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Chapter Text

Chuuya had always been certain of two things: He was going to die young, and it would be Corruption that killed him.

He’d known Arahabaki would eventually kill him since the moment he’d woken up in the rubble of Cone Street. At first he’d been afraid, but the fear had slowly worn away to resignation, and later acceptance. It was just knowledge, fact, like the sky was blue and the ocean was deep. And you couldn’t really be afraid of a fact of the universe.

So when the order came down from the Boss, the third of its kind in as many months, he wasn’t really afraid. He was just tired.

It was raining in Yokohama when he and his team approached the harbor. It was infested with a foreign group that had staked out ownership of the docks. They’d been a thorn in Mori’s side for months, and now that thorn was going to be removed.

Chuuya wouldn’t usually take care of something like this. This type of removal was normally left to the Black Lizard, but the group they were eradicating had an army of Gifted. He took Akutagawa’s team along with his own. The Black Lizard showed, too. They were armed to the teeth and hungry for blood, but Chuuya knew deep down in the core of his being that this wouldn’t be enough. Mori wouldn’t have sent him if it was enough.

He hadn’t been ordered to use Corruption. At least, not exactly. The exact words were, “Use any means necessary,” but Chuuya could read between the lines. And he wasn’t about to let his men get slaughtered when he’d end up having to use Corruption anyway.

So no, it wasn’t really fear that he felt as the rain poured down his face, soaking his clothes. It was calmer than that. More like regret.

“Keep back,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “Stay behind the perimeter!”

“But, sir-” Higuchi started to argue.

“Don’t be a martyr,” Tachihara snarled. “We can take them.”

Chuuya let out a deep breath. “No, you can’t.” It was the truth, he knew it was. The intelligence gathered by their spies was enough to convince him that nothing short of leveling the harbor would take these men out. And who better to level a harbor than Arahabaki?

“We’ll get Dazai on the phone, then. When he gets here-”

The response came out as a snarl. “Do not call Dazai!” No way in hell would that snake see him like this. “He’s not in the damn Mafia anymore; he won’t come.” And if he did, it would only be to get a front row seat to Chuuya’s death. Dazai was twisted like that. He shrugged out of his coat and hat and passed them to Higuchi. “Wait until it’s over, then pick off any survivors. That’s an order.”

He didn’t wait for another argument before setting off into the maze of buildings the foreign gang used to hide their contraband in. They would all be there, he was sure of it. A shot rang out when he was out of sight of his men. He stopped the bullet almost lazily with his ability and sent it back to its owner.

They had Gifted who could work shadows into knives. He wouldn’t be able to stop those attacks with gravity. He needed to end it before those guys could get in a clean shot.

It wasn’t fear he felt as he tugged his gloves off. He’d spent too long being afraid of Arahabaki to let himself fear it in the end. No, what he felt was deeper. Regret, even sadness maybe. But he didn’t have time to think about that.

If Dazai had been there…

No. He’d spent too much time missing that snake, too. He wouldn’t spend his last moments of lucidity thinking about what could have been.

Bodies moved from the shadows. A memory cut through his mind, quick and clean as a knife, and he smiled. His first mission with Dazai, the first time he’d really seen what the bastard could do with his cruelty. What was it that waste of bandages had said? ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’

He let go of his gloves, letting them fall to the wet ground. Behind the drum of the rain, Chuuya could hear the distant sounds of the city. He picked out the roar of traffic, turned to a whisper from the distance. Someone shouted; one of his men, he knew, but he couldn’t quite place the voice. A gunshot echoed off the walls of the massive freight boxes, but the bullet wasn’t aimed at him.

It was a city of blood and violence, Yokohama. But it was home. Chuuya loved that city. He’d fought for that city. And now, he would die for that city.

He could see the ocean through a gap between two containment units. It was grey, darker than the sky. An old memory surfaced of a conversation so long ago. Rimbaud had seen Arahabaki when he first broke out. And he’d mentioned the sea, glistening beyond the creature. Poetic, somehow, that here he was again. By the sea, as he gave Arahabki control.

Or maybe it was just ironic. A cruel twist of fate that things could come back around like this.

He turned his face to the sky, feeling the drops of rain strike his skin for a moment. He closed his eyes. The words spilled from his mouth like poison as he let them out. “Granters of dark disgrace… you need not wake me again.”

He was lost in the rising tide of destruction as he gave himself over to Corruption one last time.

* * * * *

Rain beat against the windows of the Armed Detective Agency. It felt almost odd, Dazai mused, staring out at the drenched city. He’d gotten so used to seeing the sun from the office that the dreary sight of rainclouds felt unnatural.

It wasn’t even a storm. He liked storms. They were violent and moody, leaving the air singed with electricity and energy. They reminded him of Chuuya, actually, now that he thought about it. A grin split his face imagining the retort Chuuya would spit at him if he heard the comparison.

“Stop looking out the window like a prisoner on death row and write that report!” Kunikida growled from the desk opposite his.

Dazai made a face and turned to his partner. “I don’t feel like it,” he complained. “The rain is making me sleepy.”

“We’re all tired, Dazai.”

Dazai leaned his elbow against his desk and set his cheek in his palm. He gazed around the room. Atsushi was typing away, ever anxious to please. Junichiro was being attacked by his sister. Ranpo was faithfully gnawing on candy. Kunikida’s eyes were glued to his screen, fingers working away on the keypad.

A familiar music filled the air. Thanking whoever had decided to entertain him, Dazai pulled his phone out and checked the Caller ID. His eyes landed on the word “Slug.” A wicked grin flashed across his face as he answered.

“Hat Rack! You know better than to call me at work,” he teased. “What’s so important it can’t wait ‘til I get home?”

“Is this Dazai?” a voice that was distinctly female asked. Weird. What was a girl doing with Chuuya’s phone? The voice sounded vaguely familiar, as if he should be able to place it right away but didn’t.

“Maybe,” Dazai replied evasively. “Who’s this?”

“Higuchi Ichiyo,” she replied. Oh, that’s right! He recognized the name as belonging to that blonde who’d shot up Naomi. Akutagawa’s lapdog. Her half-second pause was just long enough for Dazai to sense the tension before she said, in a strained voice, “It’s Nakahara.”

Dazai tensed. Is he alright? he wanted to demand. But he forced himself to sound calm, casual, uncaring, as he merely replied, “What about him?”

He heard a slight scuffle before a male voice answered, “He’s activating Corruption!”

Dazai’s blood ran cold. He was up in a moment, outpacing his fear. “Where?” he demanded.

“Dock 22.”

Shit. That was twenty minutes away. By the time he got there…

“Has he activated it yet?”

“Not yet, but it won’t be long!”

He was halfway across the office when he turned back. “Keep me updated!” he shouted into the phone.

Kunikida was up and blocking his path. “Dazai, what the hell-”

Dazai pushed past him and ran to the infirmary. He threw the door open so violently it cracked against the wall. “Yosano, you’re coming with me!”

Yosano looked up from her patient, an ever-happy Kenji. She must have seen something in his face because she didn’t argue. She put the scalpel down on a metal tray with a clink that shot a vicious image through Dazai’s head of another doctor and another time.

“Who’s hurt?” she asked.

Dazai knew if he told her the truth, she’d argue. The name of an informant spilled from his mouth almost automatically. One Yosano herself cared about. She paled and jumped to action, running after him.

The rest of the Detective Agency was on their feet, faces twisted in worry and confusion. Dazai dodged Kunikida again and grabbed the keys from his pocket. Kunikida was the best driver they had and since Dazai could barely find the pedals half the time, Kunikida was his best shot at getting to Chuuya.

“There’s going to be an explosion near Dock 22,” he said. “Any second now!”

Kunikida growled and snatched the keys back before heading for the door, shouting orders behind him. “Atsushi, you and Junichiro follow behind us and create a perimeter.” The boys were on their feet in a moment, grabbing jackets to protect them from the rain.

“Say hello to Mr. Fancy Hat for me!” Ranpo called after them.
Dazai was already halfway down the stairs. Kunikida reached the car a moment behind him, unlocking it and throwing the driver’s side door open. Dazai claimed the front seat, leaving Yosano the back.

“Hurry!” Dazai snapped.

Kunikida brought the engine to life and tore into traffic. “What do you think I’m doing!” he shot back.

No longer physically in motion, Dazai’s fear caught up with him. He was going to be too late. Again. His throat tightened and he could barely suck in a breath.

He had been too late once before, and Odasaku had died. He could still feel his blood on his hands, the shock of the bandage coming free of his face. He couldn’t get there too late this time. He would not – could not – lose Chuuya like he’d lost Oda.

Something dark rose inside of him, something he hadn’t felt since his Mafia days. If Chuuya died, he’d burn that city to the ground, starting with Mori.

“Take this road!” he shouted, pointing to a side-street. “It’s a cut-through used by the Mafia. There’s a tunnel.”

Kunikida only hesitated half a second before swerving the car and plunging down the dark street. The windshield wipers swatted rain off the windshield in rhythmic swipes, but the world outside the car was still grey and fuzzy. They roared into the tunnel and barely avoided a truck as they shot out the other end.

“You’re awfully nervous, Dazai,” Yosano commented. “I’ve never seen you like this. I didn’t know you cared so much about Airi.”

Who? Oh, right, the informant he’d lied about. Dazai didn’t respond.

A deafening explosion sounded in the distance. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, he realized that it had started. The entire Dock would be decimated. It could cause another tidal wave. Hell, that much power could probably split the city in two.

But he didn’t care about that. He only cared about making sure Chuuya was alive.

Kunikida stepped on the gas. The car jolted forward, throwing Yosano back in her seat. The docks rose up on the horizon between the buildings. Kunikida swerved and took another road, heading for the backend of the harbor. The noise was loud enough to shake the earth. They could see the dust rising through the heavy streams of rain.

Dazai jumped out of the car before it stopped. A crowd of people in suits lined the closest semi-safe line in front of the 22nd dock. He recognized Gin and Akutagawa.

Kunikida and Yosano would be really confused and really pissed-off right about now, but he didn’t have time for that. In a commanding voice, recalling a former life, he shouted, “Take your men and go! Clear the area!” He didn’t want them sticking around and trying to bring Chuuya back to Mori once it was over. Assuming he lived.

Akutagawa stepped forward, but Dazai pushed past him and dashed into the rubble. He heard his name called from behind him, but he couldn’t stop.

The rain and dust were nearly blinding. The bandages around his body were saturated, clinging to his skin more tightly than usual. He climbed over a fallen wall, stepping on a disembodied hand in the process.

He could hear the laughing. That deranged, bone-chilling sound of a maniac. No, the sound of Arahabaki in Chuuya’s body. The laugh was thicker than usual, almost gargled. His throat was filling up with blood.

“Chuuya!” he screamed. Maybe if that idiot heard him, he’d pick a fight and let Dazai get close enough to-

A beam fell, aimed for his head. He dove to the side. It caught the tail of his coat and pinned it against the ground. Dazai swore and tore the coat off.

He had to get higher. Chuuya would be in the air, and he couldn’t see far above the ground with the dust and rain clouding everything. He found a rusty ladder and hauled himself up. The cold metal bit into his hands, but he ignored the discomfort.

A blinding pain ripped through his shoulder, making him gasp. He tightened his grip on the ladder, turning behind him. A sniper. Before he could react, something heavy collapsed the canister behind him. He followed the trajectory. Pushing down the pain in his shoulder, he pulled himself up higher. His feet found purchase on the roof of a freighter.

Instinctively, he turned toward the sea. Roughly twenty feet away, almost level with the platform, floated Chuuya. Blood streamed from his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It welled up from the pores in his arms. His hands were black. His eyes were vacant, empty pools of white where blue should have been. Dazai could tell by Chuuya’s posture more than the blood that his body was destroying itself from the inside. Bones breaking, blood vessels bursting, organs rupturing.

Dazai was going to kill Mori for this.

He screamed his ex-partner’s name, but the man didn’t turn. Didn’t move toward his voice. Didn’t even glance in his direction.

There was nothing for it, Dazai realized. He’d have to pull him out of the air. He didn’t stop to think too much about how hard landing on concrete would hurt, or how many more injuries it might give Chuuya, who was already nearly broken. He ran. Ran for the edge of the platform with all his strength. At the last moment, he pushed off the edge and jumped into the air.

For a fraction of a second, he didn’t think he’d make it. But his fingers found the edge of Chuuya’s ankle, skin touching skin, and he activated his nullification ability. For the space between a heartbeat, they were suspended in midair. Dazai felt the energy in the air vanish, but he couldn’t see Chuuya’s eyes clear. He’d always been able to see the monster leave him, watch his eyes turn back to blue from the static-like white.

Gravity caught them both. Dazai glanced down and saw they were headed toward the sea, not concrete. He clutched Chuuya’s ankle and tugged him down, wrapping his arms around the smaller man before they could hit. He protected his head with one hand, the other arm wrapped around his back, twisting so Dazai would hit first.

His back slammed into the water with enough force to make him gasp. Saltwater filled his mouth. The bullet wound in his shoulder screamed in protest at the freezing cold. A cloud of red spilled into the ocean around them, pulled from Chuuya’s body and Dazai’s shoulder. Chuuya was unconscious. Usually he had a few moments of awareness before he passed out, but not this time. Dazai kicked against the water, pulling Chuuya up with him.

They broke the surface a few feet away from the shore. Hands reached down to help them. Dazai made sure they pulled Chuuya out first before scrambling onto the wet concrete after him.

“This isn’t Airi!” Yosano protested, seeing the wasted form of Chuuya Nakahara stretched out before her. Kunikida knelt beside her, fixing Dazai with a less than amused glare. Atsushi and Junichiro stood nearby, both confused. Higuchi, Akutagawa, and a third of the Black Lizard stood around, too.

“Dazai, you’re bleeding!” Atsushi announced, very unnecessarily. He knew he was bleeding, thank you very much. The wound in his shoulder hurt like hell.

Yosano started for him, but he shook his head. “Fix Chuuya first.”

She pulled up sharply. “I’m not healing a Port Mafia executive!”

“Is he…?” Atsushi trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Kunikida pressed two fingers to Chuuya’s neck. “He has a pulse, but it’s weak. Yosano, patch him up and let’s get out of here.”

Yosano hesitated another moment before kneeling next to Chuuya and taking his bruised wrist in her hand. She hesitated a moment before activating her ability.

Here comes the fun part, Dazai thought, glancing around at the Mafia members. Yosano and Kunikida would naturally hand Chuuya back to them, all dressed up for Mori’s next suicide mission, and the Port Mafia would be all too eager to take him back. Dazai would have to come up with some real good talking points now if Chuuya was going to make it out.

“You’re taking him with you.” All eyes turned to Akutagawa. He was looking directly at Dazai, which was no surprise, but there was determination in his eyes that Dazai hadn’t seen when he was his superior.

“Why should we?” Atsushi challenged. No one could rile him like Akutagawa.

Akutagawa’s eyes didn’t leave Dazai’s. “This is the third time an order like this has come down from the Boss. They’re not clear, merely instructions to do whatever’s necessary. Until today we had managed to stop him from using Corruption, but this time he would not listen to reason.”

“Imagine that,” Yosano muttered dryly.

Dazai fixed Akutagawa with a penetrating glare. “How long has this been happening?”

“Three months.”

Dazai swore silently. He looked down at Chuuya for a moment, thinking. He really couldn’t send him back to Mori, then. If he had to hazard a guess…

“We’re taking him with us,” he announced, standing.

“Like hell!” Yosano argued. “I’ve done what I can – he’ll live – but that’s all we need to do. We’re not in the business of taking in stray dogs of the Mafia.”

“You have two dogs of the Port Mafia in your group,” Akutagawa pointed out.

Yosano ignored him. “Kunikida, back me up!”

Dazai turned to the man, meeting his eyes. They stared each other down for several seconds. Finally, Kunikida let out a breath. “We’ll take him.”

“What?” Yosano snapped.

“Mr. Kunikida-” Junichiro started.

“He cannot stay in the Agency office,” Kunikida insisted. “The Armed Detective Agency cannot harbor another fugitive.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Dazai promised.

“I don’t want to know what you do with him.”

Dazai merely nodded. He shouldn’t have been annoyed, he knew that. They really couldn’t very well drag a Port Mafia executive back to the Agency without reporting it – not with a shaky cease-fire between the organizations and a time of peace between them and the government. They’d be expected to report Chuuya, let the authorities take him away and deal with the aftermath when he inevitably broke out. But still, he was annoyed.

Kunikida took Yosano, Atsushi, and Junichiro away. Dazai stayed to exchange a few words with the remaining Port Mafia members. Akutagawa promised to take care of the damage and give Mori some lie that might cover their tracks. It would never work, but Dazai didn’t want it to. He could tell the loyalty of the Mafia, of these members at least, belonged to Chuuya if they were willing to lie to Mori for him at all.

Let Mori come for him. It was well past payback time, as far as Dazai was concerned.

Chapter Text

Dazai somehow managed to hoist Chuuya onto his back and drag him back to his apartment. He could remember carrying him the same way back when they worked together. Chuuya would get drunk at some bar, or pass out from Corruption, and Dazai would give him a piggy-back ride back to headquarters or the apartment they shared. It had been so natural then. But it felt strange now. Strange in the way a room feels off without furniture in it: no longer home. The weight was off, too. Chuuya was heavier. Dazai supposed that was a good thing; at least the idiot was eating. And he was older; weren’t people supposed to gain weight as they aged? He’d joke about Chuuya getting fat when he woke up.

He unlocked the door with difficulty and dumped Chuuya onto his bed. He could have dumped him on the couch, but he figured that might be just a little too rude. Dazai usually slept on the couch, anyway, and he didn’t know when Chuuya would wake up.

Chuuya was still soaking wet. Dazai managed to wrestle his unconscious form out of his damp clothes and into some dry ones. With a grin, Dazai considered how angry Chuuya would get when he found himself in clothes too big for him. Everything about this situation would anger him, actually, but it was the little things he’d sweat.

Dazai changed his own clothes after laying Chuuya down on the sheets. The hole in his shoulder stung. He looked at it in the bathroom mirror; it was a clean shot, straight through. Made things easier. He patched it up himself, indulging in a few winces and curses - he really hated pain. That messy affair done, he peeled the wet bandages from his skin and rewrapped himself, hiding the patchwork of scars from view before tugging a shirt on over his bandaged torso. He could probably use a hot shower, but he didn’t take one. He could probably use a cup of tea to warm up, too, but he didn’t get one of those, either. Instead he opened a bottle of sake, pulled a chair up beside the bed, and watched Chuuya as he drank.

If he was right, and he always was, it was only a matter of time before Mori called. He already had a sickening feeling that he knew what this was about. Chuuya being ordered to use Corruption, however subtly, was a completely new phenomenon, as far as Dazai knew. When they worked together, it was always one of them that made the final call. He guessed that was how things were supposed to look now: Chuuya hadn’t been ordered to hulk-out directly, after all, but the implication was still the same.

Chuuya hadn’t used Corruption at all since Dazai had left - with the exception of the fight with the Guild and the Shibusawa incident, of course. But that had been different. They’d been back in business, on stage for one night only, the big reunion. Dazai smiled ruefully.

Contrary to what Chuuya thought, Dazai took no pleasure at all in seeing Chuuya torn apart like he was under Corruption. If he was being completely honest with himself, it scared him. That much raw power did not belong in an uncontrollable state.

His phone rang. Dazai considered the device for a moment before answering. The number wasn’t in his contacts list, but he knew who it was. “Mori,” he acknowledged, voice cold.

“Dazai,” Mori greeted. There was a smile in his voice, but no warmth. “I called to thank you for saving my executive.”

“No, you called to make sure I got your message.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

Dazai’s eyes were fixed on Chuuya. The web of veins tracing his neck was slowly fading, but he was still as stone. “You knew one of his subordinates would call me as soon as Chuuya decided to use his Corrupted form. You knew I’d come. And my answer is still no.”

Mori clicked his tongue. “Dazai, you were grief-stricken when Oda passed, so your temporary forgetfulness is understandable. Nevertheless, you did forget one important thing when you left the Port Mafia: Oda was not the only person here you care for.”

Anger flared in Dazai’s chest. Calling Oda’s murder a “passing” was like calling a shark a fish – both could swim, but only one could bite. Dazai kept his voice even. “I know you brought that other group into Yokohama to give Chuuya a good excuse to use Corruption. You’re using him as a bargaining chip, as if he’s not your most powerful knight on the board.” He chuckled. “You’re like a little girl, so obsessed with the toy she lost she sees no value in her wall of other dolls.”

“Taking a jab at my dear Elise is just playing dirty.” There was humor in Mori’s voice.

“Then let me make myself perfectly clear.” Dazai leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You took Oda from me. But you will not take Chuuya. I’d burn the Port Mafia to the ground before I let that happen.”

“I know you would,” Mori answered with perfect honesty. “That’s why I’m offering you your old position back. Rejoin the Port Mafia, and I’ll never make Chuuya use that awful ability again.”

Dazai laughed outright. He wondered when Mori would come out and say it. “Like I said, my answer is no. My promises to the dead are too strong for you to change. So allow me to enlighten you as to how this will all play out.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m declawing the cat. I’m going to convince Chuuya to leave the Port Mafia and join the Armed Detective Agency. The next time you see him, he’ll be on the other side.”

Mori chuckled. “I’m disappointed. You were the sharpest scalpel in my collection, but the Agency has dulled you, Dazai. Or maybe it was the sheer panic of realizing you were about to lose another friend. Neither you nor Chuuya belong in the Armed Detective Agency. You’ve had a fun trip, I’m sure, but it’s time to come home. You and I both know that Chuuya is far too loyal to abandon his home, even for you.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” He hung up and tossed the phone behind him, where it landed on a pile of wet clothes.

He could pull it off, he knew he could. Yeah, Chuuya was a loyal dog who’d jump to attention at the barest nod from his master, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Dazai knew him better than that. And the Detective Agency could offer him something that the Port Mafia never could. He just had to play his cards right.

* * * * *

Chuuya awoke in stages. The first thing he became aware of was the buzz of pain reverberating through his body. He ached from his toes to the top of his head.

The next thing was the smell. It didn’t smell like his apartment. It didn’t smell like the infirmary in the Port Mafia, either. But it did smell familiar, like an itch in his memory he couldn’t quite reach. He couldn’t pick out any distinct scents, but there was something achingly familiar, not unpleasant, just on the edge of his memory.

The next thing he noticed was the texture of the fabrics touching his skin. Rougher than the sheets in his apartment, or even on the beds in the infirmary. The clothes he was in didn’t fit him, either. They were too big.

Had he died? Was this what Hell was like: vaguely familiar scents and scratchy sheets?

He pried his eyes open. Damn, even his eyelids hurt. The ceiling above him was off-white, almost dirty beige. He stared at it for several long moments, putting off having to turn his neck to see more of the room.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” an all too familiar voice cried.

Chuuya groaned. Hell. This was definitely Hell.

Dazai’s face appeared above his own, peering down at him from his large, curious brown eyes. Chuuya squinted his shut. So that’s what the smell was.

“Your sheets are scratchy.” So was Chuuya’s voice, apparently. He couldn’t seem to think straight. Forming a coherent thought was like pulling something through syrup.

Dazai chuckled. His voice was light, airy, like everything was perfectly fine. “Good to see you, too, partner.”

“We’re not partners,” Chuuya reminded him, the bite in his voice lost in the slur. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “How long was I…?”

“Over ten minutes. I think that’s a new record.”

Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes of Arahabaki. He swallowed drily. “How many did I-”

“None of your own,” Dazai assured him. “And none of the Agency’s.”

The exchange was practiced. Every time Chuuya woke from using Corruption, he started by asking the same questions. How long was I under? How many people did I kill? It felt so useless to Dazai; wasn’t that the point of using Corruption? But he went through the motions anyway, being perfectly honest. Now, as he read through the script etched into his memory, all he felt was relief. One more minute, and the story could have gone very differently. It had been so long since he recited this particular script, anyway.

Chuuya let his thoughts pull themselves together as he surfaced from sleep completely. He took several minutes to piece together what must have happened. He’d let the monster out, and Dazai had stopped him. Which meant that either the Armed Detective Agency was called to the scene of a Gifted on a rampage, or one of his own subordinates had called Dazai directly.

He shouldn’t be alive. He shouldn’t be here, in Dazai’s apartment, in Dazai’s clothes, in Dazai’s bed. He shouldn’t be… so many things.

He took a deep breath and braced his hands on the mattress, pushing up. Pain shot up his arms, sharp as knives, followed by a dull ache. He sat up anyway, trying to salvage at least a little bit of dignity. His eyes found Dazai, perched on a chair, watching him with a smile on his face. “What are you grinning at?”

“It’s just been so long since I’ve watched you sleep,” he teased. “You look so peaceful before you wake up; like you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I may be in pain, but I could still lay you out, jackass.”

Dazai merely laughed. He took up a pitcher of water on the bedside table and poured a glass, pushing it into his former partner’s hand. “How much do you remember?” Chuuya could never fully remember what happened when he let Arahabaki out, and the longer the monster was in control, the less he remembered.

Chuuya downed the glass clumsily. Water dripped down the side of his mouth and trickled down his neck. He wiped it away and winced. The skin on his hands and neck both felt bruised and raw. Dazai refilled the glass and he emptied it again before answering. His throat was less raw now; the words didn’t sound so much like they were dragged over gravel. “I remember letting him out, then being dumped in the sea with a few flashes in between.”

“I have to say, it was really stupid letting it off the leash like that without a safety net.” It was said lightly, but the implication was clear.

Chuuya grit his teeth. The age-old feeling of betrayal cut through him again. He wanted to scream, My ‘safety net’ was gone!

But evidently that wasn’t exactly true, was it? His damn safety net was right there, a chair away.

Something pushed against the restraints in Chuuya’s mind. Anger, sadness, hurt. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and started to stand. He needed to get away, but his body had other plans. As his legs took the full weight of his body, they buckled.

Dazai was on him in an instant, catching his wrist deftly and pushing him back on the bed. “Isn’t one stupid move enough for today? Honestly, you’re so reckless. Give your body time to recover.”

“I don’t want to hear about recklessness from the bastard who’s obsessed with suicide!” Chuuya snapped. Fury backed his words now.

“Yeah, I thought I was the suicidal one, too.” Dazai’s eyes bored into Chuuya’s, penetrating. “If I’d known you wanted to kill yourself bad enough to let Arahabaki loose on one of Mori’s whims, I’d have gladly joined the party.”

Damn him. Chuuya lashed out, knocking Dazai’s hand away from him. “You think that was some suicide attempt!?”

“Yes, I do.”

The words were calm, collected, certain. A shock went through Chuuya, sharp enough to make him gasp. Maybe Dazai was right. Maybe he did want to die. He grit his teeth and argued. “Why the hell would I want to die?”

Dazai shrugged. “You tell me, Chuuya. Why would you like to die?”

Chuuya snapped. His fist cracked across Dazai’s jaw, sending him flying into his closet door. Dazai gasped and gripped his shoulder. Blood seeped through his shirt and between his fingers.

With a shock, Chuuya realized he was hurt. Hell, he’d probably been hurt when he dismantled Corruption. He tamped down his guilt mercilessly. So Dazai was in pain – good!

For the Tainted Sorrow crackled through the air. He used it to push himself up, help his legs support his weight as he crossed the room and grabbed Dazai’s collar in his bruised hand, hoisting him up. “Let’s get one thing straight, asshole!” he growled through clenched teeth. “The only suicidal person here is you!”

“Looked in the mirror lately?” Dazai retorted. His eyes were like dark pits, cold and bottomless, and Chuuya struggled not to fall into them. “Akutagawa said you’ve practically leapt at every opportunity to use your Corrupted form. You’ve been reckless.”

“Because they’re my orders!”

“Right.” Dazai lengthened the word, tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve always been an obedient dog. Your master says roll over, and you just do.”

Chuuya slammed his fist into Dazai’s stomach. Pain shot up his own arm at the contact, but he tamped it down. “Just because I’m not a traitorous bastard doesn’t mean-”

“-you’re a loyal dog? Chuuya, they’re killing you. Can’t you see that?”

He could. Of course he could. But it being pointed out by Dazai left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t be close to him anymore. He shoved away from the man and backed up, putting distance between them. “Where are my clothes?”

Dazai shrugged like he didn’t know. Chuuya swore and started hunting for them. A hand grabbed him from behind and his ability fizzled out. His knees buckled again, and Dazai again pushed him back onto the bed. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere for the time being,” he murmured.

“If you’d quit touching me I would be!”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The tone was cool, expectant. Chuuya wished he would quit jumping back and forth between serious and joking; he was getting a headache. He glanced up at him and stopped, stunned at the expression he found in Dazai’s eyes.

He was more than serious; he was genuine. Chuuya had seen Dazai ask genuine questions before, but they were usually accompanied by that cold, heartless stare that gave him the creeps. The one that promised he’d do something awful if he didn’t get the answer he wanted. The one he used when he was called to fill in for Kouyou’s men. This was almost that same stare, but there was something different in the way Dazai was looking at him. Less like a mouse in a trap and more like a human being. No, more than a human being. Like something valuable, something he didn’t want to lose.

Weird.

Then the anger came back. Could Dazai really not know why he wouldn’t want to call him? Seriously?

Alright. If Dazai wanted to do this, he might as well take some heat for his actions. Chuuya let out a bitter laugh. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Why would I ask a question I already knew the answer to?”

“Well, let’s see. Why the hell wouldn’t I want to call a traitor?”

Dazai shrugged like the word carried no weight at all. “Because you’re suicidal?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d come!” Chuuya snapped. “Why would you!? We’re not partners anymore! You don’t owe me a damn thing. I didn’t want to deal with your sorry ass laughing over my grave for the rest of eternity at how stupid I was to believe you’d actually go out of your damn way to pull me out of the fire!”

It was the honest, ugly truth, and the blow landed. Dazai was too good at hiding his emotions to let the sting show outright, but something shifted in his eyes. Silence stretched between them. It felt like a boundary, a wall.

Chuuya was right; Dazai didn’t know. He didn’t know that leaving the Port Mafia had left such a hole in his former partner. Didn’t know he cared enough to let it fester.

Until now.

Dazai was the first to cross the divide. “But I did come, didn’t I?”

“Why?” Chuuya snarled. “You didn’t come just to save my life. What are you after?”

“Maybe I just didn’t want you to precede me into the afterlife.” He paused. “Or maybe I didn’t want you to die. The world would be a lot less entertaining without you in it.”

Chuuya was having none of it. “I haven’t been in your world for over four years, bastard! You made damn sure of that!”

“I’m sorry.” The words shocked Chuuya into silence again, and Dazai realized suddenly that he meant every word. “When I left the Port Mafia, I didn’t think you’d care.”

The rational part of him, the part that knew Dazai was a liar and a cheat and a traitor and a snake, recoiled at that. The bastard wasn’t sorry. He’d never been sorry for anything he’d done his whole life: a serpent cared not what branches it broke on the way to its meal. But the stupid, irrational, soft part of him knew Dazai better than that. He knew Dazai didn’t lie when the truth was more powerful. And he didn’t lie to make himself look worse.

The words came without him realizing it, spilling from him like blood from a wound. “But you didn’t just leave the Port Mafia. You left us! You left Akutagawa and Gin. You left Kouyou. You left Hirostu. You left me.” He knew he should stop, knew he should shut up, knew the words would slide off Dazai like oil because the man didn’t care. But the words kept coming. “You know, I thought you were dead at first. Because I didn’t think there was any way you’d leave without telling me. Without asking me to go with you. We did everything together, took on every fight together. We were partners!”

“We were rivals,” Dazai reminded him.

“No, we weren’t. That’s just what everyone thought because you’re such a goddamn idiot! No, we were partners and we were friends. And you threw that away like it was nothing!”

Dazai stared at him like he’d never quite seen the man before. Shit, he thought. He’s not acting. And it hurt. It hurt like the wound in his shoulder. His chest ached with it. A deep part of Dazai, the part that missed Oda with his every waking moment, groaned under the weight of Chuuya’s words. He’d been an idiot, clearly.

The question came out quietly. “If I had asked you to go with me, would you have?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

What ifs flooded his mind, images of what could have been. Those two years underground spent with Chuuya for company. Sharing a bottle of sake instead of downing one alone. Small, strong hands gripping his shoulders when he got bad and picked up a razor. The ocean of grief and fear dampened by Chuuya’s presence.

The rational part registered that this was how he’d get Chuuya out, how he’d save him. Dazai focused on that. He leaned forward, eyes intense. “You’re right; I should have asked you before, and I didn’t. But I’m asking now. Leave.”

Chuuya stared back, reaction caught somewhere between a bitter laugh and a snarl. “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“I’m not. I’m serious as a heart attack. Leave the Port Mafia and join the Agency.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “Is this why you saved me? To recruit me to your band of freaks!?”

“No,” Dazai said, perfectly honestly. “I saved you because I don’t want you to die. At least not before I do. And that’s why I’m willing to put up with you working in the Agency. What do you say?”

Chuuya did snarl now, feral as a cornered animal. “No.”

“Why not? Chuuya, Mori is killing you! I spoke with him yesterday while you were unconscious! This is all to-”

“-to get you to come back! Yeah, I know! It’s pretty fucking obvious. And if you’re so damn concerned about my well-being, why don’t you?”

“Because I made a promise to Odasaku to be on the side of good, and I keep my promises to the dead. Chuuya, I swear to you on Oda’s grave that if you join the Agency, Mori won’t have any control over your life ever again.”

“I don’t give a damn about Mori’s control, you bastard! I’m worried about the people I’d be leaving behind!”

Dazai raised a brow. “What people?”

“The same ones you left, you suicidal idiot! The ones I took care of! Like Akutagawa and-”

“What’s going on between you and him, anyway? Are you dating or something?”

“What?”

“He seemed pretty worried about you, and it was under his order that I was called. He’s the one who told me this has happened three times already and he’s barely kept you from using Arahabaki before now. Akutagawa isn’t the type to fret.”

“Akutagawa took your abandonment harder than anyone. I just did what you should have done and kept him from going off the rails by treating him like a goddamn human being!”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you sleeping with him?”

“Of course not, you pervert! Why do you care?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s keeping you at the Port Mafia.”

No, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the whole reason, at least. Chuuya knew him better than that. “I can’t leave. I will not turn my back on all of them.”

“I always knew that streak of loyalty would get you killed. Why be loyal to people who aren’t loyal to you?”

Chuuya’s head swam with pain, his limbs screamed with it. It wasn’t as bone-deep as it usually was (odd, considering how long he’d been under), but it was still nauseating. “They are loyal! They called you, didn’t they? Which I’m going to kill them for when I get out of this deathtrap.”

“You don’t have to abandon them, Chuuya. If they’re really loyal to you, they’ll want what’s best for you. You can still meet them for drinks or whatever. There’s even a neutral place you could do it. And I hate to break it to you, but they’re not really your responsibility.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, they’re not.” Dazai let out a deep breath. “Look, ever since the Sheep took you in, you’ve thought that you have to take care of people for them to like you. God knows you took care of me when you shouldn’t have. It’s just who you are; you don’t want to see the people you care about get hurt. You’re also loyal to a fault; have I mentioned that? So maybe you should do something for yourself. Test to see if they’re really your friends or they simply depend on you. And in the meantime, the Agency could give you everything you want.”

“Yeah? What do I want?”

Dazai ticked off the list on his fingers. “Friends and family. Freedom. And knowledge of Arahabaki.”

Chuuya stiffened. “You’re bluffing.”

“You of all people should know that I never lie in these sorts of negotiations. You know Ranpo? He could easily deduce whatever you want about Arahabaki. And maybe – just maybe – you could control it if you joined the Agency.”

“You’re out of your tree!”

“You really think so? Our President’s ability is called ‘All Men are Created Equal.’ Its field of range applies only to Agency members, but it helps those in the Agency get better control of their abilities. It’s the reason Atsushi can turn into a tiger at will, and the reason Kunikida can activate his ability long-distance. Granted, those sound relatively small, but you’re so powerful… there’s a possibility that you could control Corruption.”

“And here I thought you were going to hollowly promise I’d never have to use it again.”

“Is that a no?”

“This feels like joining the Mafia did. Be a good boy, climb up the ranks, and we’ll tell you all about your past.”

“The Agency isn’t like that,” Dazai promised. “Hell, I can call Ranpo up right now and have him tell you about Arahabaki without you having to join; he probably will. He likes you.”

Chuuya thought about it for the barest moment. “Call him.”

Dazai pulled out his phone and obediently dialed Ranpo’s number, putting it on speaker. The detective answered almost at once. “Dazai! And how’s our favorite Port Mafia Executive getting along? Awake yet?”

“Yeah, he’s here, Ranpo. Listen, are you in the Agency?”

“Of course. They’re all looking at me so intently. If this is what it takes to get a little appreciation-”

“Tell me about Arahabaki,” Chuuya asked, unable to wait.

There was a moment of silence. “Arahabaki is the god of destruction that allows you to go crazy, right? What do you want to know?”

“Don’t tell him!” a deep voice snapped in the background.

Ranpo’s response was quick and sarcastic.“Why not, Kunikida? What’s he going to do with the information?”

“He might kill Dazai!” That was Atsushi, ever the paranoid child.

“Yeah, I might!” Chuuya yelled back, unable to resist.

“Be my guest!” Kunikida replied. “I’m worried about what he’ll do to the other people in the city.”

“Believe me, four-eyes, Dazai’s the only head I want!”

“You’re all getting along so well already!” Ranpo clapped his hands from the other end of the line. “Since we’re all in such a giving mood, I promise to tell you whatever I can deduce about your little parasite, Mr. Fancy Hat.”

Chuuya shot Dazai a look. Another idiot with nicknames?

Dazai merely shrugged as if to say, What can you do? You do have a fancy hat.

“How do I know you can do it?”

“You’re in no position to be negotiating, terrorist!” Kunikida snapped. “And Dazai! You promised to keep the Agency out of this!”

“No, I promised not to harbor him in the Agency office.” Dazai’s response was slow, like he was talking to a child. His face then broke into a grin, causing Chuuya to roll his eyes. God help the poor fools who have to deal with that shit-eating grin. “Besides, aren’t you forgetting that this isn’t your decision? You still have to go through the President.”

“I’m not forgetting about anything, Dazai!” Kunikida bit back. “The last time we took in Mafia trash was as a favor to the President’s friend! I don’t see any high-ups asking for favors this time!”

“Kunikida, calm down.” The eccentric detective’s sing-song tone hadn’t hardened. “While we’re all aware of the moral ineptitude of the Port Mafia, this particular member has a pretty strong moral compass. You haven’t noticed before?”

“I’ve noticed him kill people!”

“We can discuss this later,” Dazai cut in. Kunikida was going to be a hard sell; he’d known that from the start. One phone conversation wasn’t going to make much headway and there was no reason to hash it all out in front of Chuuya. Not yet, at least. “Ranpo, can you or can you not give Chuuya information about Arahabaki?”

“Oh, please, Dazai. You already know that answer.” The sound’s quality and lack of background noise suggested that Ranpo had turned the speaker off, though they could still make out Kunikida having kittens in the background.

Dazai smirked. “Humor us.” He looked at Chuuya over the phone held between them. “Mr. Fancy Hat needs to hear it.”

A sigh broke through the other end. “Yes, I can definitely find out information about Arahabaki. If you’d like specifics… I can find out how it works, what experiments conjured it, and why the two of you are so attached. But for all that, I will need to see the site of the incident myself and gather what information I can. I take it our friends across the way have the only copies of those files?”

“Almost certainly. I’ll get them for you.” Dazai ended the call, eyes still boring into Chuuya’s.

There was nothing but cold surety in the snake’s eyes. Chuuya hadn’t seen a flicker of doubt in the last ten minutes. He scowled. “You’re so damn certain I’ll join?”

“I am. Because despite how I tease, you’re not stupid.” Dazai finally broke eye contact, standing and pocketing his phone. “Everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter, Chuuya, with all the downsides out in the open.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed at his ex-partner’s back. He shifted his weight in preparation to stand, but a wave of pain and nausea took him and he froze again, shutting his eyes to help calm his stomach. Once the attack subsided, he glared at Dazai again. “You think you know me so damn well?”

Dazai stopped on his way out the door, one hand on the doorknob and the other in his pocket. He looked at Chuuya with a smile. “I know you very well.” He pulled out his phone and pressed a button. “I’m going to run down and grab us some food. Try not to level the building while I’m gone, ‘kay? Thanks!”

He disappeared before Chuuya got a chance to argue. The later stared at the door for a moment before submitting to the pain winding through his body and falling back against the pillow. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment while another wave of nausea washed over him.

When the sickness had passed, he opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling. What in the hell was he supposed to do here?

Chapter Text

When Dazai returned, he half-expected to find Chuuya gone. Instead, the idiot was fast asleep. Dazai repressed a sigh of relief and set the food down on the counter. The first test was passed, and that was the hardest one. If Chuuya had stayed when he had the chance to run, then that meant his interest was piqued. That meant he had a solid chance of leaving the Port Mafia.

During his outing, Dazai had given Fukuzawa a call and explained the situation to him: another Mafia member looking for an out. Yes, Chuuya’s rap sheet was long, but really, Dazai’s had been far more alarming. Give or take a few headcounts. Chuuya didn’t like civilian casualties, and while yes, he was brutal in battle, he was also basically a grumpy teddy bear. And didn’t the government owe Fukuzawa? And though he didn’t like to mention it, didn’t Fukuzawa kind of owe Dazai, too?

Sure, his arguments had been flimsy at times, Dazai could admit that. However, the issue of history was not one to be disputed. There was just no arguing that Chuuya was more human than Dazai had ever been, Arahabaki notwithstanding. Certainly more human than Dazai was when he himself had been hired by the Agency. Chuuya’s record spoke for itself: the civilian casualties dropped when he was on the scene. He was also loyal as a trained dog, and Fukuzawa liked that quality. While Dazai would be loath to admit it to his ex-partner’s face, Chuuya had many redeemable qualities beneath his scowl. If Fukuzawa didn’t believe him, all he had to do was ask Kyoka. Dazai knew for a fact the shrimp had been responsible for protecting her on numerous occasions.

To Dazai’s relief, the old man had agreed to give Chuuya a shot. “A shot, mind,” he had asserted. He didn’t elaborate on why, and frankly Dazai didn’t care as long as Chuuya had an out.

There was really only one issue Fukuzawa brought up: how were they to be sure that Chuuya was really on their side? If he was as loyal as Dazai claimed, then what assurance did they have that Chuuya had fully changed sides in the war? How could they be sure what choice he would make if it ever came down to it – the Port Mafia or the Agency?

Dazai did his best to convince him that Chuuya even considering the switch meant that he had already started to make the change. But yeah, he could admit the President had a point.

There was also the issue of the entrance exam, of course, but he wasn’t worried about that. Chuuya was a damned saint when it came to protecting people. So long as the test didn’t pit him against the Port Mafia, it was relatively easy to predict his actions.

A buzzing drew his attention to his pocket. He plucked the phone out and stepped outside to answer it, preferring not to wake Chuuya (he was a whole lot easier to handle when he was asleep).

“Is he okay?” Tachihara gave no word of greeting.

Dazai had wondered how long it would take Chuuya’s subordinates to call. He leaned against the closed door of his apartment and relaxed. “He’s fine. He woke briefly about an hour ago. There doesn’t seem to be any brain damage… other than the obvious recklessness, but he had that before.”

Tachihara let out a breath. Dazai could hear him call to someone before speaking into the phone again. “Where is he?”

Dazai opted for asking rather than answering. “Who’s with you?”

“Just a couple people. Akutagawa. Gin. Seriously, Dazai, where is he? Kouyou is on the effing warpath.”

He spared a glance at the door handle by his left elbow. “Somewhere safe. Don’t worry about the specifics.”

“Shit, he’s in your apartment, isn’t he?”

Dazai laughed. “Really, now, Tachihara. Do you seriously think I of all people would be stupid enough to hide him in such an obvious place?”

He heard the other man sigh before relenting – the bluff worked. “Fair enough; sorry. Look, the Boss has got that scheming glint in his eye and I don’t like it a bit. I heard you spoke to him earlier; how’d it go?”

“Oh, about as well as can be expected.” Dazai paused. He remembered Tachihara from his own days in the Port Mafia; the kid was loyal to a fault, and he and Chuuya were friends. While Dazai owed the Mafia exactly nothing, he figured Chuuya’s friends deserved to know what he was planning. “You should know that Chuuya is leaving the Port Mafia. I’m trying to get him into the Armed Detective Agency, but if that doesn’t work, I’m taking him out of here. He’s never going to touch his Corrupted form alone again.”

The other line was dead quiet. He could practically see the cogs turning in all three of the heads on the other end of the phone, each one wondering whether or not Dazai was serious. Whether such a thing could be done. Whether Chuuya would ever agree to such a plan.

“Anyone but you, Dazai, and I would laugh in their face.” Akutagawa’s voice was bitter, almost accusatory. Interesting.

“What does Chuuya say on the matter?” a sweet, girlish voice asked. Dazai couldn’t help but smile; he’d always had a soft spot for Gin. Her brother, though, was another matter altogether.

“Chuuya is taking some convincing,” he admitted. “But I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.”

“We have information on the demon,” Akutagawa replied, obviously thinking Dazai’s trump card was information on Arahabaki. “What makes you think your sad little agency can provide him more?”

Information was not Dazai’s ace, not quite. No, his real offer was better. But let them think what they would. “Last I heard, the information was locked up tight. It’s being dangled in front of him, like a carrot in front of a horse, to make him jump when Mori says. All we’re doing is cutting the rope and letting him have the carrot.”

“That’s a damn terrible analogy,” Tachihara spoke up. “And I think you’ve underestimated Chuuya’s loyalty.”

“Per usual,” Akutagawa muttered.

Dazai frowned. “And what do you mean by that, little Akutagawa?”

There was silence for a moment. Finally, Akutagawa said, “Let’s say I wasn’t the only one scarred by your betrayal and disappearance and just leave it at that.”

Dazai smirked at the implication. “You’re saying that Chuuya was oh-so devastated when I left the Mafia? I guess you don’t know him as well as you think you do. We weren’t close enough for it to have had too big an impact.”

“That miscalculation may cost you in the future,” Akutagawa warned.

Dazai was growing tired of the argument, so he let it drop. “We’ll see. In the meantime, Gin, how do you feel about doing some retrieval for me?”

* * * * *

Chuuya had been in the Armed Detective Agency’s office for an hour, and it was exactly what he’d expected: Poorly run by a group of relatively no-account eccentrics who barely functioned together. He seriously suspected that none of these people (with the possible exception of Kunikida) knew how to run this kind of outfit. Compared to Mori’s detail-oriented leadership, this was just pathetic. How in the hell had these people managed to keep the Port Mafia at bay and defeat the Guild?

He was already beginning to regret his acquiescence to Dazai’s request. “Just try it out!” Dazai had pleaded with that annoying tone of his. “Come and meet everyone! See the office! I promise you won’t regret it.”

Well, joke was on him. Chuuya had regretted it when they stepped out of the apartment that morning and he definitely regretted it now. The glances from everyone, especially the tiger kid, were making him feel itchy.

“I’m starving,” the blond kid in the corner announced suddenly. “Anyone else?”

The red-headed kid, the one with the projection ability, looked up from his laptop. “I could eat,” he agreed.

Kunikida glanced at his watch. “My schedule does allow for a short lunch break in five minutes’ time, providing we talk business as well.”

A woman entered from the infirmary, stretching an arm above her head and yawning – Yosano, Chuuya remembered. Dazai had introduced them and Chuuya was not surprised to find yet another member of the Armed Detective Agency with a connection to the Port Mafia. Mori himself had mentioned her once or twice before. “Do we ever not talk business?” she asked in a bored tone. “I’m much more interested in the gossip our guest can share.” She flashed Chuuya a slightly mad grin.

Chuuya crossed his arms and looked away. “You didn’t hear? I’m here purely to observe.”

“I saved your life. The least you can do is talk to me.”

“Let’s go downstairs for a bite,” Dazai interrupted, standing from his desk where he had been conspicuously not working. “We still need to introduce our newest member to our favorite café staff!”

Chuuya shot him a glare. “I’m not your newest member!”

“He’s not our newest member!” Kunikida said at the same time.

The two men glanced at each other. Something flashed in Kunikida’s eyes. Recognition?

Yosano yawned. “Whatever he is, let’s buy him lunch. Maybe that’ll loosen him up some. I swear he’s as uptight as you, Kunikida.”

“Coming, Atsushi?” Dazai asked from the door.

Atsuchi glanced up. “Huh? Oh! Uh, no, I’ve got some work to finish. You all go ahead.”

Chuuya hesitated. Should he really join this merry band of eccentrics for lunch, of all things? What the hell would his subordinates say? And whatever Dazai said or thought, Chuuya still considered the Port Mafia his home.

After a moment’s consideration, he decided that there was nothing for it. So he stood and trailed the group to the door, which Dazai was holding open, following them out into the hall.

“You’re not far from an eccentric yourself,” Dazai whispered as he passed him, grinning. Chuuya grimaced. How did that idiot always know what he was thinking? “You’ll fit right in.”

The ease with which the group slid into the long booths in the downstairs café spoke volumes. They may officially work in the office, but it was here that things really got done. It wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to Chuuya; he himself preferred to talk shop over a glass of wine at a local bar down the street from headquarters. Everyone needed their home away from home, he supposed.

He didn’t love the idea of sitting next to acquaintances who clearly hated his guts (the feeling was steadily growing mutual), but they didn’t leave him much of an option, so he took the spot beside Tanizaki. The kid tensed when they bumped shoulders and Chuuya rolled his eyes. The mild annoyance turned severe when Dazai slid in beside him, locking him solidly in the middle. Kenji, Kunikida, and Yosano sat across from them.

Chuuya took the rare moment of silence before Dazai inevitably opened his mouth to study the people across from him. They were all so… comfortable. On edge because of his presence, but comfortable with one another. Yosano leaned over Kunikida to catch a glimpse of his menu and he let her, relaxed when she touched his shoulder, even. Kenji leaned his forehead on the table, exposing himself to any number of attacks like it was nothing. It was as if they didn’t even think about it. They didn’t see each other as dangerous.

That kind of intimacy, the kind born of trust and tended by time, was nonexistent in the Port Mafia. Even around Kouyou, whom Chuuya trusted above anyone else, he rarely relaxed – there was always that reminder in the back of his mind that the woman was dangerous, a killer. It was just part of the job, the atmosphere. Too many betrayals, too much violence. You didn’t survive in the Port Mafia by getting soft. Hell, even Dazai, foreseer of all outcomes, was betrayed by someone there.

“Why do you always insist on looking at the menu, Kunikida?” Dazai demanded. He was loose and relaxed, too. Slouched back with an air of ease, legs crossed, arm thrown over the back of the booth behind Chuuya. Even if he was hyper-aware of the invasion of personal space from both sides, Chuuya didn’t really notice Dazai’s gesture.

“Because it’s part of my-”

“-schedule,” Dazai finished for him with a sigh. Then his face broke into a grin. “One day, Kunikida, you’re going to find a woman who knocks all these fastidious habits right out of you.”

“The ideal woman would never do that.”

Dazai flashed his grin at Chuuya. “Kunikida here is a real fanatic for planning. He’s got his whole time-table planned for his bride, down to the minutest of details. And it’s not just the time-table. He will only involve himself with the ideal woman, someone who paradoxically includes-”

A menu flew out of nowhere and struck Dazai across the head. “Shut up! Don’t be giving out our secrets to the Port Mafia, you bandage-squandering machine!” Kunikida snapped. Dazai merely laughed, rubbing his head with one hand.

Bandage-squandering machine… Chuuya would have to remember that one.

The waitress blessedly came over then, stopping a fight from breaking out. She set a tray of tea down on the table with a cup for each of them. Dazai’s attention instantly turned to her with a delighted gasp. “You’re new!” he exclaimed. “What is a beautiful woman like you doing working here? You should be on the run-way!”

So the moron was still charming every damn woman he came across, then. Chuuya caught Kunikida’s eye and found his own expression mirrored: complete and utter exhaustion.

“You must be Mr. Dazai,” the young woman replied with a smile. “I’ve been warned about you. You’re not paying the bill, right?”

“We’re splitting it today,” Kunikida interrupted. Before Dazai could interject with another flirtation, he gave her his order with an apology for his coworker’s unacceptable behavior. The waitress took the rest of their orders and disappeared back into the kitchen, hardly sparing Dazai another glance, much to his devastation.

“Wow, they’re getting good,” Junichiro commented. “I guess handling Dazai has made its way onto their training program.”

“It should; Dazai’s run off every new hire in the last five months,” Kunikida grumbled. “And who can blame them?”

“This one is especially lovely, though,” Dazai argued. “Did you see her pretty little hands?”

“Womanizer,” Chuuya muttered with a pointed glance at his ex-partner.

Yosano grinned. “Yeah, Dazai, knock it off. And in front of your boyfriend, too!”

Chuuya choked on the tea he’d just swallowed. “What!?” he demanded through a cough.

Yosano raised a perfect eyebrow. “You mean you two aren’t fucking?” She glanced around the table, met with surprised stares from her coworkers. “Come on! I can’t be the only one thinking it.”

Chuuya turned a fiery glare on Dazai. The man simply smirked and shrugged, not bothering to deny the outrageous accusation. Chuuya’s hand shot out, grabbing the collar of the snake’s shirt in a tight fist. His ability glowed threateningly around him. “You piece of shit!” he snarled. Without taking his eyes from the lying bastard, he answered Yosano. “We are not anything!”

Dazai laughed. “Now, now, Chuuya.” He activated his ability; the red aura vanished. “You have to admit it looks fishy, however unfounded: I come running to your rescue like a prince saving a poor maiden. The stuff of fairytales!”

“I’ll give you a damn fairytale, you slimy bastard!”

“For the record, I’d give you a wonderful time,” Dazai said with a wink.

That was too much; Chuuya snapped. He hurled Dazai from the booth and into the nearest wall. The crack of Dazai’s head meeting the brick gave him some minor sense of satisfaction. The startled waitress caught his attention and he glanced at her. “He’ll cover the damages,” he promised before turning back his tea.

With a jolt, he remembered whose company he was in. Damn it. Now he’d have to fight all four of them before-

His thoughts were interrupted by the last sound he’d expected: laughter. Deep laughter. He looked up to see Kunikida, head thrown back in mirth, tears rolling down his cheeks. Of all of them, the straight-laced detective was the last one Chuuya had expected to react like this.

Apparently Chuuya wasn’t the only one who was confused. “You okay, Mr. Kunikida…?” Junichiro asked, a nervous quiver in his voice.

Kunikida wiped his eyes as his laughter subsided into soft chuckles. His shoulders still shook in silent laughter as he looked across the table at Chuuya. “I’ve wanted to see Dazai put on his ass for his antics for years,” he confessed.

Was Chuuya imagining things, or had he found a possible kindred spirit in the form of this long-suffering, neurotic new partner of Dazai’s? He couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m surprised you’ve never done it.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dazai simpered, sliding back into the booth while massaging his sore head. “It’s not like I’ve been cured of anything.”

“Yet,” Kunikida and Chuuya corrected in tandem.

“God help us,” Yosano muttered, “there’s two of them.”

“Mr. Kunikida!” a voice shouted.

Chuuya glanced up to see the scrawny tiger boy sprinting into the café with a manila folder clutched tightly to his chest. The kid’s attention snagged on the fractured brick wall across from the booth for a half-second, but didn’t linger. He must be used to broken walls with the people he works with, Chuuya supposed. Atsushi stood at the table, panting for a moment before thrusting the folder at Kunikida.

“What’s this about?” Kunikida asked as he opened the file, all trace of mirth gone.

“There’s a bomb threat in the subway!”

The shift in atmosphere was palpable. The previously relaxed agents turned laser-focused. In spite of himself, Chuuya was begrudgingly impressed. Maybe they did have some form of discipline after all. Even the zoned-out Kanji sat up.

Chuuya’s mind was already flicking through a mental list of bombers on the Port Mafia’s radar when Kunikida barked, “What’s the nearest station?”

“It’s between Nakada and Odoriba,” Atsushi answered.

Kunikida slid out of the booth, pushing Yosano on his way. He flashed a look at Chuuya, doubtless suspecting him of having some prior knowledge of the attack. After a brief stare, he turned away. “Dazai, Atsushi, drive as fast as you can to Nakada station. Yosano and I will take Odoriba; we’ll meet in the middle.” He fixed Chuuya with another warning glare. “Keeping the citizens safe is our top priority.”

As if he needed to be told that. While most Port Mafia members weren’t overly concerned with civilian casualties, Chuuya had found the added violence distasteful since his days in the Sheep. He wasn’t about to take unnecessary risks with innocent lives. But the noticeable absence of his name on the roster of soldiers headed into battle proved that Kunikida thought otherwise.

Chuuya didn’t see Dazai glance at him, but he felt the look. “Chuuya can come with me and Atsushi,” he offered.

There was a small part of Chuuya, the part that was still a scared kid way out of his depth, that wanted to cling to Dazai here for all he was worth. Because Dazai was familiar, the only constant in his ever-changing life of the past 48 hours. It was moments like this that reminded Chuuya of why it had hurt so damn much when Dazai left. But he pushed the thought away, shoving it back into a box in the corner of his mind, to hopefully be kept there until a much later date. That was stupid and childish and he could handle himself. He did not need Dazai looking out for him; he hadn’t in years.

“Nakahara’s fine here,” Kunikida argued. “I want him where he can be kept an eye on.”

He wasn’t pleased about it, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t exactly argue, either. He got it, begrudgingly. Chuuya glanced to the side and caught Dazai’s eye; he’d been staring. You gonna be okay with this? his look seemed to say.

Chuuya forced a smirk. Yeah, you old snake, don’t worry about me. Go.

Dazai smiled and shrugged, breaking eye contact. If you’re sure.

How had Chuuya forgotten the way they could communicate without words? Something ached deep in his chest.

Dazai moved his lanky body out of the booth and stretched. “Fine, Kunikida, ignore the entrance exam opportunity that just landed in your lap. I’m sure the President won’t be disappointed at all.” He headed for the door at a leisurely pace, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Careful, Tanizaki,” he called over his shoulder. “Chuuya bites.”

“What should I do?” Kenji asked. Tanizaki made a noise of agreement, clearly feeling left out as well.

“Take Nakahara upstairs and monitor the situation from the office; we’ll keep you updated. If this happens to be a ploy, we’ll need agency members who can handle different crises.”

Chuuya watched them go, the pairs splitting up once they exited the building. He sighed and tried to ignore the burning in his blood, the ache for a fight. He wasn’t sure how much of the pent-up energy was Arahabaki and how much was just his own personality, but when things got stressful, he liked to unwind with a good battle. Being denied the opportunity irked him.

He felt two pairs of eyes glued to him, and peered at the red-head from the corner of his eye. Tanizaki watched him with a guarded, wary expression. Clearly being put in charge of the resident evil didn’t sit too well with him.

Chuuya huffed. “Relax,” he drawled, freeing himself from the booth and pulling out his wallet. “I don’t actually bite.” He withdrew what he guessed was the proper amount of money for the food they hadn’t eaten and the damage to the wall and placed in on the counter. He may be a Port Mafia member, but he was not cheap. He paid his debts. And if the ADA felt like they owed him, even just a few yen for lunch, then that was okay with him.

Junichiro cleared his throat. “We should go upstairs like Mr. Kunikida said.”

“Lead the way.”

As Chuuya trailed behind the younger agency members, his thoughts turned almost lazily to the identity of the bomber. Attacking in the middle of the day was a ballsy move, so probably a terrorist. He was aware of a handful of terrorist groups in the country; maybe one of them had set up shop in Yokohama. It certainly wouldn’t be strange. On the contrary, it would be just another Tuesday.

The agents quickly took their places at their desks, typing and writing away. With nothing to occupy his time, Chuuya resorted to lounging in Dazai’s desk chair. It was a little high for him (the Mackerel had freakishly long legs), but he adjusted it with a smirk. Anything to get under Dazai’s skin. He reclined and closed his eyes, listening to the office noises around him.

His thoughts wandered. Did it always take four agency members to handle a terrorist threat? He didn’t think it did; he’d seen Kunikida take out a bomber alone just weeks ago. He considered the lineup. Kunikida and Yosano made sense – Kunikida was versatile and Yosano’s healing abilities would certainly be needed. But why send Dazai to handle a situation like that? He was a master manipulator, sure, and his ability to stay alive rivaled none. But all the same, why have him take care of a bombing? Was it to separate the two of them, see how Chuuya acted on his own? And for that matter, why send Atsushi? The kid was a brawler, and good freakin’ luck brawling with a bomb.

In the Port Mafia, they had specific squads to handle specific situations. People were highly trained in one area. The Black Lizard, for instance, would never be called to handle a bomb scare. So just how good were these people that they were able to handle such diverse jobs with such consistent success?

A sharp ringing drew him from his thoughts. He opened one eye and glanced around for the source of the noise, gaze landing on the offending object. Dazai’s phone vibrated and emitted an obnoxiously loud tune. Chuuya sat up and opened the device, noticing the Caller ID identified the person on the other end with a very helpful ‘Unknown.’ Probably some girl, he thought with a scowl. Still, it broke up the monotony. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dazai’s phone,” he greeted. “He’s not here, so don’t be annoying.”

“Ah, Chuuya. Just the man I wanted to hear.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice and the breath caught in his throat. He’d grown used to that cold voice over the years, but he wasn’t expecting to hear it now.

The suicidal part of his brain screamed at him to hang up the phone. There was nothing Mori had to say to him that Chuuya wasn’t already thinking himself. The Boss was calling Dazai; let Dazai handle it!

He stopped right there. Let Dazai handle it? What was he, a damsel in distress? No. He could fight his own battles. And besides, he hadn’t decided to quit the Mafia yet. Burning bridges before he knew if he needed them was sheer stupidity.

Deeply aware of the ears of those around him, he leaned forward on the desk and replied, “What do you want?”

The smile was evident in Mori’s voice. “I simply wanted to check on my executive. When you didn’t return from the docks, I grew worried.”

Chuuya’s other hand clenched into a fist. He had never been adept at concealing emotion, and he knew now was a terrible time to put his meager skills to the test. He stood and walked to the office door.

“Who’ve you got there?” a voice called from behind him. Chuuya glanced behind him; Ranpo’s eyes were closed, head tilted back, a bag of chips open in his hands.

“One of Dazai’s many exes.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Mori was an ex-boss. “Blubbering about how he didn’t call her back. I’ll handle it.”

Ranpo’s piercing eyes opened and fixed Chuuya with what could only be described as a knowing look. And that wasn’t good – not at all. If Kunikida, or the President, found out Chuuya had exchanged any words with Mori, much less a private phone call, Chuuya knew he’d be shipped back to the Mafia at best… and turned over to the Military Police for immediate execution at the worst. But all that came out of the detective’s mouth was, “We all have nothing but pity for those poor women.”

Chuuya tried to communicate something nonverbally, a mixture of gratitude, desperation, and down-right panic. Ranpo seemed to get the message – Chuuya wasn’t a threat to anyone at the Agency. He just needed to iron a few things out. He was able to slink out of the office with no more resistance.

Once he was sure he was out of earshot, and had checked the hallway for cameras, he leaned against the wall and let out the breath he’d been holding. He knew Mori wasn’t really concerned for his well-being, of course, but playing along generally worked best in these situations. “Thank you for checking on me, Boss. I’m fine; just recovering. I’m taking some unplanned R and R. Using up some vacation days.”

Mori’s hum of acknowledgement was about as clear as his Caller ID had been. “Listen, Chuuya. We have limited time before the agents of the Armed Detective Agency return from their mission, so I think the best use of our time would be to get straight to the point. I have a proposition for you.”

There it was. Chuuya didn’t know what surprised him more, that Mori had apparently planned for certain agents to be out of the office or that he was offering Chuuya a deal. Officially, Mori was still his boss. He didn’t have to offer anything; all he had to do was give an order.

“Your own team is doing just fine, by the way.”

The familiar, Mori-induced jolt of fear ran down Chuuya’s spine again. “Where are they?” He hadn’t meant to speak, but apparently his fear gave voice to its words before his more logical mind could catch them.

He cursed himself a moment later when he heard Mori’s soft chuckle. Dammit. “Don’t worry; I know how much you value your friends. I’m taking good care of them. They’re perfectly safe, and they will continue to be…” Chuuya knew the trump card was coming before the blow landed. “…as long as you follow my orders.”

Chuuya suppressed the urge to audibly swallow; he’d done enough to expose his nervousness. He knew the subtle nuances in Mori’s tone, had heard the subtle shifts more times than he cared to consider. The playfulness was over. He wasn’t dealing with doting Mori, obsessed with Elise’s clothes. No, this was Mori the executioner. This was the Mori who had murdered the previous boss in cold blood, the Mori who managed Yokohama’s underworld with brutal efficiency.

This Mori was not to be trifled with. This Mori was to be obeyed.

“What are you after?”

“I’m glad I have your attention.” A pause for dramatic effect: Dazai had learned at least part of his flair from this man. “I want inside information on the Armed Detective Agency’s movements.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You want me to spy on the Agency!?”

“Now, I realize you don’t consider yourself a proficient liar, but considering you’ve lied to yourself about your feelings for Dazai for a solid six years now, I’m willing to take the gamble.”

Chuuya ignored the jab. He couldn’t afford to get riled – he couldn’t!

“I’ll send you the specifics of what I’m after. I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to decide.” Another pause, giving Chuuya time to commit the deadline to memory. “Your loyalty is what has allowed you to climb the ranks of the Port Mafia, Chuuya, even more than your ability. I will remind you that you owe the Armed Detective Agency exactly nothing – not friendship, not trust, and certainly not loyalty. And you owe the same to Dazai.”

He was right, and Chuuya knew it. These people weren’t his friends or his colleagues. He didn’t owe them a damn thing. But Dazai… that was more complicated.

Mori seemed to know that, because he went on. “You know Dazai very well, Chuuya. Almost as well as I do. Do you truly think he doesn’t have concealed motives? He’s abandoned you without warning before, and he’s done nothing to prove he won’t do it again. Regardless of what you choose, ask yourself why now. He could have asked you to join him when he defected four years ago, and he could have arranged your ‘escape’ any time since. Ask yourself what he’s after this time. We both know it must be something. If you’re going to be used, wouldn’t you rather be used honestly?” Another chuckle. “I look forward to hearing your answer tomorrow.”

The line went dead. Chuuya stood frozen for several moments, the phone still pressed against his ear. Mori was right. Mori was almost always right. Despite the sneaking suspicion he had that Mori had orchestrated all of this to place Chuuya in this exact position… he was still right about Dazai.

Dazai always had an angle. Dazai always planned ten steps ahead. Dazai always worked everything out so it ended up alright for himself, and damn everyone else.

It had been four years since they’d worked together. Four years since the faith Chuuya had placed in Dazai had actually been founded on something. Four years since that faith had been torn up by the roots and he’d been left gutted by Dazai’s betrayal.

How could he forget something like that?

Mori was right. Chuuya had been lying to himself. Because the truth was just too hard. The truth meant sinking deeper than he ever wanted to go. The truth meant-

“Well, fancy seeing you in a place like this! What are you doing out here in the… is that my phone?”

Chuuya took a deep breath and let it out, allowing himself three seconds to calm down before he could crush the device into dust in the palm of his hand. He pushed off the wall and side-stepped Dazai, shoving the phone into his chest as he passed. “Take it with you next time,” he growled.

He felt Dazai’s questioning eyes on the back of his head as he stepped into the noisy office. He’d just have to wonder, or figure it out himself. Chuuya was not giving Dazai one damn hint about what Mori wanted.

His mind was already made up. If taking down the Armed Detective Agency was what it took to get back at Dazai for the pain he’d caused, then Chuuya was willing to do it. He was taking a page out of Dazai’s own book now. And damn the consequences.

Chapter Text

“Remind me again just what the hell we’re doing in a damn clothing store,” Chuuya grumbled. He thought the day was over when Kunikida went out for an evening meeting and told them all they could go home. Apparently not.

“All members of the Agency need proper work clothes,” Dazai informed him with a grin, ringing the service bell on the counter at the front of a high-end men’s clothing store.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m already in a damned suit, you idiot. If this outfit is good enough for the Boss, then it should be good enough for your agency.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. “You just don’t get it, Chibi. Those clothes are okay for working in the dark, but not for working in the light at the Agency.” Chuuya was caught between indignance at the nickname and frustration at being talked down to. He opened his mouth to retort, figuring he’d find the one that bothered him most as the words left his mouth, but Dazai quickly stepped in front of him and extended his arm to a woman who had appeared across the counter. “Mei! You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

The woman, a middle-aged thing with laugh wrinkles around her eyes and a clipboard held against her hip, smiled in greeting. “Welcome back, Mr. Dazai.” Her eyes flicked over Chuuya and a spark of interest flashed through them. “And guest.”

Dazai slung one arm around his partner and swiped his hat with the other hand. Chuuya grit his teeth and dug his elbow into the bastard’s side, but Dazai pretended not to notice. “I have a challenge for you! Chuuya here needs a new wardrobe. Nothing goes with his horrid red hair so I had to take him to the best.”

“Hey!” Chuuya snapped at the insult, giving Dazai’s shin a kick.

“I do love a challenge,” the woman agreed. She scanned her latest endeavor up and down, sizing him up. After the briefest pause, a smile spread across her face. “I think I have just the thing. Right this way, gentlemen!”

“What the hell are we doing here?” Chuuya snapped in an undertone as the pair followed the tailor, Dazai’s arm still across his shoulders. It had been a long time since Dazai had touched him in such an easy, friendly way. Four years, in fact. It was more distracting than Chuuya would ever admit.

Dazai smirked. “You should know how important clothing is. Mori gives his newest members an article of clothing to symbolize their belonging to him.” Dazai twirled Chuuya’s hat around his index finger to prove his point, holding it out of reach when it was grabbed at. “The Agency does a similar thing; we provide all of our members with work clothes. So just think of this as your first step into a larger world.” He steered him in the direction of the changing rooms as Mei grabbed a few articles of clothing.

“So now that you’ve decided I’m going to join your Boy Scouts troop, I have to play dress-up!?”

“Yep, pretty much!” Dazai gave him a playful push inside the changing room and pulled the curtain shut behind him. “Don’t worry! Mei’s a genius.”

“Another one of your stupid girlfriends?” Chuuya grumbled, despite the fact that the woman was twice their age.

Dazai clapped a hand over his heart. “Chuuya, you wound me! I am capable of seeing a beautiful woman and not bedding her.”

Chuuya stuck his head out of the room to glare at his former partner. “You sure about that?”

Dazai merely grinned. “Positive. Besides, my dream is a lover’s suicide now!”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and disappeared back behind the curtain, ignoring the burst of jealousy in his chest. Damn him to hell for every second of this shitfest!

The clothes were lying on a shelf, folded immaculately. Chuuya wondered when Mei had placed them inside; he certainly hadn’t seen her do it. Of course, Dazai had always been so aggravating. He could distract a person from a freight train’s approach (and had – they’d won a battle that way before).

Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, he stripped off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He was loath to get rid of his clothes – they were finely tailored by the best Yokohama had to offer. And Dazai was right: he did know how important clothes were. This outfit symbolized more than belonging to Mori, whatever that moron said. It symbolized his rise in the Port Mafia. It symbolized his power. And it symbolized the life he’d carved out for himself since Dazai had disappeared, leaving a power vacuum by way of an open Executive spot that Chuuya himself had filled.

But however much he cared for his current outfit, he had to admit this Mei person knew what she was doing. He felt the way the fabric slid onto his body, appreciating the brush of the expensive material against his still-sensitive skin. These pants may not be tailored to him, but they were pretty damn close. Impressive, especially considering she didn’t have his measurements.

The outfit was a three-piece suit in a cool grey tone. The shirt underneath was a blood red. Chuuya couldn’t help the smirk that formed as he looked at himself in the mirror. For an outfit meant to be worn “in the light” (whatever that meant), it was still bold and powerful. In spite of himself… he liked it. The only downside was that his favorite hat didn’t exactly match the look.

Dazai tapped his foot as he waited, checking his watch as if he had somewhere to be. He hardly ever had somewhere to be after work, and tonight was no exception, but he preferred looking bored to excited. The truth was, he’d offered more than a mere suggestion to Mei – he’d practically picked the outfit himself, and he couldn’t wait to see it in action. Finding the correct measurements had been a fun game, but choosing the color scheme had taken no time at all.

After several minutes, he lost patience. He tore the curtain aside. “Chuuya, stop admiring yourself in the mirror and hurry…”

He trailed off, the reprimand forgotten. Chuuya was bent over, one foot on the bench as he laced his new work shoes. He whipped his head around, shooting Dazai a pointed glare that the man barely noticed. The redhead straightened, standing up and setting a fist on his hip in a posture of upmost annoyance.

He was saying something about Dazai’s inability to recognize privacy, but the words barely registered. The only thought going through Dazai’s head at the moment was of how shockingly decent Chuuya looked. The material fit him perfectly, accentuating his smaller frame and hugging his ass just right. Dazai’d known Chuuya could pull off the bold color combination, of course, but he’d somehow managed to forget just how good red looked on his old partner. It contrasted so beautifully with his eyes and complimented the crimson glow of his ability.

An ability that was currently causing his discarded shoes to fly through the air. Dazai snapped himself out of his daze in time to duck, avoiding a dress shoe to the face.

“If you wanted a peep show you should have gone downtown, you creep!” Chuuya snapped.

Dazai merely laughed, catching the next projectile deftly and tossing it back at him. “Don’t take so long next time!” He turned around. “Mei! We’ll take it.”

Chuuya glared. “Isn’t that my decision?”

A grin flashed his way. “You don’t like the outfit?”

He didn’t respond. Admitting he liked it would be feeding into Dazai’s warped sense of humor and giving him even more ammunition to use against him. However, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for such an expensive change. And it was part of the mission, he reminded himself. If he had to play the part of an Agency member, then he could at least look good doing it.

The mission. The idea still left a bad taste in his mouth.

He shook himself and gave Dazai a shove, pushing him out of the changing room. “Go pay for this crap; I’m changing back.”

As he switched back into his Port Mafia-issued attire, he remembered Dazai’s expression from a moment before. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen that bastard speechless, and it brought a wicked sense of satisfaction rising to the surface. Along with a blush, he realized in horror as his glance caught his own reflection. With a vicious determination, he tamped the feelings down.

* * * * *

“You did good today.”

Chuuya ignored the compliment – it was almost definitely backhanded, anyway. He stood in the middle of Dazai’s apartment and rotated slowly, shopping bags in hand, examining the depressingly small space. “No way this is where the Agency puts its members up,” he muttered in distaste. True, he’d been there for two days already, but somehow the day’s events solidified in his mind the squalor of the dorms.

Dazai only laughed and pulled a bottle of sake out of a cabinet. “Since we’re a little overstaffed at the moment, we don’t have any dorm rooms to spare. You’ll be bunking with me.” He shot his ex-partner-turned-coworker a grin. “Just like old times.”

Chuuya was not amused at the attempt at making light of the situation. “I have a penthouse downtown, you bandage-squandering machine. What the hell makes you seriously think I’m going to take such a massive step down?”

Dazai pulled a face. “‘Bandage-squandering machine,’ huh? I should have known introducing you to Kunikida would end up biting me.” He poured two generous helpings of sake into two small glasses and extended one to Chuuya. “Besides, your ‘penthouse’ is really just a fancy dorm room, too. Mori likes to keep his execs close.”

Chuuya took the glass and tossed it back, spilling the liquid down his throat before he could think better of it. After the day he’d had and the night it looked like he was about to have, he needed a stiff drink.

“‘Dorm’ makes it sound like we’re in college or some shit.”

Dazai chuckled and refilled his glass. “Well, many of our members are kids. We like to keep a fun and youthful air about the place.”

Chuuya noticed the speed with which his glass was refilled. “Trying to get me drunk, Mackerel?”

He was met with a grin. “I just figured you could use it after today. We are celebrating your daring escape from the Port Mafia, after all.”

“I told you, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.” Dazai winked before taking the bottle and glasses over to the couch. Collapsing onto the cushions with bizarre grace, he let out a sigh. “I always knew someday we’d end up working together again.”

Chuuya scoffed. The edges of his mind were already dulling, the alcohol doing its work. Deep down he knew how dangerous getting drunk around Dazai was (that monster could sniff out and exploit weakness better than Mori himself), but his body ached from Corruption and his stomach churned from his latest mission and the offer of dulling those feelings was just too tempting. He sat on the couch and took the bottle from Dazai, refilling his own glass.

Dazai watched him from the corner of his half-closed eye. He was almost surprised by the lack of response. Actually, now that he thought about it, Chuuya had been less responsive to his jabs for most of the day now. Since lunch. He’d ask if something happened while he was gone, but he knew Chuuya could handle himself against office pressure. It was probably just the lingering effects of Corruption and the weight of betraying people he considered his friends.

That, or Mori had gotten to him already.

Dazai wasn’t an idiot – he knew the likelihood of Mori taking advantage of Chuuya’s current whereabouts was high. Just like he knew that Mori had definitely tracked them down by now. If he knew his former employer at all, he probably had someone watching the building that very moment.

Well, if Mori had gotten to him, the optimal solution was to let things play out. He was confident he knew Chuuya better than Mori did. Chuuya had been his partner, after all, and he hadn’t changed much in the past four years. Mori was at a disadvantage.

But as he watched Chuuya toss back his third shot of sake, a nagging doubt in the back of his mind came to the forefront. There was something he’d been expecting from the Mafioso for months, ever since he’d allowed Kyoka to capture him ages ago. People rarely defied his expectations, and yet here was Chuuya, keeping his mouth stubbornly closed when the elephant in the room loomed bigger than ever.

Well, if Chuuya wasn’t going to bring it up, then he supposed he may as well break the ice.

“You haven’t asked.”

Chuuya froze mid-drink, still-full glass to his lips. He eyed the man next to him with suspicion, brows lowered. His hand slowly dropped, pulling the alcohol away.

“Asked what?” he questioned, even though he had an idea of what the traitor was referring to.

“Why I left.”

A silence descended. Dazai counted five heartbeats before he decided Chuuya needed more prompting. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

Chuuya scoffed, allowing one more mouthful of alcohol to burn its way down his throat before replying. “I’m not.” It was a half-truth. “I stopped caring why you walked out years ago.”

Dazai blinked. “You really don’t care why I left the Port Mafia?” Why I left you. The words hung between them, unsaid but still intended.

He scowled. “What do you think I am, a child? Crying myself to sleep at night because the bastard who dragged me into the organization up and ran? When I heard you’d gone, I fucking celebrated. I don’t give a damn why you left.”

Now that, Dazai didn’t believe for a moment. Chuuya felt things far too deeply for that to be true. Sure, he’d made a show of mentioning the Petrus he drank back when they’d rescued Q, but it had been a targeted jab. The mafia executive was many things, but apathetic was never one of them. “Huh. I’d have thought my old partner would be at least a tiny, tiny bit curious why I-”

“I’m not curious because I already know!” Chuuya snapped, the line of questioning digging too far into buried truths he wanted – needed ¬– to remain concealed.

Dazai was taken-aback, but he hid it well. He kept his expression carefully open and interested, giving as little away as possible. Sure, Chuuya might think he knew, but there was no way he could possibly-

“Your friend died, right? Oda?” Chuuya shrugged and looked away. “You were always going on about how he had some bizarre moral code. I know you were there when he died. I figure he must have made some last request, right? Some shit about getting a better life?”

He hit the nail right on the head. Dazai felt the years-old wound threaten to reopen. The grief that had consumed him after Odasaku’s death had been… painful. Dark. The worst he’d ever been. But now wasn’t about that, he reminded himself. Now was about Chuuya and making sure the elephant in the room was killed so they could work together again.

“How did you know?” The vulnerability in his voice made him inwardly cringe.

It made Chuuya look at him again, too. “Same way you knew I’d protect the Sheep, even from the Port Mafia. I listened to you, bastard. You were my friend, too.” That was half true. Chuuya hadn’t figured it out simply on instinct, on some magical connection they shared. The full truth was more complicated. His thoughts turned briefly to those weeks spent looking for Dazai, finding any scrap of information he could, digging up camera footage from that mansion where Oda had died. But he would never tell Dazai he’d cared that much. Not under any circumstances.

Dazai caught the past-tense, and it made something throb in his chest. He let the information sink in, the confession that Chuuya had paid attention to him when he talked about his friends. That was something only a friend did. Or if not a friend, then someone who was at least interested enough in him to listen when he talked about his personal life. He let out a soft laugh. “It seems I underestimated you, Chibi. And here I thought you’d be crying over me!”

“Enough with that stupid nickname! And why the hell would I cry over you? You’re a pain in my ass!”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment, pieces sliding into place. Maybe Chuuya had taken it all philosophically… but he doubted it. There was something more between them, at least on Chuuya’s side. He knew he was right about that much. He’d bet his life on it. So he reached out a hand and let the back of his finger glide over his partner’s cheek, barely touching, a gentle caress.

Chuuya froze at the touch. He felt the years-old stirring inside of him, a pull he’d done his best to forget.

This was Dazai at his most dangerous. Not when he had a gun in his hand and vengeance on his mind. Not when his eyes were cold and devoid of emotion. Not when he’d gathered all the strings of his puppets and commanded them to move. No, he was most dangerous like this. Soft and sweet and warm. Inviting, like a safe place. Like a harbor in the midst of a hurricane.

And that was what Chuuya was. A hurricane. Destruction itself stirred inside of him, always a chant away from being unleashed. And even when the demon was bottled up, Chuuya’s ability could still tear the city apart. It was that that drew him to Dazai. Despite all his harsh words and all his teasing, when Dazai was touching him, he was human. Arahabaki fell still and silent. And he needed that stillness like life itself. Had been deprived of it for years now.

Which made him just like every other ability user, he knew. There wasn’t a gifted person alive that wasn’t a little bit mad, a little bit broken. And the fact that at the end of the day he was just like all the rest made Chuuya’s skin crawl.

“For what it’s worth,” Dazai whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

The blow landed, but Chuuya pushed the pain of it aside. He scoffed, but there was no heat in his words. “You knew where I was. I didn’t have that privilege.”

Dazai smiled slowly. “Ah… so you are angry.”

“Of course I’m angry. You walked out. Because one man died, you left the rest of us behind like we were nothing.”

“‘Us’?”

Chuuya sensed the danger. He knew Dazai was trying to get him to admit that the betrayal hurt him more deeply, that it was personal for him. But he wouldn’t. Instead, he looked Dazai straight in the face and repeated, “Yeah. Us.”

Dazai tilted his head and searched his expression. His finger still grazed Chuuya’s cheek. “Who’s ‘us’?” He kept his tone soft, quiet, and slow. Calming.

“Q. Tachihara. Gin. Akutagawa.”

“And all of them are fine,” Dazai reminded him.

Chuuya scoffed. “If you think Akutagawa is fine, then you clearly haven’t seen the kid lately.”

Dazai’s hand moved slowly down Chuuya’s cheek, coming to rest below his chin. He caressed the skin softly with the pad of this thumb, pleasantly relieved when he wasn’t rebuffed. “Why do you care so much about him?”

He knew, Chuuya knew, he should pull away. But Dazai’s touch was at once electric and so blissfully calming, and like a damned idiot, he didn’t resist. “Why don’t you? He idolizes you. You tore him to pieces before you left, and then you just… Why do I bother? You don’t give a shit.”

“On the contrary, I find Akutagawa quite interesting. Especially since you obviously do.”

“You want to know why I care so damn much? I took over for you after you left. He was broken and dangerous without a master to follow, so I stepped up. I gave him direction for a while, until Mori took him off my hands.”

Dazai smiled. “Are you saying he’s as strong as he is now because of your help?”

“I’m saying he’s overcome a lot, and you should go easier on him. I’m saying you left a huge fucking hole and all of us had to get stronger. I’m saying you stunted the Port Mafia more than anything.”

Dazai chuckled. “Ouch, Chuuya. That one almost hurt. Besides, I don’t think Mori would agree with you.”

“I don’t give a damn what Mori agrees with; it’s the truth. All of us have gotten stronger.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen a few of the tricks you’ve learned since the good old days.”

“Don’t try flattery with me. I know your tricks too well.”

“Oh, yeah? Then how come I’m still touching you?”

A slow, feral smile spread across Chuuya’s face. “Ever considered maybe I can play you, too?”

Dazai laughed at the attempt. “Oh, Chuuya… we both know that when it comes right down to it, I’m in control.” Before his partner could respond, Dazai cupped his cheek in his hand and pressed a kiss to his temple. A quick touch, there one second and gone the next. He stood and stretched. “You should rest. You’re still not totally over Corruption.”

Chuuya hated the warmth in his face and tried to hide the blush with a scowl. “Fine. But I’m taking the bed, you ass-hat. You get the couch.”

Dazai just laughed and pulled blankets down from a nearby closet. He made a show of spreading them out, making a little nest for himself. Chuuya, for his part, didn’t bother watching. He returned the sake bottle to its place in the kitchen and washed the cups.

As he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, Dazai turned away to give him some semblance of privacy. He thought that was the end of it, their conversation over for the night, until the silence was broken again.

“You know, this is never going to work if you can’t trust me.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes as he climbed into bed. “I trust you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I trust you to be an annoying prick and to have a plan for everything.”

Dazai chuckled as he turned the light off. “Good enough.”

Chapter Text

The sunlight had just barely begun to pierce the darkness of the tiny apartment, painting everything in shades of grey with accents of brilliant gold. Chuuya stared up at the ceiling, tracing a fine crack with his eyes. So very, very different from the high, chrome ceiling of his penthouse.

He breathed in the scent clinging to the walls, the sheets, the pillows. Dazai’s scent had changed subtly, but it was still recognizably him. The metallic scent of blood that had once clung to his skin had all but vanished. Left in its place was something warm and rich and free. It reminded him vaguely of a spice ship: wood and sea breeze and pepper. And something else, a darker note just out of reach…

A soft noise drew his attention to the door. Chest heavy with dread, he rose from the bed and padded across the room. Dazai still slept on the couch, a long arm thrown over the side, fingers trailing on the ground. His lanky form barely fit onto the piece of furniture, feet dangling over one armrest.

He always looked different when he slept, Chuuya remembered. Not necessarily peaceful or any of that crap. Just… different. Quiet. There had been a time, during a particularly bad spell of Dazai’s suicide mania, where Chuuya could hardly stand to watch him sleep. It was too close to death. There had been weeks at a time where he, Kouyou, Oda, and Ango had taken shifts watching him, afraid to leave him alone.

Chuuya shook himself and opened the door. He glanced down the hall, seeing no one. A cellphone sat on the doormat. He picked it up and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

Once wrapped safely in his hand, the device vibrated. Chuuya took a moment to cross the hall and lean against the railing, looking out onto a poorly-kept yard. Junk littered the place, stacked into haphazard piles of jagged edges and rusty nails.

He opened the phone and pressed it to his ear. He didn’t bother asking who was on the other end. He pushed all positive thoughts of the Armed Detective Agency aside, and said, “When should I report?”

“Gin will make contact soon; you may give all reports to her.” He could tell by Mori’s tone that the Boss wasn’t surprised by the decision, but he was pleased. “I may have another task for you to complete during your time with the Agency, but for now just learn what you can, Chuuya. I want to be apprised of the Agency’s movements and possible weaknesses. They have proven to be a formidable force in the past; I want a full report of any chinks in their armor.”
“Yes, Boss.”

“Do what you must to gain their trust. If they force you to go against one of our own, you have my express permission to do so.”

Chuuya had seen how vital the Armed Detective Agency was. He had seen the good they did, the lives they saved, even from afar. He’d kept loose tabs on them since learning of Dazai’s involvement, and everything he learned proved to him their importance to maintaining the peace and safety of Yokohama.

But the words he had spoken when he joined the Port Mafia echoed in his ears. He had promised to dedicate his life to Mori, body and soul. He had promised to die for the organization, if need be. And over the years, he had seen the good the Port Mafia did, too. They maintained order in the city’s underground. They kept businesses from collapsing. They sustained the political stability of the city. He knew how important their organization was, and he knew it was all thanks to Mori’s leadership.

But the bottom line was that he did not go back on a promise. He had sworn to follow Mori wherever he directed, and that would not change now.

“I understand. I’ll have a report ready soon.”

“Thank you, Chuuya. I know this isn’t easy for you, but your loyalty continues to inspire. I look forward to your report.”

The line went dead. Mechanically, Chuuya pulled the device from his ear and dropped it on the ground below, using his ability to shatter it upon impact. He felt dirty, contaminated. Though he felt no particular love for the Armed Detective Agency, its members didn’t deserve to be spied upon, to be lied to.

“You pledge your loyalty to me, Chuuya Nakahara?”

“I will follow you into Hell if you ask.”

A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. You may have to one day.”

The memory burned hot across Chuuya’s mind, but he was grateful for it. He needed the reminder. His loyalty was to the Port Mafia. Not Fukuzawa. Not the Armed Detective Agency. And certainly not the bandage-wearing freak that was making all of this so much harder.

* * * * *

Dazai yawned as he stepped out of the elevator, stretching lazily, not a care in the world. Had he been a little bit concerned when he’d woken to find his bed empty and Chuuya nowhere to be found? Sure, maybe for a second. But the missing clothes reassured him that wherever Chuuya had disappeared to, he would be at the Agency wearing his new suit when it opened.

And he was right. No sooner had he stepped into the office than he was met by the glorious sight of Chuuya standing with his back to the door, leaning over Kunikida’s desk. The pants really did fit him perfectly. He’d have to send Mei a thank-you card.

A sob drew his attention to the closed door of Fukuzawa’s office. Through the glass, he could make out the form of a woman, her shoulders hunched and a handkerchief clutched to her mouth. So they had a new case, then.

“Bagel?”

He looked to the side and found himself face-to-face with Yosano. Her gloved hand extended a perfectly crisp bagel on a plate. Her lips were stretched in a mischievous smile.

Dazai took the plate and stuffed the bread into his mouth. “We had breakfast catered?” he asked, mouth full.

“Chuuya was nice enough to bring it in for us.” She glanced over at the redhead in question. “He looks great, doesn’t he?”

A deaf man could catch the suggestiveness in her tone. Dazai merely grinned and shrugged. “It’s certainly better than those rags he used to wear.” He made sure to say it loud enough that his new coworker would catch it. Chuuya didn’t turn around, but he did extend his hand toward the bandaged agent, middle finger raised.

Another sob ruptured the friendly conversation, the loudest yet. Everyone glanced toward the poor woman. Dazai wasn’t particularly concerned, but he still asked, “Who’s our latest client?”

“A friend of the President’s,” Yosano replied.

“And the wife of a well-known politician,” supplied Kunikida. “Her daughter was kidnapped this morning; she’s being held for ransom.” A pointed glare. “Which you would know already if you bothered to show up for work on time.”

Dazai ignored the reprimand, choosing instead of invade the man’s space by crossing to his desk and leaning over him to pluck the clipboard from his hand. On it was a picture of a bound little girl, no older than nine, her tearful eyes wide in an expression of terror.

“Poor thing.”

Chuuya cast him a look that clearly communicated exactly what he thought of Dazai’s manufactured concern.

He continued to scan the paper, eyes landing on the ransom demanded in exchange for the girl’s life. “Steep, but a wealthy politician should be able to afford that,” he commented.

“Apparently he’s been frequenting the casinos,” Chuuya muttered. “Gambled away most of the family’s money. They’re all but broke.”

“Hence the need for discretion,” Kunikida pointedly remarked.

Dazai read a few more lines about the details of the scene where the girl was taken. He read over the ransom note. It really didn’t look too complicated; he already had a pretty good idea of who was behind it. “Which casinos does he owe money to?”

“The Ruby Lotus and the Diamond Ocean,” Chuuya replied.

Dazai nodded once, a smirk beginning to form. Both of those were operated by the Port Mafia. This was shaping up to be a fun case indeed.

Rather than elaborate on his thoughts, he glanced around the room. “Hey, where is everyone?”

“Atsushi, Kenji, and Kyoka and on a case near the ports, investigating a missing shipment from the West. Ranpo and Junichiro are in Kawasaki; the police chief there asked for Ranpo’s help catching a suspected serial killer.”

Dazai’s eyes widened. A grin slowly split his face. “Look at you, Chuuya! Already looking out for where everybody is! See, Kunikida; I told you he’s valuable asset.”

“The fact that he comes to work on time and keeps track of fellow agents is only impressive next to your complete ineptitude,” Kunikida grumbled. He was always loath to admit Dazai was right about anything, but Dazai could tell by the twitch of his eyebrow that he was truly pleased by Chuuya’s performance so far.

The mother of the poor girl exited the President’s office at that moment, in somewhat better control of her emotions than she had been moments before. Fukuzawa escorted her to the door gently, assuring her that they would do everything in their power to return her daughter unharmed. Once the door closed behind her, he turned to face the room.

“Everyone in the conference room.”

The agents obeyed immediately. Chuuya noticed how quickly everyone found their seats, and made note of the ones that were left empty. There seemed to be a hierarchy when it came to seating arrangements, even if the order was not immediately clear. He took a seat on Dazai’s right, hoping he wasn’t stepping on any toes by inserting himself into the seating pattern.

Fukuzawa began by briefly detailing the facts of the case as they knew them. Hanae Sato was abducted from her bedroom between midnight and three in the morning. A ransom note was left, but the sender was unnamed. The note demanded forty-million yen be delivered at a specific library the next day. Once the cash was received and its authenticity verified, the girl would be returned to her home unhurt. If the money was not delivered, or if it was found to be fake, then the girl would die.

“Obtaining that much money in such a short time is impossible,” Fukuzawa concluded. “Therefore, we must locate the girl and rescue her before time runs out.”

“First, we need to identify the kidnappers.” Kunikida seamlessly took over leading the meeting. “Since Mr. Sato is deeply in debt, a good place to start would be to find the people he owes money to.”

“That’s not a problem,” Dazai cut in. “If he’s been losing money at the Ruby Lotus and the Diamond Ocean, then it’s the Port Mafia he owes.”

All eyed turned to Chuuya. Not quite accusingly, but pretty damn close.

Yosano smiled. “Well, Chuuya? Now’s your chance. What can you tell us about this?”

Chuuya hesitated barely a moment. The Boss’s order rang through his mind; if he was allowed to rough up a member of the Port Mafia, then sharing basic information should also be fine. He cleared his throat, pushing through the itchy sensation at giving away group secrets.

“The five execs each control a different part of the Port Mafia,” he began. “Ace is the head of the finance division. That includes money laundering and casinos. He runs both the Ruby and the Diamond, along with a handful of others. He’s responsible for every yen that comes in and goes out.”

“So this Ace person is behind the kidnapping?” Yosano asked.

“This is his style,” he admitted. “He’s a shithead with too much power and not enough loyalty.”

Kunikida’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Ace is a damned idiot who puts his own needs over the group – and it’s cost us before. The Port Mafia survives by operating with a certain degree of stealth. A job like this could bring the government down on them, and no one wants that. Besides, if Mori had sanctioned this, it would be a lot bigger. He would send a message – the girl would be dead.” The room shifted slightly, Kunikida and Yosano looking uncomfortable. Chuuya glanced at them both and grimaced. “Look, I don’t like that anymore than you. Killing kids turns my stomach. I just bring it up to show that this isn’t the Port Mafia – it’s Ace. All Ace cares about is money. This is about making a profit, not sending a message.”

“And you have no qualms about arresting a fellow executive?” Kunikda asked dubiously.

He took a breath. “Do I think Ace is behind this? Absolutely. But I also think he hired outside help. He’s not going to be connected in any way we can outright prove. Unfortunately.”

“That’s the Port Mafia for you,” Dazai confirmed.

“What abilities do we need to watch out for?” Kunikida asked.

It suddenly occurred to Chuuya that they were actively trusting him. Maybe not explicitly, but they clearly trusted him enough to ask questions about the Port Mafia and its members. They trusted him to provide accurate and actionable information. The thought would have been nice, if he wasn’t a double agent. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the surface of the table. “From the hired help? No idea. But Ace is a non-combatant. His ability turns his personal slaves into gems, whatever he considers a trade of equal value.”

Dazai noticed the distaste coloring Chuuya’s words, and he smiled to himself. An ability like that would boil his blood. Chuuya valued the lives of his subordinates more than most, and it pissed him off when others didn’t think the same. It always had.

“He’s always the first to run at the smallest sign of trouble,” Chuuya continued. “He’s a coward.”

“Why would Mori make him an executive, then?”

Chuuya merely shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He paused, considering the matter more deeply for a moment. He hated to give Ace anything, but he was forced to admit that the man knew finances. He could practically dig money straight out of the earth.

“Didn’t he take over your first job, Chuuya? Managing smuggled gems, right?” The teasing lilt in Dazai’s voice communicated the suggestion that Ace had done the job far better than Chuuya had. The redhead hated that he could read the jab in such an otherwise innocent question.

Chuuya scowled. “And he would have fallen right on his ass if I hadn’t cleaned it up before he got there!”

“What are you in charge of?”

Chuuya looked across the table at Kunikida. He studied him for a moment, eyes sharp. “What do you mean?”

Kunikida didn’t back down. It was refreshing, in a way. Usually, when Chuuya glared, he got at least some sign of fear. “You said Port Mafia executives control a portion of the organization. What part are you in control of?”

The present tense did not go unnoticed by the (supposedly former) executive. He was careful to correct the statement in his reply. “I was in charge of the army. Both attack and defense.” He didn’t mention that it also made him second in command to Mori.

“What about the Black Lizard?” Yosano’s tone was far more openly curious that Kunikida’s. Chuuya wondered briefly if it was a scientific curiosity in the dynamics of the business, or a morbid fascination with how an organization that used blood and violence as a currency was run.

“Officially… that Black Lizard is under my jurisdiction, yes. But practically, any one of the executives and a handful of others can call on them, including Akutagawa. I had no special control of them – never did. They broker information and assassination, neither of which I’m particularly interested in. Give me an outright fight over skulking in the shadows any day.”

“Chuuya inherited my post.” Dazai beamed with pride. “He inherited my position as second in command, too.”

Chuuya kicked him under the table. Like these people needed more reasons to distrust him!

“Enough,” Fukuzawa interrupted. “Chuuya, thank you for the information; I know it must be difficult to betray your former group. You and Dazai will take the lead on this investigation.”

Chuuya blinked in surprise, both at the show of gratitude and the order. The man was treating him like a full-blown agency member and he hadn’t even officially joined.

Kunikida looked ready to have a cow. “President, do you really think it’s wise to-”

The leader held up a hand for silence. “We will monitor the situation from here. Besides…” He fixed Dazai with a stern and penetrating stare. Chuuya glanced between the two men; there was something being communicated, but he had no notion of what it might be. “…Dazai and Chuuya’s partnership was legendary. We may be fortunate enough to have them work together at our agency. I would like to see that partnership in action.”

Dazai broke eye-contact with his superior to give Chuuya a grin and knock shoulders with him. So they were reestablishing their professional partnership, huh? They’d done it before, sure, but that had been a one-off. Back for one night only. This… this was far more permanent. This was slipping back into a hole Chuuya didn’t know he could crawl out of.

But for now, his only choice was to accept the mission.

Chapter Text

Four hours later found the newly rejoined Double Black walking down the streets of a high-class neighborhood a block away from where the girl was kidnapped. The sun was beginning its decent from the zenith, and the shadows were starting to lengthen.

Chuuya did not frequent this side of the city. Sure, the Port Mafia had plenty of fingers in this pie, but there were very few battles to be fought here. Kouyou’s team handled things in this neighborhood – through blackmail, mostly. The scent of cleanly manicured lawns and carefully cared for flower beds were more suited to Kouyou, anyway.

“Can you believe how fast he talked?” Dazai chatted away like an excited canary. “Boy, when Mori finds out how quickly you got information out of that guy back at the casino… I wish I could see his face!” He let out a laugh of pure mirth, like the very thought had made his day.

“Focus, bastard,” Chuuya barked, though he knew it was pointless. “A little girl’s life is in danger; where’s your sense of gravity?”

“A pun, Chuuya? You know you’re the most powerful force of gravity in my life.” He knocked his shoulder to punctuate the point. “No matter where I fly, I always end up spiraling back into you.”

Chuuya shoved him back. “I wish you wouldn’t!” He should really just be thankful this flirtatious mood hadn’t struck Dazai back at the Agency. He was absolutely insufferable when he got like this. And it absolutely did not make Chuuya blush – no way! “And what’s with the ‘wherever I fly’ crap? It took you four damned years to contact me at all!”

Dazai merely smirked. “I knew you were still angry about that. But you don’t have to worry now.” He found Chuuya’s hand with his own and entwined their fingers. “I’m here to stay.”

The stab of pain in his chest shouldn’t have hurt. The empty promise shouldn’t have caused his insides to squirm. And the soft touch coupled with the low tone definitely shouldn’t have sent a shiver down his spine. Chuuya jerked his hand away and made a show of wiping it off on his pants leg. “Yeah, right. Stop touching me, freak! We’re going to need my ability.”

Dazai shrugged and continued walking, rounding a sidewalk corner and heading down another street. “By the way, what’s your problem with Ace? I know his personally was practically designed to infuriate you-”

“You mean like yours!?”

“-but there’s something more.” Dazai smirked, his interrogation smile back in place. “It’s almost like this is personal for you.”

It was, and the reason left a bitter taste in his mouth. Drunk after a particularly rough mission, desperate for distraction, accepting Ace practically throwing himself at him for whatever stupid reason. Going back to Ace’s apartment. The high, swiftly followed by a plummeting hollowness. The next few weeks, intense hatred coupled with physical attraction. The emotional push-and-pull that reminded Chuuya painfully of Dazai.

And of course there was the climactic end, the inevitable falling apart when Ace tried to take things too far, tried to be more like a lover. And Chuuya hadn’t been ready for that. Wounds too deep were still too open, still too raw. And even if Chuuya had wanted an actual relationship, it certainly wouldn’t have been with Ace. So Chuuya broke it off the only way he knew how – angrily. Told him that “work relationships always suck,” when the real reason had been that hatred won out – he couldn’t stand the man. And he couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t keep facing himself in the mirror after getting out of Ace’s bed.

Ace may not have a powerful ability, but he still knew how to weaponize pain. And he’d poked right where it hurt the most: He’d gone after Dazai, blamed Chuuya for the abandonment. And then ran to Mori like a damn fool, crying about Chuuya throwing himself at him, accusing Chuuya of unprofessionalism. Twisting things around like Mori couldn’t see right through it. Thankfully, Mori had. There had been no repercussions, just a talk with Chuuya in private about choosing his bedmates more wisely.

Really, the whole thing was none of Dazai’s business. None at all. But there was still a clawing sense of curiosity in Chuuya’s mind, wondering how Dazai would react. The brunet always had possessed a jealous streak. So against his better judgment, Chuuya let it slip, dangled the truth like bait. “We fucked and he treated me like shit when I broke it off.”

Dazai froze in his tracks. “What?”

Shocking the all-seeing genius was one of Chuuya’s few pleasures in life. He turned and shot him a smirk. “What, did you assume I was a virgin or something?”

No, Dazai hadn’t thought that. But Ace? Seriously? Dazai quickly mastered himself, smoothing his expression and tamping down the bloodlust that had begun filling his psyche. “Just thought your standards were at least taller than your height. I mean, really Chuuya, there must have been someone better.”

Chuuya balled his fist at the jab to his height, but he let the last comment slide. He hadn’t imagined the sharpness in Dazai’s eyes, the cold anger. And in spite of himself, satisfaction and pride bloomed in his chest. The gamble had paid off – Dazai had been affected.

“We’re here.” Dazai stopped the argument before it could start. The pair stopped directly in front of an abandoned three-story mansion. It was unassuming, fitting into the neighborhood perfectly. The lawn was still taken care of; the ‘For Sale’ sign on the door showed why.

“Last chance to change the plan,” Chuuya muttered.

Dazai smirked. His eyes were fixed on the house. The childish mood of moments before was gone, shed like a second skin. In its place was a look Chuuya knew all too well. A predatory gleam lit the detective’s eyes and his smirk held a scythe-like quality.

So the youngest executive in Port Mafia history wasn’t dead, after all. He was just hiding under the guise of a detective.

“See you inside,” was Dazai’s only response before he walked right toward the front door, stopping onto the pick the lock on the front gate.

Chuuya didn’t wait to make sure Dazai made it inside. He crept around the back, using his ability to lessen the force of gravity on his body, making his movements lighter. A moment later found him in an upstairs bedroom, the open window letting in a breeze. The room was bare; the only sign of luxury was the size and paint color.

He heard voices shouting below, on the ground floor. Dazai must have waltzed in by now, the dumbass. Now all Chuuya had to do was find the girl and get her out in time to also save Dazai from being blown to hell. Just like the good old days.

He peeked around the doorframe, glancing down the hallway. A staircase on the right led down, the sounds of booted feet bounding down the steps echoing off the bare walls. On the left, the hall stretched around the perimeter of a wide open cut-out in the center of the building, an ornate railing of polished wood providing protection. No places to duck for cover, though. Not that that was a problem for him.

His eyes snagged on a glint of light. Sunbeams coming through the glass ceiling reflected off the barrel of a gun. The man holding it stood with his back to a door. The girl must be in there.

Chuuya bent down and picked up a rusty nail from the floor. He tossed it up once, catching it in his gloved palm before activating his ability. He threw the projectile with the force of an explosion. A gasp, a grunt, and a thud told him the guard was down. Smirking, he stepped out into the hall and walked casually to the door. The man had collapsed against the wall, a red hole in his forehead spilling blood onto the carpet.

Chuuya reached over the body and tried the doorknob: locked. With a roll of his eyes, he pulled with his ability; the knob came free of the door. He pushed it open.

A storm of gunfire instantly met him. He surrounded himself with a strong gravity field, catching the bullets before they hit flesh. Two men with automatic weapons flanked a tiny form bound to a metal chair. Her muffled screams were covered by the gunfire.

Finally, the guns clicked in the guards’ hands. Chuuya’s mouth stretched into a feral grin. This was his favorite part. “My turn.” A thought struck him, and he looked at the little girl. “Close your eyes.” The bullets hovered in a line midair. He lashed out with a high kick, sending the bullets straight into the men. Metal pierced torso and head, spraying the room with blood. Once they crumpled, Chuuya stepped forward.

The girl was trembling when he knelt in front of her. Her eyes were pinched shut, and tears streaked her cheeks. He lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder. “It’s okay.” He spoke softly, trying to soothe her. Something in him went out to the kid. “Hanae, right? I’m gonna get you out of here.”

He untied her gag first, dropping the dirty rag to the floor. Next, he tugged off her restraints, careful not to pull her skin any more than necessary as the duct tape came free. He explained the whole process to her, warning her before he made a move. He knew from experience how tough the unexpected could be, and he wanted to calm her however he could.

Once her hands were free, she threw her little arms around his neck. Sobs wracked her body, tears soaking into the fabric of his jacket. The sensation of rescuing someone so small, so utterly vulnerable, so devoid of strategic worth, was completely new to him. Maybe this was what living in the light was like? He was caught off-guard for a moment. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her. “Let’s get you home,” he whispered.

Shouts in the direction of the staircase warned of impending attack. Chuuya fixed one arm securely around the girl, holding her against his chest with her face buried in his shoulder, before standing. He brushed his fingers over the bodies of the guards, dislodging the bullets and bringing them to hover in his hand.

It didn’t take long. No one in the group was gifted; Ace must not have splurged on this one. The girl threw him slightly off-balance, her arms clutching his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. He didn’t have the freedom of movement required for hand-to-hand, which irked him; he’d been aching for a fight for days now. He had to make due with defense moves when someone got too close and throwing bullets otherwise.

“Stop! I’ve got your partner at gun point!” The threat came from down below, on the ground floor. Chuuya couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He dispatched the last man and glanced over the railing. Sure enough, Dazai was held at gunpoint. Literally. The barrel of a pistol was pressed against his temple.

Chuuya adjusted his hold on Hanae, wrapping both arms around her and shielding the back of her head. He pushed off the floor and jumped over the railing. Magnifying gravity’s hold on him, he landed hard, cracking the marble floor. He straightened and fixed the hired gun with a smirk.

“We’re walking out of here with the girl one way or another,” he promised. “Both of us.”

The man blanched, recognition lighting in his eyes. He knew who Chuuya was. In response, he gave the back of Dazai’s knees a vicious kick, forcing him to the floor. The gun pressed against the back of his head, execution style.

Chuuya looked at Dazai. Dazai’s eyes were fixed on him. His expression betrayed nothing but total calm, even amusement. He was enjoying this. “Well? Aren’t you going to save me?”

The temptation to just leave him there to be shot was almost overpowering. “I should really let him kill you, you know.”

Dazai’s smile grew. “You won’t.”

The man’s hand started to shake. “H-hey! I’m the one with the gun!”

He still had one bullet left, held in his right palm. A flick of the wrist, the application of gravity, and the man went down. Chuuya made sure to hit him where the blood spill would stain Dazai’s coat. Dazai casually pushed the fallen body aside, brushing himself off, and picked up the gun. The smirk was gone, replaced with steely focus as he leveled the barrel right at Chuuya’s face.

Chuuya didn’t move. Dazai’s gaze pinned him in place. And it was then, in the most unlikely moment, that he realized something completely devastating.

He trusted Dazai. Fully. Even with a gun pointed at his face and his arms wrapped around a tiny girl that could be killed in an instant. Even with that serial-killer look in Dazai’s eyes and the darkness radiating from his soul. Even when the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia, the youngest executive in history, reared its head again and the scales of living in the light dropped off. He trusted him.

And so, he didn’t flinch when the gun went off, didn’t activate his ability. And he wasn’t surprised when the bullet tore past him and disappeared over his right shoulder, barely grazing his ear. He heard the crunch of bone and a scream of pain, the thump of knees hitting marble. He turned his head slightly and spied a man on the floor, clutching his wrist as blood streamed between his fingers. A gun lay at his feet, forgotten.

Shaking himself and locking away the disturbing thoughts, he turned back to Dazai. “You could have told me.”

Dazai shrugged. “Where would be the fun in that?” He approached with easy grace, perfectly in control of the situation. “Is she alright?”

Chuuya nodded, eyes following Dazai as he passed him and knelt before the injured thug. “Some minor bruises and some major trauma, but nothing a few years in therapy won’t fix.”

Dazai nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”

The tip of a shoe locked under the man’s chin, forcing his face up. Chuuya couldn’t see Dazai’s expression from his vantage point, but he didn’t need to. He knew it would be the terrifying, snake-like one he wore so soften during interrogations. “Just in case you think this is mercy, I have a job for you.” His voice was cold; it reminded Chuuya faintly of Mori. “Go back to whoever hired you and tell them that the legendary team Double Black is back. So the next time an enemy organization tries to uproot Yokohama, they should think twice.”

Dazai’s coat was splattered with blood, his foot held a wounded gang member in place, and all Chuuya could think was how good he looked doing it. Damn him to hell, Osamu Dazai was hot with fire in his eyes and life held in the palm of his hand.

Chuuya could practically feel Dazai’s feral grin, but when he turned back to face his partner he wore the same expression he had when he himself was on his knees earlier. Amusement and complete calm. Chuuya looked between the ex-Mafia executive and the injured man with distaste. After a moment, he followed Dazai out of the mansion and didn’t look back.

“The theatrics were a little much,” he griped, carefully concealing his true thoughts.

Dazai merely laughed, hands innocently in the pockets of his blood-speckled coat as if he hadn’t shot a man barely a minute before. “For a reunion this long in the making, I had to do something special.”

The walk back was uneventful. At some point, Hanae fell asleep in Chuuya’s arms. He shifted the dead weight so it wasn’t digging into his elbow, but she was so light that he didn’t need to use his ability. He kind of liked it, in a strange way. It was almost comforting to have something depend on him so completely.

They returned the girl to her mother and father. She was welcomed back with open arms and teary eyes, kisses pressed to her face. Chuuya couldn’t resist giving her father a death stare. It was his poor choices – and total lack of talent on the casino floor – that got his daughter kidnapped in the first place. If he could wring the man’s neck for being such a piece of shit, he would. As it was, Dazai had to give his sleeve a light tug to remind him to turn away.

Halfway back to the Agency, Chuuya felt a sudden change. He stopped on the sidewalk. His hands tingled for a moment, and the static voice of Arahabaki rose to a crescendo inside his head. A gasp ripped its way through his throat, and then…

Silence. The nagging presence of Arahabki went utterly quiet. He could feel the beast on the very edge of his consciousness, like a shadow at midday, but he felt… in control.

“What the hell…?” he muttered. He tore off his gloves and looked at his hands. They looked just the same, glowing red when he activated his power… but the glow was brighter now. Almost infinitesimally so, but still noticeable.

“I wondered what effect the President’s ability would have on you,” Dazai mused. Chuuya snapped his head around to glare. What kind of trick was this? Dazai only laughed at him when an un-gloved hand wrapped around his collar and its twin curled in a threatening fist. “Now, now, Chuuya, don’t you remember? The President’s ability, ‘All Men Created Equal,’ enhances a skill-user’s ability. It grants them greater control over their powers. But its field of range only spreads as far as Agency members who have completed their entrance exam.”

Understanding slowly dawned. Then the sudden burst of control he felt, the retreat of Arahabaki in his mind… it was all linked to the Agency? Then this mission must have been a test!

Dazai smiled down at him – not an arrogant grin, but a genuine smile. His golden-brown eyes were soft, proud, almost fond as they looked into the clear blue pools of Chuuya’s. When he spoke, his voice carried sincerity.

“You just passed your entrance exam. Welcome to the Armed Detective Agency, Chuuya.”

Chapter Text

Days passed, and Chuuya continued to impress. In two weeks, the other agents seemed perfectly at ease with him, and he with them. Ranpo helped him find his new favorite snack. Kunikida bonded with him over their mutual hatred of Dazai. Atsushi took him to lunch. Yosano asked probing questions about his younger days in the Port Mafia. Junichiro asked him for help with his night classes. And Dazai fell into a comfortable rhythm with him, moving around their shared apartment with ease, bickering like they used to.

Dazai watched all this with the satisfaction of a mastermind seeing the pieces of his puzzle fall into place. More than that, he watched it with the satisfaction of a friend seeing someone he loved find their true home. Because there was little doubt in Dazai’s mind: The Armed Detective Agency was Chuuya’s home.

And yet…

There were those times when Chuuya would get distant. And there were the early morning phone calls Dazai pretended not to notice. And the minutes-long escapades to God only knew where. And the way his shoulders would tense when the Port Mafia was mentioned.

He missed it there, and Dazai would have to be a blind fool not to notice. He hadn’t tried getting Chuuya to talk about it, though – not yet. He’d wait a few more days, see if it came up naturally. Doubtless, Chuuya was missing his subordinates and his fancy penthouse and his wine collection. He would power through that. The important thing was that his loyalty to the agents of the Detective Agency was growing, and it would continue to do so.

About two and a half weeks into Chuuya’s new occupation, Dazai found a note on his desk when he came into work. Simple, elegant handwriting in the shape of his name. He pulled Chuuya’s knife from the redhead’s back pocket as he passed by, subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice, and slit the envelope open. Inside was a simple card, blank save for a watercolor picture of a spider lily. He opened the card and read a location and a time. No greeting, positive or otherwise. Straight to the point.

Whoever sent the letter – and he had a good idea of who it was – wanted to meet on the Teisha Bridge in the inner part of the Sankeien Garden. A lovely place. They wanted to meet that very afternoon. Dazai smiled privately and slipped the note into his pocket, turning to ask Kunikida what was on the agenda for the day.

He completed his work with minimal complaint and slipped out of the early-afternoon meeting without being noticed. The weather was sunny and fair, so he thought he’d walk to the garden. After a couple blocks, however, he gave up and hailed a cab. The drive was relatively short, giving him plenty of time to run over what he’d say during this mysterious rendezvous but not enough time for his thoughts to drift too far.

He got there early, but she was already waiting. Her fiery hair stood out clearly against the backdrop of green foliage, her pink kimono complimented by the flowers in full bloom. He smirked as he stepped onto the bridge, approaching where she stood, underneath the roofed pergola in the center.

“Hi, Ane,” he greeted, using the nickname he and Chuuya had given her back in the day – older sister. “I’m surprised you waited so long before making contact. You’re usually so much more direct when it comes to your… protégés.”

Kouyou spared him a glance. “Dazai,” was her simple greeting. “I had honestly expected him home by now.”

“He is home.”

The threat was not lost on her. “Whatever you’re planning, Dazai, I will warn you: Flowers that bloom in the darkness can only be at peace within the darkness.”

Dazai stood beside her and turned around, leaning back against the railing so he could face her. “I remember you saying the same thing about Kyoka, and she’s flourishing in the light.”

“Chuuya is different, and you know it. He’s older, forged steel. You can’t deny that he’s made a home in the underworld.”

Dazai shrugged. “Sure, he was good at his job. But then again, so was I.” His smile took on a knife-like quality. “And if someone like me, the Demon Prodigy, could make a home in the light, why can’t he?”

Kouyou sighed and faced the garden once more. “I didn’t ask you here to argue semantics.”

“No? Why did you set up this meeting? Did Mori send you to try to make me give Chuuya back?”

“Ogai knows nothing of this meeting,” she replied coolly. She reached a delicate hand into her kimono and withdrew a file. She handed it to him without explanation.

Curious, Dazai took and opened it. He was met with a list of injuries and treatments, medical records. He peered at her again, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Those are Chuuya’s medical records from the first two years following your abandonment.”

This wasn’t quite what he’d expected. The targeted end of her statement did not go unnoticed. Dazai turned his attention to the records, reading the date at the top of the first page. One week after he’d left. He moved on to the reported injuries. A bullet wound to the right abdomen, causing internal bleeding. Treatment included surgery.

He turned the page. The next record was dated one month later. Shattered pelvis, three broken ribs, and a punctured lung. Injuries sustained in a bad fall, of all things. Another surgery, but this time also required physical therapy.

The worst one included pictures, and even though Dazai knew that Chuuya was currently in the Armed Detective Agency’s office and perfectly healthy, his stomach still churned uncomfortably. Blood covered his chest, soaked through his dress shirt and vest. He was unconscious, probably from whatever had caused the ugly bruise at his hairline. Dazai checked the description of the injuries. Three bullet wounds to the chest. A broken vertebra in his neck. Serious concussion, causing temporary memory loss. A stab wound in his right thigh. He checked the date at the top, and the breath caught in his throat. The anniversary of Dazai’s disappearance.

There were others, too. More surgeries. More close shaves. More blood than he ever should have been allowed to spill. Dazai felt his own wrist give a phantom throb; he knew what self-destruction looked like, he just never thought he’d see it on Chuuya.

“After your disappearance was confirmed, he looked for you.” Kouyou’s voice was soft, but it reached right through Dazai’s temporary shock. “The first of those injuries occurred during his search. I don’t know what he found, but whatever it was… he was gutted. He didn’t speak for three days.”

The blow landed. Chuuya was so loud. The idea of him not speaking a word for three full days was unimaginable.

“After that, he poured himself into his work as the new head of the Port Mafia’s army. Ogai promoted him right away. He was reckless, stupid. He wouldn’t talk to me. He came home covered with injuries again and again, narrowly avoided death more times that I could count. Then, finally, on the second anniversary… a switch was flipped. And he became the executive we all knew he would be – determined, relentless, and obedient.” She turned to stare at Dazai, but his eyes were still fixed on an image of Chuuya lying on an operating table. “He loved you, Dazai. And no matter what injuries he sustained or inflicted upon himself… nothing hurt more than your betrayal.”

Dazai swallowed hard, forcing himself to master the emotions Kouyou’s words and images flooded him with. “Why are you telling me this?” His voice was quiet, but not nearly as steady as he’d hoped for.

“Because you need to know. You need to know that your actions had consequences. And you need to know what abandoning him again, what hurting him like that again, will do to him.” She paused, carefully selecting her next words. “Ogai may be able to order him to die, but no one can destroy him as utterly as you can.”

Dazai closed his eyes, blocking out the photographs. The images playing across his mind were no better. Chuuya, falling from a building and not bothering to use his ability to catch himself. Chuuya, walking into a storm of gunfire, blood blooming across his torso where the bullets found flesh. Chuuya, diving head-first into the ocean after a shipment of illegal goods, using his ability to drop him too far below the surface, the weight crushing his lungs.

“Oh, Chuuya,” he whispered, too soft for Kouyou to hear, “I’m supposed to be the suicidal one.” He took a steadying breath, pushing the images and emotions aside. He cleared his throat and spoke aloud. “Why bother showing me this? You should know that if I were planning on hurting him again, this wouldn’t change anything.”

Kouyou smiled knowingly. “I don’t think that’s true. You wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to remove him from Ogai’s grasp if it was.” She paused. He could feel her eyes studying him when he turned back to the file. “I remember well how close you two were. Almost like brothers… perhaps even closer. No one knew you like the other.”

Dazai allowed himself another moment to study the face in the various images. Bruised, bleeding, broken… and sad. Some prevailing sense of sadness that followed him even into unconsciousness. Even the x-rays spoke of it, in the ways the bones were snapped and splintered. With an effort, he closed the file and extended it to Kouyou. “I have no intention of ever putting him in this position again.”

Lithe hands took the folder and tucked it back out of sight. “Good. Because I should warn you: there are those of us who would disobey Ogai in order to hunt you down if you harm a hair on his head.” Dazai didn’t doubt it. “This is your second chance, Dazai. Second chances don’t come often to people like us. Make the most of it.”

He merely sighed and let his weight fall against the railing. Knowing he should be polite, he asked, “Join me for tea?”

Kouyou was already walking away. “I need to return this file before anyone misses it.” She glanced back only once. A delicate tear traced her cheek. “Give him my love.”

* * * * *

The rain came down in a light drizzle as Dazai entered the bar. It was always bittersweet heading into the Lupin. Memories of days long past always resurfaced, threatened to drown him. But tonight he had a meeting, and that required some degree of focus.

The rendezvous with Kouyou had ended hours ago, but he hadn’t gone back to the Agency. Instead, he’d devoted himself to thought. Those images and descriptions of injuries cut straight to his heart. And well they should – he was responsible for them all. He might as well have caused every single one of those injuries himself.

He hadn’t been lying when he promised that Chuuya would never suffer at his hands again, but words were cheap, and making good on that promise would take work. Work he was willing to put in.

He had stopped at home and retrieved a file from its hiding place beneath a loose board. Then, he’d made the call. Calling Ango was always a pain in the ass, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle on a Tuesday. Letting him feel like he was in charge was easy, leading the conversation masterfully so it came around where Dazai wanted it to – and Ango felt like it was all his idea.

His target was already there, in his usual seat. Dazai slid onto the stool next to him, ignoring the emptiness on his opposite side where Odasaku used to sit. “Hey, Ango! Catching a much-needed break? The Special Operations Division is working you so hard these days.”

Ango let out a sigh as he placed his glass on a coaster. “You know why I’m here, Dazai.”

Dazai propped his elbow on the table and set his chin in his hand, smiling innocently at his former friend. “Let me think… Does it have anything to do with the President’s birthday coming up? Are we planning a surprise party for Fukuzawa?”

“It’s about your agency hiring another Port Mafia member with a rap sheet longer than my arm.”

Dazai let out a gasp, like he just figured out what this meeting was all about. “Oh! You’re here to talk to me about Chuuya.”

All business, Ango took a bracing sip of his drink – another tomato juice – before replying. “He is an executive in the Port Mafia. His kill count has three digits. It was different with Kyoka because she was just starting her carrier, but Chuuya-”

“Mori was trying to kill him.”

Ango froze. He turned and looked Dazai in the face for the first time that night, brows lowered in suspicion. “Why would Mori want to kill one of his strongest and most loyal weapons?”

“Why does Mori do anything, Ango? To get to me.”

It was a mark of his belief that Ango didn’t accuse Dazai of being an arrogant narcissist. No, that was the simple truth. Both of them had always known that eventually, Mori would make a play for Dazai. Either to drag him back into the shadows or to take him out once and for all.

Dazai continued when Ango didn’t respond, deciding to cut the chit-chat and move things along. He kept the smile on his face, but his eyes lost all hint of humor. “Mori took Odasaku from me. I will burn this city down before I let him take Chuuya.”

Dazai knew Ango held guilt over what happened to Oda, and his involuntary flinch was proof. He knew Ango had nightmares to that day about the last time he saw his supposed friend – poisoned and dying on a lawn in front of a burning building, a look of betrayal sharp in his eyes. Oda had been important to both of them, and it had taken Dazai years to remember that. His hatred for Ango had burned bright once, but now it was smoldering embers. Light enough to see the guilt around it. Dark enough to see the pressure points for manipulation.

Dazai didn’t care if Ango lost sleep over their friend’s death. On the contrary, he hoped the memory haunted him every moment for the rest of his life. But the fact that it affected him at all meant that a little applied pressure may just make him crack. And if it didn’t… well, Dazai had a plan for that, too.

“What happened with Odasaku was horrible,” Ango said slowly.

Dazai supplied the hidden word. “But…?”

“But, Chuuya is different. He’s more willful. Even if he’s being ordered to die, he won’t-”

“You don’t know him at all, do you?” Dazai asked. His voice had turned low, just on the edge of dangerous. “Chuuya is loyal to a fault. He will follow any order handed down from a superior. And even more than that, he’s the type to take a bullet for a stranger if the urge hit him, much less someone he actually cares about. And whether he admits it or not, he cares about a lot of people. He’s easy to manipulate because of that. All Mori has to do is say ‘go die,’ and he’ll do it.”

“How exactly has Mori been ordering him to commit suicide?”

“By ordering him to use his corrupted form, of course.”

Ango’s eyes narrowed again. “If that much power had been unleashed in or near the city, I would know about it. The only reports of destruction even breaching that level were almost three weeks ago, and the area was vacated before our men could get there.”

Dazai chuckled. “Yeah, you’re welcome for that.” The bartender set a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks before him. He picked the glass up delicately, listening for the familiar clink of ice against crystal. “One of Chuuya’s subordinates stole his phone and gave me a call. I arrived just in time to bring him back.”

“And that’s when you decided he’d be better off working where you can keep an eye on him?”

“Something like that.” Dazai took a sip of his drink, feeling the slight burn of alcohol down his throat. “But I decided to take Mori’s loyal toy away when he called me personally and used Chuuya as a bargaining chip.”

“I’m surprised there are things you can’t stomach, Dazai.”

“Only when it comes to certain people. And I’m getting better at letting things like that get to me. Oda saw to that.” He took another sip and waited for a response. Waited as Ango stared into his own glass. Waited as his leg shook with nerves. Waited as a bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

“Chuuya is incredibly loyal,” the government employee said at last. “And he’s incredibly angry. What makes you think he’ll leave the Port Mafia so easily, especially for you?”

“Because we can offer him something they can’t: control over Arahabaki. And while we can’t promise that he’ll never have to use Corruption again, we can make it so the monster leaves him alone at all other times. The official cease-fire with the mafia doesn’t hurt, either.”

“And what if he decides he belongs with the Port Mafia?”

Dazai considered for a moment, letting a slow smile creep onto his face. “I have a plan for that, too. Either way, I’ll make sure Mori no longer controls him.”

“By slitting his throat?”

“Don’t worry about the particulars. You should know by now that all efforts to get in my way are useless.” He turned and fixed the man with a piercing stare. He read his expression like an open book, noting all the subtle twitches and contortions of his face. “Don’t make me pull out the big guns, Ango.”

Ango had the good sense to look nervous. “What ‘big guns’?”

Dazai reached into his coat and withdrew a small manila folder like he’d been cued to by a stage director. Meetings like this always felt like scenes in a play, and Dazai was both writer and director. He set the folder on the counter between them. “This file contains evidence that the government was actually responsible for the Dragon’s Head Conflict six years ago.”

To his credit, Ango didn’t show emotion aside from turning a shade paler.

Dazai opened the folder casually. A long finger landed on the first page. “You knew that organized crime groups in the city were getting too powerful. So you did what any good military strategist does when presented with powerful enemies: you pitted them against each other. You just didn’t expect for it to work so well. After weeks of conflict, you got nervous. Civilian casualties were stacking up. Orphanages were overrun. Businesses were shot to hell. So, in an effort to clean up your own mess, you released Shibusawa and his gifted-suicide ability, didn’t you?”

Ango swallowed visibly, throat constricting. “You can’t possibly have evidence of that.”

Dazai laughed, low and deep. “Oh, Ango, you should know by now that I never lie in these types of negotiations. Take a look for yourself.”

He watched the government agent take up the file and leaf through it, studied the expression in his eyes. It was true, every bit of it; that’s what made it so damning. This was a file Dazai had been sitting on for years, since just after he left the Port Mafia. He’d been saving it. Now looked like just the time to play his trump card.

“What do you want?” Ango’s voice was choked, restricted. He knew Dazai had won.

“Clear Chuuuya’s record,” Dazai demanded. “Wipe it clean so he doesn’t have to worry about being arrested by your men. Whatever you have to do to make his move to the Armed Detective Agency nice and legal. In return, I’ll give you all the damning evidence I’ve collected on the Dragon’s Head.”

Ango eyed him suspiciously. “That’s all?”

He merely smiled. “Well, and promise to keep your noses out of Agency and Port Mafia business, but that’s a given. Now, isn’t that a bargain where you come out on top? Just think of the accolades you’ll get for preventing a massive leak of information like this.”

Ango folded the file once more and rested a hand over it. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Dazai blinked, surprised for the first time that evening. “What do you mean?”

Rather than answer, Ango pushed the issue. “He’s in love with you. At least, he used to be.”

Dazai already knew that, of course. It was what made Chuuya so easy for him to manipulate. But be that as it may, the words still made something in him stir. But all that was left of those feelings now was a faint shadow, twisted by betrayal and hatred. After all Dazai had put him through, what else could be left?

Ango continued. “With evidence like this, you could demand much more than a clean record for Chuuya. If this were leaked to the public, there would be an outcry and the Japanese government would have no choice but to shut us down and start over. You know that. So why spend it all on Chuuya if you’re not in love with him?”

Dazai could see the line of reasoning, and it did make sense, but Ango was the last person he was about to confess to. “Do you truly think someone like me could fall in love at all?”

“Yes. In your own way.”

Dazai sighed and leaned forward against the counter. He traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “He’s just a friend who deserved better. And now, I’m giving it to him.” He stood and paid his bill. “You’ll get all of my data along with confirmation that my copies are destroyed once I see evidence that Chuuya’s name has been cleared.”

He was halfway to the door before he heard the choked words. “Do you think… if things had been different… you, me, and Odasaku would still be here, having a drink?”

Dazai stopped dead, considering for a moment. “No, I don’t,” he finally replied. “Maybe things could have ended differently for Odasaku, but you were always going to be a traitor.”

He stepped out into the night without a backwards glance. The rain had picked up, heavy droplets soaking his hair, his coat, his bandages. He hailed a taxi rather than walk back to the dorms, allowing himself some time to think. The rain had cooled the city down dramatically, and even the cab was chilled.

He had already formulated the beginnings of a plan before talking with Kouyou that afternoon. The certainty he based everything around was this: Chuuya would not fall back into Mori’s hands. It didn’t matter if he stayed at the Armed Detective Agency or returned to the Port Mafia or went down a different path altogether; Dazai would not let Mori touch him again.

By the time he opened the door to his dorm, he had developed three plans for three different eventualities. That was enough work for the day. Tomorrow, he would begin setting the plans in motion.

The room was dark when he entered, but Chuuya’s shoes and coat were by the door. He must have gone to bed already. Dazai allowed his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, stripping off his wet clothes and listening in the meantime. The rain pattered on the roof and against the windows. The pipes made their strange groanings from behind the walls. The bathroom door squeaked gently as he hung his wet clothes on the shower rack to drip into the tub.

He changed into dry pajamas and conducted his nightly routine as quietly as possible. Any other time, he might have made a racket to wake Chuuya intentionally… but not tonight. Not when Dazai still had so much processing to do. Not when the images of Chuuya’s various injuries still crowded his mind.

He eyed the couch. The chill from outside had crept into the apartment, and a flimsy blanket was not going to cut it. At least, that’s what he told himself as he crawled into bed beside Chuuya. It was definitely only the warmth he was seeking. The relief at being able to drape an arm around his partner’s sleeping form and feel his heart beat was not something he would allow himself to linger on. Not yet, anyway.

Chuuya grumbled sleepily when Dazai wrapped an arm around him. He stirred when Dazai snuggled closer, pressing his chest to Chuuya’s back. “Get off, bastard,” he protested tiredly, voice rough with sleep.

“It’s too cold.” He finished getting comfortable. “And you’re so warm.” Legs tangled with Chuuya’s to maintain warmth, nose brushing the locks of red hair splayed across the pillow to indulge in his partner’s familiar scent, Dazai finally allowed himself to fully relax.

The last thing he heard before drifting to sleep was Chuuya’s muffled voice grumbling, “You’re lucky I’m so tired.”

Chapter Text

Strange, how things like this happened. How one moment you could doubt so much, and the next day your whole world is clear as glass. That was what realizing he was in love was like for Osamu Dazai. Like falling from a great height, the rush of adrenaline, the no-going-back of hitting the ground. Irreversible. Permanent. Beautiful.

He’d started to fall long ago, he now realized. As far back as that fight with Rando, when he’d seen Chuuya’s power. He still remembered the stark contrast of his red ability against the backdrop of yellow created space. Still remembered the moment their hands touched, how they’d communicated without words. The rushing freedom of finding enjoyment in something, the dawning possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could find some meaning in this thing called life.

He’d attributed it to the violent side of the Port Mafia then. Now, he wondered if it was actually Chuuya. If that offer of deeper connection, that fiery spark against a backdrop of monochrome, had been what really woke him up.

He’d only been dreaming until that moment. Only been walking through life like one wades through a deep river, just trying to get to the other side.

The immense tragedy of it all was that even after the wake-up call, he’d gone back to sleep. Had let the world of the night, the crushing darkness of the Port Mafia, put him under again. He’d lost that light behind the shadows, let violence and darkness and Mori blind him again. And, per usual, it had taken catastrophe to wake him up. It had taken losing his best friend. It had taken years in the light to starve out some of the darkness before he could truly see what had been staring him in the face the whole time.

Oh, how he’d missed Chuuya in those years they’d been separated. How much he had to make up for.

* * * * *

It had been a week since he’d first woken up with Dazai wrapped around him. If anyone suggested that it hadn’t been a one-time thing, Chuuya would have vehemently denied it. Forget that it was the truth; it was a truth that he never intended to get out.

It wasn’t like they’d never shared a bed before. Sure, when they’d gone on missions together back in their Double Black days, they’d been forced to bunk together more than once. But that had been necessity (most of the time). This was… different. This was intentionally seeking each other out. This was making conscious effort – on both of their parts – to close the gap between them. And if he was being honest, the comfort it brought scared him. He was falling too deep. He may even be past the point of no return already.

His reports to Mori were… lacking, to say the least. There just wasn’t much to report on the Armed Detective Agency. Nothing that the Port Mafia didn’t already know, anyway. They knew the abilities of its members, the type of work they handled, even their clients. The most interesting things Chuuya could include were their emergency strategies, and even those were pretty obvious. It was a wonder Mori continued to accept the work at all, much less keep him on the job.

Loath as he was to admit it, Chuuya dreaded being pulled back to Mafia headquarters. He was actually… enjoying himself. He enjoyed being part of such a tightly-knit group. He enjoyed having friends that gave as good as they got. He even enjoyed the eye rolls every time he forgot himself and tried to order them around like he’d been accustomed to in the Mafia.

But he knew it couldn’t last, which just made everything that much harder. Especially this new mood of Dazai’s. This bizarre new way he’d look at him. On anyone else, Chuuya would have called it concern, or even affection. He didn’t know what to call it on Dazai. He’d seen it almost a month before, when he’d first woken up in Dazai’s room after using Corruption, but it had been fleeting. Now, the gaze seemed to follow him wherever he went. Catching him at odd moments. Slipping through chinks in his armor. Igniting a burning, distracting hope in his chest that he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. That, paired with waking up with his arms around Dazai’s waist every morning was… dangerous. To say the least.

He mentally went over the agenda for the day as he stepped out of the shower, towel-drying his body and his hair before pulling pants on and leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He stood in front of the mirror in the main room, toweling through his hair more thoroughly. He caught a glimpse of brown eyes behind him. “Hurry up, Mackerel, or we’ll be late for work!”

Dazai barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on the reflection of Chuuya’s chest. His skin was dappled with scars. And while that wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for a Mafioso, it was the locations of the scars that gave him pause. The images Kouyou had shown him, the descriptions of injuries, flashed through his mind. He was blind to all else.

Chuuya locked eyes with him through the mirror’s surface, frowning when he caught the naked look of emotion in Dazai’s face. What the hell? He turned around. “What’s wrong with you?”

Dazai closed the distance between them in a single step, eyes lowering to the outline of a bullet wound below Chuuya’s right collarbone. Without thinking, he extended a trembling hand and let a finger graze the roughened skin.

Chuuya froze. The touch was almost alien, the gentle caress of Dazai’s fingers over a years-old scar. His muscles tensed, ready to withdraw, but Dazai’s expression held him in place. Pain was written across his face. Pain and guilt. He’d never known Dazai to feel guilty before, not once.

“I’m sorry.” The words were so soft, Chuuya barely caught them.

“What?” he asked, sure he’d misheard.

“I’m sorry.” Dazai’s eyes were glistening. His hand trailed down to touch another scar, this one long and jagged, a knife wound. “I’m sorry I left you.”

It was all too much. Dazai’s touch on his skin, the guilt and pain in his eyes, the broken apology. Chuuya was torn between dragging him close and telling him it was all okay and shoving him away because an “I’m sorry” didn’t change a damn thing.

“I didn’t know,” Dazai continued. “When I left, I didn’t know you’d spiral so far. I never thought you cared enough to throw yourself in front of bullets from sheer grief.”

So that was what all this was about. Chuuya sighed and closed his eyes. “Kouyou talked to you.” It wasn’t a question. He knew that in order for Dazai to be like this, he must have heard the lengths Chuuya had gone to to get him back. The self-destructive slope he slipped down when he couldn’t find him. “Shit. She told me she’d never mention that.”

“She was right to.” If she’d done it to shock Dazai out of himself, then it had worked. He couldn’t stand seeing Chuuya like this, couldn’t stand knowing he’d even indirectly put those scars on his body. He’d never felt guilt like this. He didn’t regret leaving the Port Mafia, not one bit. But he did regret leaving Chuuya there. He should have taken him along. Should have at least sent him word of what was happening.

“I thought you’d want to stay.” The action of forcing his mind back into those painful memories made his voice tremble, but every word was true. “I knew you’d found a family in the Port Mafia, and I didn’t want to make you choose to leave them. Not then. Not when they hadn’t hurt you.” Dazai needed Chuuya to know how sorry he was. He lifted his hands to Chuuya’s cheeks, cupping his face. Chuuya was looking at him with a mixture of shock, confusion, and hunger. The words he wanted to say failed him. For once, his silver tongue wouldn’t work. So he pressed his lips to Chuuya’s forehead instead, whispering against his skin, “I will never put you in that position again.”

The problem with liars is you never know when they’re telling the truth. Chuuya had learned that lesson early as Dazai’s partner, had spent days of his life examining words and phrases for hidden meaning. But this time, with so much riding on such a simple sentence, he couldn’t find it in himself to pick the words apart. He was tired of doubting, tired of always being on guard. So just this once, he leaned into Dazai’s touch and let himself believe.

Dazai kissed his cheek, just above where his hand still rested. His mouth lingered there, eyes closed. “I will not let anyone else put you in that position, either.”

Chuuya couldn’t help the soft chuckle escaping his throat. “I can fight my own battles.”

Dazai hummed. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to every time.” He bent to Chuuya’s neck and pressed a kiss there, above the space where the choker usually rested. Chuuya’s eyes shut. His hand closed around Dazai’s wrist. It was an invitation, a silent request to not let go. To stay.

Why did he have to make things so much harder, Chuuya wondered. Things could have been so different if Dazai had just shown this side of himself years before. Before they’d parted ways and this horrible chasm between them was formed. If he’d just asked Chuuya to leave with him when he abandoned the darkness and sought the light... Things could be so different now if they didn’t belong to two separate worlds. Because as much as he loved the Armed Detective Agency, as much as he loved this new family he’d been accepted into, Chuuya knew his place was back in the shadows. He knew his home was with the Mafia. Mori or not, that was where he belonged.

And it would only be a matter of time before this fantasy shattered.

So when Dazai straightened and closed the distance between them even further, his mouth a breath away from Chuuya’s, he withdrew. Just enough. “We’re gonna be late.”

Dazai stared at him for a moment, and Chuuya could see the vulnerability slipping away, the softness melting. He looked into Chuuya’s eyes, asking if he really wanted to stop now, if he really wanted the walls between them to remain. Chuuya knew what he was asking. And even though his heart screamed within him, he nodded.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Dazai’s hands fell back to his sides and he retreated a step. They could both feel the guards coming back up, the walls slotting into place again.

As they walked to the office fifteen minutes later, Chuuya was certain of two things: He still loved Osamu Dazai, and he would still spend his life in the Port Mafia.

* * * * *

It was hard to focus during the morning meeting. Everything Kunikida said in the debriefing washed over Chuuya. He could feel Dazai beside him, feel his warmth. He knew he was imaging that – there were too many layers of clothes between them for body heat to transfer, for one thing – but his body still reacted to it. His mind still refused to ignore it.

He kept vacillating between two thoughts, his heart torn in two. What the hell had he been thinking earlier, letting Dazai get that close to him? What the hell had he been thinking, pushing him away?

Nothing was simple with Dazai. Nothing had ever been simple with Dazai. Why couldn’t things just be easy for once in his damn life?

He felt Dazai’s knee knock against his under the table, and he tensed. He knew the bastard was trying to catch his eye, but he kept his own stubbornly fixed on Kunikida.

A ringing phone jerked him from his thoughts. By the time he realized it was his own device, the whole room was staring at him. Chuuya swore and pulled the device out, checking the Caller ID. Unknown number. Mori.

Thank god. Any distraction was a welcome one at this point. “I gotta take this,” he muttered, standing. He didn’t bother looking at Dazai, but he could feel his eyes on his back as he left the room.

He stepped out into the hall and allowed himself five seconds to breathe, to get himself under control. Talking to Mori would do him good, he reasoned. It would ground him, remind him of his real responsibilities here. He flipped the phone open and held it to his ear.

“I have good news, Chuuya. You’ll be coming home soon.”

Okay, so maybe not any distraction was a good one. The words landed heavily in the pit of his stomach, settling there like a rock. He wasn’t ready for his life with the ADA to end. But ready or not, the end was here, and his feelings about it didn’t matter.

“Just one more task before you return,” Mori continued. His voice was calm, controlled as ever, with that slight note of cold mirth at the edges. “It seems the Port Mafia has an infiltrator, and I want you to eliminate him.”

Assassination wasn’t a normal thing for Chuuya, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Actually, a run-of-the-mill Mafia hit would be a blessed break from all of this skulking around and doubting himself. The immediate nagging suspicion in the back of his mind was ignored. “Sure thing. Who is it?”

“Dazai.”

Chuuya dropped the phone in shock. No, he’d heard wrong. He fumbled with the device and pressed it to his ear again, clutching it so hard the screen cracked. His voice was breathless as he replied, “Sorry. I think I misheard you. Who’s the target?”

“Dazai.”

Chuuya’s blood ran cold. He was sure his heart had stopped pumping. His hands and feet were suddenly freezing, all the blood in his body rushing to his internal organs to keep him alive. He swallowed once, twice. Get it together! he snapped at himself.

“What’s he done?” His voice was shaky, even to his own ears.

“Recently, or over time?” Mori joked. “I want him taken out because he has recently made steps to eliminate me. Nothing major yet, but you know Dazai – once he starts down a path, he finishes the journey. I can only assume this recent choice to kill me is over you, so I think it only fair if you retaliate personally.”

Dazai had made moves to assassinate the Boss? When? Why?

The words from that morning surfaced in his mind, rang in his ear. “I will not let anyone else put you in that position again…”

Shit. He really was going for it.

“Chuuya? Are you still there?” Mori’s voice was light, like this was all a sick joke. Like Chuuya really shouldn’t be taking this so seriously.

“I’m here.” His voice was strained, the words choked.

“I know this will be difficult for you.” An empty consolation. “But you know just as I do that you are the only one who can kill Dazai. Not only are you the only one I trust on a job like this, you’re also the only one capable of completing it. Failure is not an option. Imagine what Akutagawa would do if the organization fell. Or Gin. Or even Kouyou. As the Boss, I maintain their safety.”

Chuuya knew what would happen to them. They’d be rounded up by the Gifted Special Ops and executed. Either in the gas chamber, or like dogs in the street. Mori was the one who protected them all, held the government far enough away. Without someone strong at the head of the group, all gifted members of the agency would be hunted down. And the Armed Detective Agency would help them do it.

He felt sick, nauseous. Had the floor vanished beneath him? Was this really a choice he had to make – follow orders and kill Dazai or see everyone in the Port Mafia hunted down like prey?

The later wasn’t an option. Without the Port Mafia, this city would drift back into the chaos it was in before Mori took over. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – let that happen. He’d die first. He’d kill first.

“I understand.” His voice was stronger than he’d expected. “It’ll be done tonight.”

He hung up before hearing Mori’s response, one insignificant piece of rebellion. His knees went weak and his weight hit the wall behind him, keeping him up. The thud of body hitting wood was dull; his usual energy was drained.

“Chuuya… are you alright?”

He turned and saw Atsushi staring at him, the door to the Detective Agency ajar behind him. Chuuya straightened and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sorry. That was an informant.” That part was kind of true. “They’re in the hospital.” That part wasn’t, but it was the only ready explanation he could think of for his appearance.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? You look pretty pale.”

Chuuya merely nodded and pushed back into the agency’s office. “Yeah, just came as a shock is all.” He felt Atsushi follow him back into the meeting, concerned gaze heavy on the back of his head.

It was dangerous, he knew, going back into the agency’s meeting – he knew Ranpo would probably be able to smell the lie a mile away. In a strange way, he hoped he would. Maybe he’d get lucky and the ADA would kill him before he could accomplish his mission. But no, Ranpo just gave him that aggravatingly knowing look before he turned away.

The rest of the day was spent drinking. He abandoned the agency after the meeting with an excuse he couldn’t remember and found the nearest bar. No way he could do this sober. And no way he could look the agency members in the face anymore when he was about to betray their trust like this.

They’d hunt him down, and he knew it. The Armed Detective Agency had a wild, vengeful side beneath the professionalism. If you went after one of their own, they retaliated. Killing Dazai might just spark an all-out war between the Agency and the Port Mafia.

Maybe he would turn himself in. Do the job and kneel down on the ground, hands on his head, and wait for their judgment. Claim he’d acted alone. If they bought it – which he doubted, with the all-knowing Ranpo on their side – he’d save the city from another battle between gifted.

If he could go through with this at all.

No, he couldn’t think like that. He could do this, and he would do this.

He’d wait for Dazai to come home. Hit him in their shared apartment where his guard was down. Use the knife to slit his throat so he couldn’t cry out.

The breath was ripped from his chest at the thought. He wanted to scream. He wanted to drink himself blind. He wanted to throw himself into the sea and let the waves take him away from here. Arahabaki swirled inside him, more awake than he’d been in weeks. The surrender of Corruption called to him now like a siren, promising silence and surrender. Promising a way out.

He pushed through it. He paid his tab. He walked back to the agency dorms. He unlocked the door to their apartment.

And he waited in the dark.

Chapter Text

Dazai was many things – a master manipulator, a genius detective, a guiltless killer – but a blind fool was not one of them. And he would have had to be a blind fool not to notice the sheen of sweat on the back of Chuuya’s neck when he reentered the meeting room. He’d paid far too much attention to Chuuya lately, had watched him far too closely, not to notice the way his fist clenched under the table, the way his distracted gaze never met anyone else’s, the way every muscle in his body was tight as a coiled spring.

While he may not know what that phone conversation had been about, he could guess who it was with. Mori. And whatever Mori said, it had affected Chuuya badly.

Given his current state, it came as no surprise when he grabbed his jacket and made a b-line for the office door the moment the meeting ended. Needing more information, or at least the chance to comfort him, Dazai tried to stop him. He attempted to play it off as a joke, not wanting the other agents to sense something off. “What died in your coffee, Chibi?” He grabbed Chuuya’s arm, just barely touching him before the redhead flinched and jerked away.

Shit, this wasn’t about what had happened between them earlier that morning, was it? Because as open as Dazai had allowed himself to be, as badly as he’d wanted to close the distance between them until there was none left, he was willing to pretend like nothing had happened if Chuuya was more comfortable with that.

“I’m fine,” came the response, even though every fiber of his body was sending a clear message to the contrary. “Just need some air.”

Dazai stared at the door for a moment after it slammed shut. All he could wonder was how this had happened. How had things gone from so nearly fixed that morning to whatever this was in the span of a couple hours?

Mori needed to go, that much was certain. The sooner, the better.

“Don’t follow him.” A shorter figure joined him on his left, arms crossed over her chest. “Give him time.”

Dazai fixed his signature innocent smile on his face before turning his head to look at her. “What makes you think I’m worried?”

Yosano was not amused. “I don’t know, maybe the way you’re staring at the door like a lost puppy? What happened between you two this morning?”

He merely grinned, even as his fingers remembered the texture of Chuuya’s skin. “Just some old partner stuff.”

The day dragged on. Dazai took Yosano’s advice and gave Chuuya some space. Physically, at least. He did shoot his partner a text asking if he was alright, but he got no reply.

The most likely worst-case scenario seems to be taking place.

Half an hour to quitting time, Dazai stood from his desk and strode over to Ranpo’s. The man was reclining in his chair, a bag of chips in his hand. Dazai slapped his hands on the surface of the desk and leaned half-way across it. In a lowered voice (no reason to spook anyone else), he asked, “Are we both thinking the same thing?”

Ranpo cracked one eyelid, taking a single glance at Dazai’s face before popping a chip in his mouth. “Yes.” No hesitation. Dazai inwardly swore. “He was never going to join us.”

That caught him partially off-guard. “What do you mean?”

A bored sigh. “Dazai, you are an idiot.” The master detective tilted his head up, showing the rare glimpse of his green eyes as they met Dazai’s. “He’s too at home in the Port Mafia to switch sides. It was obvious the moment he walked in here.”

He clenched his fist. Ranpo’s deductions were never wrong. While Dazai himself was well above average at predicting outcomes, the other excelled at reading people at a glance. Maybe for once in his life, hope had made Dazai blind to the truth.

That was okay. He had a plan for that. What he didn’t have a plan for was walking into his own fucking apartment prepared to face a murderous redhead. “Exactly how at home there is he?”

Ranpo grinned and reclined again, absolutely unbothered. “Enough to kill you, you mean? Don’t know. Guess we’re about to find out.” He ate another chip. “Don’t tell me you didn’t prepare for this.”

“I didn’t prepare for a lot of this,” Dazai confessed. The truth was, aside from the very careful plans he’d laid since meeting with Kouyou, he’d been winging most of this. He knew Chuuya well enough to get away with it. Or, he thought he had. But now things were coming to a head and he had some decisions to make.

He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. The action made him think of the first time he’d seen his partner. What felt like a lifetime ago.

“You got a will?” Ranpo’s snide comment caught him half-way across the office.

Dazai merely waved one hand in the air, brushing off the question. “I’m leaving it all to Atsushi!” Akutagawa would love that.

The walk home was long, but he made use of it. He was reasonably sure what waited for him was a knife. While Chuuya had softened considerably during the past few weeks, old wounds still ran deep. He knew his partner well enough to be sure that one order wouldn’t be quite enough to make Chuuya kill him. His own deep-seated hatred and betrayal would push him over the edge.

By the time he reached the door, Dazai had come to a very important decision. No matter how this went, he was going to let Chuuya take the lead. And if taking his life would bring Chuuya some semblance of peace… then Dazai was willing to give him that. After all this time, he owed the redhead nothing less. He’d arranged things well enough that Chuuya would be taken care of, even if he was no longer around to do it himself.

So, with a strange sense of peace settled over him, Dazai unlocked his apartment door and stepped into the dark.

* * * * *

Time acted strangely while Chuuya waited, somehow both incredibly long and impossibly short. When the lock finally clicked and a bandaged hand pushed the door open, he wasn’t sure if it had been years or seconds. His heart screamed inside him, but his resolve held true. He waited for the door to close again.

“Chuuya?” Dazai flicked the light on. “Hey, you weren’t answering your phone. What’s going-”

Chuuya lashed out with his fist, slamming it into Dazai’s stomach to shut him up. He fisted his hair when the detective doubled over and used the leverage to throw him across the room. Dazai’s head hit the wall with a sickening crack. Chuuya didn’t give him time to recover. He knelt over him, knees on either side of Dazai’s body. His hand closed around the bandaged throat, pinning him in place. The knife was out in an instant, blade held to the skin above the carotid artery.

This should be easy. After all the shit Dazai had put him through over the years, after all the hatred had built up between them, this should be easy. This wasn’t just about Mori – this was also revenge.

A laugh snapped his attention. A soft sound, forced from damaged lungs. Chuuya knew, he knew, he shouldn’t look, but his body acted before he could stop it. His eyes met Dazai’s, and the affect was fatal.

Dazai’s expression wasn’t angry or surprised, like Chuuya had expected. It wasn’t disappointed or stung, either. It was just… sad. “Mori got to you, didn’t he?” The words were quiet, certain.

This is Dazai at his most dangerous, Chuuya reminded himself. When his eyes showed emotion and his body was relaxed. Still, even with that knowledge repeating like a mantra in his head, the dam he’d built to keep his emotions in check cracked.

“Shut up!” he snapped. “I promised you when we were fifteen that I’d kill you one day, remember!?” His voice didn’t carry the venom he knew it should. His resolve was waning.

“Did he say why the order came now?”

The knife bit in, severing the bandages and drawing a thin line of blood.

“Did you really expect you could go after Mori without consequences!? I have to… I have to protect the Boss! It’s my fucking job!”

Dazai’s eyes softened. There was understanding there. Mercy. Like he knew that this went so much deeper than Mori’s orders. He stayed still, eyes locked on Chuuya’s, and took a breath. “Okay. Then do it. If this is what you need to move past what I did, then kill me.” He was honest and unafraid.

Chuuya’s hand shook. His voice shook, too. “You’re not going to fight? I thought your dream was to die with a beautiful woman or some shit!”

Dazai smiled. “Dying by your hands is so much more beautiful, don’t you think?”

The blow landed, years of threats and promises turned bitter. Chuuya turned his eyes back to the blade. He pushed harder, and the line of blood turned to a steady stream. One slice, one flick of the wrist, and it would all be over. He’d never have to hear Dazai’s stupid voice again. He’d never have to worry about Dazai manipulating him again. He’d finally get revenge for being left behind like he was nothing.

His hand trembled. He let go of Dazai’s throat and grasped the handle of the knife with both hands. He poured his will into the motion, narrowed his focus to that line of steel pressed into skin.

He couldn’t do it. He was weak, and the knife was too personal. The blade was thrown aside, clattering against the floor, useless. A gun would have to do. He shoved himself up and away from Dazai and pulled the pistol from where it was tucked into his belt. He leveled the barrel at his head, right between Dazai’s eyes.

Dazai’s eyes, that were always the window into his soul, never fully able to hide what he was feeling. Dazai’s eyes, that were still staring at him with that soft expression. Dazai’s eyes, that finally looked at him like he was worth everything.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Really, Chuuya, I’ve been prepared for this since I saved you. It’s okay. If this is what you need, then I’ll gladly give it to you.”

“This has nothing to do with what I need, you fucking idiot!” Chuuya screamed. “You’re endangering the Mafia!”

“No,” Dazai replied carefully, “but I’m getting rid of what is.” He shifted slightly, a few splinters of the shattered wall coming free. He didn’t lift a hand to his throat to stop the blood flow. “Mori has poisoned you, Chuuya. Like he poisoned me. But it’s okay; this really isn’t about him. So do it.”

Again, Chuuya narrowed his focus down to the bullet’s trajectory. His finger pressed against the metal of the trigger. All he had to do was squeeze. All he had to do was flex his finger, and this would all be over. His hands still trembled, and he took a breath to still them.

Seconds, minutes, passed like that. Dazai staring at Chuuya and Chuuya staring at Dazai. Gun pointed at the target by an unwilling assassin. Tension in the air pulled taught. But no matter what Chuuya said to himself, no matter how he tried to argue and rationalize himself into pulling that trigger… he couldn’t do it. And deep down, he’d always known that he couldn’t do it.

So it came to this, then. Dazai couldn’t leave well enough alone and Chuuya’s loyalty didn’t hold true enough to eliminate one measly target. A target he’d hated, or told himself that he did. A target that had torn him apart years ago and put him back together over the past month.

“Damn you to hell, Dazai,” he muttered. The gun fell to his side, and his hand relaxed. The weapon hit the ground, useless. The strength went out of him, and he turned away. Defeat settled heavy upon his shoulders.

He heard Dazai’s movement behind him, but didn’t turn around. Not until he heard the gun cock. He whipped around to see Dazai with the weapon held to his own head, barrel pressed to his temple. “If you can’t do it… I’ll do it for you.”

Panic burst in Chuuya’s chest. He threw himself at his partner, grabbing for the gun. They both tumbled to the floor. Pain shot through Chuuya’s head where it connected with the broken wall, but he hardly felt. The gun shot so close at hand it made their ears ring. Chuuya succeeded in grabbing the pistol, refusing to let the shot rattle him. He threw the weapon through the window, broken glass raining down after it.

He frantically checked Dazai, fingers combing through his hair to make sure there wasn’t a wound. Feeling no blood, he moved his hands down to tear at his clothes, checking for injury. Dazai called his name, but he barely registered it until the suicidal maniac grabbed his wrists. “Chuuya!” he shouted. Once his attention was arrested, Dazai laughed. It was full of surprise and teasing, and it was that sound more than his spoken reassurances that calmed the redhead. “Chibi, I’m fine! Relax.”

“You moron!” Chuuya spat. “You shithead, what were you thinking!?”

Dazai pulled an innocent face. “I just thought that since you wanted me dead but couldn’t do it yourself-”

“I don’t want you dead!” The truth spilled out. Chuuya twisted his hands free and grabbed Dazai’s face, the urgency to make him understand overriding everything else. “Don’t you get anything!? I don’t want you dead!”

Dazai frowned. “Why not?”

“Shit, you’re really gonna make me spell it out!? Because I love you, you fucking idiot!”

Dazai’s face passed through confusion, realization, self-satisfied joy, and back again. “Why?”

Of all the stupid responses… Chuuya released his head and sat back on his heels, realizing what he’d just confessed. The enormity of its implications. He pinched the bridge of his nose, equal parts angry at himself and at Dazai for drawing this out of him. “I don’t know,” he grumbled. “You’re an aggravating, self-possessed douchebag and you’ve put me through hell.”

Dazai pushed himself up and sat cross-legged, looking to all the world like an interested child. “But there’s got to be something.” He grinned. “Maybe my looks?”

“You wish.”

“Well, since we’re in a telling mood… How long have you been in contact with Mori?” The grin vanished, replaced with seriousness.

Chuuya looked at him for a long, silent moment. Dazai knew the answer to that, he was sure of it, but he answered honestly anyway. At this point, his job was shot to hell and Mori would sick the dogs on him for insubordination and shift in loyalties, so what did a lie matter now? “The whole time.”

Dazai nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Then why let me work at the Agency?”

“Because I knew it’d be good for you. And good for us.” He shrugged. “And maybe I’ve missed you over the years.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and fell back onto the floor. He was exhausted, drained. He flung an arm over his eyes to block out the sight of Dazai and his stupid grin. “Mori’s gonna hang me for this.”

“He won’t.”

The answer was so confident Chuuya lifted his arm to peek at Dazai. His neck still bled, and it only added to the darkness in his eyes. “How do you know?” He asked it cautiously because he knew what that face meant. Dazai had a plan.

“Mori was right; I have been moving in for the kill.” Dazai crawled over and rolled onto his back, lying beside Chuuya on the floor. He held his hand up against the light, looking at his own skin. “He’s reached the place the previous boss did. He’s holding the Port Mafia back now.”

Chuuya watched his partner’s profile. “How do you figure?”

“Any chess player who would so willingly sacrifice his queen on such a massive gamble shouldn’t be responsible for anyone’s life.” Dazai turned his head so the two were face to face. “He’s losing the loyalty of his subordinates. It’s only a matter of time before there’s a civil war within the organization.”

“How do you know that?”

He grinned. “Well, for one, you couldn’t follow his orders just now.” An elbow to the side only made him laugh. “And for another… I’ve been in contact with Tachihara, Akutagawa, Hirostu, and some of the others. They’re way more concerned about you than anyone loyal to Mori has a right to be.”

Chuuya could see the threads of Dazai’s plan now, could make out the shapes on the tapestry. “I think you’re underestimating their loyalty to the Boss.” It was a partial lie. He knew Dazai well enough to know that he’d calculated all of that ages ago, and if Dazai said their loyalty was wavering, then it was.

“And I think you underestimate their loyalty to you.”

The pieces snapped together, and the tapestry came into sharp relief. Dazai’s plan stood out starkly all at once, against a backdrop of shimmering black. Chuuya sat up in surprise, staring down at Dazai like he’d completely lost his mind. “I’m not becoming the next boss,” he hissed.

Dazai shrugged lazily and yawned. “Why not? You’d be good at it.”

“I would be terrible at it! And besides, Mori’s already chosen his successor and it isn’t me.”

“Then he’s more of a fool than I gave him credit for.” Dazai looked Chuuya in the face, held his gaze. “Chuuya, what Mori said about leadership all those years ago… it’s not the only way to lead. He leads by instilling fear into his subordinates. You can be more powerful than that. You can inspire them. Kouyou and the others, we’re not loyal to you because we fear your power. We’re loyal to you because we trust you. You don’t trade lives like running a powerful organization is a game; you protect those in your care.” His hand reached up and brushed a strand of red from Chuuya’s face, fingers lingering on his skin. “Now, will it be a tough job? Absolutely. But you’ll have people to lean on. You don’t have to do things like Mori does, running the whole thing with only yourself for counsel. You can get advice and listen to others. And when things get ugly and hard choices have to be made… you can do that, too. I’ll be there to help you.”

The words registered slowly, making a home in his chest. Dazai said everything with such conviction that he couldn’t help but half-believe him. But it was the last sentence that his attention snagged on. “You’d come back?”

“Yeah. If you wanted. I mean, you’d still be a member of the Armed Detective Agency, if all works out, so it’s only fair I work two jobs, too.”

The idea of them running the Port Mafia together was ridiculous, laughable. But Chuuya couldn’t help the blossom of hope in his chest. Dazai would come back… for him. “You’re really serious? You’re not bullshitting me?”

Dazai sat up, facing Chuuya again, looking down at him slightly. Their faces were so close their noses almost touched. “No, I’m not bullshitting you. I figure I left for Oda; I could come back for you. And with you running the show, the Port Mafia would open some windows and let the light in. I wouldn’t be betraying my promise to Odasaku if you were the Boss. You wouldn’t let me.”

It was true – Chuuya wouldn’t let him. He saw how changed Dazai was, and he knew it was thanks to the ADA, their help as he navigated the world in the light. It had been so good for him. And it sounded like the Agency and the Mafia would be working together a lot more closely in the future. If all went according to plan.

Chuuya swallowed down the lump in his throat. It meant more than he wanted to admit, more than he could say, that Dazai would be willing to come back for him. “Holy shit… you are serious.”

Dazai chuckled, low and soothing. “I told you I was.” He reached forward and ran a finger down the side of Chuuya’s face, gentle as a lover. “You know… I’m not used to being proved wrong.”

Chuuya frowned, even as he leaned into the touch. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Kouyou and Ango both told me the other day that you were in love with me. I didn’t believe them. I thought for sure I’d hurt you too badly. Honestly, I wasn’t totally sure you weren’t going to kill me when I stepped foot in here.”

Chuuya scowled. “You knew what I was planning all along?”

A mischievous grin. “You’ve never been hard to read, Chibi. Especially for me.”

“You didn’t switch the bullets out with blanks while I wasn’t looking, did you?”

Dazai placed an offended hand over his heart, mocking indignation. “Chuuya, I would never! Gambles are no fun unless something is on the line.” Chuuya didn’t point out that if Dazai considered his own life to be worth gambling, then he considered it of some value.

Dazai’s mood shifted slightly, somehow softening and sharpening at the same time. He leaned in a little closer, intentionally brushing his nose against Chuuya’s. “Did you mean what you said?”

Chuuya could feel the tension between them, the undeniable pull of that morning, just hours before. But this time, he wasn’t running away. “You tell me, genius.”

Dazai smiled slowly. If it was snake-like, Chuuya didn’t notice. He couldn’t look away from the burning expression in his eyes. Calloused fingers brushed his cheek, sliding back to grasp his neck and the edge of his jaw, splaying across the length of his neck and into his hair. Chuuya finished the absurd dance of tension by fisting Dazai’s collar in his hand and jerking him forward the last inch, pressing their lips together.

Kissing Dazai was everything he imagined it would be. The awkwardness of a first kiss lasted only a second, giving way to pure instinct. It was electric, sending shivers of pleasure through his whole body. Chuuya’s mind blissfully clouded, all thoughts melting away until all he could think about was Dazai’s hand in his hair, the almost desperate way his fingers pressed into his neck. If he’d been standing, his knees would have gone weak.

They knew each other well, better than anyone else. There was a comfort in that, in the predictable push and pull of their relationship. And though they’d never shared a moment like this before, Chuuya wasn’t surprised when Dazai deepened the kiss, or when a pleasured moan slipped from his throat. Warmth bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, lighting a fiery desire inside of him. After so many years longing for this, there was no way he was stopping now.

Dazai seemed to have other plans. He broke the kiss, giving them just enough space to breathe. Their foreheads pressed together, he let out a breath, almost a laugh, of disbelief. He planted another kiss on Chuuya’s mouth before speaking. “Hey, Chuuya?”

Why the hell was the moron talking now? “What?” He didn’t sound as annoyed as he wanted to; his tone lacked its usual bite.

“Commit double suicide with me?”

That got his attention. Chuuya scowled and closed the distance, biting Dazai’s bottom lip as punishment. “Fuck, no. Now that I’ve got you where I want you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Dazai obediently kissed him again.

______________

It had been a long time since he’d stepped foot in that room. It somehow felt like both days and decades, like the time had stretched infinitely, and yet still hadn’t been nearly long enough. Everything looked exactly as he remembered it, down to the years-old blood splatter on the wallpaper and the canopy over the bed.

Everything had gone exactly according to plan. Junichiro had gotten him past the guards, Kouyou had dutifully stayed out of the way, Gin had shadowed him and taken out any straggling loyalists. Most importantly, his scape goats were lined up for the slaughter when this all came out.

Dark satisfaction spread through his eyes as they landed on his target. Feeling the bloodlust, Mori turned and smiled coldly in greeting. “Dazai. I wondered if Chuuya would be able to kill you. Disappointing… but hardly surprising.”

Dazai shrugged easily, closing and locking the door behind him. “What can you expect? Loyal dogs follow orders… you’re just not his master.”

Mori’s eyes glanced over the glint of metal in his hand, sliding off the scalpel and back to Dazai’s face. “So this is how it happens, then? Interesting, that Chuuya would be the one you’d come back for.”

“I don’t see your creepy little doll anywhere,” Dazai commented, making a show of looking around. “Not even going to try Vita Sexualis on me? I’d so looked forward to cutting sweet little Elise into pieces.”

Mori rose almost lazily. “I think we’ll leave her out of this.” Dazai knew the slowness of his movements was for show. They were both showmen in that respect, concealing coiled muscles ready to spring. “You know how important I am to the stability of this city, Dazai. You would really plunge Yokohama back into an age of chaos simply for one person? Sentimentality doesn’t suit men like us.”

Dazai smirked, mocking the man in front of him. “You’ve made the most dangerous error a leader can make, Mori: thinking yourself irreplaceable. It’s held the Port Mafia back for at least a year now. No, I think it’s time for a change in management.”

“And you think you can carry the weight of an organization, Dazai? I thought Odasaku asked you to live in the light. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”

The blow landed, but Dazai let it slide off him. His only visible reaction was a darkening of expression, a deadly cold seeping from his soul. “The dead aren’t here to see our promises kept. But no, I have no intension of taking over your position for myself. I’m leaving it to someone more capable.”

Mori had had enough of conversation. He leapt forward with the speed of a trained killer… and stopped. The back of his shirt snagged on something. A bluish light lit up behind him, a strong but delicate hand fisted in his clothes. He twisted his head to see Demon Snow holding him in place. With a snarl, he summoned Elise.

Dazai closed a hand over his throat, preventing the Boss from using his ability. “No, you don’t. We’re leaving her out of this, remember?”

For the first time since Dazai had known him, Mori’s eyes were wide in fear. Not shock, not surprise, but real and genuine terror. Dazai grinned and leaned in close, savoring the look in his former employer’s eyes. “Can you hear them, Mori? The dead you sent down below? They’re calling for you.” The sharp edge of a scalpel pressed against the bare flesh of Mori’s throat, held so still the throbbing pulse of the vein below pushed the skin against metal, splitting it and oozing blood. Dazai’s voice was low, predatory, victorious. “The dead keep record… and they’ve waited a long time for you.”

"Please," Mori choked, “Dazai, you can’t do this-”

Dazai’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Can’t I? What’s stopping me? You?” His gaze slid over to the girl in the corner, their eyes meeting briefly. “Kyoka’s made sure you’re not a problem.” His grin faded when he turned back to the Port Mafia boss, looking weak and pathetic before him. “I do owe you some thanks. You did save this city once upon a time. And more than that, you saved me. You gave me a reason to live once. And now, to thank you, I’ll do the same for countless others.” He pushed the blade harder. The flow of blood quickened. “Goodbye, Mori. Tell Odasaku I said hi.”

It was over in a flash. A flick of the wrist. A splash of blood. Demon Snow vanished, and Mori fell to the floor. Dazai savored the choking sound of his old boss drowning in his own blood. He savored the look of mingled terror and hatred in his eyes before they went dark. After a few moments, the body went still and the eyes turned vacant. He was gone.

Dazai pocketed the blade without wiping it down. He’d promised Yosano a souvenir, and what better than her own scalpel smeared with Mori’s blood? He looked across the room at Kyoka again, smiling slightly. “We leave the body here. It’ll be found by Higuchi in a few minutes, and she’ll take care of placing the blame on the right people. For now, let’s join up with Tanizaki and go home.”

She tore her eyes away from the corpse and moved toward the door, stepping around the growing pool of blood. Dazai led the way back through the halls they both had memorized. The world of the light waited for them outside, welcoming them back after their brief return to the darkness.

Chapter Text

The city lights of Yokohama glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, painted against the bright colors of the sunset. Chuuya had always loved the way the light came through these windows, casting golden beams on the carpet. He held out a hand, pressing the glove against the glass.

He had attended Mori’s funeral, acted suitably humbled when Mori’s attorney gave the news of his appointment as Boss, and given a rousing acceptance speech to the organization. He’d written and sent a letter sympathizing with the members’ grief over Mori’s passing and his intention to exterminate those who had killed him. He’d met with the five executives – four, now that he was Boss – and asserted his position as their superior while inspiring devotion. All this in three days. Arguably the most draining three days of his life. And here he stood on the other side, atop a pile of sacrifices so many people had made for him, staring out across his new empire.

He still didn’t feel totally worthy or prepared for this job. But the notes of encouragement from Akutagawa, Tachihara, and others had certainly helped.

The cold made his fingers tingle, the leather glove no longer protecting his skin from the sensation. It was grounding, tethering him to his new office in his world that was simultaneously spiraling out of control and falling into place.

“Now, that’s a sight to rival a billion yen masterpiece.”

Speaking of things falling into place…

Chuuya couldn’t help the small smile that formed. The callback was not lost on him, and the memory of Dazai chained up in the basement – the first time he’d laid eyes on the man in four years – surfaced without the usual throb of pain. A lot more had changed over the past few weeks than merely his position in the Port Mafia. Instead of commenting on that, he simply said, “The Boss always did have a nice view.”

Long arms wrapped around his torso and a lean chest pressed against his back. He glanced down and noticed a dark coat had replaced the usual beige. “Sure, the skyline is lovely… but that’s not the sight I was talking about.” Dazai pressed a kiss to the side of his neck before straightening again to rest his chin on the top of Chuuya’s head. “How’s it feel to be the boss?”

He’d imagined that after all the years he’d known the man, Dazai’s silver tongue would lose its effect on him. It hadn’t. So he didn’t address the compliment and settled for answering the question instead. “Fucking great.”

“Don’t let the power go to your head, Chibi. I took a real gamble putting you here; it’d be a shame if I had to run a scalpel over the throat of another Port Mafia boss.” Chuuya elbowed him sharply in the side, but Dazai merely laughed. “By the way, the Agency has a meeting tomorrow.”

“I’ve got my hands full cleaning things up here, in case you haven’t noticed.” Chuuya fiddled with his gloves, tugging the material snugly against his fingers. “I’ve got a scape goat to sacrifice and orders to give. And changes to make, though I’ll do that slowly.”

“You’re not going to reinstate me as an executive?”

Chuuya laughed outright. “No! My first order as Boss can’t be to reinstate a known traitor. Besides, executive is too good for you.”

Dazai grinned. “Oh? And what is good enough for the person responsible for getting rid of Mori and putting you right on top of this city?”

Chuuya turned around to smirk up at him, their chests now pressed together. Dazai’s arms loosened just enough to settle his hands on Chuuya’s waist. “You can be my pet dog.”

The memory of a long-ago bet surfaced in Dazai’s mind. The week they met. The challenge didn’t go unnoticed. He lifted a finger and traced the choker around Chuuya’s throat before hooking a finger into it and yanking the Port Mafia boss closer. “That’s funny… I seem to remember winning that bet. And the one we made after, that I’d make executive before you did. In fact, I seem to remember winning almost every bet we’ve ever made.”

Chuuya let himself be pulled into a searing kiss, losing himself in it for a moment before pulling away just enough to say, “I think making youngest boss in Port Mafia history trumps executive.” He withdrew from Dazai’s arms, mercilessly ignoring his boyfriend’s protests, and strode to his desk. It was still arranged by Mori’s hand, as was everything else in the office, but functionally it was his now. He took a seat in the boss’ chair, letting the shiver of mingled dread and satisfaction work its way down his spine before he leaned back and relaxed. He crossed one leg over the other and set his forearms on the arm rests. “All bets are off now, Osamu. You answer to me.”

That mischievous grin, the one that promised a fun time for Dazai at the expense of another, lit up his face even as his eyes darkened. He approached the chair like a cat stalking its prey, movements slow and deliberate. “I answer to you? Really, Chuuya? You’re forgetting I don’t belong to this organization anymore.”

Chuuya shrugged. “I’m hiring you back. You told me you’d be at my side after I became boss – moonlight here and keep working for the Agency, if you must.”

The grin widened. Chuuya had to tilt his head back again as Dazai came to stand directly in front of him. “You really do want me close… don’t you?” He slid into the chair effortlessly, straddling Chuuya’s lap and leaning both hands on the back of the chair on either side of the Boss’ head, effectively caging him in. His voice dropped low, his tone suggestive. “How close do you want me?”

Chuuya simply reclined comfortably and smirked. “Why don’t you find out?”

The position exaggerated Dazai’s height, but he didn’t seem to mind leaning down the extra inches to close his mouth over Chuuya’s. Contrasting against his suggestive tone, the kiss started out tender and soft. Chuuya’s mind wandered, wondering how exactly this new dynamic was going to work. Neither one of them were the type to use cute pet names or cuddle.

Though, as Dazai’s hand found its way beneath the fabric of his suit, Chuuya thought he might be kidding himself with that one.

Maybe a relationship was more about who you were with than anything else. And like he’d commented before, with Dazai as a lover now, all bets were off.

Dazai’s mouth trailed over his cheek and down his neck. “Getting lost in thought, Chibi?” he purred. “If you’re still able to think, then I must not be doing my job right.” He ground down on Chuuya’s lap, and the thoughts flew right out of his head, giving way to a muffled gasp. Dazai smirked. “That’s more like it.”

A knock had them both jumping apart. “Shit,” Chuuya swore. He quickly glanced around for a hiding place before pushing Dazai off of him and down onto the ground, kicking him under the desk. Dazai let out a yelp of protest. “Shut up, if you know what’s good for you!” Chuuya hissed.

He quickly arranged himself back on the chair, sliding it in to block Dazai from sight and presenting himself as nothing short of professional. “Come in.”

The door was pushed open by a redheaded woman in a silk kimono. “Chuuya,” Kouyou greeted, closing the door behind her.

Chuuya hid the smile threatening his professionalism – it was good to see her. “Ane. It’s ‘Boss’ now, actually, but I’ll let the insubordination slide this once.”

She knew he was teasing her. “I taught you everything you know. In front of the group, I will honor you with your title, but in private you’ll always be just Chuuya to me.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

A stirring under the desk brought his attention swiftly back to Dazai. A warning brush against his pants leg. He kicked sharply, putting the bandaged idiot back in his place.

Kouyou’s eyes snagged on the movement. A sigh escaped her lips, a touch of annoyance in her posture. “Dazai,” she called, “come out from under the desk.”

Chuuya froze for a moment. He briefly considered lying, but what would be the point? Dazai was already poking his head up between his legs, chin resting on top of the desk. Chuuya could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Kouyou! What brings you here?”

Chuuya slid his chair out again and gave Dazai a nudge with his foot, telling him to stand up, for goodness sake, and stop making them look so compromised! Dazai obeyed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stepped away.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Kouyou’s eyes slid pointedly over the pair, as they’d done so many times in their youth.

“I was just making sure Chuuya is comfortable in his new position,” he explained.

Chuuya nearly groaned at the suggestive comment. Kouyou’s expression didn’t change. She eyed Dazai like a particularly smelly bit of fish before turning her eyes back on her boss. “If certain people knew he was here, your new rank could be compromised.”

Dazai answered for him. “Don’t worry, Ane! I know this building like the back of my hand – I can get in and out of this office unseen.”

She didn’t take the bait. “Why are you here?”

Chuuya shot Dazai a glare. “He was just leaving.”

“No, I wasn’t.” The refusal was punctuated with a grin. “Not until I deliver the package, at least.”

Chuuya’s glare sharpened. Dazai could throw around euphemisms all he liked, but Chuuya would draw the line at doing that around Kouyou. “If you think for one damn second-”

Dazai pulled a hand from his pocket and set it on the surface of the desk. His eyes held Chuuya’s for a moment. The Boss read a challenge there, before it softened into something else, almost like affection. The long-fingered hand retreated, leaving behind a modest box wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with a red silk ribbon. Chuuya examined the parcel without touching it. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at Dazai in a silent interrogation. Dazai just smiled and gestured, telling him to open it if he was so curious.

“Perhaps your secretary should open all packages,” Kouyou suggested. “Just in case.”

Chuuya ignored the suggestion, making a mental note to get a secretary soon. Eyes staying on Dazai, watching every little shift in expression, he reached out and untied the ribbon. He discarded it carelessly before tearing the paper and drawing the lid. Finally, he was forced to break eye contact and peer down into the box.

His breath caught. Inside the silk-lined box sat a choker. It was made of fine leather, an inch wide. The piece was plain, pure black broken only by a glittering sapphire set in gold in the center of the black band. He had worked with gems enough in his early days with the mafia to know that this one was not only real, but worth a pretty penny. The gemstone reflected the last beams of the setting sun in brilliant shades of cerulean, at once electric as lightning and deep as the ocean. The clasp at the back was simple, with no room to adjust it; he knew by instinct that it was exactly his size. It was absolutely stunning, understated enough to be worn while bold enough to suit him.

He blinked and realized he had picked up the necklace and held it in his hands. Coming back to his senses, he set it back in the box and stared up at Dazai. “Do I want to know how the fuck you came by a gem like this?”

Dazai didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “It’s from the Agency, to congratulate you on your promotion.”

Chuuya knew that was at least a partial lie. He’d seen everyone’s taste in accessories, and they’d all left something to be desired. No, the gemstone in the center was too similar to the bolo tie hanging around Dazai’s neck. Even if this was officially from the agency members, Dazai had picked this out himself.

There were a hundred things he wanted to say, all ranging from this is perfect to take this back right now, but the only word that made it out was, “Why?”

Dazai blinked. “Why? Because they’re your friends. And they’re happy for you.” A pause. A beat to consider. “Okay, and they’re really glad Mori’s gone and someone we can trust is head of the most powerful group in Yokohama now.”

“Don’t bullshit me. What is this really for?”

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chuuya, don’t be so suspicious. Try it on! I want to see if it fits.”

Kouyou moved between them with the delicate swish of her kimono. Chuuya allowed her to unhook the choker around his neck, staring at Dazai as she did so. Though his smile never faltered, Chuuya knew he didn’t imagine the possessive glint in his partner’s eyes. So Dazai was easily jealous? That could prove to be useful. He was no match for Dazai when it came to manipulation, and they both knew it, but the knowledge that he could affect Dazai so easily was still incredibly satisfying.

He combed his fingers through his hair, taking hold of the longer strands and holding them up to allow Kouyou access as she fastened the new piece around his throat. The first touch of the metal encasing the gemstone was cold, but the leather was smooth against his skin and it sat just right. Tight enough that he couldn’t ignore it. Loose enough to be comfortable.

He stood as Kouyou moved away. The sun had sunk below the horizon, the signs of its fading presence reduced to deep blues and purples. The artificial light in the room struck the glass, creating a clear enough reflection to take in his appearance.

How had he known? The question was the only fully-formed thought as Chuuya examined himself. Somehow, impossibly, the necklace brought the whole look together. He’d visited a tailor that very day, been fitted with an outfit between the customary Port Mafia attire and his Agency clothes. Deep red dress shirt, charcoal three-piece, red scarf symbolizing his position as the boss, and a matching hat. The choker somehow looked just right, bringing a clarity and sharpness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He’d given up asking Dazai how he knew details like this. How he could guess the outfit Chuuya would settle on, of the dozens he’d been presented with. How he’d known the exact sapphire, down to the cut and carat. He caught Dazai’s eyes in the reflection, saw the pride in them. And he decided that he really didn’t care how Dazai had known – the gift was enough.

He looked over his shoulder, not fully facing the man in order to maintain a sense of dignity. But the gaze was intimate enough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He would wonder later how four simple words could have held so much forgiveness and appreciation and promise and acceptance and trust. But for now, he just held Dazai’s gaze a moment longer.

Kouyou interrupted again by a delicate clearing of her throat. “Ace will be waiting,” she said.

Chuuya tore his eyes from Dazai’s to glance at the clock. She was right – the meeting was in five minutes. He’d keep the bastard waiting if it didn’t also mean prolonging the discomfort for himself, too.

“Ace?” Dazai’s tone had hardened and that possessive glint was back.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m just taking out the dirty laundry before he gets too comfortable.”

“You’re firing him?”

“Hell yes, I’m firing him! He’s a coward and a cheat – and he’s been skimming money. He’s lucky he’s got contacts I can still use – otherwise I’d introduce him to a curb and put three bullets in his chest.” Chuuya crossed to his desk again and neatly put away the spare choker. “I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow,” he told Dazai. Despite his new position, he didn’t want to give up working with the Agency. And he owed them some kind of explanation. Besides, he had big plans for the ADA and the Port Mafia, a mutually beneficial deal.

Satisfied that Ace was about to be taken care of, Dazai was back to his teasing self. “Good! I’ve set it up with Fukuzawa. And tonight?”

In response, Chuuya tossed him a key. The key to his apartment. No more sharing that cramped bed of Dazai’s in a tiny little dorm room, not when Chuuya had his silk sheets and sprawling penthouse.

He didn’t need to look at Dazai to know he was smirking, didn’t need to confirm his suspicion that this had all gone exactly how Dazai had planned it would. He simply followed Kouyou to the door, stopping just long enough to demand, “Don’t keep me waiting,” before leaving Dazai alone in the office.

_________

Dazai tilted his coffee mug toward him, peering into the dark liquid inside. He reached across the table, taking the small pitcher of cream from Yosano before pouring a splash into the cup to compliment the sugar he’d added a minute before. Despite everyone else’s tension, he was perfectly at ease.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Kunikida said for the third time that day.

“What part?” Ranpo jested. “Leaving the President alone with a known murderer or the possibility of working alongside the Port Mafia?”

“Both!”

“Relax,” Dazai cut in, leaning back and resting an arm along the back of the booth. “Like I said before, Chuuya just wanted a meeting. It’s polite for the new head of one organization to greet another. Besides, we’ve all worked with him for over a month now – it’s not like he’s suddenly a different person just because Mori left him the position.”

“I’m still not convinced you don’t have something to do with this,” Kunikida accused. “This is all a little too convenient.”

“Mori’s death is convenient for everyone.”

A lull in conversation allowed Dazai time to count the unusual positions of would-be pedestrians outside. He spotted at least two trained killers. Even though Chuuya had come alone, it appeared certain members of the Port Mafia were still stationed around the perimeter, just in case of an attack on their new Boss. It was customary, even if it was also annoying. Dazai huffed irritably. Dating Chuuya was going to be much harder with underlings constantly underfoot.

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” Atsushi mused aloud. He hadn’t touched his meal, a sure sign of anxiety.

Upstairs, Chuuya was struggling inwardly more than he’d ever care to admit. Mori had always managed to look comfortable, no matter the situation. Meeting with presidents of rival groups was never any different. However, Chuuya’s situation was a bit more complicated than that. Technically, Fukuzawa was still his boss. Technically, this wasn’t quite a meeting of equals. So he made sure to give Fukuzawa the deference he was due, while also balancing his own image as head of the most powerful group in Yokohama.

“I understand you and Mori worked together around the time of the Great War,” he commented, nodding in thanks to Haruno as she placed a cup of tea before him. “My condolences.”

Fukuzawa picked up his own cup. “Condolences are hardly warranted. No one knew of his cruelty more intimately than I did. While a death is always a tragic thing, I will not mourn his loss.” The President leveled his stern gaze on Chuuya, and the later felt the weight of it. “It is no small position you have been given. What will you do with it?”

Chuuya answered honestly. “Run the Port Mafia to the best of my ability.” He paused to sip his tea – green and citrusy, far from his favorite – before clarifying. “I plan to clean the organization up.”

“How so?”

“There are certain things Mori allowed that I won’t tolerate. For starters, I plan to effectively end all of the sex trafficking rings Mori set up. That order will be issued today. You’ll start finding victims tomorrow – I trust the Armed Detective Agency and the government will find where they’re all from and place them back in safety. I also intend to lessen the bloodshed, especially of innocent civilians. Mori allowed too many people to be caught in the crossfire.”

Fukuzawa eyed him steadily, expression never shifting. “Lessen the bloodshed, not stop it altogether?”

Chuuya took a breath, getting his thoughts in order. “I’ve considered that carefully. The Port Mafia is responsible for maintaining order in the dark. The simple fact is that there’s no damn way to clean up violence without violence. If we don’t use heavy methods, someone else will. I can’t do away with bloodshed altogether, and I wouldn’t even if I could. The ADA functions much the same way.” It was a slight risk, bringing Fukuzawa’s own methods front and center, but Chuuya made the gamble.

It paid off. “I had been concerned Dazai was rather blinded by affection when he allowed you to take over the Port Mafia,” the President confessed. Chuuya felt his face burn at the implication, and he hid it behind a sip of tea. “But it seems you have considered your position and are prepared to do what you must. So I should ask: where does my agency fit in?”

There it was. The purpose for this whole meeting. Again, Chuuya chose honesty. And a dose of humility. “Getting rid of the uglier side of business may take violence. I’m asking you to turn a blind eye on those cases when I give you a heads-up. I’ll provide ample proof so you know the strike is justified, of course; I’m certainly not asking you to trust me blindly.” He paused, letting the request sink in before he continued. “In exchange, I ask to remain an official member of the Armed Detective Agency, and as such, I personally swear to protect the members of this agency with my life. I will keep my own men from attacking them and I will provide support when we have another Guild-level issue.”

“And if I refuse?”

Chuuya opened his mouth to say that he could forget the protection and the support. That was the smart thing to do. This was business, after all, and if he was going to run the Port Mafia, he needed to learn to separate business matters from personal matters.

But that also wasn’t how he wanted to run things. “To be perfectly honest, sir… official member or not, I will still protect the members of this agency.” It was the truth, pure and simple. “You offered me a place to belong and you did it without compromise. I owe you for that. And beyond that… they’ve become my friends. I’ll help you regardless.”

It was a very poor business move, and he was sure Mori was rolling in his grave. It wasn’t intended to be manipulative – he wasn’t twisting things to get his own way. He just thought Fukuzawa had a right to know exactly where Chuuya stood.

Silence stretched on so long it began to get uncomfortable. While he waited for Fukuzawa to speak, he felt something brush against his leg. A glance at the ground slowed a calico cat rubbing against him. He bent on impulse and scratched the cat’s head, accepting the purr it earned him.

Fukuzawa followed the motion with his eyes and seemed to consider the animal carefully. After a long moment, he spoke. “Have you thought about attempting Corruption while under the effects of my ability?”

It was hardly the answer Chuuya had expected. He blinked in surprise. “Hell yeah, I have.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to know. Arahabaki is fine as a last resort, but if I could control that state…” He shook his head. “No one should have that kind of power.”

“And will you still use it, if the situation called for it?”

Chuuya read between the lines. “You mean without someone else deciding it for me? Yes, if it would save people.” He didn’t think he needed to elaborate further. His previous actions spoke for themselves – it was using Corruption to save his men that had started his whole journey with the Detective Agency to begin with.

The cat purred at his feet. Fukuzawa regarded the cat carefully, with the same penetrating stare he’d been leveling on Chuuya. Just as serious, as if the cat could give him answers. Chuuya prepared himself for another question, but what came instead was a statement. “I accept your terms.”

Chuuya blinked. His surprise got the best of him. “Why?” He heard how stupid the question sounded coming out of his own mouth. What did it matter?

“You’re a good man, Chuuya, and the Port Mafia needs more of those. But more than that… because the cat seems to like you. I would appreciate any help your organization can give us, and I will extend the same courtesy to you.”

He freed a hand from the opposite sleeve of his robe and extended it across the table. Chuuya clasped it. The strength of that hand always surprised him – for such a quiet-looking guy, Fukuzawa was every inch a warrior. The two men stood, and even with the height and age difference, Chuuya felt like an equal. He nodded once and left the President’s office, heading downstairs to join the others in the cafe.

They sat at their usual table, eight agents crammed into two long booths. He watched them from the door. The easy way they interacted with each other still intrigued him. Comfortable company was a rarity in the Port Mafia, especially among individuals as dangerous as the members of the ADA. But there the agents were, laughing and teasing each other, relaxed and vulnerable.

Chuuya would be a part of this team just for Dazai’s sake. But if he was being honest, he wanted a piece of that camaraderie and friendship for himself, too.

He slid into the booth beside Dazai, making everyone else on the bench squeeze together. Ignoring the questioning looks of everyone present, he grabbed Dazai’s cup of coffee and downed the rest of it, wincing at the absurd sweetness of a drink he usually drank bitter. He felt Dazai’s arm rest on the back of the bench behind him: a not-so-subtle message to everyone else.

Atsushi was the first to speak up. “So… how’d it go?”

Chuuya smiled. “Looks like the Port Mafia and the ADA will be working a lot more closely from here on out.” He didn’t give Dazai the satisfaction of looking right at him, but he could make out the pride in the man’s smile from the corner of his eye.

The statement brought varying levels of reactions, ranging from Kunikida’s horrified exclamation to Kenji’s beatific smile. After several minutes of arguing punctuated by reassurance from both Dazai and Ranpo, Chuuya was finally able to lay out his plan. A Yokohama where light and darkness weren’t so separate, where the day and the night faded seamlessly into one another. Not by darkening the lighter sides of the city, but rather by cleaning up the darkness. Monitoring it better, with an eye set beyond profit. A Yokohama that was prepared for the next wave of attacks, be they from another Gifted organization like the Guild, or by a governmental coup d’etat. A Yokohama better able to protect its citizens. Even Kunikida had to show support for that.

A silence fell after he was done with his speech. The agents of the Armed Detective Agency looked at one another across the table, each processing what these changes could mean for each of them. A brighter, safer city. The possibility of more time off. But a long journey to get there.

Yosano was the first to break the silence. “Well… you came all this way, Chuuya. At least order lunch.”