Archive of Our Own

It had been a while since the world had turned upright again and the desire in Dazai’s chest still disgusted him.

He was nursing a whiskey, staring silently at the being that took shape of all his fears, doubts and wants. The tangible aspect of everything he’d failed to do, the mirror that spit him back out and covered up everything terrible he’d ever done with a vigor that rivaled the demons in his mind.

Chuuya.

Auburn haired and polished in a tight black suit, harness and choker on full display with no hat in sight, speaking with his coworkers about something that obviously brought him a sense of light. It was no surprise he was here yet it still knocked the air from Dazai’s chest and made him aware of his own breathing.

It was a sanctioned event to ‘celebrate’ the capture of Fyodor, held in Port Mafia headquarters with everyone involved in attendance. Of course, not many of his own coworkers wanted to attend, Dazai especially not looking forward to it. He knew the lavish parties his former organization would put on when things like this concluded and he had no interest in attending- especially because Chuuya had the chance of showing up.

They weren’t exactly in each other’s good graces, but it was never hatred either. Something in between, some grey area they lived their lives in. Seeing Chuuya on the field was one thing, inside a prison where he held a gun to his head, laying on the concrete after saving his life but here- somewhere there was no obligation to interact was like pulling teeth.

Everything inside of Dazai wanted things to be different, considering every aspect of a long-forgotten plan was finally set in stone, perfectly placed for an escape- but it wasn’t. The world was still turning, upright and in balance, and both parties of the plan didn’t speak anymore.

Dazai finished his drink and pushed it forward on the table as two figures approached. 

“Feeling alright?” Yosano asked, knowing she wouldn’t get a straight answer but hoping for conversation either way. 

“Good as always,” Dazai smiled, only a bit tipsy, “You?”

“Hate this place,” Yosano muttered as she took a sip of wine, “But the wine is great.”

Dazai knew who picked it out, the sentiment stung. 

“It’s pretty boring,” Ranpo sighed, “I’m definitely going to leave soon.”

“That’s because there’s nothing happening for you to analyze,” Yosano chuckled into her glass, “Just enjoy that it’s over.”

“Well, Fyodor is over,” Ranpo shot Dazai a knowing look, “And I’d rather be celebrating in my bed, asleep.”

“Of course you would,” Yosano shook her head before studying Dazai for a moment, “You sure something isn’t on your mind?”

Dazai had flicked his gaze from his coworkers to the man of his desires a few times since they approached, he knew it was something they easily could’ve picked up but it didn’t stop him. It would probably be the last time they ever saw each other, he wanted to catalog as much as he could. 

“Why don’t you just go talk to him,” Ranpo said lazily, uncaring to the mental war going over in Dazai’s mind. 

“Nakahara?” Yosano asked, turning around briefly to see Chuuya. 

“Nothing to talk about,” Dazai said, his usual charisma lacking, “I hate him.”

“I mean, he pretended to shoot you in the head to save your ass,” Yosano said with a bit more empathy than Dazai wanted, “And he saved our lives, maybe you should thank him.”

“Thank him? Please, Yosano, who do you think I am?” Dazai could have laughed if he wasn’t so trapped in his own mind, “He was following my plan, everyone should be thanking me.”

“Right,” Ranpo snorted, picking up on the projection coming from Yosano and the devastation coming off of Dazai.

Insanely opposing views on the same situation. 

“Y’know, I don’t like him either but then I stared death in the face,” Yosano turned sentimental under the soft light of the ballroom, “I can give him a bit of credit there.”

Dazai hummed in response.

“This is so boring,” Ranpo huffed, “Yosano take me home.”

“I’m going to get another drink anyway,” Dazai said, “Make sure he doesn’t mess up the train schedule again.”

Dazai walked away with the conversation unfinished, skipping the open bar and heading down a winding hallway he knew all too well with a pair of eyes staring into his back.

Just because he could feel him didn’t mean Chuuya would follow. There was no logical reason for Chuuya to follow him anymore, they didn’t work like that. They hadn’t spoken the entire evening, he knew it must’ve been off-putting to Mori, who only knew the pair to be constantly bickering, but he didn’t really care what that man thought of them anymore. 

The point still stood, at one place in time, Chuuya would’ve followed Dazai anywhere and now he wouldn’t. Reconciliation was off the table at this moment, the singular moment they’d been waiting a little over seven years for, where the stars aligned and the planet opened up.

Dazai picked up the pace a bit. 

—

Kunikida took no pleasure standing in the ballroom anymore. 

Ranpo had notified him of his and Yosano’s departure, leaving him standing like an idiot in the center of the Port Mafia ballroom. He was uncomfortable, continuing to half-listen to Tanizaki’s commentary on something he had no interest in. 

He scanned the room, watching as Atsushi approached them with haste and a drink in his hand, which was consequentially slammed on the table with more force than needed. 

“I don’t drink,” Atsushi sighed, “I don’t know why they keep offering me drinks.”

“Well,” Kunikida pushed the glasses up on his nose, “Just because the truce is set in stone now doesn’t mean this isn’t still the Mafia.”

“I know… still,” Atsushi calmed himself, “I’m anxious about being here.”

“Me too,” Tanizaki said uncharacteristically. 

“I think all of us feel that,” Kunikida said, “I’m going to leave here in a moment, would you like to join?”

“I need to find Naomi,” Tanizaki sighed, “I’ll see you guys when we go back to work.”

Junichiro took his leave, turning away and leaving Kunikida and Atsushi standing awkwardly around the table.

“Well then, I’m still leaving,” Kunikida sighed, “Care to join?”

“I…” Atsushi trailed off as his eyes caught on someone a ways behind Kunikida, “I just need to have a conversation with someone, get back safe.”

With that, Atsushi departed from the table, leaving Kunikida in his lonesome. He sighed deeply and straightened himself, turning to see Atsushi walking in step with Akutagawa down one of the winding hallways. Against all ideals, Kunikida couldn’t bring himself to follow and demand answers, not after everything that had transpired in the past few months. 

If Atsushi needed to speak with Akutagawa, he’d let it happen without interference. He wasn’t some idiot, Atsushi could put up a good fight and he doubted Akutagawa would go against direct orders for a truce from what he’d learned about his loyalty. 

There was one problem: Kunikida didn’t know where the exit was.

The ballroom was connected to a series of different hallways, on the twenty-sixth floor of Port Mafia Headquarters and there was no way in hell he could remember exactly which way he took up. He was clouded by an overthinking mind and thoughts that his coworkers would stay close by and they’d leave together. Looking around now, Kunikida couldn’t even spot the President, only Kyouka standing near Kouyou.

Deciding he needed to find some way out of this predicament, he chose a random hallway and made his exit.

In his mind were conflicting thoughts on the truce, one that was now permanent under Mori’s ruling in the Mafia. He expected a fight, he expected the transfer deal to rip the Agency to shreds and leave it bleeding while missing a vital member. Somehow it never came to fruition and somehow a truce was born out of it. 

He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful that was the way things turned out.

Kunikida strutted quietly down the winding hall, hoping it would lead to something he recognized from their entrance so he could leave. Instead, he found himself doing a double-take as he passed a small hallway with two figures standing at the end of it. He recognized them instantly as Dazai and Nakahara, silently standing side by side, shoulders touching and staring out into the cityscape. 

They looked peaceful, which was a wild description for the two opposing forces considering every time Kunikida saw them interact, they were at each other’s throats. 

He couldn’t stop himself from staring, and he couldn’t believe either one of them hadn’t turned around and accosted him yet. Kunikida had been sure to keep quiet as he walked but still, these were two highly intuitive people. 

Kunikida didn’t know what overtook him as he pressed himself behind the wall, in a blindspot where they wouldn’t be able to see him if they turned around. 

He blamed it on protection, on that ‘what-ifs’ running through his mind.

Silence drug on for a few moments and Kunikida almost assumed they wouldn’t talk at all, hoping Dazai hadn’t been poisoned and was silently choking on his own spit. But from his viewpoint, Kunikida saw no hostility and if he didn’t know who these people were and the rocky relationship they had, he would’ve assumed they were simply taking a breather together, content in each other’s presence. 

“So, I assume you’ll be leaving soon,” Chuuya started the conversation, swirling the wine in his hand and refusing to look over. 

Dazai, true to his real self, faltered quite easily at the words. To Kunikida, he had a sharp tongue, his biggest weapon- but here, in the company of the last person alive who knew his real self, probably the only person ever who knew it, he fumbled easily.

“I,” Dazai took a moment before looking over to Chuuya, “I might, I think,” He traced the outline of the man’s profile, drinking in the perfectly set auburn waves, the sharp jawline, his sunken eyes that still sparkled in the moonlight. 

Kunikida had no clue what they were talking about. Dazai was leaving soon?

“What’s stopping you?” Chuuya asked, taking a sip of his wine and continuing to stare straight forward despite the obvious eyes on him. 

“Yokohama,” Dazai sighed, “Atsushi, the Agency.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya dropped his head slightly to study his drink, “All seem like solid reasons to stay.”

“Wasn’t part of the plan though,” Dazai replied, voice a bit more distant than before. 

“That you’d care so much about them?” Chuuya asked, his voice knowing. 

“That you weren’t in the plan anymore,” Dazai let honesty continue the conversation forward. 

Chuuya didn’t answer immediately, instead staring down the wine glass hanging from his hand, dangerously over the railing. Kunikida couldn’t process the conversation in front of him, shifting himself further behind the wall in case one of them turned to leave. 

A million questions crashed into his mind, unwarranted and unwilling to leave. A plan, one Nakahara was part of at one point, couldn’t come to fruition anymore because of some reason Kunikida couldn’t quite grasp. 

Despite himself, he stayed rooted in place and strained his ears.

“Yeah,” Chuuya’s voice was honest and unguarded now, “I guess that still stops me sometimes too.”

“I mean,” Dazai faltered again, miniscule but there, “All the pieces are in place now.”

“That they are,” Chuuya tipped his glass to the right in acknowledgement before lifting it to take a sip. From Kunikida’s perspective, he could see the small recoil in the Executive’s back, the fabric of his dress shirt pulling tighter now as his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, “Do you remember Lovecraft?”

“I do,” Dazai nodded. 

“I thought it would be then,” Chuuya tilted his head to catch a glimpse at Dazai’s wrists hanging over the railing, “Or when we got back from the prison.”

“I…” Dazai, not for the first time, trailed off, “Yeah.”

“It reminded me of that one mission when we were sixteen,” Chuuya said, moving his head to be looking down at his hands again, “The one where you slept underneath the couch in our office.”

“My office that you somehow occupied.”

“Not the time,” Chuuya said, seemingly reminding Dazai, “We didn’t talk for weeks after that.”

“We did though,” Dazai replied, his voice airing with a slight confusion. 

“We… didn’t Dazai, not really,” Chuuya said, voice tight, “Not about anything that mattered.”

“Missions, upcoming assignments and briefings, all things that matter-”

“No,” Chuuya shook his head as he cut Dazai off, “All of those things… they pale in comparison to what we should have talked about.”

“Wow, quite eloquent now are we, Chuuya?” Dazai replied, smug. Kunikida could tell it was a deflection, and maybe an excuse to say the other man’s name. 

“We should have talked,” Chuuya didn’t rise to the bait, continuing his downward stare. 

Dazai looked away now, matching his former partner’s stance; head down and body rigid. The wind blew softly, rearranging a few strands of hair on each of their heads, a tangible visual of the moment passing, the mutual understanding, the memory resurfacing. 

“I don’t know what there was to talk about,” Dazai said finally, keeping his stance.

“You aren’t that dense,” Chuuya replied without missing a beat. 

“I didn’t know how to talk about it,” Dazai corrected.

“And do you now?” The words came out almost rhetorical, as if Chuuya already knew the answer but was speaking for the sake of words filling the space. 

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Dazai’s honest voice took Kunikida by surprise, “I think this conversation is proof enough.”

“We should have talked about it then,” Chuuya said, seemingly ignoring Dazai’s honesty. 

“That I was practically insane?” Dazai snuck a glance at Chuuya, “That I was losing my mind and couldn’t handle myself? Hell- I was an Executive and couldn’t pick myself up off the floor, look at the life I live now, you think I can pull myself up any easier?”

“Yeah, we should’ve talked about it.” Chuuya didn’t relent. 

“And do what? Cuddle and put on a movie? Take a bath and order takeout?” 

Chuuya let out a laugh, but Kunikida could hear the tinge of resentment that lingered underneath it, the exasperation, the desperation. 

“I’m serious, Chuuya,” Dazai continued, his voice straining, “What was talking going to fix? What could it have possibly done?”

“Us,” Chuuya replied, “It could’ve fixed us.”

“No it wouldn’t have,” Dazai shook his head, “There is no amount of conversation in this world that could fix what we are.”

“Not what we are but who we are to… each other.” 

Dazai stilled, his back slowly relaxing from its stiffness. Kunikida swore he could see the wind knock out of his chest, the air completely leave his body and his entire brain rewire at the words.

And in full honesty, Kunikida didn’t know what Chuuya was referring to either. He wasn’t a detective for nothing, he always had a sneaking suspicion the former partners had a complicated past that wouldn’t leave them alone but this was uncharted territory. He shouldn’t be listening, he knew it acutely, but his feet wouldn’t budge. 

“I didn’t think you were insane.” Chuuya breathed after getting no response. 

“I was,” Dazai quickly replied, giving no room for rebuttal, “I still am.”

“Not to me,” Chuuya swirled his wine again. 

The words buried themselves in Kunikida’s mind, the utter devotion in the statement. He knew that Dazai on his best days was an unmovable force- he never considered that Chuuya was also an unmovable force, openly admitting the absolute worst parts of Dazai weren’t things that made him want to turn and run.

“I couldn’t get myself up,” Dazai took a moment to breathe before continuing, “I couldn’t do it, I still can’t.”

Chuuya hummed in response. 

“I still have the key to your apartment.” Dazai admitted. 

“I never changed the locks,” Chuuya replied easily, “I thought you’d show up again someday… that maybe-” He shook his head and took a drink of wine, the easy tone in his voice gone as he refused to continue speaking. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Dazai said, “More times than I’d like to admit.”

“What stopped you?” Chuuya asked, although Kunikida was beginning to understand the Executive already had all the answers and he just wanted to hear them spoken out loud. 

“Everything,” Dazai clasped his hands gently, “This.”

“I thought about going to you,” Chuuya said, his voice betraying him slightly before he regained composure, “When you resurfaced with the Agency.”

“So you didn’t think I was dead?”

“I did,” Chuuya sighed, “For a long while, I thought you had finally gotten what you really wanted.”

“Then why’d you keep looking for me?” Dazai asked, looking over to study Chuuya’s face.

And oh, that struck a dangerous chord with Kunikida. He knew of Dazai’s defection from the Port Mafia, of course a while into his employment with the Agency in true Dazai-fashion, but he never considered there would be someone who cared. 

Chuuya put up a convincing front, one that told stories about how Dazai was the villain in his life and outright stated he hated the man. Kunikida realized now, all too late, that deduction couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a carefully constructed front, practically indestructible unless you were eavesdropping on a conversation that was never meant for the outside world.

He shifted his weight ever so slightly, now leaning against the expensive wooden wall, knowing the duo was so absorbed in their conversation he wouldn’t be found out now- not on a cliffhanger like this.

“I thought it would bring me some sense of fucked up relief,” Chuuya replied, “If I found out for sure you were dead or just a runaway.”

Dazai didn’t respond. A moment passed, wine swirled in a glass, gloved fingers twitched. 

“There were times I felt like I got so close to you I ended up on the other side of you,” Chuuya relaxed his shoulders, “I didn’t want you to turn up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Because you cared?” Dazai asked, seemingly catching himself off-guard with the question. 

“Because you don’t deserve that, I mean yeah you absolutely do but you don’t,” Chuuya huffed, “I don’t think you’d want anyone to find you without dignity.”

“You would’ve staged another death for me, wouldn’t you?” Dazai asked, eyes not moving off his former partner. 

“Maybe, all I know is that I wouldn’t have let the briefing images be you in such a… vulnerable thing like suicide.” 

“Because you cared.” Dazai concluded. 

“Because you didn’t,” Chuuya corrected, “Deep down, you wouldn’t want someone to see the aftermath of you taking your life.”

Another moment passed, another unsaid confession hung in the air and doomed the narrative further. 

Kunikida picked up on it anyway: Chuuya did care, painfully so. It didn’t seem like something a Port Mafia Executive was capable of yet here he was, willingly displaying his emotions. 

“You got close a few times,” Dazai confided, “Some of those times I just… wanted to let you find me to see what would happen, to see if you’d turn me in or stay quiet, maybe even join me, but I knew from that day in the basement that you already knew I was alive.”

“You should know first hand what kind of clearance an Executive has,” Chuuya reminded, “I’m glad I didn’t find you.”

“Yeah?” Dazai asked, voice cracking around the question. 

“Yeah,” Chuuya sighed, deep and meaningful, “I don’t trust myself with what I might have done.”

“You would’ve turned me in?”

“Never that,” Chuuya responded, “I’m just…” He finally turned to look at Dazai, their eyes locking as he spoke, “I’m glad one of us made it out.” 

Kunikida wasn’t ready for the tear that fell from Dazai’s eye, sparkling under the city lights and few distant stars, the hunch in his shoulders he tried to correct, the subtle shift of his right foot to face slightly towards Chuuya. 

Dazai’s regret was palpable. 

“I would’ve never asked you to leave with me,” Dazai said, his words choked. 

“I know,” Chuuya said, not breaking eye contact just yet, “I don’t know if I would’ve gone anyway.”

Dazai bit his lip, an obvious final attempt to keep his feelings at bay underneath the impressive defense he was putting up. He took a moment to run his eyes over Chuuya’s face before looking away. 

“You would have,” Dazai said, his voice final, “I couldn’t do that to you after… everything.”

“I took your hand anyway, Osamu.”

Kunikida physically recoiled at the use of Dazai’s given name and the fact it didn’t invoke the reaction in Dazai he thought it would. It had been said accidentally, closer to when he had first joined the Agency and it was decided then it was completely off-limits. Instead of that reaction, it seemed to push Dazai further over the edge in a longing sort of way. 

“I trusted you only a few days after meeting you, I took you home when you slept under the couch, I patched your wounds, I… I practically laid down my life for you,” Chuuya took a deep breath and looked away from Dazai, focusing back on the city, “Of course, it wasn’t all for you, I am my own person but fuck, I was always there.”

“I know,” Dazai bit back a sob, only slightly noticeable to Kunikida. 

“Even after, I fought Lovecraft, I trusted your plan, I jumped off a fucking plane on the off-chance you were alive- I committed myself to certain death in hopes you were still in there somewhere.” Chuuya’s voice broke, “I jumped into a magical book, I pretended to be a vampire, I pulled our most risky fucking stunt and almost shot you in the goddamn head.”

Dazai mumbled something in response that Kunikida couldn’t hear and apparently, neither did Chuuya. 

“What?”

“I did things for you too, you know,” Dazai raised his voice but Kunikida could tell it was a cheap excuse against the argument Chuuya had put up, “I moved mountains so you could find out about what happened in the lab and how Corruption worked.”

Kunikida had no clue what they were speaking about but he continued listening anyway. 

“I remember the first time you activated it on the field Chuuya,” Dazai was incredibly candid now that he had stopped silently crying, “I was fucking terrified.”

A word Kunikida never thought he’d hear spoken from Dazai’s mouth, terrified. 

“It was and still is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen but… I was so scared, I don’t remember how I got you home but I remember puking a few times while I tried to clean you up and I stayed up all night making sure you kept breathing.” 

It was the most hostile and vicious thing Kunikida thought he’d ever heard in his entire life. Imagining Dazai as a teenager, attempting to breathe life into Chuuya in a dimly lit bathroom after whatever Corruption did was a vivid mental image- one he didn’t know if he could recover from.

“I did things too,” Dazai continued his mantra. 

“I never said you didn’t, Daz’,” Chuuya looked over to his former partner, “But you left, I didn’t.”

“I had to leave, I don’t regret it.” Dazai stood firm in his decision but his voice was laced with an emotion similar to guilt.

“I’m not talking about the Mafia,” Chuuya said, “I’m talking about us, who we are outside of that.”

“What even were we outside of the Mafia?” Dazai asked, “What are we outside of all of this now?”

“I think you know and you’re afraid of the answer,” Chuuya pushed, “We worked, Dazai, we would have made it work, we could’ve kept being partners.”

“That’s not how it works,” Dazai’s voice was trembling, as if he was coming to a conclusion now that he should’ve years ago. 

“It’s exactly how it works,” Chuuya sighed and took another long sip of his wine, “That’s why we had the plan, remember? It’s cocky, sure, but I can bring down this fucking city without breaking a sweat and you think it wouldn’t have worked?”

“I had to give up the Mafia,” Dazai’s voice wavered, “I promised Oda I’d step into the light.”

“And you could have while keeping us intact.”

Another moment of silence, another unsaid question hanging in the air. 

“I haven’t…”

“Neither have I.”

Kunikida felt like an absolute failure of a detective as the realization washed over him like a bucket of cold water. They were partners, romantic partners, and it seemed neither had pursued anyone outside of it since it ended. 

It clicked into place, all the missing context in the conversation. 

“Anyway,” Chuuya sighed, “Do you think you’ll go through with it?”

“No,” Dazai’s voice was still trembling.

“Why not?” Chuuya asked.

“Not worth it anymore,” The words were wet, Kunikida guessed he had started crying again, “Hasn’t been for a long time.”

Chuuya didn’t answer right away. Kunikida watched as he scrubbed a hand down his hidden face and then proceeded to drink the last of the wine in his glass, dropping his head forward afterward. 

Emotions flowed off the smaller body, filling up every inch of the balcony and suffocating everything in its presence. It was everything all at once- regret, guilt, admiration and devotion- love, or something close to it, maybe something that surpassed it. 

Maybe it wasn’t romance but something that resembled it, something far too intricate to explain in such simple and human terms.

Chuuya brought a gloved hand to rest on Dazai’s upper arm, squeezing the expensive fabric lightly, slowly dragging his head to look over. Dazai turned his head quickly and Kunikida could see the steady stream of tears that cascaded down his face, wetting his undershirt.

Dazai turned his full body towards Chuuya, locking eyes with the man as his bottom lip trembled, most likely against everything in his body or maybe not- it seemed Chuuya could easily pull vulnerability out of a man who was allergic to it. 

“It’s always worth it.” Chuuya said, his voice absolute and melancholic, as if pressing stop on his favorite record. His hand trailed down Dazai’s arm until fingers brushed past bandages and found an open hand, squeezing it lightly before turning back to walk away from the scene entirely. 

Kunikida quickly moved to hide himself in the wall, pressing himself into a tiny blindspot and praying to anything that would listen for Chuuya to not murder him for so obviously eavesdropping on the conversation. 

Chuuya exited in the opposite direction but Kunikida caught his face as a tear slipped down it. He watched in horror as the Executive continued making his way through the long winding hall, walking with composure and purpose yet continually bringing his hand up to his face to wipe away a flow of tears that didn’t seem to be ending.

Before Chuuya rounded the corner he threw his wine glass into the wall with enough force to level the building. 

Kunikida stayed pressed against the wall for a while, keeping his breathing low and intentional. He wanted to get up and continue his journey out of the Mafia headquarters but couldn’t get his legs to work, an unimaginable force keeping him in place, as if he was meant to stay in place. 

It was a few minutes before he heard shuffling from the balcony, liquid sloshing and a choked sob ring out. 

Dazai never seemed like the kind of man to cry, especially not so openly. Although Kunikida had seen it during the conversation, it still seemed unreal. It wasn’t as if Dazai had no emotions, Kunikida had seen quite a few on him, but, devastation- utter devastation, wasn’t something he ever thought he’d see on the man. 

With no plan in his mind, Kunikida removed himself from the wall and peeked around the corner to see a missing Dazai. He took a few steps forward, fighting his mind on if he should even be approaching the situation but continuing forward anyway. 

His feet hit the floor softly but enough to alert Dazai he was approaching if the man could even care at this point. Kunikida felt the soft breeze on his face as he approached the balcony, one he noted that did not have a single security camera in sight. 

Hearing another sloshing noise, Kunikida looked down and to his right to see Dazai sitting on the floor, one knee pulled to his chest while an almost-empty wine bottle lay lazily in his hand resting on his outstretched leg. 

Dazai looked pathetic in simple terms, wet cheeks, bloodshot and hazy eyes, hair tousled over a crumpled suit. Kunikida didn’t know what drove him to witness it, or what drove him to seek it out further but he chose to sit next to Dazai, close enough that they wouldn’t be spotted through the hallway but giving enough space so they weren’t touching. 

Although Kunikida knew Dazai knew he was there, he gave no immediate response to his presence, simply continuing to stare out into the city with drunken eyes and a body that looked like it was weighed down by every pressure imaginable. 

Moments passed, Kunikida opting to stay silent and be there for his field partner, unsure if his company was even wanted at this time. 

“One time, I shot a dead body nine times,” Dazai finally spoke, his voice raw and surprising Kunikida, “Emptied the entire clip in a dead man,”

Kunikida didn’t turn to look at Dazai. 

“I was fifteen and the only person who would’ve stopped me was Chuuya,” Dazai flattened his hand against the wine bottle, “And he did, he grabbed my hand and it screwed up my whole life.”

Dazai was reliving something, something Kunikida couldn’t even begin to imagine. 

“He screwed up my whole life plan, threw a wrench into it like it was breathing to him,” Dazai grimaced but continued, “I don’t expect you to understand… I don’t want anyone to understand.”

Kunikida opened his mouth and the words died in his throat, he closed it quickly knowing there was no possible defense in this situation. He didn’t understand, even if he put all his willpower and knowledge into understanding Dazai, or this situation, he knew he was far out of his depth. 

He couldn’t understand why Dazai would shoot a dead body, he couldn’t understand the conversation he had heard, he couldn’t even pretend he understood just for the principle of being there for his friend. 

And Kunikida wasn’t an idiot, he knew a partnership that lasted in the Mafia had to be one forged in blood. 

“He coerced Mori out of the transfer deal,” Dazai shook his head and looked down, “I don’t know how he did it but he did,” Dazai sucked in a deep breath, “I wish I knew how he did it.”

Dazai picked up the bottle and took a swig, a trail of deep red disappeared. 

“Have you ever grieved someone who’s still alive?”

Kunikida short-circuited at the question and just how out of place it felt. Dazai had asked cryptic things in the past, but nothing that was this level of vulnerability. He matched it by nodding stiffly when he felt the eyes on him. 

“I have,” Kunikida breathed quietly. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m still living there,” Dazai’s voice was somber, and drunk, “In a place where I can just have him without all the complications of our organizations.”

“Have you?” Kunikida asked out of his own curiosity. 

“No, not really,” Dazai bit his lip and stared back at the city, “It’s always short lived.”

Kunikida understood what he was referring to, the missions where they worked side by side again, where it was probably easy to fall back into step, where it was like child's play figuring the other out. 

“Reality always comes back though,” Dazai sighed, “It’s not the same.”

The bottle found Dazai’s lips again and he finished it off, tossing it over the railing when he was done. Kunikida knew he was once again reliving something and for both of their sakes, he hoped Dazai didn’t remember this conversation come the morning. 

Dazai was reliving things, memories he held close to his chest, interactions that never happened. A warm hand pulling him out from under the couch, a dusty gaming console that sat untouched on a tv stand, soft mornings before purgatory. 

“Would you like to go home?” Kunikida asked, not wanting to drag this out any further, “I can get you back if you lead me out of here.”

“Down the hall to the left,” Dazai recalled, “There’s an exit that’ll lead you down to the parking lot.”

“And would you like to come with me?” 

“No,” Dazai looked over and met Kunikida’s eyes, “I’m all good.”

Kunikida didn’t believe him, drowning in the emotions written so clearly across Dazai’s face. The guilt, the anger, the sadness, it was tangible, like Dazai had given shape to everything that consumed him daily and it was laid out for examination on a Port Mafia balcony, miles above the city. 

“Okay…” Kunikida said against everything in himself, standing but his legs refusing to move. 

“Don’t mention this,” Dazai pleaded quietly, his voice monotone and resigned, “Please.”

Kunikida understood that, even if he didn’t understand much of anything tonight. Everyone had their opinions of Dazai and Chuuya, what their partnership was like, how it still functioned on opposing sides, but confirmation was something entirely different. 

It was something they had kept under lock and key, fooled everyone around them, just for it to come to a bittersweet ending with a long-running plan falling short of the mark. Kunikida could understand, he could, wanting to keep their final interaction and the aftermath a secret. 

He had plenty of those moments in his life. They didn’t quite measure up to this one, but he could get the principle of it. 

“You have my word.” Kunikida nodded with full honesty. 

—

—

—

—

Dazai had pushed himself underneath the couch in their shared office, back against the wall where he had a direct line of vision to the door and to Chuuya’s desk. 

There was an indescribable feeling in his chest, making it hard to even take a single breath without it setting his whole body aflame. He didn’t want Chuuya to see him, he didn’t want anyone to be near him. He closed his eyes tight and tried to bring back awareness to his body through the cold tile under his cheek. 

The door opened and quickly shut, a lock turned and footsteps approached. Chuuya sat in front of the couch, feet away from where Dazai’s head was but enough in his orbit to let the other know he was there. 

“I know this is all fucked up right now,” Chuuya had said, voice cutting through the silent room and breathing life into it, “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Dazai didn’t respond. He let the time pass, a beat went, the dust settled. 

“I want to though,” Chuuya said, “If we can, together.”

Dazai felt the tear drip down from his uncovered eye, pooling onto the cold tile beneath him. There had been no reason to run from Chuuya, there had been no indication the other was even slightly put off by what had happened. 

A hand reached out and breached his space, landing on his own bandaged one. 

Dazai held onto it like a lifeline. 

—

Water stilled underneath a bleeding body as a cigarette was lit. 

“This is pathetic, even for you.” Dazai had laughed before he plucked the cigarette from Chuuya’s fingers and stuck it in his mouth. 

“Hey!” Chuuya tried but his voice fell flat, “Don’t be a dick now.”

Dazai just laughed again and took a long drag before handing it back to his partner, who was sitting in the bathtub in only his underwear, hoping the cool water would bring some sort of relief. 

The aftermath of Corruption was devastating. Chuuya was strong. 

“I don’t like this,” Dazai sighed, meeting the mismatched eyes of his partner. 

“Yeah, same,” Chuuya had snorted, wincing as soon as he did. 

—

“I’m trying, hold on.” Dazai said, voice frantic and unused. 

“Can’t…” Chuuya trailed off, coughing blood up onto Dazai’s white dress shirt, “Can’t feel anything.”

“Fuck,” Dazai cursed, shifting their position so Chuuya could effectively vomit onto the grass with no interruption. 

Chuuya was beaten to hell and back because of a simple mistake, something Dazai should’ve seen coming from a mile away but missed anyway. There was no excuse, no reason he shouldn’t have gotten the memo from the beginning. 

“Please, Chuuya,” Dazai felt his body convulse without permission as Chuuya went lax in his arms. 

There were few times he had felt a fear like this. 

Dazai cradled Chuuya in his arms as he passed out, brushing strands of auburn hair back with uncharacteristically shaky hands. He looked down to the boy he had failed to save, the boy he threw to the flames for no good reason other than to watch him burn as a human and regretted every choice he’d ever made. 

He was no stranger to pleas and pleadings, unanswered prayers and devastation. 

—

Dazai missed the rust of his container as he stepped further into the apartment. 

New Years Eve, a fresh start, a new beginning. 

Chuuya had already begun unpacking some of his stuff, the little he had from a life on the streets. 

“I think we should buy a couch,” Chuuya had said, not looking up to meet Dazai’s eyes as he stood in the threshold, “Today, preferably, and a TV.”

Dazai couldn’t respond, there were cobwebs in his throat and graveyards on his tongue. He didn’t deserve this, Chuuya didn’t deserve this but here they were anyway, standing in a new apartment, off grid from the Mafia, unpacking their lives under the guise of partnership.

He watched as Chuuya stilled and looked to meet his eyes- a sight he could live in forever. 

Chuuya was clad in his casual clothes, hair growing out and messy, focused eyes, choker on his neck with a smile playing on his lips. He stood from his seat on the floor and looked right through Dazai, as if he was unraveling everything the other boy was. 

The sun was setting behind him, lighting him up like a deity that came to change Dazia’s life. 

Arms opened, a foot slammed the door shut and he fell forward into the only thing that made sense. Although they had a slight height difference, Dazai let his arms encompass the entirety of Chuuya’s back, burying his face in the crook of his partner’s neck and breathing in the scent. 

A hand found its way to Dazai’s hair, holding him in place as unwanted tears welled up in his eyes, ones he refused to let fall. 

Safe- Dazai felt safe, he felt sixteen years of weights tied to his ankles in a lake begin to click off and leave themselves at the door, ready for when he stepped out of the apartment but never to be used inside of it. He felt the safe haven that was opening up in a semi-empty space. 

“We should make a plan,” Chuuya said into his hair, holding him closer. 

Dazai had laughed, feeling weightless and grounded to earth by the arms around him. 

“I’ll do anything.”

—

“You aren’t, Chuuya.”

Red wine was seeping further into the kitchen from a broken bottle that laid discarded by a crumpled boy. 

“No sense in tryna fight it, ‘Zai.” Chuuya slurred, obviously far gone and not in his right mind. 

Dazai kneeled down, letting his hands find the thighs of his partner as he crawled over him. 

“You aren’t a tool,” Dazai breathed, trying to make his voice as honest as possible, “You weren’t made for destruction alone.”

Chuuya laughed and lazily met his eyes, glossy and unfocused.

“Then what else was I made for?”

Dazai leaned forward and kissed him with everything he had in his body.

—

Dazai knew he shouldn’t be here, watching from a distance as Chuuya dusted himself off after emerging from Poe’s book, but he was anyway, living in the worst part of his memories just for the sake of it. 

—

Dazai ran a hand through auburn hair, knowing he had no right to do so. 

Chuuya had fought a dragon, jumped out a plane and saved his life- saved a lot of people’s lives. It could never be as simple as Yokohama, as simple as the Port Mafia. It was more complicated, like a bond that refused to die even in the worst conditions, withering away but still there, still trying to hold on. 

“I’m sorry, Chuuya.” Dazai whispered, the words falling on deaf ears. Chuuya was passed out, head in his lap and the ball in his court, “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

It was more honest than he deserved but not honest enough for what Chuuya deserved. 

“I knew you’d come.” Dazai breathed, a sad smile playing on his face as he caressed the man in the only way he was allowed to now. 

—

“Shut the fuck up, asshole and let me do this!” 

Dazai couldn’t care, he couldn’t listen, he could only continue to squirm under the pressure Chuuya was putting on his very broken leg. He knew he was doing the best he could but it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

Chuuya held his leg again and began securing the brace, tightening each strap with precision and care. As he was halfway done, Dazai felt his body jolt with pain. 

“Almost done,” Chuuya’s voice was gentle- not soft, not harsh, just gentle. It snapped Dazai back into reality and out of the pain, now desperately trying to find his former partner’s eyes. 

Chuuya’s head was down, long hair covering his face as he continued to work with hands he was trying his hardest to stop from shaking. Dazai noticed but said nothing as the last strap was finally secured. 

“Can you get up?” Chuuya asked in a gentle tone again. 

“I can try.” Dazai replied, honest as he knew the clock was ticking and they needed to get to where Fyodor was being apprehended. 

He tried to stand but his legs gave out from under him, falling face-first onto the ground before two strong arms caught him as they had done many times before. Chuuya steadied him despite their height difference, allowing Dazai to lean his full weight against him as he found his footing. 

“This sucks,” Dazai let out a small laugh. 

“Yeah, it does.” Chuuya laughed with him, exasperated. 

Dazai tried to take a step forward but fell short, his bad leg buckling under the pressure but unable to bend due to the brace. A warm arm snaked itself around his waist and held him upright, memories flooded his mind of times this was acceptable- he let himself fall back into it. 

“Haven’t used that old trick in a while, huh?” Dazai tried, knowing it could be shut down at any moment. 

“You know I’ve always hated it,” Chuuya huffed but kept him upright as he carefully stepped forward, sock covered feet sliding at times. 

“But it works so well!” Dazai played into it, feeling himself dip back into a partnership that was still clinging on for dear life. 

“Because of me, no thanks to you and your brain-dead schemes,” Chuuya bit back. 

“My wonderful plan that saved us all?” Dazai lightly corrected. 

“Sure, princess.” Chuuya laughed. 

“Aw, it’s Snow White to be exact, or are you losing brain cells with your old age?” 

“I’m not that much older than you!”

“You have a lisp from those fangs,” Dazai pointed out suddenly as the thought occurred to him. 

Chuuya stopped in his tracks but his helping arm never moved, he just turned his head and looked up to meet Dazai’s eyes. Dazai wasn’t sure what Chuuya would find in them but he hoped it was a sense of honesty as he tried to relax and let the safety and comfort of being near his partner wash over his body. 

If Chuuya was there, he wouldn’t get hurt, he’d have his blindside covered, he wouldn’t push him while injured. 

Dazai didn’t expect the full-body laugh that tore its way through Chuuya’s frame, painting his face in a soft red. Auburn hair fluttered forward, his eyes closed and Dazai finally had something to rival all the other moments he could chalk Chuuya up to being mesmerizing. 

“After everything that’s happened, of course that’s a thought in your mind.”

Dazai didn’t know if he was referring to everything with Fyodor or a greater scheme but he took it anyway and shot back another quick quip as they continued to make their way out of the prison. 

—

—

—

—

Four days after meeting on the balcony, Dazai walked down the fall streets of Yokohama. 

The sun was hitting perfectly, casted over with a cool breeze in the air that stripped yellow and red leaves from the trees, landing in piles and crunching under his shoes. He had a destination in mind and feet that were moving quicker than he’d anticipated. 

He only had a backpack, stuffed with personal momentos, a change of clothes and his toothbrush. There wasn’t much else he needed if he had calculated everything correctly, and he hoped he did. 

The streets continued to wind as he made his way towards a familiar apartment building, memories of the past catching up as they drove him forward to absolution. He’d try one last time, give the life he was leading one last try before boarding that bus and leaving it all behind.

It was part of the plan.

A plan crafted through treacherous days he thought would kill him, a thought that would keep his mind together in the worst of times- and it did. When he was trapped with no escape, beaten down to the point of death, the plan he and Chuuya had created while sixteen and far out of their depth in the Mafia was a fire under him, pushing him forward. 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest as he stepped into the building and onto the elevator, pressing a floor he used to know all too well. He hadn’t been here in almost five years yet it felt ritualistic. 

His chest felt like it would concave at any given moment, hands sweaty on top of the fabric of his pants, shoulders rattling with dying intuition. There would be no embarrassment, he would skip town and end it all if the plan didn’t go through, or maybe he’d get on the train and then come back, faking an illness to get his coworkers off his back.

Either way, Dazai was going to try.

He stood outside of the black door and stared down at the silver handle, making no movement. There was no sound coming from behind the wall, no evidence anyone even lived here anymore. 

It could be a fruitless attempt, Dazai knew. He could walk into that pristine apartment and find nothing but a half-drank coffee mug sitting lonely on the counter and no shoes by the door. Chuuya probably went to work, went back to the Mafia and continued his life quest for absolvement and righteousness. 

It was probably the case. 

Dazai decided he didn’t care, he had to know. After the conversation on the balcony, after a little over seven years of this, he had to know. He pulled out the small key, still engraved from a knife with something that could mean nothing now and shoved it into the keyhole, surprised when the door clicked to unlock.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, Chuuya had never lied to him before. 

The key stayed in the door as it opened, Dazai afraid to breach the threshold. Inside sat… nothing. No evidence anyone had ever even lived in the apartment. 

The wind was knocked so far out of Dazai’s chest he stumbled backwards before dashing inside of the apartment he once knew as a saving grace, scanning every surface for any clue to why it was so empty. 

There was no fluffy couch, no TV stand littered with trinkets, no fridge with paperwork and notes and drawings clipped to it, no two-person dining room table, no black-out curtains hanging from the rod- nothing. There was absolutely nothing. 

Chuuya wasn’t here. 

The thought broke Dazai down instantly, his knees giving out from under him as he knelt down on the floor, hands gripping for purchase on the smooth wood, head falling forward. Of course Chuuya never changed the locks- because he didn’t live here anymore. Of course he didn’t, of course Dazai was a fool to believe he could gain something when all he did was take. 

Of course Chuuya had moved on, regardless of a drunken conversation when the dust had settled. 

Dazai didn’t cry, he just shook on the floor, trying to rearrange his thoughts in a way that could possibly make sense enough so he could carry himself out the door. He’d have to return to the Agency, he’d have to get on that train and then backtrack just so he could say he’s seen the countryside that borders the ocean, he’d have to pretend none of this ever happened, he’d have to face Kunikida’s knowing eyes and Ranpo’s melancholic and cryptic response. 

The sound of footsteps ripped an inhuman sound out of Dazai’s throat as he looked over to see polished black shoes standing to his right, his blindside, with nobody here to protect it. It was probably security, about to whisk him out of the apartment they were probably desperately trying to sell. 

“Why are you on the floor?”

That was security- but not the landlord's staff or someone who could throw him out, it was safety. Dazai snapped his head up to see soft yet protected mismatched eyes settling on his own, striking hair neatly placed over his shoulder and a black sweater that could only belong to one person. 

Dazai shot up off the ground, his backpack falling to the floor and straight into the arms of the only home he’d ever known. 

“Chuuya,” Dazai breathed, clinging onto the man who had opened his arms in the knick of time, tightly holding onto him. 

He didn’t respond, instead digging his fingers into the fabric of Dazai’s button-up, strong arms holding him in place. One of Chuuya’s hands came up to the back of Dazai’s head to bury fingers in it and solidify that he was real, that this was real. 

Dazai couldn’t stop the tears now as he felt Chuuya’s begin to fall on his shoulder. 

To the outside world, and anyone who knew him, Dazai never cried. He didn’t seem like he was built to do so which is exactly why it came so easily to him. He had always cried in the Mafia especially, it was Chuuya who was the one actually incapable of crying. He had so many walls built up to protect himself from getting hurt that it made it rare for a tear to actually fall.

But here, they both cried. 

“I don’t deserve this,” Dazai choked as he took in a breath for air. 

Chuuya pulled back slightly and placed both hands on either side of Dazai’s face, fingers caressing the only inch of Dazai’s skin that was soft, a place only he was allowed to touch. He ran a finger under Dazai’s right eye, the one he had trained to look normal, the one he could barely see out of. 

Dazai couldn’t breathe. 

Chuuya closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Dazai’s own. It was messy, mixed with salty tears and an ocean of unsaid things, conversations that should have happened and conversations that needed to happen, laced with desperation and devotion. Dazai deepened the kiss, pulling Chuuya closer with a sharp inhale. 

They pulled back to stare at each other again, eyes conveying the amount of trust it took for them to get there. A countryside awaited, a small home just for them, an easy life where they’d never be found. The ocean breeze, something soft and gentle and nothing like what either of them deserved but nonetheless what they craved.

A small smile played on Chuuya’s lips, another thing Dazai would add to the running list he had of times his partner was mesmerizing. 

“Our train leaves in a half hour, we don’t want to miss it.” Chuuya’s voice was gentle yet determined. 

How badly Dazai wanted this was something he couldn’t feel disgust over anymore as he would follow Chuuya anywhere.