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"The kid is dying, Dazai."
There's a certain weight that words carry within them, especially when they're spoken in the dim light of a dark room, where the moon reflects weakly on the walls.
Dazai didn't expect to hear them.
He didn't expect Chuuya to show up in the middle of the night at his room - work outfit and all, but missing his hat, the clothes unkempt. Ruffled hair.
"Don't let him die like this. He might be Mafia’s rabid dog, but he's still your responsibility."
Dazai stares silently, observing. Reading his ex-partner’s expression – letting the desperate note of his voice settle inside his chest – it’s still easy, like when they were teenagers. Chuuya can’t hold his emotions at bay. He’s always been too... sensitive .
But is Dazai surprised? No.
Thinking about it, it makes sense: Akutagawa is part of that thing Chuuya calls family – that thing Dazai himself was once part of as well. Would Chuuya have sounded like this if it were Dazai dying instead?
“I’m not a doctor, and I’m not Port Mafia either, Slug. I guess you forgot.”
“Don’t pretend,” Chuuya’s eyes narrow, his words coming out heavy with venom. “Don’t pretend you didn’t think about how to save him. I know you came up with at least five solutions already—”
“Why would I have done such a thing? He’s nothing to me.”
There’s a red spark in the darkness. The mafioso’s body quivers with the force of his ability as he tries to contain it. “You’re the fucking worst—”
“Oh, Chuuya is always singing the same song~.”
“Would you stop it ?!”
Dazai is yanked forward, then pulled to a side, and his back collides painfully with the corridor’s wall. Chuuya’s fist is so tight around his collar that the fabric is cutting into his windpipe, making it difficult to breathe. But the detective doesn’t panic. This is a dance they’ve done one too many times.
“You can fool anyone but me! You keep going around pretending not to care, but you do ,” Chuuya’s teeth grind together when the other’s eyes darken, rage flowing into his veins dreadfully. But it’s not just anger, Dazai can see through his façade: it’s hurt .
“Tell me what to do to save him.”
“You can’t do anything—”
“Then DO SOMETHING!”
The scream echoes on the dorm’s floor. For once, Dazai is taken aback because Chuuya is becoming frantic, and there’s panic in his eyes when he releases the hold, stepping back and shaking his head.
“You know how to save Akutagawa,” he mutters when Dazai doesn’t offer an answer. “I know you do. You just don’t want to for who knows whatever fucked up reason… and I despise you for this, you awful piece of shit.”
Dazai has heard Chuuya yell many times how much he hates his guts, but this feels different. This feels real, and something cracks inside him. But before he has the time to finally say something, a different voice breaks the silence, and the lights bathe the hallway without warning.
“…why don’t you want to help him, Dazai-san?”
Dazai feels his head spin when Atsushi comes into view. The boy is wearing his pajamas, face puffed with sleep, and he’s barefoot, but he’s staring at Dazai with wide, bewildered eyes—
Chuuya’s sharp inhale is loud in the brunette’s ears. When Dazai glances at him, Chuuya’s expression is a clear question: how will you handle his disappointment now?
“Akutagawa is Mori’s responsibility. He’s under his care—”
“Mori is dead. His medication can’t be reproduced by us,” Chuuya glares at him, and Atsushi is now closer, staring at his mentor in confusion. And there’s this thing inside Dazai’s chest that is twisting, making him so uncomfortable that he tastes bile on his tongue.
“Dazai-san…” the weretiger calls for him gently, placing a hand on the detective’s arm carefully – and it’s so different from Chuuya’s touch. Different from anyone’s touch, really. “Please, if you can save him, then you have to go—”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“I thought you changed ,” Chuuya blurts out then, shaking his head. He takes a step back, readying himself to leave. “I really thought that. How stupid of me. You’re still a heartless bastard with no humanity—”
“Nakahara-san—”
“Wake up,” Chuuya barks at the younger detective when he gets interrupted, growling in distress. “If you still look at this scumbag and think there’s something good in it, you better stop.”
Dazai frowns, readying his mouth to deliver something sharp, just as hurtful – but then Chuuya’s eyes fix inside his own, and they’re so blue and pained that his voice is left stuck.
“I used to do that too,” Chuuya mutters to the younger, taking a shaky breath, and Dazai’s eyes widen – his heart loses a beat. “But then he left without a word. He never gave a fuck about anyone. Not even himself.”
“Chuuya—”
“Kill yourself for good,” the mafioso spits in his face before turning on his heels and leaving, his words slapping Dazai hard and leaving him at a loss – words that once used not to bear any significance, now… stings.
Silence falls like a heavy blanket on the two detectives. Dazai is baffled – once again, the petit mafioso outburst was unexpected. Did he really have any hope left for Dazai? After all this time?
“He was angry,” Atsushi’s voice reaches him from far away even if he’s right next to him. “I’m sure he doesn’t think those things, Dazai-san.”
A low, unhappy chuckle escapes the elder’s lips, hearing the comforting tone.
“He does ,” Dazai murmurs, staring at the spot where Chuuya disappeared down the stairs. “We hate each other, remember?” he plays a crooked smirk on his lips, hands dropping in the pockets of his slacks.
Atsushi stares at him for a second, blinking stupidly.
“I never thought you two hated each other for real. It sounds more like you two miss each other...”
No.
Don’t go there.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Atsushi-kun—”
“Is it true that you know how to help Akutagawa-san? Why won’t you help him?” the boy asks then, straightening a little and lifting his chin, looking a little wary.
The change of attitude, of tone, is so sudden that Dazai can’t stop his eyebrows from arching.
“Akutagawa was lost the minute I found him.”
And hearing his own voice speak that long thought belief seems a mockery. It’s not like Dazai had planned to answer like that. Still, with Atsushi, it’s hard to play a good poker face. Weirdly enough for him, Dazai doesn’t want Atsushi to feel disappointed in him – even if it’s inevitable.
Dazai disappoints everyone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Atsushi says quietly, an upset frown painting his features. “The past doesn’t matter. Even if you failed him once… it doesn’t mean you have to fail him again.”
Dazai leans on the wall, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose.
He feels troubled. Something is fogging his head, something that’s awfully similar to guilt.
“You did more for Akutagawa than I ever did, Atsushi-kun,” he says slowly, turning his head to look at the younger, and there’s a faint blush on his pale cheeks.
“Because you taught me how to stop blaming myself. Why can’t you do the same?”
Throat going dry, Dazai stares at his student silently – his chest tightens.
Blame yourself, and your life will become an endless nightmare.
Why can’t Dazai stop blaming himself? He knows what he did to Akutagawa destroyed any hope for the boy, and yet… Atsushi managed to bring light back into his void soul.
Akutagawa died for Atsushi.
If Dazai can’t bring himself to face his own guilt, maybe he can do something to repay his latest student. After all, Atsushi is alive because of him.
“I wish to see myself through your eyes one day, Atsushi-kun.”
---
The thing with Dazai is that his stupid pride sometimes gets in the way.
Sometimes, he doesn’t want others to realize they’re right because it would mean that he’s failed at building defenses.
Chuuya’s words were right: Dazai does care. So much, the guilt connected to his earliest years in the Mafia and to the way he broke Akutagawa, still haunts him at night.
Changing isn’t easy – Dazai never thought he could change. But somehow, forcing himself to step into the light did start a transformation inside him that Dazai isn’t yet brave enough to acknowledge.
Caring for others brings pain.
That’s all Dazai has always known, and with the way it ended with Odasaku, that thought just cemented inside his brain.
He spent years by Chuuya’s side, witnessing how his partner would hurt at the loss of comrades during their mission. He’s seen Chuuya lose himself into Corruption the very first time that hurt was too much for him to handle – he never wanted to admit it out loud, but that scene is still painted on the back of his eyelids, and along with that… the fear that pulled at his chest when the wild thought of not being able to bring Chuuya back from that crossed his mind.
Dazai doesn’t like pain. He might hurt himself, might have a high tolerance to torture , but that hurt that fogs his senses and judgment is what he loathes.
People would assume he doesn’t like physical pain, but it’s always been the way around.
And now, standing in front of the Port Mafia headquarter, he’s moving on autopilot.
For Atsushi.
Maybe, a little for Chuuya, too.
After Mori’s death, the business is being kept together by the executives still running the place. It’s just a few weeks since the Vampire virus has been canceled, and the Port Mafia isn’t yet running an election.
Akutagawa was pulled from the death by Mori himself only a few hours before the central conflict erupted, old mortal wounds healed within the weeks of his Vampirization, his body reinvigorated. Only that managed to keep the boy alive . When Dazai nullified the ability, the old Port Mafia boss managed to keep Akutagawa in that state using the corpse of Stoker they retrieved from the battlefield.
Now, he’s still bound to the hospital bed of Mori’s clinic, his lungs weak since the ability is failing to do its job with the host dead.
Chuuya rushes to the lobby, eyes wide and unbelieving , staring at Dazai and Fukuzawa, just a step behind his ex-partner.
“Lead the way,” Dazai says, keeping a straight face. Almost pretending to be uninterested.
The executive doesn’t question him. Dazai doesn’t really need to be shown around. He knows the headquarter better than anyone, but Chuuya’s presence is somehow comforting. Dazai wants to ask him if he knows what’s really going through his mind. He wants to ask if Chuuya has given up on him for real.
But he doesn’t.
He wants to hold on to the last strings of hope, the old, deep connection that kept him and the redhead side by side for years, even while being apart.
Dazai will probably never know.
When everyone leaves Akutagawa’s room, Dazai has to admit he’s never seen the boy look as fragile – as human – as he does now: attached to tubes and wires, to machines that keep him surviving artificially. Next to his bed is placed an iced container with what’s remaining of Stoker inside – Dazai can see the strands of hair poking from the surface, lost between the ice. The twist in his stomach is definitely disgust.
Would things have been different if Dazai treated him better?
Would Akutagawa not be this close to death if Odasaku would have been the one finding him?
He would have been happier.
Odasaku was good.
Dazai wasn’t.
He still isn’t, and he’s probably never gonna be.
…but damn, he’s trying.
“This is against every rule, Dazai-kun.”
“I told you before, President, I will be happy to walk out of here as a free man and give him my certificate.”
It’s not doable.
Of course, it’s not; Dazai knows it. To join the Armed Detective Agency there are specific steps and rules to follow. Still, Dazai already managed to bend them in his favor for Kyouka once. He can do that again.
The grimace on the President's face is the one of a fed-up parent forced to put up with a whining child – for hours. But if he’s here with Dazai, it means that the demon prodigy still works well inside his head: they can give Akutagawa a chance.
That’s it if Dazai’s theory about the boy’s illness is correct. If it is… then Akutagawa’s lungs will start functioning again normally when his ability will be held in control by Fukuzawa. Mori only hinted once at the possibility of his illness to be provoked by Rashomon eating into his very body, and Dazai has all the intention to buy into that little piece of supposition.
That, or nothing.
For once, Chuuya wasn’t that right: yes, Dazai did think about how to save Akutagawa, but he came up with only one option. No plan B. No chance to reconsider – and when he doesn’t find a way out, Dazai gets irrationally scared.
Akutagawa doesn’t react when Dazai reaches for him: his palm covers the boy’s forehead, and he’s ice-cold against the detective’s hand. Being a half Vampire sure doesn’t do well to his condition.
But then, the two detectives exchange a look. After a single nod of agreement, the room is washed in the light, clear blue of No Longer Human, and Akutagawa’s body jerks harshly.
The sound that echoes in Dazai’s ears is one of a desperate attempt to breathe , mixed with the alarming noises from the machines connected to the boy. Akutagawa is choking, pleural fluids invading his lungs violently, making him cough and spasm. He’s drowning, suffocating into his own body.
Nothing happens. Dazai looks up at Fukuzawa, panic starting to flood into his veins, and when the older man only frowns, Dazai feels his heart ache.
“He’s not activating his own ability.”
No. No. No.
I can’t fail you again.
“Akutagawa!” Dazai grabs the boy by the shoulders, pulling him up and causing a few tubes to unplug, but that seems to bring him an ounce of rationality. His eyes are wide, filled with tears of strain and terror as he brings trembling hands to his own throat, unable to focus on Dazai yet.
“Activate Rashomon,” Dazai orders, gripping at Akutagawa’s shoulder with maybe too much force, but he doesn’t care if it will leave bruises – holding on to the boy right now is the only way for Dazai to stay sane.
“Activate it, now .”
Akutagawa releases a high, choked whine when finally, he realizes that it’s Dazai, the one talking to him. There’s something that flashes on his face that Dazai can’t really recognize. Still, it makes him feel awful to let go so the boy can activate his ability. A faint, reddish glow wraps around the thin frame of the mafioso, blood spilling from his dry lips with the severity of his coughing—
And then it stops.
Everything stops. Rashomon dissolves, the loud beeping of the heart monitor attached to Akutagawa goes back to a buzzing sound, and the boy breathes . One deep and steady inhale, his eyes going even wider, tears streaming down his cheeks as he turns to look at Dazai with so much gratitude the detective wants to run.
But he doesn’t.
“It worked,” Dazai whispers, bewildered himself. He was already so ready to bash himself with one more failure… and yet, here Akutagawa is: alive and breathing.
Fukuzawa clears his throat, face stern as he stares down at the younger, trembling boy.
“Welcome to the Armed Detective Agency, Akutagawa-kun,” he says. “I will be expecting you by our office in the next 24 hours so our doctor can visit you to make sure your condition is stable.”
And with that, he leaves Dazai alone with Akutagawa, who’s clearly struggling to keep sitting upright. He’s hunched forward and unable to say a word. Dazai can only imagine the shock.
“You should rest now,” Dazai says, avoiding looking at the boy as he settles his clothes. “I’ll have Chuuya send you to our quarters later today.”
He can’t stand being a minute longer in that room, under Akutagawa’s bewildered eyes.
“D-Dazai-san…”
Dazai stops, swallowing soundly while his eyes meet the gray eyes of the other, but Chuuya rushes in the room, followed by Gin.
“Don’t thank me, you lost one of your best fighters to our Agency today,” Dazai smirks when Chuuya turns to him, ready to speak. He doesn’t miss the way Akutagawa’s chin trembles hearing his words.
But that’s the maximum extent Dazai can muster his benevolence to go, and a second later, he’s out.
It’s when he’s walking through the lobby that a loud crash behind his back makes him stop, but when he turns around, he’s not surprised to see Chuuya a few feet away from him.
“You’re a bastard —”
Dazai can only laugh in response. It’s loud, obnoxious even – the adrenaline from before rushing out, leaving his very soul quivering, because Chuuya’s reaction is just what he wished for. The last, unwavering string of hope.
“Sorry for taking him away. I guess you will need to replace him, now.” Dazai grins at him when his laughter dies out. Chuuya doesn’t move a single inch. He’s staring at him, anger on his face but soft eyes – so soft, Dazai desperately wants to reach out.
Was I good?
Did I do good enough this time?
“…it doesn’t matter, you idiot,” Chuuya bites on his lower lip, fingers clenching in fists by his sides. “You saved him. You did it. ”
“I didn’t know it would work,” Dazai shakes his head, his smirk falling. “It was a risk—”
“I knew you would save him,” Chuuya interrupts him, moving forward until he’s just a step away from the detective, and Dazai’s breath gets caught in his throat. “I knew you’re just an insufferable liar .”
“Does this mean you don’t want me to go kill myself anymore, or…?”
“Get lost, Mackerel!”
The punch hits hard, but it’s not as painful as it could have been. Holding his jaw tight, Dazai can’t help but chuckle.
“I guess I deserved it,” he mutters, and he can swear he saw Chuuya’s lips quiver in an effort to hide a smile.
Chuuya clicks his tongue, waving him off, and Dazai snorts, rolling his eyes in a show.
“I’ll see you around, Chibikko.”
“Yeah, yeah, Fuck you, ” Dazai hears the redhead say, but a couple of seconds after, when he’s looking at his reflection in the glass doors of the Port Mafia main entrance, he stops, staring at his coat.
When Akutagawa was pulled in, Dazai gave him his coat – the boy was supposed to become his weapon.
Now, Dazai is taking off his trench coat for a different reason.
“Hey, Chibi,” Dazai calls at the executive’s back, going back on his steps. “Do you mind?”
Chuuya blinks in confusion, staring at the piece of clothing Dazai is handing him, before focusing on him, exchanging a look. “For him?”
Dazai nods, a serious expression on his face for once.
“He’s free to use it if he wants to give me a second chance.”
“He’s never stopped giving you one,” Chuuya says quietly, taking the coat. His fingers brush against Dazai’s, and the detective acts before thinking, grabbing his hand. The hold is gentle, not forced. If Chuuya wants, he can take his hand back.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“Dazai—”
“…did you?”
There’s no need for words between them. They know each other just too well, too deeply.
The longing has been mutual, and it’s loud in the silence that fills each pause between the insults they shout at each other at every chance.
“I didn’t want to,” Chuuya answers softly, but he squeezes Dazai’s fingers in his palm briefly before letting go. “…but I couldn’t help it.”
The lump in Dazai’s throat melts, his jaw sets to contain his emotions, and it’s hard to do so when all he wants right now is to grab the redhead and pull him closer. But it’s scary, and it’s not the right time, nor the place.
But Dazai will wait if Chuuya decides he’s worth it.
“…I’ll see you around, Dazai.”
“Thank you,” Dazai whispers under his breath when Chuuya is too far to hear it. He repeats it again, staring at his back until the redhead disappears from his sight, and there’s warmth in his belly as he walks back to the agency.
Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever get accustomed to doing good things, but what he knows is that he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone else he cares for. And when he sees Atsushi smiling at him proudly, so bright and cheerful, that warmth only grows, filling him inside out, like a gentle hug Dazai didn’t know he was craving for.
And that feeling twisting in his guts, Dazai realizes it must be happiness.