Chapter Text
July 4th, 1923
In the summer they were sixteen, Dazai and Chuuya tore up New York City.
They quickly became regulars in several popular spots dotted across Manhattan to Brooklyn, being dubbed “Double Black” by the staff at the speakeasies from the way they, without fail, got blackout drunk by the end of the night six days out of seven. Sundays were their decided ‘day off’ spent in rest and relaxation sprawled out on Dazai’s bed mumbling complaints of pain into the satin pillowcases and only getting up well past noon when their growling stomachs could no longer be ignored in favour of dozing in the morning sun.
The trained habit of waking up at the crack of dawn was not something his body seemed to easily forget, so Dazai was almost always awake well before Chuuya no matter how exhausted he was. In those moments between dream and reality, when his eyes were still heavy with sleep and a raging hangover, Dazai watched the boy slumbering beside him, barely breathing for fear of waking and breaking the spell stillness placed over Chuuya, who was always, always, moving. Those minutes spent tracing over light eyelashes fanned over freckled cheeks tanned from summer sun and down over slightly chapped dusty-red lips with his eyes, Dazai would find an inexplicable sense of warmth spread thick through his chest like coils of barbed wire digging into his heart and holding him so tightly he felt as though he were gasping for air.
Then Chuuya’s eyelids would quiver and he’d stir, clear blue meeting dark brown across a few inches of space and he’d croak out, “The hell are you staring at me for?” and Dazai’s mouth would split into a grin and their day would begin with one of them inevitably being kicked off the bed.
After his birthday night spent getting drunk for the first time at some Fitzgerald guy’s mansion on Randall’s island and then accidentally getting on the wrong train to the South Bronx before finally managing to get back to Flawless at five in the morning, Chuuya had basically moved into Dazai’s room, saying that it had been his room before Dazai had come, anyway. He’d teased Chuuya, holding a hand over his heart and wistfully going on about how much Chuuya must adore him to be willing to sleep in the same bed as him. Chuuya had cursed him with words that could’ve curdled milk but he didn’t leave, so now the wardrobe held his clothes packed haphazardly into the two bottom drawers and Dazai got to wake up every morning to breathe in the smell of honeyed tobacco and clay that he’d grown to recognize as solely Chuuya’s.
Oda had been fine with his exploits in the city, even encouraging him to squeeze as much fun out of Manhattan as possible during summer when spirits ran high and entertainment could be found in every nook and cranny. He didn’t necessarily encourage the drinking the two were doing, but he didn’t stop them from leaving every night either with only each other or a couple other residents at Flawless. His only two rules were extremely easy to abide by, and Dazai followed them without complaint.
One, anyone living under Flawless’ roof or were employed by Oda had to sober up and be on time to every rehearsal. Work days ran from around noon to seven-eight at night, with lunch and snacks being provided by either Zora or the Tanizaki siblings, Monday through Saturday.
Two, no hospitals. With well over a dozen illegal immigrants living or working at Flawless, not to mention runaways and orphans, Oda had a hard enough time keeping law enforcement from sniffing around the theater that he made it very clear that if anyone got hurt, that was on them.
It seemed harsh at first, but Dazai quickly grew to understand that this was Oda’s way of telling people to be careful and take care of their lives, as well as serving to protect the undocumented that would get arrested if anyone ever tried to do a background check.
Besides, hospitals were a risky place for anyone who wasn’t a rich white man at the time, and everyone knew it.
“Dazai, come help me with this!” Chuuya yelled across the apartment. It was a sweltering hot independence day and even hidden inside away from the sun sweat dripped down Dazai’s forehead uncomfortably, yet the streets were filled with people celebrating despite the unforgiving heat. Everyone at Flawless had been given the afternoon off from rehearsals to join in on the festivities, and Chuuya had decided it would be a great idea to round up all the kids to hang up decorations for the party Oda was holding that night. This proved to be a much harder task than he’d anticipated, but he’d managed to wrangle all the kids into behaving after threatening to never share his candy with them again. As Dazai sauntered into the drawing room he had to duck under a low-hanging streamer taped haphazardly across the doorframe, dodging to the side when Kyouka almost crashed right into him on her way out.
“Oh hello! Chuuya’s on the roof!” Kyouka informed him shyly. Someone, likely Kouyou, had done her hair in sweeping waves that tumbled down her back, with her bangs pinned away from her face by two white flower clips. She wore a darling cherry-red dress that was a little bit too big- the neckline kept dipping to expose her collarbones. Dazai guessed Elise had lent it to her for the day, as she was the only other girl in the theater that had clothes anywhere near Kyouka’s size. He thanked her and she beamed at him, then went scurrying away to the kitchen, where he had seen Zora and Hirotsu cooking up a storm, and moments later he heard Zora’s voice greeting Kyouka. A fast jazz song blasted from the gramophone, filling the apartment with music.
The windows in the drawing room were open wide in an attempt to circulate a breeze, and he could smell gunpowder mixed with summer sweetness from people setting off fireworks along the riverbanks. It had gotten too hot to justify thick layers, so Dazai had taken to stealing some of Chuuya’s thinner, more revealing clothing that was far less stuffy than his gentleman suits.
Chuuya had bowled over laughing when he first saw Dazai in his blue button up shirt complete with rolled up sleeves and suspenders, calling him a fish out of water from the way he stood awkwardly adjusting the buttons at his collar. Chuuya had hopped forward and slapped a newsboy cap onto Dazai’s head, grinning all the while.
“Now you look like a real worker! A rich kid gone rogue! A prude turned pro-” He’d been cut off by Dazai’s hand slapping over his mouth and they’d fallen back onto the bed as he struggled to get out another insult. Eventually Chuuya had thrown Dazai off, complaining that it was too humid to be fighting, and they’d snuck into the kitchen to get a bucket of ice to rub over themselves. Zora just about had a conniption when she’d found out the next morning and she’d thrown them out to suffer in the back garden as punishment. Dazai’s back still ached from the hours spent hunched pruning, but he had managed to harvest more zucchini than Chuuya, which Zora then fried with leftover pancake batter for dinner.
He stuck his head out the window, arms folded across the sill, and smiled when he spotted Chuuya tying an American flag to the laundry post with the clotheswire. The sun was directly above him and showered him in golden light, lighting his hair on fire in a halo-like effect. Not for the first time Dazai thought about how entirely unfair it was to the rest of the world that no one would ever be as effortlessly beautiful as the boy in front of him, dirty from work and shirt sticking to his back with sweat. How anyone could pay attention to someone else when Chuuya was in the room, he had no idea.
If everyone else in the world was silver, then Chuuya was diamond.
“Y’know if you fell from this height, you’d probably die.” Dazai called out. Chuuya rolled his eyes as he finished the final knot and jumped down, sliding off the edge of the roof and swinging onto the windowsill in one smooth movement. He sat down next to Dazai’s arms, rubbing the sweat from his face and neck with his sleeve. Reaching into his back pocket, Dazai watched with interest as Chuuya pulled out a small, black velvet ring box and tossed it underhand to him, smiling softly.
“Here, I got you something.” If Dazai didn’t know any better he’d think Chuuya’s tone was almost nervous, his eyes focused on picking at the skin around his cuticles. Dazai caught the box before it hit the ground and shook it a little, trying to guess what might be inside. It was heavy for something so compact, and didn’t make any noise as he rattled it. It was likely a metal object of some sort that was surrounded by padding, strong enough that Chuuya trusted it to not break after being stuffed into his pockets. A ring, maybe?
“Are you proposing to me?” Dazai murmured teasingly, undoing the latch on the front holding it closed.
“What the- like I’d ever marry you. ” Chuuya retorted, knocking his shoulder against Dazai’s. “Just, open it.”
He glanced up at Chuuya with a mock hurt expression before removing the lid and revealing the inside of the box. He blinked in surprise at the brass, compass-shaped lighter half sunken into the velvet cushioning. It was a weathered old thing, with a tiny dent in the side and a few scrapes over the top that flashed when they caught the light.
“A lighter?” He picked it up and ran his finger over the flint wheel to light it.
Chuuya jerked his chin up in a nod. “You don’t have one and you’re always fucking taking mine whenever you wanna light a cig, n’ I saw this one at some old pawnshop so I got it for you.” He swung his legs childishly as he spoke, tucking his hair behind his ear and avoiding looking at Dazai. “It was real cheap, so don’t get any weird ideas about it, okay?”
Dazai’s eyes were the colour of liquid caramel as he leaned close to Chuuya’s face, a lopsided grin turning the corners of his mouth up. “You’re so considerate, could it be that you really do care for me?”
“The hell? Quit saying things like that, it’s weird.” Chuuya yelped.
“You’re not denying it!” Dazai held tight to the lighter and dropped the box as he teetered away from Chuuya’s fist.
“Hey! Are you two gonna finish with the decorations or not? Odasaku’ll be back in under an hour, so chop chop!” Zora stuck her head into the drawing room, brandishing her wooden spatula like a staff, effectively cutting off the boy’s argument. Flour was dusted over her hands and nose, with a smear of what appeared to be strawberry jam on her cheek, but her disheveled appearance did nothing to soften her stern words.
“Sorry Zora,” They chorused in sync, not sounding the least bit sorry. She huffed and gestured for them to get on with it before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“C’mon, let’s make sure Elise hasn’t stabbed the twins with a pinwheel.” Chuuya sighed, rolling his shoulders as he stood and walked past Dazai to the door. Dazai smiled at his back, pocketing the lighter.
He caught up with Chuuya and slung his arms over his shoulders, resting his weight on Chuuya’s back and pressing his nose into his hair. He smelled like salt and baking clay, and the tangled red curls were warm from the sun.
“Get off me, shithead! I can’t walk with you hanging onto me,” Chuuya elbowed his sides but he just tightened his grip, dragging his feet along the floor.
“Thanks, Chuuya, for the lighter,” Dazai whispered into his ear, so quiet he didn’t know if Chuuya had heard him or not until he felt his back tense. Smiling, his hand itched upward to snatch Chuuya’s hat and he shoved the dancer backward as he finished, “...and this tacky hat.” He grinned wide at Chuuya’s bewildered expression that immediately dropped into one of pure rage when he registered what Dazai had done.
“ Dazai!”
-
Broadway was packed to the brim with people coming and going, and Dazai had to stick close to Chuuya’s side to not be separated as they made their way through the crowds.
“Where are you taking me?” He practically shouted over the noise. All around them people were dashing in and out of theaters and casinos and speakeasies, all dressed up in red white and blue for the holiday.
“Shut up and follow me!” Chuuya said over his shoulder, pushing past a middle aged couple and hurrying down the street to the intersection that turned onto Myrtle Avenue.
Dazai shook his head but followed obediently. The further they got from Flawless the more people swarmed in the streets, and Dazai had to be careful to not bump into anyone as he weaved through the crowds. A woman shrieked in delight as she was thrown over the shoulder of a rich-looking man and carried to where a car sat idly at the curbside. Dazai pointed it out to Chuuya, who grinned at him.
“That’s Margaret Mitchell, she’s got a dozen men after her! ‘Don’t recognize that one, though.” He laughed. “Poor schmuck, she’ll never settle down. When her fiancé never returned from the war she was all broken up about it at first but now she’s doing this. Couldn’t tell ya if this is better than her moping, though.” Chuuya spoke casually as if recounting an interesting story he’d seen in the newspaper rather than the life story of someone he clearly knew on a somewhat personal level. Dazai glanced back at the woman, scrutinizing her, trying to find anything about her that might ever catch his eye for long enough he might talk to her, but he found nothing. She was of average height and weight, with dark strawberry blonde hair cut short in a bob that curled neatly around her ears. From what he could make out of her face as she was tossed into the car and his view was decisively cut off, she was pretty, but in a plain, mature way that Dazai had never been particularly fond of after growing up around pinch faced old women constantly telling him what to do. There wasn’t anything about her that particularly stood out, and Dazai could count a dozen women on the sidewalks who looked nearly identical to her.
That was the thing about Broadway. You could stick people under those brilliant lights and they just disappeared, blending in with everyone else. But some people, people like Chuuya, you put them under those lights and they glowed. Dazai would never, could never, notice Margaret Mitchell in the way he could notice Chuuya.
“I don’t see anything special about her.” He said out loud, turning away from the car and focusing back on Chuuya, who just shrugged in response.
“Who cares about special when she’s got loads of dough and no underwear?” The smile Chuuya gave him was full of teeth as a firework bloomed in the sky over his head, casting rays of red over his face and neck. “Hurry up, I didn’t buy you a lighter for nothing.” He pulled on Dazai’s wrist, dragging him into a sprint through Manhattan until they reached a silent neighborhood along the Hudson.
Dazai looked around, confused. “What are we-”
“Shh.” Chuuya pressed a hand over his mouth to shush him, eyes twinkling. “Just follow me.” It wasn’t yet midnight, but the area was a residential block that had flower pots outside the doors and white picket fences. Dazai had no idea what Chuuya was thinking as he pulled him onto a pier that stretched into the river like a finger pointing at the opposite shore. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the wooden beams of the pier was the only other sound other than their hurried footsteps as they ran side by side to the end, where a barrel sat waiting. Chuuya pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and it clicked in Dazai’s head what he’d been bought here for.
“Holy shit, where’d you get those?” Dazai breathed as Chuuya got the top of the barrel open and pulled out three green fireworks. He held them up proudly, smiling so big Dazai could see his gums.
“Ane-san got ‘em for me.” He started setting up the fireworks, being careful to point them away from the civilian houses. “She’s got me working hours at Golden Demon for the next month, but, well, I thought you’d like it.” Chuuya’s gaze was focused on holding the bottom of the fireworks but Dazai saw the tips of his ears turn red as he spoke. He leaned down over Chuuya and rested his elbows on his head, inspecting the fireworks. Chuuya hissed a curse and shook him off, running a hand through his mussed hair.
“Get your lighter,” he said, voice just above a whisper. Dazai didn’t see the point in being quiet when they were going to be setting off rockets in a few seconds, but an immature part of him found the sneaky atmosphere almost thrilling as he pulled out the lighter from his back pocket and shuffled over so his side was pressed into Chuuya’s.
“Light here?” Dazai asked, clicking the lighter on. Chuuya nodded and held his breath as Dazai lit the first firework and jerked back to avoid getting hit as it blasted off the docks and into the sky, booming into sparkling beams of bright emerald. He heard Chuuya whooping with laughter and pushing him to set off the other two, then hauling him back by the fabric of his shirt so he wouldn't get burned as the other two fireworks shot up and exploded in twin bursts of yellow. It was so loud Dazai had to clap his hands over his ears, squinting as the sudden brightness nearly blinded him.
“Hey! What’re you two kids doing here?” A gruff voice yelled from the banks, and they whipped around to see a fisherman charging toward them holding a lantern and baseball bat.
“Time to go!” Chuuya yelped, taking Dazai’s hand and sprinting down the pier, skidding chaotically when his foot caught a wet spot before regaining his balance and shouting at Dazai to “Go, go, go!” The fisherman tried to block their path at the end of the dock, his chest heaving up and down as he reached a grubby hand to try and snatch one of them by their shirts. Chuuya yelped and pushed Dazai to the side, laughing as the fisherman went stumbling.
“Lost ya balance there?” Chuuya teased, darting forward to trip the fisherman and dancing back to grab Dazai’s hand. As their fingers intertwined Dazai felt his own softer palms scrape against Chuuya’s calloused hands, hot to the touch and slimmer than Dazai’s.
“Get back here ya little gits!” The fisherman bellowed.
Chuuya was already moving, and Dazai tripped over his own feet as he fought to keep up as they bounded away from the fisherman.
They raced through the night until Dazai’s lungs burned and his heart was a thundering staccato in his ears, breath coming short and fast. He’d grown stronger in the past month at Flawless, but that was nothing compared to the years of work that had carved itself into Chuuya’s muscles and made it seem like he never ran out of stamina.
“You’re..like…a…dog,” Dazai wheezed out as they turned another corner and stumbled onto Lewis Avenue, just three blocks away from Broadway.
“Aw, poor baby, you need me to carry you?” Chuuya panted.
“How do you manage to have so much energy…in someone so small,” Dazai yelped when Chuuya’s hand tightened around his like a vise.
“You never did any fancy sports at whatever school mummy shipped you off to?” He asked. They slowed to a quick walk as the streets started to hold more people, and Dazai took deep breaths to slow his heartrate before he answered.
“I never was much interested in team activities.” More like the idea of hurling his body into other boys his age with the only goal being to get a muddy, ratted ball through a goal was both so disgusting and unappealing that he’d hidden in the school’s boiler room every recruitment day and paid off the matron so he didn’t have to participate, but Chuuya didn’t need to know all that.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and just shook his head. They were a block away from Broadway at that point and Dazai could hear all different jazz songs coming from the buildings around them, music leaking out through the open windows.
“D’you wanna go back to Flawless?” Chuuya pulled his hand away from Dazai’s to tie his hair up with a leather strip he kept in his pocket. The day’s heat hadn’t cooled come night, and both of them were sweating profusely through their thin shirts from overexertion. Dazai felt particularly sticky where his bandages were wrapped tight around his arms, trapping the heat in like insulation, making him feel uncomfortably mucky. He knew Chuuya would return to Flawless with him if he said he wanted to go back, but as he gazed at Chuuya’s steady stare he felt the discomfort of his body fade into the background.
“Is Golden Demon open tonight?”
-
The grand manor-turned-speakeasy was choked with bodies that writhed and squirmed and pushed and clung onto one another in a roiling mass of flesh and fabric and free alcohol. Kouyou had bought the place after her ex-husband passed away, leaving her with a couple hundred thousand dollars and time to kill. From what Dazai had gleaned over the past month Kouyou had secured her assets before anyone could try and take her money away once she’d been widowed, renovating Golden Demon to bring in more dough and controlling parts of the stock market through her husband’s old connections and bonds. It explained why she was able to provide for Flawless’ costumes and was always well dressed and well spoken, but Dazai suspected she hadn’t been born into money.
“I’m gonna say hello to Ane-san , I’ll be right back!” Chuuya said as he pressed two freezing drinks into Dazai’s hands. Perspiration ran down the sides of the glasses, dripping down Dazai's wrist onto the floor.
“Be quick about it.” He took a sip from one of the cups- champagne- as Chuuya flipped him a thumbs up and disappeared into the crowd. He didn’t like being left alone at parties, and he moved to press his back against the wall off the side of the bar to observe the ongoings around him. Golden Demon was a particularly popular spot that held the attraction of flappers and men in expensive suits that hung open alike, and as he watched a man settle into a seat in the far corner, half covered by a screen, Dazai’s eyes narrowed.
Another reason Golden Demon was so popular was because it also served as a convenient meeting place for people who wished to fly under the radar. What happened in Golden Demon stayed in Golden Demon, a rule enforced by Kouyou herself, who watched the proceedings like a hawk from a balcony on the third floor with a pipe in one hand and a purse of documents in the other.
Here, anything was currency. Money, information, contracts, drugs, oil, you name it and someone sitting around one of the card tables would be selling.
It served as great entertainment as Dazai waited for Chuuya to return to him, ebony eyes taking in the packets slipped from hand to hand under the table, pens produced out of thin air to scrawl a signature on a contract, fists shaken and bills exchanged. He strained his ears to catch bits of conversation that floated by, piecing together stories about everyone in the room.
He was listening to a flapper with short black hair and a butterfly clip slyly manipulate a tipsy man into giving her his wallet when he saw Chuuya chatting with a man at one of the tables in the back, an excited grin splitting his face in half. He must have felt Dazai’s eyes on him, for he held up a finger signaling him to wait and not walk over.
Yeah, as if.
Dazai set down Chuuya’s glass on the table as he sidled up next to him, so close he could smell the scent of clay on Chuuya’s hair despite the liquor-stained air of the speakeasy.
“Hello,” he spoke low, a practiced smile planted on his face. The man Chuuya was talking to raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. He was older than Dazai, but not by much, likely only in his late teens. He had a small braid in his hair and wore a bright yellow suit, and the relaxed way he leaned against the back of the settee made Dazai instantly dislike him.
“I’ll talk to you later, alright, Albatross?” Chuuya refused to look at Dazai as he spoke. The grin he’d been wearing had fallen off, replaced by a blank expression that confused Dazai.
Albatross jerked his chin up in a nod. “Sure, kid. Are ya bringing him with ya? I only got room for three.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a leisurely puff.
Dazai’s eyes slid to stare at Chuuya, not fully understanding the conversation.
“See ya around, Albatross.” Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s hand and led him away to the hall that held private rooms, checking the knobs until he found one that was open and yanking Dazai inside and locking the door behind them.
“Who was-”
Chuuya clamped a hand over his mouth, effectively cutting off the question Dazai had been asking.
“I told you I’d be back soon.” He hissed. Dazai raised a hand to tug at Chuuya’s wrist, licking his lips as his mouth was freed.
“I got impatient.”
Chuuya elbowed him, but whatever irritation he’d had dissolved into tiredness. The room they’d come into smelled of paint, the walls a plain white and only a bed with a nightstand furnishing the inside. Kouyou must’ve been in the middle of redecorating, as a dropcloth still covered half the floor. Chuuya walked over to the bed, dropping down with a sigh and kicking off his shoes.
“Who was that guy?” Dazai asked, finishing his earlier question. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the door.
“None of yer business, that’s who.” Chuuya rasped, but his earlier excitement was returning and he raked a hand through his hair, untying it to scratch at his scalp. Dazai waited for him to continue talking, recognizing that Chuuya was itching to say something. “He’s the driver- my ride out west. Said he’ll take me n’ Yuan n’ Shirase back with him when he goes back this fall, ‘round October, soon as the cold sets in.” He picked at his nails.
For a moment, Dazai was speechless. “You’re leaving?” He’d known Chuuya wanted to leave, yearned for the dry deserts of Southern California and the big Hollywood sign, but not- not so soon.
“Not for a few months, but,” Chuuya shrugged. Dazai hadn’t realized he’d been stepping forward until he was right in front of the dancer, looking down at him with his hand half outstretched as if to touch him. Chuuya gave him a weird look, tilting his head.
“You could come with me.”
Dazai blinked. “Why would I do that?” He hadn’t meant anything by the way he said it, but he knew it was the wrong thing to say when Chuuya’s face hardened.
“Nevermind, then, stay here for all I care.” He sagged back onto the bed, closing his eyes and breathing out a deep breath.
“That’s not-” Dazai pinched the bridge of his nose, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t leave, not with Chuuya or anyone except the chauffeur that would come to collect him three years from then to return him to his mother’s house. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to leave, God only knew how much he wanted to, but he couldn’t. Chuuya knew that, after all Dazai had told him in those dark hours of night when they were alone in his room half drunk and slipping into unconsciousness.
Sitting down on the bed next to Chuuya’s legs, Dazai scrutinized the dancer for a long moment before speaking. “Hat Rack.” No response. “Shorty.” A twitch of his lips. “Chuuya Chuuya Chuuya Chuuya Chuuya Chuuya-”
“Shut up!” Chuuya laughed, shooting up, cerulean eyes wide and glittering. He never could stay mad at Dazai for long, and both of them knew it. He was shit at holding grudges and as much as he might tell Dazai to piss off every day they always ended up back in his bed, murmuring stories back and forth until one of them dropped off.
“Listen to me,” Dazai said. They were just inches away from each other, close enough he could read the most miniscule change in Chuuya’s features as he went on. “If I could go, I would.” The but I can’t was left unspoken, but Chuuya understood.
“Okay, I hear ya.” The dancer replied. That’s how Dazai knew they were good, at least for the time being.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, now move over, I’m exhausted.” Dazai had already untied his shoelaces and was clambering under the crisp sheets that had never been slept in before, plucking Chuuya’s pillow to shove under his own head as he settled in.
“Oda’s not gonna like it if we come back tomorrow morning.” Even as he spoke he yawned, kicking Dazai’s gangling leg away from him and pushing his head off the pillow.
“Mmm, too bad, I’m already asleep.” Dazai replied softly.
Chuuya’s answering laugh rolled over him like a gentle wave. “Night, D’zai.”
While the redhead slept soundly next to him, Dazai came up with a plan.
There was no way Chuuya was leaving New York City, not if Dazai had anything to do about it.