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Family is a funny thing. Not like Chuuya knows much about actual, related-in-blood relatives, but over time he’s found a couple people that nevertheless earned themselves the title. There’s his new family, tentatively titled as such for now, the ADA.
And then there’s Kouyou.
Despite having been accused of it by Dazai time and time again, Chuuya never made the mistake to view the mafia on the whole as his home. The Sheep were more like it, but... he was young, then, and not so well acquainted with the fact that, quite often, being an asset to someone else’s ulterior motives will make them act closer to him than they actually feel. There was also the part where a fair few of his gang mates back then viewed him as something other than human and, well yeah, not the point here. The point is that the mafia was a workplace, a refuge in some way, but they weren’t family. Except for Kouyou. And even Chuuya knows that family shouldn’t be discarded only because one’s circumstances change.
***
The first words Kouyou ever says to him in private are a clear threat, wrapped in honey but bitter and hard to swallow nonetheless. Personal. Aimed at where she must sense it will make him bristle; or, at least, that's what he assumes at first.
“I agreed to teach and guide you,” she says with a sweet smile, reaching out to cover his hand with her own across the small coffee table. “And I will, if you let me, help shape you into someone the Mafia can be proud to call one of their own.”
Chuuya stares into his tea, poured for him by Kouyou herself, and breathes out slowly. He tips the delicate cup this way and that, watching the liquid swirl gently. Only later will he realize that the transparency of the statement was never supposed to be an insult; that she was honest with him because she knew he'd see through any charade. Right now, however, it takes a certain effort to keep himself composed.
He can't bring himself to smile back, his direct nature not quite capable of being blatantly dishonest, and tries to hide that slight behind another sip of tea. “Thank you,” he says, staring into his cup. “My new big sister.”
The words are out before he realizes they, too, can be mistaken as a mockery – inappropriate, too intimate, too soon. They had only just met, after all. But Kouyou doesn't miss a beat – she nods, smile unwavering, and calmly reaches for the tea pot to offer him a refill. “If that's what you’d like me to be, then of course, I shall try,” she hums. “You’ve had to go through life without a family for far too long.”
His eyes snap up to meet hers, and she cocks her head to the side, the corners of her mouth tilting up in the beginnings of a smirk: a dare for him to say otherwise. Somehow, Chuuya manages to bite his tongue.
***
Kouyou is a creature of habit. She likes her routines. She goes to sleep late and rises early. She has her meals at similar times every day, takes ample time to do her morning routine, and teaches her girls to adhere to a certain rhythm when it comes to business dealings in the brothel. Which is how Chuuya knows when to best approach her, when she’ll likely be alone, and how to get into the building without too much fuss.
It helps that she didn’t change the pass codes to her private quarters since he left. Seems like she didn’t intend to cut their ties entirely either.
“Chuuya,” she says, turning slowly away from the mirror of her dressing table. Her hair is wrapped in a scarf, not done up yet, and she’s only halfway done with her makeup. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He smiles. “I wanted to stop by earlier, big sis. Just had to let the dust settle a bit first.”
***
In the beginning, Chuuya doesn't sleep right. He dreams about the Sheep, the betrayal, his own shortcomings as a leader. He hates it, but his subconscious happens to be one of the things in life he has no control over, and he knows the dark rings underneath his red-rimmed eyes are an easy hint for everyone who bothers to look.
For someone as observant as Kouyou, they might as well be a neon sign. He's still not sure what to think when she invites him to her private quarters, a few rooms separate from the brothel's operations.
“You can use my guest room,” she offers as he follows her through a short corridor, and it's becoming harder and harder to pay attention, to parse the meaning of her words. Chuuya blinks, and her expression shifts into something almost soft, almost genuine. “If you do not wish to stay, you certainly do not have to, but perhaps being here will help you relax.”
Kouyou pushes open the door of what he assumes is the aforementioned guest room, and she gestures towards the large western-style bed, the sea of pillows, and the woolen blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. It's warm in here too, cozy and comfortable, and so he nods slowly. “I guess one night wouldn’t be the worst.”
She lights incense on her way out, something unobtrusive and calming, and a small part of him wants to suspect some kind of poison in the smoke. But he's tired, so tired, both from sleep deprivation and seeing every single one of her actions as the next move in a long game of chess. He curls into bed, listens to the sounds of music and conversation that carry through the house, and drifts off to sleep.
Not only does he survive the night, he also wakes up better rested than he has in weeks. When Kouyou comes to see him around noon, inquiring after the quality of his rest, it takes less effort than usual to thank her with a smile.
***
He sits on the bed, one leg folded underneath the other, while she finishes up her look. He always loved watching her do that, ever since he moved into her quarters and got tacit permission to see her without the usual makeup and finery. The transformation has something magical, even when exposed as an intricate ritual of small steps, and also, he’s come to think of it as a sign of trust, of intimacy. Family.
They keep eye contact through the mirror, and that’s soothing and familiar too, holding important conversations, often confidentially and on sensitive topics, with her reflection. The mafia doesn't have factions; they work together towards a common goal under an unquestioned leader. That's how Mori likes to frame it. Kouyou doesn't have any aspirations to take his place – although Chuuya's sure she wouldn't turn it down should it fall into her lap by someone else's hand – and so there never where sides to pick, not really. But she does have her own agenda sometimes, and her own ways too see it executed.
That, of course, is off the table now. He understands that he’s cut off from information on the inner workings of the mafia, after his defection, and while he’ll miss their analyzing and plotting, all that couldn’t be further from the reason for this visit.
And that’s why he’s glad when the first question she asks is one that he can easily answer, that doesn’t involve secrets or the betrayal of other loyalties; doesn't require him to fashion the truth around a lie, either.
She inclines her head, smiles softly. “Are you happy? On the other side, with them? With him?”
Chuuya smiles back and gives her a long nod. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”