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1.
Chuuya is 18 and barely a year past being promoted to Executive when he steps off a plane, fresh from his first out-of-country dispute, and receives the call that Dazai Osamu has left the Port Mafia.
"Hah?" he shouts into the phone, attracting more than a few wary stares from passersby, "What do you mean he fucking left ?"
And yes, this is Ane-san he's talking to, one of the few people he respects, but also the entire situation is so ridiculous he can't even comprehend it.
In his mind, imaginary Dazai says, always knew you had the brains of a slug ~ and Chuuya thinks, shut up , not even questioning the mildly concerning fact he's basically talking to himself because this is Dazai-fucking-Osamu and he's such an annoying freeloader he'll even worm his way into someone's thoughts.
(Maybe if other people knew they would beg to differ, but alongside that they would have to beg for their life because Chuuya would punt someone into the atmosphere if they so much as insinuated he cared about the damn mackerel.)
But that's not the point. The point is, Dazai-made-for-the-mafia-Osamu, who they all predicted would eventually assassinate Mori and take over as the head, whose blood is blacker than a moonless night and who's the youngest and most ruthless Executive of them all, had apparently just up and left the fucking Port Mafia.
Kouyou sighs, and explains again. "He just - left. He didn't come into work the next day and we found his house completely vacated, with a letter of resignation at his doorstep. Mori-san told us to just drop it and not investigate."
Chuuya's eyes narrow. " Mori-san of all people -"
"Just come see me," Kouyou says, voice weary, and before Chuuya can protest further, the call ends with a click.
He grumpily storms towards the baggage checkout, phone gripped in his hand so tightly he half expects it to crack. It's not that he cares about the slimy mackerel bastard leaving. He really, really doesn't. He's just pissed the fucker left is all, because now he'll be stuck with an even bigger workload as the remaining half of Soukoku.
He repeats this to himself, and repeats it to Ane-san when he sees her, and repeats it all through the night as he pops open one of his vintage wines to celebrate the fact that the slimy bandaged mackerel has finally left. Good fucking riddance, idiot was one hell of a migraine.
He doesn't care. He really, really doesn't.
Ane-san still looks sad despite how he really doesn't give a single fuck, honestly, good riddance and goodbye, Dazai, wasn't nice knowing you.
(The next morning, hungover and sticking his keys into the ignition switch, his car blows up. Because of course it does.)
(Fucking mackerel didn't even bother leaving a proper goodbye.)
2.
It's been four years when the bastard shows up out of the blue. To harass Chuuya. Because of course he does.
It's a normal day. It should have, by all means, continued on being a normal day, but because the universe hates him, the instant he steps off the plane Chuuya gets a call that Dazai Osamu has apparently been captured by the Port Mafia.
But four years is a long time to hold a grudge, even for Chuuya, and what's once been a raging inferno of anger has already turned into more of a low simmer - so some part of him hopes that maybe, he can deal with this calmly and rationally. Do his job. Be professional. Maybe be a little hurt, but not enough to let his emotions override common sense completely.
Then he lays eyes on the mackerel himself, a flood of rage enters his system, and that plan promptly goes to shit. Arahabaki howls, hungry for violence.
Chuuya launches forward and fights .
His blood thrums in his veins, his heart pounding out the rhythm of a war drum as he loses himself to battle, kick and punch and kick and punch, pour all of your anger into it -
(Because he knows, knows he's losing in the end no matter what, Dazai wouldn't show up without a plan and an objective in mind, Chuuya's just a means to an end and he's only going to be used and manipulated again. Played for a fool, so just let him have this, for now, let him for one moment feel as if he's finally in control of his fate.)
It doesn't last, naturally.
Dazai's plan works, Chuuya's outwitted, and he's just about forced to hand over the information the mackerel needs on a silver platter.
He'll beat him up next time. He'll make him regret it. He will , he's just mad he was tricked, is all.
He isn't hurt he was used again, because it would be naive to think something else would happen when it's Dazai he's dealing with. He isn't .
He watches Dazai's retreating silhouette and swears to defeat him permanently the next time they meet, and tries to ignore that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that feels a little like relief that the suicidal bastard is still alive.
3.
Because Chuuya can't catch a break, The Guild shows up, intent on turning the entire city upside down for whatever purpose, and now he even has to work with the stinky fish bastard, Dazai Osamu himself, to retrieve Q.
So great, really.
Absolutely fucking wonderful .
Dazai reassures him that the feeling's entirely mutual, which, in all honesty, doesn't help at all as the mackerel is still as annoying as ever.
At least he gets slammed into a tree for his trouble. God knows the bastard deserves it and everything else.
They argue, of course. And the enemy is way stronger than expected, of course. And now they have to actually work together and Chuuya has to use Corruption, because of course .
Dazai gives him the choice that is not a choice. He picks yes , because what else is there to do? He calls for Arahabaki, and it comes. Corruption drags him under.
An eternity and a second later, he's pulled back to the surface, Dazai's hand wrapped around his wrist, bare skin against bare skin.
Chuuya thinks, he could probably snap my wrist in this position.
Chuuya also thinks, I'm surprised you pulled me back at all.
He says, "I used Corruption because I trusted in you," and it tastes of bitterness and past betrayal and a little bit like an outstretched olive branch, like hesitant hope and the beginnings of a maybe-forgiveness. Chuuya hates it, but it happens anyway, so he adds, "Just take my ass back to the base for me."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dazai smiles, and it is a little bit more genuine than usual, and he replies, "You got it, partner." It sounds like something fond and something sorry and Chuuya isn't going to let himself hope, but maybe, maybe somewhere in there there is something apologetic as well. Just a possibility. A small one.
Maybe something can be salvaged. Not fixed because it's too late for that, but maybe there's something left in all the ruins and debris.
He lets himself trust just a little bit and blacks out.
(He wakes up, and Dazai is gone, and he's still lying on the ground, coat and hat folded up next to him because the bastard likes to make a joke out of everything. Yeah, really fucking funny , hardy har har.)
(Something inside plummets, and the bitterness floods his throat with a vengeance. He drapes a hand over his eyes and sighs through gritted teeth, bracing himself for a long, painful walk back to headquarters.)
(He should've known this would happen.)
4.
The city is falling apart. The city is falling apart, and Abilities have turned on their users, and Dazai has apparently joined the enemy, but Chuuya absolutely does not fucking buy it because, if anything, Dazai is one sneaky bastard and he always has a plan.
Not to say he won't betray anyone, of course - betrayal comes easy to him, slimy snake that he is, but while he might've stabbed the Port Mafia in the back, stabbed Chuuya in the back over and over, Chuuya knows, knows he would never break his precious promise to Oda.
And so he calls bullshit on Ango's statement and launches right off the plane to save Dazai, but really did the bastard have to go about everything in this way because now he has no choice but to use Corruption again, and it’s not like he could just leave him but God if he isn't really fucking pissed off right now -
"O' grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again."
He heads right into the beast's maw with rage fueling his veins and focuses on finding the stupid mackerel and wringing his neck for thinking up such an idiotic plan.
He succeeds, defeats the dragon, punches Dazai awake (and nearly punches him a second time when he says, “That was a somewhat violent way to wake Snow White up”, because it’s not like it was Chuuya’s plan). Enemy defeated, city saved.
He promptly passes out again, chin on Dazai’s bony knee and the mackerel’s hand in his hair.
(He opens his eyes to sunrise, to find himself leaning against a crumbling wall. Every part of his body aches. Dazai has, once again, disappeared.)
(Chuuya tilts his head back to see the orange sky and blows out a breath.)
(He isn’t even disappointed anymore. He had expected this.)
5.
Nakahara Chuuya had expected to die many ways. In the middle of a conflict between different mafias, perhaps. Or against Ability users. Corruption finally catching up to him. Guarding Mori. Protecting the city. It’s only natural, with a life such as his - and so he had lived life every day with the intent of having no regrets, lived life every day like it was his last.
He had always expected to go out fighting, though.
Not like this .
The room is rapidly filling with water even as the fog in his head begins to lift - in the back of his mind, he stupidly recalls something from Ane-san’s lessons, the water level is inversely proportional with the strength of the vampirism ability that’s affecting him - hazy memories trickling back to him slowly but clearly (manipulated, used by Fyodor, a puppet with no choice once again, always never an actual choice) .
Dazai’s voice is blaring over the speakers, and Chuuya kicks and claws but his head is already nearly brushing the ceiling and the water is heavy and cold and swirling, much, much more than normal water should be.
(He should know, he’s dived into rivers again and again and again in order to fish out his bandaged bastard of a partner, and he almost wants to laugh at the irony, hysterical, because he’s saved Dazai from the river’s depths over and over again and now Dazai is drowning him.)
(He wonders if this is payback.)
Dazai says, “Chuuya, this is farewell to you too”, and it hits him that this is it he is going to drown he is going to die - and damn it because he’s lived every day like it was his last, but he doesn’t want to go out, not like this.
Dazai says, “It’s a shame things turned out like this” and “Seven years since we met, and we’ve done nothing but quarrel with each other”, and fuck but fear is metallic in the back of his throat and Chuuya is afraid .
He doesn’t want to die.
“But… now that I think about it, there were some moments where we did connect. Like that time…”
He doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die -
Water, rushing, over his mouth and his nose and he takes a deep breath but he can’t hold it for long and he should’ve known (but he always knew; deep down he always knew this would happen, that someday, caring so much for Dazai would end him-)
Dazai, voice cheerful and way too perky over the speakers, says: “Sorry, there weren’t any! Well then, goodbye ~”
(He had been so fucking stupid .)
The heavy water rushes into his lungs.
Nakahara Chuuya tastes betrayal and drowns.
+1
“You,” Chuuya coughs out, throat scraped raw and lungs painful, body aching all over, a cut on his temple trickling blood down his face, “fuckin’ bastard.”
He is soaked to the bone, orange locks plastered to his face and shivering all over, face pressed against Dazai’s knee and too tired to get up.
Fuck, he’s cold. He’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be this cold. Is this hypothermia? More than that, why is he even getting hypothermia if he has a fucking god inside of him?
“I know,” Dazai replies, hands carding through Chuuya’s hair like he’s a fucking cat or something, voice calm and faintly amused but also so undeniably fond that Chuuya wants to gag. “There wasn’t any other way to get you to activate Corruption without tipping off Fyodor - if he knew, he might’ve somehow used that to his advantage. The only other way I knew to get Arahabaki to come out was either if you were mad enough or if you were in enough danger its self-preservation instincts kicked in to override your control. But…” and here Dazai pauses a little, and he actually says it: “I know it was not a pleasant experience, and I’m sorry for that.”
And fuck but it sounds like Dazai actually means it, his tone serious and maybe even a little apologetic, none of that annoying sing-song tone to it. And yes, maybe it makes the sting of what Chuuya had thought to be actual betrayal earlier on hurt a little less, but damn it if it doesn’t also piss him off in return. Because he knows , knows that Dazai is showing he cares on purpose . No matter if he’s doing it because he feels guilty (ha, Chuuya doesn’t think so, the bastard is as heartless as they come), or to make Chuuya spring back quicker, or even because he actually does - heck, Chuuya doesn’t know - Dazai’s still doing it intentionally.
Calculated, every expression that crosses his face, every carefully chosen word, every inflection in his tone from the seriousness to the guilt to the apologeticness (or whatever the fuck, does that word even actually exist?).
And Chuuya knows it - not just because he’s been Dazai’s partner for years, not just because he's one half of Soukoku - but because Dazai Osamu is never vulnerable. Not to him.
And yes, it hurts; it's a bitter pill to swallow but Chuuya has known since long, long ago that Dazai doesn't care about him in that way. Not like how he cares about Oda or the weretiger or any of his Agency comrades. To him, Chuuya isn't a partner or a friend or someone important, just a powerful piece in the game against Dostoevsky. A precious puppet or a toy, maybe, but still a puppet nonetheless - one step below, one step behind, someone to be manipulated and played with. Exactly like the nickname Dazai gave him.
A dog. A good, obedient, little dog .
(Fuck, why does he still care? Why does he still care about this stupid, slimy, bandage-wrapped mackerel, it has been seven years of torment and four years of separation and it should've stopped hurting already , damnit.)
(It should’ve stopped hurting a long time ago, really, but it hasn’t, because though Dazai doesn’t care at all, Chuuya cares too much.)
(He still does.)
So instead he huffs and shoves himself off of Dazai, getting to his feet (albeit a little unsteadily) and stomping off down the corridor towards where he recalls the control room is, location plucked from fuzzy memories. "Whatever. I don't need your half-assed apologies. Let's just get the fuck on with this shitshow and whatever shitty plan you've cooked up so we can head back to Yokohama."
Dazai stands up as well, but there aren't any consequent footsteps - he isn't following. Chuuya stops, back still turned, demands: "Well? Don't fucking loiter around like some fucking idiot and walk already!"
Silence. Chuuya half expects Dazai to make a jab at him again, rubbing salt in his wounds further like the tactless mackerel he is, " Aww, is chibi angry again? Don't worry, I brought your favourite dog treats along with me~" but instead, Dazai says: "You're mad."
Chuuya scoffs. “Congrats, genius. You figured it out, do you want a medal or something? Of course I’m fucking mad , in case you haven’t notice you’ve been fucking pissing me off for the past seven fucking years -”
He spins and stops, the rest of his words dying in his throat.
Because Dazai actually looks… upset. Well, not upset, exactly - more like some strange combination of realization and hurt and apology, something far too real and far too vulnerable, something he’s never seen on Dazai’s face before and which he’s pretty sure isn’t meant to be because once again, Dazai Osamu is never vulnerable to him.
Silence, for a while.
Dazai says, again, “I’m sorry.” It sounds more lost than anything else.
“Fucking fat lot of good that’ll do,” Chuuya bites out.
“Then what?” Dazai spreads his arms and there is something like regret and pain in his eyes. “What do I do? How do I fix this?” And he looks so lost and so human and somehow that is what makes Chuuya snap because this has happened over and over again and only now he recognizes it? Only now , after Chuuya had nearly died, after he had thought he had been well and truly betrayed by one of the only people he’s ever trusted despite everything that happened between them?
He explodes.
“There’s nothing you can fucking do , don’t you get it? You have fucking left , over and over and over again and despite that I still trusted you and you just used that to stab me in the fucking back ! I’m not a tool , alright? I’m not someone to be manipulated and pushed around like some damn chess piece in your twisted game against Dostoevsky! I - I’m tired, alright? I’m tired, and I -” the words stick in his throat.
I thought I was going to die.
I thought I was going to die and I don’t even know what’s real anymore and I’m tired of being the only one who cares.
He stops, takes a deep breath, looks up again and glares at Dazai, pretending his eyes aren’t red and his voice isn’t shaking. The bastard’s mouth is opening and closing, finally acting like the bandaged mackerel he is, something bewildered on his face - it seems he got the gist of it after all, despite the words unsaid. Finally, he says: “You think I don’t care.”
“You left ,” Chuuya says again, hurt and accusation, and, talking about something else entirely now, “You left and you didn’t even tell me and I came back and you were gone .”
Dazai’s face crumples. “I thought - I thought -” he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing and completely lost for words (Chuuya thought he’d never see the day), “I thought you were okay there. That you would’ve wanted to stay.”
“I would’ve fucking gone with you if you’d told me,” Chuuya grumbles. “We were partners .”
“And what if you’d gone with me? What then?” Dazai protests. “I didn’t want to ruin your life like that. All those people in the Port Mafia that you were indebted to, all those people who were important to you, all those people you would’ve helped - I couldn’t pull you away from that. And after what happened with Odasaku… I didn’t want you to see you get hurt. If something had happened to you because of me -”
“Well, something did, didn’t it?” Chuuya snaps, words harsh, all sharp edges. Dazai flinches. “I got hurt anyway, over and fucking over again, and it just - whatever,” he snarls, spinning back to the path, stomping on, “whatever. Let’s just get out of this shithole already.”
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls after him, and, the third time, “I’m sorry. I really am, and I - what will it take to convince you I care?”
He pauses, for a moment, and says truthfully: “I don’t know.”
He walks on.
It is sunset, and they’re waiting on the helipad of Mersault, finally having gotten out of that hellhole after so long, now peering up into the sky for any sign of the ride that Dazai says he’s contacted. The other guy - Sigma - has taken to staying as far away from the two as possible, as if he can sense the bomb that is about to explode, the tension thick enough Chuuya doubts even Ane-san’s Golden Demon could cut through.
Chuuya himself sits on the edge of the roof, legs swinging out over an abyss and body aching all over. There is still blood smeared on him from the usage of Corruption, cracks and cuts in his skin. Dazai had offered, neutrally and as carefully as possible, to treat the wounds, but Chuuya just waved him off and told him it would waste time.
Curt. Polite. Short. Nothing like their usual interactions, full of anger and annoyance and pettiness. It feels strange, hurts in a different way than the other one, the one that’s pain mixed rage and the bitter taste of betrayal and abandonment, that’s dulled to something heavier and quieter and less sharp but weighs Chuuya’s chest down all the same.
( It shouldn’t be hurting at all. He shouldn’t care , damnit.)
He grits his teeth in annoyance and glares at the setting sun - orange sky and pink and yellow-dyed streaks of clouds and a giant, blazing ball of red - and reminds himself he shouldn’t fucking care -
“Can I sit here?” Dazai asks quietly, and Chuuya starts a little, having been so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t even noticed the mackerel until he spoke up.
Not that he’s going to let slip of that to Dazai. He waits for another second longer, like he’s purposely giving him the cold shoulder, before scoffing: “Whatever. Not like I fucking care.”
( He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he really fucking doesn’t -)
Dazai - probably seeing right through his acting (for all his emotions right now and all that’s happened, Chuuya will bet he’s still as sharp and perceptive as ever), doesn’t comment on it, and sits. Palms flat against the concrete of the roof, legs crossed at the ankles, staring out at the sunset with something contemplative in his gaze.
Silence. A breeze blows, and Chuuya tilts his head back just a little to enjoy it.
(Bram Stoker, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Arahabaki, fucking Dazai himself - it has not been silent for so long.)
Finally, Dazai speaks: “I am not going to try to excuse my actions, and I am not going to try to get you to accept my apology. But I’m speaking the truth when I say that I am sorry. I am sorry I left. I am sorry I kept on leaving over and over again even after that. I am sorry I never tried to listen, and I am sorry I never tried to understand. I am sorry for being a, quite frankly -” and here Dazai’s voice cracks a little with a humorless laugh, “- fucking shit of a partner. I am sorry,” he swallows, “for never telling you the plan or what would happen, and for betraying your trust.”
He blows out a sigh, leans back and splays onto the roof with arms out, and it is almost like they are fifteen again, and it is Chuuya’s birthday, the two of them having snuck onto the roof of Port Mafia headquarters to look at the stars with a blanket and a picnic basket in tow (“After all, it’s my dear dog’s birthday,” Dazai teases when Chuuya opens the basket to reveal cake - which is, surprisingly, edible, and even more surprisingly, actually pretty good - “what kind of owner would I be if I didn’t celebrate it?” He adds, “I asked Ane-san for your preferences. I don’t think dogs are supposed to have wine or wine-flavored cake, which would probably taste horrible anyway, so I hope you’re okay with strawberry. Y’know, for your red hair!”).
“You were too good for me,” Dazai says now, out loud, pulling Chuuya back to the present. “You were too good for me, and I thought that I would ruin you, because -” he swallows again, “ - because, besides Odasaku, you were one of the only good things I had and look how he turned out. I ruined Odasaku and I ruined Akutagawa and I thought that, if I stayed, I would end up ruining you too, and you would be - killed , or something.”
“I -” Chuuya pauses for a second, words stuck in his throat. “That’s fucking stupid,” he finally settles on, “we both know I’m the stronger one out of the two of us.”
“I know, right?” Another mirthless laugh. “And that wasn’t even the real, main reason.”
“Which is?” Chuuya asks, finally allowing himself to turn his gaze towards Dazai.
“I was afraid. I was afraid, and I didn’t want to be vulnerable, so I thought that before someone left me again like Odasaku did, I would leave them first.”
Another pause.
“That,” Chuuya finds his words again, turning back to the view, “is also really fucking stupid. For all your genius, you are really fucking stupid .”
“Mhmm,” Dazai says, not denying it or deflecting it or taking offense at it, simply fucking accepting it which really just goes further to show how damn idiotic he is -
And then, “I’m staying.”
Chuuya looks at him again. “ What .”
A simple shrug. “I’m staying. This time. I won’t leave again if you don’t want me to.” Dazai turns his head and meets his gaze head on, open and vulnerable and truthful . “I swear.”
“Well,” Chuuya says, and again, “I don’t care. Do whatever you want to.”
“Hmm,” Dazai says again, and then sits back up and stretches. “The helicopter won’t be here for another fifteen minutes. Sleep if you want to - I know you’re tired, and you need your strength for what’s coming next. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
And here is a known fact: Dazai Osamu is never vulnerable around Nakahara Chuuya, and Nakahara Chuuya has sworn to not be vulnerable around Dazai Osamu any longer.
And yet.
There is something there that wasn’t before.
So Chuuya says, “Fine, whatever”, and, lying back onto the concrete roof like he is the one who’s fifteen, he lets the kinder darkness that’s been tugging at him pull him down into its depths (he thinks he almost feels a hand brush away a stray lock of hair, something quiet said that sounds like “promise” and “trust” and “I love you”. He isn’t sure).
But what he does know is this - he wakes up, hooked up to an iv and wrapped in bandages, the faint “fwup fwup fwup” of the helicopter blades over the whirr of the liquids, the night skyline of Yokohama gradually approaching out the window. He wakes up, and he looks to his left, and there is Dazai, back in his normal clothes and dozing in a cracked plastic chair.
(Here. He stayed. He didn’t leave.)
And Chuuya isn’t sure what this is, or what they are now - something fragile and still far away from forgiveness and further still from not just going back to what they were before, but something better -
But he watches Dazai’s sleeping form and thinks that this is something .
This is something, and they are okay.
And he is okay with that.