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The view of Yokohama city is a familiar view to Chuuya from where he sat on his balcony. The moon high in the night sky, the building's bright lights almost blinding his tipsy brain. He takes a swig from the bottle of wine he has in his hand, too tired from the day to even consider getting a glass. Even now, he hasn't changed out of the dirty clothes from the day, some blood splattered across the white shirt, rumpled from the mission earlier that day.
Ane-san would for sure berate him if she saw the admittedly pathetic state he was in. He takes another drink at the thought. He's supposed to have the day off tomorrow, and frankly he'd rather spend the night getting drunk to the point he can't get out of bed the next day.
Chuuya sighs, reaching into his pockets for the familiar box containing his cigarettes. Since joining the Port Mafia, he's developed habits that he hadn't imagined himself doing while a part of The Sheep. He can imagine his younger self, scoffing at the fact that he has the privilege to let himself be so relaxed. He tries to ignore the second voice in his head, finally happy to have some sort of freedom. That he's able to put himself first, instead of worrying over other kids while he himself was a kid.
For all the affection he had for the gang, he can't help but feel the ending he had with them was the best case scenario. Chuuya can live, taking advantage of the life he's able to have after the lab. The Sheep no longer has to deal with him, acting as if he's some kind of bomb ready to blow up in their faces.
He sticks the cigarette in his mouth, reaching for his lighter next before finding out he doesn't have it on hand. He lets out a small irritated growl, sinking further into the cushions. Honestly, what's a guy gotta do to indulge in his unhealthy habits?
He sits there lamenting over his unlit cigarette, as he hears a soft click coming from his front door. He doesn't bother getting up to check, there's only one person idiotic enough to break into his place. He can't find himself to care, taking a swig around the cigarette. Maybe it'd do him good to have company tonight, he muses to himself listening to the rifling of items happening in his kitchen.
Dazai is no doubt trying to find some sort of alcohol that isn't Chuuya's stash of wine. Not because he wants to be nice, the damn mackerel would no doubt drink or pour out his collection if Chuuya pissed him off enough. The wine just isn't Dazai's taste, his face scrunching in disgust every time he takes a sip knowing damn well he hates it.
Nearly silent footsteps walk towards him, stopping at the doorframe. If he wasn't so in tune with his partner, he probably wouldn't have been able to know dazai entered his apartment at all. That's mildly terrifying, he thinks as Dazai flops himself on the outdoor couch with a sigh, head grazing Chuuya's thighs.
He doesn't look down as Dazai uses a lighter to light the cigarette from his mouth, instead letting out a small hum as he takes a breath and the nicotine finally enters his lungs. It's terrifying that, despite all the fighting the two do, they trust each other with their lives and secrets. Every day is a gamble if the jabs will be light teasing or if they'll unearth some hurt from their past trauma. It's a gamble if it's a quiet day working on some boring paperwork or going out into the field killing some random group that got on the Port Mafia's bad side. It's a gamble if one day, one of them turns up dead.
And what Chuuya finds terrifying, is that despite all these uncertainties constantly circling around in his brain. He can always rely on Dazai to keep him safe, that Dazai will never truly betray him, that they'll always remain partners.
Two eighteen year olds, thrown in some shitty organization, and forced to become a duo. Despite starting out at fifteen, they became the trump card of the mafia, a powerful duo that is spoken almost as if they're legends. And behind all that, they were just two kids that are perhaps a little too codependent on each other. They're just a lab experiment and a suicidal kid, both convinced they aren't human.
Chuuya lets out a huff of laughter at the thought. Dazai shifts to peer up at him, a bit of whiskey is sliding down the side of his mouth. The eye that isn't covered is a dark void, staring at him in contemplation. It's quiet for a moment, as they stare at each other before Dazai smiles up at him.
“Hmm, what is this chibi thinking about I wonder.” Dazai hums, stretching himself across Chuuya's lap like he's a cat. He might as well be one, with the way that despite going limp it's almost as if he wasn't there. For all that he's tall, he's concerningly light.
Chuuya waves the thought out of his head, he's supposed to spend the night getting stupidly drunk not worrying about the leech invading his apartment. And with the way that the buzz is steadily creeping up on him despite barely being halfway through the bottle, he's definitely going to get there soon.
“Nothing much,” He exhales the smoke. “Just imagining you getting struck by some lightning...” He grins sharply at the taller boy, who dramatically gasps.
“Chibi!” He sits up, whiskey bottle still in hand, hitting him with the other. “Bad dog! Don't you know the saying ‘Don't bite the hand that feeds you’ ? If you keep up with this I might have to put you down!” He teases Chuuya.
Chuuya scoffs, wrapping his free arm around Dazai's middle. With how many dog comments made about him, one would think he'd be used to them, but Dazai always found a way to get under his skin. And yet despite that..
Chuuya sneaks another glance to his partner, still whining on the seat. He finds that he'd do anything for Dazai, the bastards got him wrapped around his finger. And he knows it's mutual, no matter how much either of them want to deny it.
He takes a drag of the cigarette, then grabs Dazai's chin effectively shutting him up. He tightens his grip, opening Dazai's mouth and blows the smoke into the awaiting mouth.
Dazai's singular eye is staring at him in almost awe, pupils blown. The muted sounds of Yokohama fill in the silence between them, as the two stare at each other.
Then the damn mackerel coughs in Chuuya's face.
“What the fuck!” He pushes the other's face away. “What's your problem, you piece of shit?”
Dazai shrugs, taking a swig of the whiskey “Maybe you should've thought about it before shotgunning me.”
He glares at the brunette, "Didn't mean you had to cough in my face! I'll probably get some gross container disease now.” He puts out the cigarette, knowing Dazai he'd probably cough in his face again.
Dazai stares at him, as if he was just told crab is the worst thing to exist in the world, and not given another reminder about how shitty his “house” is.
“Chuuya is the worst! My precious humble abode is being talked badly about! I'll have you know I have anything I need in there.” He turns his nose up.
“Like a futon with a single blanket? A desk, a mini fridge and some shitty light? That's everything you need?”
“You can't forget the crab in said mini fridge.”
“God you're insufferable.” He huffs out, a smile sneaking on his face as Dazai wraps his arms around the red head's shoulders with a grin. The bandages wrapped around his arms bring some semblance of warmth to the usually cold skin.
“Maybe, but you're stuck with me now. We're partners after all.”
“Truly unfortunate.” It's really not, Chuuya is grateful to be with the bastard no matter how annoying he is.
For a while, they sit on the couch practically sitting in each other's laps. They take swings of their respective alcohol, staring out to the city that is their home.
With the amount of time they've spent together, they find that when bickering doesn't fill the air it's often silence that takes over. A comfortable, soft one that doesn't suffocate them. They find that communication can be done in wordless actions and gestures. It's a feat that came naturally to them.
“Chuuya.”
He hums back in response, finally done with the bottle, setting it down as the familiar fuzziness of being drunk settles in. He looks to the taller and finds that Dazai had been staring at him intently. The taller bites his lip, seemingly apprehensive in a rare show of vulnerability.
“You're my partner right?”
“Hah? Well yea-”
“And we trust each other. With our lives I mean. And I know we aren’t the greatest at talking, or getting vulnerable but I just-” Chuuya cuts him off by grasping both his shoulders as Dazai starts to ramble. It’s so unlike him to simply let out all these concerns, and there’s evidently something more to this than just drinking a whole bottle of whiskey.
“What’s this about?” Chuuya asks him. Dazai looks away, frighteningly enough he can see tears well up in his partner’s eyes. “You have to tell me, otherwise I won’t know how to help you.” He almost pleads.
“... I need to leave the Port Mafia.”
It’s almost as if he didn’t go through a whole bottle of wine when his brain comes to a halt.
He’s come to become comfortable with the mafia. For three years now, finding some semblance of belonging and family. Dazai was the one that dragged him into it, and now he wanted to leave? He’s hoping it’s some sick joke, because as pissed as he’d be with the brunette, he’d rather be that than actually contemplate if he’d leave behind what he built for himself. When looking into Dazai’s eye, he only sees grief and some sort of hope when they lock eyes.
“Fuck.” Chuuya breathes out, running his hand through his hair. Dazai sits silent for once, still staring at him as Chuuya uses his other hand to interlock their hands. “What brought this one? Explain to me, then I’ll…” He trails off, because he’ll what? Give his verdict on what he’d do if Dazai’s story is good enough or not? He knows that if he begged, truly begged, Dazai would stay.
But can he do that to him? In some sick part of his brain, he wants to. Dazai brought him here, manipulated his previous family to betray him. What gives him the right to up and leave, when Chuuya himself didn’t have a choice? He decides he can’t do that to him. His friend, his partner, his other half. Dazai has come to be his everything.
And so, even as Dazai explains about Ango’s betrayal, Oda’s orphans deaths, Oda’s own death and how Mori had planned for Oda’s demise. Chuuya finds that no matter what, he’d join Dazai wherever he may take them.
As Dazai finishes, he looks to him, unsure what kind of reaction Chuuya would have. He’s surprised by the hand that cups his cheek gently, the other still interlocking their hands.
“Okay.”
“Huh.” Dazai stares, dumbfounded.
“I trust you. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it comes to it, Samu.”
“Are you sure?” Dazai’s lips quiver, “Am I truly enough for you to leave everything behind again?”
“You are my everything.”
He’s met with a bone crushing hug. Skinny arms wrapped around him, shoulders slightly shaking. He feels his already dirty shirt get soaked with tears, but despite that Dazai doesn’t let out any other sign he’s crying. Instead, Chuuya wraps his arms around him, content to sit for eternity if his partner so wishes.
It truly is terrifying, he muses to himself as Dazai separates them after a few minutes. Knowing that he’s become so close to a person, that he’d follow him without a second thought. He’s allowed himself to become vulnerable. An unfathomable thought when living on the street, but here on the balcony, he can’t help but think it feels right.
He herds them inside, ignoring the mess on the balcony, intent on getting them to bed. They’re messy from the work earlier that day, they both need to shower and the alcohol is still sitting heavy on them. As they dig under the covers, legs immediately tangle and arms hold each other. Chuuya realizes he was mistaken about finding the Port Mafia as a family. As he looks at Dazai’s face, eye still puffy and red but closing as he lets sleep come to him, he finds that Dazai himself was home.