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“I sorely miss the vibrant gleam that's in your eyes”
Dazai Osamu prays that the grim reaper will welcome him with open arms in precisely 2 seconds.
The moment Dazai heard footsteps come from the stairs of the Port Mafia’s dungeon, he knew– he knew he would be facing not only the other half of what was once Double Black, but also his first partner – when things went down, turned for the worst, his partner was who he went to.
Chuuya Nakahara.
Undoubtedly, Dazai Osamu believes that Chuuya is single-handedly the most powerful person he knows. Not Fukuzawa Yukichi. Not Kouyou Ozaki. Not even Mori Ougai. They’re all powerful people, sure, he’ll admit, but they’ve got nothing on Chuuya.
“Who knew the demon prodigy would end up being chained up inside the port’s dungeon? Huh, you’ve gotten soft, haven’t you, Osamu?” Chuuya barks out with a sadistic smile.
And then Dazai knew.
He knew that the look in Chuuya’s eyes was not the same as before. In, he saw betrayal and disbelief. Not love or concern.
The love is still there, he can tell. But it’s obvious that Chuuya has no place left to put it in– Dazai left the mafia, but he left Chuuya, too– so he locked away all that love, concern, and adoration somewhere deep inside his heart.
He’s willing to bet it’s locked in a tight box, wrapped in chains, leather, and tape; never to be opened again.
After all, Chuuya has no reason to open said box in that life ever again. His loyalty lies with the mafia, not with Dazai– and for that, despite his distaste for the gray organization, Dazai respects the hatrack. Because after all of the shit he went through because of the mafia, he remained loyal and willing– two incredibly rare traits, both in and out of the organization.
Dazai clicks his tongue. “Oh, don’t tell me Chuuya thinks I let myself be taken ?” He gives the irritated redhead a mocking look, intending to belittle him. “Chuuya, I would never be here if I didn’t have a purpose. Let’s not be hasty, my love.”
Chuuya narrows his eyes. “You don’t get to call me that, Dazai. When you left the mafia four years ago, you took Double Black with you– and you and me? The only connection we ever had together was Double Black, and we don’t have anymore, do we?” He looked Dazai up and down, sizing him up, as he stalked closer to the bandaged freak.
Closer. Closer . Closer .
Chuuya abruptly stops when catches sight of brown, empty eyes. Not an eye. Eyes. Plural. Dazai isn’t wearing a bandage over his other eye.
It’s his first time seeing both of Dazai Osamu’s eyes in all of the years they’ve known of the other’s existence , Chuuya thinks. And, as if an afterthought, he thinks, he looks better now. I think he’s finally taking care of himself.
“Why are you here, then, Dazai? We have nothing here for you. You were Mori-san’s most trusted executive, you already know everything.”
“How devastating. Chuuya keeps going straight to business. Now, now, mutt. No need to act so modest. It’s just us in here. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, hmm? If I recall correctly, Ryuunosuke is the one in charge of me, yes?”
As the statement drew to a conclusion, Dazai had already slipped out of the chains and handcuffs.
Sloppy . How very sloppy Ryuunosuke is at chaining me up. It seems as though I didn’t do a very good job at mentoring him during my time in this shithole.
Chuuya pushes Dazai to a wall, forcing the taller to lean down as he draws his knife and places it at the front of Dazai’s throat watching in fascination as the blood drips down his throat to his collar to the bandages on his chest.
A light glints up in Dazai, as he looks at the executive, fondness in his eyes. Dazai knows it’s there. Chuuya can see it. They’re both horridly, painfully aware of what’s still inside the both of them– it’s a liability.
Their unresolved feelings for one another will not do good for them, or for their respective organizations.
“This whole encounter is business, so I’m sorry if this is bothering you, Dazai. And, I’m here because I have a few questions for the little traitor.”
“ Little? My, my, has Chuuya grown hypocritical? Pity.”
Chuuya narrows his eyes as he tightens his hold on his knife that is still currently against Dazai’s throat.
Dazai then heaves a sigh, “Very well, then. What do you want to know, short-stack ?”
Chuuya splutters. Unbelievable.
“ You —Jesus, you’re as annoying as I remember.”
“If not more, chibi!” The brunette squeals in delight as his eyes light up with excitement when he feels the knife against his throat slice deeper.
“Keep your mouth shut, Dazai.” Chuuya sighs. “Why did you leave the organization? Mori-san had big plans for you, Osamu— the biggest. You had so much potential, and now they’re wasted on what? An agency with an office that can barely fit in more than 20 people?”
“Chuuya,” Dazai starts, sensing an incoming migraine. He knew better than to think that this was the prime question of Chuuya’s endless wondering, “is there any possibility that I can speak to you outside port territory?” He asks his former partner with a soft, quiet tone— one that is reserved for Chuuya’s ears only when he yearns for consideration.
Consideration. A request he does not deserve, but does not doubt Chuuya will grant him.
Chuuya’s curious, that much is clear. And he wants answers. He’ll get them.
The redhead takes a long, hard look at the taller as he drinks in the longingness behind those supposedly empty eyes. He blinks, “I’ll stop by the cafe by your agency. We’ll drive to your, what?—Apartment? Dorm ? Once you’re free to leave.”
He lets go of his hold on Dazai, and turns away from the brunette. Chuuya pauses in front of the staircase. Looking over his right shoulder with a cold and angry gaze, he speaks with a low voice, “I want answers, Osamu. And I’m getting all of them tonight. Don’t be a coward and run the other way, alright. I’m counting on this chance. Don’t disappoint me, please.” The last word spoken in an ushered whisper, he walks up the stairs with an unwavering confidence as his left hand plays with the knife, spinning it around.
Dazai stares at the fading figure of Chuuya’s shadow as he reaches for the right pocket of his trench coat. There, he lifts up a small piece of paper; in it was the information Dazai was looking for— his purpose for allowing himself to be taken, he likes to think.
He smiles bitterly when he remembers he didn’t tell Chuuya exactly what his purpose was.
He knew. Even after years– I’m sure he hates me now, even more than before– he still knows what I’m thinking.
Pity.