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‘I figured I’d find you here,’ Dazai’s voice was only mildly obscured by the ocean wind, drifting the familiar scent of salty air across the graveyard. The flowers scattered between the rows of gravestones were almost entirely dead, only a few still blooming in the cold winter months.
But five gravestones were still decorated in bright flowers, with a lone man sitting in front of them, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head resting on top of them. He flinched when Dazai spoke, and leaned into the touch of his hand on his head.
‘Surprised you weren’t,’ his voice was emotionless and slightly hoarse. He didn’t complain when Dazai sat down beside him, wiggling his hand between Chuuya’s head and his knees to find his hands - ungloved, for once - and he took them in his own. His fingertips were pink, his hands cold.
Dazai didn’t say anything for a while - he knew how much Chuuya valued his time with the graves. It was one of the few shared experiences they had together - the loss of their best friends, people they had seen as family, as brothers.
Lives cut too short, torn apart in the blink of an eye.
The day Dazai had turned twenty-three, he had been devastated. The day he turned twenty-four, now older than Oda ever was, he had spent the whole day in bed, completely unresponsive.
It had taken almost a month to feel human again.
Now he owed Chuuya the same.
Now they were twenty-five, older than any of the Flags had been.
Chuuya had taken his twenty-fifth birthday well, all things considered.
But now…
‘Hey,’ Dazai said, wrapping an arm around Chuuya’s shoulder. He wore the red sweater Dazai had knitted him for Christmas, with the little mackerel and slug on the front, where his heart was. ‘‘Only a week to go, till the big day. They’d be happy for us, you know that.’
Chuuya picked at his nails, only stopping when Dazai squeezed his hands too tightly. He inhaled deeply. ‘It’s not fair.’ His voice sounded far away, like he was in a daze.
Dazai's heart ached.
I know.
It’s not fair.
They all deserve to be here right now.
All six of them.
But they aren’t.
And we have to do our best now.
We have to live for their sakes.
It was a conversation that seemed to repeat itself endlessly in their household.
Midnight confessions, whispers of regrets. Things they’d wished they did or said before they lost the ones who meant the most to them, losing them before they realised what they had.
‘I know,’ Dazai said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I know it’s not.’
‘I just…’ Chuuya began, then stopped. He heaved a sigh, motioning to the gravestones before them. ‘I always wanted…we always…’ He bit his lip, trying to choose the right words. ‘It always seemed so far away. I thought I had more time. Now we’re here, I guess I’m just…’
‘...Lost?’
Heterochromic eyes blinked up at him.
‘...Yeah.’
‘I get it. When Odasaku…when I left, I had no clue what to do. Where to go, who to talk to. The only three people I did want to see…were either dead, traitors, or…the one who had been betrayed by me .’ Dazai was grateful for the wind blowing his wavy hair in his face, obscuring it from Chuuya’s view. If it hadn’t, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have been able to look him in the eye.
‘You didn’t,’ Chuuya was quick to correct, his voice sounding slightly more alert. ‘That was different, and you know it.’
‘Even…if I blew up your car?’ Dazai lightly teased.
‘At least it wasn’t my bike,’ Chuuya sat up a bit straighter, lifting his head from his knees. There was a small mark on his cheek from his ring, free to gleam on his finger without the usual leather gloves keeping it hidden from the world. ‘If you’d bombed that, I reckon ‘Tross would have risen from the grave and chased you around the entire city for it,’ he said, cracking a smile.
‘Chuu, I think they all would have chased me around the city if I’d dared to touch that bike.’ Dazai pulled him closer, his heart fluttering when Chuuya’s head fell to rest on his chest, his ear above his heart. Chuuya’s eyes slipped shut, tapping his fingers against Dazai’s legs to the faint rhythm.
‘We would have had fun, I think,’ Chuuya murmured. ‘If they’d been here, now. Gone shopping, gone to the venues together - they’d find something to complain about each one. One wouldn’t have been too cold, another wouldn’t have a big enough dance floor. They’d make a stupid playlist for us to dance to. Make toasts and tell embarrassing stories.’
‘Oh?’ Dazai indulged in his little fantasy. ‘What kinds of stories?’ His eyes lit up, his mind racing with endless thoughts and ideas. ‘Would they tell us about how little teenage Chuuya had a crush and practised how to date with them? Or - or! Would they tell us about how they stayed up all night, waiting for you to get home, and when you did, they could tell that we’d had our first kiss?’
He could feel Chuuya’s face heating up, but the redhead didn’t protest or disagree to anything. He just snorted and chuckled - still unusually quiet, but better than nothing. Better than silence.
Anything was better than silence with Chuuya.
‘And then,’ Dazai leaned in closer, pulling Chuuya up so he was sitting in his lap, his lips by Chuuya’s ear, ‘they’d join forces with Kouyou and give me the whole you better not hurt him, if you do we’ll hunt you down, make you regret being born, you do anything to make him sad for even a day and we’ll make you feel pain worse than recovering from top surgery--’
When Chuuya’s laugh interrupted him, it felt like a thousand tiny fireworks were going off inside his heart.
It had been long, too long, since he had heard him laugh like that.
God , how he had missed it.
Chuuya pushed himself off Dazai’s lap, still laughing as he untangled their legs and wiped his eyes, chest heaving as he struggled for breath. ‘ Fuck , they would,’ he sighed. ‘They all would…and you know they’d act on it, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Never a dull moment or an empty threat with them.’
He gazed at the graves - layed out in a neat row, each adorned with a unique flower - he’d had them shipped in from Europe and America for today, pulling a few strings with Poe to get them in on time. He had said it was the least he could do after trapping him in one of his books, once.
He turned back to Dazai, his heart leaping at the sight of his fiance - his hair had been whipped around by the gentle sea breeze, and the collar of his striped work shirt underneath his matching blue sweater was uneven. The gold chain around his neck was hanging freely, the matching ring on the end of it reflecting the evening sun.
What did I do to deserve people as amazing as you?
‘...Have I ever told you the full story of us?’
Dazai tilted his head. ‘What do you mean?’
Chuuya nodded towards the middle last two graves, marked Doc and Albatross .
‘Those weren’t their actual, legal names, y’know. Lippmann’s was, he said his dad was from America, I think. Iceman and Piano Man were nicknames - they got them during a famous undercover mission, or something - but Doc and Albatross…they got theirs from their orphanage.’
Dazai blinked. ‘An orphanage?’
Orphans weren’t an uncommon sight in the mafia - most younger members were orphans, or living on the streets, at the very least, before joining. But to have actually been in an orphanage…Dazai couldn’t recall a single member who’d had that in their history when he’d been there.
Chuuya nodded. ‘They ran away, and joined the mafia. But at the orphanage…you know that tiger kid? Similar situation. Abusive headmaster. It was a fight to survive - and they didn’t have abilities.’ His voice was full of bitterness, the warmth from his laughter long gone. ‘Doc was good at stitching other kids up, taking care of their injuries. ‘Tross would protect them all, take the beatings himself instead of letting them get hurt.’
He stopped, his eyes becoming glassy.
‘He never stopped acting like that, even at the end.’
His jaw unclenched when Dazai’s bandaged hand reached out to stroke it, his fingers gently wiping his tears.
‘...They were all given the same last name, after one of the other workers there. She tried to help them, when she could, but she left, one day, shortly before they ran away. They said she made them feel… human. Gave them a full name, gave them hope . Her name was Nakahara.’
Dazai’s heart skipped a beat.
…Oh…
‘...They gave me their name. They said I…’ Chuuya’s voice broke, ‘that I was their littlest brother. That they’d…they’d be there for me…whenever I needed them. But I need them now .’
He broke down, collapsing in Dazai’s warm and steady arms, his hands stroking his hair, whispering small reassurances.
But he knew all too well…nothing would bring them back.
Nothing he had tried had brought Odasaku back.
All they could do was live.
Live for them.
And if that meant reserving the front row at their wedding for a group of ghosts?
Then so be it.
‘They’ll be there,’ Dazai whispered, ‘if they said they’d be there, then they will be. They’d never miss a good party, right?’
A minute shake of the head.
‘Or a chance to make me trip and make a fool of myself in front of everyone else we know?’
Chuuya’s breath hitched.
‘Or a chance to see you happy? To see us happy?’
Dazai’s voice trembled, thinking of it. The pair of them standing there, wearing matching outfits. He had no clue what Chuuya had chosen to wear, but he knew he would look spectacular anyway. One row had been reserved for their close friends - Kouyou, Kunikida, Akutagawa, Atsushi, Fukuzawa, Hirotsu. The other side filled with colourful polaroids in matching picture frames, eternal grins gazing up at them.
He wasn’t sure he believed in ghosts - neither were - but…if they did exist…he hoped they’d find their way.
For the second time that evening, as the sky turned from orange to navy blue, Chuuya looked up at him - one bright blue eye, the other a warm brown. He sniffled, roughly wiping the tears from his face. ‘They’ll all be there. For me, and for you .’ He pushed himself up so he could reach Dazai’s face, holding his red-tinted cheek in his hand, like Dazai loved to do for him. ‘And I’ll get to say I do , I do love this idiot, I do take his name, I will become his, and he’ll be mine, for as long as our souls exist, as long as time exists, our love will, too .’
Dazai stared at him, his eyes wide.
‘...Was that too much?’
‘...That was perfect , my love,’ he whispered, a stray tear winding its way down his cheek, before being brushed away by Chuuya’s fingers, his nails painted a muted red. ‘Just one small correction, though.’
‘Huh?’
‘...I want to take your name.’
Chuuya froze.
‘Dazai has no meaning - I made it up on the spot one day. But… Nakahara …that has a story. A family. It has love tied to it, and I…I want that to live on. If…if that’s okay with--’
Dazai couldn’t finish his sentence before Chuuya’s lips had crashed into his own, the taste of salt from their shared tears and the sea breeze melting on his tongue, arms wrapping around his body to bring him impossibly closer, until they pulled away, both panting, their foreheads resting against each other.
‘You really mean that?’
‘I do.’