Chapter Text
Sitting on the water’s edge was a ghost of someone Kunikida could recognize.
He was on a no-contact assignment, far from the city of Yokohama, close enough to the edge of the world, accompanied by his coworker and a Port Mafia Executive. It was easy enough, working with both Dazai and Nakahara, to get what they needed to get done, done. It was overkill in Kunikida’s opinion, to have an Executive accompany them on this assignment, but the efficiency that the gravity-manipulator brought to the table wasn’t something he would necessarily fight against, especially with a truce in full effect.
The Port Mafia had been generous enough to rent out nice hotel rooms for the group, seeing as they wanted the threat gone and intel just as bad as the Agency. Kunikida, however, was a detective, and when Chuuya said the Port Mafia was paying, his own sleek and heavy black card came down for the payment instead. Regardless, the balcony from Kunikia’s room overlooked the ocean where it met the beach below, a nicer accommodation than Agency paychecks could ever get them.
The ocean breeze smacked him in the face, softly caressing all the lines he wanted to keep buried, the stress of the job, being next in line, it felt harsh regardless of how gentle it tried to be. He could smell the salt in the air, a thing he wasn’t used to from the busy city life of his dwellings; it was almost welcomed.
Down by where the water pooled and receded from the earth was the outline of Dazai, his partner, sitting in the sand with a relaxed stance. One knee was pulled to his chest while the other extended outwards, the bottom of his pant legs rolled and his shoes discarded by his hands. Brown hair dangled in the darkness as his head tilted back, no doubt breathing in the same salty air as Kunikida, drawing deep in his chest as if to savor the moment.
Something was wrong with the picture in front of him, though.
It wasn’t just Dazai lazing around the beach at midnight with the moon as his only witness; Chuuya was there too, sitting next to him. Kunikida wanted to say something, he wanted to storm down and demand answers from the duo that supposedly hated each other, but he was more intrigued than anything and twelve stories too high in the hotel to do anything. He had learned, from bits and pieces, from arguments in the car and hotel lobby, from random information Dazai had flippantly said in the office, that Dazai and Chuuya had been in each other’s lives since they were both fifteen. Now, both twenty-two, it was obvious that bond hadn’t wavered.
And it should have, Kunikida knew acutely that Dazai had left the Port Mafia and ultimately severed the partnership between the two. Perhaps he was wrong, looking down on the pair who were laughing softly under the moonlight at some far away joke he couldn’t hear over the waves on the beach. Maybe they hadn’t cut contact with each other, maybe Dazai had leaned on Chuuya when he left the Mafia, or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Dazai completely destroyed their partnership and Chuuya was a fool to reconcile with him, maybe Chuuya held faith out for Dazai the whole time.
Kunikida knew Nakahara was no fool though. He was a Port Mafia Executive, the most powerful person he’d met in terms of gift. There was no denying it in Kunikida’s eyes, gravity manipulation was an ability that rivaled everything it came in contact with, rendering everything powerless in its wake. Although powerful, it seemed to come with a price- one Kunikida only picked up on through a small interaction and years of being in tune with body language.
It was after the fight they’d gotten into with one of the gifted they were tailing, where Chuuya had to be the brute force in the fight, holding back lines of gunfire for an extended period of time. He’d noticed then, when they returned to the hotel, how each of Chuuya’s steps came down with equal weight, how it seemed intentional to keep himself upright. With great power came suffering, he supposed. Maybe it was one of his drawbacks, one of his weaknesses- something the Executive didn’t seem to have many of.
Chuuya didn’t waver in the face of danger, if anything, it excited him. He never seemed to relish in bloodlust, but he wouldn’t back down from a fight, and it seemed to be one of his downfalls.
They all had them; downfalls, weak spots, tells beyond what they wanted to convey to the world.
He had heard, he had seen Chuuya pick fights for the hell of it. It was almost as if a display of power was his only control in life. That Chuuya Nakahara was nothing without his innate and undeniable power over every situation he walked into. Control was something the Executive seemed to love- control of the conversation, control on the field, control over himself. Kunikida wondered if that control had ever been stripped from him, if Chuuya had come from a place where he had no control over what happened to him or around him. Helpless didn’t seem to fit into Chuuya’s character.
It was reminiscent of and even rivaled Dazai’s own hunger for control. Kunikida learned early on that his field partner loved control, but it was more discretionary than Chuuya’s. Dazai joked, he teased and purposely got people angry and off their game, it was a control tactic through and through, Dazai’s tongue being one of his biggest weapons, yet neither of their issues seemed to stem from the other. Chuuya, although reluctantly on this assignment, allowed Dazai to take control. And Dazai, without hesitation or push-back, allowed Chuuya to take full control of what happened on the field, never once directing him towards what needed to be done; a complete understanding of secret field codes and eye contact.
Kunikida sighed at his own thoughts as he watched Chuuya weakly punch Dazai in the arm, a tinge of resentment growing in his body. He never liked Nakahara, couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge the power the Executive held most of the time, except now on the private balcony hundreds of miles away from his home. The Mafia was a dangerous place, Chuuya was a dangerous person, Kunikida didn’t like that in the slightest. It didn’t fit his ideals, it didn’t fit his morals- he couldn’t reason with a person like that.
Yet, regardless of how much Kunikida berated Dazai and how much he swore Nakahara wasn’t a thought in his mind, he felt that inch of resentment settle into his stomach as he watched how easy it was for Dazai to sit in a comfortable silence with Chuuya.
On good days, Kunikida mused, he and Dazai only fought a few times. Days when Dazai’s eyes moved a bit slower, when the edges of his bandages weren’t completely tucked in, when his line of vision married with the window for longer than usual. Dazai didn’t poke as much those days, only bringing himself to annoy Kunikida when he feared he was noticing how off he’d been. There was no comfortable silence between them, there was fickle trust, an understanding on the field and that was all. He knew things about Dazai, but most of them were from spending extended time around him- Dazai never opened up to him.
He hadn’t even originally told him he used to be with the Port Mafia, as an Executive nonetheless, and it angered Kunikida. He wondered how much Chuuya knew about his life now, what details he spoke to the auburn-haired man.
Kunikida wondered what those days looked like when Dazai was in the Mafia, around Chuuya. He wondered if Dazai opened up to him on the ‘good days’, if calling them that was even plausible, because they weren’t ‘good days’- they were days the suicidal act he put up became a little more real and a little more worrisome. He wondered if Chuuya had fished him out of rivers, he wondered if Chuuya even cared at all.
It was an incomplete thought, one Kunikida couldn’t even bring himself to fully believe as he watched Chuuya’s head fall to Dazai’s shoulder.
Of course Dazai opened up to Chuuya, it was obvious. Kunikida had watched them during this assignment work in complete unison, despite the arguing, in spite of their differing organizations. He hadn’t heard one stray comment about Dazai being part of the Agency, not one jab about Chuuya being part of the Port Mafia. It seemed the partnership they held extended past organizations, and ran deeper than the line in the sand drawn by being on opposite sides now. The thought came with clarity- that they worked in perfect harmony.
The duo fought, hard, it seemed. Dazai would rile Chuuya up with surface-level snides and comments, about his physical appearance and his clothing choices and Chuuya would play into it. But never did it toe the line of what seemed to be ‘too much’, never did it get truly personal, never did it genuinely offend either party. Come to think of it, Dazai looked more alive after his interactions with Chuuya, even if he acted disgusted with his presence.
It all confused Kunikida.
Obviously it was an act; the disgust, because Dazai made no move to shrug Chuuya’s head off his shoulder. He allowed the contact, maybe even invited it. Kunikida doubted it was anything more than friendship, or camaraderie, but he couldn’t be too sure. Dazai didn’t seek touch, Kunikida would go as far as to say he avoided it, probably the reason he wound himself up in bandages each day, so watching him welcome the head of Chuuya, with hair draped over his back, was surprising.
Kunikida was no idiot, although his tastes were women, Nakahara was an attractive man- and if Dazai had any interest in men, he’d be sure to go for it. But Dazai hadn’t given that indication, he’d flirted with more women than Kunikida could count, so obviously that wasn’t the nature of whatever was going on between them.
Maybe it was the proximity, Kunikida rolled in his mind. Maybe this was all reminiscent of something they’d done in the past when they worked together, maybe it was resurfacing those memories more than they’d ever admit. Or maybe, they never cut contact, maybe they were simply safe for each other.
Come to think of it, Chuuya seemed to be the one person constantly in Dazai’s corner. He was the butt of jokes, the fire under his ass, but the person Dazai went to when something required a bit too much trust, a bit too much vulnerability. Kunikida wondered if Dazai stumbled to Chuuya when he was injured, wondered if some of the randomly important intel they’d gotten came from the mouth of the Executive. Actually, Chuuya seemed to be the one person Dazai wanted in his corner.
It was apparent now, as Chuuya lifted his head and looked towards Dazai, the moonlight cascading over his features, drowning out the striking color of his hair and eyes. How he opened his mouth and formed words under the night sky, none of which seemed to be with malicious intent. He watched as Dazai replied, his own face hidden by the angle, his shoulders sagging in their conversation, only to come up again with a small laugh.
Here, neither looked like they belonged to such terrifying things.
Chuuya didn’t look like a Port Mafia Executive, and Dazai didn’t look like his former partner.
Kunikida kept questioning the true nature of their partnership as the duo spoke softly under the stars. There, sitting on the beach, drenched in darkness, they were stripped of the roles they usually held. They looked like two men simply enjoying the presence of the other, and it was one of the most confusing things Kunikida had ever seen.
It should've been obvious, but he knew he was missing something. Missing something in the way they sat with each other, missing something in the way they spoke, hushed and soft. Kunikida couldn't figure it out, he was tired, and this was not something he even wanted on his radar.
Dazai stood, speaking to Chuuya as he turned to grab his shoes. Chuuya responded, shaking his head as he also stood to walk in step with Dazai. It seemed the conversation was over, the moment was frozen in time with Kunikida as its only witness, amongst the hundreds of stars and singular moon.
He wouldn’t bring it up to Dazai, no, he knew this was more than a workplace jab. As easy as he knew he could be brought to anger, and how many questions he had to ask about this, it seemed completely off limits. Kunikida didn’t know how he’d even slip it into conversation, he was honestly afraid of the answers he may or may not receive.
He continued watching from the balcony as a man he didn’t recognize walked side by side with another man he didn’t recognize.