Work Text:
Chuuya picked up a dark, wine red tie from his drawer. A fancy dinner--this would have to do. He wanted to impress the others, and his normal clothes wouldn’t be enough.
Two hands came from behind and plucked the tie from his grasp, looping it around his neck and tying a knot, drawing it tight like a noose.
“Dazai,” Chuuya sighed.
Dazai laughed in his ear, loosened the tie and began attempting to do it properly. Chuuya grabbed his hands.
“You can’t tie a tie backwards,” he pointed out.
“Huh. You’re right.”
Chuuya turned and Dazai yanked the tie and by extension Chuuya close to him, meeting Chuuya with a kiss.
Chuuya cupped Dazai’s cheek, at first soft. Then he slid his hand into Dazai’s hair, grasping at the roots as he deepened the kiss. Dazai bit down on Chuuya’s lip and Chuuya shuddered.
“Chuuya’s nervous,” Dazai murmured.
Chuuya pulled away, glaring up at Dazai’s grinning face. “You wish.”
“I know,” Dazai corrected. His grin became something softer and more fond, and he brushed Chuuya’s hair out of his face. “But you shouldn’t be. You’ve deserved this for a long time.”
“Some people might think I’m only there because of you,” Chuuya said. “And they’d be right.”
“Because you earned it,” Dazai insisted. “No one can match your physical skill. No one can match us, together.” He leaned forward, placing a gentler kiss on Chuuya’s lips. “Hurry up. You’ll make us late.”
“You started it, asshole,” Chuuya said, pulling back and returning his attention to his tie. Once it was properly done, he placed a navy hat atop his head, similar to his usual in style but matching his suit. When he turned around Dazai was holding the door open.
“After you,” he said.
“Your mustard tie is an insult to clothing everywhere,” Chuuya said as he breezed out the door.
Dazai fiddled with his tie the whole car ride.
*
Very few views could rival that of Yokohama’s skyline at night, as seen from above.
The glittering city lights pulled at Chuuya’s attention, practically begging him to turn his head away from what was increasingly a political conversation towards the beautiful scenery below. But he had to be good. He had to prove himself. So he kept his eyes on each of the other four executives and pretended he cared about what they were saying.
Of those executives, he only really paid attention to one. Kouyou kept an eye on him, perhaps the only person in the room more nervous about this change than Chuuya himself. Chuuya wasn’t foolish enough to think that Dazai didn’t notice the tension in the room; rather, he was choosing to ignore it in favor of showing everyone that with Chuuya around as the new fifth executive, things would go on just as they had before. Chuuya was their equal.
Chuuya didn’t doubt his own skills. He picked up his wine glass with a gloved hand and took a sip, careful not to drain the glass in one go. No, Chuuya had a lot of confidence in himself. But the way others looked at him, like he belonged to Dazai, that bothered him.
He would prove them wrong. He would show them that he wasn’t Dazai’s toy, that he wasn’t there because the two of them were fucking or because Dazai had feelings for him. He intended to be professional. He intended to be the best of them.
The meeting wound down, and then Dazai asked, “So, who wants to tell the Armed Detective Agency that the Port Mafia has had a change in structure?”
“Do we have to tell them?” Ace asked in a tone that clearly showed he thought it was a stupid idea.
“We aren’t actively fighting them,” Kouyou pointed out, “so it would be wise. After all, we would want them to extend the same courtesy to us.”
“We aren’t obligated to tell them anything,” Ace said. “I don’t know why you care about what they know.”
Chuuya had to stop himself from grinding his teeth. He put his glass down. Just as Ace opened his mouth to say something else, Chuuya interrupted with, “I’ll do it.”
Everyone looked at him incredulously except for Dazai, who nodded. “Excellent.”
Later, when they were back in Dazai’s new apartment stripping each other of their clothes in the dark, Dazai nibbled on Chuuya’s ear and whispered, “I like it when you take charge like that.”
“I just wanted Ace to shut up,” Chuuya said. “You know I’m not diplomatic in any way.”
“Shhh--we just need someone to be honest,” Dazai said, resting his chin on Chuuya’s bare shoulders, pressing their bodies together from behind. “This isn’t a negotiation, Chuuya. You’re not asking for anything. You’re merely passing on information. I’ll set up the meeting.”
“It isn’t a bad idea,” Chuuya said, trying to move against Dazai, to hint that he was done with talking. “It’s just...ugh. They annoy me.”
“It’s all for the greater good,” Dazai said. “To keep the peace. You know, Chuuya, that the Armed-”
“Fuck’s sake.” Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s arm and yanked him forward. Dazai fell face-first onto the bed and Chuuya bent over him, pinning him down.
Dazai’s pale skin glowed in the darkness, free of bandages and littered with scars. Old scars, scars that Chuuya knew Dazai didn’t want to see. But he bared them now.
Dazai’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He turned his head to the side, trying to get a look at Chuuya’s face.
“So needy, Chuuya,” he murmured.
“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Chuuya snapped.
“Oh, I do,” Dazai said. “But I want to see your face.”
“Only if I can see yours.”
Dazai flipped around. Chuuya crawled onto the bed, caging Dazai with his body, his hair brushing Dazai’s shoulders, his lips brushing Dazai’s lips.
“Chuuya,” Dazai breathed, “I-”
*
Chuuya shot up, covered in sweat. Next to him, a notecard on a pillow read “Went to do important Mafia stuff! Dinner and a date today~?”
He tossed the card aside, shivering. Sunlight brightened the entire room, but somehow Chuuya felt cold.
He took a probably too-long shower and got dressed. Dazai had texted him a time and an address. This was when and where he would meet whoever the Armed Detective Agency decided to send to receive his information.
There would probably be more than one, Chuuya thought. He had no problem going alone, but the Agency tended to send their members in two’s. Partners, like him and Dazai. More often than not, Chuuya worked alone now. There wasn’t much of a reason to bring out Soukoku, not when things were so peaceful. He kind of enjoyed that.
Dazai could just be Dazai. Not the kill switch to his out of control Ability.
It was better that way.
Everything seemed a little too bright as he walked along the waterfront. Maybe the sound of children laughing as they played in the park grated on his ears. The melody in the subway station when the train pulled away had also made his skin crawl, so maybe he hadn’t been getting enough sleep.
The Agency, as it turned out, sent Kunikida Doppo. Chuuya had a feeling someone else was hidden nearby, but he didn’t intend on doing anything rash. The elevated walkway above the waterfront parks was crowded, and people moved past in a constant stream as Chuuya leaned against the railing, mimicking Kunikida’s position.
Kunikida glanced at him and then gazed out over the water.
“The Port Mafia feels it necessary to inform you about a change in our structure,” Chuuya said after a moment. “The old boss, Mori, is dead. Dazai Osamu took his place.”
“Dazai,” Kunikida repeated. “He’s young for a Mafia Boss, isn’t he? And he’s your partner, isn’t he?”
“Huh?”
“You’re one-half of Soukoku,” Kunikida said, looking Chuuya over. “We’ve never met, but I’ve heard of you. Does this mean your partnership no longer exists?”
“It exists,” Chuuya said, “when we have a reason for it. That’s not what this is about.”
“This is part of it,” Kunikida said. “We need to know what we’re up against.”
“There should be less senseless fighting under Dazai,” Chuuya told him. His lip curled. “Less bullshit.”
Kunikida stared at him. “You weren’t a fan of your previous boss?”
“I don’t know,” Chuuya admitted. “I just know that I feel better with Dazai taking the lead. Maybe it’s not better for you guys, but I’m enjoying it.” He turned his back to the ocean, tilting his head back to look up at the buildings rising from Yokohama’s many streets. Maybe he would take a slow walk through Chinatown after this. He seemed to have more time to himself these days, and he’d never really appreciated the city.
“I just wonder,” Kunikida said, “if that’s something that Dazai really wants. He promised to be on the side that saves people.”
Chuuya’s head snapped around. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Kunikida said. “What are you talking about?”
“About Dazai.” Chuuya took a step closer, and Kunikida a step back, holding his hands up. “You said he made a promise.”
“I really didn’t,” Kunikida said. “If you’re looking to pick a fight, I suggest you do it somewhere with less civilians.”
He wasn’t looking to pick a fight, but Kunikida’s words rang in his ears. He had heard them. He had. But surrounded by people as they were, with an era of peace hanging on the line, was it really worth it to start a fight over a few words?
Chuuya took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Whatever. Now you know.” He waved his hand and walked away.
The knot of unease in his chest didn’t go away as he walked through Chinatown. The area was beautiful, a mix of interesting architecture, delicious food, and throngs of people enjoying themselves. But Chuuya couldn’t seem to enjoy it. It seemed somehow out of reach. As he walked, he couldn’t bring himself to stop and really look.
Maybe he should bring Dazai with him. The thought elicited a laugh that came out more bitter than he anticipated. Imagine the two of them walking down these crowded streets like a couple of tourists ogling at the shops like they had never been involved in killing some of the patrons.
Suddenly, he felt suffocated. He stumbled into a residential area and found an empty street. His fingers itched to hold a bottle of wine, to tip the whole thing down his throat. He hadn’t gotten drunk in a while. He leaned against the wall of an apartment building and eyed the vending machine across the street.
He didn’t remember walking home.
*
A hangover pumped poison into his head with every beat of his heart. Chuuya sat on the edge of his bed, head cradled in his hands, teeth gritted as he tried not to scream. He just had to get up, get water, get painkillers, hide the wine bottles so Dazai wouldn’t take away his stash again.
“Chuuya.” Dazai’s voice replaced the rushing sound in his head, more soothing than any painkiller. His arms wrapped around Chuuya from behind, and Chuuya felt a pressure at the back of his head as Dazai buried his face in Chuuya’s hair.
“Dazai,” Chuuya breathed.
“We should go away,” Dazai murmured. “Let’s go to the ocean, Chuuya, now that things are settled. Take some time. Just you and me, and the sea.”
“Huh?” Chuuya turned to see Dazai’s face. Dazai knelt on the bed, smiling, his eyes shining with what looked like excitement. Chuuya’s breath stuttered. He had never seen Dazai like this. “You want to…”
“I think I know a perfect place,” Dazai said. “I can pull some strings, and we can go tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Chuuya echoed. “But don’t we have stuff to do? Work?”
“Work,” Dazai laughed. “All we ever do is work, Chuuya. Our lives are work. I think we deserve some time off. I’m tired of this place.”
Chuuya stared at him.
Dazai frowned. “Do you want to?”
“I do,” Chuuya said. “I just--”
“Is Chuuya worried?” Dazai leaned forward, touching his nose to Chuuya’s and grinning. “What a workaholic Chuuya is! How loyal to the mafia cause. But you have to understand…” He shifted, pressing their foreheads together. “We belong to ourselves now.”
“You’re right,” Chuuya said. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am! So come on, let’s pack-”
Dazai started to get up, but Chuuya grabbed him and pulled him close, kissing him. Dazai smirked against Chuuya’s lips but returned the kiss all the same.
Chuuya didn’t understand why, but he didn’t want to let go.
*
The rush of the ocean sounded so much like the rush of blood in Chuuya’s head during a hangover headache.
He wanted to collapse onto the sand and claw his own eyes out, scream until his voice gave and maybe then the pain would go away and he wouldn’t feel like his head wanted to explode. Dazai brushed his hair out of his face, kneeling in front of him in the sand and asking what was wrong. Chuuya had been fine on the car ride up. He hadn’t had a drink today.
What was wrong? Dazai’s concerned face swam in front of him, half-clear like a ghost. What was wrong? His hands cupped Chuuya’s cheeks. Was that fear? Chuuya laughed because Dazai wasn’t afraid, but the laughter got caught in his throat and came out like a sob. That wasn’t what he’d meant, and now Dazai looked annoyed. And he should be. Dazai never liked his emotions. Except now he was scared again. Chuuya was holding them back. He knew Dazai wanted to leave but he wanted Dazai to stay.
“I’ll get you painkillers,” Dazai told him.
“Don’t go,” Chuuya gasped.
There. The flash of annoyance, of disgust when Chuuya’s hand grasped at his sleeves. But then the look was gone, replaced by concern, and Chuuya couldn’t say that he ever saw it at all.
That night, they sat on the porch of the beach house drinking wine and looking at the stars.
In the distance, waves crashed against the sand, the ebbing and flowing of water a static soundtrack. Dazai glanced at Chuuya.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
The sea grew louder. “Of course,” Chuuya said. “What kind of stupid question is that? Are you?”
“You know me and happiness,” Dazai sighed.
Chuuya turned to glare at him. “Give a real answer for once.”
Dazai offered him a soft smile. “Yeah. I think I’m happy.”
Chuuya felt an ache in his chest. He wanted to cry. Instead he leaned forward, intending to kiss Dazai, to share this moment with him where they were both at peace.
The ocean roared. Chuuya closed his eyes.
He opened them and looked down. Cold seawater pulled around his legs.
“Chuuya? What are you doing?”
Dazai’s voice cut through the air, laced with concern. Chuuya stared as the water dragged past his shins, sand burying his feet beneath the surface. He idly thought that he might get frostbite if he stayed, but he couldn’t feel his own skin anyway.
“Chuuya!”
Chuuya spun around and lost his balance. He plunged into the water, the iciness enveloping his entire body. The shock of it made him gasp, and he swallowed water. His feet kicked desperately, hoping to hit the bottom so he could propel himself back up, but they found nothing but more water.
Somehow, he broke the surface. Waves filled his line of sight, and beyond that the glittering shore. Dazai seemed so far away, and despite this Chuuya saw him clearly. He stood where the water met the sand, a still figure in the dark.
“Dazai!” Chuuya shouted. He tried to swim forward but the waves pushed him back. “Dazai, help!” Water flooded his mouth again and he coughed, trying to keep his head above the surface as waves slammed into him. He was too deep.
On the shoreline, Dazai turned and started to walk away.
“Dazai!” Chuuya screamed. “Dazai, please!
A wave crashed into him, throwing him underwater.
Chuuya struggled, flailing his limbs in a desperate attempt to swim. His lungs burned. His head felt like it would explode.
“Drowning is peaceful,” Dazai had told him once. “It’s just like going to sleep.”
Chuuya’s breathing reflex kicked in and he opened his mouth, water pouring into his lungs.
He felt like he was being strangled and he fought to get somewhere, anywhere close to air, but the water was dark. He couldn’t tell which way was up or down.
White spots danced in his field of vision and Chuuya closed his eyes.
“Sleep, Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice murmured in his ear.
And Chuuya passed out.
*
“Chuuya?”
Dazai!
“Chuuya.”
Dazai?
“Chuuya…”
A hand smoothed hair back from his forehead. Chuuya opened his eyes. Light burned his vision and he immediately closed them. His chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it. His entire body hurt.
He opened his eyes again, this time more slowly. He managed to focus on a pattern above him. A ceiling. He lowered his gaze, noting a wall, a bed, blue blankets. This room felt familiar.
The Port Mafia Infirmary.
He tilted his head up. Kouyou stood above him, concern clearly visible on her face.
“Where’s Dazai?” Chuuya croaked.
Kouyou frowned. “Dazai isn’t here. We need to have a talk.”
“What?” Chuuya felt the air leave his lungs. Where was Dazai?
Kouyou went on as if she hadn’t noticed his distress. “I’ve told you time and again to stop leaving your subordinates behind, or else you’re going to kill yourself, and you very nearly did this time. I understand that you don’t have a partner, Chuuya, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a team.”
“Partner?” Chuuya choked.
“There are more than enough people willing to work with you,” Kouyou said, gripping his shoulder. “This kind of reckless behavior is detrimental to both you and to the organization.”
She let go and turned to leave.
“Kouyou, wait.”
Kouyou half-turned.
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days,” Kouyou said. “You hit your head pretty badly. Boss Mori diagnosed you with a concussion. That will take the longest to heal.”
Chuuya nodded, and Kouyou left. He lay there for a moment. Concussion. Kouyou’s words sank in like the drip of IV fluid into his veins. Reckless behavior. Subordinates.
No partner.
No partner.
No--
Chuuya twisted around, pressing his face into the pillow and screaming until he choked.
*
A concussion. Several stab wounds. Burns on his right arm.
Chuuya considered the bandages covering his skin from shoulder to hand as he waited outside of Mori’s office, turning his arm over. He hadn’t worn his over coat. He smirked. He looked like Dazai, now.
The door opened, and a guard motioned him inside.
Mori sat behind his desk, a friendly smile on his face, but Chuuya knew it was a lie. Mori just wanted to make sure Chuuya was in proper working order. He didn’t know that Chuuya could picture him dead, bleeding out from a bullet wound to the head, brains splattered across his expensive carpet.
His fingers twitched.
Mori started with pleasantries. How was he feeling? Were his wounds healing? Could he remember anything about the mission? What did he feel up to?
Why did he ask for Dazai when he woke up?
Chuuya’s memory was hazy at best. He remembered Dazai leaving now. He remembered his car blowing up. The months that followed were strange and dreamlike, in the same way that this moment was strange and dreamlike. He didn’t feel like he was with Mori in this moment. He felt outside himself, distanced, and he had to work at paying attention to what Mori said.
He smiled and assured Mori that he’d just been confused. He felt fine. He could return to work soon. The painkillers were helping. He regretted his behavior. He would try to work better with his team. A report would be in Mori’s hands by Monday with as much as Chuuya could remember.
Mori nodded, seemingly satisfied, and dismissed him.
In the safety of his apartment, Chuuya searched his phone. He wasn’t supposed to look at screens. His head throbbed. But he pulled up Dazai’s number anyway, saw that the last message was from two years ago.
Meet me at the bridge.
Chuuya’s fingers moved of their own accord. He typed the same message and hit send before dropping his phone and clapping an hand over his mouth, suddenly too nauseous to move.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there shaking.
*
The missions continued, even though Chuuya’s wounds hadn’t fully healed.
Akutagawa accompanied him on the next one. Neither of them said a word about Akutagawa’s almost horrifying aggression nor about the blood seeping through Chuuya’s bandages. As they rode back in Chuuya’s new car, one he’d purchased after Dazai blew up the old one, Chuuya decided to start a conversation.
“How’s your training going?” he asked.
Akutagawa shifted in his seat. “You finished training me last year,” he said after a moment.
Chuuya’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Right.” He managed to recover himself. “I wondered if you had taken up any training on your own.”
“Experience is more important than training,” Akutagawa said.
“I see.”
They drove in silence for a few moments before Akutagawa spoke up.
“We’re not partners.”
Chuuya sucked in a breath. “What?”
“We may be assigned to work together,” Akutagawa said, “but we are not partners. I work on my own. I prefer to work alone.”
“Take it up with Mori,” Chuuya said, teeth gritted against everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.
Akutagawa slumped against the window. “I will.”
Chuuya drove towards the water, losing speed as the car crept closer to Port Mafia headquarters.
No partner.
*
“Chuuya-san looks sad.”
Chuuya blinked. Elise stared at him over her huge slice of cake. Chuuya spooned off a chunk of his own and shoved it in his mouth, forcing a smile around the sickly sweet sugar that made him want to gag.
“I’m just tired,” he said after he swallowed.
Elise didn’t look convinced. “What’s wrong?”
We could have gone to the beach, Chuuya thought. He didn’t tell her that. He only said, “Nothing, Elise-chan. Just a headache. My concussion still hasn’t healed, I don’t think.”
Reluctantly, Elise turned her attention back to her cake.
*
Chuuya woke up gasping for air and sweating from a dream where he plunged his knife into Mori’s neck.
The thick, warm arterial blood sprayed over his face, coated his hands like paint, ran like a faucet and pooled on the floor.
Chuuya tasted it in his mouth.
He drowned out the taste with wine.
*
Hungover, Chuuya woke up to a notification on his phone.
Middle span, today, 4pm.
He stumbled out of bed, ignoring the dizziness and the headache. He showered. Redid his bandages. Got dressed. He didn’t know why he wanted to look presentable. He didn’t know why he wanted to meet Dazai, who had left two years ago. Certainly not because he remembered Dazai, the new boss of the Port Mafia who valued everything about Chuuya.
Certainly not because he felt like he’d lost something.
He walked along the bridge as cars rushed past and stopped to lean against the railing once he reached the middle of the span. He turned and took in the view of Yokohama from a distance, the skyline rising like a beacon against the blue sky.
He loved that view.
One evening, when the setting sun painted the sky shades of purple and red, Chuuya had stood here watching the Yokohama skyline light up. Dazai rested his chin on Chuuya’s head and for once, Chuuya didn’t mind. Together they watched as the sky turned inky black and the city glowed, reflected in the sea.
Chuuya didn’t know if this was a memory or a dream. He didn’t want to.
He turned his back on the skyline to watch the cars rush past. He’d arrived fifteen minutes early, but now Dazai was thirty minutes late. He checked the message just to make sure he’d read it correctly. Part of him wanted to reassure himself that it existed.
It did.
Four turned into five but time passing didn’t register to Chuuya these days. A light breeze picked up, playing with the edges of Chuuya’s coat, tousling his hair, alerting him that something had changed. He took off his hat and gripped it tight.
More than once, Dazai had considered jumping off this bridge. Chuuya turned and leaned over the railing, staring down at the dark water. A wave of dizziness stole his breath, and for the first time in days he felt like he was actually in his own body.
At over 100 feet above the water, a fall would surely kill. Chuuya had looked it up after a passing comment from Dazai. He expected that one day he would arrive on the bridge too late, just in time to see Dazai fall over the edge and crash into the water.
Dazai never jumped off this particular bridge. Looking down at the water, Chuuya wondered if it was because he was scared.
He wondered if it was because the death was guaranteed.
He stepped up onto one of the railing supports, leaning dangerously forward, thinking about all the times he’d talked Dazai down, all the times he’d cleaned up the aftermath. The drowning had been a dream, and Dazai hadn’t come.
Chuuya imagined climbing over the railing, standing precariously balanced on the edge, one hand still holding on, life depending entirely on the strength of his grip.
He imagined letting go, and having a hand grab him by the wrist and pull him back, the familiar scratch of bandages irritating his skin.
His cheeks felt wet.
Chuuya stepped back down onto the pavement and ran his arm over his face.
No one was coming.
This wasn’t his dream. He was in the Port Mafia, under Mori, working without a partner because his partner had left.
He’d hoped, for a little while, to be proven wrong.
As he walked away, Chuuya deleted the message from his phone.