuuya, two black specters of the Port.
How the name speaks volumes of who they are, yet who they are not at the same time; two teenagers, isolated from their peers, torn away from a childhood they never knew but deserved.
If only they get to see them like this; shivering and panting, teeth clattering in the cold.
The heater the slug left on the highest setting had melted the layer of frost and snow covering them. Now, the two notorious criminal stands there disheveled. Hair mused up by the wind, their menacing black mafia attire damp and crumpled, portraying a stark contrast against their bloody reputation.
If only they could see them now, unimpressive; ordinary; mundane. Two youthful teenagers just being.
But Dazai won't ever let them. That's how things work around here in the pitch-black darkness of the night. Don't ever let them see your weakness. Let your reputation precedes you. Use it, wield it.
Or they will tear you apart.
Like hungry wolves—like starving stray dogs fighting for scraps.
Dazai glanced at his partner beside him.
He thinks the chibi looks stupid.
He looks like a wet dog. With russet locks sticking to his face, his tacky outfit clinging to his petite frame, and that godawful hat that remains neatly perched on the slug's head much to his annoyance.
If one were to see the chibi like this, they'd underestimate him. Underestimate his petite frame, his young age, his fine features. They would've thought he's an easy prey. Delicate. A pretty-boy. But Dazai knows better.
He knows the lean muscles hidden underneath the petite frame, knows its raw strength first-hand.
For the chibi's subordinates, they will see a leader. Their confident, loyal, fearless executive who never fails to execute a mission. Who cares about them, who sees them as comrades.
Dazai, sees the rash, loud, intolerable sheepdog.
For their enemies, the petite teen was probably the last thing they'll ever see. He's disaster, he's calamity, he's a god, much like the blizzard rampaging outside.
But if anyone were to look a little closer, they would see the dark circles underneath his eyes. The exhaustion, the uncertainty. The gritted teeth and clenched fist whenever he loses his comrades.
For governments and organizations, domestic or foreign, they see a tool, a weapon. A line of codes, a serial number.
Dazai thinks, the boy beside him is so utterly human, more so than most dwellers of the night, so much more so than himself.
The chibi has his eyes closed. Azure hidden behind ginger colored lashes. He was the colour of fire, of autumn. He looks way too colourful in the bleak midwinter. Somehow, the fact irks him.
He watches the vibrant boy beside him. Watching his breathing slows to a steady rhythm.
The scene was familiar. He'd seen it many times before; he'd seen it as they ran from their enemies only to fool them and hit them from behind; he'd seen it when they tried to slip out of detection from scouts as they infiltrate the enemy's bases; he'd seen it in moments after a fight, after a mission done well, the two basking in the afterglow, waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside.
He'd seen it after a stupid bet; after a prank they pulled on Mori or old man Hirotsu; after the slug chased him across town for stealing his tacky hat. He'd seen it on drunken nights, when Chuuya is beyond tipsy from the liquor they smuggled under Ane-san's nose, and he himself felt a little too warm.
There's a certain comfort, a certain tranquility, something enchanting, in these scenes, these moments. The comfort of just being. The two of them, side by side. Not 'Double Black,' not 'The Executives of The Port Mafia', but Dazai and Chuuya. It felt nice. It felt wrong.
But then the chibi opens his mouth.
"Why the heck are you so slow?"
And Dazai is thankful. This, he could handle. Their little banter and mock rivalry. The hate they harbor for one another, the distaste they were never too shy to showcase.
And already, the brunette misses the silent tranquility of his container. Even the storm out there seems more preferable to him now, for it would drown out the chibi's little barks.
He sighs heavily, already regretting his journey halfway across the city. The journey which got him cold and shivering. Trapped, with the one person he detests the most.
But then again, he'd followed his dog obediently much to his own confusion. Albeit not silently. Thankfully, his pride won't allow that.
"The question is, how are you so fast? It's surprising considering the size of your little feet."
"What did you say?! You're the one who walked embarrassingly slow for a beanstalk!"
"Ugh, it's the coat." The brunette flaps the thing in distaste. "It's hard to walk around in a blizzard with a long coat, you know? Not everyone has the ability to make tawdry clothing stick to themselves."
"Just so you know, this,"
The redhead steps away from the door and spreads the lapels of his coat apart to show it off, twirling around with a flair in the process of facing the bandaged boy in what he probably attempted as 'graceful', but came off silly with how the damp fabric flops around sadly.
"—is authentic, not that someone like you who lives in a literal dump would understand quality, or class. Why the hell are you wearing such a ridiculously large coat anyway, it barely even fits you."
"Why do you wear your ugly hat Chuuya?"
"You—!" The grumpy slug takes a deep breath then shakes his head and growls, "I took you in out of pity you ungrateful punk. At least show some manners and quit the insults!
"Took me in? You literally dragged me out of the comfort of my home in this ungodly hour—half across town in the middle of a blizzard no less— to this—!"
The brunette gestures around the minimalistic setup of his partner's apartment, giving it a condescending look. "Your place is just as bare as mine! You have no right to judge me!"
The redhead looks bewildered, clearly offended.
"Excuse me?! First of, how can you compare my place to your literal shithole in the middle of nowhere? How your bandaged ass can call that place a 'home' is beyond me. And second, you've been here before! Why the heck are you acting so surprised?!"
"Obviously, 'cause I had way more important things to do than admiring a little hatrack's furniture. Not that there's anything to admire."
"Ha! At least I got food, and oh, right. I have a goddamn heater and a real wall, so I wouldn't be a human popsicle that rots away come spring!"
The brunette sneers. "What do you care?"
"I don't!"
He throws the chibi an unimpressed look. To which the slug scowls before turning around to walk further into his abode, shedding his dark coat in the process. The redhead then makes his way to the stove and proceeds to boil some water.
Just when the boy thought his silent query will come unanswered, his partner grumbles quietly over the muted hiss of the stove.
"If you wanna die at least don't bother people. We're still partners, Mori's gonna task me to find your corpse and I'm soo not scouring every blasted ditch in Yokohama to find you. Do you even have an inkling of how many of them there are?!"
Dazai starts to open his mouth..
"No, of course you do. Why am I not surprised."
..and shuts it back closed.
An uncomfortable silence blankets the two young boys, with only the quiet hum of the stove for company.
The 'demon' stood unmoving, still standing before the door in his full, dark attire. A black shadow in the otherwise white and grey room. His gun, which he pointed at his partner not so long ago felt like a lead in his pocket.
His partner had his back turned to him, facing the stove, expression hidden. But irritation was clear on the tense lines of his back as he braced his arms against the counter.
The redhead is in his white shirt now, having shed the dark heavy overcoat. A grey waistcoat hugs his torso, accentuating his petite frame. He's not wearing his cropped blazer over it as he usually would, probably disregarding it in his hurry—for what— the brunette hasn't the faintest idea.
Despite that, the boy thinks the look suits the redhead better. After all, grey suits him more than black.
The gurgling sound of boiling water slowly fills the empty space. It abruptly came to a stop when the redhead turns the stove off with a click. He then reaches for a cupboard mounted on the wall above the minimalistic kitchen set, from which he extracted two cups of instant ramen.
"Is that what you call food? After all your bragging earlier?" The brunette asked, clearly judging.
Much to his amusement, the slug's brow twitches. But much to his disappointment, the short-tempered hatrack keeps his composure.
Said hatrack carries the two steaming cups and strides towards the small dining table at the centre of the room. He places the two cups on said table like a mafioso stabbing a knife through his victims—astonishingly without spilling a single drop— and glares at the complaining brunette.
"No, as the matter of fact this is not what I call food. But I know that this is what a certain someone calls food. So eat it and die of MSG poisoning or something."
"Pfft—!"
"What?" The chibi's scowl deepens.
"That's a myth." The boy snickers, but silently accept the invitation and follows his partner deeper into his living area. "Chuuya's such a dunce."
"Fuck off. I know for a fact that it's bad for you if you have too much of it. Unlike a certain bandaged brain."
"Excuse me slug, has it never occurred to you that I eat this stuff exactly because of that reason? But then again the amount of MSG contained in instant food is barely enough to cause a headache moreover be dangerous. If one really intends to kill oneself with MSG, one would be required to consume a considerable amount of it on a daily basis. Only then, that it will have an undetermined chance to kill you. So you see, it's a long and bothersome— most likely also very slow and painful—process that doesn't even have a confirmed succession rate. It's an ineffective method if you ask me."
"Right, right. All for your glorious suicide." The shorter rolled his eyes, then mumbled quietly, "wonder why you haven't croaked already."
"It's because stupid chibi like you keeps getting in the way."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The chibi squints in suspicion, but decided to let it go. Once again, silence took over the conversation. But this time, it was not oppressive, it was serene. Soothing. It triggers several alarms in the brunette's head.
They're both seated at the small table. The redhead eating his portion in silence while scrolling his phone. His posture lax, comfortable, his usually tight guard down.
It's a move one who dwells in the darkness knows better than to make. A wisdom, the brunette is sure the other is smart enough to also abides by.
Don't ever let your guard down. Not even in your sleep.
Especially in the company of others. After all, 'trust', is a weakness one can't afford in this blood-drenched underground. A fact, the fallen king should've known first-hand.
And yet, his shoulders are slumped, one hand holding a pair of chopsticks hanging lax in the air, the other propped against his cheek, mushing its soft flesh. Azure eyes unfocused, trained on the small screen playing a video, lids half closed.
It would be hilariously easy. Child's play.
To grab his hand and nullify his ability.
(He can predict his moves after all.)
To reach for the glock in his pocket and press it against his back.
(Like how a knife had found its way there a certain day on a cliff above the ocean.)
To pull the trigger for trespassing.
(Like he'd done so many times before.)
The chibi is stupid. That, he knows. He lets his guard down around him.
Foolish, moronic, dense, little slug.
But the gun stays where it lays. Where it had lain since its owner forsook it on the little hill of forsaken things, and there it had stayed since.
Why?
Why, indeed.
The dark eyed boy observes his counterpart. Bony fingers twirling his chopsticks, playing with his food.
"By the way, hatrack, you haven't answered my question. How did you find me?"
The addressed barely glanced up from his phone.
"It doesn't matter. Just eat your food mackerel."
"To you maybe. To me, it matters dearly that my tranquil shrine had been sullied! My peace and quiet disrupted, tarnished, gone! So,"
The high-pitched sing-song voice drops into a deeper, foreboding tone, as the acclaimed demon prodigy peers into a pair of azure.
"Who was it that croaked, hmm? Mori? Hirotsu?"
His opponent doesn't relent—but then again, he never does— staring back fiercely into the dark socket of the spectre. Challenge drenching his every word.
"If I say Mori, what are you gonna do?"
The single lifeless eye grows even darker. Then, in a serious grievous tone, "I'm going to put hair remover in his shampoo."
The redhead clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.
Predictable. Familiar.
"If you're ever gonna do that, please don't let me know. Sensible deniability and all that."
"Wow, Chuuya learned some big words."
"You—!"
"So, who is it? It's not really Mori was it."
A sigh. And just like that, the chibi unwinds, leaning back on his seat. Again, lowering his guard. Yet again, letting himself be vulnerable. As if he's not alone in the room with the notorious demon.
"It's not that hard to connect the dots when words on the street warns to steer clear from the dumping ground near the outskirts of town." The redhead explains, locking their gaze. "The rumor circulating was that a 'black wraith' haunts the forsaken ground. "
The nickname was drawled with scorn.
Cobalt piercing into amber. Voice growing heavy, grave, nose scrunching in disgust.
"It reeks of mackerel."
Said mackerel scoffs.
"Are you stupid?"
"Ha?!"
The dark eyed boy puts on an eerie smile, the one he knows scares away the vermin that dares to gravitate near his stomping ground. Becoming the so-called 'Black Wraith' the bottom dwellers named him as. In a hushed, chilling voice he speaks.
"Even the most retarded street rats would heed the warning and steer clear, which you obviously didn't. Why is that, hm?"
Why aren't you scared of me?
The slug's mouth hangs open in a retarded look. A frown digging deeper between his brows. He looks between extremely perplexed and wanting to sneer. Finally, he settled with a deadpanned look.
"You can't even walk home without stumbling into a ditch! Why on the old boss's bald ass would I be scared of you?"
The question went unsaid, but apparently, heard nonetheless.
The mindless declaration stumped the boy to a brief silence. Not because he's moved by his partner's words, but because he's confused. It's bizarre. Either the chibi is as fearless as people claim he is, or that he's really just a simple-minded idiot.
Gears turning in his head, he examines the bizarre human before him. He thought he'd figured how humans worked despite not understanding them; they cry when they lost something or when they are hurt; they get angry when insulted; they beg for their lives when they're obviously going to lose it. Those little actions and reactions he thought he gets. That's one of the reasons he excels at torture and strategizing.
But once in a while, he's proven wrong. Once in a while, there are individuals that don't follow the divine script written for them.
His brash, annoying, insufferable partner, is apparently one of them.
"Don't you believe what they say?"
"About a lost soul wandering the rotten place?" The slug sneers. "Yeah right, even a ghost won't live where you live."
The boy shakes his head minutely, distinctly curious, yet somehow uneasy.
"About a demon, roaming the hellish grounds."
The redhead lift his gaze, staring straight into his partner's brown eye. Azure orbs as clear as the cloudless sky, but as deep, as mystifying as the mysterious ocean. And yet it burns. Fire danced in them like how fire danced upon their enemies' hideouts. It glints like the reinforced glass in Mori's office, see-through yet impenetrable. His partner stares at him with an intensity that threatens to burn his frozen soul. Then..
He scoffs.
"What demon? All I see is a scum."
"...what?"
The brunette blinks, feeling indescribably baffled, not for the first time this evening. He anticipated a lot of outcomes from this predicament, yet not even in his wildest predictions did he foresee this outcome.
The dumb chibi is once again looking at him with that look. Looking at him as if he's stupid. As if he's the idiot between the two of them. Him, the acclaimed genius. He feels infinitely insulted and astonished at the same time.
"Demon? Please." The redhead sneers. "Yeah, you're messed up. You're a pretentious, manipulative, infuriating asshole, and I fucking hate your guts. But news flash, you ain't that special. So get off your high horses you slimy mackerel! You're as miserable and pathetic as the rest of us strays."
You're the same as us.
You're as stupidly human, as the rest of us.
The brunette feels his eyes widen, the barest hitch in his breath. A foreign weight sinks down, making a home in his centre. Another foreign entity coils itself around his chest, and squeeze.
But the brunette doesn't have time to be surprised, moreover analyze the foreign feeling, because the hatrack delivers yet another preposterous claim that diverts his attention.
"If anything, you're too insufferable and stupid to be anything but."
"Stupid?" The boy asked, pointing to himself incredulously. "Me?"
"Yes, you." The redhead said with a deadpan look.
The boy doesn't know how else to respond but to bark out a laugh.
Everything just feels ridiculously, outrageously, absurd.
"Wow." he lets out, breathless.
The slug doesn't join in on his mirth, probably too dull to understand the hilarity of this situation, most likely completely unaware of how ostentatiously outlandish his statement had sounded.
His counterpart watches him laugh with an unimpressed gaze. Staring him down like one would a disgusting muck on the bottom of their shoe, looking at him with unadulterated hate. It's ludicrously honest, sincere. Familiar, safe.
"By the way chibi, what was that 'us'? Finally over and done with that lil' teen angst of yours?"
The dog doesn't take the bait. Boring
Or so he thought.. until the hatrack's next words reaches his ears.
"I want to see Chuuya suffer as a human."
Amber eyes grows wide, yet once again. Familiar words, born from his own tongue now spoken back to him.
"Well I got good news for you mackerel, 'cos I am suffering! I'm suffering enough dealing with your stubborn ass, so shut the hell up and eat your food!"
He's like fire; bright, lighting up even the darkest of the night. And like fire; he's fierce, devouring everything that stands in his way. But like fire; he burns upon touch. Like fire; it'll scald you if you get too close. A beautiful beast that can only be appreciated from a distance.
And yet again, he laughs.
He breaks out laughing so hard tears gather in the corner of his eyes. He laughs until his stomach hurts, and his lungs burn.
He laughs because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to do. What to say, how to respond. For although he can predict how humans work, he's unfamiliar with the emotions that drives them, their motives, their raison d'être.
Besides, even though he'd figured the basic principle of human actions, the chibi doesn't abide by the rules the other dull individuals seem to follow. The fiery redhead paves his own road, as dark and bloodied the road is, even when there's no apparent end in sight. It is bizarre. Stupid. But here he still is also, still persevering, still endlessly searching.
There are way too many questions in his head, swimming about in a messy array of thoughts. Why did the chibi bring him here, when there's no certain gain from it? Why does he care, when no one else does? Why believe the words of a liar? Why trust him when he doesn't even trust himself?
Those questions are not without answer, for the chibi had generously provided him with some. Yet as the outcast that he is, he fails to comprehend them. No matter how many times he repeats it, dissects it, over and over again in his head, he finds the chibi's reasoning to be; impaired, illogical.
And for that very reason, he cannot accept the chibi's claim. How can one be human, how can he be the same as the rest of them when he fails to grasp the simple fact?
But the slug's living room feels warm compared to the thin metal walls of his container. It was not as dark, not as quiet. Half of him misses the silence, the isolation, the peace of being alone with no one to see. But the soft breathing pattern of the slimy slug was so familiar it fills him with a sense of ease, of normalcy. The light occasional tap of the chibi's phone, the muted howl of the blizzard outside, the dull and neverending tick of the clock. Tick tock tick tock.
It lulls him. Bewitches him. Allures him to lower his guard.
The noodles are limp and soggy when he finally touches them, the soup cold and reduced greatly from its former volume. Yet somehow, it tasted like 'something', compared to the usual 'nothing'. So he eats, and eats, until the styrofoam cup is all but empty. It's his first meal in—he doesn't remember when was the last time he ate.
The chibi rises from his seat, gathering his phone. He looks unguarded, soft, in the early hours.
"What is it? What are you smiling at?"
The brunette blinks, only now realizing the stretch of his lips.
"Nothing, Chuuya."
The redhead silently crosses the room and turns off the light. He opens the door to his bedroom, throwing a questioning gaze at his partner who sat motionless in the dark.
"To sleep, is to dream. But what are dreams, if not means to torture us? To tease us with a reality we can't achieve...or a reality we wishes to forget?"
The redhead said nothing, way too used to the boy's antics. Too familiar, too close, the alarm in his head warns.
But the boy, young and foolish as he was, was too content to care. Seduced by the foreign comfort and warmth enveloping his body where cold and darkness used to be. For even as he sat alone in the dark as he usually does, it doesn't feel as lonely, it doesn't feel as cold.
Something he would come to regret later on.
Later, when he would shed his dark attire in favor for a lighter one. When a pair of amber eyes gaze at the world instead of one.
In hindsight, it would be much easier back then.
So much easier.
To shoot him then, than to watch him drown.
'Cause it's as they said; in this blood-drenched pit of hell, 'trust', is a weakness..
and 'love', is a mistake.
- End -