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Oda had never heard Dazai sound so… emotional before.
Now, he wasn’t exactly sure what emotion he was hearing—maybe it was a mix of different emotions all clashing together—but usually Dazai’s emotion was careful and calculated. No emotion slipped beyond him that was genuine.
So to hear it, even over the phone, had shocked Oda to say the least.
“Can you come to Lupin Bar? I know it’s short notice, but I need a favor. Ango can come too, but I don’t have time to call him.”
Oda met up with Ango outside the Port Mafia headquarters, where the latter’s car had already pulled around.
He heard Ango’s sigh as he opened the door and slid into the seat.
“Did Dazai say anything about what favor he needed?”
Oda shook his head, grabbing his seatbelt as Ango pulled away from the highrises behind them.
“He sounded almost urgent over the phone.” Oda hummed. “Like he’s… running out of time. There must be something urgent he has to take care of.”
“Still,” Ango clenched the steering wheel nervously. “I can’t fathom what he would need us for. If it was for something important, why wouldn’t he trust it to a higher-up? Or his own subordinate or partner? Why us?”
“I couldn’t say.” Oda shook his head. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
Ango huffed, but he would never refuse helping his friend. Dazai both meant a lot to him and scared him all at once. He couldn’t deny either.
-
By the time Ango parked, twenty minutes had gone by. The freeway had been almost dead stopped due to the constant rain and multiple accidents, so they’d taken a detour to get there as fast as possible.
Whatever was going on, Oda hoped Dazai understood that the condition of the roads was out of their control. They had driven as fast as possible without becoming a hazard to themselves and others.
They basically jogged to the bar’s entrance. Oda held the door open for Ango to step inside, following closely behind.
And there, at the bar, was a sight you don’t see every day. Or ever, really.
Dazai Osamu held Nakahara Chuuya close to his chest, their barstools balanced precariously beside each other as Dazai propped his chin on Nakahara’s head.
Dazai had heard them come in—of course—and signaled them to be quiet, placing a finger in front of his lips. Nonetheless, he waved them over like nothing was the matter.
As Oda and Ango approached their higher-ups, Dazai resumed the motion of running his fingers through Nakahara’s hair, to which the smaller male sighed shakily and buried his head farther into Dazai’s chest.
Neither being particularly keen on interrupting the moment, Oda and Ango waited for Dazai to speak first.
He grazed a finger over Nakahara’s cheek, to which the redhead nodded, letting out a small noise of understanding. Maybe that was Dazai’s way of letting Nakahara know that they now had company?
Finally, Dazai looked up at them.
“I need you guys to do me a favor.” He said, his voice even but his exposed eye showing a glimmer of… anger, maybe? “It’s not too big of a favor, if you’re worried about that.”
Oda nodded his head in assurance. “What do you need, Dazai-san?”
And Dazai grimaced, for probably the first time in his life. Beside him, Ango stiffened, not having said a word. He barely seemed to be breathing.
“Can you both stay here for a little while and look after Chuuya, please?”
Oda and Ango both blanched. Dazai wanted them both to look after his partner, someone who was very much capable of looking after himself? Someone who could easily kill them both if he decided they weren’t worth the time?
But, taking a look at Nakahara, it occurred to Oda that maybe he couldn’t look after himself right now. He was dripping wet from the rain outside and was trembling against Dazai’s chest.
Now, Oda had never met Dazai’s partner, but that didn’t mean that he’d never seen him before. He was practically Mori’s favorite pawn besides Dazai himself. If Dazai was the ace in a card game, then Nakahara was the queen on a chess board.
Nakahara had always been strong, brash and reckless. He was loud and never took anything sitting down. He was apparently the only person—Mori included—who had ever spoken against or fought with Dazai.
They would say he’s the only one to have survived, but no one in the Port Mafia had ever even tried. Even the Port Mafia’s enemies did their best to avoid pissing off Dazai, not that they managed to get away with it.
Nakahara Chuuya had become a legend within the Port Mafia in more ways than one in less than a few months, probably even quicker than Dazai had. And now that legend—that god—had been reduced to this.
What had happened?
Still, he found himself nodding, even without the full story.
“Of course, we’ll stay.”
Ango gave a high-pitched squawking sound beside him, but said nothing to refute. They both knew that they would end up staying no matter what Dazai’s request had been.
Maybe it was because these were his superiors. Maybe it was because he considered Dazai to be one of his friends. Or maybe it was the pitiful state Nakahara was in. Regardless, Oda felt as though he had to accept the request.
“If I may,” Ango cleared his throat as Dazai’s attention shifted to him. “What happened here? Something is very obviously… wrong.”
Dazai sighed, long and dramatic—so the same Dazai was still in there somewhere. That put Oda a little more at ease.
“I shouldn’t get into it, but…” Dazai shrugged, petting Nakahara’s hair as he accidentally jostled the smaller man. “For lack of an easy way to say this: he’s been assaulted.”
Ango made a strangled sound, almost like he’d been choked.
“Like… a fight?”
His voice was wobbly, obviously fishing for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to get but still holding out for a favorable one.
Dazai gave them no such luxury.
“Raped, if that’s the word you’re looking for.”
Ango ran a hand over his face, and Oda found his eyes retraining onto the newly-promoted executive. Just… how had someone gotten away with it? This was the same person who had helped take down an entire enemy organization overnight just a few months ago. He was able to kill without so much as touching his victim.
It almost… didn’t make any sense.
“You guys will still stay, right?” Dazai watched the two of them carefully. “I wouldn’t want to put Chuuya in the care of people who aren’t going to treat him properly.”
“Of course, we’ll still help.” Oda assured, keeping his attention off of Nakahara; Dazai didn’t seem to like the extra attention his partner was getting. “And we’ll make sure we don’t cross any boundaries. He’s clearly had a rough day.”
“Clearly.” Dazai spat, expression turning sour. Wow, this just might’ve been the most genuine expression Oda has ever seen on Dazai’s face in all the time he’s known him.
“Where will you be?” Ango asked, hands at his sides but fists clenched tightly enough to tip Oda off at how nervous he was. Honestly, he figured they both already knew Dazai’s answer.
Sure enough, Dazai’s exposed eye darkened.
“There was a horrendous act committed not only against a Port Mafia executive, but also against my partner; my dog.” Dazai huffed, his hands stilling on Nakahara’s shoulder and head. “I’m going to deal with the problem.”
Opting to not ask for any more details, Oda and Ango remained silent as Dazai managed to extract himself from Nakahara, muttering gentle assurances and promises of justice. He made sure to tell Oda and Ango what kind of wine Nakahara was partial to before heading out indefinitely.
Honestly, that was probably the softest Oda had ever seen Dazai. And he wasn’t quite sure how to process the sudden change in behavior.
-
Honestly, Ango feels like he’s never been so stressed in his life.
Sure, he’s infiltrating the Port Mafia and somehow got involved in a group also containing Dazai Osamu. However, that seems almost minuscule in comparison to what he was dealing with right now.
Because never, in the time that he’s been doing this, has Dazai Osamu ever seemed to actually care about a favor before.
He’s asked Ango plenty of times for things: Ango, can you cover for me in the meeting? I’m hungover. Or Ango, I left my wallet back home. Can you pay for me? Ango, Ango, Ango-
But this wasn’t just any old favor like usual. Dazai had said please. And he boasts about never having to plead for anything before. Clearly, he was upset by this. Clearly, this favor meant a lot more to him than any excused absence or paid bill.
Dazai cared about how they handled this request. And that was what scared Ango. If he approached this wrong, stepped wrong in any direction, said anything he didn’t like-
Well, it could be the last mistake he makes. Because Ango has never seen Dazai care before.
Oda was a lot better about remaining calm on the outside, but there were still the telltale signs of his own apprehension. The slight moisture on his brow, the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists. He was nervous just as Ango was.
But still, they couldn’t just stand there staring at Nakahara until Dazai got back. Clearly, he was expecting them to actively engage with his partner while he was away—taking care of the assailant.
Oda sat down on the barstool beside the executive’s, causing the man—no, child. He was fifteen, right? Maybe sixteen?—to look up at him, a slight flinch in his posture though he was obviously trying to cover that up.
Ango sighed. Still just a child and already trying to cover up his pain. What a sad world the mafia shrouded themselves in.
Oda ordered the wine Dazai had recommended to them, offering the redhead a smile. Oda had never liked it when Dazai drank—he often worried that Dazai was still just a kid—but in the mafia it was hard to control the actions of a minor. And neither of them had absolutely any standing in telling their younger high-ups what they should or should not do.
And right now, it really looked like Nakahara could use that drink.
Nakahara didn’t seem to have it in him to smile back, though Ango hadn’t been expecting him to. And it’s clear that Oda hadn’t either.
The drink was served with a soft look—either Dazai had told the bartender their situation, or he had overheard. Either way, he was careful to not startle Nakahara as he placed the drink down and moved along.
Nakahara stared blankly at the glass for a few moments, before finally uncurling from himself a little to reach forward. He sipped at it a little, twirling the glass around as he stared into it.
He set it down gently, and then promptly kicked the barstool on his other side, sending it clattering against the wall with ease.
Ango watched, frozen, as the kid huffed, turning back to the bar. He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with the bartender who had poked his head out from the back.
“I’ll replace that.”
His voice was small, way smaller than when he was screaming on the battlefield, or when he could be heard throughout the hallways yelling at Dazai. Ango was unused to Nakahara being quiet; it was unheard of.
Nakahara shivered, pulling his small jacket closer around him. Of course, that wouldn’t do anything; he was sopping wet and wasn’t getting any drier.
“Um,” Ango found himself murmuring, quickly drawing Nakahara’s attention to him; damn, this kid was jumpy today, poor thing.
He took a shaky inhale and pressed on. “I have some spare clothes in the trunk of my car, if you’d like them?” He grimaced as Nakahara merely stared at him. “They might be a bit big, but you look a little uncomfortable in those wet clothes.”
Nakahara only just now seemed to notice that he was sopping wet, dripping water onto the floor as his body wracked with shivers.
It took him a few awkward moments, but eventually he was nodding.
“I- that’d be nice.” Was his soft reply, barely audible. “I’d like that.”
Ango nodded, already pulling out his car keys.
“Alright, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He nodded to Oda, who flashed him a discreet thumbs-up.
Heaving one final, silent sigh, Ango stepped out from the bar.
-
Oda waited for Nakahara to return from the bathroom, wearing Ango’s emergency change of clothes. He often needed them, as being caught in an explosion or in the middle of gunfire and anything else was on brand for a mafia member. Especially since Ango held important information.
It wasn’t like Ango’s usual brown suit; though it was the same style, it was black, reminiscent of Dazai’s usual attire.
But, it was pretty big on Nakahara. Though he was quickly gaining more muscle mass after having joined the mafia, the kid was still emaciated from his days living on the streets and sacrificing his meals for the kids he looked after. He was certainly healthier now, eating three meals a day; but it would take a while to gain all that missing weight.
Oda felt guilt pang in his chest. He would’ve liked to have helped Nakahara and those kids before they’d felt forced to betray him and get themselves killed.
Still, the kid looked cold, and his hair was still soaking wet.
Once the kid sat back down, Oda shucked off his own coat.
“Would this help?”
Nakahara looked at his outstretched hand, extending the coat to him. He looked apprehensive.
“Are you sure…?”
Oda nodded. “Positive. I can dry your hair as well, to keep you from dripping on yourself.”
Nakahara extended a careful hand to grip the coat Oda was offering him, nodding silently as he draped it over his own shoulders and began putting his arms through the sleeves.
Oda nodded as well, standing up with the towel he’d asked the bartender for. The man—bless him—had been happy to oblige.
Nakahara tensed when Oda stood and stepped up behind him, but Oda wasn’t sure how to keep him from being jumpy. This was the only way he knew how to dry hair.
Slowly he carded through the mop of unruly burnishing curls, all tangled and matted from the rain. He didn’t have a brush, so it would have to do just by combing his fingers through it.
Slowly, the tension seemed to drain from Nakahara’s shoulders, leaning into the ministrations as Oda did his best to be gentle. He had never done this with curly hair before, and Nakahara’s hair was growing unevenly, so he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he was dealing with here.
Nonetheless, he trudged on, gently squeezing the water out of his hair and ruffling it under the towel until it seemed dry enough. As a bonus, Nakahara now seemed to have relaxed a bit more.
He returned the towel and sat back down in his chair. Though Nakahara was still quiet, he was now less rigid with tension, taking longer sips of his wine.
Oda pretended not to notice the way he gagged the first few times, as if swallowing something unpleasant. But whatever that was, Nakahara seemed determined to wash it down. After a few times of that, he seemed to finally be enjoying the taste of his wine.
Still, Oda couldn’t help the curiosity plaguing him: who had done this?
He wouldn’t dare ask Nakahara; what kind of cruel person would force someone to relive their trauma like that? It couldn’t have been at all easy to go through, nor would it be something pleasant to recall in the slightest.
So Oda left it at that, and Ango did as well.
The silence stretched on for a few minutes before the door to the bar opened. Oda and Ango both snapped their heads in that direction, wondering if Dazai was back already.
But no. Instead there stood a small child, who could’ve only been fourteen at the oldest.
Oda didn’t recognize him, but realization seemed to dawn on Ango. Of course; he had access to the Port Mafia’s most sensitive information, so it was to be expected that he knew their recruits as well.
“Akutagawa?”
Wait, Oda recognized that name. He had never met the kid, but he was a fairly new recruit. And one thing that had stuck out to every member like a sore thumb was that Dazai had apparently recruited this one himself, to be his personal subordinate.
“Dazai-san called me.” Akutagawa muttered, frowning. Clearly, he felt a bit awkward about the whole situation. That was to be expected; the kid was so new to the mafia, having only been recruited last month. Apparently, Dazai had rescued him and his sister from homelessness, and was personally training Akutagawa as his subordinate.
Still, Dazai didn’t exactly have the best reputation when it came to training young children.
“Kouyou-san is doing business in another city, so he asked me to come here in place of her with some of Chuuya-san’s things.”
Oda took notice of the bag the kid was holding, and he felt himself nodding as well. Yes, it made sense that Dazai would call his new subordinate to check up on his partner. It was important to have cooperation and trust built between executives and their subordinates, as well as any partners involved.
Without waiting for any acknowledgement, Akutagawa stepped into the bar. He shied away from the bartender’s gaze, who had appeared from the back at the sound of the door opening. The kid didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he made his way to the executive’s side.
He didn’t touch Nakahara, which was good, nor did he get too close. He muttered something, soft enough that even Oda couldn’t hear it, and he was only a few feet away.
Nonetheless, Nakahara responded with a slight nod, taking the bag from Akutagawa as the kid typed something on his phone.
Probably an update to Dazai. He might’ve asked about Nakahara’s condition.
In the bag was a blanket, a pair of gloves, and some snacks that Nakahara might’ve liked. It was thoughtful enough, the contents probably curated by Dazai himself.
Nakahara seemed thankful for them, quickly changing out his gloves—the only piece of wet clothing he hadn’t removed—for the warm, dry pair. He then draped the blanket over his legs under the bar, analyzing the snacks that he had been sent.
Carefully, he turned to Oda and Ango, who were pretending to not have been watching him.
“Are you… hungry, at all?”
Oda blinked, before a smile broke out on his face. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about us.”
Nakahara hung his head, clearly not expecting such a reaction.
“You came all the way here… for me.” He huffed, shuffling a few of the snacks in his grip nervously. “It’s the least I can do.”
Oda smiled, exhaling softly. “Hey, I’ll never turn down an offered snack. That is, if you’re truly willing to give it.”
That seemed to make Nakahara feel a bit better, the light in his eyes getting just a bit brighter as he held out snacks for Oda and Ango to choose from.
Before long, they were all munching on the snacks softly. Nakahara had even somehow managed to get Akutagawa to accept a few of the snacks, both of them eating silently beside each other.
Oda attempted to make conversation, with Ango joining in to ease the atmosphere, but Nakahara and Akutagawa seemed content to just sit there in silence. Oda was fine with that, he supposed. If they were more comfortable listening, that was alright. But it was clear that the both of them felt better with the environment no longer being filled with a charged silence.
It couldn’t have been too long until the door to the bar opened one last time, this time revealing none other than Dazai Osamu.
He looked no different than before he had left; his hair was wet, and maybe a little disheveled, and his clothes looked slightly displaced, but other than that it almost seemed like no time had passed at all.
“Ah, Akutagawa-kun!” He cheered, his usual jovial grin taking over his face. “Glad you made it! I see you’re all enjoying yourselves!”
He strutted into the bar, the door shutting behind him, and that’s when Oda noticed it: the smell of blood.
It was faint, mostly washed away by the rain, but there nonetheless.
Someone had died that night. And the only indication of who it was rested in the vague cologne that clung to Dazai’s coat. Knowing that Dazai didn’t wear cologne unless he was going on an undercover mission, Oda knew it had to belong to the person who had been killed.
Nakahara’s reaction was near-instantaneous. He spun around, clearly recognizing the scent as his eyes widened, a wild look growing within them. However, upon meeting Dazai’s eyes, realization seemed to dawn on the smaller executive.
All at once, he deflated. He looked broken all over again, but more in the sense of overwhelmed; whoever had hurt him was gone for good, and he could never be hurt by them again.
Dazai was there for Nakahara to fall into, wrapping his arms around the smaller and holding him tight. Dazai’s hold was protective, his grip bordering on possessive, but no one dared to interrupt them.
Dazai toyed softly with Nakahara’s hair as he rubbed his other thumb into the redhead’s shoulder. Nakahara’s face was buried in his chest, and the position was very much reminiscent of when Oda and Ango had first come into the bar.
Oda wondered if maybe this was their cue to leave, but then Dazai muttered something that made Oda’s blood turn to ice.
“Don’t worry, Chuuya.” His voice was low, dark. “Mori can’t hurt you anymore.”
Oda blanched, his eyes going wide. Mori? The- the boss?
His eyes shifted up to meet Dazai’s, who met him with a side glance. His eye gleamed dangerously bright; the light he usually got after he killed someone he deemed as deserving of it.
There was not an ounce of regret.
“Mori-san?” Akutagawa cocked his head. “The… boss?”
Dazai turned to face him, pulling a hand briefly away from Nakahara to pat Akutagawa’s head before returning to his original position.
“Let’s just say there’s a new boss in town.” Dazai hummed affectionately, like he was muttering sweet nothings to his spouse instead of talking about literally killing the Port Mafia boss-
“I followed the demonstration Mori-san gave me years ago.” He smiled fondly. “When the boss becomes destructive of his own members, it’s practically your obligation to end the cycle by putting a knife to his throat.”
He hummed, a small chuckle playing on his lips as the air in the bar turned frigid.
“I’ll probably be named Port Mafia boss first thing in the morning.”
Oda looked at Dazai, where now stood a boy who had gone too far.
All in the name of love.