Chapter Text
Chuuya should have known his next mission would be something ridiculous.
Dazai had danced around the house the previous night, claiming to be in one of his ‘good moods’, t-shirt hanging low on his shoulders and sleep pants dragging against the floor as he listened to some American song about New York City. Chuuya had watched for a moment, contemplating between ruining his partner’s so-called ‘good mood’ or continuing to drown himself in his freshly opened bottle of wine. Regretfully, he downed the bottle and continued to watch Dazai wiggle around the living room with an annoyed and unimpressed expression.
After years of knowing each other, being the only person they could truly trust and rely on, Chuuya wouldn’t admit he actually looked at Dazai with fondness rather than annoyance.
Now, standing outside of the Agency’s office building, pressed up against a Mafia rental car, he wished he soured the mood and smacked Dazai upside the head before locking him out of the bedroom, hell the house as a whole- screw being fond.
Mori had called him while he was walking into headquarters at five in the morning, almost laughing as he asked Chuuya to his office. Chuuya had walked in to be met with the angry face of Akutagawa, only to be detailed in on an overseas mission to America with the Agency to none other than New York City to tail some dangerous group that had its sights set on Yokohama for a reason unbeknownst to Chuuya. Mori had made it very clear the intention, if they located the group, was to kill on sight after gathering as much information as possible, and then extend another offer to Dazai to rejoin the Mafia as an Executive.
As if Chuuya would dare to open his mouth and actually give that offer.
“I’m not going in there,” Chuuya sighed as Akutagawa clambered out of the car- minivan, which he refused to admit he was driving, “You go in and get them.”
Chuuya pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, fumbling with them in the early morning light.
Akutagawa nodded in response, his face betraying his obedience to his superior as it slightly twisted in annoyance. Sure, he respected Chuuya a lot, but he also did not want to be the one to retrieve the Agency members they’d be traveling with. He briskly walked towards the entrance, regretting all his life choices as he messed with the elevator buttons and pulled his coat closer to himself as the doors opened.
They were under strict orders from both organization leaders to remain as undercover as possible. No clothing that could give away they had gifts, no tricks up their sleeves, and a stern letter, signed by Fukuzawa and Mori, detailing not to draw attention to themselves.
The office was lively, besides Kunikida, who had his nose buried in a notebook and was harshly writing in it. Ranpo was on the phone, making great promises to someone with a bag of chips lazily flinging around in his free hand, a stark contrast to Yosano who sat half asleep on one of the small couches, head in open palm drifting off. Morning light poured in from the window by Dazai’s desk, where he was playing a card game against an obviously losing Atsushi, who was mumbling his sadness to Kyouka, the girl hiding her laughter behind a sleeve.
It was painfully obvious to Akutagawa the Agency began work much later than the Mafia- who operated at all hours of the day.
A softer, more docile version of Akutagawa would feel the jealousy nestling beneath his skin at the image in front of him. A workplace full of people who didn’t have to endure the pits of hell every day in order to function, a group of individuals that cared for each other in some fashion. The real version of Akutagawa though, the one that was rough around the edges and hostile, found it all extremely annoying and wished he could have bribed his superior with bottles of wine and more cigarettes to trade places at the moment. He coughed behind his hand to signal his appearance, to which the Agency members looked up with a collective groan.
“Time to get going, we need to stay on schedule.” Kunikida said, shutting his notebook and standing from the desk to grab his suitcase, not making eye contact.
“Blah blah hello Akutagawa, can we finish this game first?” Dazai groaned, stretching his arms above his head, secretly dropping one of his cards into his sleeve as he did so.
“Good Morning, Dazai.” Akutagawa replied, bowing slightly from muscle memory, “Car is waiting outside.”
“Absolutely not, we-” Kunikida was cut off.
“We get it,” Yosano snapped, unhappy to be woken up.
Dazai smirked as he stood, tossing his remaining cards down onto the table to reveal a winning hand. Kyouka giggled openly now as she realized Atsushi never stood a chance of winning, Dazai simply grabbed his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder, not sparing a second glance to the cards on the table.
“I really thought I had that,” Atsushi whispered, shaking his head as he stood to say goodbye to Kyouka as she would be staying back this assignment.
It was strange to see everyone in such casual clothing, if some of it could be called that. Yosano was wearing a long skirt, the black fabric reaching sleek black boots, a comfortable sweater hugging her upper body. Kunikida and Dazai were dressed as they usually were, minus Dazai’s normal tan coat- they didn’t exactly give off the energy of being ability-users anyway with their current attire. Ranpo was wearing black dress pants and a white t-shirt, forgoing his usual hat for the morning, and Atsushi-
Akutagawa felt a misplaced anger flourish in his chest at the sight of the weretiger. He was wearing black pants that actually fit him and went down to his ankles, where he wore his typical boots. He had on a soft brown sweater that looked way too comfortable for someone who could match Akutagawa’s own ability. No, his Atsushi wore a white dress shirt, cropped black pants with fabric that trailed behind him like a tail- Akutagawa wasn’t even sure this was the real Atsushi.
Not that it mattered to him.
Cramming everyone into the elevator proved to be harder than expected. Between not wanting to be close to each other and the addition of luggage, it was practically an overflowing sardine can of complaints and arguments. The group eventually made it down the building and pushed open the doors to see Chuuya smoking a cigarette, leaning against a very oversized minivan; Dazai’s eyes sparkled with excitement to tease the Executive.
“Chuuya-” Dazai was immediately cut off by the Executive because dammit, it was seven in the morning, the sunlight had barely peaked over the horizon and he was tired. Dazai reached out anyway to pluck the cigarette from his hand only for it to be tossed on the floor before he could do so.
“Don’t even start with your shit,” Chuuya grumbled, “Bags go in the back.”
Chuuya gestured to the back of the van before stomping out his cigarette on the ground and rounding the vehicle, practically throwing himself into the driver’s seat, annoyance palpable. Kunikida opened the back of the car, gently placing his suitcase in with a practiced ease, his face a neutral calm as he took deep breaths he was sure to need before getting in the car. The rest of the Agency members tossed their bags in, feeling the same way, except for Dazai, who seemed all too eager to throw his duffle in and prance over to the passenger door.
“You’re fucking kidding,” Chuuya huffed as Dazai swung open the door and melted into the passenger seat.
“Dazai please refrain from berating Nakahara at this hour,” Kunikida sighed, sliding into the middle row of the van, not that he really cared if the Executive got made fun of, he just didn’t want to hear an argument for the drive, “Nakahara, I’m assuming you have a driver’s license?"
Chuuya pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he mumbled a ‘yes’, using all the control in his body not to pick a fight at seven in the morning while his partner, Dazai, let out a loud and uncontrolled laugh.
“He’s so tiny, I was wondering the same thing!” Dazai exclaimed, clasping his hands together.
Chuuya bit back his response in favor of keeping the peace for once.
Atsushi slid in next to Kunikida, who already had his seatbelt on and eyes trained forward. Yosano and Ranpo clambered into the back of the car before putting the seat down for Akutagawa to get in as well. Ranpo’s eyes gleamed as he pulled out a bag of candy and offered it to Yosano, his eyes never leaving Atsushi and Akutagawa now that they’d be forced to sit next to each other.
Akutagawa entered the vehicle with no grace, slamming the door shut and pressing himself as close to it as possible. Atsushi absentmindedly moved closer to Kunikida, the duo obviously not wanting to be close to each other. Dazai noticed from the rearview mirror, sending a glance to an annoyed Chuuya in the process.
Chuuya put the car in drive while Kunikida fussed over everyone using their seatbelts, the drive was only ten minutes, but ideals still mattered. Dazai pulled out his phone and smiled to himself as he typed in the password and his bluetooth connected to the aux, pulling up ‘Theme from New York’ by Frank Sinatra.
A collective groan rang out through the car.
-
The group unceremoniously walked onto the Port Mafia owned private jet, taking seats in a normal fashion. It was a thirteen-hour flight, they needed to be as far away from each other as possible to make it work.
Ranpo took the window seat in the first row, stretching out immediately and pulling a book from his bag to get him through the long flight. It was a shame the mission was so far away, and no matter how much he wanted to believe he wasn’t needed on this particular one- he knew he was. Plus, Poe was currently in America for some novel writing thing.
Yosano sat in the row behind him, grabbing a blanket and eye mask from her bag before pushing it under the seat. Truthfully, nothing about being on a Mafia owned plane sounded like a safe place to close her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the primal desire to sleep the hours away. She was also aware the Agency outnumbered the Mafia in this situation, and she didn’t truly believe Nakahara or Akutagawa would cause them any harm with a steady truce in place, she knew the consequences for going against Mori.
Kunikida sat in the row opposite to Yosano and flipped through the safety manual briefly before following Ranpo’s suit and pulling out a book. Atsushi and Akutagawa sat in rows across from each other, the same as Dazai and Chuuya, who took up the last two rows- bickering as they walked past everyone else.
“Chuuya couldn’t you just fly yourself over there or something?” Dazai asked lazily, practically dragging his bag on the floor behind him.
“You know I can’t, asshole, or else I would,” Chuuya retorted, annoyed as he sat down, “One more minute around you and I think I’ll die.”
“Please,” Yosano grumbled, pressing herself further into the window, “Shut up.”
The lights in the cabin died with no warning, the Mafia pilot not having the time or care to make any sort of announcement. With the door to the plane shut, the engine began to roar as the plane moved down the small runway.
Akutagawa gripped the seat, his knuckles turning white under the pressure of his hands. Stripped of his usual attire, in an uncomfortable situation surrounded by the Agency, his anxiety crept into his chest. Yes, he was a powerful ability-user, housed underneath the bloodshed within the Port Mafia, but flying meant relenting control, it meant trusting he would get to a destination with no harm in the hands of someone else.
He was used to clawing himself up from the ground with no help, Akutagawa had survived things much worse than a thirteen hour plane ride, but it still brought him extreme unease. He felt exposed.
The plane took off with no hiccups.
As they gained altitude, Atsushi looked over to see the practiced expression on his rival’s face, his grip on the armrest, his legs tense in their position keeping him seated. Akutagawa was one of the most, if not the most, fearless person he knew. Atsushi had watched Akutagawa throw himself into battle with nothing but the skin on his teeth, he’d heard the terrible rumors that surrounded him, how absolutely terrifying he was- Atsushi wondered what it took to create Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.
He was full of rough edges, the kind of person that seemed like there was no other emotion that kept him upright other than spite and anger. There was no reason for him to be almost afraid of a plane, a simple flight done by his own organization, except a complete lack of control. Atsushi took in his civilian clothes, the plain black shirt swallowed by his black coat, the black slacks and dress shoes, and understood it probably took some of his power away.
And he knew Akutagawa enjoyed that power.
There was a deep-rooted distaste for the other between them, yet he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of empathy for the other man. Taking their rivalry out of the question, he was seated across from someone who used their appearance as a scare tactic, a way to build themselves up and control their gift. Stripped from most of it, Atsushi could understand why that would cause anxiety.
One hour into the flight, Atsushi timidly placed a notebook and pen onto the unoccupied seat in Akutagawa’s row, watching as the man looked over with a flash of confusion before his typical deadpan returned. Their eyes locked for a moment before Akutagawa snatched the objects from the seat.
Two hours into the flight, Yosano groaned loudly enough for Ranpo to throw a pencil behind him, hoping to make her stop distracting him from the plot twist in his current book. She snapped the pencil in half.
Three hours into the flight, Kunikida had his head in one of his hands, elbow resting against the airplane window, rethinking his life choices and running through the tentative schedule in his mind.
Four hours into the flight, Atsushi looked over to see Akutagawa scribbling in the notebook he had given him. His penmarks were slightly frantic yet methodical, up and down, over and over.
Five hours into the flight, Ranpo rifled through his backpack to pull out a large soda can and a bag of chips. When he opened it, the group let out multiple annoyed phrases as they heard the soda begin fizzling onto the floor.
Six hours into the flight, Dazai looked over to Chuuya, who had his hat over his face and was snoring slightly, fog appearing on the window from his breath. He smiled to himself, something private and meant for nobodies eyes. Dazai threw an empty water bottle at him anyway.
Seven hours into the flight, Yosano stretched out on the empty seats next to her, pulling the blanket over her head in pure annoyance at the current situation.
Eight hours into the flight, Akutagawa stopped scribbling into the notebook and looked over to Atsushi, who was pressed against the window
Nine hours into the flight, the sun began to set in the sky, an orange hue overtaking the plane.
Ten hours into the flight, the plane hit a small bump of turbulence, waking Chuuya from his nap to immediately snap his head towards his partner, who had hands digging into his knees. Dazai wasn’t afraid of flying, it was a control thing, same as Akutagawa. Within two minutes, Chuuya found Dazai creeping onto his side with a discreet phone timer for when he’d have to return to his side of the plane.
Eleven hours into the flight, Ranpo let his eyes close, thoughts overrun with images of a tall author in his mind.
Twelve hours into the flight, Yosano stood to stretch her legs, stepping into the aisle to get the blood flowing. She saw Ranpo, folded uncomfortably seemingly asleep with a smile on his face, and Kunikida, staring out of the window with a scowl. She quietly walked the hall to the back of the plane, stopping when she saw Chuuya snoring softly against the window with her coworker’s head on his shoulder with his eyes closed. She rolled her eyes and turned around, catching Akutagawa staring intently at Atsushi. Yosano immediately accepted blood clots were better than whatever emotional constipation was happening on the flight.
Thirteen hours into the flight, the bright lights of New York City came into view from the windows, those still awake looked down in amazement as the plane began its descent. Yokohama was full of sparkling lights, but it didn’t hold a candle to the obviously bustling city below. Cars looked like ants, all moving with vigor and speed, buildings seemed to be stacked on top of each other and the hum of the engine began dying out.
-
“Look at the lights!” Dazai exclaimed, holding his hands close to his chest, “I knew that song wouldn’t lie to me!”
The group was situated outside of the airport, only a twenty minute walk from their hotel. It was late into the night, nobody in a particularly good mood except for apparently Dazai, who was amazed by the busy city in front of them. They stood, looking a little lost, suitcases and bags in hand, staring straight into the downtown of New York City.
“Hotel’s this way,” Chuuya grumbled, anger flashing through him as Dazai tossed his duffle bag down and onto his own suitcase, “Hell no, asshole. Carry your own shit.”
“Please-” Kunikida started, only to be cut off by Dazai.
“But Chuuya, how can I really take in the city if I’m carrying things?”
“Fuck you,” Chuuya sighed, taking a step forward and towards the apparent direction of their hotel.
“And I thought Yokohama was busy…” Atsushi trailed off, following the group down the street, Ranpo let out a snort.
“Think any bars will figure out I’ve got a fake?” Yosano asked tiredly as she fell into step behind Chuuya and Dazai, who were leading the way.
“We are under direct orders to stay low.” Kunikida said, pushing his glasses up onto his face.
“Boo, Kunikida!” Dazai exclaimed, completely lost in his own world, “Drinking here seems fun!”
Yosano rolled her eyes at her coworker’s antics, silently hoping the hotel had a decent room service so she could order a few bottles of wine and somehow put it on the Port Mafia’s account. The fake ID’s were all made by Dazai, with extreme care and caution, they could easily pass as real, American identification.
The group continued down the street, watching as Chuuya led them to the hotel, next to a tall, bandaged man who was overly excited about being in the New York City. He was flailing his arms around, making jabs at Chuuya, turning around at some points to speak about things in a crazed voice. Kunikida’s brow twitched slightly, opting to not use physical violence against his partner, seeing this was supposed to be an undercover assignment and he had a feeling Nakahara would do it for him.
Approaching a crosswalk, the group came to a stop in a crowd of people. Yosano caught the brush of Dazai’s hand against Chuuya’s back and the brief eye contact they shared, elbowing Ranpo in the process, who smirked slightly as he finally looked up from his phone.
With the amount of people crowding the area, Atsushi was standing off of the sidewalk and almost in the street. A car came rushing past them, obviously uncaring to the giant crowd of people gathered there. A hand landed on his shoulder as the car whizzed past everyone, yanking him backwards.
Atsushi stumbled and turned to see Akutagawa standing behind him, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.
Without time to think, the crosswalk sign changed and everyone began moving. The group stuck close together, allowing the Executive to guide them through the busy streets.
“Nakahara, have you been here before?” Kunikida asked, almost impressed by the way he moved through the streets without giving it a second thought.
“Long time ago, glasses.” Chuuya replied, sharing a glance with Dazai, who was there on that mission all those years ago.
The group walked into a hotel way out of their budget- aside from Chuuya and Akutagawa.
For being in one of the busiest cities in the world, it was surprisingly quiet inside the hotel, the high ceilings and exuberant decorations swallowing anything that wasn’t discrete. The lighting was warm, a welcome contrast to most of the Agency members from the bustle of the city outside. Their suitcases clicked against the floor as they stopped a few feet shy of the check-in desk.
Dazai and Chuuya approached the counter with their fake IDs already coming out of their pockets. Kunikida wondered how many times they’d done this in the past, their ease and confidence radiating off of them, while Ranpo smirked. He had caught a glance at the IDs, knowing Dazai had spent a few days perfecting them, and noticed the matching last names that would stay between the duo and whoever was entering their information into the computer system.
Of course, in the real world, in their home of Yokohama, they didn’t share the same last time. Ranpo knew they’d never dwindle their partnership down to something like marriage, but the sentiment on an undercover mission was still there. They were utterly devoted to each other, in a constant trust fall, so irrevocably sure the other would catch them each time they fell.
Not one-hundred percent romantic, not one-hundred percent platonic. They seemed to live somewhere in the middle, leaning towards romance, but fully engulfed in trust more than anything. No label, just Dazai and Chuuya, and Ranpo as the only person who somewhat knew, because with a pair like them, nothing was ever easy to read.
Atsushi let out a yawn, the long day taking a toll on him as he leaned slightly against his luggage, only to be met with a scowl from Akutagawa next to him. For someone who had pulled him away from a car heading his direction, he sure seemed to hold a lot of resentment towards him.
Key cards were handed to Dazai and Chuuya, who turned around and distributed them amongst the group. Everyone had their own room, a welcome surprise.
The group headed up to their rooms, excited to finally lay their heads down after a chaotic day.
-
Chuuya waited until the rest of the doors clicked shut before pushing his open slightly to be met with the face of his partner.
Dazai walked inside slowly, his duffle bag hanging off his shoulder as if it weighed tons. He sighed as he set it down on the dresser. Chuuya knew the bravado Dazai put on while they walked was only half real, because yes, Dazai was excited to be back in New York City. They had an undercover mission here quite some time ago that ended with them running through Times Square in a full sprint, laughing as the enemy tried and failed to catch up with them. Said enemy was promptly dealt with when they reached the edge of the city, but the memory as two teenagers on their first overseas mission was a fond one.
They had followed each other through thick crowds of people, predicting each other’s movements with ease, feet hitting the ground in sync as the lights illuminated the genuine smiles plastered across their faces.
And then there was the side Dazai was playing up, because he loathed flying, and hated being away from the safe haven of Chuuya’s house, the comfortability of the Agency building, the safety of their somewhat routine.
“I still hate flying,” Dazai said as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a plaid pair of pants and a sweatshirt.
“I know,” Chuuya replied, unzipping his own luggage, gathering clothes and toiletries he knew his partner relied on him packing.
The two made their way to the bathroom with no further conversation, letting years of intimacy guide them through their movements. Chuuya undressed first, letting his clothes pile in a heap on the floor before turning on the large shower. He tested the water with his hand before wrapping a towel around his waist.
Dazai had taken off his button-down shirt and now sat on the bathroom counter, simply watching Chuuya for a moment. Chuuya came to stand between his legs, holding out an expectant hand, which was promptly filled with a bandaged arm and years of trust. Bandages came undone in silence, revealing smooth and scarred skin alike.
“This should be an interesting week,” Dazai mused, attempting to pull himself out of the train of thought he was diving into head-first.
“We’ll be back soon,” Chuuya replied, “With glasses’ schedule, we’ll be back tomorrow.”
Dazai snorted in response. Fingers trailed up the expanse of Dazai’s forearm before Chuuya stepped back, tossing the bandages in the garbage can and getting into the shower.
Dress pants hit the floor and shoes were discarded as Dazai went to join his partner in the shower. He let his head tilt back as shampoo and conditioner was worked into his hair, he let the aroma of expensive body wash fill his nose and let the steam fog the bathroom as their lips connected.
-
Dazai wasn’t answering his phone and it sent a shockwave of anger through Kunikida.
He had sent a text message asking where they should focus their efforts the next day, and he had yet to answer. Kunikida sent a follow-up message, along with a string of insults when twenty minutes had passed by with no response. Now, dressed in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, he swung open the door to get answers.
Kunikida was two rooms over from Dazai, so getting there took no time at all. He pocketed his room key and exited his room, moving to stand in front of the door that supposedly held his partner behind it. In the back of his mind, Kunikida didn’t want to know what Dazai was up to in there. He might’ve snuck out to seduce a random woman, he might be attempting to drown himself in the luxurious bathtub- honestly he had no clue, but he wanted answers.
He raised his hand and knocked on the door, quelling the anger inside of himself to try and be courteous to the guests around them. When a minute passed with no answer, he knocked harder and pressed his ear to the door. It was silent on the other side, not even the hum of a TV could be heard, no running water, no movement at all. Now Kunikida let the anger overtake him, knocking harder with a string of curses under his breath.
“I swear to god Dazai-”
The door behind him swung open.
Kunikida turned to see Dazai smiling at him, dressed in plaid pants and a sweatshirt, holding the door open lazily now with mischief in his eyes and steam bellowing out from behind him. Standing further behind him, Kunikida could see the toned back of Chuuya, who only had on sweat shorts and with a towel held up to his hair, no doubt attempting to dry it with care. Kunikida felt the anger rise and heat plaster his cheeks as he realized Dazai’s hair was also wet, water dripping down onto his face, and he was standing in Chuuya’s room.
Some unguarded feeling crept in Kunikida’s chest.
“What do you need, Kunikida?” Dazai asked, his voice holding a light tone.
Chuuya turned around at this, making direct eye contact with Kunikida in the process. Before Kunikida could respond, fury took over the Executive’s face as he pushed past Dazai to promptly slam the door and yell something he couldn’t make out.
Still standing in front of Chuuya’s door, Kunikida received a text from Dazai that they would reconvene at seven the next morning to discuss the plan moving forward along with a complaint the water pressure in his room sucked, so obviously he needed to shower in Chuuya’s room.
Kunikida scrubbed his hand over his face, knowing the next few days would likely take years off his life.