Chapter Text
It was Nakahara Chuuya, in the flesh, right in front of him.
That fact, for many understandable reasons, infuriated Dazai.
A snicker left the 'officer's lips, the pride emitting from them almost overwhelming in comparison to everything else, aside from the fact that Chuuya was there. There was something humorous in the tone he used, perhaps in regards to the situation they were in, and Dazai wondered what it could have possibly been. Until he realized, they had been in this situation before.
Or rather, they almost had been in it — back when they reunited after four years in the depths of the Port Mafia headquarters. When Dazai, once again, had been caught for the sake of his own devious plan. Dazai and Chuuya's eyes had met back then, had exchanged greetings when Dazai had his hands enveloped with almost rusted handcuffs. It wasn't just in the depths, but rather the cells that the Port Mafia instigated both executions, torture, and its respective training on both parties, and their traitors.
It was notoriously obvious that Dazai was a traitor the Port Mafia. It was some sort of irony, that in both consequences, Chuuya was the one to come see him, to come visit Dazai — be it due to anger, some sort of personal vendetta he had against Dazai, or due to obligation as an executive, or due to the fact they were ex-partners.
Because why wouldn't he visit his ex-partner? Obviously not because he had done everything right by him. Why Chuuya?
He wasn't even supposed to be there: he was supposed to be in the book, solving mysteries that Ranpo had in mere minutes of being there; he should be stuck where no one could get him; he should be unsalvageable.
Chuuya didn't miss a step when it came to physically responding to Dazai's greeting, waving a hand bathed in leather, a subtle indicator that it was indeed the Mafia executive indubitably. Dignity showed itself on Chuuya's facial features, welling up like almost a balloon. His teeth shone as he fiddled with keys, twiddling them in his palms. He tossed them, a jangle entertaining Dazai's ears, only for a second before the door to the cell was pushed open, and footsteps trickled in, following Chuuya's movements.
The same echoed footsteps that had made themselves known down the hallway just a mere moment prior started up once again; only this time, they made their way, louder than before, to Dazai, the strength growing with each passing step. Lanky, yet muscular legs stood, towering over the detective with something akin to pride in just the stance. Dazai's head was yanked upward, with a hand bearing a leather glove: black, shiny, lean, and full of confidence. The individual towering him, too, conveyed a sneer.
"So, Dazai," Chuuya started, skipping any sense of formality with him, bending down and moving his hand to instead yank Dazai's chin up to look him square in the face. Dazai was lenient, doing it so willingly that it was tugged up too far. He fixed his own position, snicking at the Mafia executive's poor attempt at getting him to look in his direction. It was assumed by the way that Chuuya blatantly overlooked it, that he simply did not care. "Explain to me why the fuck you're in jail, and what plan it's obviously associated with." Chuuya moved his hand, dragging Dazai's head to the side with a flick, a teasing grin exposing itself. "Just like last time, yeah?"
So, Chuuya did remember. Dazai decided to shoot something back at Chuuya, in hopes Chuuya would forget all about the plan because Chuuya knew him too well. "How did you know I was here?" A hand of his flew to the other's wrist, catching Chuuya from positioning his hand in such a way that could allow him to strangle Dazai. "Did your inner god tell you this?" Of course, Dazai was going to reference the Arahabaki. He had more than average knowledge as to what it was, both from what Chuuya had told him and from the research he had done while being a mafia executive himself. He had kept notes in regards to the 'being' Chuuya kept inside of him day and night. Chuuya probably knew that Dazai was more aware of the Arahabaki than what he had let on, years and years ago, either from mere deduction or from Mori telling the red-head when he became an executive himself.
Chuuya rose, a crack in his back sounding and reflecting itself around the jail cell. That had made Dazai grow a smirk on his lips, approvingly, aware, as if he took pride in the fact that Chuuya's back cracked from leaning over him — from Chuuya trying to intimidate him into answering his questions.
None of which Dazai would permit himself to answer at that moment, or maybe never.
Upon straightening his back, Chuuya frowned down at Dazai, animosity swelling in his irises. It almost, almost, looked as if Chuuya's eyes transformed into a shade of purple, very light purple, like lavender. "That cocky detective bastard – what was his name? Ranpo? – let me out of the book. He apparently convinced that ex-Guild member to let me out." A sneer revealed itself on the executive's visage, annoyance being completely demolished in the process. "Boss convinced your Director that the only way to allow them to stay at the Port Mafia was to set me free." Chuuya fiddled with the tips of his fingers, the pads of his thumbs.
"What do you mean by 'Stay at the Port Mafia', hatrack?" Dazai hissed, narrowing his eyes to slits, almost dauntingly. As if that was the question that held the utmost importance to Dazai. Which, aside from the fact that Chuuya was out of the book, and therefore was accessible to Dostoyevsky, was actually true. That meant two of his plans failed, had gone wrong. If Dazai hadn't needed to contain his composure like he had, he would have been worrying his lip, because all he could feel was anxiety.
A snort left the part of Chuuya's lush lips and was followed up by a roll of eyes that had anger disappear in them, replaced by withheld laughter. "You must have been here long, then," Chuuya mused, not even allowing himself to look at Dazai in the face until the face became immensely serious; gave off a sense of disappointment.
Even so, Dazai was unable to suppress the offence that became present on his face at Chuuya's comment. Dazai was well aware that his former partner was correct in his assumptions. The facial expressions, along with Dazai's declaration that went along the lines of 'I wouldn't say I've been here awhile,' which, of course, had been said completely out of spite alone, were blatanaly ignored. That, however, had been his only act of defiance against those words. It had already been shameful enough that Chuuya uncovered, with relative ease, that there were devious notions behind Dazai's peculiar behaviour; adding to the fact that Chuuya had made an accurate inquiry into how long Dazai had been held captive was utterly inconvenient — it meant his plans, which had apparently already failed, were discovered.
Perhaps that just came with the amount of partnership those two had — the ability to look into each other's actions and predict them without flaw just came naturally to them. After all, even in the means of combat, they both possessed the ability to foresee, and therefore avert, from any attack the other would throw at them.
Dazai's mind went picking for reasons why he was even remotely surprised about the call-out.
It must have been obvious, alluded the glare that Chuuya threw at him. The way Chuuya's right brow was raised, and his sapphire eyes were wide in speculation was something Dazai would note for later. A visible shake of a head, exposing tints of almost-crimson was sufficient evidence of the fact his visitor refused to inquire further into the expression that had most likely adorned his face. That was until he hid it upon realization.
"I won't be fuckin' telling you anything until I get our asses out of here, Dazai," were the words that fell from Chuuya's mouth, little more than a petit whisper. In the room they were in, with their close proximity, it echoed around like an earthquake. The declaration vocally was, dare he say it, lagging in comparison to the timing of which they were said. It was odd, Dazai found, that perhaps it was because it probably did echo that it reached him afterwards.
After all, sound never travelled as fast as light did; after all, their speeds had never been equivalent.
A pliable body squatted in front of Dazai, and given the presence in the room, it could have only been Chuuya. His wrists had been grasped as he felt a tug upward, and automatically, he obeyed. The chains dropped immediately once Chuuya and Dazai were both standing up straight. The metal enveloping his forearms, handcuffs, dug deep into his skin, and his reflexes told him to massage those areas, and without a doubt, that is what he had done. Dazai had been stripped of his bandages, had been stripped of his only physical defence keeping the world out of his personal, self-inflicting business. His only barrier from his inner demons he was still recovering from. Dazai only then realized it was all visible to the world, he hadn't insisted on keeping them when he was stowed away.
Dazai felt bare; felt bare given the knowledge that Chuuya now had physical proof that Dazai was a monster.
It was not exactly something Chuuya hadn't seen or witnessed before. There were times in their distant past when all Chuuya saw was a Dazai bare, naked, and open. While Dazai wasn't naked at this time, rather fully clothed in attire that more like hung rather than fitted from Dazai's body, making him seem a lot smaller than his regular clothes had. It was silly, the way that the fact that there were no absolute layers concealing all of the mistakes Dazai had made inwardly mocked him.
One would call it almost justifiable, however, since, adorning Dazai's body was more lacerations than Chuuya had ever bore witness to in the past. He didn't do it anymore, but the scars still haunted him in his daily life.
It shouldn't matter, it wasn't like Chuuya would pay mind to that in a situation like they were in.
A hum had emitted itself from Dazai's vocal cords, an obvious distraction from the thoughts plaguing his mind. He scoffed, "Do you have a surefire way of getting us out of here, then, Chibi~?" In retrospect, Dazai hadn't the slightest suspicion that Chuuya would come in here not having a plan of sorts.
"Just follow me."
Dazai had never conceded to anything Chuuya had declared faster in his life. For some odd reason, maybe it was because Chuuya was the one to visit him, which was in itself very suspicious, he thought it wise to follow his lead.
Unlike when approaching the cell, leaving the cell had been a lot less empty; that was overlooking the lack of any sort of chitchat between the two. The footsteps of someone he knew in his company was enough to provide some sort of relief. Of course, entering the cell had some sort of pride to it, as a plan he had fabricated was in play and on the roll. With Chuuya, there was a heat that battled the cold of the first entry.
As Dazai had noticed, his cell was on the second floor. That was surprising, given how much he was charged with. Perhaps the government had come to a conclusion that they would kill him, so there would be no use for something as trivial as taking up a cell for more crucial criminals. Whenever Chuuya had been questioned, Dazai and he compromised that Dazai would expose his handcuffs for proof that there was some sort of transport mission. Kouyou had helped, had provided papers of proof for transportation. The two only had trouble once, and it resulted in Chuuya royally kicking ass and dragging Dazai by the cuffs out of prison.
Other than that, the trek to freedom was considerably quiet and reserved. Outside the federal penitentiary, rain poured on the ground and on their bodies, soaking them. It sounded like a hum of a drum when the mallet would hit it. Light occasionally lit the skies in the form of lightning, yet thunder failed to roar. When Chuuya and Dazai escaped successfully, they came into contact with a Mafia-based vehicle disguised as one that worked for the government. The vehicle had been rather clammy, and there were agents within the back, where Chuuya and Dazai sat, and they had similar attire to Chuuya. And when they stated, "We are Mafia spies that work for the government, doing jobs just like this," it reminded Dazai too much of Ango to make Dazai even remotely comfortable.
And as Chuuya finally began to explain circumstantially why Ranpo and Poe had released him from the book, and why Chuuya was tasked with saving Dazai, the rain became a crucial part of Dazai remaining calm. Not that he wouldn't be, as he was a genius at hiding any potential fears or doubts when they were truly there, but keeping him inwardly calm, and more in control.
Air passed through the slit of Dazai's chapped lips in the form of a sigh, as he witnessed and heard how much of an utter failure his plan had been. He ceremoniously picked apart all flaws and inwardly tried to put the clues together to create yet another strategy that best result in success. It came as no surprise to hear, from the third-hand information Chuuya provided, how much of a nuisance his arrestee had been to his coworkers and partners, despite being blind. Dazai had learned throughout his life not to overlook minuscule details; had learned no one should ever underestimate their enemies.
'Never let your guard down, even when victorious,' was a phrase he taught himself in his youth, along with other codes of conduct he willed his person to obey.
"So, it was necessary," Dazai acknowledged as Chuuya's key picked at his cuffs, prying them off of his clammy skin. His hand flew up to thumb instinctively at his chin in thought. "And both of our escapes from our various captivities were planned." A snort. "How interesting." Dazai did not ask for Chuuya's approval on his speculation, especially when Dazai, for sure this time, was aware that he was correct.
No eye contact had been made in the vehicle as they made their way to the Port Mafia Headquarters. With even the presences of others in the vessel, there was an unspoken tension that made itself aware between Chuuya and Dazai, as it would always be. For some reason, Dazai craved an icebreaker. The tension was fine with him, and for sure he was aware that it was most likely caused by his leaving the Mafia years ago.
It was something he couldn’t obliviously overlook.
He came to the conclusion to break the ice in the worst way possible.
"So, you couldn't even get yourself out of that mystery book, huh?" A snap of a neck was enough to prove that Dazai had caught a sore spot in Chuuya's resolve. There was a speed in it that would only ever be there if someone tugged at something they shouldn't with him. "What the fuck did you just say to me, bastard?" Chuuya spat, aggression a very evident undertone in his voice. Chuuya hadn't been the only person he caught the attention of. The other officials in the vehicle – the spies – glared daggers at Chuuya, as if they inquired how Dazai would ever dare to treat Chuuya with such disgraceful behaviour. They must have been fairly new to the Mafia or to their job because others would have no questions about it if they had seen it before.
"You know, you obviously needed help getting out of that book! That's why it took so long, right?"
Dazai flashed his signature cocky grin in Chuuya's direction, with mischief clouding every word Dazai said, namely in the way he drawled the last, lifting his palm to tap Chuuya reassuringly on the shoulder. His action was rejected, as Chuuya brushed the boney digits out of his face. They had been seated beside each other, so it was rather difficult to evade any sort of touchiness Dazai would fling in his direction. He let it work, somehow, momentarily removing his hat and letting his hair fall graciously onto his shoulders, then placing the hat back on - only this time, it fell too far on his face, concealing the top half of his visage from Dazai.
"Shut the fuck up, Dazai."
This was a sign that Dazai should shut up and stop messing with Chuuya, and for once in his life, he complied. At least, he ceased his taunting assault on Chuuya. His gaze trailed lazily to his palms. And guilt starting filling inside of him. He could tell that Chuuya, too, was worried about their organizations' situations, said the way he swore more than he usually would when he gave an explanation as to the events that led up to their current state; dictated by the worrying he did on his lips when he went to recall details he would customarily do with confidence.
Soukoku, for once, shared anxiety about the future.
His brain often was tasked with coming up with plans and methods and looking at things with varying degrees of analytical detail. He was taught not to grow concerned about situations like this that could arise at any given second. In his youth, he was only taught to care about success, coached by Mori not to care about the individual, but rather the outcome of sacrifice. It was arguably unfortunate that this was no longer who he was, or rather just a sliver of his personality today. Those thoughts still reigned in the back of his mind, there was no question about that. But overall, the Armed Detective Agency and Odasaku's self-sacrifice had taught him that that wasn't how it was to carry out anymore. He was a different man than the Mafia Executive that witnessed his only friend's death four years ago.
"We're going to get out of this, I have a plan."
And that was something Chuuya probably already knew.