Chapter Text
It's pitch-black night over the wild, unlit harbor where the boat is supposed to dock in about half an hour. Chuuya and his people are looking out for an unassuming fishing cutter. It smuggles weapons in a lower deck. A simple retrieval, one that Mori had scheduled before flying off to Europe. Business negotiations. He had put Chuuya in charge for the time being. This is not entirely new; Mori has been trying out different people for the reign like that. "For when Dazai-kun inevitably kills me," he says lightly. "It is my responsibility to ensure that the Port Mafia doesn't slip into chaos once he's gone through with it."
Personally, Chuuya has to question his unwavering faith in the boss' mastermind abilities if the man seriously considers him as a possible heir. Sure, Chuuya is a natural leader and commands not only begrudging respect rooted in fear, but also true loyalty born out of trust and camaraderie in his people. He has that over most others, and it is no small advantage. Chuuya would slant a disdainful look at his soulmate but, case in point, the bandage wasting device is running late. In the eyes of almost everyone who might be looking, Dazai is the opposite of dependability. And that won't do at the front of this organisation.
On the other hand, Chuuya has zero interest and just about as much talent for strategic planning that is bread and butter for the Port Mafia boss. He cares even less for the mind games that play out in the shadows.
So yeah, Chuuya has to question Mori's reasoning behind putting him in charge even if only for a test-run for a couple of days. But at least he's done that when nothing much is going on, and this simple arms pick-up, including the choice of contacts and the location, had all been planned in advance by the boss anyway, so this is no different to carrying out orders, something Chuuya does well.
Except that's not true at all. This time Chuuya is the one in control, and he is responsible. He will be making decisions should any problem arise. And just like that, this is not business as usual any more. Where the fuck is the suicidal freak?
The suicidal freak looms from the sea right at the tongue of slippery, curly rocks jutting above waves Chuuya and nine other men are standing on.
For a moment, Chuuya makes no move to help him out of the water but eventually pulls him up and onto the headland by the wrist with no effort at all.
"You're late," Chuuya says in his curt voice, one that has the power to reduce a better half of the mafia into a cowering mess. He doesn't spare Dazai a glance, eyes searching the dark horizon.
That's why he doesn't see it coming when Dazai shakes water off of himself like a dog, Chuuya taking the brunt of it.
"Ah, that's better~" Dazai sing-songs, pleased with himself.
Chuuya aims a kick at him. Dazai dodges with ease.
"I was checking the sea bed at the strait."
Chuuya pictures Dazai jumping off the tongue's brink and crashing on the rocky bottom. The many scenarios of Dazai's demise at his own hand should please Chuuya, but they've only ever made him wince in distaste. Sick, twisted, and fundamentally wrong - all of that constitutes his most intimate of keen, his soulmate. Time passes but Chuuya doesn't think he'll ever be alright with that.
"Not fit for painless, cheerful suicide?"
"Silly Chuuya!" Dazai scoffs. "Why would I want to kill myself when I can sift through the sea in search of beautiful amber for Odasaku!"
Dazai delivers his cheesy line with a heart melting smile on his face that Chuuya doesn't think is mocking and that's creepy as all hell.
"Touching. And where is that boon?"
Dazai sighs heavily as Akutagawa swaddles him in his own scarf.
"He could't make it," Dazai pouts. "Collecting debts in Kannai district - usually much more fun than what we do, mind you, but not today! Ah, no matter! Odasaku is always with me. In my heart."
Chuuya goes completely red, probably all over his body, and fuming.
"This is not what I meant and you know it!"
Dazai's eyes go round like saucers.
"What did Chuuya mean?"
"I meant the amber, you psychopathetic troll! Where is the amber!"
Chuuya shouts, even though he doesn't care in the slightest.
"Oh, that! Haven't found any," Dazai laments. "Yet!"
"Dazai-san," Akutagawa chimes in tentatively. "I'm afraid there is no amber to be found in Tokyo Bay."
"Nonsense!" Dazai protests, if slightly muffled behind the fluffy scarf. "Ango said that amber is extracted at our coastline from the Pacific Ocean."
"True, but that's only in Iwate Prefecture," Akutagawa says. "600 km north."
"And how would you know that?" Dazai pulls a face like a petulant child. "You sure?"
"Positive," Akutagawa nods. Chuuya tries not to watch in horror as the tubercular boy takes off his coat and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. "Dazai-san, do you think me and my sister would have rummaged through dumping sites if we could sift the ocean for amber instead?"
"Eh, I wouldn't put it past you." Dazai waves a dismissive hand.
Gusts of cold wind blow from the sea and Dazai shivers in his soaked clothes.
"What are you staring at?!" Akutagawa barks at his men. "Did you get tickets to stand around and gape?"
They all mince awkwardly in place.
"Well?"
"No, sir."
"Useless feces, the lot of you. What are you even good for?"
Chuuya slants a look at Dazai who in turn looks bored if a little repulsed – all in all, his usual reaction to his kouhai.
"You! Give me your coat." Akutagawa shouts at a man in a fur-lined mantle.
The man promptly disrobes and hands over his jacket. Akutagawa carefully drapes it over Dazai's shoulders. Then he takes off his own shirt and passes it to Dazai who uses it to vigorously mop water from his head.
Chuuya watches the display with rising unease.
"Akutagawa, your cough-" the words slip past his lips before Chuuya realizes.
"Don't bother, it's no use."
It takes one look at Dazai, face cold and impassive, for Chuuya to know that the remark wasn't meant to cut through his kouhai, even though it sure had been a welcome side effect. No, it was self-depreciating. A genuine admission of perceived failure, something so uncommon coming from Dazai that under different circumstances, Chuuya might throw a party. But the perceived failure has a name. It had once been a human being. One that the Demon Prodigy had warped beyond the telling of it and now could no longer look at without disdain. Chuuya would not call himself delicate but this doesn't sit right with him.
Most things about his soulmate don't.
At least Rashoumon has wrapped Akutagawa's torso in a tight tangle of fabric in the meantime.
Dazai buries his face in now completely rumpled shirt. He wrinkles his nose. His whole face contorts with revulsion.
"What is this god-awful stench? Akutagawa-kun, have you been pissing into your own cologne?"
A flare of ugly laughter reverberates along the line of men like some sick parody of Mexican Wave.
Akutagawa stands there, momentarily shell-shocked, pale and trembling.
"Well?" Dazai parrots his kouhai maliciously. He waves the bundle of fabric in his outstretched hand slightly raised, on display for everyone to see.
"No- No, this is a new flavor. Gi- A gift from Gin."
"A gift from Gin~ What flavor would that be, hm? Fleur de Favela?"
Another round of cheep applause rouses.
"Shove it, Dazai," Chuuya growls. "Your slimy bandages are dripping on my shoes."
Dazai dumps the wet shirt on the rocks beneath his feet. White fabric soaks at once with dirty water.
"Don't come near me reeking of this," he says impassively, voice dead and hollow.
"I won't," Akutagawa trips over his apologies. "I'm sorry, I won't."
Dazai looks ahead, a prominent frown adorning his face.
"They're here."
In the distance, not one, but two golden lights glow, steadily approaching.