Archive of Our Own

one. age thirteen

The Sheep don’t celebrate birthdays, not in any fancy way, but they do care. It’s funny, watching them plot behind his back as he pretends not to notice. He notices everything they do, really. He’s their protector, after all. He’s the thing that keeps them safe and sound from those who could hurt them the same way he was hurt. As his birthday comes upon them, arriving in slow and hunger-pained days, he doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t have the time to worry about himself. 

It’s obvious that they care about his birthday much more than he does. Shirase sneaks out behind his back and comes back clutching surely stolen materials that are hidden under his clothes or behind his back. He doesn’t get why they care, though. Not when they could be spending their time and money on food and things to stay warm for the winter two seasons away.

He spends the days of April stepping over large, deep puddles and avoiding gnarly mosquito bites to his calves and arms. He spends his days working, leaving when Shirase wakes up so the younger ones have some form of measly protection, but coming back before the sun can set and before the bad men come to taunt.

Suribachi doesn’t have many people, aside from those looking to escape regardless of who they are or where they come from— the majority of them are dirt poor, similar to him and the rest of the children. Those who he meets in the city tend to look at him with vicious intent or greed, as if he could ever afford to give up money with or without a fight; he has to be resourceful, and hence he travels out of the city. 

It's not a long trek by any means, not when Chuuya has walked further and in much harsher conditions, but it’s still annoying. He travels into the bustling streets of Yokohama daily, working at the port to hand out fish and an assortment of materials.

There's a kind old man, Mr. Ichiya, who he tends to drift towards. His hair is nearly gone, the remaining grey, and his eyes are brown and foggy with age— but he’s kind, even if he struggles to remember Chuuya’s name on some days. He even feeds Chuuya sometimes, even though he tends to just ask Mr. Ichiya to pack it up. 

The other kids need it more than Chuuya ever will. Hunger is something that’s existed since he can remember, a dull, throbbing pain that never subsides. It's sharp and violent, poking at his sides when it’s past midnight and he can’t sleep; focused on the trembling breaths of children in sleeping bags, hearing them gasp when terrors rack their dreams in cruel waves. 

It hurts, but they hurt more than he ever will. 

When his birthday arrives, he hardly remembers it at all. He doesn’t often have recognition of what day it is, though it’s of his own doing— usually too busy to even think about what time it is. 

He leaves when Shirase wakes up, and Mr. Ichiya greets him with a steaming bowl of Udon soup, with vegetables and beef shoved into the warm broth.

“I— I’ll eat it later, sir,” Chuuya says and watches as Mr. Ichiya shakes his head.

“No can do, boy,” Mr. Ichiya retorts, hand raised as if preparing to lecture Chuuya. “I’m sure you haven’t had breakfast, am I right?”

“…no, sir.”

“Then sit down and eat.” Mr. Ichiya waves him away when Chuuya’s face contorts into confusion. “I don’t need you fainting on the job, kid.”

Chuuya nods slowly. “Oh. Um, thank you, sir.” 

Guilt hits him steadily as he sits down behind the stall, the steam from the soup fanning across his face. The kids could be eating this, but instead Chuuya is— when he doesn’t need it, and his stomach being full for once will only make the ache worsen the next day. 

The day is slow, though Mr. Ichiya seems content to lounge around and chat with Chuuya; other days, he would be wiggling his arms in the air and shouting at people who walk by, haggling them and convincing them to come to his stall. 

It’s nearly five, and Chuuya is tired of sitting around, but he had already been instructed to sit down and stop bothering me by Mr. Ichiya hours ago when he first complained. 

“You can go now, kid,” Mr. Ichiya says, his tone warm as he pats Chuuya's hair. 

“Really?” Chuuya says dubiously. “We’ve barely sold anything today…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Mr. Ichiya, in fact, sounds happy— even though last week he was complaining about how nobody wants to buy fish from him. “I’m closing the stall soon, anyway.”

“So early?” Chuuya asks.

Mr. Ichiya smiles. “Why not? Today is a nice day, I might as well spend it with the Missus.” 

“Right,” Chuuya says, standing up from the wobbly stool, and he shuffles awkwardly as Mr. Ichiya looks at him.

“Say, kid, how old are you?”

Chuuya frowns. “I…” he starts, then blinks. “What day is it?”

“The twenty ninth.”

Chuuya blinks. “Really?”

Mr. Ichiya nods. “Sure is.”

He’d forgotten about his birthday in the past week, focused on the rainstorm that wrecked Yokohama for two days, soaking Suribachi and ruining shelters.

“Then… I guess I’m thirteen,” Chuuya shrugs. “Why? I thought you already knew?” 

Mr. Ichiya gives him a kind look. “Happy birthday, Chuuya.”

Chuuya smiles slightly. “Thank you. It’s just another day, though.” 

“For you, maybe,” Mr. Ichiya replies, and Chuuya lets out a startled sound when the man drags him into a hug. “Happy birthday.”

“You already said that,” Chuuya says quietly against his shoulder, and Mr. Ichiya lets out a loud laugh as he releases Chuuya.

“Always so serious!” Mr. Ichiya exclaims.

Mr. Ichiya lets him go after that, and he begins the walk home, hands deep in the pockets of his pants as they shake unsteadily. 

He tries to remember when he told Mr. Ichiya what day his birthday was. Sure, he said he was thirteen now , but he could’ve turned thirteen two days ago or even a week before. Chuuya met the man when he was eleven, and he sure as hell didn’t celebrate his twelfth birthday.

Tonight, the streets that make up Suribachi are peacefully quiet. The sun is still up, bright and giant above him, and he bathes in the silence. It’s not a threatening quiet, no lingering shadows threatening to break the silence that lurks. The silence is kind, accompanied by bugs fluttering around him and small whispers of wind brushing against his hair.

It's odd, though, that the silence continues as he makes his way to the building that they reside in. It's usually full of chatter and joy, an inescapable feeling for the Sheep even though they live worse than most. 

It's silent, though. 

“Shirase?” Chuuya calls out, waiting for the boy to peek out of the building with dusty grey hair and baggy clothing— smiling, grinning head to toe as he begins to recount some lame yet amusing story.

Shirase doesn’t call back. 

A cold, fearful feeling crawls up his body, sinking into his skin and crawling through his muscles and atoms. 

“ Shirase? ” Chuuya calls out again, closer and now at the door of the building. He peers in, the entrance empty. “Yuan? Uh— Saya? Are you guys here?” 

Silence. 

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Chuuya hisses, walking into the building, and the door slams shut behind him. Okay, sure, he’s grown, he’s not scared of the dark. “Are you guys fucking with me?”

Silence. Pure silence. Pure threatening and cruel silence. 

Gravity dances at the tips of his fingers, crimson and brutality incarnated. 

He flicks on the lamp, dully illuminating the room, and there’s a group of bodies slouched together.

For a moment, he stares, wide-eyed, and thinks, oh god, no. Because they’re all slouched together, gone and ruined and destroyed. For a moment, he stands there and sees them, bloody and dead.

He blinks, and there’s a bang and confetti shoots into the air. 

He blinks again, awareness bleeding into him. 

“ Happy Birthday! ” They all shout in unison, unaware of his turmoil, of the fear bubbled in his ribcage. They shout and jostle him, like they always do, playful and carefree and childish.

Shirase wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close and swaying them back and forth.

“We totally got you, didn’t we? I knew we would!” Shirase exclaims, a bright and toothy smile on his face, grey hair rubbing against his ginger hair. 

He aches . He aches at the vision of them together, blood splattered and brains spilling out of small and fragile skulls. He thinks of all of the things that could’ve gone wrong while he was gone; working so he could protect them, even though just leaving them puts them at risk. 

He can’t win. He can’t ever win. 

“You got me,” Chuuya says faintly, smiling slightly even though his heart is stammering angrily. “You guys really did all of this?”

“Do you not like it?” Yuan chimes in anxiously. Her pink hair is done in two pigtails, curled around her face and placed on her shoulders. 

“It’s great,” Chuuya says, then swallows. “I just— uh, I thought something happened when I didn’t hear any of you.”

A brief silence filled the room, the children looking at him with varying looks of concern and pity. He’s seen it before, when he returns from a fight with a drunken asshole with bruises framing his face or with a limp in his leg. He’s seen the watery eyes, the wobbling lips, the anxious twirling of hair. He’s seen it all, and they shouldn’t have to be so scared— he’s a goddamn ability user, gravity obeys his every wish, not anybody else’s. A black eye or a limp or a cracked rib won’t keep him down. 

Chuuya, noticing their looks, smiles. “But, uh, it’s okay. Seriously. Is that what you guys have been sneaking around doing for the past few weeks?”

Shirase almost looks guilty, but he nods shyly anyway. “You noticed?”

Chuuya shrugs. “I had a vague idea.”

“Awe, man,” Akira says, crossing his arms. “I knew we couldn’t trick him!”

Chuuya shakes his head. “I’m serious. It’s great.”

“We couldn’t get any cake,” Saya says from beside Akira, rocking back and forth on her heels. “But we got those confetti popper things and some balloons we found on the ground, but only a few weren’t ripped.” 

“We couldn’t get you a present,” Shirase says, and Chuuya begins to shake his head. “Which, yeah, we didn’t really expect. But we figured, uh, one of us could take on your night shift? So you could sleep all night?”

The offer nearly makes him tear up. 

“It’s okay,” Chuuya says, blinking away any emotion. “This is already awesome. I mean, confetti poppers? Revolutionary.”

Shirase nods eagerly. “Right? I found them!” 

Chuuya grins. “Good job.”

Shirase glows with pride, and Yuan frowns. “Don’t you want to sleep in?…”

“I sure want to,” Shougo snorts.

Chuuya shakes his head. “No. I… honestly, I’ll take my shift. I get enough sleep.”

“Chuuya—” Shirase starts, and Chuuya glances at him.

“What, are you doubting me?” Chuuya says jokingly.

Shirase rolls his eyes. “You know I’m not. But…okay, fine.” 

One of the kids lets another confetti pop, and more of the rainbow plastic spills over the group. It gets on his hair and into the crevices of his clothing, but the rest of the kids are laughing.

They have no music, or presents, or silly activities to play— but they have each other, and their imagination. The older kids tell stories, and the younger ones ooh and ahh as they recount imaginary tales. It's funny, watching them as they sit in a circle in a barely lit room till the sun goes down.

Chuuya stays up late, watching them all eventually tire themselves out. Shirase is the last to go.

They sit together, legs pressed against each other, in silence.

After a while, Shirase asks, “Was this okay?”

“Hm?” Chuuya hums, picking at the blister on his palm.

“You, uh, didn’t look that happy when we surprised you,” Shirase shrugs, voice low in order to not wake up the other kids. “And I know you said you thought something happened…” 

Chuuya sighs, glancing at Shirase, who’s already looking at him. The boy is arrogant sometimes. He’s brash and likes to cause fights, and he doesn’t always know when to back down. But he’s kind, and he cares about Chuuya and the rest of the Sheep— which, at the end of the day, says a lot, considering most people wouldn’t give them a second glance.

He thinks back to when they first met, when the Sheep were hesitant to bring in a boy skinnier than a pole, in nothing but a hospital gown and soaking wet head to toe.

He hadn’t known what bread was, and Shirase didn’t judge, even when the others looked at him with curiously placed judgment.  

Chuuya smiles. “I’m fine, honestly. It was fun. I just… I’m not used to celebrating my birthday.”

“Well,” Shirase says, seemingly content with his answer. “Happy Birthday, Chuuya.”

Chuuya knocks his knees with his own, nodding slightly. “Thanks, man.” 

——————

two. age sixteen

He’s woken up by a loud, incessant pounding on his door. It’s eleven in the morning, which is later than he usually wakes up, but he had a rough fucking night.

He had a mission— which, sure, he could handle a stupid mission. Except one of the guys in the warehouse had managed to get a punch to his ribs, and it hurt like a bitch. And he got home late, nearly at three in the morning, after staying late to file the paperwork and fill out the report needed. By the time he showered, ate, and checked out his ribs, it was six in the morning. 

So, sue him, he’s tired after working his ass off. 

He rubs at his eyes as he gets out of bed, a grimace placed on his face.

Realistically, he knows who’s at the door; Dazai’s on a mission in Fukuoka, and there’s only one other person who’s crazy enough to be knocking at his door so vehemently. 

“What the fuck do you want,” Chuuya asks, throwing the door open. He yawns, watching Albatross with fuzzy vision. 

“Happy birthday, my beautiful ray of sunshine!” Albatross exclaims, ignoring Chuuya’s annoyed glare. “Oh, were you sleeping?”

“You know I was!” Chuuya hisses. 

“God, Chuuya, I’m not telepathic. How would I know that?” Albatross scoffs, taking mock offense.

“What do you want?” Chuuya asks again, crossing his arms as he shifts on unsteady legs. 

“It’s your birthday,” Albatross says, as if that explains things. “I mean, duh.”

“It’s almost like it happens every year,” Chuuya deadpans. 

“Don’t give me attitude, young man,” Albatross says, giving Chuuya a stern glance.

“You’re two years older than me!” 

“Eighteen and sixteen are very different!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Chuuya hisses and goes to close the door, but albatross sticks his foot through the frame. “I will throw you off of this fucking rooftop—”

“Okay, Mr. Gravity Pants,” Albatross sniffs. “What’s got your panties in a twist? It’s your birthday! Where’s your joy? ”

“Joy is overrated and you should fuck off,” Chuuya offers.

“ Owchie , edgelord, you really got me here,” Albatross clutches his chest in fake pain. 

“Good, I hope you keel over.”

Albatross sighs, loud and impatient. “Don’t be a party pooper. Listen, I have a surprise! Come over at two?”

Albatross having a surprise can mean many things; maybe a pile of definitely smuggled cocaine, or a box of wet, meowing kittens he found in some creepy alleyway. So, naturally, he’s a bit dubious.

“…what is it?” Chuuya asks.

“I said it’s a surprise!” Albatross says, making Chuuya roll his eyes. 

“What if I don’t like surprises?”

“I’m older, so what I say goes.”

“That’s such bullshit!”

“C’mon, Chuuya,” Albatross says, his voice pleading. “It’s your birthday! Can’t we celebrate it together?”

Chuuya shifts his weight onto one leg, shrugging. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday.”

“Well, you do now!” Albatross exclaims, grinning.

Chuuya sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Ugh. Fine. Two, right?”

Albatross’s grin widens, and he nods quickly. “Yeah! The door will be open!”

“Okay,” Chuuya nods slowly. Hesitantly, he asks, “This, uh, isn’t a surprise party, right?”

Albatross’s smile fades slightly. “No. It’s just us and the others, man.”

“Yea… okay.”

Three hours later, he opens the door to Albatross's apartment. He can hear the Young Bloods— which, frankly, is a ridiculous name— chatting behind the door, even from down the hallway. 

As soon as he opens the door, their chattering diminishes, and they turn to look towards him. There's a brief pause, and Chuuya considers walking out and going back to his apartment, but Albatross jumps up from the couch and grins.

“Chuuya!” Albatross exclaims, pleased, and he turns towards the group. “I told you guys he would come! He's not a flake!”

“Hell yeah, I’m not,” Chuuya retorts, shutting the door behind him. 

“Happy birthday, Chuuya,” Iceman says from where he’s standing at the corner of the room, fiddling with Albatross’s old turntable. “I figured you would come.” 

“‘Course you did,” Chuuya scoffs, eyeing him. “You’re the only sensible one here! I’m not a flake .”

“I believed he would come, also,” Lippmann chimes in, sitting on the couch beside Doc. “Albatross is the only one who didn’t.”

Albatross shoots them a betrayed look, an offended sound escaping him. “Snitch!”

Piano Man’s eyebrow raises. He’s seated in a cushioned chair, leg crossed over the other. “You lied about not doubting him in the first place, anyway.” 

“Seriously?” Chuuya says dryly, glaring at Albatross. “You asshole.”

“He’s lying! ” Albatross says, and turns to Piano Man. “Hey, I did say he would show up when I came back from his apartment!”

“And how quickly did you take that back?” Piano Man remarks. 

“Chuuya, surely you believe me, your best bud over these ragtag hooligans!” Albatross exclaims, turning back to Chuuya.

“You’re the only hooligan here, pal,” Chuuya sniffs. “And you’re the one who invited me, why the hell would you doubt me!” 

“I knew you would come, of course.” Albatross says sweetly. “I only began to doubt it because you looked annoyed when I asked!” 

Iceman huffs out a laugh. “He did say he’d break your door down if you didn’t show up.”

“Asshole,” Chuuya says with no real heat. “This is a crappy birthday party.” 

“I thought you didn't do birthdays,” Albatross retorts, sounding quite smug. 

“Well, knowing you, I figured it would be interesting enough.” Chuuya shrugs.

Albatross makes a sound of frustration, lifting his hands in defeat. “What do you want from me?! I’m but a humble mafioso.”

“You’re anything but humble,” Lippmann says jokingly. 

Doc clears his throat. “Stop fighting on Chuuya’s birthday…”

Albatross rolls his eyes. “Oops.”

Lippmann smiles innocently. “Sorry, Doc.”

Piano Man sighs, leaning back in the chair. “Chuuya’s right, I thought that Albatross would throw a party.”

“Chuuya would have never shown up!” Albatross complains.

“Neither would I,” Iceman says snidely. 

Chuuya watches them silently for a moment, basking in their banter. It still doesn’t fail to surprise him, the dynamic between them all; they’re equals, all as strong and brave as their comrades. They don’t rely on each other to be saved but rather help – they don’t push and prod until one grows stronger. Back then, while he was with the Sheep, he was the strongest. He was the only one who could truly fight back, who could defend everybody. Shirase was brave, and Yuan was protective, but there was only so much they could do against grown men looking to hurt them. They did their best for scared, malnourished, and abused children.

Sometimes, though, a selfish part of Chuuya wishes they did more. But what could they do? They didn’t have gravity on their side, they didn't have a stupid nullification ability, and they couldn’t summon something to help; all they ever had was themselves, their frail and broken bodies to fight.

Here, though, he wasn’t expected to be the strongest, even if maybe he was. Here, he had people to fall back to. 

Lippmann notices his silence and fixes him with a warm smile. “Come on, come sit, Chuuya. Don’t wait at the doorway.”

“Yeah,” Albatross agrees enthusiastically, “You look like a creep standing over there!” 

“Shut up,” Chuuya says petulantly, but moves to the couch anyway. Lippmann and Doc make room for him, sliding closer to each other to make space on the corner cushion. Chuuya falls back down onto the couch, watching as Iceman places the stylus down against a vinyl. Soft, instrumental music begins to play.

A whine leaves Albatross’s mouth, and Iceman looks back at him. “Classical music, really?! You know I only do rock!” 

“Too bad,” Iceman says, amused. 

“Chuuya, back me up!”

Chuuya looks between the two cautiously. Honestly, he didn’t listen to much music. He didn’t have the luxury in Suribachi, and Mr. Ichiya played old music from the sixties, slowly and piercing and grating against his ears. 

“I don’t mind,” Chuuya says softly, and then hurries to arrogantly say, “I mean, your music taste is kind of trash, ‘Tross.”

Albatross gasps. “It is not!”

“You listen to Britney Spears!”

“She is a goddamn fucking gem!”

“What’s wrong with Britney Spears?” Piano Man chimes in, though Chuuya knows he has certainly never listened to her. 

“Stop arguing,” Lippmann reminds them, and Chuuya ducts his head. Lippmann has a kind voice, eloquent and gentle yet confident; it makes Chuuya feel safe— though he never really feels safe — but like a child who just got scolded. Albatross is loud and erratic, Iceman is stern yet soft behind closed doors, Doc is strange but charming in his own way. Lippmann speaks like he knows what he’ll say at all times. He doesn’t stumble or pause to gather his thoughts, unlike Chuuya whose mind runs at a mile per minute, racing to find what he can’t reach. 

Sometimes, Chuuya figures that maybe it just comes with the job. Lippmann’s an actor, basically untouchable with thousands of adoring fans and loyal subordinates. So maybe he had to be likeable and mellow, maybe he had to be confident in order to keep up the Mafia’s facade. 

“What’s the point of this is we’re just going to argue… didn’t we have a present for Chuuya?” Doc asks, and Chuuya stares at his slim figure. He looks sickly— more so than usual— in Albatrosses pale lighting and black leather couches. 

“Right!” Albatross exclaims, and points a finger at Iceman. “Go get them!”

Iceman shoots him an annoyed look. “Why me? There’s multiple presents, anyway.”

“…multiple?” Chuuya asks, confused. “Why would you get me presents?”

Piano Man frowns. “It’s your birthday.”

“Gosh, really?” Chuuya retorts sarcastically.

Albatross elbows him, “Don’t be rude!”

“I’m not!” Chuuya laments. “I’m serious. I mean, it’s just another day, I don’t need presents.”

Iceman sighs, and parts from the turntable to stand in front of the coffee table. “Obviously we got you a present.”

“…why?” Chuuya asks.

The group shares a weird look, one Chuuya doesn’t understand.

“It’s your birthday,” Lippmann says slowly, making Chuuya narrow his eyes. “So we got you a present.” 

Chuuya is about to argue, but he sees the look on Doc’s face; concerned and confused, as if the idea of Chuuya not caring about his birthday is incomprehensible. Instead, he swallows his words and nods.

“Fine,” Chuuya says, slouching. “Give me your damn presents.” 

Albatross brightens, nodding quickly as he gets up from the couch.

“Why’d you ask me to get them if you’re going to do it anyway?” Iceman grumbles, but follows Albatross into the kitchen.

“They kept it in the kitchen?” Chuuya asks dryly.

Lippmann’s lips quirk into a smile, shrugging. “I told them the bedroom would’ve been a better idea. Who hides things in the kitchen?”

Chuuya nods. “Right? Idiots.” 

“I heard that!” Albatross shouts, muffled by the sound of him shuffling through things. 

“Did he lose my present?” Chuuya says to nobody in particular, bemused.

“It’s likely,” Doc says grimly. 

A few minutes later, Albatross comes barreling into the room, a bunch of small wrapped boxes held in his crossed arms. Iceman comes sauntering after, holding a gift bag.

Chuuya feels overwhelmed. “Oh. You, uh, really did get presents.”

Piano Man smiles. “Would we lie to you?”

“Um, definitely.” Chuuya retorts, and Albatross drops the pile of presents into his lap. “This feels a bit unnecessary.” 

Albatross leans onto the arm of the couch, smiling down at him. “Get off of your high horse, Mr. Gravity, and open the damn presents.”

“...Fine,” Chuuya says, and picks one up. All of the presents have different wrapping paper, and this one has a bunch of santas on it– even though it’s April. “Do you hoard wrapping paper?”

“I give a lot of presents out!” Albatross exclaims. 

Chuuya snorts quietly, peeling apart the paper. He blinks down at it, a movie titled Castle in the Sky staring back at him. Chuuya looks up, and Lippmann is the one who answers. “You told us you haven't watched many movies, so we figured, why not help you widen your collection?”

Chuuya blinks in surprise; he doesn’t even remember telling them about that, even though it’s true. Back with the Sheep, movies or any type of entertainment was a luxury. DVD’s weren’t worth it to spend, not when they had to spend their money on food and shelter. Movie theaters were expensive, and the workers were never exactly kind to homeless children. Nowadays, he is often too busy to see one. 

“Yeah– I– I don’t even remember telling you that?”

“You’re always so angry,” Albatross teases, patting his head. “So when you say something mushy and feeling-inducing, we remember!”

“I’m only ever angry because you guys are annoying.” Chuuya scoffs. “Are all of these movies?”

 Iceman nods. “A lot of them are animated, but there's a few classics too.”

“They’re not just animated, they’re Studio Ghibli! ” Albatross exclaims. 

Doc looks unimpressed. “...what’s the difference?”

Albatross makes an indignant squeak, but he’s cut off by Chuuya. “Uh, thanks, guys. This is cool.”

Lippmann smiles warmly. “You’re welcome, Chuuya.”

“We have more!” Albatross cheers, and Iceman silently hands Chuuya the gift bag. It’s heavy, and Chuuya places it in his lap. “Open, open–”

“I’m literally opening it!” Chuuya hisses, pulling the present out of the bag. He blinks, holding the console. “You got me a gaming console? Why?”

“It’s a Wii,” Albatross explains. “Your apartment is so boring, man. You have a TV, but I’m pretty sure that came with your apartment. I mean, one came with mine. Mafia perks, right? Now you have a console, too!”

“I don’t play video games.” Chuuya says. He has before, a few times with Dazai at arcades, but never by himself. 

“Well, you will now. We can play Mario Kart!”

Chuuya blinks. “...sure.”

“You don’t have to use it,” Piano Man says, giving Chuuya a patient look. “But if you want to, you can. Maybe it’ll be nice when you get home from a mission.”

“Maybe,” Chuuya says softly, nodding. He doesn’t imagine him using it often; most nights when he gets home from work, he just sleeps, but them having thought of him was nice. “Thank you.”

“Awe, you’re welcome!” Albatross exclaims, flinging his arms around him. Chuuya gasps and attempts to push him off. “Stop fighting me, Chuuya! Accept my love! ” 

“Ew, fuck no!’ Chuuya hisses, elbowing his chest. The group laughs, finding joy in the scowl on Chuuya’s face. And despite the frown he has on, a warm feeling settles in his chest. It’s overwhelming, and all of a sudden, he feels guilty. He thinks of the console, something the Sheep could never afford, and all of the movies and games they’ll never get to see or play; he’s here, a pile of unopened movies in his lap and a gaming console, and the Sheep will never get to enjoy it with them– not when they hate him now. 

They spend the night watching movies, and by Albatross’s request— more like demand — they start with Studio Ghibli movies. Doc is asleep by the time it’s eleven, and Iceman looks halfway there. 

Later, when they’re nearly done with Howl's Moving Castle, Lippmann nudges him. 

Chuuya looks towards him, and Lippmann smiles. “Did you have a good day?”

“…it was fine,” Chuuya retorts, voice low so he doesn’t wake up Doc. “I, uh, I don’t really ever celebrate my birthday. So it’s just weird, I guess”

“Well, we’ll all be here next year,” Lippmann says, shrugging casually. “So you better get used to it. Albatross won’t let you celebrate alone, after all.” 

Chuuya’s fingers twist in his lap nervously, and he tries to calm the tremor that wracks through them.

“Yeah?” Chuuya says, voice uneven and soft. “Don’t expect me to wear a party hat.” 

——————

three. age seventeen

By the time Chuuya turns seventeen, he’s alone. Adam is back in France, Verlaine has disappeared underground, Shirase is in London. He’s alone, and the Flags are dead. All he has of them is a motorcycle and a photo of a boy he hardly knows. 

He thinks back to Albatross, broken and torn and all he could focus on was Doc beside him— Doc, who was torn from the waist down, dead , but Albatross was so sure he was still breathing. He remembers the smell of blood, crimson and seeping into the floor and sprayed on the walls like a demented depiction of graffiti.

He wakes up alone. 

He thinks that somewhere, someplace, they’re alive. Chuuya never joined the Port Mafia, and Verlaine never got to them. A world where they’re alive, and a world in which Chuuya never met them at all. They’d be alive, growing old and happy with each other, playing billiards or watching those stupid movies again and again— even when Iceman complained or Albatross kept talking over the movie. 

He wakes up alone, gasping for the rush of air that he can never seem to find. He sits up in his bed, sweating and dry heaving.

He aches , a violent and thrashing feeling. He rips the blanket off of him, the cold air of his room rubbing against his skin. 

“I’m sorry ,” Chuuya says softly, blinking away the image of death. 

He stands on shaking legs, hands shaking and face ghastly. He looks at the clock on his nightstand, reading seven, which gives him an hour to chill the fuck out and get ready. 

By the time he gets to the Port Mafia headquarters, there’s a woman waiting for him at the entrance. She looks nervous.

“Mr. Nakahara!” she exclaims, looking relieved to see him.

“It’s Chuuya,” he says, walking past her, and she begins to hastily follow him. 

“I— sorry,” she says, nodding. “Ms. Ozaki wanted me to tell you a few things,”

Chuuya casts her a glance. “You work for Kouyou?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine,” Chuuya says, pressing the button for the elevator and stepping back. “Go ahead.”

“You have a meeting with the boss at one,” she says, and then hesitantly says. 

“…what for?” 

“I… I don’t know.” she squeaks. “Boss was busy, and told Mrs. Ozaki to tell you, but she was also busy… so she told me to inform you!” 

He rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming along. “Fine. What else?”

“Um, you have some paperwork… regarding your last mission?” She murmurs and Chuuya nods. “And at, uh, five you have an appointment with Mrs. Ozaki in her office.”

“Do you know why?”

She quickly shakes her head just as the elevator pulls open, and Chuuya clenches his jaw. “No, sir.”

“Okay,” Chuuya steps into the elevator, pressing the button for floor thirty. “Thanks. Have a good day.”

“Um,” she says, nodding her thanks. “H-Happy birthday, Mr. Nakahara.” 

He blinks, watching her blankly as the elevator doors close.

“Huh,” he says to himself in the empty elevator, staring at the closed door. “It’s my birthday?”

Nobody answers him— though Albatross would’ve, he would’ve looked at him weirdly before nodding happily and declaring that he’ll have the best birthday ever. 

Belatedly, he thinks that Lippmann was wrong, they aren’t here anymore. 

The elevator opens to an empty hallway, and Chuuya breathes a gentle air of relief; he doesn’t hate talking to his coworkers, but he has a killer headache and frankly, he’s in a bad mood. 

He walks into his office, and is greeted with a suspicious box. The outside is a plain beige, devoid of any wrapping paper, and it’s sealed with clear tape.

Honestly, a bomb wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to him lately. Besides, it’s unlikely it’s a bomb— nobody would be able to come into Port Mafia headquarters without the item being checked. 

He comes to the reasonable answer that it’s likely Dazai. 

“ Bastard ,” Chuuya sighs, eyeing the box. He sits down in his chair, leaning back and staring at the piles of paperwork.

Listen, he has a pretty decent work ethic, so he’d usually ignore it until he got home and would go straight to work instead. He’s curious, though, so he grabs a box cutter from his desk drawer. If it’s a bomb, and knowing Dazai, it definitely could be… well, he knows where Dazai lives. 

He opens it up, tossing the box cutter to the side, and gives the contents a blank look. He picks up the blank white card, and written in it is a scribbled ‘Birthday.’ in black ink. Not ‘Happy Birthday’, because Dazai’s an asshole. He places the card to the side, picking up the gift card hidden beneath it.

It’s a fifty dollar gift card to a pet store. 

Chuuya feels his eye twitch. 

“Fucking dickhead,” Chuuya grumbles, shoving the box off of his desk. It clatters to the floor in front of him, dropping with a thud . 

Annoyed, he pulls back the drawer and throws the card inside, placing the box cutter back alongside it. He eyes the card with displeasure for a moment, before he shakes his head and shuts the drawer.

He thinks back to last year, with the Flags, and their abundance of DVD’s and the gaming console that’s begun to collect dust. He had used it for a while with Albatross, but when he died… playing Mario Kart alone wasn't fun. 

He isn’t sure why he’s disappointed that he hasn’t gotten any proper gifts this year. The Flags were different, they were his friends— his family . Dazai is his partner, simple as that. Nobody is required to get him anything for something that’s just another boring day. 

Back with the Sheep, he would’ve gotten nothing at all. He supposes that he should be lucky. 

——————

His hands ache as he makes his way up to Mori’s office. He’s been writing since he got to his office, working on debriefing the latest mission he and a squadron had been sent on. Paperwork is a pain, but it comes with the job; now that’s he rising the ranks, it’s a given, and he’s learnt to deal with the sharp pains and calluses that gather in his skin. God knows he wouldn’t survive without sucking it up, considering how Dazai refuses to do any of his own paperwork when Chuuya’s around. 

Lazy Bastard, Chuuya thinks bitterly.

The elevator dings open, and he steps out, eyeing the two guards who watch him warily. There's always two surrounding the door to Mori’s office, and Chuuya briefly recognizes these two— but through the blinding ache of his headache, it’s hard to pull the names out of his mind. 

The two guards bow their heads when he nods at them sharply, obviously recognizing him, and Chuuya knocks at the door.

There's a brief silence, before he hears Mori call out. “Come in!” 

Chuuya opens the door, and is greeted with Elise and Mori on the other side. Elise is drawing something on the ground, kicking her feet as she lies on her stomach. Mori watches her indulgently.

Chuuya bows his head silently.

After two minutes of him staring down at the floor, jaw clenched, Mori looks up from where he’s watching Elise.

“Chuuya!” Mori says, sounding happy. “How are you?”

Chuuya lifts his head, swallowing. “…fine, boss. You?” 

“I’m great,” Mori smiles, wide and daunting. “Your mission wasn’t too hard, no?”

“No, sir,” Chuuya murmurs, confused as to why he’s bringing it up. Small talk isn’t exactly Mori’s forte. “We completed it with zero casualties.” 

“Lovely,” Mori says, and Elise takes that moment to look up from her drawing.

“Hi, Chuuya!” She exclaims, her smile large and childish. 

“Good afternoon, Elise,” Chuuya says softly. 

“Happy birthday!” She says, sitting up. “It's your birthday, right?!”

“Uh, yes. It Is,” he says, blinking. “Thank you.” 

Mori clears his throat, and Chuuya’s focus shoots towards him. “We’re not here to discuss that, are we?”

A cold feeling fills Chuuya as his back straightens, and he nods. “No. Sorry, boss. Is everything alright?” 

Mori nods, as if pleased by his obedience. “I’m sure you’ve heard whispers of the conflicts that have been arising?”

“…if you’re referring to enemy organizations, then yes.”

“It’s not a problem, now,” Mori smiles, interlocking his fingers on his large desk. “But I’d like you to be wary of it. It’d be unfortunate if something were to happen, after all.”

“Right, of course,” Chuuya says, nodding. “Is— should we be preparing for a war?”

Mori shrugs. “Who's to say anything will truly happen? I mean, it is just rumours.”

Chuuya frowns. Mori wouldn’t just bring it up so Chuuya could be cautious— he doesn’t care about stuff like that. Mori knows Chuuya is capable; surely enough for him to not have to warn Chuuya.

So… why?

Is it some sort of sick birthday present? 

The idea nearly makes Chuuya laugh. Mori has no need to give him a present, or certainly no wish to make such efforts either.

Briefly, Chuuya considers that Mori wishes to instil fear in him.

A war wouldn’t be good, not even for the Port Mafia. They’ve been through a war once, with Verlaine, and it killed many powerful ability users and non-ability users. A war between multiple organizations would kill thousands . Mori isn’t dumb, he knows the extent of Chuuya's loyalty— how it consists of both his equals and his subordinates, and some of whom would be nearly guaranteed to die in a war. 

“It’s just rumours,” Chuuya says quietly, avoiding Mori’s eye contact. “I’m sure everything will be fine, boss. But… if needed, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Anything to help the organization, right?” Mori says, a conceited lift to his voice. 

Chuuya hardly feels himself nod. “Of course.” 

“Like I said,” Mori continues, oblivious to the dull blankness of Chuuya’s face. “It’s just a hypothetical. I wouldn’t worry too much, Chuuya.”

If he didn’t want Chuuya to worry, he wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place. 

Chuuya lifts his head to look at Mori and smiles even though it hurts. “You’re right.” 

His answer makes a pleased grin pull at Mori’s cheeks, and Mori nods. “Very well. That’s all.”

Chuuya blinks and bows his head. “Right. Have a good afternoon.”

Mori doesn’t answer him, and as Chuuya leaves the room, Mori’s firm stare remains on his figure. 

Mori doesn’t wish him a happy birthday, though Chuuya didn’t expect him to.

As he enters the elevator, his head pulsing and his heart heavy in his chest, he leans against the wall and sighs.

——————

four. age eighteen

The Dragons Head conflict brings a new era of the Port Mafia, reeling from the war and its loss. The conflict welcomes Twin Dark, the most devastating rivalry in Port Mafia history— an undefeated duo, feared by the underground and even their own organization.

Chuuya, quite frankly, hates being paired up with Dazai. The asshole is infuriating, and constantly tries to pick fights, and can’t keep his damn mouth shut. He’s lazy, and can’t do paperwork right, and his favourite meal is canned crab— not real crab, even though he could definitely afford hundreds of. 

Just being around him makes Chuuya want to shoot his brains out, really. 

Even though he’s the biggest pain in his ass since, well, the lab, he’s still his partner. So, unfortunately, working with the jerk is a given. He spends most of his missions with him nowadays, much more regularly than before. Realistically, Chuuya already knew they worked well together despite everything. They worked together to defeat both Rimbaud and Verlaine, and then the whole Dragons Head conflict— he and Dazai match each other's moves and ideas perfectly, and it’s terrible.

Its their third day of being a mission, and he’s tired as fuck. He’s basically a zombie at this point with how little sleep he’s gotten. They’ve spent the past three days working their asses off— Chuuya more than Dazai— tracking down an enemy organization and beating the shit out of them. It sounds easy, in theory, but half of their organization resided in Yokohama while the rest was in Sapporo, which meant they had to take a plane. A plane ride with Dazai is basically torture, even though it was only about two hours. 

And, of course, because he can’t get worse— Dazai hardly sleeps, he seems to run better when he’s sleep deprived, in fact. So, in total, he’s gotten about five hours of sleep in the past days. Hypothetically, he would’ve gotten more, but Dazai was insanely keen on bothering him when he could’ve been getting some rest in. Really, Dazai hardly does anything; he just watches as Chuuya fights and cheers — more like taunts— him from the sidelines, so Chuuya isn’t too surprised he’s not dead on his feet.

He’s not surprised, but he’s sure as hell annoyed. 

They’re making their way back to the hotel, and it’s one in the morning, and Chuuya smells like dirt and ash.

Dazai walks beside him, hands swinging by his side, and he’s humming to himself.

Chuuya’s eye twitches. In the silence of the night, of the darkness of the devoid streets, Dazai’s humming is stark and loud against Chuuya’s ringing ears. 

It continues for a moment, and it's only when the song is nearly done that Chuuya recognizes it as Toxic.

It was one of Albatross’s favourites— Chuuya had listened to it once, mostly because Albatross forced him to, and he never really understood the obsession Albatross had with it.

“Britney is a goddess among women,” Albatross had lamented, sprawled across Chuuya’s couch. “You just don’t get the vibe, man.” 

“Yeah, I really don’t,” Chuuya had retorted dryly. 

Now, Chuuya wonders if it was Albatross’s way of trying to get Chuuya to enjoy himself. Maybe it was his way of trying to get closer with Chuuya, beyond them watching stupid movies and Chuuya complaining about his loud parties. 

Dazai pauses, and after a moment starts humming another song.

“Jesus Christ, can you shut the hell up?” Chuuya hisses, rubbing his arms with his hands. 

Dazai is silent for a moment, before he looks at Chuuya. “Chuuya woke up on the wrong side of the bed, clearly.” 

“I didn’t wake up at all, because you’re an asshole who didn’t let me sleep!” Chuuya exclaims, jaw clenching. 

Dazai sighs. “Chuuya’s so mean. Is it a crime to talk to my partner?”

“When it’s five in the morning and I’m obviously fucking tired? Yeah, it is.” Chuuya sniffs. 

“Get another room then,” Dazai retorts.

“And risk you getting killed in your sleep because you’re a careless bastard?”

Dazai laughs at that and nudges Chuuya. Chuuya scowls, the touch burning as he steps to the side. “Chuuya really does care!”

“Well,” Chuuya starts, face red. “It’d just be unfortunate if you died— ‘cause of your ability. I can’t exactly go apeshit crazy without you around. Unfortunately .”

“Is my ability all you care about?” Dazai whines, glaring at him. 

“It’s the only good thing about you, asshole.”

Dazai frowns, and Chuuya bites at his cheek.

“Well, that’s not nice,” Dazai sighs, sounding sullen. 

Chuuya ducks his head, staring down at his shoes. “How long until we’re done with the mission?”

Dazai shrugs. “I don’t know. However long it takes to kill them.”

Chuuya frowns. “Boss doesn’t want us to bring anybody?”

“Who knows?”

“…you’re the one who talked to him, idiot.”

Dazai snorts. “You really think that I was listening to him?”

Chuuya purses his lips. “Yeah. I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Just kill them and get it over with,” Dazai says, interlocking his hands behind his back. “They’re not important. We already killed their Yokohama sector, so we just have to get this over with!”

Chuuya nods stiffly, the cold air brushing against his hair. “Fine, but you’re taking the blame if the boss wants us to bring someone for interrogation.”

“He would’ve asked us to do it in Yokohama,” Dazai says, eyes trained on Chuuya. “Smuggling humans isn’t exactly easy.” 

“No fucking shit,” Chuuya scoffs. He kicks at a rock in his path. “Fuck, it’s cold. Why couldn’t we have taken a car?” 

“We don’t have a car, idiot,” Dazai says snidely. “Neither of us has our licenses, so we couldn’t rent one anyway.”

Chuuya ignores him in favour of looking around. It's dark out, likely past ten by now, and they spent the entire day looking for the enemy organization. They couldn’t pinpoint an exact location, but the two came up with multiple warehouses and buildings where they could potentially find the rest of the organization.

Evidently, they failed. 

All in all: Chuuya’s cold, tired, sore, and annoyed as fuck. He’s had a long three days, and Dazai isn’t making it much better. Honestly, he’s one inconvenience away from shooting himself point-blank. 

It’s pretty much empty in the streets, the street lamps are nearly dead, and the roads are devoid of cars. His vision drifts to the side, where there’s an arcade. He’s surprised it’s open, but there are a few that are open later than usual. 

“Hey,” Chuuya says, abruptly stopping. Dazai continues walking for a step before he notices Chuuya’s stopped moving, and he turns to look back at him curiously. “Let’s go to that arcade.”

“I thought Chuuya was tired?” Dazai retorts, staring at him with his head tilted. “What’s with the sudden 360?” 

“…I don’t know,” Chuuya shrugs. “It’ll be fun, I guess. I thought you liked arcades?”

“Of course I do,” Dazai sniffs, and begins to walk towards the arcade. Chuuya rolls his eyes and goes to follow after him. “I just figured that Chuuya was too humiliated after our last game to go back to one…” 

“Shut up, asshole, you totally cheated!” Chuuya exclaims, reaching to slap him over the head. Dazai dodges it, and Chuuya narrows his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hatrack. Somebody’s just mad they didn’t win!” 

“ Die ,” Chuuya hisses, pushing past him to open the arcade door. It closes behind him momentarily, before he can hear Dazai complain as he opens it for himself.

“Chuuya is mean ,” Dazai whines, trailing behind him as Chuuya makes his way to the front counter.

A bored-looking girl greets them, likely their age or less— maybe sixteen, but likely seventeen as well. 

Chuuya ignores him, pulling out a wad of four thousand yen. “Umm, however many this’ll get us. Please.”

The girl nods tiredly, taking the cash and pulling out some tickets. “Will that be all?”

Chuuya takes them, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She nods, looking back down to the magazine. Chuuya looks away, eyeing the room of arcade machines.

“Mario Kart?” Chuuya asks, already beginning to walk towards it.

“Huh? Why?” Dazai asks, trailing after him. “I thought Chuuya liked martial arts games.”

He thinks of Albatross— who always played as Yoshi no matter what— and Chuuya, who played whoever he felt like playing that day. Albatross loved Mario Kart and always made sure to terrorize Chuuya while playing it. 

He smiles slightly at the memory, shrugging. “It’s fun.” 

“…hm,” Dazai hums and watches as Chuuya bends down to put the tickets through the slot. “Well, thanks for paying. I don’t have any money on me! Besides, the adult should be paying anyway!”

Chuuya shoots him an annoyed look. “Huh? What the hell are you talking about? We're both seventeen, dumbass.” 

Dazai gives him a weird, confused expression. “Huh?”

“…what?”

“You’re eighteen, Chuuya!” 

“No, I'm not?” Now Chuuya’s confused, standing back up to look at Dazai.

“Uh, yes, you are!” Dazai insists. “It’s the twenty-ninth!” 

Chuuya blinks, staring at him blankly. “Oh. Really?”

“ Duh .”

Chuuya bites at his lip, nodding. “Yeah, I guess I am. I— uh, forgot what day it was.” 

“Silly Chuuya,” Dazai sighs wistfully, sitting down onto one of the chairs. “It’s okay, your amazing partner will remember for you!”

“Don’t get too cocky, jerk,” Chuuya scoffs, sitting down beside him. Dazai smiles at him, and Chuuya’s hands tremble slightly underneath his gloves. He looks away, ducking his head to avoid Dazai’s gaze. 

“Is that why you wanted to come to the arcade?” Dazai asks, sounding genuine.

Chuuya sniffs. “No. I told you I didn’t remember.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and so is Dazai.

It’s hard to remember his birthday when nobody is around to remind him. With the Sheep, even if they couldn’t celebrate with what little they had, they never let him forget. Even if they didn’t have presents or food or decorations, they would wake him up with enthusiastic greetings and wishes of a happy birthday. With the Flags, with what little time he had with them, they made his birthday the best he ever had. 

Chuuya silently clicks to play as Yoshi. The green character loads on his side of the screen, and the reminder of Albatross leaves a warm feeling in his chest. 

The two of them don’t speak as the game begins, and Chuuya keeps his eyes firmly trained on his screen as the race begins.

When they’ve gotten to their third lap of the map, Dazai makes a soft sighing sound. 

“I didn’t mean to make fun of Chuuya,” Dazai says, voice gentle in a way that makes Chuuya frown. “I thought that Chibi would know his own birthday. Turning eighteen is an important event!” 

“I know my birthday, asshole,” Chuuya retorts, hands twitching against the wheel. “I’ve just been busy. You don’t have to pity me, or something.”

Dazai snorts. “I’m not pitying you, Chuuya.”

“Whatever.” 

“I’m not!” Dazai insists, and momentarily looks away from the screen to look at him. “Chuuya, I’m being serious.”

“Sure.”

Dazai makes a sound of frustration, turning back to his screen.

“…I know my own birthday,” Chuuya says after a moment. “I just don’t… I don’t care about it, so I don’t always remember it— and… besides, I'm a busy person, okay?”

“Okay,” Dazai agrees, and Chuuya trembles out a breath. After a moment, Dazai asks, “If you did celebrate your birthday… what would you want to do?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Just answer me!”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Well, think!”

“What’s your obsession with it?!”

“I’m curious ,” Dazai whines, throwing a banana peel onto the road that Chuuya deftly dodges. “Tell me.”

“Fine,” Chuuya hisses, nudging Dazai’s car with his own. “I guess… I’d like to stay at home. I like parties, but they give me a headache after a while. I think sleeping in would be good, too. A cake would be nice, but nothing too sweet. I don’t care about presents, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, I never really got any,” Chuuya says. “Never in the Sheep, at least. Uh… the Flags got me some, when I turned sixteen, but that’s it.”

“What’d they get you?”

“The Wii console in my living room,” Chuuya sighs, fingers flexing around the wheel. “And a bunch of movies. I hadn’t seen many before, so they got me a bunch of classics.”

“Oh,” Dazai says faintly, a moment of hesitation— one that Chuuya doesn’t quite understand— forces him to second place while Chuuya charges ahead at first. “That’s nice. Right?”

Chuuya nods, finishing the lap. He comes up as first, and Dazai finishes at second. “Yeah. It was nice.” 

“If it was so nice, why not celebrate it again?” Dazai asks, falling back to slouch against the back of the chair. “You’re popular, I guess. I’m sure if you’d ask people, they’d celebrate with you.”

He doesn’t want to ask people to care about him. He doesn’t need people to care.

Chuuya gives him a look. “What’s the point?”

“…to have fun, duh?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about my birthday, okay? Nobody’s around to celebrate it, anyway. And I’m usually working, so what’s the point?”

“Call off work, then.”

Chuuya's eyes twitch in irritation. “What’s the point? ”

The Flags gave him something to enjoy on his birthday— and for one measly year, he truly imagined he could spend the rest of them happy. He could spend them with people who cared and loved him, who he thought of as family, who he saw as equals and companions. 

Then they died, and so did that flicker of hope.

“Birthdays are fun .”

“I’m sure they are,” Chuuya says, lips pulled into a tight grimace. “But I have better things to worry about.”

“Why not worry about yourself?”

“…what are you, some type of therapist?” 

“Odasaku has been teaching me the practice of self-love,” Dazai says, lips turning upwards at the mention of his friend. “Fun, right?”

He’s met Oda only a handful of times, and only while with Dazai, but the man’s nice enough. It makes sense that he’d try and fix— or help, rather— whatever the hell Dazai has going on. 

Too bad that Chuuya doesn’t care about what he himself has going on. He’s perfectly content with not celebrating his birthday. Who cares, right?

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Chuuya snarls, getting up from the seat. “I love myself plenty, and I sure as hell don’t need you educating me on self love.”

“Don’t be rude ,” Dazai exclaims, following him. “I’m just curious!”

“Don’t be curious, then!”

Chuuya crosses his arms, pointedly avoiding Dazai’s gaze. “I don’t care about my birthday. I mean, I forgot what day it was, so clearly it doesn’t matter much!”

“It does matter!” Dazai exclaims.

Chuuya turns and glares at him, nose scrunched up. “Oh, sure. To whom? ‘cause clearly, I don’t care.”

Dazai looks away, and Chuuya spots an odd look on his face. 

Dazai shrugs. “…I like birthdays.”

Chuuya flinches, eyes widening. A blush blooms on his face, spreading onto his cheeks and lighting his heart on fire.

“ Oh ,” Chuuya says blankly, nodding. “I— oh.”

Dazai, after a moment of hesitation, turns to Chuuya with a smile. “What, cat got your tongue?”

“…shut up, bastard,” Chuuya says, and ducks his head down so Dazai doesn’t see the smile that bites at his lips.

Dazai is… odd. He’s been this way since they met. He has no filter, he’s ruthless in some scenarios, and he never stops bothering Chuuya. He’s arrogant, over-confident, and rude. He never listens and constantly disobeys direct orders.

Still, at the end of the day, he’s Chuuya’s partner— he has been long before Twin Dark was ever established. He’s Chuuya’s partner, who helped fight Rimbaud, who carried him away from fights, and who caught him as he fell during the fight with Verlaine.

He hates the idiot, yet here he is, walking with him and playing arcade games and smiling because he cares. 

——————

Later that night, Dazai doesn’t bother him when Chuuya gets under the thin blankets the motel provided. He doesn’t complain and whine, and annoy Chuuya till the crack of dawn.

“Happy Birthday, Chuuya,” Dazai says faintly, nearly when Chuuya has fallen asleep. Maybe Dazai thinks he’s already asleep. “Sorry I didn’t get you a present this year, too.” 

Chuuya rolls his eyes. Dazai never confirmed whether or not it was him who gave him that gift card a year ago, and he already knew; hearing it, though, makes Chuuya scoff.

“Thanks, asshole,” Chuuya says, voice laced with exhaustion. “You just have to up-do yourself next year, clearly. Or else it’ll just be embarrassing.”

——————

five. age twenty

The Sheep are gone, the Flags are gone, and so is Dazai. Verlaine refuses to see him, Adam is in Europe, and Dazai has defected from the Port Mafia.

He gets it, okay? Oda died. Dazai’s best friend died and his other friend turned out to be a spy. Oda died, and Chuuya’s sure he spouted something to convince Dazai to leave— Dazai would’ve never left without some type of outside influence. Chuuya, for a while, figured that the Port Mafia would be the thing to kill his partner. It wouldn’t be from a mission, or an enemy organization, but rather being in the organization itself. 

Dazai was never healthy , and for the four years that he’d known Dazai, it was obvious that he would die before ever leaving willingly. It was either death or a life of happiness– and to Dazai, the idea of the latter seemed nearly impossible. 

Chuuya assumed that if Dazai didn’t kill himself, it would be the stress that did it.

But he’s gone— not dead, no, Chuuya would know, but just gone. Disappeared. There’s no trace of where he could’ve gone or how he left.

The night that Dazai defected, Chuuya opened a bottle of wine and got so drunk he nearly bashed his face in. Whether he was celebrating or not, not even he could remember.

He walks down the dark street, barely illuminated by the light posts and occasional cars driving past. 

He celebrates his twentieth birthday alone, and for the first time, he doesn’t care as much as he once would. Maybe somewhere, he’s with the Flags again, and maybe they’re at a bar dancing, or they’re in Albatross’s apartment again. Maybe he’s with Dazai, and they play stupid arcade games or go to a restaurant where Dazai makes a scene for shits and giggles.  

It's a fun thought to entertain, but not one he dwells over.

He’s still an executive, currently the actual youngest now that Dazai is gone— though Dazai’s spot remains vacant because of Mori’s belief that somehow, someday, Dazai will return.

Chuuya knows otherwise; if Dazai were to return, all they would find would be a dead body.

He’s gotten multiple texts today, from Kouyou and his subordinates and the Black Lizards. They all read something similar to Happy Birthday , or that they should go to a bar sometime to celebrate.

He appreciates the thought, the idea that somebody cares, but at the end of the day, everybody who he would want to celebrate with is gone. 

He’s about to pass an alleyway when he hears a small bark. He blinks, pausing in his movements.

He eyes the alleyway. It’s dark and empty, and smells faintly of both vomit and urine, with a hint of garbage.

“Fuck my life,” Chuuya says to nobody in particular, and steps into the alleyway. The sounds get louder, and he’s faintly regretting his decisions— but he’s a murderer, not a monster . He doesn’t abandon animals to let them die, okay?

“Uhh,” Chuuya starts, frowning. “Puppy?”

There’s no noise. It’s like the dog wants Chuuya to ignore it. Ugh . 

“Pssp,” Chuuya snaps his fingers together, and there’s a quick and small ruff . “C’mere, puppy. I just want to help…”

There’s a low rustling noise to his right, and a head pops up from behind an empty box. 

Chuuya blinks, and the dog whimpers sadly. 

“Uhh,” Chuuya murmurs, beginning to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to use my flash, okay? I know it’s bright, but I need to see you, puppy. I won’t hurt you.” 

The dog barks softly. 

Chuuya presses the flash button, shining it on the dog, and a frown settles on his face. The dog is dirty, but he can see a golden coat of fur underneath the black dirt. It's a puppy, small and skinny, but it seems relatively uninjured. 

“Hi,” Chuuya says softly. “I’m going to, uh, kneel down, okay? Don’t bite me, please.”

The dog whines as Chuuya squats down, but makes no move to run or bite at him.

“Aren’t you sweet?” Chuuya asks, reaching out a gloved hand. The dog sniffs it, and after a moment, nudges at his fingers with its nose. “Yeah, see, I’m friendly. I won’t hurt ya.” 

The dog barks weakly.

He examines the dog for a collar, but doesn’t find anything. “You all alone, baby?”

The dog barks. 

Chuuya takes an anxious look around, and looks back at the dog. “I can bring you home with me, but I’ll need to take you to a vet in the morning…” 

Clearly, the dog doesn’t know what a vet is, and drools happily into Chuuya’s hand. 

“Yeah? Okay, I need to pick you up,” Chuuya says, and stands. The dog watches him, its tail wagging softly. 

He picks the dog up, and even though it reeks of dirt and garbage, he holds it tight against his chest.

They get home twenty minutes later, the dog nuzzling into his clothing as Chuuya balances him in his arms. 

“I need to give you a bath,” Chuuya hums, pushing through his apartment to head to the bathroom. “Don’t try and kill me, okay? I'm sure I’d hate getting my fur wet if I were a dog, too, but murder is never okay.”

The dog gives him a look, head tilted and ears flopping against his face.

Chuuya sighs, slouching his shoulders. “Hypocritical, I know. Dogs shouldn’t murder, though. Be good.” 

He wrestles the dog into the bath, and for a puppy, it’s surprisingly strong. It takes halfway through the bath for Chuuya to register that the dog is a girl, and he smiles.

“Looks like you need a name for a pretty princess, huh?” Chuuya asks, massaging the shampoo into her hair. “Hey, am I keeping you? I mean, if you want to go to a shelter, that’s fine. But I think me and you get along just fine, girl.”

The dog barks, nudging her wet nose against his arm. 

He grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll spoil you. No more garbage or sleeping on cardboard again. I sure as hell know that ain’t fun.”

He thinks, briefly, that Shirase would like her. He always had a thing for dogs, a soft spot, and would always feed them if he had any food. There was an older dog once that belonged to one of the other residents of Suribachi— but he happened to come visit sometimes while on a stroll across the city. 

Chuuya tilts his head, watching as the dog shakes her body to let the water dry off. 

He doesn’t know if he’s equipped to take care of another living being, not again.

Still, she stares up at him, fur drenched in the smell of his own vanilla shampoo. She looks happy to see him, to be in his presence, and that aches. It settles deep in his heart, thumping weakly as he watches her tail wag happily.

“I can’t always be around,” Chuuya says quietly, grabbing the shower head. “…I’ll send someone to take care of you if I’m gone too long, okay?”

She doesn’t seem to mind and sits dutifully as he shrouds the head of water over her body. She’s too good to be a street dog, but the idea of somebody dumping her out onto the streets makes him mad— she’s a puppy . 

By the time he’s done bathing her, nearly the entire front of his outfit is soaked with water.

He looks down, bemused, while she pants beside him; covered in a towel, she shakes her head back and forth, letting water seep down to the tile. 

Chuuya sighs, standing up on tired muscles. “C’mon, I have chicken in the fridge.”

She barks happily, and for a moment, Chuuya thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to always be alone. 

——————

Chuuya watches her eat, the plate of chicken and rice placed down onto the floor beside a bowl of water. It’s her second serving, and he’ll probably need to take her outside later, but she whined when he tried putting the chicken back into the fridge. 

“I’ve known you for two hours and you’re already spoiled,” Chuuya says, amused as she grumbles happily between bites of food. “I guess you’ll only get worse, huh?”

The dog barks. 

Chuuya sniffs, looking away from her briefly. He’ll need to go to the store tomorrow to buy things. He’ll need a collar, too.

Chuuya blinks, looking back. “Hey, you need a name.” 

The dog looks up at him, head tilted.

“What about… uh,” Chuuya scratches his jaw, staring down at her. “Yumi?”

The dog sniffs.

“Okay,” Chuuya says. “Amai? Nana? Uhh… Hana?”

The dog barks, huffing slightly.

“Fine, okay… then… How about Kiseki?”

She stares at him, head tilted.

“Kiseki?” he repeats, smiling slightly. She barks. “Yeah? Do you like that?” 

She barks, spinning in a circle. Chuuya grins, and just then, there’s a knock on his door. 

Chuuya furrows his eyebrows. “Huh,” he says, and turns away from Kiseki. “Stay here, girl.” 

He looks through the peephole, and scowls.

He opens the door, and Dazai stares at him, holding a bottle of clearly cheap one and a bag of skittles.

“Happy birthday, Chuuya,” Dazai says, a bright smile on his face.

He figures he should be more surprised. He hasn’t seen Dazai in about two years. But of course, the bastards at his door with a stupid smile. It’s so achingly like Dazai to behave as if they saw each other yesterday. He doesn’t feel as shocked as he sure as hell should be. 

Still, he takes a moment to stare at Dazai, eyeing his bandage-less face and new attire.

“You're an enemy to the organization,” Chuuya. After a pause, says dryly. “You haven’t contacted me in two years, and you bombed my car. And your outfit looks fucking ridiculous. Are you fucking stupid?”

Dazai rolls his eyes. “Is that how you greet all of your friends?” 

“You’re definitely not my friend, jackass.”

“But I brought wine,” Dazai whines. “And skittles!”

“I don’t even like Skittles.”

“Well, I do,” Dazai shrugs.

“Okay,” Chuuya says, jaw clenched. “Why should I care?” 

“I’m your partner.”

“Uh, in case you forget, you defected from the Port Mafia? Can’t really be my partner if you’re not even in the same job as me.”

“But I brought wine .” 

“It’s in a box.”

“A box with wine in it!” Dazai hisses. “Let me in!”

“I should call Mori and tell him you’re here, y’know.”

Dazai narrows his eyes. “He’s probably asleep like the old man he is.”

“Oh, you know his sleep schedule? That's kind of creepy, Dazai.”

“I know yours too!” Dazai exclaims, shaking the bag of Skittles angrily. “Besides, it’s too late for Chuuya to be up. Why are you awake?!”

“I’m busy,” Chuuya sniffs. “Don’t you have, like, a home? Why are you loitering at my front door?”

“I miss you ,” Dazai whines.

Chuuya blinks. “Uh. What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” Dazai sniffles, frowning. “The agency is going to make me soft. It’s really awful, Chuuya. I need my partner back so I can argue without getting ridiculed by my future boss…” 

Chuuya is surprised for a moment, and bites at the inside of his cheek to hide a frown. The agency? Future boss? Clearly, Dazai has been somewhere fucking around, ignorant to the bounty on his head and the dozens of calls that Chuuya has left. 

“That’s a pathetic fucking excuse,” Chuuya says instead of questioning him like he definitely should, snorting. “Seriously? You came crawling back because you missed me?”

“Is it really that unbelievable?”

“Uh, no shit,” Chuuya scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Listen, pal, this is nice or whatever, but I’m not supposed to talk to you. Mori has orders for us to bring you in if we ever see you.”

“Snitches get stitches, Chuuya.”

“And people who betray the Port Mafia get curb-stomped,” Chuuya says snidely. “So get lost.”

Dazai pouts. “Chuuya really won’t let me in?” 

“Why the hell would I?”

“Because I said so!”

“God, you’re an asshole,” Chuuya grumbles. “Where have you even been, idiot?”

“In hiding,” Dazai says honestly. “So they could clear my history. I couldn’t exactly get a job when I’m, y’know, a newly defected mafia executive.”

Chuuya needs a cigarette and a goddamn Xanax. “You’ve been… what, hiding at this agency, then?”

“It’s a detective agency,” Dazai corrects. “I’m not an official member yet, but I’m getting there. I’ve been… hiding around and about, thanks to the help of some people.”

“They decided to help you? ”

“What am I, some criminal?” Dazai says, and at Chuuya’s annoyed face he grimaces. “I’m in reformation, okay?”

The idea of Dazai working at some detective agency is bizarre. Back in the Port Mafia, the man was disgruntled at the idea of helping anyone, no matter the occasion. But now, Dazai has people helping him, trying to make him be some goody-two-shoes and erase his criminal history. 

“Reformation.” Chuuya echoes dryly.

“That’s what I said!’ Dazai exclaims, giving him an annoyed look. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

He’s in a hallway, not moping on a front porch in the freezing rain like a loser, but sure. 

“Fine,” Chuuya says, resigned. “Come in. But if you touch anything I’ll cut your hand off.”

“ Kinky ,” Dazai retorts, and pushes past Chuuya to step into the apartment. He walks in like he belongs in this apartment, like it hasn’t been two years since he's been here. 

Chuuya watches him take off his shoes, a pattern so familiar it hurts. He takes those stupid loafers off and places them where he always used to, right beside Chuuya’s own shoes. 

Chuuya watches him. Dazai’s grown taller, and he’s not as skinny— he’s still definitely underweight, but it’s clear there’s been attempts to help. 

He looks different.

Dazai turns around to look at him, his face indescribable. “Chuuya?” He asks, and the stupid bag of Skittles jingles in his grasp.

“What…” Chuuya starts and clears his throat. “What did he say to convince you to leave?” 

Dazai knows what he’s talking about, who he’s talking about, because of course he does. The impact Oda had on Dazai runs through his features, in his new set of clothes and the past two years he’s spent hidden away. 

“…he told me to be on the side that helps people,” Dazai says, voice soft in a way that reminds Chuuya of their teenage years; days spent locked away in Chuuya’s apartment when things got rough, when things seemed so dark not even Dazai tried to push. 

Chuuya’s frown settles into a neutral expression, and he nods. “You have to leave before morning.

Dazai relaxes, a wave of surprise washes through his features and Chuuya ignores it. It's easier to ignore it, to ignore the stammer in his chest at the sight of his ex partner. It's easier to ignore, because if he ignores it he can ignore the fact that speaking to Dazai means betraying the Port Mafia.

He ignores it, because at this moment, Dazai is alive and breathing in front of him.

“Chuuya is too kind,” Dazai says, voice wavering with relief. “What if somebody tries to take advantage of that kindness?”

Chuuya scoffs. “I’ll kick their ass.”

Dazai grins, toothy and wide. 

Kiseki takes that moment to bark. She had been silent, still eating in the kitchen— but clearly, she needed to make herself known.

Dazai blinks, looking towards the dog. “…are you aware there’s a dog in your apartment?”

“No shit, I brought her here.” 

Dazai gives him a look. “Since when?”

“Since… two hours ago?” Chuuya shrugs, and when Dazai looks incredulous, he grins. “What? I have a thing for collecting strays, clearly.” 

Dazai whines, he and Kiseki following Chuuya back to the kitchen. Somewhat humorous, Chuuya thinks, happy fucking birthday to me.  

——————

plus one. age twenty-six

Waking up is like a wave of fresh air that seeps through an open window, the warm spring weather soothing and the perfect temperature against weary muscles and cold skin. 

This year, he’s not allowed to forget his birthday. Dazai doesn’t let him forget. He’s spent the entirety of April counting down, and for the week prior to the twenty-ninth, he would wake Chuuya up with an enthusiastic It’s almost your birthday!

He wakes up with the feeling of kisses being peppered against his jawline. The kisses are full of a goofy smile, and Dazai’s lip presses against his skin softly, the feeling still harsh enough to tickle him.

“Go away,” Chuuya murmurs, nose scrunching when Dazai kisses his cheek.

“I can’t,” Dazai retorts, voice low and racked with the aftertaste of sleep. “We’re connected, baby. Stuck together with gorilla glue. I can’t let go, or else we’ll die —”

Chuuya snorts, hand reaching up to lazily push against his chest. Dazai smiles, a full blown smile against his face, and Chuuya blearily opens his eyes. 

“Morning, my chipmunk angel face,” Dazai sighs, staring down at him. 

“What did you just call me?” Chuuya sniffs incredulously, blinking away the blurriness of his vision.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dazai retorts, and presses a kiss against his nose. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, nerd,” Chuuya says quietly, watching Dazai examine his features. He doesn’t know what Dazai sees, but his face— impossibly— softens. “What’re you looking at?” 

“You,” Dazai says, and Chuuya feels his cheeks redden slightly.

It still baffles him, sometimes, to see the difference between the Dazai he once knew and the man he knows now. The two years of secrecy, of low contact, of pretending like the other didn’t exist. Dazai reappearing in that dungeon, then fighting the Guild together, then in Meursault… the shift was inevitable; they both knew that. They knew that if, by some chance, they could fight side by side as partners once more, there was a chance that they'd become something more. 

Still, some days, it shocks him. He wonders how Dazai went from this idiot who teased him constantly to this idiot who sometimes teased him and always smothered him with unnecessary love. The bickering never stopped, because Dazai was constantly annoying and Chuuya was constantly annoyed— but what were they if not explosive? 

Six years in the agency has done Dazai well. He’s filled out more, and he isn’t this impossibly skinny twig he knew before. He’s not buff , no, but he looks healthy. He has a chub to his cheeks, and Chuuya can’t feel his ribs when he presses against his stomach. His hair is shiny, devoid of the dead split ends and improper care. He looks happy, most days. Truly happy, not that dumb smile he wears to try and pretend. 

Somedays, his eyes weigh down with the weight of his past, of the terrors that have haunted his every move his entire life. Somedays, it’s like they’re back in the Port Mafia— together , and Dazai is the scared, hurt, and angry kid he once was. 

Throughout it all, Chuuya knows that if they survived everything else, they can survive the nightmares of their past too.

Chuuya curls into Dazai slightly, and Dazai welcomes the movement, wrapping an arm around the dip of Chuuya’s waist. They stay there, warm, Dazai basking in the heat of Chuuya’s body.

They’d been selfish, at first. They hadn’t known where they began, or where they stopped— where the line between enemies and lovers was drawn, and along the way, the line faded and sunk between memories and hardships, and it was almost like the line was never there at all.

Loving Dazai is as natural as hating him. The bastard is annoying, over-confident, and is lazy. He’s a jerk, but he’s Chuuya’s jerk anyway.  

He thinks of Shirase and the rest of the Sheep, who once loved him like family, who tried their best to help— even if it never worked, even if he was the only one who could protect them, he knew they wished they could’ve done more.

He thinks of the Flags, of their final moments together in the Old World , happy and unaware of what was next. They loved him, cherished him, gave him the present of security and equality that only they would ever know of.

He thinks of Verlaine, destructive and malevolent; a boy who never learned what a warm hand meant, what the love of another could do to mend a broken heart. 

He thinks of Adam, robotic and unaware of the world, yet fierce and kind and so loving it had hurt. 

He thinks of the people who have come and gone, who loved him, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay to move on.

Maybe he’ll never stop thinking of them, of the pain and the stench of crimson blood and matter.

The memory will always be there, but it doesn’t always have to hurt.

Chuuya inhales softly, digesting the scent of the laundry detergent on Dazai’s pyjamas. It smells of home, of lavender and chemicals and the promise of tomorrow.

Dazai’s silent for a moment, fingers drawing shapes into his skin. Chuuya welcomes the silence, he lets the silence marinate, he lets Dazai think.

“I have a present for you,” Dazai says finally, and Chuuya looks up at him. Dazai is already staring, face warm and soft and eyes aflame with the kindling of a loving feeling. 

As he says every year, Chuuya retorts, “You didn’t have to.” 

Dazai smiles, lips pulling apart and lifting in a careful way. “I know.” 

“…what is it?”

“Do you want it now?”

Dazai’s hand drifts upwards, spanning across his skin and finally stopping at his jaw. His fingers caress the area, the contact cold against his cheeks, and Dazai touches him with such gentleness it hurts.

Nobody would describe their love as gentle. It's fierce, violent and bloody, its punches and kicks and insults thrown left and right. It’s them fighting over and over again, proclaiming their hatred for one another yet they’d walk through fire to get to the other. Their love hurts, through flames and bruises and gunshots, it hurts. 

Nobody would describe their love as gentle, but they don’t see what Chuuya sees. They don’t see a boy stranded, taken into a world he had no place being in, so sickeningly similar to Chuuya himself. They don’t see the boy who held a dying man, who took the final words of his dearest friend and held it close, who ran with those words until he found room to breathe.

Somedays, Chuuya wonders what Dazai sees. Maybe he’ll see the dark moments where Chuuya is scared, and he’s back in that lab once more, or back in Old World with the blood of a friend soaking his clothing. Maybe he sees the violence he’s endured, the scars that have been caused by protecting children, the bruises that have accumulated through years of fights he was too young to be winning. 

Above all, Chuuya just hopes that Dazai sees him; the mafia executive who fought for everything he’s been given, who's lost and lost and lost, who’s haunted by the memory of people he can’t protect. He hopes that Dazai sees his partner, with whom he’s fought with side by side for a decade. 

And maybe Chuuya isn’t perfect, but it’s his imperfections that have kept him alive.

Nobody would describe their love as gentle, but cruelty is what has kept them together. Gentleness didn’t force them to fight side by side, their trust held wholeheartedly in each other's souls, in the interlocking of their hands, in the soft touches that disarmed Chuuya’s bruising pain. 

“Later,” Chuuya says, and watches as Dazai's eyes flutter with soft emotions. “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Dazai mumbles, attention rapt and all-consuming. “Go back to sleep, hatrack, nobody’s waiting for us.”

“You’re the one who woke me up, jerk,” Chuuya retorts, eyebrows scrunched together.

Dazai pouts. “Only to say happy birthday…” 

Chuuya doesn’t answer him. Instead, he lays his head against Dazai’s chest and tunes out the bustling of the street below them. 

——————

When Chuuya wakes up for the second time, he’s alone. The bed is too empty without Dazai, and it makes Chuuya frown slightly. He rubs at his eyes, and tilts his head to eye the bedside clock.

He blinks when he reads two in the afternoon. 

He sighs, lifting himself up to sit. He can hear clattering in the kitchen, so clearly Dazai is home. He yawns, getting out of the bed. His bones ache from sleeping for so long, and he isn’t sure why Dazai let him sleep in so late anyway. 

Still, he scratches at his stomach as he finds a shirt. It’s one of Dazai’s, a soft grey colour that’s faded over time. He puts it on, and it smells of their laundry detergent once more, and Chuuya sighs deeply. 

He steps out of their bedroom, and Dazai hasn’t yet noticed him, the man busy with cooking in the kitchen. He’s gotten better over the years— not great , but he can cook basic foods. 

Kiseki notices him first, because of course she does. The dog is ridiculously attentive, and living with Chuuya for so long has allowed her to become hyper-aware of him at all times. 

She barks, not loud enough to startle either of them, but loud enough for Dazai to be alerted of Chuuya’s presence. 

Kiseki runs up to Chuuya, nudging against him, her golden fur rubbing against his bare legs.

“Hi, girl,” Chuuya says, smiling as she wags her tail. He leans down to pet her, running his hand through her thick coat. “Sorry I slept in so late. You must’ve been bored.” 

He looks up, and Dazai is already staring at him. 

“Chuuya looks like a tiny little slug,” Dazai says, smiling despite the insulting words.

Chuuya scoffs, stepping away from Kiseki to walk towards Dazai. She follows after him, sitting down while Chuuya gets engulfed by a hug.

“Happy birthday!” Dazai exclaims, even though he’s already said it.

Chuuya hums against his chest, arms loosely wrapping around Dazai’s body. “Why’d you let me sleep in so late?” 

“It’s your birthday!” Dazai exclaims. “You should rest!”

Chuuya smiles, pulling away from him. “Whatever. What’re you making?” 

Dazai looks away to eye the stove. “Well, I was making pancakes and bacon, but I burned the bacon.”

“…really.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Dazai insists, gripping Chuuya’s shoulders to shake him. “It was Kiseki’s fault!” 

“Don’t blame her, asshole!” 

Dazai whines. “I was trying to make food for you, and Kiseki started barking because her food bowl was empty! She's greedy , Chuuya.”

“No she isn’t!” Chuuya hisses, poking at his chest. “You’re rude. She’s perfect. Unlike somebody…”

“Fine, see if I ever cook for you again.”

“Thank fucking god,” Chuuya retorts, and Dazai rolls his eyes. “Did you burn the pancakes too?”

Dazai grins. “Nope!” 

“Aw, you’re learning.” Chuuya teases, and Dazai sticks his tongue out before hurrying back to the stove. Chuuya eyes the plate of pancakes on the counter. “You made so many…”

“It’s so you can eat as much as you want!” Dazai says, flipping more pancakes onto the plate. “I don’t want Chuuya to starve on his birthday!”  

“Did you eat?” Chuuya asks, rocking on his feet as Dazai turns off the stove. 

“I had cereal!” Dazai says happily, and Chuuya is certain that it was more sugar and chocolate rather than cereal, but sure. 

Dazai grabs the plate and walks to the table, Chuuya trailing after him. “Is that enough? When’d you eat?

Dazai gives him a patient sigh, setting the plate down before turning towards him. He’s smiling as he places a hand against Chuuya’s neck, thumb rubbing against the bare skin.

“Chuuya is such a mother hen,” Dazai teases, making Chuuya’s eyes narrow. “I ate plenty. Two whole bowls, in fact, so don’t worry your pretty little head off!” 

“Don’t patronize me, asshole,” Chuuya says snidely, but doesn’t move to escape his touch. “I’m not little.”

“Pretty and little,” Dazai swoons, and he presses a kiss against Chuuya’s forehead before pulling away. Chuuya glares at him, but Dazai stays smiling. “Sit down! I’ll get you a plate!”

Chuuya snorts, obliging as Dazai hurries back to the kitchen. “You’d be a good housewife, if you weren’t so annoying.” 

Dazai sniffs petulantly, and comes back to the table a few moments later with a plate, butter, and maple syrup. Chuuya doesn’t particularly love maple syrup, but Dazai does — and he’s happy to indulge him, sometimes, even if it includes submerging his own food in the sticky syrup.

Dazai settles into the chair across Chuuya, watching fondly as Chuuya takes the plate from him.

They’re silent for a moment as Chuuya takes a bite of his food, and Dazai watches him eagerly. 

“…it’s terrible,” Chuuya says blankly, but Dazai smiles anyway. “Thank you.”

“ Awe ,” Dazai coos, leaning his cheek on his palm. “You’re so sweet.” 

“Yeah, don’t take it for granted,” Chuuya grumbles, dodging Dazai’s attempt to pinch his cheeks. “Fuck off.”

Dazai sighs loudly, eyes trained on Chuuya as he takes another bite. “Fine, since Chuuya is so rude. I guess I do have the entire day to annoy you…” 

Chuuya gives him a wary look, mouth muffled slightly by the pancakes in his mouth. “What’re you up to?”

Dazai sniffs. “ Nothing . Can’t a guy have good intentions once in a while?” 

“Not when it comes to you,” Chuuya snorts. “There’s nothing good about you, asshole.”

“You’re so mean,” Dazai chides, a complaint Chuuya hears every-fucking-day, but makes no more to retaliate. 

Dazai is being sickeningly kind today. He hasn’t even attempted to poke at his skin or make fun of his hair; seriously, the jerk even made him breakfast, which is usually Chuuya’s job. Chuuya cooks, cleans, and deals with making the house look nice. Meanwhile, Dazai… he makes the house feel like a home, or whatever— if his home was a circus .

While he’s distracted, Dazai takes that opportunity to stab a piece of the pancakes. He brings it up to Chuuya’s mouth, grinning.

“Here comes the airplane!” Dazai exclaims, a pleased grin on his face.

Chuuya narrows his eyes, swatting the fork away. “I’m not a fucking baby, you weirdo.”

Dazai gives him an annoyed look. “You’re the weirdo. Can’t I feed my lovely boyfriend on his lovely birthday?”

Chuuya frowns. Dazai cares about his birthday, of course he does— even if he’s weird about, well, everything— but it’s still odd . Usually Dazai plans some big party, and drags Chuuya places as soon as he wakes up. Dazai doesn’t usually make him breakfast and wake him up with smothering kisses on his birthday.

“…why are you being so mushy?” Chuuya asks, leaning back in the chair.

Dazai blinks innocently. “Whatever does Chuuya mean?”

“You never do this shit for my birthday,” Chuuya says, crossing his arms. Dazai blinks, eyes wide and curious. “It’s always, y’know, parties.”

Dazai doesn’t speak for a minute, watching Chuuya. Chuuya shuffles uncomfortably just as Dazai clears his throat.

“You’re, uh, twenty-six now.”

Chuuya snorts. “Gosh, really? Time flies, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Dazai grumbles, and Chuuya grins slightly. “Ugh— it’s corny, okay?”

“You’re always corny, idiot.”

Dazai sighs, loud and annoyed and begrudging. “You’re twenty-six, and you’re too old now. To, y’know, join them ,” Dazai says, smiling awkwardly, and he begins to scratch at his palm. “So I just… I figured you wouldn’t want to have some extravagant party.” 

“ …oh ,” Chuuya says faintly, blinking, and for a moment Dazai looks panicked.

“I mean, I guess if you want to do something, I can harass everybody into coming here. Or a bar, haha ,” Dazai rushes to say, and Chuuya stares at him. “Chuuya does always disagree with me, so I don’t know why I’m surprised—”

“Osamu.”

“— and Chuuya does love wine, so of course he’d want to get drunk with his silly subordinates on his birthday…” Dazai trails off when Chuuya grabs his hands and interlocks it with his own.

“Stop rambling,” Chuuya says, amused. “It’s fine, Osamu. I— I appreciate it.”

Dazai’s mouth is open, stuttering uselessly. “Uh. Really?”

Chuuya shrugs. “I don’t need to do something every year.”

“Chuuya likes parties…”

“I like this too,” Chuuya says. “What else do you have planned, you cornball?”

Dazai’s face contorts, lips splitting into a smile. “Well… I have a present… and cake, obviously.”

“That’s it?” Chuuya says, surprised. He’s not upset, obviously, but he figured that even if they were staying in, Dazai would have something a bit bizarre planned. 

“A little birdie told me that’s something you’d enjoy,” Dazai drawls, and Chuuya blinks.

He thinks back to when he could’ve possibly spoken to Dazai about something like that. Throughout the years, he’s been content to let Dazai do whatever the hell he wants for his birthday, just as long as he didn’t do anything too stupid. 

He thinks back to his eighteenth birthday, and a small breath of air stutters out of him.

“My— you remember that?” He asks, incredulous as Dazai’s smile widens.

“I remember everything, Chuuya! How else would I bother you so much?!” 

A warm feeling fills Chuuya, so much so that he can barely even roll his eyes. He just stares at Dazai with this awestruck look, chest heavy.

He thinks if he speaks, he may cry.

After a moment of silence from Chuuya, Dazai’s grin falls slightly. “…what?”

Chuuya blinks, sucking in a harsh and heavy breath. “Uh, nothing. I just didn’t think it was important enough that you’d remember.”

Dazai makes an offended sound. “Of course it was important! I love birthdays!”

Chuuya just smiles, giving him a look stuck between tearful and happy. Dazai smiles back knowingly and picks up the fork with a loud screeching sound. 

Chuuya sits there, begrudgingly letting Dazai feed him the pancakes that he’d drowned with maple syrup.

He sits there with Dazai and doesn’t wonder if he’ll be alone again next year.