Work Text:
Casualties: 0
The number should have filled Chuuya with pride as he finished writing up the report of the night's mission, but in his head Chuuya couldn't help but add the note, "this time." For no matter how much he trained his body and ability; or how many tactics he studied; or how cautious he was with his men's lives, Chuuya knew it would never be:
Casualties: 0, every time.
Whilst his surviving men celebrated the victory, calling him 'the strength of the mafia', 'the invincible executive', their 'unbeatable gravity manipulator', he couldn't join them. If anything, the names they called him left a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A sickly and cloying whisper of a poison he once allowed himself to be fed.
He was strong. He was their strongest. But eventually, Chuuya knew it wouldn't be enough once more.
He pushed his chair back from the desk, his fingers coming to rub the tension from his brows. Outside the early morning sun was just peering over Yokohama's silhouetted cityscape, bringing with it dusty oranges and faded blues. He hadn't slept yet. Most people would be waking up soon, leading ordinary lives that Chuuya would never touch. Lives where a moment of weakness wouldn't cost them everything they held dear.
Another round of cheers and clinking glasses came from somewhere outside his office. The rec room, most likely. There was a pool table in there, Chuuya had it personally brought in. Though he rarely used it nowadays. He wondered if they were playing.
Standing from his chair, Chuuya stretched out his limbs, his joints creaking stiffly as they tended to after heavy use of his ability. He needed a drink, one that didn't come with the obligation of retelling his victory. Throwing his coat around his shoulders, Chuuya rummaged through the pockets for his cigarettes and lighter.
-
The streets were quiet. Still too early for the morning commuter's traffic, the ocean breeze not yet smothered by engine smoke. Chuuya took a deep breath, letting the salt air fill his lungs as if it could purify him from the inside out.
Then he put on his helmet and turned the key to start his bike. The engine roaring to life and breaking from the illusion that there was anything peaceful about his Yokohama. Storms followed him wherever he went, this quiet was only the gathering swell, until the thunder came crashing again.
Despite the burning in his tired eyes, Chuuya took the long way home. Winding his bike through the streets, until the city was behind him entirely. He'd loop back around before the traffic could build to the point he was stuck in it, but for now, Chuuya pressed himself low to his bike and sped aimlessly along the country roads.
There was no Yokohama here. No Port Mafia. No Chuuya Nakahara, protector, idol and failure. There was just the road and the hum of his bike. Here, his mind was blissfully blank.
-
The door to his apartment was unlocked.
Something that aggravated Chuuya more than it surprised him, if anything he'd been expecting this. He wondered if it would irk Dazai to know how predictable he could be sometimes. Just the imagined look of utter disbelief almost had a smile coming to his lips.
The night's 'mission' if it could be called that, only happened because the Agency wrapped the Mafia up in their affairs again. A part of Chuuya suspected Dazai was doing it on purpose at this point. It would make sense.
Why risk his precious coworkers' lives when mafia lives had always been so expendable to him?
He shook the thought from his mind. Jaw tense, hands clenched tight, anger brimming under his skin. That wasn't fair, Chuuya told himself, even if Dazai didn't want the mafia involved, Mori would be sure to impose their presence anyways. They ruled Yokohama's underground; the Agency and any upstarts they were tangoing with needed to be reminded of that.
If Dazai was banking on anything from the mafia, it was Chuuya swooping in and ensuring the victory.
Just like everyone else did.
To make things worse, Dazai had taken to paying him house calls after these forced joint missions. Cleaving his way back into Chuuya's life like he had the right to.
Opening the door, Chuuya was greeted by the sight of Dazai sitting in Chuuya's armchair, with his fingers steepled under his chin. The armchair that absolutely should not have been in front of the entrance way. It should be with his couch, by the TV and the coffee table, where it made sense to be. If Dazai scratched Chuuya's flooring for this dumb bit, he was going to eat that armchair.
"And just what time do you call this?" Dazai asked, his tone an absurd mockery of a 1950s housewife.
Chuuya met this farce with a deadpan expression, too tired to keep the flames of his anger lit. He hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes, heaving a sigh. "I'm not in the mood."
He made to slip past Dazai— except in his tired state— Dazai was quicker, jumping up and placing his hands on either side of the entrance way walls. Penning Chuuya in. It wasn't like Chuuya couldn't brute force his way past Dazai, a good kick would knock him back into that chair he insisted on dragging to the door. Though Chuuya wasn't sure he had the coordination in him right now to hold back and not burst an internal organ or two.
"Come now, you don't get to stay out all night, making me worried and not answer for your crimes." Dazai chided.
That straining tether holding everything tight within Chuuya snapped. "The hell, you were!"
His hand lunged forward, snatching up the cord of Dazai's bolo tie and yanking it forward. Frustratingly, Dazai only stumbled an inch, his arms braced on the walls, keeping him in place. He was stronger than he used to be. A grin spread across Dazai's face, seeing Chuuya's blatant annoyance. Instead of bringing Dazai down to Chuuya's level, he was now leering over him, the space between them far too small.
"Chuuyaaaa," Dazai drawled his name sweetly. "You doubt me?"
"Always." He sneered, the lie acrid and sharp on the tip of his tongue. "Ain't a single trustworthy thing about you."
"Oh dear, I think Chibi's hat is too tight again, he's grumpy."
"Actually, I was in a perfectly good mood until I saw you."
"Now I doubt that." The smile fell from Dazai's face as his eyes shamelessly roamed over Chuuya's face. The bruising shadows under his eyes; the irritated blood vessels peeking out behind his eyelids; the tiny repetitive flexing of his jaw muscles. Cracks in his facade nobody else was allowed to get close enough to witness.
It was Chuuya who conceded to look away first. How was he supposed to endure the ever probing gaze of his partner's eyes, their warm autumn leaf hues brightened by his time in the light. The cunning inquisitiveness was still there, but they never used to shine like this. Being under that gaze felt like burning.
Dazai tilted his head, following Chuuya's gaze and angling for eye contact again. He was too close, leaning further down than Chuuya had ever pulled him. It was on purpose too, every movement Dazai made was a carefully laid out plan, all with the goal of burrowing under Chuuya's skin. Even this close Chuuya couldn't hear Dazai's practised, deathly quiet breathing, but he felt the ghost of it on his cheek.
"Really," Dazai whispered. "Sulking even though you won? How childish."
Another hit. The pick pierced through the ice that was Chuuya's walls, deep enough to grip onto the spaces between his ribcage. Chuuya's breath caught, he couldn't stop the reaction from happening.
And he knew Dazai clocked it.
The silence that came after was achingly long. Why? Chuuya couldn't help but think to himself, why does he always have to pull him apart like this? He almost wanted Dazai to make another stupid comment, follow the script of their bickering and barbs. That was easier. But standing there, trapped in the entrance way as Dazai's gaze pried him open and dissected his thoughts, it was unbearable.
"Dazai, I said I'm not in the mood." It came out quieter this time, desperation at the edge of his voice. He was too tired to hold himself together much longer. If he could just make it to his bed, or his couch, he could fall apart there. Alone, unexposed and in the comfort of the dark, that was the only place Chuuya Nakahara, strongest of the port mafia, could allow his weakness to show.
"Chuuya," One of Dazai's hands left the wall to cup Chuuya's cheek and turn it to face him. Gone was the smile and the cunning, the playful mischief that usually adorned his features. Instead his eyes were soft with questioning concern, his lips thinned into a tight line. "Talk to me."
"I," Chuuya started, but the words fell short. Talk. That had never been something Chuuya did, let alone with Dazai. When one is raised by all the violence the world has to offer, it doesn't teach them how to talk things out. Negotiation, bribery, blackmail, threatening, all these languages he was fluent in, but simply talking? No, Chuuya couldn't do that.
It used to be that Dazai couldn't talk either, didn't want to. It was the things that they lacked within them that made them so compatible. Maybe talking was one more thing the light had taught Dazai, one more way they were different now.
"I don't want to talk." He finally managed to push out. Gentle caresses, soft gazes, patient understanding; Chuuya didn't know how to fight on this battlefield and he hated it.
"I think you do." Dazai said, like it was fact not an opinion.
His hand, still gripping the pendant of Dazai's bolo tie, wavered. He was going to lose, he just had to decide how. His apartment door was behind him, he had an exit. Though, retreating wasn't something Chuuya was used to doing. No, if he was going to lose, he was going to take Dazai down with him.
Weakness, there had always been an unspoken rule between them never to address it. Their partnership worked because of all the lines in the sand they silently agreed not to cross.
Dazai had broken that partnership by disappearing and now he was back, breaking all the rules.
Well, fine. Two could play at that game.
He let go of the pendant in favour of grabbing Dazai's shirt collar, this time when he yanked Dazai down, he stepped forward to meet him. Their lips crashing together in a clumsy kiss.
"Mmpf!" A noise of shock left Dazai, his body freezing for a moment. Mouth tense against Chuuya's just long enough for it to send a bolt of panic through Chuuya.
He went too far.
He was taking too much.
Stupid. Selfish.
Tears budded in the corner of his eyes. He was the one ruining things between them. The strong don't want for things, they don't yearn and they certainly don't take anything more than what's given to them. He pulled away, apology ready on the tip of his tongue.
It never made it to fruition for Dazai's lips were back on his own in seconds. His movements came with a needy hunger. The hand on Chuuya's cheek slid back to grip into his locks of hair; Dazai's other arm closed around Chuuya's middle pressing them together.
Chuuya wasn't sure who moved first, whether Dazai had walked him back, or he'd pulled him along, but the wall roughly met his back. Captured between the cold, hard wall and Dazai's soft warmth, Chuuya's mind span. He clung to Dazai as his only tether keeping him place.
The storm that had enshrouded to him all night finally dissipated. He shut his mind to everything that wasn't this moment. To Dazai's hand pressing into the small of his back, his thumb pushing up Chuuya's jaw, forcing him to arch upwards to meet Dazai's lips. The scent of coffee, well read books, and the hint of burning whisky that clung to his skin. It was intoxicating.
He wanted more of it; all of Dazai.
To let himself fall apart knowing he was safe in Dazai's arms.
Chuuya's own arms came around Dazai's shoulders as a desperate, quivering noise escaped him.
Dazai broke the kiss, his teeth dragging against Chuuya's bottom lip one last time, before trailing softer kisses along Chuuya's jaw and down his neck.
Cold air gasped into Chuuya lungs and with it the world's crushing weight came rushing back to him.
A mission the mafia shouldn't have been involved in. A job the Agency shouldn't have taken. Another juggling act to prevent a war. His men's lives on the line.
Zero causalities,
This time.
Children cheering his name. They called him King. They called him strong, raised him up and they hated him for it.
The flags called him their friend, they thought him so admirable, so strong. Yet, he couldn't save them.
They all called him strong.
His grip around Dazai's shoulders tightened. A wet warmth dragged along his throat, followed by the shock of teeth grazing his skin. His breath hitched and he felt Dazai grin into his neck.
"My, my, you make such pretty noises, Chuuya." Dazai pressed his teasing whisper to Chuuya's flushed ear.
Dazai knew— if nobody else ever would— he knew just how weak Chuuya could be. The idea that Dazai could expose his every weakness so easily sent thrills of excitement through him. Along with a creeping shame at how much he wanted it. To be knocked off that lofty pillar once more, rendered human again by having his heart bared in Dazai's hands.
Tears burned at corners of his eyes and Chuuya buried his face into Dazai shoulder. Coffee clung heavily to Dazai's shirt, though not bitter, it was sweetened with caramel. Underneath all of it was the scent of gauze, which shouldn't have been as comforting to Chuuya as it was. He breathed it deeply.
Dazai clicked his tongue and nibbled at Chuuya's ear. "Hiding from me now? How unfair, you started this after all."
A finger hooked under Chuuya's chin trying to coax him to lift his head again. It only made Chuuya tense, his hands gripping the collar of Dazai's shirt. He wasn't ready, his eyes still stung from tears, it was too much of a confession. Trying to push it down only made the lump in his throat swell further. A choked sob escaped him.
"Chuuya?" Concern bled into Dazai's voice as he leaned back, not letting go or stepping away from Chuuya— as if he know doing so would shatter him completely— but still trying to angle for eye contact.
His attempts were for naught, Chuuya wasn't conceding an inch, not even when his limbs trembled from being held so tensely.
"Not sulking then," Dazai muttered, he stooped down, his hands leaving Chuuya only for a moment to hook under his thighs and heft him up. "Much worse, the slug is leaving icky trails all over my poor shirt."
"Shut up," Chuuya managed to retort without his voice wavering, though he couldn't stop the sniffle that followed. "I am not."
Dazai carried him to the sofa, where he flopped down with Chuuya straddling his lap. His head dropping ontop of Chuuya's. "Oh? Then you must be crying."
Irritation broke through the cloud of Chuuya's feelings, because Dazai had set him up on purpose. Either he's a slug or he's crying. Crafty bastard. He butted Dazai's shoulder with his forehead, before nestling against it. His body ached and as Dazai's fingers trailed down his spine and massaged the nape of his neck, he felt the tension go from himself. Tiredness taking over.
"No, you're just delusional." He mumbled against Dazai's shirt.
"Mmhm, and your tough schoolboy deliqueint act doesn't fool me." Pressing a kiss to Chuuya's hair, Dazai let out a sigh, his chest rising and falling against Chuuya's. "Never has.