Chapter Text
Meeting with Kouyou for their weekly meet up for tea and discussing what they had been up to was one of the few things as of late that Chuuya found himself looking forward to. The last few months had been, simply put, a nightmare.
The defection of one member of Soukoku meant the other bore the weight of the fall out. Port Mafia already had enough going on with some business against some group called “Mimic” and now how to deal with the disadvantage of losing a high ranking member that could potentially spill their secrets. Chuuya could have asked for more information as he had been away. Somehow the timing of the entire debacle happened while he was dealing with a possible future problem overseas. At some point he was too frustrated to even hear the name “Dazai Osamu” before the easily noticeable crimson of his ability would pulsate around the young man, a slight tremor under foot, and a weary sigh from someone who could really use a smoke.
Having to prove his innocence wasn’t the most enjoyable experience. Mori interrogated his now youngest executive over the course of weeks, had the gravity manipulator monitored and tracked for months. Chuuya felt like a caged dog with how the Boss kept him on a short leash and wouldn’t allow him on any assignments outside Port Mafia territory until he was deemed to not be involved with Dazai turning traitor. It was humiliating, whispers hovering around like ghosts as rumors circulated that ‘The Port Mafia Executive, Nakahara Chuuya’ had some part in all this.
Eventually the edge of his anger dulled though there was always a throbbing pain from yet another betrayal. Chuuya would move on. He always did. Not like he really had a choice.
The signs of Dazai’s approaching defection were clear, his disdain for the organization was no secret.
Oftentimes they would find themselves sharing space so there was little they didn’t know about the other. Dazai could pick up on when Chuuya was actually angry instead of just their usual bantering with threats that had no meaning. When the redhead was serious there was an edge that meant getting too close meant real potential harm until he cooled off. The infinite masks worn by the ‘Demon Prodigy’ were ineffective the way they were with anyone who had yet to see Dazai without his layers to hide whatever his feelings and thoughts were at the time.
So it wasn’t a matter of it, it was a matter of when . The redhead picked up on it fairly early on, even before the notorious duo ‘Double Black’ was formed, and wondered why the hell the bandage-covered brat dragged them both into the Port Mafia.
Despite the rough beginnings a former Sheep was able to find purpose, a home, within the walls of such a hellish place. He still gave off an air of being cocky and brutish but in all actuality he was very loyal to those closest to him, fierce in his need to protect them, Port Mafia, and Yokohama. And people saw that passion, gravitating naturally without the use of Tainted Sorrow .
The same couldn’t be said for the other half of Double Black. By the end of their partnership, Dazai had become increasingly more withdrawn from the red head and the occasional light from his usual soft brown eyes, as well as his boyish grin whenever he was feeling playful, was slowly disappearing. It was like a frigid snow coating the ground and burying anything form of life.
No longer did they handle their disagreements through a few rounds in the arcade, or made bets on who could eat the most slices of pizza without getting sick, or fight over the one single bed offered in the hotels they stayed at during assignments outside of Yokohama. Chuuya could see his partner’s dwindling will to live bleed away and was not surprised that Dazai had finally escaped Port Mafia while the older was stuck overseas.
Could Chuuya have stopped the lanky bastard from leaving? Would he have wanted to? Would he want Dazai to continue being so miserable that his existence could barely be considered living anyway?
It was something he didn’t have much time to reflect over, especially when Chuuya took notice that a certain subordinate’s fury had not calmed even months after Dazai’s exit from the Mafia. In fact it seemed they were being pulled further into their own personal, lonely darkness.
Akutagawa always was a bit quick to lose his temper, more so than the Mafia Executive, but lately it seemed anything that reminded him of his defected mentor set him off. Hirotsu himself had tried to work with him but had his hands full with other matters. Gin seemed to be the only person he could calm down with, though even she had trouble dialing him down from 11 when he got into one of his moods.
Being Dazai’s protege, Chuuya had not interacted too much with his younger subordinate. It felt like an unspoken rule that they would train their own subordinates and not interfere in the methods of the other. The gravity manipulator had seen some training sessions while he waited for his partner for a mission. Though training seemed too kind of a word for the torment the infamous Demon Prodigy would inflict in his attempts to ‘discipline’ the Port Mafia’s hell hound.
With the way they both had to grow up, looked down, mistreated, overworked far beyond what a child should take, constantly peering over their shoulders waiting for the next attempt on their lives, the eldest of the three understood why Dazai felt the need to be so harsh. But even Chuuya had to reel him back sometimes when there was no sign of his usually aloof and insufferable, but more human, partner when looking into eyes carrying the endless darkness of his alternate persona.
Mori didn't ask Chuuya to continue Akutagawa’s training, which the smaller mafioso was secretly grateful for. Not because he thought he couldn’t handle Akutagawa, or disliked him, or worried about hurting him during sparring. In fact pain was something to expect in this line of work. He simply felt he’d never be a capable mentor and compared himself to Dazai who was much more effective when it came to the ruthless kind of training needed to survive in the underworld. While Chuuya didn’t like his methods, he could see why Dazai would push such extremes on his protege.
There was always the possibility of being stranded somewhere with no help, hanging onto a thread of life. In the mafia one needed to be prepared for such an outcome and throw away any expectations that someone would come to the rescue.
Despite not feeling the need to coach the Hell Hound of Port Mafia, the youngest executive still found himself wanting to help in some way, to find something that could help Akutagawa release some of that rage instead of having to avoid him to not incur his wrath.
His first attempt had been quite the spectacular failure. In an attempt to break the ice, the older mafioso waited outside the area Akutagawa was known to frequently visit for his training.
Long since dried blood stains painted the floor like a morbid gallery of what Akutagawa considered his failures. This dreary dungeon where he was broken in and molded day after day by the Demon Prodigy. It wasn’t a place Chuuya would personally choose for his exercises and practice as he associated it with the traitor, but he wasn’t Akutagawa so he wasn’t one to say where the right place to train would be.
There was always the possibility that within that room the Hell Hound could feel the lingering hollow disdain from a mentor who never seemed satisfied. An apparition that drives him to appease an order that hasn’t been demanded. Maybe after getting to know the younger mafioso better Chuuya could determine if there was a less sorrowful location that didn’t have a fragment of the defector in the corners. But small steps first.
Waiting there hadn’t been the best idea as the moment gray eyes laid on the executive, Akutagawa was quick to ask questions, avoiding any pleasantries and seemingly not noticing his superior’s attempt at a casual wave to greet him.
“Nakahara?” His voice matched the shocked expression on his face. “Did the boss finally request for you to continue my training?”
There was never a doubt that this would more than likely be the dark clothed man's first line of thought. With how his personal training sessions increased to hone his ability after Dazai left, Akutagawa was more than likely hitting a wall. There was only so far some could go without proper guidance. Along with this, frustration would only make it harder to focus, to figure out why they weren't improving. Having a second pair of eyes to observe and offer feedback was important and not something the younger man had right now.
Nor was it something Chuuya was ready to provide. It wasn't due to his inability to do so considering the days he and Dazai would insult each other's form while doing their own exercises and training. Which of course was enough to push them to have an advantage over the other. Spite was a powerful motivational tool.
Simply put, Akutagawa was wound tighter than a spool of thread and needed to channel that into something that could clear his mind. Nothing the now Youngest Executive of Port Mafia could teach him would get through with how intense his colleague was about continuing his previous training.
The way Dazai trained him.
Which was not something Chuuya would attempt, yet could easily see Akutagawa’s expectations glisten through an ashen gaze. He wasn't the Demon Prodigy and had his own views on how to coach his subordinates. The gravity manipulator would not change himself, especially not into the kind of person Dazai had started to become before disappearing.
“Nah. Boss has has his hands full with other stuff. I figured I could drop by and see how you were doing.” There was a laid-back shrug to go along with his words, hoping his more lax presence would taper the assumption that Chuuya was here as some kind of Drill Sergeant. “I haven't seen ya in awhile. Figured we could talk and catch up-”
“Do you wish to speak inside? Will that be more efficient?” The younger man’s words were spoken rigidly and in haste. “I do not wish to waste your time, Nakahara.”
Chuuya bit back his annoyance at not only the interruption but the use of his last name as he usually felt almost impersonal to have a colleague refer to him as such. Akutagawa seemed to realize his mistake and immediately looked down at the floor like a puppy that had just been scolded. Though a couple years younger he already had a couple inches over the redhead, so it almost appeared as though he was attempting to make himself smaller by hunching over slightly with his shoulders now tense.
“My apologies, Nakahara. I did not mean to speak over you. I understand if my actions are to be punished for.”
“What?” Momentarily flabbergasted by the sudden comment, Chuuya had to backtrack mentally before remembering that, more than likely, Dazai wouldn't approve of being spoken over. That explained the sudden change in the younger man’s body language. “Ah, no. I ain’t mad. Relax, kid. And you can quit with the ‘Nakahara’ and just call me ‘Chuuya’ like everyone else.”
He could handle this. Chuuya knew he wasn’t as great with words or able to speak without a hint of hesitation when negotiating the way Dazai was able to. But Kouyou had been working with him, preparing him to be as poised as possible, to take in as much information, while engaging with others. Which is how he was quick to pick up on the shift in body language. Akutagawa was the type to respect hierarchy but that wasn’t something Chuuya wanted him to think about right now. Hell, he wasn't even on the clock. This was one of his days ‘off’, if one could even call it that.
“I was cleanin’ out some stuff at my place and I found my old game system.” Chuuya began to explain, watching as slowly the dark cloaked man began to loosen up somewhat, posture easing out of the hunched state and eyes, though confused, were looking back up. “It still works and I even got the controller with the stuck joystick fixed! I got a copy of one of the newer fighting games but it’s not as fun playing alone.”
The man gave a bit of a sheepish grin, thinking momentarily about how much fun, despite the bickering, the double black duo would have as they spent hours trash talking to throw the other off and claim victory. It was so incredibly childish but something Chuuya missed so much.
“Fighting... game?”
“Yeah! Y’know-” Chuuya got into one of his relaxed stances, fists up as he made quick jabs into an invisible enemy in the air. “The kind of game where you got a bunch of characters and they all have different combos and fighting styles. I hated tryin’ to remember the buttons for some of the SMASH moves but it’s so damn satisfyin’ when you finally pull it off.”
“Are those games the ones where you control an avatar in battle that yells out the name of their attack before executing their enemy?”
Chuuya’s grin widened, his ocean blues suddenly sparkling in interest. He hadn’t missed the way it was worded, but maybe Akutagawa was just expressing that he knew what a video game was. “Yeah! Some of their attacks are crazy too-”
“That is absurd.”
Ah.
“Why would one give a name to their attacks? And calling it out in the heat of a fight is illogical.”
“Well, yeah. In reality it’s pretty ridiculous but it’s a video game y’know? That’s what makes it fun! It’s all flashy and over the top on purpose!” The shorter man attempted to explain the appeal, arms spread in huge exaggerated motions as he described the details with his animated gestures.
“I would rather train within the territory of Port Mafia instead of wasting time engaging in a fantasy world to fight imaginary enemies while pointlessly yelling out my next attack, Nakahara.”
Ouch.
He had known this was going to be a challenge, but Chuuya hadn’t expected Difficulty: Hard Core from the very beginning. Akutagawa turned away, quick to retreat to his place of consistency and familiarity, returning his focus on ability training.
And that was the first of many game overs.