Chapter Text
Nakahara Chuuya. Age 25. First Division Executive.
The redhead silently observes himself in the mirror; The standardised miliatry uniform hugging his body, but not tight enough to show how petite he is. His face is scrunched in annoyance, a default expression that Ranpo often teases him about. He takes one look at his overall apperance, and eyes the plain band ring resting on his ring finger. It’s a ring that has witnessed far too many things, both spoken and unspoken, stated and implied, his best and his worst. For a moment, he sees lavender eyes in between its glimmer, but then it suddenly disappears. He shakes his head.
From the mirror, he sees a woman almost in her 30’s leaning against the doorframe. He sees her with gentle eyes and gentle smile, pink hair tied into a bun held by three golden clips with clothes the same as his. The redhead lets his face relax a little, waiting to hear his commander’s words.
“We have to go now, Chuuya.”
Nakahara Chuuya follows Kouyou Ozaki through the hallways, takes note of the seriousness in her voice despite the gentleness in her eyes. They reach the assembly hall soon. Soldiers from different divisions gather in the middle of the hall, their postures stiff and tensed. Kouyou parts ways with him, as the older woman goes straight to the elevated area where commanders Mori Ougai and Fukuzawa Fukichi stand, along with tacticians Edogawa Ranpo and Sakaguchi Ango. He goes straight to the front of the line, without exchanging greetings with his comrades.
The atmosphere among everyone in the room is tensed ─ that even their breaths are rarely heard. Mori is the one to move. He comes closer to the microphone, clearing his throat to capture everyone’s attention. When everyone’s gaze is finally settled on him, he speaks.
“There’s only three nights left before we initiate the Operation Exodus. I’m sure you all know that.” He let out a smile that sent chills to everyone’s spine. “We cannot afford to fail, the lives of your family and countrymen, even the world, lie on your shoulders.”
“...The president expects victory. This is a secret operation that will run until we fulfill our objectives. Casualties are impossible to avoid, but we should keep it to the minimum. Likewise, I want you all to spend your last days before the clash in training, saying goodbye to your loved ones. Do both. The war is no place for regrets.” Mori’s eyes move to side of the stage. “Tactician Ango, please come here to brief them once more.”
Sakaguchi Ango, their main tactician, steps near the Second Division Commander. He takes the offered microphone. “Operation Exodus will take place in Yokohama, May 3rd at 0700. Our objective is to take the terrorist leaders Shibusawa Tatsuhiko and Nikolai Gogol into custody, or kill if necessary.” He pauses, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “We have been tipped that they’re planning to bomb Kyoto soon. United States has already placed a thirty million dollar bounty on their heads. We absolutely cannot fail this operation.”
Chuuya doesn’t know it was possible for the soldiers to tense more, but it is. He can feel the freeze on their nerves the moment Ango eyes them as if he can see right through their souls. “First and second divisions will be the primary and secondary group. Third and Fourth Divisions will surround Yokohama. We expect you to have memorized the tactics and strategies now. Act careless and you’re good as dead.”
Ango grips the microphone, eyes filled with determination stare back at the hundreds of soldiers focused on his figure.
“This might be your final war. Move forward, soldiers!”
♠ Three nights until Exodus ♠
Even when two hours have already passed after their brief assembly, no one dares to make noise. Only the rough clank of utensils clashing with each other resounds the whole food hall. Nakajima Atsushi lets his eyes roam around the area; It’s eight in the evening ─ the time for the simultaneous dinner of the first, second and third divisions.
It’s only been a year since he joined the Special Action Force. He’s underwent through series of trainings just so he can reach where he is now. Blood. Bone. Ashes. He’s made friends along the way, even though he has already lost some in the span of a year, and the thought of losing more in the impending war is enough for his resolve to crumble.
But still, when he closes his eyes, he feels the orphanage’s headmaster looming at him with disgust.
It’s not exactly new, given that there have been times where they rarely speak during dinner. But, he considers, this might be the first time he has encountered the uncomfortable silence. Everyone eats, brings their spoon closer to their mouth, closes on it ─ with that ridiculous stiff, perfect posture that he still doesn’t understand ─ boring either tensed, stressed or a mix of both expressions. Beside him, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (somehow his superior? is that what he is?) looks at him with disapproving stare.
“I’m not even saying anything.” He whispers.
Akutagawa glares at him. “You are now.”
“It’s too quiet.”
“And the sky is blue. I know.”
Atsushi draws away, holding back the laughter that starts to bubble inside his chest. Akutagawa looks at him as if he’s an idiot ─ he probably is ─ but hearing the raven even attempt to joke albeit sarcastic, is enough to send him cackling in a supposedly awkward atmosphere.
“Care to share the joke?” Dazai Osamu, the first division lead executive, grins at him teasingly.
They’re seated in a long table that’s able to accommodate twenty people. The brunet sits in the space opposite to him, beside Kunikida Doppo, the second-in-command of the first division. Despite the fact that Atsushi and Akutagawa are on the second division, it has become a habit for them to sit together. No thanks to him but to the Akutagawa siblings, who are originally Dazai’s friends (?) even before he joined the Special Action Force.
“Look at his face, Dazai-san.” Akutagawa says cooly.
Atsushi glares at him. “Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up. Shut up, Jinko.”
“I told you, the tiger plushie was cute.”
“Did you say meow?”
Atsushi looks at him, offended. “Tigers don’t meow, they growl!”
Dazai chuckles lightly, capturing the attention of soldiers even from other tables. Because Dazai and laughter, just no. Just…definitely trouble.
And then, the brunet’s eyes move sideways.
And oh boy, he opens his mouth.
“Nakahara! No matter how much you eat you still won’t grow!”
There’s a screech as a chair was pushed back. Atsushi doesn’t need to look to know who it was. There’s a saying that has been going around the soldiers for ages. That once Dazai Osamu opens his mouth and it bears the word Nakahara, Chibi or Midget, run. Everyone who has witnessed the two fighting, bickering or doing whatever that’s miles away from camaraderie or friendship can verify this statement.
“What the fuck did you say, vagabond?!”
“Not only you are small, but so are your ears!”
They’ve been scolded for their behavior more than they can count. But quite unsurprisingly, neither intends to back down. (Although, Nakahara tries so hard to ignore the brunet.) The soldiers from neighboring tables have already stood up to prevent witnessing the encounter more than necessary. They know better.
“I’ll kick your ass, ya hear me?!”
“Don’t think you’re tall enough for that, Nakahara.”
“I’ll show you tall!”
“How?!”
“Dazai-san and Nakahara-san…they really can’t get along, huh?” Atsushi whispers.
Kunikida Doppo looks at him in silent agreement.
While Nakahara Chuuya is his respected superior who has come out of so many wars barely having injuries, he also has temper issues that seem to surface whenever Dazai Osamu decides to breathe. He’s normally in control, but then the brunet has to exist and his hold crumbles. Some say that they’ve never, even once able to tolerate each other.
On the other hand, Dazai Osamu, the lead executive of the first division, seems to find everything amusing. He’s shameless, and whiny, and childish and every insult that has ever existed ─ name it ─ but also a genius who they can’t afford to lose. But even though with his cheery smiles, he doesn’t seem particularly attached to anyone but the Akutagawa siblings and Oda Sakunosuke from the second division.
And Nakahara and Dazai, even with all the bickering and insults ─ Atsushi can’t help but think there’s an invisible wall between them. Distance between their souls that can never be bridged. They casually fight, but not too casual. They might seem familiar with each other with the way they antagonize one another, but they’re never close. Never near enough.
He guesses it’s on Dazai’s nature, always putting on an act, a mask, a façade ─ but doesn’t let anyone see the real him, not Kunikida, not Nakahara, not Atsushi.
“Fucking reference my height again─”
“What’s that chibi?”
“Urgh.”
Because friendships aren’t supposed to exist in the middle of war. Attachments often turn to loss. A moment of vulnerability can end someone’s life in an instance. Only teamwork and coordination should persist. Not things that you can easily lose.
But still, Atsushi thinks, it’s not so bad to hold onto something.
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
Dazai Osamu splashes his face with water. Splashes. Wipes. Rubs. The faucet is still running, and its irritating sound is enough to remind him of earlier events. The war. The strategies. Their possible fall. Dazai has always treated things with indifference, has always idealized a perfect suicide ─ only joined the Special Action Force to find a reason to live. However, years into this kind of world has exposed him to things he never thought he’ll want to save.
Whatever those things are, he doesn’t want to know.
When he goes back to the room, everyone is already on their beds. The room consists of ten double deck beds, opposite to each other. Inhabited by the highest-ranked soldiers in the first division ─ except for Kouyou Ozaki who rooms with the other division commanders ─ the room is awfully too quiet today. No doubt, the memory of the earlier gathering and the possibility of death are bothering their minds. (But it shouldn’t be much of a problem, right? After all, this is the life they chose.)
He roams his eyes. The whole room is close to pitch-black. With only the light coming from a small desk lamp by Miyazawa Kenji’s side, Dazai had a hard time reaching his bed ─ bottom near the wall. He lies on his back and pulls the blanket to cover his body up to his chest. It’s nearing midnight.
He’s always been suffering insomnia. Even with the lulling voice of the wind, it’s still not enough for his mind to completely rest. Hundreds of strategies and scenarios invade his head, leaving no room left for considering sleep. The war is near, possibly the biggest operation he’ll go to, and they cannot afford to fail.
His eyes are close, but his other senses are sharp. So when he hears someone slipping under his blanket, his bed shifting weight, and an arm resting around his stomach, his eyes instantly open.
─the hold is loose enough to let go, but tight enough to show it doesn’t intend to.
Given the presence of only minimal light, he’s unable to see the figure beside him fully. But the body is warm, and it feels like pulling him into a rest that he has never experienced before, soft, relaxed, at ease. And he remembers this certain warmth, the arms that circle round his torso, the puffs of breath accompanying the wind’s tune, the head leaning against his chest ─ making himself smaller, hiding from the world, hiding from Dazai himself.
He looks around, squinting, making sure no one is awake to see or hear this.
And with a soft voice, he whispers.
“Chuuya?”
He feels a nod against his chest.
The brunet stirs in his position, so he now has his arms wrapped around the petite figure, pressing him closer to his bandaged chest. His lips touch the redhead’s hair, breathes the scent of shampoo from its tendrils. Chuuya fits so well in his arms, like he’s always been fated to be by Dazai’s side. There’s longing in the embrace, there are the unspoken words, there’s the need for more ─ but also the acceptance of nothing more.
He closes his eyes. The way Chuuya does.
It’s probably better this way though. As long as he can’t see Chuuya, it’s easier to pretend that all of these are just dreams. He’ll pretend as if he can bury every memory, touch, whisper, and close it off somewhere in his heart that he won’t be able to reach ever again. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth, but at the same time ridding himself of the feeling of contentment. As long as he can’t see this, it’ll be easier to walk away.
Chuuya probably feels the same. After all, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
(─even if you already knew,
we couldn’t stop.)
It’s warm. Chuuya’s warm.
…if only they can stay like this.
“Dazai?”
“Hmm?”
Chuuya doesn’t say more, and instead curls his fingers on Dazai’s hair. He inches higher so he can breathe on Dazai’s neck. There’s the strain and ache in his muscles because of today’s training, but that doesn’t matter. Outside this world are wars, blood and harsh reality, but even for this hour, this minute, he’ll let himself forget.
Even with Dazai’s eyes closed, just the presence of the redhead in his arms is enough.
(─as time passes by,
we only mess it up even more.)
Slowly, he feels Chuuya shifting. The readhead silently untangles himself from Dazai’s hold, and he lets him. Few seconds later, Chuuya is out of his hold, and Dazai is cold again. He feels Chuuya holding his hand, before thrusting a small envelope between the gap. Like he always does. Just barely, he hears the redhead’s steps as he goes back to his own bed, a painfully familiar routine that only they know.
As long as he can’t see this, it’ll be easier to walk away.
Dazai doesn’t dare open his eyes.
And they’re running, hiding, denying.
─running.
─hiding.
─denying.
As if they can pretend they don’t want each other.
(─a house made of cards, and us inside,
even if you say you see the end, even if you say it’ll collapse soon
even if you say it’s a useless dream
just stay a little more like this.)
♠ Three nights until Exodus ♠