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The moment he is sent by Fukuzawa to retrieve Q, his limbs fill with dread. He knew this was going to happen sooner or later, but later seemed like the obvious choice. If Dazai’s hunch is right, he’s definitely going to be there. And when has he ever been wrong?
You see, Dazai Osamu has collected over a dozen aliases over the course of his life; all of which hold some semblance of real history behind them, but the title one-half of double black is the one that stings him the most. Not because of the destruction he’s caused as a former member of the Port Mafia, but because of the ever-present reminder that tags along with it. He’s only one-half.
His old partner, he regrettably muses, had been Nakahara Chuuya, the one person he understood the best, both in terms of fighting skill and sleeping habit. Together, the city of Yokohama had labeled them as the most dangerous pair of men to walk the streets. This is a feat Dazai might have been proud of at the time, but at present, the thought makes him scrunch up his nose in distaste. It’s easy for him to admit he’s a threat, maybe even lethal, but to share such a reputation with Chuuya? A shame.
Because, what a shame indeed, for people to believe that about someone who isn't anything close to a killing machine.
He’d been there to see the child Kouyou nee-san had yet to train. He’d been there to see Chuuya struggling to keep his ability in check, for fear of hurting the ones around him. He’d been there, after every successful mission, to find Chuuya to knock back shot after shot, something most of the mafia had written off as celebratory, but Dazai knew as regret. If only everyone else knew the real reason Chuuya used the full extent of his power solely as a last resort was never about his own life. If only they’d known how insistent Chuuya had been to consider other options before using it. The choice is up to you. He’d always say, and sure, it’s true that he’d always said it when there was no other choice, but it is a mistake to think he did not mean it. The aftermath of Corruption is a heavy weight to bear on such fragile shoulders.
And the truth is, this is where Chuuya’s real strength lies, because possessing the capacity to live after bearing witness to so much death requires so much more than just physical strength and resilience.
It is something Dazai may never admit, but he held—no, still holds, a great deal of respect for his former partner. Something he wishes could exist for him as well, but after Dazai’s split with the organization? Very unlikely.
It had been the most cowardly time to leave, if he’s being honest; because Chuuya had been sent on a mission abroad, and Dazai would not be there to see the look on his face when news reached him.
They’d met once after he’d left actually, while he was chained and taken prisoner. Chuuya had seen straight through him then. Even treated Dazai with the same amount of shallow jabs and insults he once did everyday. They’d fought, and even after months of being apart, it was clear they were still in sync with each other’s movements. Dazai had to resort to bluffing to escape, and even then he’s sure Chuuya knew he was, but-
Chuuya let him off the hook too easy. It stings, but only a little.
So in conclusion, no one can blame Dazai if he’s feeling particularly grumpy for the rest of the day, or if he sinks a little too deep into one of the Armed Detective Agency’s many leather couches to avoid being chatted with.
(Because what a tragedy it is; to leave all you've ever known and loved, only for the universe to tell you much later, that it was always meant to be.)
—
In any other life, Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya might have met under different circumstances. They might have become friends even, instead of picking petty fights over their height difference among other things. But, in this timeline, they’re something of a puzzle.
Because immediately after he stops bullets in midair from attempting to kill Dazai, Chuuya calls him a punk ass and tells him he’s going to beat him up after all this is over.
And it is infinitely amusing and dismaying to be greeted by his partner this way, and although he can faux annoyance for the most part; a grin escapes him when he nullifies the enemy’s ability and ducks to give Chuuya support for a kick with practiced ease. The wind wisps against his face and he is awed once again by the man he’d called partner so long ago.
He's always been graceful, performing careful and calculated moves in a way that Dazai can’t help but stare and appreciate. And oh, how he missed this.
(Circles, he thinks, they’re going around in circles; because double black wasn’t just a partnership, it was an un-shifting paradox of saving the person you claim to hate the most.)
—
They’re being attacked again. Actually, when aren’t they being attacked?
It wouldn’t even matter if his ability would work, but apparently this Lovecraft man is more like some kind of monster as opposed to an actual ability user, as he unfortunately deduces after taking a heavy hit. He hasn’t spit blood in a long time, he thinks. Hasn’t heard Chuuya call out to him in a panic in an even lengthier time. And what a bittersweet occurrence it is, to feel his heart beating from something other than the adrenaline.
“Let’s do things the way we used to,” he breathes. Maybe it has been set in stone. Maybe all those years ago they’d drifted towards each other because of more than just coincidence. And when Chuuya counters his suggestion with clear cut memories of the strategies they'd formed under waning moonlight, all the poetry and prose they’d poured over throughout the years never forgotten, Dazai allows himself to hope it’s true.
He hides his genuine lightheartedness at the auburn haired man’s response under the pretense of pride and smugness, but he smiles anyway. “When have my plans ever been wrong?” When they included leaving you, he thinks, when they included leaving.
The reply he gets is nothing short of a practiced combo of a frown and curse, because much to Chuuya’s chagrin, Dazai has never been wrong about a play before, and he knows it fully well.
They execute shame and toads perfectly. Chuuya takes out Lovecraft in a second.
Or at least, he thought so when he complimented the man (sheepdog). But suddenly the makeshift-cast-bomb he’s wearing is used to fling him across the clearing and ripped across right where his arm would be.
—
“Chuuya, before I die...I want to tell you that-“ That when you screamed my name I felt like someone believed I was human again. Chuuya cuts him off, as expected, and he’s left to think about his reaction, about how he almost seems devastated at the idea that Dazai might be dying.
Ah, he really is worried.
He drops the gag, and pulls out the arm from under his coat. “Tada!” If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s pretending. Pretending he’s not actually in a full state of alarm because of all the options he’s going through in his head, there is only one that may work.
“Let’s give up and die.” I’d rather die with you than live in a world you aren’t there to spite me. He would really rather not have Chuuya to go through Corruption again, and definitely not because of him.
“There’s only one hand left; the choice is up to you.” The weight of the next words that come out of his mouth feel like ash and broken glass, “If my support comes too late, you’ll die.” And I will have to keep on living, because that's exactly the punishment I'd deserve. "Are you willing to perform Corruption?”
But because Chuuya is himself, and Dazai’s bared witness countless times to what reckless bravado his partner has, he rolls his sleeves up and faces whatever monstrosity is coming after them both, putting his complete trust in Dazai to save his life once again, and betting on his own to save them both.
Why do you trust me so much? Dazai can’t say that Chuuya is the person who knows him best, that will have to go to Odasaku, but the difference is that you are alive and he is not. You know me. How can you put your life in the hands of a man whose bandages are stained with blood that isn’t his own?
The following exchange is a pitiful attempt at a goodbye. Of all the repeated insults and references to all the times they’ve ever half-heartedly bickered before a potentially fatal mission. If only we could stay like this forever.
As he’s holding a tempered steel knife against Steinbeck’s throat, watching as Chuuya removes his gloves with a certain brand of serenity only he could pull off in a situation like this, and Dazai stiffens at the last words he may ever hear from the man.
“O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again.”
Somehow, throughout all the years of fake disgust and mock-up fights, Dazai imagined the last words he’d hear from Chuuya would be different.
And, when Chuuya’s body begins to sink beneath the overwhelming amount of pressure of Corruption, Dazai’s breath hitches in anticipation. Teach me how I’m not supposed to fall in love when you do these things in front of me. Teach me how to fall apart like flowers blooming the in spring.
After a couple of attacks, Dazai knows something’s wrong. Lovecraft isn’t backing down. All the while he’s explaining the extent of Chuuya’s ability to Steinbeck, his mind races with a thousand different strategies to save him before it’s too late. “This is bad. His body can’t keep up.”
That’s when he hears his answer. Impossible from the outside? Then, “in other words, an attack from the inside is effective.” He grins, for the first time in what seems like ages, with relief, and pulls out the detonator of his bomb out of his right pocket.
The explosion is enough to tear through Lovecraft’s defense and give Chuuya a window to go in for the kill. And he’s right in position to pull it off. They’re in step, even now.
“Do it, Chuuya.”
The following blast is near deafening; and in its aftermath is a crater, Lovecraft nowhere in sight. Chuuya is right at the center of it all, dripping with blood and laughing maniacally, loud enough to sound like screams for help. Dazai is on him in a second, gripping his wrist with enough support to carry him when his legs inevitably give out. “Take a break now, Chuuya.”
Maybe it has been set in stone. Maybe all those years ago they’d drifted towards each other because of more than just coincidence. Maybe No Longer Human was not a curse bestowed on him for others to reject it. Maybe For the Tainted Sorrow was not named for the misery it was bound to cause its user. Maybe they were created for each other; for someone who felt no longer connected to humanity to feel emotion towards something so incredibly human and fragile, and for someone else who's been tainted by far too much blood on his hands, to know he isn't the only one who feels no longer worthy of being called a person.
His bones feel so brittle against Dazai's palms; much like glass, and for a moment Dazai is afraid Chuuya will shatter in his arms, before he starts coughing again. Dazai knows what it feels to lose someone, and he thanks whatever god is looking out for them when Chuuya curses at him for taking too long. “See that I properly get back to my base,” he says, and Dazai wants to ask, you'd trust me to do even that?
And Dazai almost leaves without looking back, but can't help checking to make sure Chuuya’s still breathing anyway.
(“Do you trust me?”
“You’re an idiot. What do you think? )