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Yokohama is quite a scandalous place if one knows where to go after the sun kisses the horizon. There are streets chockfull of all kinds of sins- crushed mushrooms that make colors move, alcohol that’s a vivid shade of green and tastes like debauchery and people willing to rebrand pleasure for a few hundred yens, men and women alike. It is what Dazai Osamu has in mind as he sets out after a particularly stressful day at work- correction, truthfully it’s been mind numbingly boring- and he needs something to do other than searching up fool proof ways of suicide and agitating Kunikida mercilessly.
The alley on the left looks deserted but Dazai knows better- there are always leering shadows leaping out from corners, offering all kinds of things. He saunters in, dipping his head in greeting as a woman with stark blue hair smiles at him, the canines sharpened to fine points; he’s known her for almost half a decade now, through many trials and tribulations, and he’d like to think they’re almost friends. Beside her is a man in a dark suit, his handsome face somehow butchered by a god awful bowl cut. It takes everything in Dazai not to comment on it as the pair approaches him.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve graced us with your presence.” The woman says, smile saccharine yet terrifying at the same time.
“Awwh, did you miss me, Akiko?” Dazai teases, hands buried deep in his pockets. Akiko’s laugh rings clear through the night air- like the tinkling of a bell- despite the music and chatter flittering around them.
“You wish for such unrealistic things, dearest.” Akiko continues, silver eyes pining Dazai to the spot; no wonder she’s able to sell quite literally all kinds of drugs to anyone willing to pay- who wouldn’t want to buy from her?
“Maybe I’ll wish for something more attainable?” Dazai muses, entangling in the strange dance of words that Akiko always finds so amusing, “Maybe a little white powder? Or my all time favorite shrooms?”
Akiko’s silver eyes blaze, a smile stretching her lips thin. She really is stunning, Dazai thinks to himself as he tilts his head to look at her some more. With feline eyes and lips always painted vivid shades of magenta or crimson, she’s more than a looker. Watching her move- hands delicate yet deadly, knowing her willowy figure holds the strength to break a grown man in two- is almost satisfying. And yet, Dazai cannot ever seem to call her beautiful- even that one time they had gotten too drunk and had ended up tangling in the sheets. There is something so unnatural about her, like the way her eyes never warmed or the way her fanged smile always stretched too much; gorgeous, captivating, intoxicating and… yet.
She is about to hand over a brown packet of shrooms to Dazai when the man beside her stops her. His face remains impassive but Dazai can see a vein in his jaw jumping, his dark eyes zeroed in on something behind Dazai.
“Seems like tonight will be quite exciting.” Akiko mutters under her breath, slipping the bag back into a briefcase that somehow disappears into thin air in an instant.
Dazai turns around to meet a boy in a long black coat- the slit tails of it flutter behind him on phantom wind- and his fiery hair shines even in the dim lights of the alley, with the infamous hat on top sitting proudly like a crown. Indeed, this is going to be an exciting night.
“Nakahara Chuuya.” Dazai drawls, grinning at the redhead.
He gives Dazai an onceover, his face bored but his grey eyes are far too bright to be disinterested, and proceeds to walk over to the trio and face Akiko and her henchman. It does not go unnoticed by Dazai that they all kind of tower over Chuuya, with Akiko being nearly as tall as Dazai and other being well over six and a half feet.
“Do not comment on what I know you’re about to comment on.” Chuuya hisses, not even bothering to look at the brunette. A joyous, almost triumphant laugh bubbles out of Dazai at that.
“What a delight to run into you tonight.” Akiko says, her smile unwavering yet her silver eyes shine like the sharpened edge of a knife.
“Cut the crap, Akiko.” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes, “I do not like to sweet talk my way through life like this freak of nature right here.”
“Careful who you call a freak of nature, Chuuya.” Dazai interjects, feigning hurt, “This could be my last straw, you know.”
“Right, as if you wouldn’t be absolutely delighted to have yet another reason to take multiple attempts on your life.” Chuuya deadpans, looking to his left to fix Dazai with a stare.
“You know me too well.” Dazai beams, knowing full well it will only test the redhead’s patience with him.
“You two are adorable.” Akiko chimes in and Chuuya whips his head back to look at her, his left eye twitching dangerously at the insinuation.
“If the boss wasn’t so hellbent on keeping you alive,” Chuuya says, his voice awfully soft for the words coming out of him, “I would take immense pleasure in killing you, Akiko.”
The blue haired woman’s smile doesn’t falter but the edges of her eyes seem to tighten, and the man inches closer to her. What is their relationship, really? Dazai wonders because frankly, he’s kind of bored again because he knows how this is going to go. This isn’t the first time a Port Mafia member has stopped one of their dealers from selling to Dazai; although Chuuya seems far more worked up about it than any of them had been so far.
“Understood. The Port Mafia does not want any bad blood with the agency because our little friend here overdosed on something coming from us.” Akiko says, “I won’t be selling to Dazai anything save imported alcohol.”
“I do like tequila a lot.” Dazai says to no one in particular and is woefully ignored.
“That is what I heard you said the last three times too, Akiko.” Chuuya says, somehow leveling the woman with a very contemptuous stare.
“I wouldn’t want to cross you, Chuuya.” She says, almost bowing. It takes everything in Dazai not to laugh at the mockery.
“You’re on thin fucking ice.” Chuuya hisses, and turns around to leave. He reaches the main street and stops, as if waiting for a certain someone to catch up. With one last dazzling smile at a simmering Akiko, Dazai walks over to join his companion for the night.
Chuuya has no idea why he even gave Dazai the option to join him for the night because as they round another corner, it occurs to him that the brunette can quite literally talk anyone’s ear off. He wouldn’t even need to do anything- save run his damned mouth, of course- because Chuuya is two seconds away from cutting his own ears off. It also doesn’t help that a tiny, almost negligible part of him feels horrendously warm at the familiarity of walking through the streets of Yokohama, the night air crisp on the exposed bits of his skin while Dazai’s sing song voice cuts right through everything.
“Do you never run out of things to say?” Chuuya finally cries, exasperation getting the best of him. Patience is not a virtue that he possesses.
“If you want me to shut up, you can always just give me my shrooms and wash your hands off of me.” Dazai offers, smiling smugly because he knows very well that Chuuya won’t- cannot- do that.
So the redhead remains silent, leading them off the main bustle of Yokohama and deeper into Port Mafia territory. Chuuya wonders, reluctantly and not for the first time, if Dazai ever feels nostalgic roaming these parts. Chuuya knows that the brunette knows every crack and crevice of these streets like the back of his hands- he did rule them with an iron hand for years- and if he ever just… walks by for the sake of just reminiscing. He hates how much he wants it to be true, how much he wishes that Dazai missed these godforsaken parts of the city. Dazai probably doesn’t though, for he fits into the precious Detective Agency with the oddballs like he’s always belonged there… like he didn’t flourish in the Port Mafia just a few years ago. The thought leaves a bitter taste at the back of Chuuya’s neck and he curses himself for even having such sentiments. It’s been four goddamned years, for fuck’s sake.
“You know I won’t give you drugs, bastard.” Chuuya says instead, looking at the brunette sideways. He hates the fact that there’s a possibility that the boy had grown a few more inches in the last few years, all gangly limbs and messy hair.
“Why?” Dazai pouts, “Why do you even care, Chuuya?”
“Because you’re not dying on my watch.”
“If I do, sure Moir-senpai will probably give you a hard time for a few days but you’ll be rid of me forever.” Dazai elongates the last word, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth, “Yosano can do her thing and find out that I just accidently overdosed and it had nothing to do with you. I know the President, he won’t hold it against the Port Mafia even if he wants to. He wants to avoid any feuds just as much as Mori-senpai does.”
Chuuya stops in his tracks to fix Dazai with a stare, hoping he’s poured enough annoyance and contempt in it for the other boy to know just how stupid he sounds. He’s always wondered, since the very first day he met the bastard, if Dazai purposely plays dumb. He can’t fathom why he’d do that though, because even though he’d give up his position in the mafia before he admits it out loud, he knows that Dazai is unnervingly smart.
“Seek help, you sick fuck.” Chuuya says, resuming his walk.
“Or, I could just keep searching for other ways to call it quits.” Dazai announces, unhindered by any of Chuuya’s words or glares.
Chuuya speeds up, solely to put some distance between him and the insufferable bastard and thankfully, the latter does not attempt to keep up. The cool air is pleasant on his face, calming down the rage that almost never goes down when Dazai is around. There’s nothing particularly aggravating that he’s doing right now- save his incessant ramblings about the stupidest of things- and yet, Chuuya just cannot fight the anger bubbling up in him. He’s not even entirely sure where it’s coming from or where it might lead. All he knows is that he has an incorrigible urge to strangle the bastard and yet, keep him alive at the same time.
“You won’t die that easy, Dazai, because I am going to be the one to kill you.” Chuuya says more to himself than the other boy, wondering if there is even any truth left to the words.
Dazai instantly realizes where Chuuya is headed even before they round the corner and the bar looms into view; somehow, it still looks exactly the way it did years ago with its decrepit looking walks and the wooden sign hanging limply above the entrance. It looks almost deserted, the way it always has, and for the first time tonight, a genuine smile blooms on Dazai’s lips. It’s small and infinitely sad, gone in a flash. It makes his chest feel eerily empty, remembering someone from what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Awwh, Chuuya, are you buying me a drink?” Dazai coos, mostly to shove past the lump that’s lodged in his throat.
“No, you’re buying your own, you stingy bastard.” Chuuya says, pushing the door open. The inside of the bar is exactly how Dazai left it- wooden floors and warm lights, the place mostly empty save for a couple at the very back and the bartender. Recognition sparks in his eyes, and he nods at the brunette with a small smile.
“I can’t really be stingy with something I don’t have.” Dazai says casually with a shrug and when Chuuya just stares at him, confused, he adds, “I don’t have any money on me, never do.”
“You’re telling me that you don’t have any cash on you?” Chuuya asks dubiously, his voice reaching a higher pitch in a way it only does when he’s dumbfounded. Dazai can’t help but admit that he’s always found it quite endearing.
“That is correct.” Dazai simply says, sliding into a seat at the counter.
“How were you going to pay for the fucking shrooms then?” Chuuya asks, still not taking a seat. He doesn’t even look pissed the way he always does, just highly agitated.
“With these good looks and of course, the not so little guy between my le-“
“You’re so fucking disgusting.” Chuuya cries, his voice shrill and Dazai can’t hold his laugh back any longer. Despite all that Chuuya’s seen in his time with the mafia- hell, they even own several brothels across the darker parts of Yokohoma- he always gets flustered when it comes to things like this; the red tint spreading across his cheekbones right now is proof enough. He doesn’t admit it out loud, but he misses teasing Chuuya like this- he’s always so quick to react, flushing and sputtering.
“In my defense, and I actually don’t believe I need to have a reason to sleep with someone-“
“Get to the fucking point or shut up.” Chuuya cuts him off but finally takes the seat beside him.
“- but still, in my defense, Akiko is pretty stunning so why not, right?” Dazai continues, like he wasn’t just interrupted, “Plus, it’s so much better once you’re stoned. Have you ever tried to have sex with-“
“I am going to strangle you.” Chuuya seethes, gesturing for the bartender to take their orders.
“It’d be my utmost pleasure.” Dazai drawls, placing both his elbows on the wooden counter and balancing his face on the palms of his hands. A smirk plays across his mouth, knowing full well that it’s only going to grate against the redhead’s nerves even more.
Chuuya is about to bite back but he chokes on his own breath, looking at Dazai with wide, incredulous eyes; there are angry red blotches marring his usually pale face. With his hat sitting on the tool beside him, Dazai can see the tips of his ears have warmed too. A completely irrational urge to tuck the loose strand of hair away from Chuuya’s face seizes Dazai, persistent and wholly unwelcome, but thankfully the bartender interrupts them.
“Tequila?” the man asks, nodding towards Dazai.
“No, thank you Tanaka-san. I’d like to order your infamous rum and coke tonight. Tequila might lead to certain things and this prude right here-“ Dazai says, grinning like the devil reincarnate he is.
“Water, give him water.” Chuuya deadpans, “And whiskey for me, thanks.”
The bartender chuckles, muttering something that sounds very much like ‘just like old times’ as he shuffles away to make the drinks. The words sharpen a growing ache somewhere deep in Dazai’s chest, something he’s been avoiding so diligently, so carefully for the last four years that it’s almost easy to make himself believe that it doesn’t exist at all, but here it is.
This is the last place where he had sat with Chuuya as partners, shared a drink over the details of the mission that he had had no intention of seeing through. Just as he’d sat with Sakunosuke Oda for the very last time before the man left for good, scarring Dazai in a way that had been both imprisoning and freeing at the same time. He wonders, for the umpteenth time, if there is any irony in the fact that Odasaku’s death somehow killed Dazai’s relationship with Chuuya too. Maybe that’s why it is easier- more preferable- to have Chuuya hate him with the vengeance of a thousand gods because even now, after all these years, he does not know how he’d ever apologize for abandoning his partner in enemy territory; for leaving the way he did. If the rumors had any truth to it, Chuuya had waited right at this bar for weeks for Dazai, even after his defection.
For the love of all that’s holy and all that’s not, Dazai cannot sit here for another second being this sober.
Chuuya isn’t sure how many drinks they’ve had so far but judging by the slight swaying of the ground below, he’d say-
“Another one, please.” Dazai sings, holding up an empty tumbler towards Tanaka. His face is propped on the palm of his right hand, the bandages at the beginning of his wrist frayed.
“No, absolutely not.” Chuuya is glad to know that his words haven’t started slurring yet, which means they can go at this for another hour or so but at the rate they’re drinking, they’ll have trouble even standing on their own two feet, let alone go back to their respective organizations in one piece. So he gestures for the bartender to stop but Dazai has some other plans.
“Oh, don’t be such a buzzkill, little Chuuya.” Dazai says, throwing him a lopsided smile.
His protest dies at the tip of his tongue, chest uncomfortably tight. Chuuya hasn’t heard that infuriating nickname in a long, long while and the sound of it curling inside Dazai’s mouth brings back emotions that even the whiskey can’t burn away. It feels like some invisible cord around his neck snaps, vanishing in the pair of brown eyes staring at him right now- the same eyes that have haunted him endlessly these past years- and it finally feels like he can breathe. But his lungs burn with ever breath that he takes.
“Shut up, you lying bastard.” Chuuya snaps, and realizes what he’s said after it leaves his mouth. There’s a frown forming on Dazai’s face, as he lifts his head up and levels him with a stare that’s frighteningly clear and steady.
“Chuuya…” Dazai begins but his voice trails off, his hands curling and uncurling in a way that always means that he’s trying to decide something. It only makes the anger in the pit of Chuuya’s stomach grow, because there is nothing that the brunette can say that he might want to hear; not after all these years.
“Stop, you don’t have to say anything.” Chuuya says sharply, his voice clipped, “And even if there is something you want to, I… I don’t want to hear it.”
“That’s fair.” Dazai says after a beat, the corners of his mouth uncharacteristically tight.
Silence hangs over them heavily, broken only by the tinkling of melting ice in their glasses as they sip on their drinks. Chuuya knows the conversation is far from over but he doesn’t want to continue this any further; but he also knows that he won’t be able to leave- he’s never been able to turn away from this suicidal maniac no matter what he says- because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to sit and drink with Dazai again, like this. Like the last four years haven’t changed both of their worlds completely. Like their lives haven’t moved so drastically apart that they can only ever exist in parallel lines.
“I know you’ve never liked the sound of my voice, or anything I have to say-“ Dazai slowly spins on his barstool to face the redhead, one hand on the counter while the other rests on his thigh lightly.
“Stop being so dramatic.” Chuuya cuts him off, rolling his eyes despite the roiling of his own emotions.
“But I am sorry, for everything really.” Dazai continues after a long sigh and Chuuya’s rage almost falters, because he can’t remember a time where Dazai has ever apologized this sincerely for anything, or sounded this humble while doing so. He sneaks a glance at his companion, and is even more shocked to see Dazai’s shoulders hunched, eyes darting across the bar like he’s not sure he can even look at Chuuya.
The silence stretches on, weighed with the words hanging between them. A part of Chuuya wants to pick up his hat and walk out of the bar, maybe even straight out of Yokohama, because he’s not sure he can face Dazai and the weight of his words now or ever. There are too many lonely nights of waiting for a call that never came, too many disappointing days of looking for a lanky boy with bandages only to find empty corners, that Chuuya cannot forgive; yet, there’s a part of him that knows that he’d forgiven Dazai the moment he’d seen him chained up in the dungeons of the Port Mafia. Hell, he’d even sold his soul to the devil to save Dazai when the lethal fog had seeped through the very air of Yokohama.
But Chuuya does not know what to say, or how to say that he’d never forgive Dazai for walking out on the Mafia- for walking out on him- but there’s nothing he wouldn’t give to have him back. To drink ridiculously expensive wine together, to get unprompted calls from him in the middle of the night about yet another dumb suicide idea, to wield the power of Soukoku with him, to hold each other through tragedies inflicted on them by the world.
So he says nothing, ducking his head and resting his forehead on the counter to just… not look at the swirling brown of Dazai’s eyes.
Dazai has never been good with emotions, be it his own or someone else’s, but looking at Chuuya with his face hidden in the mess of his own flaming curls makes Dazai want to try. But he doesn’t know what he could possibly say or even do that could wipe out that look of hurt from his silvery eyes. Because he knows that beneath the redhead’s volatile anger, there’s always been a torrent of emotions he’s incapable of expressing.
Like that one time after Chuuya had recently joined the Mafia, he had been on a mission with Dazai and some subordinates; they’d been up against a faction with whom Chuuya had fought with against the very Mafia he was working for. The look of betrayal had been evident in their victims’ eyes as Soukoku had ripped them apart in an instant, Chuuya being far more explosive in his rage than usual. It wasn’t till they had returned to their base and everybody had trailed off that Dazai had seen the redhead slumped against a wall, face blank and eyes distant. It hadn’t been rage that he’d been feeling but helplessness and confusion with the way his life had spiraled within a matter of weeks.
Even then, Dazai had not been able to say anything to comfort Chuuya so he had opted to offer the redhead the finest bottle of wine he had. So right now, looking at the smaller boy, all he wanted to do was comfort him but he doesn’t have the words for it. So he does what his body tells him to- Dazai has always been better with impulses than careful actions- and puts a quivering hand on the back of Chuuya’s head. The smaller boy stills, his fumbling fingers knotting in his lap.
“I am sorry, little Chuuya.” Dazai says, his voice softer than moonlight, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for leaving but I want you to know that I did not leave you. I just… I had to leave behind the person that I was. I had to become better, someone who would do the right thing. At least, someone who would try to.”
“But I… I lo- liked who you were.” Chuuya mumbles and if it wasn’t so hauntingly quiet, Dazai wouldn’t have been able to make out the words at all. His own hand stroking the red locks stills, the words seeping into his chest and burrowing deep in his heart. Warmth blooms, soft and bright, inside him- Chuuya had liked him even then, with his cutthroat ruthlessness and indifference to everything; his partner had valued him still.
Guilt rips through that warm glow instantly, and it takes Dazai a moment to get his voice back.
“Do you not like me anymore?” Dazai asks, fingers toying with a curl. He doesn’t want to admit the depth of the question, doesn’t want to look too much into how much he wants Chuuya to like him… maybe even a lot more than just a friend.
“That does not matter,” Chuuya says after a sigh, turning his face so that his temple is pressed against the wood, “because I cannot forgive you. It’s not because I don’t want to. I just can’t… because it would mean that I might start hoping. For you… for us to be… I don’t even know. I just can’t spend another four years waiting for you, when I know you’ll never show up.”
“You don’t know that.” Dazai says softly, his hand sliding away from the back of Chuuya’s head and resting on his cheek, cupping his jaw lightly. Dazai isn’t sure if the smaller boy is aware of it or not, but he leans into older boy’s touch instantly, like he used to all those years ago.
“Please don’t,” Chuuya’s grey eyes are alight and it takes Dazai a moment to realize the shine is from unshed tears, “make promises you have no intention of keeping.”
A tear does fall, but Dazai’s thumb catches it. His grey eyes are still swimming, his mouth slightly open but not quite- like he’s trying to regulate his breathing- and yet, he does not look away. Not when Dazai’s thumb strokes his cheek delicately, not when another tear escapes. It hits Dazai all over again how absolutely beautiful Nakahara Chuuya is, with his grey eyes and fine bones framed with hair like hellfire. It burns through Dazai’s heart, his very soul, like he’s touching a piece of the sun with bare hands. Maybe this is why he’s been wondering all this time how all these attractive people- men and women alike- pass him by but he never finds the allure to be lasting; because he’s seen Chuuya open and fragile like this in his hands, and nothing in this world could ever compare.
“I have every intention of keeping it, little Chuuya.” Dazai finally says, hand still cupping Chuuya’s face. The redhead doesn’t move so neither does the brunette; they sit like that for a moment or forever- brown eyes locked with grey ones.
The sky is tinged with pink as they finally walk out of the bar, closer than before but not quite touching. They haven’t said anything after Dazai’s apology or Chuuya’s… what was that even? In the dying hours of the night, Chuuya is furious with himself for even indulging himself in that conversation; why on earth would he ever let himself hope that he could have Dazai back? In what reality will that even work out?
“You’re going to give yourself a concussion if you think that hard with your bullhead.” Dazai says coyly, looking down at the redhead with a smirk. As bad as it was seeing Dazai humbled by the guilt of his own actions, this is infinitely worse and it takes everything in Chuuya not to smack it right off his face.
“Or you could kiss it off.” Dazai says, as if Chuuya’s thoughts were being broadcasted, and for the umpteenth time, Chuuya chokes on nothing but air.
“You’re disgusting, shut up.” Chuuya says, stomping off. A memory, sharp and demanding, presses against the back of his head.
Rain. Half empty bottle of tequila. Chuuya’s back against a rough brick wall and his fingers laced through the brunette’s hair. White shirts strewn on Dazai’s bedroom floor. Fervent kisses. Mumbled words of love. Teeth and blood. Linen sheets. And the constant pounding of rain.
It takes everything in Chuuya to pull himself out of that memory, and before he can even recover from the heady rush of emotions that nearly sweeps him off his feet, he feels Dazai pressing a soft yet chaste kiss on his right cheek. He is about to shriek in sheer surprise but the familiarity of the warmth that it leaves behind blurs every other sensation in him. Chuuya’s gloved hand touches the burning patch of skin, his eyes wandering till they land on Dazai; there’s a peculiar expression on his face- tender and happy in a way that Dazai rarely is. It makes Chuuya’s own face soften.
“If there is anything that I still miss from my past life, little Chuuya, it’s you.” Dazai says, eyes doting and warm, “Always only you.”
With that, he starts walking away and for a moment, Chuuya’s blood curdles with anxiety. Is this the last time he’ll be seeing Dazai? Is this it? Did he just set himself up for another heartbreak when he’s not even entirely over the last one caused by this very damned man?
“Eight o’ clock, Friday. See you later, love.” Dazai calls before he disappears around a corner, a bandaged arm raised in goodbye. Chuuya knows, even without seeing, that Dazai is smiling that uninhibited radiant smile that puts all the dawns to shame. It makes a smile appear on his own face too, tender and hopeful.