Chapter Text
The arena lights burned white against the ice, bright enough to sting. The crowd screamed loud enough to shake the glass. And in the center of it all stood Chuuya Nakahara, captain of the Port Mafia’s hockey team, glaring across the rink at the one person he hated more than losing. Osamu Dazai. The captain of the Armed Detective Agency. Smug bastard. Dazai leaned casually against the boards during warmups, twirling his hockey stick like he didn’t have a game in ten minutes. Like he hadn’t spent the last five years ruining Chuuya’s life one grin at a time. Then he looked up. Their eyes locked. Dazai smirked.
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “Try not to cry when we win tonight, slug.” “Oh, shut the hell up,” Chuuya snapped immediately. “Last time you won, your goalie carried your pathetic ass.”“Ouch. Someone’s cranky. “Someone’s about to get thrown through the glass. Dazai laughed. Actually laughed. The crowd around them got louder immediately because everyone loved watching them fight. Their rivalry wasn’t just famous in Yokohama anymore it was practically national entertainment. Every interview became a disaster. Every game ended with penalties. Every press conference looked one insult away from murder. And somehow, despite all that they kept ending up staring at each other when nobody was looking.
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Back in the locker room, Chuuya ripped off his gloves and threw them onto the bench. “He’s insufferable.” “You say that every game,” Kouyou said calmly while fixing the sleeve of her jacket. “Because every game he somehow gets worse.” Across the room, Akutagawa sat tying his skates besides Atsushi. Very close beside Atsushi. Suspiciously close. And what made it more suspicious was they weren’t fighting like usual and were sharing earbuds. Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “…Why are you two sharing earbuds?”Akutagawa immediately yanked them out. Atsushi looked like he was about to die. “We are not,” Akutagawa said flatly. “You literally are.”“We are not.”Atsushi coughed. “ANYWAY good luck tonight, Chuuya-san!” Chuuya stared harder. Something was wrong. Before he could interrogate them further, Mori walked in wearing his usual dark suit, smiling like a man who knew everyone’s secrets. “Alright,” Mori said smoothly. “Remember the plan.” “Kill Dazai?” Chuuya suggested. “No penalties in the first period.”“…Boring.” Mori sighed the sigh of a man exhausted by his own team.
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Meanwhile, across the arena, Fukuzawa stood in the Opposite locker room giving a speech while Dazai barely pretended to listen. “Kunikida,” Fukuzawa said, “keep defense tight. Kenji, don’t slam anyone into the boards again.”“It was an accident!”“You lifted a man.”“He was in my way.” “And Dazai,” Fukuzawa said carefully. Dazai looked up innocently. “Behave.” “No promises.” “Dazai.” “He started it.” “The game hasn’t begun yet.” “He looked at me aggressively.” Fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose. From beside Dazai, Yosano snorted. “You two fight like divorced parents.” The entire locker room froze. Dazai choked. “…Excuse me?” Yosano grinned viciously. “You heard me.” “That is disgusting.” “Yet accurate.” “It is NOT accurate.” “Mmhm.” Dazai turned red enough to concern everyone.
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The game began violently. Which surprised absolutely nobody. Within the first four minutes Chuuya slammed Dazai into the glass hard enough to shake the boards. The crowd erupted. Dazai shoved him back immediately. “Careful,” Dazai murmured close to his ear. “You seem emotional tonight.” “Careful,” Chuuya shot back. “You seem breakable.” The referee separated them before punches could start. Again. In the penalty box, Dazai sat beside Chuuya with a grin. “You know,” he said lazily, “you think about me a lot.” “I literally never stop thinking about how much I hate you.” “Hm. Sounds romantic.” Chuuya looked genuinely homicidal. “You’re unbearable.” “And yet you keep looking at me.” “That’s because you’re a problem.” Dazai tilted his head slightly. “Then why do you always smile after you score against me?” Chuuya opened his mouth. Closed it. Because he didn’t have an answer. Because somehow the best games of his life were always against Dazai. Because nobody else understood him on the ice the way Dazai did. Nobody moved fast enough. Thought fast enough. Matched him enough. It was infuriating. It was addicting. And Chuuya hated it.
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The game went into overtime tied 4-4. Everyone was exhausted. Sweaty. Bleeding slightly. Perfect. The arena thundered as Chuuya skated down the rink with the puck, weaving through defenders effortlessly. Dazai chased after him immediately. Of course he did. He always did. Chuuya shot! Blocked. Dazai stole the puck and sprinted the other direction. “Oh, you bastard—” Chuuya caught up fast enough to slam into him shoulder-first. They crashed into the boards together. The puck slid away forgotten. Neither moved immediately. They were breathing hard, faces inches apart. The crowd screamed for a fight. But Dazai just stared at him. Really stared. Then quieter than the arena deserved, he said “You trust me.” Chuuya frowned. “What?” “You always skate like I’ll keep up.” The words hit harder than the check had. For one awful second, Chuuya forgot the game existed. Then Atsushi scored from center ice. The buzzer rang. The ADA won. Again. The arena exploded. Chuuya groaned loudly and slammed his forehead lightly against the glass. “I hate everyone.” Dazai laughed breathlessly beside him. “You especially hate losing to me.” “I especially hate your face.” “Mhm.” “…Stop smiling like that.” “Like what?” “Like you know something.” Dazai’s expression softened just slightly. Too soft. Dangerously soft. Then he reached up and fixed one of Chuuya’s curls that had fallen loose from sweat. The gesture was so gentle Chuuya forgot how to breathe. “…Dazai.” “You’d look prettier if you smiled after losing.” “Shut up.” But there wasn’t much heat behind it anymore.
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Later that night, both teams ended up at the same bar because apparently none of their friends understood boundaries. Or maybe they understood too much. Chuuya sat with a drink while glaring across the room at Dazai. Atsushi and Akutagawa were sharing fries in the corner. Yosano was sitting in Kouyou’s lap. Suspicious. Very suspicious.
Then Mori walked in. Holding Fukuzawa’s hand. The entire bar went silent. Chuuya blinked once. Twice. “…What.” Fukuzawa looked calm. Mori looked delighted. “We were hoping to keep this private longer,” Mori admitted. Dazai nearly fell out of his chair laughing. “No WONDER the league lets us get away with everything!” “You’re married?!” Atsushi yelled. “For eight years,” Fukuzawa confirmed. Chuuya stared blankly at his coach. “…You suspended me for punching Dazai while YOU were secretly married to HIS coach?!” “In fairness,” Mori said thoughtfully, “that suspension was objectively funny.” “You’re all insane.” “True,” Dazai agreed. Then he looked at Chuuya over the rim of his drink. Their friends were laughing. The bar was loud. But suddenly it felt strangely quiet between them. “You know,” Dazai said softly, “we could stop pretending we hate each other someday.” Chuuya stared at him. “…Who said I was pretending?” Dazai smiled slowly. “Your face.” And despite himself Chuuya laughed.