Archive of Our Own ^beta

'Cause I need to feel comfortable in my own skin…

From the first moment he laid eyes on him, Dazai knew the boy, with hair red-hot and fiery like a phoenix, was destined for great things. Something greater than himself.

Then, the whispers came, and he was proven right.

The boy— known only as Chuuya, from what Dazai was able to dig up— was to be the vessel of their god, Arahabaki. Because of that role, he was kept away from the other children in their little village; while they played games and cried to their parents, he was taught how to be the perfect container for calamity. They scarcely saw him, peaks from behind foliage or the unmistakable brightness of his hair from the corner of their eyes.

Dazai understood why— couldn’t let such a perfect being be corrupted by the filthy ignorance of other children— but it was infuriating. He couldn’t live on catching glimpses of the boy. He needed more. He wanted everything. He wanted those ocean blue orbs focused on him, and only on him, because to have the attention of the boy god was a heady thing.

His obsession, while no more fanatical than most of the adults of their village, was singular in the fact that he was young. Of course, the children of their village were raised to worship Arahabaki, but parents weren’t too concerned with their involvement until their teenage years. Acknowledgement of its existence was enough for children younger than 12.

Dazai was 8.

But Dazai had always been different. A little too observant, a little too intelligent for his own good. His peers avoided him, perhaps sensing a feeling of wrongness, like they were at the mercy of a predator with all-too-sharp teeth. Even the adults were wary, unable to predict the brunette.

And when he put his mind to something, he would do it.

“Who are you?” Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Kami, even when he had his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently, he was— cute! No one else would describe the vehicle for the god of destruction like that, but that was Dazai’s truth.

“I’m Dazai!” The brunette leaned forward, probably a little too close judging by the small grimace he spied on the other boy’s face. Then he tilted his head like a curious puppy. “You really haven’t heard of me?”

“No… I don’t exactly have time for stuff like that,” the redhead answered before catching himself, “Anyway— never mind that! You shouldn’t be here! What if the adults find you here?”

“Aw~ Worried about me?”

“Of course I am, dummy! I’m not supposed to be talking with other kids.”

“It’s fine, Chuuya~! No one will ever even know I was here,” Dazai tutted. “I’m quite good at slipping away unnoticed. Unlike you, I don’t have bright orange hair that makes me stand out. I come and go as I please!”

Chuuya’s nose wrinkled. “You talk a lot.” A statement, practically a fact.

“Well, who else will? You?” Dazai asked. “You’re starved of human interaction as it is.”

“Whatever,” Chuuya grumbled. “You’re weird, you know that?” The brunette nodded, still sporting that mischievous (and downright annoying) smile. He had known it for all of two minutes, and already it was getting on his nerves. “Just get out of here!”

“No! At least…“

“At least what?”

“Not until you agree to be my friend!” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. Dazai had designs, and the foot-in-the-door phenomenon was very real.

“Why would I do that?” Chuuya gave the other an incredulous look. “You barged in here ruining my peace and quiet — which I never get, if you didn’t know — with your weirdness. And now you’re making demands?!”

Dazai pouted. “Come on! You want me to leave, don’t you? It’s really quite simple,” he pestered. “Just say yes and I’ll be out of your hair.” For now. Of course, as soon as Chuuya gave him permission, he’d be incessantly at the redhead’s side, whether he liked it or not. That’s what friends were for… right?

“For the love of— no! No, no, no!” Chuuya refused to admit he was stomping his feet, but the brunette had a way of getting to him. “Do you want me to write it out for you too?”

“You could, but I don’t think you’ll have time for it.” At that, Chuuya quieted. He looked at the brunette suspiciously, who only smirked and pointed out the lengthening shadows on the wall across from them. Now that neither of them were making any noise, the sound of footsteps could be clearly heard as well.

“You—! How long have you known they were there?”

“Not long. Actually, I just made a prediction that it would be about 10 minutes, give or take, before they came to get you,” Dazai said. “Even when there’s no set schedule, people can be alarmingly predictable, you know—“

This kid was crazy!

“…So how about it?”

The footsteps were getting louder. Closer. Chuuya hurried to slap a hand over the other’s mouth in an effort to hide them both. It was like this Dazai wanted to be discovered! In fact, from what little he knew of him, Chuuya hazarded a guess that that was exactly what he wanted. He probably figured the redhead was a bleeding heart (he wasn’t wrong) and calculated the outcome most in his favor, the little freak…

“Ugh, fine! I’ll be your friend.” The shorter boy gave in. He still held his hand over the other’s mouth as the brunette squirmed in glee. “Now can you go already?”

Dazai nodded, at which point Chuuya released him with a huff. “Thanks, friend~ I’ll see you around!”

Chuuya watched him slip away. That was officially the weirdest interaction he’d had yet (not that he had many to compare to).

Thus, their first meeting concluded. The first of many engineered encounters, courtesy of Dazai who could never leave well enough alone.

“Are you scared?”

Chuuya was quiet for a second. He knew exactly what the other was asking. “…not really, no.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“I knew it was gonna happen eventually,” the redhead shrugged. “I’m prepared for whatever happens. It’s my purpose, after all.”

“What if it hurts?” Dazai frowned.

“It’s fine. I’m used to pain… unlike you,” Chuuya added. The atmosphere felt a bit too charged for his liking, so he hoped his little jab would clear it. Fortunately, Dazai took the bait (or maybe the brunette had also realized how stifling the air between them had become).

“Not everyone can be a masochist like you!”

“What does that word even mean?!”

“It means you like pain,” the brunette lectured, happy to once again have the upper hand. For all that he got on Chuuya’s nerves, the redhead was also the only person to be able to get on Dazai’s nerves. “Maybe if you cracked open a dictionary once in a while, you’d know big words like me too.”

“You’re just a weirdo, admit it! You’re the only kid who would rather spend his free time memorizing the words in a dictionary — so you can lord it over me later, just like you’re doing now — instead of playing ball or something.”

“Kami forbid some of us value intellectual pursuits over physical ones!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

The weighted silence comes back.

“…just don’t come back wrong, okay?”

…

“No promises. I’d like to think I’m stronger than that, though.” Chuuya stretched and stood up. “See ya.”

Dazai watched his retreating figure until it was out of sight. He sighed, putting a hand under his chin as he gazed outward at the lake. “I want to think you are too.”

Today was the day.

All the preparations had been completed. Everyone had been briefed— even the little children who didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. The culmination of their clan’s efforts… all for this one moment: the summoning of their god, Arahabaki, ancient Creature of Calamity.

Like everyone else, Dazai was excited. Not just to see their god in the flesh, but to see Chuuya crowned in chaos and blood. In fact, if anyone asked, he would probably say he’s more excited to see Chuuya be worshipped like the god he’s supposed to be, like he deserves. The village may only see him as a vessel, but a vessel is worthless if it can’t contain what it needs to. Therefore, Chuuya — by definition — was something special.

A hush fell over the crowd as the haunting tones of a flute filled the air. A small stage had been erected in the middle of the field, which served as the destination for the group of three currently walking down the center of the makeshift aisle.

Dazai tried to make eye contact with the shorter boy, but he kept his eyes forward and head held high. Typical Chuuya, strong and prideful to the last. Normally, Dazai would admire that, but he had a rather bad feeling about today. If it were anyone else, they’d be told to ignore it, that it was just jittery nerves from the excitement of the day or something. But Dazai knew himself, and his intuition had never steered him wrong before.

It took an immense amount of willpower, but he managed to stay himself. Even with his reputation, he didn’t think he could get away with just stealing the god-vessel right in front of everyone. Plus, he still wanted to see Chuuya clothed in strength and destructive energy. So, instead, all he could do was keep a wary eye out and be prepared to execute one of his many escape plans (and, in all the chaos, hopefully take Chuuya with him, with or without his consent).

The ceremony went on without interruption, the redhead obediently sitting on the stone throne as the priests arranged their materials on the altar before it. While it was hard to see from his lower vantage point, Dazai spied a mortar and pestle, a gleaming cup, candelabras, and an ancient tome.

The priests moved as if it was a well-choreographed dance. (It probably was. They had practiced their whole life for this.) One lit the candles in the candelabras, another sprinkled a powder of something into the cup before stirring it. However, Dazai’s attention was captured by the last man, who had previously been mashing a red concoction with the pestle, and now had begun to paint red rune markings onto Chuuya’s face and arms.

The brunette was fascinated, especially with the way they highlighted the other’s face, like they were always meant to be there.

Then, the priest who had been lighting the candelabras finished his task and walked over to the open tome, reciting an ancient tongue as everyone could only look on with baited breath. Once the markings were deemed complete, the other priest stepped back and joined his brother, humming in a low tone. As they continued their strange melody, the final priest approached Chuuya with the cup.

The boy, who had been stone-faced the entire time, grimaced minutely. The liquid didn’t have an odor, yet something about it seemed foul.

Regardless, Chuuya knew his duty. Which is why, after an imperceptible sigh, he took a measured sip. He was tempted to gag afterward, but held it in, only wiping his mouth before handing the cup back. The final priest then jointed the chant.

While he had been taught what to expect, even the priests didn’t know what was to happen next. So Chuuya sat, for several seconds, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Was he supposed to be doing something?

Just as the question came to him, the flames of the candles extinguished, and he felt the markings on his arms and face burning through his skin to lick along his insides. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air, but the chanting grew louder to drown it out.

He didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but before he knew it, darkness greeted him.

Dazai watched as Chuuya writhed on his throne, screaming, while his painted marks seemed to glow. Though he was worried for the boy (he hated when the other was in distress… that wasn’t caused by himself), he couldn’t deny the morbid curiosity that had overcome him.

He was witnessing a transformation— Chuuya’s transformation. And he understood that, sometimes, pain was necessary to achieve one’s full potential.

Dazai wanted that for Chuuya. He wanted that and more for the boy he had decided to claim as his own.

He didn’t intervene.

When he blinked his eyes open, Chuuya found himself in a space of endless nothingness, the only thing around him being an enormous steel gate.

He frowned, unsure what to do. The priests hadn’t told him what was next in this situation, and he didn’t want to something wrong. His one and only purpose— he couldn’t mess it up!

He sighed, approaching the gate. There was nothing around for miles and miles (even the horizon seemed as empty as his surroundings), so he figured the next step had something to do with the only thing around.

“Do I have to do everything around here? Can’t I get a hint?” He asked to no one as he put a cautious hand on the surface of the gate. Immediately, he jolted back as he felt pressure shoot up his arm. “What the hell?!”

With narrowed eyes aimed at the gate, he took several steps backward. Whatever was inside that thing… it was dangerous. And it wanted him, clearly, as the gate began to open even though he hadn’t done anything. Instead, Chuuya was frozen in place, a feeling of dread washing over him.

Because he couldn’t see anything beyond the deep red light it was emitting.

It looked like something straight out of a horror movie, the way it shone like an exit sign in the dark. A beacon for terrible things.

At some point, Chuuya’s screams had turned silent, but his body held taut like a string. All the while, the priests hadn’t stopped in their chanting, now being joined by the roiling of thunder clouds.

It seemed that a storm was coming.

How peculiar, though, that the sky seemed highlighted in red.

Dazai assumed this was just another part of the ritual, as did everyone else, for no one left. Maybe Arahabaki would come down from the heavens to grace them with its presence, or ignore them all entirely and spear through the clouds to get to his vessel. Whatever was to come, Dazai was excited for it, not least because of Chuuya’s role in the performance.

So engrossed was Dazai in the ceremony that he had almost let his guard down. Almost being the key word.

Just as the ceremony seemed to be coming to its climax, the revving of engines could be heard in the distance, but growing louder by the second. They were being attacked!

Dazai instantly started running for one of his escape routes, using the confusion and chaos of stumbling bodies as cover. He spared Chuuya one last glance before continuing on. He would be of no use to the redhead if he was dead, after all, and if anyone could survive this, it would be Chuuya. Of course, this was all assuming the intruders wanted to kill them in the first place.

Chuuya would be fine. Dazai had the utmost trust in him.

For now, he had to make sure he, himself, lived. And one day, someday in the far future, they would be reunited.

Dazai would make sure of it.

The shadow of a head peaked from within the gate. It was followed by a groaning sound— eerie, powerful, and downright terrifying.

Chuuya willed his legs to move, but they remained stuck to the floor. He could only hold himself unnaturally still as he was confronted by a monstrous head, black with red markings, as it slowly revealed itself. Torturously slow.

Though the gate was enormous, the monster was barely able to fit its head through. How big was its true form? Chuuya didn’t want to find out.

“Here to kill me?” He asked as a strange peace settled over him. “Well, this body is yours. Come on and take it.”

Arahabaki was so close now, Chuuya could feel its breath on his face.

When the armored cars roared into the clearing, it seemed like overkill. Their targets were little more than civilians. Villagers living isolated far from any modern society shouldn’t have warranted such a response. But, clearly, there was more going on here than meets the eye.

“Gather them up!”

The villagers resisted, but it was futile. Against gunfire and reinforced steel, they stood no chance. When those with too-strong wills chose to fight, they met their fate in a bullet and became an example to their peers, who quickly decided it wasn’t worth it. From there, it was laughably easy to herd the rest of the villagers into the armored vans to be reintroduced to society.

As the sounds of fighting began to quiet down with more and more villagers being cleared out, the commander confidently strode to the stage area where he was met with three cowering men in robes and a quivering boy whose eyes seemed to stare at nothing.

The sky was still a turbulent red.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He… He’s the vessel who will house our god. The chosen one!”

The commander narrowed his eyes. “He’s nothing but a boy! Look at him— what exactly have you done?”

“Only what the ritual had specified.”

There’s a moment of aggrieved silence.

“Men like you disgust me. Using children as a means to achieve your personal goals when they don’t know any better.” He took out a pistol, firing it three times in rapid succession. The priests didn’t even have enough time to blink before their lives were snuffed out like the smoke from the recently-fired gun. “Good riddance.”

The commander then approached the boy, but even with all the noise around him, he was still unresponsive. “Hey, boy. Can you hear me?”

Frowning, the man kneeled down and forcefully shook the prone form. Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick, as the boy jolted forward. Awareness seemed to return to his eyes, but only for a split second, as in the next, he slumped over in a dead faint. With his quick reflexes, the commander was able to catch him before he fell to the floor, and noted the marks on his arms had dimmed.

“Commander! We’ve gathered everyone up as you instructed. Orders?”

The man took one last look at the boy’s sleeping face before he stood, carrying him on his back. He nodded at his vice commander. “Great. Do a final sweep and let’s get out of here."

Above, the sky had calmed and the red had receded.

12 years later…

The “Demon Wraith” of the Port Mafia was a feared name.

Dazai did nothing by halves, and never by accident, so the spread of his moniker was just another on the long list of plans he had. Though he hadn’t come up with it himself, he thought it quite fitting.

Over the years, Dazai had never lost sight of his goal, never strayed from it. Every little side quest and seemingly unrelated matter always served to help him achieve his ultimate purpose, his reason for living: reuniting with Chuuya. His second long-term goal was to finish the job and make his idol into a god like he was supposed to be, but, of course, he couldn’t do that without finding the redhead first.

Despite his intelligence, the former was turning out to be quite the task. His friend was never the subtle, passive type, so he didn’t think it would be this hard to root him out. However, his searches were coming up dry, and he had deduced that to mean only one thing: he was being hidden on purpose. And the soldiers who had attacked their village that night so many years ago were the ones responsible. There could be no other explanation for a cover-up that thorough. Nothing escaped Dazai, after all.

That’s how he ended up in the Port Mafia.

While he preferred to work alone, the brunette acknowledged that the group’s resources far exceeded what he could accomplish on his own (even with all his supernatural perception). Paired with his penchant for scheming, and it was a perfect match. Dazai would carry out the mafia’s dirty work, ruthless in his judgment (from which “Demon” came from) while staying unseen (from which “Wraith” came from), in exchange for access to the Mafia’s network and firepower.

Mori had been willing to take the risk— a man so single-minded in his goal would be willing to do whatever it took, and that was simply an opportunity he couldn’t pass up, especially when you take into account Dazai’s brilliance— but he was under no assumptions that the brunette was there for anything other than his own selfish reasons. While he was helping the mafia, it was only by proxy, and he would leave as soon as he got what he came for. The partnership was purely transactional.

Mori was fine with it. So fine with it that he promoted the man to an executive position after a little bit of “negotiating” despite knowing there would be an expiration date on it. Still— however long he could keep Dazai, he would take it.

Dazai, meanwhile, was uninterested in his reasonings. The promotion in rank, though, came with a shiny new set of privileges that he sorely wanted.

All these years, and he still couldn’t forget Chuuya’s face. It was a fixture in his mind. Call him a little obsessed, and he wouldn’t deny it (he would probably correct you that, actually, he was a lot obsessed, maybe even unhealthily obsessed). They had been so close! Of course, the soldiers chose that moment to interrupt the one thing that Dazai had been dreaming of for years.

It was okay though. Plans don’t always come to fruition exactly as written— that’s why he always had contingencies in place. Dazai would find his wayward idol.

It was just a question of when.

It turns out when wasn’t a long time at all. After his promotion to executive, and all the new perks it came with (including a group of his own subordinates that would do his bidding no questions asked rather than being manipulated into it), the task had finally been in reach.

He found him at a plain and boring cafe of all places.

Dazai wanted to turn his nose up at the place (it wasn’t befitting of his Chuuya!) but resisted the urge.

After all that searching, the redhead was just sitting there, sipping on some coffee, oblivious to all the hard work Dazai had put in to find him. It was so annoying!

“Chuuya~! I found you!” The brunette slid into the seat opposite of the other boy (well, man now, though Dazai was happy to see he still hadn’t grown very much in the time they were apart). All he got was a bewildered stare in response, which certainly wasn’t the warm welcome he had been expecting…

“Excuse me?”

“Is Chuuya stupid? Don’t you know your own name?”

The other didn’t rise to the bait, which only unsettled Dazai more. “I think you have the wrong person. My name’s not Chuuya.”

“Eh? Of course it’s Chuuya. What else could it be?” The brunette pouted. His skills were getting rusty— this wasn’t going as planned at all!

“I’m Kashimura, moron.” Oh, he insulted him! There’s that sliver of Chuuya that he knew and loved! “I don’t know who this Chuuya person is, but he must be a saint to tolerate you.”

Dazai paused. And frowned. Kashimura? Chuuya Kashimura. No, that wasn’t right, not at all. He would know the name of his idol anywhere, and it was just Chuuya. Was it not him, after all? But he looked identical to the boy he had lost that night, a forever ago now.

“Okay,” Dazai tilted his head like a confused puppy, “Could you do something for me first, to help me confirm you’re not really the person I’m looking for? If you’re not, I’ll leave.”

Kashimura huffed. “I don’t know where you get off harassing strangers like this, but fine. Fine. Whatever will get you to leave me alone.”

Chuuya had a birth mark behind his right ear. It was small and easy to miss if one wasn’t looking (but, of course, Dazai knew everything about his Chuuya, had catalogued his features over the years they spent together and hasn’t forgotten a single one since). If this man didn’t have it, then he really was a stranger, and Dazai had gotten it wrong.

“What are you doing?” The redhead immediately whipped his head to look at Dazai suspiciously as soon as the brunette moved to go behind Kashimura.

“You said you’d do whatever I asked!” The taller huffed. “And I’m asking you to stay still.”

It took everything in the shorter’s willpower not to slap the stranger invading his personal space, but he did promise— and if there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he never went back on his word. Loyal and honest to the last.

Dazai leaned in closer while the other’s head was resolutely turned forward, though Kashimura couldn’t stop the shivers down his spine when he felt the brunette’s breath on the back of his head. The seconds felt like hours, and he was tempted to slam his head back and give them both concussions if Dazai didn’t hurry up, but then the man backed away.

Dazai, for his part, had only been teasing. His eyes had immediately zeroed in on the mark, clear and stark as day to his trained eyes, before Kashimura had even turned his head fully forward. He was right! And of course he was— he knew that body and face like his own. It appeared in his best dreams and his worst nightmares.

Chuuya didn’t seem to remember, however.

It was fine. That can be fixed.

“There. Can you go now?” Kashimura impatiently tapped his foot, arms crossed. A perfect mimic of the first time they met.

“No can do!” Dazai shook his head. “Unfortunately, you’re exactly the person I’m looking for!”

“But I’m telling you my name’s not Chuuya! What proof do you have?”

“Easy! Come with me!”

Dazai all but dragged the redhead to the bathroom, ignoring the other’s violent protests. Then, he bodily arranged the other to stand with his back to the bathroom mirror and pulled a smaller mirror out of his pocket, bringing it close to the shorter man. “You see that mark behind your right ear? I bet you didn’t even know that was there, did you?” Kashimura’s eyes widened as he spied the mark that was, indeed, there. “That’s how I know it was you, Chuuya.”

Kashimura frowned at him, suddenly unsure of everything. How did one respond to being told that they aren’t the person they believed themselves to be? “So… what now?”

Dazai smiled. As befitting of his Demon Wraith title, it looked a little twisted.

“Want me to jog your memory?”

“Chuuya…” Dazai said to himself, watching as the moth hovered around the lantern, eventually coming too close and burning itself alive. “I’ll make you the god you were always meant to be.”

His ominous words hung in the air like a warning.

The brunette, ecstatic at finding his old friend, proceeded to practically take him hostage. Chuuya went along with it, wanting to know who he really was— and maybe, just maybe, because he enjoyed the other’s company too.

Over the weeks, the two got extremely close, closer even than when they were children. Dazai couldn’t be happier (his mafia subordinates were terrified every time their leader came in with a smile that just kept getting bigger— before, he barely ever smiled unless it was to torture someone for information). The only thing that could possibly make things better than they already were is unlocking Chuuya’s true strength. Though Dazai tried, he hadn’t made much headway, too distracted being in the other’s presence to pay much mind to his usual elaborate schemes.

Dazai was content to continue like that… until the perfect opportunity quite literally dropped into his lap. And he didn’t even have to do anything for it too!

“What’s going on?!” The two huddled together in an alleyway as a monster rampaged through their city.

“An ability user gone rogue,” Dazai offered by way of explanation.

“I’ve never seen an ability like that before!”

I know— that’s the problem! “Could be the result of experimentation. In fact, it probably is. Either way, it looks like our problem now.”

“What?” Chuuya gave him an incredulous look. “How the hell are we supposed to fight that thing?!”

“Well… if Chuuya just activated his yet untapped powers, then the problem would be taken care of, easy!”

“Don’t tell me you’re still on that shit,” the redhead scoffed. “I told you I don’t have an ability!”

“But I know that you do. And it’s crucial to my plan.”

“So you’re telling me that the future of Yokohama all rests on me maybe having an ability?” He frowned, brows furrowed. “Let’s say I do have one. How do you know it’ll be enough to stop that thing?”

An enigmatic smile crossed Dazai’s face. He turned to Chuuya with twinkling eyes. “Just trust me.” That expression never boded well. “You trust me, right?”

“…begrudgingly, yeah. Though I’m afraid you’re going to pull some reckless— Dazai!”

The brunette didn’t hesitate. As soon as he heard Chuuya’s confirmation, he ran out from behind the alleyway. His trajectory was clear: he was running straight toward the source. What was that idiot thinking?!

The redhead closed his eyes.

Dazai. I hope that trust in me isn’t misplaced…

「 汝陰鬱なる汚濁の許容よ,

更めてわれを目覚ますことなかれ. 」

The redhead emerged in a blaze of crimson glory. The rune markings from the night of the ritual glowed brightly and even seemed to pulse. His hair was disheveled and the blue of his eyes had disappeared. The whole ensemble made him look insane. And yet, to Dazai, he looked—

“Beautiful.”

The brunette stopped and stared. The object of his admiration for years… finally in the flesh.

So lost was he in his fascination that he almost missed the creature making a grab for him. Fortunately, he sidestepped just in time; seconds later, a sphere that Dazai could only describe as ‘void’ came hurtling toward the monster.

It was obliterated on impact.

And with that, the monster was gone… but there was still one more thing to take care of.

“Chuuya.”

Though, it could probably wait, right?

Dazai wanted to gaze at that form a little longer.

…But I think I like the one that you're living in.