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The rain filtering in through his cracked bedroom window, stray droplets further wetting already damp pillows, was the brunette's first warning that morning was coming and it was time to wake up for the day. Of course, he’d be lying if he said more rest wouldn’t boost his mood immensely, but the spilt melatonin at his bedside could tell stories of the issues that came when he attempted falling asleep.
Lifting aching bones from off his frameless mattress felt more like a chore than it should for someone his age. Every moment came slow, with a forced sluggishness enhanced by the chill running deep through his core. No doubt, he had the cracked windows and broken heater to thank for it.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, muscles protesting the movement. Still, the comforting light of dawn had begun seeping through the thick night clouds, fighting the battle that was bringing warmth to another day doomed with downpour.
Glancing at his watch told him the time was exactly 5:14am, with just under an hour left before he was expected to march back into work. Brain on autopilot, he shuffled across the apartment, wandering aimlessly as he attempted to gather everything needed to ready himself for the day. Of course, there was no sense of urgency to his actions, the Agency was already accustomed to Dazai’s own definition of “on time".
With a creak, he pushed open the door to his apartment, worn hinges protesting, and tried to stop from shrinking in on himself as the cool, damp air enveloped him. Leaving his apartment with nothing but the clothes on his back, he watched as the clouds above continued to rain down, the steady rhythm of their droplets hitting the ground matching the beat of his heart.
It had been just years ago he’d gone day after day, experiencing life with the same sense of melancholy today's weather seemed to flood over him. He would wake up, soaked to the bone from the rain that unrelentingly sept through the cracks of the rickety shipping crate he called home. The trenchcoat he’d become famed for wearing hung heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down with the dampness its cotton fabric failed to repel.
Of course, there was nothing about his job that he was particularly excited to attend, no matter how badly he had once tried to convince himself otherwise.
Unlike his coworkers, he lacked the same thirst for blood that seemed to drive them forward, alongside the loyalty that made them faithfully obey Mori’s orders. For Dazai, he completed his tasks with the same boorish apprehension that seemed to follow him throughout every chore he faced. And what more was a job than just another chore to complete?
Still, he would arrive as he was expected to. Completing only the bare minimum, if even that, of the work that was required of him. When all of it was completed and dismissal granted, he would feel a pull guiding his feet to the beloved bar he’d discovered on a whim.
As much as the role he played in the Port Mafia seemed to eat at him, weighing down his consciousness in ways someone his age would never wish to bear. There was something about this routine, knowing the role he had to play, and the chance he would have to unwind with a sense of normalcy, that had served as a comfort. A guiding light.
There was no place on this earth that held the same weightlessness that Lupin allowed one to possess. It had gifted Dazai the very thing he held most dear. From this small, tucked away bar, he was given a sense of home, a sense of belonging, companionship, and trust, which he would carry with him, even years later.
It took the loud rumbling engines of nearby cars driving past to alert him he’d left the quaint neighbourhood where his Agency provided apartment resided, for Dazai to snap back into focus, uncomfortably aware of the present once more.
As his surroundings came back into focus, the most disorienting realisation, aside from how far he’d travelled while reminiscing, was exactly where his feet had brought him when running on autopilot.
The surrounding cityblock was no unfamiliar area to him, having once been a place of solace he’d often found himself gravitating to years ago. He allowed his feet to continue carrying him to their desired designation, slowed only by the wind conjoining with the shower of rain.
Arriving at Chuuya’s doorstep always brought forth a shame that weighed him down for weeks afterwards. Unable to shake the feeling that he had crumbled and asked for help, even if they hadn’t exchanged any words at all.
That wasn’t a situation he ever felt himself wanting to be in, having to seek help from others because he couldn’t always rely on himself.
How cruel was he? To allow others to wield him; to weaponize his strength, bask in his words of comfort, utilise his strategic planning – when he knew deep down, he struggled to quell his own internal battles?
It was within these weaker moments when Chuuya had the chance to witness the vulnerable side of Dazai that anyone but him would fail to notice. By some miracle, it was never used against him, no matter the argument, especially the ones where they would purposely pierce each other with words meant to hurt.
For that, he was thankful.
On nights like those, he would appear no earlier than midnight at the redhead’s doorstep, expecting annoyance from his partner, who had undoubtedly been sleeping after a hard day at work.
Still, he would be let in without a thought spared.
How the evening went from there was determined by how he chose to play his cards. Most commonly, spare sheets would be pulled from within his linen closet, ones he knew Chuuya kept solely for his visits, were folded and tucked neatly onto the living room’s pull-out couch, forming a bed that was more than suitable.
If it was early enough, his partner would bestow him with one of two controllers, charged fully and connected to a gaming system with years of scores Dazai had set unreasonably high.
On other occasions, when the two were drained of energy, they would part within different areas of the apartment, simply enjoying the other's presence, while the sounds of the constantly bustling street life filtered in through open windows.
No one knew of these frequent visits of theirs, both having their own role to play in the bickering that was expected of them due to the building tensions that grew throughout their work day. Yet, that only served to make them significantly more… special.
It wouldn’t be wise, when working in the industry they belonged to. The Achilles heel of any Port Mafia member was the mistake of revealing a hint of weakness – for the cruel chance it one day be used against you.
He’d seen it happen to Odasaku with his own two eyes, and could only hope to ever understand the grief that swathed the man who’d lost his children to something as petty as any other Port Mafia dispute.
So they hid it, both secretly dreading the day it became one more item on the small list of things they cherished that could be ripped away at any moment.
Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Dazai reminded himself that he had long ago withdrawn from the piercing claws of the Mafia. Since then, the Agency had gone through long lengths to convince him of the safety they could provide, if only for an ounce of his trust.
He was free to have friendships, relationships, family even, and yet one glance at something as ordinary as Chuuya’s front door had him spiralling.
Would he be accepted once more, just as he had been in the past? Or was the comfort conditional, available only at the cost of saying goodbye to his freedom?
At any rate, he could feel his chances of knocking growing slimmer by the second, the unshakeable weight of lethargy keeping his arm firmly locked at his side. What a coward he was, unable to simply bring his knuckles to the door.
A flurry of thoughts had long since begun erupting within his mind.
This weakness that he carried inside, which prohibited him from accomplishing what should be menial, easy tasks for any other person; getting out of bed in the morning, dressing himself, walking to work, knocking on the door of an old friend. It made him doubt his usefulness to those who relied so heavily upon him.
It was almost as if the sheer volume of his spiralling thoughts alone became enough to draw Chuuya from the depths of his apartment, prompting him to crack open the front door in an attempt to see what could possibly be causing such a disturbance. The dim porchlight spilled into his dark entryway, highlighting his partner’s features in ways he could only describe as breathtaking.
The glaring red numbers beaming from his alarm clock informed him that the time was 6:32 am, just under half an hour left until he was needed in the office. Usually, his mornings were spent with an air of productivity, waking up early enough to enjoy some much needed time spent catering to himself.
Yet, there was something in the air preventing him from going about his morning with the same feeling of comfort to ease him through it. Instead, it was almost as if he could sense that this was just the beginning, the calm before the storm, warning him of the events brewing to wreak havoc upon his day.
He’d been able to get through his usual routine with little to no struggle – thankfully – stopping only when he reached for the door, needing only to put on his boots before finally making his way to work.
Maybe it was the years spent training to never let his guard down, to always stay on high alert, that allowed him to take notice of the faint shuffling sounds coming from just outside his front door.
That alone was enough to bring his movements to a halt, mind racing with the possibilities of what might be waiting for him behind the solid oak.
Of course, he’d known from a young age that getting involved in the Mafia would bring its fair share of enemies, having once been an enemy of the Mafia himself. It was the very reason he chose to live in such a mundane part of the city. On the off chance he was tracked down and followed home, his opponent would have the neighbours to think of, onlookers to bear witness, and a heavier police presence on his side, on the rare chance he allowed himself to be caught off guard.
These very reasons emboldened him to open the door. Peering out, he takes in the cloaked figure resting heavily against his porch rails, looking up at him like a deer caught in headlights.
It had been months now since seeing Dazai for the first time after his sudden disappearance. To say he had buried that hatchet was an understatement. After all, there was only so much grief and anger someone could hold onto within a 4 year time frame. Still, every time they met served as just another reminder of the ways in which he had been so easily tossed aside, like a toy his partner no longer enjoyed playing with anymore.
Masking the hurt threatening to once again rise to the surface, he put on the shield of the one emotion that protected him even from his toughest battles. This time, he wouldn’t let the reality of things slip by. If Dazai had come to talk, or to ask for help, Chuuya was going to force him to use his words, refusing to stand by and allow himself to be a pawn so easily pushed around.
He deserved better. He knew that he did.
Deciding he wouldn’t react until Dazai made the first move, he crossed his arms, shifting his weight against the door frame, allowing it to hold him up in a way that appeared both casual and impatient. He had the time to wait.
They stood in silence, blue irises focused on brown, watching intently as the brunette seemed to flounder, struggling with the words he’d come to deliver.
It wasn’t surprising at all, knowing he’d done nothing to deserve the mercy Chuuya would have once spared him in situations like this.
The intense stare seeing through his entirety – past all the walls he had meticulously built up and shielded himself with – seemed to cause his ability to form words to crumble, drying them up in his throat.
Bandaged hands tried to sort through the rubble, moving piece by piece, desperate to assemble a feasible sentence from the debris.
What could he possibly say after all this time? “I miss you”? “I’m sorry”? “I never wanted to leave you?” None of it would truly hold a candle to the trouble he undoubtedly caused after fleeing the Mafia so suddenly.
Would Chuuya have understood why he’d left if he tried to explain? Was his reasoning enough to excuse his actions?
The more he seemed to mull it over, the further his host's patience seemed to dwindle. He kept checking his watch every other minute, obviously having somewhere to be, or maybe he was simply baffled Dazai would keep him here this long.
Finally, that festering anger bubbling within his partner caused him to snap, blue eyes engulfed with anger.
"Don't waste my time, Dazai. You dragged yourself out here for a reason. Spit it out."
That was enough to bring Dazai's gaze shooting to the floor. Forcing his mouth to just move had never felt harder, it was as if he was learning to talk all over again.
“Can I… come in?” He tried simply, looking up to flash his famous grin.
Surprisingly, the other relented, most likely letting curiosity get the better of him. Still, the brunette thanked his lucky stars as Chuuya stepped out of the way, stepping in as far as the front entryway, knowing he was still far from having permission to make himself at home.
Of course, he should have seen it coming, the hurt crashing in waves, once more being surrounded by an environment that although felt more like home than anything else had, he could never call his.
It was claustrophobic – suffocating, even – being boxed into a space that held so many of his most dear memories. More than ever it felt impossible to communicate just how badly he had stupidly wanted this. Wanting to come home and play house, the two of them acting like everything was normal, like he hadn’t torn the relationship they shared with his bare hands.
“Well?” Chuuya’s voice reverberated across the walls. Walls that had once held pictures of not only the two of them, but the Flags, Kouyou, and so many others he had once held so dear, were now bare, save for the occasional decorative art prints. The sound of the other’s foot tapping against the wooden floorboards shook him from his grief, just barely, reminding him that he still had a point to make.
Clearing his throat, Dazai stuffed his hands into his pockets, doing his best to sound nonchalant as he forced the air from his lungs. “I never got around to telling you the reason why I left. And I thought I owed you that, at least.”
Chuuya scoffed, seething already. "Oh, lucky me.” Sarcasm rolled off his tongue, dripping with a hostility that came naturally to him, when Dazai was involved, at least.
“Should I thank you? Get down on my knees and praise you for deeming me worthy of your answers?” He spat. “What reasons could you have that possibly justify abandoning everyone? Betraying us?"
Dazai struggled to hide the wince that came at Chuuya's harshness. He would say his piece, and whether or not the other came to accept it was out of his hands now.
“When I was eighteen, Mori Ōgai plotted the death of a fellow Port Mafia member.” His body shrank in upon himself in a way that was entirely out of his control, heaving out his words as if they’d been laced with venom.
“He was lowly ranked, despite having a powerful ability, which had apparently made him dispensable enough to use as bait for a target we had been struggling against.”
Chuuya's eyes softened slightly, though his stance remained firm. He knew he’d be allowed to finish his thought, even if it ate the Mafioso up inside, not being able to interject. “Go on.”
Dazai tried to swallow back the tsunami of bile that tormented his mouth, assuring him of the terror that could only plague him when daring to reemerge in the memory of Odasaku’s death.
He will never forget the feeling of shaking, blood stained hands gripping tightly to his clothes, knowing that himself alone acted as the last thing tethering Oda to the living world. His friend’s body trembled in his hold, life force fading away breath by ragged breath.
With a tremor overtaking their words, Odasaku had pleaded to him quietly. It was then, both men shared the same fear of having failed the other.
"Promise me? ..Promise you'll become a better man. If truly, it doesn’t matter to you, whether you’re on the side of those who kill, or the side of those who save, nothing in this world can fill that lonely hole within you. Instead of wandering alone in that darkness for eternity, leave it behind."
Dazai’s eyes widened, astounded as they were overtaken by a blinding light, bandages pulled from his face, uncovering his previously obstructed vision. With his sight now blurred only by tears, he clung tightly to the body growing increasingly limp lying within his grasp. It was as if subconsciously he knew just how close he was to losing Odasaku entirely, needing to burn these last moments into his memory, before he could mistakenly allow himself to forget this great man.
Muttered in a hushed voice, “You’re meant for so much more," were the last words his friend would ever speak, and he refused to let them fall on deaf ears.
A long silence filled the shared space between them as Dazai finished his recount. Not knowing what reaction to expect as Chuuya studied his entirety, he could only begin to describe his relief as the anger slowly faded from his expression.
Chuuya crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "And did you? Become a better man?"
He paused at the question, taking a moment to sincerely mull it over. All of his work in the Agency, what they stood for, the friends he’d made and the people he’d managed to help. Had it been enough to heal the damage he’d once done as the Port Mafia’s Demon Prodigy?
“That answer shouldn’t be up to me.” He’d answered simply, knowing it was solely up to those who he’d hurt most to decide.
Seeming to accept this answer, Chuuya sighed softly, arms dropping to his sides. All of that pent up resentment, anger, hurt, left his body in one fell swoop. “... You idiot. You could have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."
Pinching the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, he muttered with a taste of his previous fire, "You're still a pain in the ass, you know that?"
Dazai's smile widened just a bit. "Wouldn't be me if I wasn't."