Chapter Text
Late March / Early April
The mission had dragged on long enough to sour even Chuuya’s patience. Which wasn’t actually saying much—but the sun was dipping behind the horizon, and Double Black had been at it all day.
Dazai, however, seemed perfectly content, humming under his breath like they hadn’t just spent the last three hours fighting their way through a warehouse full of smugglers.
“Would you quit that?!” Chuuya snapped. It had been a long day. Chuuya just wanted to get home, take a nice hot shower, and pass out in their bed.
“Quit what, Chuuuuuya~?” Dazai said in his usual infuriating tone.
“God, you're so annoying.” He kicked a rock, sending it skittering down the empty street. It was late out—no cars on the road, just the streetlight illuminating the quiet Yokohama night.
“You know you love me~.”
Chuuya grumbled but didn't deny it.
The informant “forgot” to mention the sniper on the tenth floor.
That little detail cost them.
Dazai lost his grip on his gun during the ensuing chaos. Meanwhile, Chuuya got caught in the crossfire, resulting in a painful graze from a bullet that tore through his arm. Though Dazai wrapped it up for him, it still hurt like hell.
“Shortcut.” Dazai cut in front of Chuuya. Chuuya was used to this, but he still had to take a step back. He made an angry gesture with his hands. Dazai, ignoring Chuuya, was pointing down an alley. “I'll go to my container for thirty minutes before heading over.”
They had already handled the aftermath—Chuuya filling out the report while Dazai “supervised,” which mostly meant slacking off until Chuuya threatened to hit him. Turned in what was left of their ammo and disposed of what needed disposing of. And endured Mori’s too-pleased smile as he decided they had done relatively well and signed off on the job.
“You could just stay at the apartment like a normal person,” Chuuya muttered as they turned into the alley.
“But then how would I dramatically disappear for thirty minutes?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. He glanced over at Dazai, glaring at him, then looked back down the alley. Chuuya did a double-take at Dazai and stopped walking. Then he frowned. “You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” Dazai looked down at Chuuya, who was staring back at him with his heterochromatic eyes–one blue and one brown, each filled with equal amounts of concern.
“Your sleeve.”
Dazai glanced at it, uninterested. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It’ll stop eventually.”
Chuuya sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“You worry too much,” Dazai hummed.
“I do not!”
“You checked my pulse earlier.”
“You dropped your gun and got shot at!”
“See?” Dazai grinned. “Concern.”
Chuuya grunted, obviously choosing not to fight a losing battle. They continued walking down the alley. Chuuya had his hands in his pockets, while Dazai had his arms out, walking like he was on a tightrope.
They were on their way to Chuuya’s apartment. Dazai was going to the shipping container Mori had let him live in before heading over. That way, no one would follow them. Chuuya didn't like the idea of Mori making Dazai live in a fucking SHIPPING CONTAINER. It was an old throwaway container down by the port—once used to ship foreign cars. Now it held a fridge, a desk, a bed, a small exhaust fan, and a single bare light bulb.
“Are you sure this thing will stay?” Chuuya gestured at his bandaged arm.
“Don't you trust me~? I know how to wrap up an arm.” Dazai was still infuriating as ever.
“I know that! But—”
“But what? I have experience.”
Chuuya glanced at Dazai’s bandaged arms and neck. Unfortunately. Chuuya thought. But he didn't say anything out loud.
“Next time,” Chuuya muttered, flexing his injured arm, “you’re the one taking point.”
“But Chuuya, you love showing off.”
“I swear to god, I will drop you into the harbor.”
“You say that like you haven't tried before.”
“Why are you like this?”
“It's part of my charm~.”
They had been partners for nearly three years now. Long enough to know each other's tells in a fight. Long enough that the line between partnership and something else had quietly disappeared.
Like how just last year Chuuya had gotten tired of Dazai showing up in the middle of the night, knocking on the window, and had given him a key. Like how they had made this routine of Dazai going to the container for thirty minutes before heading to the apartment. Long enough that they weren't just partners anymore.
“You wrapped this tightly.” Chuuya flexed his arm again. He winces slightly.
Dazai didn't respond. Instead, he reached out and tugged the knot slightly looser. He did it absentmindedly, as if it were a habit.
“If my arm falls off,” Chuuya muttered, flexing it again, “I’m haunting you.”
“That implies you’d die first,” Dazai replied pleasantly.
“Keep talking, and I might speed up the process.”
“Violence isn’t the answer, Chuuya.”
“It is when you’re involved.”
Dazai glanced down at him, smirking. “You know, if you were taller, the sniper probably would've missed.”
Chuuya stopped walking. “…What?”
Of course, he would say that. He's a fucking sky scraper. Chuuya wanted to strangle Dazai.
“Larger target area. Very helpful.”
Chuuya grabbed his collar. “Say that again.”
Dazai didn’t react, other than to put his hands up in mock surrender and smirk harder. Chuuya shoved him before letting go.
“One day,” Chuuya said darkly, fixing his gloves, “I’m not pulling you out of the river.”
“You say that every time.”
“And one day I’ll mean it.”
Dazai smiled lazily. “You already mean it. You just won’t follow through.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I hate you.”
Dazai smirked. “You don’t.”
“I really do.”
“No, you really don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have given me a key to your apartment,” he teased, waving the keys in Chuuya’s face.
“I’m starting to regret my taste in boyfriends.”
Dazai smirked at Chuuya’s comment but said nothing. They walked a few more steps before Dazai suddenly went quiet and stopped.
Chuuya nearly walked into his back, catching himself at the last second.
What the hell—
Chuuya knew that Dazai going quiet wasn’t exactly rare. It usually meant he was thinking—like actually thinking—which was never a good sign. That was Port Mafia Dazai.
Otherwise, he was just being a cheerful sadist.
“What now?” Chuuya scoffed.
“…Someone’s here.”
.
.
.
It took a minute for Chuuya to process what Dazai said. His uninjured hand went to his gun holster.
“What? Who—?”
Dazai stepped slightly to the side, revealing a girl sitting against the alley wall.
No wonder Chuuya hadn’t seen her. The girl was small, probably four or five, tucked behind a dumpster. Dazai saw everything. He was the Demon Prodigy; it made sense that he noticed her first.
The child was covered in blood and dirt. Her black hair was clumped together. Her clothes were torn, and she had this… empty look in her grey eyes. She was sitting against the alley wall, hugging her knees, just staring at the wall opposite her.
“Dissociation,” Dazai murmured at last, the term rolling of his tongue too easily, like it was something he’d seen a thousand times before, his eyes lingered on the girl’s vacant stare, weighing something Chuuya couldn’t see.
“Hah?”
“She’s not here right now.”
“What do you mean? Speak Japanese. I don’t understand the language of Dazai.”
Dazai exhaled through his nose. “Her brain shut the world off.”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened as he looked back over at the girl; his expression was unreadable, but his eyes were looking her over, trying to assess her injuries.
“When something overwhelming occurs,” Dazai continued, “the mind sometimes retreats from the situation. It’s like watching everything through a pane of glass.” His gaze lingered on the girl’s distant eyes. “Right now, she’s not truly present. Her body is here, but whatever happened was so... brutal that her mind chose to withdraw.”
Dazai spoke like he had experience, which, Chuuya thought, wouldn’t surprise him.
Chuuya took a few slow steps forward and stopped directly in front of the girl. He crouched to get a better look at her.
Up close, he could see the bruises and dried blood on her arms. He noticed how her hands trembled, even though the rest of her body remained perfectly still.
“…Dazai,” he muttered.
“Yeah.”
“Someone hurt her.”
“Yeah.”
“We can’t leave her here.”
“Chuuya—”
“No. Dazai—she looks young. Way too young to be in a random alleyway.” Chuuya looked up at him. Dazai didn’t need to ask. He knew that look.
The slums. The Sheep.
Back when Chuuya had nothing but a group of so-called “friends” and the instinct to survive. Stealing to eat. Killing Port Mafia members. Fighting to survive in the part of Yokohama that barely counted as living.
…Even now, Dazai couldn’t understand why Chuuya still cared whether any of them lived or died.
“We’re in the Port Mafia, Chuuya. We’re eighteen—barely even adults. Where would we take her? Mori would use her, and you know it.”
Damnit, Chuuya thought. Dazai was right, whether he liked it or not.
“We can at least stay with her until she comes back from whatever daze she’s in. Take her to the cops—or that guy at the bar you hang out with. Sakunosuke Oda. He collects orphans, right?”
That’s fair, I guess, Dazai thought.
Knowing Chuuya, when it came to this, he was going to find a way to help. That was just who Nakahara Chuuya was.
A stupid, loyal dog.
Dazai sighed and leaned back against the opposite wall.
.
.
.
.
.
They didn’t know how much time had passed.
Chuuya’s feet had gone numb, but he kept crouching in front of her. Dazai hadn’t moved much either, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Then something shifted in the girl's eyes.
“Hey—”
Before Chuuya could say anything, she lunged forward, knocking him off balance as she clung to him with her face buried in his neck. Her fingers dug into Chuuya’s back, desperate, like she was scared he’d disappear if she let go. She was trembling, scared as hell, if he had to guess.
Why would she trust ME of all people?! She doesn’t even know who I am. But Chuuya already knew the answer. She can’t be any older than 5, terrified, and most likely, alone. Of course, she would latch onto the first person she sees.
Dazai stood up and walked closer to them.
“Dazai—she’s burning up.” Chuuya hadn’t touched her at any point before this, so he was only now realizing how hot she was. He could feel her shaky breath and trembling form as she clung to him; her life depended on it.
Dazai’s expression didn’t change. It was still unreadable, which meant he was assessing the situation. Seriously, for once.
Chuuya tried to lean back enough to look at her face, but the girl only tightened her grip on his coat, burying her face deeper into his neck like she was trying to merge into him. His face softens slightly.
“Hey, hey—easy,” he muttered, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “Kid, you’re gonna suffocate yourself like that.”
Dazai crouched beside them, finally uncrossing his arms.
“Ah,” he said lightly. “That’s not good.”
Chuuya shot him a glare. “You think? She’s burning up.”
Dazai reached out and pressed the back of his fingers to her forehead.
“Hm… that’s way too hot.”
“You’re the genius,” Chuuya snapped. “Do something.”
Dazai hummed thoughtfully, crouching beside them.
“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “first observation: she seems to like you.”
Chuuya stared at him. “This is not the time.”
Chuuya looked down at the girl clinging to him, and his expression softened slightly. He adjusted his position so he could support her weight better, which wasn’t much. She was very small and weighed nothing. Chuuya could feel her ribs pressing against her skin. She felt like a sudden gust of wind could knock her over.
Probably malnourished.
Dazai, who knew his partner better than anyone, knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Chuuya. We can’t take her home. Unlike you, she’s not a dog.”
“Stupid mackerel! I’m NOT a dog!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at nig.ht~”
“I swear—” Chuuya stopped and sighed. “We can’t just leave her here. And I don’t think she’s going to let go of me anytime soon.”
“Well then, we can take her to the police.”
“Oh? And tell them what? We found her in a random alley?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what we’ll do!”
“Right. Because two Port Mafia members covered in blood walking into a police station with a traumatized child also covered in blood will go so well.” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ll take her back to my apartment. We can take care of her until she gets better, and then give her to the police afterward.”
It was Dazai’s turn to sigh. “Now who’s the impossible one?”
Another sigh. “Fine. But don’t get attached. I’ll use my Executive status to do some digging and see if I can find her family. And we can’t let Mori know about this.”
Chuuya shot him a grateful look—but, as always, Dazai didn’t acknowledge it.
“Let's go.” Dazai turns to leave, waving his hands, motioning for Chuuya to follow.
“Uh- Wait- I kind of need help getting up…”
Dazai sighed, turning back with that same infuriating grin, posture loose and relaxed like none of this mattered. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Does my dog need his master to do everything?”
Chuuya’s glare could’ve killed a man.
“I am not your dog,” he said, voice tight with forced calm. “I would yell at you, but I have a child attached to me. Now help me up.”
Dazai laughed, stepping forward and offering a hand.
Chuuya shifted the girl carefully onto his uninjured arm. She clung tighter at the movement, fingers curling into his coat like she was afraid he might vanish if she loosened her grip—even for a second.
Something in his chest twisted at that.
He ignored it.
With his free hand, he grabbed Dazai’s and pulled himself to his feet.
Once steady, Chuuya adjusted his hold again, instinctively making sure her head was supported. She barely weighed anything—too light. Unsettlingly light.
Yeah. Definitely malnourished.
“I thought you were going to the shipping container—”
“I was.”
“And you aren’t now?”
“Plans changed.” Dazai glanced at the girl, expression unreadable. “We now have a feverish child to deal with. Which I still think we should leave at the nearest police station—”
“Dazai.”
“—or hospital,” he amended, almost reluctantly.
Chuuya exhaled through his nose.
They started walking.
The girl didn’t loosen her grip once.
Not when Chuuya adjusted her.
Not when they stepped out of the alley.
Not even when the streetlights flickered overhead.
.
.
.
The walk back was slow.
Slower than usual.
Chuuya found himself stopping every few minutes—adjusting his hold, checking her breathing, making sure her head wasn’t lolling too far to one side.
Each time he stopped, her grip tightened.
Each time, that same tight feeling curled in his chest.
Annoying.
“…She’s still burning up,” Chuuya muttered.
“I noticed,” Dazai replied.
“Got any genius ideas?”
“A few.”
“…And?”
Dazai glanced over, a faint smirk returning. “None that you’ll like.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Figures.”
A pause.
Then—
“She hasn’t let go of you once,” Dazai said.
Chuuya didn’t respond immediately. His grip shifted slightly, more secure without thinking about it. “…Yeah.”
Dazai watched that. And, for once—
He didn’t make a joke.