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Dazai wouldn’t call himself an honest man – lying used to be half his job, and now that he’s out of the Mafia it feels like lying is half his life. He doesn’t want to be dishonest. In fact, Dazai is almost jealous of people who can be so candid with others – Atsushi, for example. Atsushi couldn’t even tell a lie convincing enough to fool the most naïve child, and Dazai doubts Atsushi has even tried. Dazai wishes he could tell people what he was thinking or feeling without sending it through layers and layers of deliberation, but such frankness is no longer in his nature. He lost the right to be so outwardly truthful the moment he’d first killed someone with his own two hands.
Dazai flexes his fingers. He doesn’t have to think too hard to feel the soft swell of a windpipe being crushed under his palms. Dazai’s hands are going numb from where they’re tied to the arms of the chair. He’s been in this situation enough times to feel almost calmed by it – there is always a kind of linearity to kidnappings that Dazai finds more soothing than hair-raising at this point in his life.
The room he’s in is gray, unfurnished, windowless – all typical qualities of a room holding a hostage. The chair he’s bound to is bolted to the ground and centered in the room, facing the door. It’s all so drab and trite – Dazai is quickly reaching a level of boredom that would kill weaker men (not that Ranpo is weaker, per se, but Dazai is totally thinking of Ranpo in that moment).
The door bangs open. “Finally,” Dazai gripes, “I thought you were just going to leave me here to waste away.”
The two – a man and a woman – glance at each other, thrown by Dazai’s demeanor. The woman, taller by a few inches thanks to her deadly looking heels, shakes off the discomfort first, and reaches for something in her coat pocket. A syringe.
Dazai frowns. It can’t be some lethal injection – if they wanted him dead without any information, they could have just as easily sent a sniper to eliminate him from the agency’s office or his apartment. They wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths to catch him and get him to this point if his corpse was all they wanted.
The woman taps the syringe with her fingernail. Bubbles rise through the clear solution. “Unwrap his bandages up to the elbow. I want a clear shot – this is our only chance.”
The man nods, face serious, and carries out the order, first untying Dazai’s right wrist. Dazai stares coldly at the woman as the man unravels his bandages. The air is cool against his newly exposed skin, and Dazai feels his hair stand on end – this is new, this is dangerous. Dazai can feel it. The woman comes by his side and gives him a lopsided, manic little grin. “It’ll be just a pinch.”
Dazai’s nose twitches at the insertion of the needle and the subsequent feeling of the injection. He grits his teeth, stares forward.
The man reties Dazai’s hand to the arm of the chair. “How long until it takes effect?”
The woman removes her coat and folds it over her arm. “Not long. A minute at most.”
A pause. Dazai feels the same – they could’ve given him a flu shot or some other equally innocuous nonsense. But that was being optimistic.
The woman sighs. “It should be long enough, now,” she looks at Dazai, “what do you know about Yumeno Kyusaku?”
Dazai answers without pause. He spills everything – absolutely everything – he knows about Kyu: his likes, dislikes, location, ability, appearance. He details the limitations of Kyu’s ability, its most recent use by the Guild. He recounts small anecdotes from his and Kyu’s time together with Mori. He talks about all the little awful things he’s done and said to Kyu. Nothing remains unsaid.
Dazai settles back into the chair like he’s told the date when he’s done – until he realizes what he’s said. His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to negate his words, but he can’t. There’s nothing he said that wasn’t true, and his kidnappers know it.
The woman smiles, satisfied. “Thank you, Dazai-san. That will be all.”
+
They leave Dazai in the room without fanfare, and Kunikida and Atsushi appear soon enough to rescue him. If only they’d come earlier.
While Atsushi cuts Dazai’s bonds with tiger claws, Kunikida asks, “What happened?”
“They injected me with something. They asked about Kyu,” Dazai’s voice is distant, almost soft, “and I told them everything without hesitation.”
“Are you all right?” Atsushi asks.
“No. I’m tired, hungry, and cold, but I just want to sleep. I trust myself even less now and I feel like I deserve every punishment that Mori ever gave to me for being such a stupid, naïve fool.”
Atsushi sucks in a breath and Kunikida frowns.
“What do you think they injected you with?” Kunikida asks.
“I don’t know. I think it must’ve been some truth serum, if such a thing exists. I haven’t been able to refuse any question asked of me, or answer any question dishonestly.” Dazai sighs. He can’t tell where the serum’s effects end and his answer begins.
“Are you sure? It seems like they only asked you one question.” Atsushi says. Dazai gets to his feet and rubs at his wrists.
“I’m sure.”
“At any rate we should get you back to the agency,” Kunikida makes a note in his notebook, “maybe Yosano knows something, or the President.”
+
“Well, it’s rare. And very, very expensive.” It’s half past midnight and Dazai is nearly asleep on his favorite sofa at the agency when Yosano comes back from analyzing his blood sample. “How much did they say they injected you with?”
Dazai holds up his right hand, spreading his thumb and forefinger to the approximate length of the syringe. Yosano purses her lips. “That’s almost three times the standard dose.”
“Is there an antidote?” Kunikida asks. He leans against his desk nearby.
Yosano sighs. “Not one that I know of, besides time.”
“How long will it take?” Dazai asks. He presses his thumb into the point where he had been injected, squeezes. It doesn’t hurt but the sensation is grounding.
“At that dosage? It could take up to a week, maybe longer, to get out of your system.”
“Can you make an antidote?”
Yosano grimaces apologetically. “I could try from your blood sample, but I think that would take longer than just letting it run through you. I’m sorry, Dazai.”
Dazai doesn’t reply. “We have to tell Mori that they’re coming for Kyu.”
“We’re trying, but the President says Mori is out of the country right now negotiating with an organization in Europe. We won’t be able to get ahold of him for another day, at least.” Kunikida says, “And that’s if we’re lucky.”
Dazai sighs, agitated. “Who knows what they could do by then.”
“Is there anyone else you could get in touch with?” Yosano asks, “Someone you can trust, at least a little, in your condition?”
“Yes.” Dazai grits his teeth, hard.
Kunikida looks up expectantly. “Will you? Today?”
“I could but I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
Dazai rubs his hands over his face. “Because I have a very complicated relationship with him and I don’t trust my own mouth around him even when I’m not drugged on truth serum. Please stop asking me direct questions.”
Kunikida winces. “Right. Sorry.” He pauses. “But… for the sake of this situation…”
“I know,” Dazai says, “I know.”
There’s a long pause. Dazai sighs deeply and reaches for his phone. He doesn’t go to his contacts because he deleted the number years ago, but no matter how long it’s been, he’ll always know it by heart. The Mafia has its executives change numbers often, but there is always one line that stays permanently with each member, in case of emergencies and, unfortunately, situations like this one.
“What the hell do you want?” Chuuya sounds like he just woke up. Dazai is annoyed at a) the fact that Chuuya was sleeping while he, after his day, is still awake and b) that Chuuya asked him a question that he now has to answer.
“I want to see you,” Dazai grimaces at himself and rubs his eyes, “…because I have some very important information to report regarding Kyu.”
Dazai hears cloth shifting over the line. “Kyu? What about him?”
“Everything.”
A pause. “Ah, shit. What the hell do you mean, ‘everything’?”
“I told an organization everything. His location. His ability. What he looks like. What—”
“You’re kidding me, Dazai. What the hell is the matter with you?!”
Chuuya’s voice as risen an octave and Dazai would laugh if Chuuya hadn’t just asked him a question. “Well, you know most everything wrong with me, but as of right now I’ve been drugged with a potent amount of truth serum.”
“A truth serum?”
“Yes.”
Chuuya sighs. “Okay. Fuck. The boss is out of the country right now so I guess he’d be with Kouyou-nee-san. I’ll head over there and let her know.”
Dazai lets himself breathe a little easier. Kouyou’s security on high alert was nothing to laugh at. “Okay. Thanks.”
“I’ll call you back if needed. Bye.”
The line clicks.
+
Dazai lays on his futon, exhausted, but can’t sleep.
Logically, he knows that Kyu is under lockdown and therefore some unheard of criminal organization shouldn’t be able to get to him. Not while he’s under Kouyou’s watch.
But, then again, this unheard of criminal organization was able to get ahold of a large amount of an apparently very rare and very costly drug, so maybe they weren’t to be underestimated.
Fuck.
Dazai sits up. His comforter is twisted uncomfortably around his waist, so he throws it off. Dazai touches his right wrist, which he has rewrapped in bandages since the injection, and tugs at the knot holding them tight against his skin, pulls until his entire arm is exposed.
Dazai has dozens of scars – maybe hundreds on his whole body – some self-inflicted, others from Mori, others from battles, skirmishes, arguments, kidnappings. He runs his thumb over the patch of ridged skin just before the crook of his elbow; there are so many parallel scars there that the skin almost looks uniformly raised under the moonlight. He listens, briefly, to the sound of his breathing, which is even, and the beat of his heart, which is normal. He feels calm when he stands up. He feels calm as he walks to the bathroom. He feels calm as he picks up his razor.
Dazai traces the sharp side of the blade against his scarred skin. The calm he felt has turned more rigid, cold – if his thoughts shift, his calm will be shattered.
A knock sounds at his door.
Dazai frowns and puts his razor away, and quickly, but messily, redoes his bandages. He knows exactly who it is before he even opens the door.
“Can I come in?” Chuuya asks. He pulls off his gloves and stuffs them into his coat pocket.
“No.”
Chuuya grins, wolfish. “Aw, now you sound like me.” He steps over the threshold anyway. The redhead takes one look at Dazai’s mussed up comforter and turns back to him, “Having a rough night?”
“Yes, I’ve been injected with copious amounts of a truth serum and now you’re here, to add insult to injury.”
“I’m hurt,” Chuuya takes off his coat and hangs it on the hook by the door, next to Dazai’s trench coat. Dazai wants to object but finds he can’t even do that. He isn’t sure if that’s the serum acting, or just himself. “You can’t blame me for coming. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“Is Kyu taken care of?”
“Yeah. Kouyou’s on it. If those thugs thought that they’d get anything out of this, they were dead wrong.”
Dazai doesn’t reply, just goes to sit at the table in the kitchen. Chuuya follows and sits opposite him.
“You know, I feel like you at least owe me this for leaving me in the middle of the forest after I used Corruption.” Dazai just shrugs. “And, you mentioned you wanted to see me. How could I deny a little request like that?”
When Dazai doesn’t answer again, Chuuya frowns. “Are you all right, man? Seriously, this isn’t like you.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, do you wanna tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Dazai groans internally. That question will be the death of him, tonight. “Because you already know.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.”
Chuuya looks at Dazai’s right wrist where it lays on the table. The bandages are coming undone. “Why’d you leave the Mafia, Dazai?”
“Because I had to.”
“Why’d you have to?”
“A friend told me to,” Dazai says. “It was his last wish.”
“When was the last time you took an order that easily?”
“Probably then,” Dazai admits, and it’s true – he might take orders from the President, but not like that last wish from Odasaku.
“And they’re dead.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. “They were that important to you?”
Dazai swallows. He doesn’t think he’s ever acknowledged the fact aloud before. “Yeah, he was.”
“I always thought you left because of me.”
“Why would I leave because of you?”
“Well… I don’t know. I just thought it was my fault. And… I mean, you bombed by car so I kinda assumed you were pissed at me.”
Funny – Chuuya doesn’t even need a serum to admit this. For a second Dazai lets himself admire Chuuya’s honesty. “No, I wasn’t mad at you I… thought that doing that would take your mind off of me leaving, but… I guess that plan backfired.”
Chuuya huffs but doesn’t say any more. Dazai lets the silence stretch between them.
“Chuuya,”
“Hm?”
“What did you really want to ask me?”
Chuuya looks back at Dazai from letting his eyes wander. “Did you miss me, when you left?”
“Yes. But that’s still not what you want to ask, is it?”
“You sure didn’t act like it,” Chuuya mumbles.
“You would’ve skinned me if I came back. If I texted you. If I’d called.”
“Maybe ‘cause you blew up my car.”
“More likely because I was a traitor,” Dazai smiles sadly, “your loyalty will do that.”
Silence swallows them again. Dazai can see the cogs in Chuuya’s head turning, and unlike the feel of his razor against his skin, it makes Dazai’s heart race with nerves, adrenaline. “When did you stop seeing me as a traitor, Chuuya?”
“I didn’t. Or… I don’t know. You’re my ex-partner. And a traitor, I guess. But it’s hard for me to think of you as both. Because… because Dazai my ex-partner is different than Dazai the traitor.”
Your loyalty will do that, Dazai thinks. “I am different now.”
“No. Well.” Chuuya takes off his hat and puts in on the table. Dazai tracks the movement with his eyes. The gesture means lots of different things with Chuuya – and Dazai can’t pinpoint what, exactly, it means right now. “You’re still an asshole. But you seem… happier, I think. Lighter.”
Dazai gives a weak smile.
“Dazai,” Chuuya says suddenly. He picks up his hat and holds it against his chest. “Did you… did you care about me? At all?”
“Yes,” Dazai leans over the table a bit, “Chuuya—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? Why’d you leave me in the forest, after Lovecraft?”
Dazai takes a sharp breath. He can feel his answer bubbling in the back of his throat like bile. “Because, Chuuya. I love you.” Chuuya freezes. “And it was easier to piss you off and act angry with you, or seem like I hated you, than to have to explain anything to your face.”
Chuuya just sits, absolutely still, blinking at him.
Dazai’s heart aches. He wishes he didn’t admit anything at all, just to have this silence disappear.
“You…” Chuuya finally mumbles, “I… I thought…”
“What?” Dazai prompts,
“I thought you couldn’t – or didn’t – feel that way about anyone.”
Dazai laughs, “I didn’t think I could either. Until I was leaving the Mafia, and you.”
Dazai feels his heart fall still when Chuuya doesn’t answer. It’s odd, seeing Chuuya so… frozen. Chuuya was always a being of motion – always moving, always fidgeting, talking, something. Dazai would give an arm and a leg just to have Chuuya say something. Anything. But he respects Chuuya’s silence.
Chuuya’s jaw clenches. “Don’t you want to say something else, you shitty bastard?”
“I’ve said enough, don’t you think?”
A pause. “Stand up, asshole.”
Dazai blinks, surprised. The epithet is muttered softly, especially for Chuuya. And Dazai can’t refuse something like that.
Dazai stands and Chuuya does too. They gravitate towards each other, come together until they’re barely a hand’s length apart. Chuuya glances up at Dazai once, but then turns his head away, faces the table. “When you left I thought I’d read you wrong, all those years. I mean, when you were still around I at least put some stock into thinking that your whole… thing… was just an act for Mori.”
“It was.”
“And I know that now,” Chuuya looks up at Dazai. His eyes are glinting. He’s pissed. “But I didn’t know that four years ago. I actually hated you, Dazai. For four years. I thought you’d really tricked me. For all the years we knew each other, I thought you were faking. The whole time.”
“So you don’t hate me now?”
Chuuya delivers a punch to Dazai’s sternum powerful enough to knock the wind clean out of his chest. But Dazai doesn’t even budge. “I don’t hate you, but I don’t love you either, Dazai.” Chuuya lets out a trembling sigh, “How could you just leave me? Your partner? Your friend?”
Chuuya’s voice is shaking and Dazai freezes.
“Mori made me feel so worthless, after you left,” Chuuya murmurs, “I was nothing without you because I was nothing without Corruption. The best I could do was work my ass off in training and on strategies. Somehow – somehow, I got promoted. I don’t know how, Dazai. I know I’m strong enough but I still feel as worthless as he made me think I was.”
Dazai reaches for Chuuya’s hand. Their fingertips barely touch before Chuuya rips his hand away.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” He snaps. His eyes glaze over, and he repeats, softer this time, “Don’t you dare.”
Chuuya turns away and picks up his hat.
“Chuuya, wait—”
Chuuya snarls, and his ability activates in a vicious haze. He throws Dazai back into the countertop.
Dazai groans, focuses on Chuuya’s face as soon as the pain subsides, and finds the other man’s eyes wet. Chuuya licks his lips. “I liked it better when you were lying to me.”