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For all of his brutish ways, Chuuya is still a man of class at heart. It goes without saying that this was not always the case. And he only has one person to thank for that.
His Ane-san, Ozaki Kouyou. The woman he goes to for advice on…just about everything. She has always been on his side and in his corner. … Although, this particular subject may be more difficult to breach.
Kouyou once held a certain fondness for both Chuuya and Dazai whenever Dazai was able to escape Mori’s grasp. Watching as they’d bicker, play games, be kids, even for just a moment. A single wave of reprieve amongst an ocean they’d lose themselves in. As with most things, Dazai’s betrayal broke apart this facade they had created.
Ah, Slug of mine. I tell you, time and time again, it wasn’t you I turned my back on.
Chuuya clenches his teeth as Dazai’s saccharine (more like whiny) voice rings in his mind. He admits, Dazai has displayed their constant loyalty to Chuuya in more ways than one. But it’s so easy to forget when he remembers the years of abandonment and pain.
Again… Someone left me again… Am I not worth it? What…did I do wrong this time?
It lingers, a scab not healed all the way through. On bad days, it’ll rip open again, droplets of painful reminders seeping out. Nowadays, Dazai is there, taking hold of his hand, cleaning the wound as many times as needed. Soft, whispered words of reassurement. Caresses that leave a lasting feeling of warmth and…
Not that they’re here now. So Chuuya shakes himself out of it, continuing on his way to his fellow executive’s office.
The mafioso reaches the door, knocking three times. “Enter,” an elegant voice sounds.
Chuuya pushes the doors open, the soothing scent of tea rushing to greet him. Kouyou looks up from her work, completely draped in silks and opulence, a soft smile welcoming him in.
“It’s good to see you, Chuuya. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She inquires, gesturing for them to move towards her couches.
Another subordinate brings over a cup of tea, Chuuya gratefully taking it. “Thank you.”
For a moment, Chuuya simply relishes the ambiance with Kouyou beside him. It has always remained peaceful in this room as this environment is one his sister favors despite the violent work they do. He raises his gaze, determined to face this head on.
“Before you speak, lad, I must tell you. I am already aware as to what you’ve been up to,” her voice even, giving nothing away. She quietly sips her own tea, while Chuuya’s jaw drops.
Kouyou chides him, “Close your mouth, dear. That’s unbecoming.” He does so.
Gently, in an attempt to remain calm, Chuuya questions, “How…did you know?”
A light chuckle escapes her, “You are an open book, Chuuya. I’ve taught you the art of reading another person’s intentions, have I not?” Her focus remains completely on her protege.
Chuuya, on the other hand, itches to look away, but he couldn’t. He refuses to show weakness in front of his mentor, his sister. His lips pursed, he asks, almost afraid of the answer, “So what do you think of it?”
“You’re asking if I approve?”
Reluctantly, he nods. She notices, hiding a smile behind her sleeve.
Lowering her hand, “You know how I feel about Dazai. The way he left you…I remember it well.” A faraway look takes form as she recalls the four years of Dazai’s disappearance.
Kouyou returns to the present, her eyes settled on the tea cup in her grasp. “To this day…they call me their Ane-san, did you know that?”
Chuuya, who’d been silent for the several minutes it took her to return, chokes on the sip of tea he’d taken. He clears his throat, “No… No, I didn’t.”
And that…that solidifies something he previously thought was tenuous. He truly wanted to believe Dazai treasured their time together as much as Chuuya did. Now he knows for certain. That Dazai didn’t simply discard it, loathed it as much as they do the rest of their time in the mafia.
A smile, full of affection, slips through.
His mentor watches as he loses himself in his memories. She simply cannot find it within herself to damn this new development. Dazai has made their mistakes, yes. But perhaps… Perhaps he can atone for them.
How full of hope that thought is… Strange that it blooms within the darkest of people.
“Chuuya.”
He snaps back into the moment, heat rushing to his cheeks at his carelessness. “Yes, Ane-san?”
She places a hand on his shoulder. Truthfully, Kouyou has always been careful to keep distance between her and her proteges. And truthfully, she might have failed.
“I can’t disapprove of you two. You both had such difficult teenage years, difficult lives. You…both deserve even a sliver of light.” Chuuya’s eyes widen.
“So if you are each other’s hope, then so be it.” Removing her hand, she takes another sip of tea. “But I do hope you are being cautious.”
Her protege raises a brow, “What do you mean?”
“You will be each other’s weaknesses. Liabilities. You’ve realized this, haven’t you?” The look on her face tells him she’d be disappointed if he hadn’t.
Chuuya sighs, “We have, Ane-san. We’ve spoken about it.”
⇺⇻
Calloused fingers, free and ungloved, continuously thread through brunet locks. The other hand holding a book full of French poetry (because of course it is, that Slug). Dazai’s eyes are closed, blissfully enjoying the attention while they both lounge on his couch. They hadn’t realized they could crave such affection so much.
“Hey, Mackerel.” The voice that owns Dazai entirely, whether the owner knows it or not, softly sounds. Chuuya’s book left discarded beside him.
“Yes, Slug?” Dazai faintly murmurs, completely enveloped in the redhead’s attention.
“You’re not… We’re-” Chuuya tsks, annoyed with himself.
Dazai opens his eyes slowly, questioning the other silently. The mafioso looks down at them, “We’re on opposing sides now.”
The detective looks away, brown eyes focused on his chest. “Yes…technically, we are.”
“I don’t think I can bring myself to…” The hand in Dazai’s hair leaves, cold nothingness in its absence. Chuuya presses his palms into his eyes. Dazai rises from his lap, taking hold of both hands as they kneel before the redhead. Still, they cannot meet the other’s gaze.
“I don’t think I could either, Chuuya… In all honesty, we’re each a liability now.”
Chuuya chews in his lower lip, anxieties beginning to eat at him.
Will they leave again? Is…whatever we’ve created here over already?
Cold, bandaged hands cup his face, bringing him out of his head. “Even so, Slug…I’m horribly, cruelly selfish.”
A glimmer of hope fills the mafioso’s eyes, pupils expanding as they drink in the view of a delicate Dazai. One only he himself gets to witness.
“So the consequences be damned, I’m keeping you this time.” The detective brings their foreheads together, their breaths gently mingling. These words are ones Chuuya will repeat to himself when they’re separate from one another— the connected red line tied to one of their fingers for as long as it can withstand.
“Besides… You’re still my dog.” Chuuya pushes Dazai onto the couch, but before they fall, they grab a hold of his wrist, pulling him down. His chin digs into Dazai’s chest as it shakes with laughter. He rises a few inches, startled. Chuuya greedily drinks in the sound, only for it to become contagious.
They both end up laughing, terribly tangled together.
As it dies down, Chuuya tightens his hold on the other. “Yeah…I’m not letting you leave so easily either, Shitty Dazai.” Bandaged arms envelop him, almost crushing him in their desperation.
Dazai smiles, achingly fond, hidden from the other’s view.
⇺⇻
Chuuya sets his cup down, fully facing his sister. “We’ve accepted whatever will happen. Because…”
He hesitates, but Kouyou seems to understand. She always has, and she always will. Even before they were aware of it, it was all too obvious to her how they felt about one another.
Utter children, these two, she amusingly thinks to herself.