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Chuuya knows Dazai.
He knows the bastard’s bullshit tells, the way his words twist before a plan unfolds. He can trace the shape of Dazai’s schemes from the smallest hints and eventually piece together every moving part that makes them work.
Understanding Dazai has never been the hard part.
Forgiving him is.
Chuuya was furious when Dazai left the Port Mafia without a word… not even a warning and no explanation. Nothing but a bombed car and a silence that rang louder than any goodbye.
Ex-partner, Chuuya corrects himself.
Still, anger and understanding can exist at the same time. Chuuya knew why he left. Anyone who truly looked at Dazai could see it—the Mafia was draining him hollow. The darkness there clung too tightly, and no matter how well Dazai played his role, he never truly belonged the way Chuuya did.
So yes.
It was good that Dazai left.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Half of Chuuya’s soul walked away with him that day.
And yet… whenever Chuuya catches glimpses of Dazai now—laughing lightly among the detectives, wearing that softer smile like it finally fits—he knows.
Dazai is happier, doing work that lets him breathe.
Strangely, that knowledge stitches something back together inside Chuuya. The missing half doesn’t return, but the wound stops aching quite as sharply.
Still—
The Dazai standing in front of him now is wrong.
The smile is too sharp. The eyes sparkle with a mischievous mirth Chuuya hasn’t seen since they were fifteen. Even the posture feels younger, looser, careless in a way the real Dazai outgrew.
Though he’s wearing the same outfit.
Back to the problem at hand:
This isn’t his Dazai.
“What the hell are you doing here, mackerel?” Chuuya asks, choosing to play along.
It’s his day off. He’d only meant to take a quiet walk through Yokohama, maybe enjoy the rare peace. Now he stands in the park scattering feed for a cluster of impatient birds, their wings fluttering around his boots.
Running into Dazai hadn’t been on his bingo card.
Running into a fake Dazai? Even less.
Then again… maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. Annoying the hell out of him has always been one of Dazai’s longest-running life goals.
The impostor grins.
Yep. That expression drags Chuuya straight back to their teenage years.
“Can’t I visit my ex-partner?” the fake asks lightly.
Chuuya isn’t surprised.
Because the real Dazai never calls him that. Not once.
No matter how much time passes, no matter which side they stand on—Dazai always says partner. Especially when it’s just the two of them.
Especially on missions.
No one knows that Dazai has his own habits now—slipping over to the apartment he and Chuuya used to call home, arriving in the dead of night after a long day at work, or staying more than one night at a time, as if they were teenagers again, pretending to play house.
But this… Chuuya is sure this person is not a mackerel.
Chuuya blinks at the figure in front of him. The casual stance, the grin, the familiar outfit but something’s wrong. The question gnaws: Who the hell is this guy?
He scoffs. “Are you being a lazy ass again? Not surprised you’d come here just to annoy the hell out of me.”
Dazai gasps, flinging a hand to his chest. “You dishearten me, partner!”
“I thought I’m your ex-partner—” Chuuya starts.
“Oh, my heart! My soul! Burned—”
“It’s been burning in hell since you could walk—”
“Ouch! Chuuya, that hurts—!”
“Eat shit.”
Dazai laughs loudly, clutching his stomach, the sound light and unnervingly familiar.
Chuuya can’t help but give him credit—he really does act like the annoying mackerel he grew up with.
“So, what are you going to do next?” Dazai wipes imaginary tears from his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re just going to sit here and keep feeding those birds.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow, calm but sharp. “What I do with my business is mine, and mine alone.”
“But you’re my dog! As your dog owner, it’s my right to know where my pet is going so I can take a walk with Chuuya!”
Even the dog jokes live on with this guy.
“Listen, you dumb mackerel—!” Chuuya steps toward him, but Dazai bolts immediately.
“Help! Help! A stupid dog is on the loose!” Dazai shouts so loudly some bystanders stop and stare. “It’s barking and it’s going to bite me!”
“For the last fucking time—!” Chuuya kicks him squarely in the back. Dazai collapses comically onto the grass.
The onlookers scatter, and Chuuya can’t blame them.
Dazai sits up, grin widening, eyes flashing with a sharp calculation that chills even as it amuses. The playful mask is gone. This expression… it belongs to someone else.
The fake has mimicked Chuuya’s Dazai well—the same smiles, the same words—but the aura is off. The breathing, the stance, even the energy in the air… subtle, but glaringly wrong. Someone else was wearing Dazai’s face.
Chuuya knows. He can feel it.
“I really thought you’d believe me if I kept pretending to be your Dazai,” the impostor murmurs, forlorn. “But you figured me out immediately… as expected from someone with my Chuuya’s face.”
Chuuya narrows his eyes, this level of familiarity… is making Chuuya’s skin crawl in a way he refuses to show.
“I’m surprised you decided innocent people shouldn’t get caught up in this,” Chuuya mutters, scanning the empty park. “You planned for them to run off, didn’t you?”
Dazai tilts his head, casual. “I’m not the one they should be wary of. It’s you.”
Chuuya freezes, incredulous. “Me?”
“Of course. You’re a dangerous weapon… a monster,” the impostor says blankly, as if reading a report rather than speaking to a person.
Chuuya blinks. His Dazai never said that, not even once. He had always reassured him that he was human, that he wasn’t a tool, that he wasn’t defined by the Arahabaki project.
But this… this bastard wearing Dazai’s face, calling him a weapon, has him seething under the surface.
Though Chuuya is calm on the outside, eyes narrow, fists tightening, but inwardly he’s boiling. He knows that Dazai has knowledge about him—about the Arahabaki project—and he knows this person understands too much.
“What do you know about it?” he asks evenly.
The look-alike shrugs, curiosity plain on his face, not malice.
“It’s just… fascinating that the government lets you walk around without their shackles. Even more so that they let you exist in the Port Mafia.” He straightens, open in his posture, giving Chuuya nothing to read in intent yet everything to analyze.
Chuuya tilts his head, studying him carefully. “You’re not from here, are you?”
The answer is a blink and a soft chuckle. “You could say that. My Chuuya… accidentally transported me here. My dog sometimes overestimates his own ability.”
“I… can do what?” Chuuya asks, disbelief etched into his voice.
“You don’t do that?” Dazai blinks back in return.
Both of them freeze for a long moment, eyes locked, trying to process the impossible.
“I see!” Dazai finally chirps, breaking the silence, almost playful. “So you haven’t unlocked your full potential yet!”
“My ability is manipulating gravity,” Chuuya replies flatly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Manipulating gravity?” Dazai murmurs, resting his chin on hooked fingers, eyes narrowed in thought. “My Chuuya could do that too but until age twelve, he started developing… other things.”
Chuuya swallows hard. Another version of himself who is stronger and has a well developed ability. A Chuuya who might surpass even what he’s capable of right now.
A person with abilities he doesn’t even know.
“Now I understand why you think I’m dangerous…” Chuuya mutters cautiously.
“Your ability… and being a criminal,” Dazai says casually, almost as if it’s a statement of fact. “So don’t take offense.”
Chuuya’s eyes narrow. Ah. This guy noticed. He noticed the anger flaring inside him earlier.
Wait.
“Kind of hypocritical, isn’t it? To think I’m dangerous just because I’m a criminal.”
Slowly and deliberately, Dazai blinks. Then, like a dawning, comprehension appeared on his face, his gaze widened.
“So… I’m a criminal here, or I was a criminal, considering the fact I’m a detective now,” he says, grinning with a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“Hah?!” Chuuya shakes his head, incredulous. “Then what the hell are you doing in your own world?”
Dazai smirks.
Then Chuuya feels it—the familiar shiver, that pull of the Tainted loosening inside him. It usually happens when Dazai touches him.
Right now, Dazai is nullifying Chuuya.
But this Dazai hasn’t moved an inch.
Chuuya’s eyes widened in alarm as he realised what that meant. Then, he takes a step back.
He’s nullifying my ability… without even touching me.
“Me and my Chuuya are the leaders of the Hunting Dogs,” Dazai says slowly, voice calm. “Don’t worry—I won’t hurt you. I’m just… curious about the other Chuuya in this world. Which means you.”
Chuuya glares, tension coiling tightly around his shoulders.
A Dazai who doesn’t need physical contact to neutralize abilities? No wonder this guy is so confident.
And beyond that… both Chuuya and Dazai answer to the government. The Hunting Dogs are under scrutiny. Leaders like them? They’ve got every stick in the system up their asses.
What the actual fuck.
“Do you really think the Arahabaki Project was designed for its test subjects to only manipulate gravity?” Dazai scoffs, and at the same time, Chuuya feels frozen—though he can still move, curiosity roots him like stone. He’s both terrified and compelled.
Dazai leans just slightly forward, grin spreading, eyes glittering with mischief and knowledge. “Too basic, even for them. Especially when you consider Paul Verlaine.”
“Wha—” Chuuya begins, disbelief and confusion warring across his face.
“Space and time manipulation,” Dazai interrupts, almost humming with manic delight. “That was their end goal.”
Chuuya stumbles a little, losing his breath due to the weight of the realization rather than physical force.
And true to this Dazai’s words… He did not hurt Chuuya, he just merely asked about Chuuya’s personal life and some other things that happened in this universe.
And then Dazai left, as if he did not ruin Chuuya’s world with some few words.
***
Chuuya knows Dazai.
He knows the bastard like the back of his hand.
And so, without a doubt, he knows the person leaning on him right now is the real Dazai—his Osamu.
Chuuya stirs the crab soup for dinner, not just for himself, but for a certain mackerel clinging stubbornly to him, whining like a dog in need of attention.
“Chuuya!” Dazai wraps an arm around his shoulder, pressing the nape of his neck against Chuuya’s as if he’s a needy little pet demanding his owner’s notice.
And of course, he calls me a dog. The hypocrite bastard.
Eventually, dinner is ready, and they sit together at the table. The mackerel digs in with surprising energy—probably because it’s his favorite food—and Chuuya can’t help but let himself relax a little, watching him eat.
As Chuuya begins gathering the plates and glasses, the soft brush of Dazai’s fingers against his wrist halts him mid-motion.
Chuuya glances up, questioning, but Dazai just smiles down at him, quiet and bright.
“I’ll wash the dishes,” he says simply.
Chuuya blinks, eyebrows rising toward his hairline, an almost unguarded question slipping out: “Are you… really my Dazai?”
He already knows the answer.
Dazai snorts softly, eyes sparkling. “Good to know I know you own me.”
“And you own me too.”
That response causes Dazai to freeze for the briefest moment, ears flushing pink, almost stammering.
Cute.
“Of course the dog is possessive,” he murmurs, grabbing the dirty dishes. “Don’t worry, slug. I’m your only owner.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, though a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Of course Dazai would deflect something tender with a tease but it’s perfect. Exactly how he likes it.
Surprisingly, Dazai willingly washes the dishes carefully, leaving Chuuya to sit at the table and watch.
He hums softly, a tune Chuuya recognizes as a suicide song, but somehow… it feels domestic, too domestic. Chuuya smirks quietly to himself.
They are playing house again like they were teenagers, so it seems.
“The slug has something on his mind,” Dazai says casually as he picks up a glass cup, tilting his head. “Did something happen?”
You happened, Chuuya thinks. Technically.
“Just… something about work,” he mutters.
“Liar,” Dazai replies, not looking up.
Chuuya falls silent, because he can’t argue with that.
Eventually, Dazai finishes, wiping his wet arms with a clean kitchen towel, still smiling softly. Then, unexpectedly, he crouches down in front of Chuuya, gently taking his hands in both of his own hands.
“What’s wrong, Chuuya?”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip, intertwining his fingers with Dazai’s. It’s not like he can hide anything from him anyway.
“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we’d met earlier?” he asks, lips curling into a bitter smile. Dazai’s hands twitch in response, a subtle flicker of emotion. “Well… we did meet years ago, before we were fifteen, when we were children—Isn’t that right, shitty Dazai?”
Dazai flinches, eyes widening as to what Chuuya had said.
“How did you—Nevermind—-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Chuuya…”
“Nah, I don’t care about that,” Chuuya waves his free hand dismissively, the motion light but firm. Dazai notes the look on his face, surprised by how easygoing he seems. “It’s just… what would’ve happened if we’d stayed together from the start?”
The brunette narrows his eyes, letting the topic shift.
“I don’t know how you found out we’d met as children,” Dazai admits quietly. “But I did wonder… what would’ve happened if I’d stayed connected with the Arahabaki Project?”
“And your conclusion?”
Dazai shrugs, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Personally… it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Chuuya blinks, genuinely taken aback. He can’t explain why it surprises him, but it does.
Dazai chuckles softly, sheepish. “Don’t get me wrong—I dreamed about saving the chibi like a knight in shining armor—”
“I’ve been your knight,” Chuuya interrupts, smirking, “and you’ve been the damsel in distress princess for years.”
“But I’m still happy with the life I have here,” Dazai says, smiling warm and quiet, the kind that makes Chuuya shut up immediately. “It doesn’t matter that we didn’t stay together as kids. What matters is that we met again… and we’re still here. Holding hands.”
To emphasize the point, he gently shakes their intertwined hands. Chuuya snorts, a small laugh escaping him.
“You’re a sap,” he says, shaking his head.
“Don’t I know it,” Dazai puffs his chest, pride barely hidden in the simple statement.
Sure, the Dazai Chuuya met earlier—the one from another universe who obviously never met Odasaku—has lived a different life. But that doesn’t diminish the bond he has with his own Dazai here.
Chuuya has no doubts about the life he’s led, and he knows Dazai has none either.
Earlier’s encounter only made him more curious. That other universe… It's so different. Like the fact that Dazai possesses such dangerous ability.
And… maybe that’s why Chuuya feels a little bothered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he imagined a life where someone stood by his side while facing the same monsters, sharing every struggle.
But Dazai is right. It doesn’t matter.
Because even though they faced different monsters separately, they came out together in the end.
Something clicks in Chuuya’s mind, a quiet clarity, and Dazai’s eyes light up. He cups Chuuya’s cheeks, warm and steady, and Chuuya leans into the touch without hesitation.
Dazai shifts slightly, leaning closer into Chuuya’s personal space. Chuuya tilts his chin to meet Dazai’s lips.
The kiss is soft, gentle and less about passion, more about comfort, about assurance with I’m here and with the I know.
Chuuya draws a lazy circle across Dazai’s back while Dazai’s hand threads through his hair. They kiss again and again, pausing only briefly to exchange soft smiles before going back to each other.
Eventually, when it’s time to break, Chuuya leans back slightly, eyes meeting Dazai’s, who’s licking his lips with that infuriating, mischievous grin. They just stare at each other for a moment, immersed in the quiet, tender space they’ve created.
It’s comfortable.
It feels like home.
And of course, Dazai has to ruin it.
“Chuuya always gobbles me like a dog!” he exclaims, eyes sparkling, grin wide. “Licking me and all that—”
Chuuya smacks him on the head. Dazai whines, pouting, and Chuuya rolls his eyes. Idiot.
But Dazai’s eyes sparkle even more, and Chuuya almost leans away in anticipation.
“Now that everything’s out of the way!” Dazai leans forward eagerly. “By the looks of it, you know everything, so I wanna know how you learned all this!”
“Maybe explain first… about us being childhood friends,” Chuuya mutters.
“I thought that didn’t matter,” Dazai teases.
“It doesn’t but you’re being annoying about it,” Chuuya counters.
“If you’re talking about annoying,” Dazai grins, “then you should know a little Chuuya from years ago kept bothering me to marry me when we were kids!”
“What?! Liar! I didn’t even know what bread was before I met the people in Sheep!”
“My bad. I forgot to teach you about bread, but I did teach you about marriage,” Dazai retorts smugly.
“Why the hell did you teach my child-self about marriage?”
“Well—” Dazai begins, shrugging with that infuriating grin.
Chuuya sighs, heart warmed despite himself. He knows Dazai. He knows that Dazai has always been a part of his life. A piece of his soul, half of who he is.
And now, here, in this quiet, ordinary moment, Dazai pieces them together again, whole and complete.
Dazai is both his heart and soul.
That will never change.
And Chuuya… he’s happy about that fact.