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If you were to ask them, Dazai and Chuuya would say the last time they saw each other was their final mission for the Port Mafia as the Double Black – a simple, uneventful infiltration of an enemy organisation. But that wasn’t strictly true. The last time they saw each other was actually two months after Dazai left the Mafia.
Chuuya was woken up from where he’d dozed off on the couch by the sound of his flat’s front door lock turning, followed by painfully familiar footsteps. And Dazai stepped into the living room.
Chuuya looked up to meet his gaze from his position on the couch. Dazai looked different – the bandage around his head was gone, but there was something more fundamental that had changed about him. His eyes didn’t feel like they belonged to a dead animal, boring right into the centre of Chuuya’s fucking soul whenever their eyes met. His face no longer had that perpetually haunted look on it; well, not as much as it had in the Mafia, anyway. A person can only change so much in two months.
“I should kill you on the spot,” Chuuya said, his voice hoarse. “But that would probably just make you happy.”
Dazai laughed – actually laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly and his eyes looking amused. For a moment, Chuuya was concerned Dazai had lost his mind and had come here to try and kill him. (Chuuya would like to see him try – he knew he could easily beat Dazai in a fight). Chuuya himself didn’t feel particularly sane, either. Seeing Dazai here , after he’d left him without a single word, was making him wonder if this was just a particularly vivid dream.
“Why are you here, Dazai?”
“I came to have a drink,” Dazai said, sitting down on the couch next to Chuuya. Chuuya shoved him off the couch and leaned over where he was lying on the floor.
“You leave the fucking Mafia without a word,” he hissed. “You show up at my flat, uninvited, in the middle of the night , and now you’re expecting me to fetch you a fucking drink. You’re even more of a fucking dick than I thought you were!” Chuuya knew he was yelling, but he didn’t particularly care. He was just hoping his neighbours wouldn’t file a noise complaint with the building administrator. Again.
Dazai seemed unbothered by Chuuya’s outburst. He shrugged, got up, and made his way to the fridge. He pulled out a half-empty bottle of wine and took a swig without bothering to pour it into a glass first. Chuuya scoffed, but let Dazai have it – at least it wasn’t one of the fancy, expensive wines Chuuya favoured, but a cheaper, more casual bottle he’d gotten at the local convenience store. Dazai stood there making a face – he’d never been much of a wine person – but continued drinking.
“You gonna say anything?” Chuuya snapped.
“I wanted to tell you I’m leaving the Mafia. In person.”
“You’re fucking joking, right?” Chuuya said. “Yeah, no shit. I noticed , Dazai.”
And then Dazai said something Chuuya had never expected him to say in a million years. “I’m sorry.”
Chuuya laughed then. It was bitter, making him sound about as sane as he felt. “You’re sorry ? You leave without so much as a word or a warning, you show up here in the middle of the night, and you’re sorry ?”
“I am,” Dazai said, his voice level. He took another sip of the wine. Chuuya got up and snatched the bottle from Dazai’s hand. He looked up at Dazai, their faces so close he could practically feel Dazai’s breath on his face.
“That’s awfully fucking noble of you,” Chuuya spat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, dickhead? Get out of my fucking apartment, and never come back here again.”
Chuuya stepped back. Dazai reached into his coat, and for a second, Chuuya thought Dazai was going to pull out a gun, but he simply procured a bottle of wine and set it on the coffee table. It wasn’t an expensive wine, but it was one he enjoyed nevertheless. One he and Dazai used to shoplift and drink together as teenagers.
“What, you think you’re gonna buy me with that shit?” Chuuya snapped.
Dazai turned to leave. Before he did, though, he spoke without looking back. “Happy one year on hormones, Chuuya,” he said, and left for good.
--
The day had gone pretty much as Dazai had expected. It was just that his expectations were ending up chained in the Port Mafia’s basement, trying to get information on the black market buyer who had sent the Mafia after Atsushi.
That was until Dazai heard a familiar yet weirdly unplaceable voice as someone descended down the stairs.
“I see you’re as crafty and conniving as ever, Dazai!”
Dazai froze. Of course, only one person knew Dazai well enough to even make that comment, to not fear his retaliation. Still, Dazai was surprised to hear the deep, confident voice. In his mind, Chuuya was still an 18 year old, his voice just beginning to get low, adjusting to its new pitch and more masculine tones.
And then Chuuya appeared in his full view, and, Dazai hated to admit, he looked great .
With a twinge of satisfaction, Dazai noted that Chuuya was just as short as he remembered, but that didn’t take away from the confidence with which he held himself. His face was more angular and shoulders broader, and he was no longer slightly hunched over, constantly self-aware about his clothes and his binder. His clothes actually fit him, for once, and he looked infuriatingly good in the – no doubt custom tailored – Mafia attire. A section of his hair was long again, but this time, it suited him – he wore it with intent and a confidence Dazai had never seen on him before.
“Ah, what a lovely view!” Chuuya said, a dangerous edge to his voice. He was clearly pissed off, and Dazai couldn’t exactly blame him. “Not even ten billion of the greatest works of art could outclass it!”
Yes, Dazai was sure. This was a Chuuya he didn’t recognise anymore. And, inexplicably, it made Dazai angry. Of course Chuuya changed over the past four years; Dazai himself had. He liked to think he was as far from the miserable teenager he’d been in the Mafia as he could. Looking at Chuuya, however, Dazai felt a sense of wasted time Dazai couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Awful. Just awful.”
--
Dazai almost found it funny when he heard the lock in his door pop and he immediately recognised it was Chuuya. He was clued in by the loud stomping – Chuuya was many things, but subtle was definitely not one of them – and, well, the yell of “Dazai, you fucking asshole!”
Chuuya appeared in Dazai’s view and he looked at Chuuya first with amusement and then with concern. Chuuya looked bad – there were bags under his eyes, his skin was unusually pale, and he was dressed in grey sweatpants and a big red hoodie instead of his usual Mafia attire. Even his gloves and that stupid hat were gone, only the choker on his neck indicating this even was the same Chuuya Dazai had fought Lovecraft with last week.
This wasn’t a surprise. Dazai knew how much using Corruption took out of Chuuya – he’d been by Chuuya’s side through many, too many, tough recovery periods to know he had probably been unable to move from his bed or eat anything for the past few days. Why, then, was he here, in Dazai’s flat, looking at him like he wanted to strangle him?
“What is it, chibi?” Dazai asked in an overly sweet tone. But Chuuya didn’t seem to find it funny, the slight ( very slight) hint of affection their bickering usually brought to his face nowhere to be seen. He was genuinely furious.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Chuuya spat, and Dazai noticed his voice was hoarse. “You fucking left me there, in the middle of a fucking battlefield , after I used Corruption, trusting you to be there.”
Ah. So that’s what this was about.
In truth, Dazai had left Chuuya there because fighting alongside him again, seeing him at his most powerful, and then getting to see him so soft and trusting, awakened a warmth in Dazai’s chest he didn’t want to think about. He’d hoped the balancing act of simply leaving him there would squash these feelings. And, well, he knew it would annoy Chuuya – and he never could pass up an opportunity to annoy him.
So, Dazai opted for his usual bullshit. “Chuuya’s such a loyal dog, he trusts me after all these yea–”
Dazai’s spiel was cut off by Chuuya pinning him to the wall by his shirt. He was breathing heavily, and, without a moment’s hesitation, he punched Dazai in the face. It wasn’t nearly as strong as Chuuya’s usual punches – whether because, for whatever reason, he was holding back, or because he hadn’t yet regained his strength after using Corruption, Dazai wasn’t sure. Dazai didn’t react. He just stood there, watching as Chuuya’s breathing slowed down.
“You deserved that,” Chuuya said quietly as he let go of Dazai’s shirt and stepped back.
“I probably did,” Dazai said. Chuuya glanced at him in surprise. And then he sighed, and held out a hand to Dazai.
“Come on, I’ll get you cleaned up,” he said. Dazai took Chuuya’s hand. “God, you really are fucking stupid.”
Dazai followed Chuuya to the bathroom, still holding his hand. “But Chuuya’s the one who punched me!”
Chuuya groaned, flipping the light switch on with his free hand. Dazai sat down on the closed toilet while Chuuya rummaged under the sink to find the first aid kit. He then crouched in front of Dazai, who hissed as Chuuya sprayed antiseptic on his face.
“Don’t give me that shit,” Chuuya mumbled. He then pulled out some bandages and a plaster.
“Just don’t steal the bandages this time,” Dazai said, the joke leaving his mouth before he could really think about it. To his surprise, Chuuya looked amused as he cut a piece of plaster.
“Don’t need it anymore, dumbass,” he said, while carefully securing the bandages with a plaster. “I got surgery three years ago.”
After a short silence, filled only with the sounds of Chuuya wrapping up the first aid kit, Dazai spoke. “You look good, Chuuya.”
“‘Course I do,” Chuuya said, returning the first aid kit to the cupboard under the sink. “What’s making you so sappy, mackerel?”
Dazai almost smiled, then. “Oh, nothing. It’s normal for dog owners to feel proud when the dog grows up, isn’t it?”
Chuuya smacked the back of Dazai’s head lightly. Dazai pouted. “But Chuuya just patched me up, and now he’s hitting me again! I’m starting to think I need to hire a dog trainer to help with chibi’s aggression issues.”
“Oh, shut up,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. But there was an imperceptible smile on his face, and Dazai knew he was forgiven.
--
They both knew something had shifted that night. Dazai showed up at Chuuya’s doorstep more frequently, usually to drink or eat takeout and watch the shittiest horror film they could find. They were still on fraught terms, of course, and Dazai didn’t want to do anything to shatter the fragile trust the two had begun to rebuild. Or whatever version of ‘trust’ a mafioso and his ex-partner who had tried to kill each other multiple times could have, at least.
They texted regularly now, too. Stupid things they saw or heard throughout the day, inside jokes they’d developed over the years as partners in the Mafia, pictures of dogs and cats they encountered while working. Just last week, Dazai had sent Chuuya a photo of a ginger chihuahua yelping at a squirrel with the caption ‘omg hi chuuya!!!!!’. Chuuya replied saying ‘kys + i’m blocking you’. (He did not block Dazai). Dazai would never admit it left him smiling softly for the rest of the day.
They made sure not to talk about their jobs, of course. It was an unspoken agreement, but one they both instinctively understood and adhered to without compromise.
Their private lives, however, were a completely different matter. So when Dazai teased Chuuya about him being late for his standing date with his girlfriend, again , Chuuya casually mentioned she’d broken up with him, precisely because his work (and his chronically bad time management) made him constantly late and forgetful. Her final straw had been Chuuya forgetting about their first anniversary which, honestly, he didn’t blame her for being upset about. The weirdest thing, though, was that even though he deserved it, and even though he’d liked her company, he didn’t feel all that upset about it. When he mentioned it to Dazai, though, he seemed adamant to make Chuuya feel better. And this was how he, a Port Mafia executive, ended up at an Armed Detective Agency party.
The two organisations were in a truce, so this wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering event. What it was, however, was unusual. In Chuuya’s defence, he didn’t know Dazai would bring him here – he’d just said he had “something that was bound to make him feel better”, and Chuuya knew better than to argue with Dazai over this. When he realised they were in front of the red brick building which housed the Agency, he still thought Dazai just needed to pick something up from the office. But then Dazai dragged Chuuya up the stairs, firmly grasping his hand, and Chuuya realised this was their final destination. Dazai dragged him into the Agency’s main office space, despite Chuuya’s very loud protests. At this point, Chuuya figured his best bet was to not draw too much attention to himself and slip away as soon as Dazai became distracted. Of course, his plans were foiled immediately after entering the room, as Dazai announced their arrival with a very loud and cheerful “I brought a very special guest!”.
A young-looking ginger man – Tanizaki, Chuuya thought his name was – and a dark-haired girl on his side froze halfway through sipping their drinks. The weretiger brat let out a short but loud scream when he noticed Chuuya in the doorway. Yosano and a long-haired blond man Chuuya hadn’t met before reached for their guns and pointed them at Chuuya. Kenji looked star-struck at his sight, and a dark-haired boy in a flat cap – the smug asshole, Ranpo, Chuuya recalled – leaned back in his seat and said, “well, about time!”.
Chuuya was grateful for Ranpo’s comment – at least now everyone’s attention was on him instead of Chuuya.
“What do you mean ‘about time’, Ranpo!” the blond man yelled, sounding increasingly distressed with each word. Ranpo looked delighted as he held out a hand in the man’s direction. “I’m not giving you a bribe, you brat! You’d better tell me why a Port Mafia Executive is in the– Dazai, you good-for-nothing bandage waster!” he whipped around to look at Dazai. “Why is there a Port Mafia Executive in the Agency?!”
“Chuuya was having a bad day,” Dazai said brightly. “I thought our party might cheer him up, don’t you think, Kunikida-kun?”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Chuuya said, speaking for the first time since he entered the office. Everyone’s gaze turned to him. He noticed the weretiger touching Kyouka’s shoulder and whispering something to her, and her nodding in response. “And, just to be clear, I’m not here on Mafia business. Actually, this is stupid, I didn’t even know we’d be coming here and I’m leav–”
“Nooo, Chuuya!” Dazai whined. “I don’t want to have to bring you back home when you get so drunk you accidentally board the train to Tokyo again!”
To Chuuya’s surprise, Kyouka let out a chuckle. He looked at her, puzzled, before mumbling, “oh yeah, you’d remember that.”
“Kyouka,” Kunikida said gravely, pushing his glasses up. “Are you comfortable with Nakahara being here?”
Kyouka glanced at Chuuya before nodding curtly. “Nakahara-san has always been kind to me.”
Yosano lowered her gun. “Alright, Nakahara. As long as you actually aren’t here on Mafia business–”
“And what would that be?” Chuuya said. “Gathering information on an office party while in plain sight? That’s your theory? And you call yourselves a detective agency?”
“Then you can stay here,” Yosano finished, pronouncing each word slowly. “But if you try anything funny, and I mean anything , you’ll regret the day you were born,” she finished, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’d like to see that happen,” Chuuya replied with a scoff. Yosano raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms across her chest. “Yes, I promise I’m literally just here because that dimwit Dazai dragged me here.”
Yosano shot Chuuya one more venomous look before returning to the conversation she’d been having with Ranpo before Dazai and Chuuya arrived.
A couple drinks in, however, Yosano’s attitude towards Chuuya was wildly different. She seemed to begin to believe Chuuya’s reassurances that he wasn’t here on Mafia business, and their sense of humour was so complementary they ended up talking most of the night, starting with a curt conversation when they both reached for the same bottle of wine. Carefully, taking care not to overstep, they were discussing mutual acquaintances.
“What about that guy Akutagawa’s brother?” Yosano asked, tone casual.
“Oh, she’s a girl now,” Chuuya said. “She transitioned a couple years back. It’s a really funny story, actually. She didn’t even know she was a girl, she thought everyone just wanted that sometimes, and she told me–”
Dazai had seemingly been eavesdropping on their conversation, because he chimed in: “I mean, everyone wants to be a girl on some level, right?”
Everyone’s heads whipped around to look at him as the room went silent.
“That’s bullshit, Dazai,” Chuuya said, eyebrows raised, as Yosano looked at Dazai with amusement. “I mean, the whole reason I transitioned was because I very much did not want to be a girl. On any level.”
“Yeah, it’s never crossed my mind,” Tanizaki chimed in.
“No, I think I’m with Dazai-san on this one,” Atsushi began, voice uncertain. “I mean… I do, sometimes. I don’t really mind being a guy, but it’s like, it’d be fun to be a girl, I think. But that’s like… well, that’s normal, isn’t it? To think being the opposite gender could be fun sometimes? Doesn’t… doesn’t everyone think that?”
Dazai let out a triumphant ‘hah!’. “See, exactly!” he exclaimed, pointing to Atsushi. “Atsushi-kun gets it!”
Chuuya erupted into laughter. “God, you’re both so fucking stupid.” He turned to look at Yosano. “Yosano, you ever wanted to be a guy?” he asked in a tone that indicated he very much already knew the answer.
Yosano snorted. “No, thanks. Tried it, and it’s not for me.”
Chuuya smirked and turned to Naomi. “Office girl! What about you? Ever wanted to be a guy?” She shook her head in reply. Chuuya turned to Kenji. “You ever wanted to be a girl?”
“I never really thought about it, but I don’t think so!” he said cheerfully. With each reply, Chuuya’s smile got more smug, while Dazai’s expression became increasingly indecipherable. Atsushi, however, looked like he might faint.
“You mean… you mean it’s not normal?” Atsushi asked in a hushed voice.
“It’s not abnormal , Nakajima,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s not the most cisgender thought to be having, is all I’m saying.”
“Fancy hat guy is right,” Ranpo chimed in. He’d been conspicuously quiet the entire conversation.
“I appreciate the support but I have a name, asshole,” Chuuya mumbled.
“I mean, I’ve known I’m trans for as long as I can remember but, of course, I’m a genius,” Ranpo said, seemingly ignoring Chuuya. “I’m surprised he figured it out before you guys.”
Chuuya flipped him off, but it was half-hearted, and Ranpo didn’t seem to take much offence, continuing to snack on a chocolate bar and leaning back in his chair.
“That can’t– I mean, that’s not true, is it? Kunikida-san? Is it true? Please tell me–” Atsushi seemed to be working himself up more and more with each word. Kyouka placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Kunikida, on the other hand, was sitting there, eyes wide. “I,” he said, “am not nearly drunk enough for this.”
He got up to pour himself a hefty glass of sake, downed it in one go, and poured another one immediately afterwards. The conversation moved on but, even as he chatted with Yosano and Kenji, Chuuya couldn’t help but sneak glances at Dazai’s face – seemingly engaged in conversation, yet with that distant look he’d seen on his face so many times before. He wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but Chuuya had always been the one person to understand what Dazai was thinking, and he wasn’t going to let this be any different.
--
A couple months later, Dazai showed up at Chuuya’s doorstep as normal – Chuuya hadn’t quite gotten used to the fact there even was a ‘normal’ between them. This time, though, he actually knocked, instead of picking the lock as he usually did. Chuuya was ready to yell at Dazai to get out – he was just about to go to sleep, and god knew he needed it after the long day he’d had at work – but the sight in front of him stopped him in his tracks, mouth half-open.
Dazai looked rough. He was beaten up, with a big bruise under his left eye and a bloody lip. This, of course, wasn’t enough to startle Chuuya; he’d seen Dazai like this countless times before. What was enough to startle him was that Dazai was honest to god crying, tears flowing down his face, breathing so heavily he could hardly speak.
“What the hell happened?” Chuuya asked, but it was quiet, urgent, as gentle as he could muster. Dazai wordlessly let himself into the flat, kicking off his shoes as Chuuya locked the door.
Dazai sat on the couch, body shaking with quiet sobs. Chuuya wasn’t sure what to do. He’d always been terrible with crying people, and he couldn’t begin to handle crying Dazai .
Chuuya took a seat next to Dazai and looked at him, bending down below Dazai’s face to meet his eyes. Eventually, Dazai just shook his head. “I got… I got jumped by some guys. It’s no big deal.”
From this up close Chuuya could smell the alcohol on Dazai’s breath. That explained the crying, he supposed. But another thought struck Chuuya. “Were they Mafia people? Because we’re in a truce, they’re not sup–”
“No, no,” Dazai interrupted, shaking his head again. “Just some… some guys.” He hiccuped. “Didn’t like how I was dressed.”
Only then did Chuuya notice Dazai was wearing a flowy black skirt and a white blouse. It suited him, Chuuya thought. Dazai certainly had the figure for it and it somehow looked natural on Dazai in a way it never had on Chuuya. Still, something didn’t seem right. “So some guys didn’t like that you were a guy wearing a dress, and you just let them beat you up? Dazai, you’re still an ex-Mafia member, with all the martial arts training that entails. So what the hell happened?”
For some reason, Chuuya’s words only made Dazai sob more. Chuuya hadn’t meant to sound this harsh, but, in his defence, he really was not the world’s gentlest person. Through his sobs, Dazai kept shaking his head as he mumbled, “you don’t understand, Chuuya.”
Chuuya sighed and moved to put his arm around Dazai’s shaking shoulders. Dazai immediately leaned into Chuuya. “Then explain it to me, Dazai,” Chuuya said, hoping to come off as encouraging and not impatient.
“I don’t know. They just thought I was…” Dazai hiccuped again. Chuuya was tired, but not that tired. The pieces slowly slotted together in his brain.
“They thought you were…?” he prompted, gently.
“A guy,” Dazai finished faintly. “It made me feel so… I don’t know. Powerless. Like I didn’t want to fight them, even though I could. Like it… like it didn’t matter,” Dazai muttered, face muffled by Chuuya’s shirt.
Chuuya hugged her tighter and nodded against her head. “It’s okay, Dazai. It’s okay.”
Dazai shook her head and continued sobbing.
“For the record, I think you look very nice in that skirt.”
Dazai laughed feebly through her sobs. “I look better than you ever did, slug,” she said. Chuuya snorted.
“That you do,” he mumbled, lips pressed on top of Dazai’s head. He pulled away to look at her face. “You seriously let them beat you up because they misgendered you? You’re even dumber about this than I am, Dazai.”
Dazai laughed again, and this time, she sounded a bit more earnest.
--
“Chuuya?”
“Hmm?” he looked up from where he was lying on the couch, playing a game on his handheld console. Dazai had put down her book and was looking at him intently. “What is it, Dazai?”
She hesitated for a moment. “How do you deal with feeling… you know… wrong?”
Chuuya paused his game and locked his console, his full attention now on Dazai. He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
She sighed. “Just… well, you know.”
Chuuya snorted. “I don’t, actually.”
“Shut up slug, I’m trying to communicate my feelings ,” Dazai said, dramatically putting her arm across her forehead.
“You’re so full of shit,” Chuuya mumbled. Dazai pouted. “Fine, go on. What is it?”
She sighed. “Just… well, you know. When you feel like everything’s not right, and can’t stand the sound of your own voice–”
“Dazai, you strike me as someone who loves hearing the sound of her own voice,” Chuuya deadpanned. Instead of laughing or replying with a jab, though, Dazai’s response came out hushed.
“Not right now, I don’t.”
Chuuya realised the situation was more serious than he’d initially thought. Dazai was unusually uncertain, meaning she actually was trying to ‘communicate her feelings’. Chuuya appreciated she was trying – god knew he’d told her she needed to countless times – but he wasn’t great at dealing with such vulnerability, either. His instinct was either to make jokes or to lash out. But now, he shoved it down to reply to Dazai. “Okay, that’s… wanna tell me more about it?” he said, hoping this was the right thing to say. Dazai shifted so that she was lying down on the couch, her face buried in Chuuya’s stomach. He ran his fingers through her hair – at least now he knew he’d done something right.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly after a while. “It’s like… I just don’t feel right . It’s like my voice isn’t mine, like it doesn’t sound like me , and my… my body isn’t quite right, and I can’t… god, I know I sound insane—”
Chuuya laughed softly, prompting Dazai to look up. “What’s funny, Nakahara?” she said with an edge in her voice he recognised from their time as Mafia partners.
“Nothing, you’re… it’s just, Dazai, you’re describing dysphoria. That’s gender dysphoria.”
Dazai relaxed, no longer looking like she was about to punch Chuuya in the face in his own damn living room. “If it is,” she said quietly, playing with the hem of Chuuya’s t-shirt, “how do you deal with it?”
Dazai didn’t talk about being trans much. She’d grown out her hair and dragged Chuuya to help her pick out a few skirts and dresses, and she learned how to apply make-up with surprising ease (Chuuya suspected one, or a few, of the Agency girls had something to do with it). But, Chuuya thought, she didn’t want to let him see the vulnerability and pain he knew could lay behind being trans. He guessed that was why Dazai hadn’t begun medically transitioning, either – because that would make it real , and permanent, and genuine, and not just something she was playing around with. It required admitting a problem and dealing with it, something Dazai had never been good at.
“I… I don’t, to be honest,” Chuuya said. “I mean, what helps me is like, I don’t know, doing guy stuff. You know? Like, I’ll go to the gym, or play video games, or fucking ride my bike around Yokohama while wearing the most masculine clothes I own.”
Dazai chuckled. “So, just a regular Chuuya evening, then?”
“What helped most,” Chuuya said slowly, “was going on hormones. And getting surgery. It’s not really… it hasn’t made it go away, but it’s helped so fucking much.”
He felt Dazai go rigid beneath him. He knew that wasn’t what Dazai wanted to hear. But then she took a deep breath and asked:
“If I wanted to go on hormones, where would I start?”
Chuuya couldn’t contain his grin.
--
Chuuya knew texting Dazai during work hours – or rather, being distracted by Dazai’s dumb texts in the middle of his fucking job – was a terrible idea, but for some reason, he kept doing it. And just now, he received a text from her – a simple photo of a government ID. At first, he was confused; maybe this was a new job the Agency needed the Mafia’s help with? And then he zoomed in.
It was Dazai’s new ID. Her photo was infuriatingly flattering – Chuuya hated to admit she looked gorgeous with long hair and light, surprisingly competently applied make up. Her usual necklace matched the blouse she was wearing. She was smiling gently, her eyes brighter than Chuuya had ever seen them. And, sure enough, the gender marker had been changed to say ‘F’. Chuuya grinned at the sight.
He'd gotten his own documents changed years ago, of course. It had involved a significant degree of intimidation and pulling every string he could – he didn’t meet all the requirements, and he wasn’t about to meet them just to make some bureaucrat happy. He knew Dazai had even more powerful strings than he did, though, and reasoned this was probably Ango’s doing.
“What’re you smiling about, Chuuya?”
Kouyou walked up to him and, lifting up his hat, ruffled his hair. Chuuya scrunched his nose and quickly put his phone away. “Nothing, nothing.”
Kouyou narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true. I don’t know what is true, but it wasn’t nothing.”
Chuuya sighed. “Kouyou, drop it. I promise, you don’t want to know.”
Kouyou pulled a face. “You’re making it sound like you were sexting someone,” she said. Chuuya groaned.
“Christ alive. I wasn’t. Now drop it, or I swear I’ll—”
“Chuuya, your bullshit doesn’t work on me,” she said simply. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my god. It’s Dazai, isn’t it?”
Chuuya looked up at her in alarm. “You can’t tell anyone. I mean, I know we’re in a truce and everything, but I would lose a lot of trust if others found out I was this close—”
Kouyou rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Chuuya. I know it would get you in trouble. I care about you, you know. I won’t tell anyone.”
Chuuya shoved her lightly but felt immense relief at her words. He wasn’t used to such easy affection, proclamations of care not tied to any obligations – especially not in the Mafia. Fortunately, Kouyou spoke again before he had to come up with a reply.
“So, how is he doing?”
Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows before it hit him. The ‘he’ she was talking about was Dazai.
He’d gotten so used to thinking about Dazai as a girl it hadn’t even crossed his mind no one in the Mafia knew she’d transitioned. “Uh, Dazai’s fine,” he mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t out her before she gave him permission, but it was also intensely uncomfortable to misgender her. “Seriously, Kouyou. Don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
Kouyou shot him a look. “Who do you take me for, kid?”
And that was that.
--
“And what can I get for you, ma’am?”
Dazai glanced at Chuuya just in time to see him flinch. Chuuya laughed awkwardly and began to give the barista his order. As soon as the barista heard his deep, clearly masculine voice, she began apologising profusely. Chuuya mumbled out an ‘it’s no big deal’, but Dazai could see his shoulders hunch slightly and his voice getting quieter than usual. Dazai ordered her own coffee and, in an act of pettiness she couldn’t quite not engage in, didn’t tip the barista. She joined Chuuya at the end of the queue where he was already sipping on his plain black coffee. Soon after, Dazai’s name was called and she picked up her own drink – an elaborate order including three different flavoured syrups, two kinds of creamer, and a copious amount of whipped cream. Chuuya glanced at her drink and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think you can even call that coffee, mackerel,” he said.
“Chuuya!” Dazai gasped so loudly a few people turned around to look at them. She put her hand to her chest in mock offence. “Making fun of drinks girls enjoy is misogynistic, you know. Is Chuuya a misogynist?”
Chuuya took a sip of his coffee. “You’re fucking impossible. Come on, Dazai. I’m exhausted and wanna get away from you as quickly as I can.”
Dazai pouted, following Chuuya out of the cafe. “Chuuya is so rude today.”
Chuuya scoffed but didn’t say another word. They walked for a moment in silence, before Chuuya shot Dazai a hesitant glance.
“Why…” he started, his voice coming out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why do you think that barista thought I was a girl?”
Dazai looked at him. “I knew it did bother you.”
“Of course it bothered me,” Chuuya said, his voice still too quiet for Dazai’s liking. “I mean, shit, I…” he ran his hand through his face and groaned. “I’ve been on hormones for years . I got top surgery so long ago the scars are barely visible anymore. No one’s dared to call me ‘she’ since I turned 18. Is there… I just don’t get it. Is there something about me that–”
“Chuuya,” Dazai said, her voice low and serious. Chuuya looked up at her. “Stop blaming yourself. Last week, Kunikida–”
“Is that the one with the glasses?”
“Yeah, the one with the glasses. He got called ‘ma’am’ by a store clerk last week. Chuuya, these things just happen .”
Chuuya hummed and stayed silent until they reached his apartment complex. He hesitated for a second. “You wanna come in, Dazai?” he said, clearly trying to keep his voice casual. Dazai looked down at him, studying his expression. Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Come on, mackerel. The one time I actually invite you up and you’re hesitating. Just…” Chuuya groaned and grabbed Dazai by the wrist, pulling her into his building.
Dazai was pretty sure Chuuya knew just how much she liked his flat. It was so different from the room Chuuya used to occupy at the Port Mafia’s dorms. Now, the flat was full of expensive furniture, with framed posters on the walls, an expensive wine collection in a cupboard next to the TV, a fancy-looking record player, and an extensive collection of video games. There were framed photos on the cupboard, too, mainly of his Mafia friends – Tachihara, the Akutagawas, a photo of Kouyou embracing Chuuya, and one photo of 16-year-old Chuuya among his old friends. There were photos of Dazai, too, and even one from the Agency party months ago. The flat felt lived in, and comforting, and so overwhelmingly Chuuya .
Chuuya had flopped on the couch and climbed under a blanket, turning on the TV and mindlessly scrolling through Netflix. Dazai made herself comfortable next to him. He grunted when she stole most of his blanket.
She studied Chuuya’s expression. His face was tense, sadder and less confident than she’d seen him in ages. He reminded her of the scared, insecure boy he was at 16, when he was gathering up the courage to transition.
They ended up under the blankets, eating leftover pizza and continuing their tradition of watching some dumb horror film that was funnier than it was scary because of how bad it was. At some point, Chuuya paused the film and began talking without looking at Dazai.
“When people call me a girl,” he started hesitantly. Dazai turned to look at his face. “It doesn’t only suck because, you know, I’m a guy. But it feels like… like I’m a kid again. Like everyone sees me for something I’m not . Like I… like I’ll never really get to be my own person. Like the past 10 years never happened.”
Dazai stilled. Chuuya never really talked about his past in the lab. She knew it had been traumatic for him, that it was the whole reason he was the Port Mafia’s top martial artist. Because if anyone tried to capture Chuuya now, they’d regret the day they ever got the idea.
“Now would be a good time to say something, asshole,” Chuuya mumbled, but there was little weight behind his insult, and Dazai realised – he was genuinely anxious about this. He wanted reassurance from Dazai. And, well, Dazai was good at many things, but giving reassurance was not one of them.
“Chuuya,” she said carefully, meeting his eyes. “You’ve changed so much since we were teenagers. I mean, you look completely different.”
“I do?” Chuuya said, his voice uncertain. Dazai took a deep breath.
“Your hair is longer, for once. Your face is more angular, I mean, if you didn’t shave you’d have fucking facial hair. You have, what, four piercings in your face alone?”
“I’m thinking of getting another one, actually,” Chuuya mumbled.
“See, there you go. And that’s not counting the ones around your ears. You dress completely differently, too. You’re stronger, too, more muscular. And,” Dazai sighed, “I cannot believe I am saying this, but… I think you’ve actually grown since we were 15. Just a bit! But you have.”
Chuuya laughed at that and pointed a triumphant finger at Dazai. “This was all an elaborate plot to get you to admit I have grown, and you fell for it.”
“That’s a very sad brag, I hope you know that.”
Chuuya, the asshole, stuck out his tongue, but his expression was more relaxed than it had been. He started the film again and didn’t move away when Dazai moved towards him, their shoulders touching.
--
On the rare occasion Tachihara and Chuuya were at the headquarters at the same time, they liked to take smoke breaks in an alley behind the building together. It was a spot that was usually empty, where they could complain about their co-workers and joke around without anyone interrupting them.
Tachihara made his way to the alley, a cigarette in his mouth, scrolling through his phone. He lifted his gaze to see Chuuya pinning some girl against the wall and kissing her passionately. His ever-present hat was on the ground as the girl’s hand raked through his hair, and he was making his way under her shirt rather quickly. Tachihara had to admire Chuuya’s sheer audacity.
At the sound of Tachihara’s voice, Chuuya pulled away from her, and Tachihara now had a clear view of the person he’d been kissing. The girl was much taller than Chuuya; she had long, dark hair, and was wearing a tan coat. And her arms and neck were covered in bandages.
“Tachihara, listen,” Chuuya said, his voice low. “If you… you can’t tell anyone. Oh my god, don’t fucking tell anyone about this.”
The girl waved at Tachihara with a bright smile.
“Wh– who… what… what ?” Tachihara stammered. “Dude, Jesus Christ, what are the odds of you hooking up with a girl who looks exactly like Dazai. Where did you even find her? Does she wear the bandages or did you like ask her to–”
Both Chuuya and the girl froze. “Tachihara. This is Dazai,” Chuuya said, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh,” Tachihara said. “ Oh . Oh, fuck. Shit. What the fuck. Chuuya, why is h– why is she here?”
“Look, man,” Chuuya said, walking up to Tachihara. “You really can’t tell anyone. I’m gonna be so fucked if you tell anyone.”
“O… okay. Okay, Chuuya. Fucking hell. Fuck,” Tachihara said, running his hand through his hair. “Does anyone else know?”
Chuuya turned his gaze to the floor. “Kouyou. She… she saw Dazai leaving my flat a month ago.”
“Why… actually, I don’t wanna know,” Tachihara said, scrunching his nose. “I’ll just… yeah. Just, um, let me know if you wanna have a smoke or something. Alright, Chuuya?”
And Tachihara bolted from the alley.
“Bye, Tachihara!” Dazai yelled after him. Chuuya smacked her head lightly.
“God fucking dammit,” Chuuya mumbled. Dazai raised her eyebrows.
“Is Chuuya gonna let this bother him?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya said, and kissed Dazai again.