Work Text:
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just... Sightseeing. Yes. He’s just doing some sightseeing.
People steer clear of him, taking care not to brush by his long coat or even his coat’s sleeves. He looks menacing, probably. He looks like a damn foreigner celebrity, possibly. He looks powerful enough despite his short stature, most likely.
Even the station guards steer clear of him, possibly sensing the aura that he’s emitting - he’s NOT LOST and he can find his way, he swears.
He wanders around for a few more moments, the crowd of people swelling then thinning in random intervals. He ends up sitting by one of the waiting areas as the moon starts to rise up in the sky, cursing the fact that he left his phone and his wallet at his home.
And—
Fuck.
He curses another fact.
Dazai is a few meters away, skin looking pale, hunch indicating sickness and nearly transparent with his terribly common clothes.
He’s not lost and he has some time. He bites his lip, but he’s too busy in thought to feel that bite. Dazai’s an ex-partner, but it’s a weekend and it doesn’t hurt to greet the other, does it? It’s not like they can fight in the middle of a train station when there’s the temporary ceasefire between their groups.
“Dazai—”
But Dazai is a fucking asshole, because the other ignores him, turning his back towards him.
Fine!
Fine.
Chuuya fumes as he waits for his train, forgetting about that stupid jerk Dazai.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just... Enjoying his time here in the train station. His appointment isn’t until four hours from now and he’s just three stops away. He has plenty of time to spare.
He’s also not stalking that damn Dazai.
That damn Dazai who still wastes shittons of bandages, still with that stupid tan coat of his, still with that unpolished cheap ring on his finger, still with that uncombed mess of a hair.
Dazai doesn’t call out to him.
Chuuya doesn’t call out to him when they pass by each other in the train station.
And that’s fine, urgh, that stupid asshole thinks he’s so great that Chuuya will greet him first, hmpt.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just... Waiting for his associate’s message on his phone. Nevermind that he stupidly left his phone behind in his apartment again.
He’s still not stalking that damn Dazai, really.
Stupid Dazai’s hair still looks uncombed.
Gross.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just...
Okay, fine.
He’s curious about that damn Dazai, because he looks the same every time Chuuya sees him. The same unkempt hair, the same unwashed coat, the same cheap ring, the same leather shoes, the same sickly pallor.
So he punches Dazai in the face this time.
The other whirls at him, meeting his punch head-on, but missing - because he’s sick? - by an inch.
“Stupid, fucking Dazai.” He says without any real heat.
Dazai smiles at him, before hightailing it out of here.
Seriously, what the fuck?
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s.... Sort-of stalking Dazai.
Dazai always appears in the same spot with the same appearance, with the same reaction each time he punches the other in the face. It’s annoying and just so out of character.
But then Chuuya sees Dazai this time standing dangerously close to the danger zone, bare millimeters away from the incoming train.
And he suddenly understands.
Holy fucking shit.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
“SEARCH FOR DAZAI!” He bellows to his subordinates assembled in his house. “RIGHT FUCKING NOW.”
“Stop it, we get it, we get it—”
Chuuya doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t thwap his mouthy subordinate over the head. He yells his orders again though, just to be contrary.
He needs to find Dazai as soon as possible, that’s all.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
It’s been twelve months since he’s requested for the ‘Search for Dazai Osamu’ operation and there are still no leads.
Dazai keeps on appearing on certain times on the train station, always near the last car, always dangerously close to the trains, just a few millimeters from a messy suicide.
Holy fucking shit.
That bastard Dazai’s a stupid fucking prick.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
It’s been way too long.
Chuuya bristles every damn time there are some schoolgirls who talk way too loudly about ghosts in this train station - someone who apparently committed suicide by jumping on the railtracks - something about unrequited love.
He wants to shake their shoulders because Dazai is an idiot, but he isn’t that much of an idiot, is he?
Dazai’s just on some undercover mission that’s why he’s not present in every information network that he uses, but he still manages to piss Chuuya off by appearing in the train station like an asshole that he is.
The alternative is that Dazai fucking succeeded in committing suicide and leaving Chuuya behind without allowing Chuuya to clear things up between them, the selfish bastard.
It’s not an alternative that Chuuya is willing to accept.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He definitely isn’t crying in joy or something, because Dazai finally returned the punch successfully.
“Right about fucking time, Dazai.”
“...Right. How are you, Chuuya?”
Chuuya blinks, but he’s definitely not happy nor is he smiling that Dazai’s interested in his life now, after so long.
He isn’t.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
It’s been weeks since he started rekindling communication with Dazai, with the same unkempt hair, the same unwashed coat, the same cheap ring, the same leather shoes, the same sickly pallor.
“What the fuck did you say, asshole?”
“Don’t you think it’s time to move on from Dazai?”
“Move on from—”
“You’ve been haunting this place for years.”
“Damn jackass, I’m not scared of ghosts—”
“—and to be honest, I’m not getting paid enough for this exorcism. It’d be better for both of us if you just... Move on.”
“I don’t want to see you ever again.” Chuuya hates himself for thinking that Dazai has changed back to the Dazai he knew from long ago, the one who listened to him and didn’t care about anything else. “Get lost, asshole.”
Chuuya hates himself so much.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just... Sightseeing. Yes. He’s just doing some sightseeing.
People steer clear of him, taking care not to brush by his long coat or even his coat’s sleeves. He looks menacing, probably. He looks like a damn foreigner celebrity, possibly. He looks powerful enough despite his short stature, most likely.
Even the station guards steer clear of him, possibly sensing the aura that he’s emitting - he’s NOT LOST and he can find his way, thank you very much.
He wanders around for a few more moments, the crowd of people swelling then thinning in random intervals. He ends up sitting by one of the waiting areas as the moon starts to rise up in the sky, cursing the fact that he left his phone and his wallet at his home.
And—
Fuck.
He curses another fact.
Dazai is a few meters away, skin looking pale, hunch indicating sickness and nearly transparent with his terribly common clothes.
He’s not lost and he has some time. He bites his lip, but he’s too busy in thought to feel that bite. Dazai’s an ex-partner, but it’s a Friday and it doesn’t hurt to greet the other, does it? It’s not like they can fight in the middle of a train station when there’s the temporary ceasefire between their groups.
“Dazai—”
But Dazai is a fucking asshole, because the other ignores him, turning his back towards him.
Fine!
Fine.
Chuuya fumes as he waits for his train, forgetting about that stupid jerk Dazai.
• • •
Nakahara Chuuya, 22 years old, Port Mafia Executive, is not lost.
He definitely isn’t.
He’s just... Enjoying his time here in the train station. His appointment isn’t until six hours from now and he’s just four stops away. He has plenty of time to spare.
He’s also not stalking that damn Dazai.
That damn Dazai who still wastes shittons of bandages, still with that stupid red coat of his, still with that shiny gold ring on his finger, still with that slicked back, gelled-up hair of his.
Dazai doesn’t call out to him.
Chuuya doesn’t call out to him when they pass by each other in the train station.
And that’s fine, urgh, that stupid asshole thinks he’s so great that Chuuya will greet him first, hmpt.
And that’s fine, because he has all the time in the world for Dazai to notice him.