Chapter Text
Yokohama
There’s a gloomy atmosphere radiating amongst the room, as to what Mori thinks. He cites that there might be an upcoming perpetrator but pays it no mind, and instead brews a cup of tea for the incoming headache about to pass.
It’s near about midnight, he assumes – further he knows it is. He’s predicted this outcome in many situations against his mind, but what he can’t seem to understand is why, he asks as of present, when things have been hectic around his organization, is the man about to march in at this despicable hour.
Mori heaves in a sigh. He could’ve been spending his time in luxury with Elise but apparently that would have to wait until whatever commotion is done.
Clang clang
Just as he thought–
"Boss, someone wishes to speak with you." A trusted lackey of his, Murata, announces.
Mori hums a sound of lounge boredom, swirling his index finger in a tick. A silent Let them in is brought out by this movement and the man in his tight, black suit, immediately knew what should be done in an instant.
With that, the creak of the main door silenced the room open; all while knocks of footsteps slowly perpetrated above the porcelain floor, towards the wrinkled male whirling his spoon around his cup of tea.
The footsteps stop in front of Mori’s desk, although the said man doesn’t heed any attention to the figure at the fore.
"Mori." The man’s tone shatters Mori’s ounce of peace of a night, a predicted headache already in formation regarding his previous protégé.
His name did not come with any honorifics from the other’s mouth – no “-san”, no “-sensei” – and though he knew he was despised; it brought a sense of bitterness because he knew the next words about to pierce through was onto a crucial subject he has no answer to.
It would make no sense to be happy to see Dazai again, but perhaps he is a tad bit delighted in his own sinister way.
In normal circumstances would Mori offer the brunet a position back into the Port Mafia to spite, however the second untaken seat brings an unnecessary pang to his pride. A product of a mistake he caused.
No, Mori doesn’t even bother.
He lays his cheek above his knuckles, finally looking up to the perpetrator with squinted eyes. Mori thinks it’s funny. How he’s supposed to be the vulnerable one but all he can sense on Dazai’s mirk is that of a reflection of himself. Quite vulnerable too if he may add – like something’s bothering him but he can’t seem to put what.
Elise darts beside him, feigning the possible threat the guest might cause. The underground doctor never knew when his time may come so taking precaution deems necessary.
Finally, Dazai spoke.
"Where is he?"
Hostility it is.
It’s not a surprise Dazai sounded ready to lash out, up to Mori’s dismay. He expected this, maybe in two to three years but definitely not now. So he’s unsure about what to react, what to say, about how he should put the lines of ‘You tell me’, into words.
He decides to play it casual.
After all, a reunion such as this wouldn’t be fun without an aggressive lash back or two.
“You need to be more specific.” Mori rolls his eyes up, not changing his current position in the slightest. “Who exactly are you referring to, Dazai?”
Dazai slams his hands on the table, its clatter reverberating against the hems of his arms.
“Chuuya.” He seethes.
Mori hums an unresponsive hum, looking away to sip his tea. He gave a small murmur for an answer. One that Dazai heard loud and clear from such a small murmur.
“What?” Disbelief.
"I said,” Mori gives him a stare. One that sent chills to his spine. “I don’t know.”
Dazai clenches his fists from the received answer.
"What do you mean by tha– "
"Oh it's exactly what it means, Dazai!" He’s suddenly caught abrupt by Mori's sudden change of tone. A hurrah: but there’s hidden anger to it – something he’s not unusual to because he’s spent years in the mafia putting up the same exact façade.
Disbelief, however, is too big of a feeling to let go so Dazai had to stop himself from engaging into unnecessary threats because answers are what he needs, not bullshit. He left him here so here is where he should be – as an executive.
As far as he knows that’s how it should be.
How it would be.
“I’m surprised you’re surprised.” Mori speaks. Low and tentative. “Considering what you’ve done behind his back, I’m surprised.”
“I did what I had to.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“It’s for what it’s worth!” Dazai snaps.
“And he’s worth more than him?”
A pause. Dazai feels barefoot – naked, like blood went down his throat.
“Tell me,” Mori smiles a prickly smile, taunting. “You had the world in your grasp – something far more important than that. And yet you left it unattended for something at the cost of a single penny.”
Dazai grits his teeth. “My friend’s blood values much more than that.”
“Right, keep telling yourself that.”
“You know nothing!” He seethes.
The Doctor stays silent, his gaze curved into a sly but knowing tint. Mori kicks his feet up to roll his chair towards another direction, lightly swaying the frontal pad of his shoes against the floor. He doesn’t look at Dazai – doesn’t even give him another glance as he tows his eyes onto the city of Yokohama below.
“Or do I?”
Before Dazai can ask what Mori meant by that, the said man huffs a laugh and turns his chair forward. “So how does it feel?” Mori pries.
Caught abrupt by the sudden question, Dazai almost wants to ask for context - almost. But he sees his former mentor’s formal stance; the clasp of hands followed by a hidden grin Dazai doesn’t fail to notice from having been in the same predicament of its stance for years. He knows better than to ask or he’ll lose.
“How does it feel?” Mori repeats. “It must’ve been a disappointment for you; leaving something unattended in hopes that when you come back for it, it would stay the same.”
Dazai stays quiet.
“Except it didn’t.” Mori follows up. “Not only that but it even left without a trace.” A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. What a hypocritical thing to say even for himself.
Left?
It’s a whip to the back for the other party, fortunately. A whip of an unforetold possibility Dazai once thought of before he defected but immediately erased because he knew a reciprocated agreement was futile.
The dots slowly connect.
“You knew.”
Uncertainty.
Mori’s façade immensely drops to 0.
A sadistic grin makes way. “I’ve always knew.”
Disbelief.
“You knew.” Two tongue rolls and it has Dazai speechless.
“Yes, we’ve established that.”
In horror, Dazai says: “And yet you let him get away.”
“That, we haven’t established.”
“No.” Dazai leans a head forward. “He would never leave – he’s too loyal. That’s just utter bullshit, Mori. You and I of all people know he’d take any shit you put him through because he’s just that loyal. Now tell me where the fuck Chuuya really is – where are you hiding him?” He accuses.
“Do you want me to spell it out for you?” Anger is slowly rising to Mori’s senses. The subject they’re speaking of reminds him of a mistake he did after all. One that costed him a valuable pawn.
"He defected – Chuuya defected like you did. He left after you. Now don’t get me wrong, he didn’t leave to follow you like some dog looking for his master as you thought him to be. He just did. He even took Q with him and till now we haven't heard from him in three years." Mori continues with a bitter scotch aggravating his tongue.
Dazai refuses to believe what he's hearing.
It’s incredulous. Chuuya would never.
He voluntarily takes a step forward, on his way to grab Mori’s awful stench of a collar. Just then, an unsheathed sword graciously points itself beneath the side of Dazai's neck, stopping him from his further actions.
"Now, now, Dazai. You may not believe it but Mori-dono is speaking the truth." Kouyou calmly says.
Dazai clicks his tongue at hearing whose voice it came from, instantly stepping aside to avoid major bruising on his throat because he knew Kouyou won’t hesitate the second time.
"Why?" Why did he leave? Why would he leave? Why–
Mori points a sneer. "You know why."
Fuck.
Fear smears Dazai’s inner conscience. "He found out?"
"No. He only found out you were responsible for the Sheep’s utter demise and It’s unfortunate to say but the final straw was after he found out we had participation regarding the Flag’s death. How he found out? I never knew. Though my guess would be Q.” Mori explains. “It’s a miscalculation on my part, yes.” He mumbles. “I guess I should’ve ought to teach him more discipline about gossips.”
A lump sticks to Dazai’s throat. He shouldn’t be this relieved, but he is. If it was for the reason that Chuuya left because of that inhumane thing he did –
Mori flips a page open from a book, Takasebune, while carefully watching Dazai’s reaction with abhor. “That, and you left him without a word, did you not?”
The remnants of his words slip out like a double-edged spear to Dazai’s inner peace. A rare emotion of guilt arising.
Kouyou pads a hand of her kimono up her lips. “I’d have to ask. What business do you have with him to willingly barge in here?” She hums, curious and incredulous. “Whatever would you expect after such a disgrace of a relationship you ended without you making a stand for it?”
Dazai grits his teeth in return, striding away when he understands that he would not be getting any further answers if he stays longer.
"Stupid boy." Kouyou forwards.
”Judging your reaction,” Mori eyes the pulse Kouyou has around the hilt of her umbrella, “I’m guessing a wound has been re-opened.”
Kouyou clicks her tongue. “It’s not in my best interest to have lost not only one, but two of the people I cared most about right now.” She reminds.
“If I remember correctly, Chuuya had some internal qualms about your care for him.”
“Well, if that’s so, then I think you have to rethink your ways of running the Mafia, Boss.”
Morning, a dull sun shines
The wind blows
A thousand angels
Play basketball
I close my eyes tight
Such a sad hangover
The stove I no longer use
Grows white with rust
Morning, a dull sun shines
The wind blows
A thousand angels
Play basketball
Hangover, Nakahara Chuuya –
Salinas, California
Sunday morning was come, and the leaves of autumn were brimming with life this particular morning. The rays of sunshine lingered along Salinas, California; its people loitering throughout in a sense of delight. The crisps of trees danced in harmony and birds tweeted about, thankful to have waken another wonderful start.
Everyone had a smear of wake in their orbs, welcoming the beginning of the day in enchanted fortune.
Everyone except one.
There’s a burning scent fortifying around the room, quite alarming for someone who’s currently living with other people; therefore, much more alarming because more accidents are likely to come.
This someone’s wake did not come with twinkling butterflies but a burning sense of headache instead.
The Guild was currently staying at John’s birthplace and before the night came to a pass, Twain had unfortunately rummaged around enough to gaslight John into making him open his precious $50,000 Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru – an expensive wine Francis had bought for him during their trip to France last year.
The blond admitted defeat after Twain whispered the possibility of him telling a certain someone about his apparent infatuation, up to Chuuya’s delight – because honestly, at this point, it’s obvious it’s not an infatuation anymore.
‘Better him than me.’ He thought, remembering his own Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru safely hidden in his wine stash back in Washington D.C.
It was John’s parents’ death anniversary so they made toast to them for birthing what Twain would say a ’Blond Tarzan’, earning laughter all around and a swat from John himself, though a small smile was hinted too.
In conclusion, it was a wonderful night; they even got out to some rural place where fireflies illuminated, walked through a forest (John gave them a prep talk regarding poisonous plants, Francis adding an info or two – something Chuuya was thankful for because it increases his knowledge in certain topics.), and then went back home to get more drunk than before.
That, and of course, like the light weight he truly is, Chuuya got drunk drunk so his hangover is way over the top this morning.
Even when travelling towards other states as a group, his morning usually consists of the lingering scent of breakfast and the aromatic stench of black coffee, readied and heavenly brewed by Lucy – aka Chuuya’s vigour buddy; just because they love to talk shit about Mark’s awful taste in fashion sense by partnering tuxedos with slippers.
Utterly horrifying.
Kyuusaku would then slide into his room, his beautiful heterochromia eyes sparkling with hunger, and then tug him into getting up because he wants to eat breakfast together and will not tolerate eating without him.
If Chuuya doesn’t get up, Kyuusaku will most likely list the annoying things he would do – like cry and scream for attention. Chuuya will then regret bringing him with him that specific day on account of Kyuusaku being a brat and a cry-baby at 12 years old to get what he wants.
He gets up.
Nathaniel calls him a mother figure. Chuuya wants to disagree.
In his defence, it’s not his fault he had to take care of a bunch of kids when he was 14 and acquired sentiments of being relied on. Definitely not.
Carrying on, that was the supposed chronologic order of Chuuya’s morning. Was.
Not today, unfortunately.
There’s fire.
The door’s open, like someone wanted to call out for assistance but decided not to because they didn’t want to disturb Chuuya’s slumber. Oh it’s disturbed him much more alright.
Judging the hectic wave of smoke barging in his room and the horrid reek of burnt, a set of alarm immediately went to Chuuya’s senses, and he bolts up to follow the direction of the smoke.
Someone is going to apologize to John and it will not be him.
He haggardly coughs out loud, using the ends of his night shirt to cover his nose. Turning to the living room, he sees clouds of black seeding inside the kitchen so apparently there’s the genesis, he supposes.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” Chuuya announces.
He scurries his actions, and catches eye of the fire extinguisher hidden at the back.
There you are. He hurrahs.
Chuuya punches the glass clean and dashes along with it to his destination. Reaching said destination, he surveys the state of the kitchen: wipe cloths caught on fire, the stove lit up to its highest point – this had Chuuya fuming because who exactly is cooking–?!
He investigates what may have been the suspect to cause such drastic inconvenience and notices a transparent bottle with black fluid inside, labelled as GAS. He then looks over to the pot and verifies its contents.
Burning Pasta sticks surrounded by gasoline.
Chuuya puts on a what–in–the–ever–loving–fuck expression because the situation is absolutely confusing and appalling, plus he’s mad the equipment is destroyed and would probably be needed to be renovated for some time.
He was supposed to cook his specialty for tonight, damn it!
Ah, there’s no time to fume right now. He has a house to save–
He extinguishes the tower of fire, eradicating it all at once. Once he got a clear view of the station, he holds a wistful and apologetic gaze in stand for John’s later disbelief.
It's ruined.
Chuuya inhales.
1… 2… 3… and;
"WHO THE FUCK IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!" Chuuya hollers, turning around predatorily to search for the culprit.
A whiff of ginger bolting past the main door is perceived by the vessel of God.
Mark Twain.
As the culprit dashes out, he coincidentally encounters the owner of the house he almost burnt to ashes.
Mark will apologize later. For now, he’ll run for his life.
John blinks at Twain’s rush, his about-to-go-inside gesture cut mid-stance as he moves to the side to let Mark pass. He sees Chuuya running after him, and then catches sight of the state of the living room in mild apprehension.
”What in the bloody hell happened here–“
Chuuya places a finger on John’s lips, “Mark Twain happened, that’s what.”
He folds his night shirt up, like he’s getting ready to do something, and reveals his biceps. John doesn’t look away from him once.
“But I took care of it, so you don’t need to worry. Just open all the windows to let the smoke out. And as for the culprit …” Chuuya flexes his fingers, cracks resounding.
A sinister grin arises.
“I’ll take care of him.”
Chuuya has Mark in a head lock; his knees snaking around Mark’s waist.
"I'm sorry!"
"What kind of idiot–"
"OW!"
"Drowns pasta sticks–"
"It's me! It’s me! I'm the idiot! Now please stop! I beg mercy–"
"In gasoline–"
Mark suddenly goes limp, and momentarily tries to turn his head in confusion.
"Wait, that was gasoline?"
Chuuya wants to cry.
"THERE WAS GAS LABELLED ON THE BOTTLE, YOU MEATHEAD!"
"OW! Chuuya it hurts–"
"You are going to apologize and–"
"Hey–! Chuuya?! WOAH, STOP SQUEEZING MY–"
"You are now officially disbanded from entering the kitchen!"
"ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT–"
Just then, a sound escapes Mark’s lips. A sound akin to Ah!
Silence ensues.
"..."
"..."
"Did–"
"Nope."
"Did you just–"
"No."
Chuuya had to bite his lip from letting out a snort because it actually got him in an unexpected turn. He did not think this would go that way.
"Mark, you are NOT allowed to make me laugh right now, I’m actually mad at you."
Mark doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even chuckle.
It’s an unlike Mark behaviour, which means to say that–
The dots slowly connect, and it has Chuuya brimming with laughter.
“Nakahara Chuuya–“
Chuuya laughs louder.
“You don’t get to call me by my full name just because you’re embarrassed of accidentally letting out a moan!”
Mark grumbles, turning to tackle Chuuya. "Maybe that was you, Cherry." He reproaches.
Chuuya heaves in a gasp but doesn’t stop cackling. He doesn’t even hit Mark for the nickname. "I can’t believe you’re putting the blame on me, you–"
This time, two cheers of laughter are heard from afar, and though John is somewhat betrayed that Chuuya immediately fell for Mark’s antics, he stifles a smile and shakes his head, letting go of previous apprehension.
“Johnny.”
Silence.
“Johnny!”
Silence.
“JohnnyJohnnyJohnnyJohnnyJohnnyJohnny–“
“For the love of– What?!”
“I’m sorry.” Mark says.
John relays a look, perplexed because Mark may be a meathead but once he knows he’s done something wrong, he would never shut up about apologizing. It’s half criticizing and pitiful, so John doesn’t know what else to say.
This is the 6th time this morning.
“Dude, for the sixth time, it’s fine.” He sighs.
“Are we still besties?”
“Don’t call us that–“
“Johnny don’t leave me–“
“I wasn’t going to –?”
“You said you’d love me forever–“
“So now you’re singing!”
“Oh come on, man! You know I hate it when things are awkward between us.” Mark twines.
“You’re making it awkward, you nutsack!” John retorts.
“Then can I get a kiss?”
“Now you’re being weird.”
Mark offers an offended gesture, though a zestful glint is on his eyes. John immediately regrets saying anything. “Only someone who’s deeply infatuated with you-know-who would call it weird. Have you any idea how he makes love –? What if both of you used your vine thingies to–”
John covers Mark’s mouth with two palms. “Y– You!! Chuuya! Go on. Tell him it’s weird – tell him he’s being weird!” He pleas.
Chuuya, inwardly watching the two bicker, raises a brow. “Okay, but when is he never weird? It’s part of his charm, John.” He shrugs.
John is baffled. “So you’d be willing to kiss a friend on the lips?”
“Oh?” Mark hums.
Chuuya raises two hands. “I, for one, didn’t say that. And I’m kinda curious to know how Lovecra–”
“Chuuya!” John shouts, a hue of red smearing his cheeks.
“Alright! Alright! I’ll stay out of yer hair.” Chuuya snickers. “Where’s Ruthie and Winfield, by the way? Thank God they’re not here to witness this–” He gestures around the room.
John lets Mark out of his hold. “Luce took them with her to go grocery shopping.” He says.
“As for the rest?”
John carries on; “Francis, Lovecraft, Louisa, and Margaret are currently taking a stroll downtown, buying gosh knows what, and Poe’s probably sleep deprived so he’s most likely in his room. The same goes for Kyuu.” He vaguely remembers the child’s manic laughter the night before, and shivers for the sound is not one you should hear before bed. “That, and I have no idea where Nathaniel went.”
John nudges Mark on the elbow. “CEO of annoy Nathaniel 24/7 club, have you any idea where our pastor went?”
Mark choked off and sputtered.
“Nathan? Nope. I don’t know anything.”
An obvious lie to which the other two noticed.
“Now, don’t look at me like that! I really don’t know.” Mark assures.
John and Chuuya stare at him incredulously, and the receiver deflates, resorting to stare onto anything else but their eyes. Mark is not weak – he can handle the weight of those stares. He’s already done enough damage and he will not be found out another time.
The bitter thing about truth is that you don’t need to remember them. Lies on the other hand, you remember them, as sick as it may be – it’s the punishment of not telling the truth. You’re able to conceive each lie you say and are forced to remember it until the truth prevails.
“You’re holding on quite well today.” Chuuya smirks.
John begins his countdown. “One, two, and–”
“Fine! I locked him in the attic. He wouldn’t let me near the stove, so I told Huck and Tom to look for an excuse and lure him in the attic. I honestly have no idea what those three are up to right now.” Mark prevails.
“Well then,” Chuuya starts. “You better find out what they’re up to if you don’t want Kyuusaku to–“
“Already on it!”
“Cherry.”
“Yes, Lance?”
Mark shows mild distaste. “Lance Charles McClain? Seriously? Your nickname for me is a Voltron character?”
“Excuse you, Lance is a wonderful character and a sharpshooter just like you. It’s better than your other nickname for me – Cherry. Where in the world did you get that from?” Chuuya deadpans.
“Cherry bomb from plants versus Zombies, of course!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. Of course.
“It suits you! Like, you’re all angry and stuff just like Arahabaki is, and there’s two cherries in a stem – one for you and Arahabaki + they go BOOM when the zombies come closer, in our context, when enemies come closer!” Mark narrates, gesturing the BOOM with open arms. He looks like a kid, Chuuya thinks. Though maybe that’s what he likes about him.
How he livens up the room.
“Fine, I get it.” Chuuya waves a hand, refusing to face the other’s bare chest. “And button your shirt up, damn it! You’ll get cold.”
“Feisty.” Mark comments, complying either way.
Just then, Nathaniel walks past the duo, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn following behind. He strides back and forth, his expression unsure – as though a heavy hesitance is burdening his back. It was concerning to say the least.
“What’s gotten you in a piss, wuss?” Mark asks.
Nathaniel scoffs and crosses his arms in a stand that holds utmost authority. “You did, you wuss.”
“Oh come on, Nathan. Tom and Huck said you guys had a civilized time together talking about absolute aim. Aside from almost murdering the others, that was the least of my faults.” Mark reasons, an apologetic tone still hinted in his words.
“Yes! Yes! We did!” Tom Sawyer chirps. Huck Finn nods beside him, enthusiastic as well.
Nathaniel harrumphs but doesn’t say anything else. Mark will take that as an apology accepted.
A bustle is heard and Chuuya turns over to see Kyuusaku in his jammies, hugging Dogra Magra tight around his arms. “Morning~!” The child greets. He scrunches his nose when a smouldering stench is inhaled.
“What’s that smell?”
“G’ morning to you too, young man. As for your question, why don’t you ask our darling sharpshooter over there?” Chuuya brings forth a come here motion, patting the side of the sofa to pinpoint where he wanted Kyuusaku to sit on.
“Oh, nevermind then.” Kyuusaku says. He complies to Chuuya’s wishes and skips his way towards the allocation.
“You won’t even ask?” Mark asks, exasperated.
“Maaku-nii, there’s no need for explanations when your name is involved.” Declares Kyuusaku.
Mark detests the judging eyes Kyuusaku is sending him. “I don’t know if I should be mad because yer staring at me like I’m an idiot–“
“Which you are.” Chuuya cuts in.
“Gee thanks – or if I should be relieved because I don’t have to explain myself anymore.”
“Be neither.” Chuuya says. He combs Kyuusaku’s hair with his fingers, untangling the curls knitted together from slumber. “I honestly find it amusing how you’re one of the wisest among us but manage to do the silliest things.” He explains. “It makes the air lighter. I like it.”
The vibe of the room drastically took a sudden change. Not what Chuuya had planned at all.
"But don't repeat what you did earlier, damn it!"
Mark tries to hide his sputter. Tries. “I – well shit –I need some air real quick. Don’t mind me.” There’s a growing hue of strawberries smitten around his cheeks and with that, he rushes out like a bolt, Tom and Huck following him behind for assistance.
John lets out a whistle. “Wow.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. “I’m only telling the truth.” He defends.
“You sure that’s not all there is to it?”
“What else would there be?”
As dense as ever. John muses. “Nothing, nothing.” He assures. “I’m sure he needed that. He doesn’t think we notice but his presence is the center of humour around here. Gosh knows how different we’d be without him making a fool out of himself from time to time.”
Chuuya hums in agreement. “Exactly.”
Gosh knows where he'd be if he hadn't met Mark that day.