#so disappointed they missed that detail when Oda took it off

[unicornpopcorn14]

Have people seriously NOT drawn teen Dazai being half-tanned yet??? 😭😭😭 Like the part where his other eye is bandaged being so impossibly pale compared to the rest of his face??? SOMEONE DRAW THIS I'M BEGGING-

Edit: Moot led me to this comic! jfngojrn this was all I was hoping for!!

[dazedbydazai]

Can i request about the (fem) reader x dazai and she has an ability to talk with spirits, ghost, dead People and one Day she ask dazai if he want to talk to oda face to face just a Scenario or headcanon anything You want 😁 and btw i really like your style of writting it's refreshing 👍💕

Ahh sorry this took so long anon :( i literally had to rewrite this 3 or 4 times before I finally somehow liked how it turned out. But I do hope you like it! ❤️

Warmth | Dazai Osamu

➤ Genre: Angst (?), Fluff

➤ WC: 1.4K

Dazai sat in the same old spot, at the same old bar, staring at his half empty glass of whiskey. It was one of those days where he felt extremely down and just wanted to drink his sorrows away.

He looked at his right and imagined his best friend sitting beside him, same drink in hand, as he chatted away about what kind of work Mori had him do that day.

Dazai would smile a little, remembering the good old days but his heart felt a slight sting as he realizes that he can't have those moments anymore.

But there is one thing that seemed to ease the pain in his heart. And that was you.

Ever since you started dating, Dazai could feel the weight on his shoulders gradually lifting. You were the light at the end of the tunnel and you showed Dazai that there's always a brighter side, a more beautiful side to life, which was somewhat similar to what his best friend told him. You were a ray of sunshine that enveloped Dazai in a warm and comforting hug. It was scary at first, to let another person enter his life and do so much to change it, but he couldn't deny that he felt relieved every time you were around.

And as he took one last sip of his drink, he knew he had to see you right now before he's tempted to give in to his dark thoughts.

A knock on your door wakes you in your sleep.

"Y/N?" You hear Dazai call out from the other side.

You slowly get up and open the door for him, letting him inside your small apartment.

"Y/N," He repeats your name, his voice barely above a whisper but you catch the slight distress in his tone.

You close the door behind him and when you turn around, he's crashing down on you, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

You were a bit surprised but returned the hug. You smelled the alcohol in his breath but didn't say anything about it.

Instead, you rubbed his back and asked, "Is everything okay, Dazai?"

There's a beat of silence before Dazai sighs and loosens his hold on you.

"Yeah. Just missing an old friend."

And you knew exactly who he was talking about.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask as you make your way to sit on the couch.

He shakes his head and opts to bury his face in your neck, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. You stay silent for a good minute before a thought suddenly hits you.

You slowly stroke Dazai's hair and pull away from him.

"I've got an idea," You say and Dazai just stares at you, confused. "Stay there."

You get up from the couch and move to sit on the coffee table.

And Dazai knew exactly what you were going to do as he sees a faint cloud of white smoke emerge from below you, an indication that your ability was activating.

"Y/N, you don't have to do this," Dazai tries to say but you just place a finger on your lips to shush him. And then your whole living room was engulfed in smoke.

Your body was still seated on the table but your spirit was already travelling to the other side.

"Oda-san?" You call out. It took a few minutes before you heard an answer.

"Y/N? Is that you?" You turn around and saw Oda sitting under a tree.

"Oda-san!" You wave at him. "How are you?"

Oda chuckles at your question. "I'm as fine as I can be. How about you? What are you doing here?"

"Well, someone else is not feeling good right now. So, I was wondering if you could help me out for a bit?"

Oda raises a brow but he knew who you were pertaining to.

"What did that suicidal maniac get himself into now?

Meanwhile, Dazai was just quietly sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest. It's been a few minutes since you haven't said anything and he was about to reach for your hand to nullify your ability but then a voice stops him in his tracks.

"Oi, Dazai," Oda's deep voice echoed in the small room.

"Odasaku?" Dazai whips his head to the side as he sees the silhouette of his best friend in the white smoke.

"Didn't I tell you to not cause trouble for Y/N?" He sees Oda crossing his arms but there's slight teasing in his voice. "What suicide method did you try to use now?"

Dazai lets out a small laugh. "The method of drowning in alcohol and self-pity. Although it didn't work out well."

Oda chuckles at that.

"Well, whatever it is you're thinking or feeling, you know you don't have to hide it from Y/N anymore, right?"

"Yeah," Dazai nods his head as he looks sideways towards you. "But I'm still scared, Odasaku. I don't think I could fully open up to her without hurting her along the way."

Oda sighs as he leans on the wall, his silhouette becoming a little clearer and more life-like.

"Y/N knows of your past. She's aware of the things you did. And even if she didn't know all the details to it, she won't judge you for it. This girl clearly loves you and is always willing to accept you."

"That's the scary part, Odasaku. She’s so good to me. I don't want to disappoint her. I don't want to hurt her," Dazai pauses for a second as he looks longingly at your face. "I don't want to lose her."

"Dazai," Oda reaches a hand out and a puff of smoke lands on Dazai's shoulder. "You're not going to lose her. I've talked to her a couple of times to know that she's not easily scared off. She's pretty strong, you know?"

"You two have been secretly meeting and talking behind my back?" Dazai gasps dramatically. "Don't tell me you're planning on stealing my girl?"

"Idiot," Oda scoffs and moves to smack him on the side of his head but the smoke just dissipates and causes Dazai to cough. "My point is, Y/N loves and accepts who you are. She wanted to get to know you more that's why she visited me a couple of times. And if that's not enough of a reason for you to trust her-"

Oda stops mid-sentence when Dazai chuckles. 

"I get it, Odasaku. You surely know exactly what words to say to convince me," Dazai smiles and this time, his eyes were shining and his heart was no longer feeling that awful sting.

"I am your friend, after all," Oda places his hand on Dazai's shoulder once more. "Take good care of each other, okay? I’ll be watching over you.”

Dazai nods and then he's reaching a hand out to you. He holds your right hand in his and the smoke immediately vanishes together with his late friend.

Your eyes slowly open and you yawn as you feel the exhaustion creep up your body – a side effect of using your ability.

"Hey," You smile at Dazai. "Did you have a good talk?"

Dazai nods as he raises your hand and kisses your knuckles. "Thank you, my love."

You blush as he rises to his feet and helps you up with him. He wraps his left arm around your waist while his right hand gently brushes your cheek.

"You don't know how much this means to me. To have you so close to me like this and to feel your warmth," Dazai leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. "It's the best feeling in the world.” And as he tells you he loves you; you no longer hear the tinge of pain and distress in his voice from before.

"I love you too, Dazai. So much," You close your eyes as well as you feel his lips brush against yours.

And before Dazai closes the distance between you, he whispers, "Thank you for existing."

To this day, Dazai never forgot his best friend's words of advice.

Dazai rarely talked about himself before. But when he's with you, he was able to be himself. He opened up to you and even let you see his most vulnerable side. That's how much he trusted you.

And from then on, he knew he would be happily spending the rest of his life with you by his side.

[magonumberfive]

The first thing a Saika child learned about a gun was never to point it at something you didn’t intend to shoot. 

They were tools more powerful than any Pokemon, even the great beasts of the mountain. A single pull of the finger could end a life as quickly as a God. It could shatter everything. It could build a future. Firearms were a matter of pride for his people, and they deserved, nay, demanded, respect and a healthy level of fear as any God did. 

The first time he held one, the rifle was practically as big as he was. Father was away on business, so his brother brought it upon himself to show little Shigehide just how good of a shot he was, but not without the lesson. 

"It’ll feel like anotha pair’a hands after awhile,” he’d say, “you treat it like it’sa parta’ you.”

It still felt familiar in his grip, even if it wasn’t his, but he still treated it better than himself. Polished- dissembled and cleaned just this morning before being put back together with the upmost attention to detail. It almost felt wrong to touch, considering the layer of grime and filth that had accumulated over the last two weeks. 

The cleanest part of him was the ripped section of his hoodie tied across his face, hiding one of his own missing pieces. 

Faint light from the matchwire was the only thing that cut through the darkness of the wood. Stars hid behind the veil of the city lights just beyond the trees and the moon hid, nestled behind blanketing clouds. 

His gun burned brighter than he did. 

Maybe it’d been that way for awhile- running on empty since his escape, burning the fumes in small bursts of ignition and hope only for the explosion to blow away into nothing. Small sparks was all it took. 

There was Ko. There was Masa. Now there was Buddy. Hell, even Ujiyasu was good for a laugh. Good for a hope. Good for a chance at something. 

But they were gone now, if any of them were ever really there in the first place. Nothing ever burnt for long around him. 

Koshosho was away, unburdened. 

Masa was betrayed, now independent. 

Ujiyasu was defeated and exiled. 

And little Buddy had just had enough he supposed. 

Everything was enough. 

It’d been enough for years now- years now to the date. The first time his soul was ripped asunder, the first time he had everything torn from him by tooth and claw and sword and fire. 

But it didn’t hurt any less. How the fuck didn’t it hurt any less?

Magoichi inhaled hard through his nose to snuff out the whimper in his throat. He had to be quiet. He couldn’t be found until it was done. They’d take this from him. 

He just hoped when he pulled the trigger, the chill of the ground would snuff out the matchwire’s fire. The last thing he wanted was to set the wood ablaze. It’d been a nice home for awhile.

Then again, he pondered, chin resting on top of the barrel, there wouldn’t be a corpse to find if it did. He could just disappear. Be gone and be done with it all. 

A wave of vile licked at the back of his throat. God, what a coward, he chided himself. It’s what he wanted, right? To be done? To just...stop?

Stop hunting. Stop hurting. Stop running. Stop pretending like there was anything else. 

He told himself as they made their way out of that prison that this would have to be his revenge: life. Despite everything, everything, the Oda could not kill all of the Saika. Countless times did they bring their hammer down, but the bird always had another leg to walk on. They had their wings. They had their heart. 

But did he even have that anymore?

They took it out so many times. In so many ways. Little Pekki. Sweet Honey. Some nights it wouldn’t be the nightmares, but the twist in his chest that choked the breath out of his lungs. Emptiness collapsing on itself and bringing the rest of his body down with it. Not many survived losing a perfect link. Even less would survive losing any other. 

He wasn’t alive. He was a husk, soul taken by the half with each of their passing's. What was a warrior without the ability to link?

His head slid down the barrel to rest his forehead against the cold metal, tears running down his nose onto the snow below him. The rifle shifted a tad at the movement, but his grip on it was firm. 

Magoichi drew in a shuttering breath through his nose. What was a samurai without his weapon? 

The old man said there wasn’t any dishonor in this, right? It was his own plan if things came to it- take his own life before the enemy had the satisfaction? Did that even still apply to him? 

They’d killed him. Nobunaga had killed him. 

All he was doing now was getting rid of the corpse. 

He wondered for the briefest moment how he’d be greeted in the next life. What would he see first? The disappointed congregation of his clan? His partners? Father? Brother?

He’d find out. 

“I’m sorry.”

The shot exploded past his good ear, leaving a ringing enough to drain out his own terrified scream. 

Something had him. Something grabbed him. Something-

<”Nice shot”>

Something had a hold of him, shifting his hand and head in a way that the gun teetered off to the left, missing him completely. Each tendril found their place as naturally as one would recline into a chair, keeping his body frozen, ridged in place. 

A sharp, stabbing peck on the top of his head polished off the sentiments. 

As quickly as it came, the sensation around him faded, leaving him to fall backwards into the snow. Hot tears bit through the numbness of his cheeks, and for a moment he swore he could see two stars flicker past the trees before everything fell into black. 

For the first time in years, his chest felt weightless. 

[izanyas]

Nothing Noble (2)

Second chapter of the roleswap Soukoku fic, with agency!Chuuya and mafia!Dazai.

Rating: M Words: 7,200 Warnings: mentions of child abuse.

[Read from Chapter 1]

Nothing Noble Chapter 2

Dazai wasn't unfamiliar with human life being put to a price, or with those prices being on the high side of the scale, but even he had to admit that he had never before seen anyone willing to pay so much money for catching someone alive.

He looked at the note Akutagawa was holding up again. He whistled appreciatively. He ignored the face Akutagawa made, or Oda's sigh at his side.

"That's a lot for one teenager, isn't it," he said.

"He is gifted," Akutagawa replied needlessly.

"He turns into a tiger. Unless you want to make his hide into a rug, I fail to see what use he could have."

He attempted, without thought, to lean against the wall at his back; his hip flared with dull pain immediately, and this time he was the one having to hide a grimace.

Oda's gaze weighed heavily on him.

"Maybe they really do want to make him into a rug," he mused. "Or have him fight other animals for show. Those kinds of freaks exist all over the world."

Akutagawa lowered his arm at last and asked, "Should I go after him?"

Dazai made a show of holding his chin thoughtfully.

He was more than a bit uncomfortable with Akutagawa being here while he was still drowsy from the medication, still in pain from the biopsy, but at least Akutagawa was always oblivious to his moods. He probably thought that his wavering gait was just another way to mock him.

The fact that his office was mostly plunged in darkness helped. Akutagawa wouldn't notice how little he had slept even with light glaring upon them, but Dazai would rather he did not see it at all.

Still, Akutagawa had asked instead of running off on his own. That deserved some sort of a reward.

"It would be foolish of the port mafia to miss out on a bounty of seven billion yen, wouldn't it?" he asked.

Akutagawa's eyes lit up, as always, with the promise of violence. "I will not disappoint—"

"I'd like to figure out where this very generous offer comes from, however," Dazai cut in. He snatched the paper from Akutagawa's hand, walking through the pain despite his slight limp. He crossed the length of the room to stand by Oda's desk, where the only light came from. "This report is very thorough," he murmured, reading over it once more. "Nakajima Atsushi-kun has not lived a very happy life."

Oda took the paper from him wordlessly. Dazai didn't need to look at him to appreciate the shadow of disapproval his face wore as he read it as well.

"We could recruit him," he said eventually.

Dazai almost heard the sound of Akutagawa's teeth clenching.

"He does fit the profile, doesn't he?"

Whoever had gathered these notes had done so in painstaking detail. From the place where Nakajima slept, from the names of his tormentors, to every kind of abuse that this buyer could get evidence of. The range of it encompassed petty brutality and outright torture alike, with no actual reason that Dazai or the warrant's author could deduce.

"It's a wonder they even want him," Dazai said lowly. "Whatever use they would have of him… this boy can't be in a good enough shape to help in any way. Mentally and physically. And if they only want to kill him, why pay so much to get him alive? It can't be revenge."

"Dazai-san," Akutagawa rasped out. "The bounty?"

Dazai stayed silent for a moment. It hurt less to sit than to stand, and so he sat, at the very edge of Oda's desk. Oda didn't protest it, despite the paperwork Dazai crushed as he moved. This was proof enough that he knew something wasn't right.

"They barely talk of his ability," Oda said.

Dazai nodded. "Everything is so precise, and yet the only thing they're willing to give out on his powers is shapeshifting. This isn't even an exciting or unheard-of type of gift."

"Who cares," Akutagawa muttered, "as long as they're willing to pay?"

"I care, Akutagawa, and this should be all you care about."

Akutagawa's mouth snapped shut.

"That was unnecessary," Oda commented.

Tension ebbed out of Dazai's shoulders. He slumped over the desk, hip aching and head fogged, and sighed into the palm of his hand. He had to fight off a yawn. Oda probably saw all of it from where he sat.

"Come here," Dazai said tiredly. He lifted a hand, waved it between himself and Akutagawa.

Akutagawa approached with dragging steps. He still wore the coat Dazai had given him so long ago, and it did not dwarf him now; he cut a striking silhouette in the dark of the room, his feet silent on the floor, the stench of death hovering around him.

He made the port mafia proud. Dazai, in the sparks of feelings that shot through the numb nothing of each day, wished that Akutagawa made him proud also.

He still put a hand on the man's shoulder. Still felt it stiffen as it always did, as it always would, in preparation for blows.

"It's good that you brought this to my attention," Dazai said, pushing some modicum of approval through his voice. "So, I'll let you bring this boy to me. Alive, and if you can manage it, unharmed."

"Yes, sir," Akutagawa replied breezily.

"I'll decide what we should do with him once I have him. I'll leave the search to you." His grip tightened on Akutagawa's shoulder, not to the point of pain, yet Akutagawa tensed as if he had been struck. "You may use your sister and Higuchi of the Black Lizard for help."

"Higuchi's help will not be necessary."

"You know how I feel about you overestimating yourself."

Akutagawa stayed silent.

Dazai released his shoulder and pushed him backward lightly. Akutagawa fell obediently, putting between them just enough distance that Dazai could turn his head aside and not have to see him.

"Don't mess this up," he concluded, gesturing toward the door.

He didn't look at all as Akutagawa left.

He waited, sat atop hard wood and blinking sleep out of his eyes, for Oda to speak up. When he did, Dazai smiled.

"For you, that was almost nice."

"Please let the day I'm nice to Akutagawa be the day you make use of those guns of yours for real," Dazai replied.

Oda leaned back in his chair. Dazai looked at him over his shoulder and found him sticking a cigarette between his lips, readying himself to taint the stale air with the stink of tobacco. "You know you don't have to be such an asshole to him," was all he said.

Oda was ever-so-good at passing judgment; and his judgment weighed more in the scales of Dazai's own morality than anything Dazai himself ever did.

Today's verdict was not so heavy, so Dazai hopped off the desk, stumbled to stay upright, and declared, "Let's drink."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Oda replied immediately.

"Mori gave me the rest of the day off and you think I shouldn't use it to drink?"

Oda's eyes roamed over him carefully. "Mori gave you the rest of the day off because he did something to you again and he thinks you need to sleep it off," he said. "So sleep it off. You can barely walk."

"I hate anesthetics," Dazai mumbled, catching himself against the desk. "My brain is so slow I can actually feel myself think."

"A rarity."

Dazai chuckled dryly. Oda smiled, brief and still weirdly solemn, before rising from his desk and catching one of Dazai's arms around his shoulder. He pocketed the hunt order for Nakajima Atsushi with his other hand.

"What did he take this time?" he asked, exhaling smoke with every word. "More blood? Skin?"

Dazai leaned against him, comforting himself with the smell, with the warmth, with the never-ending wonder of having someone who could touch him like that without eliciting the urge to flee.

"Bone marrow," he replied drowsily.

"Still not willing to tell me what he's planning to do with all that?"

Dazai smiled and did not answer.

He enjoyed the walk to his quarters more than he should have, considering the pain. There was something about having Oda half-carry him, about allowing himself to flirt with sleep upright and in public, that kept the hollow of him warm. Oda used his key to open Dazai's apartment; he helped Dazai out of his shoes, then put on the same slippers he always did to drag him inside. He went so far as to lay Dazai on his bed and pat his shoulder gently.

His hand came to his pocket again. Dazai heard the cracking-shuffling sound of paper as he fiddled with the warrant in it.

"Don't worry," he slurred, pushing his face into his pillow. "I'm not going to sell that kid."

"I thought so," Oda replied. He took the warrant out of his pocket and flattened it against his thigh one-handedly. "So what are you gonna do with him?"

"I was thinking he'd make a good playmate for Akutagawa."

Oda snorted softly.

It made Dazai want to smile again. This idea was still at the hatching phase, still messy with half-thought plans and nothing more than his intuition to run, but it wasn't a joke. He sighed and said, "I want you to find out who this buyer is."

"Sure."

"If Akutagawa is successful, we'll figure out what's really behind Nakajima Atsushi's ability on our own. It can't just be that he turns into a white tiger. Not with the amount of detail these guys dug up about the life of one orphan."

He waited for Oda's question, staring blankly at the taupe wall that the head of his bed rested against. His hip throbbed steadily.

"Should we go to the special ability department with this?"

Dazai closed his eyes. "You know you won't find Ango even if you go to them," he muttered.

"There's only one way some outsider could've found so much information about an ability user in Yokohama, Dazai."

"I know. But Ango won't show up for some small-fry shapeshifter, not even if someone from inside the department leaked the information."

Ango had stayed too carefully hidden. So very carefully hidden that for the past four years, it seemed he had vanished from the surface of the earth entirely. Dazai had found no trace of him; Mori had found no trace of him; the ministry was so tight-lipped with his name that each liaison agent they sent to the port mafia seemed to suffer from localized amnesia.

If Chuuya hadn't killed Taneda and found a way to not only tamper with the department's heavily-guarded archives, but also cut its access off from the department itself, this probably wouldn't have happened.

Dazai still wondered, occasionally, how in the world he had done that within ten hours of his defection. Within ten hours of using Corruption and being shot point-blank and losing—

"Don't tell the department about this, Odasaku," he said, rubbing the side of his right index with his thumb, massaging sudden stiffness away. "They'll probably just end up taking the kid for themselves and claiming the bounty. No one's more thirsty for money than government-approved gifted groups."

"Right," Oda replied quietly. "If you think so."

Dazai nodded. He wrapped an arm around his pillow, wincing through the ache of both finger and hip. He listened to Oda's footsteps as he left, all the way to the entrance of his home. He heard the lock fit in place and allowed himself to breathe.

Sleep claimed him quickly, but it wasn't kind. It wasn't peaceful.

--

Twelve hours, and Atsushi was still sore through all of his body. He followed the man named Kunikida through the streets of the city, nose tickling from the cold, smelling snow on the very air. Yokohama shone with the same bright winter light that had bathed the courtyard of the orphanage year after year, and Atsushi felt his hands sting with remembered pain, even through the leather gloves he now wore.

"Sorry about that," Kunikida said, gesturing for him to enter the red-bricked café they had come to. He must have noticed how tentative Atsushi's steps were. "We had to taser you—the tiger—for a while so you'd turn back."

Atsushi knew that. Kunikida's partner, Tayama, had spent the better part of the evening apologizing profusely for it.

The warmth inside the café hit him all at once, sticking him to his spot by the door and scorching over every bit of his exposed skin. He fidgeted, waiting for Kunikida to unwrap the scarf wound around his own neck so that he would lead the way. Atsushi wasn't exactly sure how one was supposed to act inside a café, or even why he had been invited to one by Kunikida knocking on the door of the dorm room he had borrowed at eight o'clock sharp.

"Take a seat, kid," Kunikida murmured, checking his watch distractedly.

Atsushi looked around nervously. The place didn't seem too populated—only two booths were occupied, one by a pair of student-age youth, one by someone so bundled up that Atsushi had no way of guessing so much as their gender. Above the line of the collar riding up to their nose, their eyes were steel-grey.

He looked away, shivering, and asked, "Um, where?"

"Mmh?" Kunikida raised his head. "Oh, near those two. They're the Tanizaki siblings, they work at the agency too."

He pointed at the younger people. Atsushi would have preferred to sit alone if at all, but he figured it was better than that stranger dressed all in black. Kunikida left him to it, making his own way toward the counter, engaging the old man standing behind it in a low-voiced conversation.

"Hi," said the boy with orange hair, once Atsushi sat gingerly in front of him. "You're Atsushi-kun, right? Katai briefed us on what happened last night."

"That's me," Atsushi mumbled. "And you…?"

"Tanizaki Junichirou. This is my sister Naomi." The girl sitting next to him, who was staring at Atsushi with rapt attention, smiled somewhat darkly. "Kunikida-san said you were interested in joining?" Tanizaki asked. His grin was friendlier, and Atsushi felt his face warm.

"I don't know," he replied. "I just—he said it would be better, for me. To be in a group."

Tanizaki nodded slowly. "I don't know how much you know about abilities, but yeah, it's generally better for us to join organizations like the agency. Especially for you, since you've been deemed a public threat."

"I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to apologize," said Kunikida's voice. He had joined them with no warning, and Atsushi almost jumped at the sound of his voice. When he looked up, Kunikida was staring at the booth behind theirs where Atsushi knew the only other patron sat. He was frowning. "You've given us ungodly amounts of paperwork, but it's hardly your fault, and as it turns out you haven't actually hurt anyone."

That was a relief. Atsushi had carried that fear since first hearing the words 'man-eating tiger'.

Kunikida sat down next to him, forcing Atsushi to scoop closer to the window at his left to make room on the couch. He placed a steaming cup in front of him, and Atsushi had to take a second to understand that he was meant to drink it.

The cup shook against the saucer when he brought it to his lips, but at least the tea was good. It burned away the last icy dregs from outside, soothed some of the aches that still rang through his body.

"Are you both gifted too, then?" Atsushi asked the siblings, and they laughed in answer.

"Brother is, not me," Tanizaki Naomi replied with a grin. "His ability is very useful."

"It's nothing much," Tanizaki muttered, face pink. "Not really suited for combat."

"Not," Kunikida said in a clipped tone, "that the agency deals in much combat. We're detectives first and foremost, kid. You won't have to participate in any fighting if you don't want to."

"You really want him to join, huh."

Kunikida seemed to take offense at Naomi's remark, but Atsushi paid little mind to it. He already knew he wanted to join, if only because Tayama and Kunikida had been so kind to him the previous night, even with Kunikida's complaints—if only because they had managed to contain him and prevent him from harming anyone. Being given someplace warm to sleep, new clothes, and food helped as well.

Atsushi wondered if all the members he had met the night before were equally selfless.

"Where's Tayama-san?" he heard himself ask.

"Home today," Kunikida answered. "He works remotely most of the time."

"He's getting better, though, isn't he?" Naomi interjected. She was toying with her own drink, some outrageous chocolate thing covered in whipped cream that spilled over the rim and rolled down the stained glass in big dollops. "A year ago he couldn't go out at all."

"He's got issues," Tanizaki said to Atsushi, no doubt catching his curiosity. "Ask him about it if you want, he usually doesn't mind."

"It's none of my business," Atsushi mumbled.

Tanizaki shrugged. "Everything is kind of everyone's business here."

Atsushi wasn't sure how much he liked the sound of that.

Kunikida tapped a nail against his own cup of tea. The sound rang clearly in the space they all shared, and Naomi moved as if prompted, nudging her brother out of the way and murmuring, "Bathroom," with a wink in Atsushi's direction.

Atsushi watched her more attentively than perhaps necessary. Something about her posture kept him alert, made the sudden and weighty silence unfold slowly, thickly. It trailed goosebumps along his arms. She took the direction of a wooden door left of the counter, where a sign indicated the toilet was, and Atsushi followed her with his eyes, brow tense and mouth downturned—that was when he realized the only other occupant of the café had moved as well.

They walked quickly enough that they were behind Naomi in less than a second; and Atsushi had barely that much time to formulate a warning in the confines of his mouth, to part his lips and let out a strangled sound, before the stranger's hand came out of their pocket holding a knife.

Kunikida was on his feet almost instantly. Tanizaki swallowed back what sounded like a cry. The bartender moaned, dropping the glass he was holding, and the sound of breaking glass sharpened the world into motion again.

The stranger grabbed Naomi by the hair; they put the knife at her throat and ordered, in a rough, low voice, "Sit the fuck down."

"Brother," Naomi whimpered.

The person—man, probably, though they were shorter than her by a bare centimeter—tugged harder at her hair, forcing her to bend her head back and expose more of her neck. The blade dug deeply enough into her skin that Atsushi could see it crease around it from where he sat.

Saliva pooled in his mouth, bitter from bile and fear alike.

"I'm going to kill you," Tanizaki growled at the man. "I'm going to tear you piece by piece—"

"Tanizaki," Kunikida cut in harshly. "Shut up and sit down."

Tanizaki stayed standing for a second longer, eyes wide and pale with fury, before obeying. His knees cracked under the action; his tendons were so visible above his collarbone, pushing so starkly outward, that the strap of his undershirt chafed his skin red.

Kunikida sat as well, once he was sure Tanizaki would not move. Atsushi watched, paralyzed, as the eyes of the man holding a knife to Naomi's neck colored with amusement. "Good," he said, in that same smooth-raspy voiced he had used earlier. It sounded too deep for someone of his stature, Atsushi thought faintly. "Now we can talk."

"If your business is with the agency, please feel free to take me hostage instead," Kunikida said, voice sharper than Atsushi had ever heard it. "That girl is only a part-time desk employee—whatever grief you have with us, she can't be—"

"I'm keeping the girl," the stranger replied curtly. "I don't want this one," he pointed to Tanizaki with the knife before placing it back on Naomi's neck, "to use his bothersome gift on me. My grip my just slip if he does."

Tanizaki's face was completely red with rage by now.

Kunikida had raised his hands in surrender earlier. They faltered slightly at the man's words. "So you know who we are," he said.

"Yeah. Speaking of, I want all of you lined up in front of me. That barkeep too. Keep your hands where I can see them." Once again, he gestured with the knife, so close to Naomi's face that Atsushi's blood ran cold with fear that he would accidentally cut her.

Knife wounds were some of the most painful he had ever suffered.

"You first, Kunikida."

"Okay," Kunikida replied tightly. "Okay, just don't hurt her."

Only the man's eyes were visible, but he looked like he was smiling. Atsushi followed behind Kunikida with his own hands raised. He eyed the frightened look Naomi wore and thought, I wish I could turn into a tiger right now.

His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he could feel skin flutter at the hollow of his throat. His nape felt damp, his muscles ached from being tasered the night before, and every step he took felt like a thousand.

"Atsushi," Kunikida said from the edge of his lips, right as the stranger turned his head aside to order the bartender around, "I need you to distract him."

He stepped on Atsushi's foot before Atsushi could yelp or suck in an undignified breath.

"Just talk to him," he whispered furiously. "Tanizaki and I will take care of the rest."

"But I can't—"

"Silence," the masked man ordered.

Atsushi shook through his body with the way his voice rang. The man looked at him, grey eyes glinting in the hooded light; and Atsushi watched the easy grip he had around the knife, the fold of Naomi's skin where the blade connected with her, ready to tear through, and suddenly, he found his voice.

"W-Why are you doing this?"

The bartender was still whimpering slightly. Naomi had fallen silent, but her eyes were pleading. Tanizaki's worry and anger could be breathed through the air.

The stranger either noticed none of it or didn't have a care in the world. He tilted his head aside and said, "I don't know you."

"I'm," Atsushi said.

He choked a bit. He had prepared no excuse, no plan whatsoever.

Distract him, he repeated to himself.

"I'm a, a friend of Tanizaki-san's—"

"Why should I care?"

Atsushi breathed in shakily. "Why are you hurting her?" he asked again.

"I want to teach the armed detective agency a lesson," the man replied flatly. "I suppose I can tell you as much, since you'll be dead shortly."

Terror seized control of Atsushi's body, then. He shook so hard where he stood that his first step forward was a stumble, that every step that followed was him barely catching himself upright, resisting the pull of the floor. He wanted to fall and never stand up again. He wanted to curl into a ball in age-old defensive instinct.

"Step back!" the man ordered, shaking Naomi by the hair once more. She cried out a small, terrified sob.

"Please," Atsushi stuttered, "whatever you're upset about, you can't just kill people—"

Several things happened at once.

Naomi opened her mouth wide and bit down on the hand keeping the knife level with her neck, now that it had faltered slightly. Kunikida grabbed Atsushi by the collar of his shirt. Tanizaki sprung forward like a leaping beast, arms stretched outward and face twisted.

And the masked man bent at the knee so quickly that Atsushi barely saw him; he picked up the fallen knife with his unarmed hand, kicked Naomi savagely aside, and plunged the blade deep in Tanizaki's guts.

Atsushi stopped breathing.

He didn't hear the scream Tanizaki must have let out, nor the agonized, "Brother!" that Naomi bellowed. His ears rang like they would after a blow to the head, after being shoved head-first into a wall. He didn't move as Kunikida put a hand over his eyes and muttered something lowly, didn't react as bright light overcame the dining room, stopped only by the fingers keeping his eyelids closed.

When Kunikida released him, he fell to his knees.

By some miracle, Kunikida reached the masked man before he could stand up again. He was stumbling, rubbing his eyes with his bleeding hand. Kunikida stuck him to the floor with one knee pressed against his lower back, ripping away the black beanie the man wore to fist his hand into equally black hair—and Atsushi slowly, haltingly turned his head toward where Tanizaki lay. He wasn't moving at all.

"How could you," Kunikida whispered, voice rough with emotion.

On the floor under him, the masked man chuckled. "This is all you deserve."

"Atsushi, go put pressure on Tanizaki's wound, call the emergency number in his phone—"

"I don't think so."

Whatever the masked man did knocked Kunikida off of him; as Kunikida managed to grab him again, one arm locked around his opponent's throat to choke him, the man curled an arm around himself and extended it forward too quick, too fast, for Atsushi to see more than the glint of the now-flying knife.

It was headed toward Naomi.

Atsushi would have liked to think that he went over things in his head; he would have loved to believe that his actions were the result of selflessness, or stupidity, or carefully-planned rescue; but he heard the voices in his head, he felt the lessons he had been taught burn over his skin like fire-wounds, and he leaped forward with greater speed than should be humanly possible.

He landed between Naomi and the knife, breathless, and closed his eyes.

The knife never pierced through any part of his body. Instead the stranger's voice came again, much less frightening than before: "That ought to do it, right?"

"Yes," Kunikida replied. "Thank you, Kashiwamura."

"No problem, but don't call me that."

"What," Atsushi breathed, eyes still tightly shut.

It was Tanizaki's amused, "It's all okay now, Atsushi-kun," that convinced him to open them, gasping.

Tanizaki was standing on his own feet, completely unharmed. Atsushi glimpsed flecks of green light around him, like snow, vanishing as quickly as they shone. He had to take a moment and stare at him, still without air, to truly believe that he wasn't bleeding out of his belly. His sweater didn't even look torn.

"What," he repeated weakly.

Naomi giggled. She entered his line of sight, standing close to her brother and ruffling his hair affectionately; on her other side, Kunikida was standing next to the man who had attacked them all.

The high collar he had worn over the bottom half of his face was lowered. Atsushi saw the shape of his grin, the patch of white gauze stuck high on one of his cheekbones. "That was kind of ballsy, getting in the way of the knife," the man said. "When they tested me I just straight up socked Yosano in the jaw."

"Is she still mad at you for it?" Naomi giggled.

"None of your damn business."

Atsushi sucked in a painful breath. It seemed his lungs had to relearn how to work after the shock of what just happened. "What's going on?" he asked again.

Kunikida cleared his throat. He took a notebook out of his pocket; scribbled a few notes down. "There is an entrance test that all prospective members of the agency must pass," he explained in what Atsushi was starting to recognize as his business voice, very different from the tense fear and ruthless reactivity he had shown moments ago. "Each one has to prove their willingness to protect human life."

"A test," Atsushi said faintly.

Kunikida nodded. "A test."

"So he's not really…" He gestured, shakily, toward where the formerly-masked man stood.

"Kashi—"

"Don't call me that, and no, I'm not actually here to kill you," the man cut in. "The name's Chuuya. I'm a member too."

"Chuuya-san's kind of terrifying, so we thought he'd be ideal for it," Naomi added. "Plus no one else wanted to terrorize you, poor thing."

Chuuya made a face, as if deliberating whether her comment was worth getting angry over. In the end he shook his head and dragged the collar-scarf thing above himself, taking it off. He ran a hand through his own hair with a grimace and said, "I'm disgusting. I'm going home if you guys don't need me anymore."

"You still need to cover Kenji's afternoon shift."

"This is only the seventh time you remind me, Kunikida, I got it. Stop getting your panties in a twist."

Kunikida spluttered. Chuuya grinned wolfishly and stepped away.

He stopped beside Atsushi on his way, patting him on the shoulder only once; Atsushi didn't flinch back, but Chuuya looked as if he had noticed that he wanted to anyway. "Sorry about that," he said in a low voice. "I wasn't actually gonna hurt any of you."

"I know," Atsushi replied warily.

Chuuya looked him in the eye for a moment longer. His were not grey, Atsushi realized, but blue.

The rest of the day sped by too quickly for Atsushi to properly register. He was dragged up the flights of stairs inside the same building that the café occupied, introduced to all the people he had met the night before and to a few more again—such as the director, Fukuzawa, and his secretary, Haruno. He was given a desk and schedule. He was offered to stay at the dorm free of charge. He saw smiles directed his way, and polite enquiries, and admiration for what he had done the same morning.

He forgot to feel shame for the reason he had done it.

"Who is he?" he found himself asking Tanizaki sometime during the afternoon, as the man from this morning, Chuuya, went through files over his crossed legs. Kunikida had not stopped eyeing him with something akin to disapproval; judging by the lack of reaction from everyone else, this was a common sight.

"Chuuya-san?" Tanizaki replied. At Atsushi's nod, he said, "He's one of our non-gifted members. He's one hell of a martial artist, though, and he's really good at catching criminals. If you're lucky you'll get to see him and Kunikida-san spar."

He laughed quietly at his own words, looking fond, before getting distracted by his work once more. Atsushi looked over the papers he was supposed to finish filling out by the end of the day and touched none of them.

His eyes kept going back to Kashiwamura Chuuya.

Maybe it was because he had first seen the man dressed like a criminal himself, body wrought in black and eyes glinting with malice, that he could not fully relax in his presence. Maybe he could not find him non-threatening, not for his short height and not for his quick smiles, because he had seen him hold a knife with more ease than the Headmaster ever had. His appearance was nothing out of the ordinary now, if one dismissed the white gauze over his cheek; short black hair and a rumpled suit, something Atsushi had seen multiple times in many men of the city, and yet…

And yet, Atsushi shivered at the sight of him the way he had upon meeting his steely eyes in the café for the first time. He saw the bruised skin under them; he felt how off his presence was in the warmth of the office, like static in an old film, like sepia stains on pictures. Like a monochrome patch of space.

--

Chuuya had once lived nowhere at all.

He held only a handful of memories of the woman who had birthed him and the decrepit studio they both shared. What he remembered was dream-like, blurred at the edges and tasting of rotten sheets. His mother had been absent a lot and violent the rest of the time; she had no name that he could voice, no face that he could see. At most she was a shadow. Any feelings he might have held for her were blunted by the years.

He didn't consider that he had lived there at all. He could not remember what had first put him in the system, if she had died or if he had been taken away from her; all he knew was that after the fifth foster he tried to call father raised a hand on him, he had no hope left for parenthood. Some people were better off raising themselves.

Chuuya had lived nowhere—in a studio, then in the houses of strangers, then in the streets—and he had lived in a mansion. He had owned a room all his. He had grown, and thrived, and found his place in the world. He had learned that although he would never name anyone father or mother, he could still call someone family.

He had not known true homelessness before losing that.

The apartment he shared with Katai was at the very opposite end of the city, as far from the port as one could be. Chuuya shoved his key into the lock and pushed against the door, which chose to be more difficult today than usual. He kept his irritation at bay, habit and paranoia alike reminding him not to use the Tainted Sorrow to make the job of opening it easier—or break it altogether. He had to struggle with it for a good ten seconds before it finally gave in.

"Shitty fucking thing," he muttered, dropping his keys on the kitchen table.

"Stop insulting our door," Katai replied from where he sat on the couch, entirely wrapped in blankets.

"It insulted me first." A breath, and Chuuya felt his nose twist in disgust. "Fuck, have you not opened any window all day?"

Katai didn't answer, but he folded in on himself a little tighter. The only light in the room came out of the laptop sitting in front of him. It shone off his glasses, sinister.

Chuuya opened the window above the couch, causing Katai to shrink even further and yelp, "It's cold."

"And this place smells like hot garbage," Chuuya replied. "Where were you this morning?"

Katai's following words were indecipherable, muffled through the blanket and his own lack of will to share. Chuuya rolled his eyes and tugged the blanket off of him sharply.

"I said I was meeting with Sasaki-san," Katai whined, trying and failing to grab onto the fabric. Chuuya let it fall back onto him. "I don't know why she insists on meeting with me, it's you she's doing business with."

Chuuya had to smile at that. "You can't even guess?" he replied.

Katai looked at him with wide eyes.

As amusing as Katai not realizing that a woman found him cute was, Chuuya felt a little too tired to indulge in teasing. He let himself sit into a kitchen chair with less grace than necessary. His fingers twitched without need for thought, and the pair of dirty chopsticks that Katai must have used for lunch flickered red in the shadow, floating gently above the table.

He made them turn around each other with vague thought, letting his ability flow through him as it too rarely did.

"Are you okay?" Katai asked.

He had been staring, Chuuya realized. He schooled his face into something more relaxed and shrugged. The chopsticks fell into the sink with a soft clicking noise. "Just tired," he replied. "This place exhausts me."

Katai didn't go into his usual, stammering spiel that his regular checks revealed no proof of Chuuya having been discovered, but his face said it all. Chuuya looked away without a word.

Yokohama was stifling in a way Katai would never understand. Chuuya did not dare take a train or drive a car. He did not go anywhere he hadn't checked a dozen times for evidence of old acquaintances being around. He walked to the agency every morning for a half hour, came back at night the same way, and had to move each of his limbs through tension, tasting blood on his tongue, hearing guns in the distance.

He could go nowhere without feeling like Dazai could walk out of every door he passed on his way. Six months since he had come back, and he still thought every far-off voice was his, every silhouette on a rainy day that of his body.

Chuuya scraped the skin off his lip with his teeth until it ached; running a hand through his hair, he asked, "So what did Sasaki say?" in as conversational a voice as he could manage.

"Same as usual," Katai replied. He sounded sympathetic, which Chuuya chose to ignore. "She says Ango's still in hiding."

Sakaguchi's name lodged itself through Chuuya's chest like ice. The feeling was as familiar as it was hated.

"And the port mafia?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, but Chuuya—"

"I don't want to hear it."

Katai hesitated, but Chuuya knew he now believed—within right—that he would not be harmed no matter what he said. He was somber as he spoke, but not worried. "You know where to find the port mafia. They're not moving away anytime soon."

"I don't want them to know I'm here before I find Sakaguchi," Chuuya replied.

"Ango's not going to let himself be found until they find you first."

"Why do you even care?" Chuuya snapped.

The way Katai jumped back made guilt tighten in his throat, but Chuuya was still too wrecked by his evening walk, by the feeling of having the agency's newest member look at him as if he were a ticking bomb, to apologize just yet.

"You're still hoping I'll just fit in with everyone at work and be happy with my life," he said. "That's not going to happen and you know it."

"You're the one who said you wanted to join," Katai replied weakly.

Maybe this argument had been brewing since the start, Chuuya thought. Maybe he had put off having it for too long, because Katai had been so genuinely relieved to hear from him all those months ago, because he liked the people he worked with against all reason, because Fukuzawa had heard his story and looked at him without judgment and hired him.

Maybe he had grown weak.

"You know there's only one reason I came back," he went on. "I'm not forcing you to help me, you're doing that on your own."

"But I don't know," Katai said more heatedly. "You've never actually told me."

Chuuya felt his mouth twist in poor imitation of a smile. Katai knew more about him than anyone alive he was willing to talk to.

"Chuuya," Katai called. He rose from the couch and shuffled closer, his slippers soft against the wooden floor. "I can guess what you're planning, but it's not going to…"

Chuuya waited, anger coiled tightly through him, stale air filling his lungs.

Thankfully, Katai shifted away from what he originally wanted to say. "I'm helping you now," he muttered, "I'll make sure you're not found out yet, but I draw the line at—at violence. If you're really trying to kill more people, I'm not going to help you. I thought you wanted to get out of that life."

"I don't need your help," Chuuya replied flatly.

"I know you don't. I'm just telling you how I feel."

Silence hovered tensely; then all the air flew out of Chuuya's lungs at once. He slumped over the table, holding his forehead with one hand, thumbing over the gauze on his cheek to feel the edges of the thick scar under it. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm not going to ask more stuff out of you. I can move somewhere else if you want."

He heard the chair opposite him crack as Katai sat in it. "I don't want you to move out," he said. "I'm just worried about you."

Chuuya smiled, hidden in the space between his arm and the tabletop.

"You don't sleep, you barely eat, you don't socialize—"

"This is so fucking rich coming from you, Katai."

"I do socialize," Katai protested. Chuuya looked at him over his hand and found him flushed, the red visible on his face even across the unlit room. "I have tons of friends now."

"Your gamer pals don't count."

"Now see, the only reason you think that is because you've never played a video game in your life."

Laughter pushed itself out of Chuuya's lungs, helpless and a little warm. He found Katai wearing an answering smile; the kind of nervous, genuine sympathy that had stayed Chuuya's hand four years ago before he could strike him.

This silence was not so heavy. Chuuya leaned back in the chair, unsticking the gauze from his face and touching the torn skin under it with thoughtless fingers. It tingled at the contact, not painful but not far from it. Katai watched him do it wordlessly.

"I'm not here to make friends," Chuuya said eventually. "And they wouldn't want to be my friends either if they knew anything about me."

"Maybe they would," Katai replied.

"Not everyone can be as weird as you."

"This reminds me," and Katai's voice was a higher pitch now, his face lit with brighter feelings than before, "you met Atsushi-kun, didn't you?"

"The tiger kid?" Chuuya flew the dirty bowl on the table toward the sink as he had the chopsticks earlier. He'd have to take care of that later as well. "Yeah, Naomi said I should be the one to test him," he said, pushing himself out of his chair. "He passed with flying colors, by the way. Threw himself in the way of a damn knife."

"Kunikida told me about that. I thought he was a sweet kid when we met."

"You had night terrors about him attacking you."

"That wasn't his fault, was it?" Katai replied defensively. "It's not like he can control it."

That had been a little familiar, a little bittersweet, when Katai had first told him of the shapeshifting boy the night before. He had still been shaking then, scratched at the elbows from falling when the tiger had leaped at him, or so Kunikida had said. Katai hadn't even protested the tea Chuuya made him. Usually he always found it oversteeped.

A boy with anger shining at the back of his wide eyes. A boy with an ability he had no control over, with a life he had little choice in.

"At least now that should be fixed," Chuuya said lowly, bending over the sink. "No more rampaging around as an animal at night."

From the pit of his stomach came a long-forgotten rumble. It spread through his veins languidly; it blackened the edges of his sight.

Chuuya closed his eyes and ordered the beast back to sleep.

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

soukoku prompt: agency!soukoku AU where Dazai makes a deal to save Chuuya's life but in exchange he would lose all of his memories of Chuuya

Okay well this was really interesting to work with- if you want to know more about the ability user see Karl Robert Eduard von Hartmann (honestly how Dazai saw Chuuya took a lot of inspiration from Koishi Komeiji from touhou so if you wanna look into that she’s a really interesting character would recommend)

 The details of this AU is that Hartmann works with Fyodor, and can manipulate the subconscious, Soukoku was originally with the Mafia but after Oda the two ran away together with the Agency, and mainly do the ‘leg-breaking’ jobs, which puts them in a morally gray but still with the good guys standpoint. Whether or not Atsushi, Kyoka and the others are there is irrelevant to this story, but Ranpo, Kunikida, Yosano and Fukuzawa are there by manner of timeline, but the only one who’s mentioned is Fukuzawa.

Without further ado, here is ‘You forget the gravity of the situation’.

“You’re not leaving.” Mori smiled at Dazai, looking directly into his now-healed eyes. “What you think you can forget it and leave it all behind, just because of him? Please tell me you aren’t serious.” Polite intimidation oozed from Mori’s voice. 

“People change.” Dazai smiled back, “People die, people fade, people come into lives. Think of it not as an end, but rather…”

“A beginning?” Mori stifled his laughter, the sharp glint of a scale rushed at Dazai’s head, which was thankfully dodged.

“Don’t worry, I know you won’t leave because you can’t. No one can forget.”

“Don’t leave, Dazai.” Was the last sentence the mafia executive heard. The door was open, freedom awaiting, the rays of streetlights slipping through. But a terrible obstacle was behind him.

Chuuya glared at him, and Dazai hopelessly offered a sad smile. 

“Don’t leave without me.” Was the first sentence two free men heard.

They were partners after all. They would follow each other to hell, heaven or purgatory.

And that’s how it was. With Ango’s help, they managed to get into the Agency. All was well, considering. Chuuya and Dazai couldn’t exactly go around ‘painting the town red’ (with blood) but it was a living. Due to their known nature they mainly were dispatched on simple jobs that would require normally risking their lives, but those were always the best (and most justifiable if they went a bit too far)

Until now.

It was meant to be a simple infiltration. Only one anemic man to kill, and by hell’s sake did they need to kill him. Fukuzawa himself ordered no holding back, kill any guards in sight. 

But there were none. 

“Hmm, maybe the President just wanted us to have some alone time together.” Dazai muses, threading his finger’s through Chuuya’s hand. 

“…It’s a trap, I can feel it.” Chuuya felt on edge.

“Well of course it is, it wouldn’t be infiltration otherwise.” Dazai leans down pressing his lips against Chuuya’s. “And even if it is, we can manage.”

Chuuya felt himself lean into Dazai’s affections, but felt his eyes fervently search the room. Aside from cameras, there was nothing else but empty halls, and the occasional squeak of a rat. No guards, which ironically enough, made them put their guard up even more.

“Chuuya.” Dazai’s call echoed through the other’s mind, as well as the walls. “We’ve been through worse, and we can handle this.” Chuuya’s grip tightened, sighing. 

“I know.” The door looms before them, and Chuuya swipes his hand away, turning the door.

Fyodor smiled, looming over them. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The word hung in the cold air of the room. Dazai stepped forward. No…wait…why was there only one noi-

Dazai whipped his head around, his eyes widening. “Run.” Chuuya was struggling trying to activate his ability but to no avail. A man held a knife against his neck, and Chuuya stopped moving. But it wasn’t just a reflex, no…it was something more. His expression flickered to fear, a blank-filled state. 

Fyodor hums in thought, “Isn’t he a lovely man? My most welcome addition for now, a dear old friend… isn’t that right Hartmann?” The other man didn’t respond, as Fyodor gestured Dazai to sit down.

“For now?” Dazai raised an eyebrow, trying to keep calm, his voice trying not to tremble. Chuuya made no resistance, it was almost as if he wasn’t blinking or breathing, as if he wasn’t there. Dazai turned the chair to have eyes on both sides of the room. 

“You know, it’s pretty funny. I made up that I could manipulate the consciousness when I was kept prisoner and now…” Fyodor glances towards Hartmann.

“You really shouldn’t reveal your ally’s ability, Fyodor. I’m disappointed that you would make such an oversight for grandeur.” Dazai practically spits, trying to lose his eyes on Chuuya’s state.

“But it is necessary, after all- we need to make a deal.” Fyodor’s grin widened. Dazai fiddled with his bandages, untying the ones on his left hand, the gloves are off. Chuuya moved. “Grantors of dark disgrace…” Dazai smirked at Fyodor, but his expression evaporated upon seeing there was no change in Fyodor’s disposition. Do not wake me again… “Chuuya stop!”

Too late. Cackles filled the air, as Chuuya haphazardly unleashed brute force, missing shots, the walls crumbling around them. Blood splattered, but it was his own.

Hartmann stepped back, clicking his fingers. “You hate him for it, don’t you? That he’s had to seal you away, that you ran and left everything…” A soothing voice, so unsettling. Chuuya turned towards Dazai, a blank look on his face. He raised his hand, a black hole beckoning. 

“Don’t leave without me.” Dazai ran towards him, pain searing through his body, hugging Chuuya tightly. He glanced down, and saw red. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? He’s going to die. 

Fyodor settled a hand on Dazai’s back, sending shivers up the other’s spine. No, if he was nullified he’d be dead by now. He wishes he was dead right now. Either by that or the black hole. A void would be nice right now. 

“Yokohama’s most dangerous duo…now wouldn’t you think that poses a threat?” Fyodor muses. “Because of your annoyance, I haven’t been able to get nearly as much done as I want to.” 

Corruption ran through Chuuya’s body, but his movement slowed, slowly consuming him. 

“Now, how about you forget?” 

“No matter what, you can’t forget.” Dazai responded through hissed teeth.

“Ah, I’m not talking about you leaving. You’ll get your wish, to leave together.” Fyodor smiles, as Hartmann grabs Chuuya, “He’s weak enough to manipulate the subconscious, isn’t he?” Fyodor asked, recieving a nod. “Perfect. But we’re forgiving so we’ll give you an option.”

“Let Chuuya die here alone, or forget him all together- that is, you will leave together, but you won’t remember him.” 

Fyodor glanced at the camera. “Your choice.”

Dazai got up, body quaking. His scarred hand touched Chuuya. 

“I’m not letting you leave without me.”

“Dazai.” An unknown voice beckoned him out of sleep. “Get up already you manic!”

Tousled hair rose from a bed, and a simple sentence that cut into their hearts more than anything else.

“Who are you?”

“You…you can’t be serious right?” Chuuya smiles nervously, setting a hand on Dazai’s own. “I’m your partner don’t give me that bullshit. I’m Chuuya, you can’t forget me- that had to be some intimidation bullshit from.” Dazai glanced down at his hands, freshly bandaged. He looked up, his expression back to normal.

“Who are you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No this…this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why are you wearing a hat indoors?” No. Dazai would’ve insulted him. But this was Dazai, that’s for certain. He would’ve nullified the ability just by touching Chuuya. There’s no one else that could nullify…

No.

Chuuya left the room.

“How could you do this?!” A muffled yell was heard of a room nearby, and Dazai felt a pain in his chest. An emptiness. 

“You need to understand Chuuya that-” There was that name again. A name that felt familiar, yet so alien. A locked away memory, that would never be found.

“You nullified ours, you went along with him! Why, how could you do this to us?!” 

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” Fukuzawa responded calmly. 

“What happened to ‘All men are Equal’? This is bullshit. Why-” The walls shuddered, a crack was made near a drawer in Dazai’s room. He could remember the President, so why not him?

“Because I never trusted you two.” And with that sentence, Dazai understood that crippling feeling. Loneliness. That there was no one there for him, no one alive that could understand him. That he was never meant to be with others. Left alone, forgotten.

Tears dappled the sheets. The door slammed open, and he felt a robotic warmth of an unseen-before man hugging him, a choked sob. “Please, don’t forget me. Don’t leave me. Dazai please-” Dazai’s eyes shut tight, clutching the other in his arms, his heart ached more.

His eyes opened, and despite the painful ache in his heart his mind was clean of the memories of the other person. They were crying, but he didn’t know why.

“I don’t know you.”