Archive of Our Own

Akutagawa naturally blames Atsushi for what has transpired thus far, with the words, What have you done, jinko? spilling from his lips even before the blinding light subsides. Atsushi accuses him back but it doesn’t really matter which one of them had been on the line of attack--Chuuya would have stepped in regardless.

It happens like this:

They’re surrounded. Both For the Tainted Sorrow and Rashoumon are able to stop the hurricane of bullets aimed towards them but still-they’re surrounded. Atsushi’s torso is more tiger than man and his fur more red than white, and the battle seems everlasting. 

The bullets only stop their onslaught when the enemy's leader steps into the fray. This is when three things happen in quick succession: the man lunges at an unimaginable speed, Akutagawa pushes the jinko away, and then Chuuya pushes Akutagawa to safety.

Gravity fails and two hands take a hold of Chuuya. 

A bright flash emerges like lightning, a shrill sound erupts from somewhere, and they momentarily lose sight of their surroundings. Akutagawa commands Rashoumon to blindly grab their enemy; but with the situation, he’s left to guess if his efforts had worked.

Atsushi returns to his senses first. “Ryuunosuke?” he blindly reaches out for the tail-ends of Akutagawa’s coat. Then: “Nakahara-san? Where are--”

A cacophony of horrid coughs emerge to his right. It’s Akutagawa, battered and bruised, but thankfully alive. “Jinko?” Every syllable bleeds with exasperation and relief. And when he’s ascertained that it is indeed Atsushi beside him, he says: “Good. You’re alive, then.” 

Atsushi catches his hands on some rubble and freshly spilled blood. He’s still on the ground and his shoulder aches from how hard he landed on the concrete. He presses a hand on his flesh and winces in pain, almost sure that a large bruise is already forming. Better than getting lunged at by their enemy, he supposes.

Then - “Nakarahara-san?” And when no reply comes, Atsushi raises his voice even more. “Akutagawa!” he says in earnest, “Where’s Nakahara-san?”

Akutagawa calls for his mentor’s name. Still, nothing.

Atsushi scrambles to his feet, legs quivering under him until his partner steadies him with a grip. The afterimage of the light has started to fade from his vision and the clearing comes into view. In front of them is a bundle of the Executive’s clothes, and a wriggling figure underneath.

Akutagawa approaches first and he immediately tries to assist his mentor to his feet.

The figure flinches. 

And Atsushi nearly passes out. Nearly.

The figure on the ground isn’t the Port Mafia’s feared Executive. It definitely isn’t the master of For The Tainted Sorrow. Nor is it the other half of Double Black. 

Atsushi is looking directly at a child, aged around maybe four or five. Maybe six? He can’t exactly tell. The child’s hair is long and loose, spilling in an orange mess over his tiny frame. He’s wrapped around the mafia’s coat ten sizes bigger on him, and there’s a pair of equally too-large gloves around his little hands. 

Akutagawa steps back. Once. Twice. Nearly runs away until Atsushi pulls him back with a desperate Hey!

He crouches down to face the child on eye level. “Nakahara-san?”

The boy blinks, blue eyes cautiously peering at him past his hair. “Um. Nakahara - wait - Chuuya...kun?” he tries again. 

The child hums to himself. Nods once, clenches and unclenches his hands, as if testing his body. Then he tilts his head to one side, and answers: “Yes?”

From the other side of the clearing, Akutagawa apprehends their enemy with a swift kick and a series of trademark mafia threats upon his lips. Then he turns to Atsushi and the child-no, his mentor-and says, “What the fuck, jinko?”

They gather their bearings as soon as they finish immobilizing the rest of the gunmen. Nakahara-san, or Chuuya-kun now, Atsushi supposes, is surprisingly calm for a child witnessing this ridiculous amount of violence at such a young age. Or maybe it’s because the real Chuuya - the short-tempered Executive, master of gravity - is inside the tiny body. 

Maybe. 

They’re operating on a lot of maybe’s for such a delicate matter. Atsushi wishes they had Dazai-san here with them on the field. Or Ranpo-san. Or Yosano-sensei. Anyone, really, so they can get answers. 

After all, the only intel they have of the situation is that there is a rogue criminal with an unknown Ability wreaking havoc on Yokohama. They encroached on Port Mafia territory and even went as far as stealing weapons from them. The Armed Detective Agency did not want to get involved but when mysterious civilian disappearances have been linked to the Ability user, well, the mafia and the ADA decided to send shin soukouko in the field, Chuuya in tow for supervision. 

(Why the fuck should I babysit? Chuuya had protested but snatched the files regardless. Shitty Dazai should be the one supervising them! he had screamed, all while giving both Akutagawa and Atsushi a once over, and nodding his head to himself almost fondly.)

“Okay. Alright. This is Chuuya-san.” Akutagawa says to himself in the corner as he carefully re-wraps the coat around Chuuya. 

“So this guy,” Atsushi pokes the now passed-out Ability user with his foot, “has the ability to turn other people into children.”

“Seems that way.” 

“I wonder why.”

“Children are easier to defeat,” Akutagawa voices out. “And manipulate.”

They both watch Chuuya toy with his too-big of a hat. Curious eyes fixate on the metal buckle and Chuuya giggles to himself, obviously pleased.

“Fucking hell,” Akutagawa grits.Chuuya blinks up, curious.

“Ryuunosuke,” Atsushi admonishes harshly. “Not in front of a child.”

“That child is Chuuya-san,” he shoots with a glare, “his vocabulary is worse than mine.”

“Still - he’s a child!”

“Yes, I can very clearly see that!”

“Calm down, will you?” Atsushi says, as if he isn’t yelling too.

Akutagawa steps forward, Rashoumon flaring as wild as his temper. “How do you expect me to calm down when my mentor was turned into a little child? Shall I remind you that we have to report this incident to Mori-san? To Dazai-san?”

Atsushi pales at that. “Oh. Oh!”

And in that moment, the child in their care reacts. Chuuya doesn’t exactly cry out loud but he does let out a tiny yelp. His eyes have become downcast, and he coils into himself as if in an attempt to hide. 

Akutagawa exhales - Atsushi is right. This is a child, and they need to find a different approach. Yelling, it seemed, wasn’t doing any good.

“Step back, jinko.” He says firmly. “I’ll try talking to him.”

Akutagawa knows he’s not the most gentle person in all of Yokohama, and most definitely not the kindest, but he has seen Gin in her most vulnerable to know that Chuuya might have a meltdown soon, if not addressed accordingly. 

He bends his knees until he’s eye level with Chuuya, who has curled so far into himself that he looked like a little ball. This feels foreign - his mentor so rarely looked so small on purpose. Chuuya was loud and willingly takes up space. To see his mentor shrink himself down to hide makes Akutagawa feel a wave of unknown emotions. Still, he offers a hand but pauses when Chuuya flinches. 

Softly, he says, “Chuuya-kun?”

Chuuya hugs the hat closer to his chest. He’s cautious, Akutagawa notes, but at least not he’s too defensive. “Who are you? I'm not allowed to talk to strangers.”

“We are your-“ Akutagawa swallows a little uncomfortably, “-uh-friends. I am Akutagawa and he is Atsushi.”

Chuuya nods in a show of understanding but there are still fragments of confusion in his eyes. He tests the names offered to him, syllables shortened and letters caught in his tongue, and Atsushi cooes. After a few beats, Chuuya relaxes. “Okay,” he says and then points to himself, to Akutagawa, and then to Atsushi.

“Copaine.”

And right, he almost forgot that Chuuya speaks French.

Akutagawa does not know much about his mentor’s childhood, only vignettes shared over drunken ramblings under dim lights. He does his mental math - and from what he knows, from what he’s pieced together, this must have been aroud the time when he was taken from his family to live a life in a testing facility. Chuuya mentioned a God, once-- 

Akutagawa’s phone rings and he’s pulled from his thoughts. “What are we going to do?” Atsushi wails again. “What are we going to say? Oh god - is that the mafia? - why do they keep partnering us anyway - we're definitely going to get punished, we really are, aren’t we?”

“Jinko, shut up--”

“Punished?” Chuuya inhales sharply. He turns pale, eyes glazing over, and almost falls to the ground. “I'm getting punished?”

(I don’t remember a lot but I can remember how it felt -- Chuuya had said, once. Wine sloshing back and forth inside the glass, until it spills.)

“No one is going to get punished,” Akutagawa lays a hand on Chuuya’s tiny head, and mouths Keep quiet, just as he answers the call. 

It’s Dazai. And under normal circumstances, Akutagawa would have celebrated and boasted this to Atsushi for the mere fact that Dazai-san called him first and not the jinko, but today he nearly smashes the phone with Rashoumon. 

Koyou-san, he can probably handle. Mori-san, even less so. 

But Dazai-san. 

Dazai-san was something else entirely.

“Akutagawa-kun,” he sing-songs at the end of the line, “did I just hear a child?”

He turns. Atsushi is scooping Chuuya’s long hair in his hands to gather it all in a loose knot. It keeps all the hair away from Chuuya's face, and he beams with a grateful smile. 

“Akutagawa-kun?”

“Ah. Yes.” He coughs just for the sake of it. 

“Yes?"

No use lying now, he supposes. “Yes, Dazai-san. There is a child in our midst.”

And just then, Atsushi finishes his task. “Good?” he says and pats Chuuya’s head.

“Oui!” comes his reply with an appreciative clap. He touches his new hairstyle, careful not to ruin Atsushi's hard work and then says, “It’s pretty,” so incredibly politely that it makes Akutagawa huff in quiet amusement. 

(Briefly, he considers: how different would Chuuya-san be, had he been raised in different circumstances?) 

The conversation must have reached the phone, because: “A French child.” Dazai’s voice flutters above the static. His voice gives the impression that he already has a grasp on the situation. Akutagawa would not be surprised, if that were the case. 

“Yes,” he says again, resigned to his fate. A few beats of silence, and then Dazai laughs. “Alright! Great work today! Make sure you and Atsushi-kun get back safely! Bye!”

The line dies with a click and Chuuya blinks at him curiously when he approaches. He arranges for their pick-up and informs Atsushi of his conversation with Dazai, and the jinko visibly relaxes. “At least he didn’t sound angry!” he says and Akutagawa tries not to scare Chuuya again by lashing out. He feels a migraine forming at the back of his eyes just from the statement but thinks better of it, and saves the monologue for next time. 

“Alright,” Atsushi says again when he sees their designated car approach. “Let’s go home!”

“Home?” Chuuya straightens in Akutagawa’s hold. A twinkle of excitement, maybe hope, but his next words are carefully phrased. “I can finally go home?”

Atsushi pauses, obviously unaware of the implications in his words. He looks to Akutagawa who only places a steady hand over Chuuya’s head and says: “Yes, you’re going home now, Chuuya-kun.”

Chuuya falls asleep with his cheeks pressed against Akutagawa’s chest during the car ride. His little hands clutch onto his shirt almost desperately and in his sleep, he fidgets and tries to bury himself closer to Akutagawa.

Atsushi stretches beside him. He whispers, “You’re surprisingly good with kids.”

“Gin." He says by way of explanation.

Chuuya squirms again and Akutagawa hushes him with a gentle pat on his back. 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Atsushi asks again when Chuuya has quieted down. Akutagawa considers the question thoughtfully, and then resigns: “I do not know.”

He does not say that his mentor might be at the age where his life had been the most horrible. He does not say that this Chuuya is the one that is more familiar with torture and punishments than the concept of home and safety. 

But he doesn’t have all the facts, not really. All Akutagawa has is a series of maybe’s about his mentor’s past, snapshots of his story covered in shadows he could barely decipher. Chuuya-san had always been vocal about a lot of things - his supposed hatred for Dazai, his love for Yokohama, his interest in winery - but never about the demons he has locked inside himself, literally and figuratively.

If Akutagawa had been more inquisitive, he would have asked Chuuya-san, but for now he tucks all his worries to the back of his mind and watches the Agency's building come into view.

Chuuya wakes as soon as the car stops moving and his grip turns vice-like, knuckles turning pale. It’s Atsushi who comforts him this time. “It’s okay!” he practically sings. “They’re my friends. And my friends are your friends!” 

“Also Akugawa’s friends?”

“Of course,” Atsushi replies without missing a beat. Akutagawa decidedly tunes out the rest of his chatter as he follows him up to the doors of the Agency’s office. 

Everyone stares as soon as they step in. It would have been okay - bearable even - except Dazai stops whatever kind of work he is busy with these days, and gives full attention to the child attached to Akutagawa’s side. 

Chuuya shrinks to himself, tugs on his hair to obscure his field of vision. “Fucking hell,” he echoes.

There’s a beat. And then a flurry of words all at once: Chuuya? from Dazai-san himself, a more concerned Chuuya-san? from Kyouka, a God help me from Kunikida, and then a delighted Wow! from Kenji. 

It’s Dazai-san who approaches first, curt smile on full display. Atsushi relaxes even further but something cold and treacherous clutches at Akutagawa’s chest. His eyes trace to Dazai’s hands and he sees his open palms that have always been ready to strike, to hurt. 

Akutagawa tries to breathe past the coughs that threaten to spill from his lungs.

Then he blinks. He’s Dazai-san’s first disciple, even before the concept of  Atsushi ever came in existence. He’s supposed to be the one more responsible. He’s the one who’s supposed to have done a better job, to not need any saving from Dazai’s partner in the first place.

There are a number of reasons why he shouldn’t falter and tremble-and he knows he deserves to be punished.

He only hopes it would not be in front of Atsushi, or the child beside him.

He starts and speaks as level as his voice would allow. “Dazai-san. It was my fault. I did not move fast enough and as a result of my carelessness, Chuu - Nakahara-san was caught in the Ability. I will accept any penalty you see fit.”

Sensing his sudden distress, Atsushi moves quickly. “Dazai-san,” he interrupts. “Ryuu - Akutagawa was trying to protect me. He pushed me out of the way, so, really, he didn’t do anything wrong!”

There’s a snarl forming inside Akutagawa’s mouth. He's not some weakling who needs protection of all things. He glares and then--

A warm palm atop his head. A sign of comfort. A sign of understanding, maybe even forgiveness. “Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says and then echoes his words from the phone call. “Good work today.”

Bewildered, Akutagawa could only nod.

Dazai closes the distance between them then, crouching a little so he could meet the blue eyes properly. He studies the child for a few more seconds and then simply says, in French: “Hello, Chuuya.”

“Hello,” Chuuya says warily and inches forward. Whether it’s Dazai’s voice, the way he said Chuuya’s name, or maybe the deep sense of familiarity they share-no one can be sure, but Chuuya approaches on his own accord. “How do you know my name? Who are you? What is this place?”

Dazai laughs. Brief but bright and actually genuine. “I’m Dazai! You and I friends, or at least I’d like it to be that way! You’re here in what we call the Agency. Welcome!”

Akutagawa steps aside to free Chuuya from his coat. His eyes are brighter this time, less terrified than moments ago. Then he tests out the way Dazai’s name rolls off his tongue - perfect enunciation as compared to his babbled Akugawa and Atshi from earlier - and then hums to himself in approval. 

“Okay!” and then: “I’ll be safe here?”

Something flashes on Dazai’s face-a flicker of emotion Akutagawa could not name. But it’s gone just as soon as it comes, and Dazai laughs again, more strained than it had been earlier. “Of course, mon petit Chuuya.”

Chuuya nods his head again and then scans the room. Shiny blue eyes take in the ADA office - there’s still caution printed on his face but at least his shoulders have lost some of the tension they held seconds ago. The rest of the Agency approach slowly - one of the secretaries is even cooing - and Chuuya smiles little by little until he’s full on grinning. 

He answers questions with what eloquence a toddler can possess. I’m four he declares and holds up chubby fingers. Says oui! with pride when Kenji comments about how well he can count. He proclaims Hey! Don’t touch that! when Ranpo makes a move to take his hat and surprisingly well-mannered, says Thank you, I arpe - appre - arpeciate this! when one of the secretaries helped him into better fitting, more child-friendly clothes.

Everything is going well just until it is Yosano who approaches him. She approaches with a smile, with what seemed to be sweets in her hands. But still, Chuuya goes rigid and eyes turn grey like a storm clouds. His breathing turns ragged and shallow and he starts to spasm - “No,” he whispers at first until his voice turns loud, almost screaming. Almost shrieking.

An untrained eye would dismiss this as a tantrum - but Dazai sees the white coat hanging over Yosano-sensei’s shoulders, sees the way Chuuya is scratching at his arms to pull away invisible tubes from his body. His cries: No, stop, please, no, no, don't--

It’s Akutagawa who intercepts the doctor. 

Dazai, on the other hand, disperses the crowd around Chuuya. 

“Chuuya,” he tries. He doesn’t hear Dazai’s voice and he convulses violently - but still, Dazai tries. “It’s okay, you’re safe, remember? Safe. It’s just me - Dazai.”

“Dazai--“ Chuuya says eventually. And again, and again. Dazai, Dazai he repeats like a mantra, and when he’s finally collected himself enough, crawls into Dazai’s open arms and lets himself be comforted in the embrace.

It’s quiet now, with only Chuuya’s pitiful hiccuping and Dazai’s quiet singing filling the room. It’s French, Akutagawa notes, and tucks that information for another time. 

From beside him, Atsushi comments yet again: “He’s surprisingly good with kids.”

Akutagawa nods, just as equally astounded.

Just when everyone thought that Chuuya had fallen asleep from exhaustion, his head suddenly snaps up from Dazai’s shoulder and he gasps with wonder: “Cat! Un chat, Dazai!”

And then they hear it - a chorus of meows coming from somewhere in the building.

Dazai laughs and places Chuuya back on the ground. “Yes, Kyouka-chan has been taking care of a few cats here in the building. Would you like to see them?”

Chuuya lights up, eyes sapphire like gems. “Oh, really? Can I? Can we?”

“Of course!” Akutagawa can practically hear the smile in Dazai’s voice. “What Chuuya wants, Chuuya shall get!”

“Dazai.” Kunikida warns just as Dazai strides to the door. “Perhaps we should take this situation more seriously? And return Nakahara to his original self? Return him to the mafia?”

Dazai looks over his shoulder, pretends to give it a thought and then says petulantly: “Nope!” 

“I can cancel the guy’s Ability anytime, just keep him holed up here for a few more hours.” And there’s that look again on Dazai’s face -- fond, contemplative, and then slightly anguished. It lingered longer this time and Kunikida must have seen it, too. The blond swallows whatever arguments he has left and waves off Dazai without so much as a grumble.

“And,” Dazai grins at Akutagawa, “the Port Mafia can wait! The cats can’t!

With that, the door opens and then shuts. From inside the office, they could hear Chuuya’s cheers echoing in the hallway.

The kittens have an area of their own in one of the break rooms. Everyone in the Agency takes care of the kittens, even Dazai himself, but it is Kyouka who mothers them the most. He explains all these to Chuuya who has taken the liberty to sit on the floor, arms outstretched to beckon the kittens to come and invade his space.

“They won’t come near me!” he pouts at Dazai after a few attempts, and his voice scares the kittens even more that they race to their housing to hide.

Dazai grins, completely amused. I see you’ve always had that temper, he thinks as he plants himself beside Chuuya and calls for the cats. “Stay still, mon petit Chuuya.” He instructs.

One of the kittens eventually approaches, despite Chuuya’s inability to sit quietly. It plants itself right in the middle of Chuuya’s lap, deeming it comfortable enough to rest on. Chuuya’s eyes brightened with glee and  with child-like wonder. 

A cat! He says over and over with amusement, giggles spilling like he’s got a lifetime’s supply of it inside his chest. 

Dazai laughs with him, laughs even more when Chuuya nearly falls over when the kitten licks his face.

Chuuya whines, “Dazai! Don’t laugh at me! I almost hurt myself!”

He pinches Chuuya’s cheeks. “Mon petit mafia is scared of a cat!”

“Not of the cat! And I was just sup - supr - surprised!”

“Ah, I wonder what else Chuuya is scared of!”

He had meant it to be a little joke but Chuuya, in his four-year old wisdom, actually quiets down and peers up at Dazai. The storm clouds are back - muted, but ever present. “A lot of things. Too many things. The dark. The water.”

And Dazai is taken back to years before, to soukoku, to Chuuya thrashing violently against a river he’s been thrown to even if he knew how to swim; to cold winter nights, Chuuya insisting to have at least one spare light on, Dazai, or so help me god, just keep the fucking curtains open, I want to see the city lights; Chuuya - Chuuya - Chuuya .

He brushes out the hair from Chuuya’s face. “Is that so?” he says quietly. “Then Dazai has no choice but to keep Chuuya company so he’s not scared, right?”

Chuuya nods, pensive. Then: “If Osamu gets scared, I promise that I'll always be there too! We’re friends, right?”

And Dazai inhales a shaky breath, knows he never told this Chuuya his complete name as of yet, and suddenly feels cotton inside his throat. “Partners, Chuuya. We’re partners.”

It’s Kyouka who breaks the atmosphere with a knock. It’s an invitation to eat crepes with her, Atsushi, and an unwilling Akutagawa -- “Can we?” Chuuya asks and of course, Dazai relents. 

So the afternoon unfolds as such: two ex-criminals, one orphan, and two of the mafia’s top members out in Yokohama eating sweet treats. 

Chuuya clumsily holds the dessert with both his hands and then in awe at the sheer size of it, says yet again: “Fucking hell!”

Akutagawa dissolves in a coughing fit. “My apologies. I shall watch my language next time I am near children.”

“Nonsense,” Dazai waves a lazy hand. “Wasn’t it Chuuya who taught you how to speak like that?”

“Just as I explained to jinko,” he shoots at Atsushi with a triumphant smirk. 

From her seat, Kyouka muses. “I wonder if Chuuya-san will remember all of these when the ability is reversed.”

Dazai stretches, cracks a few kinks in his spine, and faces the sun. “Let’s make it embarrassing,” he grins. “Make sure he has so many ridiculous childhood stories so that when he comes back, he cries from embarrassment! That’s a great idea, Kyouka-chan, oh - where shall we start? How about a horrible bowl-cut hair? Or maybe we should let him eat dirt, or --”

Kyouka eventually tunes him out and extends a hand towards a curious Chuuya. “What about we play a game of tag, Chuuya-kun?”

One round turns into two, then three, and until seven. Chuuya falls too many times to count but his laughter is unbidden; carefree and joyous. Kyouka plays with him in earnest too, and this is perhaps the most free he has seen all of his students together. Even Akutagawa -- an unwilling participant, but a participant nonetheless. And Dazai takes photos and videos - embarrassing amounts, really - until his phone almost reaches its storage limits.

Soon enough, the game of tag evolves to hide and seek, each of them taking turns being ‘it’ until the sun nearly sets. “Last round,” Kyouka smiles as if she’s reminiscing a memory herself, “it’s going to get dark soon. We have to be careful, okay?”

Dazai watches them scramble to find their hiding spots just as Kyouka turns to count. Just then, a strong wind blows and he is forced to close his eyes to avoid the onslaught of dust - and it’s only then does he realize his mistake.

When he opens his eyes, Chuuya is nowhere to be found. Relax, he tells himself, it’s just a game . 

Logic dictates that Chuuya is just a kid, and this is just a park, and this is just Yokohama. Reminds himself that nothing can outsmart him.

Still, something akin to fear takes a clutch of him: Chuuya is a Port Mafia Executive, respected and feared, yes -- hated and cursed, more so. And this is Yokohama - a city that holds a darkness he himself knows through and through; not many can outsmart Dazai, but plenty have tried.

Chuuya is not behind the trees or under the bushes. Neither is he balled up under the slide nor making a silly mess of himself behind any garbage cans. If his three students notice his distress, they don’t say anything.

Then a sharp cry: Osamu? 

Past the trees, past the playground - there, standing near the park’s southern exit stands Chuuya, eyes as red as the dying sun with tear stains on his cheeks. 

“Chuuya,” Dazai runs up to him. “It’s alright. I’m here now, see?”

Chuuya’s head jerks. He meets Dazai halfway and then launches his little body at him. “Where were you,” he half-cries and half-shouts, words muffled against Dazai’s shirt. 

“Chuuya,” he tries again, “it’s alright now. I’m right here.”

But Chuuya has slipped through his grip, falling on the ground still sobbing. His explanation comes in broken sobs - “The wind took my - my hat - and I can’t lose it - mon chapeau - Dazai, I can’t - but when I turned around you weren’t there - and!”

Chuuya’s tiny fists are beginning to pale and he is pressing it on the ground so harshly that Dazai fears he will make himself bleed. “You weren’t there,” he continues to sob, “and they’re going to take me, Dazai, they’re going to take me away again and do terrible things to me - and - I don’t want that, Dazai, please.”

In one quick motion, Dazai gathers Chuuya in his arms and presses him to his chest. Chuuya buries his face under Dazai’s chin and tucks himself in a small, trembling ball, heartbreaking whimper after another leaving his lips. 

“I don’t want to be taken away again, Dazai.” Chuuya whispers. “I want to stay here with you, and Akugawa, and the kittens, Dazai.”

Dazai’s face reflects heartbreak. And Akutawa looks away, not quite sure what to make of this scene. 

“Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs. “No one’s going to take you away, Chuuya. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. I’m here, I’ll always be here.”

He argues, albeit weakly. “But you left me, Dazai. You did, and you’ll do it again. And they’ll take me!”

Dazai’s hold tightens and then he continues his mantra. “I’m here now, Chuuya.” Dazai whispers. He rubs soothing circles on his back until Chuuya’s tears subside and for his cries to mellow into hiccups. And eventually his breaths even out and silence envelops the night.

“I’m scared,” Chuuya chokes. 

Dazai kisses the side of his head. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“But what if no one’s going to be there to protect me?”

The thought almost makes Dazai snort. Chuuya had never liked admitting needing anyone’s protection. But then he reminds himself that this is not Chuuya of Double Black -- not even Chuuya, King of the Sheep. He’s just Chuuya, just Chuuya - such a tiny little child to carry all of life’s burdens. He holds him close, wonders how to handle this situation, how he would have wanted to be treated, how to be the person they both needed when they were younger.

“There’s always going to be someone to protect you,” Dazai says, firmer this time. “Ane-san, Gin, Hirotsu, Tachihara, Higuchi, Akutagawa-kun. Atsushi, too. And even Kyouka-chan.”

And he knows these words to be true. Not from mere obligation, but because it is difficult not to gravitate towards Chuuya’s kindness.

Chuuya sniffles quietly into Dazai’s shirt, now wet with tears. “I don’t even know some of the names you said, Dazai.”

That makes Dazai laugh. “They’ll protect you regardless.”

Chuuya shuffles in his hold and presses his face ever closer. “I don’t want to disappear again.”

Dazai inhales. “We won’t let you, Chuuya. We won’t let you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Chuuya.”

Chuuya disentangles himself from Dazai’s hold and then scrubs his face. His eyes are still red-rimmed but the start of a smile is forming. “Okay, Dazai. I believe you.”

The sun has long set by the time they return to the Agency. Chuuya has fallen asleep on Atsushi’s embrace on the walk home, and he’s tasked to take the Executive back to Dazai’s apartment with Kyouka. Akutagawa eventually returns back to Port Mafia to report. And Dazai makes a quick work of the Ability user who cursed Chuuya.

When everything’s finished and the moon hangs high up in the night sky, he makes his way home.

It’s quiet when Dazai opens the door. Atsushi and Kyouka have prepared dinner, plates of delicious food atop his table. “Chuuya-kun is in your room,” Atsushi informs him.

“It’s Nakahara-san now, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai replies cheekily now that the Ability has been dispelled by No Longer Human, and Atsushi’s cheeks flush pink.

It’s Kyouka who speaks again. “Chuuya-san hasn’t eaten dinner yet. Should we wake him now?”

Dazai smiles to himself. See, Chuuya? Look at how many people care about you.  

He shakes his head. “He needs to rest,” he says. “But let’s not let all this go to waste, yes?”

And so they eat in silence, until an hour passes and both Atsushi and Kyouka have to bid him good night. 

Ever so kind, Atsushi says: “We’ll be next door if you need anything, Dazai-san!”

And Kyouka, before turning, says in earnest: “I really hope Chuuya-san remembers everything that happened today. He seemed like he had fun, even in the end.”

Dazai regards her with a smile. “As do I.”

The first thing he sees when he enters his room is an empty bed. Where Chuuya should have been sleeping, only a crumpled blanket remains. Dazai would have thought the redhead had left already, back to his own home, but there Chuuya stands by the window, a mismatch of Dazai’s clothes hanging loosely over his body. 

Chuuya, in all his 22-year old glory, turns and offers the smallest of smiles. “Shitty Dazai,” is how he starts. 

And “Silly chibi,” is how Dazai responds.

He pulls Chuuya to sit between his knees, producing a comb from his cabinet to fix the knots and tangles in his hair. “You had a long day.” 

“The longest,” he agrees, surprisingly pliant, and tilts his head back to give Dazai better access to his hair. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Good,” he says. And then after a few beats, amends: “Better.” 

“Are you sure you’re back to normal? You still seem quite small to me, Chuuya! Or maybe there really isn’t that much of a difference between this Chuuya and your four year-old version? I really can’t tell what age you are right now!”

Chuuya huffs but smiles despite himself. Dazai knows it’s genuine - the only times Chuuya’s eyes ever crinkle is when he’s truly happy. A good sign then, Dazai thinks to himself. 

Then: “Thank you. For today.”

Dazai whispers, “Four year-old Chuuya was such a crybaby. He was very frightened of a lot of things.”

“He was.” Chuuya says. “He had no one, back then.”

Dazai tilts Chuuya’s face towards him and then presses a kiss on his forehead. “And now?”

Chuuya considers the question for a moment. He looks at Dazai’s devoted eyes, feels for his steadfast fingers against his skin. And then he remembers Akutagawa's silent concern and the way Kyouka and Atsushi treated him - despite and in spite of everything. On the bed side table is his phone, Ane-san's message greeting him as soon as he woke up. Did your mission go well? - she says instead of Be safe, but it's there, it's ever present, and he it fills him with warmth.

He remembers Dazai's words and his promises. “No,” Chuuya answers in earnest. “I suppose it’s not as horrible anymore. Four year-old me would be happy, I think, to know what I have now.”

“If only you met me sooner!” Dazai teases with a light tug on his hair. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been so miserable.”

“Fuck off,” Chuuya snorts but not unkindly. “If you were even half as annoying as you are right now, I would have hated you from the start.”

Dazai laughs this time. “I think we would have been the best of friends! But I would have definitely pulled on Chuuya’s braids just to get his attention.”

“It’s ‘pulling on pigtails’. Shitty Dazai can’t even get the saying right.”

They share a laugh and then the stillness returns as Yokohama listens to them, for the first time, lament a childhood that never was.

Maybe in another life, they would also have been good friends. Their summers would have been spent eating ice cream together under the hot sun, fingers sticky and knees scraped from running around. What would have been a sealed deal in the arcade would have been different altogether. Maybe, Dazai thinks, things could have been simple for them, too. He pictures a younger him and a younger Chuuya attending school, slacking off, getting in trouble in the most innocent of ways possible. He thinks of blue skies and clear pools - and wonders: why was the world cruel enough not to give them any of those in the first place?

Or maybe they wouldn't have even met at all. Yokohama is a big city - their chance encounter may just as well be at unnamed bus stops and never to meet again. Strangers bound to share just one look only to forget each other the moment they turn around. Pockets of time they can't ever call theirs. Double Black, non-existent. 

Would that have been better, for the both of them?

Chuuya faces him, and then it is his turn to press a soft kiss on the corner of Dazai’s mouth as if he knows how far Dazai's thoughts have strayed. He probably does, by the way his lips curl. “At least,” he breathes in their space, “you’re here now.”

Dazai pulls him to the bed and tucks Chuuya under his chin in a gentle embrace. “And so are you.”

Blue skies painted black, red, and gold. This moment is theirs alone. Soukoku, always.Chuuya presses close to listen to Dazai’s heartbeat.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Chuuya promises both to Dazai and himself. “Let’s rest.”

And rest, they did.