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Chapter Text

Chuuya was well acquainted with torture. He’d been on both ends of it. He knew how to endure and inflict pain excruciating enough to break the mind and body, both. Yet there was no torture quite so exquisite as the one that awaited him on the other side of that simple wooden door. Across the frosted glass window were emblazoned three words: Armed Detective Agency.

The ADA itself was not the cause of his hesitation. He could raze the whole building to rubble and pulverize everyone inside if he had half a mind to. He wouldn't, of course. Not with the ceasefire still in place. Mori saw more use in the detectives alive than dead, and evidently, their president had concluded the same of the Port Mafia. Chuuya would not be the first to break that hard-won truce. He had fought in enough wars between organizations to know the price of peace. But his present pacifism was about to be tested. It was not the agency, but one particular member whom Chuuya dreaded to face. And he was right on the other side of that door.

Just as Chuuya worked up the resolve to turn the handle, the door swung wide open. Chuuya thought for a moment that he’d accidentally neutralized the door’s gravity, with how easily the weighty wooden panel flung outward. Until he came face-to-face with a surprised-looking Kenji on the other side.

“Oh hello, Mr. Chuuya, sir!” the blonde boy exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Did you come back for another fight?” He seemed much more excited by the prospect than everyone else in the room beyond. Chuuya recognized Atsushi, Tanizaki, Kunikida and Kyouka. All wore looks ranging from alarm, to terror, to the grim resolve that they were probably about to die, but would die fighting. Chuuya knew those looks well.

“No, I’m not here for a fight,” said Chuuya, to the room at large. “Sorry?” he said to Kenji.

“Aw, maybe next time, then!” the boy replied cheerfully. “I was just going to get coffee for everyone from downstairs. Would you like one?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuuya clocked Tanizaki making a desperate cutting motion across his throat. Kenji missed it entirely, however, the full force of his beaming attention still fixed on Chuuya. “…No, thank you. This ain’t a social call, either. I’m here to discuss a job.”

“Oh, then you’ll want to talk to Mr. Kunikida.” Kenji pointed to where the man in question was standing rigidly behind one of the desks across the room. Then he passed by Chuuya with a friendly wave and skipped down the stairs, leaving his colleagues without their strongest ability user. He was either very trusting of Chuuya’s intentions, or very confident that the others could handle themselves. Chuuya wasn’t sure which possibility was more unnerving.

Kunikida cleared his throat. “If you’re here on…legitimate business, then I suppose we can discuss it. However, despite the name, this agency is not one of assassins for hire.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “If I wanted assassins, I’ve got ‘em in spades.” He started to walk slowly into the room, keeping his posture relaxed and nonthreatening. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d let down his guard. He eyed Kyouka as he passed, and she bowed with the respect due to a Port Mafia executive. At least she hadn’t forgotten where she came from, which was more than he could say for a certain other traitor among their ranks.

“Why did it get so quiet all of a sudden…?” Said traitor peeked his head out of the office kitchen, a jar of chocolate pudding in hand that was clearly labeled with the name Ranpo. When he set eyes on Chuuya, he lowered the spoon that was halfway to his lips and set the stolen snack aside. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“You’ll lose more than that if you don’t wipe that stupid look off your face,” Chuuya growled. “I’m here as a paying client!” He rattled the black briefcase he was carrying for emphasis. If the rules of gravity applied for him like they did for everyone else, it would have been quite a heavy case.

“I think our client is confused about the services we provide,” said Dazai blithely. “The brothel is a few blocks over.”

Chuuya was on him in the blink of an eye. He dropped the case with a thud and fisted his hands in Dazai’s lapels to drag him down to eye-level. “I bet those girls have twice as much class as you do, you degenerate!”

Dazai’s eyebrows lifted. “My, your temper today is almost as short as y—” Chuuya drew back his fist and slammed it into the wall a hair’s breadth from Dazai’s face, creating a halo of cracks around his head. The bastard didn’t even flinch.

Kunikida adjusted his glasses and scribbled something in his notebook. “I’ll just add damages to your bill.”

“We’ll draw up a formal contract.” Chuuya’s senses were sharper than most, but even he hadn’t heard President Fukuzawa step out of his office. Everyone looked to the silver-haired swordsman in surprise. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Mori. He has politely requested that we do all we can within reason to assist Mr. Nakahara with his case, and promised that Port Mafia interests are not involved. In recognition of the debts this agency owes Mr. Nakahara, I agreed to consider the case. Let’s discuss the details in a more comfortable setting.” He opened up the doors of the conference room and beckoned for them all to join him around the table inside.

Chuuya preferred not to speculate on the nature of Mori and Fukuzawa’s complicated relationship, but sometimes it seemed almost amicable. He couldn’t help but wonder how two men of such opposing ideals could so easily set their differences aside for the sake of a common goal. Things had rarely been so easy between him and Dazai, even when they were supposed to be partners. Chuuya let go of Dazai and sighed. “Geez, you make it sound like I’m some kinda do-gooder like you lot. I didn’t do any of that stuff for the ADA's sake.” Still, he picked up his briefcase and followed Fukuzawa into the conference room and the others, reluctantly, followed him.

Fukuzawa sat down at one head of the table and Chuuya chose the other. The seats on either side of Chuuya remained empty as Fukuzawa’s subordinates all gravitated toward his end of the table like chicks around a mother hen. All except Dazai, who stayed standing sullenly by the door in the hopes of leaving as soon as possible. Kenji returned with coffee, and Fukuzawa’s assistant, Naomi, served tea, which Chuuya also declined. He may have been the one to walk into enemy territory, but it would be stupid to take unnecessary chances. Plenty of people had tried to poison him before, and a few had actually succeeded.

“Before we begin, if you don’t mind,” said Fukuzawa, “I believe we will all feel more at ease if Dazai maintains physical contact with you while you’re here.”

Dazai sputtered indignantly at the suggestion, but all Chuuya said was, “Fine.” Despite the few times he had aided the ADA out of necessity, they had no reason to trust each other. Fukuzawa had been accommodating so far, and he had every right to ask for some insurance in return. Chuuya didn’t need his ability to defend himself, after all.

He caught Dazai looking at him curiously, but it was just the barest flicker across his face before his expression shifted seamlessly into a childish pout. “Do I have to?” Dazai whined.

“I’d feel a little better if you did,” offered Atsushi sheepishly. “No offense, Mr. Nakahara.”

“None taken. If you feel safe around me, I haven’t been doing my job right.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m with Atsushi on this one, Dazai,” said Tanizaki.

Fukuzawa gave Dazai a look, and Dazai slumped in resignation. He trudged over to Chuuya’s side of the table and dropped down into the chair beside him with a theatrical sigh. A mischievous glance out of the corner of his eye was Chuuya’s only warning before he felt Dazai’s hand on his thigh under the table.

Chuuya immediately slapped it away. “I know you need skin contact, asshole!” he hissed.

“Hmm, you’re right.” Dazai’s fingers started to creep up under Chuuya’s shirt instead.

Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s wrist and slammed it down on the table. Then he placed his own wrist in Dazai’s open hand. Chuuya had come on his day off, so he wasn’t wearing his work clothes. Still, his black leather jacket with cropped sleeves bared his forearms from elbow to glove much like his suit jacket did. He’d gotten into the habit of dressing that way during their Double Black years, just in case shit hit the fan and he had to break out Corruption, and then Dazai had to break him out of its clutches. He hadn’t changed up his wardrobe much since then. It wasn’t even that long ago. Dazai’s fingers curled around his wrist just as they had all those times before. It was almost instinct. Chuuya tried not to think about how effortlessly familiar it still was. How giving up his power to Dazai didn’t feel like giving up much at all.

The next thing Chuuya slammed on the table was his briefcase. He popped the lock with his free hand and opened the case, revealing stacks of high-denomination bills. “There’s thirty million yen in there. That’s enough to engage your services, I assume.”

Fukuzawa barely batted an eye. “That is ten times our usual fee.”

“The rest is for your discretion.” Chuuya was already loath to seek outside help in his personal affairs. The cash was the carrot. If they were still inclined to go running their mouths to the authorities, then the stick suited Chuuya just as well.

“You do not need to bribe us for that,” said Fukuzawa. “Discretion is a matter of policy here.”

“Then consider it hazard pay. I ain’t your typical client, and this ain’t your typical case.”

Fukuzawa thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “If that is what you believe is fair compensation, then I suppose we can put it to good use.”

“But sir,” said Kunikida, wide-eyed in disbelief, “surely we can’t accept…ill-gotten gains.”

Chuuya scoffed. “The money ain’t stolen, if that’s what you’re implying. I earned it fair and square. That’s a week’s wages.”

Tanizaki broke into nervous laughter. “Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work.”

Kunikida glared at him. “Maybe you are,” said Chuuya, earning plenty of glares of his own from around the table. He merely shrugged. “Hey, you’ve poached plenty of our people. Turnabout’s fair play. His ability’s better suited to our kind of work, anyway.”

“Regardless, that is not why you’ve come,” said Fukuzawa calmly.

Chuuya glanced around the table once more, noting that not all members of the agency were present. “Where’s the brat with the glasses? He can solve a case in seconds, right?”

“Ranpo is currently assisting the police with an investigation,” answered Fukuzawa. “He has worked hard to cultivate his reputation with local law enforcement. If he were to be seen associating with an executive of the Port Mafia, all of that would be jeopardized. I would not assign him to your case for any fee, no matter how high.”

Chuuya wasn’t used to being refused. He let Fukuzawa’s words sink in as the other members of the detective agency fidgeted nervously. Of course, the president might change his tune if the alternative was Chuuya’s knife through his throat, but the politics were too tricky for that sort of thing. If Chuuya could solve his present problem with force, he wouldn’t be here.

Dazai smirked, as through reading Chuuya’s thoughts across his face. Hell, he probably could. Even after all these years, Chuuya still never knew what Dazai was thinking, but he always seemed to be able to read Chuuya like a book. Chuuya took some small satisfaction in the fact that he was about to wipe that smirk off the bastard’s face. “Then I need Dazai,” he said.

Dazai’s fingers spasmed around his wrist, nearly losing his grip as he fell into a coughing fit. Fukuzawa eyed them both with deep suspicion. Even on opposite sides, Double Black could still shake the foundations of Yokohama if their goals realigned. “Why him?” asked Fukuzawa.

“Believe me, he’s the last person I want to work with,” Chuuya replied, looking Dazai right in the eye. “But he’s the only one who has…context.” He knew Dazai would know what he meant. And sure enough, an interested gleam flashed across Dazai’s dark eyes.

“I understand if there are particulars that you do not wish to discuss with erstwhile enemies here,” Fukuzawa allowed. “But Dazai is a vital member of this agency.”

Kunikida scoffed. “He spent the morning reading a trashy romance novel and passing off his paperwork to Atsushi. It’s not like he’s busy.”

Fukuzawa shot his subordinate a chastising look, while Chuuya suddenly found himself sympathizing with the man. Dazai was a scourge upon whoever he worked with, it seemed. “If this case is as dangerous as you've implied,” Fukuzawa continued, “then I am hesitant to assign him to it without certain assurances. I know the Port Mafia keeps its word. Can you guarantee his safety, to the best of your considerable abilities?”

“You have my word. I won’t let anything happen to him,” said Chuuya seriously. “The only one who gets to kill this bastard is me.”

“President, you’re not seriously considering this?” Dazai whined. “I really am quite busy.” He leaned over to his subordinate and whispered, “Atsushi, give me back my paperwork.”

“Actually, Atsushi, please pass that paperwork on to Tanizaki,” instructed Fukuzawa. “I’d like you to join Dazai on this case.”

“Hang on,” said Chuuya, “I ain’t babysitting the kid.”

“On the contrary,” Fukuzawa replied. “Atsushi will be keeping an eye on you and Dazai to ensure things don’t get out of hand. Won’t you, Atsushi?”

“Um…” Atsushi glanced nervously between both members of the most notoriously destructive duo in the country. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I haven’t agreed to this,” said Chuuya.

“You may take them both, or you may take neither,” said Fukuzawa. “The choice is yours.”

Chuuya growled low in his throat. He was usually the one driving the hard bargains. But he knew when he was faced with terms he couldn’t refuse. “We have a deal,” he said, reversing his and Dazai’s grip to haul the taller man to his feet as Chuuya stood. He began to drag Dazai unwillingly from the room. “Come on, weretiger,” he called back over his shoulder.

Atsushi nearly tipped his chair over in his hurry to chase after Chuuya and Dazai, already anxious over whether he should intervene. Before the kid could even try, Chuuya shoved Dazai out the front door, then held it open for Atsushi to follow. Atsushi gave him a quick, polite bow, then rushed to his superior’s side. “Please, just try not to make him mad,” he pleaded with Dazai.

Chuuya barked a laugh. “I was about to tell you the same thing,” he said to Atsushi. “You’re not the only one I’m babysitting today.” 

Chuuya’s red convertible was parked out front, right where he’d left it. In the passenger’s seat, also right where he’d left him, was Akutagawa. When he and Atsushi locked eyes, almost identical expressions of shock and outrage passed over their faces as they demanded in unison, “What is he doing here?!”

Chapter Text

“Our bosses are more alike than I thought,” Chuuya explained as he drove through the sunny city streets toward their destination. “Fukuzawa sent Atsushi along to help keep a lid on things, and Mori sent Akutagawa with me for the same reason. But together, you two are as liable to blow the lid off as me and Dazai.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Now I’m feeling like I lowballed that hazard pay.”

Akutagawa had dutifully given up the passenger’s seat to Dazai without prompting, even though it meant sharing the backseat with Atsushi. The two of them sat beside each other in tense silence, like a pair of petulant children who’d just as soon be pulling each other’s hair and biting each other’s fingers if not for the scolding they knew they’d get from their parents.

“Of course, that’s not the only reason,” Chuuya continued. “See, Akutagawa’s like a dog. If we don’t take him out for walks, he starts tearing up the furniture. Which says more about the trainer than the dog.” He shot Dazai a scathing look. “Maybe it’s the same with the weretiger.”

“I don’t destroy furniture,” Atsushi grumbled.

“It’s a metaphor, you simpleton,” Akutagawa spat.

“Actually, it’s a simile,” Dazai pointed out.

Akutagawa snapped his mouth shut and hung his head in shame. Just like a goddamn dog whose master had beaten obedience into him.

Chuuya’s leather gloves creaked as his grip tightened around the steering wheel. “It’s both,” he said. “First statement: simile. Second statement: metaphor. Fucker.”

“Ah, I thought the second statement was literal,” said Dazai. “Akutagawa has been known to tear up the furniture when he gets frustrated.”

“It’s true,” said Akutagawa sullenly.

“He’s not your boss anymore, Akutagawa!” Chuuya snapped. “You don’t have to play his bullshit power games!”

Dazai had the gall to look at Chuuya with an utterly innocent expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, you fucked the kid up enough already!” Now, it was the metal of the steering wheel that was starting to creak in Chuuya’s grip as gravity fluctuated around him.

“Um, Dazai, remember what I said about not making Mr. Nakahara mad?” Atsushi piped up nervously behind them.

“You certainly shouldn’t make him mad,” said Dazai. “But I happen to be the one person he can’t implode to the size of a mung bean.”

“H-has he really done that before?” asked Atsushi.

“Oh yes, many times,” Dazai replied. “He keeps people who were rude to him in a jar in his desk drawer for whenever he wants a snack.”

With effort, Chuuya loosened his grip on the steering wheel. “I do not, Dazai. Stop scaring the kid.”

Akutagawa leaned over and whispered, “Actually, he keeps them in the glove compartment.”

Atsushi yelped.

“Not helping, Akutagawa.” Chuuya sighed. “And call me Chuuya. Nobody uses my surname.”

“A-alright, but may I ask why? I mean, you’re an executive. Shouldn’t everyone use your surname?”

“I’m not too fond of it,” Chuuya answered honestly. “Chuuya is my name. Nakahara was…someone else’s.”

“I see,” said Atsushi. Chuuya doubted that. “Sometimes family…isn’t really family.” Or perhaps he did. In some way, at least.

“We’re here,” said Chuuya, pulling the car over to the side of the road and killing the engine.

“Where is here?” Atsushi asked.

They were in an entirely nondescript part of the city. Some lesser government buildings and industrial complexes provided about as much local flavor as day-old soba. It wasn’t Port Mafia territory, nor was it anyone else’s, because there was nothing of interest to anyone around. Still, Chuuya would never forget this place. “The scene of a crime that never happened.”

Chuuya stepped out of the car, quickly glancing around for signs of any sort of disturbance, but everything was just how he remembered it. Walking slowly, as though the asphalt were the dark and delicate surface of a frozen lake, he returned to the spot he’d been standing in two days before. He felt Dazai’s eyes on his back like a brand as the others followed him in silence. Finally, his feet settled into a pair of shallow craters in the pavement. Anyone else would assume they were potholes, but they were the perfect size for Chuuya’s feet. “I was standing right here…” He turned, suddenly, meeting Dazai’s intense gaze head-on. “Does your agency have intel on any operations in this area?”

“No,” Dazai answered evenly.

Chuuya growled in frustration. “The Port Mafia doesn’t think there’s anything worth a damn here, either. But there has to be something, because someone wanted to wipe this whole place off the map!”

“And they tried to use you to do it.” Dazai could fill in the blanks as effortlessly as ever. But he’d missed a big one this time.

“Not me,” said Chuuya. “Arahabaki.”

Dazai’s expression remained almost unchanged. His eyes widened a mere fraction. It was enough for Chuuya to tell that he was genuinely surprised. “We’re well within city limits. It could have leveled the rest of Yokohama if left to its own devices. Then again, there are few who know the extent of its power,” he reasoned. "Perhaps they didn't know what they were dealing with."

“Exactly,” said Chuuya. “If the goal was to destroy the city, why start here? There must be something about this place.”

Atsushi raised his hand like a school boy in the middle of class. “Um, sorry, what is Arahabaki?”

Dazai hummed thoughtfully. “You could say it was the third member of Double Black.”

“It is a god of calamity and black flame,” intoned Akutagawa.

“It’s a pain in my ass is what it is,” said Chuuya. “I can’t control it. No one can. Everyone who thought differently is dead.”

“How can you be sure it was Arahabaki they wanted?” Dazai asked. “You’re more than capable of wanton destruction on your own.”

“I was saying the words, Dazai!” Chuuya hauled in a breath, voice going uncharacteristically quiet. “I couldn’t stop…until I could. No one but you has heard those words and lived. So how could they know?”

“You mean you had no control over yourself?” asked Atsushi.

“None,” Chuuya hissed, as much as it pained him to admit. “It was like I was…sleepwalking. The last thing I remember, I was leaving headquarters after work to meet Kouyou for drinks. The next, I was standing here, three words away from unleashing hell on earth. I don’t even remember how I got here, or if I came alone—”

“You were alone,” said Atsushi. He fidgeted under the sudden weight of everyone’s attention. “Well, sort of. A car with a diesel engine dropped you off at that corner,” he pointed across the street, “then drove away. It didn’t stay long.” He scratched his head self-consciously. “I, uh, I can pick up your scent from the last time you were here. You wear a nice cologne.”

“That’s weird, weretiger,” said Chuuya. “Helpful, but weird.”

“Can you track the car by its scent?” asked Akutagawa.

Atsushi shook his head. “These are quiet streets, but I’d lose the trail as soon as it turned onto a main road. Too many other cars.”

“Useless,” Akutagawa sighed.

“Hey! That’s more than you’ve contributed!”

“I do not call myself a detective!”

Dazai latched a hand around the backs of both their necks, preempting them unleashing their abilities on each other. “Now, now, you each have your strengths,” he crooned. The two of them hung their heads like limp kittens in their mother’s jaws, chastised and calmed in equal measure. “Just like me and Chuuya! I handled strategy, and he hit stuff really hard.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “In other words, I did all the dirty work while you held my leash.”

Dazai waved a hand dismissively. “We had a fair deal. You do all the work in battle, I do all the work in bed.”

“I did all the work in bed, too!” Chuuya snapped.

“I shouldn’t be hearing this.” Atsushi turned away, red-faced, and pressed his hands over his ears.

Akutagawa had heard it all before, but he at least pretended to be interested in something across the street, and he used Rashomon to drag Atsushi along with him. Once they were gone, Dazai leaned in close, catching Chuuya off-guard. For a moment, Chuuya’s brain cycled rapidly between two possibilities: let Dazai kiss him or punch the bastard in the face. He never decided on one, because Dazai stopped short and murmured, “Were you wearing your hideous hat when it happened?”

Of course, Dazai’s true intention had been to secure them a moment of privacy. Chuuya forced his mind back to the matter at hand. “It’s a normal-looking hat, and you know I always wear it.”

“Then what you’re worried about can’t be what happened,” said Dazai, infuriatingly calm.

“I don’t know how it works!” Chuuya threw up his hands. “Maybe there’s another way.”

“There isn’t,” said Dazai. “I would know.”

“Even if you did know, would you tell me?”

“Regardless,” said Dazai, “there’s no one left alive who knows how to alter your programming. Thanks to you and Verlaine, that whole field of research is one big black hole. The explanation is likely much simpler.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Chuuya growled. “Mori checked me out himself.” Dazai made a face of absolute disgust, putting Chuuya on the defensive. “He’s a doctor!”

“He’s a pervert. He happens to like little girls, but Chuuya happens to resemble a little g—”

Chuuya slammed the heel of his hand into Dazai’s throat, then drew back his fist faster than a viper strike. “Open your mouth, and you won’t have enough teeth left to finish that sentence.”

Dazai wheezed, clutching at the bandages around his neck. Atsushi was swift to reappear by his superior’s side while Akutagawa remained at an ambivalent distance. He would never directly defy his own superior, not after the work Dazai had done on him. But this was Dazai. If Chuuya ordered him not to interfere while he beat Dazai black and blue, Akutagawa’s loyalty would truly be put to the test. It was exactly the sort of test Dazai might devise. Chuuya lowered his fist.

“The simplest explanation,” Dazai croaked, “is another ability user.”

“I see,” said Akutagawa. “No physical ability is a match for Chuuya’s, but a mental ability has no mass, therefore, no gravity.”

“Just to be clear, are we talking about mind control?” asked Atsushi. “Are there people who can actually do that?”

“You’ve met one,” said Dazai. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten Q’s little field trip?”

“Oh.” Atsushi shuddered. “I guess I didn’t think Q had much control over that ability, let alone the people cursed by it.”

“Every ability has its limits,” Dazai acknowledged. “But there have been documented cases of ability users who were able to manipulate the mind to varying degrees. They are usually killed soon after their ability becomes known. No organization is willing to harbor them. Q is a rare exception, because Dogra Magra is unusually powerful, and can be controlled by possession of that doll. The Port Mafia is always seeking power it can control.”

“No one with that type of ability has crossed the Port Mafia’s radar since I became an executive,” said Chuuya.

“Given the Port Mafia’s lack of interests in this area, the motive likely has nothing to do with them,” said Dazai. “It’s probably personal.” Chuuya’s puzzled look prompted him to clarify, “Personal to the culprit of course, not to you. You’re just the weapon. You ought to be used to that.”

Chuuya’s hands clenched into fists and the ground crumbled further beneath his feet. “If that’s how it is, then this whole thing pisses me off even more. I’ll show this fucker just how dangerous a weapon I can be.”

“Are we already sure that violence is the only way to resolve this?” Atsushi interjected hesitantly.

“Oh yes,” said Dazai, an old, familiar gleam in his eyes. “But don’t worry, you can keep your hands clean. When the time comes, all you have to do is stay out of Chuuya’s way.”

Chapter Text

As Chuuya’s anger simmered down to embers, he became aware of the prickling sensation that they were being watched. One look at Dazai told him his former partner had already picked up on it. Dazai’s subtle glance directed his attention to a narrow alley between two brick buildings halfway down the block. Chuuya didn’t turn his head, but in his peripheral vision he could just make out a darkly dressed figure peering out of the shadows.

“Akutagawa, my four o’clock, fifty meters,” Chuuya ordered under his breath.

With barely a glance in his target’s direction, Akutagawa suddenly shot forth two heads of Rashomon like striking snakes. There was a pained grunt and a spray of blood over the bricks, and then Chuuya had closed the distance just as quickly. But when he kicked off the opposite wall into the mouth of the alley, he found it empty. Wasting no momentum, he leapt up to the roof of the four-story building to get a better vantage point, but he couldn’t see their observer anywhere. He dropped back down to rejoin the others, who had made it to the alley as fast as they could.

“Did anyone see where they went?” Chuuya demanded.

Dazai pointed down to a trail of blood spatter at their feet, which snaked partway down the alley before abruptly coming to an end. Chuuya smashed his fists through the brick walls on either side of where the trail stopped, only to reveal a vacant office and a dingy storage room, neither of which looked like they had seen any use in awhile. He slammed his foot down into the pavement, but all he found beneath the ground was a water main, which burst on impact and sprayed Dazai in the face. Chuuya didn’t even stop to savor the spluttering, sopping scene he made. There were no signs of secret passages anywhere.

Chuuya whirled around on his heel. “Atsushi?”

“The trail ends here,” said Atsushi, shaking his head. “I can’t smell where they went.”

“I’m sorry, sir!” Akutagawa dropped to one knee, head bowed. “I tried to hold them, but all Rashomon came away with was this.” The dark serpentine ability opened its jagged jaws and dropped a torn scrap of bloody black fabric into Chuuya’s hand. It was pinned through by a cufflink made out of what looked like a brass clock gear.

Chuuya curled his fingers around it. “They can’t have gotten far,” he growled.

Dazai’s hand brushed against his forearm, and Chuuya’s fluttering jacket fell limp as gravity normalized around him once more. “If you tear this place apart, you’ll be doing exactly what you were supposed to do in the first place,” said Dazai. He chose that moment to shake the water out of his hair, just because Chuuya couldn’t use his ability to keep from getting splashed. “Besides,” he continued, wiping his face with his coat sleeve while Chuuya contemplated putting the bastard’s head through the wall just to be thorough, “I don’t think that person was the same one who brought you here. We weren’t followed and no one knew we were coming, so they were probably here already. Which makes it more likely that they’re one of the people our culprit intended to eliminate.”

As much as Chuuya wanted to flatten everything in a five-block radius until he found their fugitive, Dazai was right. Dazai was always right, and it made Chuuya’s blood boil. But in this case, Chuuya reminded himself, Dazai was working for him, and his advice was for Chuuya’s benefit. Chuuya unclenched his fist and held the torn suit cuff and cufflink out to Dazai. “This anything you recognize?”

Dazai laid a finger over his lips in thought. “I can’t say it is, although it certainly reminds me of something. My best guess is that it’s a symbol of an organization operating in this area that neither the Port Mafia nor the Armed Detective Agency knew was here. But someone else knows, and they want to wipe it out. That’s where you come in. If this person has a mind control ability, then they could have taken their pick of ability users in Yokohama, but they chose the one with the greatest destructive capability. The one who has wiped out other organizations in the past. You’re the big guns, Chuuya. Figuratively speaking.”

Chuuya cracked his knuckles and lifted his chin to stare Dazai down. “Let’s see you keep making height jokes after I put your lanky ass in a wheelchair.”

“No, let’s not!” Atsushi frantically waved his hands in front of them to break their eye contact. When their eyes settled on him instead, he backpedaled. “I-I mean, you should save it for the real enemy, right?”

“Once I find whoever dared to fuck with me like this, there won’t be enough left of them to put in a wheelchair,” Chuuya vowed. Still, he stepped back to consider their next move. “First we have to figure out just what this underground organization is. But if none of the other organizations know about them, then they’re obviously pretty good at staying undetected.”

“I didn’t say none of the other organizations know about them,” Dazai corrected. “There’s one organization whose purpose is to monitor all the others. You know just as well as I do who would have the information we need.”

Chuuya tilted his head back with a long, drawn out groan. “I’m already working with one traitor on this case, and you expect me to go crawling to another one?”

“Remember, he came crawling to you first. Unless I’m mistaken, he still owes you a dragon-sized favor.” Dazai leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Won’t it be fun to remind him?”

Chuuya eyed Dazai suspiciously. “Weren’t you supposed to be his friend? Why do I feel like you just want to watch me scare the piss out of him?”

Dazai’s smile widened. “What’s a little fear between friends?”

“Now you’re just making me feel sorry for the guy. I’ll never understand why he and Sakunosuke put up with your shit for so long when they didn’t have to.”

“They never saw through it quite like you did,” said Dazai strangely.

Chuuya stared at him for a long time trying to gauge the sincerity of that statement, and how the hell Dazai expected him to respond to it. Finally, he gave up. “Let’s go, then. You two can have a goddamn traitors’ reunion for all I care. As long as he’s got something useful to say.”

“You know,” said Dazai, back to his usual teasing tone as they walked back to the car, “anyone else might consider it a benefit to have connections in other organizations.”

“Loyalty matters more,” said Chuuya. “Without it, we all might as well just turn on each other.”

“If that were to happen, Chuuya would probably come out on top.”

“On top of what?” Chuuya asked. “There’d be nothing left.”

***

The location of Special Division headquarters was ostensibly a secret, but like Port Mafia headquarters, it was one of the worst-kept secrets in Yokohama. Both organizations relied on their strength more than secrecy. Only a suicidal head case or a very powerful ability user would ever try to break into either. Between Dazai and Chuuya, they checked both boxes.

Chuuya kicked down the titanium-reinforced front door of the private government library, sending it sailing into the first contingent of armed guards inside. The next opened fire upon him, so he sent their bullets shooting right back into their guns, causing the worthless weapons to explode in their hands. The third attempted to surround him, so he reversed their gravity and let them fall up to the ceiling, then crash back down to the floor. All the guards in the lobby were neutralized within seconds.

Chuuya marched on toward the main staircase with Dazai and Akutagawa following calmly in his wake. Atsushi trailed behind, murmuring apologies to all the injured guards they passed. The moment Chuuya put his hand on the bannister, a wave of special forces appeared on the level above, aiming dozens of compact RPG launchers down at him. The combined firepower would be enough to bring down the building. Chuuya could do that, too. His grip tightened on the bannister, and the whole second story started to shake, sending half the soldiers pitching forward over the railing to fall at Chuuya’s feet. The other half scrambled to regain their footing and their aim while chunks of the floor and ceiling rained down around them.

“Stand down!” The familiar voice drew Chuuya’s attention as Ango came running to the top of the stairs. “It’s A5158, your weapons are ineffective! For god’s sake, stand down!”

The soldiers who were still standing heeded his order and lowered their weapons, so Chuuya halted his assault as well. “I’ve come to collect,” he said.

Ango’s already pasty face turned even paler. “I thought so. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya cocked his head. “Then why such a sorry reception?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to storm the place! You could have just made an appointment.”

Chuuya squinted up at him in confusion. “I don’t have your number.”

“Dazai does!” Ango pointed accusingly at the man in question.

“Oops! I must’ve forgotten to mention it,” said Dazai, with all the innocence of a fox in a henhouse.

Chuuya heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, my appointment’s right now. Clear your schedule.”

Ango pursed his lips like he wanted to argue further, but knew it would be unwise. “Right this way,” he said, finally, gesturing for them to follow him up into his office.

Most of the books on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the room had fallen onto the floor, and the papers that had doubtless been neatly stacked atop Ango’s desk before Chuuya’s arrival were now scattered all around it. Tidying up the place would be a real nightmare, and the look on Ango’s face said he’d be spending the rest of his day doing it. Provided he survived the next twenty minutes.

He settled into the chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers atop the polished mahogany. “I presume this has something to do with Arahabaki.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I have reason to believe you are being targeted. Three days ago, our files on the Arahabaki incident were stolen—”

“WHAT?!” Chuuya slammed his hands down on the desk, nearly cracking it clean in two.

“Please, allow me to explain!”

“Information is your whole fucking job!” Chuuya shouted in his face. “You’re telling me you let someone walk out of here with Top Secret files?!”

“It was another agent vetted at the highest level. Their clearance allowed them unfettered access to all classified material.” Ango spoke quickly, attempting to get as many words out as possible before Chuuya decided to crack his skull next. “Even though security camera footage clearly shows them removing the files from the restricted archives, they have maintained under intense interrogation that they have no memory of doing so. They didn’t even attempt to cover their tracks. They must have known they would get caught when they failed to return the files. It doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

“Unless they’re telling the truth,” Dazai finished. “Which would mean someone else used them to gain access to those files.”

“Precisely,” said Ango. “And given the contents, that person would then be very interested in you, Chuuya.”

“So this is all your fault.” Chuuya grabbed the end of Ango’s necktie and hauled him down over the desk. His hands scrabbled in the scattered pool of papers, failing to find purchase. “Maybe I should take your head, after all.”

Ango swallowed hard as Chuuya pulled the tie tighter around his neck. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Chuuya could see in his eyes that he was prepared to pay his debt with his life. It was long overdue, and the theft of those files on his watch had just compounded the interest. Chuuya was well within his rights to take what he was owed. Atsushi would probably try to intervene, but Chuuya, unlike Akutagawa, could easily deal with the weretiger. No one could stop him.

Lithe fingers settled over his shoulder like a spider and gentle lips brushed his ear like moth wings. “You still haven’t gotten what you came for,” Dazai murmured.

Chuuya shuddered. All of a sudden, the past four years were gone, and his partner was still pulling his strings. Whispers in his ear told him which lives to take and which to spare. They set him down certain paths and turned him away from others, even though Chuuya couldn’t see where any of them ended. Dazai could. That was what it meant to be half of Double Black. They were two monsters in the dark, and they had to trust that their claws weren’t about to close around each other’s throats. That their enemies had more to fear from them than they did from each other. The only thing worse would be walking through the darkness alone.

But Chuuya was alone. Like a moth flitting pitifully toward the light, Dazai had left him down in the darkness. Like a spider that had abandoned its web, he’d left Chuuya all tangled up in his old strings. He didn’t seem to care that the light he was chasing was one he would never reach, and that those who lived in its warmth would recoil from the cold, dark thing inside Dazai if they ever truly saw it. Chuuya’s monster just happened to have a name, but deep down, they were both snarling, starving things pretending to be human. Dazai would probably keep pretending until it killed him. But Chuuya wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was the fucking dark.

With one sharp yank on Ango’s tie, Chuuya smashed the other man’s face down against the desk. His glasses shattered and blood gushed brightly from his broken nose onto his pristine white documents, but it was far from a killing blow. “I’ll give you one chance to save your skin,” said Chuuya. He pulled out the tourist map he’d picked up on the way and spread it out across the desk. Then he drove his dagger through it to mark the place they had come from. “You’d better have some useful information for me about whatever organization is operating out of this area.”

Ango groaned, leaning back in his chair and holding his handkerchief to his nose to slow the bleeding. “Just give me a minute.” He tossed his broken glasses aside and fumbled for a spare pair in his desk drawer. Before he put them on, he pinched both sides of his nose and reset the break with a quiet crunch and a loud gasp. Settling the spare glasses gingerly over his nose, he took a look at the map. “Officially, there’s nothing there,” he said.

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially, many international organizations maintain outposts in this country to gather intelligence on our own organizations, and the Japanese government turns a blind eye to it because we are able to gather intelligence on them in the process. Somewhere in that area is where the Order of the Clock Tower outpost is located, although we aren’t sure exactly where.”

Chuuya reached into his pocket and dropped the clockwork cufflink on top of the map. “That their symbol?”

“Yes.” Ango frowned. “Did you kill one of their agents?”

“I doubt it,” Chuuya grumbled. “But someone wants me to. Whoever was really behind the theft of the Arahabaki files doesn’t just have an academic interest in them. The idiot wants a practical demonstration, with that Clock Tower outpost as ground zero.”

Ango straightened in his chair. “How can you be sure?”

Chuuya knew he had to level with Ango if he expected the same in return, but that made it no less frustrating to admit that he’d been caught completely off-guard. “Because, like your highly-vetted agent, I found myself doing something I have no memory of. But unlike your agent, I stopped myself before things got…out of hand.”

Ango was smart enough to connect the dots and ask only the important questions. “How were you able to stop?”

Unfortunately, Chuuya had no answers. “I wish I knew. Now, you tell me: are you aware of an ability user who could do something like that? Someone with a grudge against the Order of the Clock Tower, who knew about the Arahabaki files?”

Ango stood and crossed to a filing cabinet embedded in one of the bookcases, unlocking it with his fingerprint. He flipped through the files and pulled out a slim dossier, which he brought back and spread out on the desk before Chuuya. On the first page was a photo of a young man in a white suit with long, blonde hair. His fine features gave him an angelic aura, but there was something serpentine about his eyes.

“John Milton was a distinguished knight of the Order of the Clock Tower in Britain until a few months ago, when he was exiled for attempting a coup,” Ango started to summarize. “His ability, Paradise Lost, seemingly subjugates another’s free will. Technically, it selectively removes resistance to temptation. No matter how small, if the temptation is there, he can make the person act upon it. However, he can’t make someone do something they aren’t already tempted to do in some way. He evidently used his ability on his fellow knights of the Order with the aim of supplanting their leader. If not for the swift intervention of Europole agent Adam Frankenstein, whose status as an autonomous humanoid supercomputer rendered him impervious to Milton’s ability, the coup may well have succeeded.”

“Adam, huh?” Chuuya couldn’t help but crack a smile at hearing that old name again. “At least that hunk of junk’s making himself useful over there. But why was Milton exiled rather than executed? Don’t tell me the Brits are too polite for that sorta thing.”

“He is a minor member of the royal family,” Ango answered. “Far enough down in the line of succession to remain out of the public eye, but the Order of the Clock Tower is sworn to protect the Crown and never to spill a drop of royal blood. Therefore, exile was their only recourse. They sent out Milton’s dossier to other world powers as a warning to whichever country he would seek refuge in.”

Chuuya’s jaw clicked. “So you had a warning about this guy?”

“If he is in Japan, he has been lying low,” Ango explained. “But as a former high-ranking member of the Order of the Clock Tower, he would have some knowledge of the Arahabaki incident. Perhaps enough to guess at the existence of the files. After what you’ve told me, I will make finding him and detaining him in Mersault my highest priority.”

“Not if I find him first.” Chuuya straightened and pulled his dagger out of Ango’s desk.

Ango leapt to his feet. “Please don’t go after him! You can’t counter his ability, and if he were to gain control of Arahabaki—”

“No one can control Arahabaki,” Chuuya growled.

“Not to mention, you can’t counter Milton’s ability either, Ango,” Dazai chimed in. “I can, of course, but Chuuya has already hired me. So I’m afraid I have to help him close his case. I’ll let you know how it goes!” He gave Ango a friendly wave goodbye as he followed Chuuya and Akutagawa, stoic as ever, out of the room. Atsushi once again brought up the rear with a bevy of apologies. Judging by the state they left Ango and his office in, those apologies would go about as far as a bunch of lead balloons.

Even so, Chuuya supposed the kid’s efforts were admirable. Good manners never hurt anybody. So, as they walked back through the lobby and past throngs of moaning, injured guards who tried pathetically to crawl out of their path, Chuuya called back over his shoulder, “Sorry for the lack of communication, fellas! Feel free to forward your medical bills to me. Your boss knows how to get in touch.”

Chapter Text

“Wherever we’re going next, can we possibly keep the violence and property damage to a minimum?” asked Atsushi once they were back in the car. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “At this rate, President Fukuzawa’s going to have a new tiger skin rug for his office.”

“You’re going home,” Chuuya told him. “I’m dropping you back at the detective agency. Then I’m taking Akutagawa back to headquarters. The two of you are only gonna be a liability from here on out. Dazai and I can handle this ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, but I won’t accept that,” said Atsushi. “I don’t doubt what you and Dazai are capable of, but the president assigned me to this case, and I have to see it through.”

“Sir, I cannot allow you and Dazai to rely on the weretiger as your only backup,” Akutagawa joined in. “I will remain at your side until our target is eliminated.”

Chuuya hissed a long, exhausted exhale. “Listen, it’s getting late, and we still don’t have a lead on where to look for this guy. What we have is a name, which I'll give to Port Mafia intelligence to see if they can turn up anything else on him. But I’m not gonna hunt him down tonight. I am gonna go have a drink, because it’s been a long day. I’m pretty sure one of you is underage, and I know the other one’s a lightweight, so I’m taking you both home. If you’re still feeling stubborn in the morning, then you can meet me at headquarters.”

“That is acceptable,” said Akutagawa.

“Just don’t go off without us,” Atsushi insisted.

Having settled on a compromise, Chuuya could finally be free of the kids, if only for the evening. Dazai was the greater difficulty. “You never know when Milton might try again,” he said with exaggerated anxiety. “If he makes you destroy half the city and I’m not there to snap you out of it, I’ll be in big trouble at the agency. Luckily, I’ll be able to tell immediately if he has control of you! The minute you start acting normal, I’ll know something’s wrong.”

“You’re the abnormal one, suicide freak!”

They bickered back and forth all the way to the ADA. After dropping Atsushi off, Dazai spent the ride to headquarters sulking, or perhaps plotting. But once Akutagawa was gone, the two of them settled into a more familiar silence. Chuuya had finally resigned himself to having his evening ruined, and he knew better than to burn out all his energy over Dazai’s every little barb. He had learned to hit where it hurt. That was probably why he found himself driving to Bar Lupin.

The bar was a Port Mafia favorite, but Chuuya had often avoided it when it was Dazai’s old haunt. Once he no longer had to worry about Dazai lurking around, Chuuya had come to appreciate the place more. The atmosphere was refined without being stuffy, and their wine selection showed true taste. Not that Dazai would know taste if it bit him in the ass, but then again, Chuuya wasn’t taking him there in the hopes of refining his palette.

The silence grew heavy around Dazai as he realized where they were going. Chuuya would be damned if he’d be the one to break it. Finally, Dazai said, “So you learned something from me, after all.”

“I just wanted a drink,” said Chuuya. “You’re the one who insisted on coming along. You’re not a hostage. You can leave whenever you want. It’s what you’re good at.”

Dazai plastered on one of his fake smiles. “And miss Chuuya’s drunken karaoke?”

“This ain’t even a karaoke bar,” Chuuya scoffed.

“That’s never stopped you.”

Chuuya parked in the alley beside the bar and hopped out of the convertible without bothering to wait on Dazai. Of course, like the consequences of a bad decision he’d made years ago, Dazai eventually caught up with him.

***

“It still doesn’t add up.” Chuuya was halfway through his bottle of twenty-year-old Louis Jadot Corton-Pougets Grand Cru, and slurring his words slightly. “Why would Milton want to destroy a Clock Tower outpost? It’d hardly be a blow to the Order back in Britain. And even if that somehow made sense, why would I want to destroy it? That’s how his ability works, right? He can only make me do something I was already tempted to do, and I didn’t even know it was there!”

“It seems even he doesn’t know precisely where it is,” said Dazai, chin resting on his arms as he nursed his second glass of bottom shelf bourbon. “Perhaps one of their agents possesses a spatial distortion ability like Miss Montgomery’s, and uses it to open doors to an otherwise inaccessible location. That would go some way to explaining why he feels he needs the nuclear option.” He waved a lazy hand at Chuuya, and Chuuya didn’t bother to dispute that designation. “Still, he seems to have a particular interest in you. He might have found any number of solutions in Special Division’s restricted archive, but the Arahabaki files were all he wanted.”

Chuuya poured himself another glass, the pool of red reminding him of blood and Corruption and gravitational redshift around black holes, yet still he drank. “When are all these idiots gonna learn that they don’t want this thing inside me? I don’t even want it! Without you to stop it, it’s just a goddamn natural disaster that keeps raging until everything’s in ruins, including its own damn host!” Chuuya forced himself to take a deep breath and bring his voice down. Their dimly lit back corner booth afforded them some measure of privacy, but he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. “Who the fuck would want that?”

Dazai ran his finger around the rim of his glass thoughtfully. “You don’t find that sort of power…tempting?”

“What did I just fucking say?” Chuuya growled. “If I ever unleash it without you, I’m dead.”

“Death can be its own temptation.”

“Don’t you fucking start, Dazai.”

“I think everyone is tempted by it sometimes. Most people just aren’t honest about it.” He sighed, his gaze lingering not for the first time on three empty barstools over at the counter. “I’m only saying what you’ve already said yourself: you clearly weren’t tempted to destroy something you didn’t even know existed. So some part of you must be tempted by Arahabaki, no matter how much you despise it.”

“It’s not the power that’s tempting. It’s…letting go of it.” Chuuya looked away, unsure why he was admitting as much, other than the fact that Dazai probably already knew. That, and the alcohol. “Because once I do that, there’s nothing more I can do. It’s not my problem anymore.”

“Yes, at that point it becomes my problem,” said Dazai, swirling his drink. “Although, I’ve always thought that being swallowed up by a black hole would be a peaceful way to go.”

“It’s not,” said Chuuya. Scientists may not yet know what lay at the center of a black hole, but Chuuya did. It was Hell itself.

“Ah well, good thing Arahabaki’s black holes can’t hurt me, then.”

“It could still drop a building or something on you, you know,” said Chuuya, feeling slightly defensive. “You can’t nullify gravity.”

“No, only Chuuya can do that. But usually, the worst Arahabaki does is give me dirty looks. And that might just be Chuuya’s face.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but level one of his own dirty looks at Dazai. “If Arahabaki hates you more than I do, that’d be a real accomplishment.”

Dazai raised his glass in a mock toast. “To my greatest accomplishment: pissing off a god more than Chuuya!”

“I’m not drinking to that.”

“Hm, what should we drink to, then?” Dazai cast a searching look around, and his eyes once again settled on the same three empty barstools. “To old friends,” he proposed.

Chuuya clinked his wine glass against Dazai’s tumbler. “To old friends.” He knew Dazai didn’t include him in that category. They had never been friends. Partners, rivals, fucked-up lovers, yes. Never friends. But they had both had friends, and they had both lost them all one way or another, until all they had left was each other. Or so Chuuya had thought. It was a toast to memories they both carried, because they were the ones who still could. Chuuya drank deep, then set down his glass. “That was a pretty shitty way to treat your old friend today, though.”

“You’re the one who roughed Ango up, not me,” said Dazai dismissively.

“You knew exactly what I would do.”

“Ah, you know if I accept your deflection of blame, that really does make you just a weapon. I can point you in any direction I like…” Dazai raised two fingers like a gun and aimed them across the table at Chuuya. “…And bang.”

“That was how we worked, wasn’t it?” Sometimes, Dazai hadn’t even carried a gun when they went out on missions together. He’d enjoyed making Chuuya dirty his hands just to see if it would darken his soul as deeply as Dazai’s own. But Chuuya never let his work change him in ways he didn’t want to be changed. In the mafia, he’d learned how to be a better leader, how to foster good relationships, and how to appreciate the finer things the world had to offer. But the world had only ever disappointed Dazai. “You haven’t changed. You can take off the mafia black, but you can’t strip away the blackness inside you so easily.”

Dazai blinked. “You get quite poetic when you drink. Perhaps you missed your calling.”

“What would you know about that? You threw yours away.” Chuuya tipped back the dregs in his glass and poured himself another from the bottle. “You left it for me to pick up like more of your secondhand scraps.”

“Mm,” Dazai hummed over the rim of his glass. “You’re the one who stitched the scraps together, though. From what I hear, the survival rate of your subordinates is three times what mine was.”

“What kind of executive would I be if I couldn’t protect my own people?”

Dazai shrugged. “That wasn’t a priority for me, or for the other executives. But you’ve done what none of us ever did. You’ve inspired loyalty. Not through fear, which would be easier for you than anyone, but through respect. I can see it even in Akutagawa. He wants to do you proud because you place value in him, not because he’s afraid of what will happen if he disappoints you. You’re already a better executive than I was. And someday, you’ll be a better boss than Mori.”

“Keep your voice down!” Chuuya hissed, eyes darting around the bar for other members of the mafia who might be out drinking after work. There were none that he recognized, but even he didn’t know every face in the organization. “For fuck’s sake, it’s like treason is your second special ability! Anyway, Kouyou has seniority when the question of succession eventually comes up.”

“She’s too smart to want the job.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I knew you’d turn this back on me somehow. God forbid you ever pay me a genuine compliment.”

“Ah, we’re getting too predictable,” Dazai lamented. “Like an old married couple.”

“Divorced.”

“You’re not still mad about the car, are you?” Dazai asked, like he didn’t already know the answer. “I only blew it up because I knew you’d miss it more than me. Besides, you said you finally opened up that bottle of Pétrus you’d been saving to celebrate my departure, so you can’t have been that bent out of shape about it.”

“There are a lot of reasons to drink,” Chuuya grumbled into his grand cru. He left it at that. He’d had too much wine already, and he didn’t trust himself not to say more than he meant to. Besides, he’d said it all before, if not in so many words. Between the threats and the grandstanding, he knew Dazai could see his every weakness. Whenever Chuuya bared his teeth and snarled that Dazai had betrayed the Port Mafia, he knew the words Dazai really heard were, “You betrayed me.”

Dazai raised his glass again. “To drinking for a lot of reasons.”

***

“Touch me, Dazai.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I need to know if my ability’s active, or if the room only seems like it’s spinning,” said Chuuya, trying and failing to focus on his partner’s face. No, former partner. Ex. Bastard. Stupid, handsome waste of bandages.

Dazai reached out a finger and poked Chuuya’s cheek. “Better?” he asked.

“Fuck. Gravity’s not the problem.” Chuuya groaned, leaning into Dazai’s touch to ground himself. “Are you good to drive?”

Dazai giggled. “Good enough if you want to die together in a road accident!”

“I probably wouldn’t die,” said Chuuya. “But I’m not letting you wreck another one of my cars. I’ll call for a driver.” He pulled out his cellphone and squinted hard at the screen until he was pretty sure he’d found the number he was looking for. He managed to convey to Port Mafia dispatch that he needed someone to come pick up his car and drive him home, all while (he hoped) sounding more like a dignified executive summoning a subordinate for a job than a drunk teenager calling his chaperone to come get him. Dispatch assured him a driver would collect him shortly, and asked if he had any special requests.

“Bring cookies!” Dazai cheered into the receiver, effectively shredding whatever remained of Chuuya’s dignity in two words.

Ten minutes later, a black sedan pulled up alongside Chuuya’s convertible, and a man in a black suit got out, his arms full of brightly-colored bags and boxes of cookies of all kinds. He gave a respectful bow, then set the bounty down in Chuuya’s backseat and held his hand out wordlessly for the car keys. Chuuya usually tried to greet his drivers by name, but they all wore the same black suits, and he was still having trouble focusing on faces, so he handed his keys over with a silent nod. The driver held the door open for him and Dazai to climb into the backseat, then settled into the driver’s seat himself and started the engine. “One or two stops, sir?”

“Where are you living these days?” Chuuya asked Dazai. “Tell me it’s not another shitty shipping container.”

“Shitty apartment,” Dazai mumbled around a mouthful of cookies. “Empty fridge. Flimsy futon.” He gave Chuuya his most pathetic puppy dog eyes, and Chuuya groaned.

“Just take us to my penthouse.”

The two of them spent the drive quietly munching on cookies and sharing too much personal space. Chuuya couldn’t even bring himself to care that the driver was probably reevaluating all the stories he’d ever heard about the fearsome Double Black. He was paid enough never to breathe a word of it.

Chuuya was never more grateful for his private elevator than when he and Dazai stumbled into it, half supporting each other and half dragging each other down (and wasn’t that a fitting metaphor?). If there had been any more buttons than the ones for Chuuya’s penthouse and the lobby, Dazai probably would have pushed them all, and then Chuuya would have had to murder him and call dispatch again to dispose of the body. Thankfully, they made it up to Chuuya’s penthouse without incident. Only then did it actually sink in that he’d brought Dazai home, to spend the night. The realization seemed to hit Dazai at the same time, and the two of them shared a long look as they stood stock still, side by side in the entryway.

“I burned all the shit you left here,” Chuuya blurted.

“Even my innocent toothbrush?”

“There’s a spare in the cabinet.”

“Eh, I’ll just use yours.”

“Like hell!”

They both took off for the bathroom, but Chuuya beat him to it and sat brushing his teeth on the ceiling to keep his toothbrush out of Dazai’s reach. Dazai petulantly unwrapped the spare and stuck it in his mouth. “This one’s mine now.” They were both too drunk to realize the implications of that statement until a few moments later. Dazai floundered. “I mean, I’m taking it home with me.”

“Fine,” said Chuuya.

Silence settled in again as they finished brushing their teeth together and then made their way to the bedroom. Chuuya stayed on the ceiling to maintain as much distance between them as possible. He also happened to have the one item of Dazai’s that he hadn’t burned tucked neatly away atop his tallest wardrobe, where no one standing on the floor could see it. He grabbed it and tossed it up/down to Dazai. “Must’ve missed one.”

Dazai unfolded his old sleep shirt, that Chuuya absolutely had not slept in until it had stopped smelling like him. “Easy to miss,” said Dazai. That was all he said.

It wasn’t like Chuuya could lend the lanky bastard anything of his to sleep in, anyway. The size would be too small, and Dazai wouldn’t be able to resist making cracks about it. But even Dazai didn’t dare to remark on Chuuya holding onto something from someone who was long gone. Even though they were standing in the same room together, they would never be where they were before.

They turned their backs to each other and Dazai changed into his oversized button-down while Chuuya stripped down and wrapped himself in his own black yukata. Of course, they both had to meet at the bed. It was a king with enough space for four people, if Chuuya were inclined toward that sort of thing. But instinctively, they both settled down onto their old sides.

“If you kick me, I’ll throw you off the bed,” said Chuuya.

“If you snore, I’ll smother you with a pillow,” said Dazai.

It was their version of goodnight. Chuuya reached over and turned off the lights.

Chapter Text

Chuuya woke in the middle of the night to the sound of quiet sniffling. His brain still wasn’t back up to full processing power, but he didn’t have to put the pieces together. He’d been in this situation before. Sober, Dazai never let his nightmares get the better of him. But drunk, one would occasionally slip past his emotional guard. Chuuya turned over to see Dazai staring misty-eyed at the deep shadows clinging to the ceiling. “What do black holes feel like?” he whispered. “I think there’s one inside me.”

Chuuya knew the drill. Without saying a word, he pulled Dazai close and wrapped him in his arms, tight enough to ground him back in reality. Sober, Chuuya would have questioned whether it was a wise decision. But drunk, it was no decision at all.

***

It was early morning when Chuuya woke again, this time to the feeling of slender fingers creeping beneath the collar of his yukata. His survival instincts kicked in first. Between one heartbeat and the next, he’d flipped the assassin onto his back and pinned him to the mattress by the throat. Except it wasn’t an assassin. It was Dazai. Chuuya finally recalled that he’d let the bastard back into his bed last night in his drunken haze. He was stone cold sober now.

His fingers tightened a fraction around Dazai’s throat, and Dazai didn’t so much as struggle. He just lay there looking up at Chuuya with those dark, unfathomable eyes that seemed to swallow up the feeble light of dawn and drown it in their depths. Chuuya pulled his hand away.

“Chuuya sends some very mixed signals,” said Dazai, rubbing his throat. “He spends the night wrapped around me like an octopus, but the moment I touch him, he tries to kill me.”

“What the fuck were you doing?”

“Misreading the situation, apparently,” Dazai deadpanned.

Chuuya stared down at him like he’d just spoken in a completely incomprehensible language. “You’re the one who left!” He shoved his hands into his hair, if only to keep them from wringing Dazai’s damn neck. “You were just fucking gone, and I was fine. I was free of you and your bullshit. I could finally be whole rather than half of Double fucking Black!” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I should’ve known better,” he said. “There is a black hole inside you, Dazai. Anyone who gets close enough never escapes.”

“Before I decided to leave the Port Mafia, I tried to think of reasons to stay,” said Dazai. “I could only think of one.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“It was you, Chuuya.” His voice was still flat, his face still expressionless, but his eyes were ravenous. “You’re the only one who makes me feel things. Even if they’re not nice things.”

“You get off looking down the barrel of a gun,” said Chuuya. “Of course you thought you wanted me. I made you feel just like that.”

Dazai had the nerve to snake his arms around Chuuya’s waist and smile. “I still want you.”

“Are you sure?”

Dazai cocked his head at the knife’s edge in Chuuya’s tone. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Because I can be a black hole too, Dazai. If you try to leave again…maybe this time I won’t let you walk away alive.”

Dazai’s smile split into a grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Chuuya.”

Chuuya lunged forward and pinned Dazai’s wrists down with a feral snarl. “I’m not one of your fucking games! If you’re trying to play me again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Dazai tilted his head back and brushed his lips against Chuuya’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re not.”

The words were punctuated by the distinct ratcheting of shackles, and Dazai seemed surprised to suddenly find them locked tight around his wrists. There was a perfectly innocent reason why Chuuya had shackles attached to his bed. He had developed a tendency to sleepwalk when he was stressed, which could quickly get out of hand when gravity wasn’t a factor. The shackles kept him from waking up in a heap on the floor after falling from the ceiling. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t serve another purpose.

“Are these really necessary?” Dazai asked, rattling the restraints. He hadn’t seen them before. Chuuya hadn’t needed them when they were sleeping together. But even if Dazai meant what he said about staying, Chuuya had a feeling they would still get plenty of use out of them.

“You only have yourself to blame for my abandonment issues.” He started to undo the buttons of Dazai’s shirt at a leisurely pace. He could take his time. Dazai had said he wasn’t going anywhere, and Chuuya was holding him to his word. 

“Abandonment issues might be an understatement.” Dazai tugged a little more urgently against the chains to no avail. He was half-naked already, and Chuuya seriously doubted he had anything on him to pick the locks with this time. Short of dislocating his thumbs, he was well and truly trapped and at Chuuya’s mercy.

Chuuya flattened a hand against Dazai’s chest and pushed him back down to the bed. “Relax. You’ll enjoy this. I saw the look in your eyes when you were chained up in the Port Mafia’s dungeon and I came down to pay you a visit.”

“Ah, but tragically, Chuuya was only interested in using me as a punching bag and a pin cushion for his knives,” Dazai sighed.

Chuuya unfastened the last of Dazai’s shirt buttons and looked back up the length of his bandaged body. “How do you want me to use you now?”

Dazai’s breaths were shallow and his eyes deep. “However you want.”

***

Over the past four years, Chuuya had almost managed to forget how much he missed having Dazai in his bed. Dazai wasn’t the only one who was left wanting by other people. Nobody could take everything Chuuya had to give quite like Dazai could, and on the rare occasions when Dazai was feeling motivated, he gave as good as he got.

Two years after Dazai had left, Tachihara had finally worked up the courage to make a move on Chuuya. Chuuya liked him well enough as a colleague, and he wasn’t without his charms, so Chuuya had taken him out to dinner and then taken him home. He’d seemed eager enough when they’d kissed, but when Chuuya switched his gravity to pin him up against the wall, he’d gone pale as a sheet. Chuuya released him immediately and apologized for not asking first, and Tachihara had babbled his own apologies, calling Chuuya “sir” again like they were back at work. In the end, they’d both agreed it would be best to keep things professional, and Tachihara had gone home shaken. It had taken him a week before he was able to look Chuuya in the eyes again.

Chuuya couldn’t use his ability on Dazai, but that meant he didn’t have to keep it reined in. He didn’t have to worry about breaking Dazai, and Dazai didn’t worry about being broken. In turn, Chuuya knew how to shut down Dazai’s overactive mind and make him remember his body’s needs. They worked just as well together in the bedroom as they did on the battlefield. As much as Chuuya hated to admit it, it really did feel like they were two halves of some horrible whole, neither one of them fulfilled without the other. Kouyou said the word for it was codependency, and it was the reason Mori had made them partners in the first place. The Port Mafia always sought power it could control.

Except Mori had made a rare miscalculation with Dazai. He was like an untrainable dog. Even chained to Chuuya’s bed and addled on afterglow, he still wouldn’t do as he was told and shut the fuck up for five minutes while Chuuya caught his breath.

“Maybe I should charge you extra for this,” he giggled, tugging on the shackles again.

“The hell are you on about?” Chuuya rolled onto his side and glowered at Dazai. “I’m the one who did all the work. Again. If anything, I should charge you.”

Dazai gave a scandalized little gasp. “My, I didn’t know Chuuya charged for such services. Is that what Mori has you doing these days?”

“What? No! Fuck you!”

“I’m not sure I can afford it twice.”

It was at times like these when Chuuya thought Dazai’s reason for living was just to annoy him. He never seemed happier than when he was driving Chuuya up the wall—sometimes literally. “I could just leave you like this,” Chuuya threatened.

“Mm, you mean I’d get to stay in bed and not do any work?” Dazai sighed dreamily.

“Oh, I’d put you to work.” Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s chin and dragged his thumb along his bottom lip, coaxing open his mouth. Dazai’s pupils dilated, almost imperceptible within the dark rings around them. Chuuya leaned in close, until they were sharing breath. Dazai’s eyes dropped to Chuuya’s mouth, and Chuuya smiled. “But we shouldn’t keep our subordinates waiting,” he murmured, and pressed the key to the shackles into Dazai’s hand. Then he drew back and left Dazai to sulk while he went to take a shower.

Once they were both clean and dressed for the day, they sat down in the kitchen to eat the breakfast Chuuya had made. Chuuya didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he knew Dazai did, so he’d set out coffee and a stack of crepes with fresh fruit and cream. It was a peace offering of sorts: you can mouth off some more, or you can eat. With the appetite he’d worked up earlier, Dazai wasted no time wolfing down the crepes.

Chuuya watched him in mild dismay. “It’s like bringing home a stray. How do you feed yourself without me?”

“Usually, I can stick Kunikida with the bill at restaurants,” said Dazai between mouthfuls.

Chuuya felt another swell of sympathy for Dazai’s new partner. “That poor man.”

“Sometimes, Atsushi gets worried about me and comes by to deliver groceries,” Dazai continued.

“Wasn’t the kid a poor, starving orphan you pulled off the street?” Chuuya asked. “You’re really low enough to accept his charity?”

Dazai shrugged. “So was Akutagawa, and he ran all my errands for me.”

“That’s because you were a shitty boss and you gave him an inferiority complex!”

“Mm. Maybe,” Dazai allowed. “I made him a formidable fighter, though.”

“Your training was spotty. He relies entirely on Rashomon. Take his clothes off, and he’s powerless.”

Dazai’s eyebrows lifted. “Have you taken Akutagawa’s clothes off, Chuuya?”

“Yes, but not like that,” Chuuya grumbled. “He was covered in blood and he wouldn’t take a fucking bath. That’s beside the point. If any of you dumbass detectives had actually managed to capture him, he would’ve been in trouble.”

Dazai’s eyebrows inched even higher. “Do you imagine the Armed Detective Agency would have chained him up naked? What is it you think we do, Chuuya?” A lascivious leer spread across his face. “Or is it wishful thinking? Perhaps you’d like to be captured and chained up naked while I interrogate you.”

“Ha! Your lot could never capture me.”

“That’s the part Chuuya objects to?”

“Dazai, if it’ll get you to put in the effort for once, I will gladly wear the shackles next time.”

“Deal,” said Dazai, a little too quickly.

Chuuya sized him up carefully across the table, but aside from the fact that he was clearly already plotting what he wanted to do to Chuuya in this fantasy, he was as inscrutable as ever. “So you meant what you said? You’re not gonna blow up another one of my cars and disappear again?”

Dazai rested his chin in his hands and favored Chuuya with one of those scarce, small smiles that Chuuya thought might just be genuine. “Life is a little more interesting with you in it.” The smile turned sinister. “I can’t say the same for your cars, though.”

It was a diversion, and Chuuya wouldn’t take the bait. Not this time. “And if our organizations go back to being enemies?” he pressed.

Dazai considered the question for a moment, then gave a careless shrug. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Before they left Chuuya’s penthouse to meet up with Akutagawa and Atsushi, Chuuya called Mori for a status update and to request more time to work the case. He ordered Chuuya to take as much time as he needed to find and eliminate the threat posed by John Milton. The Port Mafia couldn’t allow such a dangerous ability user to roam free in Yokohama. He said he'd made it the top priority of their elite surveillance and intelligence teams to track the man down, and instructed them to report directly to Chuuya as soon as they found anything.

Chuuya thanked him for the additional resources, but before he could hang up, Mori asked, “And how are you and Dazai getting along?”

Dazai had stolen Chuuya’s hat while he was on the phone with Mori and was currently doing his best worst impression of Chuuya in the hallway mirror. “Same as ever,” Chuuya grumbled. It was suddenly difficult to remember why he actually wanted Dazai to stick around this time.

“Good.” Chuuya could practically hear Mori’s pleased smile over the phone. “Give him my regards, would you?”

The line went dead. When Chuuya turned around, Dazai was standing right behind him. The sour look on his face belied the innocent sing-song of his voice when he asked, “Don’t you just want to kill him sometimes?”

Chuuya snatched his hat off Dazai’s head. “Not as much as I want to kill you sometimes. Now stop talking treason and let’s go.”

It was a short drive to headquarters from Chuuya’s place, but despite his best efforts to get Dazai out of bed and out the door at a reasonable hour, Akutagawa and Atsushi were already waiting for them outside when they arrived. Atsushi looked nervous to be standing in the shadow of the black towers, but Akutagawa’s presence would signal to other Port Mafia members that he wasn’t to be treated as hostile. However, the pair were standing as far apart from each other as they reasonably could, and Rashomon’s spines bristling across Akutagawa’s back made it clear he expected the distance to be maintained.

“Reminds me of us back in the day,” Dazai sighed wistfully.

Chuuya grimaced. “God, I hope not.”

Akutagawa greeted them both respectfully as they stepped out of the car. Atsushi seemed eager just to have anyone other than Akutagawa for company. At least, until his eyes landed on the bruises ringing Dazai’s neck, blossoming up above his bandages. Atsushi gasped in horror. “Did Chuuya try to choke you to death?”

Dazai laughed and scratched his head. “Ah, it was all consensual. Well, mostly.”

Deeply confused and concerned, Atsushi turned to Akutagawa to see if he shared the sentiment. Akutagawa coughed delicately and said, “A detective should also know which questions not to ask.”

Atsushi turned beet red when the penny finally dropped. “Okay! W-well, I’ve been thinking about how we might find Milton,” he pivoted quickly. “Akutagawa said Port Mafia intelligence hasn't turned up any leads yet, but what about the Eyes of God? Whatever Fitzgerald’s asking price is, I’m sure the Port Mafia could afford it.”

“The four of us basically shredded the Guild,” said Chuuya. “If I were him, I wouldn’t lend my help for any price.”

“Ah, I don’t think he’s as principled as you when it’s a question of money,” said Atsushi sheepishly.

“We could make him an offer, at least,” said Akutagawa.

“If we do that, then maybe he finds Milton and makes him an offer,” Chuuya countered. “If Fitzgerald wants to found a new Guild, Milton would make a valuable member. He could just as easily sell me out to get Milton on board.”

“He wouldn’t dare make an enemy of the Port Mafia again!” Akutagawa snarled.

“He might if he knew Milton could turn me against you!” Chuuya snapped, and Akutagawa shrank back. Chuuya shook his head, immediately regretting raising his voice to the kid. He was usually better about that. “Sorry, Akutagawa. It’s just not a risk I can take.”

“I don’t think we have to find him,” said Dazai. “If he still wants Arahabaki, then he’ll find us.”

“And then what, genius?” Chuuya demanded. “We lose the advantage of an ambush and you three might have to go up against him and a fucking gravity god? Sounds like one of your suicide attempts!”

“That car…” Atsushi sniffed the air, following his nose until his eyes settled on an old green sedan idling across the street. “You guys—”

Chuuya didn’t even hear what the kid said next. He was furious with Dazai for how little he cared about anything and anyone, even himself. If he wanted to die so badly, then Chuuya should just put him out of his misery. Without warning, he lashed out at Dazai with his dagger. Dazai only just evaded, the blade slicing across his collarbones rather than his throat. Atsushi leapt to his defense, and Chuuya sent the weretiger crashing through a building with one kick. Akutagawa tried to shield Dazai from Chuuya’s next strike with Rashomon, so Chuuya grabbed the inky black beast and increased its gravity a hundredfold, crushing Rashomon’s writhing tendrils into the concrete—and Akutagawa along with them.

In Chuuya’s moment of distraction, Dazai lunged forward to try to grab his wrist. But even with surprise on his side, his speed was no match for Chuuya’s. With an earth-shattering stomp, Chuuya opened up a rift in the sidewalk between them, separating the two of them by a dozen feet. Chuuya was peripherally aware of a man in white walking up beside him, and his fury abated somewhat. But he remained laser-focused on Dazai. Nothing else mattered.

“John Milton,” said Dazai. “Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.”

“You must be Dazai Osamu,” said the man. “What a pity my temptations won’t work on you. You would be the perfect liberator.”

“Liberator?”

“The War left the world so desperate for peace that it turned to tyranny. Organizations of powerful ability users pull all the strings, whether we see them or not. I seek to sever those strings. Under my guidance, the very members of these organizations will overthrow their leaders. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hm. I certainly wouldn’t mind if Chuuya killed his boss, but Chuuya would. He has a thing about loyalty.”

“The temptation is there, I assure you,” said Milton.

Dazai chuckled. “That just means he knows Mori.”

“He will do as I command.”

“Now that sounds like something a tyrant would say.”

“You are free to believe what you wish,” said Milton. “And you are free to die for your beliefs. Your partner will not let you close enough to break his thrall before he breaks you.”

Dazai grinned. “I don’t need a belief to die for. But your ability isn’t strong enough to test your beliefs. You couldn’t even keep control of Chuuya last time you tried.”

“My ability wasn’t strong enough then.” Milton reached out and tilted Chuuya’s chin up with two fingers, his touch feather-light. “I had hoped to observe the power of a singularity before attempting to create one myself. But I failed to overcome the interference between Nakahara Chuuya’s consciousness and Arahabaki’s. So I replicated the research by using my ability on myself. The endurance required to turn Paradise Lost into a singularity was mental rather than physical. My mind nearly shattered. Yet I endured. I am strong enough now.” A halo of heavenly light emanated from Milton’s head, and his eyes glowed pure white.

Chuuya’s mind went blank. He no longer recognized the people around him, nor did he feel anything towards them. He couldn’t even remember why he’d been so angry a moment ago. His only desire was to listen to that beautiful voice that seemed to sing like an angelic choir in his mind.

“Are you sure?” another voice asked. It sounded vaguely familiar, like a dream Chuuya had once had long ago. But dreams were brief and meaningless.

“Show us your true power,” the voice in his mind commanded. “Destroy your partner, and your precious Port Mafia.”

Chuuya answered the voice with his own. “O grantors of dark disgrace,” he intoned. “Do not wake me again.”

Massive gravity displacement churned the air like a vortex and sundered the ground like an earthquake. Rubble rose into the sky and gravitons winked in and out of existence like the first licks of black flame before the lightless inferno. In the epicenter of it all, Arahabaki surveyed its surroundings.

The first thing it saw was an angel who dared to stand beside it, as though he believed he could compare himself to a god. He was wreathed in pure, white light, and Arahabaki’s hunger snarled at the sight, black ichor leaking from its lips. Light was a frail, fleeting thing, destined to be devoured by the vast darkness of the void. So Arahabaki summoned a black hole around its fist and punched through the angel’s haloed head, snuffing out the light.

As the rest of the angel's body crumpled to the ground, Arahabaki became aware of a man approaching at a slow and steady pace. Although he was shielding his face from the gale and debris, Arahabaki knew his presence instinctively. He was its jailor, always there to lock it away again in its cage after it had tasted freedom.

“It’s done!” he called out over the rumble of the elements. “The threat is gone! Just let me…” Slowly, he reached out his hand.

Arahabaki could snuff him out, too. One stray piece of rubble propelled at supersonic speed would be all it would take. The jailor could negate Arahabaki’s manipulations of gravity, but he could not negate momentum. He would perish the same as every other pitiful creature that had ever had the audacity or misfortune of standing in Arahabaki’s path. But somewhere deep in its core, it knew that it would perish with him. It was not meant for this mortal plane. If it could not tear through to transcendence, then it would tear itself apart. Its cage was also its shelter, and the jailor held the only key. But Arahabaki had only just been set loose. It would not be caged again before gorging on its fill of freedom.

Just as the jailor was about to close the remaining distance, Arahabaki kicked off the ground and soared into the sky. Gleaming structures stretched out in all directions far below, tiny humans scurrying between them like insects in their hive. All of it would not be enough to sate Arahabaki’s endless appetite for destruction. But the five tallest towers, stretching up like black fingers to seize the heavens in their hubris, were the perfect place to start.

Unbound by gravity, Arahabaki floated in the center of those five fingertips, and raised its own hands to the heavens. A black hole began to form between them, as hungry as Arahabaki itself. It grew and grew, consuming the very atoms from the air. Soon, it was massive enough to overshadow all five towers as it eclipsed the sun. The tower windows blew out in swift succession at the dire drop in pressure, and the black hole pulled in the storm of shimmering shards like the eye of a cyclone. But just as Arahabaki was preparing to bring down the darkness that would swallow the steel structures whole, a flash of white caught its eye.

A white tiger was bounding up the side of one of the towers. Astride its back was a boy dressed in black, and behind him, Arahabaki’s jailor. Arahabaki roared in rage and ripped the darkness apart, hurling handfuls of it down at the tiger. But the jailor dispersed every one as the black hole above Arahabaki diminished. The tiger made it to the top of the tower, and the boy in black leapt off its back.

“Bring him down, Akutagawa!” barked the jailor.

Black, beastly tendrils shot from the boy’s back like lightning and coiled themselves around Arahabaki’s arms, sinking their teeth into corrupted flesh. There was something strange about them. They seemed to consume the very space around them in order to resist the powerful draw of the event horizon. But space always folded under the force of gravity. Arahabaki was pulled down only a few feet before it tore the tendrils to shreds by increasing its own gravitational field exponentially.

“Rashomon can’t withstand contact with him!” the boy cried.

The jailor tore off his coat and looped it around the tiger’s neck like reins to prevent his touch from caging the creature. “Then the two of you have to get me up there,” he said.

At his word, the tiger lunged off the top of the tower. But before the beast could start to fall, a thin, black band shot beneath its paws and forged a jagged path upward. Arahabaki wrenched down more of the black hole’s mass and sent it shooting toward the charging tiger, but again, the jailor riding on its back dispersed the attack. The next shot swallowed up the shadowy path before the tiger’s paws, but it leapt aside and landed on another that sprang forth just as the first drew back.

The tiger zig-zagged its way up toward Arahabaki as swift as the shadows beneath its paws. Arahabaki roared again, and the tiger roared back. Vision red with blood and rage, Arahabaki gathered all that remained of the black hole and hurled it down directly at the tiger and its rider. For a moment, the darkness seemed to swallow them both. Then, they burst through in a flash of blue light, and the jailor’s arms wrapped around Arahabaki’s exhausted body. With one kiss, the infinite fires of its fury were extinguished.

These were the last words Arahabaki heard, whispered through the bars of its cage as the door slammed shut: “You can rest now.”

And so it did.

Chapter Text

Chuuya awoke on a cold, steel operating table covered in blood and wearing nothing but his underwear. A half-dressed woman, spattered with more blood, was standing over him with a blood-stained scalpel in her hand.

Chuuya yelled and bolted upright, prepared to fight his way out of whatever psychotic sex fantasy he’d somehow found himself in the middle of. But as he did so, he realized that he was completely uninjured. Not only that, but he felt better than he had in years, perhaps ever. “What the hell did you do to me?” he gasped.

“I severed your carotid artery,” said the woman matter-of-factly, beginning to clean the blood from her scalpel with a sterile cloth.

Chuuya slapped a hand to his throat, but didn’t feel so much as a scar. Only as his eyes adjusted to the bright operating lights above him was he finally able to make out the woman’s face. It was one that he recognized. She was the Armed Detective Agency’s physician, Dr. Yosano. Thanks to Mori, he also knew her history.

“Never thought I’d find myself under the knife of the Angel of Death,” he said.

Yosano stopped cleaning her scalpel. “I’m just a physician now. Although, I can’t say it wasn’t cathartic, watching Mori’s attack dog bleed out on my table.”

“She let me watch, too!” With a friendly little wave, Dazai stepped into the light.

“The fuck, Dazai?!” Chuuya shouted.

“Come on, Chuuya, you can’t expect me to miss my chance to see you on the brink of death.” He clasped his hands together and crooned, “You looked so peaceful. Unlike usual.”

Chuuya raised his fist. “I can make you look real peaceful too, asshole.”

“No violence in the operating room, boys,” said Yosano as she slid into her shirt and started doing up the buttons.

“You just slit my throat!” Chuuya snapped at her. His blood was already starting to cool and congeal all over his chest, and he grimaced in disgust. “There are less messy ways to mortally wound someone, ya know.”

“But few as precise and predictable as blood loss,” said Yosano. “Based on your body mass, I was able to accurately calculate just how much blood you could afford to lose.”

“My body mass?” Chuuya gritted out.

“Smaller patients have lower blood volume and bleed out faster,” she explained.

The sides of the steel table crunched in Chuuya’s grip. “I’m gonna let that one slide since you just healed me.”

“Wow, that shows real growth, Chuuya!” Dazai exclaimed. “Metaphorically speaking.”

Chuuya launched himself off the operating table and tackled Dazai to the floor. But before he could land a good hit, Yosano’s cleaver came down between them, ringing out against the white tiles. “No violence in the operating room,” she repeated.

Chuuya and Dazai backed off from each other, and the hefty blade. “Why the hell am I in your operating room, anyway?” Chuuya demanded. “Dazai and I were just at headquarters meeting up with Akutagawa and Atsushi…” The realization finally dawned on Chuuya that he couldn’t remember what had happened next.

“Don’t worry,” said Dazai. “Milton’s dead.” Whatever relief Chuuya might have felt at the news of the man’s demise never materialized. Because Dazai’s next words were, “Arahabaki killed him.”

Chuuya’s last memory was of the four of them standing right outside headquarters. The kids had been no more than a few feet away from him, the shadows of the towers at their backs. “Who else did it kill?” he asked hollowly.

“Damage reports are still coming in,” said Dazai, “but no casualties so far.”

All of the breath left Chuuya’s lungs at once. “None?” he whispered in disbelief.

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Dazai chuckled. “But Atsushi can take quite a beating, and Akutagawa managed to shield himself from the worst of it. The Port Mafia immediately evacuated the area of civilians, and the towers themselves withstood the battle pretty well! I guess all that fancy seismic retrofitting Mori did after I recruited you finally paid off. You were in worse shape than usual though, so I brought you here.”

“Whatever’s inside you wreaks havoc on your body,” Yosano added. “I repaired years of internal damage. I’ve already instructed Dazai to bring you back here if you ever have to unleash it again.”

Chuuya was speechless. It was all over, and everyone had survived.

“Feel free to use that shower in the corner there to clean yourself up,” Yosano continued. “Atsushi left you some of his spare clothes, and Akutagawa found your hat. Once you’re dressed, I want you both out of my operating room.”

With no fight left in him, Chuuya did exactly as the doctor ordered. He walked into the shower and pulled the curtain closed, then spent the next few minutes listening to Dazai’s inane chatter from the other side while watching an alarming amount of his own blood circle the drain. Atsushi’s black slacks were a little too long in the legs, and Chuuya had to roll up the cuffs of his white button-down, but the clothes weren’t actually a bad fit. By the time he brushed the dust off his hat and settled it back over his head, he had started to feel a little more like himself again.

The looks Chuuya was greeted with from the rest of the ADA when he stepped out of the operating room were a far cry from the ones they’d given him when he’d first arrived to state his case the day before. This time, they actually looked relieved to see him.

Atsushi came bounding up to him first. “Chuuya, I’m so glad you’re okay! How do you feel?”

Chuuya stared at the kid like he’d grown a tail. Although, given that it was Atsushi, that would probably be normal for him. “Wasn’t I trying to kill you the last time you saw me?”

Atsushi waved off the question like it was inconsequential. “I know a bit about what it’s like to have a bloodthirsty beast take over. Of course, mine can’t level a city.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Still, I hope it’s possible for you to make peace with yours someday.”

Chuuya continued to stare. “I don’t think anyone else wants that.”

“Yeah, if that ever happens, Dazai’s a dead man,” said Tanizaki, who approached with a degree more caution.

“If only,” Dazai sighed.

Tanizaki ignored him in favor of checking Chuuya over. “Speaking of dead men, you looked pretty bad when Dazai brought you in. We weren’t sure you were gonna make it.”

“Do you need a reminder of my skills, Tanizaki?” Yosano inquired as she joined the others out in the main office.

“Nope!” Tanizaki laughed, a little hysterically. “What was I saying? We knew you’d be just fine!”

Chuuya suddenly wondered whether Dazai had stayed by his side in the operating room for more than just to see him bleed. Akutagawa’s menacing presence in the agency’s office seemed to confirm that Chuuya’s condition had indeed been dire. “I did not trust their doctor, so I made clear the consequences if I did not see you walk out of that operating room, sir,” he said. 

Kyouka stood beside him, the two of them seemingly having come to an uneasy truce while they waited for Chuuya to recover. “The Port Mafia could use more executives like you,” she said. “Not less.”

“So be sure to eat your veggies to regain your strength!” Kenji chimed in, thrusting a wicker basket full of fresh vegetables into Chuuya’s hands. “I picked these in my village this morning!”

“We won’t bill you for the medical expenses,” grumbled Kunikida reluctantly.

The only one who seemed utterly unaffected by Chuuya’s recovery was Ranpo, who barely glanced up from the game console in his hands as he said, “You should have just come to me with your case in the first place, Mr. Fancy Hat. Then none of this would have been necessary.”

Bewildered, Chuuya looked around at his former foes who were acting eerily like friends. “How much blood did I lose?” he muttered.

Before he could start to question whether this was all some bizarre hallucination, President Fukuzawa stepped out of his office and greeted Chuuya courteously. “It is good to see you back on your feet, Mr. Nakahara. I was just on the phone with your boss. He had every confidence that Dr. Yosano would see you to a full recovery. He expects you back at work first thing tomorrow to help with some of the heavy lifting as construction gets underway at Port Mafia headquarters. But he ordered you to take the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Chuuya set the confusing matter of his personal feelings aside to do what he knew he must as a Port Mafia executive. He removed his hat and held it to his chest as he dropped to one knee in front of Fukuzawa. “We don’t say thank you in the Port Mafia. We pay our debts. If the Armed Detective Agency finds itself in danger again, from anyone but the Port Mafia, you may call on me.” He looked up into Fukuzawa’s steel-grey eyes. “Choose the time carefully. Once the danger is dealt with, I’ll consider my debt paid.”

“I will remember that,” said Fukuzawa.

Chuuya rose to his feet and settled his hat back on his head. “Come on, Akutagawa. Let’s go.” Akutagawa dutifully followed him to the door, but to his surprise, so did Dazai. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Just paperwork,” said Dazai with a dismissive gesture. “Atsushi can do it.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Atsushi called after him, but the door closed on whatever objection the kid might have made.

On their way down to the street, Chuuya told Dazai, “Sometimes, it almost seems like you’re on a long-term, deep cover sabotage mission at the ADA, and you’re secretly still Port Mafia.”

Dazai’s eyes went wide. “That would be too devious, even for me!”

“Nothing’s too devious for you,” said Chuuya. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a sly smile slide across Dazai’s face. But the next moment, it was gone.

Only once they were outside did Chuuya realize his car must still be parked back at headquarters. “Ah, sorry, Akutagawa. I was going to drive you back, but…”

Akutagawa looked between Chuuya and Dazai and said stoically, “I’ll call Higuchi to come get me. Enjoy the rest of your day off, sir. Dazai.” He gave a respectful nod, then turned his back and walked away down the block.

Once he was out of earshot, Chuuya turned to Dazai and said, “I’m guessing you’re here to help me enjoy the rest of my day off.”

Dazai gave him a hungry grin. “Well, we did have a deal.”

“If you were half as motivated about work as you are about sex, the Port Mafia might actually be in trouble,” Chuuya sighed.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’ in there,” said Dazai.

It had only been a matter of hours since he and Dazai had gotten back together, and already Chuuya was beginning to regret it. But Dazai was right yet again. He hadn’t actually said no. “I’ll call a driver to bring my car around.”

“Ah, funny story about your car…”

Chuuya nearly crushed his phone in his hand. “What. About. My. Car.”

“Well, when Arahabaki was hurling black holes at me, I happened to look back and see where one of them ended up. Turns out, it crashed down right on top of your car! All that was left were the side mirrors.”

Chuuya grabbed Dazai by the lapels and shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth. “You did that on purpose, you bastard!”

***

Dazai spent the rest of the afternoon doing his damndest to make Chuuya forget about the car. And for awhile, Chuuya did. He forgot about everything except how good they were when they worked together in perfect synch. But as they lay beside each other in Chuuya’s bed, blood cooling and breaths slowing, Chuuya’s thoughts wandered wearily back to the blank space in his memory. Things tended to work out a little too perfectly around Dazai, leaving Chuuya feeling like he’d missed a step.

“You wanted Milton to make me unleash Arahabaki, didn’t you?”

Dazai hummed and ran a teasing finger down Chuuya’s chest. “I thought I was the one asking the questions in this interrogation.”

Chuuya flexed his wrists within the confines of his shackles. “I can break out of these if I want to. Answer the damn question.”

“It was the most assured method of eliminating him,” Dazai admitted. “If he hadn’t been so focused on Arahabaki, he could have turned you, Atsushi and Akutagawa against me, or each other. Things would have gotten more…complicated.”

“But how did you know it would work?” Chuuya demanded. “Or was it a goddamn gamble?”

Dazai’s finger trailed from his chest down his arm, tracing the spiraling path of Corruption as though it were still emblazoned just beneath the skin. “You said it yourself: no one can control Arahabaki.”

“I said that before I knew Milton had gone and made himself a fucking singularity!”

“That didn’t matter,” said Dazai, pressing a kiss to the cuff around Chuuya’s wrist. “For the same reason his ability didn’t work on Adam. He could make you say the words, but at that point, his hold over you was gone. You were no longer human.”

“Great,” Chuuya grumbled. “I owe my free will to the monster that takes it away.”

Dazai arched up and latched his lips over Chuuya’s, slipping his tongue into Chuuya’s mouth. The kiss tasted metallic, and at first Chuuya thought it was blood. But then actual metal touched his tongue. It was the key to the cuffs. Dazai pulled back, leaving Chuuya with the key clenched in his teeth. He knew the gesture was symbolic, that Dazai was giving him back his freedom just as he had locked Arahabaki away. But Chuuya suddenly had the urge to swallow the key and tell Dazai to keep going.

The sound of his elevator doors sliding open was like cold water splashed across his brain. Only Chuuya’s direct subordinates and Mori had the access code, and none of them had called. The only person he had heard from was the head of the Port Mafia’s intelligence team, who had texted to tell him they’d found Milton’s hideout and taken possession of the stolen Arahabaki files before Special Division arrived. That was the last loose end. Or so Chuuya had thought. He quickly and quietly unlocked the cuffs and pulled on his yukata. Then he withdrew a dagger from the drawer in the nightstand and stalked silently out into the hall.

When he reached the entryway and peered around the corner, the elevator seemed to stand empty. But as he approached, he saw a small white envelope resting in the center of the carriage floor. He picked it up and dismissed the elevator. It was addressed to him. He increased the gravity around it to keep any poisons or explosives contained, and only then did he open the envelope. The letter inside was simple, but the parchment and penmanship were impeccable. It read, “Thank you for taking care of our mutual problem. Please accept this token of our gratitude, to complete your set.” It wasn’t signed.

Chuuya tipped the envelope over his palm and a clockwork cufflink tumbled out into his hand. The matching one was still sitting inside the lacquer box on his hallway table where he’d left it the night before. He took it out and held both in his hand as Dazai came up behind him to read the letter over his shoulder.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” Chuuya muttered. “Is it a threat?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dazai.

“Then what?”

“I think Chuuya has been made an honorary knight of the Order of the Clock Tower.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Chuuya scoffed. “First the ADA, then Special Division, and now the Clock Tower? Why the hell does everyone think I’m some kinda hero?”

“How does it feel, every so often, to be on the side that saves people?” Dazai murmured.

Chuuya whirled around to face him. “Are you seriously giving me the switch sides pitch? Because if you are, I will tie you up in my sheets and throw you in the river to drown!”

“Ah, you say the sweetest things,” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not giving you the pitch. I thought I was dragging you into Hell with me when I made you join the Port Mafia, but you made Hell your home. You’re right where you belong.”

Something in Dazai’s expression made Chuuya ask, “What about you?”

“I don’t belong anywhere, I think.” He didn’t sound sad as he said it. He didn’t sound much of anything at all.

Chuuya fisted a hand in Dazai’s hair and pulled his head down to look him straight in the eyes. “You belong right here with me,” he said, adding weight to the words as though they had their own gravity. If he weighed them down enough, maybe they would keep Dazai from drifting away.

“How poetic,” said Dazai with a smile. Chuuya couldn’t tell whether it was real.