#dazai is so hurt i am shaking and sliding down the wall

[allbuthuman]

bsd 107 help me i haven't been this AAAAA about a chapter since 101 which was exactly a year ago asagiri you motherfucker

[our-wargame]

when you say nothing at all

Summary: Dazai isn't called a genius for nothing. No one can self-sabotage better than he can.

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Minor Characters, Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs) Rating: M (to be safe. In reality it’s T except for the swearing and references to sexual stuff but there’s no actual sexual content) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Dazai Osamu is a Mess (Bungou Stray Dogs), Developing Relationship, Trust Issues, Slice of Life, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Self-Worth Issues, References of Sexual Content, As in 0 sex happening, although not for lack of trying on Dazai's part, That's Also His Biggest Mistake, I HATE THAT TAG BUT THAT IS THE FIC, Dazai's pretty trash but his greatest accomplishment, was getting Odasaku to love him Word Count: 2500 Notes:

co-written with SwordintheThrone (they have some ridiculously good shit, check em out.).

can be read on ao3

reblogs are appreciated ty

---

It's a shame that he has commitment issues, Dazai muses to himself. Because Odasaku isn't just the best fuck of his life, Odasaku is good to him.

Too good to him.

That's most of the problem. Odasaku will look at him, expression so gentle, so brilliantly sweet and patient and trusting, as if he doesn't think Dazai will rip him apart at the first sign he sees that as necessary. (Still, sometimes Dazai can stand it. Sometimes he even gives into it and the peace that comes with it hurts like a hell he could learn to adore.)

Is this self-sabotage? He doesn't know. And he's still fucking trash for pushing the issue away and ignoring it as he sends Odasaku a text to ask him if he's still not busy tonight.

Odasaku replies within the hour. I'm not, he confirms. Can I come over?

Dazai tries not to laugh, self-deprecatingly amused rather than annoyed at Odasaku's attempt to save him face. He's not that proud, he really isn't. 

He imagines if Odasaku were here, he'd tell Dazai that it has nothing to do with that. That Odasaku really does just want to spend time with him, and that's why during their last encounter, Odasaku casually, lightly mentioned the fact that he was free for the next week. Should they want to do anything. 

It is self-sabotage, Dazai comes to decide. Because no matter what Odasaku's intents were, Odasaku is going to end up in Dazai's bed, because Dazai desires it. And then Dazai won't be able to fool himself into either deciding the reason for this outcome is because Odasaku thinks Dazai knows himself well enough to make the right decision, or that Odasaku wants to give Dazai the choice to make bad ones.

Both options are better than thinking Odasaku just wants to fuck him. If he minded, which he doesn't, it'd be his own fault too. Everyone knows that you start texts with can we talk and not are you busy unless you want to bang.

Dazai closes his eyes, already tired of himself, even without having to pretend around Odasaku. He thinks about calling it off but that's rude and it'd make him look weak and it's all a lot more troublesome than going through with what he has so far. It's freezing but somehow, the heater is the one thing he doesn't have the energy to bother with as heg gets off his ass to fix up the apartment. He turns the TV on, keeps the volume nice and low on that channel that only replays old movies. Neither of them are wine people but that's what you're supposed to have for these kinds of occasions, aren't you? So he leaves a half empty bottle of sake on the coffee table. Lounges on the couch as he sips from his glass.

How classy is he.

A knock at the door. Odasaku knows it's already open and only does it to alert Dazai. But he still waits outside until Dazai calls, "Come in." It's so unnecessarily considerate of him, Dazai shivers. And hates Odasaku a little bit, even as he thinks about pushing Odasaku against the door and kissing the gentleman right out of him.

"Hey," Odasaku says as he closes the door behind him gently. He smells like takeout. Looks as rugged and handsome as ever. Dazai wants him so badly.

He moves his eyes to the TV as he puts down his glass so he can refill it. His hands are shaking, fuck. "Day go okay?"

"Yeah." Dazai listens for the sound of fabric shifting, Odasaku hanging his coat up on the hat rack. Soft steps signal Odasaku having taken off his shoes and switched them for slippers, walking light out of habit so they don't clack against the tiled floor. "And yours?" 

Dazai's half-distracted with trying to remember the last time they had sex for fun instead of thinking he needed Oda's body to make his own shut up. "It went okay," he replies to Odasaku, and it's a miracle he doesn't add, 'it's about to get better, I think.'

That would just be tacky.

He shifts on the couch, still a little chilly, but trying to signal Odasaku should come closer. 

"I brought you curry. And soup in case it's too spicy. Can I put it in the microwave?" 

Dazai blinks. His mouth starts curving up. "Odasaku, has anyone told you you're too polite."

"You probably haven't eaten." Odasaku easily ignores his teasing jab, placing the takeout on the kitchen counter but not quite walking behind it. "It's crab soup."

He hasn't eaten and yeah, he's a little hungry, and of course Odasaku knows all of this and brought him his favorite. But he doesn't like to eat before sex. It just makes him feel bloated and a little repulsed by himself.

Crab doesn't go with sake, he could try, only it does. He could try 'not in the mood for curry or crab', only Odasaku will probably ask him if it's okay to take a look at his fridge and make him something.

"I'm not hungry." He sips at his glass again. Isn't alcohol supposed to make you feel warmer? "Can I have a kiss?" He wants Oda's tongue burning up his mouth, wants Oda pinning him down and chasing the darkness out of him. It's a stupid thought. He humors it and waits for a reaction from underneath his lashes.

Odasaku's surprise is practically audible in the silence. Dazai starts to move over so the length of his gangly body stretches across the couch, then puts his elbows on the armrest and props his head up to watch Odasaku. Please?

Odasaku closes in slowly, but Dazai finds himself holding his breath, nervous anyways. He can feel his heart in his throat, feels it pulse when Odasaku bends down, warm hand sliding up Dazai's face, cupping his chin. Dazai tilts it up as his eyes fall closed.

And then his breath catches, when Odasaku kisses his forehead instead.

He blinks and Odasaku's already straightening. Retreating to give Dazai space.

"Odasaku...." That's not what he wanted, but-

Odasaku prods his elbow and Dazai takes the cue, pulling his limbs back and sitting up straight. Odasaku takes a seat besides him, their shoulders a couple of inches from touching. Looks at the TV as he says, "Can I hold you for a bit?"

He has to think about this one. Says, "okay," even as he thinks about how he doesn't really want to be touched, at least not if it isn't Odasaku pushing Dazai onto his back.

Odasaku shifts his weight forwards so he's sitting on the edge of the couch and able to comfortably reach for the coffee table. He pushes Dazai's  glass inwards- farther from Dazai- and then picks up the remote. When he readjusts his sitting position again, he's still sitting a few meaningful inches away from Dazai. And now he's left his arm stretching over the top of the couch.

It's such a date move, except it's them. Odasaku is doing this for Dazai.

He hates Odasaku a little more in the moment. He hates feeling inconvenient, because it's a reminder he cares about what Odasaku thinks. The desperation of his attachment- he's so fucking weak, it's pathetic. God, he disgusts himself. 

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Odasaku asks. Dazai is still leaning away from his arm, but he's not breathing as hard and so he supposes, this is good.

"No." He hasn't. Before they started their arrangement, Dazai would have answered that with a smirk, an 'is Odasaku coming on to me or am I still daydreaming?' 

The stunt actors throwing themselves across the TV screen are alright. If this were also back then, Dazai would poke Odasaku, tease and bet that he could do it better. Oda would consider it in his seriousness and Ango would scold them both into the next year. Everything's different now and he's not sure if he likes it or loathes it, even though having to ask himself which one it is, is pretty determining. 

Five minutes is how long it takes for him to finally calm down, enough to shift and holds himself against Odasaku's side. Odasaku radiates warmth. The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Dazai tries to ignore it. His neck prickles.

Some more minutes trickle by before Odasaku murmurs, "Can I take you to bed?"

"No," Dazai blurts out immediately, because he understands what Oda is saying, but the answer is no because it'd stress him out, be even worse than the little fiasco going on right now. He'd have to try and force himself to sleep around someone who should be a source of comfort and failing that would just be gloriously useless of him-

"Okay." Odasaku says, gentle. "No worries." A pause. "Would it help to invite Ango over?"

Dazai breathes. It would. He can put on a front if it's for people, if it's for friends. It's harder to put on a show if it's for individual people; he has to make sure their gears mesh together but they're so damn complicated. Odasaku more so, than most. 

"We should drag him out of the house a little more."

Dazai opens his mouth. It's not you, he wants to say, urgent, needy for someone else to know what he does. Odasaku, you're not the one making me uncomfortable, it's me.

"Maybe you can teach us how to make hot pot?" 

Dazai wants to yell. Fall apart out loud for a change. They're monsters, not shadow puppets on the wall, and they don't go away when the sun comes up or what their parents say it's bedtime, for real this time. Oda's trying too hard, and it aggravates him. 

Odasaku can't wrap his arms around him and make him okay. That's never going to be him. He's afraid that Odasaku still doesn't know that, and he doesn't know what Odasaku will do when he really, really understands this. Even if Odasaku doesn't leave, Dazai can't stand the thought of Odasaku suddenly thinking less of him. It'll be just like losing him.

"Dazai?"

He shakes himself out of it. "Yeah. Call him." He pauses. "Can I have the crab soup after all?" He's still not completely ready to hug it out with the idea of eating, but it'll give him something to do.

Oda rises. Dazai stares at the grace, the strength in the lovely curve of his back. He feels cold all over again.

Oda glances over and holds his hand out. Dazai stares at it for a second before he lets Oda lead them away, carrying the two empty glasses with him in his free hand. Dazai pulls away to work on transferring the takeout into bowls to send them off to the microwave while Oda runs the glasses under tap water, swishing the residue round and round before drinking it down and then washing them clean.

The smell of reheated curry overpowers the room. Oda watches Dazai drop into a chair and then watches Dazai plop spoonfuls of curry rice into his soup, stirring this way and that.

"Did you know," Odasaku says, and Dazai looks up at him. "You have happy-cat face."

Dazai sputters. "I'm sorry, I have what?"

"Happy-cat face."

"Odasaku," He purses his lips, but he can't stop his shoulders from shaking. "Odasaku, that's not a thing."

Odasaku keeps his gaze, the slightest rise of his eyebrow explaining yes it is because you have it.

"You're so silly. Did you know that?"

Odasaku hums. When he dials Ango, he places his phone on the dinner table. Dazai's eyes gleam as he shouts like he's from the next city over.

"Oh my god," Ango's voice is very grumbly. "Odasaku-san, please remove me, I think he broke my ear."

Oda turns off loudspeaker and brings the phone against his ear. "So when are you coming over?"

"Ugh, give a man twenty-minutes. I still have work to do."

Dazai throws himself into Oda's side, squashing his face against Oda's other cheek as he chirps, "Tell him all work and no play makes Ango grouchy. And that he has old-man energy."

"Tell Dazai-kun, I think his Brat Card should have an expiration date."

"Tell Ango, there isn't an expiration date on fun~"

"Tell Dazai-kun-"

Oda disentangles himself from his executive, passing him the phone and letting them go at it. Dazai sits back down, adjusting himself so he can bring his knees up to his chest and leave his feet on the chair seat. Even as he chatters away, he keeps his eyes on Oda, who moves to wash out the takeout containers. He reuses everything because he's an environmental dork. Dazai would be more of one if he wasn't interested in dying before the planet. Still, watching Oda so patient, quietly determined to withstand the overpowering...it makes Dazai soften.

"Hey, is Odasaku-san still there?"

"Nope." Dazai says, popping the p. "Odasaku is busy. Being perfect."

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you two just get married already? Make it official and everything."

He doesn't recover as quickly as he'd have liked. "Ango, weddings are not good places to pick-up women. They're all crazy. And non-sober. And crazy. We'll find you your little lady elsewhere, don't you worry." He watches Odasaku shake off the excess water into the sink, wiping the counter dry and putting the containers to the side. Then he dries his hands, he drifts over to the living room and picks up the remote.

"Ha. Not that I wouldn't reject your delightful request to be your best-man, but are two groomsmen allowed to be each other's best man? I think so." 

"Has anyone ever tell you not to drink on the job, Ango?"

"Speaking of which, you'll have alcohol waiting for me, right? I had to train a new accountant today. If it was there, you would have fainted from the painfulness."

"Delightful. So. How much longer?" He'd really like for there to be someone other than Odasaku around him.

"That depends. I don't want to walk in on you two fucking."

Dazai sighs into the receiver. "It's not my fault. Odasaku has a really nice dick."

He can practically hear Ango roll his eyes. "Don't expect me anytime soon then."

"So. Fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, alright. See you dumbasses then."

There's no immediate beep! Ango is waiting, letting him end the call. Dazai shakes his head. His friends are really something.

Odasaku keeps flicking through the TV channels, only looking up when Dazai leans over the couch from behind, gently resting his chin on the top of Odasaku's head.

"Hi."

"Odasaku's hair is really soft."

"Thank you."

"Odasaku smells very nice. Like mango-watermelon. And curry."

"Thank you." Oda sits very still so he can hand Dazai the remote without jolting him. "What do you want to watch?" 

Dazai breathes. In, out. "Anything is fine."

[bungou-stray-dingus]

hey there, so like this is my first time requesting but your writing is sooo good i can't help myself. if you could, could you make a scenario for dazai and chuuya where his s/o is a non-ability who is very bubbly and innocent but they find out she has a deadly skill that could almost pass as an ability. im sorry if you're busy, you dont have to write this if you dont want to. I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH💕💕

OH IM GONNA WRITE IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT OF THE FUNNIEST BUT ALSO CUTEST THING OH YEAH ITS GETTING WROTE

THANKS BOOBOO ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Dazai

You were like an angel, too pure for this world. Your heart was filled with nothing but good. You donated to charity, helped out in elementary schools during the week and volunteered at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, and animal shelters during the weekend.

He looked at you as if you were a saint. Whenever you would come home from volunteering he’d bow down at your feet. “My goddess has returned! I’m not worthy!” You’d laugh at his dramatics, grabbing his hand and helping him off the floor.

“Shush.” You’d say before pecking a kiss on his lips.

When you weren’t out helping in the community, you were at home doing what you could to help out without being there. You took up knitting, and Dazai joked about it often. He even went as far as to buy a rocking chair with extra cushion for you to sit in while you would work. “You’re the cutest grandma, you know that?” He’d say, and you’d throw your ball of yarn at him.

“Shut up, and bring me my yarn back.” He’d re-wind the yarn that came undone when you threw it as he walked the ball back to where you sat.

He poked fun at it, but he would often sit on the floor next to your rocking chair, becoming entrances as he watched your hands carefully wrap the yarn around the needle and thread it through the loops. He didn’t understand how you did it, but everything you made came out perfectly, especially the tiny hats for newborn babies with matching booties, and sweaters for dogs and cats in the shelters for when it got cold. You had even made blankets for the people at the homeless shelters, making sure to use the softest yarn that would also be warm.

Sometimes he would come with you to the hospitals or the homeless shelters when he wasn’t working. He never went to the animal shelter though, he didn’t want to be anywhere where dogs were.

When he would go to the hospitals with you he would spend hours making over the babies and how cute they were in the new hats and booties you had made for them.

“Y/N, is it illegal to take a baby from the hospital?” He would ask you on the way back home and you’d just stare at him.

“You’re a cop, I hope you’re joking.”

“Yeah, obviously I’m joking but... so it’s illegal?”

You were used to people not liking your boyfriend. He had helped bring a lot of people to justice in his line of work. You weren’t expecting people to hate you though. Dazai had worked hard to make sure that anyone from opposing agencies or enemies didn’t know that you and him were dating. In the beginning he was always worried and on edge that something bad may happen to you just for being associated with him, but it’s been a year and a half now and nobody had tried to hurt you or kill you.

That’s why you were less than serious when the door got kicked open and three men stormed in, all of them wielding knives. It had to be some kind of weird prank by Dazai, or maybe even some strange act that would set the stage for a new fantasy kink.

“I’m kind of busy right now, can you come back in an hour?” You said calmly, holding up the knitting needles to show them that you were occupied.

“We don’t give a damn. You’re coming with us.” One of the men said, you didn’t know what he looked like, all of them had black masks on.

“Eh, I don’t think I am.” You shrugged, not even looking up from the new sweater you were making.

They were getting angry, the three men stomped over to where you were sitting in the rocking chair. One of them held his knife to your throat, and you finally realized that they weren’t joking, and Dazai wasn’t in on it. “I think you are. That bumbling boyfriend of yours needs to know. Mess with us and we mess with him. Now let’s go.” He pressed the knife deeper and your fight or flight instinct kicked in. You wouldn’t be able to outrun the three of them, so you had to fight.

You gripped the needles tighter, bringing your arm up to jab it into the mans neck. He staggered back and fell to the floor against the wall, trying to pull the needle out.

“What the fuck!?” One of the other men shouted, as the third one started sprinting towards you. You quickly grabbed the knife that the first man had dropped, preparing yourself to stab the man before he could get to you. As soon as he got close enough you forcefully pushed the knife into the mans stomach. He screamed as you twisted it, making him drop to his knees, blood dripping out of his mouth from the damage you had caused.

The final man stood there, assessing the scene, his hands in the air. He had already dropped his knife.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Your voice was low, you were out of breath. You watched him run out your door, then took the time to finally realize what you had done. “Oh my god. Oh... oh my god....” You swallowed back the bile that was rising up your throat. You had killed two people, you had single handedly taken out two grown men. You were a murderer.

With sweaty hands and shaking fingers you dialed Dazai’s number, praying that he’d actually answer.

“Hey swee-“

“You need to come home, I need your help. Please hurry and come home.” Your voice was as shaky as your hands were.

“I’m coming.” His voice wasn’t as cheery as when he first picked up. Obviously his first thought was that you were being attacked or someone was trying to break in. He wasn’t expecting the grisly scene he walked into.

He examined both guys, confirming they were dead, and you couldn’t really understand why he was smiling the entire time he was making his mental report. You couldn’t see anything good about having two dead men in your apartment.

“You did this? Yourself?” He finally looked up to you while poking the knitting needle protruding from the mans neck.

“I was scared! I didn’t know what else to do! I didn’t mean it.” He watched you try to explain yourself. He tried to imagine what was going through the men’s brains when his adorable girlfriend, wearing a skirt with knee high socks and buckle shoes started fighting back, especially with knitting needles. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Why are you laughing!?”

“You’re just so... sexy. You got a little blood on your shirt too.” He got up off the floor and surprised you by sweeping you off your feet as you tried to find the blood stain he was talking about. “Don’t worry, I’ll get that shirt off you soon.”

Chuuya

If he could describe you as a color, it would be yellow. You were bright, fun, happy, you always found a way to put a smile on his face, even when he had the worst day. It was as if a ray of sun took form and for some reason decided that he was the one who deserved it.

Your spontaneous adventures, even if it was just to the park always kept things exciting. He would stand back and watch as you ran over to anyone with a dog, sitting on the ground in front of the furry animal as you looked up and conversed with the owner about the breed and how cute the dog was. He would hear about it for the rest of the day, your hands moving freely through the air as you described the dog, even though he was right there and seen it as well, he would smile and nod. You always found something to be excited about, even on days when it would rain and you both were stuck in the house you would find some way to make him forget about the dreariness of the outside world. Building pillow forts and watching movies as you both attempted to toss popcorn into each others mouths. You had a stash of board games for days like that, and you would let him pick which one he wanted to play. It was the simple things that he enjoyed.

Waking up to the sound of music drifting into the bedroom from the kitchen, your spot on the bed empty. He would groggily walk into the kitchen to find you in front of the stove, the smell of eggs and bacon and pancakes filled the room, but that wasn’t the best part. You would be wearing one of his button up shirts, and only that. Your hips would sway to the rhythm of the song and he’d just stand and watch, unable to fight the smile that would form on his lips and the feeling of pride as he watched you, knowing that you were his.

Other days he’d come home from work while you were straightening up, singing into the broomstick handle as if no one was watching and the living room was your stage. He’d shrug out of his coat, kick his shoes off and slide across the floor while playing the air guitar. You always put a smile on his face, everything you did was his favorite thing. He could never pick one particular thing that you did that made him happy, because honestly you in general made him happy.

Even when you weren’t being goofy, which was rare, but it did happen, he would take the time to sit back and appreciate your beauty. When you would curl up on the couch and drift off to sleep and he’d come home and find you there, he would just marvel at how perfect you were in that innocent state.

That’s why he did everything he could to keep you safe, make sure you were protected everywhere you went. Sure, it was kind of ridiculous to have the black lizards guarding every store you went into, but it was a precaution that needed to be taken. As long as his little drop of sun was safe he could relax.

The two of you were on your way to the restaurant, it was date night. You looked flawless, as usual, and Chuuya couldn’t wait to show you off. His phone started ringing and you picked it up for him so that he could keep one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh as he drove.

“Hi Mori!” You greeted him excitedly, and although he didn’t understand how Chuuya ended up with you, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. You seemed to have that effect on anyone you came into contact with. “Will do! Thanks Mori! Buh-bye.” You shut the phone and put it back into the center console. Chuuya looked over to you, his eyes asking the question. “There’s some problem in an alley around the corner. He said it should be quick and you can handle it and get back to our date.”

He groaned but took the sharp turn that would lead to the alley in question. He saw the cloaked figure, like they were waiting for him. “Alright, this’ll be quick. Stay in the car.” He said, kissing your cheek before hopping out of the car.

You stared out the window, watching him stride into the alley. It sent a shot of electric up your legs, seeing him so dominant in situations like this. That was your man, and you couldn’t be prouder. You smiled as you watched him deliver kicks and punches to the figure in the alley, silently rooting for him.

Then you saw more figures coming from nowhere it seemed. There were at least six of them, and you started worrying. He would get hurt if he tried to fight all of them by himself, and you couldn’t have that. It would take too long to call someone and have them come out and help. Your mind raced as you tried to think of something to do, then you remembered the pistol that he had in the glove box. You pulled it out, checking to see if it had ammo, and then hopped out of the car.

“Hey, assholes!” You called, and everyone stopped to look at you. You cocked the gun and aimed it at them. Your hands didn’t shake, and you eyed up your target and pulled the trigger. Headshot.

The figures split up, some advancing towards you while the rest went after Chuuya. You fired the gun quickly, they all dropped like flies. Each one being hit exactly where you aimed. Headshots, chest shots, you even managed to get one in the throat which even you were shocked about. You moved further into the alley, pressing the barrel of the pistol against the head of the one who was about to attack Chuuya while he was fighting the first figure. “Not today, pal.” You said menacingly, pulling the trigger. Blood and bits of flesh and brain tissue splattered onto your face and you dropped the gun to the ground.

Chuuya finished with the final figure and ran over to where you stood. You were frozen, the warmth of the blood against your face made you want to vomit. “Are you okay?” He asked, grabbing your arms and examining them, then moving to the rest of your body to make sure there was no damage done. The amount of blood on you worried him, but once he realized that you were okay, he sighed with relief.

“I need a shower and and and and.... oh my god this is gross.” You couldn’t keep your hands from shaking as you tried to wipe the blood off your face.

“I mean, it’s pretty gross, but god damn, my bad ass little princess. Who would have thought?” His sense of pride sky rocketed.

After you both returned to the penthouse, the date was completely forgotten about at this point, and you both showered together. He rubbed your shoulders as the water fell over both of your bodies. The water was stained with red as you washed the blood from your face and when the shower was over you wrapped the towel around yourself and laid in the bed.

“You took the gun and you were like ‘bang bang bang’ and I was like ‘oh my god!’ And you shot all of them! How did you learn to do that?!” He was pacing the room in his boxers as he described the whole situation again, his feet padded against the floor leaving water footprints on the hard wood.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to get hurt, so I shot them.” You said it nonchalantly, rolling to your side and propping yourself up on your elbow. “Seems like you enjoyed it.” You joked and he whipped around to look at you. The look in his eyes, you knew the look well.

“Oh I enjoyed. I don’t think you know how much I enjoyed it.” His voice was low and husky.

“You can tell me.”

He got into the bed and situated himself over top of you, holding himself up with one arm while the other pulled open the towel that you had wrapped around yourself. “I think I’d rather show you.”

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (26/?)

AO3 link: HERE

Music is recommended for this chapter. When you hit the first **, please open up this link: HERE When you hit the second **, please open this link for the BSD 1st ED

It was dark.

So, so dark.

I opened my eyes as wide as I could and then squeezed them shut just to check that they were actually open. They were.

I swallowed uneasily and tried to stay calm.

Earlier, when he was carrying me to the car, Dazai had accidentally jostled me awake. When I looked at him, he simply said he was taking me back to the ADA, specifically to the infirmary so Dr. Yosano could heal me with her Ability.

“It’s going to be rough,” he’d murmured softly into my ear, “and she’ll probably keep you overnight, but it’s better than being in a hospital for several weeks.”

I heard a crack of a smile in his voice.

“You’ll be okay.”

I’d then floated in and out of consciousness as Dazai had gotten in the back seat with me, buckled in my seat belt and laid my head against his shoulder for support. As the low rumble of the engine starting slowly filled the car, I found myself drifting off yet again. I was so out of it that I didn’t really remember the trip... Except for one small detail.

At one point during the ride, I thought I felt Dazai brushing his long fingers through my hair. He was singing something under his breath, something low and pleasant that sounded like it had nothing to do with suicide... and his singing voice had sounded so beautiful that I could feel myself smiling as I listened...

That was the last thing I was aware of before I passed out entirely and woke up in this pitch-black room. Where the heck was I?!

Groaning a little, I tried to stretch out but found almost immediately that I couldn’t. My arms and legs were strapped down to a partially upright table—a cold, hard slab of a table I didn’t remember being strapped into. I then tried moving my hands and flexing what little muscle I had but instantly regretted it when my entire body was suddenly flooded with a sharp, electric surge of pain.

Right. My arms and ribs were still broken.

I rolled my head to the side with a sigh of defeat, my neck cracking loudly as I moved. It was pretty clear to me now that even if I were at full strength, there was no way that a weakling like me would be able to break free from these restraints. They were probably made for holding down the monstrous strength of an angry Kunikida or a starving Kenji... Which just left one question...

Who strapped me in here?

There was a soft creak.

I swiveled my head towards it and saw a sliver of light appearing in the corner, watching as it grew wider and wider until I realized it was the light from an open doorway. Then I heard a hollow “snap.” Lights—bright, white and blinding came on all around me, flooding into my eyeballs with such intensity that I winced and screwed my eyes shut against the onslaught.

** “Well, well, well,” a low, feminine voice purred, “If it isn’t our newest recruit? You’re hurt, aren’t you...? Kyou-chan?”

Heels clicked against tile, the sound echoing sharply throughout the room. I looked up to see Dr. Yosano in a lab coat and gloves, the golden butterfly clip gleaming brightly in her hair. I should’ve felt comforted at the sight of her but there was something about her smile—something sinister that made the blood turn cold in my veins...

“Y-Yosano-sensei.”

I tried to crack a smile but found my face feeling oddly stiff and frozen.

“Yeah, I guess I am... Dazai-san said you were going to heal me?”

Yosano’s smile widened.

“But of course, my dear.”

Her black-gloved fingers went for the buttons of her lab coat and that’s when I realized she hadn’t been wearing her tie. In fact, she wasn’t even wearing her shirt.

I suddenly wished I’d opted for a normal hospital...

“Welcome to my special operating room,” Dr. Yosano continued, slowly shrugging off her white lab coat. “I’m sure Tanizaki-kun has told you plenty of stories about what happens here, but let me be the first to reassure you...”

Her lab coat dropped to the floor and she kicked it under a tarp.

“It’s not as bad as he makes it sound.”

My eyes widened.

There were tarps everywhere, covering the other chairs, the floor—even the surgeon’s lamp over my head was covered in a thin sheet of plastic.

“Y-Y-Yosano-sensei...”

I could hear my own teeth chattering as I spoke.

“Wh-why’s everything covered in plastic? What are you—?”

I heard a heavy thunk.

Clad in only a lacy black bra and a matching set of panties, Dr. Yosano had dropped her thick black faux-leather bag on the ground and was now bent over it, fumbling with all sorts of things that jangled and clattered with a jarring metallic frequency. I couldn’t see past the edge of the table where she crouched but I could definitely hear her squeal of delight when she found what she was looking for.

“Kyou-chan.”

Something gleamed from underneath my table and I bit back a scream when I saw Yosano rise from the floor with an actual honest-to-God machete—the kind I once saw in a horror movie—in her gloved hands. The shine of the machete’s long, polished blade was reflected in the manic glint in her purple eyes and as I struggled against my bonds, I fully understood why the patients in this room needed to be strapped down.

“I believe I once told you how my Ability works, yes?” she whispered. “That I can heal you back to perfect health so long as you’re on the verge of death? Well, unfortunately, Kitten... you’re not quite there yet.”

“Unfortunately?!”

I started to shake.

“See, that’s where this beauty comes in,” the good doctor explained, running one finger along the edge of the blade. “You’re not quite injured enough, so I have to speed the process along. I mean...”

She shot me a pointed look.

“You do want to get better quick, don’t you?”

I didn’t have the courage to shake my head ‘no.’ For some reason, I found myself nodding instead.

“Good. In that case...”

Running her tongue over her glossy pink lips, Yosano approached.

“The doctor is in.”

Slowly, lovingly, she leaned in and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The golden butterfly shone in her short, dark hair.

“It’s not very often I get to patch up a girl,” Yosano crooned, her fingers deftly sliding from behind my ear down the line of my jaw. “Kyouka-chan is very good at avoiding severe injury you see, and it’s not like the office girls ever see combat...”

She cupped my chin and lifted my face up towards hers.

“But don’t worry, Kitten,” she whispered softly, “I promise I’ll take good care of you...”

She let go of me, raised the machete high into the air and let out an absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Hold still.”

She swung.

The last thing I heard before her machete buried itself in my flesh was the sound of my own terrified screams ringing in my ears.

***

“All done!”  Yosano called brightly.

Fully clothed once again, she threw open the door to the main office, which hit the wall with a loud crack but not even that was enough to shake me from my stupor.

With no wheelchair available in the Agency infirmary, Dr. Yosano was forced to cart me into the room on a dolly, the kind that movers normally used to bring furniture into a house. While the wheels squeaked against the tiles below me, I sat mutely on the flat metal surface, staring straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes in an upright fetal position. My knees were drawn up against my chest and my arms were wound so tightly around my body that I was cutting off the circulation the good doctor had just restored. But it’s not like having any amount of blood flow would’ve made a difference.

I was still feeling completely numb from the trauma of what had just happened. Had I spent the entire night in the infirmary? Two nights? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it was mid-morning, that there was bright sunlight streaming in through every open window but I was still feeling cold and numb in a way that had nothing to do with my body.

Someone approached and it took me a full ten seconds to remember where I had seen his concerned face before.

Tanizaki Junichiro frowned.

“Told you,” he mouthed without actually speaking, shooting a nervous, furtive look up at the terrifying woman who had literally just cut me apart and put me back together again.

“Come on,” he mumbled instead, struggling to pry my arms away from my body. “Let’s get you to your desk. You can pass out safely behind your laptop the way the rest of us do after ‘treatment’...”

As he gripped my wrists over the jacket sleeves and pulled me off the dolly, I looked up into his face, full recognition dawning at last. I tried to speak but found my mouth unable to cooperate with my brain.

“T...T...”

Tanizaki raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“T...Ta...Ta...!”

Tanizaki was now looking slightly disturbed.

“What is it, Kusunoki-san?”

Unable to hold back any longer, I burst into tears.

“Tanizaki-kunnnn!!!!” I wailed, latching onto the redhead’s waist.

“What the—?!” Tanizaki squawked, instantly blanching. “Kusunoki-san, get a hold of yourself!”

“I was so scared!” I bawled, hanging on tighter even as Tanizaki tried to peel me off of him. “You were right! You were right about everything! I swear, I’ll never let myself get hurt ever again! I’M SO SORRY—”

“Kusunoki-san...”

Hiccuping, tears and snot running down my face as I clutched at the ends of the red sweatshirt Tanizaki tied around his waist, I turned to my left to see Naomi, standing there with a chilling look in her dark blue eyes.

“May I ask you why you’re hanging on so tightly to my dear brother?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. “Is there something I need to know?”

Shaking my head, I was forced to let go as Tanizaki finally succeeded in pushing me away. I hit the ground with a sharp smack as Junichiro ran to his sister’s side, apologizing profusely and begging her not to take it out on him later on tonight, at which point I finally remembered to clap my hands over my ears and do my best not to listen.

Fortunately for me, someone else’s indignant shout suddenly shook the room.

“Like I said before, we’re the Armed Detective Agency, not the Lost and Found! Go take that thing to the police station instead!”

As one, we all turned to the door to see Edogawa Ranpo, standing in the doorway looking extremely irritated, with his arms loaded to the brim with an actual stack of pastry boxes. Behind him was a rather short, thin young man with close-cropped brown hair in a black tie and gray slacks—a regular office worker from the look of him. He was clutching a pink embroidered handkerchief in one hand.

“Now let go!”

Scowling, Edogawa snatched the end of his brown poncho out of the young man’s other hand and stomped into the room, the boxes in his arms wobbling dangerously as he went. Suddenly spotting me, he stopped walking and paused to squint at me.

“Oh, Kusunoki.”

Edogawa looked me up and down and frowned.

“I heard you got sent to the Infirmary. You all better now?”

When I gave him a very shaky nod, Edogawa nodded approvingly, then jabbed an index finger back at the guy in the doorway and demanded:

“Then do something about this guy, will you?”

“Do something?” I repeated, glancing towards the door.

The office worker waved.

“What... do you want me to do?” I asked blankly.

Edogawa slapped a palm over his face.

“Ugh. Do I have to do everything around here?” he griped. “Here—!”

He shoved the boxes in my arms and I let out a tiny squeak as I struggled to keep them all from falling over.

“Take these to my desk—and if you drop a single one, you’re going out to buy me two of whatever hits the floor. You!”

He jabbed his finger at the guy in the doorway once again. When the office worker perked up, Edogawa pointed in the direction of the client booth.

“In there.”

No sooner had I finished putting the boxes of pastries on Edogawa’s desk (taking extra care not to drop or smush a single thing) than the Great Detective grabbed me by the back of my shirt and dragged me to the client booth. The young man was already sitting and appeared to be fiddling slightly with the handkerchief in his hands.

I sat down opposite him.

“I’m Kusunoki,” I said, bowing slightly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Miura,” the office guy said, also bowing awkwardly. “Thank you for your time.”

I glanced up at Edogawa, who had not taken a seat on the detectives’ side with me. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot impatiently.

“Tell her what you just told me,” he ordered.

“Uh, yes!” Miura stammered. “You see, I found this earlier today, at the subway entrance around the corner from here.”

He held up the pink handkerchief. There was a capitalized “R” embroidered in one corner and it looked slightly damp, as if the young man had taken the time to wash it in the sink before bringing it in.

“I don’t know who dropped it but, if it’s not too much trouble, could you help me return it to the rightful owner?” Miura asked.

“Uh, Miura-san,” I started, shooting a quick look over my shoulder at Edogawa, who was standing behind me and seemed only to be growing more irritated with every passing second.

Clearly he didn’t want to be kept from his pastries while they were still hot and fresh...

“I hate to repeat what my senpai said earlier, but...” I pressed my lips together. “We’re not the Lost and Found. Lost items are better off being returned to the police station—”

“But you’re a detective agency aren’t you?” Miura pressed. “I heard you’re the best in Yokohama! My friends tell me you solve cases the police can’t handle. They told me...”

He dropped his voice and looked around even though the door to the client booth was closed and the three of us were clearly alone in here.

“They told me a newcomer solved that recent serial kidnapping in their first week here—”

I flushed.

“Oh, uh, that—”

“—and that if all else fails, you have the power of a legendary genius at your disposal—”

“That is absolutely, one-hundred percent correct!” Edogawa crowed, suddenly beaming like he was being interviewed on TV.

I turned all the way around in my chair to gawk at Edogawa just as he slammed both hands on my shoulders and shook me in a friendly, if somewhat overly excitable way.

“In fact...”

He grinned and I suddenly felt the need to run.

“Kusunoki-kun here is the one who caught the serial kidnapper! And she’d be more than happy to help you return the handkerchief.”

My jaw dropped as Miura looked on in amazement.

“Ranpo-san, what—?!”

“On two conditions. One...”

Edogawa held up a finger.

“You buy the whole office a party-sized box of pastries from that new macaron shop downtown.”

I balked but Miura only nodded readily.

“Two...”

Edogawa held up a second finger.

“You have to go with her when it’s time to return the handkerchief. In fact, I want you to be the one to personally hand it over to the owner.”

Edogawa shot me a meaningful look.

“You got that?”

I breathed in sharply as I suddenly understood his meaning.

Edogawa wanted me to see into this man’s future and find the person he hands it back to. But how was I supposed to do that when I didn’t know when this event was going to take place?

As if reading my thoughts, Edogawa motioned me closer.

“You said that before,” he whispered in my ear, “when you looked into my future, you saw a massive book, right? And that there was writing in it, right?”

I nodded.

“Look for the word ‘handkerchief,’” Edogawa instructed me.

And with that last bit of advice, he patted my shoulder and walked out of the client booth.

‘Look for the word ‘handkerchief?’’

I frowned. I must’ve still been a little dazed from Yosano’s “treatment,” because this made no sense. Look for a word... Look for a word...? Why would Edogawa instruct me to do something like this? Unless...?

I let out a soft gasp as it came to me.

Edogawa really was brilliant...

Taking my cell phone out of my pocket, I set a timer to “vibrate,” and tucked it back inside my coat pocket. I turned to Miura and stuck out my other hand.

“Can I see the handkerchief?”

Miura nodded and as he passed the handkerchief to me over the table, I carefully switched on the timer and reached out for Miura’s hand.

If this worked, I’d have a new way to use my Ability...

My fingers brushed against Miura’s just as the timer went off and I closed my eyes and let the vibrations wash over me.

I felt a pull—just the slightest of tugs on the tips of my fingers, as if a small child were yanking on them and leading me forward. Taking a deep breath in, I concentrated on the sensation and let it lead me away...

...And I floated down, weightless, and sank into that dark tunnel once more.

When I opened my eyes again, my body had disappeared. All that was left of me was a pair of eyes and the memory of a form I’d long since left behind. Taking a moment to look around, I examined my surroundings. Words, silvery and undefined, twinkled all around me like stars, floating in the air in long, sparkling columns, like strings of crystal beads hanging from a massive chandelier. I quickly spotted the four walls of the tunnel and the four corners where the walls met and nodded to myself (or at least that’s what it felt like) as I realized I was once again in a giant, translucent book.

This was the “Story of Miura’s Life.”

I stared ahead of me, down the “tunnel” that was actually not a tunnel, but reams and reams of transparent pages and considered the task ahead.

Edogawa had said to look for the word “handkerchief.” Basically, he wanted me to find the very next instance of the word “handkerchief” and touch it to “activate” the vision—in the same way I’d done with the date and time when I’d looked into Edogawa’s future.

But what if the word showed up multiple times in Miura’s future? How was I supposed to know which one to touch?

Feeling nervous, I looked around and randomly selected a word to focus on. As before, the longer I stared at it, the more it began to take shape and within moments, the silvery amorphous blobs to my left condensed and became a legible set of characters.

“Armed Detective Agency.”

Okay, not what I needed.

I glanced back down at the hall of loosely glittering words and grimaced.

I may have found my way back to that strange metaphysical space where a person’s future was written down as if it were a literal story, but today the situation was different. If the words didn’t properly materialize until I spent enough time looking at them, how was I supposed to pick out a single word like, “handkerchief,” much less get to it in time before Miura got weirded out by my so-called “narcolepsy” and pulled away?

If only Edogawa was in here with me to give me some kind of hint...!

Fighting the growing sense of panic, I closed my “eyes” once again and tried to focus.

Concentrate. Think about the words you’re looking for. What exactly are the words you need to see?

Without thinking about what I was doing, I wrote the words “return the pink handkerchief” in the air.

At once, there was a sound like a chime. I opened my eyes to see the words I’d written hanging in the air, glowing before my eyes like molten gold. But before I could reach out and touch them, they shot off into the distance, streaking through the book like a shooting star in the sky.

I ran after it, phasing right through the translucent pages like a ghost, silvery words parting around me like curtains and fluttering in my wake. My Ability was guiding me—taking me to the exact moment I needed to see. I stopped running as the glimmer of gold stopped moving at last, shining like a beacon in the air, just up ahead of me. Knowing instinctively what I had to do, I reached forward and touched it, shielding my eyes as the entire page in front of me suddenly materialized like a solid wall.

I’m standing in front of a train station.

I’m halfway across town, nowhere near the place I picked it up, but the detective girl is insisting this is the place...

The clock nearby chimes three times... It’s two in the afternoon, a full week after I first picked up the handkerchief...

I sigh and glance down at the handkerchief in my hand, this tiny pink square I happened to pick up. I stare at the softly embroidered “R.” Something about this feels familiar but I’m not sure what...

I look up. A girl is walking towards me. She’s not really looking up at me or any of the other people around us but at the ground. She has softly curled, light brown hair and big eyes and—woah!! She’s really cute!

I can feel my heart beating faster as she approaches. Her skirt and purse are the same color as the handkerchief in my hands.

Panicking, I wave to the dark-haired girl behind me, the detective—oh man, she’s not even standing anywhere close is she? I can’t see the look on her face but she’s mumbling something, pushing me towards the girl with the pink skirt.

I can’t do this—I can’t!!

My mouth’s already open—too late!

“Excuse me, Miss,” I hear myself say.

Uwaaah... she’s looking at me... What do I do?! She’s so freaking cute...

I hold out the handkerchief

“Are you looking for this?”

She stops, she stares at me and her hands fly to her lips. She’s nodding...!

Suddenly, the girl disappeared. Darkness fell over my eyes, something pressed against my face and I let out a strangled gasp when I realized I was now back in the physical world. The handkerchief slipped right out of my hands.

“Guess who?” a warm, familiar tenor whispered right into my ear.

“What the—Dazai?!” I shrieked.

Irritated, I reached up and tried to remove his large half-bandaged hands, but before I could grab hold, Dazai jerked my head to the side and laughed.

“Let go of me!”

“Not until you turn around to check~!” Dazai sang.

“Dazai, I know it’s you,” I snapped, getting to my feet, “so take your hands—”

Wrenching his hands away at last, I spun to face him. But as the cool air hit my face at last, I realized my cheeks were wet.

I froze.

I hadn’t been crying, so that could only mean one thing...

Gingerly, I reached up and brought the tips of my fingers to the area below my eyes. They came away wet with flecks of bright, red, fresh blood.

“...shit.”

Had Miura seen...?

At once, Dazai gasped dramatically.

“Oh my gosh, Kusunoki-kun!” he cried, frantically digging a handkerchief out of his own pocket. “I’m so sorry! Your makeup is all smudged.”

He smushed his handkerchief against my face and stared smearing at the area over my eyes.

“But don’t worry, I’ll fix it!”

“Ah—wait—Dazai-san, stop!!” I sputtered, making a face as part of the hankie went into my open mouth. I spat it out and tried to fight him off as he kept wiping at my eyes.

“I said stop! I can do it myself!”

“But I wanna help,” Dazai whined as I finally snatched the hankie from him and held it up against my eyes.

“I think you’ve helped enough,” I mumbled.

Clearing my throat, I tried to turn around so I could speak to Miura again. Unfortunately, because I couldn’t take the hankie away from my eyes, I ended up doing an awkward shuffle and bumping back into my own chair instead. I hissed as a bruise appeared on my shin and immediately scowled as I heard Dazai stifle a tiny snicker behind me. Thankfully, before I could hurt myself further, I felt Dazai’s hands at my back as he helped guide me in the right direction.

“Uh, Miura-san?”

I did a sort of half-bow in apology, hoping I didn’t look too stupid doing it (what if I was bowing at the wall the way Katai had done with me?!). At least Dazai hadn’t laughed this time, so maybe I was safe...

“Yes...?” Miura’s voice sounded tiny and unsure, and thankfully, was coming from right in front of me.

“I can figure out who that pink handkerchief belongs to, but you’re going to have to give me some time,” I babbled. “Do you think you could meet me back here in a week? Around one in the afternoon?”

“One in the afternoon?” Miura asked, sounding ecstatic.

There was a loud clattering noise as he hurriedly got to his feet, nearly knocking over the table from the sound of it.

“Yes, Detective! I’ll set my calendar—oh crap, it’s this late already?!”

I heard the glass door slide open, followed immediately by the sound of running feet.

“I gotta go back to work,” he called, his voice growing quieter as he ran further out into the hall, “But I’ll be back! See you in a week Miss Detective!”

There was a bang—the front door of the Agency office slammed shut and I took Dazai’s handkerchief away from my eyes at last.

“Oh my God, that was too close!” I gasped, turning to the tall, bandaged detective beside me. “Do you think he saw the blood?”

“Judging from his reaction, probably not,” Dazai said, shrugging.

“Thank goodness...” I moaned, sagging on my feet in relief.

I probably should’ve expected something like this to happen, given what happened the last time I used my power with Edogawa. But in all honesty, I’d expected the side effects to be a little better this time...

I should probably have more control by now. After all, Edogawa hadn’t seemed worried...

Shoulders slumping a little, I glanced down at Dazai’s handkerchief and winced. Two bright red spots, roughly the size of a pair of ten-yen coins, had bloomed like rose petals in the middle of the white and gray striped cloth. They were still wet to the touch. I crumpled the handkerchief in my hand and sighed.

“Thanks for helping me out back there, Dazai-san...” I mumbled sheepishly. “I’m... sorry about your handkerchief. I’ll go wash it for you.”

But as I took a step towards the open door, Dazai shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that right now, Kusunoki-kun,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” I insisted, to Dazai’s apparent surprise. “President Fukuzawa asked you to keep my Ability a secret, didn’t you? You really helped me out back there. I mean...”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Heat crawled up my neck as I remembered that the last time I’d interacted with him, he’d been carrying me (princess style) around because I was injured. I suddenly couldn’t look him in the face.

“It’s not only that... you saved me from getting blown up after I fought Akutagawa. You... you saved my life. Dazai-san, I...”

I twisted the handkerchief in my hands. My face felt hot.

“I... owe you one,” I finished lamely, staring at his feet.

For a moment, silence reigned. Dazai watched me quietly as I fidgeted with my hands in front of him. Then he raised an eyebrow.

“You owe me one, huh...?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “Well...”

I looked up just in time to see a familiar smirk crossing his face and before I could stop him or even react, he walked over to the door and started pulling it closed.

“I can think of a few ways for you to pay me back,” he whispered, his dark eyes gleaming with possibility. “In fact, why don’t you keep that handkerchief. You might need it later...”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“What do you mean by that, Dazai-san?”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean...”

I took a step back, only to hit my chair again and I cursed as I accidentally sat back down in it.

“What’s the matter, Kusunoki?”

Two half-bandaged hands shot out and grasped the armrests. I glanced up only to find myself staring directly into Dazai’s chocolate brown eyes. His lips parted seductively.

“You seem a little nervous.”

“I-I’m not nervous,” I stammered, heat flooding into my face. I struggled not to squirm in my seat as Dazai’s grin widened.

“I just want to know why you closed the door...!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dazai asked.

His dark, tousled bangs fell into his eyes as he cocked his head to the side.

“I wanted to make sure we weren’t interrupted.”

“Inter...?”

My cheeks were on fire. My voice was no louder than a squeak. I shrank back into the chair as Dazai slowly leaned in close.

“After all,” he murmured, his voice low and husky in my ear. “This is a very personal matter...”

“Dazai-san...!”

This was it. My heart was beating way too fast and my face felt so hot, my brain was probably boiling over. I was going to pass out on the spot...!

I closed my eyes and braced myself. But to my surprise, nothing happened. Instead, I heard the flapping of paper and when I opened my eyes, a sealed envelope had appeared before my eyes. I blinked at it.

Dazai grinned.

“For you,” he said sweetly.

I stared, looking from Dazai to the envelope and back.

“Eh?” was all I could manage as Dazai placed the envelope in my hand and went to take a seat on the coffee table in front of me.

“What?”

He propped his chin up in his half-bandaged hands and looked at me.

“Disappointed?”

I scowled and returned my attention to the envelope, my cheeks burning in humiliation and rage.

“You wish,” I snapped, refusing to look at him as I tore it open. “And you know what? I take back what I said earlier, I...”

I trailed off as I looked inside the envelope. There was only one thing inside and I grew quiet as I lifted it out.

It was a Polaroid—a very old one—and the rectangular image nestled within the yellowed, off-white frame was grainy and faded with age. I could see three people in the picture, all laughing and smiling as they toasted one another with tiny cups of sake. They looked like they were having the time of their lives. Squinting at them, I brought the picture closer to my face, peering more carefully at the two figures on the left and I let out a soft gasp as I finally recognized them as a much younger Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki. They were wearing their wedding clothes—the same clothes they were wearing in the big photo in Mrs. Yamazaki’s apartment—and as I followed their gaze to the left of the photo, I realized I knew who the third person was.

He had to be the former president of Tanaka Investments—Tanaka Ichiro’s uncle, the man who started the business. The more I stared at him, the more I began to see the family resemblance: the angle of the jawline, the shape of the nose...

I lowered the photo and looked at Dazai.

“Where... did you get this?”

“Shimada-san dropped this off last night while you were resting in the infirmary,” the bandaged detective answered. “He said to tell you, ‘President Tanaka sends his regards.’”

My eyes widened.

“He did?”

Dazai nodded.

And as I glanced back down at the photo, I thought I saw something written in black on the back side. I flipped it over.

“To Tanaka Isshun,” I read aloud, “Thank you for everything. I owe you my life...  Yamazaki Shuji.”

I grew quiet. Dazai took his chin out of his hands and sat up.

“Something wrong, Kusunoki-kun?” he asked. “You look confused.”

I put the photo down and glanced up at him.

“I... I don’t understand,” I said. “If President Tanaka had this in his possession the whole time, then why would he have told me that Shuji-san was a bad person?”

Dazai’s eyebrows drew together.

“When did he tell you this?”

“Yesterday,” I said, thinking hard. “Or maybe it was the day before...?”

I shrank down in my seat a little as I told him the truth.

“It was the day you were in Nagano...”

“Ah.”

Dazai’s expression grew placid. I looked away from him and back at the photo.

“I-in any case, he said Shuji-san was desperate to escape Nagano, that he was willing to do anything it took to leave CORVID, include faking his own death. If this photo tells the truth, then why...?”

The photo wrinkled in my hand.

“Why did he give me this?”

Dazai grew quiet. Noticing my hand was shaking, he gently took the photo from me and examined it.

“I think...” he said quietly, lowering his eyes and scanning the picture, “that this is a thank you present. A gift for the rookie detective who saved him from being killed by a car bomb in that dingy parking garage.”

His expression softened into a smile as he handed the photo back.

“It’s also an apology.”

“Apology...?”

Confused, I took the photo from him.

“For what?”

“You remember that conversation we had back there in the conference room?” Dazai asked, as I looked back up at him. “The one about the goodly apple? About whether or not the apple is still good when you finally learn the truth?”

I nodded.

“Well,” Dazai said, his deep brown eyes sparkling as he regarded me, “I think this is President Tanaka’s way of saying you were right. That Yamazaki Shuji was, in fact, a good person.”

He leaned forward, his expression gentle.

“While I was in Nagano, I got to talk to Shuji-san’s family,” he said. “Do you want to know the reason why he wanted to leave CORVID?”

He leaned forward and tapped the photo.

“I heard he left...”

The tip of his finger brushed Mrs. Yamazaki’s face. Dazai smiled.

“So that he could get married.”

I breathed in sharply.

As I stared at the photo in my hands, at Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling face, Dazai stood.

“I have one more present for you. And before you say you don’t want it,” he said, waving me off as I opened my mouth to protest, “It’s not from me.”

He placed a second envelope in my hands. Inside was a short letter and a beautiful bookmark in the shape of a flowering tree branch.

“It’s from Tomie-san’s family,” he said as I took out the bookmark. “They wanted to say thank you for saving her.”

“But I...”

I swallowed thickly. A lump was forming in my throat.

“I didn’t...”

I heard my own voice crack as I spoke. I hung my head.

“I didn’t save her,” I whispered.

As I stared at the photograph in my left hand, Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling face began to blur.

“She was still murdered a week later... How could they still think I saved her...?”

“Because you gave her an extra week.”

Something large and warm settled on my head. I felt Dazai’s fingers slipping through my hair as my eyes began to burn and sting.

“A full seven extra days that she was able to spend with the people she loved, who loved her in return.”

Dazai smiled, his expression tender.

“And those seven extra days may have meant more to them than you and I could ever know.”

** A single drop fell onto the photo, followed swiftly by another.

“See,” Dazai said, as one by one, the tears began to fall like spring rain onto Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling faces.

“I told you that you’d need the handkerchief later.”

Taking the photo from me, Dazai reached over and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders as I broke down at last.

“In the end you were right, Kusunoki-kun,” he whispered, gently rubbing my back as I cried into my hands. “I guess all a goodly apple needs to be a goodly apple... is someone to believe in it.”

[osamuchuu]

Hello!! Sorry this took so long, anon, I hope you enjoy it!!! Hit the read more for the full thing. ^-^

~~~

The mission was currently shaping up to be a supreme success, which to Chuuya, meant something horrible was about to happen.

Dazai was at the front desk checking them into whatever hellhole they were meant to stay in that evening to keep up their current cover, all smiles and charm and flirtatious looks until he finally grabbed their keycards and turned towards Chuuya.

“Fifth floor, Slug.” Dazai’s expression slid into that unsettling, flat thing again as he handed Chuuya the keycard. The emptiness in his partner’s eyes wasn’t helping and Chuuya still couldn’t shake the sense of unease even as the elevator doors closed around them.

“I’m just saying I think we should double back and make sure they’re all really dead. That one guy I got on the second floor...” He reopened the argument they were having before arriving at the hotel.

“Slug’s knife went through his chest, and then came out the other side...” Dazai’s lips twitched upward with the recollection. He still loved gore, even two years into his mafia tenure, though it no longer made him grin or giggle.

“I’m fucking telling you, I have a feeling-“ Chuuya argued back.

“Oh~? Chibi has a feeling? Why didn’t he tell me before!? We should definitely risk blowing our cover and double back into an active crime scene because Chibi has a feeling! Maybe I’ll even get to die! I’m sold!” Dazai’s animated tone paired violently with his flat expression.

“Fuck you!” Everything about this mission felt wrong to Chuuya now.

“What an intelligent riposte~!” Dazai mocked.

“I’m telling you I think we need to go bac-”

“We don’t, now shut up.” Dazai crowded into his space, cutting him off. Hot breath crept across Chuuya’s neck as Dazai leaned in to whisper at the corner of his mouth, tracing his tongue lightly over his bottom lip. The Mackerel spoke again in a tone that was low, and cruel. “Be a good dog. Sit. Stay.”

The elevator doors opened just in time for Dazai to fly out of it ass first as Chuuya’s punch sent him careening into the opposite wall.

He walked past Dazai, who was whining and crying dramatically as he dug himself out of a hole in the wall.

Chuuya swiped the keycard at the door to room 511 and closed it just as he saw Dazai stumble around the corner, sliding the safety deadlock into place and turning the television up over Dazai’s whines.

He lay on the bed and shut his eyes for a few minutes, but Chuuya knew it was only so long before Dazai would decide to just shoot the fucking door in. Sure enough, he opened the door to find Dazai in the process of loading his gun.

“Get inside, shithead.”

“Oh, has Chibi given up his plan to go back out tonight~?” Dazai put his gun down on the hall counter, locking the door as he entered.

“No.” Chuuya replied, aggravation settling comfortably back into his tone.

Dazai moved into the space gracefully, throwing his coat on the bed nearest the window before turning to face Chuuya in the area between the two beds, smirking.

“Will you accept my logic and recognize that your feelings are just meaningless, amateur anxieties?”

“No.” Chuuya glared up at the bandaged asshole.

“Well, will you listen to me because, technically, I’m your superior?”

“Fuck no.”

“Chibi is so hard to control~” Dazai sighed.

“Yes, and you’re easy.”

“I am?” Dazai blinked down at Chuuya, suddenly all innocent curiosity.

Chuuya reached upward, sliding his fingers around Dazai’s nape and stroking his thumb along that stupidly sharp jawline. Dazai’s breath caught and Chuuya watched him struggle not to lean into the caress.

Dazai’s eyes fell shut to hide their softening, but that was its own admission of defeat.

“Now who’s the amateur, shitty Dazai?”

Chuuya knew he would pay for that comment, be it through a simple inconvenience like Dazai ditching him in the middle of a mission, or some more elaborate, calculated trauma. He would suffer for it, and so he let Dazai suffer now, under his touch.

It was amazing, how much it hurt the Demon Prodigy to be touched. It made Chuuya feel in control, for a little while anyway, before Dazai would rip it back and they’d start up a new cycle with higher stakes. Always higher.

If this partnership went on much longer, all of Yokohama might bend beneath their shadows.

“Chuuya...” Dazai broke along with his voice, finally leaning into the touch.

Now he knew Dazai’s revenge would be cruel, this flavor of open vulnerability was never without price; so Chuuya became crueler still, and touched the other more gently.

“Shut up.” Chuuya pulled his partner down by the tie, reveling in the silent shudder that went through Dazai’s frame as Chuuya stroked his fingers through the other’s hair, mouth sucking at his adam’s apple.

Fucking amateur.

~~~

[fy-soukoku]

Random Soukoku prompt: Holding hands under the table ♡

The first time it happens, he can’t stop shaking.

The first meeting Chuuya has been in since using Corruption for the first time, since he rose in the sky and tore his enemies apart limb by limb. Mori is congratulating the mafia on the discovery of a new, valuable weapon for their organization, while Kouyou watches with a piercing gaze, rubbing her hand over her protege’s back.

Dazai tries to focus on the meeting, but all he can see in the corner of his eyes is the shaking form of Chuuya, so delicate and breakable even though he is still streaked with blood. But what really catches his attention are his eyes - glassy, soft, framed by dark red lashes. Dazai knows that Chuuya had a very different future ahead of him before his abilities were discovered - but of course, what other future would there be for a boy with such a pretty face and those gentle blue eyes? He wasn’t cut out for this life, Dazai knew that too well. He was too soft, too kind, too gentle to handle a life that would paint his fingers black, stain them with crimson blood that got stuck in your clothes no matter how much bleach you rubbed on them. (And Dazai had tried, but at this point it was in his veins.)

Kouyou’s hand stops massaging his back in careful motions when Mori makes the suggestion that Chuuya officially join the Mafia. She rises, a wave of fury emitting from every pore, and protests against it, claiming that he’s too young to be exposed to such violence.

“He did just create that violence.” Dazai points out, and finds himself under the woman’s scrutinizing gaze. Next to him, Chuuya grabs her by the sleeve, tugging with pale fingers that shine against the pink of her kimono.

“Please, nee-san.” He says, “It’s a better future than I had planned.”

Kouyou’s eyes soften at the boy’s words, and she lets herself sit, gesturing at Mori to continue.

Dazai watches Chuuya from the corner of his eye. He’s watching the interaction, but not adding anything. Observing, absorbing, studying. His blue eyes flit to every new source of sound, as if terrified to miss anything.

He’s smarter than I thought, Dazai thinks. He knows pitching in will do no good.

Not for the first time, Dazai wonders where this kid came from.

What does worry him, however, is that Chuuya continues to pick at his fingernails. They’re well-trimmed, as Kouyou has probably ensured, and filed to an appropriate length. But there’s the dark traces of dried blood glued to the bottom, which Chuuya continues to pick at, scratching the surface of his skin with such ferocity that it’s sure to begin bleeding again. Dazai reaches forward, and grabs his hand, yanking it down, under the table. He doesn’t know why, but the idea of Chuuya being in more pain makes him uncomfortable.

“You’ll hurt yourself more.” He murmurs in explanation, though he does allow Chuuya to turn his palm up and press the pad of their hands together.

Gradually, Chuuya relaxes.

—-

While Dazai has his own talents, things that make him irreplaceable within the dynamics of the Port Mafia, it’s fairly obvious that fighting is not his strong suit.

With a quick mind, a silver tongue, and well-developed reflexes, Dazai tends to avoid conflicts. It’s easier that way, he has found, than doing something as pointless as throwing fists to see who went the hardest. There were other people to do that. Besides, nobody looked good smashing someone’s face into a wall.

Except Chuuya apparently.

Dazai wasn’t expecting the delicate redhead with baby doll eyes to be able to smash someone’s skull in without his ability, but even at sixteen, Chuuya is proving to be one of the best martial artists in the Mafia.

He looks born for it - sculpted from clay and forged in fires to fight. When he lands a kick, there’s a dangerous flickering in his eyes, a spark of pride that lights up the whole room. When he knocks someone to the ground his lips curl up in a satisfied smile, pressing the heel of his boot to their neck.

Dazai walks out into the training room, where Tachihara is gripping his side and grimacing. Chuuya leans down, splays out a hand for him to hold.

“Sorry. I should have been more gentle.” Chuuya smiles, and Tachihara’s hazel eyes soften, a glint in his eyes showing his affection all too clear. Either Chuuya is more oblivious than Dazai thought, or he’s just that concerned about other people’s feelings, because he seems to take Tachihara’s lingering gaze as a symbol of friendship.

“Can I talk to Chuuya, Tachihara-kun?” Dazai flashes the redhead a smile as he stabilizes his stance, watches his eyes widen in fear.

“O-of course!” Tachihara nodded, and bowed to Chuuya. “Thank you for sparring with me , Chuuya-san!”

“Absolutely!” Chuuya responds, and watches the boy run out the door. He turns back to watch Dazai. “What did you need?”

His gaze is too trusting, it almost worries Dazai. He’s fairly certain Chuuya is the only member of the Mafia who looks at him like that, with no sign of hesitancy or distrust. Dazai reckons that he could ask Chuuya to jump off a cliff and the boy would do so. (Though his ability would probably prevent anything awful from happening.) Which simultaneously thrills and frustrates him.

“Fight me.” Dazai says, grinning.

“What?”

He tips his head, holds his hands out. “Fight me, Chuuya. I want first-hand experience of your legendary strength.” He drags out the syllables of the words, taunting him.

“Alright, but I’m not going easy on you.” Chuuya says, and throws the first punch.

Dazai steps to the side, watches Chuuya stumble past him. His hair falls in his eyes, he stares down at his fist, his eyes wide with shock.

“That was fast.” Chuuya mutters. “Very fast.”

“I’ve been watching you.” Dazai smirks. “I’ve been studying your fighting style. You’re very talented.”

Chuuya glares at him, “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all.” Dazai says, reaching over and winding a strand of Chuuya’s hair around his finger.

“So, what, you wanted to see if you could dodge me.”

Dazai grins. His hand falls onto the dip of Chuuya’s collarbone, traces the shape with feathery touches. Chuuya reaches up, slides his hand to press against Dazai’s palm. His skin is sweaty from training all day, but Dazai can already feel callouses building up along his fingers, rough but soothing against his own.

Dazai squeezes his hand. “Sometimes I wonder if you can just read my mind.”

Chuuya shrugs. “Or maybe I just know you.”

They stand there, under dim lights, sweaty hands pressed against one another, and Dazai’s heart hammers because it’s true. And that’s a little terrifying.

—-

Their very first mission together ends with Chuuya curled on the road, arms around his knees, blood matting his hair to the side of his face.

Dazai steps among the rubble, tries not to watch Chuuya’s shaking form too carefully. He curls his hands into fists and sniffs at the subtle smoke that soaks in the air.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks. Chuuya sniffs, glares up at him, his cheeks covered in a trail of tears, his eyes pink from the smoke around them.

“Am I…” He shakes his head, rests his forehead in his hands. “I don’t know. Okay. I just killed people, Dazai. I just lost control and there was nothing I could do.”

Dazai nods. “Your ability will take some time getting used to-”

“What the hell do you mean by that!” Chuuya springs up, stumbling as he approaches Dazai. “I thought I told you that if it looked like I was going to kill somebody, than that you should stop me!”

Dazai crosses his arms. “Chuuya, we’re part of the Port Mafia. We kill. It’s our job.”

Chuuya stares at the dark gray gravel, where lines of rain seep into the cracks. His eyes are darker than usual, reflecting the cloudy sky.

“I can’t… I can’t kill people, Dazai.” Chuuya whispers at the ground, as if the worms will be able to hear and sympathize. “It… hurts when I do.”

Dazai doesn’t feel any empathy for him. He’s been killing since the tender age of nine, taught that in this world, it’s kill or be killed. Ending a life was as simple as snuffing out an unnecessary flame.

But this is hard for Chuuya, he thinks, as he watches the fragility of his pretty blue eyes glisten in the light. They could shatter and break - even though the holder is so fierce, so strong.

He reaches out his hand, and folds their fingers against each other. Chuuya freezes up.

“I know, Chuuya.” He murmurs, and runs his thumb over his cheek.

—-

They’re laying in bed, the moonlight is folding like origami on the ceiling, and Dazai can’t take his eyes off of Chuuya.

The redhead is angelic with his eyes closed, head tilted back against the clean pillow case. His hair is like a splatter of vibrant paint over white canvas. Dazai almost wants to wake him up to see the shiny sapphire blue of his eyes, but he also knows that Chuuya hasn’t been sleeping much.

Chuuya is curled up on his side, gauzy white button-up slung loosely over his frame. It’s on of Dazai’s, and the thought of Chuuya in his clothing sharpens a protective instinct he hadn’t known existed. And, with the redhead curled up in ball, his tiny nose crinkling as he dreams, Dazai feels more protective than ever - even in sleep, Chuuya is still pure.

Chuuya is pure in general, he thinks, remembering his idealistic views and his soft smiles to subordinates. He’s the kind of guy who helps old women across the street, and brings bowls of soup to the orphans who live along the streets. He’s the kind of guy who cries when someone innocent is murdered, but will not hesitate to snap the neck of anyone who hurts his family.

Dazai has never really felt these things. Old women don’t need his help, subordinates should be run by fear, and anyone who died brought it upon themselves. He thinks it’s the way Mori raised him. Maybe he’d be different if someone else had been in charge of him.

Either way, Chuuya looks like an angel right now, and Dazai can’t look away. He sometimes wonders if the heavens will realize they’ve accidentally cast such an amazing being into this world, and maybe one day they’ll take him away. Away from the filthy world. Away from Dazai.

He sighs, and reaches out a hand to fold around the limp arm laying by Chuuya’s side.

Clutching his hand, he vows to enjoy the time he has.

—

I’VE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR A WEEK AND I HATE IT BUT OH WELL I’M TIRED 

[likevxnes]

side by side (3/?)

read on ao3

part one | part two

iv.  Where they were, part three

Dazai wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck. He flutters his eyes open, and realizes his neck hurts because he was still in the same curled up position as he was last night. He sits up and rubs his eyes. He stares at the strands of hair on his pillow for a moment, the result of his incessant, harsh tugging last night, before grabbing at it with his hands and sliding off his bed to put them in the trash.

He takes a quick shower, knowing that Mori will come for him soon. He’s just finished getting dressed when Mori knocks on his door.

“Mori-sensei,” he greets cheerfully once he opens the door.

Mori is not amused. He figures that the man is still pissed off about his clumsy performance during training yesterday. “Let's go,” the man orders, turning around on his heel and walking away before he even responds. Ah, so he really was still mad about yesterday.

Dazai sighs, but follows the man anyways. As they weave through the dimly lit hallways, Dazai frowns as the man takes a turn that leads them away from the training rooms.

“Where are we going?”

It takes a while for Mori to answer, the only sounds being their footsteps. “To Kouyou’s” he says eventually, “there is business we need to do.”

A sense of foreboding covers him like a fog. Did Kouyou tell Mori about his visit last night already? “Business?” He inquires blithely, voice dripping so much sugar it’d make people cringe. “Mori-sensei, I thought your tastes in women were much younger.”

Mori stops his movements. He slowly turns around to face Dazai, and the smile on his face is overly cheerful, like a clown’s. “Dazai-kun. You don’t want to make me more angry at you than I already am.”

He smiles back, though inwardly, he wants nothing more than to run away. Did Dazai’s terrible fighting yesterday really bring this intense anger? Or did Kouyou really tell Mori already that he snuck into her brothel?

The rest of the walk is in silence. The idea of seeing Chuuya again sends a harsh panic throughout his body, and he feels himself shut down. Feels apathy grow within him, feels it protect him.

Kouyou greets them with a fake smile. “Welcome, Mori-sensei. Dazai-kun.”

She barely glances at him. He supposes that this meant she hadn’t told Mori yet, which he finds confusing but also beneficial, so overall it doesn’t really matter. Unless she was waiting for the right moment, that is.

They move into the back room, where a table is set for tea. Yasuhara is there, but sitting in the back corner, giving them the evil eye. He inwardly rolls his eyes.

“Ah, Yasuhara,” Mori greets, “I’m surprised you’re still here. Aren’t supposed to be on a plane heading west by now?”

“My flight’s been delayed,” is all the blond offers. Mori’s smile grows even more stiffer.

Of course, Chuuya is there at the table, sitting down with his hands gracefully resting on his lap. Dazai's stuck between wanting to scream or cry. He does neither. The boy eyes him curiously, before averting his gaze. Dazai stares unabashedly. The redhead’s wearing that strange hat again, and though he thinks he looks cute in it, he'd rather have Chuuya’s hair out in the open.

A red flush begins to spread across the boy’s cheeks. Ah, so he noticed Dazai’s staring. The redhead raises his eyes to meet his gaze, glaring daggers, and Dazai finds himself smirking in response due to how familiar the situation feels. The amount of times Chuuya’s given him that same look bordered on the millions.

But he doesn't even remember...

“Chuuya,” Kouyou says, after they've all situated themselves at the table, “this is Mori-sensei and his student Dazai-kun.”

So Kouyou’s really acting like nothing happened last night at all, still avoiding eye contact with him. He raises an eyebrow, but expresses a smile nonetheless.

“I remember,” Chuuya says, and Dazai feels a shock shoot straight into his heart, but it quickly fades into disappointment when the redhead continues with, “it’s nice to see you again, Mori-sensei.”

So Mori had known Chuuya was here all this time, had even met him before. And Chuuya remembered Mori and not him.

His thoughts dissipate into nothing but clouds the moment those blue eyes turn to him. “And it’s nice to meet you, Dazai-kun.”

Memories of the redhead greeting him as Osamu flicker through his brain. He wants to leave. “Just Dazai is fine,” he says after a pause.

Mori gives Chuuya a pleased look. “How has your training been?”

The conversation begins to blur, Dazai hearing nothing but faint murmurs. He slouches in his seat and rests his head on his palm, disregarding Kouyou’s disapproving look. He has no interest for forced pleasantries or in Mori’s plans, even if Chuuya was in them. The redhead didn’t remember him, didn’t care about him, so he didn’t see why he should even bother.

“How about a demonstration?”

Those words catch his attention.

“W-What?” Chuuya stutters.

“Of your ability,” Mori continues, and the phrase sends Dazai’s mind into a frenzy, ability, Chuuya has an ability—“I’m interested in seeing what you can do now.”

Chuuya pauses, taking a moment to think before opening his mouth to answer.

“This is hardly the place, Mori,” Yasuhara cuts in, before Chuuya can speak.

“Ah, you’re right, Yasuhara-kun,” the doctor says, clapping his hands together. “Outside, then? Oh, I know,” he continues, “how about a match with Dazai-kun?”

All eyes turn to him. He glances over at Chuuya and feels a tingle surge down his spine when their eyes meet. He feels a wave of resentment, of anger, of hurt rush within him, and decides to twist those feelings into a weapon. When he grins, it’s bleeding with menace. “Sounds fun, Mori-sensei.”

The air in the room chills at his statement. Kouyou is openly frowning, while Yasuhara’s expression darkens with anger. Only Chuuya seems unaffected, nodding his consent and standing up from his seat.

“Are you ready?” He asks the redhead, once everyone is outside, the two of them facing each other. They are fighting in the area behind the brothel, where they'll mostly be out of sight from passerby.

Chuuya takes one look at his smug face and snarls at him. “Are you?” He quips back, and suddenly he's right in front of him, arm pulled back to punch Dazai’s face.

He manages to dodge, inwardly surprised at Chuuya’s power. The boy moves confidently, each attack initiated with focus and cold blood, and he finds himself blown away at this side of Chuuya that he’s never seen. Chuuya's carved and molded himself into a fighter, into a mafioso, just like Dazai has.

He continues to dodge, knowing his fighting skills aren't subpar. Chuuya aims a kick at his side, and he ducks away just in time, hearing a loud crack behind him. He turns and realizes the boy had slammed his foot into the wall of the brothel’s shed, and now a dent lined with cracks surrounds the place he hit. His eyes widen.

It's his ability, he thinks to himself, feeling a smirk filled with adrenaline spread across his lips. To think that Chuuya had an ability all this time…though he supposes Mori wouldn't be interested in the boy if it weren't for his ability.

He studies the boy's movements in an effort to understand what his ability is. It was obvious that the redhead was using his ability quite freely in order to fight, so if Dazai nullified it the battle would be over quite quickly. He watches the way the boy's steps seem grounded, the way the boy’s jumps are quick and high, the way his attacks hold more force and power than expected. Dazai continues to dodge, only making punches and kicks when necessary. Frustration begins to line each and everyone of Chuuya’s attacks. The boy becomes sloppier, more predictable with his strikes, all the while making it more easier for Dazai to dodge.

“Tired?” He baits with a simper.

Chuuya fumes. “Of course not,” he retorts, before charging at him with all his might.

Dazai moves just in time to grip the boy’s wrist, and watches the redhead’s eyes widen as his power leaves him. He pulls the boy forward, knocking him off balance, spinning them around so he can pin the boy on the ground, pulling the boy’s hands behind his back.

“Get off me,” he snarls, wriggling around in an attempt to shake Dazai off.

Instead of complying, Dazai leans forward to talk softly into the boy’s ear, feeling his smile sharpen at the boy’s flinch. “Don’t you want to know what just happened now?”

“I want you to get off,” Chuuya barks, moving with a sudden surge of strength, and suddenly now Dazai’s being pinned to the ground on his back. Chuuya’s hand rests on his throat. He blinks up at the other, studying the gleam in the redhead’s glare, the dark smirk the other wears, and the way his hair hangs from his head, almost brushing Dazai’s cheeks due to the fact the boy has leaned forward so that their faces are only inches apart. He feels his throat tighten up. Even stained with mafia black, Chuuya still glows brightly.

“Now that I think about it,” the redhead begins smugly, “I do want to know what you did earlier. Would you mind telling me now?”

Dazai grins. “Only if you tell me what your ability is first.”

“Gravity manipulation,” the boy answers easily, moving his head back, allowing more space between them. Dazai suddenly feels as if breathing became way more easier.

How suiting, he thinks to himself. Of course Chuuya’s ability was gravity manipulation; was Dazai not pulled towards him since the very beginning?

“And you?” Chuuya prompts, releasing his hold on Dazai and standing up. Taking his opportunity, Dazai kicks his right leg, knocking Chuuya off his feet and back onto the ground with a harsh thud.

He stands and places a foot on Chuuya’s chest, smiling smugly down at Chuuya’s enraged expression. “I nullify any abilities with touch,” he answers. “You know, you should really depend on your ability less. Then maybe one day you’ll actually be able to hit me.”

An angry flush begins to spread across Chuuya’s cheeks. It’s a look he hasn’t seen in forever.

He hears the sound of someone clapping, and turns to see that it’s Mori, looking eerily cheerful with that blank smile of his.

“My, what a show,” Mori chirps, signaling Dazai to let the boy sit up, “you’ve obviously come very far, Chuuya.”

Chuuya doesn’t say anything, just stands up and gives the man a polite nod. He’s so obviously pissed off beyond relief. Dazai wants to burst out laughing.  

Mori turns towards Kouyou. “Thanks for the tea. This visit has been very enlightening.” He looks over his shoulder to glance at Dazai. “Let’s go Dazai-kun.”

He follows the man, but not before giving Chuuya a cheerful wave, chuckling at the other’s hateful expression.

Ah, it’s still fun to rile him up.

Chuuya decides right there and then. He really hates Dazai Osamu.

Once the pair is out of sight, Chuuya hesitantly turns to face Kouyou. He grimaces at her glare.  “Ane-san…”

“Your footwork was sloppy,” she begins sternly, “and you let your frustration get to you. How many times have I told you to keep a clear head while fighting? Not to mention you ruined the shed.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his tongue when Kouyou lifts a hand to silence him. “Dazai was right, you were relying on your ability too much. See this as a lesson on why you shouldn't. Be prepared to spend the next few weeks training your body only.”

“Yes, ane-san…” Chuuya mutters, lowering his head, already used to Kouyou’s stern lectures. A forceful pat on the back takes him off guard, making him stumble forward, and he pouts at the offender. Yasuhara just gives him that soft smile of his.

“It was a good battle.”

He flushes, while Kouyou sighs, though her expression is a lot more light hearted than before. “You’re spoiling him,”she chastises, opening her umbrella to shield herself from the afternoon sun. “I need to go back to base for some business. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Interrogation?” Yasuhara asks knowingly, “who are you bringing?”

“Aiko,” the girl answers, smiling darkly at Yasuhara’s grimace. “It should be a quick session.” She looks down at Chuuya. “How about you go fetch her for me?”

He nods, moving towards the back door.

Yasuhara glances at Chuuya’s retreating figure, before asking, “the trafficking organization?”

“Yes,” Kouyou answers. “You should really get going, Yasuhara. Don’t you have people waiting for you in Europe?”

“There is no point in leaving now,” Yasuhara says. “Didn’t you hear the Boss’ most recent orders?”

There’s a long silence, before Kouyou answers. “You’re right.”

Three days later, Mori is made Boss, with Dazai as witness.

Chuuya had only met the previous Boss once. Kouyou had taken him to base in order for him to pledge his loyalty. The man was old and sickly, and didn’t even seem to register what was happening when Chuuya blankly murmured the words he was supposed to say. He’s not upset over the man’s death, and it seems like a lot of other members feel the same way, including Kouyou and Yasuhara. The previous Boss had been known for being insane; everyone was just waiting for him to die, and now he conveniently has.

But Chuuya knows he doesn’t have a full grasp of the situation. There’s a tension in the air that’s making the black smoke that surrounds this place even thicker than usual. The fact that Yasuhara never bothered to leave as if he knew this would happen proves that something is amiss.

But Chuuya’s already made the Port Mafia a part of him. It’s in the way he moves, in the way he fights, in the way he easily catches and throws a knife. It’s in the way he hugs and cares for  Kouyou and the girls in the brothel even if he can smell the scent of blood on them, even if he can feel the hidden weapons they hide in their sleeves, even if he knows that they’re capable of dragging pain out until their victim spills their life secrets. It’s in the way he admires Yasuhara, who comes home with nothing but a higher kill count and guns.

Chuuya has already accepted these things. So this time, he murmurs the pledge cautiously, but loyally and sincerely.

Kouyou pledges with a dangerous sneer on her face, her eyes lit with knowing. Yasuhara follows suit, but his expression is blank.

When Dazai pledges, his tone is frigid, and he speaks almost in a monotone. There is insincerity dripping from every word he speaks, yet Mori, or Boss, Chuuya supposes, simply smiles in response. The brunet doesn’t even acknowledge him when he walks past him, and Chuuya feels a spark of irritation settle underneath his skin. He doesn't understand Dazai at all. There are times where he’d look soft, almost vulnerable, like when he told Chuuya to just call him Dazai, or when he’d burst into Chuuya’s room. There are times where the boy is mischievously smug and cheerful, like at the end of their fight yesterday. But then there are times where the boy is terrifying, dark eyes soulless pits with no mercy for anyone who stands in his way.  And there are other times, like now, where Dazai is nothing but a bandaged doll, where he's empty of any emotion and only gives out a blank stare.

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, but he can’t help but feel curiosity towards the other. Why was it that the Dazai that burst into his room that night seem so different than the one in front of him now? Where was the Dazai that insisted the two of them knew each other and seemed distraught that Chuuya didn’t remember, that seemed human?

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, and has been told countless of times that he should want nothing to do with his past.

But in the end, what he wants doesn't matter. The next day, Chuuya’s summoned to Mori’s office with orders to bring all his things. When he enters the office, Mori is sitting behind his desk, resting his elbows on the wood. Dazai is sitting in a chair in front of the man, and Chuuya feels a sense of foreboding creeping over him.

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, and has been told countless of times that he should want nothing to do with his past—

“I’d like to welcome to you two to your new partnership.”

—but he has a feeling that he’ll never be able to get away from Dazai Osamu, no matter how hard he tries.

part four