Work Text:
Dazai watched as Oda's body collapsed to the ground. The gunshot was still echoing around the vast and empty room. The man holding the gun slithered away, leaving Dazai alone with his torturer once more.
'See what happens when you play nice? At least your friend will be released near the mafia headquarters,' the smiling man said. ‘Shame about the other one, though. We could have let him go, too. If only you’d talked when we asked you to.’
Dazai slowly looked up, his eyes dark with fury. His hands were shaking, and he didn't try to hide it. His best friend had been shot dead because of him. Because of them.
There was a saying among the Port Mafia. The biggest misfortune for Dazai's enemies was that they were Dazai's enemies.
A saying the smiling man was about to learn about first hand.
---
Almost a full day had passed between Chuuya being dropped off, unconscious, outside headquarters, and Dazai stumbling back to their apartment. He hadn't bothered to go to the infirmary for his injuries. He had more important things to deal with that night.
Chuuya sat at the kitchen table, his head resting on his arms. His wrists had a layer of bandages on to help with the burns from the restraining ability. His head was throbbing. He hadn’t moved since Kouyou had made sure he got home safe.
The cup of tea she had made several hours ago still lay in front of him, untouched. Realistically, Chuuya knew he should sleep, or rest on the couch at the very least. But the previous day’s actions kept replaying in his mind. He and Oda deciding something wasn’t right, that he should have been back from his mission, that they had to find him. Being captured and held captive alongside the very person they had tried to save.
The fact Oda was dead because of him.
Dazai’s best friend - aside from Chuuya, his only friend - was dead. And for what? Nothing had been gained by it, no information exchanged, no territory given. All they had to show for it were five children he had left behind and a decision Chuuya doubted he or Dazai would ever forget.
It should have been him instead.
The door unbolted and slowly swung open. Chuuya sat up immediately, wincing at the sudden movement and momentary dizziness that followed. Dazai silently walked in and closed the door. He was covered in blood, his hair matted down. Somewhere he had picked up a new coat. Dazai stood by the door, unmoving.
‘...Osamu?’ Chuuya hesitantly asked. Dark eyes drifted over to meet his gaze. Dark eyes that had appeared merciless and cold a thousand times that now appeared empty. Not broken, not shattered. Empty, devoid of emotion. Devoid of feeling anything.
Dazai cleared his throat. ‘We have to go. Pack a bag. Only the essentials. We leave in ten minutes.’
‘What the fuck?’
Dazai straightened his back and turned away, heading for his bedroom. ‘I’ll tell you more later. Just…’ He paused by the bedroom door. ‘Just give me an hour. I’ll talk when we’re an hour away.’
The meaning of Dazai’s words began to filter through. ‘An hour away from what? From who? The fucking mafia?’ Chuuya moved across the apartment, stopping next to Dazai. His face was streaked from tears and blood. He wasn’t sure it was all Dazai’s blood. Now he was closer, he could see the details on the coat. The fact it was slightly too big for Dazai. The change from mafia black to beige. ‘That’s his coat, isn’t it?’
Dazai’s hand tightened on the door handle. ‘Yes.’
‘He told you to leave, didn’t he?’
Dazai took a measured breath, pausing for several moments before responding again. ‘An hour, Chuuya. I promise.’ He dived into his room and closed the door behind him.
‘We leave in ten minutes.’
Leaving...everything. The apartment they had bought together. The lives they had built. The friendships, the family they had found. The people who gave them a home and taught them abilities weren’t bad, that they were empowering and not something to hide away in shame or fear. The people who took them in when the rest of the world shut them out in fear, hatred, disgust. The people who saw through the cold exteriors they had formed to protect themselves, and let the walls they had put up come down. Hirotsu. Akutagawa. Gin. Tachihara. Kouyou.
Chuuya wasn’t sure what was worse - the guilt of being alive, or the guilt of a small part of him wanting to leave.
A new chance. A life where they weren’t constantly training or fighting to live another day. A life where they could be happy, they could make friends without the fear they’d be used against them or be betrayed. A life in a cottage by the sea where Chuuya could bake and Dazai could paint all day, every day. A life without worry. A life with only each other. Chuuya knew he should have been the one to die. He knew Oda should be there helping Dazai move in with him and Ango, joking they now had six kids to take care of.
And it was his fault he would never come home again.
The door he had been leaning against opened, and Dazai emerged. He had changed his clothes and switched to a new set of bandages, the cuts on his face uncovered. He looked awful , but at the same time, there was something about him. He now wore a black and white shirt Chuuya hadn’t even known he had owned, along with a pair of dark jeans and Converse. The beige coat was draped over his shoulders. He looked...like a normal eighteen year old. His eyes were bloodshot, and his wounds were definitely still bleeding, but something about him seemed different, and Chuuya couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Dazai looked up and down at Chuuya. ‘You haven’t moved.’ He dropped the suitcase he’d been holding, almost bursting at the seams. ‘You aren’t coming, are you?’
Dazai wiped away the tears on Chuuya’s cheeks that he didn’t realise had fallen. ‘I…’ The words died in his throat. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could leave. He’d had nothing when he joined the mafia, the only people he’d ever known had betrayed him and tried to kill him, the mafia gave him a sense of belonging.
But so did Dazai.
Dazai gave him all of that and more. He gave Chuuya a reason to wake up in the morning, a reason to take care of himself properly, a reason to live.
Dazai Osamu was the sole reason Chuuya lived.
When Chuuya didn’t say anymore, Dazai nodded, as though this had been the answer he had been expecting. He picked up his suitcase and moved to step past Chuuya without saying a word.
A firm grasp on his wrist held him back.
‘Tell me something,’ Chuuya’s voice was quiet. ‘What did Oda say?’
A pause.
‘He told me that we’ll never find true happiness here. He asked me to make sure the kids are taken care of.’ Dazai turned to find Chuuya staring up at him, his eyes brimming with tears. They looked as lost and scared as they had on the day they met six years ago. Dazai’s voice was wavering, now. ‘He told me to find what makes me happy. That I made the right choice.’
A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck, and it took a moment for him to respond. He could hear Chuuya crying over his shoulder as he wrapped his own arms around Chuuya’s back. Dazai could hear him murmuring something.
A few hours later, Chuuya would say it was nothing.
Dazai would never admit he heard all three words.