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“Who the fuck are you?”

Blue eyes gazed at Dazai, sharp and lucid, and then they clouded over, and drifted shut.  Chuuya’s body went limp against him, and all Dazai could do was clutch his husband to his chest and stare blankly across the ruins Corruption had left behind.

Who the fuck are you?

Part of Dazai was grateful that the Chibi’s breathing had evened out, that each gasp wasn’t as laboured.  It had taken longer than it ever had, for Dazai to reach him and bring him back… but Chuuya would survive.  That was the most important thing.

Who the fuck are you?

Chuuya would survive… but he didn’t recognize Dazai, who clung to his body, and rocked back and forth, and tried to be thankful that at least he was still alive.  He had made Chuuya fall in love with him once, he would just do it again.  It would be fine.

They were Soukoku.  This was just a tiny bump in the road for them.  Right?

But… what if it wasn’t?  What if, without seven years of history, Chuuya realized that Dazai was a rotten, inhuman thing who had only done anything of worth because of the words of a dead man and a desire to seem close to worth effort in Chuuya’s own eyes.

Who the fuck are you?

“Dazai-san?”

Dazai looked up.  He was no longer alone, though he hadn’t heard the others approach. Yosano was there, as requested, along with Kunikida and Ranpo.  It was Atsushi who was spoken, and he looked between Dazai and Chuuya, the color leeching from his face.

“Chuuya-san… is he…?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dazai replied, burying his face into the red hair that was left bare of Chuuya’s usual hat.  His eyes were itchy and uncomfortable.  How odd.  “The little idiot fought, so the injuries were bad… but he heals quickly.”

“Fought what?” Kunikida asked, looking around the debris around them.  He was probably thinking that it was a disaster, because he had never seen Corruption before.  He didn’t know how bad it should be.

Even caught up in the hold of Arahabaki and Q’s Ability, somehow part of Chuuya still knew that he loved this city.  And so he had fought for it, had mitigated the damage incredibly.

And in return…

Who the fuck are you?

“Are you okay?” It was Yosano who asked that, and Dazai peeked up from Chuuya’s hair to look at her, blinking in confusion.

“I’m fine,” he replied, somewhat puzzled.  “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“Dazai,” Yosano replied, her voice soft.  “You’re crying.”

Dazai blinked at her, and realized that his cheeks were wet.  He reached up a hand to touch the tear tracks, and looked at his fingers with surprise.  When was the last time he had cried?  Oda? Had he even cried then?

He couldn’t remember.

“Hey, Chibi,” he said to the top of Chuuya’s head.  “You need to remember me, so you can laugh at how I’m crying over you.  The Demon Prodigy in tears… it’s ridiculous, right?”

“Remember… Fancy Hat doesn’t remember you?” Ranpo asked, eyes wide enough for green irises to be visible.  It was rare, that anyone managed to surprise the detective.

Dazai would have to tell Chuuya that.  Let him know he was part of a very special, very small club.

“Who the fuck are you,” Dazai whispered, voice breaking on the last word, a sob in the back of his throat.  He buried his face against Chuuya’s hair, hating that anyone besides his Chibi was seeing him like that.  No one else should know those parts of him.  Just Chuuya.  “That’s what he said to me, before he passed out.”

More steps were heard, and Dazai’s head snapped up, only to see it was the other members of the Agency. 

Even the President had come.  How amazing. Only Naomi and Haruno were missing, likely left at the office for their own protection. They had picked Tanizaki up at some point.  He hadn’t been in the office, when Dazai had left to chase after Chuuya.

“What happened here?” Tanizaki asked, bending down to lift up a piece of cement.  It fell apart in his grasp, falling to the ground in pieces. His eyes fell to the redhead Dazai clung to, expression wary.  “Did he do this?”

Dazai felt rage bubble in him at the way Tanizaki said he, as if Chuuya were some monster.  As if he weren’t the most human person Dazai had ever met.

As if he weren’t the love of Dazai’s life, who didn’t know who he was.

“Chuuya-san wouldn’t have done this willingly.” Bless Kyouka’s heart, because Dazai knew the girl probably hated drawing attention to herself.  But she spoke up for Chuuya, though she didn’t look at anyone as she stood among the rubble.  Instead, she knelt down.  When she straightened, she held something in her hand, dusted it off with the other.

Chuuya’s hat.

“Did you ever meet Kyusaku Yumeno?” Dazai asked, choosing to focus on the girl that knew Chuuya, instead of the poor fool who had no idea how close he’d come to having Dazai at his throat.  Kyouka cared.  She understood, when the others didn’t – couldn’t, because Dazai hadn’t been able to tell them about this precious part of himself.  “You probably would have heard of them only as Q.”

Kyouka’s eyes widened slightly. 

“I thought they were a rumor.  Something used to make sure that anyone who thought to betray the Mafia wouldn’t after…” Kyouka trailed off, looking down at the hat she clutched.

After you betrayed them. That was probably what she thought.  After Q’s last rebellion, he had only been let out of his guilded cage if Dazai was there to keep him in line.  Without his ability to nullify, it wasn’t a surprise that Mori had kept them locked away, reduced to something like a legend.

It was exactly the type of thing Mori would do.

“They are very real.” Dazai looked around him, feeling distant from the disaster.  As if he weren’t fully there.  He needed Chuuya awake, remembering him.  Without him, Dazai was already drifting away.  “This is what happens when they’re unleashed on Chuuya.  It should have been worse, but the Slug is a muscle for brains that loves this city.  He’s too stupid to know when he shouldn’t fight.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, stu…”

He couldn’t finish the last word, instead hiding his face against Chuuya’s hair once more, trying to keep his tears to himself and his husband.  No one else had the rights to see him acting human – not when he had no rights to the title, not if Chuuya didn’t remember him.

“We should take Nakahara back to the office.” Now it was the President who spoke, and Dazai nearly slumped over Chuuya with relief.  He could let the President take charge.  Fukuzawa would know what to do about… all of it.

“I’m afraid, Master Fukuzawa, that we can’t allow you to do that.”

Dazai froze at the voice.  He hadn’t heard it in four years, but he still remembered it so very clearly.  It had haunted his dreams, in the beginning.  The way he had spoken about sacrificing Oda so cavalierly.  As if it were easy. As if no one cared.

And now, he had done it to Chuuya.  To Chuuya, who would give everything he had to Mori and the mafia if they asked… and who would then dig out more of himself, because he believed he was only worth what he could do for others.

He was speaking to Fukuzawa, exchanging some sort of barb most likely, but Dazai didn’t listen.

Kunikda was a couple of steps away, but his attention was on the president and Mori, as was everyone’s else.  It made it easy, for Dazai to carefully place Chuuya on the ground, and move with a speed he knew his partner wouldn’t expect.

A matter of seconds, and Dazai had Kunikida’s gun in hand, pointed directly at Mori’s forehead.

On either side of him, Akutagawa and Kouyou stiffened, and then hesitated.

“Dazai, what are you doing?” Kunikida hissed.

“You miscalculated,” Dazai said, with a smile that wasn’t nice.  It was the smile of the Demon Prodigy.  “You should have left it at Oda, Mori.  His death was enough to make me take a different path. But now? I’ll be so much worse.”

“Dazai-kun, it’s been so long,” Mori replied jovially.  It was the confidence of a man certain he had the upper hand, and Dazai didn’t want to hear Mori be confident and sure that he knew what Dazai would do next.

He knew nothing. Because he underestimated the depths to which Dazai would sink, if Chuuya wasn’t there to stop him.

He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.  No hesitation.

It was Rashomon that intercepted them before they could hit Mori.  And maybe Dazai would have been impressed, that his old protégé actually worked up the balls to step between him and his goal, except for who the fuck are you, and Dazai was so fucking pissed off.

“I’m the one who taught you that trick,” Dazai said coldly, directing the barrel of the gun towards Akutagawa, who was pale, but refused to quake in front of him.  “Do it again, and I’ll make sure you can’t when I shoot at you instead.”

He pointed the gun at Mori once more, and this time it was Kouyou who interfered, stepping between them with the elegance only she was capable of.

“Ane-san, do you really think I won’t shoot you?” Dazai asked.  Kouyou looked at him with a cool expression, before her gaze wandered over his shoulder, to where Chuuya’s limp form still lie.

“Is he…?”

Dazai said nothing, just staring at her coldly.  Finally, it was Yosano who spoke.

“He’s alive,” she said to the Executive.  “Dazai said he’s healing rapidly.”

“Then what are you thinking, Lad?” Kouyou demanded, eyes turning to Dazai once more.  “Do you think he’ll wake and thank you?”

“I think he’ll wake up, and have no clue who I am!” Dazai snarled, and Kouyou actually took a step back from him, though she remained in front of Mori.  Her expression tightened, and Golden demon appeared behind her, katana at the ready.  “Move, Kouyou.  He loves you.  Loved you.  I don’t want to hurt you, for his sake.”

“Dazai,” the president’s steady voice cut across the distance.  Kouyou’s eyes darted to him rapidly, but Dazai never looked away, never wavered, from glaring at Kouyou and beyond her, to where Mori watched it all with that tiny little smirk.

It was such a familiar expression.  How many times had Dazai seen that smirk?

How many times had we worn that smirk?

“Dazai, you can’t do this.  If you murder an executive and the head of the Port Mafia, it will be war.”

And it would be a blood bath, Dazai knew.  The Agency was powerful in it’s own right, but they were overwhelmed and outnumbered, should the Port Mafia ever choose to truly eliminate them. They were all aware of that.

Dazai just really didn’t care.

Rubble moved in his peripheral.  Dazai glanced over for a second.  It was Atsushi, his arms muscled and furred.

“Dazai-san?” the boy asked, expression half tiger.  Dazai realized in that moment, if he told the boy to attack, he would.  He would do it for Dazai.  He would do it for Chuuya.

And Chuuya, the Chuuya with all his memories… he would never forgive Dazai for it.

And…

Who the fuck are you?

Mori smirked, as Dazai’s hand shook, and it took everything in him not to pull the trigger again.  To let his arm lower, until it hung at his side.

“You need to take it away from me,” he said to Kunikida, unable to remove his gaze from Mori.  He wanted to tear that smirk from his face.  Chuuya was usually the one to use his fists to solve his problems, but tearing Mori apart with his bare hands seemed incredibly tempting.  “I can’t let go.”

He didn’t look at his partner, but when the other man grasped the gun, Dazai let him pull it from his grip.

“Now, isn’t this so much more peaceful?” Mori asked, clapping his hands together, signalling to Kouyou to move to the side.  She did so, gaze focused on Dazai for another moment, before she finally dismissed Golden Demon.  “We’ll just grab my executive, and be on our way.”

“No,” Dazai replied flatly, fingernails digging into his palms, now that he no longer had a gun in his hand.

“Dazai, he is a member of the mafia,” Kunikida said to him quietly.

“He is my husband,” Dazai reminded him sharply.  He realized that the Black Lizard were with Mori as well, when the one with the bandaged nose let out a surprised noise at that declaration. Hirotsu didn’t look particularly surprised by the statement, nor did Gin, but the latter was rather notoriously difficult to read.

Dazai suspected Akutagawa had probably spoken to her about it, however.  The siblings were close, and Gin was very good at keeping her mouth shut.

“I… understand that,” Kunikida said, though his tone said he still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the information.  Tanizaki made a noise similar to what the Black Lizard had, and Dazai felt his lips curve into a smirk that was sharp and nasty. “But you can’t do anything for him if you’re dead.”

There was a beat of silence, one that Dazai knew Kunikida expected him to fill with some comment about double suicide.  But while the joke typically kept Dazai amused, he didn’t find the mention of death particularly entertaining with Chuuya still limp on the ground behind them.

“Listen to your… partner, Osamu,” Mori advised, with his own sharp, nasty smile.  “Chuuya will come with us either way.  You get to decide if it’s over your dead body or not.”

“He’d kill you,” Dazai said after another beat of silence.  “If you killed me, he would kill you in return.  He wouldn’t be proud of it. He wouldn’t like it.  But he would.”

“Ah… but would he? If he has no idea who you are, why should he care? Truly, perhaps it would be the best answer.  Take care of you, tell Chuuya-kun the story that keeps him loyal to the mafia.  It’s ideal, really.” Mori twirled a scalpel in his fingers, and Elise appeared at his side, her expression a mimicry of her master’s, one that looked all the more twisted because it was on the face of such a young girl. 

“Boss,” Kouyou murmured, and Mori’s gaze darted to her, dangerous glint in his eyes.  But Kouyou wasn’t new to this, and of all the Executives, it was she that had Mori’s ear.  “We should focus on getting Chuuya back, getting him into recovery.  A fight now… we’re too evenly matched.  We’d take losses.”

Losses we don’t need to take, went unspoken.  Mori sighed, and the scalpel and Elise disappeared once more.

“Ah, Kouyou-kun, you are ever the voice of reason. Tachihara, get Chuuya, won’t you?”

The bandaged Black Lizard moved from the group, and Dazai placed himself in the path he would take to Chuuya.  The boy halted, and looked uncertain as Dazai stared him down. 

“Try it,” he dared, his voice pleasant and measured.  “See what happens.”

“Master Fukuzawa, now would be a good time to get your detective on a very tight leash,” Mori said, addressing the president, as if anyone would be able to stop Dazai when it was Chuuya on the line.

It made him laugh – high pitched, and a bit unstable.  The laugh of a boy shooting bullets into a corpse, except there was no Chuuya to remind him what humanity was. 

“That’s the worst sound I’ve ever fucking heard.”

Dazai froze, as did the rest of the group.  In another time, it might have been comical, the way they all turned to slowly look at Chuuya.  He had pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and spoke slowly, as if it were difficult to breathe between each word.

“I have your hat,” Kyouka said, because she was closest to him, and the one most comfortable with him.  Chuuya straightened, so he was on his knees and looked at her, eyes a little confused.

“That’s mine?” he asked, accepting the hat.  He looked at it thoughtfully, brow furrowed.  He gave the chain on the side a flick.  “Huh.  Do I know you?”

“I’m Kyouka, Chuuya-san.  I… we used to work together.  You were very kind to me.”

“Oh,” Chuuya looked at her thoughtfully, before he put his hat on.  “Would you help me up, Kyouka? I seem to be injured.”

The girl went to his side immediately, and Atsushi joined them a moment later.  Chuuya looked at him, much the same way as he had Kyouka.

“Did we… used to work together, too?” Chuuya asked him, and Atsushi shook his head rapidly, then realized how that might come across, and turned red.

“Uh… no.. I mean, no we never worked together.  But, uh, you were kind to me, too.  You’re a really good cook!”

“Awkward moron,” Dazai heard Akutagawa mutter, and part of him maybe noted that with interest, but the vast majority of him focused on Chuuya.

“You,” Chuuya said, gaze focused on Dazai.  “I remember you. From before. You didn’t answer my question.”

“As fun as this has been!” Mori interrupted, clapping his hands together, making everyone look to him.  Except Dazai.  Dazai didn’t give a damn about Mori.  Chuuya looked at the older man for a moment, but ultimately, he didn’t seem to be able to look away from Dazai either.  “We thank the ADA for their assistance, but I’ll admit I’d rather not stay around a group we have such a… tumultuous relationship with much longer.  So, we’ll take Chuuya-kun and make ourselves scarce.”

“I already told you,” Dazai said, still not looking away from Chuuya.  “No.”

“Am I Chuuya?” Chuuya addressed the question to the air in general.  When no one immediately answered, too focused on the tension between the groups, he sighed.  “I’m gonna assume I am.  So isn’t it my fucking decision where I go?”

“Trust a Chibi to forget his husband, but not forget how to swear,” Dazai replied with a pout, and it sent a joyous thrill down his spine, the way Chuuya’s expression lit with such indignant anger.

“Who the fuck are you calling a Chibi?” he demanded, and because he was the muscle, not the brains, of their relationship, he pulled away from Atsushi and Kyouka, as if to charge at Dazai. 

Instead, he made it a handful of steps, and then he stumbled across he final distance between them, and Dazai caught him in his arms.

“You’re focusing on the wrong part of that, Slug,” Dazai said with a sigh, and he rubbed some of the blood and dirt from his cheek.  Chuuya had to be in tremendous pain – that he was upright after such a short time was a testament to his healing ability.

Or rather, to his impossible stubbornness, which Dazai was certain was responsible for his ability to recover so quickly.  How could Chuuya take on the problems of everyone else if he was out of commission with an injury, after all. 

“Oi, stop calling me names, you fucker!” Chuuya snapped, and the fist he planted in Dazai’s shoulder was put there with far less force than Chuuya was typically capable of.  Then, he seemed to finally realize everything that Dazai had said to him.  “Wait, husband? Who the fuck am I married to?”

“Do you really have to ask that?” Dazai asked with fond exasperation, and Chuuya narrowed his eyes at him.

“Well, sorry.  I don’t remember my own name, asshole.  How am I supposed to magically know we’re married?”

“Because your heart tells you how hopelessly in love with me you are?”

It was so easy to fall into the pattern of arguing with Chuuya.  So easy to act as if nothing were wrong.  As if Chuuya remembered everything, and his boss hadn’t sent him to die.

But Mori had, and even though he held Chuuya in his arms, alive, Dazai couldn’t forget that.

He couldn’t forgive that.

“If you come any closer, Akutagawa, I will tear you apart with my bare hands,” Dazai said, still looking down at Chuuya, even as he spoke to the mafioso who had begun to slowly approach them.  “Your boss meant for him to be dead now.  Mori gave up any rights.”

“Not your fucking decision to make,” Chuuya muttered, shoving at Dazai’s chest, trying to put some distance between them.  It was a rather weak, sad attempt.  Not at all like Chuuya.  Another thing for which Mori should pay.

“Dazai,” Fukuzawa said.  “Nakahara is awake now.  He chooses where he goes.”

“He doesn’t remember who he is, even!” Dazai snapped back, for the moment not thinking about the respect he had for his boss.  He really just cared about Chuuya.  “I won’t let them have him!”

“Fucking jackass Mackerel,” Chuuya muttered, and he somehow managed to muster up the strength to finally separate them.  Dazai blamed hearing that name – Mackerel, and how was it Chuuya picked that up, even though he remembered nothing.  “Oi, you! With the red scarf.  You try to kill me?”

“I made a carefully calculated strike,” Mori replied after a few moments of hesitation, his smug confidence gone in the wake of being faced by a Chuuya far more like the King of Sheep than his loyal Executive.  After all, this Chuuya had no memories of him either, had no more reason to be loyal to Mori than he did Dazai.

Fewer, really.

“It was somewhat of a miscalculation, I will admit.  But you are quite irreplaceable to our organization, Chuuya-kun.”

“Not an answer, Old Man.” He took a step towards Mori, and the ground rumbled beneath his feet, as red surrounded him. He paused and looked at his hands.  For a moment, he seemed to sway on his feet, and Dazai thought he might pass out again.  But ultimately, he stayed upright. 

“It’s your Ability,” Mori offered with a sickly sweet smile, as if he just wanted to be helpful.  Chuuya gave a spiteful glare and rolled his eyes.

“No shit, Asshole.  I can control gravity. Clearly.” He took another step, the ground cracking beneath his boots. “Now… did you. Try to. Kill me?”

Once more Akutagawa and Kouyou placed themselves to protect their boss.  Chuuya stared Mori down for a minute, before he glanced between the two.  He winced, a hand drifting towards his temple before he caught himself, and seemed to realize that it wasn’t a good idea, to show weakness at the moment.

“Come with us, Lad,” Kouyou said, her expression creased with worry.  “You need a doctor.  And you need sleep.”

Chuuya stared at her, head cocked, expression frozen and confused. 

“I know you,” he murmured, his voice soft.  “Don’t I?”

“You call me Ane-san,” Kouyou said with a smile.  “You were under my care, when you first joined us.  It’s been seven years.”

“A long time,” Chuuya mused thoughtfully.  “I must’ve been young.”

“Just fifteen,” Kouyou agreed.

Chuuya nodded thoughtfully, and Dazai prepared to leap for him.  To grap his Chibi and wrap himself around him, to refuse to let him be lured in by Kouyou and her stupid, calming ways.

They always worked so well on Chuuya.  The little idiot.  Dazai felt like he was fifteen again, shouting about how the beautiful boy was supposed to be his dog, and why did Kouyou get to steal him away?

Kunikida’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and Atsushi grabbed his other arm, his Tiger traits gone.  Both held him with enough force to make it clear that they would hold Dazai back if necessary.

Dazai wondered if they had realized yet, that he would kill them. If necessary.

“Ane-san… did he try to kill me?” Chuuya asked, nodding at Mori.  Kouyou looked at him, and she didn’t admit it.  But she didn’t deny it either.

And showing that he wasn’t always a hat for brains, Chuuya nodded, seemingly taking the lack of denial for the acknowledgement it was.

“Okay.  Am I married to that Asshole?” he shoved his thumb over his shoulder at Dazai, and followed it with a careless look back.

Or rather, it was meant to be careless.  But just like when they were fifteen, their eyes met, and they held.  It was the truth of Dazai’s world, that no matter what reality, no matter what existence, they were in… he would always be drawn to Chuuya.

And the way Chuuya couldn’t look away – how foolish Dazai had been, to ever think it was possible for a Chuuya to exist that didn’t love him.  It would always be their reality.

“You are,” Kouyou said after another long silence.  Dazai would have liked to have seen Mori’s reaction to his most trusted Executive’s blatant betrayal, but that would require looking away from Chuuya.

Spite was a powerful motivator… but not powerful enough to take his attention from his husband.

“Nakahara-san,” Fukuzawa said, and Dazai felt a brief flare of rage, when Chuuya’s attention was drawn to someone else.  As if sensing that, Chuuya shot another look at him, and rolled his eyes.  “If you want our help to get away from the mafia-”

“No offense… I have no fucking clue who you are, and my headache means I don’t really care, so…” Chuuya trailed off and seemed to lose his train of thought.  Finally, he shook his head, swaying on his feet once more.  The red glow that surrounded him said that he was using his Ability to keep him upright.  “I don’t know who you are.  Right now, I don’t care who you are.  But I get the sense that I’m the most powerful person here.  So I don’t think I’ll drag you into my bullshit.  And oi!” He looked at Dazai once more.  “The hell are you dragging them into this shit for?  You think marriage is a spectator sport?”

“The President is my employer,” Dazai replied cheerfully.  “My co-workers are wonderfully supportive of my life choices!”

“I wasn’t even aware of his life choices,” Tanizaki muttered from somewhere behind him.  He gave a bit of a yelp, and Dazai guessed that Yosano had probably done something.  That sounded like the sort of terror that Yosano inspired in the boy.

“You should know, that if you decide to go with them, I’ll have to stop you,” Dazai continued, ignoring the comments from the observers.  “It’s in the wedding vows.  I promise not to let you keep working for someone that tried to kill you.”

“I may not remember much, but I can still sniff out bullshit.  You never said that.”

“Maybe not word for word… but it was an unspoken promise!”

Chuuya snorted, and then winced, fingers at his temple once more.

“Fuck.” The word was mouthed more than even spoken aloud. 

“I believe I am tired of this,” Mori said at last, and he stepped up to Chuuya, a hand landing heavily on his shoulder.  Elise appeared at Chuuya’s other side, and the redhead stiffened, gaze focused on the girl who looked so sweet, yet made one feel as if they should run.

Such a nasty Ability, was Vita Sexualis.

“You have a job, Chuuya-kun.  And you assured me that your… marriage wouldn’t interfere with that.”

Chuuya continued to look at Elise for a moment, and then glanced at Mori’s hand on his shoulder.

A second later, the boss of the Port Mafia was on his knees, expression shocked, while Chuuya knelt down, running his hand along the ground.

When Elise leapt at him, she was destroyed almost immediately, rocks thrown at her with all the force that Chuuya’s Ability allowed. 

Kouyou, Akutagawa, and the Black Lizard looked entirely unsure what to do, frozen in the face of a Chuuya who could overpower them all, and didn’t hold any loyalty to them.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Chuuya said to Mori, who was still on his knees, his face pale as he was held immobile.  Chuuya straightened his gloves, and looked at his outfit, grimacing as he seemed to realize how soiled it was by blood and dirt and dust.  “Because I don’t know what the fuck is going on, or what I would usually do.  So, you get to live. For now. But don’t try to fucking touch me or set some little girl on me again. I don’t know you.”

Dazai wanted to laugh and gloat, except that Chuuya turned to look at him next, blue eyes cutting like glass.

“Oh, don’t look so happy, Jackass.  I don’t know you either.  But looking at you makes me…” he trailed off, his expression running a gamut as he tried to figure out the words. 

“Love?” Dazai suggested with a bright smile, and Chuuya let out a small shriek of rage.

“Not gonna deal with you right now, you motherfucker.  I’m going to go… somewhere. Where none of you are.  So I can think.” Chuuya clutched at his head, wincing again, and Dazai felt his smile disappear.  Because he kept doing that, and Chuuya could put up with immense pain.

“I can give you our address,” he said after a moment.  “You can go there.  I promise, I’ll stay away.”

The effort it took, to say those last three words… someday, Chuuya would remember.  And he would appreciate how much effort it took, and he would show his appreciation in all sorts of ways.

Dazai believed that.

Dazai had to believe that.

“Really?” Chuuya asked suspiciously.  “You’re gonna let me go there and just leave me alone?”

“Ye-” Dazai began to immediately agree, but then paused.  Because… he really didn’t like that thought.  Not when Chuuya was in pain and unfamiliar with everything.  “Atsushi and Kyouka know where we live.  I’ll stay away, if you let them go with you.”

Chuuya looked thoughtfully at the two, seemed to consider it all.  He finally nodded.

“Okay. Yeah.  They seem tolerable.”

“Is this your way of saying you quit?” Mori asked, still being pushed into the debris painfully, his expression tight.  “No one leaves the mafia alive, Chuuya-kun.”

Chuuya stared down at him, then looked at Dazai again, a small smirk curving his lips.

“That seems like a lie,” he stated, once more showing that he could, upon occasion, be intelligent.  “But nah, I’m not quitting.  I just don’t fucking remember anything.”

“Let us send someone with you as well,” Kouyou offered, and because it came from her, and Chuuya apparently had decided she was trustworthy, he seemed to actually consider it.  Which just wouldn’t do.

“None of them know where we live, Chuuya! Even the most loyal puppy knew better than to let the Port Mafia into our home.”

Chuuya’s brow furrowed, as he seemed to consider if Dazai were telling the truth or not.

And then Akutagawa, that little snake, continued his streak of disobedience.

“I know where you live,” he said, and his expression was tight, almost irritated, as he shot a look at Atsushi.  “I will come.”

Chuuya considered Akutagawa, and then glanced at Dazai, brows raised in question.  Dazai thought about lying.  Normally, he wouldn’t have even hesitated.

But even without memories, Chuuya seemed to somehow sense his lies, and it wouldn’t do to lie, when they didn’t have the same trust as usual at the moment.

“Yes, he knows,” he muttered, scowling at the thought of Akutagawa being welcome in his home when he, himself, wasn’t.  “You should know that he ripped off Atsushi’s leg once, though.  They don’t get along!”

“They will when they’re with me,” Chuuya muttered.  “Won’t they?”

Seeming to sense there was only one correct answer, both Akutagawa and Atsushi swore they would get along.  Even if they glared darkly at each other when Chuuya looked away.

“Great.  Then get me home,” he said, starting to walk away.  Atsushi, Akutagawa, and Kyouka didn’t move at first, all of them looking at each other.

“You’re going the wrong way, Chuuya-san!” Atsushi was finally the one to move first, rushing after the redhead, Kyouka and Akutagawa on his heels.

“Who said you could call him Chuuya?” Dazai heard Akutagawa snap, before they were out of listening range. 

“Well,” said Mori, getting to his feet, dusting his pants off.  “This has been interesting.”

“You miscalculated,” Dazai said thoughtfully, no longer quite as angry.  Though he would still kill Mori.  Not until Chuuya got his memory back, and he could convince his Chibi to give his blessing. But it would happen.  Mori had signed his own death warrant, the second he had done Chuuya harm.  “He would have done it willingly – you could have convinced him.  But instead you used Q.  He won’t forget it.”

“I could hardly allow direct disobedience to go unpunished,” Mori replied as he carefully straightened his clothing.  “Chuuya-kun knows that.  He’ll understand when he remembers. Besides, you got here in time, didn’t you?”

“Not because of you.”

“Wasn’t it?” Mori replied with that sharp smile.  “Do you think any of my people could reach to you for help, on my territory, without my knowledge?”

“So that’s how you’re spinning it?” Dazai mused, and it was a bit annoying, because he could almost admire Mori’s ability to turn a tale in his own favor.  “I suppose it could work… except that I’m still here.  Still married to him.  So, you miscalculated.”

Mori kept that smile, but his jaw tightened, just a bit, making Dazai smile in return.  Mori might not have said the words, but that tightening said all that Dazai needed to hear.

It was indeed a spin – a plausible one, but not the truth.  Mori had let anger get the better of him.  He had meant for Chuuya to die.

He had miscalculated.

And Dazai would make sure he paid for it.

---

He had a ring on his finger.

He had made it maybe a block from where he had awoken, surrounded by rubble, hearing a laughter that was all… wrong, when his legs had given out.  It had been the white haired boy, Atsushi, who had hefted him onto his back.

It had been humiliating, but necessary.  And the entire way, Atsushi and the other one, Akutagawa, had sniped at each other, and it had made Chuuya’s head pound, until he considered crushing them all and just being done with it.

Luckily for the kids, they had made it to a building that looked expensive.  A building that, apparently, housed his apartment.  That he shared with a husband.

A husband who was a suspicious Mackerel named Dazai.  Who had looked at Chuuya’s boss with eyes that promised a painful death, and then turned around to look at Chuuya like he was the sun and the most foolish of men, all wrapped in one package.

One tiny, adorable package! The sing song words were in the idiot’s voice, and fuck. Apparently all of Chuuya’s taste had gone into clothing and interior design, and left nothing for choice in romantic partner.

Now, he had managed to stumble away from the kids, and his feet had taken him into a bedroom, as if he knew this place that he could never remember seeing.  Yet, it felt so familiar.

He had stripped off his hat and upper clothing, had gotten one glove off, when he saw it.

He had a ring on his finger.

Now, he sat on the bed and stared at his hand, and this proof that he really was married.  And it left a bitter taste in his throat, that he had the knowledge of what a ring on that particular finger signified, yet he couldn’t remember his own history with the man that had put it there.

“Chuuya-san?”

Chuuya looked up in surprise, to see Akutagawa standing in the doorway.  He watched Chuuya with a look that might have been curious, or it might have been indifferent.  It was difficult to tell, when he couldn’t remember this boy, to recall what his various mannerisms meant. 

“I… do I always call you Akutagawa?” It wasn’t the question he had intended to ask, but when he’d first opened his mouth, he’d wanted to say something else.  A different name, that had been on the tip of his tongue, yet just out of reach.  “I call you something else, don’t I?”

“Ryuu,” the boy blurted out, and then he looked away from Chuuya almost immediately, his spin going rod straight, a flush high on his cheekbones.  He gave a cough that sounded uncomfortable, and then cleared his throat, all why trying to act as if he hadn’t blurted the name out like an overeager child. “On occasion, you call me Ryuu.  Short for Ryuunoskue.”

“Ryuu,” Chuuya murmured, and yeah.  That felt right.  It felt like a name he’d used a hundred times. He mulled over that for a moment, before he finally held his hand, and the ring on it, up once more.  “So Dazai wasn’t lying, I guess?”

Akutagawa looked at Chuuya’s finger, almost as if he were seeing it for the first time.  He cocked his head in curiosity, and the boy realized he had been staring.

“Apologies, Sir.  We don’t often see you without your gloves on.  I’ve been told that if it ever happens, I don’t wish to stay around.”

But why? Why would gloves on or off matter?  Chuuya had been able to control gravity, even if what he touched came in contact with the gloves first.  It was simply a thin material… and yet Chuuya still kept one of the gloves on, like some sort of grounding safety blanket.

“Fuck,” Chuuya muttered, flopping onto his back, cradling his hand with the ring to his chest.  He thought about tugging it off, to look at it closer, but the weight of it was comforting… a token, there to remind that even if his memories were gone, he still had a past.  He had still created memories.  And with time, he could get them back. 

“Y-you’ve been partners with him since you were fifteen.  I joined the mafia only a year or so later, and already the tales of what the two of you could achieve were almost legend.  Dazai and Chuuya… Soukoku.” The word was said with a reverence that had Chuuya lifting his head to look at Akutagawa, who had perched softly on the edge of the bed.  He looked around, with hunched shoulders.  Clearly uncomfortable being there.

“He’s not in the mafia, though.  How does that work?”

“I… I don’t know,” Akutagwa admitted, hands clenching together.  “You told me once that you loved him, as if that were all the answer it needed.  I can’t say that I understood it.  At the time, I thought it was the most foolish thing I’d ever heard.”

“Heh,” Chuuya snickered and let his head flop back, staring at the ceiling.  “And now?”

“Now… I realize that it’s complicated, but it is your answer.”

“Hey, you’re not filling his head with – are you okay, Chuuya-san?”

Chuuya looked up once more, to Atsushi this time, who had come to the room as well.  His gaze darted briefly to Akutagawa, before it went back to Chuuya, who watched Akutagawa curiously.  He and the white haired boy had bickered the entire way to the apartment, yet now that Atsushi was focused on someone else, Akutagawa watched him with an expression that was… complicated.

Given the chance, Chuuya wasn’t sure if the boy would kiss Atsushi, or rip out his heart.  He wasn’t sure Akutagawa knew, either.

“Something wrong?” Chuuya asked Astsushi, before the boy could notice that he held Akutagawa’s attention.  “If you’re looking for anything… I really can’t tell you where it is, but I can help you look.”

“I – no, I was just… I…”

“The weretiger came to ensure I wasn’t attempting to sway your emotional preference to the mafia,” Akutagawa said stiffly, getting to his feet.  And Chuuya thought there might be some hurt there.  “As if I have any need for it.  At the end of the day, Chuuya-san’s only tie to the detective agency is Dazai-san.”

“That’s not true!” Atsushi argued back, his eyes flashing golden.  “He cares about m – he cares about Kyouka, too! And maybe this will help him realize that staying loyal to people who clearly don’t feel the same loyalty isn’t worth it.”

“You know nothing, you fool!” Akutagawa snapped in return.

“I know that your boss sent him off to die! I don’t know how exactly, but I’m not stupid. And you’d have just let it happen! So maybe I don’t know everything – but I don’t need to, to know that you don’t deserve Chuuya-san’s loyalty!”

“Had any of us interfered, he would have given us the mafia’s punishment himself!” Akutagawa snapped back, black tendrils coming out his coat, prepared to attack. “The mafia might not be soft, like your precious agency. But that doesn’t make us less than!”

“That’s exactly-”

“Enough!” Chuuya’s voice was louder than he intended, coming out in a bark that made both boys fall silent.  He rubbed his temples, still aching.  “Look, this argument is stupid.  I’ll make my own decisions, and the two of you fighting over… you can’t deserve people, Atsushi.  That’s… that’s not how it works.  People choose who they think is worth their time.  No one else decides who deserves my loyalty.  Only me.”

“I.. sorry.  You’re right.  I didn’t meant to make it-”

“Fuck, Kid.  Calm down.  One sorry is enough.  You’re forgiven.  I don’t suppose there’s food here?” His stomach rumbled, and the three of them looked at each other, both Atsushi and Akutagawa looking rather lost.  “Shit. That’s right.  This is my place, isn’t it?  Well, let’s go figure it out then.”

He pushed himself to his feet, swayed a bit when his body apparently decided he had stood too quickly.  Which was dumb as fuck, since he wasn’t sure it was possible to move any slower than he had.  Both boys were at his side in an instant, making sure he didn’t fall back down, glaring at each other over his head.  It was annoying, that he was the oldest of them, yet stood shortest.

“I’m good,” he said after a moment.  “I can walk.”

It hurt like hell, his wounds still healing, but he could walk.  As his feet took him back into the open kitchen and dining room, a delicious smell hit him.

Kyouka stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, a rice maker on next to her.

“You didn’t have to cook,” Chuuya said, trying to make it appear casual, when he used the fridge to support his weight. 

“I didn’t,” Kyouka said, giving him a quick, narrow eyed look, that she then turned onto Atsushi and Akutagawa, clearly checking that they hadn’t killed each other.  “This was labelled in the freezer.  It’s curry.  I think it’s Dazai-san’s favorite, so I thought you might like to eat it.”

“Without him?” Chuuya asked, feeling a smile curve his lips.  Kyouka’s expression remained serene, but her eyes were lit with mirth.  “That seems awfully petty.  I like it.”

“Hopefully you like how it tastes as well.  You should sit down.  It’s almost ready.”

Chuuya eased onto a chair at the counter, and realized that he still only had one glove on.  He glanced around, and remembered that he’d left the other in the bedroom.  After a short hesitance, he removed the one he still wore, tossing it onto the edge of the counter. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Kyouka asked.  “I’d only ever heard the stories of what you could do… seeing it was… I just hope you’re okay.”

“What I can do?” Chuuya blinked, and then remembered where he had woken up, surrounded by debris and rubble.  A mess made of part of the city.  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, still covered with dust, and made a face.  He’d need to shower.  “Fuck.  I did that? How?”

Obviously, his gravity Ability could tear shit apart.  But Chuuya didn’t like to think he had been the kind of man to just… do it.

“Perhaps you should wait for Dazai-san to explain that,” Akutagawa suggested stiffly, shooting Atsushi a narrow-eyed look.  “There is a reason the Agency doesn’t know the details of it.”

“Yeah.  I probably asked him to keep it to himself.  That seem like something I would do?” Chuuya raised a brow at him, and Akutagawa released a heavy sigh. 

“Yes. I suppose it does.”

“Okay, so now I’m asking you to tell me about the thing I can do.”

“I don’t really know the details,” Akutagawa admitted after a long, heavy pause, where he and Atsushi just glared at each other.  “I don’t think the Boss even knows the true details.  Only Dazai-san, as he’s the only one that has survived it.  But you call it Corruption.  All I know is you can’t be defeated if you use it, but you can’t stop it either.”

“Why did I use it?” Chuuya asked after another pause.  “Did… did the boss just order me to?”

Am I so loyal, that I was willing to commit suicide just because someone told me to?

“No. He… Q has the ability to turn men into monsters.  He takes away their ability to see reality.  When it was used on you, it sent you into a rampage.  You did destroy the Guild’s current land base.  We’re not sure yet, who has survived.”

“Are you really trying to make excuses right now?” Atsushi demanded.  “Your boss decided to take away his free will, and make him destroy a place he loves, before ultimately letting him die?”

“Enough, Atsushi,” Chuuya said once more, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “It’s the mafia.  I’m a member.  Clearly I’m not as good of a person as you seem to think.”

“That’s not true!” the words were blurted from two people – both Kyouka and Akutagawa, looking rather flustered that they had spoken at the same time, and so fervently.  Akutagawa coughed again, avoiding looking at anyone, while Kyouka busied herself with the food, also not looking at anyone.

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi said slowly, taking the seat next to Chuuya at the counter.  “He says you’re the most human person he’s ever met.  I like to believe he’s met a lot of very human people, so that he says that about you… I don’t think you’re as awful of a person as you seem to think you must be.”

“He isn’t,” Akutagawa said stiffly.  “Chuuya-san will fight for and with his subordinates.  We know that we can trust you, and that if we fall, you’ll care.  That… matters.”

“Hmm,” Chuuya mused, looking before the two boys, before letting out a low chuckle, and slumping forward, so his head was on the counter.  “Fuck, but I have a headache.  And I’m exhausted.  I think I might have learned enough about myself.  For today, anyway.”

There was a soft thud, of glass on the counter, and he peeked up from the counter to see that Kyouka had placed a plate of curry and rice in front of him.  He sat up, and tugged it closer.  The food smelled even better, now that it was right in front of him, and he dedicated himself to clearing off the plate with a single-minded determination.

“This is good,” he said, around a mouthful of food.  Kyouka had dished out food for the three of them as well.  Atsushi devoured the food with the speed of someone that had starved before, and feared they might again someday, while Kyouka ate at a far more reasonable pace.  Akutagawa, on the other hand, appeared to be more interested in eyeing the food suspiciously, rather than eating it.

“I said that Chuuya-san made it,” Kyouka pointed out to him, her eyes narrowed slightly.  “And I’ve never been the type to poison food.”

“Of course.  I don’t eat curry often,” Akutagawa replied curtly, before spooning up some of the food, joining them in eating it.

“You were a member of the mafia,” Chuuya said after a few beats of silence, eyeing Kyouka curiously.  “But you’re not anymore.  Mori’s threat about killing all traitors is becoming less convincing.”

“Dazai-san knew too much, and Kyouka was a child that both you and Kouyou-sama were fond of.  He won’t let you go nearly as easily, Chuuya-san,” Akutagawa said, before Kyouka could give much of a response.  “You’re too powerful, and… as I said, we know we can rely on you as your subordinates.  That is… rare in the mafia.”

So, Mori didn’t have their loyalty.  At least not the extent that Chuuya did.  He hummed thoughtfully around another mouthful of food.  That was both interesting, and dangerous.  He wondered if Mori was already planning a more effective method of execution for him.

What would Chuuya do if he did?

There was something familiar, about the three kids eating with him.  As there had been with Kouyou – Ane-san – and the group that had accompanied her and the boss.  When he had looked at Dazai, it had taken everything in him to look away.  He had wanted to touch him.  Even now, part of him wanted the other man there to hold him.

But Mori?  Chuuya… he hadn’t felt…

He hadn’t felt anything.

And it made him wonder, if it weren’t for the others around him, would Chuuya have already betrayed the mafia, and walked away?  If he killed Mori tomorrow, he didn’t think he would particularly regret it, except it would make life difficult for the people he was pretty sure he did care about.  Those that were familiar.

“Who are you texting, Weretiger?” Akutagawa asked, drawing Chuuya’s attention away from his musings.  Atsushi had filled himself enough that he was eating at a more acceptable pace, scooping up food with one hand while he texted using the other. 

“I don’t think that’s your business.  And I have a name, remember?”

“No,” Akutagawa replied, his expression bland.  Chuuya would have called him out for being a liar, because he was pretty sure the boy was more than aware of Atsushi’s name.  But hey! Not his problem, and it was kind of funny.  “I never bothered to remember it.”

“Oh, f… It’s Nakajima. Atsushi. It’s not that hard!”

“How much time do you spend with me?” Chuuya asked, breaking up the glaring war the two boys had begun.  His gaze was contemplative on Atsushi.  “I’m pretty sure you almost said fuck there, and that seems like it’s probably my fault.”

“You feed me semi-regularly,” Atsushi replied stiffly, still glaring at Akutagawa, who scoffed angrily.  “What, jealous that I’m welcome here and you’re not?”

“Are you that desperate, Weretiger, to have your leg ripped off again?  I’m more than happy to do so, of course.”

Chuuya finished clearing his plate, and then placed his fork on the surface, dragging it along the length of it with a loud, almost painful screech.

The two boys flinched, and Atsushi actually clutched at his ears.

“Look, if you’re going to fight, you’ll have to do it somewhere else.  This place is nice.  I’m pretty sure that’s thanks to me, and I’d rather it not be destroyed.  I’m going to go take a shower, because I’m disgusting and gross.  You guys… hopefully know if I have a spare room.  And where the blankets are.  Don’t cause trouble while I’m cleaning up.  Kyouka, you’re in charge.”

He doubted, when the three had been sent with him, it had been with the intention that Chuuya end up being a babysitter.  But maybe they should have considered that, since he had a feeling the fighting wasn’t a brand new thing. 

He finally managed to make his way into the shower, hot water pounding down his back as he braced his arms against the wall, and let the filth on him be washed away.  He’d found more blood than he had expected, and wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or alarmed that the kids hadn’t made any note of it.

When his hair was soaked, he took a look at the products along the wall.  Shampoos and conditioner, and something called a hydrating hair mask.  He read the instructions, and then took a solid ten minutes to get through the entire process of using them on his hair.  But when he finally got out and wrapped a towel around his waist, he felt somewhat human.

He hadn’t really realized, until he was looking in the mirror, finally clean, how inhuman he’d been feeling since he had awoken without his memories.

Next, he went back into the bedroom.  The closet and drawers were filled with a variety of clothes that would fit him, and just as many in a size far too large.  He pulled on a pair of the sweats in his size, and then, before he could think too hard about the why, he grabbed a t-shirt that was far too large.  It threatened to fall off one shoulder, but it was soft and well worn, and when he held it to his face, it smelled… familiar.

It smelled like home.

When he went out into the living room, it was to see that Kyouka had claimed the couch, while Akutagawa and Atsushi were sitting on unrolled futons, glaring across the room at each other.

“I was going to take the room, but I think they might need a chaperone,” Kyouka commented, when she realized Chuuya had come out once more.  He chuckled, as he ran a brush through his hair.  He caught her watching him, biting her lip, looking somewhat shy, and raised a brow.  “I can brush it for you.  Your hair.  And braid it.”

Chuuya cocked his head at her, and then looked down at the brush in his hand.  He had looped a hair tie around it that he’d found in the bathroom.  After a few beats of contemplation, he shrugged and sat in front of the couch, handing the brush back to her.

“Was it Dazai?” he asked once Kyouka had settled into a rhythm.  It felt nice, to have someone else take care of him like that. “Whoever you were texting in the kitchen?”

“Oh…” Atsushi trailed off, and Chuuya opened an eye that had drifted shut in enjoyment to look at him. He had flushed pink in the cheeks.  “I… yes.  But he’s not planning to come here or something.  He’s keeping his word.  He just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“I’m not mad, Atsushi,” Chuuya said, after contemplating his emotions for a few minutes.  “I may not remember it, but in his mind, we’re married.  Asking if I’m okay is to be expected, isn’t it?”

“Dazai-san should know you’re more than capable,” Akutagawa grumbled, his arms crossed as he glared even more at Atsushi.  Dazai was a sore spot for him, Chuuya had begun to realize.  It was odd, to realize that he knew how to read these people, yet not having any of the context for the why or how.

It was like he had all the answers, but none of the questions to go with them.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” Chuuya said, as Kyouka finished with his hair and handed him the brush.  “I’m exhausted.  You three can sleep, too.  Or watch TV.  Just… don’t fight.  Kyouka shouldn’t have to be your babysitter.  If you make her, I’ll feel obligated to pay her, and then I’ll be pissed off.”

Both boys kept their heads bowed, and Chuuya ruffled Kyouka’s hair before he went to bed.  He truly was exhausted, his feet dragging by the time he made it to the bed.  He slumped down, and yanked the blankets over him, before he closed his eyes.

And then he proceeded to not fall asleep.

His body was exhausted, but as he stared up at the ceiling, his mind refused to stop whirling.  Now that he was alone, it was as if his thoughts had decided to beat themselves bloody, trying to recall memories of the past, of the people who spoke to him with such familiarity.

People that he knew.  He could feel it.  But he couldn’t remember it.

It was fucking frustrating.

Chuuya groaned and rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to drown out the thoughts.  Now that he was alone, his mind seemed to be frantically trying to recall the memories he had lost.  But every time he thought he might be able to recall something, it slipped away, like smoke through his fingers.

“Fuck,” he growled, lying on his back and glaring up at the roof.  The bed felt too…

Empty.

He muttered another curse under his breath, and rolled to his side, opening a drawer in the table next to the bed.  It might be a foolish hope, but maybe pre-amnesia him had a sleeping aid prescription or something.

There weren’t any pill bottles, but there was a cellphone.  It was very different from the other phones – the ones that could play games and music and connect to the internet.  This one was a flip phone, and wasn’t it frustrating, that he somehow had useless information like knowledge about cellphones, but the things that actually mattered?  Just vague whispers of memories and instincts that told him who to trust.

He pulled out the phone and rolled onto his back once more as he flipped it open.  He had to wince a bit, the brightness of the screen hard on his eyes.  Once they had adjusted, he was able to see the screen.  Knowing that devices like this didn’t have a whole lot of other uses, he went immediately to the messages option.

Only one text thread, from someone called [M A C K E R E L].

Chuuya stared at for a minute, before he clicked on it. He expected something… he wasn’t entirely sure.  He just expected something.  Maybe to discover that he had been actively betraying the mafia.  Or that he was a secret government agent.  Anything that would be very much worth a cellphone that he kept stashed away in a drawer, one with only a single contact.

Instead, he found the evidence of a life of domesticity.

There were messages about what to have for dinner.  Requests for one or the other to pick up something at the store, or to run an errand.  Messages about coming home late.  There was a series of messages from a few months previous about plans for a weekend getaway into the heart of Tokyo.

And mixed in amongst those messages were what he could only assume were petnames.  Mackerel, Slug, Beanpole, Chibi, Asshole, Hatrack.  Not exactly soft names, but ones that, within the context of the messages, seemed filled with affection. 

And even more surprising… the way the conversations ended with things like “love you,” “see you soon,” and in a handful of cases, always in the messages from Mackerel, “xoxo”.

These, Chuuya realized at last, were messages between him and Dazai.  Proof of the relationship they were supposed to have.  Messages filled with a day to day existence, lived within the same space. 

Messages filled with absent-minded words of love and affection, the messages of two people who had lived in each other’s orbits so long that such things came naturally, without thought.

He scrolled through the messages, as far back as they were saved.  Then he read through them again, trying to commit each word of affection, and even the arguments, to memory.  Realizing what he was doing – trying to memorize words he should already know – Chuuya snapped the phone shut, letting it rest on his chest as he stared up at the roof once more.

Sleep still refused to come.

After several more minutes of closing his eyes, trying to will his mind to just stop, Chuuya gave up once more, picking the phone up again.

He opened the contacts, stared at that single name.

[M A C K E R E L]

His finger hovered.  One click, and the phone would dial.  He snapped the phone shut.  A second later, he had it open again.

Five more seconds, and he finally hit the call button.

It ran once, and Chuuya was ready to pull the phone away from his ear, to hit the end button and just resign himself to staring at the wall until morning.  He never considered that, maybe, he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.

There wasn’t a second ring, as if Dazai had been waiting for him to call.

“Chuuya? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t remember the life they had made together.  He couldn’t even really remember Dazai, beyond that sense of familiarity, that sense that he could be trusted.

Still, hearing Dazai’s voice, hearing the worry in his tone… it made something in Chuuya’s chest clench.

“Chibi, are you there?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya finally said, his voice a croak.  He cleared his throat, happy that no one was there to see him be so damn awkward.  “Yeah, I’m here.  Stop calling me Chibi, though.  I’m not that short.”

Silence for a minute, making Chuuya wrinkle his nose.  As if he could read the other’s mind, he just knew Dazai was thinking about the 21 cm that separated their heights. 

“You’re just freakishly tall,” he continued, when Dazai stayed silent.  “That’s not my fault.  Beanpole.”

The nickname, one of the petnames in the texts between them, came so easily.  It felt natural to say, and Chuuya felt his lips curve into a smile as he used it.

Dazai’s breath caught on the other side of the line.

“Someone had to make up for where you lack, Hatrack.  Only fitting that it’s me.”

Chuuya chuckled, curling onto his side, keeping the phone to his ear. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said after a few more beats of silence.  “I’m exhausted, but my mind won’t stop working.  And this bed is too big for just one person.  Who the hell buys a bed this big?”

“That’s all on you, Love,” Dazai replied, and Chuuya felt a shiver run down his spell.  Dazai had used that pet name on very rare occasions in the texts, but unlike the others, he hadn’t been able to imagine what it would sound like in the man’s voice.  Now he knew.

Another thing to put on the list of things to commit to memory.  He never wanted to forget it… again.

“I wanted a futon,” Dazai continued.  “It’s what we had when we were teens.  A tiny futon in a shitty apartment.  I used it as an excuse to always wrap myself around you.  Now I don’t have an excuse anymore, because the Chibi needed to get that giant bed just to spite me.”

“I don’t know why I wanted to spite you, but you probably deserved it,” Chuuya retorted.  There was a long pause on the end of line.

“I did,” Dazai agreed at last.  “I really, really did.”

There was a story there, Chuuya could tell.  But they lived together now, which meant whatever it was, he had already forgiven Dazai for it.  Whatever it was, he didn’t want to deal with it, he decided.  That could be a story for tomorrow’s Chuuya.  Tonight’s Chuuya just wanted to… well, he wanted to flirt with his husband.

“Do I never get to be the big spoon?” he asked, latching onto something else Dazai had said.  “You said you always wrap yourself around me, but I think I’d want to be the big spoon. At least a few times.”

The way he was curved now, so his head was ducked down, had created a bubble of intimacy, where it felt like only he and Dazai existed.  It made him keep his voice pitched low, as if anything louder would interrupt the bubble, or wake the kids in his living room, drawing them to see who he was talking to. 

“Usually when you get home late,” Dazai replied, his voice quiet as well.  “Or when I’ve had… a bad day.  You’re a very good cuddler.  Some days I need it.”

Chuuya closed his eyes, tried to reach for the memories of those intimate moments.  He knew they were there.  But he couldn’t find them.

“I hate this,” he said after a few beats.  “Not remembering everything.  I hate it.  I can picture everything you say, but it’s like I’m watching the story of someone else’s life.”

He could see the emotions in those memories, but couldn’t feel them, not in the way they should be felt by someone who had been there.

“We’ll make new ones,” Dazai said, response swift, as if he’d been just waiting to give that answer.  “Or we’ll create every old one, if you want.  So you have them, too.”

Chuuya let out a chuckle at that, and sighed as he rolled onto his back, destroying that quiet bubble.  After all, it wasn’t real.  Dazai was out in the city, not in the room with him.  And the things he said felt like stories, being weaved by a master author.

They invoked desire and longing, because didn’t everyone want to be loved in some way?  But Chuuya didn’t actually know what it was like to love Dazai, didn’t know what his bad days looked like.

Would he even recognize them now, that he no longer had years of memories?

But even though he knew all that, he still wanted those memories.

“Tell me more,” he said staring at the ceiling. “Start at the beginning.”

“… It started when a little fairy came down to Earth and kicked me around Suribachi City-”

“Who the hell are you calling a fairy?!”

“Shush, Chibi.  I’m the one telling the story.  He kicked me, and then he planted his foot on my chest, and I had never seen anyone look so beautiful…”

---

Ango was staring blankly at the wall across from his office – his version of getting some rest – when Taneda entered the office on the tail of a brief nod.

“Sir!” Ango began to stand, but his boss waved his hand, taking his own seat across the desk from him. Ango slowly lowered himself back down, wondering why the older man had appeared without any warning.

“We have some alarming reports from our partners in Yokohama,” he said after a few beats of silence, apparently deciding not to leave Ango clueless for long.  “Fitzgerald and the Guild have made an appearance.”

“Are we going to reach out to the Agency?” Ango asked, straightening his glasses, and then his tie, just to make sure he hadn’t grown disheveled while he’d been spaced out.  The Armed Detective Agency was their ally of choice in Yokohama, far easier to work with than the Port Mafia.  And the division would need help.  Sadly, money spoke, and Fitzgerald had enough of it to tie the government’s hands if they tried to interfere with his reason for being there.  “Dazai probably wouldn’t be pleased to see me, but I could convince them to listen.”

“The Guild has been taken out.  It seems that Fitzgerald survived, as did Lucy Maud Montgomery, and Edgar Allan Poe.  The status of the rest of them is uncertain.”

“The entire guild?” Ango stared at his boss, trying very hard not to gape.  Outside of Fitzgerald’s money, the members of the Guild also had powerful abilities.  To not only take them down, but to possibly have killed all but three of them?  That would take… fuck.  “A5158.”

“Indeed, Mori Ogai directed his executive to take the Guild out.  He did so, along with a large swath of city.”

“The fatalities?”

“Still being counted, but not as great as I would have expected.  There are more survivors than dead being found in the rubble. It appears that Dazai managed to stop him before the damage could become too great.”

Ango bit back a sigh of relief.  He hadn’t seen Dazai in four years, only knew that the other man had fled the Port Mafia after… well, after.  He and A5158 had been incredibly close prior to that, but with Dazai’s deflection, Ango couldn’t imagine their current relationship being anything other than antagonistic.  It was a sign that Dazai truly had changed, that he would still help his old partner.

Or perhaps he had done it to save the city.

Either way, it was more than the Dazai of four years ago probably would have bothered with.

“The mess will take time and effort to clear up,” Ango stated, going immediately to clean up mode.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so, after Soukoku had caused a mess.  He’d done so for both the government and the Port Mafia in his time as a mole.  “It may cause some tensions with the American government at first, but we have dealt with worse.”

“That isn’t the alarming news, Ango.” Ango blinked at Taneda, whose words cut into the thoughts he’d been vocalizing.  “It seems that A5158 has no memories.”

“He… I don’t understand.”

“The power he used did damage to his memory.  He doesn’t know who he is, who the Port Mafia is.  He knows none of it.”

For a moment, Ango didn’t think of him as A5158.  Instead, he remembered being introduced to Nakahara Chuuya by Dazai – something he’d been aiming for when befriending the brunet executive – and the way that the red head had been so full of anger and life, and how Dazai had seemed to be filled with something close to the same, as he’d poked and prodded at the younger boy until he exploded.

Around Chuuya… that’s when Dazai had seemed to actually want to live.

But he couldn’t be sentimental, not anymore.  He had always been meant to be a traitor, and just because he’d let Dazai and… just because he’d let some people wiggle beneath his skin, didn’t mean he could let that emotion affect him now.

“He won’t have any loyalties to the Port Mafia,” Ango stated, immediately seeing why this news would be so alarming.  A5158’s loyalty to the Port Mafia and, by association, the city had kept him in line.  Without that… he was too powerful, to not have on a leash.

“He’s too valuable for us to simply eliminate.  He still holds the only key to the Arahabaki experiments.  But we can’t let him wander around without a handler.  He’ll be off balance now, not as effective as he would usually be.  I want you in charge of the extraction team.”

Taneda gave Ango’s desk two sharp nods, and then pushed a file across the desk to him. 

“We have a Hunting Dog on the inside.  He’s being made aware of the plan to retrieve A5158, so you’ll have some help there.  Otherwise, these are some of our best agents.  They’re aware of that we need A5158 taken alive, but he doesn’t necessarily need to be able to move.”

Bile threatened to rise in the back of Ango’s throat, his duty and job at odds with the memories of Chuuya, who had been more than a number.  It was why Ango had avoided him as much as possible.  When around the boy, he hadn’t been able to think of him as the dangerous A5158.

He needed to think of him as the dangerous A5158.

“You can count on me, Sir,” Ango said, giving his boss a sharp nod. 

“Of course I can,” Taneda responded with his own nod.

Ango watched Taneda leave, and then he pinched his arm, hard. When nothing happened, he stared grimly down at the file in front of him.

Dammit.  He’d been hoping he’d somehow managed to fall asleep and was having a particularly nasty nightmare. He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then flipped open the file.  He had been aware of a new mole in the Port Mafia, but hadn’t known who it was, or that it was a Hunting Dog. 

“Well, Tachihara Michizou,” he said, tapping a finger on the agent’s file.  “I hope you’re ready for this.”