Archive of Our Own

Family isn’t a popular term in the Mafia. Actually, scratch that—it isn’t a term at all. At least, that’s what most people think. That’s what Chuuya thought, too. He had learned early on that the Mafia was about power, money, crime, violence, and death—strictly business. The very concept of family seemed ridiculous in an environment where betrayal was as common as breathing. You couldn't trust anyone in the Mafia, not with your heart, and definitely not with your life.

Chuuya had once believed in something like family. His old friends, his old gang—they had been family to him once, before they turned their backs on him. That betrayal had been a harsh reminder that loyalty had limits. Since joining the Mafia, he made sure to never allow himself to think in terms of family again and gave all of his loyalty to the mafia. It was easier to survive that way.

But still, something had shifted. Despite himself, Chuuya found small pockets of connection in this new life. The respect he’d earned from other members, the begrudging partnership with Dazai, and most notably, his bond with Kouyou. His talks with Hirotsu. It was a small (big) something.

Ⅰ.
Chuuya was starting to settle into life in the Port Mafia—more or less. Despite the chaos of being thrust into a criminal underworld, he found his footing faster than expected. Even if his partner was the most infuriating bastard he had ever met, Dazai. That damn lanky idiot seemed to go out of his way to test Chuuya’s patience every chance he got. And as if that wasn’t enough, Chuuya was still reeling from the sting of betrayal by his family friends, who had literally backstabbed him for a misunderstanding and the burning words that Randou Arthur Rimbaud said in his last moments.

Yet, in spite of all that, Chuuya managed to make it work. He found himself getting along with various members of the Mafia, enough to build a steady reputation for himself. Some of them even respected him—though he'd never say it out loud. His fighting prowess helped, of course, but his determination spoke for itself. Kouyou, his new mentor, seemed to approve of his progress. Chuuya had made a good impression on her, despite not knowing much about manners, let alone being able to read or write properly. It was clear he had potential, even if refinement wasn’t his strong suit. He also met Hirotsu, who teached him who to keep his cool while in the battlefield. Still, their support meant something to him—it was the closest thing to family he had now.

It was with that thought in mind that
Chuuya approached Mori’s office, files in hand, ready to deliver his mission report and the documents Kouyou had insisted he bring. He knocked on the door but noone answered. “Boss?” he called out as he opened the door and he stepped inside.

The office was unusually quiet, and Mori wasn’t at his desk. Instead, Chuuya’s eyes landed on the small figure sitting on the floor. Elise, he noted with mild annoyance (that creepy ability of the boss who draws even creepier things about the Mafia members). The girl was happily surrounded by crayons and colorful scribbles, clearly lost in her own world of imagination. But the creepy girl wasn't what caught his eye.

Dazai was sitting next to Elise, legs crossed, dressed in an outfit so absurd that Chuuya had to stop in his tracks. Gone was his usual black coat and crisp white shirt, the uniform that screamed 'Port Mafia'. Instead, Dazai was wearing a bright pink unicorn shirt—yes, a shirt with a literal unicorn prancing across a rainbow—and white pants, completely devoid of the intimidating, sharp aura he normally carried. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. His hair, usually messy but still somewhat dignified, was now adorned with star and heart-shaped accessories, bright and glittery. Chuuya blinked, thinking he must’ve walked into some kind of fever dream, but no—this was real.

As if the outfit wasn’t bad enough, Chuuya’s eyes were drawn down to Dazai’s feet. Hello Kitty socks. Freaking Hello Kitty socks, pink with little bows on them, stretched over Dazai’s ankles and to the knee was the final nail in the coffin of his dignity. And if that still wasn’t enough to fry Chuuya’s brain, there was the makeup. Dazai’s face was dusted with an awkwardly applied pink blush, a soft sheen of gloss on his lips, and—was that glitter eyeshadow!? Yes, it was. Dazai’s entire face looked like it had been attacked by a box of cosmetics, haphazardly applied as if a five-year-old had been given free reign.

Chuuya had to blink twice, then again for good measure, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Elise, completely unaware of the mental breakdown Chuuya was experiencing at the door, held up a crayon drawing for Dazai to see. The drawing was a crude but oddly charming depiction of Dazai—wearing something even more ridiculous than his current outfit, complete with frills, bows, and a hat that looked suspiciously like a princess tiara. The figure in the drawing held Elise’s hand as they skipped through a field of flowers.

Dazai, despite the utter embarrassment written across his face, managed an awkward—but surprisingly gentle—smile as he nodded in approval of Elise’s artwork. “That’s… very creative, Elise,” he said, his voice unusually soft, as if trying to mask just how ridiculous he looked and felt in that moment. "Good job."

Chuuya’s gaze zeroed in on the drawing once more, his mind racing. Dazai, hand-in-hand with Elise, skipping in a field of flowers, wearing something that looked like it belonged in a children’s fairy tale? What the hell had he just walked into?

He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his face as he stood there, watching Dazai squirm under Elise’s enthusiastic praise. This was too good. Too good to be true.

Chuuya stood frozen, taking in the scene. The sight of Dazai’s flushed face and awkward attempt to be serious was both amusing and perplexing. If only I had my phone with me... I’d have some prime material to tease Dazai with for ages.

As Dazai finally noticed Chuuya standing there (Chuuya wondered how he hadn't realized later since the shitty bastard was always the one to find assassins or stalkers first) , his face turned an even deeper shade of red. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling over a crayon as he hastily tried to regain his composure. “Slug?! What the fuck are you doing here?”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “Ane-san sent me with these for Mori-san. I didn’t expect to find you in a private coloring session, bastard.”

Dazai’s embarrassment was palpable as he snatched the files from Chuuya’s hands, tossed them onto Mori’s desk with a flurry of movement, and practically shoved Chuuya out of the office. “You saw nothing!” he declared, his voice muffled as he slammed the door shut behind Chuuya.

Chuuya stood there for a moment, stunned, before a grin spread across his face. He had so much ammunition to use against Dazai now. He could milk this moment for months. But as the image of Dazai sitting with Elise popped back into his mind, his grin faltered for a second. Dazai had looked surprisingly... natural. Like an older brother trying to entertain his younger sister. It was... soft, in a way Chuuya wasn’t used to seeing from the Port Mafia's wrath.

Dazai as a soft older brother? Chuuya shook his head, scowling. No way. That bastard’s too cold and emotionless to ever be a good person, let alone a good brother.

Still, the image lingered in his mind as he walked away, wondering if there was more to Dazai than he cared to admit.

Ⅱ.
There were plenty of unsettling people in the Port Mafia, but if Chuuya had to pick the creepiest, most unnerving one, it would be Kyuusaku Yumeno—Q.

Most people didn’t get too close to the kid. One look at Q’s wide, unsettling brown eyes—each with a strange, bright yellow pupil, one star-shaped, the other a circle—and you’d find yourself chilled to the bone. There was something about the way Q’s gaze pierced through you, as if they were seeing straight into the darkest parts of your mind. It wasn’t just the weirdness of their eyes; it was the hollow expression behind them. Almost like looking into Dazai’s eyes—empty, emotionless. But while Dazai’s emptiness was cold and calculating, Q’s felt like something darker. Something far more dangerous.

Chuuya couldn’t stand being around them. He didn’t think many people in the Mafia could. Q wasn’t just a creepy kid with unsettling eyes; they were terrifying for another reason—Q’s ability. Q’s ability only activated when someone hurt them directly. That was the twisted part. If you harmed Q—even a little—they could turn you into a puppet, control your mind, your senses, your actions. They could make you do things you never imagined. One small scratch, and even the toughest Mafia members would be driven to madness, turning on their own comrades like rabid dogs. That kind of power in the hands of a kid was unnerving, to say the least. The only reason Q wasn’t a constant threat to everyone in the Mafia was because they were usually kept out of sight, down in the basement, isolated for the safety of everyone else.

It wasn’t a surprise that Dazai was the one keeping an eye on them(after all Dazai was the one with the nullifying ability). In fact, it was probably Dazai’s idea to keep Q down there in the first place. Only someone as cold and detached as Dazai would think of locking up a kid like that in the basement. Of course, Dazai would justify it as being “for the good of the Mafia,” but Chuuya couldn’t shake the thought that Dazai didn’t care either way. He never seemed to care about anything.

Then again, Dazai himself still lived in a shipping container, didn’t he?

Chuuya had learned that fact by accident. One day, after wrapping up a mission, he needed to deliver some urgent information to Dazai. When he asked Mori for Dazai’s address, he expected it to be some hidden, high-end house tucked away in Yokohama. After all, Dazai was climbing the ranks in the Mafia, and it wouldn’t have surprised Chuuya if he lived in some luxurious hideout.

But when the redhead followed the directions Mori gave him, he found himself standing in front of an old, rusted shipping container by the docks. He couldn’t believe it. This is where Dazai lives? The container was barely livable, with no electricity, no heat, and barely any protection from the seasons. Chuuya had been stunned, but he never said a word about it to anyone. He couldn’t figure out why Dazai, of all people, chose to live like that, but it only added to the growing list of things about Dazai that didn’t make sense.

Today, though, Chuuya wasn’t looking for Dazai at the container. He’d just wrapped up another mission and needed to hand off paperwork to Mori. He knocked on the door to Mori’s office and entered when Mori’s voice called out for him.

After finishing his latest mission, Chuuya headed to Mori’s office to report in and drop off some files Kouyou had given him. When he knocked, Mori’s voice welcomed him inside.

“Ah, Chuuya. I assume the mission went well?”

Chuuya gave a brief nod and handed over the paperwork. “Yeah. Everything’s handled. Ane-san asked me to deliver these to you.” He placed the stack of files on Mori’s desk.

Mori smiled, a sharp and calculated expression, like always. “Thank you. Is there anything else?”

“Actually,” Chuuya hesitated for a moment, “I was looking for Dazai. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s in the basement with Q,” Mori replied smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chuuya blinked, a little thrown off. What the hell was Dazai doing in the basement with Q? That unsettling kid wasn’t exactly known for casual company. “Thanks, Boss,” Chuuya muttered, bowing slightly before heading toward the basement stairs.

The basement was cold and dim, the kind of place that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. As he descended the stairs, Chuuya felt a chill run down his spine. The air down there was heavy, like something ominous lingered in the dark corners. He pushed open the door, prepared for something unsettling.

When he reached the door, he hesitated for a split second before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him was unexpected, to say the least.

Dazai and Q were sitting on the floor, legs crossed, playing rock-paper-scissors.(not to mention the other board games scattered on the floor) Q’s wide, creepy eyes were focused intensely on Dazai’s hands as they played, a deep pout on their face.

“You’re cheating!” Q’s voice rang out, snapping Chuuuya out of thoughts.

Dazai, wearing his usual lazy grin, looked completely unfazed. “I’m not cheating, Q. You’re just terrible at this game. Maybe if you focused more, you’d win.”

Q huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. “You are cheating! There’s no way I keep losing!” Despite the accusation, there was something childishly innocent in the way Q complained. It was almost… normal. Like any other kid being teased by an older sibling.

Chuuya stood frozen for a moment, trying to process what he was seeing. Dazai, the heartless, emotionless bastard, was playing with Q like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t manipulating them or using them for some twisted scheme. He was teasing Q, poking fun at them like an older brother would. And Q, who usually gave off an aura of pure menace, looked—happy.

No, Chuuya immediately cut off his own thoughts. Don’t go there. It’s not like that. It can’t be like that.

Before he could slip away unnoticed, Q spotted him. Their eerie yellow pupils locked onto Chuuya, making him shiver involuntarily.

“Chuuya! Play with us!” Q called out, their tone light and almost excited, like they genuinely wanted him to join.

Chuuya took a cautious step back. “Nah, I’m—”

But Dazai, of course, interrupted with that smirk that made Chuuya want to punch him in the face. “Oh, I’m sure the dog is too busy training to become a proper Port Mafia guard dog, isn’t that right, Chuuya?”

Chuuya’s face immediately heated in anger. “Shut up, you shitty bastard!” He flipped Dazai off, without hesitation, his middle finger proudly on display.

Q blinked at the exchange, but there was no fear in their expression. Instead, Q seemed entertained, even amused, as if this was just part of a normal day. Chuuya felt a pang of unease. How the hell is this creepy kid enjoying this? He didn’t get it.

Not that he was going to stick around to analyze it. With one more middle finger thrown in Dazai’s direction for good measure, Chuuya turned and stormed out of the basement, muttering curses under his breath.

As Chuuya stormed up the stairs, still fuming from his encounter with Dazai and Q, he wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going. Halfway up, he bumped into a group of low-level grunts coming down. They shot him dirty looks, clearly annoyed by the collision.

Chuuya glanced at them briefly but dismissed their irritation in his head. Seriously? You’re in the Port Mafia, and you get worked up over something this small? Grow up. He didn’t have time for their childish attitudes and certainly wasn’t about to apologize. If they were that sensitive, they didn’t belong in the Mafia. Without a second thought, he kept walking, his mind already far from the encounter.

Ⅲ.
Chuuya had been through hell, and not just once. After everything with Verlaine, Professor N, and Arahabaki—the things that had nearly ripped him apart—he thought he’d seen the worst of what the world had to offer. But that wasn’t even the beginning. The fallout from The Flags, his comrades and family, the ones who’d filled the void of betrayal, had struck him deeper than any battlefield scar. Their deaths were a wound that bled constantly, a raw ache in his chest that refused to heal. He could pour all his rage into battle, destroy anything in his path, but it was never enough to quiet the storm inside.

And then there was Dazai.

The frustrating part wasn’t just Dazai’s presence, it was his refusal to leave. No matter how hard Chuuya tried to push him away, Dazai somehow wormed his way back into Chuuya’s life. He wasn’t sure if it was a calculated move or sheer laziness on Dazai’s part, but either way, Chuuya found himself spending more and more time with the bastard—particularly at the arcade. Almost every day, they’d meet, play games, and waste time. It became an unspoken ritual, something to break the monotony of Mafia life, and Chuuya, despite himself, had grown used to it. It was a distraction, a welcome escape from the violence and bloodshed that filled their daily lives. Chuuya needed it, more than he cared to admit.

But then one day, Dazai didn’t show up.

Chuuya waited, pacing in front of the arcade with his hands stuffed in his pockets, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. Dazai was late—really late. And Dazai was many things, but he was never careless with time.

The thought that immediately crossed his mind was one he didn’t want to entertain, but it crept in anyway.

“He’s finally done it,” Chuuya muttered under his breath, a mix of anger and something else he refused to acknowledge. “That bastard’s finally killed himself.”

The longer Dazai didn’t show, the more unsettled Chuuya became. And that pissed him off. Why the hell should he care? It wasn’t like Dazai’s absence mattered in the grand scheme of things. They weren’t friends. They were partners in the Mafia, nothing more. But still, there was something gnawing at him, something that made his chest tight and his jaw clench.

“If he’s dead, it’s only a problem because I’ll have to take care of all the shit missions alone,” Chuuya reasoned, though the words rang hollow in his ears.

With a growl, Chuuya pulled out his phone and opened the location app that Mori insisted they both use. He’d complained about it at first—tracking each other felt like another leash tied to Mori’s control—but today, Chuuya was begrudgingly grateful for it. He watched as the app loaded, pinpointing Dazai’s location in a residential area (of the Port Mafia) far from Dazai's usual suicide spots.

What the hell is he doing there? Chuuya wondered, frowning as he mounted his motorcycle. He revved the engine, speeding toward the unfamiliar address.

As he neared the house, a creeping sense of unease settled in his gut. Why would Dazai be out here? Chuuya’s mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. When he finally reached the house, he didn’t hesitate. With one swift kick, he broke down the door, half expecting to find a lifeless body on the other side.

“Dazai!” the redhead yelled as he stormed inside, his voice rough with an edge of panic he didn’t want to admit to.

But instead of blood or a corpse, Chuuya was hit with an explosion of flour.

He blinked, taking in the scene before him, and immediately wondered if he had stumbled into some bizarre alternate universe.

The kitchen was a mess. Flour covered the counters, the floor, and most notably, Dazai, who stood in the middle of the chaos wearing a ridiculous pastel apron that read, Kiss the Cook. Akutagawa stood beside him, hands stained white with flour, while Gin sat at the table, her quiet giggles breaking the tension in the air. On the stove, a batch of cookies was burning, small tendrils of smoke curling toward the ceiling as the edges blackened.

Chuuya froze, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. Is this some kind of joke? He took a step forward, still expecting something dark or sinister to explain this ridiculous scene, but there was nothing. Just Dazai, dressed like a housewife, fumbling with an oven mitt as he tried to put out the small fire that had started.

When Dazai finally managed to stop the burning, he turned to Chuuya with a bright, infuriating grin. “Ah, my loyal dog has come to find me! How touching.”

Chuuya stared at him, mouth slightly open. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Baking cookies, obviously,” Dazai replied, brushing off his apron. “You know, I’m very skilled in many things, but baking is still a work in progress.”

Chuuya was too stunned to react properly. This had to be a prank. Some kind of elaborate setup to mock him. He glanced at Akutagawa, who was glaring at the burnt cookies with something that looked like… disappointment? Was he disappointed because the cookies were burnt or because be failed to do cookies for Dazai?

“And why the hell didn’t you come to the arcade?” Chuuya growled, trying to cling to his anger, even though the whole situation was so absurd that he couldn’t quite focus. (He also really wanted to have their usual arcade completion)

Dazai shrugged, his grin never wavering. “Oh, did you miss me, Chuuya? I sent you a message.”

“Bullshit,” Chuuya snapped, pulling out his phone. “You didn’t send me anything.”

Dazai chuckled. “I sent you a message. Didn’t you get it?”

“Bullshit.” Chuuya pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. “See? Nothing from you.”

Leaning over, Dazai squinted at the screen. “The numbers were the message. You were supposed to solve the code.”

Chuuya stared at him in disbelief. “You sent me a code? Are you insane? Why the hell would I solve a stupid code instead of just reading a text like a normal person?!”

Dazai chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Chuuya threw a punch, and Dazai dodged it effortlessly. “You absolute bastard!”

Akutagawa looked up from the ruined cookies, his voice soft but pointed. “You were supposed to lower the temperature. That’s why they burned.”

Dazai shrugged. “Ah, yes, well, I’m not exactly a master chef.” He reached out, ruffling Akutagawa’s hair in a way that looked far too affectionate for Chuuya’s comfort.

Chuuya froze. There was something about the scene that felt… wrong. Dazai was treating Akutagawa like a sibling—teasing him, sure, but there was something more. And Gin, usually so quiet and withdrawn, was sitting there, content in this strange domestic setting. It didn’t make sense. Dazai, the man who thrived on chaos and manipulation, playing house with these two Mafia kids?

“What are you staring at, slug?” Dazai’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Chuuya shook his head. “You’re a freak,” he muttered, backing toward the door. “I don’t know what the hell this is, but I’m not getting involved.”

Dazai’s grin widened. “Are you sure? You could stay for cookies. I can also make dog cookies, if you'd like!”

“Go to hell, bastard.” Chuuya shot back, though there was no real venom behind his words.

Chuuya stood by the broken door, his fist clenched, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed. Dazai playing house with the Akutagawa siblings—it was wrong on so many levels. A part of him still expected this to be some kind of elaborate joke, but there was no punchline. The kitchen was a mess, the cookies were burnt, and Dazai had ruffled Akutagawa’s hair with an affection that Chuuya couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

He didn’t say another word as he turned to leave. But as he stepped out of the house and back onto the porch, he glanced at the door he had kicked in. The frame was cracked, splintered from where his foot had made contact. Normally, he’d leave it like that without a second thought—after all, it wasn’t his problem. But something about the sight of the broken door bothered him.

With a low sigh, Chuuya flicked his fingers, summoning his ability. A soft orange glow enveloped the door as gravity bent to his will, lifting the fractured wood and setting it back into place. The pieces came together seamlessly, the cracks mending as if nothing had ever happened. He watched the door settle back into its frame, good as new, before turning away.

“Stupid bastard,” he muttered under his breath, thinking of Dazai.

Chuuya mounted his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life beneath him. As he sped off into the night, the image of Dazai with the Akutagawas lingered in his mind. It creeped him out—a lot. He had always thought of Dazai as a cold, emotionless bastard, someone who didn’t care about anyone but himself. But seeing him with those kids... The brunet was also known foe going hard on his subordinates...it was unsettling in a way Chuuya couldn’t quite shake.

Still, he refused to dwell on it any longer. Dazai was a puzzle he’d never figure out, and Chuuya didn’t have the time or patience to try.

He revved the engine and sped down the empty streets, trying to leave the entire strange scene behind him. But no matter how fast he went, the thought lingered at the back of his mind.

Ⅳ.
Chuuya finally had a day off. A real, well-deserved break after countless missions, endless paperwork, and the exhausting task of constantly having to put up with Dazai’s antics. The city was unusually calm, the weather pleasant, and for once, it seemed like nothing would go wrong. He strolled down the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, thinking he might grab a coffee and just relax for the day. “Finally, a smooth day with no—”

He froze mid-thought, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a familiar tuft of fluffy brown hair in the distance. Chuuya’s heart sank, and he immediately scowled. Of course. Of course, that bastard is here to ruin my day.

He prepared himself for whatever ridiculous plan Dazai had concocted this time, but as he walked closer, something stopped him in his tracks. There, in the middle of the park, surrounded by kids—five of them, no older than ten or twelve—was Dazai. And they were... dancing.

Chuuya’s jaw practically hit the floor.

There was the Demon Prodigy, the man who had killed, tortured, and manipulated more people than Chuuya could count, swaying awkwardly from side to side with a grin on his face. The kids mimicked his movements, giggling, their laughter echoing across the park. Dazai reached out to hold hands with two of the children, spinning them around in a circle.

Chuuya blinked. Twice.

It had to be a trick. This had to be some twisted scheme Dazai had planned to get under his skin again. But as Chuuya stood there, frozen and wide-eyed, it became clear that this wasn’t some cruel joke. It was real. The infamous Dazai Osamu, a figure feared and respected throughout the criminal underworld, was happily dancing with a group of kids in broad daylight. It didn’t make any sense.

Chuuya’s hands instinctively reached for his phone. He had to capture this moment—proof that Dazai could be blackmailed with for years. He snapped a picture quickly, the sound of the shutter pulling him back to reality.

He didn’t know what to make of it. After standing there for nearly five minutes, Chuuya finally turned on his heel and left, shaking his head. As he walked away, he muttered under his breath, “What the hell did I just see?”

But curiosity got the better of him. About an hour later, he spotted Dazai again, this time leading the same group of kids toward a nearby restaurant with dorms above it. Chuuya, still reeling from the absurdity of the situation, followed. What is this bastard up to now? Did he kidnap those kids?

When Chuuya entered the restaurant, he rudely marched up to the counter, ignoring the startled looks of the patrons. “Oi, you seen a guy covered in bandages around here?” he asked, his tone sharp.

The man behind the counter, unphased by Chuuya’s abrasive demeanor, simply pointed upstairs. “Room 5.”

Chuuya grunted in thanks before heading up the stairs. When he reached the door, he didn’t bother knocking. He threw it open with a force that rattled the frame, and what he saw on the other side left him completely dumbfounded.

Dazai, the same man who danced like a fool in the park, was lying on the floor, laughing as the five kids—Oda Sakunosuke’s orphans, as Chuuya would soon find out—were tickling him mercilessly. He was pinned beneath a sea of tiny hands, trying (and failing) to defend himself as the kids giggled and teased him.

The sight was... unsettling. Chuuya wasn’t sure if he should laugh, scream, or just walk out and pretend this day had never happened.

When Dazai noticed Chuuya standing in the doorway, he grinned lazily, still half-pinned beneath the kids. “Ah, my loyal dog couldn’t stand being away from his master, huh? How sweet.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, immediately regretting his decision to come here. “Shut the hell up, bastard. What the hell are you doing with these kids?”

Dazai, still grinning, ignored Chuuya’s question and turned to the children. “Look, everyone, it’s my doggie!” he said with a playful tone. The kids turned to Chuuya and, in unison, greeted him with cheerful “Hi, doggie!”

Chuuya’s eye twitched. He clenched his fists, doing his best to ignore the nickname as he glared at Dazai. “Stop messing around and answer me! Why are you here with a bunch of kids, and who the hell are they?”

Dazai sighed dramatically, patting one of the boys on the head before sitting up. “Really, Chuuya, don’t use such language in front of children. It’s bad manners.” Then, he leaned back against the wall, his grin softening. “These kids belong to Odasaku.”

The mention of Oda Sakunosuke’s name made Chuuya pause. His expression shifted, confusion flashing across his features. “Oda Sakunosuke... The guy who took in orphans during the Dragon’s Head Conflict?”

Dazai smirked. “Oh? So you were listening when I told you about him. I knew you cared.”

Chuuya scowled, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. So what, you’re their babysitter now?”

Before Dazai could respond, a little girl tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Dazai-nii, are you gonna keep playing with us, or are you gonna leave?”

Dazai’s expression softened again, and he ruffled her hair affectionately. “Of course I’m not leaving you for some stupid slug,” he replied with a chuckle.

Chuuya, thoroughly done with this entire scene, turned to leave, but not before Dazai smirked and blew him a kiss. “Thanks for stopping by, Chuuya~!”

Chuuya slammed the door shut behind him, storming down the stairs and out of the building. But the further away he got, the more his mind spiraled in confusion.

Dazai—the Demon Prodigy, the emotionless bastard he worked with every day—was taking care of children. And not just taking care of them, but treating them like a big brother, playing with them, letting them tickle him, and making them laugh.

As he stepped out onto the street, he instinctively reached for his motorcycle, but his mind was still reeling. He had come here expecting a confrontation, maybe even a fight, but what he got instead... was Dazai being human instead of that ridiculous clown or the robot sometimes Dazai would act like. For once, the usual insults and curses that lingered on Chuuya’s tongue didn’t come. He couldn’t even find the energy to curse Dazai out in his mind.

For the first time in a long while, Chuuya was genuinely, completely shocked. Even more shocked than the last three encounters he had with Dazai being affectionate to kids.

Ⅴ.
Four years. It had been four years since Dazai left the Mafia, and yet somehow, he always seemed to creep back into Chuuya’s life like a bad habit. Today was no different.

Chuuya stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, glaring in Dazai’s direction. The mission had been a simple one, something Chuuya couldn’t understand why Mori had bothered sending him along for. The boss had insisted, of course, with some vague reasoning about needing his “expertise” on the situation. But Chuuya knew better. Mori was desperate—desperate to get Dazai back into the Mafia’s ranks, and for whatever reason, the boss thought Chuuya could convince him to return.

As if Chuuya would ever want to bring that bastard back. (Totally not because he thought that the light suited Dazai.)

He clicked his tongue in frustration, eyes narrowing as he watched Dazai interact with the two youngest members of the Armed Detective Agency: Kyouka Izumi and Kenji Miyazawa. The four of them had completed the mission successfully—nothing too complicated, just a retrieval operation that required cooperation between the Port Mafia and the Agency. But now that it was over, Chuuya found himself watching Dazai closely, more out of habit than necessity.

Dazai was crouched down, eye-level with Kyouka, asking her softly, “You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

Kyouka shook her head, her usual stoic expression softening slightly at his concern. “No, I’m fine.”

Kenji, on the other hand, was beaming as usual. “I’m not hurt at all, Dazai-san! That was fun!” His voice was bright and cheerful, as if they hadn’t just been involved in a potentially dangerous mission. Chuuya didn’t know how someone could be that optimistic all the time. Kenji practically radiated sunshine.

Dazai chuckled, ruffling Kenji’s hair. “That’s good to hear. I was worried about you two. You handled yourselves really well.”

Chuuya, who had been standing off to the side, rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand how Dazai could be so gentle with the kids, acting like a caring older brother when he had been one of the coldest, most ruthless members of the Port Mafia not that long ago. It was like watching two different people, and the dichotomy made Chuuya’s skin crawl.

As Dazai straightened up, he gave the two younger members a soft smile. “How about we go get some crepes to celebrate? You’ve earned it after all that hard work.”

The mention of crepes made Kyouka’s eyes widen ever so slightly, though she tried to hide her excitement. Kenji, on the other hand, looked like he had been promised the world. “Really? Crepes?!” His face, which was already impossibly bright, seemed to light up even more, if that were even possible.

Dazai laughed, patting Kenji on the head again. “Yep, really. Whatever flavor you want.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but scoff quietly to himself. Is this really the same Dazai who used to manipulate people without a second thought? The guy who could coldly push anyone aside and kill anyone if it meant furthering his goals? It was unnerving to watch him be so... gentle. Like he was playing some kind of sick, twisted game.

Still, the way the kids looked at him was with genuine admiration. Maybe Dazai had changed. Maybe.

Chuuya huffed and turned his gaze away, determined not to get wrapped up in this ridiculous situation. But before he could fully detach himself from the scene, Dazai turned to him with that familiar teasing grin on his face.

“Hey, slug,” Dazai called out, his voice dripping with that playful tone Chuuya despised. “Why don’t you come along with us? You love crepes, don’t you?”

Chuuya glared at him. “I have better things to do, you bastard,” he retorted, his voice sharp with annoyance.

Dazai raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the excuse. “Oh? Better things to do? Like what? Paperwork?” His smirk grew wider, and he added, “Come on, it’ll be fun. You know you love hanging out with me, Chuuya.”

Chuuya’s eye twitched in frustration. God, he’s infuriating.

“Shut up, Dazai,” Chuuya growled, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not going with you.”

Dazai just chuckled in response, clearly enjoying every second of this exchange. “Suit yourself. I guess you’ll miss out on all the fun, then.”

Chuuya let out a long, irritated sigh. Truthfully, he didn’t have better things to do. The only thing waiting for him back at the Mafia’s headquarters was a mountain of paperwork. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Dazai of all people.

As the kids began to walk off toward the nearby street where the crepe stand was located, Dazai waved over his shoulder at Chuuya. “Don’t work too hard, now, Chuuya~! You might get a bald spot that you would have to cover with the ugly hat of yours~”

Chuuya flipped him off without a second thought, though it only made Dazai laugh harder.

He watched as the trio walked away, Dazai in the middle with Kyouka and Kenji on either side of him. They looked like a normal group of friends, laughing and talking like there wasn’t a care in the world. It was almost too normal—too peaceful, considering everything they had been through just moments ago. It was as if Dazai had this way of easing people’s burdens without them even realizing it.

Chuuya let out another sigh, a heavy one this time. As much as he hated to admit it, Dazai was good at this. At taking care of people. He’d seen glimpses of it before, even back when they were partners in the Mafia. Dazai had a way of reading people, of understanding what they needed—whether it was a cruel manipulation or a gentle hand. And with these kids... it was definitely the latter.

For a second, Chuuya wondered what it would’ve been like if Dazai had stayed in the Mafia. If he hadn’t defected to the Armed Detective Agency, would he still have that soft side with the younger members of the Mafia? Or would the darkness of the Port Mafia have consumed him entirely, leaving no trace of the Dazai Chuuya was seeing now?

No, Chuuya thought, shaking his head to rid himself of those musings. He’s still the same manipulative bastard at heart. Just because he’s playing nice with these kids doesn’t mean he’s changed.

But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more he found himself doubting it. As much as he wanted to hate Dazai, there was something undeniably different about the way he treated people now. Maybe it was the influence of the Agency. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Whatever it was, Chuuya wasn’t about to stick around and figure it out.

With a final glance in Dazai’s direction, Chuuya turned on his heel and headed back toward his motorcycle. He had paperwork to do, after all. But as he revved the engine and took off down the road to go back to the Port Mafia's headquarters, his mind kept drifting back to the scene he’d just witnessed.

Dazai laughing with Kyouka and Kenji. Dazai, the former Demon Prodigy of the Mafia, who had caused more chaos and destruction than anyone else Chuuya knew, was promising crepes to two kids and worrying about whether they were hurt. It didn’t make sense.

Chuuya clenched his fists around the handlebars, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in his chest.

It’s none of my business, he told himself firmly. Dazai can play nice all he wants, but I know better than anyone what he’s really like.

Yet, as much as he tried to push the thought away, the image of Dazai smiling, genuine and unguarded for once, lingered in his mind. Could someone like Dazai really change? Could all the darkness that had consumed him over the years fade into something else—something lighter?

The idea gnawed at him, even as he tried to forget it. And for the first time in a long while, Chuuya found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his former partner.

Maybe—just maybe—people like Dazai could change.

+Ⅰ.
Chuuya had been sprawled out on his couch, one arm draped over his eyes, trying to enjoy the rare quiet of his apartment. The day had been exhausting—a mess of missions, paperwork, and constant reminders of how infuriatingly irritating Dazai could be. The thought of dinner together later had been a strange comfort throughout the day. Not that Chuuya would ever admit it.

He reached for the remote, lazily flipping through channels, trying to distract himself. His mind wandered to the meal he was planning to cook. It was nothing fancy, just something that would fill their stomachs, and maybe, just maybe, they could have a peaceful evening without Dazai’s usual antics.

But of course, that was asking too much.

His phone rang, the familiar name lighting up the screen. Chuuya’s eyebrow twitched. He let it ring a few times, debating whether to ignore it. He already knew what was coming.

Sighing, he finally swiped to answer. “What do you want, bastard?”

“Chuuya~,” Dazai’s sing-song voice oozed through the phone, already setting his teeth on edge. “I won’t be coming for dinner tonight. Something came up.”

Chuuya frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. “Let me guess—you’re too busy throwing yourself off a bridge or whatever twisted thing you’re doing now.”

Dazai chuckled, and Chuuya could practically hear the smirk. “Not at all! This time, it’s something much more important than my usual hobbies.”

“Oh yeah?” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, waiting for whatever nonsense Dazai would come up with next.

“I’m taking my dear Atsushi-kun out for his birthday tonight,” Dazai said, his voice suddenly softer, almost fond. “I figured the kid could use a break. You know, show him what it’s like to celebrate.”

Chuuya blinked, his annoyance faltering for a moment. He hadn’t even realized it was Atsushi’s birthday. Not that he was keeping track of things like that. He’d never been good with dates—he could barely remember his own birthday, let alone anyone else’s.

Still, hearing Dazai talk about it in that tone made something in Chuuya’s chest tighten. Dazai wasn’t just blowing off dinner with him for some idiotic reason. No, this was different.

“And what, you’re gonna teach him how to blow out candles before jumping off the roof?” Chuuya grumbled, trying to keep the irritation in his voice. “You never struck me as the birthday celebration type.”

“I have layers, Chuuya,” Dazai replied, his voice light but with a hint of sincerity. “We’re going to this little place that has the best cake in town, and maybe hit up that bookstore Atsushi-kun’s been eyeing for a while. Oh, and there’s this arcade nearby too, maybe we’ll—”

Chuuya found himself listening, really listening. Dazai kept talking, rattling off plans that sounded... normal. Almost domestic. It wasn’t like Dazai to plan things so thoroughly, especially something as mundane as a birthday dinner. Yet, here he was, excitedly laying out the evening as if he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

And as much as Chuuya hated to admit it, there was something oddly heartwarming about it. He could picture it—Dazai, Atsushi, the stupid arcade games. Maybe a cake that would probably end up with Dazai’s face shoved into it, if Chuuya had anything to say about it.

The mental image softened his expression, even if he refused to let the words leave his mouth.

“You’d be a good brother, y’know,” Chuuya found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Chuuya almost regretted speaking, almost wished he could take it back. Why the hell had he said that?

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dazai’s voice was still playful, but there was an underlying confusion. “Did your hat finally eat your already tiny brain, Chuuya?”

Chuuya felt a heat rise to his face, scowling. “Shut the hell up, Dazai. You know what I meant.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. It wasn’t the mocking laugh Chuuya was used to, but something softer, more genuine. “You’re acting all sentimental tonight, Chuuya. What’s gotten into you, slug?”

“Nothing!” Chuuya snapped, but the bite wasn’t there. The irritation he’d felt earlier had drained away, leaving something else in its place. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to name it. It was easier to be angry at Dazai, easier to focus on how much he annoyed him.

But tonight was different.

“I was just surprised that you actually had plans that didn’t involve jumping into a river,” Chuuya muttered, leaning back into the couch, trying to regain some sense of normalcy in the conversation. “You’re gonna spend the whole night with the kid?”

“Of course,” Dazai replied easily. “He deserves it. And besides, I’ll have plenty of time to annoy you later.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Lucky me.”

There was a brief pause before Dazai spoke again, his tone more serious. “You could come too, you know. If you’re free.”

The offer caught Chuuya off guard. For a moment, he almost considered it. Almost. But then he remembered who he was talking to, and how they always fell into the same frustrating rhythm.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Chuuya replied, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got better things to do than babysit you and your tiger cub.”

Dazai hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Better than spending a day with your, master?”

Chuuya’s eyes twitched. “Yes, definitely.”

“Sure you do, Chuuya. Sure you do.” Dazai’s tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of something else there, something Chuuya didn’t want to dwell on.

“Well, enjoy your night with the weretiger,” Chuuya said, his voice a bit softer than before. “Don’t screw it up.”

“Me? Screw up?” Dazai feigned offense, but Chuuya could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m a master of birthday celebrations, I’ll have you know. I’m even planning on teaching Atsushi-kun how to throw his cake at someone. Maybe I’ll start with you.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Chuuya growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He was already picturing Dazai’s stupid grin, the way he’d probably follow through on his threat just to piss him off.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your oh-so-important things, Chuuya,” Dazai said, the teasing back in full force. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Jumb off a cliff.” Chuuya muttered, but the familiar insult lacked its usual bite.

Dazai laughed again, that light, easy sound that Chuuya had grown far too accustomed to. “Goodnight, Chuuya~”

Chuuya hung up before he could say anything more, staring at the phone for a long moment.

He wasn’t sure why the conversation had left him feeling... off. It was just Dazai, being his usual annoying self. But something about the way Dazai had spoken about Atsushi, the way he’d cared enough to plan something like a birthday dinner, had struck a chord with Chuuya.

Could Dazai really change? Could the cold, manipulative bastard he knew actually care about people beyond the surface level?

Chuuya sighed, shaking his head. “That idiot…”

But despite himself, he couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.