Chapter Text
At the core of it, Chuuya knew he was a fool.
He was in a business of darkness, but couldn’t stop giving out his heart, his trust, like it was candy. He knew important dates of his long-time subordinates, like their anniversaries and birthdays. He knew when Akutagawa was being a brat, some fancy tea that cost waaay too much would help him chill the fuck out (as long as it was not given in person, for some reason, he took that as a personal affront). He sent Gin some sort of antique weapon every birthday. Hirotsu liked trying new high-quality cigars. Tachihara liked going out for drinks.
He kept a couple cans of crab in the back of his pantry.
He was a sentimental fool.
The Sheep used him, and quite literally stabbed him in the back. The Flags died, killed for just being his friends. His friend group he formed in the aftermath of their deaths died too. The White Dragon killed them callously in his rampage. His own partner left without a word.
Death and abandonment followed him like a curse.
It was strange.
He was twenty-two, and the closest relationship he had was with Ane-san. After the Flags died, he couldn’t bring himself to get that close to others again. The friend group after knew him as Nakahara Chuuya the aspiring Port Mafia executive, the master of gravity, and partner of the Demon Prodigy,
And it always comes back to him, doesn’t it.
After that bastard left, it was as though he was nothing except a ghost. There were moments of lucidity, where he noticed Akutagawa was coughing more than usual, Mori had darker under eye bags, and Ane-san's lips were pursed until the skin around her lipstick was pale. It was as though he could break through the machine-like routine he had fallen into, and reach out through the haze to help those around him.
The truth of it all, Chuuya was a fool.
He hated Dazai. He pushed the Sheep to betray him (they would have eventually anyway), pushed him to join the Port Mafia (Mori would not have let the Sheep continue for much longer), and switched between violent closeness and apathetic disinterest enough to give him whiplash (Chuuya knew he wasn’t any better). Sometimes he would make him feel as though they were the only stars in a silent universe, and other times, he would treat him like a mangy, possibly-rabid dog with the intelligence of a leather shoe.
And Chuuya was ultimately a fool.
As much as he hated the hot and cold, he had four years of freezing, and was willing to burn up.
Teaming up with Dazai was a dizzying high, clicking with someone that was a little to the left and up from where he used to be, the reflection in a shattered mirror slightly shifted. Change wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, as much as he ached at not understanding the bastard the way he used to, he was secretly thrilled at the surprise. Chuuya knew he wasn’t unscathed from the four years of mafia life since that fucker left. He wondered if the other saw how their reflections were twisted.
Then the crashing fall when he woke up alone. Four years he woke up alone, but for some reason this time it was like something in him broke.
The blanket of otherness that followed him since Dazai’s biggest betrayal swallowed him like never before.
He went to work.
He did his work.
He came home.
Rinse and repeat.
He took care of his body without the joy that food or wine used to hold. His complicated skin and hair care routine became exhausting. Even when he noticed Akutagawa was injured, and Ane-san was quiet, and Mori was oddly gleeful, he couldn’t make himself do anything.
He was frozen.
Moving, but frozen.
He may be a fool, but he would rather be that than hurt. But at what point is hurt outweighed by the misery inaction brings.
Here he was, worried about ruining his life, when his life was already in ruins by his indifference. He was letting things he logically knew he cared about go to the wayside in favor of agonizing over a failed relationship.
Relationship? Partnership? Failed crush? Love never allowed?
No words fit, because as much as that bastard tried to pretend at that stupid agency, Dazai Osamu was not someone you should ever allow yourself to be vulnerable with. He took every scrap of information, and fashioned it into a blade, which he drenched in poisonous words. If he was feeling sadistic enough, he would twist every literal and metaphorical knife available. If he was feeling bored, he would grant you a quick, merciful teardown. He would leave you biting back embarrassment, anger, fear, and tears.
Chuuya may be a fool, but he was a street kid. His survival instincts may not keep him unharmed, but they kept him alive.
Surviving such close proximity to someone who hates himself with a passionate dispassion, and couldn’t care less if he lashed out at himself or those nearby, took effort. He had to dish out as much abuse as he got, but also try and protect his vulnerable underbelly even knowing the effort would be pointless.
Chuuya knew what he would need to do.
He was a fool.
He knew this would not end well.
————————
He took the night off. He thoroughly washed and prepared himself, made sure he looked normal (nice and put together, but nothing else), and drove to the Agency in one of his cars.
He didn’t want to have to worry about his bike while wrangling a certain fish.
Leaning against his car, watching the sunset warm the bricks of the building as swarms of people made their ways home, he savored a cigarette. Tonight was going to end in ruin either way. Dazai did not allow for much else, even victory tasted sour.
An acquired taste he wished he didn’t yearn for.
So focused on finding a messy head of brown hair, he missed the weretiger cautiously approach with nervousness pouring off him. Sweat shone on his brow, his breath stuttered, and his hands wrung together.
Chuuya didn’t bother putting out his cigarette, instead exhaling with a groan, “I should have expected him to be a coward.”
The guy swelled with indignation. His cheeks puffed. It was funny enough to pull a languid chuckle out of him. “Listen kid, tell the bastard to deal with his shit before I have to resort to painful measures. I don’t plan on hurting him if he isn’t an asshole.”
He took another drag. It wasn’t like he was lying either. All he wanted was closure, but he also knew that twig of a man fought like a rabid animal over anything, and he may have to rough him up to get through the conversation.
The weretiger didn’t look reassured, which… What else did he want from him? A promise of no violence? It’s not like he would lie.
“Dazai said you were here to kidnap him, and I thought he was exaggerating, but you think I would just let you take him?” The face probably was meant to be intimidating, but his boyish features just reminded him of false halcyon days on the street, where innocents tried fighting in fights not meant for them.
He had to take a minute and calm himself. The textbooks he read always emphasized breathing. He found it easier said than done, and he couldn’t calm down in every situation (Dazai). He took another drag.
“Kid. I wouldn’t want to keep him even if I could pin that slimy bastard down. I need to have a serious conversation with him, and he won’t like it, so I’m not going to promise he will be unscathed. He likes to try my patience on the best of days.” His cigarette was almost to the filter, so he dropped it. While crushing it under his boot, he noticed the weretiger wincing in disgust.
Good. Maybe he can avoid some vices.
“If Dazai-san isn’t back tomorrow, we’ll hunt you down to get him.”
Chuuya couldn’t help but snort. “Fine by me. Go tell the mackerel that I will be staying out here until he comes with me, whether it's hours or days.”
The kid’s eyes widened before he hurried off to the agency building.
It took fifteen minutes by his internal count. The bastard probably drew it out to annoy everyone, but also avoid what was coming. Chuuya was not sure he would know what the conversation entailed, but even small talk could be like pulling teeth with him.
Chuuya was a fool in all the ways that mattered.
Here he was. The one person he trusted to have his back. A soulmate in the way they both were not good souls, they were twisted and blackened in matching ways. Made for each other in all the most comforting and painful ways. He was about to ruin it all.
Dazai was whining, and Chuuya tuned it out. Watching the sunset catch frizzy brown curls and glowing a warm brown. Both of his dead mackerel eyes artificially lightened in his new Agency mask. His clothes were lighter, making his skin look less sallow. Bandages still clung to him like a second skin, but he didn’t have any visible or faked injuries.
He looked good.
He looked healthy.
Chuuya knew that he, himself, looked better than he did at eighteen, but he wondered if all the sleepless nights and drinking were as obvious as they were in the mirror. He knew Dazai experienced the same, but here he is in front of him looking healthier and happier than Chuuya ever saw outside of infiltrations.
Even if he was a human, he had to be a monster. Here was his partner, someone who he dragged to arcades to get him out of melancholy, fished out of bloody bathtubs, and made extra food to try and coax into eating. All he felt was bitter.
Mori claimed they were diamonds polishing each other.
Maybe they were two stones of a different hardness grinding each other into nothingness.
As much as Chuuya knew Dazai hurt him, maybe he was the ruby wearing down the amber. Corruption bleeding out a slow destruction.
“This is a mistake.”
He was leaning against the passenger side, ready to force the slippery fish in his car. He instead let the tension fall off his frame. Making his way to the driver’s seat he called out, “I hope you have a terrible night.”
He got in his car, and slammed the door. Blood was rushing through his ears.
This was a waste of time.
His arm felt like lead as he reached into his jacket for the car key. His body falling into that tired state it's been in for months. He didn’t even put the key into the ignition before the passenger car door popped open, startling him.
“Now why would chibi spend so much time bothering me only to deliver a pathetic curse like that?” The whine was palpable.
Normally he would explode. He would take the next step in their fucked little dance, but he wanted to devour Dazai, excise him like cancer, meld into him so they were one, never see him a again, and every other contradicting thought you could have about a person. He was tired.
“Wanna fuck?”