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Everything Nakahara Chuuya had learned about Dazai Osamu had been against his will.
The man was an enigma, and his uncanny ability to offset Chuuya rivaled the majority of the enemies Chuuya fought.
But even with the bandaged bastard constantly invading his personal space and intruding on his personal life, Chuuya could never bring himself to hate him. No matter how annoying, the mafioso was charismatic, and his understanding of Chuuya that defied anything words could describe drew the redhead to him.
Although that was all prior to Dazai leaving the mafia, before he disappeared without a trace, abandoning Chuuya to shoulder the weight of Double Black’s work alone. Chuuya couldn’t easily forgive him for that, no matter how much he wished he could.
Even with all the medicine and antiseptic, the wound of Dazai’s desertion never quite healed, which was why Chuuya found himself tracing the rim of his glass with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand as he sat with his legs crossed on the worn leather seats of the Bar Lupin barstools. The condensation of the alcoholic beverage left his ungloved fingers sticky, and the bitter taste burned the back of his throat as he guzzled it down.
Towards the end of their partnership, when they were eighteen, Dazai could often be found at this bar with his friends Ango and Oda. The former had offhandedly mentioned the place enough times that Chuuya had begun to associate it with him, hence why Chuuya had chosen years later to pay it a visit at twenty-two.
It bothered Chuuya how frequently he still thought of the former executive-now-turned-detective. How he sometimes longed to return to the familiarity of their dynamic and the manner of their approach to missions that complimented each other so well. They worked together as easily as breathing. Damn it , was it really so wrong for Chuuya to miss that feeling of security?
Chuuya shook off the thought, straightened out his back, and signaled for the bartender to refill his empty glass. As he turned to shuck off his jacket, the stairs by the entrance to the deserted bar creaked with a newfound weight. Chuuya peered over from his perch on the barstool and locked eyes with the former right-hand man of Mori, Dazai Osamu, who was clad in a tan trench coat and a light blue dress shirt.
Chuuya felt his breath hitch. He had grown a few inches in the four years they hadn’t spoken, and the bandages he always sported lacked their usual placement on his right eye.
Despite his apparent new attire, Dazai still carried the same aura of intelligence bound to turn heads when he walked into a room. And he still had to duck under the door frame to fit his lanky frame.
Chuuya had anticipated and revised what he would say to Dazai if or when he saw him again, but his script was thrown out the window at the man’s presence. The look on Dazai’s face as Chuuya attempted to school his expression told him he was failing miserably.
“Fancy seeing you here, slug,” Dazai said. His smile lacked any warmth, and there was a noticeable stiffness to his posture.
“Wish I could return the sentiment,” Chuuya grumbled.
“May I?” Dazai gestured to the empty barstool next to Chuuya.
“Sure, I don’t fuckin’ care.” Chuuya waved his hand absentmindedly and turned his head away from Dazai. It was easier for Chuuya to deny how good Dazai looked if he couldn’t see him. From their last encounter, his face had sharpened and lost the last of its youth, and he was no longer as scrawny from lack of food.
Dazai hummed in response and took a seat. His feet dangled from the stool, stopping short of hitting the ground.
The tension between the two of them felt palpable. With all that history and years spent building an unshakable bond, how do you correctly approach a reunion? It didn’t feel appropriate to remark about the weather or inquire how late at night it was.
“So, what brought you here?” Dazai asked.
The question was loaded, to say the least. What had brought Chuuya to the bar his ex-partner used to frequent? Chuuya couldn’t quite piece together an answer himself— a part of his brain screamed the word yet . He ignored it. Right now, it felt better for him to just wallow in his own denial.
Chuuya shrugged. “Could say the same to you.”
Dazai sighed dramatically and splayed his upper half on the bar counter. “Chuuya’s so indirect. Can’t a dog answer a question when asked?”
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Chuuya visibly bristled, face scrunching up.
Dazai ignored Chuuya’s response. He appeared to contemplate before saying, “If you really must know, today is the anniversary of Odasaku’s death.”
Chuuya paused and shifted to face Dazai. He and Dazai had never talked about Oda’s death, or more so, they never could . Dazai’s disappearance had made quick work of that fact. Even so, Dazai was rarely so vulnerable, especially unprompted.
“Oh,” Chuuya choked out.
It was true that Chuuya knew Dazai better than most did. It wasn’t the topic of Oda or even the abrupt outburst that had caught him off guard. Even after years of silence, Chuuya knew Dazai, intimately so. Could trace the ridges of the man’s brain as one would do to the palm of their hand.
But what caught Chuuya off guard was much simpler: Dazai had never voiced these concerns before. Part of the Double Black partnership was the quiet understanding— knowing that you’re not alone and that someone understands you, even if it was never outwardly spoken.
Just how much has Dazai changed in the past few years?
Ever the observer, Dazai recognized the flash of hesitance on Chuuya’s face. “It’s okay, you know. It’s just Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s stomach swooped. It’s just him, huh?
The brunette flashed Chuuya a smile and pulled something out of his pocket, rummaging through its contents. “My wallet does appear to be empty, though, so drinks on you?”
Chuuya sneered and shook his head. It was so typical of him, deflecting away from any intimate conversation. But Chuuya had always preferred to act and think later, so he immediately indulged him.
“Ask for a round, jerk,” Chuuya said as he tugged out his wallet.
Dazai’s grin widened in response.
Chuuya and Dazai exited the bar well into the early morning, when no reasonable person was awake, stumbling and leaning against each other for support. Chuuya was giggling incoherently about something under his breath, and Dazai was attempting to subtly send Chuuya ricocheting off the nearest wall.
Chuuya abruptly broke away from Dazai’s side and placed his hands on either of his cheeks, roughly bringing his head down towards Chuuya’s. “Where to next, asshole?”
Dazai’s eyes visibly dilated, and his breath caught. “So impatient!”
“Lead the way, mackerel. I’m assuming you’ve got an idea?” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed to slits as he released Dazai from his hold.
Dazai clasped his hand with Chuuya’s, entwined their fingers, and hummed affirmatively.
It was impressive how simply Dazai could slip back into Chuuya’s life, like how effortlessly their hands slotted together. All it had taken was a few shots, and their usual boisterous banter had returned.
Chuuya allowed Dazai to tug him along to the nearest bus stop and pull him down to sit beside him on a bench underneath an awning. He rested his head atop Dazai’s bony shoulder, pressing against him to soak up some of his warmth. Dazai yawned obnoxiously and stretched out his arm that was not being utilized by Chuuya.
Chuuya raised his head and huffed a laugh as Dazai whined about the cold wind. The scene felt oddly reminiscent of the aftermath of many of the missions they had completed as teenagers, with the two slumped together in exhaustion.
The bus rolled up shortly after, the bright blinking screen displaying the name of a place familiar to Chuuya. Dazai beckoned him to follow him onto the bus and handed the bus driver the money. Where he had gotten that money was beyond Chuuya, considering his previously empty wallet.
It wasn’t surprising that the bus was nearly empty, and the numerous missions Chuuya’d had in his years working for the mafia that had called for an early wakeup removed the stigma surrounding it. It was peaceful, and the few onlookers didn’t pay either of them any mind.
Chuuya felt himself nodding off, but each time he attempted to slip his eyes shut, Dazai would whack his shoulder and shake his head at him. Chuuya rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.
Unlike earlier at the beginning of their accidental meeting, the silence between the two of them was comfortable. Dazai looked more relaxed right now than he had most days at the Port Mafia— whether that be from the alcohol or from some other means, Chuuya wasn’t sure.
Dazai’s sharp gasp pulled Chuuya from his drowsy haze. He looked up to shoot Dazai a sharp glare and berate him for disturbing him while he “rested his eyes,” but he paused when he noticed Dazai’s smile.
It was much more genuine and carefree than the usual tightly drawn ones Chuuya had become accustomed to with Dazai. His eyes sparkled, and his finger was twitching from where it was pointing out the window in front of them.
Chuuya flicked his gaze over toward where Dazai was excitedly staring. In his exhaustion, he had failed to notice that the bus had progressed onto an elevated road with a clear view of Yokohama below.
The city was lit with brightly shining lights that danced throughout Chuuya’s vision as the bus rushed past them. The light reflected into the bus, creating shadows that shifted and twisted their shapes.
“It’s beautiful,” Chuuya breathed out.
“Yeah,” Dazai replied.
But when Chuuya turned back to Dazai, he was no longer looking at the lights, instead opting to look at Chuuya. His face flashed with light and dimmed as the bus continued down the road. Still, his eyes remained steadily fixed on Chuuya.
The careful scrutiny made his skin crawl. He could see Dazai’s eyes tracing the curve of his jaw and drinking in the bright blue of his eyes.
Chuuya abruptly reached up and pinched Dazai’s upper arm. “Bastard.”
“Chuuya’s so mean!” Dazai pulled his arm back from him, running his other hand up and down in soothing motions.
Dazai’s sulking didn’t last, though. “Watch this.” He moved his hands into the air and shifted his fingers into various formations. The movement reflected on the seat in front of them, casting a shadow in the silhouette of a dog.
“Look, it’s you, Chuuya~” Dazai giggled.
Chuuya shoved Dazai’s arm down and brought his own hands up. He mimed a fish flapping its tail and diving deep down to the seafloor. “It’s you,” he sneered.
Dazai huffed and rolled his eyes. “It was funnier when I did it.”
“Nope, you’re just mad my shadow puppet was better than yours.”
“Am not.” Dazai’s brows furrowed, and he repeated his motions from earlier, casting the dog back onto the seat.
“Why’s yours look like it's dyin’ then?”
“Because it reflects on my dreams of you, of course!”
There was a lull in conversation after that, and he felt himself drifting off again. The steady hum of the bus and the hushed whispers of a young woman on the phone rocked him slowly into sleep. Until he was interrupted again, that is.
“For the record, you were staring too.”
“Can I have just one moment of fucking peace?”
Chuuya awoke from his nap to Dazai rapidly poking him with his finger and blowing quick breaths into his ear. He groaned, shifting in his seat and stretching his arms out to fix the dull ache from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in.
A glance around told him he hadn’t been out long. The stars in the sky continued to burn brightly, and the bus was still practically empty.
“C’mon,” Dazai said, already up from his seat in anticipation.
The streets were covered in a light dusting of snow from the past couple of days, and there were some sparse patches of ice. All the lights of the stores that lined the streets were off, save for the few stores open at all hours of the day.
Dazai stopped in front of one of them and pulled open the door. A blast of warm heating gusted towards them, and a bell above their heads rang to signal their arrival.
The cashier stationed at the register tilted her head up and peered at them. A half-drank cup of coffee rested by her hand with torn-up sugar packets beside it. Chuuya could sympathize with her evident exhaustion.
It was a standard convenience store, complete with shelves of snacks and fridges filled with various beverages. Tacky-looking scratch tickets were stored behind the counter, and the air carried the scent of gasoline from the gas station outside.
Dazai made a beeline for one of the shelves and began tucking snacks into the crook of his elbow. Chuuya’s face twisted with disgust at his choices.
“Do you seriously need all of that?” Chuuya questioned, distaste seeping into his tone.
“Well, since Chuuya’s paying, I felt like I should splurge,” Dazai quipped back. He turned back to the shelf and glanced at more of the options.
“Hah? I paid for drinks, you vagabond, you’re paying for your own goddamn snacks.”
Dazai looked confused.“But it’s not just for me.” He shifted the items around until Chuuya had a clear view of them. The majority were for Dazai, favorites of his that Chuuya remembered, but the remaining couple were for Chuuya . Candies he had praised at sixteen and the soda he had chugged as a dare from Dazai in one of their hotel rooms during a mission. Both were secured safely in Dazai’s arms.
Chuuya’s heart ached with endearment. It was easy to forget here that the two of them carried lengthy criminal records and that they hadn’t spoken in years before tonight.
“Fine,” he relented. He grabbed a random candy he believed he’d tried before and thrust it at Dazai for extra measure— a clear deflection, but Dazai didn’t mention it.
They paid quickly and hurried down the street again, this time Dazai leading them in the opposite direction of the bus stop. The shops grew few and far between, instead replaced with vast forests.
Eventually, a patch of trees parted and gave way to a clearing. Trees dotted the edges with flowers resting at their roots. Rocks of different sizes littered the ground, and Chuuya could feel the sharper ones beneath the sole of his shoe. Crickets sang, and fireflies spun in figure eights across the sky.
Dazai dropped the bag from the convenience store and plopped down beside it, casting his legs out in front of him while he rested back on the palms of his hands.
Chuuya used his ability to lower himself so he was hovering above the grass, safe from the stray pieces of sediment and damp grass from the melting snow.
“That’s not fair,” Dazai muttered, frowning at Chuuya’s position above him. Chuuya stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry at him. Dazai averted his face away to avoid the spit and grabbed onto Chuuya’s wrist.
The contact sent Chuuya tumbling down onto the ground from the nullification. He sucked in a breath, hissing at the sting from the fall. “You bitch, why’d you do that?”
Dazai shrugged, grinning at him with his eyes half-lidded. He didn’t answer, just patted his stomach and laid down fully with his head resting on his forearm. Chuuya copied his motions, pillowing his head on Dazai.
Chuuya reached out blindly for Dazai’s hand, fingers fumbling through the grass for purchase. He slid their fingers together, squeezing them tight for good measure.
The stars connected and branched off into patterns, forming elaborate pictures and designs and framing the waning moon nestled within them. The pair gazed up at them, the bright lights illuminating their features.
“That one’s Orion,” Dazai whispered, bringing their tangled fingers up to trace the constellation of the hunter.
Chuuya hummed, dragging their fingers across the sky to another cluster of stars. “What about this one?” he asked, keeping his volume to a similar degree to Dazai’s.
“The Big Dipper,” he answered contently. Dazai then slowly lifted from his spot on the ground, elevating Chuuya from his place on Dazai’s chest, and placed a wet kiss on Chuuya’s forehead.
“Ugh, gross,” Chuuya whined, wiping away the remnants of the peck with the back of his hand.
“Chuuya’s very pretty,” Dazai mumbled, staring at him from above.
“Weirdo,” Chuuya responded, fixing his eyes on the scenery rather than Dazai.
Dazai leaned down to kiss him again, this time on his cheek but was stopped abruptly by Chuuya pushing him back with his palm.
“Don’t do that,” he warned. He felt silly for having to chastise his old partner.
Dazai looked at him blankly. “Do what?”
“ That. Are we gonna ignore that we haven’t spoken in years and that this should feel completely out of the ordinary? People don’t just kiss and make up after that, it’s fuckin’ weird.” He was out of breath from how much he was working himself up, and he pushed away from Dazai.
“But it doesn’t feel weird,” Dazai replied, his tone now carrying an air of confidence he didn’t have earlier.
Chuuya paused, surveying the man in front of him. Talking with Dazai still felt the same. His stomach turned at the revelation. Dazai felt like dirt under his fingernails, a lingering, uncomfortable sensation.
Chuuya’s life didn’t follow the same familiarity as most people’s. While everyone else was starting kindergarten, he was in a laboratory being tested on by scientists. When other kids were branching out into different activities and social cliques, he was the king of the Sheep, holding the group together with his ability.
Joining the mafia had changed that. He found a family, people he could rely on. But even then, the only constant throughout that had been Dazai— until he left, that is. Through the Flags' deaths, Verlaine’s rampage, and every corruption usage, Dazai had stayed.
And four years later, Chuuya still clung to that.
“No, I guess not.”
A small smile flashed over Dazai’s face before returning to his prior expression. “What were you really doing at Bar Lupin?”
“Shouldn’t a genius like you be able to figure that out?” Chuuya scoffed.
“Maybe, but it’s more entertaining to hear you say it!” He sat up straighter and turned towards Chuuya, making a show of giving him his attention, and motioned for him to go on.
“God, I hate you,” Chuuya groaned. It’s a complete contradiction to what he was thinking earlier at the bar.
He chewed on his lip and thought about how to articulate himself. It could never be simple with Dazai. Chuuya could never give a concrete answer for how he felt towards him. The price to pay for loving someone.
“I was thinking about it all. Y’know, missions we went on and stuff.” He pulled at the grass beneath him. “I guess I miss it sometimes.”
Dazai gasped theatrically. “Chuuya misses me?”
“Shut up, dumbass, I don’t miss you ! Just the simplicity of it all.” Chuuya gritted his teeth, smacking Dazai. It was a half-truth.
“Alright, whatever you say,” Dazai sang mockingly, dragging out the last syllable.
Chuuya shook his head, desperate to change the subject to something less embarrassing. “Pass the bag over.”
Dazai handed him the plastic bag filled with candy, and Chuuya busied himself with choosing something. He stuffed some in his mouth, the combination of it with the lingering taste of alcohol tasting bitter.
“You haven’t explained why you were there either,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“Close your mouth when you’re chewing,” Dazai scolded, more to bother Chuuya than out of actual annoyance. “And I have told you, but it seems your brain must be smaller than you are if you’ve already forgotten.”
“So what, am I just a distraction from your grief?” He asked sharply. Chuuya couldn’t think of another reason why Dazai would have willingly left Bar Lupin with him.
“No,” Dazai replied cryptically. His eyes carried a distance to them like they were seeing things that weren’t happening right now. Chuuya wondered if it would kill him to be straightforward for once.
Chuuya shrugged and accepted that he wasn’t going to get an answer from Dazai that satisfied him. He tossed the trash from his candy back in the bag and fished out one of Dazai’s choices to toss at the other man.
Dazai yelped in surprise and caught the bag, dropping it down onto his lap and tearing into it. He picked around the different pieces of candy until he found the flavor he wanted and popped it into his mouth.
“Oda told me he wanted me to be someone that helps people.” Dazai began, now staring unflinchingly at Chuuya. “It’s partly why I decided to leave the mafia, so I could join an organization with those ideals.”
Chuuya snorted. “You’re actually trying to help people?” The idea of Dazai working at a place that prioritizes the well-being of its clients and employees was foreign to him.
“Yes,” Dazai said, turning serious. Chuuya noted Dazai’s dedication to fulfilling this wish left by Oda for later.
He waited a bit before saying, “I’m happy for you.”
Dazai’s face broke out into a small smile again. “I’m happy too.”
“Well, this sure is a lovely sight. Rivals a billion-dollar masterpiece. Right, Dazai?”
“The worst. This is just the worst.”
“I love your reaction. It makes me want to strangle you.”
“You haven’t changed one bit, Chuuya.”