Chapter Text
Yokohama kept moving after Oda died.
That irritated Dazai more than he expected.
Cars still passed through glowing streets. Store signs still flickered in the rain. Somewhere nearby, somebody laughed loud enough to echo through the alleyway Dazai stood in.
The world should’ve stopped for at least a minute.
Instead, the city kept breathing like nothing had happened.
Dazai shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept walking.
He didn’t really know where he was going.
That probably should’ve scared him more.
Rain soaked slowly through his coat while Oda’s final words kept replaying in his head over and over again.
Save people.
Funny.
Oda had spent years telling Dazai he wasn’t as empty as he pretended to be, and somehow Dazai still felt hollow walking through Yokohama alone at eighteen years old with blood still dried beneath his fingernails.
He laughed quietly to himself.
It sounded awful.
By the time he noticed where his feet had taken him, he was already standing outside a bar.
“…predictable,” Dazai muttered.
Then walked inside anyway.
The bartender looked nervous immediately.
Fair enough.
Dazai looked like he had crawled out of a river after losing a fight with god.
He slid onto a stool near the end of the counter and rested his cheek against one hand.
“Whiskey.”
The bartender poured the drink without asking questions.
Smart man.
Dazai drank it too quickly.
Then another.
Then another.
Eventually the burn stopped feeling unpleasant.
That was probably concerning.
The door opened again about an hour later.
Dazai didn’t bother looking up at first.
Then he heard:
“You look terrible.”
Ah.
There he was.
Chuuya stood near the entrance, still wearing his hat, rainwater clinging to orange hair beneath the brim. He looked annoyed already, which honestly felt comforting.
Dazai smiled faintly into his glass.
“Good evening to you too, chibi.”
“Don’t start.”
“You started.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue before sitting beside him.
The bartender visibly looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him here tonight.
Reasonable.
“Seriously,” Chuuya muttered after a second. “You look like shit.”
“I’m touched by your concern.”
“I’m not concerned. You just look creepy.”
Dazai hummed.
Chuuya ordered wine
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Rain tapped softly against the windows. The bar radio played something low and jazzy in the background. Dazai stared into his drink while Chuuya kept glancing sideways at him like he was trying to solve a problem that refused to sit still.
Finally, Chuuya asked, “What happened?”
Dazai shrugged one shoulder.
“Life.”
“Dazai.”
That tone again.
Annoyingly soft.
Dazai looked away before he could think too hard about it.
“Boss is looking for you,” Chuuya said after a while.
“Mhm.”
“You disappeared after the mission.”
“Mhm.”
“And now you’re drinking alone looking like somebody stabbed your soul.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Dazai laughed once under his breath.
Chuuya’s expression shifted slightly after hearing it.
Because there was something wrong with that laugh.
Too tired. Too empty.
Chuuya noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
“You’re acting weird,” he muttered.
“That’s impressive considering I’m usually weird.”
“I’m serious.”
Dazai went quiet after that.
The glass in his hand suddenly felt heavier than it should’ve.
Eventually, without looking up, he said, “I’m leaving.”
Chuuya frowned.
“Leaving where?”
“The Mafia.”
Silence.
Not dramatic silence. Not cinematic silence.
Just the kind that happens when somebody says something so unexpected your brain refuses to process it properly.
“…what?”
“I’m done.”
“No.”
Dazai blinked slowly.
“No?”
“No.”
Chuuya’s answer came so fast it almost sounded automatic.
Like his body reacted before his mind caught up.
“You can’t just leave.”
“Actually, I can.”
“No, you can’t.”
Dazai finally looked at him properly then.
Chuuya looked angry.
Not Mafia angry. Not violent angry.
Worse.
Hurt.
And suddenly Dazai couldn’t breathe correctly again.
“…when?” Chuuya asked quietly.
Dazai looked back down at his drink.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
Dazai didn’t answer.
That was enough.
Chuuya swore softly under his breath and leaned back against the stool hard enough to make it creak.
“You already decided.”
“Mhm.”
“And you weren’t gonna tell me.”
Dazai smiled weakly.
“I’m telling you now.”
“Yeah, because apparently emotional damage is your favorite hobby.”
“That’s unfair. I have multiple hobbies.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Dazai laughed again.
This time Chuuya didn’t laugh with him.
The bartender disappeared into the back room shortly afterward.
Probably self-preservation.
“You really leaving?” Chuuya asked eventually.
Dazai stared at the amber liquid in his glass.
“…I can’t stay there anymore.”
It slipped out before he meant to say it aloud.
Chuuya went still.
Because that sounded honest.
Too honest.
Dazai rarely sounded honest.
“You could’ve told me sooner,” Chuuya muttered.
“And what would you have done?”
“Stopped you.”
Immediate.
Completely serious.
Dazai smiled sadly.
“See? That’s exactly why I didn’t.”
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Chuuya suddenly grabbed the front of Dazai’s coat and kissed him hard enough to nearly knock him off the stool.
Messy.
Angry.
Desperate enough to hurt a little.
Dazai kissed him back instantly.
Because apparently he was weaker than he thought.
The bartender loudly dropped something in the back room.
Neither cared.
By the time they stumbled out of the bar together, it was still raining.
Chuuya’s hand stayed locked around Dazai’s wrist the entire walk home like he thought letting go would somehow make Dazai disappear early.
Honestly?
Maybe it would’ve.
---
Chuuya’s apartment smelled like wine, leather, and smoke.
Dazai had always liked it here.
Which was unfortunate.
The moment the door shut behind them, Chuuya kissed him again.
Less angry this time.
Still rough.
But there was something exhausted underneath it now.
Something scared.
Dazai hated noticing that.
“You’re emotional tonight,” Dazai muttered against his mouth.
“Shut up.”
“Touchy.”
“Dazai.”
There was too much inside that one word.
Dazai stopped joking after that.
Their clothes ended up scattered across the apartment floor in pieces.
The rest of the night was a blur of rain against windows, desperate hands, and things neither of them knew how to say properly.
Because saying stay would make this real.
And neither of them knew how to survive something real.
Later, tangled together beneath ruined sheets and dim apartment light, Chuuya buried his face against Dazai’s throat silently.
Dazai stared at the ceiling.
Neither spoke.
Rain still hit the windows softly outside.
Chuuya’s fingers rested lazily against Dazai’s waist like even half-asleep he needed to make sure he was still there.
Dazai swallowed hard.
He almost stayed.
That was the problem.
Leaving the Mafia suddenly felt easy compared to leaving Chuuya.
And maybe that was exactly why he had to go.
---
Dazai slipped out before sunrise.
Coward.
Chuuya slept heavily beside him, one arm still thrown across the empty space Dazai had been occupying seconds earlier.
For a moment, Dazai just stood there looking at him.
Orange hair a mess. Blankets half kicked off. Completely defenseless while asleep.
Rare.
Dazai’s chest hurt so badly he almost sat back down.
Instead, he quietly pulled the blanket higher over Chuuya’s shoulder.
Then whispered, “…sorry.”
And left.
---
The second bar looked significantly cheaper.
Dazai preferred it immediately.
The lights were dim, the music sounded terrible, and somebody in the corner was losing an argument with a cigarette machine.
Much better.
He slid onto a stool near the counter and ordered whiskey without really thinking about it.
At this point he was mostly functioning on instinct and emotional damage.
The drink arrived quickly.
Dazai stared into the glass for a while before taking a slow sip.
Still awful.
Just less awful than being alone with his thoughts.
“You look emotionally haunted.”
Dazai blinked slowly.
Then turned his head.
A man a few seats away was staring at him openly over the rim of a brightly colored drink.
Older but that much older than him.
Sharp green eyes. Messy dark hair. Suspiciously observant face.
And definitely tipsy.
“…thank you?” Dazai replied carefully.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Then your conversational skills need work.”
“They’re excellent actually.”
The man took another sip from the violently pink drink in his hand and immediately grimaced.
“This is disgusting.”
“Why are you drinking it then?”
“Yosano said I needed to ‘experience being drunk at least once before dying.’”
“…that somehow explains absolutely nothing.”
“It explains plenty.”
Dazai snorted quietly before he could stop himself.
The stranger immediately pointed at him.
“There. You just sounded like a real person for half a second.”
Dazai narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“You’re strange.”
“I get that a lot.”
The stranger spun slightly on his stool before extending one hand lazily.
“Ranpo Edogawa.”
Dazai stared at the offered hand for a second.
Then shook it.
“Osamu Dazai.”
Ranpo hummed thoughtfully.
“Oh. You’re younger than I expected.”
“That’s a mildly threatening sentence.”
“You have the eyes of somebody in his forties.”
“…rude.”
“Still true.”
Dazai laughed under his breath again.
Small. Tired. Real enough to surprise even himself.
Ranpo noticed immediately.
His expression softened just slightly afterward.
Not pity.
Something quieter.
“You lost somebody,” Ranpo said casually.
Dazai froze.
The noise inside the bar suddenly felt distant.
Because there it was.
Directly said aloud like it was obvious.
Dazai smiled automatically.
Fake.
“Well, now you’re just guessing.”
“I’m not guessing.”
Ranpo leaned his cheek against one hand while studying him openly.
“You’ve been staring at your drink for twenty minutes like it personally betrayed you.”
“That’s because alcohol is evil.”
“You walked in here looking like you hadn’t slept in days. Your coat’s still damp because you forgot it was raining. And every time the door opens, you glance over like you’re expecting someone to follow you.”
Dazai’s smile slowly disappeared.
Ranpo continued calmly, “You’re running away from something.”
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Not awkward.
Just heavy.
Dazai looked down at his drink again.
“…everyone’s running from something.”
“Yeah,” Ranpo said softly. “But yours just died.”
That one landed directly in Dazai’s chest.
Too accurate. Too honest.
And somehow the worst part was that Ranpo didn’t look proud of figuring it out.
He looked genuinely sad for him.
Dazai hated that immediately.
Which probably meant he liked it a little too much.
Ranpo took another sip of his drink.
Then made a face again.
“This still tastes terrible.”
Dazai stared at him for several long seconds.
Then unexpectedly laughed.
Actually laughed.
Not the fake bright one he used around Mori.
Not the empty one from earlier.
A real one.
Ranpo blinked once before smiling slowly.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “There you are.”
And for some reason, that hurt even worse.
---
By the time they stumbled into the motel later, neither of them were making particularly intelligent decisions anymore.
Ranpo kept talking the entire walk there.
Mostly complaining about alcohol.
“Yosano said fruity drinks were safer,” he muttered while fumbling with the motel room key. “I think she lied to me.”
“She absolutely lied to you.”
“I knew it.”
Dazai laughed quietly again.
Ranpo looked pleased every time he managed it.
That was dangerous too.
The motel room itself was tiny.
Bad wallpaper. Terrible lighting. One bed.
Ranpo stared at the bed.
Then at Dazai.
Then shrugged.
“Whatever.”
The intimacy that followed felt strange.
Not because it was bad.
Because it wasn’t.
Just… different.
Chuuya burned hot and overwhelming and possessive like a storm trying to drag Dazai under with him.
Ranpo felt curious.
Gentle in strange places. Observant in others.
Like he was trying to understand Dazai through touch alone.
And maybe Dazai let him because he was exhausted and lonely and emotionally destroyed enough to mistake being understood for safety.
---
Morning hit like a truck.
Dazai woke first.
Sunlight leaked weakly through cheap motel curtains while Ranpo slept beside him with one arm lazily across Dazai’s waist.
For several seconds Dazai simply stared at the ceiling.
Then reality arrived.
“…oh no.”
Ranpo shifted sleepily beside him.
“Mmm?”
Panic immediately kicked Dazai directly in the spine.
Because this .. whatever this was ..felt far too human after everything with Chuuya.
Too messy.
Too intimate.
And Dazai’s first instinct whenever things became too real had always been run.
So he did.
Again.
Carefully slipping out of bed, Dazai got dressed as quietly as possible.
Bandages. Coat. Shoes.
Ranpo slept through most of it.
Before leaving, Dazai hesitated near the motel door for half a second.
Then quietly left enough money for breakfast beside the bed.
Coward.
To be continued