Chapter Text
Chuuya Nakahara had always known the art of killing. It wasn’t just about ending a life; it was a symphony of precision and finesse, an exhibition of skill that left no room for error. He moved through the world like a shadow, invisible yet always present. Each murder was a masterpiece, a macabre ballet choreographed with an expertise that left the authorities bewildered and the public in terror.
Tonight, Chuuya returned to his apartment, his mind already anticipating the next kill. He slipped through the door, the familiar creak barely registering as he entered his sanctuary. Everything was as he left it—meticulously clean, orderly. Except for one thing. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of someone else. Someone had been here.
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, every muscle tensing as he scanned the room. He moved silently, checking for signs of intrusion. A shadow shifted behind the curtains. Without hesitation, Chuuya lunged, knife in hand, ready to confront the intruder. But as he pulled back the fabric, he was met with an unexpected sight.
Dazai Osamu stood there, a bemused smile playing on his lips. His eyes, dark and intense, met Chuuya’s with an almost affectionate gleam.
“Hello, Chuuya,” Dazai said, his voice smooth and calm, as if he were greeting an old friend.
Chuuya’s grip on the knife tightened. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?”
Dazai raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile never wavering. “Just a fan, really. I’ve been following your work for some time now.”
Chuuya’s eyes flicked over Dazai, assessing him. He was tall, lean, with an air of nonchalance that suggested he wasn’t afraid. “A fan?” Chuuya repeated, incredulous. “You break into my apartment and call yourself a fan?”
Dazai chuckled softly. “You could say I’m more than just a fan. I’m an admirer of your… artistry. The way you kill, Chuuya—it’s breathtaking.”
The words hung in the air, thick with an unsettling admiration that sent a shiver down Chuuya’s spine. He had encountered many kinds of people in his line of work, but this was new. This man was not afraid. He was… enchanted.
“How long have you been stalking me?” Chuuya demanded, stepping closer, the knife still poised.
“Long enough,” Dazai replied, his eyes never leaving Chuuya’s. “Long enough to appreciate the beauty in what you do.”
Chuuya’s mind raced. This man had seen him kill, had followed him, watched him. Yet he hadn’t reported him to the authorities. Why?
“What do you want?” Chuuya asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Dazai’s smile widened. “To watch. To learn. To be close to you. Your work—it speaks to me in a way nothing else ever has.”
Chuuya took a step back, the intensity of Dazai’s gaze unsettling him. This wasn’t fear. This was an obsession. The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. Dazai wasn’t here to turn him in. He was here because he was drawn to the violence, to the darkness that Chuuya embodied.
“You need help,” Chuuya said, his voice a mix of disgust and fascination.
“Perhaps,” Dazai admitted, his tone almost playful. “But don’t we all, in one way or another?”
Chuuya lowered the knife, but didn’t let his guard down. “If you think I’m going to let you follow me around, you’re mistaken.”
Dazai shrugged, a gesture so casual it was almost infuriating. “I don’t need your permission. I’ll be around, watching, whether you like it or not. I will be lurking in the shadows.”
For a moment, silence filled the room, the tension palpable. Then Chuuya did something he hadn’t expected. He laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh, but it broke the spell of the moment.
“You’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head.
Dazai’s smile softened, and for the first time, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Maybe. But I know what I want. And right now, that’s you.”
Chuuya didn’t know what to make of this man, this stalker who had turned his life upside down in a matter of minutes. But one thing was certain—Dazai was dangerous, not because he was a threat to Chuuya’s life, but because he understood Chuuya’s darkness. And that, more than anything, was terrifying.
“Fine,” Chuuya said finally, his voice hardening. “But if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
Dazai nodded, his expression serious. “Understood.”
As Chuuya turned away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his life had just become infinitely more complicated. The hunter had become the hunted, and in this twisted dance of death and obsession, there were no rules.
In the weeks that followed, Chuuya found himself constantly aware of Dazai’s presence. He would catch glimpses of him in the shadows, always watching, always smiling that infuriating smile. It was unnerving at first, but gradually, Chuuya began to adapt. He became more careful, more precise. He knew that Dazai was there, observing his every move, and in a strange way, it pushed him to be even better.
One night, Chuuya found himself in a dark alley, a fresh victim at his feet. He wiped the blood from his knife with practised ease, his thoughts already moving to his next target. But as he turned to leave, he felt a presence behind him.
“Dazai,” Chuuya said without looking back. “How long are you planning to follow me?”
“As long as it takes,” Dazai replied, stepping into the dim light. “You never cease to amaze me, Chuuya.”
Chuuya sheathed his knife, turning to face Dazai. “And what if I decide I’ve had enough of you?”
Dazai’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Then I suppose our dance would come to an end. But I don’t think you’re ready to give that up just yet.”
Chuuya stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “What do you really want, Dazai? This isn’t normal. You’re not normal.”
Dazai’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. “I’ve spent my whole life searching for something, Chuuya. Something to make me feel alive. And then I found you. Your darkness… it’s beautiful. It calls to me.”
Chuuya studied him, trying to understand the depth of his obsession. He could see the truth in Dazai’s eyes, the twisted admiration that bordered on love. It was disturbing, yet there was a part of Chuuya that couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“You’re insane,” Chuuya said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe,” Dazai admitted. “But I’ve never felt more certain about anything in my life.”
Chuuya turned away, unable to meet Dazai’s gaze any longer. The intensity of his feelings was overwhelming, and it scared him. He was used to being in control, to being the one who instilled fear. But Dazai… Dazai was different.
“Just stay out of my way,” Chuuya said finally, his voice cold and distant.
Dazai nodded, his smile returning. “As you wish. But I’ll always be here, watching. Waiting. If you ever need me, I will be there for support.”
As Chuuya walked away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief. Despite everything, there was a part of him that was glad Dazai was there. It was a dangerous game they were playing, but for the first time in his life, Chuuya felt like he wasn’t alone in the darkness.
Months passed, and Chuuya’s killing sprees continued with Dazai always a step behind, watching with rapt attention. They never spoke of it, but an unspoken understanding had formed between them. Chuuya would kill, and Dazai would observe, captivated by the beauty of his violence.
One evening, Chuuya returned to his apartment, exhausted from a particularly challenging kill. He stepped into his living room and froze. Dazai was there, sitting on his couch, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“Welcome home,” Dazai said with a smile. “I thought we could celebrate.”
Chuuya frowned, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Celebrate what?”
Dazai poured the wine, handing a glass to Chuuya. “Your latest masterpiece. It was exquisite.”
Chuuya took the glass, studying Dazai with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Why are you really here, Dazai?”
Dazai’s smile faded slightly, and he looked down at his glass. “Because I can’t stay away. Because I need to be close to you. Your presence captivates me. It allures me. I always need to be around you.”
Chuuya sighed, sinking into the chair opposite Dazai. “You’re a strange man, Dazai. But, you do intrigue me.”
“Maybe,” Dazai said softly. “But you’re a strange man too, Chuuya. And in a world full of ordinary people, we found each other. Fate has a way in our life, looks like fate made us met. Almost, like if it was our destiny to meet eachother, to coexist with eachother.”
For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their unspoken connection hanging in the air. Despite the danger, despite the darkness that surrounded them, there was a bond between them that neither could deny.
As they drank their wine, Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t quite happiness, but it was close. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in his darkness. And that, more than anything, was the most unexpected and (un)pleasant surprise of all.