Chapter Text
Dazai wanted to make the retreat back to the safehouse with Chuuya on his back.
Chuuya did not.
He pushed himself up at Dazai’s words, struggling only for a moment to find his steadiness on the ground before painstakingly straightening himself. There seemed to be little recognition in his eyes from what Dazai could see, and as painful as it was to watch his partner struggle to make the walk back, he knew why he was doing it.
No weaknesses.
“You’re one-hundred percent sure the Green Emerald is gone?” Yosano asked, limping slightly and trying to keep her voice down.
“Yes,” Ranpo replied before anyone else could, wanting the conversation to stay dead, “No survivors after that.”
They walked in silence, unable to bring themselves to discuss anything further. The situation had been traumatizing in more ways than one, leaving everyone in a grim mood. There would be time to debrief the next day, or the next week, whenever they recovered and processed the information they had discovered.
Atsushi couldn’t help but feel empathetic towards the Executive who seemed to be walking with a cadence too steady for what had just transpired- head forward, blood dripping from every orifice on his face, shoes coming down with force. He was certain, by knowing his coworkers so well, that they would probably have different feelings towards him- but he didn’t know any better. Yes, the Mafia had attempted to capture him when there was a bounty on his head and yes, he knew the Mafia wasn’t exactly the most morally sound place to be affiliated with, however, it’s obviously what made Chuuya into the man he was.
He walked with the thought that Chuuya’s friends, or family, had been killed and he found them, and he was a product of child experimentation and just how badly that must’ve affected him. Yet, he never showed signs of it, he never showed signs of weakness in general- he knew from the past few days and encounters his coworkers had had with him that he was cocky and easy to anger, yet he had the physical prowess to back it up.
Atsushi couldn’t bring himself to imagine what it would be like to have to face and fight your dead family, the thought made him sick.
They finally made it to the safehouse and Kunikida opened the door, letting everyone inside before locking it behind him.
“Who needs medical attention?” Kunikida asked, but his voice was strained.
“I’m going to patch myself up,” Yosano sighed, sitting on the couch and nursing her shoulder, “Ranpo probably.”
“It’s really nothing,” Ranpo said as he sat next to Yosano, “You do though, Kunikida.”
“Some ice will fix this,” Kunikida brought a hand up to his chest to feel the broken ribs, “Atsushi, what about you?”
“I’m mostly okay,” Atsushi replied, “Nakahara took the worst of it.”
Kunikida looked over to where Chuuya hadn’t stopped walking, heading straight towards the room he was occupying, not even a flicker of recognition in his step that he had heard him. There was a splotch of blood across his back from where one of the illusions had struck him but it didn’t seem to be actively bleeding.
“No need,” Dazai replied easily, “He’s done this before, he’ll be okay.”
“He looks… bad,” Atsushi settled on.
“That happens when you try to take on a whole organization alone,” Yosano commented.
“He’s done it before,” Dazai said, watching Chuuya disappear down the hallway like a machine.
“I’d normally never say this but,” Yosano sighed, “It was impressive.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what that was like,” Atsushi added, “I don’t know how he did it.”
Dazai broke his facade for a moment hearing Atsushi’s words because in truth, he knew exactly how he did it. Chuuya wasn’t some sob story, he wasn’t something to pity, half the time Chuuya invalidated his own traumas. The understanding he had of Chuuya’s past was something that played into why they worked together so well; if it had happened to anyone else, they would have become a monster.
“Give him my thanks,” Ranpo said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Dazai knew what he was referring to, the knife that slid across the ground in the knick of time, a pause in the battle. It was obvious Ranpo thought Chuuya hated him, which was definitely true due to the incident with Poe’s book and the manipulation to get him to reveal his past to Fukuzawa; but in that moment he didn’t view Ranpo as someone he hated, an enemy, a weakling.
Chuuya treated Ranpo in that moment like anyone else under his command- sliding them a tool to get out of the situation, even if he had to save them in the end. Extending a graceless hand ultimately meant to help, even if it didn’t come across that way.
A Mafioso, yes. Unfeeling, no.
Dazai nodded in response, the two detectives sharing a moment of understanding.
“We will reconvene in the morning then,” Kunikida said, “We expect a full explanation for the events of tonight.”
“What don’t you understand?” Dazai asked, feeling a bit thrown off by Kunikida’s words.
“Everything,” Kunikida shook his head, “Why you never told us about Nakahara’s singularity, why we were never informed this was a ploy to get his head when you obviously knew.”
“Ah,” Dazai smiled now, something sinister, “That’s not my information to give out.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” Kunikida pushed his glasses up on his nose.
Dazai could have laughed at the statement, seeing straight through Kunikida at the moment. Kunikida was conflicted, he watched Chuuya order him to stand up, to keep fighting, and he watched Kunikida fall short of the mark.
“I’ll ask Chuuya,” Dazai lied, waving Kunikida off, “The Port Mafia is secretive though, so good luck.”
Dazai turned on his heel to walk out of the room and down the hall to his partner he knew needed him, stopping briefly to make a comment:
“Kunikida, maybe consider thanking him for saving your life before demanding his past be served to you on a silver platter.”
Dazai walked down the hall and kicked open the door with his foot and let it slam with a kick, the frustration palpable in his body. It all receded as he looked at Chuuya, who obviously had barely made it to the bed.
Towels had already been laid down, knowing this would probably be the plan they went with. Chuuya was crumpled on top of them, his black coat swallowing him whole with hands fisted around it. Dazai took a moment to look over his face. For the time being, he was knocked out cold from the beautiful force of Corruption, face slightly twisted in pain but asleep. Dazai thought about how it would go down, the conversation after the fact, how his partner would want to handle this; how it would handle him.
He traced the splash of freckles across the man’s cheeks with his eyes, his lashes, the dark circles under them, his auburn hair sticky and matted with blood. Dazai knew he’d want to take a shower as soon as he woke up, which would most likely be soon due to the adrenaline that was no doubt still running through his system.
Dazai made work of taking off his coat, folding it on the small dresser before clicking off his harness and choker. He could feel an unwanted wave of emotions start to push forward in his chest as he unbuttoned the grey vest, how this was the way he hated undressing his partner the most. Corruption, although strikingly beautiful in the disgusting part of Dazai’s mind, tore Chuuya apart without mercy, leaving a heap of flesh and bones in the aftermath.
This activation, Dazai knew, was more devastating than times before.
Chuuya’s breathing pattern changed from steady to slightly frantic as a telltale sign he was waking up. His eyes opened slowly, blinking and taking in his surroundings before they settled on Dazai, mismatched and full of uncertainty.
“You eliminated the Green Emerald,” Dazai reported, a pattern forged in blood from previous uses of Corruption, “Well done, partner.”
He smiled slightly at Chuuya, something small and sad, drinking in the recognition of Chuuya's features as the events of the infiltration flooded his mind. Dazai watched as Chuuya tried to push himself up on his elbows only to fail, the strings cut from his body. He knew better than to immediately jump to help his partner- Chuuya valued his independence the same way Dazai did, and he knew this wasn’t happening in the safety of a penthouse with expert levels of security in place.
After a few attempts, Dazai reached out to put an arm behind Chuuya’s back, just enough so he could lean on it and sit himself up. Dazai kneeled in front of the bed right at Chuuya’s knees after, waiting for the next moves.
“Is,” Chuuya sucked in a breath, forming words more painful than he thought, “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes,” Dazai breathed, placing hands on Chuuya’s knees as he spoke sincerely, “No major injuries, you got everyone out alive.”
Chuuya deflated at the words as he hunched over more, his arms coming around his stomach with his head falling forward, he fumbled with his shirt before revealing a grey tablet with green markings glowing inside of it.
Dazai took the tablet from his hands, it was smaller than he’d imagine it would have been, but powerful all the same.
“You amaze me.” Dazai smiled slightly, realizing just how much strength it must’ve taken for Chuuya to retrieve a major part of the case while confronted with his younger self.
Dazai stood up and took a protective stance in front of him, standing between his legs and running hands down his arms. He could feel the shake in his partner’s frame, knowing it was the adrenaline leaving his body.
“How do you want to do this?”
He didn’t wait for a response, he thought he knew the answer. Chuuya would want a shower, a bath, anything that would scrub away the remnants of Corruption on his skin. Steady hands were brought to Chuuya’s shoulders as Dazai tried to pull him off the bed and onto his feet but Chuuya protested by trying to free himself from the grasp.
“No,” Chuuya said, voice strained in the confines of his throat.
Dazai immediately softened his grip, leaving his hands in place but stepping back to look Chuuya in the eyes.
“Do you want…” Dazai took a moment to consider, used to the routine that came with Corruption, which was typically shower, bed, medication, sleep, “Do you want me to clean you up here then?”
“No,” Chuuya shook his head, untrusting of the thin door between himself and the detectives in the safehouse, “I want to go home.”
“We can’t,” Dazai sighed, keeping his voice low, “We have to wait until tomorrow morning, and it’s at least an hour drive.”
Chuuya took in a deep breath with this, naked and scarred hands coming up to land on Dazai’s forearms and gripping them tightly. He stared into Dazai’s eyes with a pained look on his face, one that surpassed lifetimes and realities, one Dazai had seen a few times before, one that had the unnatural power to shred anything the detective had in his mind.
He supposed Chuuya always had that effect on him.
“‘Samu,” Chuuya said, his voice cracking over the use of Dazai’s given name, “Take me home.”
Dazai couldn’t say no to that, the rare use of his given name falling from the mouth of the only person granted the privilege of using it. Not after everything that transpired, Dazai couldn’t bring himself to fight against the request.
“Okay,” Dazai took a breath, “Yeah, just give me a minute then.”
Dazai stepped back and began tossing things in the bag he had brought, along with Chuuya’s things as well. It didn’t take long considering they weren’t at the safehouse for an extended period of time.
Before he knew it, he was checking the hallway for signs of life and following a stumbling but trying-to-keep-himself-steady Chuuya out of the safehouse and into his car. He knew Chuuya was exhausted from the sheer fact he didn’t make any jabs at Dazai about not crashing his car or getting it dirty.
Getting Chuuya situated and somewhat comfortable in the car proved to be harder than originally expected. Dazai laid down the towels from the bed and helped buckle Chuuya in, running a gentle hand over his face before his hand was grabbed and a coughing fit rang out. Chuuya spit up blood on himself, taking measured breaths in an attempt to quell his burning lungs.
When he calmed, Dazai quietly shut the door and rounded the car to begin the hour drive back to the city.
As they made their way home, Dazai kept looking over to Chuuya, watching as the streetlights casted fleeting illuminations and shadows over his partner’s sleeping form, noting just how fond his own mind was. Chuuya had ripped himself to shreds, thrown himself into the fire and still there was nobody else he could bare in his corner.
He knew, glancing over at Chuuya’s sleeping form, just how sacred their partnership was. How it divulged into something romantic and soft when they didn’t deserve it, turned domestic around the edges to the point it scared the living shit out of the both of them on occasion.
Neither of them would do it with anyone else, though. For all of Dazai’s theatrics and advances towards others, none of them went through. Chuuya was the other half of his soul, a song he could listen to on the best and worst of days, someone he could never escape- someone he never wanted to escape.
They were each other’s solace, each other’s home.
Dazai parked Chuuya’s car in the garage of his apartment building, securely nestled in the high security area. He turned to see his partner, passed out cold in the passenger seat, blood still clinging to every inch of his face.
He decided to leave the bags in the car, knowing it could be a job for the following day. Long limbs exited the car and Dazai made his way over to Chuuya’s door, opening it and placing a hand on his shoulder. Chuuya woke with a jolt, unfocused eyes landing on Dazai before a hand reached around and undid his seatbelt, letting him pull himself out of the car.
It was an uneventful walk and elevator ride up to Chuuya’s floor. Dazai made quick work of getting them inside and pushing his partner towards the bathroom.
In honesty, Dazai wasn’t sure which version of Chuuya would show himself tonight. Usually he would be cleaned up by now and asleep, even times this had happened in safehouses when they were in the Mafia together. This time, with other people in the safehouse, it was understandable why Chuuya wanted to be in the safety of his home with only Dazai to witness the unfortunate aftermath.
But Dazai knew it could go a few ways, one where Chuuya sobbed in the bathtub like he did at sixteen, one where Chuuya used all his energy on destroying his surroundings like he did at seventeen, one where Chuuya pushed Dazai away with everything he had in himself like he did at eighteen.
He would find out as he followed Chuuya to the bathroom and braced himself for whatever was to come.
Chuuya swayed slightly as he fumbled for the lightswitch and blinded himself with the bright overhead lights. Dazai stood back for a moment, watching his partner try to undo the buttons on his shirt before failing miserably and falling forward to the sink, hands gripping the counter with his head hanging.
“Can I help you?” Dazai asked, still unmoving until he was invited into Chuuya’s orbit.
They were a lot of things, a plethora of unexplained feelings and instances. Taking away Chuuya’s independence during post-Corruption patch ups was something lethal, Dazai had learned the hard way.
Chuuya nodded and bit his lip, tasting the metallic blood still clinging to it.
Dazai had never been a gentle creature, he knew it well. He had killed with his bare hands, handled weaponry with an accuracy that would scare even the strongest opponents, had said things that would take lifetimes to undo from people’s minds- but here, in Chuuya’s bathroom, handling the person he had trusted with his life, his emotions, his vulnerability for almost a decade, he understood how to be gentle.
It was a quiet thing, something buried under layers of outside fronts and personalities, never to be seen by the outside world. The world could take a lot from them, strip their dignity away in every way but it couldn’t taint what it couldn’t touch, what it was never aware of.
And dammit they had fought for this gentleness, through teeth and grit, through fights that lasted months and trust that was built on death’s doorstep.
Dazai turned on the shower to a steaming temperature before stripping Chuuya of his clothes, his shirt sticking to the wound on his back, but Chuuya made no face, no sign of pain.
“This doesn’t look deep enough for stitches but they might help,” Dazai said, keeping his voice as low as possible, “Do you want them?”
Chuuya shook his head and a belt hit the floor with a thump and shoes were discarded by the door before he was led to the shower and stepped inside. Dazai took to his own clothes with no hesitation, unraveling his bandages and tossing them into the garbage can before stepping to join his partner.
Chuuya pointedly looked away from Dazai as he grabbed a washcloth and began softly scrubbing at the blood on his face, ashamed of himself. Dazai knew the look and understood it because usually it was him in this situation, letting Chuuya wash away the worst parts of himself under the steam.
Once the blood had been cleaned from his body, Dazai gently turned Chuuya around to lather soap in his hair, working it through the tangles and mats.
“I didn’t think I’d be this fucked up,” Chuuya said, exhaustion leaking from every syllable.
Dazai knew better than to comment, it seemed he was getting a different version of his partner than he was used to after Corruption but one he should’ve seen coming from a mile away.
“I ran it through my mind a thousand times,” Chuuya took a moment to relax under Dazai’s touch before continuing, “What it would feel like to see them again.”
His head fell slightly forward and Dazai could tell he was biting his lip, attempting to keep his emotions at bay, still running off the feeling of being surrounded by people he couldn’t place trust in.
“I just-” Chuuya choked and clamped a hand over his mouth.
Dazai didn’t react outwardly, he just spun them so he could rinse the shampoo from his partner’s hair, letting him do whatever he needed at that moment. With a hand to Chuuya’s forehead to keep the water from splashing his face, he rinsed all the soap and flipped them again to lather in the conditioner, knowing he’d want to feel as comforted as possible in the moment.
Chuuya kept his eyes downcast the whole time and Dazai made peace with it. He simply pulled his partner closer to his chest and worked his fingers through tangled curls, allowing them a moment together. It came to an end all too quickly for his liking but he knew Chuuya needed rest. When the conditioner was washed out, Dazai was quick to wash himself as his partner leaned heavily against the wall with his back on full display, the shallow laceration not bleeding anymore and instead an angry red.
Dazai stepped out of the shower and threw a towel around his waist, holding one out for Chuuya as he exited. Chuuya took it and tried to dry himself off but really it was numb hands dabbing at wet skin in a way that bordered on being pathetic. He eventually wrapped the towel around himself and faced himself in the fogged up mirror, eyes refusing to meet his blurry reflection.
Dazai took it as an opportunity to fetch ointment for the wound on Chuuya’s back, trained hands gently spreading it across the marred skin before retreating to find clothes for them. He returned and held out a pair of shorts for his partner, who took them and grimaced as he bent down to put them on. Dazai changed himself into his usual sleep attire before standing in the doorway to wait for Chuuya.
It was then Chuuya finally looked up to meet Dazai’s eyes, the hungry pain and loathing deep within them, effectively stopping everything in Dazai’s mind. His auburn hair was half covering one of them, freckles bright under the light and deep purple bags protruding from under his lashes.
Dazai, regardless of the pain and suffering Chuuya had endured, only knew him to be utterly captivating.
He stepped forward and brushed the hair out of Chuuya’s face with his hand before circling his arms around the small waist of his partner, bending down to fully embrace him. Chuuya lifted his tired arms to wrap around Dazai’s neck, fisting into his shirt and burying his face in the crook of his neck.
Softness, given it was something they had to fight for, came easy in the moment. Feeling Chuuya’s bare chest against his bare arms was something that Dazai had come to adore, moments where they could be normal people seeking solace in each other was exactly why they continued to fall into step with each other. The grip on Dazai’s shirt, the large hands covering up Chuuya’s back- they were things only humans could feel the meaning of.
“You aren’t weak,” Dazai promised into Chuuya’s hair, “It’s only me, same as always.”
That was all it took for the dam to break, for the unbeatable Executive to crumble in the arms of his partner, knees buckling under the unimaginable weight of living. Dazai held him up, feeling the wet tears on his shirt before he heard the ragged breathing that escaped lips desperately trying to keep it under control.
Here, under the fluorescent light and entrapped in the only constant in his life, Chuuya felt small. He could feel just how engulfed he was by Piano Man’s words, by Doc standing over a version of himself he couldn’t remember, by Albatross speaking to him without being on the brink of death, by Lippmann’s unadulterated strength being on display. He could hear the raging thoughts that weren’t his, thoughts that were placed there by a gift he knew would screw him up in the end.
Everything came back at full force, staring down the barrel of his younger self, drenched in fear, eyes begging for someone to save him- but nobody did. Not in this timeline, when that little boy wasn’t real, when he was some illusionary manifestation of an ability, and not before, when he was real, alive, breathing, and taken into a makeshift gang of street-dwelling children who ultimately used him for protection.
It was all taken advantage of, and then he signed his life away to an organization for their protection.
Dazai felt Chuuya begin to shake and for all the jokes he had made about his partner’s short nature, Chuuya had never felt so small. He always took up space with his personality that he was never embarrassed of, with his emotions that could never be beaten out of him, but now, trapped under his embrace- Chuuya felt small.
Chuuya stepped away first, rubbing his eyes to will away the tears that had fallen with no permission. Dazai didn’t say anything, he simply turned off the bathroom light and grabbed Chuuya’s hand to lead him to bed.
He didn’t budge and watched as Chuuya’s hand came up to cover his mouth again, knees giving out from under him as he fell to the floor.
“I’m-” Chuuya choked on his words, “I’m so fucking tired Osamu.”
“I know,” Dazai said, voice soft and hushed in the darkness.
He kneeled in front of Chuuya and ran a hand through his hair, listening to the choked sobs and devastating breakdown of the person he loved- because for everything in them, the word was love, it was devotion, it was some circular staircase they found themselves on. Dazai had no problem admitting it was love, not when their limbs tangled in the night obscenely, not when the mood got heavy and distorted, not when they barred the worst parts of themselves to each other.
In other circumstances, in front of everyone else, the words were much different. But here, alone, with them as the only witness, it was the true definition of partnership.
Dazai was careful not to irritate the laceration on Chuuya’s back as he lifted him to his feet, struggling slightly with the fact the man he was lifting was pure muscle. He tugged Chuuya into the bed, their bed, pulling him into his chest as he openly sobbed, the energy wracking through his body as everything was expelled under the moonlight.
It crushed a part of Dazai, holding the strongest person he knew against his body as the demons in his mind ran rabid, knowing there was little he could do to make it go away.
They laid tangled together for the night, through waves of panic and sobs, when Chuuya jolted awake with memories he couldn’t place, seeking out all the warmth the other had to offer.
-
Dazai woke the next morning to an insistent buzzing coming from his phone.
As difficult as it was for him to leave Chuuya, he knew the other would be okay. A debrief was mandatory, a report needed to be written and submitted to the government and he would gladly fill it out for the both of them.
He had reached over and held his partner as close as he could to his chest, breathing in the familiar scent and attempting to ignore the ringing.
Chuuya had practically thrown him out of the apartment after that, knowing in order to keep things the way they were meant to be, Dazai needed to show his face and keep up the act. He didn’t want to leave, in honesty he enjoyed the comfortable vulnerability that came with staying around Chuuya in his times of need, but he understood what was expected of him. He promised to be back in the late afternoon.
Maybe one day, when they finished a plan set in stone years ago, when the cards were right, he could roll over and continue to bask in the safety of a shared space with nobody to blow up his phone.
Now, walking in the meeting room, he really wished that time had come already.
Kunikida was harshly typing on his computer, glasses shining with the backlight without a drop of exhaustion on his face. Yosano was a different story, dressed in more casual clothes and nursing a cup of coffee from the cafe downstairs, idly swirling it. Ranpo had a book in his hands, eyes fighting the urge to close completely with Atsushi sitting next to him, hand against his cheek as he had given into the battle.
Eyes glanced at him as he entered and sat down.
“You left the safehouse with no warning last night,” Kunikida said, accusatory, “Why’s that?”
“Didn’t feel like staying,” Dazai shrugged, evading the line of questioning, “But I doubt that’s the biggest of your questions right now.”
“Correct,” Kunikida sighed, “Why weren’t we informed on the true nature of this case and better yet, Nakahara’s gift?”
“Would it have changed anything?” Dazai asked, his voice dipping into an octave he didn’t want to use against his own coworkers.
“Yes!” Kunikida schooled himself before continuing, “It would have been a hell of a lot easier if we knew the full picture.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a debrief,” Atsushi sighed as he blinked out of his slumber.
“It is,” Fukuzawa’s authoritative voice cut through the tension as he stepped into the room, “Please run me through what happened.”
“Nakahara eliminated the threat,” Yosano stated before taking a sip of her coffee, “Practically by himself after we got injured.”
“What did you encounter down there?” Fukuzawa asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Illusions of Mafia grunts and the Flags, along with a young Nakahara before he did… whatever he did.” Yosano replied.
“And an illusion of Dazai.” Kunikida added, effectively waking Ranpo and gaining the attention of Fukuzawa.
“An illusion of Dazai?” Fukuzawa asked, turning his attention to Kunikida.
“Yes, an exact replica, it let me down the wrong path and Nakahara killed it before anything could happen.” Kunikida confirmed, pausing his typing.
“What about the other illusions?” Fukuzawa asked.
“Nakahara and Dazai eliminated them all,” Ranpo said lazily.
“By themselves, with a plan we obviously weren’t aware of by the way,” Kunikida huffed.
“I see,” Fukuzawa took a moment to consider before asking: “Dazai, how do you feel everything went?”
“Perfectly,” Dazai confirmed, honest with his answer. Of course, he wished none of it had happened but given what they had to work with, it went the best possible way.
“How is Nakahara, now?” Fukuzawa asked, “I assume in no position to debrief with us.”
“He should,” Kunikida cut in again.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Dazai lied, glancing at Ranpo who gave him a subtle shrug.
“If you don’t mind calling him here, it would be appreciated to get his feelings on the case.” Fukuzawa nodded, “But it is not necessary.”
Dazai pressed his lips into a thin line and fished out his phone, sending a quick text to Chuuya about coming to the Agency for a short debrief, along with promises he would get them out of it if it wasn’t in the cards.
It took a total of twenty minutes for Chuuya to show up in the meeting room, opening the door with less force than he had a few days ago, dressed in his usual Mafia attire with a guarded expression on his face- one Dazai saw right through.
His partner looked exhausted but he was confident his coworkers couldn’t see it, maybe aside from Ranpo, but it was something built into him from living on the streets for so long and then working under Mori. No matter the circumstance, you showed up when requested, you put on a face at a meeting, you showed no weakness.
“Chuuya,” Fukuzawa said, voice knowing, “Please take a seat.”
Chuuya sat and looked directly into Fukuzawa’s eyes.
“The target of the Green Emerald was eliminated using all force necessary, there were no survivors.” Chuuya reported, voice steady and trained, speaking as if he was reporting to Mori.
“Understood,” Fukuzawa nodded, catching onto the trained voice of the Executive, “And what did you encounter?”
“Illusions created by the Green Emerald as well as telepathic voices by the other gifted,” Chuuya said, “None interfered with the assignment.”
“Telepathic voices,” Fukuzawa took a moment, “I didn’t hear that in anyone else’s encounters.”
“It didn’t interfere with the assignment,” Chuuya replied, keeping up with the script he knew so well.
“I heard you encountered and eliminated an illusion of Dazai, and your younger self,” Fukuzawa tried to get into his head, “How did that go?”
“Both illusions were eliminated, one with a knife, the other with Tainted,” Chuuya continued, refusing to show any signs of weakness to the enemy.
“Quite relentlessly,” Kunikida said, remembering how swiftly the Executive had taken down the illusion of Dazai with no hesitation at all.
“And the tablet?” Fukuzawa asked, hoping it had been retrieved and not wanting to do a recon assignment.
“It was probably destroyed when Nakahara did Corruption,” Kunikida sighed, inwardly angry that he forgot such an important part of the case.
‘Activated’ ran through Dazai’s mind, as if Corruption was something Chuuya just did.
“We can run recon-”
Chuuya reached into his coat and produced the grey tablet with glowing green markings on it, tracing his fingers over it before pushing it forward on the table.
“This needs to go directly to Ango,” Chuuya said, “Any organization with their hands on this becomes too powerful.”
“I’m surprised it isn’t already in Mori’s hands,” Yosano snorted.
“Why would it be?” Ranpo asked, reaching forward to grab the object, “Didn’t we all get our asses saved in there?”
“That has nothing to do with this artifact,” Kunikida replied, eyes locked on the tablet, “He’s a Port Mafia Executive.”
“And yet you’re alive,” Dazai said, keeping his tone schooled and calm, “And the tablet was retrieved and brought here.”
“Thank you for this, Chuuya.” Fukuzawa said as he reached a hand out to Ranpo to hold the artifact, “I will see to it that Sakaguchi gets this immediately.”
“All part of the job,” Chuuya shrugged, feeling the tension start to slip from his body.
“I do hope the truce between our organizations will grow stronger from this,” Fukuzawa stood and bowed slightly with the tablet in his hand, “I extend my gratitude to you, Executive Chuuya Nakahara.”
Chuuya bowed in response, the understanding of why Fukuzawa used his title not lost on him. Not A258, not something conjured in a lab but not exactly just Chuuya either- here, in a debrief, he was a top performing Executive.
Fukuzawa left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him. With the dismissal, Chuuya moved to leave as well, weakly and childishly wanting to retreat to the safety of his home, possibly with a bandaged detective now that the expectations of them had been satisfied.
“It was… nice working with you, regardless of the past fights,” Yosano sighed, causing Chuuya to turn around, “I do hope the next time we meet it isn’t under dire circumstances.”
The honesty in her voice made Chuuya pause as his brain came to a complete halt. She looked up at him with tired but understanding eyes, as if she knew the script he was following, as if she recognized part of herself in the ruined, mangled child in the underground base.
“I agree,” Chuuya nodded before exiting the room.
He didn’t make it far before nausea boiled up in his chest, thoughts of destruction, of devastation, of a younger version of himself helpless to what was to come. He quickly turned the corner and pushed himself into the bathroom, emptying his guts as quietly as he could. He wanted to be home, he wanted to be done with the life he led and the horrors it left in its wake.
Maybe he just needed a cigarette.
In the meeting room, Atsushi pushed himself up and walked towards the door to retreat to his desk, hoping to inconspicuously doze off without anyone noticing. Without missing a beat, Kunikida began his rambling again.
“I still don’t understand this,” Kunikida sighed with an undertone of anger.
“What exactly don’t you understand, Kunikida?” Ranpo beat Dazai to the punch.
“Just,” Kunikida took a breath, “Why the fuck we were left in the dark about this? About Nakahara being a vessel for a singularity, about the Green Emerald going after his head? Why am I the only one who gives a shit about this?”
“Don’t drag me into your internal issues,” Dazai shrugged.
“You were thinking about it until you found out it was him,” Ranpo said tiredly, “It infested your mind until it was a Mafia Executive.”
“And? This all should have been information shared before we went in.” Kunikida continued.
“I want you to think past your feelings towards the Mafia,” Ranpo continued, “How would you feel if that was you?”
“That doesn’t-” Kunikida was cut off by Yosano.
“It does, Doppo,” Yosano sighed deeply, “It does matter.”
Kunikida looked at Yosano, her eyes deep with emotion and exhaustion, eating away at her features. It came back to him at that moment, Chuuya commanding and encouraging him to get up, to give him the dignity to go down fighting, to tubes and wires hanging off the frame of an innocent child.
That, at one point, Chuuya was that innocent child, stripped of dignity, stripped of the choice to go down fighting, that his only choice since getting out of that experimentation facility, however he did so, was to fight and not to go down. He proved it, he proved himself, to the people he went on the assignment with, proved himself to himself- never showing a sign of weakness, never backing down in the face of things obviously bigger than him, never backing down in the face of his dead family that was being used as puppets to fight against him.
And that was what Kunikida couldn’t grasp, why he ran in circles around the newfound information; how someone could be confronted with something so big and still choose to take it on. The fact Chuuya didn’t show any weakness made Kunikida glaze over the fact the suffering he was exposed to belonged to the Executive- not him, not his coworkers, not an anonymous child written about in old files.
It had taken his ideals for a joyride, the fleeting empathy, the sticking hatred.
“I’m leaving,” Kunikida abruptly stood, “Everyone should have their report in by the end of the week.”
He walked out of the office without looking back, abandoning his usual perch and heading down the stairs instead, needing a breath of fresh air.
Coincidentally, standing outside of the doors leading into the back entrance of the Agency building, stood Chuuya with a cigarette loose between his lips, head tilted back on the brick wall with eyes closed.
“If you’re gonna berate me for smoking,” Chuuya kept his eyes closed, “Keep the volume down.”
Kunikida didn’t know what to say for a moment, taking in the stature of the Executive standing outside their building. He could see now, as he truly looked at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the tension that was creeping up in his body at the intrusion on a moment he thought would be private.
“I,” Kunikida took a breath, scrunching his nose up at the cigarette smell but biting his tongue on making a comment, “Wanted to thank you.”
“Really?” Chuuya opened his eyes but didn’t look over yet, “That’s shocking coming from you, glasses.”
“I would like to extend my apologies for my harshness in the debrief,” Kunikida continued, refusing to acknowledge how wrong the words felt on his tongue, “I should have been more… gentle with my delivery.”
“I’m not made of glass,” Chuuya blinked once, twice, “I don’t need to be treated gently.”
“That’s not what I meant-”
“I know, glasses,” Chuuya laughed lightly and brought his eyes to meet Kunikida’s, “I hear you.”
Kunikida saw the same glaze of emotion he had seen during the stakeout with Dazai, something meant to mean something, something that wasn’t meant for his eyes to understand. He could see the creases under Chuuya’s eyes, the freckles splashed across his face, the auburn hair that laid neatly under his hat and framed his face perfectly. For a moment, Kunikida could see exactly what Dazai saw in the man, why he kept him in his corner.
Chuuya had saved his life, saved all of them actually- from death, from having to experience the things that loomed over him on a constant basis. He killed his former partner’s illusion, stared down the face of his deceased family's replications and held them all back so he could decimate the field. Chuuya’s strength, mental and physical, drove him to ask a question he had before:
“Are you and Dazai still close?”
He watched a wave of surprise flash over Chuuya’s face, his emotions racing in his body. Kunikida swore he could see it then; the protectiveness they had over each other, from the backlash he got for his confusion to the gun pointed at Piano Man. He could see into the perfectly crafted exterior they had, just enough to gain a semblance of understanding.
“Tsk,” Chuuya rolled his eyes and took another drag of his cigarette, “Funny question to ask.”
It didn’t come with the evasive connotation of when Dazai had said it, coming from Chuuya’s lips, it sounded like an admission, asking Kunikida “funny of you to assume we aren’t” rather than “funny of you to assume we are”.
He could piece it together then, the puzzle piece sliding into place as he recognized something he should have long ago, when they worked together to take down Lovecraft, when Chuuya fought the dragon, when that damn helicopter saved their lives against a hopeless battle for a deal that never went through, when he watched Dazai laugh openly under the moonlight while trading different accounts of the same story.
Chuuya was Dazai’s equal.
A memory from a hushed conversation he was never meant to witness, a revelation he buried under his distaste for being saved by a Port Mafia Executive, the internal battle it had caused. There was no upperhand, Chuuya didn’t order him to get up to have leverage, he didn’t overwork himself to push everyone out of the way and destroy himself as a bargaining chip- he did it just because, for reasons Kunikida might never know but he did it anyway.
“Right,” Kunikida shook his head of the thoughts, “I still apologize.”
“No need, I get it,” Chuuya took another drag before tossing it on the ground and placing a foot over it, extinguishing the flame, “Not every day some shit like that happens.”
“It was different, yes.” Kunikida nodded awkwardly.
“You’re uptight,” Chuuya commented, “It was a hard fight, you can admit it.”
“I… I don’t think admitting something like that is in our programming.” Kunikida said honestly.
It drew a laugh from the Executive, whose cheeks turned pink from the sudden change in demeanor. It was a pleasant surprise to Kunikida, seeing the man who had been thrown into the depths of purgatory the night before openly laugh at something that was meant to be serious. He was glad it didn’t land, he’d take this over a stoic conversation or a fight.
“You’re right,” Chuuya laughed and rested his head back against the brick, “It isn’t.”
-
Inside the office, Dazai noticed the conversation happening between Chuuya and Kunikida.
He had been ready to intervene if it got too heavy, not particularly wanting either of them to get into it at the moment. He respected Kunikida, even if his ideals drove him down a path that wasn’t always based in how morally grey human nature could be. Dazai was relieved when he saw Chuuya throw his head back in laughter at something Kunikida had said, and how relieved Kunikida looked at the emotions Chuuya was displaying.
He knew his partner had a way of doing that- surprising people with his emotions.
“Stalking is a new low for you, Dazai.” Yosano’s voice made him turn around.
“So mean!” Dazai said as he collected his things from his desk, “Just making sure no fights break out on Agency property.”
“Right,” She smiled, catching his eyes.
There was a moment of understanding they shared before she retreated to the infirmary to no doubt take a nap. Something warm unraveled in his chest as he checked the time, seeing it was only eleven in the morning he started making strides towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Atsushi asked, head peaking up from his desk.
“Ah, down to the docks,” Dazai contemplated for a moment, “Care to join, Atsushi?”
“Sure,” Atsushi nodded, pulling himself up sluggishly from his desk.
They walked in silence down the stairs until they breached the building, Dazai pulling out his phone to send a quick text before they headed in the direction of the water. He didn’t know why he invited Atsushi, maybe to get a gauge on where his mind was, maybe to just spend time with his mentee.
“Is Nakahara okay?” Atsushi asked as they rounded a corner, enjoying the sluggish pace Dazai had set.
“Of course he is,” Dazai said, keeping the conversation light, “Wondering about the elusive Chuuya are we?”
Atsushi ran through his thoughts before speaking again, “I can’t imagine how hard that was.”
“No need to worry,” Dazai smiled, keeping the pace in their walking, thinking over all the ways he could evade the conversation and turn it around, “He has wine to turn to.”
“He doesn’t seem like…” Atsushi trailed off.
“Like how he’s been described?” Dazai supplied, knowing the line of thought the other was going down.
“Yeah,” Atsushi mumbled, “Might be a common theme with the Mafia.”
“Ah,” Dazai stifled a laugh as they reached the path that would lead them to the docks, “Sure.”
They continued walking until they were on the east dock, making their way to the end where a bench sat. Atsushi sat first and Dazai followed suit, staring into the water as if it would fix everything that had transpired.
Dazai compared it to someone he used to know, someone who had half-materialized in the base, someone he held close to his heart. He brought a hand up to trace over the smooth stone of his bolo tie that laid on his chest, rubbing his fingers against it.
“I just,” Atsushi sucked in a breath, “I don’t understand how he can willingly be with the Port Mafia.”
“There’s some things people would rather stay buried,” Dazai kept his eyes forward and dropped the stone in his hand, “You understand that, don’t you?”
“I guess,” Atsushi looked down, “Can I ask you something?”
“Be my guest,” Dazai replied, hoping it was something he could deflect and evade before running off to Chuuya’s penthouse.
“How come your partnership still works so well with Nakahara?”
It wasn’t easy to catch Dazai off guard, but the honesty behind his mentee’s question threw him for a loop. After having their partnership be picked apart on multiple occasions and tested in the most gruesome situations, hearing it be referred to in a positive light warmed something in his guarded heart.
“Sometimes, you meet someone that you hate everything about.” Dazai began, running through all the possible ways he could water down the bond they had before realizing he’d never be able to, “And it forces you to confront things about yourself, things maybe you aren’t the most proud of.”
Dazai remembered screaming in Mori’s office, detesting the idea of partnering up with someone as loud and obnoxious as Chuuya. He remembered walking face first into a decision, keep Chuuya in his eyesight or let him run back off to the Sheep as a pawn in someone else’s game.
He remembered nights he was cornered into a wall and practically forced to confess the terrible things he had done. He remembered a gun being kicked out of his hand and an outstretched one helping him decide to live.
“Especially if that person has the unique ability to be an equal to you instead of above or below.”
Dazai remembered the first time he witnessed the ethereal true form of Chuuya’s gift, watching Corruption engulf the person he’d come to know and the feeling that had welled up in his chest, that had completely unraveled the ice that had formed over his heart, that had unlocked a cage he didn’t know had ever been placed there. He remembered not wanting to dangle it over Chuuya’s head, that he, for once, wouldn’t use it as a manipulation tactic.
He remembered the feeling that stuck itself inside his chest and couldn’t be removed no matter how hard he tried, the innate desire to know more, be more, stay longer.
“It’s rare, in this world as ability-users that you find someone you can truly trust, someone who understands,”
Dazai remembered nights Chuuya spent stitching him back together, treating him exactly the same without an ounce of pity in his actions. He remembered the night he left the Port Mafia, the raging battle they fought when in reality, they knew what the outcome would be. He remembered how it was already understood that they weren’t leaving each other, how it had already been built into the foundation of their partnership that they wouldn’t let the other go.
“The time we spent together in the Mafia was forged in blood, it’s something I can’t rid from my system no matter how hard I try,” Dazai turned honest, staring out onto the water, tracing the lapping waves glistening in the setting sun with an introspection he hadn’t felt in a while.
“Chuuya is not the Port Mafia, there’s reasons he stays, things he feels the need to protect,” Dazai sucked in an uncharacteristic breath, “Things I respect him for protecting,” Dazai turned to look straight at Atsushi now, “He’s a constant, Atsushi.”
Dazai stood, letting his tan coat flap in the wind as he turned his vision back to the sea, the thing that touched every corner of the earth, the thing he was jealous of most days.
“Chuuya is resilient, he represents a lot of things nobody will understand because he’s one hard exterior after another, but he’s nothing if not resilient, you got to experience only a fraction of it."
Dazai let a small smile grace his face, remembering the past and dreaming of the future.
“There are no differing sides when you build a partnership like that, there’s simply just you, the other person and the common goal you have.”