Chapter Text
1 week before the start of the Dragon’s Head Conflict
Nakahara Chuuya leaned on the railing and squinted up at the night. It was the kind of night that hid its stars under a tantalizing cloudy veil, concealing its darlings from the bullies of the city lights. Something about the slight chill of late summer made him not want a drink just yet. A rare occasion, for sure - but the breeze was cooling his face pleasantly, and the heated alcohol haze would ruin it.
Chuuya glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the high-end rooftop balcony, lavishly decorated and bustling with young and old Port mafiosos. The night was alive with chatter, laughter, and live piano music from the center of the floor. Kouyou-san was seated by the pianist in a long black dress, playing the shamisen. Butlers in gray three-piece suits carefully and nervously skirted around conversing groups to pass around drinks on glass trays to the Port Mafia.
For Boss to sit down and organize a rooftop dinner party for his folks, he must have been in an awfully good mood. It was rather over-the-top, in Chuuya’s eyes. Sure, it was in celebration of the recent overseas mission - and of course, the mafia did need extra morale boosting for each good job done after the entire Verlaine business a while ago. And no, Chuuya didn’t mind a fancy party on the roof of an expensive hotel with some classy music at all. It was just odd of Mori. Boss normally tended to keep his victories small.
There he was, standing at the far end of the rooftop under a little tent of red curtains lit by traditional amber lamps. He was speaking with Hirotsu and other older members that had been around since the previous boss’s reign. Elise was nowhere to be seen - never a good sign. She could just be dormant, but she could just as likely be plotting something nefarious for Mori’s attention. At the last mafia-wide party, she had managed to spike half the snacks because she was mad at Mori for some reason or other. Chuuya turned to lean his back to the railing, nervously searching the large party scene for the little devil. A sickeningly familiar voice interrupted his scanning.
“What’s got my dog’s tail between its legs?”
He would never understand how that bastard snuck up on him so quietly.
Chuuya let his eyes slide irritably over to his right, where Dazai had both elbows on the railing beside him, looking out into the city. The whiteness of the stupid bandages on his wrists stood out sharply against the black night.
“Must’ve been scared I’d hear that awful voice.” Chuuya tugged at the knot of his tie, trying to appear unfazed.
Dazai hummed. The breeze fluttered his bangs, some dark strands of hair getting caught in the texture of the bandages across his face. “Oh. Shame,” he said quietly, in that low and knowing voice. “I was going to warn you about the flour trap Elise-chan set above your head.”
With a start, Chuuya jolted off the railing, scrambling a few steps forward with his hands flying to his head… as he looked up at an empty, clear sky. The stars continued to glitter down merrily at him.
A slight flush rose to his cheeks as Chuuya glared at Dazai. Ugh, dammit. I can’t believe I fell for that. The boy smiled back at him, the corners of his lips lazily tilted up in the slightest victory.
A harsh exhale from Chuuya. “Yeah. Thanks for lookin’ out for me, you piece of shit.” How did that freak know I was looking for Elise?
“Of course. I always am.”
“What is it with you and flour?”
Dazai shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I heard it’s bad for dogs.”
Chuuya slumped back against the railing, scowling at the floor. “God, that’s so fuckin’ old. You’re like a little kid, reusing unfunny jokes.”
He felt Dazai turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. “Chuuya. If there’s one thing you’re not allowed to call me, it’s little.”
That bastard. He scowled at the floor harder. Dazai… that skinny freak was putting on some height lately, somehow, at a frightening pace. Of course, Chuuya was growing, too - and he measured diligently - but still, Chuuya had noticed he had to look up at Dazai sometimes when he was standing a little too close nowadays. The thought of it gave him hives.
“I’ll kick your ass so hard you start growing at an angle like a goddamn bonsai.”
Dazai gave an appreciative hum. “Creative!”
With a sigh, Chuuya finally turned to look him in the eye. The visible one was glinting light brown in the dim amber light, curved with a cheeky smile. “Can’t you piss off? Why are you being such a pest?”
He held his gaze coolly for a moment before morphing his face into a false pout. “I’m so bored. I want to play with my dog.”
Chuuya scoffed. “The hell? Isn’t there literally anybody else you can bother? Like, I dunno, that one low-ranking guy you met a little while ago. He seems to tolerate your bullshit.”
“Odasaku went home. He doesn’t like big crowds.” Dazai blinked at him. “And I don’t wanna go talk to Mori.”
Well. A friendless freak as always, wasn’t he? Chuuya sighed softly, giving him a glance-over. He was in the same attire as every day, the white shirt and tie with his baggy black overcoat draped over slender shoulders. That unassuming outfit and his posture made him seem a lot smaller than he (unfortunately) was getting to be. The classy dim lighting thrust shadows across Dazai’s face and bandages. Chuuya hadn’t noticed before, but there was a new dark spot at the upper corner of Dazai’s lip - a small, bruising wound, like he had been struck across the face. That was odd. He hardly ever went out for missions solo lately, and no one dared to bother him over at his shipping container. There wouldn’t be any good reason for him to be getting into street scuffles.
Chuuya stared at it for a few long moments, squinting, then flicked his gaze back up to meet him. “Did ya get yourself into a…” He trailed off; Dazai was giving him a strange look through that one visible eye. Chuuya returned it dumbly. “What?”
A second passed before it hit him. Dazai had been watching as Chuuya carefully observed Dazai’s lips for a solid block of time. Oh. Gross. Oh, gross, oh, that’s just nasty -
“I - don’t give me that goddamn look,” he snapped, fingers reaching up to aggressively fix his own bangs so he would have something to do other than sputter. “I was gonna ask if ya got yourself into a skirmish or some shit. How’d you get your lip so fucked up?” He had to make it clear that the bruise was what he was looking at. “It - it looks like some punk whaled you.”
Dazai’s sharp gaze softened and he looked away, the queer expression melting away. “Heh. I forgot about that.” His tongue poked out, swiping across the little bruise. “I hated it.”
How a kid so apprehensive of pain ended up here in the mafia was always going to be beyond Chuuya. “Well? Who’s the bastard?”
“Hmm.” Dazai tilted his head a little. “Why? Is my dog worried about his master?” The smile was creeping its way back into his insufferable voice. “Is he going to go and chase after the guys who dared to lay a hand on me?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t have asked,” he grumbled, turning his gaze back up to the sky. Talking with Dazai was a prison. Alcohol was sounding like a better idea by the second. The pale, fruity, bubbling pink drinks on those glass trays the butlers were passing around looked expensive. And strong. He watched as a tray of them was carried across the roof, Kouyou elegantly putting her instrument down on its little stand to accept a glass.
The halting of the strings amidst the keys made the rooftop atmosphere thicken a little. The piano’s sound melted and blended in under the conversations and footsteps, like the night was blotting the noise away. Chuuya shivered; autumn was creeping up on them, wasn’t it? The summer nights were getting chilly fast.
An odd glimpse of a memory brushed past him, of lying in abandoned parking garages on ripped-up old mats, of huddling together under makeshift blankets made of trash bags. Autumn nights with the Sheep had been cold - cold enough to lose the feeling in his ears. He had always had a hand to grasp, though, and a shivering friend to share his body’s heat with.
He looked down at himself, at the perfectly tailored two-piece and the polished black shoes glinting amber under the lamps. He slowly fidgeted his gloved fingers, feeling the expensive leather rub against itself.
It had been over a year already since this was his life. Over a year, huh?
Something heavy came to lay at the bottom of his gut along with the familiar chill of the late nights sometimes. It wasn’t guilt, no. It wasn’t exactly nostalgia, either - certainly not. He enjoyed expensive clothes and expensive drinks and warm nights, and -
“It was just some rotten luck.”
Chuuya started at Dazai’s sudden voice cutting through his thoughts. He was looking at him, his elbow slung over the railing and his eye round and oddly earnest. Chuuya stared back at him, bewildered, as he continued.
“Some passing motorcycle gang by the Horiwari. I was down there on a quick info grab for Mori-san, and those guys were down there to look for some poor soul to pick on. They were disappointed to learn I didn’t carry any money. They let me keep the gun, though.” Dazai flashed a small, unsettling smile, his dark eye still wide and fixed directly on Chuuya. That fucking face he always made.
But, ah. That was where he had gotten the bruise. “Tch. Alright.” Chuuya shrugged a single shoulder. Time to be petty. “Didn’t wanna know anymore. But sure.”
The thought of a bunch of grown, burly men cornering Dazai on the side of a canal and giving him a nice, karmic smack was an interesting one. They had clearly found out how much of a freak he was, though - in record time, if they had left him basically unscratched.
Why the hell is he still looking at me like that? It was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. Did the bastard want some kind of bigger reaction?
Chuuya chewed on his lip for a moment before leaning in closer, sideways. Dazai matched him, leaning in to listen with that awful smile. “Well, damn. Ya know what I think?”
Dazai’s eye narrowed slightly. “What?”
“Sounds like you could use a drink.” Chuuya nodded sharply at the butler closest to them, Higuchi having stopped him to accept two drinks and scurry off somewhere with a flute in each hand. “And piss off for a while. I’m sick of your voice.”
The stupid little smile on Dazai’s face dropped. There was a poisonous glance exchanged before Dazai finally pushed off the railing and sighed, stalking off into the crowd in his oversized coat as if it were Chuuya who had been wasting his time and not the other way around. Chuuya watched him go, crossly. Way to make a big deal out of nothing. What an annoying bastard.
For a second, he wondered if the lip wound hurt him. If it bothered him when he was eating or yawning or smiling. But he didn’t give a damn about it, obviously. Obviously.
Well, he ought to enjoy the newfound peace of the night. He drew a big breath, tugging at and fixing his choker. Kouyou had stepped away from the center altogether, a drink in hand as she slowly strolled through the groups. Chuuya hadn’t seen her play that shamisen before tonight; she was quite good.
“Ane-san!” he called, walking back into the thick of the party and leaving his thoughts at the edge of the rooftop.
“Oh, Chuuya-kun, your hair’s come loose.”
Chuuya didn’t hear Kouyou at first, eyes viciously locked on Elise’s cue stick. God fucking dammit - there went the billiard ball, rolling into the pocket with a clatter. Team Mori only had one solid left to go before they would win. This was bullshit. Why was that ability demon so fucking good at pool?
The blonde little gremlin fixed him a toothy beam as she handed her cue stick back to Mori-san and hopped off of the little step stool she was using to reach the table. He glowered at her suspiciously as Mori gushed over her. This had to be a scam of some kind.
“Chuuya?” Kouyou sounded amused. Her hand landed on his shoulder and he started.
“Oh.” His hand shot up to the back of his neck. The elastic must have snapped; his ginger hair was tumbling free down the back of his neck. He rather self-consciously realized how long it had gotten; it brushed his shoulders and was even longer in the back. Perhaps it was getting unprofessional - but he honestly sort of liked it longer. It was classy, in a way. And in fairness, most of the people here were too drunk to comment on his appearance.
The night’s chill had gotten biting enough for the party to move indoors into the upper hotel lobby, also reserved by Mori. It was sometime past midnight and the drinks had only just started running low. The Team Kouyou and Chuuya vs Team Mori and Elise pool game had sounded like a fantastic idea 15 minutes ago, but this was getting ridiculous. And there were so many mafiosos glancing over to watch, too - Chuuya’s reputation was on the line.
Kouyou seemed unbothered by their impending defeat. She half-heartedly pulled on her purse. “Would you like another tie?” Her words slurred. Ane-san was not going to be driving herself home.
Chuuya shook his head glumly. Nakahara Chuuya brazenly losing a billiards game would be the second-most surprising thing about this party - the first being that he was actually still somehow stone-cold sober. This hardly ever happened on nights out. The drinks had certainly looked classy, and he was sure he would have enjoyed one or two… but he couldn’t look at them anymore without seeing that look on Dazai’s face earlier tonight.
It was stupid, truly. But the bastard had just looked so… hurt. Which was impossible. Dazai didn’t get hurt by things Chuuya said. That boy didn’t even flinch when Chuuya kicked him in full force across the face.
So what had been up with that look? And where the hell was the freak? Chuuya had told him to piss off, and he actually did. That never happened. And now, Dazai wouldn’t be here to see -
The last solid clattered into a corner pocket and Mori triumphantly straightened his back and held his cue stick like a victory flag pole, extending a gloved hand of acknowledgement across the table. A few mafiosos clapped, other drunk ones joining in without really knowing what was going on. Elise hopped up and down half-heartedly, looking bored already.
Chuuya sighed. He nodded deeply to Boss, swallowing his dislike for gracious defeat. He was still more used to (drunkenly) snapping cue sticks in two when things didn’t go so well for him. This was a good sign to wrap things up.
“I think I’m headin’ home,” he murmured to Kouyou over the buzz of the lobby. She squinted at him for a second as if she couldn’t hear him before tipping her head in understanding.
“Capable of taking yourself home after a party for once, Chuuya-kun?” she teased. “Finally learned something about alcohol tolerance in that little body, have you, now?”
“Ane-san,” Chuuya complained, scowling. One bandaged freak was plenty enough for the list of people bothering him about his height. Kouyou didn’t need to join it.
She chuckled good-naturedly, wrapping her red cardigan tighter around herself. “The chauffeurs are all waiting in the lobby near the second parking floor, I hear. Don’t catch a cold. And don’t be late to tomorrow night’s headquarters meeting. I’ll be hungover, so you, at least, can’t be late.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, smiling. “Alright, alright.”
He turned to at least give Boss a small bow of thanks, but Mori was… dancing, over there in the crowded part of the lobby, swinging a nonchalant Elise around like a cat. Perhaps Boss was not immune to the effects of alcohol.
Chuuya made sure to pick his hat off of the table and put it securely back on his head before taking his leave from the celebration.
The stairwell was extremely well-lit. It gave him that strange, chilly feeling that occurred when it was dark and late outside but he was inside where it was bright. There were quite a few flights down to the 2nd floor. Each of his footsteps echoed softly in the quiet. The leftover buzz of the party rang in his ears just enough for the new quiet not to feel eerie.
And then he got down to the 3rd floor, where a dark figure suddenly stepped out from behind the corner to the next flight, and Chuuya jumped.
He centered his weight on his left foot and immediately swung out with his right on a defensive reflex, lightening his stance by lifting his gravity a bit. Someone yelped as he hit them in the side of their knees, forcing them to crumple. But as soon as his foot made contact with the figure, Chuuya felt his ability drop and his weight come crashing back to him - and he got a good look at the person sprawled across the landing. No fucking way.
“Dazai?” Chuuya sputtered as the other boy slowly got to his knees. He gaped at him as Dazai grasped the wall to gingerly climb to his feet - and then swayed, stumbling like Chuuya had kicked him again.
“Heh.” Dazai lifted his head. Well, shit. The parts of his face that weren’t covered in bandages were flushed a heated pink, his visible eye glazed over. In fact, some of the bandages were peeling away from his face, threatening to unravel with a good pull. And he kept swaying.
“I - I thought you went home hours ago. Or - back to your dump site, your shipping box, whatever the hell ya call it. But you were just - sitting here getting shitfaced? By yourself?” Chuuya said, stepping back. Wow. Dazai looked hammered.
“What… I…” Dazai tilted his head and half-raised a hand, looking confused. The oversized coat wasn’t draped over his shoulders anymore - he must have dropped it somewhere. Chuuya unconsciously glanced down the stairwell behind him, but it was empty. “I was just… I was just…” His face twisted and he leaned down to rub unsteadily at his knee. “Owwww. Owwwwwww, that hurts.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue. It had truly just been a reflexive kick. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” The word startled him as it slipped from his mouth. Did he just apologize? For what, kicking his ass because he appeared out of nowhere after hours and scared the shit out of him? He deserved it. Why the hell did he just apologize to Dazai?
“Heh… heh, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m…” Dazai straightened and immediately winced again. “Owww. Ooh… I landed… bad… I think. I, uh, I scared you though, hm? Hmm?” He laughed, face splitting into a genuine beam. It was an odd sight to see, after getting used to so much of his creepy half-grins. “That was easy. And I didn’t even… mean to…” He put a hand on the wall for support again.
Chuuya watched him incredulously. “You. Are shitfaced.”
“Mmmm… you said that already.”
“I - why are you shitfaced here, you bastard?”
“You keep saying that, Chuuya…”
“I thought ya left! I didn’t even imagine you were still around. Why have you just been… sitting here and -”
“You told me to,” Dazai interrupted. He had a mild frown, hand pointing accusingly and flailing a little at Chuuya. He noticed the bruise again; it looked redder in the brighter light. “You… you told me to… piss off and have a drink. And that’s what I did. And you’re still mad.” He sighed long-sufferedly, lowering his hand. “Still so mad… still so mad…”
Chuuya could hardly believe his eyes and ears. “I told you to have a drink! One! Not - fuckin’ twelve!”
Dazai shook his head groggily. “No, no, I did what you said. I did what you said… you’re still mad… dog gets mad, stays mad… dog is mad… mad dog…”
For a moment, Chuuya truly worried Dazai would pass out on his feet and fall down the stairs. But the freak was keeping his balance just fine. Tch… maybe his tolerance was, in fact, loads better than Chuuya’s. What bullshit.
Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not your dog.”
Dazai seemed to have focused on something else. His eyes were locked onto Chuuya - something on Chuuya’s shoulder? His hair. It was still loose, the ends just barely going past his shoulders. “Hey.” His voice had gone gentle. He suddenly stepped closer, the pink flush of his face all too clear.
For the strangest and most inexplicable reason, Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat at the tone of his voice. His blood rushed in his ears. He hadn’t had a single sip of alcohol; why was his face getting hot? He could certainly smell the alcohol on Dazai as he leaned in closer. Ugh; he was still goddamn taller.
“Hey,” he repeated.
Chuuya swallowed. Dazai was a foot away, and he was hammered, and they were alone in a stairwell in the dead of night, and this was really fucking weird.
“I - what?” he snapped back at him, muscles tensed.
Dazai’s hand came up - and pawed wondrously at the tips of Chuuya’s red locks, fingers trailing through his hair. Chuuya watched him through his lashes with his heart in his throat as the other boy just toyed with the ends of his hair like some sort of kitten. He could feel the heat coming from Dazai’s hand as it brushed the skin of his cheek. For a single crazy moment, the heat of Dazai’s body brought him back to his earlier musings, of cold nights and warm companions. And he imagined pressing up against Dazai for warmth, feeling the scratch of his gauze bandages, holding his slender hand. Chuuya’s throat closed.
“What in the goddamn fuck are you doing,” he managed to choke out after a few seconds.
Dazai paused, eyes still fixed on Chuuya’s hair. Chuuya never did wear it down at work. He tied it up in the mornings and let it down before bed, and he hardly even realized how long it had gotten himself. “Hmmm… it’s…” Dazai looked up like he was searching for the words. “It’s, ah… it’s grown. It’s really long.” His words slurred together as he smiled again and let out the tiniest giggle. “Hmm… it’s cute… really… it’s…”
Chuuya stood there frozen like a statue as Dazai brushed through the ends of his hair, reached up to touch the bangs on the side of his face, and finally withdrew his hand. The movements to touch his hair weren’t… threatening, either, he realized. They were slow, admiring… and sweet.
That one glazed dark eye was boring into him again. “Your hair is long,” he insisted.
“Yeah. I know.” Chuuya’s heart wouldn’t stop fucking racing. What was wrong with him? “What’s your problem?”
Dazai’s face morphed back into that look of hurt - brows tensed and lips slightly ajar. He looked back and forth between Chuuya’s eyes like he was looking for the right answer. “...it’s cute,” he repeated plainly. His little bruise seemed to emphasize the downturn of his lips.
Chuuya couldn’t take this anymore. He balled his gloved hands into fists. “You are fuckin’ hammered, ya bastard. You’re gonna be - we’re gonna be so annoyed tomorrow morning. You need to stop spewing bullshit and go home.”
“It’s cute. You could wear it down more and still look… good…”
“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t - say that -”
What happened next, Chuuya couldn’t say. He would spend that night and many others lying in bed replaying the moment, scoffing in disbelief, tossing and turning, trying to come up with a physics-related answer for the slip. But Dazai had taken his support hand off of the wall, and he had leaned in to touch his hair. Dazai had been unsteady on his feet, drunk and pink and flushed and swaying a little. Dazai had been smiling at him with that glazed eye, looking so fondly from Chuuya’s hair to his hands to his eyes.
Dazai took half of a step closer, stumbled once, and crashed his lips into Chuuya’s.
Chuuya’s mind went white.
Dazai’s lips were hot, as was his cheek. His breath was soft and warm and shaky and so unexpectedly human. It was gentle, the press of his teeth covered behind the softness of his closed lips. He smelled like champagne.
Dazai’s stumble carried him straight into Chuuya, who, as soon as he regained sentience, jumped away, his hat off balance from Dazai’s head slamming into it. The boy wobbled before losing his balance and falling, catching himself on his hands on the upwards stairs. He collapsed against them, grunting - and settled, leaning his head on his arms and lying there on the stairs like he was going to sleep.
Chuuya stared at the idiot lying there, mouth agape. His lips seemed to burn with shock, as if Dazai had some sort of voltage to him. Warmth. The strong smell of champagne lingered. Chuuya could… he could taste it.
What the fuck.
He turned tail, secured his hat back on his head again, and scurried down the rest of the stairs as fast as he humanly could, leaving Dazai drunk and sprawled comfortably there on those stairs.