Chapter Text
Chuuya has a secret.
Now, Chuuya may not come across as the brightest in the room, but when the room is full of prodigious geniuses and conniving masterminds, it is but an inevitability. He’s not really upset about that, though. The boss and that idiot Dazai might have unparalleled brilliance and intellectual acumen, but if you asked Chuuya, he would gladly trade having overachieving braincells for the simple assurance that it would never lead to him being as deranged as those two.
He is loyal to Mori and the Port Mafia, but he can’t deny the obvious fact that the man gives him the creeps. He never knew a smile could conjure such fear within him before he was made to meet the boss of Port Mafia. He never knew a gaze could have him so firmly rooted to the spot in trepidation before he met Mori’s.
Having any likeness to the bandage wasting factory would make Chuuya want to walk into moving traffic goes without saying. This thought itself comes way too close to Dazai’s ongoing pursuit of death, so he decides to put an immediate stop to it.
Chuuya has a secret.
See, he knows what he’s doing isn’t the smartest and there’s a very high chance that this is all a ploy to get him to let down his guard. The world has only ever held out a hand for him when it expected him to cut his off at its will. (He’s been taught that very lesson more times than he believes necessary. He thinks the world doesn’t quite realize he’s willing to cut off all his limbs if it’ll keep the hand that reached out near him. It hasn’t worked yet, though. He’s tried.)
Contrary to what people may believe, Chuuya doesn’t trust too easily. Others believe his unconditional loyalty is an agreement, a pact he singlehandedly signed between two parties. A pipe dream, as if he doesn’t realize his value only lasts as long as his utility. As though he doesn’t realize he has never been in a position to ask that commitment of others (only humans have that privilege, after all).
Chuuya’s loyalty is, in fact, an offering, a sacrifice of his very being. He has never expected the same in return. Knowing that his existence has helped, that his life means something other than being a harbinger of chaos, a vessel for destruction, is enough. His loyalty is a service that he extends to those who require it. After all, who is he if he isn’t needed.
His loyalty belonged to him and him only.
There were times he had hoped though. With Shirase and Yuan, and their time together in the Sheep, it was easy to turn a blind eye towards the reality of his existence and pretend that he was more than a patchwork of skin, bones, and blood, to pretend that his body houses a soul and not a monster.
A god, not a monster, Chuuya mentally corrects. He wonders if there’s a difference.
The Sheep were a ragtag bunch. More wild animals than kids, really. Every member had a different eccentricity, a fierce disposition that they brandished like armor. Stubborn to a fault and unwilling to surrender the hope of a living they weren’t quite sure they deserved, but believed they were owed a right to try to earn.
They were still just kids. A little lost. A little scared. Utterly relentless.
Chuuya never wanted to be their leader. But then he saw their unshakeable will, their unfaltering belief, and their sheer humanity, and, well, what kind of man (child? human? person? being) would he be if he didn’t use the powers he was blessed (cursed) with to give them a chance at a life free of this uncertainty that consumed them night and day.
Chuuya doesn’t hold it against them for driving the knife in his back. (Literally. Ha. He stills feels the phantom pain of the dagger in his back. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.) He wanted nothing more than for the Sheep to get the security and comfort they desperately craved, and if it helped them achieve that howsoever, he’ll consider it a success.
He knows it was necessary considering the circumstances and the Sheep only did what was best for them. Chuuya just felt hurt (irrationally, he decides) that Shirase and Yuan didn’t have more faith in him. (He doesn’t think he ever gave them a reason to distrust him. Unless, of course, they began to notice that he was not like them. That he was not fully human. Even though he himself had not quite realized it. Always doubted it, though.)
He thought they were friends.
Friends weren’t supposed to drive knives into each other’s backs. At least, that’s what he believed. He didn’t have much experience with friends. Maybe it was okay to turn your back on your friend if the situation called for it. Or maybe it was okay because it was Chuuya, and Chuuya was different.
Chuuya remembers his time in the Sheep fondly, regardless. For a moment in his life, he felt like he belonged somewhere. With no memory of his past and holding on to the dismal uncertainty of his own identity, he wandered the streets of Suribachi with no purpose, until he stumbled upon a silver haired kid with his teeth bared and eyes ferocious who grabbed Chuuya by his t-shirt and demanded he join the Sheep. (Yes, demanded. The absolute audacity of that kid. Chuuya was enamored. How could he ever say no.)
Now, sitting outside the boss’s office in Port Mafia, waiting for his idiot partner to show up for the mission debrief (it’s already been half an hour, that bastard is asking to be beaten up), Chuuya wishes that maybe, he could find a place here. That he could, once again, be allowed to belong somewhere.
He thinks he wouldn’t mind, carving a tiny space (thank fucking god the mackerel can’t hear his thoughts, or this would definitely give him ammunition for his stupid overused jokes) for himself amongst people he could learn to love. Ane-san, who is hell bent on getting rid of the street kid in him but never thinks any less of him for it. Hirotsu-san with his tired but fond sighs every time him and Dazai get into trouble (which are always the mackerel’s fault, mind you). Elise, Q, even Mori. He thinks they all could be a part of the small world he is building for himself.
It pains Chuuya greatly to admit this, but he could learn to care about that shitty Dazai too. He is a huge pain in the ass and always bothering him with his stupid height and dog jokes and Chuuya could probably fill a novel’s worth of grievances he has with the bandage freak. (That’s a great idea, actually. Could be useful to let out some steam, cause god knows that bastard angers the fuck out of Chuuya.)
Regardless, Chuuya has created somewhat of a rapport with Dazai. He begrudgingly admits that they work extremely well together on field, understanding the other in a way he didn’t know was possible. It’s unconventional as fuck and they still hate each other’s guts and can’t stop arguing, but it somehow works. They just work. He couldn’t explain it even if he tried. He has tried. Dazai can act all superior and all-knowing, but Chuuya can bet he never expected this kind of a partnership either.
Chuuya doesn’t trust people. He thinks he could learn to trust Dazai.
Wait, enough of that. He was going somewhere with this. He had a point.
“You were having a crisis about the secret you were keeping,” grumbles a gravelly voice in his head.
Right. Chuuya has a secret.
Sometimes, he talks to the god living inside him.