Work Text:
“In the woods was a very strange park, where women, children & men would stroll by smiling wildly. They spoke a language I didn’t understand & showed emotions I couldn’t unravel.
Looking up at the sky, I saw a spider web, silver & shining.” -Nakahara Chuuya, Never To Return
They watched the smoke from his bombed car ascending to the starless skies in reprieved quietness and entangled hands.
The decision had been quick and executed as soon as it was announced. Dazai entered Chuuya’s house, red on his hands, ruby on his stark-white bandages and vermilion in those pair of wide-opened corneas. For the first time in his life, Chuuya saw what was underneath the mask of his partner’s right eye.
Those perfect irises glossed in moonlight and filled with raw, naked emotions. The revelation slipped past by Dazai’s lips in a stoic manner.
“Odasaku’s dead.”
Chuuya inhaled the air that had suddenly gone cold. Oda Sakunosuke was important to Dazai; Chuuya had already calculated much the weight of the mafioso’s death over his partner. Heavy enough for them to remove their obsidian coats and ties.
His reply was as autonomous as the reports he wrote for their missions before.
“Plan ‘ Never To Return’ in action?” In which Dazai nodded in agreement and here they were, in front of the destroyed mobile where they chucked Dazai’s stained apparel and other personal items to erase their identity.
The house was also in shambles and disarray, arranged to make it seem like Double Black was kidnapped by another opposing organization. Poor framed group about to be annihilated first before Mori realized they actually left Port Mafia on their own.
Dazai squeezed his gloveless hand, averting his attention away from the flames, the memories, and the place they almost called ‘home’.
“Let’s go.” Dazai beckoned. He followed the guidance of his partner, turning away from the house they only named ‘home’ because they had each other’s arms in there.
His hair was bright orange, his fingers were bare, and he wore the last of his leather jackets on the night Chuuya betrayed the Port Mafia.
His hair was waxed, his black hat was kept, and he wore a high school uniform of sorts a month after their escape.
A burgundy blazer, navy blue tie and white shirt partnered with checkered green pants were his outfit for the day. A buckled choker adorned his neck, the only thing Chuuya would never remove. Dazai obviously ogled on it without shame as they strolled the busy streets of Ikebukuro hand-in-hand.
Dazai had the traditional onyx Chinese-collared polo and matching pants. Each of them carried blue school bags, inside of Chuuya’s was the daggers he bought from a secondhand store. In Dazai’s case was the money they withdrew from an anonymous account. Dazai first transferred his savings on a dummy donation, and then they collected the cash in parts at random locations. Hopefully, it would cause confusion to whoever was tracking their transactions into thinking Dazai Osamu’s bank account was hijacked and stolen.
Out of nowhere, Dazai dragged him along and sprinted in the conjoined alleys of this city. There was no direction apparently, but Chuuya read on how Dazai was searching for something or rather someone, on the way. He let his partner lead him to wherever Dazai pulled him to without complaints. Twisting on a few corners and there, they somehow reached a secluded area. At the back of a fast food chain where orphans huddled for scraps near the garbage.
The scent was a disgusting mix of Pepsi, lettuce, and processed meat. Nevertheless, the children surrounded the pile like it was a pot of gold in a black-and-white rainbow world such as this. Some old-age memories flashed by his mind but he focused instead on the empty palm where his partner’s hand occupied earlier. Dazai approached the eldest of the children, around 12 or 14, maybe older due to the lack of height. Dazai pulled out some Yens and paper from his bag only to give it to the teenager with hushed instructions. The boy skidded away and as soon as he was out of sight, Dazai treated the other kids with red-wrapped candies.
“What are you doing?” Chuuya, his side leaned onto the bricked wall, asked when Dazai came back to him.
“Settling your accounts.” Dazai patted his head where his black hat used to lay.
“And then?”
“Then, we’ll book some flights wherever we want to go, Chuuya.” In a second, his palm was occupied again by another’s and they exited the isolated section together.
He heard consecutive thuds akin to their enemies falling before they completely departed. Just as he was about to ask, Dazai held his cheek and pecked, promising him those were the sound of stray dogs only.
His hair was dyed jet-black, his fingers were muddied in blood, and he wore crimson long-sleeves with a dark necktie on the day a government agent recognized Dazai.
During this time, Mori should have concluded already that his prized members committed treason. They just got off the plane in Hong Kong under pseudonyms. They bought other tickets to Germany and Portugal at the very exact time slot for their flight to Hong Kong.
Everything was proceeding well according to plan, no one had dared chase them yet. Chuuya always surveyed in a five-meter circumference but hadn’t spotted a single spy or assassin ever since their travels.
“After you, then.” Dazai unlocked the door of the Audi they rented at the airport.
“Shut it, Dazai.” Chuuya rolled his eyes and step-
He fastly swivelled his vision around the exit of the terminal. Chuuya zeroed in on the blended Asian races one by one, some Westerners also fused here and there. Dazai’s mouth was open to voice out when Chuuya caught the eye of a man dressed in a black suit and tie. He couldn’t trace the ethnicity because of the shades. Only that the physique and height was quite on the Eastern side.
The strange man dialed a number on a Samsung phone and spoke in Chinese. He read the lips of the guy, never understanding anything of what was said until the words Dazai Osamu formed shape.
“Get on the car, NOW.” Chuuya ordered Dazai and the car’s doors were shut, engine ignited, and pedal kicked. They drove to the speed of 80 kmph, never increasing yet also never decreasing.
“Mori even had the government chasing us, huh, how desperate.” Dazai commented, clutching the head of the passenger seat and looking behind for surveillance. The agent was four cars after them, in a sleek white Prius.
“Fuck! They saw you and your stupid bandages!” Chuuya cursed as he overtook another car on the lane.
“You’re the one who mentioned my real name out loud!” His partner spat back. Dazai crouched and fiddled onto something at the back seat but Chuuya was too busy to care.
“Any recorders and trackers in the car?” Chuuya queried. Dazai propelled himself back into position with familiar wires and devices at hand.
“Disabled them already.”
“Good fucking job, now wear your seatbelt if you don’t want to die.”
“But I want to! Double suicide by car accident!”
“No thanks. I’d kill you after this so wear the goddamn seatbelt!”
The car slowed down at a toll gate, and now, the signposts exclaimed they have arrived in Wan Chai city.
***
Chuuya stared at his blood-drenched fingers, before him was the formally clothed man, neck sliced open and the viscous substance pouring out.
Dazai took his exposed hands and kissed it until those pale lips were painted in a cherry, rosy red. He didn’t notice he was breathing heavily until he gasped on the sensation of an icy mouth atop his wet palm.
“It’s been a long time since you killed somebody, Chuuya.” Dazai stated and he finally contacted his gaze. Eventually, the naked face of his partner became natural to him. He was familiar with masks, bandages, and lies after lies since they were fifteen. Odasaku’s death brought out sincerity from Dazai, but only to him, not to anybody else.
“...I don’t have my gloves.” He mentioned, and Dazai nodded. The corpse beneath them bleeding forgotten and unattended.
“I’ll buy you gloves again, just stop anyone who tries to stop us.” Dazai inched closer and those lips tasted of rust and iron, the blood of the man he killed for the sake of the man he loved and abandoned everything for. Humanity and all.
Chuuya’s lips were colored maroon as soon as Dazai’s forsaken it wanting and craving for more.
Later on, they booked for an hours and hours cruise to Venice. Better to stay on waters for a while rather than the skyways.
His black hair was highlighted with orange and longer, his hands were gloved once again, and he wore a bright azure vest over a red shirt on the night Chuuya was almost killed.
He was at the backyard of the apartment they were resting at, the hat of Rimbaud burning in the metal trash can before him. Chuuya lifted his lighter to kindle the cigarette between his pair of Cupid’s bows. He puffed in deep, relaxing drags and exhaled. The gray smoke colluded with the clouds from his disintegrating fedora.
Everything was calm and serene until...
Out of nowhere, a person dragged his body down to bend over. The cigarette snuffed out as it fell from his fingers. The back of his head hitting on the pavement hurt and if it were anybody else, Chuuya would have activated his ability full force. However, for some otherworldly reason, he didn’t, and his instincts were right: his ability won’t work anyway. Maybe he was so attuned with his partner he just knew Dazai was the one holding him, not anybody else.
A feeble shot rang in the desolated area of the building. A bullet grazed over where Chuuya stood last.
Dazai hovered above him with that thin skeletal body. Frantic and panicked irises screamed at him. Dazai wore an unusual gray suit and mustard tie. But they’d do anything to hide from everyone -both authorities and underlings. The fragrant of smoke, rubber, and rust perfumed them like how it always was after completed missions. The hearth from the garbage bin were reduced to a misty, choking fog. Near to it was a dying cigarette that Chuuya dropped moments ago.
“There’s a sniper in the next building, I saw him by our window and I-”
Chuuya stopped those quivering lips by gently cupping the cheeks of his partner. His thumb padded over the tear by the corner of Dazai’s eyelids. Tears never suited you. Then, his thumb trailed downwards from the eyelids to the lips. It looked chapped and dry but Chuuya couldn’t feel it because of the gloves. So he took the dry and chapped lips for his with his mouth.
The kisses were heady and needy, Dazai probably savored the remnants of nicotine on his tongue. The problem wasn’t the fact that they were outside, on the floor, in broad daylight where any stranger could stumble upon them. The problem wasn’t the fact that minutes ago, somebody tried to shoot Chuuya. The problem wasn’t the fact they were criminals, and murderers who were on the run with millions of Yen for bounty. The problem was the fact that they’d do anything and everything to keep each other alive even if it meant the whole world would burn from the cigarette Chuuya smoked.
“It’s okay, I’m safe. We’re safe.” He assured as Dazai nuzzled by his neck, warm breath fizzling over his leathered gleaming choker.
“I can’t lose you, I already lost him. I don’t know what would have happened if anybody takes you away from me too.”
“I’m here.” His gloved fingers threaded along the mane of his partner.
“Odasaku told me to go the side which saves and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Then we’ll go to that side, Dazai.” He comforted. Long before the title Double Black branded their partnership, Chuuya’s decision was made.
High above, a loud explosion disturbed the atmosphere. Both men once dubbed as Soukoku , did not spare the commotion upstairs any glance.
It was scary at first.
The constant changing of clothes, identity, and hair colors. The neverending stealing of abandoned cars and switching of plate numbers. The fake names in their passports as they book one flight to the West but ride for the North. Until one day, as soon as the door closed on their cheap motel room, Dazai grabbed Chuuya and kissed him breathlessly.
“It’s over,” Dazai said in between pecks, their legs tangling towards the creaking bed. “We lost their track.”
“You found a place we can stay in?” Chuuya asked, returning the hungry kisses. His hands, gloveless, stripped to feel the warmth and the skin of his partner. Strips of clothing were hastily undressed, the pillows were thrown on the floor and the bedsheets were rumpled in creases.
“We’d go back to Yokohama.” With that statement, his flood of smooches and affection froze. Astonishment sketched his sweet expression. “I contacted an Agency there which helps anything Ability-related.”
His hair was a long and shaggy bright orange, his fingers were bare, and he wore a genuine smile as Chuuya listened to the next changes of their plans, kisses and intimacies in between.