Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but is that a fucking rat?”

“Oh yeah, they do show up sometimes.”

Chuuya hoped he wasn’t hearing right.

“You did decide to crash in the cheapest motel in Yokohama, of course the rooms are dirty.” Tachihara replied annoyed, avoiding the dirty look Chuuya was sending him.

Dirty, was a strong understatement.

The room was covered in filth, with old furniture scattered unevenly across the space. Each piece of equipment wore marks of abuse, leaving creepy scratches running across the surface like scars from a violent outburst. He couldn’t help but notice dark gunshot holes decorating the room, as if it was caught in the crossfire of ambush.

Chuuya could’ve sworn there were cockroaches beneath the bed too. There was no way a place this unkept didn’t have any bugs.

Tachihara, ignoring his distress, continued showing him around his new room. Only when his eyes locked with Chuuya’s, he gave in and with tired sigh stopped.

“Look, I know it isn’t anything fancy—”

It really wasn’t. Chuuya held his words before he could say anything he’d regret.

“—but it works for its purpose. You have roof over your head, bed to sleep in, and even if it’s cold—you have a shower.” Tachihara said, looking at him.

He was right of course, though Chuuya wasn’t happy with his new place, it was better then nothing. He should be grateful they let him stay and that he could even book some place with the amount of money he had.

“I was honestly surprised when someone called. This place was basically abandoned after its previous owner died. Nobody wants to stay in old, unkept building—you are the first customer I’ve had in years.” Tachihara mumbled more to himself than to him.

Chuuya sighed, going further into the room and putting his belongings alongside the bed. His big backpack hit the floor with a heavy thud, few things including his sketchbook falling from it. Chuuya hesitated, before leaving the open bag near the bed.

Cockroaches be damned, he will fight them if he’ll need to.

“I’m a bit short on money.” He replied firmly, in attempt to close their increasingly uncomfortable conversation.

Tachihara waited a moment, giving him a space to cooperate.

He didn’t.

A minute passed in silence, Tachihara started shifting around uncomfortably. Chuuya leaned down and started unpacking the little amount of stuff he kept with him. He grabbed his sketchbook from the floor and put it on a little nightstand beside the bed.

Tachihara scoffed, bringing Chuuya’s attention back to him. Raising his eyebrows, he kept on unpacking his stuff.

“Since you’re new to the Yokohama I could give you a tour if you want to.” He said kindly, making Chuuya falter in his tracks. Tachihara’s gaze travelled to his hand holding pencil-case. Chuuya turned away from him so that he couldn’t see embarrassment creeping in his face.

Tachihara smiled. “I could maybe show you some places to draw at.”

He put his pencil-case behind him, leaving it away from Tachihara’s prying eyes.

Chuuya knew he was only trying to be nice, but he needed to mind his own business. Besides, Chuuya didn’t have time for silly things like drawing. First, he needed to make some quick cash and maybe then, (if he’ll like it here,) pay for room extension. But he’ll need to move out eventually and travel to a new place.

He unsuccessfully tried to replicate Tachihara’s smile. “Thanks, but I’ll look for myself.”

Across Tachihara’s face crossed disappointed, but it disappeared as soon as it occurred.

“Whatever makes you comfortable man,” he said but then more hesitantly continued. “…but can I at least give you few tips before I go?”

Chuuya held the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t even care about his recommendations—if it were restaurants or shops, he probably wouldn’t be able to afford most of them anyway.

Still, it would be rude to just kick him out, so instead he listened with strained attempt of a smile.

“You can stop smiling I know I’m annoying,” Tachihara said with bitterness peaking through his tone.

Thank fuck, Chuuya’s smile dropped instantly.

Tachihara watched him unimpressively, but didn’t comment. “Trust me I would love to go do my stuff and leave you be, but you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t?” Chuuya said not being able to hold his bitterness back anymore.

Tachihara blinked surprised by his sudden change of mood but soon continued turning a blind eye to his comment.

“It’s just to ease my mind, I would feel shitty if I just let you go off without any warnings, I don’t want you to get accidentally involved in the Port mafia business.” He laughed nervously.

Chuuya perked curiously, he hasn’t heard anything about Yokohama underground, let alone a whole mafia.

“We have a good art shop down the street and beautiful lake with bridge; you should check it out.”

Chuuya nodded, committing the information to memory. Though he knew he didn’t have the budged to buy there, it was still nice to know.

“We also have many different cafés. The best one, which I think you’d probably like, is two blocks down the street after you cross the river. It’s a bit classy and expensive, but I think you’d enjoy it. They’re actually looking for new employees right now.”

Chuuya tried to remember all the new information. A café sounded nice—especially since they were hiring. It was exactly the kind of job he’d been looking for.

“Just… try to not get involved in anything illegal, I’m not sure how much research you did about Yokohama before you arrived, but the criminal activity is pretty high.”

Chuuya smiled, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t care less about the local criminal activity—no one around here could actually touch him anyway. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to sound like a jerk, so he kept his mouth shut.

Apparently, despite his effort something must have shown on his face, because Tachihara narrowed his eyes at him.

“I’m serious Nakahara—“

“Chuuya,” he cut in. “Just call me Chuuya.”

Tachihara gave a short nod, his smile long gone.

“Alright Chuuya. I’ve seen too many people end up dead because they were stupid enough to poke around where they shouldn’t. I just don’t want to see it happen again when I can prevent it.” There was a flicker of something in his voice, Chuuya couldn’t figure out whether it was regret or anger—maybe bit of both. He felt a pang of sympathy in his chest.

“Thanks, Tachihara,” he said, keeping his tone polite.

After all, the guy seemed like he was just trying to look out for him and something about his presence felt comforting. Tachihara thankfully returned his smile, and with a small wave headed to the exit.

“No problem—you have my number, call me if you have any questions.” He said, holding his gaze. “It can get lonely.”

Chuuya smiled as Tachihara shot him a crooked grin.

“Welcome to the Tachihara Brothers' Motel, Chuuya.”

As Chuuya walked beside the Yokohama River, he came to realization.

Yokohama was beautiful.

He loved the way this place buzzed with life, pretty shops and restaurants on every corner. From the river he could see the massive crowd of people all covered in expensive accessories and work uniforms.

With his dirty used clothes, he felt bit out of his element, but thankfully no one minded him, and he was left alone to enjoy the beauty of this city. As he though about it more, this place gave him a huge inspiration for his drawings—if he could only bring his art supplies here and draw—

No.

He couldn’t let himself get distracted; drawing could wait for later.

A sigh slipped past his lips.

He had, at best, two weeks before he’d run out of money, and he’ll be kicked out of the shady hotel. If it were only about food, he could’ve managed. Years of living on the streets had taught him how little his body actually needed to survive.

But not having a bed? That crossed a line. He wanted to keep some dignity, and having place to sleep at was the bare minimum—even if it meant returning back to old habits. Though of stealing didn’t make him happy, but at times it was necessary.

He turned back to the buzzing streets. The crowd was a blur of expensive coats, branded watches, and pressed uniforms. A sharp pinch of jealousy twisted in his chest. He felt so small compared to them, if only he had the chance to have normal life—maybe he could have walk there with his own expensive watches and pretty coat.

Chuuya shook his head in attempt to get rid of unwanted thoughts, he was looking for the café Tachihara talked about. How had he described it as…classy? How does a classy building look like?

He hazily remembered the directions Tachihara gave him, he wasn’t sure if it was two or three blocks down the street after he crossed the river. There were too many cafés along the way to recognize the one Tachihara ment, and that guy didn’t give him a name. Maybe he should have taken him up for the offer to show him around…

And then his gaze caught a stunning building.

It was too beautiful. Standing out above all other shops, taking pride in its elegant architecture. This must have been the café Tachihara was talking about, it was the “classiest” building he could find.

There was just enough change in his pocket for one cup of coffee. Maybe he could sit for while, find a newspaper—check for possible jobs—and then carefully ask if their looking for new employees. Tachihara told him they were, and with some miracle, they wouldn’t refuse him just because of his inexperience.

After nervous thought process about his options, he decided to step inside.

As he entered, he immediately regretted his action. The insides felt even richer then from the outside—he was way out of his element, immediately feeling underdressed with his dirty shoes and old jacket. The whole place looked exactly like the type of place were rich people meet up to talk business. The smell of expensive food and drinks made his stomach turn. The air felt heavy, like everyone knew about something he didn’t.

To his right, two boys sat in silence, dressed in long cloaks, one with white hair and the other with black. They looked no older then sixteen, but both seemed to hold themselves with matureness far beyond their age. They didn’t even glance at Chuuya as he stared.

He made his legs move and take an empty table near a man with a dark cloak and few silver locks decorating his hair. The man hadn’t touched his drink and was gazing absently out the window. Maybe he was waiting for something—or someone.

It didn’t take long before waitress came to his table to take his order. She looked very young, maybe thirteen years? If they were hiring kids, it ment he had a chance too, right?

“Hello, could I get your order?” She asked, with polite tone.

Chuuya looked behind her to look on the menu, the drinks were surprisingly cheap. He expected worse with Tachihara’s description.

He read her name tag. Kyouka Izumaki, what a nice name.

“Could I please get one cappuccino? And if you have, could you bring me newspaper please?” He asked with smile on his face. Talking with kids have always felt refreshing to him.

Kyouka wrote his order down without a falter.

 “Anything to eat?”

Chuuya ignored his hurting stomach as he shook his head. “No, thank you. That’s all.”

The girl shook her head and tipped away.

A slow jazz music filled his mind, helping him to relax a bit. He watched the calm place, they must have turned on a radio. He looked around to see if there was any other waiter so he could maybe ask for the title of the song, but with surprise he realized Koyoka was the only waitress this place had.

She soon returned with his order and newspaper. Chuuya smiled kindly at her as he settled down, pushing the offered sugar far away from his cup. He took a sip from his coffee and almost melted with pleasure. The bitterness of his hot drink gave him immediately energy that he needed for so long.

He flipped through the pages, his eyes looking for any indications of a job offer. He barely noticed another man with a crimson scarf joining the old man he saw earlier, too busy reading.

It seemed there was a new flower shop opening up, but it was way too far-fetched for him. The transfer to get there would cost him more than he would make, leaving him no other chance but to continue reading. There was a controversy about a police officer named Fakuzawa, to be working with the mafia. Though it isn't confirmed because of lack of proof.

His eyes skipped titles, ignoring any news besides job offers. It lasted for a few moments until he flipped the page and was met with eye catching title.

BITE THE CURB AND DIE. Twelve civilians were found dead on streets of Yokohama! Mafia involvement suspected.

Chuuya’s nose twitched as his eyes came in contact with the pictures below.

Jesus fucking Christ. Tachihara wasn’t joking when he said Yokahama underground was no business. If he had known how messed up the city was, he wouldn’t have come here in the first place.

But on the brighter side, maybe it works in his favor. If everyone’s focusing on Yokohama gangs, nobody will pay any attention to him.

A small smile crept on his face.

“You can’t be serious!”

A raging voice interrupted him from his thought process.

“How dare you ask me for that! You want me to pay for your actions?! I’m the one who should be asking for compensation!”

Chuuya couldn’t help himself but to turn around and see the scene for himself. The older man sat at his seat irritated, yelling as if he wasn’t inches away from his companion. The guy next to him was covered in a dark cloak, a red scarf hanging around his neck like a noose.

His bored expression didn’t help to soothe the nerves of the older man.

“Mr. Ikari,” the younger man said in a firm but bored tone. “Calm down, you are bringing attention to yourself.”

The older man hesitated before slowly sitting down.

Chuuya could tell it was already too late; most eyes were hanging on them. And even if they weren’t, it was obvious most people were listening. The atmosphere was heavy and tense—loudness of their argument making everyone uncomfortable.

“Sir, with all respect,” he continued with a hushed but still tensed tone, “what you’re asking for is simply out of my hands. We had a deal—"

“We had a deal that you breached.” Younger man cut him off, clearly loosing patience. “And I’m not asking you. This is an order.”

The older man yet again seemed to lose grip on his emotions.

“Oh, you think you’re some kind of big shot—but you’re not my boss. You can't order me around, not when you yourself are as incompetent as to bring your guard dogs here. Were you that scared?!”

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. 

“Sit down.” Younger man's voice was completely calm. Neither his posture nor expression moved an inch, but somehow... Chuuya could sense this would turn into a bloodbath if no one interrupted.

Sadly, it seemed the man next to him didn't posses this level of awareness, not moving an inch, only getting closer. 

The younger one sighed. “I don’t like repeating myself, Ikari.”

Chuuya let out a long sigh and stood up.

He just wanted to enjoy his cup of coffee, but they were so fucking loud.

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” The man laughed, leaning in closer to his face. “I’m too important for you. I know you’re all bark and no bite—“

“Excuse me?” Both men turned around to face Chuuya. A hot cup of coffee swirling in his hand as he stood in front of their table.

Ikari snapped his attention to him, piercing him with a hateful gaze. His right hand being moments away from grabbing his younger companion by the neck.

On closer look, Chuuya could see the sharp features of the younger man. He was hiding in shadow of a black coat, leaving only his bandaged face visible. A red scarf hanging on his neck matched his calculating eye peeking through black hair.

“What.”

Chuuya ignored his tone. “Could you please calm down? You’re making everyone here uncomfortable.”

The man blinked in confusion a few times. He turned, scanning the silent room, then looked back at Chuuya. All eyes were on him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, releasing the other man and stepping forward to face Chuuya.

Well, face, might’ve been a generous word.

Chuuya had to look up to meet his eyes. The guy looked so fucking smug, Chuuya’s fists itched to wipe that smirk off his face.

“Why does it matter?” He shot back, cutting Ikari off before he could open his mouth. “Either shut up, or fuck off. No one here cares about your problems.”

The words landed cold and hard, draining the color from Ikari’s face. His expression twisted, caught somewhere between disbelief and humiliation.

A low chuckle shattered the silence. Both Chuuya and Ikari turned toward the third man, who was now laughing out loud.

Ikari’s face flushed, pale skin turning a violent red as he turned back to Chuuya shaking with rage.

“You fucking—you dare humiliate me?! You filthy-“

Hot coffee hit him across his face.

Ikari froze, dripping, stunned in mid-motion.

“Oops,” Chuuya said flatly, rolling his eyes.

The younger man burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Better go change, huh?” Chuuya added with a mock sympathy. “What a shame, just when it  started getting interesting.”

Ikari let out a furious yell, cursed a string of words under his breath. He shoved past Chuuya on his way out, leaving behind only the fading scent of coffee.

“Asshole,” Chuuya muttered, watching him go.

Well, there went his money. At least the show was worth it, so it didn’t feel like a total waste.

“That was amazing.”

Chuuya turned around, locking eyes with the man in the red scarf.

He looked younger when he smiled, it suited him more. There was a boyish spark in his eyes he didn’t have before.

“Uh… thanks, I guess,” he replied awkwardly, unsure how to react to the compliment.

“What’s your name?” The man asked, holding out his hand.

Chuuya shook it without hesitation. There was something off about him, almost unnatural. But at the same time, talking like this felt weirdly familiar, as if they were two reuniting friends after long time of separation.

“Chuuya Nakahara. You?”

“Dazai Osamu,” the man said with a charming smile and a surprisingly firm handshake. “You’re new around here, aren’t you, Chuuya?”

Chuuya let out a dragged sigh. “That obvious?”

“Pretty much,” Dazai chuckled, slipping both hands into his coat pockets. “What if that guy from earlier is in the mafia? You must’ve heard the rumors. Aren’t you at least a little scared?”

Chuuya snorted. “No way someone like him,” he glanced toward the exit, “could survive in the mafia. With a temper like that? He’d be dead in a week.”

Dazai hummed in agreement.”I suppose you’re right.”

After a hot minute in which Dazai watched him with calculating eyes, he checked his watch and sighed.

“Ah, sadly, it seems I have to go,” he looked up to meet Chuuya’s confused gaze.

Then he leaned in closer—too close. His lips brushed the edge of Chuuya’s ear.

“Give me a call. I’ll take you out for coffee.” He whispered, hot breath tickling Chuuya’s neck.

Chuuya stiffened slightly, trying to act unaffected.

Was he… asking for a date? No, that couldn’t be. He was probably just trying to be friendly. Right?

“You don’t have to,” Chuuya said, trying to wave his offer of.

But Dazai didn’t budge. “You just saved me from a very long and insufferable meeting. Trust me, coffee’s the least I can offer.” He shot Chuuya a smirk, and began to step away.

“Until then, don’t forget about me midget.” He added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd outside the cafe.

“Huh?” Chuuya stood frozen. “Wait—what did you just call me?!”

He rushed after him, but Dazai was already gone.

“Idiot,” Chuuya muttered, turning back toward the café.

He blinked a few times, still a little shaken, he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. He barely noticed two teenage boys, he saw earlier, slipping out the door right after Dazai.

Why the hell would Dazai want him to call? And more importantly—how the fuck did he expect of him to do that?

He reached into his pocket. His fingers brushing against a paper... wait a paper?

Since when the hell doeas he carry a piece of paper with him? Chuuya pulled it out. There was a small, folded sheet, with no text or symbol.

Just a blank sheet.

The hell?

No number. No message. Just an empty piece of paper.

He didnt notice Dazai reaching to his pockets, but he must have put it there while they talked. Did he just walk around with a blank piece of paper in his pocket all the time?

“Seriously?” he muttered. “Who walks around handing people blank paper? What kind of weirdo—”

He sighed.

Dazai-kind of weirdo.

Just his luck yet again acting up. Chuuya tried not to scream in frustration.

“Excuse me?”

A young voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Chuuya turned to Kyouka standing nearby with a bucket of water and a handful of cleaning supplies. Suddenly he was hit with a reality and the mess he’d made. Coffee was everywhere: the floor, the table, the sofa, even the wall.

Oh god… that’s going to cost a fortune.

“I’m so sorry—should I help you—”

“It’s fine. I’ve cleaned worse,” she said calmly, already getting to work. “You don’t need to worry about it. Nothing’s permanently damaged, so you don’t have to pay anything.” She said as if she read his mind.

Chuuya let out a sigh in relief.

“Thank you. Really. And I’m sorry for making you do extra work.”

Kyouka just waved him off. “It’s really fine. It was worth the show.”

That made Chuuya smile.

He realized then that he’d stayed far longer than he’d intended. Grabbing his folded newspaper, he made his way to the bar, paid for his drinks, and even left a little extra.

Maybe it was time to head back to the hotel. The trip itself was more expensive then he intended, and he felt like he made no progress in his hunt far employment. But one more weird interaction and the day might officially be too much to handle.

A scream of pain rang through the Port mafia’s basement.

Dazai’s cloak was covered in dirt and blood that didn’t belong to him. He suppressed an irritated sigh. Today’s guest was particularly vocal.

“…I swear—I didn’t know that they were stealing from the Port—I would’ve stopped them! P-Please!” The floor was decorated with countless machines, each of which only he knew how to use. The splattered blood started to feel sticky, making a disgusting sound with every step he took.

“Is he telling the truth Ranpo?” Dazai asked without turning.

The executive lazily swung his legs, sitting on the other side of the room. He pulled a strawberry lollipop from his mouth with a loud pop.

“Nope.”

Dazai turned to face the man strapped to the iron chair in the center of the room. Bloodied and broken, Ikari slumped forward, the scent of urine and iron thick around him. Parts of his body hung limply beneath him, as his desperate sobs filled the room.

Despite being a torture specialist, Dazai had to admit he was almost impressed with the man’s resistance. His loyalty was admirable, too bad it wasn’t directed toward the Port mafia.

“Ikari, come on.” Dazai sighed, stepping closer. He stopped shortly to pick up a lighter from the blood-smeared ground, flipping it open and closed as he approached. The soft clicks echoed in the room, mixing with Ikari’s pathetic cry.

He crouched down, bringing the flame close to Ikari’s tear-streaked face. It felt light in his hands, feeling the power, he was holding.

On. Off. On. Off. On again.

The sobbing stopped, replaced with a thick, suffocating silence.

“I warned you to keep your dogs on a leash,” Dazai murmured, eyes cold. “And you failed.”

The lighter clicked again, the flame drawing nearer. Ikari flinched with every movement, locked in place by pure fear.

“What an incompetent leader you are.” Dazai added flatly, watching Ikari tremble.

“Fine! Just—please—don’t use the fire!” He yelled desperately. “I—I… they took some money, but only a little, I swear—!“

“Ranpo?”

Ranpo sighed, pulling the candy stick from his mouth again. “Still lying.”

Dazai’s icy gaze bore into Ikari’s trembling face. His eyes were like dark voids, bottomless and consuming—sucking the last bits of his warmth away. A playful smile stretched across his lips, carrying no emotions, leaving Ikari with freezing realization.

Ikari’s went pale.

“N-No! I promise! I—I’m not lying—!”

His voice cracked into a scream.

Dazai held the lighter just beneath Ikari’s palm, letting the heat lick at his skin before finally pulling away. He watched the man’s loud gasps echo through the room, with an unreadable, almost bored, face.

Then suddenly, Dazai’s expression changed to much brighter and more childlike.

“Ups! Seems like you got it wrong. Try again,” he chirped, smile widening like a blade.

Ikari stared at him in horror. Ranpo was unphased.

The room filled with fresh screams. Ranpo sighed and calmly put on his earphones, pushing the volume higher.

“Dazai, why are we even torturing this guy? You already know everything anyway.” Ranpo sighed, scrolling through his playlists.

Dazai tilted his head, considering it.

He was furious. The man’s arrogance, the lies, the disrespect… all of that was unforgivable. But even now, watching Ikari scream in pain, Dazai found himself wondering if it was really worth it.

A faint memory with a sharp-tongued redhead flashed in front of his eyes.

“No way someone like him, could survive in the mafia. With a temper like that? He’d be dead in a week.”

Dazai hummed to himself.

At first, he’d considered giving Ikari a quick, peaceful death. After all, he used to be valuable business partner to the Port Mafia.

But after the conversation… Dazai realized that would’ve been too merciful.

If even a mere civilian could see through him…

“He pissed me off,” he said flatly, as if it were a perfectly logical reason.

His gaze remained fixed on the broken figure before him as he snapped the lighter shut.

Ikari kept screaming.

“Right,” Ranpo grumped. “Forgot you’re a sadistic freak.”

Dazai rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“You done?” he asked calmly, addressing the barely conscious man in the chair.

Ikari lifted his head with effort. His face was a mess of blood and tears, hatred burning in his eyes.

“F-Fuck… y-you,” he spat, every word dragged with pain.

Dazai stood, pulling his gun out.

“Not interested.”

The gunshot rang out, deafening in the silence that followed.

And just like that, the room fell still.

“Dazai,” Ranpo groaned, pulling off his headphones, “did you seriously torture that guy for an hour, just to kill him right when he was finally about to spill something?”

Dazai hid his gun back into his pocket.

He’d wanted to use that bullet since the coffee shop. If not for Chuuya’s interruption, Ikari would’ve died hours ago.

“If he was dying, we could’ve just dragged him to Yosano and started over.” Ranpo mutter, hopping off the table.

“You could’ve let someone else torture him instead of sitting here like a creep,” he added, watching Dazai closely. “You’re the boss now. You don’t have to be the one getting your hands dirty.”

Dazai shrugged, his voice void of any warmth.
“How you said, I already knew everything. I just wanted to hear him scream.”

The coldness didn’t surprise Ranpo. Dazai knew when a man was about to break. Ikari had been right on the edge. He just wanted to get the satisfaction of seeing the light leave his eyes before Ikari broke and begged for death.

“You’re weird,” Ranpo muttered, brushing past him.

Dazai sped up, and Ranpo had to jog slightly to keep up.
“Speaking of weird,” Dazai said, glancing over. “What’s with those headphones? With your salary, you could at least afford a modern pair.”

Ranpo flushed slightly, tugging them off his neck. “Lay off. They were a gift from Poe.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Of course they were.”

“That reminds me,” Ranpo said, his voice suddenly smug, “a little bird told me you have a date.”

Dazai blinked. His face reddened slightly. “It’s not a date. I just offered to buy him coffee. That’s all.”

“That’s literally the definition of a date, dude.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Dazai groaned, quickening his pace to escape the conversation.

Ranpo smirked. “Makes me wonder why you made me an executive.”

But then his tone shifted, into a bit more curious. “Seriously though… you’ve never shown interest in anything outside the mafia. What makes this guy different?”

Dazai paused for a moment, letting the heat in his cheeks cool.

“…He’s funny.”

Ranpo watched him. “Huh.” He chuckled. “If he’s impressive enough to catch your attention, maybe I should pay him a visit myself.”

Dazai didn’t stop walking. His expression didn’t shift. But the small, amused smile playing on his lips tightened. Only thanks to years of working alongside him was Ranpo able to notice it.

“Ranpo.”

“Hm?”

“If anything happens to him… I’ll personally deal with whoever’s responsible.”

Ranpo blinked.

That wasn’t just casual banter anymore.

That was a warning.

“Chuuya Nakahara is under my protection.”

Ranpo raised a brow, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone.

Still, this was Dazai. His mood could change in a matter of seconds.

It was interesting, watching him get so protective over someone he’d only just met… but then again, everyone in the Port Mafia knew Dazai had a habit of getting possessive with his favorite toys.

After all, the previous boss paid the price for taking the last one away.

“…Understood.”

Dazai smiled.

They continued walking in silence.

“Oh,” Dazai added without looking back, “and that applies to everyone else in the Port too. Do me a favor and spread the word.”

He looked over his shoulder, once again talking with casual tone.

“We wouldn’t want to lose manpower over a silly mistake, would we?”

Chapter Text

A deadly silence stretched across the room full of mafiosos. No one dared to utter a word as if they were frozen in place, their eyes glued to the single exit.

The double doors creaked open, and a chill swept through the room like a shadow.

The intruder didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

Dressed in tailored black, crimson scarf, eyes sharp as a blade… He walked with the calm of a man who owned everything in the room. And he wasn’t wrong.

His youth wasn’t mistaken for weakness - not after how many had paid the price for doing so.

He walked through the group. Despite being far younger than anyone else, not a single person dared to stand in his way. They all stepped aside, each with a deep bow, taking a few respectful steps back.

No one dared to make eye contact. All of them were high ranking mafia officers who held deep rooted respect for him.

No one wanted to end up on the bad side of the Dazai Osamu.

The youngest boss to ever lead the Port Mafia.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance at them. He just kept walking, coat swaying behind him, eyes fixed ahead.

He left the building without a goodbye and headed toward the meeting spot he’d chosen and where Ikari was already waiting.

His eyes locked onto the magazine shop to his right, where a large crowd had gathered. They were all gasping, whispering in fear. The reason was obvious.

Today’s headline was big and bold:

BITE THE CURB AND DIE. Twelve civilians were found dead on streets of Yokohama! Mafia involvement suspected.

Dazai wrinkled his nose at the disturbing photo below the title. Shown deaths were… nicely put, messy.

Bodies covered in blood, curled on the ground in naïve hope of shielding themselves… Fates like these weren’t unusual for mafia style, but that didn’t make them any less disgusting.

Dazai could still hear the sound of their jaw breaking underneath his foot.

“…Do you think the mafia boss was behind this?”

“After all, it wouldn’t be the first time…”

He pulled his dark cloak tighter around his neck, a poor attempt to hide the crimson scarf beneath. It was the only thing civilians truly knew about him. There were countless rumors surrounding the mafia boss, but there was one which stood out more than the others, the most famous one:

The Port Mafia boss wears a red scarf, dyed with the blood of his enemies. Bandages hanging on him hide the numerous scars he got in the mafia underground.

That little detail had been carelessly leaked by one of his own officers - a traitor who paid for it with a slow, painful death.

Since that day, the entire mafia worked to reshape his image, spreading false rumors to mislead potential threats. An old man with long grey hair, a limp with a cane. Shining red eyes and demon-like features…

Yet, the scarf and bandages remained the most recognized symbols.

It would have been easier to just throw the scarf away, but it was part of the traditional uniform for bosses of the Port Mafia. The scarf itself was passed down from the boss of each generation to the next one.

And his bandages… well, the rumors were truthful about his scaring, and he’d rather be skinned alive then to take them off.

With a quiet sigh, Dazai turned away and continued his path. He glanced at his watch.

9:32

Right on time.

He opened the door to the café, ignoring curious eyes watching his every move. Atsushi and Akutagawa were already sitting by the entrance, both watching him with respect. He didn’t bother greeting them nor looking their way. His silence was a sign that he was satisfied.

Dazai sat down next to an old man. He scanned his clothes quickly. Latest model, not a smudge of dirt on his coat, and hid no weapons. He was a fool if he thought it was safe to meet with him unarmed. Although even if he did have any weapons, he still wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.

Ikari narrowed his bug-like eyes.

“You’re late.”

Dazai let a fake smile play on his lips.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

Ikari gritted his teeth, exposing their rotting color.

“The meeting started at nine, and you were the one who arranged it.” He spat the words like poison, keeping his tone low, but letting his anger show.

“Must have slipped my mind.” Dazai said unbothered, causing the man to grow crimson in his cheeks.

Ikari opened his mouth to say something else, but Kyouka interrupted him.

“Would you like to order something, sirs?”

Her voice was composed and gentle, but her eyes were sharp, body tense. Dazai recognized the slight stretch of fabric as several blades hid beneath the waitress uniform.

Her eyes were locked on his. Despite her young age, she was one of the few people who had the guts to make eye contact with him.

“No thank you,” he flashed her a polite smile.

Fake as it was, Kyouka understood the message and with a nod moved to the next table.

Dazai’s eye moved back to Ikari.

The old man watched him with stare that could only be described as burning hatred.

“You killed my group.” Ikari said in a tense, quiet voice. The clenched fists revealed just how much he held himself back.

On the other hand, Dazai didn’t bother to hide the boredom on his face.

“Yes, and?”

The man in front of him started to boil.

“You shattered their skulls and then shot them multiple times–not only did you murder them, but you also gave them a disrespectful and dishonorable deaths!!” He shouted a little louder but was able to contain his anger.

“They did nothing to deserve such a punishment!”

Dazai stared at him, piercing him with a calculating eye.

Was he serious? He knew Ikari was dumb, but not to such a degree.

“Do you hear yourself?” Dazai said, making sure Ikari knew what he spat out of if it was just a fit of rage speaking. He didn’t respond, so Dazai continued.

“You stole from mafia’s vault and thought no one would notice. There were some restricted documents among the others you stole, not to mention the amount of money. Did you seriously think you could get away with it?”

“How dare you,” Ikari turned crimson in his face, embarrassment or anger, Dazai couldn’t care enough. “How dare you accuse me of such a crime–”

“See? This is the problem with you.” He sighed. “You don’t have any loyalty to us.”

Sweat began to form on Ikari’s forehead. “No, that’s wrong, I–“

“You’re right, your people did nothing to deserve such a cruel punishment,” he interrupted him, “they only followed orders. Their deaths served as your punishment.”

Ikari halted, his eyes wide with terror.

“You and your predecessors were crucial business partners to the Port Mafia. That is the only reason why that day it was your group who took their last breath instead of you.”

He gave Ikari a moment to let the information sink in and afterward continued.

“However, I can overlook this entire incident if you return everything you stole from the Port, including the money spent on your fancy new outfit,” Dazai proceeded, unfazed by Ikari’s distress. “And pay an additional sum of seven million yen—”

“You can’t be serious!”

A raging Ikari interrupted him in his speech.

“How dare you ask me for that! You want me to pay for your actions?! I’m the one who should be asking for compensation!”

Dazai tapped with his fingers on a table. This conversation felt awfully repetitive, and as much as he tried, Ikari came to the meeting already decided not to listen to a word he says. He had hoped this interaction would go differently, but so far it was going as he predicted.

If it continues this way, he’ll just have to leave mid-conversation.

Or shoot him.

He’s gonna get out of here one way or another.

“Mr. Ikari,” he responded to him patiently, as if he were talking to a todler. “Calm down, you are bringing attention to yourself.”

Ikari looked around, and with hesitance sat back down.

“Sir, with all respect,” he continued with a hushed but still tensed tone, “what you’re asking for is simply out of my hands. We had a deal—”

“We had a deal that you breached.” Dazai cut him off.

He heard enough, and he will not waste any more of his precious time playing babysitter. “And I’m not asking you. This is an order.”

Ikari jumped out of his seat, emotions pouring out of him uncontrollably. Dazai sighed loudly, why was he so difficult?

“Oh, you think you’re some kind of big shot—but you’re not my boss. You can’t order me around, not when you yourself are as incompetent to bring your guard dogs here. Were you that scared?!” Ikari yelled out, sick satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. 

Dazai saw how Atsushi and Akutagawa tensed, both ready to jump into action and end Ikari’s life. It would take them mere seconds, to shoot him, break his back, shatter all his bones—just waiting for his approval.

“Sit down.” His voice was flat, neither his posture nor expression moved an inch.

With lazy but confident movement, he pulled out a gun from his coat. He was tired of Ikari, and if he’s so sure he’s untouchable then he’s coming for surprise.

“I don’t like repeating myself, Ikari.”

Ikari’s mouth twisted into a provocative smile.

Dazai clenched his jaw.

His hand slid across the cold metal that chilled in his lap.

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” Ikari laughed, leaning closer to his face. “I’m too important for you. I know you’re all bark and no bite—“

“Excuse me?” They both snapped their attention to the intruder. A young man, who seemed the same age as Dazai, was standing beside their table. His fiery red hair highlighted his heterochronic eyes. One brown, the other blue, both sparking with annoyance.

Dazai loosely noticed Ikari standing up and yelling at him something.

All Dazai could think of was how fucking short the other man was. Just what were his parents feeding him to look like a smurf?

 “…please calm down? You’re making everyone here uncomfortable.” The man asked, making gesture to the rest of the café.

Both Dazai and Ikari stared at him with disbelief.

This guy was new to Yokohama and it was painfully obvious. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Or he was just stupid. But Dazai hoped it was the first one.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ikari asked, stepping closer, towering over him.

“Why does it matter?” He shot back, cutting Ikari off before he could open his mouth. “Either shut up, or fuck off. No one here cares about your problems.”

The icy words drained the color from Ikari’s face. His expression twisted, caught somewhere between disbelief and humiliation.

A low chuckle shattered the silence. Dazai couldn’t hold himself back anymore as he started laughing.

Ikari let himself get railed up way too easily. Dazai tried so badly to avoid getting into argument with him, not wanting to make a fuss—and this guy couldn’t care less. The fact that foreign stranger was able to stand up to him like that—

Dazai’s day just got ten times better.

He quickly slid the gun back into his coat pocket, hiding it away from the stranger’s calculating eyes.

“You fucking—you dare humiliate me?! You filthy-“

Hot coffee splashed on Ikari’s face.

Ikari froze, boiling coffee dripping from his face, staining his brand-new clothes. He could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

“Oops,” The man said with no sense of remorse, rolling his eyes.

Dazai burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Better go change, huh?” The stranger added with a mock sympathy. “What a shame, just when it started getting interesting.”

Ikari shouted in rage and muttered a series of insults. On his way out, he pushed past him, leaving just a weak smell of coffee behind him.

The stranger watched him go with an unimpressed look.

“Asshole,” he murmured, putting his hands into his pockets. Dazai stood up, sliding closer to him.

“That was amazing.”

The man turned around, locking eyes with Dazai.

“Uh… thanks, I guess,” he replied hesitantly, taken by surprise from his compliment. Was he not used to hearing compliments? Or maybe he’s just not used to talking so much.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asked, holding out his hand. He shook it without a second though.

His face tensed slightly but quickly replied. “Chuuya Nakahara. You?”

“Dazai Osamu,” Dazai put on charming smile, shaking his hand. He felt the texture of fabric as they held hands. His eyes quickly shot at Chuuya’s palms, where he wore black pair of gloves. “You’re new around here, aren’t you, Chuuya?” He looked back up.

“That obvious?” Chuuya sighed deeply, with surrounded expression on his face.

“Pretty much,” Dazai chuckled. “What if that guy from earlier is in the mafia? You must’ve heard the rumors. Aren’t you at least a little scared?”

“No way someone like him,” Chuuya let out a muffled laugh, “could survive in the mafia. With a temper like that? He’d be dead in a week.”

True. Honestly, it was embarrassing for him to take a civilian telling him, to figure that out.

“I suppose you’re right.”

He needed to find Ikari and punish him for such disrespectful behavior. This was no way to talk to the Port Mafia boss, and he needed deterrent example.

But before that, he had plenty of other meetings. Including the most annoying one.

The executive meeting.

He could swear Kouyou was trying to catch him making a mistake, she was basically behind his ass most of the time.

The only reason he didn’t replace her was because despite their mutual disapproval, she was annoyingly talented and smart. Without her, the mafia would fall apart.

But even earlier before that he had meeting with Kunikida.

Shit.

He checked his watch.

The meeting with him already started five minutes ago, Kunikida will be nuts when he comes. To his defense, he thought he would be able to wrap things up with Ikari way faster.

He let out a dragged sigh.

“Ah, sadly, it seems I have to go,” he looked up to meet Chuuya’s confused eyes.

Dazai let a small smile play on his face as he leaned in closer letting his lips brush the edge of Chuuya’s ear. He could hear Chuuya inhale in surprise.

“Give me a call.” He quickly slid his hand into his pocket, putting a piece of paper there. “I’ll take you out for coffee.” He took Chuuya’s lighter from his pocket and backed down.

Chuuya’s cheeks were rosy pink, his eyebrows frowned.

“You don’t have to.”

“You just saved me from a very long and insufferable meeting.” Not only that, he saved him from many years of sweet talking to Ikari before his nerves break and he’d kill him. Besides, the show he made out of Ikari… “Trust me, coffee’s the least I can offer.”

Dazai shot him a smile as he slowly made his way to the exit.

“Don’t forget about me, midget.” He added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd outside the cafe.

A good mood still hovered over him like a shadow, but as he kept on walking his anger began to grow. How dare Ikari humiliate him like that? Speaking that way to a boss of Port was unheard. Oh, he will murder him.

His hand squeezed Chuuya’s lighter in his pocket.

Ikari didn’t deserve a quick death; he will personally take care of this one. He might as well contact Ranpo, letting him know to cancel whatever plans he had for the night.

His two apprentices followed him silently through the crowd as he headed back to the mafia headquarters.

Both of them were silent, knowing better than to speak when Dazai was angry.

“Looks like I’ll need to pay visit to our dear Ikari,” he sang with a childish enthusiasm. Both boys tensed.

“Make sure he knows his place.”

Chuuya sat on the bench near the river.

It took him a whole day before he decided to text Tachihara for help. He swallowed his embarrassment, aware that texting later would be even worse. Thankfully, Tachihara was as kind to inform him that ‘he might find some time later this afternoon’ and ‘Chuuya should wait for him near the river’.

He didn't even bother letting him know when exactly he planned to show up, so Chuuya has been stuck hours on the same fucking spot like an idiot. 

Well, he supposed that was a petty revenge from Tachihara for refusing his help earlier.

Whatever.

His help would be useful, but if he doesn't show up, he will find a way to orientate here by himself. If Tachihara expects him to plead for his help and make idiot out of himself—he'd rather tell him to fuck off.

He didn't need his help, he was fine by himself.

Chuuya let out a frustrated sigh.

He started getting up, ready to leave, but suddenly—

“BOO!!”

—intruder jumped at him from behind.

Chuuya didn’t think twice, he grabbed their hand throwing them across the bench in front of him. Stranger yelled out in pain, but Chuuya was already on top of them holding their head to the ground.

“Hey! What the fuck dude?! That’s gonna bruise!” A familiar voice yelled out, tapping with their free hand on the ground.

Chuuya’s eyes widen.

“…Tachihara?”

“Yeah! Who the fuck else?!” He yelled out in muffled scream, his head still pressed against the dirty ground. “Now let go of me you fucking creep!”

“Oh shit, sorry…” Chuuya let him go immediately, backing few steps away.

Tachihara got up, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the dirt from him. “Seriously man, you have some serious issues—do you jump like this on anyone?”

Chuuya nervously messaged the back of his neck, avoiding Tachihara’s judging eyes.

“Well, the one’s who sneak up on me…” He mumbled quietly, ignoring Tachihara’s raised eyebrow.

Damn, he made really bad impression, didn’t he?

“Well, for someone who texted me, begging for help, you sure don’t act like it.” Tachihara sighted, but came closer to him, gesturing him to sit down on the bench with him.

Chuuya hesitated but sat down next to him.

“I didn’t beg.”

Tachihara raised an eyebrow. “Right,”

He started laughing, Chuuya only stared.

What’s up with everyone around him laughing about something? Was there some kind of joke he missed? Everyone in Yokohama were so weird, or was it him? Ugh, it made his head hurt thinking about it.

“Imagine my surprise when I checked my messages this morning and found a text from you, Mr. I don’t need any help and will look around by myself.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, already tired of the course this conversation was going. “Alright I get it asshole, shut up.”

Tachihara slowly calmed himself, letting his laugh die out. His voice got somehow more serious.

“So… what made you change your mind?”

He tilted his head with a stupid grin. “Got lost?”

Chuuya tried ignoring the blood rushing to his face and turned around, in desperate attempt to hide his embarrassment. However, Tachihara took this as his answer and laughed at him.

“Seriously? So, you did get lost, who would have though.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Okay, I didn’t get lost, I just… realized it would be a lot quicker to get used to this place if someone who lives here showed me around.” Tachihara gave him unimpressed look but didn’t interfere.

“Besides,” Chuuya spoke up again, “I was in the café you recommended, so I didn’t get completely lost.” He felt a confidence settle in his chest again, finally getting somehow at least a little of control over the humiliating situation.

Tachihara frowned his eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t see you there.”

“I was. It is the one three rows down the street after you walk alongside the river…” He tried to remember the directions, but his mind was blurred.

Tachihara stilled, turning to him with horrific realization in eyes.

“…or maybe it was two rows? Or four? Honestly I don’t remember anymore,” Chuuya felt uncomfortable, loosing the last bits of control he just gained. “It was the fanciest place I saw miles away, so it was definitely the place you recommended.”

Tachihara stared at him, frozen in shock.

“Though,” he thought out loud, “they had a lot cheaper prices then you made it sound like, and there was almost no one there—even the employees were understaffed, I’m not surprised they are hiring.”

“Chuuya, you…” Tachihara blinked few times, his whole body still tense.

“Were you by any chance in café named Golden demon?”

Chuuya sighted in relief, thank fuck he found the right café.

“Oh yeah that was the name.”

“Chuuya that is a different café!” Tachihara panicked. “That place is only for criminals to meet up—that’s why no one was there!” He yelled out, full on panicking and standing up from the bench.

“And the drinks were so cheap, because nobody goes there to actually drink café. That place is rumored to be owned by Port mafia!”

Tachihara towered over him, sweat dripping down from him, shaking from adrenaline.

“Oh.” Chuuya mind got stuck, as he slowly revived the interaction with the rude man from the café.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Did he just accidentally piss off someone from the mafia against him? No way, that guy—Ikari—didn’t belong in the mafia. But he was way too confident for normal civilian.

Ughhhh

He new that realistically he could probably beat a whole gang in a fight, but the last thing he wanted right now was to bring attention to himself.

“Chuuya why is your face pale? Please, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Chuuya blinked a few times.

“I might have,” he avoided Tachihara’s intense glare, “get into argument with one of the customers.”

Oh well it was probably way worse than an argument, but Tachihara didn’t need to know that. He looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time.

Tachihara—full on hyperventilating—watched him with wide eyes. One would say it was him who splashed a coffee over the mafioso.

“You need to be fucking with me.” His voice was panicked, shaking with fear.

“I left you for one day,” he started walking in circles, “I even warned you and all that shit—and you still managed to get yourself into some mafia mess!” He screamed annoyed.

Chuuya started to feel an actual pang of sympathy for that guy.

“Hey, who said that guy was in a mafia? He had such a bitchy attitude that made everyone uncomfortable. Besides, he looked like he was super old, like—on a brink of death old.” Chuuya stood up, hands in pockets, trying to calm down more and more panicking Tachihara.

“There’s no way a gramps like him—“

“Are you stupid?!” He cut him off. “Most mafias are old! That is no way to indicate who’s in mafia and who’s not.” Tachihara yelled at him, exhausted.

Chuuya hummed in agreement. “Sure, whatever you say. But I think you’re little exaggerating this situation, maybe you should show me around like you promised, and forget this ever happened—“

“Chuuya do you seriously care about your life so little? What if they’ll kill you? You’re basically a dead man!!” Tachihara interrupted him. Again.

Chuuya sighted.

“Technically speaking,” he looked at him significantly. “One day we’ll all fucking die.”

Tachihara stared at him in disbelief.

“What.”

“I mean, it’s just a matter of time before we go out. And by stressing out like this we aren’t going to change a shit. I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life living in fear because of something that’s inevitable. Might as well enjoy the rest of the time I have.” He finished, satisfied.

“But—“

“Nope! I don’t wanna hear anything, I’m getting sick of you interrupting me the whole time.” Chuuya cut him off, letting stunned Tachihara blink in confusion. “Let’s just go around the town and forget about this. Show me around and then we can separate our ways.”

Tachihara scanned him, unbelieving, but after a hot minute he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He pushed past Chuuya, starting their walk.

“I did all I could. If you drop dead tomorrow, it’s only because of your own stubbornness.”

Chuuya pushed the urge to roll his eyes but hurried to catch up to him.

“Wow, its so reassuring knowing how much faith you put in me.”

Tachihara ignored him but continued on walking. After a while of silence, he started hesitantly telling him about the buildings they came across. Chuuya was surprised by the amount of information he knew, he must have lived here for a long time.

He tried to remember all the important spots and building names for later. Orientation in foreign place is crucial, he needed to learn it quickly.

Thankfully, the trip wasn’t that long, and after a while they were back at their meeting spot.

As they walked across a convenience shop, Chuuya’s stomach tighten at the sight of food.

“Wanna go grab some food?” Tachihara said, letting Chuuya flinch slightly.

“Yeah, I guess.”

They walked into the store, meeting a bright blonde kid sitting behind the counter.

“Hello!! My name is Kenji, if you need anything you’re welcome to ask me.” He cheered, with his mouth full of snacks.

Damn, did anyone hire other people then kids these days? First Kyouka and now him. What kind of chance did he stand?

“Thanks.” He replied and with Tachihara behind his back sneaked in.

Chuuya quickly aimed to the instant ramen isle.

He looked at the price and beamed pleasantly surprised. It was the cheapest he had yet encountered; he needed to go here more often.

“…so,” Tachihara was interrupted by Chuuya pushing all the ramens into his arms. He turned around to him, instant soups covering most of his face.

“Yeah?”

Tachihara look like he wanted to comment something but stopped himself, shooting his head.

“Do you seriously like instant ramen that much?” He tilted his head.

“I guess, it’s pretty cheap here. And, it’s easy to make.” He muffled from behind the crushing weight of soups. “…I can’t cook.” He added.

Tachihara crunched his nose. “Wow, you’re really desperate, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and mind your own business. You yourself own a fucking piece of shit motel.” He rolled his eyes and went to the counter.

“Alright hold on, there is a big difference between us—You, are unemployed, I, own a whole hotel.”

“Yeah, I bet it makes you so much money. Didn’t you say I was your first guest in… how many years?” He smiled at him, this time Tachihara rolling his eyes.

“It was twelve, now shut up. Point taken.”

Chuuya raised his eyebrows at that information, either Tachihara was much older than he looked, or he was bullshitting him. There was no way he was over twenty-five.

He quickly checked out at the counter, giving a charming smile to the cute blond kid—Kenji, or whatever his name was.

“To my previous question,” Tachihara started as they headed out to the hotel.

“What brings you to this shit hole—Yokohama anyway?” When he didn’t answer immediately, he quickly added. “If you don’t mind asking of course.”

Chuuya blinked a few times.

It was none of his business. He held in the words.

Tachihara wasn’t anything but kind to him, the least he deserved was more… friendly answer. Right. He wanted to fit in; he can’t make friends without opening up more.

He took in deep inhale.

“I like traveling.” He didn’t. He hated it. There was nothing more that he wanted, then to just settle the fuck down and live a boring, normal life.

But it was the easiest answer he could give Tachihara without making him question him any further.

“Damn, that’s so cool. It certainly explains your accent, you’re from Europe, right?” Tachihara jumped with excitement.

“…yeah.” Chuuya tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, but Tachihara started to move on thin ice, and it was getting harder and harder to not tell him to fuck off.

“Let me guess,” Tachihara smiled, “Spain?”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“Or… France? Italy? Germany, Austria, Greece, Syria, Poland…”

Was he fucking serious—

“Did you just name all countries from Europe that you remember?” Chuuya asked trying not to ask too judgmental.

Tachihara laughed nervously. “Maybe...?”

“Syria isn’t in Europe you idiot.” Chuuya laughed enjoying the embarrassing squeak Tachihara let out. Seemed like geography wasn’t his strong side. Even he knew that, and he didn’t go to school.

He let Tachihara drown in his own embarrassment for a bit longer and then spoke up.

“It’s France,” he admitted.

“Huh?” Tachihara turned to him.

“I said,” Chuuya repeated, “I’m from France.”

Tachihara eyed him curiously for some time, before turning his head ahead of him.

“Cool.”

The atmosphere felt nice, and Chuuya felt a heavy weight dropping from his chest. After a long time, he felt his senses relax and enjoy the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Tachihara or the place, but he liked it here.

Once they got to the hotel, Chuuya put down all the packs of ramen he bough, (yes, stubbornly he decided to carry them all in hands rather than to pay extra for a bag,) and leaned against the wall.

He put out his pack of cigarettes, turning towards Tachihara. “Mind if I smoke one?”

“Nah, do your shit.” Tachihara shook his head in disagreement, leaning on the wall next to him.

Chuuya nodded, pulling one cig out and putting it into his mouth. He already felt the rush of excitement from the rolled paper in his mouth, as he reached out to his pocket for lighter.

Huh?

He tried to reach to the other pocket in case he misplaced it.

Nothing.

He frowned his eyebrows, what the hell? He could swear he had it in his pocket just yesterday. He looked into both of his pockets confused.

There was only the shitty piece of paper Dazai gave him, but except for that it was empty. Where the hell did his lighter go—did he manage to lose it in the short amount of time he had been in Yokohama? Fuck.

“Need a fire?” Tachihara asked with his own lighter ready in hands.

Chuuya nodded, bit embarrassed.

Tachihara lend him the lighter. Flicker of fire licked the top of Chuuya’s cig.

He filled his mouth with the nicotine air, before he breathed in—letting the burning sensation flower in his lungs.

His mind got clear, and his thoughts slowed down to normal pace. He enjoyed the relaxation nicotine gave him, almost forgetting Tachihara was there with him.

Almost.

“You know, smoking is bad for you.”

Chuuya groaned.

“Tachihara, do I look like I give a fuck?” Chuuya bit back, not wanting to have this conversation right now. Not only he had absolutely no right to act like mother hen to him after two days of knowing each other, but it was also absolutely pointless.

Chuuya knew that his superior healing ability and anatomy allowed him to heal a lot faster than other people, he didn’t need to worry about smoking affecting him in any way or damaging his health in the slightest.

Not that he could tell that to Tachihara.

“Well, I think you should still hear that—“

“Tachihara I don’t want to be rude, but can’t you mind your own business?” Chuuya cut him off, not being able to stand his shit anymore.

“Hey watch it. Don’t forget who’s light you’re using.” Tachihara spoke back with a hint of annoyance, but mostly keeping his cool.

Chuuya let out a low muffled laugh. “Well, Mr. Health expert, why do you carry around a lighter in the first place? Have something you want to share?” Tachihara rolled his eyes.

“At least unlike you I’m trying to quit, and spread awareness, idiot.” Tachihara sighed. “Sorry, I sound like a dick, don’t I?”

Chuuya put the cigarette out, puffing a cloud of smoke.

“A little, but don’t worry about it. I sound like that all the time.”

“Thanks,” Tachihara laughed, dissolving the tense atmosphere. “Look, it’s getting dark. I’ll probably head home.”

He pushed himself from the wall, taking few steps ahead, before stopping and turning to back to him.

“See you around Chuuya—and don’t hesitate to call me.” He smiled.

“Yeah… thanks a lot for today, I’ll see you around Tachihara.” Chuuya smiled.

Tachihara returned his smile, and with a wave disappeared behind the tall buildings.

When the night fell, Chuuya was already exhausted.

After yesterday’s weird encounter with Dazai and today’s seemingly normal (but still exhausting) meet up with Tachihara, he was dead tired.

He inhaled slowly, letting the burning feeling settle in his lungs.

Without thinking, his hands wondered to his pockets, pulling out the piece of paper Dazai gave him. His eyes scanned the paper for a second.

He put his cigarette under the paper and watched as the fire drew out the simple message Dazai left him.

A phone number.

Chuuya didn’t waste any more time, pulling out his phone. It was late at night, but Dazai wanted him to give a call so he might as well do it now. If he was asleep, it was his problem, he deserved it for such a stupid riddle.

You — 01:34

Who the fuck gives someone phone number like that?

You’re an idiot.

And the riddle was way too easy

a preschooler could solve it

He closed the phone, ready to put it back in his pocket but a low buzz made him reconsider. His eyes scanned the screen, why the hell was Dazai awake this late at night?

He looked at the message.

### ### ### — 01:34

Chuuyaaaa

You figured out the code I gave you!

I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me

:3

Chapter Text

Dark.

Everything was dark.

Were his eyes closed… or opened? He tried to blink, nothing changed.

The pitch-black void was blinding him, sticking to him no matter what he tried. His eyes scanned the surroundings more carefully, trying to recognize colours, shades or shapes—anything.

He didn’t like this nothingness, he didn’t like how he didn’t know anything.

He couldn’t move.

The walls were everywhere. Tight against him like the world had shrunk into this tiny place just to trap him. He was stuffed in a small room, or was it a tube? A box?

His chest started to feel heavy, like something was sitting on it. There was a mask on his face. He could breathe, but barely, the air tasted like a metal and rot. His stomach turned.

The air was thick—too thick for him to breathe, it was wrong—everything was wrong.

The overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia blinded his mind. He couldn’t remember were he learned such a word, he only knew it described how he felt. It crawled up his throat like insects, suffocating him.

He hated it here.

He hated it.

He HATED IT.

His hands twitched, floating. He was in some kind of liquid. Cold, freezing, biting into him like a teeth. His fingertips traced the shape of the box, no, a tube. Yes, a tube.

The creepy darkness was hugging him like an old friend—but he didn’t like it!

Why did they turn off the lights? Didn’t they know he was awake?

He told them he hated the dark.

He told them so many times.

Did they forget? Again? A twisting feeling in his stomach told him otherwise.

Or maybe they just ignored him, they didn’t seem to like him. They avoided his gaze and only went to him when they were covered in these weird clothing… as if he had a disease.

Did he? That wasn’t right, he was different, but he wasn’t sick.

He didn’t understand.

Didn’t they care about him? He cared about them.

What did he do wrong?

Why were they so mean?

His head was smooth, too smooth.

The liquid lapped against his scalp in a slow, sick waves, like it was trying to lick him clean.

The doctors made sure of it.

No hair. Not a strand. They always came in with sharp tools, dull eyes, scrubbing his head. They shaved him like he was a thing, not one of them, not human enough.

A sick feeling scrawled through his stomach like something alive. It squirmed, settled deep, and refused to leave.

Momma used to braid his hair every day.

His chest hurt as the memory bloomed and disappeared in an instant.

A sharp whine escaped his throat. His head hurt, it hurt so much. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like it!! He sucked in a deep breath of the strange air, but it burned, it burned so much—like it was made of needles.

His lungs screamed and so did he.

But no sound came out. Only a desperate gasps for fresh air.

He didn’t have hair.

He never had hair.

That’s what they told him.

Just like they told him he never had a mommy.

But the feeling was still there. That crawling, itching feeling at the back of his skull.

The phantom strands and braids, the ghost brush of woman’s hand…

He needed to touch it. He had to check.

What if it was there? What if they missed a piece?

It felt suffocating, he wanted to check his head himself but heavy presence of chains on his legs and hands didn’t let him.

Cold and heavy. Tight around his wrists and ankles.

They didn’t just hold him still.

They held him away from himself.

He couldn’t scratch himself; he couldn’t check.

He could only wonder and that was even worse.

Doctors didn’t tell him the reason why they put him in them. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew the doctors had a good reason, they wouldn’t do it otherwise.

A foreign memory of him breaking the tube in panic flew through his head. The scientists rushed to him and infected him with some sleeping drug. He knew he could break them if he wanted to.

He was strong.

At least that’s what the scientists believed.

He didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember how strong was normal human supposed to be.

His mind was blank, he couldn’t remember… anything. It was as if his memory was wiped, the only memories were from the tube. But he wasn’t always in there.

Or was he?

A sharp pain grew in his head once again the more he though about it. Everything was blurry, how could it be blurry if he didn’t see anything? Only then he realized a strange burning liquid flew from his eyes.

What was that?

Why did it hurt so much?

A light tab on glass brought his attention.

He couldn’t see anything, nor feel anyone’s presence, but he knew. That sound… Right, how could he forget, his brother was beside him. They might be in different tubes, but they were still together in the same room.

He didn’t care where he was, as long as his brother was here with him. If they stay together everything will be fine.

Two tabs.

Are you okay?

Chuuya’s head started to hurt.

Why did it feel like he’s forgetting something?

He tabbed three times back, almost on reflexes, not thinking too hard about it.

Yes.

A sharp light blinded him as blurred figure stepped in. These footsteps… He could recognize them everywhere.

“Well, if it aren’t my favorite subjects? And both of you are awake, how wonderful…” His voice came closer and Chuuya‘s body tensed.

Despite his hazy memory and limited eyesight, he knew.

His mind might forget but his body remembered every pain this man has inflicted on him. He didn’t want to be near him, he didn’t like him. Out of all the doctors, this one was the meanest.

“Let’s see… I have couple tests for you today—“

Every single instinct yelled at him to hide and run away.

But, where?

Someone slammed the doors open. Chaos behind the door in the hallway was obvious without even needing see. People were running around screaming for help.

The panting man ran into the room grabbing on their previous intruder.

“Doctor N., subject A-0012 is out of control again—“

“Fuck!” Doctor N. yelled out stepping closer to the panting man. “What did it do this time?”

“While testing his—the subjects healing abilities it broke free and ripped of an arm from a doctor—”

“How would you like if you were gut like a fish every day huh?! Not so fucking smug now are we!!”

A loud yell from distance interrupted the doctor's conversation. Chuuya recognised the voice, fragile sense of comfort filling his mind.

“Of course, he fucking did,” Dr. N sighed, “call immediately Doctor R., he’s the only one it listens to.” He gritted through his teeth as he rushed to the exit.

“Yes Sir!” The man yelled out before running off.

Doctor N. stopped in front of the exit, hesitating and then turning around.

“You were lucky this time brats, but after I’m done, I’m coming back for you.” And with that he closed the door again, leaving the room in internal darkness once again.

A shot of pain ran through his head. He felt like he was forgetting about something. Something important—why couldn’t he remember?

Darkness, loud noise… He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. There was a water everywhere—wait, water? No, water wasn’t red. The liquid was red, everything was red—

“Honey?”

Chuuya slowly opened his eyes.

He was in a bright bedroom, light shining through the open window. Fresh air brushed against his skin. He heard the bugs and birds singing outside.

No tube, no lab, no doctors, no suffocating liquid—it was all gone.

He was curled up next to a pretty woman in bed. Her beautiful fiery red hair covered most of her face and body, shining around her like a halo.

He extended his hand to her, wanting to touch her face but—

Why was his hand so tiny?

She was so big and tall and... he was so small.

“Is everything okay, pumpkin?” She asked in a smooth, gentle voice.

His eyes filled with tears. 

He was fine. 

It was all a just bad dream.

The relief washed over him like a wave, a painful big smile growing on his face, heavy tears dropping to the ground.

“I had a nightmare mommy,” he cried, hugging her with his tiny body. This felt right, finally, he felt like this was right. Everything was the way it was supposed to be.

“You left me, and I was all alone… it was so dark momma, and—and I couldn't see anything. I was drowning and you were gone!” He bowled his eyes out, hugging her tightly, scared someone will take her away from him.

She let out a gentle laugh.

“What a silly dream,” she smiled, brushing his fluffy hair with her hand. “I would never leave you.”

Chuuya sobbed, calming down. He looked up to her face. It was blurry, why couldn’t he see her face? It must have been the tears.

“You wouldn’t?”

She laughed again. What an angelic voice.

“Of course not.” She smiled at him, wiping off his tears.

“Me and daddy will always be here to protect you.”

His eyes snapped open.

He tore the blanket from himself lifting into a sitting position, immediately lifting his hands into the air, checking for tubes and bandages. None.

Without a moment to waste, he ran through his hair with his hands. It was wet and damp from the nightmare, but it was there. His hair was messy and long just like yesterday when he fell asleep.

There was no strange woman in his bed nor were there his doctors to check up on him.

He was in the shitty hotel he rented from Tachihara.

Nobody kidnapped him. He was safe.

Stress was just getting to him, making him remember shit he didn't want to. He must have fell asleep yesterday texting Dazai, and it just happened that his mind decided to fuck him up.

He panted, taking in deep breaths of fresh air.

It was all a bad dream, nothing more than a nightmare to keep him on his toes. It was fine, everything was fine.

His eyes slid from his arms to the wall in front of him. 

Why the fuck was the bed moving—

Fuck.

Furniture was flying all across the room, objects floating everywhere. His bed was on its way to break the window and fly out on the street. The couch was lifted up, flying to the bathroom and—yep.

Chuuya was right, there were bugs and cockroaches all over the  bottom. His opened pencil case, passed just above his head.

He groaned internally. He was still tired and trying to clean everything up now would take hours.

Chuuya felt the cold sweat dripping from his skin, making him itch all over.

The ghostly sensation of liquid creeping across his body… the memory of tubes injecting him with drugs he didn’t want—it was still there.

He gasped for fresh air, but it still tasted like rotten iron. 

He could feel the phantom touch of an oxygen mask pressed to his face, like it was still there, smothering him. Filling his mouth and lungs with that same, spoiled air—

He jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom. 

Collapsing in front of the toilet, vomiting violently, he tried to hold his hair back. He kept puking until there was nothing left in him.

A groan escaped his raw throat, now burning. It felt like a thousand tiny knives were carving through his neck and skull.

He felt so… dirty.

He put his hair into a tight bun and poured the hottest water they had there. At first the water was freezing cold, just like the other days, but thankfully it slowly shifted to the boiling hot he loved so much.

He felt the burning sensation around his body, letting his muscles to finally relax. Hot showers made him feel alive, they made him feel every part of his skin.

His eyes slid to the dirty mirror beside the shower corner. His eye twitched. 

The way he looked... it was wrong.

His whole body looked wrong.

His muscles were bigger than they should be. Years in poverty and lab, ended his growing spurt too early, making him shorter than he should have been by now. Not to mention the long and wide scars decorating his skin everywhere, from his feet to the tip of his neck.

His hands were covered in black ink, hiding the long scars from unwanted eyes. He will be forever grateful Flags for helping him tattoo his hands.

Those tattoos covered the parts he hated the most, reminding him of every single painful scar he got.

It was the only way he could look at himself into a mirror again, allowing himself to wear shirts without long sleeves. It gave him a fragile hope of having at least a little control over his own body.

Like it wasn’t owned and altered without his permission.

"Fuck."

He exited the shower going back to his bedroom slash any other room that wasn't a bathroom.

All the furniture and objects persistently flew around the room, some scratching the already damaged walls.

He let out a loud sigh.

Most people would think the hardest part about having powers was activating them, in his place, making the objects float.

Most people were wrong.

It was easy--way too easy, for him to activate his powers, most of the time he even needed to were gloves because of them. The worse part was deactivating, he could only do so when he was calm. Which was most of the time hard to achieve.

Sadly the doctors only thought him how to activate them, thinking deactivating wasn't as important.

He looked around the room for his sketchbook, grabbing it with a pencil floating beside him. 

After years of struggling with his powers, he learned the easiest way to calm himself was drawing what he was feeling, it was one of the very few healthy coping mechanisms he had. 

It also functioned like a sort of diary, Chuuya writing down all the information he could remember and drawing the places and people he met in his dreams.

He opened it, flipping through the pages.

The ghost touch of liquid and tubes suffocating him returned, as he reread some of the memories he wrote down last time. Most of the pages were covered with brother's face, clinging to him. As if he was his protector, as if he could save him.

His finger tips turned to the last page.

He was smiling, covering the bright new scarring on his face that deformed him beyond recognition.

"...what a shame you don't have the same healing factors as your brothers."

Chuuya slammed the sketchbook shut, taking few deep breaths in.

He carefully opened it again, but this time at the very end, with first blank page staring right back at him.

Taking in the pencil he started drawing the place, the tube, the devices hanging from him, all to every detail. Then he drew the blurred figure of Doctor N., writing down everything he said.

After that he flipped to another page, drawing the pretty woman. The chances were, that was his mother. It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed about her and father, but sadly he could never remember their faces. All drawing of them contained only their clothes and hair.

He had no memory of his life before the lab, so the only way to learn about his past was from dreams like these. It always felt bittersweet waking up.

It took him more time then he realized to finish his pieces. He looked at the pictures again, he tried to make the lab seem as suffocating as it was. Letting the child's desperation signature the drawing.

On the other hand, he felt he didn't draw the woman as stunning as she felt in the moment. He wanted to give her the angelic warmth he felt when he hugged her.

He looked up, seeing the furniture thrown randomly on the floor. He will clean that up later, the most important thing being that it wasn't floating anymore.

With relieved sigh he closed the sketchbook and grabbed his phone from a charger, sitting back on the bed.

It was ungodly early, 4. am to be exact. He checked his messages; he was right. I seems he fell asleep texting that idiot, again.

Almost a week passed, since he moved in Yokohama. Between his meet up's with Tachihara, and Dazai's constant texting he started to loose the grip on time.

Tachihara tried to help him find a job, but it was hard. The café gig he had in mind was already taken by someone else, and nobody else wanted to employ an eighteen year old with no previous experience, and no study certificate.

He didn’t even get the chance to meet up with Dazai again. Sadly, he was busy most of these days. Not busy enough, to stop him from constantly texting Chuuya and spamming him with emoji’s, but busy enough, so that he couldn't meet up.

He scrolled through his and Dazai’s messages. Chuuya needed some distraction that didn’t included him trauma dumping into his sketchbook. Normally he would text Tachihara, but it was too early. He didn’t want to wake him up.

He started texting.

You — 4:18

Oi

You awake?

I’m bored.

If he learned something, it was that Dazai had the most fucked up sleeping schedule to ever exist. If there was even a possibility of someone being awake at this hour, it was him. He proved it several times before by spamming Chuuya in three in the morning.

He put the phone on the nightstand beside him, ready to stare at the wall for a next ten minutes, but a fast, low buzz surprised him.

He grabbed the phone, his eyes already rolling from Dazai’s message.

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:19

Chuuyaaa

You texted my first omgg

I didn’t even need to spam you like last time :D

You — 4:19

Why tf are awake this late?

Were you waiting for me to text you?

Creep

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:19

You wound me Chuuya :(

I could say the same about you, you know? And for your information I just finished last meeting for the night.

I’m being very important and responsible adult unlike you UvU

Chuuya stared at the phone blinking a few times.

What kind of awful job does Dazai have? Oh well, he had no idea if that was normal or not, he as hell wouldn’t ask about it. He doesn’t want to sound like an idiot if that’s just an average time for people to finish working.

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:22

You there??

I’m boreddd tell me what to do…

Ughhhh

You — 4:23

Go to sleep idiot.

I was just thinking about how fucked up your sleep schedule is.

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:23

But I don’t wanna

Wait

I have genius idea

You — 4:23

No.

Whatever it is, I disagree

Your ideas are stupid, the last you had contained you jumping from a window in middle of a business meeting—you weren’t even supposed to text me during your job!!

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:24

Don’t worry this one is good.

Let’s meet up.

You know, since I never have free time, I bet this is the first and last time we could go out for the rest of the week.

Chuuya once again blinked confused a few times.

What the hell was Dazai thinking, was he fucking serious? There was no way he wanted to meet at half five in the morning.

You — 4:25

What?

No—go to sleep

Fucking weirdo from café — 4:25

I’ll take that as a yes,

I’ll see you on the bridge in five minutes :3

Chuuya tried texting him further, but Dazai left him on delivered, what an asshole.

There was only one bridge in Yokohama, the one crossing the river near the Golden Demon café, where he first met with Tachihara. The problem was, that it was pretty fucking far away, at least half hour walk.

He checked the time; he had eight minutes.

Oh, he ’ ll murder Dazai once he get’s there.

He jumped from his seat, throwing a jacket on his clothes, swiftly running through the hotel to the exit. Once he stepped outside, he ran to the bridge. He quickly checked if no one was around, and when he was sure he stopped holding back.

He pushed to his limits, running with an inhumane speed, buildings disappearing as soon as he saw them. With a quick turn he barely stopped before falling over to the river.

Gasping for breath a grin appeared on his face, his stamina got worse over time, but who would be surprised when he couldn’t train his natural speed anywhere.

He pulled out his phone.

It was seven minutes before the meet up time.

Chuuya silently cheered, the warm feeling of confidence returning back to his chest.

Reassurance that he didn’t lose his strength was just what he needed. It was a little reminder that he was still fucking strong, and there was no one and he meant no one, who could beat him.

However his celebration was bit premature, finding out that to no one’s surprise, Dazai was late.

Chuuya waited, the first five minutes, then it became ten as he started nervously tapping with his foot, and then it became twenty and Chuuya was walking in circles rethinking his decisions. Maybe wasn’t as friendly as he made himself look like, maybe he was back stabbing bitch who only texted him because he got a kick out of it.

His hand massaged the nape of his neck, covered by barely dried hair. It hid his only unwanted tattoo on his body. And thanks to that, also remained the stress point he held when he got uncomfortable.

In the end, Dazai arrived twenty minutes late. Chuuya groaned, holding himself out so that he wouldn’t punch his lights out by accident.

At this point, he didn’t even need to run.

“Chuuyaaa” Dazai grinned at him like an idiot and ran across the bridge into a hug. However, before he could even attempt to trap him in that death cage, Chuuya moved out of the way, leaving Dazai stumbling, hugging the air.

He folded his arms, tapping rhythmically with his foot.

“Why are you late idiot?”

“Such a warm welcome,” Dazai sighed, “It took me a long time to prepare, and… you know,” he gave him an innocent wink, “sneak out?”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“Are you living with your parents or something?”

“Well, no… but I’m in a kind of a similar situation. I can barely move without my dogs following me.” He dropped his arms with a sigh.

That cough Chuuya’s attention.

Dazai had dogs? As the time flew, he only met dogs a few times and all of his experiences were breath taking. He always wanted to pet one, it was one of his biggest dreams.

“You have dogs?” He asked carefully, making sure he doesn’t sound too desperate.

Dazai hummed in agreement, grinning at him mischievously.

“Something like that yeah, except one of them is more like a cat.”

Huh.

“Something between cat… and a dog?”

He didn’t know animal like that existed, it made him wanted to see it even more. Maybe if he convinced Dazai he could show him some photos—

Dazai laughed.

Huh?

“You know, for someone who’s pretty smart, you’re kind of gullible.” Dazai laughed, aggressively rubbing Chuuya’s hair.

“What?! Hey—Back of from me hair!”

Chuuya sighed, so… that animal didn’t exist?

He wasn’t sure if Dazai was even joking anymore, talking to him was like solving riddles. Though, for unknown reason even when Dazai was joking most of the time, Chuuya still had easier time telling apart his truth and lies.

He didn’t know why it was, maybe it was because of Dazai’s repetitive jokes, or the way his tone and body language completely changed. But whatever the cause was, he could easily recognize the pattern in the way he talks and understood him easily.

On the other hand, with people like Tachihara he had harder time, since they didn’t exaggerate their expressions as much as Dazai, so his fragile social awareness had hard time to recognize a jokes or irony.

He scanned Dazai, he was still set in a good mood, humming some song under his breath.

“You seem different somehow...” Chuuya squinted his eyes.

The last time he saw Dazai, he was dressed the same with black coat and bandages hanging all over his body. Well, the same except for the red scarf, guess he left that at home this time.

However, when Chuuya didn’t count clothing, there did seem something different about him. All up from his hair through his eyes to his smile. His expression seemed lighter, younger. More suited for someone his age.

“Really?” He tilted his head in a cat like manner.

“Yeah, like…” Chuuya thought about how to correctly fraise his observation.

“You looked lot more serious in the café, and it will sound stupid when I say it out loud, but your eyes and hair seemed to have completely different colour.” He saw Dazai carefully watching him from corner of his eyes, so he continued. “Your eye seemed redder, though that could be because your scarf highlighted its shade. But I could swear your hair was black.”

He looked at him with blank eyes, before bursting in laugh. “You must have imagined something.”

“Or do you think I look like a vampire” he raised his eyebrow, letting a teasing smile curve on his lips. “Or a skin walker?”

“NO, stupid, I have been thinking and,” Chuuya turned to him, stopping their walk across the bridge.

“Have you maybe showered?”

Dazai snapped his mouth shut, putting an end to his laughter.

“What.”

“You know, your hair looked all oily and shit, so have you perhaps showered?” Chuuya asked him with genuine interest. Dazai returned him a pissed of look. So he might have been onto something, Chuuya smirked.

“What—What kind of idiotic question is that? I shower every day.”

“Hey, no need to get so defensive,” Chuuya rised up his hands, knowing smile growing on his lips. Oh, he so won this argument. “My hair looks pretty bad too when I don’t wash it, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dazai watched him with utter shock in his eyes, mouth opened in disbelief. “I’m not defensive—you know what? Whatever. I don’t care what you think of my hair. It’s below me to fight with some…” Dazai scanned him, searching for perfect insult.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

“…kid.”

“Kid? How old do you think I am?” He laughed at Dazai’s poor attempt of offense.

Dazai huffed. “Well definitely younger than me.”

“Then how old are you Dazai-San?”

Dazai shut his mouth quiet, he seemed like in deep thoughts. Chuuya stayed with raised eyebrow.

Was that question inappropriate? He had no idea. Until now every time he asked someone people gave him mixed answers. Usually, the older the person was the more offended it made them. Though, Dazai didn’t seem lot older than him.

“You know, some people would kill for that information.” Dazai looked into his eyes with all seriousness.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. This guy was sure full of himself. Did he have that many admirers or was he just so dumb?

“Sure, you no need to tell me. It just means I’m right and you’re wrong.”

Dazai squished his eyes.

“I’m eighteen, you?”

Chuuya unsuccessfully tried to hide his surprise.

Dazai looked so much older. He genuinely though he was around his twenties, worst case scenario in early thirties. Stress sure made a signature on him; it must have been the work. If he’s working every day with idiots like that Ikari dude from café, he wouldn’t be even surprised.

“Same.”

Dazai huffed. “Right, then when’s your birthday?”

Chuuya huffed in disbelief.

“And why should I tell you that? You’re stranger.”

Dazai let out a loud, offended inhale before practically jumping on Chuuya from behind, dropping himself over his arms and resting his face lazily near his.

“To say who’s older, obviously.” Chuuya couldn’t see his face, but he could swear Dazai was rolling his eye. “And strangers? How could you say that Chuchu?” He whined.

Chuuya pushed him off, smiling at the surprised yelp the man let out.

“It’s Chuuya, asshole.”

Dazai quickly stood up, coming right after him. “I gave you my number, we text each other all day—“

“You text me, I barely reply.”

“—I even told you how old I am! We’re basically best friends at this point!!” He gave him a big toothy grin.

Chuuya returned him a dull, emotionless, glare.

“Dazai, we know each other for four, days. And mind, this is the second time we met, if we don’t count the first meeting, where we barely talked, it’s the first time! How could we be best friends—I barely consider you a friend.”

Dazai’s mouth opened in offended grimace.

“Well, then I’ll just simply need to convince you, how much of amazing best friend I am!” He grinned and pulled him close, squishing them shoulder to shoulder with one arm.

Chuuya, still tense, tried to push away but Dazai kept his grip firm and, well, Dazai was certainly not worth him using more strength, so he gave up.

“I’d like to see you try.” Chuuya answered him with blunt tone. “I dare you, I get hardly attached.”

Dazai released him with a last pat on a shoulder. Then he spoke in teasing voice, eager for his reaction. “Those are some big words from someone so small!”

Chuuya snapped back at him. How dare he—His size is perfectly normal for his age!

“Hey! I’m still growing idiot! And my size is perfectly normal, you’re the one build like a fucking giraffe!” He yelled out.

“Hm… Somehow you’re even shorter than the last time”

“No, I’m not, your just delusional.”

“Well, better be delusional then wearing a pyjama pants.”

Chuuya huffed in disbelief. There was no way he was wearing them—He looked at his legs, spotting his colourful trousers with dog paws pattern.

Fuck, he changed his shirt but must have accidentally dressed himself back into his lower half pyjamas. He was in such a trans when he woke up, that he was not paying attention!

His face turned red.

“Wow, and to think I’m in suit and all fancy like that… such a disrespect. I had higher hopes for our meeting.” He wiped the imaginary tears from his face. “Maybe I should just throw myself across the bridge, since my date didn’t even dress up for me, oh you must hate me so much...”

Chuuya watched him with growing embarrassment.

“I’m not your date, and—what are you talking about, you just finished your last meeting. This is the same clothes you wore in it, isn’t it? You were just too lazy to take it off.” He seemed to hit a nerve, as Dazai looked back at him, blinking.

“Toushe.”

They walked near the bridge, looking out at the view. It was beautiful.

The first streaks of light marked the beginning of sunrise. Chuuya watched in awe. He loved sunsets and sunrises. One day, when he’ll be older and will escape his followers, he’ll buy a house with a view of the sunrise and watch it every day.

And if the house has a garden, then he’ll adopt two dogs. He would get a good paying job, and buy all the drawing supplies he always wanted.

He noticed Dazai watching him from corner of his eye.

“Hey Chuuya,” He turned around to look at grinning Dazai.

“What?” He asked, not his own smile shaping up on his face.

Dazai grabbed his hand. “You said you’re new here,”

He locked his eyes with Dazai’s. “Yeah, what about it?”

God, he hoped Dazai wouldn’t ask him any personal questions. It was enough for him to avoid Tachihara’s questioning. To continue with Dazai, after today’s dream was like never ending nightmare.

“I need to show you something.” His eyes sparkled with the boyish excitement.

Before Chuuya could say anything, he was dragged behind him, running across the bridge towards the shadier part of the town.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling, as he ran after him, not caring about the destination at all. Dazai’s good mood was catchy.

As they run, they passed the bridge, running through an old part of the city, which Tachihara didn’t show him, because quote; there could be gangs around there and it’s not safe. It was beautiful.

Chuuya has spent a long time traveling, but he always loved parts of town like these the most. Running around the buildings, they soon slowed down in front of an amusement park.

The gates were locked.

Dazai took out a bobby pin from his pockets and unlocked it.

With heavy thud, they shoved the chains off the doors. Stepping inside, they were immediately dazzled by a riot of colors and games. It was so…

So beautiful.

There were all kinds of games, from computer stations to dance machines. Each one was eye catching and beautifully designed. He could easily imagine kids gathering here to play them.

“Wow…” He said, running in, admiring the games.

Some were slightly damaged, but most of them looked in a good shape—great even.

“I knew you’d appreciate it.” Dazai grinned.

“This place was pretty popular in its time.” He came to him, watching the computer game in front of them. “Me and my sister used to go here all the time. Not to brag, but I always beat her.” He grinned, pride shining from him like a halo.

“You have a sister?” Chuuya asked. The thought had never crossed his mind, but it made sense—they’d only known each other for a couple of days.

“Yeah. We used to be inseparable, like magnets.” He let out a laugh, but it sounded forced. “Sadly, we both have jobs now and don’t have time to hang out anymore.”

Chuuya watched him carefully. Even though Dazai tried to seem unaffected, he was clearly upset. Chuuya decided to drop it; if it made Dazai uncomfortable, he’d rather change the subject.

“What happened to this place?” he asked, standing up and looking around. “At first I thought it was just closed for the night, but it’s so unkempt.” He eyed the damaged video games.

What struck him most was that they didn’t seem worn out from use—they looked like someone had tried to destroy them on purpose.

Behind him, Dazai sighed. “The owner abandoned it.”

Chuuya turned to look at him, frowning. All that damage, all those smashed machines, just to be abandoned? No way.

“Try again.”

Dazai watched him, before sighing. “The rumour’s say that the owner was threaten by a gang leader in the area to close down.”

“You mean the Port Mafia boss?” He asked leaving Dazai blinking in surprise.

“Oh,” he said, “so you already heard about the Port.”

Chuuya sighed. “I’ll take that as an agreement.” He waited for Dazai to tell him he’s wrong, but when he didn’t, he let the new information sink in.

“But that doesn’t make any sense, why the fuck would Port Mafia boss care about an arcade enough to threaten the owner?”

Dazai hummed in agreement.

“Maybe he had beef with the arcade owner.” Then he sang, “Or he just hated when kids had fun and wanted to make them suffer.”

Chuuya gave him disapproving look before exhaling.

“Dazai, be serious, that wouldn’t make any sense.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. “I’m swear—I’m one hundred percent serious.” He huffed. “But yeah, it that’s bit of a stretch I guess.”

He leaned in against the game, Chuuya was staring at. Unserious but somehow still threatening expression flashed on his face.

“The boss was an idiot for doing so either way.”

Chuuya shushed him quickly, slapping a hand over Dazai’s mouth. Dazai blinked in surprise. “Shush,” he hissed aggressively. “What if someone from Port heard you?”

Dazai smiled under his hand, before he licked it.

Licked it.

Chuuya let out a horrified yell and yanked his hand back.

“Ew! You disgusting freak!” He wiped his hand furiously on Dazai’s coat.

“Aww,” Dazai chirped, ignoring the disgust on Chuuya’s face, “is Chuuya worried about me?”

“Yes!” He snapped, putting both of his hands into his pockets. Damn it, he forgot to put on his gloves, he shouldn’t have left them home.

The silence that followed made him glance up, he met Dazai’s surprised, almost confused gaze.

Was he serious right now—

“Of course I’m worried about you idiot. You don’t need to be a genius to know that if you bad-mouth the mafia, there’s a pretty high chance they’ll skin you alive the next day. Also—doesn’t this mean we’re in their territory? That’s why you brought me here, right? Everyone who lives in Yokohama knows that except for me because I’m new.”

“Ah, Chuuya caught me…”

“Besides,” Chuuya pressed on stubbornly, “you said it yourself. We’re friends.”

From what Tachihara had told him, the mafia wasn’t anything to mess with. Chuuya might be able to defend himself if things went bad, but Dazai…

Well, he honestly had no idea how good Dazai was in a fight. But with that big mouth of his, Chuuya was surprised he hadn’t gotten into trouble already.

He locked eyes with him.

Or, well—an eye, considering the bandages.

“You consider me a friend?” He looked genuinely shocked.

Chuuya blinked. Had he screwed up by saying that? He thought they’d agreed on that earlier.

“Well… obviously. Didn’t you say it yourself before?”

They fell silent, just staring at each other.

“Stop giving me that look, you kind of look like a fish staring like that.”

Dazai blinked. “What—“

“Probably some stupid and dumb, just like” he thought. His knowledge about fishes was pretty slim, but oh well. “Like a mackerel.”

“Hey! I don’t look like a fish,” Dazai quickly stood up in defensive position. “If I look like a fish, then you look like a… like a slug!”

Chuuya blinked a few times.

“Slug?! What kind of a nickname is that—“

“More creative one than mackerel.” Dazai teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Chuuya budged a little, then shoved him back with both hands, sending Dazai stumbling almost into one of the video game machines.

They both burst out laughing, then wandered over to the game that looked the least beaten up.

“Come on, let’s play,” he measured him with taunting gazy, “if you’re not scared.”

Chuuya’s chest flared up. Playing video games was like a second nature to him, both Sheep and Flags spend most of their time in the arcade.

“Oh, I’ll show you how to play.” Dangerous grin flashed on his lips.

Dazai returned him it.

Chapter Text

“WHAT.”

His fists hit the game box a little harder than intended, leaving behind hand-like marks.

“Easy there, that game did nothing wrong.” Dazai patted his back which shook with fury.

“It’s you who’s completely hopeless.” He tilted his head with a smug smile. “I thought you said you knew how to play?”

Chuuya turned around, almost biting his hand off. Dazai backed away just out of his reach, not dropping the annoying smug grin.

“Of course, I know how to play asshole!! But there is something wrong with these games,” he gritted his teeth. “There’s no way you’re better than me!”

As hard as Chuuya tried, Dazai beat him every time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

How was that even possible?! He could swear he was one of the best players in both Flags and the Sheep. There is no way someone like him—

His eyes shifted to giggling Dazai.

—was able to beat him.

Fucking asshole, how the hell was he even that good?

Dazai mentioned playing with his sister, but still, Chuuya spend most of his free time glued to these games. He could swear he would be at least capable of beating him in one.

“Come on Slug, no one likes a sore loser.” Dazai grinned, already moving on to the next game.

The nicknames Mackerel and Slug shone on the monitors. On every single one, Mackerel placed first, sometimes by a milestone, other times only a few points ahead of the second-best score: Slug.

But Chuuya had the annoying feeling that Dazai was only toying with him at these times, giving him a glimpse of false hope before coincidentally winning in the end.

“I’m not a sore loser—you’re just extremely annoying! I bet you cheated in all of them anyway.” He grumbled.

“Me? Cheating? How could you Chuuya, I would never cheat.” Dazai said, stunned by his statement.

“Right.” Chuuya huffed.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll beat you in the next game anyway. I swear!”

“I hope you’ll never get into gambling.” Dazai laughed, stopping beside a broken game. His eyes scanning the device with interest.

The game itself was about a crazy doctor chasing a patient who was trying to escape. If you, as the player, managed to escape within the time limit, you won. If not, or you get caught, you lost.

Chuuya tensed, his eyes jumping between Dazai and the game.

“I made a lot of fond memories here.” Chuuya would have thought he meant the whole arcade, but the way his eyes slid over the game, he knew he ment this one specifically.

“Was it your favorite?” Chuuya asked with interest.

Dazai watched the game, letting the silence hover around him.

“Yes.” He said, his eyes detached of all emotion. “Sadly, it was also the only game broken beyond repair.”

Chuuya didn’t question further, but he could see the anger in Dazai’s eyes. The way his eyebrow twitched, his eyes were glossy, just like a mackerel’s, he knew he was upset.

He wondered how kid Dazai felt when he found out the Port Mafia had destroyed his favourite video game.

“I bet I’d beat you in this one too.” Dazai said, fidgeting with his fingers, digging his nails into the exposed palms.

Alright that’s it.

He gently pulled Dazai by his coat to the next machine. It was the last game they hadn’t played that night—day? It was hard to tell how long they’d been there. The sun was already up, and Chuuya was hungry as hell, but he wasn’t going to end this interaction just because he was starving.

Unlike with Tachihara, he didn’t feel like he needed to tiptoe around Dazai with the way he talked and acted. And he didn’t get tired as easily from the social interaction.

Maybe it was because, instead of attempting a small talk, they just bickered all the time instead.

Whatever.

The last game was about dogs. You were supposed to clean up the mess they made as fast as you could. In the end, you’d earn as many hearts as you did a good job cleaning.

“Let’s play the next one,” he cheered, letting Dazai scan the game.

“This time, I’ll be the winner and you’ll be the loser—just wait and see!” He smirked, watching Dazai shift his gaze from the game to him.

“Seriously? I hate this game.”

Chuuya laughed. “Well, too bad I don’t—”

A ringtone from Dazai’s phone interrupted them.

Dazai pulled out his phone—and holy shit, it was the most modern model Chuuya had ever seen. He was so fucking jealous. Dazai’s eyebrow twitched as he rejected the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“Who was that? If you need to be somewhere, you can just go, you know.”

Dazai waved him off. “No need. What were you saying?”

Chuuya let a winning grin settle on his face. “Just that I’ll beat your—”

The phone rang again.

Dazai grabbed it with a glare so hateful that Chuuya almost felt bad for the caller.

“What.” He spat out.

He couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but he saw Dazai roll his eyes.

“No, I saw you calling me earlier. I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

Chuuya shifted a bit uncomfortably. He had no idea who was on the other side of the call, but he felt Dazai displeasure from their call. Maybe it was someone from his job, it would make sense they called him.

They had no idea what time it was and Dazai’s working schedule is fucked up. Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if he already missed at least one conference by now.

Dazai groaned. “Just tell him to move the meeting to some other time.”

Chuuya tried to ignore the call, but his ears unwillingly caught an angry female voice. Between the waterfall of words, he managed to catch: money, documents, police, and… Ikari?

He hoped he hadn’t heard that last part right. The chances of Dazai getting into trouble at work because of the fiasco Chuuya pulled weren’t low. And as much as he disliked that annoying bastard, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess.

Dazai backed away from the game, walking in a small circle. “I don’t care. I’m busy.”

The woman on the other end kept spitting unrecognizable sharp words, leaving Dazai growing more and more annoyed.

“Fine! I’ll be there if they’re so incompetent without me. But just so they know, I’m not gonna be happy.”

He ended the phone call mid-sentence of the poor woman, letting out a long groan.

“I take it you need to go?” Chuuya asked.

Dazai hummed in agreement, stepping away from the machine and heading for the door. Chuuya pushed himself off the game cabinet and followed him.

“Yeah,” he groaned. “Looks like the world will fall apart if I miss one meeting.” He spat the words like poison.

Was he really that important? Nah, this was Dazai they were talking about. He was probably just over exaggerating.

Dazai sighed, the edge in his posture softening. “Sorry I can’t take you to that café, but we can do it some other time. When are you free?”

Chuuya hummed, walking beside him through the empty streets. “I don’t know… what about Sunday? You should be free from work, right?”

At least from what he’d learned, most markets and shops were closed on Sundays, so theoretically, Dazai should have some free time too.

“Ah… well, I have work,” Dazai sighed, leaning in slightly, the invisible weight of his job settling on his shoulders.

“Seriously? Aren’t you, like, super important? Can’t you just say you’ll take a day off and not show up?” Chuuya asked, slapping the irony of his situation in his face.

Dazai looked at him, frozen for a moment like he'd just been struck by lightning.

“Well… I guess I could do that. I do have the authority. I’ve just… never taken a day off before,” he said aloud, more to himself than Chuuya.

Chuuya frowned. He might not know much about normal job schedules, but never taking a day off? Like… ever?

“That sounds like hell.”

“Yeah,” Dazai nodded. “It is.”

Chuuya blinked, still trying to process it.

“Isn’t that, you know, like illegal or something?” he said, meeting Dazai’s eyes. “How does your job expect you to function normally with no days off and meetings at four in the fucking morning?”

Dazai stared at him with growing interest. A ridiculous grin spread across his face.

“Aww, Chuuya’s so worried and protective. Like a big grizzly bear mama!” He lunged to hug him, but Chuuya sidestepped instantly. Dazai, expecting that, spun and managed to land his entire body weight on a surprised Chuuya anyway.

“No, I’m not,” Chuuya gritted through his teeth, trying to pry Dazai’s arms off him. “I’m just saying your job is really shitty.”

“That’s not what you said in the arcade,” Dazai teased, laughing as he skipped beside him again.

“Well,” Chuuya turned slightly red, embarrassment rushing to his cheeks, “that was a completely different situation! It was really fucking dangerous, and you were saying crap that could’ve gotten you killed—I had every right to be worried!”

Dazai whined. “You’re so mean, you know that? Chuu—ya.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, to which Dazai finally released him. Only so that he could skip ahead of him, walking backward to face him.

“But you did say we’re friends. You meant that, right?”

Chuuya felt his cheeks flush again. Goddammit.

“Yes, idiot.”

Dazai laughed, skipping a few steps further ahead. Chuuya watched him with a raised eyebrow. He looked like a little kid hopping around like that. It was kind of ironic, considering the fancy suit and bandages.

What a fucking imbecile.

“Alright, cool! Let’s meet up this Sunday! That’s in… two days. I can’t believe I’m willingly meeting with you again.”

“Oi!” Chuuya called after him.

Dazai suddenly paused like he remembered something.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Chuuya’s lighter.

Hold on a fucking second—

“Since when do you have that? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“I found it earlier. Thought I could return it once we met again,” he smirked, tossing it over.

Chuuya caught it with one hand and stared at it.

Huh. So that’s where it went. Why the hell did Dazai have it? Whatever. He didn’t care. The important thing was he finally got it back.

“Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, sliding it into his pocket.

They walked beside each other, Chuuya slowly recognizing the streets. He committed the directions to his memory. Who knew if it wouldn’t be important for later? Since the mafia owned this territory not many people came around, making this a possible safe place for him, in case things go south.

A realization crossed his mind as he kept thinking.

“You know,” Chuuya said, “if you lived far away, you could’ve just told me. We could’ve met up later.”

He thought that if they scheduled their meeting later, Dazai might arrive earlier, on time, and Chuuya wouldn’t have to rush.

“Oh, no. My apartment’s like two minutes from here.” He smiled sweetly.

Oh, he was going to kill this guy.

“So you just decided to come late or..?” Chuuya grit his teeth raising an eyebrow.

“I already told you, my pets held me back. I couldn’t just leave them.” Dazai whined, looking at Chuuya with exhausted expression.

“Yeah, I totally forgot about them.” He replied.

To be fair, he couldn’t even tell if Dazai was serious or not anymore. He felt like he was still missing something, but at the same time it seemed like he wasn’t lying about the existence of his… pets.

He sure wouldn’t ask about them more, he will not risk embarrassing himself even more.

“Just next time text me if you’re going to be late.” He told him, already knowing Dazai will definitely not text him. He bet that idiot will tell him different time again, just for sick satisfaction of watching him wait for him like some kind of fucking dog.

He looked around, he realizing they were already near the bridge. Dazai had dragged him all the way here and their meeting was slowly coming to an end.

He watched Dazai in front of him leading the way, as he hummed the soundtrack to a pop song. He looked so old and somehow at the same time so childish, the way he act and dressed didn’t match at all.

What a weirdo.

Still… he couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto his face. Why the hell did he want to meet with him again? He’d never admit it out loud, but he was already looking forward to it.

He hadn’t even realized just how much he enjoyed spending time with that idiot.

Dazai suddenly stopped.

Huh?

Chuuya looked ahead, they were in front of the bridge already. Not only that but on the bridge, he spotted Tachihara, with some girl. Dazai huffed. Was that… annoyance?

“Ah, so it seems our little meeting has come to an end.” Dazai turned his head to face him.

“It’s fine.” Chuuya reassured him, not even knowing why. “I see my friend, Tachihara, over there. I’ll go to him.”

Dazai tilted his head. “You know Tachihara?”

Chuuya blinked, surprised. Dazai knew him? He would’ve never pictured Tachihara willingly hanging around someone like Dazai.

“Yeah. How do you know him?”

Dazai sighed. “It’s a long story. In short—our families used to talk.”

That was unexpected.

“But we don’t anymore, and he doesn’t really like me. So, if you could, maybe… don’t mention my name around him.” He made a grimace, frowning his eyebrows.

Chuuya blinked again but nodded. “Sure.”

He honestly didn’t care and certainly wouldn’t stuck his nose into other’s business. If Tachihara’s and Dazai’s families had disagreement, the last thing he wants is to get involved.

Dazai gave him one last idiotic smile, before patting his hair. “See you next time.”

Chuuya’s cheeks went hot. “Hey! I told you to lay of my hair idiot—”

“Chuuya!!” A man’s voice interrupted him.

“Dude, what are you doing over there?” Tachihara shouted, waving. The girl next to him watching him curiously.

Chuuya turned around, smiling. “Oh, I was just hanging out with…” He turned around but Dazai was already gone.

As if he’d vanished into thin air.

“…a friend.”

He went on the bridge comming closer to Tachihara. “What were you doing on the other side of the bridge? There’s nothing over there,” Tachihara asked.

Chuuya scrubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I thought I’d take a look around.”

Tachihara waved it off but didn’t press.

“Whatever, man. But you should know nobody goes there. It’s Port Mafia territory, pretty dangerous.” Chuuya’s face must have shown his annoyance because Tachihara stopped himself from continuing.

“…I sound like a mother hen again, don’t I?” He asked carefully Chuuya already silently laughing.

“A little bit.” He admitted, stepping in front of him and the black-haired girl.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t question you any further.” He scanned him quickly, before smirking and adding. “Though I do have a few questions about those pants, buddy.”

Self-conscious, Chuuya pulled his jacket lower to hide his pajama bottoms.

“Don’t.”

Tachihara laughed. “A busy morning?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

A girl next to him coughed, brining attention to herself. Tachihara jumped at the reminder of her presence.

“Right! Sorry,” he laughed, the girl watching him with small smirk on her lips. “Gin meet my friend I was talking about.”

Gin turned to him, carefully scanning Chuuya. Chuuya felt her heavy gaze scanning his posture. He stood proud and straight, he might have shitty pants and old messed up jacket, but he wouldn’t hide himself because of that. If there was a fact he knew, it was that person could were anything, but if they’re confident in it, others will respect them anyway.

“Gin Akutagawa.” She smiled and held out her hand.

He shook it with a gentle smile.

“I’m Chuuya Nakahara.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed for a moment before she relaxed. Chuuya noticed her awareness, did Tachihara talk about him that much? Or had someone else brought him up already? It seemed unlikely considering he hasn’t been here even for a whole week yet.

“Nakahara—” she began, her smile tight.

“Chuuya,” he interrupted.

“Chuuya,” she repeated, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He tilted his head. “Does Tachihara talk about me that much?”

Tachihara face turned crimson, quickly stepping in, trying to stop the direction the discussion was taking.

“I don’t—”

“He does,” Gin said. “At this point, you’d think he’s known you longer than me.”

Gin laughed, and Chuuya followed. She seemed like a good friend, he was glad Tachihara had someone like her. It wouldn’t do him any good hanging only around his grumpy ass.

“Wow, my only two friends bonding by bullying me.”

Tachihara groaned. “I feel so loved.”

“Don’t forget about Higuchi.” Gin turned to him a sparkle of amusement staying in her eyes.

Chuuya tried not to look too nosy, but thankfully Tachihara quickly turned to him, filling him in. “Our friend that’s busy today. I’ll introduce you to her later.”

Chuuya nodded, committing the information to his memory. Tachihara had only three friends, two if he didn’t include himself. It started to make him feel bit self aware about his intrusion.

“And you don’t mind me hanging around with you?” He asked, realizing he just jumped into their meet up. “It’s fine with me to go.”

“Oh, its fine, we don’t mind.” Ginu replied a smile appearing on her face.

“We were just hanging out and Higuchi ditched us, so the richer the better.” Tachihara grinned.

“Besides, you need a little socialising man, you are like… the most antisocial person I know. A little friendly chat wouldn’t hurt.”

Chuuya blinked, not knowing how to suck this information in. He guessed Tachihara was trying to be nice to him, but at the same time it kinda made him sound like an asshole.

Was it really that obvious he wasn’t used to people? He did try his best to blend in.

He sighed.

Suddenly, someone shoved their way through the circle, forcing Tachihara and Chuuya to stumble back.

“Hey, watch it—!” Chuuya began, but he didn’t get to finish.

A crowd of people rushed past them, pushing toward the edge of the bridge. Chuuya cursed as he was nearly crushed by the crowd. Tachihara and Gin didn’t look thrilled about it either, but beside few muttered curses they stayed silent.

Their curiosity soon outweighed irritation, as they followed the mass of reporters and police officers.

It was the same place Chuuya had visited with Dazai earlier that morning, now overflowing with people. Police officers swarmed the area, yellow tape flapping in the breeze. A surprisingly big amount of patrol cars and flashing lights formed a chaotic atmosphere. The air buzzed with sirens, crackling radios, and urgent shouts.

Chuuya cursed under his breath.

He was here with Dazai hours ago, what could possibly happen in that time?

Not to mention he was literally standing on the bridge with Tachihara and Gin the whole time they were speaking. Whatever it was, it needed to happen during their chat.

“What happened?” Tachihara stopped a breathless officer running to the scene.

“Another dead body,” the officer panted, pointing under the bridge. “Looks like the mafia’s behind it again.” Without another word the man rushed back under the bridge.

A hush fell over them as they approached the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene. There, under the bridge, laid a body. Its mutilated form was unrecognizable and covered in blood.

Chuuya froze, his heart pounding.

The body had multiple body parts missing and was burned and bloody. A dirt from the disgusting place it was left at stick to it like a glue covering his gaping mouth. And if Chuuya saw correctly, he had a gun would in middle of his forehead.

But that wasn’t the reason why Chuuya stayed put.

Not at all.

It was because he recognised the face.

The body belonged to Ikari.

He swallowed hard and clenched the lighter in his pocket, the metal cooled him down. Reassuring against his palm as chaos whirled around him.

“…go somewhere else, there will be an investigation here.” He overheard Tachihara talking. Chuuya mindlessly nodded without a thought, walking with them further away from the scene.

As they kept walking, Chuuya tuned out most of the conversation, his thoughts still lingering on Ikari.

He remembered the wound on Ikari’s head, a clear gunshot. But there was more; missing fingers, deep burns, cuts all over… It was obvious he was tortured before his death. Had he betrayed the Port Mafia? Or maybe he withheld information about another organization.

His body had looked dirty, but not soaked, which meant he hadn’t been under the bridge long. Yet he was deathly pale, clearly dead for days. Why would the Port Mafia keep a corpse hidden for that long, only to dump it under a bridge later?

It didn’t make sense.

Maybe they wanted his death to send a message. Could this particular day have held some symbolic meaning? No, that seemed unlikely. Maybe they met with him the day he died and waited to move the body to throw off suspicion.

In the end, though, it hadn’t worked. The police still seemed certain the Mafia was behind it.

Chuuya recalled telling Dazai that Ikari didn’t have the backbone to be in the Port Mafia. Had he been right all along? Maybe the Mafia saw him as a liability and decided to eliminate him. Or maybe Ikari had really been part of them, but simply outlived his usefulness.

Either way, it should’ve been a win-win for Chuuya. He didn’t have to worry anymore about Ikari trying anything. If he was dead, then there was no one left to cause trouble.

Unless... he had a group?

No, Ikari wasn’t leadership material. Still, something didn’t sit right. Chuuya couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d played some small role in Ikari’s death. Their encounter at the Golden Demon Café lingered in his mind. Tachihara had said it was a known Port Mafia meeting spot. Maybe someone saw them together and took matters into their own hands.

That had to be it. Someone decided to help him “kick the bucket.”

He sighed. He should have felt relief. So why did he feel so off?

An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach.

“...Chuuya? You there, buddy?”

He blinked, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

They had stopped in front of the ice cream shop. When had they even arrived? He barely recognised the buildings surrounding them leaving him with faint idea of their location.

“The body must have really shaken you up,” Tachihara watched him with worry.

Wait—what?

“Huh?” Was the only intelligent thing he was able to make out at the moment, being confused as fuck.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I got freaked out too.” Tachihara reassured him, but Chuuya didn’t know why—what the fuck was he doing? Did he think Chuuya got scared because he saw a dead body—that was one of the most well-kept corpses he saw—what the fuck was Tachihara on about?

“I’m not—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tachihara cut him off, leaving Chuuya still a little pissed. “Anyway, we were thinking about getting an ice cream. What do you say Chuuya?”

Chuuya checked his pocket for a cash.

He did have some left, but it was desperately little. By now, he had hoped to land a job and earn some money. The whole week without any income drained him dry.

Technically, he could afford an ice cream. But if he did, it would probably be the last thing he ate until he found work.

“Nah, I’m good,” he replied.

Tachihara and Gin looked at him for a moment, then turned away.

“Sure, if you say so,” Tachihara laughed. “Just don’t come begging later to try mine.”

They headed into the shop, leaving Chuuya a few steps behind. When they came back out, each of them held a large ice cream cone, colorful and practically overflowing.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Tachihara asked again.

“They’ve got the best ice cream in all of Yokohama,” Gin added, backing him up. “And the most flavors, too.”

Chuuya sighed. They were both very sweet, but not exactly helpful.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said firmly.

Then, after a brief pause, he added, “In fact,”

“I’m sorry to crash your little hangout like this, but I think I’ve got somewhere to be.”

He gave them a shy smile as Tachihara froze mid-lick, his expression caught between confusion and surprise.

“Really?” Tachihara blinked. “I mean, if you’ve got something else going on, that’s cool. I just hope we didn’t scare you off or anything, man.” A few drops of his ice cream dripped to the pavement as he spoke.

Gin gave a small nod. “It was nice meeting you, Chuuya. Hopefully, we’ll run into each other again soon.”

Chuuya smiled back at them both and gave a short wave before turning to go. He liked hanging out with Tachihara and Gin seemed like a lovely person, but he was exhausted.

He got no sleep, and after the morning with Dazai and the crime scene they walked around he just couldn’t find it in himself to follow these two like a dog. In the end, he wouldn’t be able to buy anything anyway and he still felt a bit uncomfortable for crushing their date? Meet up? Whatever that was.

He had a vague idea of where he was, just needed to find his way back to the hotel. And after that, he had his own date with a bed.

“Because you’re my friend”

Dazai found it hilarious how quickly Chuuya changed his mind — it had been almost too easy to get it out of him. He’d barely even had to try.

Most of the time, Dazai simply dropped a few subtle hints, testing how well Chuuya could pick up on them unfolding complicated problems. To his amusement, Chuuya always did, effortlessly at that. The guy was smart, no question about it. His logic and critical thinking were far above what you'd expect from average civilian.

But when it came to basic facts or general knowledge?

Hopeless.

It was almost endearing how gullible he could be. Dazai still couldn’t get over the time Chuuya genuinely believed there was an animal that existed between a cat and a dog. How could someone capable of solving complex riddles be that dense?

Maybe it was a trauma response. That would explain the scar-covered palms Dazai had noticed when Chuuya covered his mouth earlier that morning.

Or he was just neurodivergent.

It would certainly explain his unusual thought patterns and blunt honesty. The man was an emotional rollercoaster and unpredictable in a way even Dazai couldn’t predict.

After a lifetime of reading people like open books, taking apart their minds with laughable ease, Chuuya was a whole new challenge. Most of the time, Dazai had no idea what was going through his head. Maybe that’s exactly why he found Chuuya’s presence so entertaining.

“Dazai, are you paying attention?” Fukuzaw’s voice cut through his train of thought.

Ah, right—the meeting. He almost forgot he was supposed to be important.

“Absolutely. How could you even accuse me of not listening?” Dazai said, with hurtful yet theatrical tone. “I mean, you even went out of your way to have Kouyou call me during my precious free time, just to drag me here.”

Fukuzawa sighed. Behind him, Kunikida shifted uncomfortably.

“Dazai, I understand you might not be thrilled about us interrupting your... sleep,”

Sleep—a beautiful cover up story Ranpo had came up with to explain his absence.

“But these are serious matters. I’d appreciate your full attention.”

Dazai didn’t groan, but it took effort.

Ever since he’d become the boss of the Port Mafia, everything was a serious matter. Every decision, every move, every word—all of it carried weight. Even the tiniest mistake could destroy the entire balance of Yokohama.

“…Continue,” he gave in.

Fukuzawa remained seated and picked up where he left off.

“As I was saying, we’ve been investigating the disappearance of the documents and funds Ikari stole from the Port Mafia.”

Right. Ikari. Dazai would’ve loved to forget that man’s existence, but he seemed to get on his nerves even from the pits of hell.

Just this morning, Dazai had arranged for his body to be moved under the bridge for the police to discover. Of course, Fukuzawa had been informed days ago—but the official discovery should be happening right about now.

It was a carefully structured plan, so that Fukuzawa had just enough time to scan Ikari’s hide out and look for the remaining gold and documents, before the government stick their noses there.

Thankfully all end well, having this meeting right now.

A faint memory, of Dazai texting Chuuya while standing next to Ikari’s corpse, flashed through his mind.

He still had no idea how Chuuya had made it from the hotel to the bridge in under two minutes. His face had gone pale when Dazai realized he’d need to sneak back into the head quarters, take a proper shower—because he reeked of that pig’s blood—and then exit his office without alerting Akutagawa or Atsushi.

A pretty tricky situation, especially since Kouyou was behind his ass most of the time. Chuuya’s later comment about his showering habits really threw him off, maybe that was the reason he freaked out so much.

“We recovered most of the gold,” Fukuzawa said, “but not all of it. As for the documents… we only found a small portion.”

“How small are we talking?”

Fukuzawa didn’t respond right away. Instead, he placed a thick folder and a heavy bag on the table.

“Akutagawa, Atsushi—out,” Dazai ordered without single glance. The two boys didn’t question him and swiftly moved to guard the door from the outside.

Dazai’s eyes shifted to Kunikida.

“Kunikida can stay,” Fukuzawa said. “He’s not just a bodyguard — he’s my apprentice, and the next in line to lead the police.”

Dazai didn’t interrupt but he already measured him with cold and calculating stare.

“These documents contain some of the Port Mafia’s most heavily guarded secrets,” he said sharply. “This is a four-eyes-only conversation.”

Fukuzawa looked like he wanted to argue, but Kunikida had already stood up. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

He and Dazai quickly exchanged understanding glances before walking away. Him and Kunikida were on a good terms, he wouldn’t go as fas as to call them friends, but they were work partners. And thankfully, maybe because of that, Kunikida understood when he needed to step out.

Once the doors close behind him, they continued waiting. Silence fell over the room as the footsteps faded down the hall.

Then, with a heavy thud, Fukuzawa placed the bag on the table. Unzipping it, he revealed its insides full of yen, making millions in cash.

“That’s not even a third of what went missing,” Dazai noted flatly.

“I’m aware,” Fukuzawa said with a tired sigh. “We’re doing our best.”

Next, he set a thin brown folder on the table.

The reason for all the secrecy. The Port Mafia’s most priced possession.

Fukuzawa slid it toward him.

Dazai opened the folder with his long, precise fingers. He pulled out two sheets of paper.

Two.

“Fukuzawa,” he said, voice hardening.

“We’re working on it, Mr. Dazai,” Fukuzawa replied, steady but apologetic. “Finding the documents, as well as the money, is proving nearly impossible. It’s like they all disappeared. Those two pages are all that we could find after we investigate their whole hide out.”

Dazai examined the papers more closely.

These files had been hidden even from him, Mori had kept them locked away with no justification, not even a word his way, his right-hand man. And Dazai had never pushed for an access, not caring enough.

The writing was in a foreign language. Thankfully, that bastard had made sure he was fluent in several, including French.

It was a layout—blueprints for an asylum.

Nothing extraordinary at first glance. Just architectural notes and structural details. But something didn’t add up.

No reception desk.

No waiting area.

Only two patient rooms.

But a lot—way too many, doctors.

A hospital with no names, no staff, no indication of its actual function. Just a vague facility hid away in Europe. Like they tried to stay unnoticed from unwanted eyes.

“Someone must’ve copied the rest and burned the originals,” Fukuzawa offered.

The entire thing was laughable. Why would this be stored in the Mafia’s most secure archives? What had Mori been thinking, assigning this seemingly random hospital such importance?

Dazai scanned the pages one last time. From all the text, there was only one thing that stuck with him.

A line of small text in the bottom corner of the second page.

An address.

“Why don’t we start here?” he said, tapping it with his finger.

A strained smile stretched on his face.

Mori put these documents in the PM most secured archives.

And though he hated that man to his core, he wasn’t stupid. He needed to have a good reason to do this—Dazai just needed to figure out what it was.

Chapter Text

“You know, we should really hang out more often like this.” Dazai grinned.

He laid on the surgical desk lazily, kicking his legs like a little kid. His head was just above the table, swaying a strand of hair around his finger.

“Well, it’s been some time since we talked.” Yosano agreed.

She didn’t turn around to look at him, not paying him any attention. She kept on cleaning her dirty tools. A box of scissors and scalpels, all freshly disinfected, stood next to her.

“What made you reconnect?” She turned his way.

Dazai hummed.

Several different memories crossed his mind. The meeting with Fukuzawa, Ranpo asking about her and maybe he got reminded of her because of that stupid video game at the arcade as well.

Crazy doctor hunting down his patients... seemed pretty fitting for her personality.

“What, can’t I just reconnect with an old friend?” He grinned.

Yosano twitched her nose. “Don’t call me that.”

“You didn’t seem interested in showing up for several months. You’re busy being important these days, remember?”

Dazai rolled his eyes.

A sharp smile curled on Yosano’s lips. It wasn’t often that she was the one slandering Dazai, not the other way around.

“Imagine my surprise, when I saw you book an appointment with me.” She clicked her tongue. “Kind of sad, isn’t it? That the only way we can talk now is through work.”

She watched him, the sharpness fading just slightly, replaced by something closer to concern. Dazai didn’t look away, only strengthening the eye contact.

After a beat of silence with hardening glare, Yosano was the first to turn away.

“…I’m telling you. One day you’re going to collapse.”

Dazai grinned and with a hop, flopped dramatically on the floor. He jumped up few times and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She yelped, stumbling under his weight.

“Dazai you can’t just jump on people! You’re not five anymore!” She growled, trying to shake him off.

Unsuccessfully.

He only squeezed her tighter.

“I just missed my older sister, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

He hugged her tighter, making Yosano hiss in discomfort. She turned her face away, eyebrows twitching with barely contained irritation.

“You can stop pretending,” she said. “That act might work on everyone else, but not me. I see right through it.”

Dazai glanced at her with big round eyes. A childish grin was plastered on his face as his hands didn’t let go, holding her still.

“What act?” He asked innocently.

“This act.” Her voice lowered. “The part where you pretend, you’re all happy—when you’re not. You’re incapable of feeling such emotion.”

For a second, he just looked at her. Then his expression darkened. His body relaxed. Silently, he let go and stepped back beside her, his grin fading.

Yosano exhaled the breath he’d squeezed out of her, steadying herself on the wall beside the toolboxes.

“You’re no fun,” Dazai muttered.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch at the shift. She only tapped with her finger on the desk, satisfied she got him to drop his mask, even for a moment.

“So I’ve been told.” Her smile returned, faint but genuine, as she turned back to disinfect her tools.

Dazai dragged out long sigh.

“It’s about Mori.”

A dangerous cold air filled the room. Yosano stilled, her hand freezing mid-motion. She didn’t turn, but her next words cut sharply thought the air.

“I have nothing to do with that man anymore.”

Dazai snorted. “Trust me, you’ll want to know about this.”

Yosano turned to him.

There was no warmth in her gaze, only the same distant emptiness, identical to his.

“I hardly believe so. I left the Port Mafia Dazai, I have nothing to do with that place. This office,” she gestured to her room. “Is strictly neutral territory.”

Dazai ignored her request, continuing anyway.

“There are some restricted documents—”

“Dazai, I don’t want to do anything with the Port Mafia.” Her voice was stronger now. Not yet yelling but getting dangerously close.

“I left it behind. Just the fact that the Port Mafia Boss is having a one-to-one appointment with me is worsening my reputation by seconds.”

Dazai rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter? The whole underground knows we’re siblings anyway.” He took a few steps away from her. “How neutral can you be, when the mafia is in your blood?”

“It matters to me.” Yosano snapped, watching his back. “For all I care you work yourself to death for them but leave me out of it.”

Dazai stopped on the other side of the room, leaning on the wall, facing his sister’s fury head on.

Fine.

He could work with that, he needed to sugarcoat her anyway, so losing a little bicker match wasn’t that much of a deal.

“You remember Ikari?”

She winced at the sudden change of topic. She raised an eyebrow showing her clear displeasure with leaving the previous discussion open but nodded her head anyway.

“How could I not.” Her voice was sharp.

“First thing that man said to me was an accusation of working in a brothel. Imagine that. Misogyny, alive and well in 21st century.” She started a heated rant about him, forgetting her previous discomfort.

“…I pretty sure I broke few of his fingers for that,” she added with a satisfied hum, the memory flashing through her eyes.

“Yeah,” Dazai said casually. “I cut them off.”

That seemed to snap her back to reality.

“So you finally got the balls to kill him, huh? Figured it was only matter of time,” she sang, clearly pleased with the outcome.

“He stole from the restricted archives of PM.”

Yosano shot him surprised, but still dirty look.

A bomb he wasn’t supposed to drop. Both of them knew how dangerous it was for outsiders to know that kind of information, and Dazai had just used Yosano’s distraction to drop it casually, like it was nothing.

“Dazai,” a warning.

She knew, just as well as he did, that information like these were pricy.

And deadly. Just by hearing about it could put her at great risk. She’d easily end up on enemies radar.

By telling her he’d committed treason. However, he knew Yosano and if he was sure of something, it was that she would keep her mouth shut. No torture could break her spirit; she’d rather commit then betray him.

“Most of them are gone. Even I don’t know their full summary.” Dazai continued. “Only that they were documents medical nature. I suspect Mori hid them during the time he was playing doctor.”

“And you’re telling me this, because they’re from the medical field.”

“Considering you’re his successor in that field… yes. I thought you’d find it interesting.”

“I’m not his successor.”

“You are. Just like I am. We both followed his footsteps, me in the Port Mafia, you in the operating room. Denying it doesn’t change a thing.”

Yosano studied him, her gaze sharp with hurt and… distinguish fury.

Dazai didn’t want to find out whether that anger was meant for him od Mori.

She turned away, breaking eye contact, and returned to scrubbing her surgical tools.

“What kind of medical documents?” she asked, back still turned.

A sharp smile curved across Dazai’s face. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she cut in, her voice slicing through the air. “It was insanely irresponsible of you to tell me. But since you already did, I might as well hear the rest.”

She always saw through him.

“A facility in France. The papers contained only the architecture,” Dazai said, drifting around the room until he found the box with scalpels.

“Creepy layout. Gave me the chills just looking at it. Figured it’s something you’d like.”

Yosano froze.

With sharp, measured steps, she closed the distance and yanked the scalpel out of his hands.

“So it’s some kind of research center? Why the hell would Mori be involved in something like that—” she paused, rolled her eyes. “No, wait. That’s exactly his kind of thing.”

She moved away, leaning against a tray of tools.

Dazai watched her, calculating.

“I’m sending a team to investigate the site.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. She was really going to make him say it.

“You’re coming.”

A knife kissed his fingers.

“You little shit.”

Yosano was suddenly right in front of him, towering, her face just inches from his. Her grip was firm—scalpel positioned between his fingers like a warning.

“I told you—I’m done with mafia shit.” She growled. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”

Dazai tilted his head slightly.

So emotional… it was one of the reasons why Mori cherished her so much. And why he decided Dazai was much better fit as his successor.

“You’re not going under the Port Mafia,” Dazai said, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll simply… rent your abilities.”

Yosano stared at him, silent, then slowly backed away—pulling the knife from the wooden table.

“…Cooperate.”

Dazai let a satisfied grin plaster on his face. He knew he won. She will go.

“Three people are going on the mission,” he explained. “Fukuzawa—he’ll get you there safely and legally. Ranpo—he’s representing the Port Mafia, since he has the highest clearance to access classified intel and, well… he’ll solve the mystery. And you.”

He smiled again, this time more playfully.

“You’re not officially tied to any organization, which is perfect. I’ll only be renting your medical expertise. You’re the only one who can read those files and make sense of the hospital’s layout. Fukuzawa will search for Ikari’s group and retrieve the rest of the documents. Ranpo will take care of whatever’s left. It’s one member per organization—except for you, of course.”

Yosano continued to watch him with a cold, distrustful glare.

“…I don’t know.”

Dazai groaned dramatically and got up, walking toward her.

“You can all quits any time you want, I just want you to look at it. You’ll get to spend time with Ranpo and Fukuzawa, I even picked them so that you’d feel more comfortable. Besides, you’ll be under Port Mafia’s protection the whole time, nothing can happen.”

She scoffed.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to join the Mafia,” he rolled his eyes. She was already halfway convinced—now he just had to push the right buttons.

“You might as well be.”

Dazai sighed.

“Come on. I worked really hard to make this mission as smooth as possible. I’d never go this far for anyone else. Only for you.”

Her eyes flicked away from his.

Bingo.

“Don’t you care about me?” he said, leaning in just enough to get under her skin. “Can’t you do this one thing for your sweet, innocent little brother?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You mean the mass-murdering, sadistic, bastard, who is the boss of the biggest criminal organization in Japan?”

“Yep!” He cheered.

She groaned in defeat.

“Fine. But this is the last time I do you a favor like this.”

Dazai threw his arms around her dramatically. She didn’t stop him.

“…And you wonder why I’m suspicious every time you show up.”

He pulled back with a massive grin.

“When am I leaving?” she asked.

“The plane leaves in two hours!”

Her eyes widened. She shoved him away.

“DAZAI, WHAT THE HELL?!” she shouted, running to grab her bag and tossing clothes into it.

“You’ll be leaving in private jet—you’ll recognise it. The same Mori used to fly with.” He continued, unbothered. “You’ll be there about two weeks, give or take.”

He recited the facts from his memory as Yosano hurriedly threw her belongings in the backpack.

“You could’ve told me this earlier! I have appointments to cancel!” she yelled, fury burning in her eyes.

Dazai shrugged.

“Just tell them it’s a family emergency.”

“You little—You said it yourself. Most of the underground knows we’re related!!”

He was already sliding toward the door.

“Ah well, too bad! I trust you’ll figure something out!”

He shot her a wink and slipped out, barely dodging the rain of scalpels piercing through the closed doors.

Chuuya wasn’t a very social person.

He wanted to have friends, yes. And he wanted to get to know people, also yes. But actually talking to them? Pushing through that awkward phase of small talk, trying to sound casual and not bored?

It was torture.

You’d think that after being out of the lab for a few years, he would’ve relearned those social skills.

But world said fuck that.

“…and then she told me, she had more important things to do then to hang out with me.”

Chuuya hummed, only half-listening to Tachihara rambling on the phone.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah...?”

Was he supposed to say something? It seemed to him like Tachihara was just complaining, and as far as this conversation went—Chuuya didn’t yet say a word. It was just one-sided monolog.

Tachihara groaned.

“Now’s the time when you agree with me and tell me, ‘Yeah she sounds like a bitch’ or something—I don’t know.”

Chuuya blinked.

What.

“But she sounds pretty reasonable,” he answered him carefully, not trying to sound confused as fuck.

“I mean—I guess she could be bit nicer about it though...?”

A beat of silence passed.

“…could you just support me?”

Chuuya dragged out an exhausting sigh.

“Boo, what a whore. You deserve better…?”

A ringing laugh broke on the other line.

“Thanks, I needed that.” Tachihara sighed. “You’re impossible dude.”

Chuuya internally groaned. How the hell do normal people deal with this every day? Every conversation feels like a riddle you're just expected to solve without any clues.

“How much did you socialize as a kid? Just wondering.”

“Uh… I was homeschooled.”

“Figured. It shows,” Tachihara laughed through the phone.

Chuuya frowned, gripping the phone a little tighter than he meant to. He was glad Tachihara wasn’t there in person. He wouldn’t be able to hide the flicker of hurt on his face.

He knew it wasn’t meant to be mean. Just a harmless joke.

But it still hit too close to the home.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with time.”

Chuuya kept walking, stopping in front of the convenience store. It was Saturday, just yesterday he’d met up with Dazai, Tachihara, and Gin.

He had only a few bills left in his wallet, barely enough for an ice cream and definitely not enough for a whole meal. However, he was starving. He guessed he could buy one or two instant noodles.

But that was it. He’d spend his last money and have nothing left.

With a groan, he stepped into the store.

“Hello!! Welcome to the store! If you need any help, just ask me!” Kenji shouted from the counter, waving with a smile so bright it could’ve lit up the entire aisle.

Chuuya managed a small smile in return and headed to the back, straight for the instant noodles.

“…You’re not seriously buying the same instant noodles from the same store again, are you?” Tachihara’s voice rang in a deadpan tone through the phone.

“Uh… no?”

“I just heard the cashier, dude.” He laughed.

“Do you even eat anything besides those stupid soups? If you can’t cook, I could help—”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Chuuya cut him off, grabbing the chicken-flavored cup.

He glanced down the aisle. A new flavor—crab?!

Who the hell eats crab soup?

“…Sure. But if you change your mind, we could meet up. I wouldn’t mind. Might even be fun…”

He trailed off, but Chuuya wasn’t really listening anymore.

Tachihara was nice. Kind, even. But his well-being wasn’t anybody’s responsibility but his own. He didn’t need help. Didn’t want it.

A loud crash snapped him out of his thoughts.

Then—

A gunshot.

Chuuya’s eyes widened.

What the fuck?

“…Chuuya?! Are you okay? I heard—”

“See you later.”

He hung up the call.

Peeking around the edge of the aisle, he spotted a man in black standing in front of the counter, pointing a gun at a confused Kenji.

“Give me all the cash, you little fucker!” the man screamed, firing a warning shot just inches from Kenji’s head.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

The robber was armed, both of his hands were holding the gun—no. A revolver.

It had black steel with wooden grip.

He took a few careful steps, scanning the weapon more closely. It had five chambers in the cylinder, not six. So, it was an older model. If he wanted to rob the store, he came with a full mag. He’d already fired two shots, so that left possibly another three.

Chuuya tilted his head.

The robber’s hands were shaking, arms loose, sweat was dripping down his face. He was a painfully unskilled amateur.

Just the fact that he’d waste two warning shots instead of one, showed total lack of control. He looked more stressed out than Kenji.

There was no way he’d shoot a kid. Not unless he was pushed over the edge.

“Okay,” Kenji said, leaning down under the register.

Chuuya used this moment to step out of his hiding spot, silently going up to the robbers back.

The man took a deep breath, oblivious to the movement behind him.

“Yeah, that’s right… give me all the money you have.”

The words had barely left the robber’s mouth when a hand clamped around his neck from behind.

Before he could react, he was yanked backward with brutal force—his spine arching, heels scraping the floor.

“What the—?!”

He turned around, reaching for his gun, but Chuuya was faster. He slammed the man’s wrist against the shelf, once—twice—until the man screamed and the weapon fell from his hand.

Without missing a beat, Chuuya caught it mid-fall.

The man spun around to face him—and froze.

The room went still.

Chuuya stood over him, cold and calm, gun now pointed directly at his face.

His eyes were cold.

“Hands in the air,” Chuuya said, voice low and razor-sharp.

The robber didn’t need to be told twice.

“Oh, hello Mr. Chuuya!” Kenji beamed from behind the counter, waving like it was just another Saturday,

The man froze mid-step. His already wide, panicked eyes locked on Chuuya. Then something in him snapped. Pure fear rolled of him like a smoke.

“…no way—” se scanned Chuuya. “Fuck! S-Sorry,” the man yelped, then turned and ran out of the store, nearly tripping over the doorframe.

The only sound left was the buzz of refrigerator.

Chuuya blinked, still pointing the gun.

…Huh.

He lowered his arm slowly.

What the hell was that about?

Kenji leaned over the counter cheerfully, as if nothing had happened.

Chuuya stared at the empty doorway. His fingers twitched slightly around the grip of the gun.

Was that guy weird… or was it him? Seriously. It seemed like he just didn’t belong anywhere. The longer he spent around normal people, the more he felt like he was the one who didn’t fit.

His eyes slid down to the revolver.

New Nambu M60.

It wasn’t the oldest model, but definitely not any big shot either. It was a standard weapon, used by Japanese enforcement.

How the hell did that guy get his hand on one of those?

Considering he was a rookie, Chuuya was pretty sure he didn’t have the balls to rob a police officer.

“Wow, that was so cool! Thanks a lot!” Kenji beamed from behind the counter.

Chuuya turned to him, still holding the gun loosely in his hand.

“Uh… no problem?”

“He’s a regular. Always comes in, asks for cash, then shows up the next week again like nothing happened,” Kenji continued cheerfully.

Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows.

“Then why haven’t you called the cops?”

Kenji blinked. “Well, Mr. Fakuzawa, who gave me this job, is a cop. He used to help me out with the guy, but it became too much of a hassle. The robber just started coming at different times, and honestly? It’s not like there’s much cash here anyway.”

He smiled like that explained everything.

“Besides, it’s easier to just give him what he wants than fight him over it.”

Chuuya nodded slowly, understanding. Though, he didn’t fully agree.

“I guess. But why do you keep working here? I’m sure someone out there cares about you. They’d be worried you’re putting yourself in danger.”

“Well…” Kenji scratched the back of his head, his voice quietening.

“I moved out from a small village and I’m not in contact with anyone back home. So… not really.”

Chuuya immediately felt a twinge of guilt.

“Oh, sorry.”

Kenji waved him off, still smiling. “It doesn’t matter, you didn’t know.”

Then his face lit up again.

“You came for instant noodles again, didn’t you? Let me treat you this time.” Chuuya blinked, surprised.

“That’s fine you don’t have to—"

“No, please! Normally we’d lose that money to the robber anyway. It’d actually make me happy to give them to you.”

Chuuya ran a hand through his hair, a little flustered.

Free food? He wasn’t in a position to turn it down.

Still…

Damn. I’m really that desperate.

The thought made his stomach twist. He hated how pathetic it made him feel. How he was now depended on kindness of other people.

He shook his head.

“Alright… thank you.”

“Let me come with you to the soup aisle,” Kenji said, bouncing along beside him. He picked up a few instant noodle packs, waving them in front of Chuuya’s face.

“How many do you want? I could give you like seven—that’d match the amount money the robber usually takes.”

Chuuya almost choked on his own spit.

“…What?”

Kenji turned to him with his usual cheer.

“Oh, I was just saying I could give you seven of them! But if you’d like more, I could use the employee discount—”

“Kenji thanks. But seven is more than enough,” Chuuya interrupted him.

Kenji tilted his head, clearly not understanding the problem.

God bless this child.

“I was only planning on buying two or three, so seven is already too many,” Chuuya explained.

Kanji beamed at him.

“Then just pick the flavors! I’ll reorganize the fridge while you decide.” He tiptoed away happily.

Chuuya turned to the display, eyeing the familiar rows. After a brief pause, he picked out three beef, three chicken, and (with a little shame) one crab.

He couldn’t imagine worse flavor, but Kenji was paying so he might as well give it a try.

He walked over to where Kenji was sorting the ice cream freezer. “Kenji, I’ve got the soups.”

Kenji looked up with a bright smile.

“Nice! Just give me a minute and I’ll be done here.”

Chuuya leaned against the already-organized side of the freezer, watching him sort through the flavors. There were a lot of options, mostly ice cream on sticks.

He used to steal those all the time when he was with the Sheep.

He could still remember one summer night, when he and Yuan swiped Shirase’s favorite kind for his birthday. They almost got caught, but neither of them could take it seriously. They’d just laughed the whole time as they sprinted down the street, breathless and exhilarated.

Yuan ended up eating most of it anyway, but still, it was a good memory. One of the few that didn’t hurt to remember.

“You know,” Kenji said softly, not looking up, “I always wanted to go get ice cream with my parents.”

“Hm?” Chuuya looked up.

Kenji kept working, like he was only talking to himself.

“They promised that they’d take me one day when I’m older.”

Kenji kept sorting. Chuuya stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

Though, after a beat of silence he tilted his head.

“But they didn’t?”

Kenji shoved a heavy box of watermelon-flavored popsicles onto the top shelf without breaking rhythm.

“No, they didn’t.” He kept working, lifting heavy boxes and shoving them to the right regals.

“They died before they could.”

Chuuya stared, caught off guard.

Well… that definitely wasn’t the direction he thought this was going.

He didn’t offer condolences.

Not because he didn’t care, but because he knew from experience that hollow words from strangers didn’t help. He just sighed quietly, hoping the kid was alright.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenji said, reading his silence. “My village took care of me after that.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but feel pity for the boy.

Growing up without parents wasn’t foreign to him. And seeing a child in similar circumstances like he was… he felt his features soften.

He looked up and saw Kenji struggling to lift another box up to the top shelf, balancing on his tiptoes.

Without a word, Chuuya took the box from him and placed it easily on the shelf. He might be short, sure—but thankfully, he was still taller than most kids these days.

“I’ve got an idea.” Chuuya grinned at Kenji.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll take you out for ice cream. My treat.”

Kenji blinked, surprised, but then lit up like a sun.

“You would do that?!”

“Sure,” Chuuya said with a smile. “Call it payback for the noodles. I’m no parent, so it probably won’t be exactly what you imagined, but… still better than nothing, right?”

“It’s perfect! Thank you so much! You’re so kind, Mr. Chuuya!!”

Kenji jumped at Chuuya, who instinctively took a few steps back, caught off guard by the sudden burst of affection.

The ice cream would cost him more than he could really afford and under normal circumstances, Chuuya wouldn’t even dream about offering to treat someone. But seeing how happy the kid looked?

Definitely worth it.

After all, when he was Kenji’s age, he would’ve given anything for an adult to treat him with bit of kindness. If he could brighten the day of just one kid who’d grown up like he had and brighten their day, it was worth starving for a few days.

Kenji jumped off him and immediately spring with him to the exit.

Before leaving, he’d even lent Chuuya his backpack to carry the instant noodles. Chuuya promised to return it the next time he came by, but Kenji didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned.

Chuuya was also bit nervous about leaving the shop unattended, but Kenji simply closed early and told him to ‘Not think about it too much’ and that, ‘he’ll talk to the owner’.

And just like that, they continued their swift walk to the ice cream stand. The exact one where Tachihara and Gin bought their ice creams yesterday.

It took them some time, despite Chuuya trying his best to remember. It seemed that yesterday, he was too out of it to fully remember the rout. However, after about twenty minutes of desperate searching, they got lucky.

“I heard this new place has many different flavors, it’s suppose to have the best ice creams in whole Yokohama.” Chuuya tried to hype him up, as if Kenji wasn’t already drooling and jumping with excitement.

When they got to the counter, an old man was already waiting for them behind the counter.

The bright display case showed a dozen of colourful flavours, from chocolate and strawberry to salted caramel and bubble-gum.

Kenji leaned forward, hands pressed against the glass, eyes sparkling. He looked like he was about to devour the entire stand.

“How many can I get?” He asked, turning around.

Chuuya took a wallet from his pocket. He had money for one scoop, maybe two if he counted the small change.

“One,” he looked up at Kenji whose eyes were already once again glued to the display.

He sighed.

“Or you know what? Two. Consider it a bonus for me being in a good mood.”

“Thank you so much!! Seriously, you’re the best!” Kenji jumped jumping at him in tight hug.

Chuuya seeped for air, as Kenji squeezed him tightly.

How the hell was a kid this strong?!

The ice cream man caught awkwardly, brining attention to himself.

“Hello, nice man. Please, would you mind telling your younger brother to not touch the glass?” He asked shyly.

Chuuya took a minute to process. He blinked.

“We’re not—”

“Okay!” Kenji leaned away from Chuuya, just far enough to be in touch with glass—but not pressed against it like before.

After a few moments, he pointed excitedly.

“That one! Milk flavour! And… the smurf one, please. Thank you!”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “A milk? Seriously? And a smurf? Out of all this?”

What the hell even was smurf.

On the picture it showed a short blue man, was it some kind of catroon? It looked pretty creepy.

Kenji grinned, completely unfazed.

“It reminds me of the farm. I used to take care of the cows every morning before going to school.” He skipped, jumping a little where he stood.

“And I like smurfs! It’s my favourite show. You don’t like them?”

The way Kenji turned to him, eyes wide with excitement. Chuuya felt like admitting he’d never watched the show would be a crime, he could already see the disappointment in his eyes.

So, he did what any sensible adult would do in his situation.

“Oh no, I love them. They’re my favourite too.”

He mentally cringed, biting down his moral codes. He’ll just have to watch the cartoon, so he wouldn’t look like an idiot.

Kenji grinned, completely unaware of his fat lie.

“Great! We’ll need to talk about them later!”

“Here you go.” The older man behind the counter leaned down with the ice cream cone.

Then he turned to Chuuya. “And what about you, young man?” He asked, smile plastered on his face.

“Nothing for me,” he blinked surprised, laughing the situation off with awkward smile.

Both the man behind the counter seemed unfazed, though Kenji watched him with concerned gaze.

Chuuya paid and with a goodbye they walked off from the counter together. The city noise faded behind them for just a moment, leaving only the faint buzz of summer and the quiet, shared happiness of simple treat.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy, I don’t have much cash on me at the moment.” Chuuya sighed after a moment.

Kenji, who was aggressively licking the ice cream looked up at him. Ice cream everywhere, the blue being all over him, from his mouth up to his eyebrows.

When he spoke, he showed him his vibrantly blue tongue and teeth.

“No problem! And thank you so much, but…” he quiet down a bit, “did you have enough money for that?”

Chuuya blinked few times.

Right, he forgot Kenji was the one behind the counter, when he always bought all those instant noodles. It wasn’t that hard to guess how he was doing financially.

“Don’t worry about it kid, just enjoy yourself.” He grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Hey—” Kenji yelled trying to move away from his grip, but it only ended with more ice cream dripping down his shirt.

Kenji didn’t pay it any attention and instead turned back to the ice cream basically devouring the treat.

“You’re all blue kid. Soon you’ll be able to pass as smurf yourself.” Chuuya hummed a smirk on his face.

“Really?” He turned excited.

Chuuya frowned his eyebrows. “You do realize that means only taking a longer shower...?”

Kenji whined as Chuuya laughed.

“You know, now that I think about it…” he thought. “You have no survival instincts kid.”

Kenji looked up from his ice cream.

“Hm?” He said, mouth still half full.

“You just accepted ice cream from a stranger? That could be dangerous.”

Kenji blinked at him, then tilted his head thoughtfully.

“But you’re not a stranger. You’re regular customer.”

“Yeah, for like a week.” Chuuya muttered. “What if I were a serial killer trying to kidnap you?”

Kenji stared at him, unfazed.

“But you’re not?”

“Well, no,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, “I’m not, but what if I were? How would you know I wasn’t lying?”

Kenji blinked again.

“But you’re not lying.”

“I’m not, but—” Chuuya groaned, rubbing his face. “You know what? Forget it. Just eat the damn ice cream and promise me you won’t get into a truck if someone offers you a candy.”

Kenji frowned thoughtfully.

“Why would I refuse a free treat?”

“Kenji, please. Just promise me.”

“Okay…? If it makes you happy Mr. Chuuya, I promise I won’t follow anyone if they offer me a candy.”

He paused, mid-lick.

“Wait… does that count for you too?”

Chuuya dragged out a long, exhausted sigh.

This kid…

“No. I’m not planning on kidnaping you.”

“Okay!” Kenji beamed.

They continued walking in a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by Kenji sharing some random facts. Mostly about farming or animals. He mentioned his village, his friends, and described the forests so beautifully it made Chuuya feel almost jealous.

One day, maybe, he'd visit a forest just like that. One day.

After a while, Kenji looked up at him.

“…Mr. Chuuya why didn’t you get any ice cream?”

Chuuya blinked. He didn’t really care if the kid knew, so he might as well tell him.

“I don’t have that much money, trouble finding job you know?”

Kenji didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, that’s easy. Why don’t you just work with me at the supermarket?”

Chuuya blinked again.

“Seriously?”

Kenji nodded, stuffing the rest of his ice cream into his mouth.

“I mean,” he gulped. “You helped me with the robber earlier, and we’ve been looking for more people anyway. You don’t even need any school for it. Just sign a few papers and you’re in! I’ll let Fukuzawa know you’re interested.”

Chuuya stared.

Was it… really that easy?

Before he knew it, he’d thrown his arms around Kenji, hugging him tight. Then, just as fast, he pulled back. An embarrassment creeping on his face.

“Thank you so much Kenji! You just saved my life!!”

He’ll have a job. A money.

Fucking finally, took long enough.

“When can I start?”

Kenji returned him a toothy smile.

"Well, as soon as you sign the form… so technically today, if we catch Mr. Fukuzawa!"

They looked at each other grinning like idiots.

Sharing one brain cell, they both shouted:

"Let’s go find him!"

Chapter Text

When Chuuya and Kenji arrived at Fukuzawa’s office, they were disappointed to find it empty. Fortunately, they managed to catch his apprentice, Kunikida, instead.

Kunikida wasn’t exactly welcoming at first, Chuuya felt like he was talking to a computer. The apprentice gave him short, firm answers, clearly not in a chatty mood. But once Kenji offered him a bright smile, he softened and became more cooperative. He explained that Fukuzawa was away on a business trip, but added that if Chuuya was really that desperate, he could authorize the forms himself.

They worked out a deal: Chuuya would officially start his first shift on Monday. Though the store was technically open 24/7, Kunikida suggested it would be better to begin on a weekday, when there were fewer customers.

Chuuya’s first shift would last six hours, with Kenji there to assist him the entire time. After that, they’d take turns covering shifts alone, rotating on a set schedule.

The hours… weren’t ideal, but still better than whatever shitty nightmare Dazai had cooked up for himself. The pay wasn’t amazing either but considering Chuuya had never worked a day in his life, he couldn’t really complain.

His biggest issue was the contract. The paperwork bound him to the job for at least two months.

If things got bad, he could always run. Sure, he’d cut all contact with his newfound friends and hurt their feelings, but he wasn’t planning on staying long anyway. Maybe—hopefully, no one would come after him. That way he wouldn’t have to move.

Still, the idea of being tied down, even for just two months, sat wrong with him.

In the end, though, he signed the forms.

He spent the rest of the day hanging out with Kenji. By the time he got home, he was bone-tired.

The moment the heavy doors shut behind him, he collapsed onto his bed and didn’t move. He hadn’t even done all that much, but somehow, the day still felt like progress.

He sank into the mattress, letting himself dissolve into the sheets, which still carried the faint scent of his sweat and shampoo. Finally, he had some peace and quiet. A rare moment to just breathe.

Then his phone buzzed, dragging him out of his daydream.

With a groan, he sat up and pulled it from his pocket.

Tachihara.

Fuck. Tachihara was with him on the call when the shooting happened. He planned to update him as soon as the situation got solved, but it must have slipped his mind.

With a swift click he answered the call.

“Hi Tachi,” Chuuya dragged himself out of the comfort of his bed and shuffled toward the tiny kitchen.

“Chuuya? Oh, thank God, you’re okay!” Tachihara sighed in relief. “What the hell happened? I was scared shitless, and you weren’t answering your calls or texts at all.”

Chuuya let out a low laugh, tossing the phone onto the counter and switching it to speaker as he grabbed the kettle and started filling it with water.

“Nothing much,” he said, glancing around for where he’d dropped the groceries.

“Nothing much?!—Dude, I heard a gunshot.”

Chuuya blinked, still scanning the room.

Where the hell was that bag?

He frowned his eyebrows.

“…Chuuya? Are you there?”

Oh, right, Tachihara.

Chuuya circled back toward the kitchen, tapping the phone screen. It levitated into the air beside him as he resumed the search.

“Someone tried to rob the store, it didn’t work out,” he turned around scratching the back of his head. Then something clicked.

He crouched down and peaked beneath the bed.

A couple of spiders ran away, but there it was.

“Bingo,” he muttered, reaching for the bag.

“So, you didn’t get hurt? Did the police catch him?”

Chuuya returned to the kitchen counter, this time with his groceries. He slammed it on the counter, pulling out chicken instant noodles. His chest tighten at the sight, gulping hungrily.

“Nobody got hurt, the guy didn’t steal anything he just ran off. The police didn’t get involved.” He prepared a bowl on the counter, putting the noodles and boiling water in.

“Huh? That’s kinda weird, why would the robber just run away?” Tachihara criticized out loud. Chuuya’s mouth twitched but didn’t mutter a word. “Did you at least let the police know?”

Chuuya hummed, pulling out the rest of the noodles packs and organizing them in a drawer beside the kettle stand. Two beef, one chicken, one crab. Considering his smaller appetite, that could last two days. Maybe three.

But he has a job now, he doesn’t need to worry about that anymore. Not to mention, Kenji said something about employee discounts. That could save him a lot of money.

He reached for the bag, planning to put it away, but he froze.

How could he have forgotten?

The revolver.

It still had three bullets left. Despite being an older model, it looked nearly new. The weapon was in a peak condition. Clean and well maintained.

“…I mean you did hear the gunshot too, right?” Tachihara said through the speaker, sounding uneasy. “Isn’t it dangerous having some armed guy running around robbing stores?”

Chuuya ran his hand over the revolver, fingers hesitating for a second. Then, with newfound determination, he picked it up.

“Don’t worry.” He said casually. “We told the police everything. They’re on him as we speak.” He smiled faintly, as if Tachihara could see him.

Lying wasn’t ideal, but explaining why he still had the weapon? That would be even worse.

“Alright, at least that…”  Tachihara muttered, his nerves eased a bit.

Holding the weapon, Chuuya made his way back to bed.

He should hide the revolver somewhere, but where?

Under the pillow? Too obvious.

Stuffed between his clothes? Risky. It might fall out when he got dressed.

His travel bag? Absolutely not. That’d be the first place anyone would check.

“And how was your day?” Chuuya asked, lifting the edge of his mattress. “Anything crazy happen to you?”

“I’m glad you asked. Actually, I was just talking with Gin today…”

Chuuya tucked the gun beneath the mattress but paused.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he pulled it back out and carefully removed the remaining three bullets, slipping them into his pocket.

Just in case. This way, he wouldn’t accidentally shoot himself during some wild dream. Not to mention he’d still have access to the rounds if he needed them and a possible intruder wouldn’t get their hands onto the loaded gun. Even without the gun, he could still use his ability on the bullets alone.

“…and then I grabbed coffee with her and Higuchi. It was nice catching up.”

Chuuya dropped the mattress back into place and returned to the kitchen. “Didn’t you see Gin just yesterday?”

“Ugh, why are you so judgy all the time…” Tachihara whined, ignoring the sound of Chuuya chuckling on the other end.

“I just like spending a lot of time with my friends, is that such a crime?”

Chuuya was already taking a deep breath to give some sarcastic reply when he stopped mid-step, eyes widening as he glanced toward the mini kitchen.

Not only were the kettle, the bag, and the instant noodle packets floating mid-air. But so was his hot, freshly finished soup.

And not just floating.

The noodles were everywhere. The boiling soup spun through the air like some kind of tornado, spraying liquid through the air like from a water gun.

He let out a loud groan.

Goddammit.

This is exactly why he avoided using his powers unless it’s absolutely necessary. More often than not, they backfire. Now (thanks to them,) he had chicken soup chaos splattered across his entire kitchen. Not to mention the rest of the liquid and noodles still flying mid-air.

“Hey Tachi, sorry for doing this twice today, but I gotta go, I have an emergency,” Chuuya sighed, turning to his phone—the only thing still floating and actually listening to him at the moment.

“Oh,” Tachihara replied, and just like that, the guilt punched Chuuya straight in the gut.

Fuck, he was an awful friend to him, wasn’t he? He’d have to make it up to him later, somehow.

“It’s fine,” Tachihara added after a pause. “I’ve gotta be somewhere anyway too.”

“Alright that makes me feel a little less horrible,” Chuuya let out a relieved sigh.

“Thanks for understanding. I have a soup everywhere, and I mean like—all over the room and—ugh. I just need to deal with it before something else happens too.”

Tachihara laughed. “Well, I knew you were a disaster in the kitchen, but man. This is on another level. Just make sure to clean it all, it’s still my hotel.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Dude, I’ll be honest. I don’t think the rooms could look worse even if I tried.”

“Wow, thanks. I love you too.” Tachihara said dryly. “Let me know if you need extra hands.”

“Thanks,” Chuuya muttered, just as a kettle came flying at his face. He ducked instinctively, narrowly dodging it as boiling water splashed across the air behind him.

“Shit—okay, I really gotta go,” he said, ending the call and spinning around to face the attacking mess.

God, he hated his ability sometimes.

The next day, Chuuya went out for a walk. He’d planned to meet up with Dazai that afternoon.

His eyebrows were furrowed as he walked. They were supposed to meet at 2 pm. This time, Chuuya had done everything to make sure Dazai wouldn’t forget. For fuck’s sake, he even called him earlier to confirm the time, and again five minutes before, telling him to get his ass out of the house.

Did that change something?

Absolutely not.

Once again, Chuuya found himself waiting on that idiot to show up.

It was already ten minutes past the time they agreed on, and Dazai was still nowhere in sight. Chuuya kept calling him, but every time, the call rang without an answer.

If it were Tachihara, he might have started to get nervous that something bad had happened. But Dazai? Fuck no. That guy was probably just ghosting him to be annoying, like always.

Chuuya stared down at his phone. Still nothing.

His foot tapped repeatedly against the pavement.

Suddenly, a pair of hands covered his eyes.

“Guess who~” a grinning voice sang from behind him.

Chuuya didn’t hesitate. With an irritated huff, he stomped hard on the foot of the person behind him.

“OW—!” Dazai yelped, stumbling back with a dramatic hop, clutching his foot.

“An annoying bastard who can’t show up on time.” He gritted his teeth.

“Chuuyaaa, that hurt!” Dazai whined, looking like a kicked puppy.

Chuuya turned to face him, his eyes sharp. “Gee, wonder why,” he growled. “Maybe don’t sneak up on people when you're already late, you damn idiot.”

Dazai pouted, still holding his foot like a wounded animal. “So mean. You wound me…”

“Good.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue and turned away.

Still limping slightly, Dazai caught up to him. “Why do I even hang out with someone so violent and rude?” he muttered, just loud enough for Chuuya to hear.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Maybe, because you promised to buy me coffee. I hope you didn’t forget that.”

“Forget? Never! It’s like a dream date,” Dazai replied with a smirk. “A peaceful stroll along the river with a fiery redhead who keeps physically assaulting me and calls me names…”

“Oh, shut the hell up already,” Chuuya groaned, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

Dazai just grinned wider.

They kept walking along the riverside path, bickering in a familiar habit.

“So,” Dazai glanced at him, sliding his own hands into his pockets, “what’ve you been up to while I’ve been gone?”

Chuuya shot him a look. “You make it sound like we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“We might as well have,” Dazai groaned dramatically. “Everyone else is painfully boring.”

“We saw each other two days ago,” Chuuya said flatly.

“And it’s not my fault you surround yourself with a bad company. Talk to people, make new friends…”

“Right,” Dazai shrugged. “That seems to be working just fine for you.”

“Yes, it does.” Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

“Sure,” Dazai laughed. “Alright then, name someone you’ve actually spoken to besides Tachihara. And just to be clear, Tachihara barely counts. He was desperate.”

Chuuya opened his mouth to protest for Tachihara’s sake… but stopped. Okay, maybe the guy had been a little too eager to bond, even after Chuuya almost broke his hand and acted toward him like an asshole.

“Gin and Kenji,” he said instead, trying to sound proud. “That’s two more people.”

Dazai raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know Gin. She’s Tachihara’s friend. She probably talked to you out of pity. And who the hell is Kenji?”

Chuuya hesitated. “…He’s a cashier at the corner store. Blonde, freckles. Likes Smurfs.”

Dazai stared at him. “Wait. You’re not talking about Fukuzawa’s kid, are you?”

“Yeah, and?” Chuuya bristled, already embarrassed.

Dazai burst out laughing. “He’s twelve!”

“So what?”

Dazai stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “You’re seriously bragging about making friends with a middle schooler?”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “He understands me. We have similar interests.”

That only made Dazai laugh harder. “What, like juice boxes and Saturday morning cartoons?”

“He’s nicer than you,” Chuuya muttered, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no way you’re comparing me to a kid.” Dazai scoffed. “I’m obviously the better choice.”

Chuuya snorted. “Are you jealous?”

Dazai’s eyebrow twitched. “No! I’m just saying, befriending a kid isn’t something to be proud of. You should be embarrassed.”

Clicking his tongue, Chuuya turned on his heel and started walking ahead without responding.

“You—okay, fine,” Dazai caught up with him, slipping back into step. “It seems I’m still the only person you’ve met who matches your intellect.”

“You’re really full of yourself,” Chuuya huffed.

“Am I? There’s no shame in admitting I’m obviously your closest friend.”

“I think Tachihara took that spot.”

That shut Dazai up for half a second. 

Dazai’s smirk twitched.

Chuuya almost smiled. He remembered now, their last conversation ended with Dazai insisting he was the best best-friend candidate. Apparently, the competition was still on.

“Do you have any other friends beside me?” he asked without much thought.

Dazai blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. He hoped it didn’t sound like an insult, he was just curious. The thought of Dazai talking to other people didn’t seem unrealistic, but still somehow… weird.

He looked up, as if genuinely thinking about it.

“…I have my sister.”

Chuuya stared at him, unimpressed.

“Yeah, I’m aware. I asked if you have any friends.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “I am answering. My sister is probably the closest thing I have to a friend.”

He paused, then added, “Maybe one of my coworkers, too. But it’s more of a business thing… a give and take relationship. We help each other, but I wouldn’t go as far as to call us friends.”

“That’s sad,” Chuuya replied flatly.

Dazai glanced over at him.

“That’s just how things are,” he said, unbothered. “Friends don’t fit well with my job.”

Chuuya turned his head slightly to look at him.

“Then what am I?”

Dazai met his gaze for a moment, then turned away, eyes forward again.

“An exception.”

The wind stirred faintly along the riverside, and Chuuya’s jacket flapped as he slowed his steps. The breeze untangled fer strands of his ponytail.

When he looked at Dazai, the other man seemed relaxed. Their banter hadn’t sounded serious, but it felt heavier than usual. Like something was quietly shifting between them.

It wasn’t much, just a little, but it felt like Dazai had let something real slip through. Like for a second, he didn’t mind sharing something personal and being vulnerable with him.

Maybe Chuuya should say something too.

He’d used to struggle too… Hell. He still struggles maintaining friends. Forming bonds was and always will be difficult for him, it was a part of himself he needed to except.

But right now, he felt like maybe he could talk about it. Like Dazai might actually listen.

Maybe he could understand.

“I…” he began, but his voice trailed off as something caught his eye.

A half-dead bird laying in the middle of the road, small wings twitching weakly against the pavement.

Without thinking, Chuuya ran into the road, gently scooping the small bird into his hands.

Part of one wing was missing, and the other looked badly broken. Even with a vet’s help, it would never fly again.

A second later, a strong grip yanked him backward by the collar.

With a startled yelp, Chuuya stumbled onto the sidewalk, landing hard but still holding the bird protectively in his hands.

“I can’t believe you almost got run over because of a stupid pigeon,” Dazai snapped, voice caught between fury and laughter. “I just saved your life, by the way. Cars use roads, you know. You’re supposed to look before running into them.”

Chuuya barely registered Dazai’s voice, his eyes scanning the wounded bird. He was trembling in hands and was so tiny, Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if he just left the nest.

“…You’re not listening to me, are you?” Dazai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not really. Sorry.” Chuuya muttered, eyes still locked on the bird.

“I wonder what happened to him...”

With a sigh, Dazai dropped to his knees beside him, eyeing the bird.

“Probably got hit by a car. No—scratch that. One wing’s completely gone. Looks like a cat attacked it. Or both. Either way…” He sighed. “It’s kind of a miracle it’s still alive.”

Then Dazai looked at him, expression flat.

“You should’ve let it die.”

Chuuya returned the stare, unflinching.

He knew why Dazai said that.

It was only logical for the weak offspring to die. He didn’t have the strength to collect food, and with the condition he is in now, he’ll get killed by some other animal. It’s just the way nature is. Letting it go now would be kinder than letting it suffer.

He agreed with Dazai.

But seeing the tiny creature, trembling in his hands, desperately trying to survive…

“No.”

“No?” Dazai blinked in surprise.

Chuuya nodded, firm.

Dazai exhaled. “You do realize it could’ve got a short, painless death, right? This was, it’ll probably just suffer more.”

Chuuya didn’t answer.

With a groan, Dazai got to his feet. “I’ve got a knife on me. Just turn around and I’ll make it quick.”

Chuuya’s eyes snapped up, his head turning slightly. Dazai was serious. There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in his voice. Then again, Chuuya didn’t expect any. He wasn’t disturbed by the idea either.

If he wanted the bird dead, he would have killed him himself. Not let Dazai do it for him.

He stood up, carefully holding the bird in his palms.

“Thank you for the offer, but there’s no need,” he said with a small smile.

“I decided to take care of Baki.”

Dazai blinked, once again, completely caught off guard. “Baki?”

“You heard me.”

“You named it?” Dazai’s face twisted. “And—hold on. You’re not seriously implying you’re adopting that thing.”

“Yes, obviously.” Chuuya said plainly, raising an eyebrow. “You’re slow today.”

Dazai stared at him, baffled be his statement.

“…why do I even hang out with you?”

Chuuya smirked. “Because I’m your only friend.”

He turned around and started walking along the sidewalk. “Now, before you treat me to that coffee, let’s find a vet. We need to get Baki’s wings fixed.”

Dazai just shook his head with a low chuckle and followed him.

“See? This is why I keep talking to you. There’s never a boring moment with you.”

Chuuya ignored the comment, scanning the street for a clinic sign.
After a few minutes of aimless wandering, they remembered phones existed. Pulling up a map, they quickly located the nearest vet.

The clinic treated Baki’s wing as best they could and sent Chuuya home with painkiller medication and confirmed that, one of hi wings will g=be healed with time, but the other one not.

Thankfully, when the clinic gave them the (surprisingly) large bill, Dazai offered to pay while Chuuya was desperately looking in his pockets for the smallest change. He promised Dazai to pay back as soon as he found his wallet (got his first pay check) but Dazai only rolled his eyes.

At the end the poor bird had fallen asleep from exhaustion, curled up gently in Chuuya’s coat. Chuuya couldn’t help the small smile forming on his lips.

“Well, now that’s finished up, we can finally get that coffee!” he said brightly, glancing at Dazai.

Dazai stared at him for a moment before replying.
“I’d love to get coffee, but…” His expression twisted slightly. “Just wondering—do you have anything to actually take care of a bird? Like… a nest? Food? Cage?”

Chuuya’s smile faded, his face paling with every word Dazai listed.

“…Shit.”

“Judging from your reaction, I’ll take that as a no.” Dazai sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. I know a pet store nearby. Let’s go before they close.”

Chuuya let out a relieved breath. “Thank fuck. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I noticed,” Dazai muttered, already walking ahead as he led them through unfamiliar streets.

When they finally stepped into the pet store, the soft jingle of the doorbell announced their arrival. A young girl behind the counter looked up and smiled politely.

Chuuya approached, Dazai trailing lazily behind, scanning the shelves.

“Hi. Uh… I was wondering, hypothetically, if I found a bird today and decided to keep it… what would I need to take care of it?”

The girl’s polite smile faltered.

“…Hypothetically, I really hope you didn’t actually do that,” she said flatly. “Because that’s incredibly irresponsible. You’re supposed to do research before committing to take care of an animal.”

Chuuya sighed through his nose, patience thinning.

“Hypothetically,” he said with a forced smile, “I don’t give a shit. Just tell me what I need.”

He hesitated, then added, a little more quietly, “…Please.”

The girl huffed and walked out from behind the counter toward the cages. “Alright. What species is it? And how old, roughly?”

Chuuya blinked.

How the fuck should he know?

“Uh… hypothetically, I found the bird on—”

“It’s a pigeon,” Dazai cut in, rolling his eyes. “Probably about four to six weeks old.”

The girl nodded thoughtfully as she began scanning the shelves.

“You’ve never had pets before, have you?” Dazai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

The girl crouched next to them, placing two cages on the floor with a soft clatter. Behind her, she’d stacked a few small bags and items in a basket.

“Alright, since you said it’s about four to six weeks old, this size should be enough for now,” she said, patting the larger cage. “This one’s taller and gives him more room to move around, even if he’s grounded. You’ll want space for low perches and dishes.”

Chuuya nodded, studying the cage with mild uncertainty.

The more he studied the amount and size of the equipment, the more pale he got. He thought he could just take the bird in and feed it some bread, but this…

He cursed under his breath, realizing how much money and energy it will cost.

Dazai tilted his head lazily. “One problem. It can’t fly. One wing’s busted, and the other’s… half gone.”

The girl blinked, then softened her voice just slightly. “Oh… poor thing.” She nodded to herself, then pointed at the supplies. “Alright. Then forget high perches... I’ll swap them for platform perches or low ramps. You’ll want soft bedding too, so he doesn’t hurt himself moving around. Towels or fleece works best.”

She tapped a small bag near her. “Seed mix, vitamin drops, and some probiotics in case he’s stressed, which he will be, poor guy. This formula’s for hand-feeding, just until he fully weans. You got a syringe?”

Chuuya shook his head.

“I’ll add one. Maybe two, just in case.”

Dazai leaned closer to Chuuya, smirking. “You’re taking the bird-dad thing pretty seriously. It’s still time to scram, you know?”

Chuuya elbowed him without looking.

The girl continued unbothered, clearly used to bantering customers. “If you’re keeping him long term, you’ll need something bigger once he’s healthy maybe a rabbit pen or even a playpen setup. Ground-dwellers still need enrichment.”

Chuuya blinked. “Enrichment?”

“Things to do. Mirrors, paper balls, safe chew toys. Pigeons get bored, too. And in distress causing damage and hurting others or themselves.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you.”

Chuuya glared. “You’re not helping.”

The girl handed him a list. “This should cover the basics. If you need more help, just come back. Or ask a vet. Or google. Just… don’t do anything stupid without proper research first.” She sighed, exhausted.

Chuuya smiled at her, almost regretting his decision.

“Good luck. Grounded pigeons can make great companions, if you’re patient.”

He looked down at the list, then at the cage, and finally at the bird still bundled in his jacket. A quiet sigh left him.

“I’ll do my best.”

The cashier gave Chuuya a bright smile and ran off toward the counter. He glanced at all the bags and then at the oversized cage. After a moment of debate, he decided to leave the fleece bedding behind. He could use the hotel towels from Tachihara. He grabbed the largest cage, trying to cut costs where he could for the future.

He struggled to gather everything in his arms while Dazai stood nearby, watching him with an amused smirk.

“So,” he grinned, “is that your emotional support animal now, or the other way around?”

Chuuya groaned, already too tired to deal with Dazai’s sarcasm.

“Dazai, do me a favor please. Fuck off.”

Unbothered, Dazai kept teasing. “No, really. Is it like your therapeutic pigeon? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before.”

Chuuya sighed loudly.

“Don’t be jealous. Between the two of us, you clearly need a therapy animal more than I do.”

“I don’t,” Dazai said flatly.

“You tried to throw yourself off a bridge two days ago.”

“That’s in the past. I’m a different man now.”

“…I have trouble believing that.”

The cashier cleared her throat, snapping them both out of their exchange. She smiled again; either used to chaos or very good at ignoring it, and then gave them the ungodly total cost for the bird equipment.

Chuuya’s eyes widen in horror.

His jaw dropped slightly.

Holy shit.

Arahabaki help him, he was about to drown in debt over a bird. Why did he think this was a good idea again? How was taking care of one tiny bird this expensive?!

“Will it be by a cash or card?” She smiled sweetly, ignoring dying Chuuya.

“Card,” Dazai answered before Chuuya could speak, stepping forward to pay.

Chuuya blinked, stunned. When Dazai took the receipt and started gathering the bags, Chuuya followed him out of the store in a daze

Once they walked from the shop Chuuya immediately broke into a storm of thank you’s which Dazai waved off with rolling eyes.

“…I swear I’ll pay you back, I’ve got the receipt so I’ll know the exact amount I owe you.”

“I honestly don’t care. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. This barely scratches my bank account.” He continued walking without breaking a sweat.

“But if you’re really that needy and don’t want to owe me, you can pay me any time you want. Though, how I said, I really do not care.”

Chuuyua sighed in relief. “Thanks, I should get my first paycheck on Monday. I’ll send it to you then.”

Dazai tilted his head, suddenly curious. “You’re starting a new job?”

Chuuya nodded. “Yeah, Kenji helped me out.”

“Oh, so you’re working…” he paused, blinking in surprise his eyebrow raising. “…at a grocery store?”

Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything.” Dazai answered flatly, without a hint of irony.

What the hell…

“Well, it’s a job like any other.” He tried to stay positive but the way Dazai looked at him forced him to rethink.

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever worked in a customer service job before?”

“…Not exactly,” Chuuya admitted. “But it can’t be that bad.”

“How close have you even gotten to a shop before this?”

Chuuya scratched his neck awkwardly. “I mean… mostly when I used to steal some shit as a kid. Wait—hold on. You’re not a cop, are you?”

Dazai gave him the most, ‘Are you a fucking for real?’ stare, before slowly replying,

“…No.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Chuuya sighed.

Dazai let out a dry laugh. “Still, it’s kind of a waste. You could do better.”

“You know, I could pull some strings and get you into some boring office job or maybe a café. I’ve got connections,” Dazai offered casually.

Chuuya glanced at him. If Dazai had said that earlier, he probably would’ve jumped at the chance. But now? He’d already signed the contract. He wasn’t about to quit before he even gave it a shot. Not after promising Kenji he’d work with him.

“Thanks, but no.”

Dazai blinked, slightly confused, then sighed. But of course, his mood shifted again almost instantly.

“Or—” he grinned, his tone brightening, “hear me out…”

Chuuya groaned knowingly.

“You come work in the same company as me! I mean, you’re like, not dumb—”

“Gee thanks.” Chuuya muttered, rolling his eyes.

“—and I like you, so you could work directly under me! You’d be like my assistant, or the guy I dump all my paperwork on! It’s a win-win!” Dazai eyes sparkled.

Chuuya stared at him, unsure if Dazai was being serious or just fucking with him.

“And work the same hellish hours you do? No thanks,” he shut him down. “Besides, like I said—I already signed the contract. I’m not quitting before I even start.”

Dazai paused, giving him a beat to change his mind. When it didn’t happen, he sighed in defeat.

“Fine. But I guarantee you’ll be calling me after your first day, begging me to take you up on the offer.”

“That’ll never happen.”

“Just wait and see,” Dazai smirked.

They stopped at a crosswalk. The sky was dark… a little too dark.

Chuuya pulled out his phone and his eyes widened.

7 pm?!

How the hell had so much time passed? Between the vet visit and the pet store, they must’ve spent hours.

He groaned internally. They couldn’t get coffee now. Even if he didn’t care about the time, and even if Dazai’s completely chaotic sleep schedule meant he’d drink coffee at midnight… there was no way any cafés were still open.

“I think we’ll have to get that coffee another time…” Chuuya sighed.

Dazai nodded already aware.

“Yep,” Dazai muttered, hands stuffed into his pockets as they walked, “for some reason, people don’t like drinking coffee at night.”

Chuuya watched him with blank look. The shadows cast a dark contrast to Dazai’s face, making his bandaged half almost disappear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he added, glancing at Chuuya with a lazy smile. “I’ll just take you out some other day.” He took a few more steps, starting to head back the way they came. His footsteps echoed lightly in the quiet evening air.

“Let me walk you home. Since I’m already carrying half your crap anyway.”

Chuuya sighed and caught up, falling into step beside him. He adjusted the cage in his arms and gestured with a nod toward the next street, just around the corner with a closed bakery.

“Thanks, I don’t know what I’ve would done without you.” He sighed.

Dazai let out a thoughtful hum. “Probably be on the run from the vet and then stealing from a pet shop,” he said, deadpan.

Chuuya snorted, then laughed out loud. Dazai shortly followed him, their voices briefly warming up the quiet street.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks before Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows, pulling out his phone.

“Wait,” he said, tapping the screen, “let me just check how long pigeons live…”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at him. “You don’t know? And you still decided to take care of one?”

Chuuya didn’t even look up. “Dude, I didn’t even know you could domesticate pigeons until like an hour ago.”

A few seconds of scrolling later, Chuuya stopped in his tracks.

“Ten to fifteen years?!” he practically shouted. “You have got to be fucking with me!”

He stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the screen in disbelief, while Dazai leaned against a closest lamp with a crooked smile.

“I told you this was a bad idea…” Dazai muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t even know if I’m gonna be alive that long!” Chuuya ranted, voice climbing, completely ignoring Dazai’s comment. “I can’t ground myself to Yokohama forever, and there’s no way I’m dragging all this equipment across the country!”

He was pacing now, gripping his phone like it had betrayed him. “What the hell was I thinking…”

“Then don’t move,” Dazai offered casually, cocking his head. “Problem solved.”

Chuuya paused, hesitating. His eyes shot toward Dazai, then away.

“I have to,” he said finally. “I travel a lot. Don’t ask.”

Dazai shrugged. “Sure.”

There was a beat of silence, then Chuuya stepped closer.

“You need to help me out,” he said. “If I have to leave for a while, I need someone to take care of him.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

Dazai gave him a flat look. “Isn’t it obvious? Just a few hours ago, I was ready to leave that bird dead.”

Chuuya opened his mouth to argue, but Dazai kept going.

“I’m still debating it. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t have time, I don’t want time, and honestly, I don’t plan to live that long either. So even if I did take it in, it’d still need a new caretaker soon enough.”

Chuuya exhaled slowly, his face falling. “…Fuck.”

There was a pause.

“I can still kill it?” Dazai offered, like he was discussing dinner plans.

“Oh, fuck off,” Chuuya snapped, shaking his head as they resumed walking.

“And just so you know, he” Chuuya gestured to his pocket, “is not it. He has a name and it’s Baki. Use it.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Why’d you name it—”

Before he could finish, Chuuya jabbed his elbow into Dazai’s ribs.

“Ow—rude.” Dazai winced, rubbing his side. “Fine, why’d you name him”—he rolled his eyes, overemphasizing the pronoun—“something dumb like Baki?”

Chuuya stopped walking for a second, furrowing his brow like Dazai had just insulted his child.

“Alright, you got any better ideas?”

“Of course I do,” Dazai replied with a smug hum. “For example… David. Or Tom.”

Chuuya stared at him, deadpan. They kept walking, their pace steady but slow now as the sidewalk narrowed.

“…You just said the most common, boring English names known to mankind.”

“And yet,” Dazai clicked his tongue, “still better than Baki.”

Chuuya scoffed. “For your information, Baki is just a shortcut. His real name is Arahabaki.”

Dazai stopped walking for a beat, blinking. “…You named the pigeon after the God of Destruction?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya replied, unapologetic. “You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Dazai said, hands raised slightly in mock surrender. “Just wanted to make sure you know what it means.”

Chuuya looked away, lips tightening.

Of course he knew what it meant.

He didn’t remember much from his childhood, but if there was one thing that stuck to him, it was mythology.

Both of his parents were deeply religious, the name of gods (including Arahabaki) forever haunted him in his dreams, when he reconnected with some of his memories.

But that wasn’t the reason why he named the bird. It was a symbolic way to let go of his past alias, that still haunts him to this day. If this pigeon could carry the name, then maybe Chuuya could let go of its weight. Maybe this was rebirth. A second chance.

He blinked, pulling himself back to the present as the neon-lit sign of his hotel came into view.

“That’s it, I live in the area.” Chuuya said, nodding vaguely in its direction as he slowed his steps.

He didn’t want Dazai to see the place. Not really. The last thing he needed was another smug comment or pitying look. The hotel screamed shady even from across the street.

“Alright,” Dazai said, stopping beside him. “You sure you don’t want me to carry the rest of the stuff to your… place?”

Chuuya snorted.

House. What a fucking joke.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He adjusted the bird cage awkwardly under one arm, then glanced at Dazai. “Actually, if you could just grab the cigarettes outta my pocket, that’d be fucking awesome.”

Dazai blinked, raising a brow. “You’re a smoker?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Why else would I carry a lighter around? Now come on—could you get them, or what?”

Dazai clicked his tongue as he reached into the breast pocket of Chuuya’s coat, carefully pulling out the crushed cigarette box. “You do realize smoking around animals, especially this young, is unhealthy for them, right?”

Chuuya froze. He blinked at Dazai. Then at the bird.

Then at the cigarette box.

“...Fuck,” he whispered.

“Mm.” Dazai hummed, tucking his hands back into his coat. “You’ll be fine. But I’d recommend not smoking in the house.”

Chuuya wasn’t listening anymore.

Great.

So he now had a pigeon, was in enormous debt to fucking Dazai, and apparently needed to start a smoking detox. All in one day.

This was spiraling fast.

Fuck.

At least tomorrow his job starts, he will get hand on some money and will finally relax. All he needed is to stay calm, and not panic. He was in a good situation, and after a week of discomfort, he finally felt like he had a bit of control over his own life.

He stared at the dim outline of the hotel ahead of him, not moving just yet.

Right. Just survive tonight, then worry about the rest.

Chapter Text

Chuuya felt like dying.

He wished he was joking.

“…so two of them are for three euros?” The older man asked for what felt like the millionth time.

Chuuya tried not to groan, leaning against the wall as he watched Kenji patiently nod.
“Yes, sir. This week they’re on a discount. Two cans for three euros.”

The man nodded, though suspicion lingered in his eyes. Kenji picked up one can, scanned it, and the screen blinked: 1.50 euros.

Kenji reached to grab the second can, but the man yanked his arm back. “Hold on, those are supposed to be on sale two for three euros? If they each cost 1.50 I don’t want them.”

Kenji blinked, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple.

“…Alright sir. Is there anything else you’d like to purchase?” His strained smile lingered.

The older man scanned him with distasteful look. “You shouldn’t lie to customers like that,” he spat.

Chuuya finally pushed off the wall, stepping up to the counter.
“Just wondering,” he said nonchalantly, tilting his head. “How much did you think they’d each cost?”

The man huffed. “Well—definitely less than whatever you were saying.”

Chuuya’s mouth twitched open, but Kenji cheerfully cut in.
“We’re sorry for the confusion, sir. Next time we’ll make sure the individual price is listed more clearly.” He smiled, unfazed. “So—would you like anything else?”

The man growled, snatching a pack of gum and throwing it onto the counter.
“Then at least give me that.” He muttered, “…this generation is useless.”

Chuuya’s eye twitched. Kenji ignored it with saintlike patience, scanning the gum.
“That’ll be seventy-five cents. Cash or card?”

“Seventy-five?!” the man barked, eyes bulging. “In my day it cost twenty-five!”

Silence stretched awkwardly across the store.

Kenji, unshaken, replied in the same polite tone:
“…I apologize, sir. Would you like to continue with the payment? Cash, or card?”

“Cash!” The man slapped the coins down. “I don’t believe in those fancy cards you people use. And this is stealing, just so you know.” He grabbed the gum and stormed out.

Kenji exhaled in relief, though it didn’t last long. The next (and thankfully last) customer stepped up. It was a young woman in her mid-twenties.

“Hello! How are you today?” Kenji greeted her, his smile back in place.

“Good, thank you. You?” she replied kindly.

“Good. What can I help you with?”

Finally, Chuuya thought. A normal customer.

A spark of hope glimmered in his mind.

“I want a refund for this ice cream.” She shoved in Kenji’s face a half-empty box with a bright smile.

“…I see,” Kenji blinked. “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s too cold.”

The silence this time was deafening.

“…I’m sorry?” Kenji managed at last.

“It hurts my teeth when I eat it.”

Chuuya stared. Then, slowly, he picked up the box and gave her the sweetest smile he could fake.
“Give me a moment. I’ll fix it for ya.”

He disappeared into the staff bathroom.

“Wait, what are you—” she called after him, but the door slammed shut.

Chuuya dropped the box in the sink, turned on the hottest water, and waited until the ice cream softened into a gloopy mess. Drying the box with a towel, he returned and plopped it onto the counter.

“Here.”

The woman stared at absolute disbelief.

“He’s new—” Kenji tried to save the situation, but it was too late.

Chuuya cut him off. “Problem solved.”

The woman opened the box, frowning.
“…But now it’s melting.”

Chuuya blinked. She couldn’t be serious.
“It’s hot. It’s gonna melt.”

“I want a refund,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Your ice cream is either too freezing or too melty. And there’s no warning about that on the box.”

“…Have you never eaten ice cream before?” Chuuya asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course I have! And they weren’t like yours!” she snapped, her pitch climbing.

Chuuya turned to Kenji, who to his horror, seemed completely unfazed by her behavior. As if this nonsense was normal. No wonder Dazai was such an ass about his job earlier.

God, he needed a break.

As if in, right now.

His nerves were on fire and if he'd stay there a minute longer, he'll loose his self control and might punch her.

“Hey,” Chuuya muttered, leaning closer, “I need the toilet.”

Before Kenji could stop him, he ran off.

Once he got there he lit up a cigarette immediately. There was a strict no smoking in the building, but it was the toilets—he hardly thought they had any cameras or smoke sensors here.

He inhaled, watching his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes and his usually neatly brushed hair were sticking everywhere. He spent most of the night up, the freaking bird waking him up every two minutes.
He knew it wasn’t his fault, Baki was hurting and he needed to take pain meds.

Though it was still unpleasant.

He’d struggled half the night trying to build the cage. Hours wasted, instructions mocked him until he gave up. He’d have to call someone to help.

In the end, he’d fallen asleep on the floor, Baki curled against him. At least like that, he could feel every stir, every movement in case the bird needed him. The warmth pressed into his chest had been the only comfort.

But sleep had been even worse. A few minutes here and there, mostly filled with his brother’s screams.

His phone buzzed on the counter. Dazai’s name lit up the screen.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:43

Chuuyaa

How’s work??

Is it as lovely as Kenji described it as???

Or am I right

Like always

:D

Chuuya groaned massaging his temple.

That guy…

One day his nerves will break, and he’ll murder him. Nobody with half brain would blame him.

You — 16:43

Stfu

Literarily go jump

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:43

That bad?

Judging by your response it’s going as well as I expected.

Who would have thought

You — 16:43

It hasn’t been even two hours from six and I’m already regretting this.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:44

Oh really?

How many people did you murder by now???

Dw, I’ll help you hide corpses

You — 16:44

Almost five.

I’m barely holding myself.

I feel like I’m in a psych yard. Everyone is either crazy or stupid.

OR BOTH

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:44

It can’t be that bad

You — 16:44

A girl just refunded an ice cream for being too cold.

A beat of silence passed.

The screen lingered on the three dots, Dazai typing and deleting, never pressing send.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:47

Damn

You — 16:47

Exactly

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:47

Did you try heating it up in the microwave?

You — 16:47

Ofc

But we don’t have microwave, so I heated it in the sink

And you know what that bitch did?!

She refunded it AGAIN for being melted

Like—

How TF does a person achieve this level of stupidity?!

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:48

Wow

I would have ‘never’ thought working in grocery job is like this…

I mean—its customer service job, with the worst location, work hours and paycheck

Who would have thought…

Oh wait

I did

When I warned you and you ignored me :3

You — 16:48

This isn’t funny asshole

Try explaining to a guy three divided by two are one and half

Or telling some granny that you sadly don’t have any vegetarian chicken soup in the stock

You wouldn’t survive here a minute

Dick

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:48

No need to be such a meanie :(

I worked with stupid people too, you know? Though you probably beat me there.

You — 16:48

Idc

He was about to put the phone down when something popped into his head. Right, he almost forgot. Fingers flying, he typed it out fast.

You — 16:50

What about Baki?

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:50

It’s not dead

You — 16:50

Dazai.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:50

FINE

Ugh

HE’S doing fine. Just fell asleep.

You — 16:50

Send me proof.

For a moment, the texting stopped, Chuuya waiting for Dazai’s reply.

The silence scretched for a few minutes before the phone buzzed.

A single photo appeared.

Baki was curled up in a towel, fast asleep on Dazai’s lap. Chuuya recognized the fabric of his fancy suit pants, and in the corner of the photo sat a work desk covered in piles of papers.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:54

Happy?

You — 16:54

Thanks for taking care of him.

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:55

I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.

You’ll be a minute late and his other wing’s gone as well

You — 16:55

I hate you

Bandaged Mackerel — 16:55

You love me

You — 16:55

Don’t flatter yourself

Chuuya chuckled, watching his phone with quiet amusement.

“Chuuya?” Kenji’s voice called from the bathrooms. Chuuya snapped his head up to him.

“Oh, sorry—” he said, standing quickly and pulling the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it against the sink.

Kenji leaned against the doorway, waving him off. “It’s fine. There’s no customer at the moment. I just wanted to check on you—you’ve been in here a while.”

Oh shit.
Had he really been texting Dazai that long? He hoped not.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, Chuuya walked back out to the counter. “Sorry again, I’ll get to work now.”

Kenji nodded. “It’s okay, we all need break sometimes. I’ll help you at the counter, don’t worry.”

Chuuya groaned, leaning on the counter for a second. “I swear, we should make every customer go through an IQ test before letting them in. Like… what’s one plus one? Or something really simple, just to be safe.”

Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not usually this bad. Today was just a rush because it’s Monday. I don’t know why we got stuck with all the weird ones.”

“Yeah, weird and stubborn,” Chuuya muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the empty aisles.

“There isn’t anyone here now,” Kenji said, gesturing toward the corner. “Just sit down in the chair. You don’t need to hover at the counter when there’s no customers. I’ll call you over if someone comes. Standing the whole time isn’t worth it.”

“It’s fine—” Chuuya started, brushing at his pants as he tried to protest.

“Chuuya,” Kenji interrupted gently, smiling, “you look like you haven’t rested in a long time. Sit down, seriously.” He nudged the chair toward him with a hand.

Chuuya rolled his eyes but eased into the chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, settling in. He propped his elbows on the counter edge and watched Kenji organize the shelves, trying to keep his mind off the long night.

Kenji glanced over. “You need water, coffee or something else? You look like you’re running on fumes.”

Chuuya shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion. “I’m good. Just… tired.” He rubbed his eyes, glancing back down at the counter.

As the minutes ticked by, the store hummed quietly around them. A faint scent of coffee and cleaning solution lingered in the air. Chuuya let himself relax, though his mind occasionally wandered back to the messages he’d been sending. The tension of the last few days seemed to press against his shoulders.

He let out a soft laugh to himself, imagining Dazai’s likely reaction if he knew how long Chuuya had been staring at his messages. Then, without meaning to, his eyes grew heavy, and he leaned back in the chair, letting them slowly close as he drifted into a brief moment of rest.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

It was dark.

So dark…

“Mom?”

Who was that?

The voice sounded small.

Fragile. Nostalgic. Childish…

“Mom, where are you?” The voice cracked, on the edge of tears.

He rubbed his eyes with clumsy fists, yawning.

When he opened them, he was in a living room. The only light came from the pale moon outside, pressing through the window in thin, ghostly radiance.

It was night.

And he was alone in a bed. A giant bed.

Something was wrong. Unsetting feeling settling in his stomach.

The sheets were heavy and cold, the mattress stretching far too wide. The bed wasn’t meant for one person. Someone was missing.

His stomach tightened. He slid to the edge and peered down. The drop made his chest clench. It was huge—like staring off a cliff.
Why was everything so big?
Why was he so small?

He turned carefully, crawling backward until his toes dangled over the edge. He sucked in a breath and let go, landing with a soft thud. The carpet swallowed the sound.

He shuffled toward the door, pushing with all his strength. The handle was too high. The door creaked open just slightly, and he nudged it further.

The hallway stretched endlessly. Tall shadows reached down from the ceiling. The library walls rose on either side, shelves stacked so high they disappeared into darkness. The spines of the books swam in his vision, their titles twisted and indecipherable.

He swallowed. The air was heavy, pressing on his chest.

Doors lined the hallway. All closed.

Paintings stared down from the walls. Gods with blank eyes. Angels frozen mid-cry. Monsters screaming in silent agony. Their gazes followed him, cold and unblinking.
He clutched at his pajama shirt, quickening his pace.

“Mommy?” His voice wavered, almost lost in the emptiness. No answer. Just the echo of his small footsteps pattering against the floor.

He ran now, desperate, rushing toward the faint outline of the exit at the end of the hall.

Finally—doors. The last doors. Slightly open, just enough to breathe. He reached them, chest heaving.

Above them hung a massive painting.

He looked up.

A toddler smiled back at him. He wore a wide grin from ear to ear, revealing few missing teeth. Colorful clothes that looked bright even in the moonlight. Messy ginger hair tied in short, uneven pigtails, highlighting his freckles. And those mismatched eyes… blue and brown, shining with childish innocence.

He froze.

The longer he stared, the more his stomach sank. The grin stretched. The eyes glimmered.

That face…
That hair…

Wait—

Was that—
Was that him?

“Why aren’t you listening to me?!”
A woman’s sharp voice cut through the air.

Chuuya’s ears perked up.
Mom.

“I-I’m telling you, I’m not lying! That thing—we can’t keep it here anymore, it’s driving me crazy! I-It’s not normal—”

“For fuck’s sake—that thing is your son, Fuku.” A deep man’s voice snapped back. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

“That thing isn’t my son! Something replaced him, he’s different!! I—I just know it, you trust me, right? Right, honey?” The woman pleaded, breaking into sobs. “Please? I-I’m not crazy, I promise—”

A slap.

Silence.
Only broken by her ragged, wheezing cries.

“…The pills were supposed to improve this.” The man sighed, frustrated. “At this pace I’ll need to call Dr. Mori for a higher dose.”

“No, no, no—NO!! You—you don’t understand—!”

Chuuya carefully pushed the doors open. A heavy stench of cigarettes stung his nose.

Both of his parents turned their faces toward him.
Blank. Like always.

The woman rose from the ground, where she had been clutching the man’s arm. She quickly rubbed at her tear-streaked cheeks and forced a charming smile. Her hair was a tangled mess.
Strange. Mom’s hair was never messy.

The man hurried over, a smile spreading across his face as a cigarette dangled from his lips. He scooped Chuuya up into his arms.
“Hey there, little guy, what are you doing up so late?”

“Were you fighting?” Chuuya asked, his small, childlike voice surprising him.
Right. That voice from earlier—it had been his.

“No, of course not,” the man chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke across his face. “We were just talking loudly. Did that wake you up? I’m sorry.”

Chuuya shook his head.

“Hm… it’s pretty late for you. How about this: go back to sleep, and tomorrow, me and you can grab some ice cream. How’s that sound?” He grinned.

Chuuya nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on his mother.
“Mommy?”

She flinched. “Y-Yeah, listen to Daddy.”

But she was watching him weirdly.
Again.

She disappeared a lot lately.

Slipping out of bed in the middle of the night, forgetting him at the mall, staring at him like she picked up the wrong child from daycare.

But he always saw.

He noticed everything, he just acts like he didn’t.

“Mommy’s just tired, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry your little head about,” the man said, turning with him toward the door.

Chuuya tried to wave goodnight, but his mother didn’t react. She kept staring past them, eyes fixed on the wall.

“Is she sick?” he whispered.

The man was silent. He carried him into his room, setting him gently onto the bed.
“A little, yeah,” he murmured.

“Will she be better tomorrow?” Chuuya shuffled under the covers. “I want to draw with her.”

The man shifted uneasily.
“I’m not sure. She might still be tired.”

Chuuya blinked.

“…But we can still get ice cream, right? And maybe draw with crayons too? I know it’s not the same as with mom, but we could still have fun without her.” The man said, forcing a smile as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Okay.” Chuuya hesitated. “But she’ll come with us next time, right?”

His father ruffled his hair.
“Sure. Now, get some sleep, champ. You’ll need your energy.”

He was drowning once again, only this time peacefully. His dad tucked him in, his mommy was tired, but he was there with them. He smiled faintly. He couldn’t wait to wake up.

He wanted to get an ice cream. And draw.

“…ya?”

He missed spending time with his mommy.

“…you li…ing… …me?”

Lately, he’d been playing only with daddy.

“CHUUYA!!”

Chuuya shot up, gasping for breath, his chest heaving up and down.
Huh? Where was he—oh.

He was at the shop. Kenji was standing in front of him, holding his shoulders and shaking gently.

“…Chuuya?” Kenji’s voice cracked with relief. “Oh thank god, I got scared a little because you weren’t waking up.” He laughed nervously, straightening up.

“Hm?” Chuuya mumbled, still dazed.

“Sorry to wake you, but the shift already ended. We should go home.”

Chuuya turned his head. Through the glass, he saw the dark sky and the clock hands striking nine.
Oh.

“Wait—did you let me sleep through the rest of the shift? You shouldn’t have let me.”

“Don’t worry,” Kenji grinned. “Nobody came in after that. You didn’t miss anything interesting.”

Chuuya exhaled, shoulders dropping in relief.

“Besides,” Kenji added, “you looked so comfortable. I felt bad for waking you.”

Chuuya’s cheeks warmed faintly. Comfortable… yeah.

After all, it was one of the rare dreams that hadn’t been a full-blown nightmare. He’d seen his mom, his dad, his house…

His eyes snapped open at the realization.

He had never dreamed of this before. Normally, his dreams were the same old repetitive, haunted nightmares. This time though—it was something completely new—

He needed to write it down. Draw his parents. The windows. The rooms. The details. The name of his mother…

Fumi? Fuyumi? No, no, no—

FUCK, what was it?!

His thoughts blurred into static.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, reaching for his phone—

Nothing.

His head whipped around, stomach sinking.

There it was. Floating behind Kenji.

His mobile.

The red glow swirled around it, keeping it in middle of the air. Flying aimlessly, wandering without any path.

Chuuya pushed down an annoyed groan.

Seriously? Again?
It was just yesterday he accidentally messed up his room with his powers.

Had it been flying the whole time he was asleep? Did he accidentally activate it?
And more importantly—had Kenji noticed?

If he did, he was very good at pretending not to.

“Kenji, do you have any paper? And a pencil? I need to write something down.” Chuuya’s voice cracked with urgency.

Kenji blinked, tilting his head. “Uh… maybe? I’m not sure. I’ll go check the staff room—” He started turning, right toward where Chuuya’s phone hovered.

“No, no, no.” Chuuya darted forward, grabbing his arms and spinning him back around. “You’ve already done so much for me. I’ll look myself.”

He plastered on a big, toothy grin, trying to mask his panic, and in one quick motion he leapt up, snatching the phone out of the air before Kenji could turn back and glimpse the glow.

Without waiting, he bolted into the staff room.

“Come on…” he muttered, tossing things aside, sending boxes and papers scattering.

Then—finally. A sheet of paper. A pen.

He dropped onto a chair and scribbled furiously, sketching out everything he remembered—the rooms, the faces, dialog, names... all the details that still clung to his mind. His hand cramped, but he didn’t stop until the page was full.

When he finally leaned back, panting, he stared at the page with grim satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. At least the memory was down.

Then—

Bzzz.

A steady vibration shook his pocket.

Chuuya’s stomach dropped. He pulled out his phone.

Dazai.

Oh shit. He almost forgot about the threat.

He glanced at the clock.
21:47.

More than three-quarters of an hour after his shift ended.

“Fuck.”

He shoved the paper into his pocket, burst out of the staff room, and slammed the doors behind him.

“Thanks, Kenji—I’ve gotta go, really sorry—”

“No worries!” Kenji called back, laughing at his sudden rush. “Just get home safe. And remember—your shift starts tomorrow at 6 AM!”

Chuuya flashed a grin, muttered a quick thanks, and sprinted out.

Oh god. He hoped Dazai didn’t rip Baki’s wing off.