Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunny P.O.V.

  Sunny was thirteen when his parents stopped noticing him.

At first, they were just quiet. Cold. Detached. They still paid the bills, left groceries in the fridge.
   But they didn’t speak. Didn’t look at him.

Then, one day, they just… didn’t come home.

   He waited. At first with hope, then with hesitation, and then with nothing at all.

The house was quiet.
   The curtains stayed shut.
He didn’t answer the door.
   He didn’t eat much.
Food stopped feeling like a need a while ago.

  Most of the time, he just laid there.
Remembering.

 Mari’s body.
The blood.
 The stairs.

He didn’t cry anymore.
  That was for before—when there was still something inside to spill out.

Sometimes he wondered if he was the ghost, not her.
   Wandering through that house like a shadow, invisible and weightless.
A boy-shaped hollow with a bandage over one eye and silence for lungs.

  Today, though, he moved.

It was his birthday.
  Fourteen.

He sat up, stared at the wall for a long time, then put on the first pair of shoes he could find.
  They were too small. Didn’t matter.

He opened the front door and stepped outside.
  He didn’t lock it.

If his parents ever came back, they’d know where to find him.

  Sunny P.O.V. — Continued

The streets were quiet, just like he remembered.

  He walked for a while.
No destination.
  Just forward.

Then—

  Out of the corner of his eye, something shifted.

At the end of the block stood a girl.

 White dress.
Long black hair.
 Head tilted.
Limbs wrong.

  The air dropped ten degrees.
He didn’t breathe.
  A part of him hoped she’d vanish if he just… didn’t move.

Mari.

  No—

Not Mari.

  His chest felt tight.
His legs froze.

  She didn’t move.

But someone else did.

  A man, in a white coat, stepped into view just behind her.
Where she had been, there was now only shadow.

  Sunny blinked.
Once.
 Twice.

The hallucination was gone.
 But the man remained.

  Mori P.O.V.

Now this was interesting.

  Ōgai Mori watched the boy from a distance, hands calmly folded behind his back.

Bandaged eye.
  Underfed.
No shoes.
  No supervision.

His expression was dull—like he wasn’t even fully here.

  No fear.
No questions.

  Just a quiet, hollow kind of stillness.

Perfect.

  Not just another runaway.
This one didn’t even flinch.
  That kind of numbness wasn’t born—
It was sculpted.

  Sunny P.O.V.

The man walked closer.

  He didn’t look dangerous.
He didn’t even look surprised to see a kid wandering around alone.

 “Out here all by yourself?” the man asked.
His voice was smooth.
 Gentle.
Like a doctor.

 Sunny blinked at him.

“…I’m looking for my parents.”

  Mori P.O.V.

Missing parents.
  Obvious trauma.
No resistance.

  But the most important thing was:
no one else around.

  “How long have they been gone?” Mori asked.

The boy shrugged.
  “A few months. Or more.”

He didn’t even sound upset.
  Just tired.

“Why do you think they left you?”

  Another pause.

“…I killed my sister.”

  Mori’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Tell me more.”

  Sunny P.O.V.

He didn’t know why he told him everything.

  Maybe it was because no one had asked.

Maybe it was because he was just tired.

  So he did.

He told him about Mari.
  About the stairs.
About the blood.
  About waking up and wishing he hadn’t.

About how quiet the house was now.

   About how hungry he wasn’t.

About how sometimes he thought about just… disappearing.

  Mori P.O.V.

The boy was perfect.

  Broken, willing, quiet.
A story soaked in blood and silence.

  A clean slate.

A sharp edge waiting to be used.

  Mori saw him not as a child—
but as a syringe.
  Thin, fragile, and meant to inject death.

  “I can help you,” Mori said softly.
“I can help your family.
   And I can help you, too.
Find a peaceful way to end all this pain.”

  The boy stared at him.

Sunny P.O.V.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

He shrugged.

  “…Sure.”

Mori P.O.V.

  He smiled.

Sunny.

  This is the day Dazai was born.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

The room was too clean.

  White walls. Black floors. The kind of quiet that made your ears ring.

Dazai sat on the edge of the bed.
  Not Sunny.
Not anymore.

 They’d called him Dazai when he arrived.

He hadn’t corrected them.

He didn’t even flinch at the name. He just let it settle.
  Like it belonged to someone else.
Someone better.
  Someone who didn’t accidentally kill his sister.
Someone who hadn’t been forgotten.

He didn’t know where his old clothes went. He wore black now — loose sleeves, button-up shirt, new bandages on his arms and eye. His shoes were polished.

  He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to.

Someone came to get him. A woman with gold hair and red eyes. She didn’t smile. Just said:

  “The boss wants to see you.”

So he followed.

 Mori P.O.V.

The child was obedient. That was good.

  Some might say Mori was cruel. But cruelty was just efficiency in a sharper suit.

He didn’t waste time.

  “Do you know what a witness is, Dazai?” he asked, not turning from the window.

Dazai stood behind him, silent.

  “It’s someone who sees the truth,” Mori continued, “And tells it to the world. Someone who makes things real.”

He finally turned to look at the boy.

  “You’re not here by accident. You’re here because I chose you. I see something in you.
Something sharp.”

Dazai blinked. Slowly. He didn’t speak.

  “You said you wanted a way out,” Mori said softly. “I can give you that. But first, I need something from you.”

Dazai P.O.V.

  He didn’t ask what Mori meant.

Because he already knew.

  The man was old — the one in the chair. The current Port Mafia boss. He looked tired. Sick.
His skin was gray.

Dazai stood in the corner of the room. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud.

  Mori walked behind the old man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

They were talking. Words Dazai didn’t catch. But it didn’t matter.

  He knew what this was.

He was here to watch.

  To be a witness.

He didn’t flinch when Mori took out the blade.

  He didn’t look away.

He watched.

  He thought maybe he’d throw up. Maybe he’d shake.
But instead, he just felt…
  nothing.
Like the part of him that was supposed to react had burned out a long time ago.
  Maybe it had died with Mari.

Dazai P.O.V. (Later)

  The body was gone.

So was the blood.

  No one talked about it.

They just handed him tea and said the Boss had “stepped down.”

  He drank it. Slowly.
It was bitter.

Mori looked at him from across the table and asked:

  “How do you feel?”

Dazai stared into the cup.

  “Lighter,” he said.

It was true.

  Something in him had finally snapped loose.

Mori P.O.V.

  Perfect.

Dazai P.O.V.

  He didn’t sleep that night.

He stared at the ceiling and tried to remember Mari’s voice.

  He couldn’t.

But he remembered the sound the blade made.

  He remembered the way the blood didn’t even spray. Just fell.

He remembered Mori smiling.

  And how he hadn’t felt scared.

He used to wonder what monsters looked like.
  Now he knew.
They smiled like doctors and wore white coats.
  And they gave you new names like they were saving you.

This is the life you asked for, he thought.

  This is what being useful looks like.

He turned onto his side.

  “I’m not Sunny anymore,” he whispered.
“I’m Dazai now.”

Chapter Text

Mori P.O.V.

The body had barely cooled before the questions began.

    “Where’s the Boss?”
“He hasn’t made a public appearance in weeks.”
     “Why wasn’t anyone called in to see him before the end?”

The questions were loudest from the ones who had served under the old man for years.
     His bodyguards. His advisors. The loyal fools.

Mori, calm as ever, answered with a physician’s clarity.

      “The illness took him during the night.”
“His condition worsened faster than expected.”
      “He passed peacefully, in my care.”
“He named me as his successor in writing before the end.”

     Some of them narrowed their eyes.
Others nodded solemnly, relief settling on their shoulders like dust.

    None of them noticed the boy in the back of the room.
Quiet. Still. Watching everything.

     Loyalty, Mori knew, could be rewritten with the right ink.
And fear did the rest.

Mafia Member P.O.V.

“Did you hear? They say Mori was the only one with him when he died.”
    “Funny how that works, huh? No witnesses. No ceremony. Just… gone.”
“Yeah, and what about the kid? The bandaged one? He hasn’t said a word, but he was there.”
    “You think he saw something?”
“Kid looks like a ghost. Creeps me out.”
    “Maybe that’s why Mori keeps him close.”

Dazai P.O.V.

He heard them.
   Every word.

He stood at the edge of the hallway, half-shadowed, arms loose at his sides.
    Eyes half-lidded. Head tilted just slightly.

Like he was listening.
   Like he always was.

They whispered louder when they thought he couldn’t hear.

   “He’s Mori’s pet project.”
“They say he was there when it happened.”
   “What kind of kid just… watches that?”

Dazai didn’t answer.
   He didn’t care what they thought.

Because they were right.
   He had watched it happen.
And worse—
   He hadn’t looked away.

Internal Monologue:

I should’ve been afraid.
   I should’ve felt sick, or guilty, or anything at all.
But I didn’t.

   I watched it like I was outside my body—
Like I was just the shadow left behind.

Mori P.O.V.

   The boy understood silence.
That made him valuable.

   The others muttered, theorized, searched for cracks in the story.
But not him.

   He simply listened.

That was what made him the perfect witness.
   And, soon, the perfect weapon.

Dazai P.O.V.

He found a file folder left open on a side table.

   Abilities.

He flipped through it absently. There were names and descriptions.

  Pyrokinesis. Sound manipulation. Reality distortion. Teleportation.

And something that caught his eye:

  “Nullification (theoretical): Total ability negation via direct physical contact.”

It had no name attached.
   Just a question mark. A possibility.

He traced a finger along the paper’s edge.
   Didn’t think much of it.

Then, later, someone tested him.

   Unnamed Mafia Member P.O.V.

“Thought I’d scare him a little. Just to see if he could bleed.”

  It wasn’t anything serious — just a flicker illusion. Flash-bang effect.
Good for hazing rookies.

  But the moment his fingers brushed the kid’s shoulder—

Nothing happened.

  No light. No sound.

The illusion failed before it even began.

  He stumbled back, eyes wide.

“You—what the hell did you do?”

   Dazai P.O.V.

The man looked at him like he was radioactive.

   “Did you just cancel my ability?”

Dazai blinked. “I don’t know.”
   “You touched me. That was all.”

He didn’t feel anything special.
   No spark, no warmth, no power humming in his veins.

Just… nothing.

   And apparently, that was enough.

Internal Monologue:

   Nullification.
So that’s what I do. I erase people’s power just by being near them.

   I guess that fits. I’ve always been good at ruining things.
I kill abilities the same way I kill everything else—without trying.

  Mori P.O.V.

When the news reached him, Mori smiled.

  “Contact-based nullification,” he murmured.
“Fascinating.”

   Touch-activated. Passive. Complete shutdown.

He couldn’t have asked for more.

  “And he didn’t even realize he had it.”

Like stumbling upon a blade that sharpens itself.
  A child that kills powers just by existing.
Perfect.

  The possibilities were endless.

A boy who could walk through ability users untouched.
  Who could silence chaos with a brush of his fingers.
Who didn’t need to be taught to kill — only to choose who.

   Mafia Member P.O.V. (Later)

“What’s his ability called?”
   “I don’t think he’s named it yet.”
“…Creepy little bastard.”

   Dazai P.O.V.

He sat alone that night again, reading the same file.

   This time, he underlined the word:

Nullification.
  I’ll call it No Longer Human.

He didn’t know if he liked it.
  But it fit.

Like everything else in this life—
  Cold, sharp, and quiet.

 Final Reflection – Internal Monologue:

   I didn’t want this power.
Didn’t ask for it. Didn’t seek it out.

   But it clung to me like everything else.
Mori’s name. This body. This life.

  And maybe that’s why it fits so well.

He didn’t choose this path.
   But it welcomed him like it had been waiting.

Because in the end…
   I am no longer human

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

  He wasn’t sure when he stopped being afraid.

Maybe it was sometime between the first mission and the third.

  The first time, he froze.

The second time, he ran.

  The third time, he didn’t blink.

It wasn’t bravery.
  Bravery meant fear came first.
But Dazai didn’t feel fear anymore.
  Only the buzz of instinct and cold calculation.
Like something inside him had gone to sleep and left the rest on autopilot.

  He was fourteen now.

Officially.

   No parents. No records. No past.

Just a name that didn’t belong to him—
   And a title they gave him like a badge of honor:

Port Mafia’s Youngest Executive.

   He didn’t smile when they said it.

Didn’t feel proud.

  Just… lightheaded.

Like his body wasn’t big enough to hold what it meant.

  Random Mafia Member P.O.V.

“Did you hear?”
  “Kid’s got a kill count higher than some of the veterans.”
“Took out three armed guards last week. Didn’t even flinch.”
  “They say he doesn’t sleep. Just walks the halls like a ghost.”
“Think Mori’s training him to take over?”

   Dazai P.O.V.

He was never trained. Not really.

  Mori didn’t teach him how to shoot or stab or interrogate.

He just dropped him into situations and watched what happened.

  Like a scientist testing a new formula.

Sometimes Dazai succeeded.

  Sometimes he didn’t.

But he always survived.

  He was good at survival.
Even when he didn’t want to be.
  Especially when he didn’t want to be.

He stopped eating sometimes.
  Just to see how long he could go.

Three days. Four. Seven.

  Nobody noticed.

Not until he passed out in the hallway.

  Even then, no one asked if he was okay.

They just told him to eat next time.

  Mori P.O.V.

The boy was unraveling.

   But in the right direction.

Mori watched him closely.
   The way he clung to routine. The way he worked without sleep.
The way he never asked for help.

   It was beautiful.
The creation of a perfect, hollow soldier.

  Dazai P.O.V.

He stared at himself in the mirror one night.

  Took off the bandages. Looked at the skin underneath.

Pale. Thin. Too clean.

  Not his.

Not Sunny’s either.

  Someone else.

Someone that didn’t flinch when people screamed.

  Someone who laughed when bullets missed.

Someone who smiled when he was hurt—
   Because at least it meant he could still feel something.

You’re not a person.
  You’re a knife someone forgot to sheath.

Hirotsu P.O.V.

   He watched the boy from afar.

“Dazai,” they called him now.
  Mori’s project. The ghost child.

He didn’t like it.

  Didn’t trust it.

Too young. Too quiet. Too cold.

  But he couldn’t argue with results.

The kid got things done.

  Fast. Clean. Deadly.

Dazai P.O.V.

  He was sent to interrogate someone for the first time.

Didn’t know how to do it.

   Didn’t ask for advice.

He just walked into the room, sat across from the tied-up man, and waited.

  Didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Fifteen minutes in, the man cracked.

  Started talking.

Started begging.

  Dazai never raised his voice.
Didn’t need to.
  The silence was louder.

When he left the room, his hands were shaking.

  But not from guilt.

From adrenaline.

  He hated how good it felt.

Final thought:

  I’m not getting better.
I’m getting better at this.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

  Dazai turned fifteen today.

There was no celebration—just the faint hum of the container’s walls and the cold bite of the floor beneath him.

  He didn’t mark the day with anything special. No cake. No candles. Just quiet. Just memory.

Two years ago, he killed his sister.

  A few months later, his parents left.

And then a year ago… he saw a corpse wrapped in black flame and was told to forget it.

  He thought Mori was helping him—saving him, maybe, in a twisted way.

But now?

  Now he knew Mori lied.

The previous boss hadn’t died peacefully. Mori had killed him. Assassinated him.

  And he made Dazai the only witness. The one person who could never tell the truth.

He should’ve seen it coming.

  He did see it coming.

And he still let it happen.

  Why am I surprised? Dazai thought, staring up at the container ceiling. Of course it was all a lie.

Mori had promised him peace. That someday, somehow, he’d find a painless way for Dazai to die.

   And Dazai had believed him.

Because he wanted to. Because he needed to.

  But there was no peace. No exit.

He was still here. Still breathing. Still waking up every morning with a heart that wouldn’t stop beating.

   Well, in the end… I’m always alive.

He curled tighter into himself, trying to ignore the feeling clawing up his spine. Guilt, yes—but also something colder.

   Used.

He wasn’t a son, or a patient, or even a human to Mori.

   He was a tool. A sharp one. And that’s all Mori ever saw.

The universe must hate me.

—

   Two hours later, Dazai stood in Mori’s office, barely blinking.

The doctor looked up from a set of papers, smile as calm as ever. “Ah, Osamu. I have a job for you.”

   “…Another one?” Dazai asked, voice flat.

Mori nodded. “There are rumors. Whispers that the previous boss has returned. Some say he walks again. Covered in black fire.”

   Dazai’s heart stopped.

“What?” he said, too quickly. “You said he was dead. I watched you—”

   “I never said he stayed dead,” Mori cut in smoothly. “And I certainly didn’t expect his… reappearance.”

Dazai stared. “That’s actually possible?”

  “In our world?” Mori chuckled. “Anything is.”

The boy’s thoughts raced. Ghosts. Reanimation. Black flame that scorched air and reality.

   He hadn’t even scratched the surface.

I know nothing, he realized. About this world. About abilities. About anything.

   He should have asked more questions. Should’ve looked beyond the calm tone and the white coat.

“I’ll investigate,” he said quietly. “But first… I need to learn.”

   Mori raised an eyebrow.

“I want to study abilities,” Dazai continued. “If something like this is real—then I can’t afford to stay ignorant.”

   The doctor’s smile widened.

“Good,” he said. “Very good.”

—

   As Dazai turned to leave, Mori’s voice floated after him—soft, almost idle.

“Osamu,” he asked, “why do you wish to die?”

   Dazai stopped in the doorway.

His hand hovered near the frame, just for a second.

   Then, without looking back, he answered:

“Do you really think there’s any value in this thing we call living?”

   And then he walked out, leaving the question behind him like a shadow.

Chapter Text

  Dazai P.O.V.

It started with a ghost.

  Dazai was used to silence by now. The kind that crept in even when people were talking. The kind that settled into your bones and stayed, long after the noise stopped.

But this silence? It was different.

  The kind that comes right before something breaks.

He sat alone in the underground archives, surrounded by dust and old air. Fingers skimming across pages.

  Files. Reports. Lies.

Port Mafia history written in blood and redacted names.

  Mori had given him a task: investigate the rumors. The sightings.

The former boss—the one Dazai watched die—was apparently walking again.

  Alive. Burning in black flame.

Untouchable. Inhuman.

  Just like the rumors said.

At first, Dazai thought it was a trick. Another of Mori’s mind games. A leash disguised as curiosity.

  But the reports weren’t all internal.

Civilians. Informants. Even low-level Mafia members swore they saw it: shadows where there should be none, a man wrapped in fire, too silent to be alive.

  He leaned back in the archive chair, staring at the ceiling.

Mori had promised peace. A way out. A way to make the pain stop.

  But that was a lie.

Just like everything else.

  Dazai had been fifteen for a while now.

No birthday. No candles. No meaning.

  Just another number, another scar, another year of pretending not to care.

He wasn’t an executive. Not officially.

  But he was in deep enough to know better.

And he knew this:

 He wasn’t a person anymore.

Just a tool with a name.

  Later that day, he sat on the floor of his room—lights off, papers scattered—reading a file on ability types. The ink blurred around the edges from where his fingers had pressed too hard.

He felt heavy. Quiet. Tired in the way that made your soul ache.

  Why do I always believe people when they say they’ll help me?

Why do I keep letting myself hope for peace?

  Mori knew what his ability was from the beginning. Nullification.

And he said nothing. Because Dazai’s power wasn’t meant for peace.

  It was meant to destroy.

He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers like maybe the truth was hiding under his skin.

  “I don’t even know what I’m capable of,” he whispered.

That thought didn’t comfort him.

  It made him want to disappear all over again.

One week later:

  Dazai stood in Mori’s office, hands in his pockets. The doctor smiled at him, calm and clinical as always.

“There’s been another sighting,” Mori said, sliding a folder across the desk.

  “Suribachi City.”

Dazai opened the file and scanned it. Multiple witnesses. Strange flame patterns. Bodies missing.

  “Why me?” he asked flatly.

Mori didn’t answer right away.

  Instead, he said, “You’ve been researching. Learning. Thinking. I want to see what you’ll do with what you’ve found.”

Dazai narrowed his eyes. “You trust me?”

  “I trust your usefulness.”

Same thing, apparently.

  “You’ll go,” Mori continued, “and take Hirotsu with you. Blend in. Observe. Report.”

Dazai’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

  There was no point arguing. Not yet.

• Hirotsu P.O.V.

He didn’t like being assigned to Dazai.

  Not because the boy was disobedient—he wasn’t. Not because he was reckless—though sometimes he was. It was because Dazai made him uneasy.

There was something off about him. Something unreadable in his eyes.

  Cold eyes. Empty hands. Always watching.

Hirotsu had worked in the Mafia long enough to recognize monsters.

  But Dazai… he was different.

He didn’t enjoy violence. He didn’t hate it either.

  He just... didn’t blink.

When Mori gave the order, Hirotsu said nothing. But he felt his stomach twist.

  I’m just the escort, he told himself. Just the backup.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought:

  If this boy turns on me, I don’t think I’d survive.

• Dazai P.O.V.

Suribachi City felt like a scar across the map. Twisted alleyways. Stacked houses. Everything crooked and too quiet.

  Dazai walked with Hirotsu a step behind, footsteps echoing like warning signs.

He could feel eyes watching them. More than one pair.

  He didn’t care.

His mind kept circling back to the file. The shadows. The flame.

  The impossible rumors that kept coming back, no matter how much he wanted to ignore them.

If the old boss is still alive…

  If that flame really exists…

Then what else am I wrong about?

  He hated the feeling. Being unprepared. Being ignorant.

I need to understand abilities.

  I need to understand everything.

Before someone else uses me again.

  Then it happened.

He barely saw the flash before his body hit the ground.

    —what the hell—

A foot pressed down hard against his chest.

  Dazai gasped, blinking up—

—and froze.

  The boy standing over him was his age. A bit short for a normal teen.

Fiery red hair. Eyes the color of shattered sky — cold, piercing blue.

  Angry, intense, and —

Beautiful.

  Unfairly, stupidly beautiful.

Dazai blinked again, stunned, but not from the hit.

  The boy’s foot stayed planted. His expression didn’t waver.

“What are you doing in Sheep territory?” he asked, voice sharp.

  Dazai didn’t answer right away. His mind was still stuck on the eyes, the heat, the presence.

He opened his mouth—then closed it again.

  Because for once, the words didn’t come.

And for once, Dazai Osamu had no clever response.

  Just one thought looping over and over:

I’m going to be in so much trouble.

   …But damn, he’s pretty.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

   The foot on his chest was gone now, but the pressure remained.

Dazai stared at the boy in front of him—fiery red hair, cold blue eyes, and a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

  “What are you doing in Sheep territory?” the boy had asked.

Dazai’s first thought had been: he’s beautiful.

  His second: I’m going to be in so much trouble.

“Oh I’m with the port mafia ,” he had said, and the boy had frowned.

  “The Port Mafia. What the hell are you doing here?.”

The tension in the air had coiled tight.

  But before either of them could say anything else—

BOOM.

  An explosion tore through the quiet. A building nearby collapsed in flame and glass. The street vibrated with impact.

And just like that, they were running.

  Side by side. No time to ask questions. No time to hesitate.

The street was a warzone: shattered windows, screaming civilians, the crackle of fire and gunshots. Armed men flooded the area.

  Dazai ducked into cover. Chuuya took the lead, moving like a flame—burning, untouchable.

More soldiers spilled into the courtyard.

   Chuuya crouched, scanning the group. Then—

“You’re short for your age,” Dazai muttered.

   Chuuya blinked at him, disbelieving.

“I’m still growing, dammit!”

   Gunfire broke out—spraying toward them.

Chuuya reacted instantly.

  Gravity twisted around his body—bullets curved in midair, stopped, and spun.

With a sharp grunt, he kicked them back.

  Soldiers screamed and fell. Four of them dropped instantly.

But one was still standing.

   Dazai’s gaze locked on the last man.

The soldier raised his weapon.

  Dazai raised his first.

He fired once.

  Then twice.

Then again.

  Then his mind caught up.

He saw himself—young, scared, cornered—firing at someone he once was.

  “This is more than you deserve,” he muttered under his breath, a voice turned inward, swallowed by gunfire.

Bang.

 Bang.

Bang.

  The man collapsed.

Dazai stood there, still holding the gun, breathing hard.

 Chuuya P.O.V.

He’d seen killers before. Mafia youth. Hunters.

  But this… this was different.

The kid (Dazai)—cocked his head like he’d heard a joke, held that gun with steady hands, and shot without blinking.

  Chuuya’s power had flared—heat and motion and fire—but it wasn’t enough to save everyone. He saw Dazai’s first shot land. Dazai’s voice was quiet—almost casual—but what he said?

“This is more than you deserve.”

  Chuuya froze.

That didn’t sound like a hunter. It sounded like someone passing judgment. Like someone who… knew.

  Dazai had no gun now. Just this strange look in his eyes—equal parts pain and purpose.

Something about that unsettled Chuuya more than the entire gunfight.

  He dropped his hands and ground his teeth.

He should walk away. They were on different sides. Should.

  But something held him there.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

  But… he wasn’t leaving.

Later That Night – Mori’s Office

  Chuuya and Dazai stood before Mori, bruised and bloodied—unexpected allies.

Mori leaned forward, calm and clinical

  “Chuuya,” he said. “We need help tracking down the old boss’s “ghost”. And we’d like you to join us.”

Chuuya crossed his arms, eyes narrow.

  “Why should I trust you? You know people are saying that you killed the old boss?”

Mori smiled thinly.

  “So what if I did?”

Dazai’s eyes widened. He didn’t say it out loud, but—Did he really just admit that?

  Even he hadn’t expected Mori to say it so casually.

Chuuya looked just as stunned.

  “Why would I help you guys?”

Mori didn’t blink. He pulled a photograph from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.

  A line of Sheep agents—tied up. Held hostage.

“Because I have them,” Mori said. “And if you want them back alive, you’ll cooperate.”

  The silence in the room shifted.

Dazai rolled his eyes and stepped forward slightly, trying to break the tension.

  “I don’t need help,” he said, voice dry. “I’m perfectly fine doing this myself.”

Chuuya’s head snapped toward him.

  “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

“Please, I was handling it—”

  “You were spiraling. With a gun.”

“At least I don’t launch bullets with my feet like a show-off.”

  “That’s called style, dumbass.”

“Enough,” Mori said.

  Instant silence.

He looked at both of them, smiling softly.

  “Now… Do you want to help us?”

Chuuya glanced down at the photo again.

  The Sheep.

  Then back at Dazai. Then back at Mori.

Finally, he let out a sharp breath through his nose and said:

  “Fine. I’ll help.”

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

The photo of the Sheep still sat on the desk when Mori leaned forward again, voice calm as ever.

    “Have you heard about the mysterious explosion?” Mori asked, turning to Chuuya.

“You’re more likely to know what people in town are saying.”

   Chuuya’s expression didn’t change, but Dazai saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Mori continued, hands folded.

   “There was a mysterious explosion at the end of the boss’s rampage.”

For a second, no one spoke.

    Then Chuuya exhaled through his nose, arms crossed.

“Word around town is that the explosion was caused by Arahabaki.”

    Dazai blinked.

Araha… what?

    Chuuya didn’t stop.

“They say a captured foreign soldier was tortured at a military facility in the Settlement. But that soldier—full of rage and hatred—summoned Arahabaki.”

     “Black flames filled the entire base. Everyone and everything inside… was wiped out.”

The words sat heavy in the air.

    Dazai glanced at Mori, but the doctor didn’t react. Like he’d already heard this a hundred times.

Dazai’s mind buzzed.

    A weapon made of black flames? A rampage that ended in a supernatural explosion?

What else is the world hiding from me?

   He looked down at his hand, at the thin gloves he always wore.

‘I really need to research more about abilities’-  Dazai thought.

    ‘Because at this point… I’m going to be a liability in the Port Mafia.’

Mori sat back in his chair, the dim light casting shadows across his face.

   “Alright. That’s enough for tonight. We’ll investigate this even further—tomorrow.”

Chuuya shifted uncomfortably, his arms still crossed.

   “Where do we meet up?” he asked.

“Because I don’t want to be seen in this place.”

    Dazai stretched his arms behind his head, looking perfectly relaxed.

“We can meet at the arcade,” he offered.

    “No one pays attention there, and it’s loud enough to keep nosy people out.”

Mori nodded once.

    “Fine. Since all is settled… everyone shall leave.”

Chuuya didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked out without a word, the tension trailing behind him like smoke.

     Later That Night – Dazai P.O.V.

The archives were nearly empty, quiet except for the soft hum of lights overhead.

    Dazai sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by folders, open books, and loose pages. His coat lay beside him, forgotten.

He flipped through old case files, newspaper clippings, and witness reports.

     Explosion near the Settlement. Black flames. Military facility destroyed.

Again and again, the name came up:

     Arahabaki.

It didn’t show up in official PM records. Not even once.

    But in old myths, in whispered reports and unverified accounts—it was there. Always tied to destruction. Always hidden behind military red tape.

“If this is real… and if Chuuya’s right…”

     He frowned, rubbing his temple.

“Then we’re dealing with something way beyond my clearance level.”

    He opened another folder, this one half-burned at the edges. The paper inside was warped but readable.

A sketch of a strange sigil. Fire. Names blacked out.

    “I really need to get ahead of this,” Dazai muttered.

“Because the last thing I want is to be the deadweight in this mission.”

    The door creaked open, followed by quiet footsteps.

Dazai didn’t look up right away. He already recognized the presence.

   “Didn’t expect you to be here this late,” said Randō, stepping into the archive room.

“Place gets cold around this time. Doesn’t bother you?”

   Dazai finally glanced up, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Cold’s not the worst thing here.”

   Randō chuckled and walked in, scanning the open folders scattered around Dazai’s legs.

“Researching? That’s new. I thought you preferred improvising .”

   “Let’s call it… curiosity.”

Randō raised an eyebrow.

   “Curiosity about what?”

“Explosions. Monsters. Government secrets.”

   Dazai’s voice was light, but there was a blade beneath it.

Randō hummed, tapping a finger on the edge of one half-charred page.

   “Sounds dramatic.”

“So was the crater in Suribachi,” Dazai replied without looking at him.

   Randō said nothing for a moment. Then:

“That whole region’s a mess. I wouldn’t dig too deep.”

   Dazai offered a lazy smile, tilting his head.

“Who says I’m digging?”

    Randō gave a short laugh.

“Fair enough.”

   He stepped back toward the door.

“I’ll let you get back to your curiosity, then.”

   “Sure.” Dazai didn’t move.

“I’m sure it won’t lead anywhere dangerous.”

   Randō paused just long enough to notice. Then smiled again.

“Let’s hope not.”

   The door clicked shut behind him.

Dazai didn’t speak. He just stared at the stack of pages in front of him, his fingers still pressed against a report with burn marks on the edges.

  “Always cold, huh?”

“Interesting.”

The Next Day – Suribachi City Arcade

    (Time Skip: The Next Morning)

The noise was unbearable.

    Machines beeped and buzzed, neon lights flickered against metal cabinets, and kids screamed over claw games and busted prize counters.

It was, in Dazai’s opinion, the worst possible place for a meeting.

    Which made it perfect.

He leaned against a broken air hockey table near the back corner, hands in his coat pockets, waiting.

    Chuuya showed up five minutes late, hood pulled low, scowl already locked in place.

“This place is disgusting.”

    Dazai smiled without turning.

“Good morning to you too, partner. ”

    Chuuya crossed his arms.

“If you think I’m touching anything in here, you’ve lost your mind.”

   “Don’t worry, your aesthetic can’t get any worse.”

Chuuya gave him a sideways glare.

   “Remind me why we’re meeting here again?”

“Because no one’s watching. And it’s loud. Besides—” Dazai gestured vaguely toward the noise, “—you can’t eavesdrop through a Dance Dance Revolution machine.”

   Chuuya scoffed.

“You’ve got a weird definition of ‘safe. ’”

   “Coming from the guy who uses gravity to play dodgeball with bullets.”

That shut Chuuya up for a second.

    They stood there, shoulder to shoulder but not quite facing each other.

“…So,” Chuuya muttered. “Did Mori give you anything else?”

    Dazai shrugged.

“Not yet. But I did some reading.”

    “Tch. Figures. Looked like you hadn’t slept.”

“You were watching me?”

   “I could smell the eye bags.”

Dazai laughed quietly, but his eyes didn’t follow.

    “Arahabaki, huh. ”

He watched a kid fail to win a plush toy for the fourth time in a row.

    “This place really is awful,” he said softly.

Chuuya didn’t argue.

    Chapter 8 – Continued

The claw machines buzzed. Neon lights flickered overhead.

    Chuuya leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, scowl deepening by the second.

“So what are we really doing here, Dazai?”

    Dazai smiled. Innocent. Annoyingly so.

“Settling a deal.”

    “What deal?”

Dazai turned to him, eyes bright with challenge.

    “Simple. One game. Winner gives the orders. Loser follows them—like an obedient dog.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

   “You think I’d agree to something that stupid?”

“Scared you’ll lose?”

    Chuuya’s eyes twitched.

“Fine.” He shoved off the wall.

   “What game?”

Dazai nodded toward the back corner of the arcade—where a two-player racing cabinet sat half-forgotten. The vinyl seats were cracked, the screen flickered, and the paint was scratched from years of angry losers.

    “This one. You pick the track. One round.”

Chuuya squinted at it.

   “This thing looks like it’s been here since the war.”

“Which makes it fair,” Dazai said sweetly.

    But what Chuuya didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that Dazai had come in the day before. A few coins to the right employee and a little well-placed water damage later…

Chuuya’s side of the machine now lagged slightly. The accelerator pedal would stick, and the screen would stutter every few seconds. Barely noticeable. Just enough.

   Flashback:

“I recognize talent when I see it,” Dazai had told Mori.

   “And Chuuya? He’s raw fire. He just needs a leash.”

Back in the present, Chuuya slid into the seat of the left cabinet.

  “Hope you’re ready to lose, jerk.”

“Oh, I am,” Dazai replied with a grin.

   “I’ve never been more ready.”

The countdown began.

   3… 2… 1…

Engines roared. The game kicked to life.

   Chuuya surged ahead at first—reflexes tight, turns clean—but halfway through the track, his pedal stuck. His car sputtered just long enough for Dazai to drift past.

The screen flashed.

   DAZAI: WINNER

CHUUYA: LOSER

   Chuuya stared at the results in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me—”

    Dazai stretched his arms overhead, smirking like it was fate.

“Rules are rules.”

   “You cheated.”

“I won.”

   “You’re a bastard.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

   Chuuya groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“What kind of orders are you even going to give me?”

  Dazai just smiled wider and stood up from the machine.

“Guess you’ll find out.”

   Chapter 8 – Final Scene

The cave was quiet except for the buzz of the arcade behind them.

   Dazai leaned against a low wall near the entrance, checking his phone when two unfamiliar voices echoed into the cave.

“I’m telling you, he’s here. I saw him.”

  “No way. Chuuya wouldn’t be caught dead with Mafia.”

Dazai didn’t look up—at first. But then he caught the name.

  Chuuya?

His eyes flicked over to the far corner where Chuuya was sitting, hood low, head down. Almost like he didn’t want to be seen.

  Ah. Hiding.

Dazai smiled faintly.

   “Chuuya Nakahara, we gotta go,” he said loudly.

“Boss’s orders and all.”

   His voice bounced through the cave like a cue, sharp and intentional.

The two teens froze.

   They turned—and spotted him.

Then their eyes landed on Chuuya.

   “Chuuya?!”

“Oh my god—we’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

   “Do you know the PM’s taken the Sheep hostage?!”

Chuuya let out a small sigh and gestured to Dazai.

   “Yeah. I’m dealing with it right now.”

Yuan blinked, not even registering who Chuuya was pointing at.

    “Good! We need you to get them back, like always.”

Dazai tilted his head and thought. 

   ‘Damn. The Sheep must be getting kidnapped a lot and they send him every time?’

‘They really let Chuuya handle everything?’

   But while Yuan kept rambling, Shirase’s eyes finally landed on Dazai—and narrowed.

Click.

   The soft sound of a switchblade.

Shirase stepped forward.

   “Who the hell are you?”

Dazai raised both hands, overly dramatic.

   “Oh no, please don’t kill me,” he said, deadpan.

Then he turned around and pulled out his phone.

   “Mori. Release the hostages.”

A pause.

   “Are you sure?” came Mori’s amused voice.

Dazai said nothing.

   That silence was an answer itself.

Mori hummed.

  “Hmm… okay.”

Still amused.

   Dazai turned back toward them.

“They’ve been released.”

   Silence.

Even Shirase lowered the knife.

   Dazai stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his coat.

“Well. Time to go.” He turned to Chuuya.

   “You coming?”

He started walking but paused halfway.

   “Well of course… it’s your decision if you want to complete this task with me.”

Chuuya hesitated.

    He looked at the Sheep—his old life. Then at Dazai—his current path.

“Well,” Chuuya muttered, straightening his coat, “I already started. I’ll finish it.”

    He gave a small nod to Yuan and Shirase.

“I’ll see you guys around.”

    He walked toward the exit, shoulder brushing Dazai’s.

But just before they reached the door—

   “Don’t,” Shirase said sharply, then yelled out. 

“Chuuya… you had no one else before the Sheep took you in.”

    Chuuya flinched. Just slightly.

Then he walked faster, pushing the door open without looking back.

    Dazai lingered for one more second.

Then turned to face Shirase and Yuan.

    And smiled.

But his eyes were sharp— ice cold . The kind of look that didn’t need words to be a threat.

   They felt it in their spine.

Even the switchblade didn’t feel like enough anymore.

    Dazai followed Chuuya out without another word.

Chapter Text

Dazai lingered for one more second.
  Then turned to face Shirase and Yuan.
And smiled.

  But his eyes were sharp—ice cold. The kind of look that didn’t need words to be a threat.

They felt it in their spine.
  Even the switchblade didn’t feel like enough anymore.

Dazai followed Chuuya out without another word.

  Outside, the arcade buzz faded behind them.
The sky was dark now—clouds hiding the stars, the city quieting like it was afraid to breathe.

  Dazai walked beside Chuuya, a step apart.
Neither of them said anything for a while.

  Then Dazai glanced over.

"...You didn’t have to come with me," he said softly. "You could’ve gone back."

  Chuuya didn’t meet his eyes. "I know."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

  It was something heavier.

Something starting.

  "Aww, Chuuya picked me. You must really love me."

Dazai's voice echoed across the gravel road as they walked, the streetlight above them flickering like it might give out from exhaustion. His tone was playful, exaggerated—but even to himself,             it sounded too eager. Like he needed to fill the silence before it filled him.

  Chuuya didn’t even glance his way.

"Ew. No. I would never like someone like you."

  Dazai laughed. Too loud. Too sharp.

But the words hit.

  I would never like someone like you.

A flash. Brief. Brutal.

  His father, standing in the doorway.
Suitcase in hand.
  Eyes cold.

"I would never like someone like you."

  It struck harder than any gunshot. It had been years—but those words still echoed in Dazai's bones, like they were branded into him.

Just like that, he was ten again.
  Alone. Forgotten.

He blinked. Swallowed it down. The weight. The sting.

  And Chuuya was still talking—something about jerks, dumb hair, and his face.

Dazai forced a grin. That grin. The one he used when everything inside was ice and rusted wire.

  "Like I'd like a slug like you," he said, tone light. Too light. "Especially a short one."

Chuuya stopped mid-step.

  Brows furrowed. Not from the insult itself, but the way it was said. Not smug. Not teasing.

Too hollow.

  Did that really hurt him?

The thought unsettled Chuuya. Had he gone too far?

  Then, realizing what Dazai had said, Chuuya snapped back to his usual irritation.

"I'm only sixteen. I'm still growing, damn it."

  Dazai smirked again, this time for real. "Sure you are, boss."

The silence between them stretched as they walked. But now it felt different. Less like distance. More like something neither wanted to name.

  Then, Dazai's smile faded just a bit.

"All jokes aside," he muttered, eyes fixed ahead, "we need to find the old boss."

  Chuuya’s jaw tightened. "You think he's really still alive?"

Dazai was quiet for a moment.

  "Honestly? No. But someone wants us to believe he is. And if we follow the wrong lead... we're going to get burned."

He glanced sideways.

  "Literally."

They stopped near a rusted fence, just outside another collapsed warehouse.

  Chuuya kicked a rock. "So what’s the real lead, then?"

Dazai exhaled slowly. "A guy named Randō."

  Chuuya blinked. "Who?"

"Exactly." Dazai crouched and pulled a crumpled folder from his coat.

  "He’s quiet. Says weird things. Always cold. Used to go by a different name—Rimbaud. A French spy."

Chuuya tilted his head. "A spy?"

  "Yeah. Sent to investigate a secret Japanese military project. He infiltrated a facility... the one that housed a weapon called Arahabaki."

The moment the name left Dazai’s mouth, Chuuya shifted. Just slightly.

  Not fear. Not confusion.

Something deeper. Tighter. Like someone flinching at an old scar.

  Dazai noticed.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

  "Anyway," he continued, "Rimbaud tampered with the seal holding Arahabaki. And the result? A massive explosion that wiped out the entire facility and formed the Suribachi crater."

Chuuya folded his arms. "But if he died in that blast…"

  "He didn’t. He was the only one who survived. But he lost his memory. PM found him, took him in. He became 'Randō.' Then recently, he got his memories back. All of them."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. "And now?"

  "Now I think he’s using the Port Mafia to do what he couldn’t back then—track Arahabaki down and try to control it."

Another flicker from Chuuya. Barely visible. But Dazai caught it again.

  A pause.

"He’s the reason Mori sent me out here," Dazai added, watching Chuuya carefully. "He’s the reason this whole mess is happening. The fake sightings. The rumors."

  Another step closer.

"He’s the reason you're involved."

  Still no reaction.

But Dazai’s suspicion settled like dust in his lungs.

  "And he’s the reason I’m not leaving until we figure out exactly what he wants… and what he’s planning."

Chuuya P.O.V.

  Arahabaki.

The name hit harder than it should’ve.

  He didn’t flinch. He didn’t gasp. But inside?

Everything tightened.

  It felt like that word crawled under his skin and curled into his chest, cold and pulsing. Like it belonged there. Like it knew him.

Dazai didn’t miss it.

  Of course he didn’t.

He kept talking like he hadn’t noticed, explaining Randō’s past, the infiltration, the explosion. But Chuuya could feel it. The way Dazai’s gaze lingered on him too long. Calculating. Quiet.

  He hated it.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be part of some monster’s legacy.

  Arahabaki wasn’t just a word. It was a prison. A threat. A warning tattooed into his bones. And now? It was back. With a name, a purpose, and someone trying to dig it out of him.

Randō.

  He didn’t know the guy. But the more Dazai talked, the more something in Chuuya twisted. Not fear. Not exactly. Something worse.

Recognition.

   Like something inside him already knew that name, even if he didn’t remember when or why.

And Dazai… Dazai was watching him like he’d already put something together. Like he was one step away from saying it out loud.

  Don’t you dare, Chuuya thought, keeping his arms crossed, jaw clenched.

But Dazai didn’t push it.

  Not yet.

Instead, he turned back to the folder, and said, “We need to lure him out.”

The warehouse was abandoned.
  Open-roofed and skeletal, wind drifted through its broken rafters, stirring up ash and old secrets.

Dazai stood near the center, coat fluttering.
  His eyes were fixed on the door, voice low.

"He’ll come. I left just enough in the trail. He’s too careful not to follow it."

  Chuuya lingered to the side, arms crossed, coat unbuttoned.

"What if he brings backup?" he muttered.

  "Then you get to show off," Dazai said.

"Lucky me."

  The door creaked.

Randō stepped inside.
  Calm. Silent. The air shifted around him like it was afraid to touch.

His coat stirred without breeze. Behind his dull eyes, something flickered.
   Power. Memory. Something worse.

"You’ve been poking around," he said.

Dazai smiled. Thin. Measured.
  "You’ve been hiding things."

Randō tilted his head. "I told you. I'm not good at acting like a criminal."

  "No," Dazai stepped forward, "but you're good at surviving. Like when you survived a facility-wide explosion. Like when you stole Arahabaki."

Randō raised a hand.

  The air warped.
Light bent like heat off pavement—except it was cold.

  Freezing.
Wrong.

  Dazai moved.
So did Chuuya.

Randō's power surged.

  The floor split in bursts of folded space. Chuuya spun mid-air, gravity spiraling around him, and slammed a kick through the distortion.
A shockwave cracked the concrete.

  "He needs line of sight—break it!" Dazai shouted.

"I know!" Chuuya snapped.

  Randō warped. Reappeared behind Dazai.

Chuuya’s stomach dropped.

  "Dazai—!"

Another pulse.

  Dazai ducked, rolled, kicked.

Randō staggered back.

  Chuuya landed beside him, panting.
His hands shook—not from exhaustion.

  From the pull.

That voice again.
  Let go.

No.
  Not again.
He clenched his fists.

  Use me.

The pressure spiked.

  Chuuya snapped.

He stepped forward.
  Gravity peeled off him like heat.

"I'm done holding back."

  Dazai turned.
Alarmed. "What are you doing—"

  Chuuya’s eyes glowed.
Deep red. Burning.

  "You wanted Arahabaki, right?" he growled.
"Well, here I am."

  Randō froze.

His calm cracked.
  "You…?"

Recognition hit.
  Shock. Awe. Hunger.

"You're the vessel."

  His voice—reverent.

"I looked for you for years."

  Chuuya’s boots glowed with heat.

"And you'll never control me."

   Randō backed up.
"The containment seal failed. You walked out alive."

  "I didn’t walk out," Chuuya hissed.
"I was taken."

   Dazai went still.

Vessel.
   It made sense now. The hesitation. The flinches. The way he reacted to that name.

He didn’t speak.

   Just listened.

Chuuya raised a hand.
   Palm glowing red. Gravity spiraled around his arm.

"You want Arahabaki?"
   "Then come get it."

He slammed the ground.
   A gravity shockwave exploded.

The floor cracked. Steel screamed.

  Randō tried to warp—

Dazai lunged.
  Grabbed his wrist.

Skin met skin.

   Nullification surged.
Randō’s power shattered.

  Gone. Snuffed out like a flame.

Chuuya stepped forward.
  Fury in every stride.

"You came here looking for a weapon."
   "I'm not your weapon."

Randō stumbled.

  Step.
Step.
  Step.

"This ends now."

  One strike.
Red. Violent. Pure.

   Square to the chest.

The light in Randō’s eyes flickered—

  Then vanished.

He collapsed.

  Silent.
Still.
  Dead.

Dazai stood beside Chuuya.
  Dust swirled in the air.

Neither spoke.

  The fight was over.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

  They stood over Randō’s body, the warehouse still and cold around them. Chuuya turned without a word, his coat flaring behind him, already walking away.

" Well... that’s it. We’re done here. "

  Dazai didn’t answer right away. His hands slipped into his coat pockets as he watched Chuuya walk off, the crunch of glass under his boots fading slowly.

He said they were done.

  So why wasn’t Dazai moving?

He’s going straight back to them.

  To the Sheep. To that tight little circle that thought loyalty came with blood and bruises.

They’re not going to forgive this. Not after what they saw. Not after what we did.

  He pulled out his phone.

" Get a medic ready. Just in case. "

  He followed.

The Sheep’s hideout was colder than he remembered.

  Cigarette smoke. Cracked concrete. Paint peeled off the doorframes like skin.

He kept to the shadows outside, sharp eyes trained on the entrance. His coat snapped softly in the wind.

  Then he saw him—Chuuya, walking in like he still belonged there.

Head up. Back straight. So damn proud.

  But Dazai could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled slightly with each step.

He knows what’s waiting inside.

  The shouting started not even a minute later.

" You came back? After everything? "

  Shirase.

" I didn’t betray you, " Chuuya snapped. " I was trying to find answers. "

  " With the Port Mafia?! "

Something metal clattered. A scuffle.

  Then—

A sharp breath.

  Dazai moved.

Chuuya was on his knees.

  Blood bloomed red across his coat, soaking into the fabric.

Shirase stood above him, hand still clenched around a small blade, his face pale like he hadn’t thought it’d actually work.

  The others—silent.

And Dazai? Frozen.

  Blood. Too much. Too fast.

Mari’s body flashed behind his eyes—still, pale, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

 “I didn’t mean to.”

He couldn’t move.

  The red just kept growing.

By the time he snapped out of it, Chuuya was flat on the ground. His breathing was rough, shallow.

  The Sheep hovered, and behind them—uniformed men. Soldiers. Outsiders. Cowards.

Dazai stepped forward.

  He didn’t raise his voice.

" Touch him again, " he said, soft and sharp , " and I’ll make sure Mori finds all of you. "

  That was all it took.

They scattered.

  The medic arrived in under two minutes. Dazai didn’t know if Mori had sent him, or if he’d done it himself. Maybe both.

He knelt beside Chuuya.

  Pressed a hand gently to his shoulder, grounding him.

The medic worked quickly, unwrapping gauze, muttering instructions.

  Chuuya groaned. Then coughed a dry laugh.

"Tch… Thanks, dumbass. "

  Dazai didn’t reply.

But his hand stayed.

  He’d saved him.

Whether it was for Mori’s benefit…

  Or because he couldn’t lose anyone else—

He didn’t know.

  Chuuya P.O.V.

They didn’t speak until hours later.

  Mori’s voice still rang in Chuuya’s ears.

“ Welcome to the Port Mafia. ”

  Like it was that simple.

Like walking away from everything he’d known didn’t matter.

  He hated how calm he had to sound.

But part of him… wasn’t surprised. This had been coming. Since the moment he stepped out of that explosion alive. Since the moment Arahabaki became more than just a name.

  He walked beside Dazai now—awkwardly, slowly. He was bandaged up, but it stung when he moved. He didn’t say anything about it.

What bugged him more… was that Dazai was quiet .

  Too quiet.

Not his usual dramatic, smug kind of silence.

  Just... off.

They didn’t say where they were going. Chuuya figured they’d drop him at some Port Mafia base and let him rot in a hallway until morning.

  But then Dazai spoke.

" You got a place to stay tonight? "

  Chuuya blinked. " No. "

" You can crash at my place. "

  He didn’t know why, but that surprised him.

" You live in some fancy mafia house? "

  Dazai snorted.

" Shipping container. "

  " ...You’re kidding. "

Dazai just started walking again.

  " Why? " Chuuya asked.

" Felt appropriate. "

  That’s not appropriate, Chuuya thought. That’s self-destruction.

When they got there, the place was… not awful. But not great. Cold metal. One bed. Some blankets. A shelf. First aid kit.

  Chuuya sat slowly. His side ached.

Then he noticed something.

  Dazai was still bleeding.

" Did you ever get bandaged up from that hit Randō gave you? "

  Dazai shrugged. " Didn’t really notice. "

" That’s not normal. "

  " Neither am I. "

Chuuya rolled his eyes and stood, wincing. " Where do you keep the bandages? "

  Dazai pointed vaguely to the shelf.

Chuuya walked over, grabbed the kit, and knelt in front of him.

  Dazai didn’t resist. Didn’t joke.

Just sat there. Still. Quiet.

  Chuuya pulled back part of his shirt to reach the wound.

That’s when he saw it.

  Scars. Cuts. Thin, half-healed lines. Too many.

He didn’t say anything.

  He just kept working.

Wrapped the wound. Secured it. Didn’t ask what the others were from.

  Dazai watched him.

And something in his chest ached.

  He hadn’t felt this… seen in years.

Not since Mari.

  Not since she held his hand after nightmares and told him he wasn’t cursed.

Weird. It almost felt like someone gave a damn again. Huh.

  He didn’t say it.

But he thought about it. 

Chapter Text

 Dazai P.O.V.

The shipping container creaked with every breath of wind.

   Dazai sat curled on the floor, back pressed against the cold metal wall, blanket draped around his shoulders like a half-forgotten promise. Chuuya lay on the bed a few feet away—quiet. Breathing steady, finally.

The bandages were still fresh. The medic had done most of the work, but Chuuya had tightened them, redone the wrappings over his ribs with careful, practiced hands.

  It wasn’t the touch that lingered.

It was the way he hadn’t said anything about the scars.

  Dazai’s fingers found one now—just above the bend of his elbow. A shallow line. Not deep, but long. Like the kind of pain you didn’t want to kill you. Just wanted to feel.

He hadn’t meant for Chuuya to see it.

  But he had.

And he hadn’t said a word.

  Not a single word.

That silence was louder than anything.

  Across the room, Chuuya stirred.

“ You’re not sleeping, ” he mumbled, still facing the wall.

  Dazai gave a soft snort. “ Neither are you. ”

“ Tch. I’ve got stitches. What’s your excuse? ”

  Dazai shifted, curling his knees up. “ Terminal self-awareness. ”

That earned a tired exhale. Maybe the ghost of a laugh.

  They didn’t talk again for a few minutes.

The wind picked up. A loose bit of paper fluttered off the crate.

  Chuuya finally turned, lying on his back now, eyes just barely catching the soft glow of the streetlamp through the cracks in the wall.

“ Why’d you really follow me? ” he asked.

   Dazai blinked.

“ Huh? ”

  “ Back at the Sheep hideout. You could’ve left. You said we were done. But you followed me. ”

Dazai’s voice was quiet.

  “ Felt like a waste. Letting you walk into a knife. ”

Chuuya frowned. “ You didn’t answer the question. ”

  He didn’t press further, though. He just rolled back to his side.

But the question stayed.

  Dazai didn’t answer it. Not out loud.

Because when I saw you bleeding, I forgot how to breathe.

  Because watching you fall felt worse than watching anyone else leave.

Because you looked at me like I was worth listening to.

  He swallowed.

Maybe it was better he didn’t say anything.

  Chuuya P.O.V.

He hadn’t expected Dazai to offer.

  Not just a place to crash—but quiet. No lectures. No guilt.

Just... space.

  And yet, Chuuya could feel the tension bleeding off the other side of the room. Not anger. Not frustration. Just that kind of weight people carry when they don’t know how to be helped.

The container smelled like metal and old soap.

  He could hear Dazai fidgeting with something. A loose thread, maybe. Or one of those gloves he never took off.

Chuuya’s side ached. But it wasn’t the wound that made him restless.

  It was that he’d seen those scars.

He shouldn’t care.

  But he did.

Not out of pity.

  Because he knew what it was like to be used. To be handled like a tool. To be a vessel.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t feel weird—bandaging Dazai’s ribs. Not looking away. Not making a joke.

  Because in that moment, Dazai hadn’t been a prodigy or a manipulator or even a Port Mafia member.

He’d just been a kid. Hurt. Quiet. Letting someone stay.

  Chuuya turned back toward him.

“ You ever think this is gonna kill us? ” he asked.

  “ This? ” Dazai tilted his head.

“ The Port Mafia. All of it. ”

  Dazai paused.

“ Yeah, ” he said softly. “ All the time. ”

  Chuuya nodded once. Like that was the only answer he trusted.

Then, softer:

  “ But I’m still here. ”

Dazai looked up at that.

  Chuuya shrugged.

“ Figured you’d want someone to keep you from bleeding out again. ”

  Dazai laughed.

Not mockingly.

  Not loudly.

Just one, quiet , honest sound.

  And for the first time in days, the silence felt like something warm.

Chuuya let himself look at him then.

  Dazai was staring at nothing.

Eyes open. Blank. Not blinking.

  “ Dazai? ” he said, quieter.

No answer.

  He leaned up slightly, watching him more carefully now.

That wasn't exhaustion. That was something else.

  Dazai didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

  Didn’t even flinch.

Then—just barely—Chuuya felt it.

  The air changed.

Like something else had entered the room.He didn’t know how, but it was like the walls closed in. Like the shadows pulled tighter. He could feel it—not just in the air, but in his gut.

  Something was wrong.

Dazai P.O.V.

  Warm.

He hadn’t felt that in a long time.

  Not since—

A flicker. Something sharp behind his eyes. The quiet inside him… shifted.

  Don’t get used to this.

It wasn’t a thought. Not really.

  It was Omori.

The part of him that didn’t trust moments like this. The part that remembered Mari’s body and bloody hands and silence that meant guilt.

  Dazai blinked. His smile faded just slightlyHe blinked—but he wasn’t seeing the container anymore.

You’re not real, he told it He was back in that hallway. Back in the white noise of that day.

  But Omori didn’t answer. He never needed toA static buzz behind his teeth. A burning behind his eyes.

He just lingered. Still. Waiting. Watching.

  And Omori stood in the doorway.

Like he always did Expression blank. Arms limp at his sides. Shoes clean despite the blood pooling beneath them.

  Like he always would.

“ You don’t deserve this. ”

  Dazai gritted his teeth. Shut up.

“ You’ll only ruin it. Like you always do. ”

  He turned away. Clenched his fists.

But Omori didn’t move. Just stared.

  A mirror he couldn’t shatter.

A version of himself that never forgave.

  He’s not real. He’s not real.

But the feeling stayed.

  The pressure. The shame.

The fear that maybe— he was right.

  And still, somewhere beyond that, Chuuya’s voice was calling him back.

Soft. Steady. Real.

  Chuuya P.O.V.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  Dazai hadn’t blinked in minutes.

At first, Chuuya thought he’d dozed off with his eyes open—some weird stress thing—but then he looked closer.

  Still. Too still.

Breathing shallow. Eyes fogged. Like he wasn’t here anymore.

  “ Dazai. ”

No answer.

  Chuuya slid off the bed, carefully. His side burned, but he didn’t care.

He crouched in front of him. Snapped his fingers once. Twice.

  “ Hey. ”

Dazai didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

  A knot twisted in Chuuya’s chest.

What is this? A panic attack? A seizure? Something worse?

  His voice dropped.

“ Come on, dumbass… You with me? ”

  Still nothing.

So he waited.

  Minutes passed. Then an hour. He didn’t leave. Didn’t go back to the bed. Just sat beside him, legs crossed, back against the same wall.

Every few minutes, he’d try again.

  “ Oi, you really gonna make me carry you to Mori’s? ‘Cause I will, even if I pass out halfway there. ”

Still nothing.

  But eventually—

A blink.

  A twitch of his hand.

Dazai shifted, barely, like someone surfacing from water.

  “ ...Chuuya? ”

Chuuya turned his head toward him instantly.

  “ Yeah. I’m here. ”

Dazai’s eyes moved slowly, dragging across the room like he didn’t recognize it.

  He looked… exhausted. Pale. Distant. But present.

“ You spaced out for a while, ” Chuuya muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked at the edge.

  “ You alright? ”

Dazai didn’t answer right away. He brought a hand up to his head, fingers threading through his hair.

  “ I… think so. ”

Chuuya didn’t believe it. Not really.

  But he didn’t push.

“ You want water or somethin’? ”

  Dazai gave a shaky breath—halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

“ You stayed. ”

  Chuuya shrugged. “ I didn’t feel like dragging your corpse back to Mori. I’d probably get in trouble. ”

But there was no real bite in it.

  Dazai leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes drifted to Chuuya’s, and for a moment—just one—he looked like he might cry.

But he didn’t.

  He just said, voice low:

“ Thank you. ”

  And Chuuya, despite himself, nodded.

He didn’t know what Dazai had seen.

  But he’d seen enough.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

 Dazai P.O.V.

The silence stretched between them, fragile as glass.

  Dazai had just come back from the edge. His body felt like it weighed too much—bones full of ghosts, head full of noise. He could still feel the echoes of the trance. Still see the static behind his eyes.

Across the room, Chuuya was quiet. Watching.

  Then finally, softly:

“…What happened?”

  Dazai blinked.

He could lie.

  He should lie.

So he did.

  “I was remembering my sister.”

Chuuya tilted his head. “You had a sister?”

  Dazai nodded slowly. “Yeah. Her name was Mari.”

He didn’t fake the pause. That part was real.

  “She died when I was twelve. Suicide.”

That word always sat wrong in his mouth. Like a tooth he never stopped biting.

  “She was everything—perfect grades, talented, friendly. The kind of person everyone loved. My parents doted on her.”

A humorless smile twitched at his lips.

  “I wasn’t like her. I wasn’t loud, or charming, or useful. So they forgot I was there most of the time.”

His fingers curled against the floor.

  “I hated her for it. For a while.”

Another pause.

  “But she noticed. She started… making time for me. Talking to me. Teaching me piano. She tried.”

He looked down.

  “And then she was gone.”

Just like that.

  Chuuya didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“My parents… they fell apart after that. Stopped showing up for anything. And five months before my fourteenth birthday, they just… left. Like Mari was the only reason they’d ever stayed.”

  He laughed under his breath, but it didn’t sound like a laugh.

“No note. No goodbye. I woke up and they were gone.”

  Chuuya’s brow creased—but he still said nothing.

Dazai leaned back against the cold metal wall, eyes flickering toward the ceiling.

  “On my birthday, I went looking for them. Not because I wanted them back. Just to know why.”

He closed his eyes.

  “But I didn’t find them.”

His voice lowered.

  “I found Mori instead.”

That silence returned. He let it sit.

  “He told me he needed a witness. Said I was useful.”

He shook his head once.

  “Not someone to help. Just someone to use.”

And that was the day Sunny died.

Chuuya P.O.V.

He sat there, letting the words settle. Letting the truth—or the almost-truth—sink in.

  Mari. Suicide. Abandonment. Mori.

It all made sense.

  Too much sense.

And yet… something in him still twisted.

  He looked at Dazai—not the mafia prodigy, not the strategist—but the boy sitting in the corner of a metal box like it was all he deserved.

He’s not telling me the whole truth, Chuuya thought.

  But it wasn’t a lie to hurt.

It was a lie to survive.

  That didn’t make it okay.

But it did make it familiar.

  Chuuya exhaled slowly, pain still throbbing under his ribs. He watched Dazai for a few more seconds. Studied his hunched posture. The quiet in his eyes.

And a thought crossed his mind that chilled him deeper than the wind outside.

  Does suicide… run in the family?

He hated thinking it.

  But looking at Dazai—really looking—he couldn’t ignore how much that possibility scared him.

Because if Dazai ever d isappea r ed, just like that—

  If he vanished into silence the way Sunny once did—

Chuuya didn’t know what he’d do.

  He crossed his arms. Swallowed hard.

“…You didn’t have to tell me all that,” he said finally.

  Dazai blinked, looking over.

“You asked.”

  Chuuya met his eyes.

“I know.”

  He hesitated. Then added—quiet, but firm:

“…Thanks.”

  Dazai didn’t reply right away.

But something in his face softened.

  For a moment, just a moment, the name Sunny felt closer to the surface than ever.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 

(Timeskip 5 months It is May 1st) 

Chuuya P.O.V.

“Since that night, me and Dazai have been closer. But we still argue a lot.”

  He chuckled under his breath as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, boots tapping against the polished tile of the Port Mafia’s inner hall.

Not that he’d admit it out loud—but something had changed between them. Not in some cheesy, dramatic way. Just… quieter.

  Less pretending.

They hadn’t talked about the night Dazai froze up. Or the scars. Or the lie Chuuya still wasn’t sure was a lie.

  But Dazai had stopped brushing him off like he didn’t matter. And Chuuya had stopped pretending he wouldn’t notice if Dazai disappeared again.

So, yeah. They were closer.

  Still annoying as hell, though.

“You gonna keep talking to yourself or what?” Dazai’s voice rang out behind him.

  Chuuya didn’t turn. “Just thinking about how good I am at putting up with you.”

“Touching,” Dazai said, catching up to him. “Truly heartfelt.”

  They rounded the corner and came to a stop outside Mori’s office.

Chuuya tilted his head. “Why’re we getting summoned anyway?”

  “No clue,” Dazai said with a shrug. “Probably to thank us for being so well-behaved lately.”

Chuuya snorted. “If this is about that warehouse fire—”

  “I plead the fifth.”

Before Chuuya could punch him, the office door creaked open.

  Mori stood behind his desk, flipping through a folder. He looked up as they entered.

“Ah. Good timing. I have a new assignment for you two.”

  Dazai sank into one of the chairs, throwing his legs up without permission. “How special.”

Mori ignored the attitude. “It’s a joint mission. Not long, but delicate.”

  He slid the file across the table. Chuuya stepped forward and opened it.

Inside were photos. Maps. Diagrams of a small building complex in the industrial outskirts of Suribachi.

  “A weapons drop,” Mori explained. “Someone’s been smuggling prototype gear from an abandoned military facility and selling it to black market clients. The kind of people who don’t ask questions about glowing bullets or gravity-manipulated blades.”

Chuuya frowned. “Another military ghost story?”

  Mori smiled. “Possibly. But that’s why you two are going.”

Chuuya flipped through the file. Some of the photos were grainy—surveillance shots of a figure in a long coat moving equipment at night.

  No clear ID.

Just shadows.

  Dazai leaned over, peeking lazily at the page. “What’s the timeline?”

“Tonight,” Mori said. “You’ll infiltrate, disable whatever’s there, and bring back any salvaged tech. Quietly.”

  “Of course,” Dazai said, bored. “No one hears a thing. No one dies unless necessary.”

“Exactly.” Mori’s smile was sharp.

  Chuuya looked up from the folder.

“And if something goes wrong?”

  Mori tilted his head. “You’ll improvise.”

Chuuya P.O.V.

The air outside the facility was thick with fog and dust. The kind that clung to your lungs and made every breath feel like you were swallowing gravel.

  They crouched behind a stack of rusted steel crates, shadows dancing from the broken security lights overhead.

Chuuya scanned the perimeter—silent, alert.

  No cameras. No guards. Too easy.

That made it worse.

  “This is suspicious as hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Dazai, crouched beside him with gloved fingers resting under his chin, gave a lazy smile.

  “Why? Because no one’s trying to kill us yet?”

Chuuya shot him a glare. “Exactly.”

  Dazai chuckled.

He’s too relaxed. But then again, Dazai always got like this when something felt wrong. Calm, unreadable. Like the more dangerous it got, the quieter he became.

  Chuuya stood first.

“Follow me. I’ll handle the entrance.”

  He didn’t wait for Dazai’s answer—he never needed to.

The back entrance was sealed, but the corroded hinges gave in with a single touch of his gravity, twisting the lock with a sickening metal snap . He pushed the door open silently, sweeping inside first.

  The hallway beyond was empty. Concrete walls. Flickering lights. Stale air.

They moved quietly—step by step, breath held. Dazai didn’t speak. For once.

  Chuuya’s boots barely made a sound as they passed a row of stacked crates. Then—

He froze.

  A buzz . High-pitched. Electrical.

Tripwire.

  “Don’t move,” he hissed.

Dazai blinked at him, eyes wide for half a second before dropping into a crouch. He followed Chuuya’s gaze and spotted it—thin filament stretched across the floor. Almost invisible in the dark.

  “Wow,” Dazai whispered. “Didn’t know you had laser vision , Chuuya.”

“Shut up. You almost walked right into it.”

  He crouched and slid a hand through the air—then clicked his tongue.

“Pressure sensor.”

  Dazai tilted his head. “You gonna disable it?”

Chuuya smirked. “I’m gonna break it.”

  He reached toward the wire—then pulled back. With a single flick of his fingers, gravity shifted around the sensor, curling like smoke. The wire bent— then snapped silently.

No alarm.

  He exhaled through his nose, smug.

“Show-off,” Dazai muttered, but quietly.

  They kept moving.

This place gives me the creeps, Chuuya thought. No guards. No tech. Just enough traps to say someone cares—but no one to back it up.

  Something was off.

Then—

  A clang echoed down the corridor.

Chuuya turned instantly, stance low, hands glowing faint red.

  Someone was here.

Footsteps—fast, echoing. One person. Maybe two.

  “Contact,” Chuuya said.

Dazai didn’t respond with words—just moved behind him, circling out like smoke.

  And that was the thing about fighting with Dazai:

You never had to ask twice.

  Two figures appeared from the far end of the hallway—masked, armed, sprinting toward them.

Chuuya didn’t hesitate.

  He launched .

Gravity curled beneath his feet, and in a heartbeat, he shot forward like a missile. The floor cracked under the pressure as he slammed into the first attacker, sending the man flying into the wall with a brutal crash .

  The second one lunged—knife drawn, swinging high.

Chuuya ducked, twisted, let gravity pull him low. His fist rose with crushing weight, smashing into the man’s gut.

  Down.

Dazai appeared behind him, hands already on the first one’s wrist. The moment their skin touched—

  Nullification.

The man’s ability—whatever it was—snapped like a twig. Dazai twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him face-first into the floor.

  “Nighty-night,” he whispered.

Then they both paused.

  Silence again.

No more footsteps. No alarms.

  But that was the problem.

Why send just two guards? Chuuya thought.

  They stood in the middle of the corridor, breath catching in the quiet.

“This doesn’t feel like a black-market deal,” Dazai muttered.

  Chuuya glanced at him.

“What does it feel like, then?”

  Dazai’s eyes narrowed.

“…A trap.”

Chuuya P.O.V.

They were too quiet now.

  Too few footsteps. Too few bodies. And yet the air still buzzed with energy.

It wasn’t just a trap—it was a slaughterhouse waiting to happen.

  Chuuya stepped forward. “We need to fall back—”

But before he could finish, something cracked above them.

  A shot.

Fast. Precise.

  Not aimed at him.

“ Dazai—! ”

  Chuuya turned just in time to see the blood.

Dazai staggered back—arm limp, side torn open. The bullet had gone straight through his coat and into his ribs. His hand clutched at the wound, but blood spilled between his fingers like water from a cracked pipe.

  He dropped.

The world tilted sideways.

  Chuuya moved before he thought—gravity launching him into the air, eyes glowing with red-hot rage.

No. No no no.

  The shooter stepped from the shadows—another masked bastard, gun still raised.

Chuuya didn’t wait. He crushed the man into the wall without touching him, bones snapping like dried twigs.

  And that’s when the rest of them came.

Four. Six. Ten.

  Pouring in from the sides.

Too late.

  Chuuya’s mind went white.

His heart stopped.

  He’s going to die. He’s going to die and I—

Snap.

  The energy in his core burst wide open.

And Arahabaki answered.

  Corruption

It wasn’t a scream.

  It was a detonation.

Gravity howled through the corridors. Blood warped upward, dragged into impossible spirals. Steel cracked like paper. The air twisted—red and black, pulsing and endless.

  He didn’t remember moving.

Only the bodies dropping. One by one. No breath. No screams. Just silence after silence after silence.

  The ground split open.

A storm with a heartbeat.

  His heartbeat.

Somewhere, someone begged. Someone ran.

  But nothing escaped.

Not while he was like this.

  Not while he was this.

Chuuya P.O.V. – Aftermath

The floor was a crater. The walls were scorched black. There was blood on his boots—he didn’t know whose.

  He stood in the center of it all, chest heaving, eyes blazing red.

And Dazai—

  Dazai lay still. Pale. Barely breathing. Too still.

Chuuya stumbled toward him, shaking all over. His body buzzed with too much power—too much him and not him.

  “Dazai—”

His voice broke.

  He knelt beside him.

“ Please. ”

  A flicker. A twitch of Dazai’s fingers.

Then—his hand reached up , shaky and slow, and touched Chuuya’s wrist.

  Skin to skin.

Nullification.

  It was like a switch flipped.

Corruption snapped. Gravity collapsed.

  The storm vanished.

Chuuya fell forward , gasping, dragging Dazai into his arms before either of them hit the ground again.

  His heart wouldn’t stop racing.

He held him tighter.

  “I got you, dumbass. I got you—just hang on—”

Later – Mori’s Office

The medics moved fast once Chuuya burst through the door, dragging Dazai’s limp body behind him.

  Mori didn’t flinch at the blood.

Didn’t even look surprised.

  He only smiled.

“Well done,” he said softly, watching the way Chuuya clung to him. “You made it back alive.”

  Chuuya didn’t answer.

He couldn’t .

  He just sat on the floor outside the infirmary room, fists clenched, Dazai’s blood still on his coat.

And inside?

  He felt the fear still clinging to his ribs.

Not fear of Corruption.

  Fear of losing him.

Chuuya P.O.V.

The infirmary lights were too bright.

  White, humming, sterile. Like they were trying to bleach the blood out of the walls.

Chuuya sat slumped in the metal chair beside Dazai’s cot, arms crossed tight, coat stained and stiff. His knuckles were still raw. He hadn’t cleaned up. Hadn’t moved.

  Just waited.

Dazai was alive.

  Barely. But breathing.

The medics had said it was a close one—lung grazed, too much blood lost. But Dazai had survived worse, apparently. And he would again.

  Still, Chuuya hadn’t left.

Not for water.

  Not for air.

Not even when Mori came in.

  The man had looked down at Dazai—half-dead, pale, chest rising and falling in uneven waves—and just smiled.

“Good,” he’d said. Calm. Cold. Unbothered.

  “You brought him back.”

Chuuya hadn’t answered.

  He just stared at him. Hard.

Mori didn’t flinch. Only looked at the mess on Chuuya’s coat and added:

  “You did well, Nakahara. You’re adapting faster than I expected.”

Then he turned and left.

  Just like that.

Like Dazai wasn’t still bleeding.

  Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like it was all part of the plan.

  Now, hours later, the silence rang louder than anything Mori had said.

Chuuya looked down at Dazai’s face. Pale, eyelids fluttering in restless sleep. His hair clung to his forehead, damp from fever.

  He looked younger like this.

Less annoying. Less smug.

  More like a kid who’d never been taught how to rest.

Chuuya leaned back in the chair and exhaled—slow. Shaky.

  His hand twitched at his side.

I could’ve lost you.

  The thought made his throat tighten.

I almost did.

  His grip tightened.

That’s not happening again.

  Not under Mori.
Not under this city.
  Not under this name.

He looked at Dazai again—really looked.

  And thought, It’s fine.

I will never let anyone hurt you again.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

Chuuya’s been more protective ever since I almost died.

   He wouldn’t say it, of course. Not out loud. That wasn’t his style.

But Dazai noticed it.

  The way Chuuya stood just a little closer during missions. The way he’d double back when Dazai took too long behind him. The way he hovered after fights—checking for wounds, even if he pretended not to care.

Even now, walking side-by-side through the underground corridors of the Port Mafia headquarters, Dazai could feel it. A quiet weight at his shoulder. A presence that hadn’t been there before.

  It’s almost annoying, Dazai thought, lips twitching faintly.

Almost.

  He glanced sideways. Chuuya was scowling at a folder in his hands, brow furrowed like it had personally offended him.

“Another patrol?” Chuuya muttered. “What’re we, guard dogs now?”

  Dazai hummed. “You say that like you’re not secretly thrilled to flex your martial arts on someone.”

“Tch. Only if they deserve it.”

  There it was again—that edge. The one Chuuya didn’t mean to let slip.

It wasn’t just protectiveness. It was guilt.

  Chuuya blamed himself for the mission. For not reacting faster. For not stopping the bullet.

Dazai had felt it in the silence afterward. In the way Chuuya hadn’t slept for two nights. In the way he’d sat outside the infirmary even after Mori told him he could leave.

  He stayed.

Dazai didn’t know what to do with that.

  He didn’t want it.

But he didn’t want to lose it, either.

  They reached the exit gate and stepped into the night. The city air was damp—sharp with sea salt and ash from distant factory stacks.

Chuuya pulled his coat tighter.

  “You good?” he asked, not looking at Dazai.

Dazai blinked. “With what?”

  “That shoulder. You’ve been holding it weird.”

Sharp. Always watching.

  Dazai rolled it once, shrugged. “Stiff. That’s all.”

Chuuya didn’t look convinced. “We can stop if you’re not up for this.”

  There was no teasing in his voice. No smugness.

Just concern.

  Genuine.

And Dazai hated how much it made his chest ache.

  He looked ahead. “I’m fine. You ready?”

Chuuya scoffed. “I was born ready.”

  Dazai smiled—quiet. Crooked.

He means it.

  He’d burn this city down if I asked.

So why does that terrify me?

Dazai P.O.V. (continued)

They walked in silence for a while—past shuttered storefronts and alleyways that smelled like rust and leftover rain. The kind of Port Mafia patrol no one liked. No target. No clear enemy. Just a warning to the city:

  We’re still watching.

Chuuya moved like he owned the street. Confident. Sharp. That quiet storm energy always swirling behind his steps.

  And Dazai?

Dazai just followed.

  They didn’t talk much—until they turned down a narrow side street where the lights were half-dead and the air felt too still.

Chuuya slowed.

  “You feel that?”

Dazai nodded once. “Yeah.”

  They weren’t alone.

He could sense it—the kind of quiet you only heard when someone was waiting.

  Then, ahead, a flicker of movement. A group—four or five figures—slipping out from behind a truck.

Unmarked gear. Covered faces.

  Not random muggers. Trained.

Chuuya didn’t hesitate.

  He shifted forward, stance widening, hand flexing at his side.

“You take left,” he muttered. “I’ll take the ones in front.”

  “Aw, giving me the easy side?” Dazai smiled faintly.

“You’re still recovering. Don’t get cocky.”

  But his voice was different. Less sarcastic. More... grounded.

Dazai moved left.

  The fight didn’t last long.

A flicker of gravity—one man was down. Another scrambled up the alley, but Chuuya slammed him against the wall with a pulse of pressure that cracked the bricks.

  Dazai neutralized the third the moment their arms touched. Nullification pulsed through his fingers like breath.

The fourth tried to run.

  But Chuuya let him.

“Let him report back,” he muttered.

  Dazai raised a brow. “Merciful today, aren’t we?”

“Tired,” Chuuya said. “And hungry.”

  That pulled a low laugh from Dazai. “I could eat.”

They stood there, surrounded by the fading echoes of the scuffle. Neither of them moved.

  Then—quietly, like it didn’t matter:

“You know,” Dazai said, brushing off his coat, “you’re different lately.”

  Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” Dazai glanced over. “You don’t yell as much.”

  “Tch. Maybe I’ve matured.”

“You’re still short.”

  “Die.”

But it didn’t land with heat. Not really.

  They were closer now. Even the insults felt safer.

And as Dazai looked at him—at the way the streetlight caught on Chuuya’s hair, at the way his eyes flicked sideways and never lingered too long—he felt it again.

  The shift.

Not something sharp. Not a switch.

  Just... a pull.

He looked away first.

 “We should head back,” he said.

Chuuya didn’t argue.

  But he didn’t walk ahead either.

This time, they walked side by side.

Chuuya P.O.V.

They didn’t talk much on the way back.

  Just the sound of their boots on concrete, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional drip of water from a rusted pipe overhead.

By the time they made it back to the shipping container, the sky had shifted from deep gray to soft indigo. The city still slept. The world felt... paused.

  Dazai tossed his coat over the back of the old chair and dropped onto the mattress with a quiet groan. He didn’t even try to hide the wince this time.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “You’re still in pain.”

  “I’m always in pain,” Dazai replied, smiling faintly.

But he didn’t meet Chuuya’s eyes.

  Chuuya stood in the doorway for a second, hands in his pockets, watching the way Dazai curled slightly to one side—favoring his ribs.

“You didn’t tell the medic it still hurt that bad.”

  “No point. He already patched me up.”

“Tch. That’s not how healing works, genius.”

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

The container felt smaller tonight. Quieter. Warmer, somehow.

  He grabbed the half-empty water bottle from the shelf and tossed it to Dazai, who caught it with one hand—barely.

“You’ve been off all day,” Chuuya muttered, leaning against the wall near the bed.

  Dazai looked up at him slowly. His bangs fell in front of his eyes. “And you’ve been hovering.”

“Not hovering.”

  “You watched my back before the fight even started.”

“Because you almost died last time!”

  The words came out sharper than he meant them to.

Dazai blinked.

  Chuuya looked away, jaw tight. “…You scared the hell out of me, alright?”

Silence.

  Then Dazai’s voice—soft.

“I know.”

  He sat up straighter, hand pressed to his side. “You saved me.”

Chuuya scoffed. “Only after I almost leveled the whole district. You’re lucky I didn’t burn you to ash.”

  “I trust you.”

Those three words settled like thunder between them.

  Chuuya froze.

Dazai didn’t say it like a joke. He didn’t smirk. He just said it—honest.

  Chuuya stared at him.

And for the first time in days, Dazai didn’t look like a shadow wearing skin.

  He looked... human. Tired. Real.

Why does that make my chest hurt?

  Chuuya stepped closer, slow. Then crouched down beside the bed.

“You didn’t eat today,” he said quietly.

  Dazai rolled his eyes. “You’re starting to sound like my older sister.”

Chuuya looked at him.

  And Dazai flinched—just slightly.

“…She used to say that too, didn’t she?” Chuuya asked, voice low.

  Dazai didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Yeah.”

  Chuuya nodded.

He didn’t press.

  He just stood, turned, and pulled open the crate’s tiny cabinet. Dug around. Found a wrapped rice ball from the store downstairs.

He tossed it onto Dazai’s blanket.

  “Eat.”

Dazai stared at it.

  Then at him.

“…You’re bossy when you care.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “Don’t get used to it.”

  But he didn’t leave.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

  And Dazai, for once, ate the whole thing.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

Five months later.
  October 3rd.

He was sixteen now.

But that didn’t change anything.

  Not the heaviness in his chest.
Not the dreams.
  Not the boy in white who stood in the corner of every memory like a shadow that had always belonged.

Omori was visiting more often.

  Sometimes in sleep.
Sometimes in mirrors.
  Sometimes just behind his eyes.

Silent. Still. Unforgiving.

  Dazai sat at the edge of the shipping container’s makeshift bed, bandaged fingers curled in the blanket, staring at nothing.

The city buzzed faintly outside. But in here?

  It was too quiet.

He ran a hand through his hair. Slower than usual. Heavy.

  Mari’s name had been sitting behind his teeth for days.

So had Basil’s.

  He hadn’t said it out loud. Not even to Chuuya.

Because saying it meant going back.

  And going back meant facing the thing he’d buried so deep, he almost forgot it had a voice.

But now?

  He was starting to hear it again.

“I’m sorry.”

  He had never said it.

Not to Basil.
  Not to Mari.
Not even to himself.

And Omori—he knew that. He showed him that silence, again and again.

  “ You’re still running. ”

The hallucinations never spoke. But Dazai heard the meaning anyway.

  He always did.

His hands curled tighter.

  It’s time.

Chuuya P.O.V.

He could feel it. The shift.

  Dazai had been... different lately.

Not louder. Not quieter. Just distant. Like he was moving in reverse while everything else moved forward.

  Chuuya watched him from the corner of the room, arms crossed.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

  He already knew.

Mari’s death day was coming. And Dazai was unraveling again.

  So when Dazai stood up—coat half-on, no explanation—Chuuya was already two steps behind him.

“ Where are you going? ”

  Dazai didn’t turn.

“Somewhere I should’ve gone a long time ago.”

  Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t sound cryptic at all.”

Silence.

  Then, finally—quietly:

“Faraway Town.”

  “…Where?”

Dazai paused. “…It’s where I used to live.”

  Chuuya frowned. That wasn’t something Dazai ever talked about. In fact, Chuuya wasn’t even sure Dazai had a hometown. He just… showed up one day. Empty-eyed. Sharp-tongued.

But now, something in his voice felt raw.

  “Why now?” Chuuya asked, quieter.

“I have to see someone.”

  “...Who?”

A longer pause this time.

  “…Someone I hurt.”

Chuuya studied his face—tired, distant, older than sixteen should look.

  And without needing to understand the full story, he just stepped forward.

“Then I’m going with you.”

  Dazai blinked. “You don’t even know where it is.”

“I don’t need to.”

  “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t need to know that either. Not yet.”

  Dazai stared at him.

And Chuuya didn’t flinch.

  “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

The silence stretched between them.

  Then—barely above a whisper:

“…Okay.”

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

The front door creaked as it opened.

   Same door. Same chipped frame. Same shadow at the edge of the hallway where the light never reached.

He stepped inside without a word.

  The air smelled stale. Dust. Old wood. Memories.

The house had been cleaned out long ago—nothing left but the skeleton of a home.

  But he still saw it.

The shoes by the door.

  The piano stool Mari used to sit on.

The photo frame that used to hang crooked on the hallway wall.

  His throat tightened.

You don’t live here anymore, he told himself.

  But his feet still carried him toward the living room.

Still stopped in front of the spot where Basil had stood.

  Still remembered the silence.

“Sunny?”

  He flinched.

Not because of the voice.

  But because of the name.

Chuuya stood in the doorway, watching him carefully.

  “…You alright?”

Dazai nodded once, barely. “Yeah.”

  Chuuya didn’t believe it. But he didn’t press.

He just looked around, then said:

  “We need food.”

Dazai blinked. “What?”

  “You haven’t eaten. I haven’t eaten. This place has nothing.”

He pointed at the cabinets. “Unless you want expired peanut butter and air.”

  Dazai gave a soft snort. “Air’s probably safer.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat. “Come on. Let’s go to the store before you starve to death again.”

Chuuya P.O.V. (continued)

The store was quiet.

  Too quiet.

Even the lights felt dimmer than usual. The air stale. Like the whole place knew what week it was—even if no one said it.

  Dazai walked beside him in silence, his hands deep in his coat pockets. Eyes unfocused. Shoulders just a little too low.

He hasn’t said her name once.

  Chuuya didn’t need to ask who she was.

He could feel it in the way Dazai kept glancing at the sky. Like maybe, if he looked hard enough, he’d see her again.

  They reached the back aisle. Ramen. Canned stuff. Enough to survive off for a couple days.

Chuuya grabbed a few things. But Dazai?

  He just stood there. Staring at a shelf that held expired miso.

“You good?” Chuuya asked, voice low.

  Dazai blinked slowly.

“…Yeah.”

  But his voice cracked around the edges. Just enough for Chuuya to hear it.

They rounded a corner.

   And almost collided into two familiar faces.

“Whoa—! Hey!”

  Chuuya took a step back, instinctively shielding Dazai with one arm.

The taller one blinked. “Sunny?”

  Everything stopped.

Chuuya felt Dazai go still.

  Not the usual stillness—this was worse. Like something inside him froze.

The one who’d spoken stepped closer.

  It was the shorter one—wide smile, but his eyes held something softer. Hope, maybe. Or grief masked as cheer.

“Dude… it’s really you, isn’t it? It’s me—Kel!”

  Dazai didn’t move.

The taller one stepped in, calm but cautious. “And I’m Hero. We were friends, back when… well. You remember.”

  Chuuya watched Dazai carefully.

He didn’t say anything.

  Didn’t move.

Just… stood there.

  Like he was twelve again.

Like the moment had dragged him straight back to the day everything broke.

  Kel’s smile faltered. “It’s been a while. We thought you were—well, gone.”

“I was,” Dazai said quietly.

  His voice barely made it out.

Hero offered a soft smile. “We’re just glad you’re okay. Even if it’s only for a while.”

  “You back in town for…?”

He trailed off.

  He didn’t need to finish.

The date said enough.

  Kel shifted awkwardly. “If you need anything… we’re around.”

“We still live nearby,” Hero added.

  And with one last glance—one that said everything they didn’t—they walked away.

The silence afterward was deafening.

  Chuuya turned to Dazai.

He hadn’t moved.

  Just stared down the aisle where his friends had disappeared.

Chuuya glanced at Dazai.

  “You knew them.”

“Yeah,” Dazai said softly.

  Then, quieter:

“I hurt them.”

  Dazai P.O.V.

The walk back to the house was silent.

  Chuuya didn’t ask questions. He didn’t have to.

Dazai’s steps were slower now. He wasn’t just tired—he was unraveling.

  When they reached the door, he didn’t go inside right away.

He just stood on the porch, eyes on the cracked welcome mat. It still said “Home,” even though it hadn’t been one in years.

  “ It’s her anniversary, ” he said quietly.

Chuuya turned toward him, confused at first. Then his expression shifted.

  “ Mari. ”

Dazai nodded.

  His voice didn’t shake—but it was close.

“She died two days from now. Years ago.”

  He swallowed.

“I haven’t been back since.”

  Chuuya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but relaxed. His eyes stayed on Dazai—not probing, just present.

“Why now?”

  Dazai didn’t look at him.

“Because there’s someone else I left behind.”

  A pause.

“His name’s Basil. He was Mari’s best friend. Mine too, I guess. Back when I was still...”

  He hesitated.

Then let the name fall:

  “ Sunny. ”

Chuuya blinked. The name felt strange coming out of Dazai’s mouth. Like it didn’t belong there anymore.

  Like it hurt to wear.

“I left,” Dazai continued, “after she died. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t explain anything. I didn’t even let him cry.”

   His fists clenched at his sides.

“I made him carry something he never should’ve had to.”

   Chuuya didn’t know what that meant.

But he didn’t ask.

  Not yet.

“I came back to say sorry,” Dazai said, voice soft. “To him. To her. To the part of me that never stopped running.”

  He finally looked up.

The porch light buzzed faintly overhead, casting shadows across his face.

  “I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”

Chuuya was quiet for a second. Then:

  “Do you need him to?”

Dazai blinked.

  “I think I just need to hear it. Out loud.”

“…What?”

  “That I’m sorry.”

Chuuya P.O.V.

He didn’t say anything at first.

  Because something about the way Dazai said that—it felt like a confession.

Like he wasn’t just apologizing to Basil.

  He was trying to forgive himself.

And maybe… he didn’t believe he deserved it.

  Chuuya watched him for a long moment.

Then stepped down onto the porch, stopping just beside him.

  “You’re going tomorrow?”

Dazai nodded once.

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

Dazai turned toward him—eyes wide, uncertain.

  “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya said, “but I want to.”

  He didn’t say why.

Didn’t say: Because I don’t trust you to face this alone.
  Didn’t say: Because you’ve done the same for me, even if you won’t admit it.
Didn’t say: Because this guilt is eating you alive, and someone has to remind you you’re still human.

  He just looked at him.

And Dazai—tired, fragile, maybe even grateful—nodded.

  “…Okay."

Chapter Text

 Dazai P.O.V.

The wind in Faraway Park smelled like it always had.

  Cut grass. Sweet flowers. Distant charcoal smoke from someone’s backyard grill.

The trees were taller now. The swingset rustier. But the bench near the pond—the one with the chipped blue paint—was still there. Untouched.

  Same place. Different ghosts.

Dazai walked beside Chuuya in silence. Their footsteps didn’t match. They never did. But for once, it didn’t matter.

  “ You need fresh air, ” Chuuya had said. “ You look like a drowned cat that forgot how to breathe. ”

Dazai hadn’t argued. He never did when Chuuya pushed like that.

  They were halfway down the gravel path when Chuuya stopped short and pointed.

“ Oh, hell yes— ” he muttered. “ That’s an ice cream truck. ”

  Dazai blinked. “...You sound like you’ve never seen one before.”

“I haven’t seen one in years, and we’re getting some. I’m getting you one, too.”

  He turned, already walking backward.

“ Don’t move. I swear, if you disappear before I get back— ”

  “I’ll be right here,” Dazai said, soft but tired.

Chuuya gave him a narrowed look. Then ran off toward the truck.

  The moment he left, the air felt heavier.

Dazai sat on the edge of the bench, hands in his coat pockets. The world around him moved, but in his head? Everything was still.

  Too still.

A splash echoed from the pond.

  Children shouted near the swings.

Then—

  “ …Sunny? ”

His heart stopped.

  He turned his head slowly.

A girl stood by the edge of the walking path. Her eyes were wide—full of something between shock and anger.

  Aubrey.

Older. Stronger. Pink hair pulled back. A jacket he didn’t recognize. But the expression?

  Exactly the same.

Anger like a cracked bone that never healed right.

  “You’re really here,” she said.

Dazai didn’t answer.

  “You just showed up like nothing happened?”

Still, he said nothing.

Dazai P.O.V.

Aubrey’s eyes narrowed.

  “You think you can come back after all these years and just… pretend you didn’t disappear? ”

Dazai didn’t answer.

  Not because he had nothing to say.

Because nothing he said could undo the time he left behind.

  “You didn’t even come to the funeral,” she said—softer now, but trembling. “You didn’t talk to anyone. You didn’t say anything.”

Her fists clenched at her sides.

  “Basil cried for days. Hero stopped playing piano. Kel tried to call you, like, a hundred times.”

She stepped forward. Her voice broke.

  “We all lost her, Sunny. But only you ran away.”

The name hit him like ice to the throat.

  Dazai flinched.

Aubrey noticed.

  “…You don’t go by that anymore, do you?”

His voice was low. “No.”

  “Then what?” she asked. “What do you go by now?”

A beat.

  “…Dazai.”

Aubrey blinked, confused. “That’s… not funny.”

  “It’s not supposed to be.”

“You really dropped everything? Even your name ?”

  He looked down.

“I had to.”

  “Why?” Her voice was cracking now. “To forget her ?! To forget us ?!”

His hands curled into fists.

  “No. To forget me. ”

Aubrey stared like she didn’t recognize him anymore.

  Because maybe she didn’t.

“You didn’t come back for any of us,” she whispered, bitterness laced in grief. “You didn’t come back to help.”

  “I came to say sorry,” he said. “To Basil.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think that’s enough? ”

  “No,” he said honestly.

“Then why even bother?”

  Dazai looked her dead in the eye.

“Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

Chuuya P.O.V.

He wasn’t gone long.

  Just a few minutes.

Long enough to find the truck. Pay for two ice creams. Wonder if Dazai would actually eat it.

  Then he turned the corner—

And stopped cold.

  Dazai stood near the park bench. Still. Rigid.

And across from him, a girl with bright pink hair was shouting at him like she’d waited years to do it.

  Chuuya’s eyes narrowed.

What the hell is going on?

  He walked closer, slow and quiet, the cold sweat of anger prickling at the back of his neck.

“…You didn’t come back to help anyone,” the girl spat.

  “I came to say sorry,” Dazai replied, too calm. Too still.

“Yeah? Well maybe that’s not enough! ”

  “Maybe it’s not,” Dazai said.

Chuuya had heard enough.

  “Oi.”

His voice snapped through the air like a whip.

  Both of them turned.

The girl blinked. “Who the hell—?”

  “Back off,” Chuuya said flatly, stepping between them. “You’ve made your point.”

She stared at him, blinking like he’d appeared out of thin air.

  “And who’re you supposed to be?”

Chuuya didn’t hesitate.

  “Someone who’s not gonna stand here while you scream at a guy who clearly didn’t show up to fight.”

Behind him, Dazai said nothing.

  Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

  Aubrey’s glare flicked between them. “He left. He abandoned everyone.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t screw up,” Chuuya said, voice firm. “I’m saying this isn’t the place.”

  The girl held his gaze a moment longer.

Then, with a bitter breath: “Fine.”

 She turned.

But before walking off, she looked back at Dazai one last time.

  “Tell Basil yourself,” she said. “If he even wants to see you.”

And then she was gone.

Dazai P.O.V.

They didn’t go straight back.

  Chuuya followed him without asking where he was going. No questions. No pushing. Just steps that stayed beside his.

When they finally sat down—somewhere quiet, behind a row of faded houses and weeds—they didn’t speak for a long time.

  Dazai looked up at the sky. The clouds had rolled in again. A faint gray swallowing everything else.

It always rained that week.

  He took a breath.

“She was mad at me,” he said softly.

  Chuuya turned his head, watching.

“Mari. She kept pushing me to practice. She wanted us to do a duet… violin and piano.”

  He laughed. Just a little. But there was no joy in it.

“She was so damn happy about it. Said it’d make me feel better. Said it’d help me be less scared.”

  His hand curled into a fist in his lap.

“But it didn’t help. It made it worse. I kept messing up and she kept smiling like it didn’t matter.”

  His voice lowered.

“I got frustrated. I told her to stop. I told her I didn’t want to play anymore.”

  Another breath.

“She wouldn’t let it go.”

  His eyes dropped to the ground.

“So I pushed her.”

  Silence.

“I didn’t mean to push her that hard. I just wanted her to stop. I didn’t even realize what happened until I heard her hit the floor.”

  His breath caught.

“The stairs… they were right behind her.”

  He didn’t cry. Not exactly. But something in his voice broke.

“I ran. I ran so fast I couldn’t think. I kept saying her name but she wouldn’t move.”

  Chuuya stayed quiet. His gaze didn’t shift once.

“I didn’t know what to do. I just—froze.”

  His voice cracked.

“And then Basil came.”

  The name barely made it out.

“He saw. Everything. And he just… he just looked at me and said: ‘It’s okay. I’ll fix it.’”

  Dazai swallowed.

“He was the one who… who hung her. Said it’d be easier if people thought it was suicide. Said I’d be okay. That he’d protect me.”

  His fingers were trembling.

“I didn’t ask him to. But I didn’t stop him either.”

  A long, aching silence settled between them.

Dazai didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” he whispered.

“I just didn’t want her to pressure me anymore.”

  He laughed again—but this time, it wasn’t a laugh.

“I was scared of getting in trouble.”

  He finally looked at Chuuya then.

And his voice was almost too quiet to hear.

  “…I’m sorry.”

Chuuya P.O.V.

His heart had been racing the whole time.

  But now?

Now it just ached.

  He didn’t move for a moment. Just stared at the boy in front of him—the one who’d become Dazai, who lived like a ghost because of one mistake.

A child’s mistake.

  But the world hadn’t let him forget it.

No wonder he ran.

  No wonder he stopped playing piano.

No wonder he tried to become someone else entirely.

  He thought of the scars. The silence. The way Dazai looked at the world like he was never part of it.

And still—he’d come back.

  To apologize.

To carry it.

  To be better.

Chuuya shifted, then reached out.

  He didn’t say “it’s okay.”

Because it wasn’t.

  But he did sit beside him. Closer this time.

And after a second, he spoke—low. Steady.

  “You didn’t want to hurt her.”

Dazai’s eyes welled, but he blinked it back.

  “I just wanted her to stop.”

Chuuya nodded once.

  “She loved you.”

Another silence.

  “I know.”

Then, without looking at him, Chuuya added:

  “…I’m still here." 

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

He left just before sunrise.

  The air was cold, sharp against his skin. Faraway Town was silent—still asleep. It reminded him of when he used to sneak out for violin practice in the morning, back when Mari used to wait for him by the stairs.

But this wasn’t a memory.

  This was a reckoning.

Basil.

  Dazai’s steps were quiet, practiced. Like he was slipping back into a version of himself he didn’t recognize anymore. One who still hoped apologies could fix anything.

He reached Basil’s house and hesitated only a second before knocking.

  The door opened almost immediately.

And there he was.

  Basil.

Pale. Thinner than he remembered. His eyes wide, rimmed red.

  “…Is it really you?” Basil breathed.

Dazai froze.

  Basil took a shaky step forward. “I—I thought I made you up. I thought you were never coming back.”

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  And the worst part?

He smiled.

  “Sunny.”

The name hurt.

  Dazai nodded once. “…Yeah. It’s me.”

Basil let him in, hands shaking as he closed the door behind them. The house was dim. Dust on the shelves. A cracked photo of Mari still on the table, turned face-down.

  Everything felt off.

Basil didn’t stop staring.

  “You’re just like I remember. But… but you left. Why did you leave me?”

“I’m sorry,” Dazai said, quiet. “I shouldn’t have.”

  Basil flinched. “You said you’d stay. You said you’d never leave again after what happened to Mari.”

His voice twisted at her name.

  Dazai took a step forward. “Basil, I came to see you because—”

“It’s still inside you.” Basil whispered.

  Dazai froze.

“What?”

  Basil’s eyes flicked up. They weren’t focused. They were locked—on him.

On his face.

  “Something’s wrong. I—I thought it left, but it’s still in your eye. It’s watching me.”

Dazai’s heart stuttered.

  “…Basil—”

“You didn’t see it, but I did. It was there when Mari died. It made you push her. It’s not you. It’s it.”

  He reached toward Dazai’s face—his left eye.

And Dazai backed away.

  “Basil. You’re not well. I didn’t come here to talk about—”

“I can fix it!” Basil cried suddenly. His hands were trembling. “I can finally fix it! I just have to get it out of you—”

  He turned.

Reached for something on the floor.

  Gardening shears.

“Basil, stop—”

  “You don’t understand, Sunny! I HAVE to do this!”

And then he lunged.

  The struggle was short—desperate.

Dazai tried to stop him, grabbing his wrist, but Basil was stronger than he remembered. Or maybe just more frantic.

  The shears scraped past his hand—

And stabbed into his eye.

  Pain like white lightning exploded behind his skull.

He screamed.

  Everything went black.

Chuuya P.O.V.

The bed was cold when he woke up.

   He knew it instantly—Dazai was gone.

“Dammit,” he hissed, grabbing his coat and boots. Don’t do something stupid. Please.

   But stupid was Dazai’s default setting.

He stepped outside and caught faint footprints in the damp sidewalk. Not much—but enough.

  If he snuck out, he went for a reason.

His gut twisted. Basil.

  He sprinted.

By the time he reached the house, something already felt wrong.

  The air was too still.

No lights on.

  And the second he touched the doorknob, he felt it—pressure, heavy and horrible, like something terrible was waiting behind it.

He kicked the door in.

  “DAZAI—!”

The scene froze him in place.

  Dazai was on the floor.

Blood running down his cheek from his eye.

  And Basil—hovering over him, holding shears.

“No,” Chuuya breathed. “No—”

  Basil turned, wild-eyed.

“YOU—” he snarled. “You’re trying to take him away! You don’t belong here! He’s mine! He SAID he’d stay!”

  Chuuya’s eyes blazed. “You’re insane.”

“He NEEDS me! I’m the only one who understands him!”

  Chuuya moved.

Basil swung at him.

  But before the blade could reach—

Gravity cracked the floor.

  Basil froze mid-lunge, suspended in the air by invisible force.

Chuuya’s breath was ragged, fists clenched.

  “You’re done,” he spat.

Then he ran to Dazai’s side.

  “Dazai—hey. Hey.” His voice broke.

Dazai was conscious. Barely.

  Blood soaked the left side of his face. One eye was squeezed shut.

“Chuuya…” he rasped.

  “I’m here. I’ve got you. Just stay awake.”

He lifted him carefully, bracing his weight.

  Then looked back at Basil—still trembling in midair, muttering to himself.

“You’re coming too.”

  With a flick of his fingers, he yanked Basil’s body through the air behind him—restrained, floating.

He didn’t care if anyone stared.

  He was going to the hospital.

And no one—**no one—**was going to stop him.

Chapter Text

 Chuuya P.O.V.

The hospital room was too quiet.

  Chuuya sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s chest. His left eye was completely bandaged. Clean. White. Still soaked faintly with red beneath the gauze.

That bastard. That obsessive, unhinged—

  His jaw clenched.

Basil had been taken into psychiatric observation the moment they arrived. And not once—not once—had he asked if Dazai was okay.

  All he’d done was whisper Sunny’s name over and over like it was a prayer. Like Dazai belonged to him.

Like Dazai hadn’t bled out in his arms.

  Chuuya exhaled hard through his nose.

He hated that look Basil gave. That need.

  That possession.

It made his skin crawl.

  He shifted his gaze as Dazai stirred under the blanket.

“…M’not dead,” Dazai rasped, voice hoarse.

  Chuuya shot him a look. “You’re not funny.”

“No. But I am charming.”

  Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You lost a damn eye, dumbass.”

Dazai blinked—well, blinked once. “Only one. Still got the other.”

  “…Why are you like this?”

“Trauma.”

  Chuuya scoffed. “You think you can joke your way out of this?”

“Would it work?”

  “No.”

A pause.

  Then softer:

“…Basil could’ve killed you.”

Dazai didn’t respond.

  He didn’t need to.

Chuuya’s voice dropped, sharp with something bitter.

  “He acted like you were his. Like he owned you or somethin’. He didn’t even care what he did to you—just wanted to ‘save’ some version of you that doesn’t even exist anymore.”

Dazai stayed quiet for a beat. Then:

   “He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

  Chuuya’s fist curled in the sheets.

“I don’t care how broken he is—you don’t stab the person you say you care about.”

  Silence.

“…Guess we’ve got that in common,” Dazai muttered.

 Chuuya froze.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t talk like this is your fault.”

  “It is.”

“No,” Chuuya said again, louder this time. “Basil made his own choice. You didn’t ask him to go that far. You didn’t ask to be worshipped like a god.”

  Another long pause.

Then, out of nowhere:

  “I like you.”

Chuuya blinked.

  “What?”

“I like you,” he said again, eyes—eye—on Chuuya now.

  “Since when?!”

“Since I met you.”

  Chuuya opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You’re an idiot.”

  “I know.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know that too.”

“…But I like you too.”

  Dazai blinked. “…Since when?”

Chuuya looked away, ears red.

  “Shut up.”

A slow smile tugged at Dazai’s lips. The first real one in days.

  “Does that mean you’ll stop calling me a dumbass?”

“No.”

  “Fair.”

Chuuya sighed and shifted beside him.

  Then—carefully, gently—he slid under the blanket, laying beside him, mindful of the wires, the bruises, the stillness that hadn’t quite left Dazai’s body.

Dazai didn’t say anything.

  He just moved closer.

Their hands met somewhere in the middle of the bed.

  Chuuya could feel his heartbeat—slower now. Calmer.

“…You’re warm,” Dazai murmured.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

But he didn’t move away.

  And neither did Dazai.

Not for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

He woke up long before sunrise.

  The hospital room was dark, the machines quiet, the world still. But even in silence, he felt it.

Today.

  His chest felt tight. Not just from pain—but from memory.

Four years ago.

  Mari.

She was already gone before the sun came up that day. Before anyone knew what happened. Before Basil said “I’ll fix this.”

  Dazai turned his face into the pillow. His good eye burned.

Chuuya stirred beside him, half-asleep still. But somehow, like always—he noticed.

  “You okay?” he mumbled, voice groggy.

Dazai didn’t answer at first.

  Then:

“…It’s the anniversary.”

  That was all he had to say.

Chuuya blinked. Sat up slowly. And nodded.

  No questions. No pushing.

He just got up and started pulling on his jacket.

  “We should go early,” he said.

“Why?”

  “So we get there before the others. You don’t need people crowding you.”

Dazai didn’t say it, but he was grateful. More than anything.

The cemetery was quiet.

  Gray clouds hung low. The kind that threatened rain but never followed through.

Chuuya stood beside him, hands in his pockets, scarf tucked tight. He didn’t say anything.

  Neither did Dazai.

They didn’t need to.

  Mari’s grave was simple.

A small headstone. Fresh lilies. Someone—maybe Hero—had been keeping it clean.

  Dazai knelt down in front of it. Ran his fingers over her name.

MARI KINOMOTO.
Beloved daughter. Missed forever.

  His throat burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop it. I’m sorry I left.”

  Chuuya stood back, watching. Quiet. Guarded.

Not because he didn’t care—but because he knew this wasn’t his to fix.

  After a few minutes, footsteps approached from behind.

Hero and Kel came first.

  Aubrey followed, slow, arms crossed tight.

And then—

  Basil.

Fresh from his own hospital stay. Dressed like he hadn’t changed clothes in days. His eyes locked straight on Dazai.

  Chuuya’s jaw tensed immediately.

He stepped forward—blocking just enough of Basil’s view.

  But Basil didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

  He just watched.

Then quietly, almost reverently:

  “…You came back.”

Dazai didn’t answer.

  Kel said something next, trying to ease the tension. “We’ve all missed you. Mari would’ve wanted us to be together today.”

Hero nodded. “Yeah. She’d be glad we’re all here.”

  Then their parents stepped forward.

Dazai stiffened.

  Mrs. Hirohara looked like she might cry.

“We… we didn’t know,” she whispered.

  Kel’s dad leaned in, placed a hand gently on Dazai’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sunny. Your mom called us a few weeks after everything… she asked if we’d check in on you. We didn’t realize she’d left you. We didn’t know you were alone.”

  He leaned closer. Voice barely a breath.

“…I’m sorry we didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry your parents abandoned you.”

  Something cracked.

Right then.

  Not in Dazai’s expression. Not in his voice.

But in his silence.

  He stepped back. Slowly.

“Don’t,” he said—quietly, but sharp.

  They blinked.

“You don’t get to be sorry now.”

  “Sunny—” Hero started.

“Don’t call me that.”

  Everyone froze.

His eye glinted with something cold. Not anger—grief.

  “I was alone for months. No one checked. No one asked. My parents walked out, and all I got was an empty room and a shut phone line.”

His voice cracked then.

  “You don’t get to miss me just because I’m standing here again.”

Basil stepped forward.

  “Don’t talk to him like that,” he said, low. Dangerous.

Chuuya moved instantly. “Back off.”

  Basil’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to talk for him.”

“I’m not talking for him,” Chuuya snapped. “I’m protecting him.”

  “From me?”

Dazai stepped between them—barely upright.

  “That’s enough,” he muttered.

But Basil didn’t listen.

  “You said you’d always stay with me,” Basil whispered.

“And I’m not yours,” Dazai said.

  That stopped him.

Cold.

  Flat.

Final.

  Aubrey cleared her throat awkwardly. “Maybe… we should give them a minute.”

The group slowly backed away.

   Chuuya stayed close.

Dazai didn’t speak again.

  He just stared at the gravestone.

And thought of her song.

Dazai P.O.V.

They walked in silence after the cemetery.

  Not back to the hospital. Not to the house. Just... away.

Every step felt heavy. Not from pain. From memory.

  Chuuya stayed close, his shoulder brushing Dazai’s just enough to remind him: I’m still here.

But Dazai’s thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

  He stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and stared at the cracked pavement below them. For a second, he didn’t speak.

Then—

  “…Why did I even come back?”

Chuuya turned slightly. “What?”

  “I mean it.” Dazai’s voice was low, hollow. “What did I think would happen? That I’d show up after 3 years, say sorry, and everyone would just… forgive me?”

He gave a short, bitter laugh.

  “I left. I disappeared. I let Basil carry that secret all alone. I let her name sit in silence for four years. I abandoned all of them.”

His hands curled into fists.

  “They don’t need me now. They shouldn’t.”

Chuuya frowned. “You didn’t come back for them.”

  Dazai looked up, slow.

“You came back for you. To stop pretending none of it happened. To stop letting someone else carry your past like it belongs to them.”

  A pause.

“And maybe you came back because a part of you still gives a damn.”

  Dazai didn’t answer. His chest ached.

But Chuuya stepped closer. Voice quieter.

  “You wanted to be forgiven?” he asked. “Start by forgiving yourself.”

Dazai blinked.

  And for once… he let the words in.

Later – Basil’s House

The lights were on.

  That was a good sign, Chuuya guessed.

Dazai knocked. Not loudly.

  The door opened a few seconds later.

Basil stood in the frame, pale and tired and bandaged—but awake. Alert.

  When his eyes landed on Dazai, something sharp flickered behind them.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know,” Dazai said. “But I need to ask you something.”

Chuuya stood behind him, quiet, watching the exchange.

  “…What is it?”

“I want to tell them the truth,” Dazai said. “All of it. About what happened that day.”

  Basil’s expression twisted.

“No.”

  Dazai didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But I want you there. With me.”

“I can’t—” Basil’s voice cracked. “I can’t go through it again.”

  “You already are,” Dazai said. “Every day.”

A silence stretched.

  “I won’t let them blame you,” Dazai added. “You were trying to protect me. I know that.”

Basil looked away. His fingers trembled on the doorknob.

  “And I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve told the truth back then.”

Chuuya stepped forward then. Not too close. But just enough to be firm.

  “You don’t have to do it for him,” he said. “Do it for Mari.”

That struck something.

  Basil stared at the floor for a long time.

Then—barely a whisper:

  “…Okay.”

Dazai let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

  “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

The morning light didn’t feel warm.

  It slid through the windows of the container like fog—soft, pale, uncertain.

Dazai sat on the edge of the bed, one leg curled under him, arms resting loosely on his knees. He hadn’t slept much. Not after what Basil said.

  Okay.

It should’ve felt like relief. Like a door unlocking after a year of silence.

  But it didn’t.

It felt like standing at the top of a staircase, knowing the bottom would hurt no matter how careful the steps.

  Behind him, Chuuya stirred.

“Stop thinking so loud,” he muttered sleepily, dragging a pillow over his face.

  Dazai glanced back at him. The sight alone—Chuuya’s hair sticking out in five different directions, face half-smushed against the pillow—almost made him smile.

“…I wasn’t thinking loud.”

   “You were breathing loud. Same thing.”

Dazai huffed. “You’re dramatic.”

  “You’re anxious.”

A pause.

  “…Yeah,” Dazai admitted.

Chuuya pushed himself upright with a groan and scooted closer, wrapping his arms lazily around Dazai’s waist from behind. His chin settled against Dazai’s shoulder.

  “You still think they’re gonna hate you?”

Dazai didn’t answer.

  Because yes.
Even after everything. Even after Basil. Even after Chuuya standing beside him at every step—he still couldn’t shake the thought.

“They have every right to,” he said quietly.

  “They don’t have to forgive me. Not for what I did. Not for what I let happen.”

Chuuya’s hold around him tightened just a little.

  “I’m not them,” he said.

“I know.”

  “I forgive you.”

Dazai let his head tip back slightly, eyes fluttering closed at the warmth of those words. They burned. In the way all good things burned when you’d gone too long without them.

  “…Thank you.”

They sat there a while, in that early morning stillness. Nothing moved except the wind outside, tapping softly against the metal walls.

Later – Basil’s House

They stood in front of the door again. This time, Dazai didn’t hesitate.

  Basil opened it faster than before, eyes red, like he hadn’t slept either.

“Hi,” Dazai said, voice calm. “Just wanted to see if you’re still okay with… tomorrow.”

  Basil didn’t speak for a second. His hands twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to open the door wider or slam it shut.

But finally, he nodded.

  “I’m scared.”

“I am too,” Dazai replied.

  “But I think it’s time.”

A long pause. Then Basil whispered:

  “…What if they look at me different?”

“They will,” Dazai said gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll hate you.”

  He stepped closer.

“We’re not lying anymore. That’s what matters.”

  Basil glanced at Chuuya—quiet, arms crossed, but nodding in agreement.

“…Okay,” Basil said again, voice just above a breath.

  Dazai gave a faint smile.

“Then tomorrow, we tell the truth.”

Chapter Text

Dazai P.O.V.

They met at the park.

  It was quiet that morning. The wind barely moved the trees. The swings sat empty. The world felt like it was holding its breath.

Dazai stood beside Chuuya near the far bench, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders stiff with nerves he didn’t show. Beside them, Basil stood like a paper in the wind—pale, silent, ready to be torn.

  “I’m here,” he whispered.

Dazai nodded once.

  Soon, the others arrived.

Hero. Kel. Aubrey.

  They all slowed when they spotted Dazai.

Tension snapped through the air like static.

  No one spoke—until Hero stepped forward.

“…What is this about?”

  Dazai looked at Basil. Basil looked back.

And for once, neither of them ran.

  “I need to tell you something,” Dazai said.

His voice didn’t shake.

  “I lied to you. All of you. About what happened to Mari.”

Aubrey folded her arms. “What are you talking about?”

  Dazai met her eyes.

“She didn’t hang herself.”

  That froze the air.

Kel stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

  Dazai took a breath.

“She fell. Down the stairs. Because of me.”

  His voice stayed calm—but his hands were fists in his coat pockets.

“We were fighting. About music. About the violin. About how she wanted everything to be perfect.”

  He swallowed.

“I lost control. I didn’t mean to—but I pushed her. And she fell.”

  Aubrey’s face paled. Kel’s eyes widened.

Hero didn’t move.

  “She hit her head,” Dazai said. “There was nothing I could do. I froze. I panicked. And Basil... he saw it.”

He turned slightly toward Basil.

  “He said he’d fix it. That he’d make it look like something else. That if they thought she died by suicide... no one would blame me.”

Basil’s voice came next. Quiet. Choked.

  “I didn’t want Sunny to disappear. I thought… if I did it, he wouldn’t get hurt. He wouldn’t leave me too.”

Aubrey stared at him. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak—but she didn’t.

  Hero stepped forward at last. His voice was even.

“So… it was all an accident?”

  Dazai nodded.

“And you just… left,” Hero added. “You let us all think she—”

  “I know,” Dazai said quickly. “I know what I did. I hated myself every day. I still do.”

There was silence.

  Then Aubrey said, through clenched teeth:

“You should’ve told us.”

  “I know.”

“You let us grieve something that wasn’t even real.”

  “I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Kel stepped between them. His voice cracked.

  “But… you came back.”

Dazai’s gaze flickered to him.

  “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Another pause.

  Aubrey looked away, blinking hard. “I need time,” she muttered.

She walked off. Not far. Just enough.

  Hero nodded once.

“…Thank you for telling us.”

  He turned, followed her.

Kel looked at Dazai, then Basil, then Chuuya.

  “See you around?” he asked.

Dazai gave a faint smile.

  “…Maybe.”

Later That Night – Dazai P.O.V.

The sky was dark by the time they returned to the house.

  Basil had gone home hours earlier. The others had scattered like leaves in wind.

But something felt still.

  Like the weight they’d all been dragging was finally on the ground.

Dazai sat on the porch, eyes lifted toward the stars.

  Chuuya sat beside him, quiet.

No one said anything for a while.

  Then—

“…I think it’s time,” Dazai said.

  Chuuya looked over. “Yeah?”

Dazai nodded. “We came back. We said what needed to be said. There’s nothing left.”

  A pause.

“I’m ready to go.”

  Chuuya didn’t question it.

He just reached over and laced their fingers together.

The Next Morning

Dazai stood at the top of the hill outside Faraway Town, the wind brushing through his coat. The morning sun painted the sky in pale oranges and soft blue.

  The town was waking up behind them. Familiar streets. Familiar ghosts.

But they didn’t belong here anymore.

  Chuuya stood a few feet away, watching him carefully.

Dazai turned back once. Just once.

  “I hope you’re resting, Mari,” he whispered.

Then he stepped forward.

  Toward the future.

And Chuuya followed—without hesitation.

Chapter Text

[Time Skip: 6 Years Later | Dazai & Chuuya are 22]

Dazai P.O.V.

If someone had told him—back when he was fifteen, bleeding in the street, barely surviving his own grief—that one day he’d be here?

  He wouldn’t have believed it.

But here he was.

  Boss of the Port Mafia.

And alive.

  The sky outside the window of the executive office was painted orange with dusk, city lights just starting to flicker on across Yokohama. The wind whispered over the rooftops of a city that finally felt like it was his.

  He leaned back in the chair—his chair—arms crossed behind his head. The silence in the room was familiar now. Comfortable.

Then—

  A knock on the door.

Before Dazai could answer, it creaked open anyway.

  “You forget how to answer people or just ignoring me on purpose, boss?”

Chuuya.

  His voice. His smirk. His coat half falling off one shoulder.

His husband.

  Dazai smiled lazily. “Why not both?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and strolled in, kicking the door shut behind him with a casual heel. He wore all black again—fitted and sleek, his signature hat tucked under one arm.

  “Gin said Atsushi finished the shipment run. No injuries this time.”

Dazai raised a brow. “Atsushi’s finally learning not to get stabbed. Miracles do happen.”

  Chuuya smirked. “I think he just doesn’t want Kyouka to lecture him again.”

A soft laugh slipped out. Their kids, really. Dazai may not have known what kind of family he needed back then—but now? It was here. Messy. Unconventional. Real.

  Atsushi. Kyouka. Kids the world forgot but Dazai never did.

And Akutagawa.

  Especially Akutagawa.

“Speaking of the Agency,” Chuuya said, plopping down in the armchair across from him, “Oda said Gin and Ryuunosuke stopped by. Delivered intel on the Arms Trafficking case.”

  Dazai’s gaze softened.

“Are they doing alright?”

  Chuuya nodded. “They’re adjusting. Akutagawa’s a little less stabby these days. I think Atsushi’s rubbing off on him.”

That earned a grin.

  “I told Oda to keep an eye on them,” Dazai murmured. “And to keep reminding Akutagawa he’s not a tool. He’s someone’s little brother. Someone’s student.”

“And Gin?” Chuuya asked.

  “She’s thriving. She practically runs the ADA now.”

Chuuya chuckled. “Figures. I always liked her better anyway.”

  They sat there a moment. Just breathing.

Outside, the city moved on. Peaceful. Balanced.

  For once, his world didn’t feel like it was waiting to fall apart.

Dazai stood slowly and walked over to the window. His reflection stared back—older, sharper—but the boy he used to be lingered in the shadows of his eyes.

  “You regret it?” Chuuya asked behind him. “Killing Mori?”

Dazai didn’t turn around.

  “No.”

Silence.

  Then:

“I regret not doing it sooner.”

  Because Mori may have raised him—but he also broke him. Used him. Molded him into a weapon. And Dazai had spent years learning how to undo that damage.

And Chuuya… Chuuya stayed. Always.

Chuuya P.O.V.

  He’d seen Dazai through every version of himself. The broken child. The mafia prodigy. The strategist. The survivor.

But this?

  This was the first time Dazai looked at peace.

Chuuya stood and walked up behind him, arms wrapping slowly around his waist.

  “You did good,” he said against his shoulder.

Dazai leaned into the touch.

  “I had help.”

Chuuya smiled.

  Damn right he did.

Final Chapter (continued)

Small Moments:

  1. Kyouka drags Atsushi by the ear into Dazai’s office.

“Tell him what you did.”
Atsushi winces. “Accidentally blew up the side of the dock. It’s not like I meant to!”
Dazai sips his coffee, not even blinking. “Did the shipment survive?”
“…No.”
Kyouka crosses her arms. “We’re making him deliver tofu for a week.”
Dazai hums. “Good. He needs a lesson in fragility.”
Atsushi groans. “I feel fragile.”

  2. Chuuya spars with Akutagawa in the Agency training space.

Chuuya grins as Akutagawa lunges forward, shadow claw slicing air.
“You’re still too stiff.”
“I am not!”
“You fight like a stick in a rainstorm.”
Akutagawa growls under his breath, cheeks slightly pink.
Chuuya ruffles his hair. “You’re getting better, though.”
Akutagawa glares. “Tch… you’re worse than Dazai.”

 3. Dazai meets Gin outside the Agency.

She hands him a black notebook, pages marked and folded.
Dazai flips through it. “You’ve been keeping an eye on Akutagawa.”
Gin nods. “He doesn’t say it, but he’s proud of the life he’s building.”
A beat. Then, quieter—
“I am too.”
Dazai smiles. “He wouldn’t be who he is without you.”
Gin looks off toward the city. “He wouldn’t be who he is without all of us.”

  4. Oda and Dazai sit together on the back steps of a bookstore.

“I still remember the first time you walked in,” Oda says.
“I still remember the first time you didn’t kick me out,” Dazai answers.
They laugh.
Silence.
“Thank you,” Dazai murmurs. “For letting me live.”
Oda shakes his head. “You saved yourself. I just reminded you how.”

  5. Kyouka quietly reads beside Chuuya in the Mafia library.

She says nothing for twenty minutes.
Then—
“Is he happy?”
Chuuya looks up. “Who?”
“Dazai.”
Chuuya softens. “I think he’s learning how to be.”
Kyouka nods and keeps reading.

  6. Atsushi sits on Akutagawa’s lap, much to the other's embarrassment.

“Move.”
“Nope.”
“You’re heavy.”
“You like it.”
Akutagawa blushes hard. “Shut. Up.”
Atsushi giggles. “Make me.”

  7. Gin teaches Chuuya how to braid his hair.

“This one’s called a fishtail,” she says.
Chuuya frowns at the mirror. “How the hell is this fish anything?”
Gin laughs for the first time in days.

  8. Dazai leaves a pressed flower in his piano case every year for Mari.

One petal for every year gone.
This year, there are eight.
He doesn’t cry.
But he doesn’t leave until sunset.

  9. Oda meets Akutagawa at the Agency.

They nod at each other.
“…He’s hard on you, huh?” Oda asks.
Akutagawa scoffs. “He always is.”
Oda offers a small smile.
“He only does that to the people he sees something in.”

  10. Late at night, Chuuya wraps Dazai in a blanket without a word.

Dazai murmurs, “I’m not cold.”
Chuuya mutters, “Liar.”
But his hand stays on Dazai’s shoulder.
And Dazai leans into it.

Rooftop – New Year’s Eve

The fireworks start slow—soft bursts of color against the skyline.

Dazai sits on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side. Chuuya sits beside him, scarf bundled around his neck, hair tousled from the wind.

“Do you remember last New Year’s?” Dazai murmurs.

Chuuya snorts. “Yeah. You dropped a bottle of sake on your foot.”

Dazai hums. “Still have the scar.”

They go quiet.

Below, the city pulses with life.

Behind them, Kyouka lights a sparkler. Atsushi chases Akutagawa with two in hand, laughing as Akutagawa curses and dodges.

Dazai watches them for a moment.

“They’re good together,” he says.

Chuuya smiles faintly. “So are we.”

Dazai leans over and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“…Yeah. We are.”

The sky erupts in color.

Red, gold, silver, violet.

For once, no one's bleeding. No one's running.

They're just here.

Alive.

Together.

Final Epilogue Note

In this version of the future:

• Dazai is the boss of the Port Mafia, sharp and strategic—but gentler with the people he loves.

• Chuuya is his right hand and husband, commanding power with grace and fury.

• Atsushi and Kyouka work within the Mafia—but are treated more like family than soldiers.

• Akutagawa and Gin have joined the Armed Detective Agency, led and guided by Oda.

• Oda is alive and running a bookstore, content, yet still watching over his people.

• Gin remains fiercely protective of her brother, while Akutagawa slowly opens up—especially to Atsushi.

• And through it all, these once-shattered lives built something new. Something stronger.

Something worth living for.