Work Text:
The smell of salt lingered thickly in the air, to the point that Chuuya was able to taste it on his tongue. Despite having worked in this environment for many years, the taste of salt was still foreign to him—but everytime he felt immersed with it, it was still a new experience nonetheless. It brought something new into his mundane work life. If anything, he was addicted to it. He could consider it as something that he needed to breathe in every once a while, an addiction that is to be fueled - just like a nicotine addiction. But Chuuya was different, he didn't excessively overdo it—or obsessively drink in the scent whenever it presented itself to him. He just…embraced it, letting it pass through his nostrils willingly. Compared to other addictions that were far worse, taking in this salty scent was much healthier—in a way. It was without a doubt better than him, than again, any kind of addiction was better than that man.
His eye twitched when he found himself lost in his thoughts—or rather lost in the scent, which had filled the office. Forcing himself to snap out of it, Chuuya closed the window, to stop the scent from flooding in—to stop his train of thoughts. He didn't want to think any longer, not if it led to him . Yet as the scent, still lingering in the room, was starting to fade he couldn't control his own thoughts as they wandered. The view wasn't helping either—Yokohama bustling in its nightlife, seemingly more lively than at day, bringing a rather calm feeling for him, pushing him to relax, his thoughts to wander once more. Chuuya cursed loudly, the sound echoing through the dark office as he made his way back to the chair and plopped ungracefully into its comfort, leaning back into it. This isn't how he had imagined his evening to go, he'd just wanted to finish up the paperwork, go home and get drunk . Yet, God had other plans for him, filling his head with nonsense such as Dazai .
Clicking his tongue, he pushed himself back to the desk and turned his attention back to the paperwork. Chuuya refused to succumb to his thoughts, to Dazai. He hated thinking about that man, hated thinking about the past— their past. Again he clicked his tongue which echoed across the empty office, forcing himself to face the paperwork before him that had been piling up for months, to forget about his thoughts, to forget about him.
Yet as he dove into the work, it seemed to drag on far longer than he would have hoped for. Reading every single paper, signing it and having to do it all over again was far too tiring and monotone. Even though Chuuya liked monotone, this just wasn't what he had wanted. So it was no wonder when he had turned to wine, drowning himself in the liquid, letting the rather sour taste burn down his throat and play with his mind, clouding it and leaving him in a blubbering mess. It took less than three glasses of wine and ten minutes for Chuuya to get drunk, which was not unusual for him, he was a light drinker after all, something he'd never admit but was well aware of. Yet it never seemed to stop him, never would.
“Chuuya..”
The redhead froze in movement, the red liquid spilling over the edge of the glass. Cursing, he placed the bottle down though his grip never loosened on it, moving away the documents to keep them from getting wet and stained with the red liquid.
“Chuuya.” This time the voice was louder, more clearer than before, making his fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. The clouds that once clouded his mind, seemed to move away, letting the sun shine through. Chuuya made a rash decision, something he rarely did—others would disagree, but who were they to judge? Against his better judgement he spun around, hurling the bottle at the voice.
The bottle shattered into a million pieces, the red staining the wall, yet that was the least of his concerns in the moment. His eyes were after all glued to that twisted smirk he had grown to love loathe. Gritting his teeth, he straightened his posture, glaring at the person before him.
“Dazai .”
“Chuuya.”
They stared at each other for a good minute, before Dazai glanced back to the wall, at the red stain and shattered glass. A smirk still played on his features, his humming filling the silence. It drove the other mad and he wanted nothing more than to throw a punch at the man's face, maybe beat him half to death, but he immediately abandoned that idea, knowing that his every move was anticipated. Clenching his fists, he could feel his body tense, the silence and humming annoying him further. “What—” “Your aim has gotten worse.” Dazai stepped forward, his hands coming to rest on the desk, his eyes falling from his partner to the files and papers on the desk whilst Chuuya observed him. His eyes falling from the messy brown hair which looked as soft as he remembered, down his face, resting on Dazai’s eyes. Chuuya scoffed as he leaned back, plopping down into the chair, lifting one leg up to make himself comfortable in the chair.
“What do you want?”
“Do I need a reason to visit an old friend?” Dazai’s voice was light, teasing, the way it always had been, but there was something different now—something Chuuya couldn’t put his finger on. He narrowed his eyes, watching as Dazai picked up a stray pen from the desk and twirled it between his fingers with that same infuriating grace. He knew something was off, that much he could trust his gut feeling about, the problem was, he didn’t know what was off but he would rather chew his own foot off rather than ask.
“Friend?” Chuuya spat the word like it was poison, at least to him. “You’re delusional. Last I checked, you walked out on the Port Mafia without so much as a goodbye. You don’t get to just waltz back in here and pretend like nothing happened.”
Dazai chuckled, the sound as hollow as it was familiar. “Oh, Chuuya. Always so dramatic. Can’t we just… catch up? Reminiscing about the good old days?”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened. “The ‘good old days’? You mean when you were a manipulative bastard and I was stuck cleaning up your messes? Yeah, no thanks.”
Dazai tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—seemed to pierce right through Chuuya. It made the redhead’s body shiver unpleasantly, bringing forth memories he’d buried down long ago. “I missed this,” he said softly, almost too softly. “Your fire, your honesty. It’s… refreshing.”
Chuuya’s stomach churned. There was something wrong about this. Dazai was always a master of deception, but this felt different. His presence was heavier somehow, as though he didn’t quite belong. “Cut the crap,” Chuuya snapped. “What are you really doing here? If Mori knew you were—”
“Mori doesn’t know.” Dazai interrupted, his voice turning cold. “And he doesn’t need to.”
The shift in tone sent a chill down Chuuya’s spine. He pushed himself out of the chair, standing toe-to-toe with Dazai, his smaller frame radiating anger and defiance. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me what the hell is going on, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Dazai interrupted again, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Throw another bottle at me? Shout at me until I disappear again?”
Chuuya bristled at those words. It would be better for him, if Dazai did disappear again. In fact he would have preferred that in this given moment. The words hit a nerve he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re saying,” he hissed, though his voice lacked conviction.
Dazai’s smile widened, an almost insane look in them and he let the silence stretch between them, making something in Chuuya stir uncomfortably. More the look than anything else. “Keep lying to yourself..”
“Keep lying to yourself,” he repeated, his voice taking on an almost singsong quality, but there was no humor in his eyes. “We both know you’ve never been good at that.”
Chuuya’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he tried to suppress the growing frustration bubbling up within him. Dazai always had a way of getting under his skin, of twisting his words, his emotions, until he couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But this time was different. This time, there was something about Dazai that felt off. Unnatural, even. Enough to send unpleasant chills down his spine, the kind he’d gotten when they were younger, fighting back to back. And the insane gaze on the brunette’s face didn’t help with those chills.
He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. “You didn’t come all the way here to spout your usual bullshit,” Chuuya said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “So cut to the chase. What do you want?”
For a moment, Dazai didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the window, the faint glow of Yokohama’s city lights reflecting in his dark eyes as if trying to remember something hidden deep within him. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, before Dazai cut it off suddenly. “Some people want to meet me, some people don't believe in me, and some people claim to be me. What am I?” Chuuya’s glare sharpened as he crossed his arms, masking his unease with irritation. He was in no mood for riddles, especially ridiculous ones like this. “You really can’t help yourself, can you? Always speaking in riddles, acting like some tragic hero in a goddamn novel. Get over yourself.”
Dazai tilted his head, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual bite. “And you can’t help barking, can you? Always ready to snap at me like an angry little dog. It’s comforting, in a way.”
“Don’t start with me, bastard.” Chuuya’s tone was sharp, but his fists clenched at his sides. “You didn’t come all the way here to trade insults. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out already. Or better yet, get the hell out of my office.”
Dazai leaned casually against the desk, as though he had all the time in the world. “Oh, Chuuya, always so hostile. And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“Happy?” Chuuya barked out a laugh, though it was anything but genuine. “Yeah, sure. I’m thrilled to have my night ruined by your cryptic nonsense. Do you even realize how much paperwork I have to finish because of you?”
Dazai raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Because of me? I don’t remember forcing you to work overtime, Chuuya. Maybe you just need better time management skills.”
“You—!” Chuuya’s temper flared, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Forget it. I don’t have the energy to deal with your crap tonight.”
For a moment, Dazai said nothing, his gaze drifting back to the window. “You know, I missed this,” he said finally, his tone softer.
Chuuya blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Miss what? Pissing me off?”
“Us.” Dazai’s eyes met Chuuya’s, and for a brief moment, the usual teasing gleam was gone, replaced by something quieter, more reflective. “The way we used to be. Back when things were... simpler.”
Chuuya felt his stomach twist, but he refused to show it. “Don’t start waxing nostalgic on me. The only thing that was simple about the past was how easy it was to hate you.”
Dazai chuckled, the sound light but hollow. “Hate me all you want, Chuuya. It doesn’t change the fact that you still think about me. Admit it—you missed me.”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t flatter yourself. The only thing I miss is the peace and quiet I had when you were gone.”
“Liar.” Dazai’s voice was soft, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that Chuuya couldn’t ignore.
Chuuya’s temper snapped. “What do you want from me, huh? You disappear without a word for years, and now you’re back, acting like you can just pick up where you left off. Newsflash, Dazai—you don’t belong here anymore. You don’t belong *anywhere.*” He regretted the words the moment they spilled from his mouth, though he didn’t show it on his face.
Dazai’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, but it was enough to make Chuuya’s chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to guilt.
“That’s fair,” Dazai said finally, his voice quiet. “I probably don’t belong anywhere. But here I am anyway.”
Chuuya’s brows furrowed, his frustration giving way to confusion. “Why? Why come back at all? What’s the point?”
Dazai hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk where his fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of a file. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
Chuuya snorted, the sound bitter. “Bullshit. You don’t do anything without a reason. So what is it, Dazai? What game are you playing this time?”
Dazai’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not everything’s a game, Chuuya.”
“Yeah, right.” Chuuya shook his head, turning away from him. “You expect me to believe that after everything you’ve done? You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up here like this and acting like you care.”
“I do care,” Dazai said softly.
The words stopped Chuuya in his tracks. He turned back to face Dazai, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say that like it means anything. You don’t get to waltz in here and pretend you give a damn about anyone but yourself. Not anymore.”
For a moment, Dazai didn’t respond. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, he straightened and pushed off the desk. “You’re right. I don’t have the right. But... maybe I wanted to try anyway.”
Chuuya stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something about Dazai’s tone, his posture, that felt... wrong. Like he was standing on the edge of something, looking down and debating whether or not to jump.
The tension in the air was suffocating, and Chuuya could feel his throat tighten as he watched Dazai take a step toward the window, his back now turned. The city lights cast a pale glow on him, and for a moment, Dazai looked like a phantom, barely tethered to the world. And that scared him the most. Lat he had seen Dazai, he looked fine, lively even, yet now as the man stood in front of him he did not have that feeling. No, he felt as if he was staring at a dead man, a ghost, lingering behind in this world to convey its final wish. The mere thought of that made something in Chuuya twist as if someone had torn his chest open and taken his heart out, leaving him to bleed.
“Cut the theatrics,” Chuuya finally said, his voice harsher than he intended. “You’re not fooling anyone with this act, Dazai. If you wanted to ‘try,’ you’d have done it years ago. So don’t stand there pretending you’re some tragic saint. You’re not. You’re just—”
“A sinner,” Dazai interrupted, his voice low and sharp, but there was no trace of amusement in it this time. “Aren’t we all, Chuuya?”
“Tell me, Chuuya. In all your prayers, have you ever stopped to wonder what God does with all the souls he won’t let into heaven?”
Chuuya stiffened, his eyes narrowing as Dazai’s question hung in the room like a heavy fog. He did not like this, he didn’t like the fact Dazai pulled his beliefs, his religion into this debate or whatever it was. “What kind of question is that? Don’t start with your philosophical crap.”
But Dazai ignored the warning in Chuuya’s tone, his voice soft, almost contemplative. “God has to keep them somewhere, doesn’t He? All those sinners. The ones He can’t forgive.” He turned then, his gaze locking onto Chuuya’s, and for the briefest moment, the usual mask of levity was gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. “God also needs someone to rot in hell, doesn’t He?”
Chuuya’s stomach twisted, his breath catching in his throat. The way Dazai said it—like he’d already resigned himself to being that someone—made something inside Chuuya snap. It made him fear for the worst, his earlier thoughts resurfacing, though he immediately pushed them away as well.
Dazai was fine,after all he was right in front of Chuuya, even if deathly pale and seeing as if he was a corpse himself. Even if Chuuya believed in religion, in God, he refused to believe his worst fears, so he forced, pushed those thoughts deep down and away. Because they couldn’t be real. He refused to believe so.
“Stop talking like that,” Chuuya growled, his voice sharp but cracking at the edges. “You don’t get to decide who rots in hell, Dazai. That’s not your call.”
Dazai tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning but lacking its usual bite. “Isn’t it? After everything I’ve done... after all the lives I’ve ruined, don’t you think it’s fitting?”
Chuuya flinched at the words, the weight behind them dragging him back to memories he’d buried deep. He wanted to snap back, to spit venom at the man before him, but the sincerity in Dazai’s tone disarmed him.
Dazai’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “Because if there’s a heaven, then there’s a hell. And someone has to rot in it, don’t they? Someone has to carry the weight of the world’s sins.”
Chuuya froze, his blood running cold at the quiet conviction in Dazai’s voice. “Stop talking like that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Like what?” Dazai tilted his head, his gaze never leaving Chuuya’s. “Like someone who’s already made peace with where they’re going? Or like someone who knows it’s too late to change?”
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice was sharper now, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a blade. “Shut the hell up. You don’t get to stand there and talk about your own damnation like it’s inevitable. That’s not how it works.”
Dazai took a step closer, his expression softening, though the sadness in his eyes remained. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent years trying to find a way out of this... this pit I’ve dug for myself? But no matter how far I run, no matter what I do, the weight doesn’t go away. It only gets heavier.”
Chuuya wanted to look away, to break the eye contact that was forcing him to confront emotions he didn’t want to feel. But he couldn’t. He hated this. Hated the vulnerability in Dazai’s voice, hated the way it made him feel like the ground beneath him was crumbling. He had committed as many sins as Dazai had, maybe that’s why he clung to religion, to God. But still, that did not mean they were doomed.
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Chuuya said before he could stop himself, the words spilling out in a rush.
Dazai blinked, clearly caught off guard, but then his lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “That’s the thing, Chuuya. Some burdens aren’t meant to be shared. And some sins... some sins can’t be forgiven.”
Chuuya’s chest tightened as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “Who the hell gave you the right to decide that? You think you’re so damn special, don’t you? Like you’re the only one who’s ever had blood on their hands. Newsflash, Dazai: we’ve all done things we’re not proud of. But that doesn’t mean we just give up.”
For the first time, Dazai looked genuinely surprised, his usual mask slipping just enough for Chuuya to catch a glimpse of something raw beneath it.
“You still believe, don’t you?” Dazai said softly, almost to himself. “After everything you’ve seen, after everything you’ve done, you still believe there’s hope for people like us.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Chuuya snapped, his chest heaving as he tried to suppress the anger and frustration bubbling inside him. “If you think I’m just gonna stand here and listen to you talk about how you deserve to rot in hell, you’re dead wrong. You don’t get to give up, Dazai. Not while I’m still here.”
Dazai blinked, his expression softening just slightly. “Still here, huh?” he murmured. “That’s... surprising.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chuuya demanded, his voice rising. “You think I’d just walk away? Forget everything we’ve been through?”
Dazai’s gaze dropped to the floor, his smirk fading. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
Chuuya took a step closer, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. “You think that low of me? You think I’d just abandon you, even after everything you’ve put me through? Don’t you dare underestimate me, Dazai.”
Dazai looked up then, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s. There was a flicker of something there—hope, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “You’re a better man than me, Chuuya. Always have been.”
“Don’t,” Chuuya said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare try to make me pity you. You’re not some tragic hero, and I’m not gonna let you act like one.”
Dazai’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t need your pity, Chuuya. Just your... faith.”
Chuuya froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Dazai’s words were like a bucket of cold water over him, words he refused to truly believe or acknowledge.
Chuuya stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to scream at Dazai, to shake him, to demand answers. But instead, he took a step back, his voice quieter now. “Faith isn’t something you can steal from someone else, Dazai. You have to find it for yourself.”
For a moment, Dazai said nothing, his eyes studying Chuuya intently. Then he chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. “You always were so fiery, Chuuya. Always ready to fight, even when you don't need to. It’s... comforting.”
Then, almost imperceptibly, Dazai took a step back, his expression unreadable. “Well, I should probably go. Don’t want to keep you from all that paperwork.”
Chuuya’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Go? That’s it? You barge in here, drop all this on me, and then just leave?”
Dazai shrugged, his smirk returning but still lacking its usual spark. “What can I say? I’ve always been good at making an exit.”
“Dazai—”
But before Chuuya could finish, Dazai was already turning toward the door, his figure blending into the shadows of the dimly lit office. It was times like this that he could notice the lingerings of Dazai’s time in the mafia.
Chuuya hesitated, his heart pounding as he watched Dazai walk away. “Dazai,” he called out, his voice quieter this time, weak even. He didn’t like it, but that was far from the point.
Dazai paused in the doorway, his back to Chuuya. “Hmm?”
Chuuya opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he settled on, “Don’t be a stranger. Come…visit me more often. I miss you ”
Dazai chuckled softly, the sound echoing faintly as he stepped out into the hall. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice fading as he disappeared from view.
Chuuya stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway. The room was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the city outside. A part of him wanted to run after Dazai, demand to hear the words he knew he wanted to say, to say I missed you too and he would be a fool not to. With heavy feet he’d run out of the office and down the hall, he had so much more to say, so many things he needed to say. Dazai couldn’t leave right now, not yet, not when he was back again. However, Chuuya never reached him, never found him. He’d gone out of the building, even called him, only to be turned to voicemail. Nothing. With a dry mouth and heavy body, he returned to his office. Slowly, he turned back to his desk, his eyes falling on the shattered bottle and the crimson stain on the wall.
A part of him wondered if Dazai had ever really been there at all. If this was all a dream or not. Fumbling, he pulled out his phone, pressing onto Dazai’s contact. His mouth dry as he listened to the phone ring and ring. It was the only thing filling the silence of his office as he prayed it would not go to voicemail again.
Chuuya sighed in relief when he heard the phone being picked up and he didn’t bother with a greeting, didn’t bother trying to hide the worry and fear in his voice. “Dazai…don’t do anything stupid.” He could hear the way Dazai smiled on the other side of the line, finally noticing the eerie quietness on the other side and it made his breath still, his heart jumping into his chest.
“You’re late as ever, Chuuya—”
I don't even know man