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Even at night, Yokohama was full of life. Not as loud yet still as bright as before, when the sun had not yet hidden beneath the horizon.
Rooftops, those were quieter, and, unsurprisingly, deserted. Not much more than blurred noises of waves and cars could be heard.
And then, there was the wind. The one constant, gentle side of the city that would always welcome you home.
“Hi, partner.”
Chuuya exhaled.
Before him shone Yokohama, behind him stood Dazai. Between them, a starry sky and a cloud of smoke.
He tapped the ashes off his cigarette. They fell, blown somewhere unknown by the wind. In their place, another breeze carried that soft voice towards him.
The distance grew smaller.
Dazai made his way next to mafia’s executive and let his legs dangle over the edge. With a little rust in his movement, the younger man picked a box from his pocket and pulled a cigarette out.
It fit between his lips like it was always meant to be there.
Next, the young man looked for a lighter.
One, two, three.
His thumb pressed down on it.
One, two.
He frowned.
“Light one for me, will you?” he murmured with the cigarette in his mouth as he attempted to make it work one last time.
Chuuya’s eyes allowed themselves a roll before the redhead pulled out his own lighter, smoothly, and flipped it open in a single motion.
Dazai leaned in.
The tip of his cigarette lit up as he took a deep breath. Grey ran through his lungs and he exhaled into the nothingness gratefully.
For once he kept quiet, and Chuuya was not going to ruin that peace for himself. Dazai’s careful lips at every release of the smoke were doing enough. They looked a little unused to it, a little out of practice. It had been a while since Chuuya had last seen Dazai smoke.
He finished his cigarette, then lit up another. The city beneath, his city, theirs, under Port Mafia’s protection, had no rush to reach another morning. And neither did he.
Dazai, too, took his time with his own stick of cancer. It rested between his fingers more often than not.
Chuuya exhaled.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, depends who’s asking. If it is Atsushi, I am taking a walk. If it is Kenji, I am enjoying the night sky, if Ranpo, he already knows. If it is Kunikida I am behaving perfectly well…but I don’t think he cares to know.”
Dazai’s legs dangled back and forth.
“What if your partner is asking then?”
“If my partner is asking, I am here to smoke a cigarette.”
Chuuya scoffed as the muscles of his back loosened and he inhaled smoke again. Half-lie, half-truth, as it often was with Dazai. He had no reason to ask more though, yet.
“Rare, isn’t it? You haven’t been smoking much.”
“Bad habit I picked up from you,” Dazai said, and he could almost be heard pouting. “You don’t hang out with me as much, must be the lack of our time spent together.”
“What are you, a highschooler?” Chuuya twisted what remained of his cigarette on the cement. Dazai moved then, and Chuuya had even more reason than earlier not to shift until a head was comfortably placed on top of his leg. “If your logic is anything to go by you should be thanking me.”
“My logic is everything to go by and I still won’t do that. You’re rude.”
“Remind me next time I’m about to lend you my lighter.”
“Chuuya.”
“What?”
“I ran out of cigarettes.”
The redhead groaned. He muttered a curse or two under his breath and reached for his box.
“Only if you stay quiet for another two minutes.”
“I can do that.” Dazai accepted the stick with a smile on his face as smoke burned his lungs again.
It was not two minutes.
It was more, enough that it had Chuuya wondering if he would have to open a fresh new box of cigarettes.
The night was still not getting any brighter.
“Chuuya?”
Chuuya wondered if it was wind that made Dazai’s voice gentle, or the young man himself. His hand found its place between Dazai’s locks, and smoke leaving the other’s mouth shook.
“What?”
“How long will you stay here?”
A shrug.
“A while.”
Dazai hummed, and answered okay to Chuuya’s questioning stare.
“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“You do tend to stick yourself in worst case scenarios.”
“It’s hardly one of those now.”
An index ran across his jaw. Smooth, with one single, barely visible scar to its side. Chuuya’s gloves lay discarded somewhere unimportant.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
“M-m.”
Dazai pressed closer. Hidden, as the finger bumped the tip of his nose.
“Why look for me then?”
“You make it sound like I only come when something bad happens.”
“Often the case.”
“Not always.”
“Not always. So why?”
“Something did go wrong,” Dazai admitted press-lipped, hating how his body and mind and his entire being craved these little touches, and the smooth roughness of Chuuya’s voice after smoking.
“What was it?”
It was tricky, knowing when was it that Dazai lied too many times to avoid a question, although more than anything it was tricky figuring out a way to deal with it.
“It was something.”
Chuuya sighed.
“Answer, Osamu,” he said, tired.
“It was.”
“Was?”
“Was.”
“Not anymore?”
“No.” Dazai curled to his side, his arm finding its way around Chuuya’s waist. “It’s alright now.”
Five seconds.
That was how long – and it was too long, indeed – it took Chuuya to determine if that was all that it was. And apparently, it was the truth.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. Then, quieter, added. “You’re here.”
“Mm,” Chuuya tucked brown locks behind an ear. “I’ll be here for a while.”
“For a couple more cigarettes?”
“Sure.”
“Can I have another one?”
“There is only one left.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You owe me a pack.”
“Just one left?”
“It’s what I said.”
“Then…”
“Then?”
Dazai looked up, at the lights shining surrounded by blue. And a little above them, the starry sky.
“Wait a bit before smoking that one?”
Chuuya huffed out a laugh.
“I told you. I'll stay for a while.”