Archive of Our Own

5 times Kunichuu could date and 1 time they couldnt.

1. 17

Kunikida Doppo— High School student, seventeen years old— tore a page out of his signature green notebook a week after writing it. It was something unforeseen, something unnatural that probably never should have happened. Kunikida sighed, wearily tracing the uneven remnants of his hasty decision. He usually followed his ideals to a T, one of which being not to second guess himself after putting so much time and effort into something, such as his meticulous lists. Second guessing led to overthinking. Overthinking led to insecurity. Insecurity led to paranoia. Second guessing had began with ripping the page out of his notebook, and he was on to overthinking.

He strolled down a path by the pier, the salty sea air tickling his nose. Kunikida found that it cleared his head. He sighed— deeper this time— and gripped the strap of his bag that was slung over his shoulder. His other hand tightened on the balled up piece of paper in his pocket.

He'd been favouring the long way home as of late. It was totally unideal, with the longer journey taking up time he could've used studying, and not to mention the danger of it all too. But Kunikida— unwisely— decided that it didn't matter, because someone had caught his eye, and they liked to hang out by the port.

Kunikida pushed his glasses back up his nose. He could hear their yelling from a mile away. It was only barely audible shouts and disputes, but it was definitely them.

He kept his head down, just in case they were closer than he thought. It only took a minute of walking like that before Kunikida felt an uncomfortable shiver go up his spine and he stood up straight. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and carefully smoothed out the balled up piece of paper that came with it. The title of the page read, in Kunikida's neat script— The Ideal Woman. A list that he had been pouring over since he was fifteen— the ideal age to become open to the idea of dating. He had yet to share the list with anyone but himself for the simple reason that he knew that people wouldn't understand. They'd call him weird, picky, even.

His parents weren't around enough to understand the concept of having a son, and his friends tended to err on the side of acquaintances. And with no siblings to speak of, there was no one close enough to see past Kunikida's carefully crafted exterior to take in all his greatest hopes and desires for the one life he had. He'd realised that he didn't want to let anyone in.

He flinched at a sudden scraping of metal against concrete, his hand flying to his ear.

He'd finally reached the port, specifically the part where the oil shipments came in. It was in mafia territory, but less so than other places. But still, people tended to steer clear of the port altogether. Most of the time, the only other soul Kunikida saw on his walks home was…

"Will ya quit it already? I'm so sick of comin' to save yer ass whenever you decide to act up!"

Them. Tipping over an open oil drum, the sun glinting off their hair that was as firey as their soul, in the well-worn suit that they were never seen without. Presentable, yet casual. Passionate, yet composed. A perfect balance. No other human being had caught Kunikida's eye like this one right here.

He'd realised that he wouldn't mind letting this person in.

It was too bad that he'd never be able to.

Kunikida looked on as they slammed their foot into the oil drum with a reverberating thrum. Out spilled their other half— the lanky brunnet who laid in a pool of bandages and thick black residue. He could never pursue a romantic relationship with his redhead if they were involved with the brunet. Seeking a relationship with a taken person went against all he stood for.

Besides, even if there was no relationship between the two, there was absolutely no way that someone that stunning would ever give Kunikida a chance. They were free— with their words, their movements, with how much space they took in a room— and unchained. Their shoulders moved freely, light, without a burden, without a care! There was no chance that they would give that freedom up to be with a guy like Kunikida, who lived by his ideals, lived by rules set out by himself to live what he thought was his best life and beat himself up after he strayed too far from his truth.

Kunikida wished he were them. Free. Everything Kunikida thought he wanted in a massive part of his life was wrong. What else could he have been wrong about?

He took his list in both of his hands and stared at it.

1. She must be a woman.

2. We must be close in height.

3. She should have brown hair.

4. She must stick to a rigid routine.

Routine.

Kunikida was sick of routine.

Did it make it happy? How could Kunikida even measure happiness? He hadn't properly smiled since… God, he can't even remember.

In any case, it didn't really give him what he wanted, did it?

Not when what Kunikida wanted was a person a head shorer than him with hair that rivalled sunrise who was oh so free. This was a crisis he never thought he'd have to face.

He should say something to them. He should approach them. He should tell them how he feels.

…

What should he say?

He looks up from the paper, hoping that a mere glimpse at his… crush… would fill him with the inspiration he needed to conjure up what he needed to say.

He glances upwards and immediately makes eye contact with their brunet friend.

Shit.

And they are busy with wringing watered-down oil out of his fringe. Great.

The friend shoved them off of him, and cleared his throat.

"Well, look at that, Chuu-ya!" He sung, louder than needed. "I spy with my little eye a blondie you've been meaning to see!"

Kunikida's redhead— Chuuya— furrowed his brow. Kunikida peered around him, searching for some oher blond. The friend was still looking at him.

"Are ya seriously fuckin' with me right now? Stop bringin' the guy I like up to draw away from the fact ya keep tryin' to kill yourself!!"

Kunikida felt his soul evaporate and escape through his gaping mouth.

"Didn't you tell me just the other day that you hang out here so much just to catch a glimpse of him on his walk home?"

Chuuya tilted their head, tapping their friends' forehead. "That makes it sound real creepy. I'm never bein' vulnerable with you again."

"What if he walked this way just to get a glimpse of you?"

Chuuya wrinkled their nose. "Why're ya being so blunt an' weird? This is so out of character for you!"

The friend sighed, his face fell. "Why're you so oblivious? This is the one time that I try to help Chuuya in their personal life and they make like a dog and tilt their head without a single clue as to what's happening!"

Chuuya opens their mouth—

"Will you just get a grip, Chuuya?"

Kunikida really shouldn't have been there. He started to march onwards, only to scuff his shoes on the footpath.

Chuuya perked up and slowly but surely turned his head in Kunikida's direction. Their hands were limp by their sides, fingers twitching. They looked absolutely dumbstruck.

Kunikida swore that the light danced in their eyes, taunting him. His lip quivered and he cursed himself for it.

They stood, for what felt like years, still and staring at each other in silence.

Kunikida cleared his throat. "Hi." He squeaked. He clapped a hand over his mouth. What on earth was that.

Chuuya looked between their friend and Kunikida, their friend and Kunikida, their friend and Kunikida— then they stood up. Their fingers twitched at their sides. Their entire body had perked up within seconds, nose tilted upwards— much like a curious dog who'd caught sight of something that inerested them. Kunikida found it quite endearing.

Chuuya's friend muttered something that he didn't quite catch— though it seemed almost like the end was a snarky 'so you'll get off my back'— but Kunikida didn't dwell on that for longer than one fourth of a second, because—

Because Chuuya was moving, running, sprinting right at him, vaulting over an oil drum that stood between them— Kunikida also found that quite endearing— and he blinked and they'd flung themself right at him!

Kunikida stumbled back a few steps, both due to shock and the fact that his crush crashed into his arms! Out of instinct, Kunikida wrapped his arms tight around Chuuya's middle as he took a moment to steady them both.

"Are you alright?" He asked, managing to keep himself together, which was a miracle. He could hardly hear himself think over the heartbeat in his ears. "I— I must apologise for grabbing you like this, Chuuya— ah, you've never met me before, so you must be wondering how I know your name. You see, I was—"

"Go out with me."

Kunikida's rambling came to an abrupt stop. He opened his mouth, then he closed it. His eyes stretched wide open. "Pardon?"

Chuuya's hands, which were free from Kunikida's ongoing grasp, shoot up to sit on his shoulders. "Go. Out. With. Me. I've seen ya 'round here a bunch, and I've been gawkin' like a real creep. It's— let me take you out. To make it up to ya."

Despite Chuuya's blunt, almost uncaring proposal, the teen's face flushed a dark red as they were unable to meet Kunikida's gaze.

Out of everything, Kunikida reckoned that that was the most endearing thing he'd observed that day.

His grip tightened around Chuuya, and the crunch of paper could be heard from the scrap of paper he was uncomfortably holding, bunched up in his palm. He turned the list over in his head, each rotation etching a new papercut into his brain.

1. Not a woman.

2. Far shorter than me.

3. Ginger.

4. Chuuya was wild and free.

Could Kunikida possibly find a way in which he could twist his ideals that would allow this relationship to happen guilt free? A way in which Kunikida could enjoy being with Chuuya without the sting of abandoning the only thing to give him structure? He supposed that the "should" in Ideal 3 gave some wiggle room, but— no mater how bizzare it sounded— he never pictured himself with someone other than a 5'9 brunette, who met most, if not all, of his ideals. Was there any way on earth that Chuuya could live up to the Ideal?

Chuuya's own grip tightened on Kunikida's shoulders.

"If yer gonna say no, get to it already so I can get home." They took in a deep breath. "WIll ya go out with me or not?"

Kunikida continued to stare— just for a second— before he pulled Chuuya into a proper embrace.

He smiled— for the first time in forever— into their hair. His hands relaxed, and the list fluttered out of his hand and, consequentially, his head. With his hands unchained, he rubbed Chuuya's back as they jolted in shock. Embarrassed, Kunikida pulled back until they were both settled with each other's hands on their shoulders.

"…Yes." Kunikida concluded. "I will go out with you."

Chuuya's face broke out into a shit eating grin as something playful glinted in their eyes. "Fan-fucking-tastic." Their hands slid from Kunikida's shoulders, down his arms— which they tugged off their shoulders so they could take his hands. "Now lets' go for a walk, huh? Get t'know each other a lil'."

Kunikida's smile grew wider. "Why not." He replied, as Chuuya let go of one hand and dragged him off with the other.

…

Maybe Chuuya couldn't fulfill most of his Ideals, maybe not even five. But they fit Ideal 39—

39. She They should be straight forward and know what they want.

—And that was fine with Kunikida.

Sure, it was sudden, but Kunikida could power through the guilt and shame, as long as he could finally have what he wanted.

2. 18

"I just don't understand why you're being so secretive, Chuuya!"

Chuuya rolled their eyes as their boyfriend of one year— and exactly a year— was throwing a fit over absolutely nothing. Sure, they were keeping him in the dark regarding everything to do with his work, but could you blame them? They were neck deep in work in the aftermath of everything Dazai decided to fuck up after it just… up and fucking left!

"Jesus fucking Christ, Doppo!" Chuuya groaned. "I'm tryin'ta do somethin' nice for ya and you throw a hissy fit to thank me?!" They cast their arms out to gesture to the candlelit dinner they prepared for him.

Doppo grumbled, slightly slouching in his seat opposite from them. They'd usually find it endearing, this out of character act, but it just pissed them off to no end.

Admittedly, they got together in a rush of dreams and hormones in a teenage flight of fancy. They'd been fine, for a while, hanging out at the run-down arcade by the port most days and hurrying back to Chuuya's place on others. They were a mess of bruised mouths, closed doors and ignorance. It was just what Chuuya needed, to be close to someone, to have a warm body to lay next to at night. Doppo was handsome, clumsy and inexperienced— something that only drew Chuuya closer after they initially got into their relationship. But Doppo wanted more. Doppo wanted connection. Doppo wanted things that Chuuya couldn't give him.

"Do not accuse me of pitching something so childish like a 'hissy fit'. Besides, even if I was, it would be quite appropriate, seeing as this hardly qualifies as an anniversary dinner!"

Chuuya scoffed, slamming their hands onto the table and pushing themself backwards. "God, can't you ever let me catch a break?!"

Their relationship had been strained as of late, with Chuuya being abroad for two weeks and Doppo being stressed the fuck out with his part time job. Why did he even get a part time job...? Chuuya couldn't quite recall… something about his parents not paying for something or other… Chuuya didn't have a clue.

Doppo's eyes widened as he sat up straight. "Me, let you catch a break? For goodness sake, Chuuya! Do you ever listen to me?"

Chuuya shrugged. "'course I do. Remember last month, when we were—"

Doppo's knees slammed into the table, the dishes clashing together as he stood up in a hurry. "Chuuya." He seethed, his face taking on a red flush. "In the bedroom doesn't count. I told you, before you left for your trip, that I'd take you out to dinner tonight! And instead, you come home with takeaway in hand and just tell me to sit down!"

Chuuya shot to his feet, too. "It's the thought that counts, isn't it?!"

Doppo's hands delved into his hair. "I— yes— but this is— this isn't ideal, Chuuya!"

"Fuck those shitty Ideals of yours!" Chuuya spat.

Their hands slid backwards to grip the edge of the table, a futile attempt of quelling their shake. "It's always Ideals with you! What's Ideal and what's not, you follow that book like it's the word of God and you're His prophet!"

"My Ideals dictate how I live, how I breathe, how I love—"

"Can you not articulate your thoughts by yourself? Or do you need that notebook to show you a step-by-step process for you to follow?!"

"You're deflecting!"

"From what?!"

"Whatever's wrong with you."

"I'm tired an' my boyfriend's naggin' at me at a rushed dinner, I dunno wha—"

"There's someone else, isn't there?"

The table splintered under Chuuya's grip. "Ex-fucking-scuse me?"

Did Doppo really think that low of him? That he'd cheat on him? Chuuya wasn't a lot of things— not quiet, not even-tempered, not perfect— but he was loyal. Doppo couldn't bear to see his own flaws so he chose to instead channel all of his focus into fixating on every miniscule mistake Chuuya had ever made rather than take a look at himself and consider all of his wrongdoings. He'd rather blame Chuuya for their failing relationship than acknowledge the role that he himself played. If they could, Chuuya would help him crack open his ribcage and spill his guts, his heart, his entire fucking being out onto the kitchen table, and they would make him scrutinise every last inch of himself until he found what was wrong with him, at his very core.

But with the stubborn prick Doppo was, that'd never ever be a possibility. Metaphorically, that is. The literal interpretation was still on the table.

While Chuuya was busy with the flashes of violence that appeared in his field of vision with every blink, Doppo took their silence as confirmation.

"Oh. Oh. I— I see." His hands tumbled down from his hair. He turned around, his arms wrapping around himself.

Chuuya gritted their teeth. "Doppo, babe, don't tell me ya think so lowly of me! There's no one I'd rather be with other than you." They moved around the barren kitchen table to stand facing their boyfriend.

Doppo doesn't meet their eyes.

"I know we're going through a difficult time right now, hun. I've been away for work for de'past few weeks, and even when I'm home I've got work late an' we don't get to talk." Chuuya stepped forward to put their hand on Doppo's.

Doppo brushed them off.

Something in Chuuya's chest seized.

They continued, despite the ache. "I know it's been stressful. With my work, and you being…"

With you being you…

"…and you being… dealing with college… but we can get through it. We can talk—"

"Since when do you want to talk about things?"

Chuuya pursed their lips. "Doppo—"

Doppo looked down on them— like, properly fucking looked down on Chuuya— his head tilted up and betrayal in his eyes. "We never talk. I give you my heart on a platter and you drop hints about this and that— work and work, really. There's not much of a difference between the two— and give me nothing real and expect me to sit here at home, waiting for you. In this ginormous apartment, which I have no idea how you can afford—"

Chuuya scoffed. "Ya give me yer heart on a platter? Not fucking all of it. A chunk of yer heart will always be locked away in that notebook of yours, protected, shielded from my dirty hands! My unideal hands!"

"Chuuya, don't. All I want is for you to be honest with me."

"You preach about honesty but you don't tell me why you stare at me with disgust brimming in your eyes after we fuck!"

Doppo's face flushed a scarlet red, despite the situation. "Don't derail our conversation! Just— just be honest with me about one thing. What on earth do you do for work?"

Chuuya paused. He blinked. "I can't fucking tell you. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?!"

"Nothin' I can't handle! 'M just stressed 'cause my partner fuckin' up n' left me scrambling to—"

"Your partner?!"

"Doppo. For fucks sake, why're you so insecure?"

"Why are you so secretive?"

Chuuya crossed their arms, nails digging into the flesh of their biceps. They breathe in… and then they breathe out… "Doppo. Do you even want to be with me?"

Doppo hesitated.

He fucking hesitated.

"I— I need to— my— Chuuya—"

Chuuya's face slackened.

Doppo scrambled for the notebook he kept at his hip. "I need— we're fighting. This isn't Ideal—"

He fiddled with the band keeping it closed. His sweat-slicked fingers slid all over the cover.

Chuuya's fingers ceased their digging. "Doppo."

"This isn't Ideal, this isn't Ideal—"

"Doppo."

"This is not Ideal… not Ideal not Ideal—"

"Dop—" Chuuya paused. They blinked. Shit. They realised now, why they couldn't work— They cleared their throat. "Doppo."

The guy continued flicking through his notebook like a person that had drank thirty cups of coffee.

Chuuya tapped their foot on the floor.

One… two… three…

One, two, three

onetwothree

"Put the fucking notebook down!!!' They yelled, startling Doppo out of his stupor. They exhaled a shaky laugh. They laughed and laughed and laughed until their shake of their shoulders masked the shake of their feet.

"You're right! You're so fucking right! This is not ideal at all!"

"Chuuya—"

"D'you know why, Kunikida? Hm?"

"I—" Kunikida reached for Chuuya. They swatted him away.

"It's 'cause you're the most cowardly man alive, and I'm not a girl."

Kunikida's breath visibly caught in his throat. "Chuuya, I tore that list of Ideals out the second I met you."

Chuuya wanted to vomit.

"You can take the ideals out of the notebook, but not the ideals out of the man." They croaked.

"Chuuya, please—"

"No matter what ye think, they'll always be a part of ya. Always have a piece of your heart chained to 'em—"

"Chuuya, I love you!" He cried.

Chuuya could recognise a lie when they heard one.

Chuuya's voice fell to a whisper."—and I don't fit. I can never be what ya want me t'be, Doppo."

They cleared their throat. Steadied their voice.

"So you've got a choice. If ya love me, you'll throw that fuckin' notebook away, right here, right now, or break up. If not, we'll just break up."

Kunikida stared at them, dumbfounded. Chuuya had a bad feeling. They knew how this was going to go, how this was going to end up. They always knew how they'd end up being.

He stood there. Just fuckin' stood there. Mouth opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

If they knew Doppo wanted what they couldn't give them, why did this hurt?

If they knew, in the back of their mind, that they weren't ideal together, why did this hurt?

If they never wanted, needed, connection, why did this hurt?

If they always knew how they'd end up…

Why did this hurt?

"I ne—ed t'—"their voice cracked. "I need you t' say it. 'Chuuya, I want to break up with you.' That's all I need."

It's worse when you beat around the bush. It hurts more, and I don't know why.

Kunikida's mouth was clamped shut. He glanced at his partner— his Chuuya— before he stared at his notebook— his way of life.

And that was all Chuuya needed to stop and steel themself, to school their face into a blank expression and straighten their buckling knees.

Why did this hurt?

"That's all I need. Thanks for bein' so-fucking-cooperative."

They raise their right arm and point right at the hallway that led to the end of their relationship.

"Get out of my fucking house."

And he does. He grabs his overnight bag, his shoes, his notebo—

…

he grabs one last gut-twistingly meaningful—

…

he grabs one last look at Chuuya before he leaves.

And Chuuya grabs a bottle of Petrus 1889 and drinks until they heave.

3. 19

The next time Kunikida and Chuuya see each other isn't for another six months. During that time, Kunikida had turned nineteen and he was three months into his second year of college, dealing with everything becoming a little more dull.

He yearned to be seventeen again, in highschool with Katai, in rigid, scheduled classes, in a whirlwind teenage romance—

Kunikida sighed, gently taking his glasses off and wiping the lenses with the designated cloth.

He needed to stop thinking such nonsense. Katai was hardly ever in attendance, classes were nothing but places where standardised ideals and ideologies were forced upon students, and don't get him started on romance—

He placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The delicate silver chains that linked frame to temple brushed against the lobe of Kunikida's ear. The lack of a soft clink accentuated the absence of the piercings he'd gotten with—

…

The absence of the piercings he'd gotten on a whim. All that was left of them were three closed-up holes on either ear.

…

He didn't know why he missed being seventeen. Perhaps it was the freedom that came with youth.

He lifted his fountain pen from his halfway-completed flashcards. He shook his head.

No, he was only nineteen. He hadn't even lived for two decades yet. But sometimes, in the witching hours, he felt as if the weight of everything that his life could have been was sitting on his shoulders, leisurely, contentedly. A late-night reminder as constant as the sting of a papercut. It was overwhelmingly miniscule. It was distracting Kunikida from things that actually mattered; sleep, studying during yet another all nighter and the like.

Kunikida leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his hands to cradle his face. God, he was so fucking tired. He rubbed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at the "Psychology of Education" for one moment longer. It was easy, in theory, but of course, everything in that module was purely theoretical.

1. Imagine some random concept of a student.

2. Give them a problem.

3. Come up with a way to help them with it.

4. Ensure you act in an appropriate, professional manner as you resolve the issue. Make sure to review it with your superior.

How the fuck do you study that? That list looks like a guide to writing a mediocre fanfiction! It made no sense! …though that may be because Kunikida had been zoning out rather than studying.

His habit of overthinking had since become underthinking.

He needed a distraction from being distracted from studying. He needed to partake in what had recently become a night-time ritual.

He abandoned his flashcards as he stood from his second-hand desk and pushed his chair in. He left his office, entering the sitting room, and grabbed the too-small red jumper from it's home draped over his couch. He tugged his scraggly ponytail out from between his back and the worn fabric as he tugged on his shoes in the genkan. He made sure to arm the alarm— which was essential, considering the area in which he lived. He pat down his jeans to check for his wallet— and with that, he was gone.

No coat, no scarf to keep him warm, just a tight red jumper knitted from emotions and smelled like memories. An item of clothing that remained out in the open, easily in reach. Worn on the days he couldn't bare to look at a single Ideal, and washed the day after. Washed, in order to rid it of the salty tears reminiscent of the sea by the Port, replaced by the scent of a sterile detergent. After two years with their jumper in his ownership, you'd think that any trace of them that could be detected by smell would be gone. Washed away.

Strolling out of his rough neighbourhood and on track for the local liquor shop, Kunikida brought the collar of the jumper to his nose.

Perhaps he was imagining it, but he could swear that the smell of musky cigarette smoke still lingered. It smelled of smoke, tickclover and vanilla. It smelled dangerous, foreign and warm.

It smelled like—

"Chuuya?" Kunikida breathed, questioning as to whether he was really seeing what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes.

Chuuya was still slumped in a heap in front of him.

They stared up at him, and their head lolled to the side. They gazed at him inquisitively, longingly. Their eyes raked up and down his body, and they looked at him, but as if they didn't quite believe that he was there.

Kunikida can't stop himself from blushing before he squats down next to Chuuya. They were obviously drunk— plonked down on the ground, red in the face and they were swaying left and right. The way they shamelessly gazed into Kunikida's eyes was another indication. The Chuuya of today would never look so lovestruck if they were sober.

"Chuuya." He repeated, sitting down on the filthy ground next to them. Maybe getting closer to them would be a more efficient method to grab their attention. "What are you doing here? You always expressed your distaste for places that sold cheap liquor."

No response.

Kunikida frowned. He'd seen Chuuya drunk many a times during the time they were dating, but they were never like this. They were usually loud, boisterous and… eager. They were never absent. Emotionally, they were, but not like this.

He'd worry about whether or not they were feverish, if not for the fact they grasped an empty bottle of wine in either hand. ….but alcohol poisioning was still a concern.

Kunikida brought the back of his hand to Chuuya's forehead, hesitating just before they made contact. Chuuya's mouth contracted into a pout before they leeeeeeeannnnnnedddd their face into it…

And yelped as soon as they touched!!

They flew to their feet with For the Tainted Sorrow and gaped at Kunikida like he was some eldritch horror. Their swaying only intensifies without the support of a wall behind them.

"Y—you!" They slurred, pointing a bottle at him. "What're— what 're yew doin'ere?!" They glared with a sneer.

Kunikida scrambled to his feet. "I was passing by and saw you collapsed on the floor! I was simply checking up on you."

Chuuya stuck their tongue out at him. "W—ell I don' nee' yer help, Doppo." They spat. "You never stop bein' a fuckin' nag, doya? Can'even escape ya after we break up! Hah!"

Kunikida wrinkled his nose, his heart constricting. "You're right. We're not together at present, this is a different time. I don't have to take this anymore." He tugged at his vest collar, straightening himself up with a sniff. "I'll be off. Have a good life."

He stepped to the side, and Chuuya matched his movement with a newfound panic. The empty bottles tumble to the floor with a smash. Chuuya's newly free hands find themselves tangled in Kunikida's shirt.

"Don' go!!" They cried, yanking Kunikida closer.

Kunikida choked on a lump in his throat.

"Don't leave again! 'm sorry, for everything! Ye wer r—ight, honestly! I shouldn've questioned ye! I should've been be—er!"

"Chuuya, you're not thinking straight."

His stomach did a happy little flip anyway.

Chuuya scoffed. "'Straight'. Fuck that. Be with me. Can't ya cast as—ide one Ideal? For me? I'll try m'best ev'rywhere else."

Kunikida frowned, pushing them away. "You're drunk. Go home, Chuuya."

Chuuya squinted at him. "Can't."

Kunikida raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You've got ink all ove'yer face. Ye look stupid as fuck."

Kunikida brought a hand to his cheek and Chuuya pointed at their own under-eye. Kunikida mirrored their touch and his hand came away bearing blotches of black ink. He internally scolded himself before he got back to the matter at hand.

"Why can't you go home, love?"

"Forgot m'keys." They batted their eyelashes at him. "Stay over at yers?"

Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose, his palm covering his smile. He weighed the pros and cons in his head. On one hand… Chuuya was fun, they were exciting, they were warm. On the other…

He already knew the hefty list of cons. He'd internalised them, often, lounging in his apartment as he guzzled cheap beer. He'd repeated them, much like a mantra, until they were etched into his heart. Though Chuuya's utterly dishevelled appearance had the same effect on him as a sheet of sandpaper had on shallowly carved graffiti— taking all unneeded blemishes out of one's eye. He made sure to be rid of his sappy grin before he slung a supportive arm over Chuuyas' shoulder. "Just for the night."

Chuuya downright giggled, clinging to Kunikida and nuzzling into his arm. "Sleep in yer bed?"

Kunikida sighed. "Fine. Just for the night."

Chuuya smiled a sappy smile before it suddenly turned into a pout. "Sorry, Doppo."

Kunikida smiled. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." He held them close as the pair turned back the way Kunikida came, their hearts full of hope. This is what Kunikida so dearly missed about being seventeen.

Chuuya.

Maybe their relationship could work out after all.

Ideal 24: Owns up to their mistakes.

4. 20

Chuuya was a sentimental person by nature. They had so little of a past, so it was to be expected that they'd hold the memories close to their chest and recall every last second of it. It was done with conscious intent day in and day out; out of the fear of losing every last thing they'd ever known. Thirteen years of memories weren't a lot, especially when you're twenty fucking years old.

They'd heard that dreams were meant to help with your memory, by sorting through and processing all the goings-ons of any given day. Chuuya didn't do dreams, and if they did, they didn't remember anything. In fact, they don't remember sleeping at all. The only indication that they'd ever fallen asleep in the first place was— of course— the passage of time and the way in which they'd jolt awake in a cold sweat.

Chuuya's memories seemed to blend together, as their days were mostly the same. Afraid of losing years of their life to dull repetition, they went through their entire day— down to the most miniscule of details— as they laid splayed out on their king-size bed, staring at the ceiling. It was agonising on the worst of days, and mildly entertaining on the best of days.

It was a habit they'd picked up in the Sheep, at Yuan's prompting. She had some trouble remembering as well.

'It's like…' She begins, as she draws something in the dirt. 'Helpful. Stops me from overthinking, so I can focus on my friends! It also helps me make decisions, like, thinking things over every night.' She gives her three doodled circles arms and legs. 'Shirase thinks it's stupid and a waste of time.' Yuan looks at them with a smile. 'But I think it helps a bunch!'

It should be noted that Yuan's words should be taken with a pinch of salt, as within the next two minutes the conversation included discussions of salty crisps, bunnies, and whether Chuuya was a boy or a girl, to which they responded with a shrug.

But, ultimately, her advice was helpful— there was a reason why they remembered their conversation to that very day. Chuuya used it from ages seven to seventeen, then again from eighteen to twenty, the present.

Chuuya's topic of reflection was education. Would they have been better off if they had received an education? They remembered being in the Sheep, turning their nose up at the city kids who talked about history and maths and unfinished homework as they walked home from school. 'We're better than them'. They thought. 'We're free'. They thought. That way of thinking stuck with them until they met the most educated person they knew to date— Doppo Kunikida.

Though… Chuuya was rather functional without an education. They could go about a month without having a breakdown. Doppo Kunikida— the most educated person they knew— was caught on Chuuya's security camera at least once a week, hovering around Chuuya's penthouse door once every two weeks.

Chuuya's reflection was interruppted by Kunikida's pacing that lulled them into a trance. Chuuya could predict his every move.

"Right, left, forward, aaaaaannnnnd hold fist over the door… one two three…. right, left, forward, and— oh?!" They jolt upwards— fully awake, for once— as Doppo's head slams against Chuuya's front door.

Again, again, again, AGAIN— a nauseating rhythm that stirred something in Chuuya's gut. Something within them roused at the sight, and told them to go and— hmm, it was either intervene or get involved.

Well, both of the two options would a hundred percent lead to Chuuya going and confronting the guy— so they wasted no time on weighing the pros and cons. The bed creaked beneath them as they shoved themself off and their feet landed on the floor. Pulling on tracksuit bottoms and buttoning up the too-large black shirt that draped over them, Chuuya sluggishly strolled down the hall to their front door.

The pounding continued as they heaved a yawn—- bang— bang—bang— and padded into the genkan. Chuuya twisted the key in the lock, undid the deadbolt, tugged down the handle and let it swiiiiiinnnnng right open.

The door hit the wall with a rattle and it followed with Doppo falling right onto the floor with a thud.

Or rather, almost falling onto the floor.

Doppo's nose hovered two centimetres above the floor, engulfed in a crimson red hue. He stayed there— eyes squeezed shut— before Chuuya rolled their eyes and let him slip out of the grasp of their ability.

He made contact with the floor, silently, unmoving.

Chuuya nudged him with their foot. "You come 'ere often?"

Doppo tilted his head to the side with a hiccup. "Only on the weekends."

Chuuya's scornful look faltered. Doppo sounded drunk, and that wasn't like him. In fact, if Chuuya didn't know better, they'd say that this man was Doppo's mysterious twin brother, or (perhaps) a skin walker. Chuuya did know better, however, and this was a hundred percent their Doppo Kunikida.

The genuine Doppo had his legs pushed out of the way, bent to the side, as Chuuya shut the door. The lanky limbs flopped right back as soon as it was closed. Chuuya wrinkled their nose as the squatted down next to Doppo.

"Jesus Christ. You smell like shit." Like cheap beer.

Doppo burrowed his face into the carpet with a groan.

Chuuya shook their head— affectionately? In disappointment? In annoyance?— and sighed. "C'mon, let's get you sobered up."

After ten minutes of struggling and snippy comments as they got Doppo to have a shower and get into clean clothes, the pair found themselves in Chuuya's kitchen, lights switched on at the dimmest setting.
A steaming mug of tea clinked onto the wooden table and slid its way into Doppo's fidgety hands. He grabbed it with the slightest of nods and latched onto it like it was a lifeline and stared into it like it was a distraction. Chuuya hadn't realised that the blue and green pattern was that interesting.
The fridge rattled shut as they returned the milk back to its rightful place.

An awkward silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

…

…

…

"I hope earl grey's okay with ya. 't's all I've got at the moment."

Doppo hummed, tracing a lonely finger around the mug's rim.

Chuuya sat opposite their boyf— their ex-boy— their guest with a cup of their own in front of them.

"Don't ya have guidelines on how'to have the ideal conversation?"

Doppo flinched, as if he was burnt.

"Ple—ase.." He croaked before clearing his throat. "Please don't bring them up right now."

Chuuya frowned, crossing their arms and leaning on the table. "Why the hell not?"

Doppo pushed his glasses up as he rubbed his eyes. Silently.
Chuuya sighed, taking a sip of their tea. They winced, sticking out their tongue. Too hot.

"Oh-kay…" They hummed, swirling their tea around in their mug. "Then… how's College?"

Doppo's grip tightened on his tea and Chuuya scoffed. "Is there nothing that you can talk about?"

He shakily inhaled, then exhaled. His red-rimmed eyes dropped to his untouched tea. "I…" He glanced up at Chuuya before looking back down. "I dropped out. Of college."

Chuuya sat up straight. "Giving up isn't like you."

Doppo buried his head in his hands. "I know." He choked. "I haven't been myself lately."

Chuuya hummed. "And what has you being a college dropout got to do with you injuring yourself with my front door?"

"I feel bad. For how I treated you when we were dating. And…" He put a hand over his mouth and looked off to the side. "I… miffedyew."

Chuuya perked up, a grin cracking onto their face. "What was that?"

"Hm?"

"What did you say?"

Doppo's face turned a deep red. "I missed you."

Chuuya threw their head back, howling with laughter. They clutched their stomach as Doppo spluttered, a nervous mess!

"What— I— What's so funny?"

"It's just— whatthefuck— I never— I never expected this to happen, ever!"

"Wha—"

"The stubborn as-fuck Doppo Kunikida, being vulnerable?"

"I was always open wi'you!"

"Not when we were— we were fighting!"

It took a few minutes, but Chuuya eventually managed to compose themself. They took a long sip of their tea. "All joking aside… why'd ya drop out? I thought ya were dead set on becomin' a teacher. It was in yer little life plan an' all."

A sigh rattled from Doppo's chest. "I was and it is. I just… had a bit of a crisis, is all."

Chuuya leaned forward on their elbows and Doppo continued.

"College isn't what it's hyped up to be. I realised… the school-life balance I had planned for myself didn't actually work out when I attempted to execute it. There wasn't enough scheduled free time and I didn't account for declines in mental health and— you know. The realisation that my Ideals weren't ideal for college life, didn't actually give my life meaning in that context led me into a downward spiral. A nosedive I couldn't pull out of. I realised that I was wrong about college, and it led me to ponder— what else was I wrong about?"

Chuuya put the pieces together. "You mean—"

"I was wrong about us. I'm sorry."

"Doppo—"

"I'm sorry, Chuuya. For implying that I didn't care for you because you're not a girl. It was foolish of me, and I was too much of a coward to look inside myself and deal with my internal issues. I love you. I shouldn't have left like that." He stared at the table as he rambled, hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Chuuya's mouth worked faster than their brain, and— in the blink of an eye— their hands were thrown over the table and held Doppo's rigid ones in theirs. "Doppo. It's okay, I get it." They blurted, giddy like a lovedrunk teenager. Doppo loved them. He loved them and was admitting that he was wrong, which meant that he was admitting that they were right! They thought they'd never see the day. "I love you too. I'm glad ya came here today, Doppo. I— this is great! We can work on this together, we can fix you—"

Doppo blinked. "Pardon?"

Chuuya shook their head. "Never mind. I mean, I don't remember ever explicitly breaking up. We're— we're still together, technically."

Doppo's hands relaxed before he turned his palms upwards to hold Chuuya's better. "You— you mean it?" He inquired, swaying left and right ever so slightly, still under the influence.

"Of course. How 'bout you stay over tonight, like old times? We can talk 'bout this in the morning."

Doppo smiled a sappy smile as he nodded.

Chuuya squeezed his hands.

With Doppo laying beside him, maybe they could get out of remembering for the night.

5. 22

Kunikida's life had been full of ups and downs.

For example,

Up— receiving his notebook, the first ever meaningful gift from his parents.

Down— his notebook being the last scrap of emotional attention he'd get until he failed a history test.

Of course, like in anyone's life, there were many, many other ups and downs throughout his lifetime. His romantic partner, Chuuya Nakahara, was responsible for the choppiness of the rollercoaster that was Kunikida's life. Though, to be honest, Kunikida would never have it any other way.

Ups and downs were a common concept that could be observed in the libes of every human being. What one is not told about this concept, however, is that one can experience an up and a down simultaneously.

While Kunikida's relationship with Chuuya was prospering, the Armed Detective Agency wasn't faring too well.

Kunikida paced the hospital waiting room, phone clutched in his hand. A few strides to his left, Ranpo sat, hunched over, with Yosano rubbing a comforting hand on its back.

"What are you waiting for, Mr Interim-President?" Yosano inquired, her tone soft and light as a feather. Kunikida glanced at Ranpo, whose hands yanked at its hair. It must have been getting a migraine.

Upon receiving no response, Yosano tried again. "Everyone's in their places. Kenji's ready with the President, Montgomery is on standby and Tanizaki—" she inhaled sharply. "—the boy is in position. The Port's closing in, we're just waiting on your signal."

Retracing his footsteps for the nth time, Kunikida tapped his phone on his palm once before flicking it open.

"I just…"

You

I am aware that we do not talk about our work lives as a means of keeping our relationship stable, but I must speak of it now. My line of work is a dangerous one, and the danger has peaked as of today. In case I do not see you later, goodbye. I love you.

Read by Chuuya <3 at 13:09

You

I have to go now. It'd be nice to hear from you.

Read by Chuuya <3 at 13.13

You

Chuuya?

Read by Chuuya <3 at 13.14

You

Babe

Read by Chuuya <3 at 13.14

You

So it's like that, then?

Read by Chuuya <3 at 13.16

The last message that Chuuya had sent was an exciting invite to spend the night at their place/ It's just like them to not respond to a single one of Kunikida's messages. He wondered what excuse they'd use this time— phone left idle? Phone left in someone elses possession? Phone lost in a terrible accident? Absolutely anything but the truth. Sometimes he still wondered whether they wanted a significant other at all, and not just a warm body to wake up to in the morning.

Kunikida felt a dirty pang in his stomach at the thought.

Ideals For Being a Good Partner:

2. Do not make any hasty presumptions. Discuss it thoroughly with your wife significant other.

The only problem was he didn't know how to discuss it with them because it seemed that all they ever did was avoid anything deeper than what to get for dinner, and sometimes Kunikida wondered, was he anything but a body for them to fall jnto the warm embrace of falling a job well done, a job poorly executed, whenever they felt like it —

…

That was… an exaggeration, of course.

Kunikida sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He was overthinking again, and it was time to get back to the matter at hand— saving his Boss from certain death.

He readjusted his glasses with a deep breath. "Never mind. Let's do this. We will regroup with Kenji and move the President into the safety of Anne's Room. Come on, quickly

"Before the executives decide to make their move."

___—-___—-___—-___—-

No matter how hard those scientists tried to imitate reality, Chuuya Nakahara was not a perfect being. Flaws littered them more frequently than scars, but one unmarred skill they could wield was perception. Their eyes gathered information for their brain to analyse, and those two organs were damn good at their jobs.

It was their skillful observation that allowed them to realise that the man standing at the opposite end of the hallway was not their boyfriend, Doppo Kunikida.

They didn't know the other Agency members as well as they did Doppo, so they couldn't exactly describe how they were in reality, but the way in which this 'Doppo Kunikida' was holding itself was all wrong; Chuuya would know, they spent a lot of time looking at him.

His shoulders weren't tense or rigid. A crease beside his dead-set mouth was present instead of one between his brows, and the yin and yang pin fastened to his vest was the exact one Chuuya found on their floor before they left for work. Also, most importantly, he was not freaking the fuck out die to Chuuya standing before him.

That Doppo Kunikida appeared calm, composed and ready to tackle whatever's thrown at him. It was the visage of a capable mentor through the eyes of an admiring mentee.

Chuuya dropped into a crouch, a smirk appearing on their lips. So that's how this is gonna be.

Tachihara and Gin shot each other a questioning look.

"Junichiro Tanizaki, aged eighteen, the Agency's illusionist." They recited, thinking back to everything that Doppo told him about his little protege. The ginger boy at the centre of it all bristled, fingers twitching at his side. "So. Will we take turns beatin' yer ass or should we go for it all at once? I'm not picky."

Chuuya felt their phone ping ping ping in their pocket— more messages from Doppo. He really couldn't take being left on read, could he? It was as if he couldn't fathom anything being more important to Chuuya than him.

The ginger boy was scrawny and lean, but Chuuya knew to be wary. Unbeknownst to the illusionist, Chuuya had been made aware of every milestone in his professional career since the very beginning. Following a night together, Doppo would do his best to have genuine conversation. Chuuya'd picked up tidbits through just listening—

'—I found a boy and his sister on the streets—'

'—We've given them a job. The boy's got an ability and a lot of potential—'

'—He's been placed in my care, meaning I've got to keep an eye on him. God knows what he'd do otherwise—'

'—he really struggles with—'

Chuuya knew him, because he was important to Doppo.
Chuuya could destroy him, even if he was important to Doppo.

The kid was a fighter, and Chuuya was itching to see what he could do—

The mirages of the Armed Detective Agency fell apart in miniscule green bricks. Clink clink clink. Baggy sleeves slid down arms that were raised in surrender. "I'm not here to fight, I'm clearly outnumbered. I surrender."

Leaping to their feet, Chuuya gritted their teeth. "Fuck. He's just a distraction! Tachihara, take him, everyone else— go,go,go!"

Tanizaki's eyes shot open in a panic, his hands retreating into his sleeves, and in a flurry of movement, he'd torn out the smallest slip of paper.

Chuuya cursed. Was that—

Tanizaki raised it in the air— pinched between his index finger and his thumb— and faster than light he bellowed—

"Doppo Poet! Switchblade"

A deeper voice joined in a harmony before Chuuya was near blinded by a burst of green lightaccompanied by overlapping layers of kanji.

It took a great deal of squinting and perserverance to stay with their feet planted firmly in place, as the other mafia members fell back behind him, weapons at the ready.

As they regained their senses, Chuuya clenched their fists.

"Oh God, 'ere we go…"

Sight came back in a flash, and they were greeted with the sight of a ruffled Doppo, stray hairs flying out of the confines of his ponytail. He breathed heavily, as if he'd been running, and stood in front of Tanizaki protectively.

For fucks sake, why'd he even do that? That guy was a grown man, he just needed to grow some balls!

The other mafiosos readied for battle, but Chuuya raised a dismissive hand. "You guys can fall back. I've got these shrimps handled."

Tachihara opened his mouth—

"Find the President." They ordered. "Make it snappy."

"Chuuya." Doppo breathed, his face pinched.

"Doppo." Chuuya acknowledged with a nod. They stood up straight, staring Doppo dead in the eyes.

Tanizaki hobbled to his feet— when had he even fallen?— and uttered something to Doppo in an urgent whisper.

"Just go, Tanizaki."

"But I can't leave—"

"You can."

"Mr Kunikida, I—"

Doppo didn't bother turning to look at the boy as he shouted— "Just go, Junichiro! Go! Do anything, just get out of here!"

Tanizaki slinked out of the hallway like a kicked kitten, newly created switchblade in hand. The doors swung in and out, allowing Chuuya to see how he sprinted in the direction of the hospitals' exit.

And consequentially, three became two.

While only a few metres, the distance between them felt much more expansive. Doppo was so far, yet so close. Far enough for communication to seem futile, but close enough for them to see the pained look on his face.

Chuuya's stomach churned.

"I— Chuuya— you—" Doppo's composure faltered in disbelief. "You're a part of the Port—"

"Where's your boss?"

Doppo took a hesitant step forward. "Chuuya, you can't really be—"

"I'm sure you are aware of the Cannibalism ability." Chuuya carefully enunciated each word. "If twentyfour hours pass and the ability is still active, both Mori and Fukuzawa will die. Without Dazai to nullify it, the only option to save one is to kill the other." They tilted their head downwards. "I'm sure you know what I'm getting at."

Doppo's face tightened. "No."

Chuuya hated when he got that look on his face. Hated when he acted like every little misdemeanor was a personal attack on HIM. Hated that he claimed to cast aside his ideals for the sake of their relationship, but he still clung to his cheap notebook as a moral compass.

He began that notebook a child, in the company of books glorifying the adventures of heroes and villains and his morality reflected the black-and-whiteness of the stories. He refined that notebook an adult, under the tutelage of yin and yang, discovering that there's goodness in evil, and vice versa. No matter how much he'd changed for the better, his romantic ideology was childishly the same. The morally grey stance cast aside in regards to romanticsim— after all, if he were to spend the rest of his life with someone, they would need to be perfect.

Chuuya knew all this about Doppo. It didn't matter how profusely he claimed to have changed, how adamantly he professed his love for them, Chuuya knew. They were far from perfect, they got that, but… when he insisted on judging them for their actions, their surface level persona…

They weren't perfect, in their own eyes or his. But fuck that. Doppo was far from perfect himself.

They were sick of it.

"Doppo Kunikida." They declared, their voice as even as they could muster. "Will ya step aside, or would you rather be crushed by gravity?"

Doppo's brow furrowed. "You— you wouldn't.'

"I would, detective. You're not my boyfriend right now."

"This is just so sudden, I don't understand."

"Get a grip."

"Why didn't you tell me—"

"How could I???" They exclaimed, the ground cracking beneath their feet. "How would I just bring up the fact that I'm a fucking mafia executive?!"

"You could've just—"

"Oh, be quiet." They seethed. "Maybe I could've brought it up, yeah, but did ya ever stop and consider that I don't want to talk about work? About anything?"

"You promised you'd try talk to me—"

"And you promised to cast aside yer ideals for me. How's that goin' for you?"

Silence fell over them, and it was deafening. Hurried footsteps and walkie-talkies were audible from the outside.

There was a rustle of paper as Doppo grasped a slip of it between his two fingers. "I don't want to fight with you, Chuuya."

"All we ever do is fight."

"We have good times, too."

"Are a few weekly hours of ecstacy worth a lifetime of frustration?"

"…I suppose not. My only wish is for you to be happy."

Chuuya scowled, their gaze darkening. Of fucking course it was.

"But still, Chuuya, I don't want to fight you—"

"Give me. Your boss." Chuuya growled. "Step aside or I will go through you."

Step aside and prove you'll put your partner before your Ideals.
Stay put and prove that there's no point in continuing what we have.

Doppo cleared his throat. He sniffed. He swallowed, and he whipped the paper up beside his face. He unfolded it, his voice coming out wet and uneven.
"Doppo… Doppo Poet." He stared at Chuuya with mournful eyes. "Doppo Poet: Taser."

Chuuya's gaze darkened. Their hat fell over their eyes, the chain cutting through the air with a swish. Their fists clenched and unclenched, the leather of their gloves sticking to their clammy skin.

So it's like that, then.

With that pesky relationship gone, Chuuya can focus on saving the livelihood of the Port Mafia.

Even if it meant killing the man they loved.

In unision, the pair of ex-lovers readied their weapons, and they pounced.

They pounced, and thereby renounced their right to reconcile ever again. Their actions would have consequences, at a size so monumental that renewing their relationship would be catastrophic.

+1. 23

A year had passed since the Cannibalism incident, and Doppo Kunikida would like to say that he'd recovered well, with all things considered. Months of physiotherapy had rendered his arm usable, though tremors still wracked it like the aftershocks of an earthquake. One's arm being brutally broken by a gravity-backed punch would do that to you.

The major shift in leadership for many major players in Yokohama's infrastructure led to the need of more secure housing for the members of the Armed Detective Agency. They'd managed to acquire larger, safer dormitories, and the only drawback was the meager quantity that they could purchase. Five two bedroom dorms for ten members— eight detectives and two of their clerks who had been targetted in the past, Naomi and Haruno.

The picking of the roomates was up to the detectives themselves, but the possibility of free choice was hindered by the two members that had requests—

Kunikida wanted to room with Junichiro.

Ranpo venomously refused the prospect of rooming with his father's murderer.

And so…

"Are you… ready, Mr Kunikida?" Junichiro asked meekly, stepping out of his room, which was just opposite Kunikida's. The boy's face bore a guilt-induced pallor, his hands never leaving his oversized sleeves. Kunikida wanted to ease him out of that habit. He knew what Junichiro struggled with, and he wanted to desensitise him to the illusion of blood on his hands.

Kunikida hummed, turning back to the mirror and looking himself up and down. Maybe he wasn't one to comment on sleeves— his own scarred arm was hidden beneath his black suit. He avoided eye contact with himself.

"This is an important meeting. I want to make sure that my attire is appropriate."

Junichiro, silently, slipped into the room, standing beside Kunikida. "You look fine. Fukuzawa would be—"

"Please." He interrupted. "Don't bring him up. Not now."

Junichiro nodded solemnly. "Right."

Kunikida sighed, tightening his deep green tie— or rather, attempting to tighten it. His hands were shaking far too much.

Junichiro stepped forward and assisted Kunikida wordlessly. His sleeves slid down as he redid the knot in the tie. Kunikida looked past the rubbed-raw skin and focused on the subconcsious manifestation of blood on Junichiro's palms. He hadn't been able to control Light Snow as well as he used to since the loss of All Men Are Equal.

Junichiro had concerningly little issue with taking Ougai Mori's life at the time, but the consequences were what riddled him with guilt.

Kunikida hated to see his mentee, his brother hurt like he was.

Kunikida wondered if Gin Akutagawa was suffering the same way. He hoped that they were. He hoped that they recognised the depth of their actions, and the emotional damage that they inflicted on others. But if they were anything like other members of the Port Mafia, Kunikida knew that they wouldn't give a rats ass.

Kunikida shook his head, smiling at Junichiro once the tie was fastened. He needed to put those thoughts aside before he went into his upcoming meeting. An alliance with the Port Mafia was exactly what the Agency needed at the moment. Professionally speaking.

"There you go, Mr President. Presentable and ready." Junichiro muttered, arms returning to their sleeves.

Kunikida resented the fact that his stupid actions at seventeen prompted all this hurt.

He twisted his cufflinks to right angles and offered Junichiro a sympathetic smile. "Thanks, kid."

Junichiro matched his smile, albeit a tad more unstable. "You don't have to do this, y'know. We dealt with the Mafia fine before… this. I'm sure we can do the same now."

"Junichiro…"

"I just mean— I know it's hard for you. To go in there and see them."

Kunikida winced, double checking his cufflinks. "I've put the past behind me, so don't you worry, brat. This is what's best for us in the lo g run, especially after our— our change in leadership, and the newfound instability… it'll be fine. I'll be fine."

Junichiro's face flicked green like a tv screen and his eye colour became pure — yellow — blue — before returning to their usual heterochromatic green and brown.

"The last time you saw them they broke your arm."

'And the last time you saw them, you wound up murdering their boss!' Kunikida wanted to snap in retort. Instead, he retained his composure and straightened out his smile.

"They will have to remain professional this time around. The first few years as boss of an organisation like that are crucial, they won't risk an outburst." He reached out and ruffled the kids hair. "You shouldn't be worrying about me. Worry about yourself, okay? And what kind of cookies you're going to bake while I'm gone."

Kunikida knew, even as he walked towards the apartments front door, that the reassurance had done little to ease Junichiro's nerves. Though, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Not right then, not when he had to go face Chuuya.

He pulled open the front door and stepped outside, leaving his Ideals on his bedside ta

___—-____—-___—-___—-

The meeting was being held in the Port Mafia headquarters, at the two remaining executives insistence. Kunikida was aware of Ozaki Koyou, but the one rumoured to be European was totally foreign to him.

On top of choosing the location, they required him to bring no weapons, wear no protective suits, and go alone.

Nonsensically, Kunikida obliged.

After passing through three different security terminals, Kunikida finally reached the final lift as he was flanked by two mafia grunts who had firearms in hand.

The Boss' office was on the top floor, and the lift began about halfway up the building, and that gave Kunikida a lot of time to overthink how he'd done his hair.

Having it tied back was more professional, but Fukuzawa always wore his hair down, and no one questioned his judgement. He took the bobbin out of his hair. But… Chuuya always said they liked it down—

He was contemplating tying it back again when they reached their destination with a ding.

The first thing that Kunikida noticed was them— Chuuya Nakahara, Port Mafia boss.
With the extensive distance, they should've appeared smaller, less intimidating. Kunikida found that it was the exact opposite— he was more honed in on Chuuya's face than ever, the face that wasn't blocked by a hat and was riddled with stress.

He noted how the desk chair remained unoccupied. Chuuya stood beside the desk, rather than at it, with their hat clutched to their chest in greeting. The Mafia Boss' signature scarf lay confidently across their shoulders.

Kunikida strided down the carpeted floor, hands clasped together in order to stop the shaking.

They ended up face to face far too soon. It was the first time Kunikida had seen them in a year, with both of them being far too busy preventing the collapse of their respective organisations. Chuuya looked exactly the same, but also wildly different. Their face was the same, as was the way in which they dressed. The differences were almost saddening— the bags beneath their eyes and the limpness of their hair (which was slicked back with gel) pained Kunikida to see.

"Good afternoon." Kunikida greeted with a bow. "It has been a while."

Chuuya cocked their head upwards. "Has it? I must admit, I don't recall ever meeting the president of the Armed Detective Agency. I believe we haven't been professionally introduced."

They rattled off their words slowly and carefully. Without their usual accent and like a young adult who'd just entered the workforce after graduating from college.

Though that simile was far from the truth. Both Chuuya and Kunikida were at the age most people would be when they graduate. It was nice, he supposed, to see some normalcy— no matter how bizzare— in their lives. Even if becoming President of a supernatural detective agency and Boss of a mafia weren't exactly the equivalent of the milestone that was becoming the manager of the local 7/11.

Despite their location and the note they ended on, Kunikida's lips quirked up into the smallest of smiles.

"I suppose we haven't. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance on a fine afternoon like this one."

Chuuya looked Kunikida up and down, taking him in. He wondered what they thought of him. He wondered if they noticed the absence of a notebook tucked beneath his arm. He wondered if they realised the reality of it all— of how absurd their situations were in comparison to the typical life of a young person. He wondered if they ran through the six years they've known each other through their head before they fell asleep and mused about how odd it was for so much to happen regarding their relationship in that time. He wondered if they shared the question of whether they were too young for all of it. He wondered if they missed being seventeen and stupid, being enamoured with another person and blissfully unaware of the going-ons around them.

He wondered if they missed him.

Chuuya gestured to the empty chair that had its back to the door. "Take a seat. Will you be taking notes during this meeting?"

Kunikida placed his left hand on the wood of the chair. "Not today. I have forgone my notebook in order to be more present in this discussion."

Chuuya hummed, taking their place in front of the Boss' chair. "I see. Now, before we begin, do tell me if you find my communication to be lacking, and I will go through it again."

They extended their hand for Kunikida to shake. "Allow me to introduce myself. Chuuya Nakahara, Port Mafia boss."

Kunikida took it with his good hand. "Doppo Kunikida, President of the Armed Detective Agency."

They shook hands firmly, holding on for longer than they should have.
The pairs' words were clipped and clinical, but their meanings got through all the same— in their time apart, they'd learnt from their mistakes. Or, at least, were trying to.

But it was too little, too late.

Chuuya's fingers brushed along the back of Kunikida's hand, a reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

Chuuya was the best and worst thing that ever happened to Kunikida.

And he regretted that they could never work, regretted that he couldn't look past the fact that Chuuya was… Chuuya.

Their handshake broke apart much sooner and much later than Kunikida would've liked.

He wondered if Chuuya also longed for what once was.

They sank into their seat and cleared their throat. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Kunikida missed their old way of speaking, but he'd long lost the right to complain, if he even had that right in the first place.

"Right, yes." He replied, placing himself in the seat opposite them.

Once they had stepped into their new positions, there was no going back. They were bound to interactions consisting of meager civility and competent courtesy; there was no way of getting back together. A leader of an armed detective agency and a mafia boss— there was no way that that relationship could ever work, no way of it working between them.

Or maybe Kunikida and Chuuya were doomed from the start.
There was no way of telling now.