Chapter Text
Osamu woke up at his desk at the Port Mafia.
For a moment, this made sense. He cleared the papers away and hunched forward, grabbing for the folder of whatever busy work Mori had assigned him but—
That was four years ago. Four years since Osamu was betrayed and labeled a traitor in the same act. He didn't work for the Port Mafia, they didn't own him.
This wasn't his desk.
Looking down, the paper in his (absurdly small!) hand clearly said Nakahara Chuuya.
Ohhhh. That could cause a problem.
It made sense, thinking it through! He hadn’t worked for the Port Mafia in quite so time, hadn’t worked a job where he might fall asleep at his desk from working too—long hours in general! (Falling asleep at his desk was never in question, and he could hear Kunikida and Chuuya’s twin complaints at very different desks.)
Well, that made the desk itself, the location, make sense. The fact that he was at Chuuya’s desk, with tiny gloved hands that could only be explained by a tiny gloved man… that one was a little more confusing.
Osamu set the papers back down, running a hand through his (Chuuya’s?!) hair to pull it out of his face. Ah, he was wearing a hat, he couldn’t be anyone other than his foolish chibi ex-partner. Osamu tucked the longest part of Chuuya’s ridiculous hair into his ridiculous hat and grabbed his phone.
Hopefully, he’d saved his contact, though Dazai was unsure what he might be looking for.
Worst come to worst, he could just call himself without finding the contact! It was his own phone number, one he’d be even more foolish than everyone perceived to not have memorized. But, oh, it would be so much more fun to see how Chuuya had saved him in his phone!
His name? Dazai would be the only way that was true (though he had vivid memories of Chuuya saying his first name, whispering it, gasping it, into the open air for it to be censored by Osamu’s own mouth before it dare reached anyone else). But, ah, Chuuya hadn’t even had his contact under his name when they were partners!
It would be a pet name, then, an insult. Something Chuuya could remember him by. But every variation of mackerel, of every curse he could think of in the many languages they’d spent long nights learning only the worst words from, every variation of the barbs he threw at Osamu were missing from the phone.
The contacts were clean and tidy—no room in the phone for Osamu’s name in any way he could think of. Few were anything more than a name, anything more than the essentials. Mori, Kouyou, Akutagawa, his other subordinates, his other equals. Members of the Mafia, numbers and names Osamu could never forget himself, and a few spare at the bottom that must be his contacts for his legitimate front.
No space for his former partner.
(Of course Chuuya wouldn’t save it, Osamu reminded his traitorous mind, he’d left the Port Mafia! They were no longer partners, and Dazai went against everything that Chuuya now stood for. Having his phone number in his phone would practically be Chuuya declaring himself the same as Osamu, still holding onto a traitor in the eyes of the Mafia.
He only kept Chuuya’s to bother him. He’d long since memorized the number, anyway, it only made sense to plug it into his phone.)
Osamu typed the familiar numbers, not hesitating before pressing to begin the call. He pushed Chuuya’s chair back from his desk (not too far! Careful not to go so far his tiny little legs wouldn’t reach!) and kicked his feet onto the desk, smirking at the way the papers scattered. He could practically hear Chuuya’s voice scolding him.
Oh!
“Dazai, you piece of shit!” Osamu laughed in Chuuya’s voice, tutting under his breath as the phone rang and rang. “You know we need to take care of that shit, you can’t just throw it around because you don’t give a shit, I have responsibilities, and you can’t just go—”
The tone clicked and a message indicated a full inbox that Osamu had never bothered to clear. Chuuya hadn’t picked up. He better not be getting into trouble in Osamu’s body! He’d worked hard to make sure that he could live an easy life, Chuuya better not go making anyone believe otherwise!
Why hadn’t he picked up the call?
Was Chuuya already trying to live out Osamu’s dreams in his own body, strangling it or throwing it into a river? If he succeeded, would he be thrown back into his body, or would Osamu be stuck in this shrimp of a skin suit for the rest of his existence? Don’t make him go through that, Chuuya!
Or maybe he was talking to the Agency. Would he try to blend in, or would he explain his situation? Osamu wasn’t sure that they would play kindly to a Mafia executive in one of their own’s bodies and no explanation for why…
He just hoped Chuuya was smart enough to not rush to the Port Mafia with the face of a traitor once he realized what had happened.
Then again, thinking it over, Osamu recalled his own contact for Chuuya was nothing more than a circle with an ‘x’ through it.
He wouldn’t be the most inclined to pick up that contact from Chuuya’s phone either.
But that did make things problematic, didn’t it! He doubted Chuuya would think to call himself, so how was he supposed to get in contact with him to get this all cleared away?
How was he supposed to get this cleared away in the first place?
Clearly, the ability hadn’t been transmitted by touch if it was able to affect him—unless, for some reason, it had only affected Chuuya and he was an unwilling victim sucked in because of the ability’s capabilities. Would he need to touch Chuuya then, and things would go back to normal? Or would it be Chuuya touching him…?
Part of him wanted to know which ability had, what potential of power he had, but he knew better. He’d seen Chuuya’s full capability in action more times than he should have, and in every situation there was one common factor –
Osamu had been there to stop things from getting worse.
Simple gravity manipulation poised no danger to Osamu, but he didn’t dare attempt, not knowing how his ability worked, how to keep it under control.
Best not to level all of Yokohama and get himself killed in the process! As much as he wanted to die, doing so in Chuuya’s body defeated the whole purpose! And then he’d have to rely on the slug to come and save him, and that situation sounded like no fun for everyone involved. He was even coming to like Yokohama, seeing it in new eyes.
He supposed he could try to go to Chuuya.
While he didn’t trust Kunikida not to shoot on sight, it was still much less dangerous for him to approach the Armed Detective Agency as Chuuya than Chuuya to come here as himself. Hopefully, Chuuya was already at the Agency, and Ranpo had already seen right through any problems they may have.
Oh, wait, though.
Osamu had awoken on Chuuya’s desk, which meant that he had been sleeping.
(His pathetic slug, falling asleep at his desk instead of the bed Osamu knew was bigger and softer than any one person needed!)
Osamu would have fallen asleep for the night in his apartment, meaning if he was lucky Chuuya was nowhere near the Agency yet.
If he moved fast enough, he could make sure that he didn’t get there at all.
Osamu rose from Chuuya’s desk, shedding coat and hat and running as fast as miniature legs could take him in the direction of his apartment. As he ran down the halls of the Mafia, half-dressed, hair and clothes rumpled, Osamu could only imagine what the others who saw him were thinking.
(Akutagawa’s look had been particularly amusing. He had stopped entirely, mouth open like he was going to say something before covering it with a faked cough! He couldn’t help his own laughter at the reaction—that was certainly one way to use his weakness to his advantage. Knowing Chuuya, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed!)
Chuuya’s body was in better shape than his own, but what else did he expect from the Mafia’s best martial artist? Even with the unusually small strides, he made quick work to his apartment and banged on the door.
“ Chuuya !” His name sounded different, trilled in his own voice. “I hope it’s you in there! Sleeping in my bed, you better hope the Mafia doesn’t hear about this scandal, they’d certainly—”
The door swung open and a bandaged arm grabbed at the leather straps crisscrossing his chest, painfully tugging him into the apartment. Osamu gasped on his breath, scrambling to keep up with the pull.
“What the hell did you do, you piece of shit!?”
“Hello to you too! So nice to see you—me? How are you enjoying your stay? Is it everything you wanted out of being inside me? It’s been so long since I—”
Chuuya grabbed at the choker, pulling it tighter until Osamu’s words squeaked to a stop. His fingers brushed against Osamu’s bare neck, bringing a shiver to his body, but, more importantly, proving that this ability couldn’t be ceased with contact from his ability, whoever had it.
“How do I activate your goddamn ability?” Chuuya snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest. “How do I get out of your shitty body?”
Oh, he hadn’t caught on? He hadn’t noticed that moment of contact? Maybe he hadn’t activated the ability, but if he was trying that hard to, it would have activated. They would have been fixed.
“Easy peasy!” Osamu chirped, wriggling out of his grasp. He gestured to Chuuya. “All that time together and you never learned?” He tutted. “You know, I knew you weren’t as bright as I am, but I still hoped you’d be able to figure that much out!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya growled. “So, what, I just have to fucking touch you, skin to skin, right?”
“Yep! Just touch me. Anywhere you want, your choice, for once!” Osamu spun around, extending his arms to display Chuuya’s entire body to himself. “Funnily enough, I hear the lips are an awfully effective place to have skin to skin –”
“I’m not kissing you to deactivate a goddamn ability.” Chuuya roughly grabbed Osamu’s arm, squeezing too tight. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, waiting for something, anything.
Osamu stayed woefully smaller than Chuuya.
“… so what the fuck does that mean?” Chuuya sighed after a moment, loosening his grip, but not letting go.
Weird!
Osamu would deal with that later!
“I’d have to cancel it from the source.” Osamu shrugged. “What did you do to get us in this situation in the first place?”
“Why do you assume it’s me, you waste of bandages!?” Chuuya snapped, glaring down at him. Ah, what a different point of view that was!
“Chuuya, we just had this discussion, and you already forget! How it pains me.” Osamu fell back dramatically, letting his back hit his bed. He fluttered his eyelashes at Chuuya. “So quickly you forget how my ability works? If they had touched me, nothing would have happened. You had to be the source for this to have started in the first place, I’m just your unwilling victim.”
“So, what? Somebody out there has an ability that makes people trade bodies with the people they want to strangle the most?”
“Oh, you want to strangle me most? Do you mean that?” Osamu propped himself up, fluttering his eyelashes at Chuuya. “I knew Chuuya still lo–”
Chuuya jumped onto the bed on top of him, pressing his hands against Osamu’s mouth. Osamu’s heart beat faster, staring up at him with wide eyes.
“I don’t want to hear any bullshit from you, mackerel,” he spat. “I want to be back in my body and to pretend like this never happened so I can put a bullet through your brain and go on with my life.”
“Just one? Taking pity on me?” Osamu smirked, shoving Chuuya off of him. Chuuya moved more easily—maybe he was right about Osamu’s body being so much more out of shape than his.
“You’re not worth wasting bullets on,” Chuuya answered. “Give me my goddamn phone and I guess I can at least answer emails or some bullshit.” He reached out expectantly.
“You don’t have me saved, I noticed.” Osamu handed the phone over with little hesitance, especially since his own was pressed back into his hands once he did. “Afraid of catching feelings all over again?”
“You wish.” Osamu wondered if Chuuya thought he’d missed the quick glimmer of confusion on his face. What was there to be confused about?
“Don’t you worry.” Osamu popped his finger against the tip of Chuuya’s nose, smiling at him. “I know you never lost your feelings in the first place.”
(He should know, considering the sleepless nights over the past four years he’d spent reconsidering his own— )
“I don’t know how you’re so effortlessly such a massive piece of shit,” Chuuya muttered. “I didn’t delete your fucking contact. Why were you snooping through my phone anyway?”
“I needed to get in contact with you! Who knew what kinds of horrible things you were doing to my body!” Osamu rearranged the bandages on his body’s wrist (not that it was any mystery to Chuuya what was there—he’d seen the scars, could only assume there would be new, fresh slices against his skin). “I could hardly expect respect!”
“Says the idiot that came here half-dressed.” Chuuya looked him over, raising his eyebrows. “And not bothering to brush his fucking hair.”
“Half dressed!?” Osamu exclaimed, looking down. “All I left behind was your hat and your jackets!”
“And my vest. And my harness. All you’re wearing is a shirt and pants, Dazai.”
“That’s not half-dressed! You just wear too much clothes! Like a little dress-up doll!” Osamu exclaimed, clutching at his heart as he fell against the bed again. Chuuya rolled out of the way lest they collide once again. “That’s not the point! I’m still in your phone? I couldn’t find my contact!”
“You wouldn’t be able to find it.” Chuuya looked down at his own phone, a frown pulling at his lips. It was unnerving to see Chuuya’s expressions on his own face. Would anyone else even be able to tell that wasn’t Osamu, just from looking at him?
“You really ought to change that.” Osamu tutted.
“Why!? Do you want to get caught and tortured? I know you have a death wish, but unless you’ve suddenly changed your whole life philosophy, I thought you wanted to go out fast.” Oh, so Chuuya did care! He remembered so much about Osamu from so long ago.
(From whispered conversations in the dark, from the first time that he’d caught Osamu, the rope still in trembling hands, asking him why, like it wasn’t the clearest thing in the world.)
“In case of something like this, clearly!” Osamu’s smile didn’t leave his face, poking at Chuuya’s arm.
“In case some shitty asshole gets stuck in my body?” Chuuya looked at him, entirely unimpressed. Osamu’s grin only grew seeing such an unmistakably Chuuya expression on his own face.
“Hit the nail on the head! I knew you were smarter than you looked!” Osamu teased. “Here, here, I’ll make sure that yours is more obviously you.” Osamu picked up his phone, scrolling quickly to the contact and exchanging the emoji for simplicity—Slug.
“That was me.” Chuuya raised his eyebrows. “Well, better than I thought. I was wondering if it was maybe Kunikida or some shit. I wasn’t picking up your work bullshit and trying to fake my way through that mess. Especially with the freaky-ass detective you guys have.”
Osamu’s phone lit up, buzzing incessantly, the ringtone even sounding off. He didn’t even have to look at the screen.
“No. That’s Kunikida.”
Without hesitation, he accepted the call.
Chuuya made a choked-off noise, lunging at him and wrapping his hands around his throat. He glared at him as if he was saying, “Shitty Dazai, don’t you remember you’re in my body!?”
“I’m not looking to get arrested because of you, you shitface!” Chuuya hissed instead, lifting one hand to put over the microphone on Dazai’s phone.
The damage was already done.
“Why would you be arrested, Dazai?” Kunikida sounded tired, and Osamu couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he hadn’t even been the one to put the exhaustion in his voice. Osamu wondered how much this had thrown off the man’s ideal schedule for him to sound that tired. Or maybe he was just planning for the future!
Getting arrested sure would put a hold on his schedule for the day! Maybe he’d send Atsushi to get him out; it would be fun to let his mentee try to figure out this situation.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not arrested!” Osamu chirped.
The silence didn’t even last a millisecond before chaos broke out.
“Dazai, who is that?” Kunikida sounded alarmed.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Chuuya pushed Osamu hard against the bed, nails digging into the skin beneath his collar. And, ooh, that wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Chuuya’s skin felt so different than his, even if he was more than familiar with the sharp press of something tearing into his skin.
“It’s just me!” Osamu smirked, knowing neither would like his answer. “Well, and Chuuya! But this is me. Don’t you recognize me, Kunikida?” He batted his eyelashes innocently despite the fact that Kunikida couldn’t see him.
The silence lasted a little longer this time, even as Chuuya’s nails most definitely left marks on his neck.
“Chuuya… Nakahara Chuuya, of the Port Mafia. That Chuuya?” Kunikida somehow sounded even more tired. He should have forced Chuuya to mess with him, see how long they could have kept up the act. The second he got to the Agency’s headquarters, Ranpo would have found them out, but Osamu would pay good money to see Kunikida’s blood vessels burst from the realization.
“I wouldn’t let any other Chuuya in my bed!” Osamu affirmed. Chuuya shrieked, pulling the pillow off of the bed and covering Osamu’s face with it, holding it down, but not for nearly long enough.
He snatched the phone.
“Yes, the asshole is telling the truth. This is Nakahara Chuuya. Some ability got us switched and I’m stuck in his shitty body. I’m not going to go after your Agency, or whatever, neither of us are coming there until we get this fixed. Don’t listen to a word he says.” He hung up before Kunikida could get another word in.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“Are you like this on purpose?” Chuuya muttered, climbing off of him. “Now you need to go back to headquarters and get the rest of my goddamn clothes while I fix your shitty bandages and we can track down this goddamn ability user.”
“Do you even know who it was? It could have been anyone, Chuuya.” Osamu sing-songed.
Chuuya gritted his teeth. “I’m sure you made a fucking mess of my desk the second you woke up, but my most recent case had shit there. Don’t you fucking read it, but if someone’s got an ability this annoying and targeted me , they’re probably part of it. Grab the two file folders when you go back for my hat.”
“I don’t even get to read!”
“You don’t get to put your grimy detective hands on Mafia intel, shitface! Now go! The less time I spend in your body, the better.” Osamu started to leave but Chuuya reached out and grabbed him. “The fewer people you talk to, the better. No trying any funny business.”
“So little faith in me!” Osamu feigned fainting, a hand against his heart. “I’ll be your perfect replica, chibi. Even if someone sees your little body, they’d never tell the difference!”
“I hate you so fucking much.” Chuuya fell face-first into Osamu’s pillows like he was going to suffocate himself in them.
“Don’t have too much fun in my body!” Osamu waved cheerily to him, tucking his phone into his pocket and stepping out of his apartment.
What was the probability of Chuuya killing him if he forgot his hat on purpose?