Chapter Text
Chuuya thought he knew Osamu Dazai quite well. They’d spent countless hours together almost every day on missions. Sure— they usually bickered. Dazai would tease him endlessly, and Chuuya would snap back with the usual insults, but that didn’t mean they completely hated each other, right?
Though neither of them expressed it, It was obvious they cared for each other deep down.
But recently, Chuuya had noticed changes in Dazai’s behaviour.
They were sitting in the dimly-lit Port Mafia Headquarters, prepping for their next mission. Normally, by this time, Dazai would have teased Chuuya for being too serious about their strategy, or being too short... Probably the latter.
But today, Dazai was different. Quiet.
Chuuya leaned back in his chair, staring at Dazai from across the table. There was no mischievous grin, no smugness. Instead, Dazai was staring blankly at the mission files in front of him, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the paper without really reading it, Not like he ever read it anyway though..
“Oi, Dazai. You even listening?” Chuuya asked, trying to catch his eye. Dazai’s eyes flickered up for a brief second, meeting Chuuya’s gaze, but they were dull. Lifeless.
Chuuya’s brows furrowed. Dazai usually hid his depression behind layers of humor; Though Chuuya had already noticed after being partners for so long; always masking it with an exaggerated show of not caring. But this was different—like a shadow was looming over him, heavier than usual.
“You look like crap, Did you sleep last night..?” Chuuya muttered, his voice softer than his words. He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but something about Dazai’s silence unnerved him.
Dazai didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted back to the files, and his voice, when it came, was low, almost a whisper. “We’ve got a mission. Focus on that, Chuuya,” He stated, brushing off both the question and the insult.
“Since when do you care about focusing?” Chuuya shot back, trying to shake Dazai out of this strange mood. “You usually leave the thinking to me while you pull some idiotic stunt...”
Dazai's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I’m tired of ‘idiotic stunts’.”
The words were casual, but something about the way Dazai said them made Chuuya pause. Tired? That wasn’t like Dazai.
Chuuya crossed his arms, irritation flaring up despite the worry gnawing at his gut. “Tired? You? Don't give me that crap. You love to annoy me, It’s practically your life goal at this point..”
Dazai shrugged. It was a small, almost defeated motion. “Things change, and don’t assume my life revolves around you, Chibi..”
For a moment, there was only the ticking of the clock on the wall. Chuuya’s frustration was bubbling beneath the surface, but the concern had started to outweigh it. This wasn’t the Dazai he knew. This wasn’t the man who laughed in the face of danger or taunted Chuuya endlessly. This was someone else—someone weighed down by something Chuuya couldn’t see.
“You wanna talk about it?” Chuuya asked before he could stop himself, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Dazai finally looked up, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s again, and for the first time in a while, there was something real in his gaze. Something broken. “No,” Dazai said quietly. “But thanks for asking.”
Chuuya let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. He wasn’t good at this—he wasn’t good at reading between the lines of Dazai’s cryptic behavior. But he could tell when something was wrong, and right now, Dazai was more off than he’d ever seen him.
“Fine,” Chuuya muttered, standing up. “But if you screw up out there, I’m not covering for you.”
Dazai’s smirk returned, though it was faint, hollow. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As they gathered their gear and prepared to leave, Chuuya couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Dazai had always danced with death, but this time, it felt like he wasn’t just flirting with it. He was waiting for it to catch him.
And that terrified Chuuya more than he’d ever admit.
As they moved through the dark corridors of Port Mafia’s headquarters, Chuuya found himself glancing at Dazai far too often. Normally, he wouldn’t care. Dazai was always eccentric, always strange in his own way, but this silence—this hollow stillness—was new. It clung to him like a second skin, casting a gloom that even Chuuya couldn’t ignore.
Dazai walked ahead, his pace slow and methodical, as if dragging himself to the mission rather than eagerly diving into it without any planning like he usually did. There was no light-hearted banter, no lazy complaints about how they were wasting their time and that they were too strong to deal with people so weak. Just… nothing. The absence of Dazai's usual chaos made Chuuya's gut twist.
“Oi, Dazai,” Chuuya called out, his voice echoing slightly through the hallway. “What’s wrong with you today? And don’t give me that ‘nothing’ crap.” Chuuya asked, he needed an answer, or he’d probably be up thinking about it all night...
Dazai didn’t slow down or turn to face him. “You sure do like repeating yourself,” he said, his voice quiet, almost flat. “I already told you—focus on the mission.”
Chuuya gritted his teeth. “I am focused on the mission. I’m also focused on the fact that you look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I’m fine,” Dazai replied, but the words lacked conviction. He might’ve been able to fool anyone else, but not Chuuya. Not after years of working together. Chuuya could see through Dazai’s lies, even the ones Dazai told himself.
They reached the end of the corridor, stepping outside into the cold night air. The streets of Yokohama stretched out before them, dark and unforgiving. It was a typical night for a mission—quiet, with danger lurking just beneath the surface. But tonight, something felt different. More ominous.
The car was waiting for them, headlights slicing through the darkness. Dazai slid into the passenger seat without a word, and Chuuya climbed in next to him, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. The silence between them grew heavier as the engine hummed to life.
They drove in silence for a while, the city lights flickering by. Normally, Dazai would’ve started humming some annoying tune by now, or cracking jokes about the grimness of their task. Chuuya’s mind churned with a thousand thoughts, all of them centered on the man next to him.
He couldn’t help it—Dazai was his partner, his rival, and maybe even more... Seeing him like this, so utterly drained, gnawed at Chuuya in a way he wasn’t ready to deal with. But what could he do? It wasn’t like Dazai was going to open up and spill his heart out. That wasn’t who he was, especially not when it came to Chuuya Nakahara.
“Dazai,” Chuuya tried again, softer this time. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Chuuya thought Dazai wasn’t going to answer. But then, without looking at him, Dazai spoke.
“Have you ever felt like you’re drowning?”
Chuuya blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t expected Dazai to answer, let alone with something so… raw. “What?”
“Like you’re sinking deeper and deeper,” Dazai continued, his voice distant. “And no matter how much you struggle, you can’t reach the surface. You just… sink .” He said, it sounded less like a question now, it was more of a statement, as if he were almost talking to himself.
Chuuya gripped the steering wheel tighter, his chest tightening at the words. “Dazai, what the hell are you talking about?”
Dazai finally turned to look at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s nothing,” he said, though the emptiness in his voice said otherwise. “Forget it.”
“Like hell I’m forgetting it,” Chuuya snapped, his worry morphing into anger. “You’ve been acting weird for days now. If something’s wrong, just say it.”
“I told you, Chuuya,” Dazai said, leaning back against the seat, his gaze drifting out the window. “It’s nothing.”
Chuuya gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling up inside him. It was always like this with Dazai— pushing him away, never letting anyone in. It pissed him off. But at the same time, Chuuya couldn’t ignore the weight behind Dazai’s words. Something was eating at him, something deep and dark that Chuuya didn’t know how to reach.
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Chuuya could feel the tension between them thickening, but there was no use pressing the issue any further. Dazai wasn’t going to talk. Not now, at least.
They arrived at their destination—a dingy warehouse near the docks, where their target was holed up. It was supposed to be a routine mission. Go in, retrieve the stolen goods, eliminate any threats. Normally, Chuuya would’ve been fired up, ready to tear through anyone who got in their way.
But tonight, all he could think about was Dazai. The way he’d spoken. The way his eyes had looked, empty and distant.
“Stay sharp,” Chuuya muttered as they approached the warehouse, more to himself than to Dazai. He didn’t like distractions during missions, and Dazai was one hell of a distraction right now.
Dazai nodded but said nothing, his face as unreadable as ever.
They slipped inside the building, moving through the shadows like ghosts. The mission should have been straightforward, but Chuuya’s nerves were on edge. Every step felt heavier than it should have, every footstep feeling louder than it had any right to be as they echoed throughout the darkness surrounding the silent duo. Maybe it was the way Dazai moved beside him—silent, almost too silent. His usual sharpness, his effortless grace, both seemed dulled tonight.
As they approached the main room, where their target was supposed to be, Chuuya glanced at Dazai again. His partner’s face was a mask of indifference, but Chuuya could feel it—something was wrong.
The door to the room creaked open, and they slipped inside, weapons drawn. The warehouse was filled with crates, stacked haphazardly, casting long, eerie shadows. Chuuya’s instincts kicked into overdrive. He could sense the danger, the threat lurking just out of sight.
But Dazai… Dazai didn’t seem to notice. That was.. Abnormal...
A figure emerged from behind one of the crates, gun in hand. Chuuya moved on instinct, launching forward and disarming the man in one swift motion. He kicked the gun away, preparing to knock the guy out when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.
Dazai… wasn’t moving. Wasn’t attacking, He wasn’t taking any action, at all...
“Dazai!” Chuuya shouted, but Dazai just stood there, staring blankly at the scene unfolding before him.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Chuuya growled, delivering a punch that sent the attacker sprawling to the ground. He turned, eyes blazing, as he marched toward Dazai. “You’re supposed to cover me, you idiot!”
Dazai blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “Oh… right.”
“‘Oh, right’?!” Chuuya was fuming now. His anger and fear were colliding in a way that made his blood boil. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Dazai didn’t answer, his expression distant once again.
Chuuya ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t let himself be distracted—not now. Not when they had an enemy to deal with.
The man he’d just disarmed was groaning on the floor, trying to get up. Chuuya swiftly walked over and stomped down hard on the man’s chest, pinning him to the ground with his boot. “Don’t move,” he snarled. His voice was icy, all his anger now redirected at their captured target. “You’re coming with us.”
He glanced up at Dazai, expecting some snide remark, but the taller man was still off in his own world, his gaze far away as if this whole mission was nothing more than a boring chore. Chuuya's hands tightened into fists.
Something was seriously wrong.
Chuuya shook his head and focused. He couldn't afford to lose it now. The job came first. He pulled a small comm device from his pocket, pressing a button to signal their backup team. “I’ve got him subdued,” Chuuya said tersely into the microphone. “Send in the van. We’re ready for extraction.”
Within minutes, the Port Mafia’s backup team arrived. A sleek, black van rolled into the loading dock outside the warehouse, its engine humming quietly in the dark night. Two men in black suits jumped out, moving quickly toward the warehouse doors.
“Right on time,” Chuuya muttered, watching as the men approached. One of them carried a set of restraints, the kind that could hold even the most dangerous enemy, while the other moved to secure the area.
The man on the floor, still pinned under Chuuya’s boot, squirmed in a futile attempt to break free. His face was twisted in a mix of pain and fear. “You… you can’t do this,” he rasped.
Chuuya only pressed down harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the man winced. “Shut up,” he growled. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you on the spot. You’re coming with us whether you like it or not.”
One of the men from the van stepped forward, placing the restraints on the enemy with practiced efficiency. “Got him,” the man said, hoisting the subdued figure to his feet.
Chuuya stepped back, crossing his arms as he watched them drag the prisoner away. “Take him to HQ,” he ordered, his voice clipped. “The boss will want to deal with him personally.”
The backup team nodded, loading the man into the van and securing the doors behind him. With a final nod to Chuuya, they climbed into the vehicle and drove off, leaving him and Dazai standing alone in the empty warehouse yard.
For a few moments, there was only the sound of the van’s engine fading into the distance. The air was cold, and the faint scent of the sea drifted in from the docks. Chuuya stood there, arms still crossed, glaring at Dazai, who remained silent and unmoving.
Finally, Chuuya couldn’t take it anymore.
“What the hell was that!?” Chuuya snapped, turning toward Dazai, his anger flaring up once again. “You didn’t lift a finger! I had to handle everything while you just stood there like a goddamn statue!” He yelled as he looked up at the taller man.
Dazai didn’t respond right away. His gaze was still distant, his expression blank. After a long pause, he finally spoke, but his voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear. “I told you before, didn’t I? It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit!” Chuuya shouted, his frustration boiling over. “You could’ve gotten us both killed, you idiot! I don’t care what’s going on in that thick skull of yours, but you can’t just zone out during a mission!”
Dazai’s eyes flicked toward Chuuya, but there was no spark of life in them, no trace of the usual playfulness or amusement that always accompanied their arguments. Instead, there was just… emptiness.
“You handled it,” Dazai said simply. “Like you always do..”
“That’s not the point!” Chuuya’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I’m your partner! We’re supposed to watch each other’s backs, but tonight you left me hanging out there alone! What the hell is going on with you?”
Dazai turned away, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. His posture was relaxed, but there was something off—something that made Chuuya’s gut twist with unease. “Why are you so worked up about it?” Dazai asked, his tone eerily calm. “The mission was a success. The guy’s in custody. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Chuuya took a step forward, his anger giving way to something else—something that felt dangerously close to concern. “Of course it’s not enough, damn it! You’ve been acting weird for days, and now this? You’re not yourself, Dazai. I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s wrong. So cut the crap and tell me what’s going on!”
For a moment, Dazai didn’t respond. The silence between them stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable. Then, without warning, Dazai turned back to Chuuya, and for the first time all night, his expression changed. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile, but there was no humor in it.
“You’re overthinking things, Chibi..” Dazai said, his voice quiet but sharp. “I’m fine. There’s no need for you to worry about me.”
Chuuya’s chest tightened at the words. “Worry about you?” he echoed, incredulous. “You think I’m worried about you? I’m pissed off because you’re being reckless! You always do this—act like nothing matters, like you don’t care about anything! But this is different. You’re different .”
Dazai’s smile faded, his gaze turning cold. “Different? Maybe I am.” His voice was laced with a chilling indifference. “But that’s none of your concern, Chuuya.”
Chuuya felt his pulse quicken, his frustration mounting. “Of course it’s my concern! We’re partners, damn it! I don’t—”
Dazai cut him off, his voice low and almost venomous. “You’re my rival, Chuuya. Not my husband. There’s no need for your concern.”
The words hit Chuuya like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He stared at Dazai, frozen in place, feeling something sharp twist in his chest.
His rival.
Not his husband.
He wasn’t even sure why those words hurt as much as they did, but they left him feeling… off-balance. Upset, even.
Dazai turned away again, walking toward the street without another word. But Chuuya just stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to make sense of the strange, hollow ache that had formed in his chest.
And for the first time in a long while, Chuuya found himself unsure of what to say..