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"That was good work."
Chuuya pauses in the middle of lighting up the cigarette in his hand when he realizes he's not alone. Blue-brown eyes pick up movement in his periphery, so he turns his head fully towards it, his expression as unsurprised as it is unimpressed.
The figure emerging from the darkness to stand at his side is none other than Paul Verlaine. Ever since they met officially a few weeks ago, following the man's return to Japan from a mission he'd been on overseas since before Chuuya was brought into the Port Mafia and subsequent promotion to the position of Executive because of that very mission, he hasn't been able to get away from him for as long as he's at work. Considering this same man was once a government spy, who still holds the title King of Assassins and has no plans to ever relinquish it voluntarily, that isn't a surprise.
Furthermore, the reason why Verlaine keeps hovering around Chuuya like some kind of homicidal mother bird isn't a surprise nor a mystery to him either. He isn't at all baffled by it, nor does he not understand why like some of the people he knows assume, either.
Chuuya finally settles on responding to Verlaine's statement with a quiet huff, finishes lighting the cigarette he'd nearly forgotten about, then mutters, "I think you're trying too hard to be nice to me."
Verlaine squints a little, an emotion caught between concern and confusion evident in his expression. "You misunderstand my intentions. I want to be good to you."
He frowns. It's not an angry frown, but rather one more familiar to the kind Chuuya's adoptive father might've made if he had been the one to catch him smoking instead of Verlaine. "I do suppose I could still be trying too hard to do that, and as such, I won't argue it."
The frown that twists Chuuya's face is irritated, as his voice when he hisses out, "Okay, and? What's the difference? Is there really a difference?"
"Being nice and being good to someone can indeed go hand in hand, but much like kindness and niceness, the two can also be done separately. In my eyes, being good to you, in this case, means praising your accomplishments as I see fit."
Chuuya growls at him, a sound coming from low in his throat, soft and half-hearted. "I don't need praise for doin' my job and acting on orders from the Don. You might as well praise me for breathing, if you're gonna do that."
"Would you like me to?"
The earnest look on Verlaine's face and tone of his immediate response catches Chuuya off-guard for half a second, and his response comes out bewildered despite his best attempts otherwise.
"It wasn't a request. I was tryin' to point out how ridiculous doing that would be."
Verlaine stares sheepishly in response, but says nothing in his defense. For reasons far beyond his understanding, it makes Chuuya feel bad, and he looks away, exhaling smoke from the cigarette.
"... my praise is far from baseless. You did do a good job. Outside of necessity, I do not make it a habit to lie to people. I wouldn't want to lie to my little brother, either."
Chuuya bristles a little. "You're still on about that 'little brother' shit?"
Verlaine's expression remains the same, outside of a deep sadness appearing in his eyes as he replies: "Regardless of whether or not you truly were a clone made from code in a laboratory as I was, or whether you are the child of a veteran who was stolen from a seaside village… the fact remains that both of us exist as we are right now for the same reason, as a result of the same desire, shared by scientists motivated by Ability research done on behalf of their wartime governments."
"And you think that's enough to make us family?"
"Last I checked, there was no need for two people to be close in any way for an adoption to take place."
The smile on Verlaine's face is longing as he continues. "Sean only knew you for a few hours before deciding to adopt you, did he not? I knew I wanted to adopt you the moment I laid eyes on you, as well." He pauses, hesitating, then says, quieter now, "Deciding to let you go after that, rather than hold onto you, was being kind to you, rather than good. It was that very action you told me made me a bastard in your eyes when we first met."
Chuuya rolls his shoulders. "I call lotsa' people that."
"You were angry, then. I could tell. It was well within your rights to be, too."
They both lapse into silence. Chuuya shuffles his feet, while Verlaine remains still. There's a distance between them of about three feet, and despite his clear desire to come closer, it's Verlaine who seems to be staunchly maintaining the distance, shifting away an equal amount whenever Chuuya unintentionally leans closer with his side-to-side motions when he shifts his weight and other unconscious little movements.
"Look, it's not you. Only Da praises me like that. He's the only person who ever has. It's weird to hear someone else do it."
"Perhaps it will become less 'weird' with time, then. Assuming time is something you are willing to give me."
Chuuya's breath hitches.
Verlaine continues, "As it stands… if I truly wanted to be kind to you, I would stop trying to stay close to you. I have never had any success in maintaining connections, friendships, or relationships of any kind outside of my beloved Arthur, and that is most certainly no coincidence. A being created on the whims of another such as myself, who cannot truly call himself a human, isn't meant to have friends, or family. Even Arthur was once nearly taken from me. I fear the same may happen to you, as well, someday."
"Don't."
Verlaine fixes Chuuya with a curious stare right as the boy looks up to meet it, a challenge burning in his eyes as he speaks.
"We're both members of the same organization, aren't we? If I'm good enough to earn your praise, you should know by now that I'm not gonna give up without a fight the second some fucker decides to make me a target. Besides, any fate that befalls me in the end? Is gonna be of my own doing. The only person who gets to decide when and how I die is me, and I don't mean that like how that bastard Dazai means it at all, either."
Now, it's Verlaine's turn to let out a short huff of disdain. "I would never assume you to be in alignment with that so-called partner of yours as it is. That would be insulting."
For the first time since they've spoken, Chuuya laughs, a real laugh, a bright smile stretching his face as he crushes the butt of his cigarette under his boot. "Y'know what? Maybe you and I really are brothers, after all!"
As he says that, Chuuya closes the distance between them so he can throw an arm around Verlaine's shoulders, like Albatross sometimes does to him and the other Flags, that earns him an elbow to the ribs on a bad day and an affectionate eye roll on a good day whenever he chooses Chuuya as his victim for roughhousing, and—
For the first time he can remember, Paul Verlaine thinks he just might have what it takes to truly be worthy of becoming a person, a human, of his own right.