Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the Port Mafia headquarters as Chuuya made his way through the quiet corridors. In one hand, he carried a small, neatly wrapped box tied with a red ribbon. It wasn’t extravagant—just a simple token of appreciation. He wasn’t one for grand gestures, but for Kouyou, his mentor and one of the few people he truly respected, it felt right.
Reaching the familiar oak door to her office, Chuuya knocked softly, waiting for the voice on the other side to invite him in.
“Come in,” Kouyou’s calm, measured voice called out.
He pushed the door open, stepping inside. As always, the elegance of Kouyou’s office struck him. The walls were adorned with delicate, intricate wallpaper in shades of deep plum and gold, giving the room a rich, stately atmosphere. Soft light filtered through paper lanterns, casting a warm glow across the space, accentuating the tidiness Kouyou maintained so effortlessly. On one side of the room, a polished wooden coffee table stood between an elegant armchair and a long, beautifully upholstered couch, the fabric a soft, pale green that complemented the darker hues of the room.
Along one wall were shelves holding a collection of porcelain dolls, each one impeccably crafted and carefully placed. Chuuya’s eyes lingered briefly on them. He remembered seeing Mori-san gift Kouyou a few of those dolls on her birthday, the head of the Port Mafia always keen to indulge her refined tastes.
The air was filled with the subtle scent of jasmine, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea, which was already prepared on a low table near the window. Kouyou was seated by the table, her posture as graceful as ever, her gaze shifting from the tea to Chuuya as a slight smile tugged at her lips.
“Good evening, lad,” she greeted him, her voice gentle but carrying the same air of authority that always accompanied her presence. “I see you’re punctual, as always.”
The boy nodded, closing the door behind him. “Wouldn’t miss our tea meeting for the world, Ane-san.”
She motioned for him to sit, and he settled across from her on the soft tatami mat. Without a word, Kouyou began pouring the tea with practiced grace, her movements deliberate and refined. Chuuya set the small box on the table, pushing it toward her.
“Here,” he said, his tone casual but his expression slightly softer than usual. “It’s not much, but I wanted to give you something for Christmas.”
Kouyou paused, her eyes flicking to the gift before her lips curved into a faint smile. She reached for the box, her fingers light and delicate as she untied the ribbon and opened it. Inside was a small, handcrafted hairpin, made of polished wood and adorned with a cherry blossom design.
“It’s beautiful,” Kouyou said, her voice filled with quiet appreciation. “Thank you, lad. You always have a good eye for these things.”
Chuuya rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed by the compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, the soft clinking of porcelain the only sound in the room. Kouyou seemed content, as she always did during their tea meetings, but there was something probing in her gaze when she looked at Chuuya again.
“And how was the Christmas party last night?” she asked, her tone casual but knowing. “I heard the preparations were quite extensive.”
Chuuya let out a small sigh, leaning back slightly. “It was fine. The others seemed to enjoy themselves. Drinks, food, gifts... the usual.”
Kouyou’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the hesitation in his voice. “But?”
Chuuya tensed, setting his cup down on the table a bit harder than he intended. He could feel Kouyou’s gaze on him, her sharp intuition picking up on what he was reluctant to say. He didn’t want to talk about it—about him—but keeping things from Kouyou never ended well. She always had a way of drawing the truth out of him, no matter how much he resisted.
He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the tea in his cup. “Dazai showed up.”
Kouyou raised an eyebrow, her expression remaining neutral but her eyes gleaming with interest. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Chuuya muttered, his voice filled with irritation. “That bastard just strolled in, like he belonged there. He even brought me a present.”
Kouyou’s lips twitched at that, though she didn’t smile. “That’s unexpected, even for Dazai.”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened. “I told him to leave. We didn’t need him ruining the night. He just... stood there, grinning like an idiot, trying to make a joke of everything.” He paused, his frustration clear. “I didn’t even take the damn gift.”
Kouyou set her teacup down gently, her gaze never leaving him. “And how do you feel about that?”
Chuuya blinked, taken aback by the question. “What? How do I feel? It doesn’t matter how I feel. He shouldn’t have been there.”
Kouyou remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
Chuuya let out a frustrated sigh, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. I was angry, yeah, but... I felt kinda guilty, too. He looked... different. Not like the usual smug bastard he is.”
Kouyou’s expression softened, but her voice remained calm and steady. “It’s only natural to feel conflicted, lad. You and Dazai share a long and complicated history. No matter how much you might want to distance yourself from him, he is still a part of your life, whether you like it or not.”
Chuuya frowned, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Yeah, well, I don’t need him anymore. We’ve all moved on. The party was going fine until he showed up.”
Kouyou nodded slowly, understanding in her eyes. “Perhaps. But have you considered why Dazai might have come? Why he brought you a gift?”
Chuuya scoffed, crossing his arms. “To mess with me, probably. It’s what he does best.”
“Or,” Kouyou suggested softly, “perhaps he was trying, in his own way, to reach out. You know as well as I do that Dazai isn’t someone who opens up easily, even when he wants to.”
Chuuya opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He thought back to the moment when Dazai had offered him the gift, the strangely soft look in his eyes. For just a second, it hadn’t felt like a game, but something else. Something... real.
Kouyou’s voice cut through his thoughts, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to forgive him, lad. But it’s worth considering whether his presence last night was truly meant to cause harm, or if it was his clumsy attempt at making amends.”
Chuuya fell silent, his mind racing. He hadn’t wanted to think about it—about Dazai and what that stupid gift meant—but Kouyou’s words gnawed at him. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the mix of emotions swirling inside him.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t change the fact that he always shows up just to make things complicated.”
Kouyou smiled softly, reaching over to pour more tea into his cup. “Dazai has always been complicated, lad. That’s something you’ve known since the day you met him.”
Chuuya took the cup, his fingers wrapping around the warm porcelain. “Yeah... I guess.”
After a pause, Kouyou spoke again, her voice thoughtful. “If you feel conflicted, perhaps it’s not too late to extend an olive branch yourself.”
Chuuya blinked, staring at her. “What? Me? You’re suggesting I try to make up with him?”
Kouyou nodded slowly. “Consider it. You don’t have to forgive him entirely, but a gesture from your side could help both of you move past this tension. It might be the closure you both need.”
Chuuya’s mouth opened in disbelief, but then he closed it again, his mind racing. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was a certain logic in what Kouyou was saying. “You think that’ll fix everything?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
Kouyou smiled gently. “No, but it could be a start. At the very least, it would clear some of the air between you. And who knows? You might find that there’s more to resolve than you initially thought.”
Chuuya stared into his tea for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Kouyou’s words hung in the air, leaving him with a lot to think about. "Thanks, Ane-san.."
As they resumed their tea, the lingering unease in Chuuya’s chest began to settle. There was still a lot to think about, but for now, he was grateful for the quiet company of his mentor and the steady rhythm of their tea meetings—a brief moment of peace amid the chaos.
Chuuya stormed through the bustling streets of Yokohama, hands stuffed deep into his pockets as his eyes darted over the storefronts. He was in a foul mood, and it wasn’t just the biting winter wind cutting through his coat. No, this particular frustration was because of Dazai, as usual.
The idea of getting him a gift was gnawing at Chuuya's pride. It was Kouyou’s advice that pushed him to even consider it, but now that he was actually trying to follow through, he was faced with an irritating problem: What in the hell would Dazai even like?
The bastard was impossible to figure out. Half the time, Dazai acted like a child, spouting ridiculous ideas and never taking anything seriously. The other half of the time, he was... well, a genius manipulator with a penchant for throwing everything into chaos. Nothing about him was straightforward, which only made this entire ordeal harder. Chuuya had no clue what Dazai valued beyond his twisted fascination with suicide, and that wasn’t exactly gift material.
He walked past store after store, growing more agitated with each step. He tried imagining Dazai using anything normal—books, clothes, even food—and nothing felt right. The guy was a walking enigma, and trying to please him was like trying to grab a handful of smoke.
“Damn it,” Chuuya muttered under his breath, his pace quickening. “What does he even like besides being a pain in my ass?”
As he passed by a gun shop, something made him stop in his tracks. He glanced through the window at the rows of polished weapons on display. Guns. Dazai wasn’t much for flashy things, but if there was one practical thing they both used in their line of work, it was firearms.
A dark smirk crept onto Chuuya's face. Maybe Dazai didn’t deserve anything, but if he was going to give him something, it might as well be something they could both appreciate.
The shop was cramped, dimly lit, with rows of firearms displayed in glass cases. Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper, an older man with thinning hair and a permanent scowl etched on his face. He barely glanced up from the magazine he was reading.
“What’s a kid like you doing in here?” the shopkeeper grunted, not even bothering to mask his disdain. “This isn’t a place for window shopping, son. Run along before you get hurt.”
Chuuya's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he kept his cool, stepping up to the counter. “I’m here to buy a gun. Your best one.”
The shopkeeper let out a bark of laughter, finally looking up. “A gun? You? Look, kid, I don’t sell toys here. Go play with some action figures or whatever it is your kind does.”
Chuuya's irritation bubbled over, his fists clenching at his sides. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” His voice was low, but the threat in it was unmistakable.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Should I? You’re just some punk who thinks he can—”
The redhead cut him off, stepping closer to the counter, his steps crashed the floor. “I’m Chuuya Nakahara. Member of the Port Mafia.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The shopkeeper’s face went pale, the mocking smirk dropping from his face instantly. His eyes darted over Chuuya’s small frame, suddenly realizing he wasn’t dealing with a mere kid.
Chuuya didn’t stop there, though. He extended his hand, and the faintest red glow began to emanate from it. Instantly, the shelves and cabinets in the shop trembled, some of the lighter items starting to float into the air as the gravity around them shifted.
“I could buy your whole shop and not even blink,” Chuuya continued, his voice calm but lethal. “But I don’t care about money. What I care about is getting what I want.”
The shopkeeper’s breath caught in his throat. He glanced at the floating merchandise, then back at Chuuya, his hands trembling as he realized just how dangerous the situation had become. “I-I didn’t know, sir, I swear! Please, forgive me!” he stammered, fumbling to straighten his posture.
Chuuya lowered his hand, and the objects in the shop dropped back into place with a heavy thud. “You’ve got two choices: you show me your best gun, or the police will only find your remainings. Your call.”
The shopkeeper scrambled into the back, returning moments later with a sleek, high-end handgun, polished to perfection. He held it out with shaking hands, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Th-This is the finest model we have, sir. Normally, it’s quite expensive, but for you, I... I can give you a special price.”
Chuuya eyed the gun, impressed despite himself. He took it from the shopkeeper, weighing it in his hand. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Dazai would probably appreciate this, whether or not he said it out loud.
“I don’t care about your price,” Chuuya muttered, slipping the gun into his coat. “Just ring it up.”
The shopkeeper nodded frantically, ringing up the sale while doing everything he could not to look Chuuya in the eye. When the receipt printed out, Chuuya glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. The price was... significantly lower than he’d expected.
“You gave me a discount?” Chuuya asked, his tone hard to read.
The shopkeeper swallowed nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Y-Yes, sir. I... I thought it best, considering the circumstances.”
Chuuya stared at him for a moment, then let out a small chuckle. “You’re smarter than you look.” He tossed some bills onto the counter, not even bothering to count them, before turning to leave.
The shopkeeper let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as Chuuya walked out of the store. As the bell above the door jingled behind him, the shopkeeper sagged against the counter, his legs weak with relief.
Outside, Chuuya smirked to himself. He had the gun, and even though he didn’t care about the price, getting it for practically nothing was just the icing on the cake. Whatever Dazai thought of the gift, Chuuya knew he’d gotten the upper hand today.
And that was worth more than any discount.
Chuuya carried a couple of bags through the bustling streets of Yokohama, the cold winter air biting at his face. The fancy restaurant he’d just left behind specialized in seafood, and nestled inside one of the bags was a fresh, top-tier crab, along with a selection of Christmas snacks he’d picked up from a nearby bakery. He wasn’t one for over-the-top celebrations, but if there was one thing he took seriously, it was good food.
He glanced at his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button for longer than he’d like to admit. Dazai’s number was on the screen, mocking him. He hesitated, feeling a twinge of annoyance at himself. After everything that had happened at the Christmas party, why was he even bothering to invite Dazai over?
“Damn idiot,” Chuuya muttered to himself, but he pressed the call button anyway, bringing the phone to his ear.
It didn’t take long before the familiar voice answered on the other end, light and lazy as always. “Chuuya! What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this rare, festive call? Planning on confessing your undying love for me?”
Chuuya’s eyebrow twitched in frustration, but he bit back his usual retort. “Shut up, shitty bastard. I’m inviting you over for a gaming rematch. You’ve been hogging the wins lately, and I’ve had enough of your smug face.”
There was a pause on the other end, as if Dazai was waiting for the catch. When none came, he let out a playful laugh. “Ah, Chuuya, how generous of you to invite me over to your humble abode. But I must warn you, I live for the thrill of victory. Are you sure you can handle it?”
“Just get your ass over here,” Chuuya grumbled, not in the mood for Dazai’s teasing. “And don’t be late. I’ve got crab and snacks, but I’m not saving any for you if you keep me waiting.”
“Oho, crab, you say? Well, I suppose I can make an exception and grace my dog with my presence,” Dazai replied, amusement thick in his voice. “I’ll be there soon.”
Chuuya ended the call before Dazai could say anything else, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. His apartment wasn’t far, and he knew Dazai would show up sooner rather than later—probably hungry, given his pathetic living situation in that rusted container he called home. No heat, no electricity, no water. It was a wonder the guy wasn’t frozen solid by now.
Chuuya sighed, feeling a slight pang of guilt. It wasn’t like he was going to come out and say he was trying to make up for the awkwardness at the Christmas party, but he figured inviting Dazai over, with good food and their usual gaming competition, was the best he could do. He wasn’t about to apologize—Dazai didn’t deserve that much—but this was something. A gesture, however small, that Chuuya hoped would smooth things over.
When he finally reached his apartment, Chuuya set the bags down on the kitchen counter, unpacking the snacks and the crab. He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and set them on the coffee table next to the gaming console. The place was warm, inviting, and ready for the inevitable chaos Dazai would bring with him.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” Chuuya muttered to himself, adjusting the pillows on the couch. “Not like I’m doing this for him.”
He knew, though, deep down, that wasn’t entirely true. Even if he’d never say it out loud, this was his way of making up for the mess at the party. In his own way, he cared. And if that meant feeding Dazai crab and snacks while they yelled at each other over video games, then so be it.
As he glanced at the clock, knowing Dazai would be arriving soon, Chuuya couldn’t help but wonder how the night would go. He didn’t expect an apology from Dazai—not in the conventional sense—but maybe, just maybe, they’d reach some unspoken truce by the end of it.
With a thoughtful expression, Chuuya moved toward his kitchen once more, his eyes scanning the wine rack he reserved for only the finest bottles. He pulled out a bottle of Château Margaux 2005, a renowned French wine he had been saving for a special occasion. The rich, full-bodied red was known for its elegance and depth—something even a fool like Dazai might appreciate, though Chuuya doubted the idiot would even recognize it.
“Let’s see if he’s still got the nerve to drink this like it’s some cheap wine,” Chuuya muttered, smirking as he placed the bottle on the table.
He popped the cork, letting the aroma fill the room. The scent alone was enough to tell that this was top-tier, and despite everything, Chuuya felt a small sense of satisfaction. If nothing else, they’d be drinking the good stuff tonight.
“Let’s see how this plays out,” the redhead murmured, cracking open one of the whiskey as he settled in to wait, the unopened bottle of Château Margaux resting between the snacks and the console.
Whatever happened tonight, at least it would be memorable.
The sound of glass rattling and the unmistakable thud of boots landing on his floor immediately caught Chuuya’s attention. He didn’t even flinch anymore. After years of dealing with Dazai’s dramatics, he’d come to expect this kind of thing—breaking in through the window instead of using the door like a normal person.
Chuuya shot a glance toward the shattered window, suppressing a groan. He should’ve known better than to hope for a quiet night. The glass pieces sparkled on the floor, and there, standing with his trademark smug grin, was Dazai.
“Really?” Chuuya sighed, rubbing his temples. “Again? I just replaced that window two weeks ago, you bastard.”
The brunet dusted off his coat and stepped inside as if he owned the place, not a trace of guilt on his face. “Ah, but Chuuya, coming through the door is so boring. Besides, you leave that window practically begging for me to use it.” He winked. “Perhaps it’s your way of inviting me to make a grand entrance.”
“Shut up, Dazai,” Chuuya snapped, already feeling his blood pressure rise. “I’ve given up trying to get you to act normal. You can’t help yourself, can you?”
Dazai laughed, taking a few lazy steps closer. “Oh, Chuuya, don’t act like you don’t secretly enjoy my little quirks. It keeps things exciting, doesn’t it? Admit it—you’d miss me if I didn’t barge into your life like this.”
“Exciting?!” Chuuya’s voice grew louder as his irritation spiked. “You’re a damn menace, that’s what you are! You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet!”
Dazai smirked, looking completely unfazed by the yelling. His gaze shifted briefly as he sauntered past Chuuya, and something caught his eye. For a second, his teasing demeanor faltered, and a small glimmer of surprise flickered in his eyes.
“Hmm?” The younger boy leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto Chuuya’s neck. “Well, well, would you look at that.”
Chuuya frowned, still too mad to register what Dazai was talking about. “What the hell are you on about now?”
Dazai pointed, his grin widening. “The necklace.”
Chuuya blinked, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the small silver guitar pendant resting against his chest. It was the one Dazai had given him at the party—he started wearing it after his talk with Ane-san. He thought it looked cool and, despite himself, had decided to keep it on. But now that Dazai had noticed, it was more annoying than anything else.
“What about it?” Chuuya muttered, trying to sound indifferent. “It’s just a necklace.”
“Just a necklace?” Dazai’s tone was mocking, his smirk now almost impossibly wide. “Chuuya, you’re wearing a gift I got for you. How touching! I didn’t realize you were so sentimental.”
“Shut up!” Chuuya growled, his face heating up in embarrassment. “It’s not like that, you idiot! I just liked the design, okay? Don’t get any weird ideas.”
“Oh, I see, I see.” Dazai was clearly enjoying this far too much. “So, you liked my choice in jewelry. How flattering.”
“Seriously, Dazai, I swear—”
Before Chuuya could finish his threat, Dazai waved him off, still chuckling under his breath. “Relax, Chuuya. I’m just teasing. Though, I must admit, it suits you. Looks better on you than I imagined.”
Chuuya clenched his fists, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “If you’re done with your jokes, maybe we can start the match already. I didn’t invite you here just to listen to your dumb remarks.”
“Of course, of course,” Dazai said with a mocking bow, his grin never fading. “But let’s be honest, you’d be disappointed if I didn’t give you a little attention first. Now, where’s that crab you promised?”
Chuuya ground his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the fact that tonight was supposed to be about gaming and eating—not strangling Dazai, no matter how tempting it was.
“Fine,” he muttered, walking toward the kitchen. “But if you keep pissing me off, you’re getting none of it.”
Dazai, still grinning like a fool, followed him with a light skip in his step. “Ah, Chuuya, always so generous.”
Chuuya shot him a look over his shoulder, but deep down, even through his frustration, he felt a strange sense of relief. As much as Dazai drove him insane, there was something about his presence that was... familiar. Annoying, yes—but familiar and warm.
And for tonight, that was enough.