Thread by @arkastadt

au in which literature student dazai gets way too drunk one night and accidentally breaks into the wrong apartment — an apartment that belongs to port mafia executive chuuya

The moment Chuuya enters his apartment, he knows something's off.

His security system didn't send him any notifications, but he's well aware that a capable thief could override it if they put their mind to it, no matter how expensive it was. It's not that.

It's the way his doormat has shifted several inches to the right. Chuuya has by no means an eidetic memory, but noticing small details — especially ones that don't /fit/ — is part of the job. Of course, there are also /the shoes/ that are a big giveaway.

As far as he remembers, he didn't buy a new pair of doc martens, let alone throw them halfway across his hallway.

It's at this point that Chuuya wonders what kind of thief is stupid enough to leave his shoes behind, not to mention, why he would escape barefooted.

Several steps and a turn into his bedroom later, he discovers that the shoes weren't exactly left behind.

The thief's just still here.

Chuuya enters his room, and sure enough, there's an actual person in his bed. Sleeping. Snoring, even.

…

Throughout the last seven years of his life in the mafia, Chuuya never encountered an enemy like this: peacefully snoring in his bed.

He feels himself hesitate before jumping into action. Is this some sort of twisted strategy to get Chuuya to relax?

Chuuya takes one look at the intruder — young, dark hair, bandages all over his body — and frowns. No way in hell is this something serious to deal with. Right?

Only way to find out, he thinks, as he starts shaking the boy's shoulder because even if he looks like a harmless kitten that wandered into the wrong home, Chuuya still wants a peaceful rest of the night after dealing with bothersome foreigners the whole day.

There's still blood under his nails. He needs a shower, damn it, not /this/.

"Hey, you," he says, shaking the guy's shoulder. "Wake up!"

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the stranger lets out a low whine and buries his face in the sheets,

hugging one of Chuuya's spare pillows to his chest.

Wow.

Chuuya lets out a sigh.

This is annoying.

He had plans for today — cook something nice for himself, catch up on the drama he's been watching and maybe jack off; it's been a while, damn it.

None of these plans included a fucking stranger in his bed.

It's not like this is an actual issue. Chuuya's a damn mafia executive for fuck's sake. One call, and ten minutes later, this kid will find himself in one of their dungeons, getting questioned until

every last secret spills from his lips. Hell, Chuuya doesn't need his men. It would take him less than a minute to make the guy talk himself, but… something tells him that if Chuuya were to throw him out in the middle of the night — this drunk and vulnerable —

this boy wouldn't come out alive or whole.

Of all people, Chuuya knows best what can happen to passed out people alone at night. He refuses to close his eyes and let it happen to someone else.

So he grabs a chair and a book and sits down a few feet away. If the poor drunk so much as moves the wrong way, Chuuya will know.

In a way, he's even a bit thankful for this intrusion — aside from his plans that got ransacked — because he finally catches up on the book

he's been reading for months now.

Chuuya has just reached the final epic battle when he feels the man stir with a slight groan. It takes a few seconds of yawning, stretching, and blinking before he ever so slowly opens his eyes. He stares.

"This... isn't my dorm."

Chuuya snaps the book shut. "No, shit."

"Where…" He trails off with the shake of his head before sitting up properly. "Who are you?"

"The owner of the apartment you broke into."

That takes a good moment to register before he scratches the back of his bandaged neck.

"Heh. Funny."

"Not at all," Chuuya replies. "If this was anyone else, they could have shot you on sight. Or called the cops."

"Well, why didn't you?" It comes out a bit slurred.

That's a good question. Aside from the fact that Chuuya's in the mafia and

working with the pigs principally goes against every cell in his body, he has no reason for sparing this stupid drunk's life and waiting for him to wake up instead of throwing him out of the window. Maybe Kouyou's right, and his heart is too big sometimes.

He was never able to walk past a stray kitten, and this isn't any different.

"I'm asking the questions here," Chuuya says, standing up and approaching the bed, his head tilting a bit. "Your name."

"... Dazai."

"Why'd you break into my flat, Dazai?"

"You see, I was at this bar, and then I had a drink. And another. And quite a few more, I guess. After that, I don't really remember much, so it's as much as a mystery to me as it is to you, chibi."

"Ha?"

"You're so small," Dazai says with a shameless grin. "Like a chibi."

Chuuya hasn't been called /small/ in ages. The people at port mafia are too familiar with his skills and ability to ever utter the words small and Chuuya in the same sentence. And this brat right here….

"You should be more careful with your words."

"Or what? Chibi will pummel me?" Dazai shrugs and then shimmies out of bed, rising to his full height, which is — obviously, he has an entire head on Chuuya. It doesn't change a single thing, though. "Who are you anyway?" Dazai asks, taking an intrusive look around.

"You didn't call the cops, so there must be something wrong with you, too."

"There's nothing wrong with me, you oversized brat —"

"Oh, I beg to differ. Who, in their right mind, would let a stranger sleep in their bed? Are you perhaps a creep?

Or are you just so lonely that you're even willing to welcome people like me in?"

Chuuya's first instinct is to punch him, but he didn't spend years working on his anger issues to let his feelings overthrow his composure /now./

This kid here is nothing compared to the guys he has to deal with on the daily. This is child's play.

He takes a step towards Dazai, his hand whipping out the dagger from his thigh holster so fast, that the idiot Dazai has no time to react before he's being crowded against

the wall behind him. "I was being considerate when I let you stay here," he says calmly, "but you're awake now, and my kindness has a limit. So either you piss off or —"

"Or you're going to stab me with this knife?" Dazai asks,

and his eyes dance with something dangerously close to wonder — a paradox of a reaction considering his breath hitches loudly when he presses against the dagger, drawing blood. "Oh, this is even more fun than I hoped it would be."

Than he hoped…?

"What the fuck do you mean?"

So this wasn't an accident after all? But he has no weapons on him, and so far he's done nothing but make stupid comments. Who exactly is this guy?

"Don't hurt yourself trying to think so hard," Dazai says with a /tsk./

"Sometimes, when I'm bored, I drink a bottle or two and let the alcohol take me wherever it wants. Most of the time, I end up on the side of the street or on top of trash bags, but I think I finally got lucky!"

What a weird fucking guy. Chuuya scowls.

"Don't you have friends who take you home when you're trashed?"

"Oh, but I drink alone."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" Dazai murmurs and takes another step forward until more than /one/ drop of blood stains the bandages.

His eyes travel down and then up to Chuuya, meeting his stare with a raised brow.

With a small sigh, Chuuya swings the knife back, watching the idiot slither away and take a curious look around the room.

Even if this frankly ridiculous and absurd story is made up — and Chuuya has mastered the art of spotting a liar — and Dazai turns out to be an enemy in disguise, after all, then he'll have no issue taking care of it.

Dazai might be stupidly fearless and slightly masochistic, but he'll never defeat Chuuya in combat. He has yet to meet someone that can.

"So, what is your name, chibikko?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's none of your damn business."

"Well, I woke up in your bed, so I think I deserve to know, no?"

"No."

Dazai gives him a dramatic pout before walking — no, staggering over to his shelf on the other side of the room — obviously, he must still be drunk — and shamelessly snooping around.

Jesus.

"Hey —"

"Ehhh, what's this? A court of thorns and roses?" Dazai asks, flipping the book open. "Isn't this the one where elves have sex all the ti—"

"Gimme that—!" Chuuya rips the book out of those stupid long fingers and puts it back on the shelf, leveling a glare at Dazai.

"They're not elves, they're /faeries/, and again, none of your fucking business!"

"Raunchy."

"Yes, and?" Chuuya grabs a fistful of Dazai's collar and pushes him towards the door. "C'mon, let's go. You're overstaying your welcome—"

"Ah, but I'm still drunk," Dazai sputters, grabbing the doorframes. "You wouldn't let a poor drunk student walk home all on his own, would you?"

Dazai, indeed, has to be still inebriated, considering he was completely out of it mere hours ago,

but he's been behaving annoyingly sober just now.

So.

Chuuya fishes out car keys from his pocket and lets them dangle between his fingers. "I'll drive you home."

"I forgot to mention: I'm homeless!"

"Stop fucking stalling," Chuuya snaps and goes for Dazai's pocket, successfully grabbing something that feels like a wallet, feeling his whole body go taut like like a violin.

"That's quite blunt for a first date! I don't even know your n—"

"Dazai Osamu," Chuuya reads aloud

when he's put some distance between them, glad that his name, at least, wasn't a lie, "5 Chome-11-18 Hiyoshi, Kohoku Ward. Doesn't seem like homeless to me."

"Rude."

"Don't fucking care. I had a long day and need some sleep, so /move it./"

For the first time, Dazai looks vaguely annoyed as he scrunches up his nose and lets out a little grumble. He finally moves, though, so that's good.

Chuuya steers them towards his door, making sure the idiot doesn't get to see much of the rest of his apartment.

Dazai might be only a poor student, but if someone saw him come out of a mafia executive's flat, they would get ideas, and as annoying as he is, Chuuya doesn't want him to suffer unnecessary pain because of a drunken mistake.

In the hallway, Chuuya grabs one of his hats and unceremoniously drops it on Dazai's head.

Dazai scowls. "No, thanks. I'd rather not look ugly."

"It's cold outside," Chuuya lies, opening the door. "Thank me later."

Stepping out into the stairwell, Dazai gives him a look. "You know, Rhysand turns out to be Feyre's mate, and in the end, they defeat the king of hybern; Rhysand almost dies —"

Chuuya frowns at this stream of random information. Then it shifts into a laugh.

"You idiot, I read the fucking books. You can't /spoil/ me."

"It was worth a try," Dazai mutters.

They reach the car, but Dazai stays silent, not even uttering one word about Chuuya's beautiful baby. It's probably for the best anyway.

Chuuya slides behind the wheel, turns the key, and delights in the gentle purr that resonates through the silence.

Knowing Yokohama's streets in and out, it's neither a difficult nor long ride to the place, the car flying past crowded night clubs and neon city lights

at every corner.

When Chuuya pulls up in front of Dazai's building complex, he feels his eyes finally turn to him once again. Chuuya meets his stare. "I still don't know your name," Dazai says quietly.

He lets out a soft breath. "Chuuya." That's all he can give.

"Chuuya," Dazai repeats, letting the vowels roll of his tongue, before giving him one last nod and slipping out of the car. Chuuya expected another stupid comment about his height, maybe an insult, but he figures this strange and wordless exit shouldn't be all that surprising.

After he makes sure the idiot safely disappears inside the building, Chuuya puts one of his playlists on shuffle and pulls back into the street, heading straight home.

The next day of work /drags./ Not only did Chuuya go to bed six hours later than usual, messing up his whole schedule, but once he finally changed his sheets and slipped under the fresh blankets, sleep did not fucking come.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that expression on Dazai's face, so adamant about not going back to his own flat. It was weird. Well, the whole experience was, and Chuuya works in the mafia, so he's pretty familiar with unusual things, but there was just something

/unsettling/ about Dazai's behavior.

He arrives at the headquarters with six cups of coffee keeping him standing, heading straight for his office, but of course, Kajii intercepts him and loudly talks about what he was up to last night, ignoring the fact

that Chuuya doesn't fucking care. The paperwork keeps him busy for a while, but eventually, his mind starts to wander again, returning to those blood-brown eyes over and over. He has a meeting in the fight ring Port Mafia owns later that night, keeping up appearances

and talking numbers, and then gets summoned to take care of a situation at the docks that takes way more time than it should.

So when Chuuya finally opens the door to his apartment, he's looking forward to a big glass of wine, maybe ordering take-out and reading, except —

Except his security system is clearly shut off.

Chuuya stills in the darkness of his hallway and lets the door fall shut behind him. Getting broken in two days in a row? That can't be a coincidence. Slowly he passes the corridor and comes to a halt in his living room,

staring at the couch.

"Dazai?" he asks. "What are you doing here?" /Again?/

With a grin that's anything but /sweet/, Dazai lifts his hand, presenting the hat Chuuya gave him last night. "I accidentally stole your atrocious hat. So naturally, I had to return it to you!"

"Naturally," Chuuya echoes, too tired to even be upset about this. "Doesn't explain why you stayed here waiting for me, though."

"Oh, that. You see, I have this theory —"

"Hang on, I need wine for this," Chuuya cuts in, and makes a detour to the kitchen where he pushes the magic button. He still has some leftover white wine in the fridge; there’s no actual /need/ to visit the spiral wine cellar in his kitchen floor,

but he feels like, his nerves could use a decent glass of Penfolds Grange. Once he’s armed, Chuuya returns to where Dazai’s comfortably sitting on his couch like it’s something he does every day. "What damn theory did you come up with then? I'm all ears."

"Well," Dazai starts, "first off, something I already mentioned. Every sane person would immediately call the authorities if they encountered a stranger in their bed, yes? You're neither creepy nor lonely from what I've gathered — though, the smutty books rebut that.

You're handsome, confident, and wear fancy cologne. You have /weights/ in your room. You're a jock, Chuuya, so I doubt you have much trouble getting people into your bed. That either means you don't like the authorities—and fair enough: neither do I—or you have something to hide.

Which brings us to the next point: you had a knife. And it wasn't only a prop. You knew how to use it."

"Many people know how to use a fucking knife," Chuuya huffs. "What's your damn point?"

"My point is that you came home pretty late on top of that.

You weren't intoxicated. In fact, you wore business attire like you just came from work. In the middle of the night. You wore a coat, dark clothes, and a /hat/!"

Chuuya narrows his eyes.

"You're clearly well-off. A penthouse in the middle of the city all for yourself. A bugatti chiron. That painting on the wall..."

Chuuya's hand around the wine glass clenches ever so slightly.

"... oh, and one other thing," Dazai adds nonchalantly, shrugging.

"Your name. Chuuya Nakahara, right? The mafioso."

"Who are you?"

"Dazai."

"Yes, I got that. Who do you work for?"

"Fukuzawa. Owner of a coffee shop, a few blocks away from my dorm." He winks. "Our pastries are to die for. You should come by and try them someday."

Chuuya ran a background check on him just earlier today. Dazai's telling the truth. It might be a disguise, though. Only people involved in the underworld would recognize Chuuya's name.

Dazai has to be something more.

"I'm smart," Dazai provides. "That's all there is to know, Chuuya."

Taking a big gulp of the wine, Chuuya lets his next course of action run through his head. Maybe Dazai's, in fact, just smart, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for him to be here and

construct such ridiculously accurate theories. Then again, keeping him close might be safer, too... for both of them.

"You shouldn't say such stupid things in public," Chuuya finally replies, not denying or confirming anything.

Granted, port mafia has been out in daylight more often in the last few years, what with all those idiots who think they have a shot against them and all, but that doesn't mean it's okay to talk about it to strangers. Its an organization that's supposed to be kept in the shadows.

They don't mingle with civilians.

"Eh, I just told you. I'm smart," Dazai says with an exasperated expression on his face. "We're not /in public./ We're in an apartment that's most likely more secured than ninety percent of the buildings in the city."

"Speaking of, how'd you get in, anyway?"

"I'm good at lockpicking."

"Anything else you're talented in?"

"You have yet to unlock that level of relationship."

Chuuya rolls his eyes and leans against the bar.

"So you have this /ridiculous/ theory, and instead of running to the cops, you come /back/ and tell /me/ about it? You have a death wish or something?"

"I have to admit, getting murdered by the mafia would be exciting, even if I'd prefer to die by a beautiful woman's side."

"I think you should break into the office of a therapist next time. You clearly need it."

"Therapists and me don't get along, so hard pass."

That's hardly surprising. "Well, whatever you were looking for, you won't find it here either."

Meeting Dazai's eyes, he says, “You should leave and forget that this ever happened."

Dazai cocks his head. "Is that your way of showing concern for me?"

"It's a warning."

"Cute."

"You're the most irritating person I've ever met."

"And you probably met lots of them!"

"Damn right."

"See, I consider it an achievement."

"That's not something to be proud of," Chuuya mutters. His stomach makes an unflattering noise at that moment, and he realizes that this kid has crossed this night's plans yet again.

It looks like it might take a while to get rid of him again though, so Chuuya takes out his phone to, at least, order food for later.

"Who are you calling?" Dazai asks, brows going up. "One of your mafia people to take care of me?"

Chuuya throws him a look of irritation. "I just might kill you myself if continue t—"

"You're calling Kyoukarou. How may we help you?"

After cutting himself off, Chuuya rattles of his usual order, deliberately ignoring Dazai's curious expression following him the entire time.

When he's done, he slaps his phone on the counter with a bit too much force. "So."

"Don't worry," Dazai waves his hand through the air. "I'm not hungry anyway."

"Didn't fucking ask." Chuuya leaves his place behind the bar and slowly crosses the distance between Dazai and him,

coming to a stop one feet away from where Dazai's sitting with his knees drawn up. It makes it look like he’s only wearing his peach-colored jumper. Chuuya crosses his arms. "What do you want here? And the truth this time."

For a few moments, there's only silence. Then. "I want nothing."

"You're here, though," Chuuya points out. "There must be some sort of thinking process behind it."

Dazai shrugs lightly, and the motion almost — just /almost/ — looks... cute.

"Can't a person just want to hang out with their mafioso friend?"

"We're not friends. I don't even know you."

"Duh, hat's because you keep trying to kick me out!"

Gritting his teeth, Chuuya makes a move to grab the bastard's wrist and drag him out of his apartment, but at that moment, a boom of thunder echoes through the air, followed by the sound of rain. Dazai's mouth forms an /oh./

"I don't have an umbrella."

"That's not my problem."

Dazai purses his lips. "Chibi is so cruel. You know, I'm prone to accidents. I might get hit by lightning, and before you know it you'll only ever see me again in a coffin."

Half of his life spent in the mafia, and yet here Chuuya is,

being guilt-tripped by a fucking college student that's too clever and too talented at picking locks for his own good.

Chuuya would drive him again, but his food...

"As soon as it stops raining," he points at the door, "you're going to /leave./"

"Sure ~"

Chuuya decides to busy himself in the meantime, emptying his dishwasher and checking if anything is missing in case the bastard tried something stupid earlier. The whole time, Dazai just watches him move around until he eventually picks up the TV remote,

playing around with the channels.

When his door rings, Chuuya's grateful, not only because he's starving, but because it will give him something to do. He unpacks the food at his table, hardly surprised to see Dazai make his way over like a cat looking for something to eat.

"I thought you weren't hungry," he says, taking a scoop of rice.

Dazai kneels down to his right. "I'm not, but it's hard to carry a conversation with so much space between us."

"I said you can stay, not talk to me."

"You know, I take back what I said earlier. Your awful attitude probably makes it very hard to get /anyone/ into your bed."

Chuuya can't help but laugh. "Trust me, I'm perfectly civil to people that aren't annoying eighteen-year-old kids who are bored little brats."

"I'm twenty-one."

A piece of chicken gets stuck in Chuuya's throat, and he has to cough a few times to answer. "You sure don't fucking act like it."

"How old are you?"

"Not telling you that."

"You don't look much older but you act like a sixty-year-old man."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do."

"I'm twenty-one!"

"Ohhh," Dazai says, "so we're the same age."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It means a lot."

"Ehhh, Chuuya."

"..."

"Chibi."

"..."

"Chibikko."

"..."

"Chuuuuuuya ~" A finger pokes his cheek, and Chuuya's forced to slap it away from his face.

"What?!"

"What's it like being in the mafia?"

"Why don't you just google it?"

"But google isn't an actual mafioso. /You/ are!"

"There are tons of snitches that talked about what's it like."

Dazai lets out a loud, over-dramatic sigh and rests his chin in his hands. "I guess I could try to find a mafia story in that horrid book collection of yours."

"I study it, for one."

"Ah," Chuuya says with a hum. "So, that's why you're so annoying?"

Dazai's face morphs into an amused grin. "/Judgemental./ Another reason why nobody wants to sleep with you."

"I just counted one and one together, idiot."

Dazai /tsk/s, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

"Shouldn't you.." Chuuya searches for words. "... be writing literary analyses or something?"

"Oh, now that you mention it. Yes. I actually have to hand in an essay in..." He looks at the clock on the wall. "...four hours.

But I don't feel like doing it and this conversation is much more exciting anyway."

"Why are you even studying it then?" Chuuya asks, ignoring the other part. /Conversation/ is a bit of an exaggeration for the thing they have going here.

Dazai glances back at him.

"It was less tedious than all the other subjects." His pensive expression shifts into a grin then. "Maybe I should have become a mafia member like you. Could you imagine?"

Chuuya doesn't grace him with an answer, instead getting up to put the trash away,

but he can't help but /actually/ imagine this idiot here in the mafia.

No.

Dazai's too... he doesn't belong in a place like that. Some people are born in blood — Chuuya was, born and raised in it, not knowing anything else. If the organization says /kill/, he does.

If they say /die for us/, he would.

People that had a normal life would too easily crack under the pressure of complete and obsolete blind loyalty.

Dazai... no.

"You know," he says, switching topics, "you could, at least, offer to help do the dishes if you're already here."

Dazai basically melts into a puddle at the table. "Absolutely not! I would rather die."

Fighting against a grin, Chuuya beckons him over.

"C'mon. This isn't free real estate here."

Surprisingly enough, Dazai actually stands up — or rather, he forces himself to, shoulders drooping like he's being sent to prison instead of the sink. "One day, Chuuya will see."

"See what?"

"That you should have treated me better."

"I'm treating you perfectly fine for a kid who keeps breaking into my apartment and disturbing my nights." Chuuya hands him the sponge and turns on the water. "Here."

The realization that Dazai's bandages will become all wet and disgusting comes too late, when Dazai reluctantly, but without any more protest, starts scrubbing. Chuuya would offer him gloves, but he just ran out of them yesterday, and it's too late anyway.

So he just makes himself comfortable with a towel on Dazai's side.

"Here," Dazai grumbles as he hands over one last fork, "for the evil little munchkin that likes to torture poor students in his free time."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're really dramatic?"

"No. They usually say other things."

Chuuya doesn't know what that means, but he's too busy staring at the wet things around Dazai's wrist anyway. Without thinking, he reaches out, touching the gauze. "Let me give you new ones."

Dazai doesn't move.

When Chuuya looks up, he realizes, Dazai doesn't even /breathe/. "Dazai?"

There's a harsh exhale. "Okay."

With a puzzled frown, Chuuya leaves him on the couch while getting the necessary things from his first aid kit in one of his bathrooms.

tw self-harm , scars

Part of him is ready to ask why he's covered up in bandages anyway, but all the questions die down once he sits down next to Dazai and sees the thin, white lines running along the, now bare, skin of his arm.

Chuuya has spent so much time of his life trying to /survive/, that his first reaction when seeing people who seek the opposite is misplaced anger. Of course, it's never that easy. He has felt pain before that cut so deep he'd have done anything to stop it.

Maybe Dazai has, too.

Pushing his thoughts and feelings aside, Chuuya grabs the dressings and Dazai's arm for stabilization. It's faint, but he feels Dazai shiver, and for one charged moment, their eyes meet, before Chuuya heavy-heartedly tears his gaze away to /focus./

He wraps the bandages around Dazai's wrist, up to his palm, fixates it with a pin, and then does the same on the other side. When he's done, Chuuya casts a glance out of the window. "It stopped raining."

"Ah," Dazai hums. "I guess I have no more excuses to stay."

It's so blunt and honest, yet it still doesn't make any sense. What is it that makes Dazai stay here so badly? They don't know each other. They're nothing but a pair of strangers who happen to be the same age.

"You don't," Chuuya says, but the words feel like lead on his tongue. Why is he all of a sudden feeling guilty over kicking him out?

Dazai gets up with a yawn and collects his phone and key before sluggishly heading for the door, Chuuya right behind him.

When they reach it, Dazai turns around, tilting his head. "This is goodbye then. It was nice meeting you."

"Sure. See ya, Dazai," Chuuya replies, a bit thrown off by the sudden change in his tone.

"I don't think you will," Dazai says with an adroit, little smile. "Finally, right? Good night, Chuuya."

And that's it. Dazai leaves, the door falling softly shut, and Chuuya just... stands there rooted to the spot.

He doesn't understand the feeling in his chest, the sudden silence around him way too loud all of a sudden. He wanted to be finally left alone, so he should celebrate with
another glass of wine and then pass the fuck out, but Dazai..

There was just something off about him.

Something very wrong about this entire situation, and it leaves Chuuya feeling off-balance.

tw suicide , suicide attempt for a lot of the following tweets!

It comes to him a few hours later, in the middle of a restless sleep.

Dazai's last words sounded like a goodbye. A /final/ goodbye.

It makes sense, too. Why Dazai would drink himself into a stupor all by himself time and time again. No friends — or at least, none that care. His reckless behavior when he had a literal knife pointed at him. The fact that he concluded something as dangerous as

Chuuya's involvement witht he mafia and still /came back./ The hints that he's prone to accidents. The scars and bandages on his body. His last words.

The guy was one walking cry for help, and Chuuya refused to listen. He didn't fucking notice.

There's no decision to be made; Chuuya simply rushes out of bed. He doesn't care that he's still in his pajamas or that his hair looks like a bird's nest. There might still be a chance.

Maybe he's not too late.

He drives the route to Dazai's apartment in half the time it took him yesterday, stepping on the gas and cutting more than a few red lights. It beats him why he cares so much. Dazai is a stranger.

It's still a life, though, one that he could save, for once, instead of taking it. It's proof he can be good, too.

Chuuya tries ringing Dazai's buzzer first, just in case, but the seven useless attempts only make his suspicions worse.

Even if Dazai's sleeping... he would have heard, right? Chuuya breaks open the door with For The Tainted Sorrow before checking which floor Dazai lives on and then doing the same with the second door.

Dazai's apartment number is 479.

Just like Chuuya's.

/479./

He knocks, but no one opens.

Chuuya takes a breath and pushes the door open, uninterested in the fact that he's destroying property, and enters, preparing for the worst-case scenario.

It's small; a tiny hallway that's also kitchen leading to the single room. Dazai's lying on a futon. His forehead is sweaty.

A bottle of gin is standing right next to him; an empty blister of pain killers, too.

"Hey," he kneels down, grabbing Dazai's face, "wake up—"

His eyes flutter open, sluggish, and dazed.

"Did you swallow all those pills? You have to throw them up—"

"Don't have to do /anything/," Dazai mutters, surprisingly lucid as he slaps Chuuya's hands away.

"Get your hands off me if you want to keep them."

"Fuck no, I'll personally make sure every single one of those pills gets out!"

Before he can try to get his fingers into Dazai's mouth, the idiot scoots back on the futon, sending him a hateful look. "They're all already out!"

Chuuya freezes. A breath escapes him. "Really? You changed your mind? Thank god."

"It wasn't voluntary," Dazai murmurs with a glare as he brings up a hand to his forehead, wiping away several drops of sweat.

"Painkillers nowadays simply aren't enough to kill, only to make you violently sick. Shame."

"No," Chuuya snaps, "/thank fucking god./ What were you thinking?!"

For the first time since they met, Dazai's endless amusement vanishes, replaced by an expression that lacks any sort of liveliness or substance. His eyes drill into Chuuya. "What does it matter? You don't even know me."

Damn it.

"Doesn't fucking mean you should go and attempt suicide," Chuuya snaps.

"Shouldn't you be familiar with death by now? It's a natural part of life. I would just like to speed up the process."

That's a good question, really. Chuuya /is/ used to death.

Death found him when he was young; death followed him wherever he went after that. Chuuya's familiar with it and he doesn't lie awake at night feeling guilty for all the blood on his hands.

And yet, here he is, begging a guy he has known for less than two days not to leave.

"Just... don't." Chuuya's sure Dazai already heard all variations of /life isn't all bad/, and /there's still so much you have to experience/, so he doesn't bother with that. Instead, he gets up and offers Dazai his hand. "Come with me."

Dazai inspects his palm with suspicion before raising a brow. "To your fancy penthouse?"

"Yes."

"Why? Are you suddenly feeling pity for me?"

Saying no would be a lie, since this is technically what happened, what it looks like, but it's more than that...

"Kinda," he admits, "you need help, I'm offering it. And don't —" he narrows his eyes "— try to act like you're above it now. You were begging to bother me for the last two days, so just accept my offer and get your ass up."

Dazai lets out an artificial sigh, deliberately letting Chuuya struggle, before finally grabbing his hand.

Chuuya feels his fingers shiver a bit as he pulls him on his feet. It's not the first time.

Either he's just really not used to touching people or scared of it. Both options make Chuuya's stomach twist painfully while he waits for Dazai to gather some of his things so they can leave.

This might be an idiotic idea, but for now Chuuya's just glad the idiot is breathing.

Dazai's quiet in the car, cuddled up in an oversized pink sweater he put on before leaving, as he looks out of the window with a detached expression on his face.

Chuuya hasn't said much either. Granted, all of this happened so quickly, he didn't have any time to think about

what he's going to do once they're back at the apartment.

Dazai can't stay forever. Not if he doesn't want to become the target of a dozen port mafia enemies that are just frothing at the mouth to find a weakness to exploit and use it for their benefit.

Maybe until Dazai's feeling a bit better — physically, at least — because his mental state, on the other hand... Chuuya doubts that can be fixed in a few nights. If, at all.

It doesn't matter.

He'll figure something out.

When they pull into Chuuya's parking lot, he glances at Dazai. "You feeling okay? Do you need me to help you walk?"

"I'm just feeling somewhat nauseous," Dazai mutters with an eye-roll, "I'm not dying. Sadly."

"Shut up. Your stomach's probably still fucked up. I'll call a doctor who will take a look at you first thing in the morning."

As Dazai gets out of the car, he huffs out a little breath. "Ohhh, getting treated by mafia doctors. How exciting."

Chuuya, as always, doesn't comment on it. His utter lack of reaction towards Dazai's taunts is probably answer enough, but he refuses to give the idiot the satisfaction. Let him wonder for the rest of eternity.

On the walk from the car to the elevator, Chuuya catches Dazai swaying from time to time, though he doesn't say comment on it. Chuuya could do both of them a favor and just pick Dazai up and get them inside through his balcony,

but that would give away For The Tainted Sorrow, which is something Chuuya has managed to avoid doing in front of civilians. If Dazai talks and his ability gets known...

Of course, Chuuya could carry him without any help, too, but he doubts Dazai's good-humored enough to allow it right now, his expression grumpy and irritated.

"Chuuya does realize that I'm going to destroy his toilet?"

It comes so out of the blue, Chuuya almost chokes on his spit, mouth turning upwards. "Uh, I guess? Don't worry about it, though, I have three bathrooms."

"Three?!"

"Yeah, figured you knew when you explored my apartment, you bastard."

"Ehhh, I stuck to the open areas. I wasn't sure if I'd trigger some sort of explosives, and I obviously had to tell you about my marvelous theory first."

"Obviously," Chuuya says, unlocking his door and letting them inside. "Make yourself comfortable.

Destroy the toilet. Whatever you feel like."

"Chuuya's suspiciously nice," Dazai comments as he kicks off his black slippers. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"I have a guest room. And a super comfortable couch."

"Uh-uh, but your bed's nicer."

Chuuya feels himself struggle for a moment before relenting with a huff. "/Fine./ Just don't shit your pants or whatever."

"Chibi's gross!"

"You brought it up!"

He leaves the idiot to his own devices as he disappears in the kitchen.

It's a bit past five in the morning, and Chuuya doubts he will get much sleep, so he might as well prepare food for both of them. With all the puking and the alcohol Dazai drank, he will have to be hungry, too.

The eggs already in the frying pan by the time Dazai emerges, looking pale but less shaky. "I puked it all out. I'm now gloriously empty."

"Good," Chuuya says. "Sit down. Food will be ready in a few."

"So late at night?"

"Yeah. You just said you're fucking empty and your stomach needs food to cope with that."

"Whatever you say, chibi."

Once the eggs are ready, Chuuya puts them on a plate and carries them to the table where the rest of the food and Dazai are waiting.

"Do you have classes tomorrow?"

Dazai makes a face. "Way to ruin the mood."

"The mood didn't exist in the first place. So?"

"Yes."

Chuuya calculates the route from his apartment to the university Dazai must attend based on his dorm. It's quite a way. Almost an hour of traveling. "Are you going to go or do you want to take a day off?"

Dazai shoves the food on his plate back and forth, sighing into his hand.

"Maybe, maybe not. It remains a mystery."

"You know, it's important to keep a routine... but it's also important to take a break if you need one."

"You sound like those annoying self-care posts on the internet."

Chuuya bites down on his teeth. "I'm trying to be helpful."

Dazai's eyes slowly travel up until they meet his glare, and he cocks his brow. "How exactly do you think you're going to help me, Chuuya?"

That's a good question.

"Do you think that pretending to be my friend and care for me for a few days will make me happy and whole again?

That the thought of suicide will never ever cross my mind?"

"Don't," Chuuya says under his breath. "I never said that I want to cure you."

"Then what is your goal here?"

"I could ask you the same."

After a moment, Chuuya adds, "I think the only way out that place you're in is professional help. Something long-term. But that doesn't mean that a little support in the meantime will hurt, so shut the fuck up and eat your food. You barely touched it."

Dazai's stare lasts for another second before he gives in, taking a bite of the soy sausage, albeit with a mild grimace. They don't talk for the rest of the meaö, but the silence isn't awkward or tense.

It's peaceful, actually, so much that Chuuya feels energized and clear in his head despite the lack of sleep. He'll have to fit a nap into his schedule before work or add three extra cups of coffee, but he feels good right now. And Dazai seems fine, too, only slightly pissed off.

When they're done, Chuuya looks at the idiot. "Do you want to sleep?"

"I don't want anything."

"Uh, okay, drama queen, but do you /plan/ to sleep?"

"I guess."

"Well, if something's up... I'm in the guest room or somewhere around the apartment."

Dazai nods and leaves the table. Chuuya stays on his knees for a moment, assessing the current situation he's in. Letting a stranger sleep in his apartment for two days in a row? If any of his friends at the headquarters catch wind of this, Chuuya will never hear the end of it.

There's already enough teasing going around about that one time he stopped in the middle of a mission to pick up a stray kitten.

/Dazai will have to stay a secret./ Chuuya's friends' jokes aside. It's mainly for his safety.

Chuuya uses his free time to tidy up the kitchen and finally catch up on some necessary deep-cleaning he's been avoiding before double-checking his security system in- and outside the apartment. After that's done, he goes to his balcony with a fresh cup of coffee and cigarettes

and calls the doctor he mentioned earlier. It's not someone from the mafia — it can't be, but thankfully, Chuuya still has many neutral underworld connections that always prove to be useful every now and then.

When he passes his bedroom on the way to the guest room, Chuuya's eyes can't help but glimpse inside. The door's open, and Dazai's clutching one of the pillows to his chest again, eyes squeezed shut.

No way, should Chuuya feel the need to smile at the sight of a civilian college student, who's /really/ annoying at best, and a possible spy, at worst, in his own bed, but here he is, feeling an odd warmth spread in his chest.

In the privacy of his own four walls, Chuuya tries to finish his damn book, but actually spends the time being on the phone with his subordinates, preparing for an undercover mission. When his phone dings with an /I'm here x/ text, it's already nine.

Enter /Yosano Akiko./

Wearing a black lowcut blazer, a leather belt strapped around her waist, and matching black slacks, she looks exactly like one would expect an underground doctor to look like — or, maybe not, but Chuuya has always been fond of the sight.

He's known Yosano even before he joined the mafia, having run to her with an injured or half-dead sheep member more times than he can count. She's saved the lives of the people he loved time and time again, always with a marvelous smirk on her face and perfectly manicured nails.

It's been a while since Chuuya's had to call her, though.

"I would say I'm happy to see you, darling," Yosano says once the door falls shut, "but you woke me up at seven in the morning, so your face makes me murderous."

Chuuya smirks and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning to you, too, Akiko-san. You look good."

"Of course, I do," she says, taking a look around. "Now, where is this boy of yours?"

"Bedroom."

"Since when are you in a relationship, and why haven't I heard about it?"

Chuuya rolls his eyes as he leads her through the apartment. "I'm not. He's just... some guy I met." Explaining the entire situation requires more nerves than he has right now. "In a nonsexual way."

"Ah," Yosano's smirk grows, "taking care of the poor and broken again.

You know, you're like a superhero in villain disguise."

"I'm everything but a —"

The door to his room swings open the second they reach it. Dazai, dressed like he's going somewhere, nearly stumbes into them

"Oi," Chuuya says.

Dazai's eyes are so very wide for the empty look in them. "Oh, hello. I was just leaving —"

"No, you're not." Chuuya frowns. "You're staying."

"And you better sit down, too, buttercup," Yosano adds. "I need to examine you."

"I don't need to do /anything/. This is a /free/ country —" The idiot tries to push past them, but Chuuya leans sideways, blocking the only free spot. Yosano does the same. They're a /wall./

"You didn't mention your boy is scared of doctors."

"Because I didn't know." Chuuya shoots him a look. "I told you I'm going to call someone. Stop being a baby and let her examine you."

"I'm doing /fine/, there's no need for such drastic measures," Dazai argues, raising his chin like a petulant child.

Chuuya sighs. Okay. He brings up his right hand until it rests on Dazai's chest, right above where his heart should be, the other wrapping around Dazai's wrist, and then he gently pushes them backwards. He feels Dazai hesitate; feels his heart beating, racing;

but ultimately, his determination yields and Chuuya walks him to the bed like that, forcing him to sit down.

It's funny how such a stubborn personality wavers as soon as Chuuya touches him -- as soon as anyone does, probably.

Yosano watches it all unfolds from the doorway, then takes Chuuya's place in front of Dazai and starts unpacking her medical bag. "My name's Yosano, by the way," she says, picking up a stethoscope.

"If you feel any sort of pain or residing discomfort from the pills you took, please tell me..."

Dazai's unusually silence and anxiety during the examination make Chuuya's hands clench with something like guilt for forcing him to do this when he's clearly uncomfortable.

He would rather feel guilty than be responsible for the idiot's death, so Dazai will just have to deal with it. Tough luck.

Only when Yosano nods at the numbers that show on the hemodynamometer, pretty much at the end, does Dazai perk up again.

"I said I was fine," Dazai huffs, "but nobody ever listens to me in this house."

Chuuya scoffs. Yosano smiles, amused. "You should be fine, but I'll leave this medication with you in case you experience any more nausea."

"Thank you, Akiko-san."

"Of course, darling." Her eyes flicker to Chuuya and narrow. "I know you're busy saving strays and being rich, but I'd appreciate hearing your voice once in a while when someone /isn't/ bleeding out on your side of the phone."

God, he's an ass. "I will," he says as he follows her to the door. "I'm sorry, I know I've been off the grid..."

"Your apologies only mean something when your actions tell the same story," Yosano says and punches his shoulder, making him grimace, not from the pain but

because of himself. "Now, don't make that face, just don't be a stranger, Chuuya."

"Yes. Thank you again. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Take care of your boy. I have a feeling this one's more difficult than your usual ones."

Chuuya snorts as he gives her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. "Still, not /my/ boy."

Yosano only winks, and then she's out of the door, as quickly gone, as she appeared here — a force of nature, if you will. A smile hangs off his lips, though. Chuuya adores her.

"She didn't seem to be from the mafia," a voice says behind him, and Chuuya turns to find Dazai lingering in the doorway. "Well, Yosano didn't seem like a normal doctor either, but she wouldn't have said that last part if you were in the same... workplace, would she?

Unless it's common there not to cross paths for years at a time? Is it like a whole country?"

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "You know, I could be an accountant. Or a veterinarian."

"Unless you can magically cure unicorn cancer or make people's debts vanish, I highly doubt those jobs would get you enough money to afford /this/ penthouse."

"What if I inherited it?"

"Or maybe," Dazai says, taking a step towards him, "you're just full of shit."

It's funny — Chuuya hasn't heard him curse until now, and it sounds oddly adorable, but at that same moment, his phone buzzes. "Well," Chuuya says with a sigh. "We might never find out because I have to go."

"Oh, off to save a basilisk?"

Chuuya grins as he goes to his room to put on some fresh clothes. "So you /do/ read other books than classics?"

"Harry potter might as well be considered a classic by now," he hears Dazai grumble behind him.

"Were you team Hermione and Harry or Hermione and Ron?"

"Team Harry and Draco."

"Oh, /spicy./"

Chuuya doesn't even consider closing the door or turning around when he strips; the thought only crossing his mind when he sees Dazai's eyes rake over Chuuya's chest.

Dazai's not shy about looking, not shy about much, really, and Chuuya likes that because most of his modesty has been stripped throughout his life as well if it even existed at all. If you grow up on the streets with a bunch of homeless kids, privacy isn't in your vocabulary.

"When are you going to be back?"

"Dunno," Chuuya says, shrugging on a fresh button-up shirt. "Probably around twelve o'clock."

"The mafia work hours seem horrid if you ask me."

Chuuya huffs. "Not today, satan." Then something else comes to his mind.

"Hey, you want my phone number? In case you need anything?"

Dazai narrows his eyes at him. "And what could I possibly want from you? Awful book recommendations?"

"Oh, fuck off, already." Even though the answer was a clear /no/, Chuuya rummages through one of his drawers

to find a sheet of paper where he scribbles down his phone number in sloppy writing. "Call this if you need anything."

"You are actually letting me stay here?"

"Yeah."

"What if I rob this place?"

Chuuya has to stifle laughter bubbling up in his throat.

"/Oh no/, whatever will I do? I guess finding something new would be a hassle, but I have several beautiful residencies where I could spend my time waiting. I doubt there's anything you can take here that I can't replace."

Dazai's eyes narrow.

"What if I announce to the world that a powerful mafioso lives here?"

"Oh, love, you can't even imagine what painful things I'd do to you." He deliberately brushes past the idiot, letting skin meet skin. "You said you were smart. I trust you will act like it, too."

Finally, the only sound he hears is an aggravated sigh, making Chuuya smile as he grabs his coat from the hanger. "As I said, I left you my number. My neighbors are rarely home, so they shouldn't be a problem." Chuuya frowns.

"The drain acts up from time to time, but just ignore it. I'll have to call a handyman one of these days."

"How reassuring."

"Shut up. Anyways, see you later. Don't do anything stupid. I will find out, and I will kill you."

"Have fun, murdering people!

"Bye!"

"I hope you trip down the stairs!"

"I'm taking the elevator, you idiot. I'm not a damn peasant!"

"Just go--!"

As easy as it was letting Dazai stay in his apartment, focusing on work that day /isn't./ Chuuya's thoughts keep drifting even though he's supposed to focus on the task, which is, finding one of their people that has gone astray in the last twenty-four hours.

Chuuya's proud to say that he's a respected member of port mafia, but his strength and ability make him also one of the most feared members. For the tainted sorrow is not only perfect for battle, but excellent for /torture./

So whenever there's a case of betrayal, Mori always lets Chuuya make an example out of them.

Eventually, the guy shows up, crossing the street his subordinates have been monitoring with a /hoodie/ and a /cap/ drawn over his head. /Seriously./

He needs to get taught a lesson for that disguise alone.

Chuuya lets his subordinates do the work of catching him. A bit of combat training never hurt anybody, especially when those brats think that they're already on top of the world

just because they wear a black suit and sunglasses. Working for the mafia and /belonging/ to it are two things that many confuse for the same thing when in reality, they're world's apart.

Back at the headquarters, Chuuya gives in and dials his own number. It rings several times — truth be told, he doesn't think the idiot will pick up but then...

"Camp half-blood, Percy Jackson on the phone. How may I help you?"

Chuuya snorts. Loudly. "Wow, you sure you're Percy Jackson and not Grover?"

"If anyone's a half-goat, it's you, chibi. An annoying voice and horns."

Ignoring that, Chuya sighs. "Is everything alright?"

"There have been no sink troubles if that's why you're calling."

"What would you have done if it wasn't me on the phone?"

"Tell them to take it up with Kronos, of course."

For the first time in his life, Chuuya's really grateful that the business partners he's dealing with on behalf of Mori only ever got his phone number — never his house

number. He doesn't even want to imagine what they would think of an introduction like that. Hell, they'd probably think it's some kind of manipulation strategy.

"Well," Chuuya says. "If you're still there, you must have not robbed me yet.

I'm glad you're using that big brain of yours for something useful."

"Your standards are exceptionally low for a mafioso, you know."

"It's because they're set to /you/ right now."

There's a huff on the other side. "I can hang up now, right? Goodbye, hatrack."

The line /actually/ goes dead, and Chuuya, who's not really used to this treatment, scowls at his phone.

"Hey."

He looks up to see Tachihara in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "What are you up to?"

"Just checking in with an important client."

"That's cool."

Chuuya smirks. Tachihara wants something, and it's painfully apparent, but he's also a bit awkward, so every time this happens, Chuuya usually takes the reins.

"Want to grab a drink later?" Tachihara finally asks.

And that's when Chuuya's expression falters. As much as he'd want to have a quick fuck tonight — and god, does he need one after way too much neglection recently — he ... he has someone waiting for him at home.

Chuuya refuses to be the asshole that comes after five minutes and then leaves Tachihara hanging. "Sorry," he says, making a face. "Busy tonight."

"Oh. Hot date?"

"No, I just... adopted a kitten."

"A kitten?" Tachihara blinks. "Like, a cat?"

"Yeah."

"And you're saying no to fuck for... that?"

Well, now that he says it like that, Chuuya should have come up with something better than a kitten. "It's a /really demanding/ kitten. He doesn't eat. He shits everywhere. I have to teach him a few things, you know."

"Okay." Tachihara nods and gives him a two-fingered salute. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

As he watches Tachihara leave, Chuuya lets out a few grumbled curses into his fist. Dazai's just /one/ man, one person, and he's already turning half of his life

upside down. How the fuck did that happen.

The rest of his workday passes agonizingly slow, but at least, he already has crossed off every plan he had in his head for the night on his way home because, knowing dazai, he won't get to do any of it.

Sure enough, the second he enters his apartment, he feels something off. This time, it's the smell.

It fucking /stinks./

"Dazai!" he shouts. "The fuck did you do?"

The voice that replies comes from the kitchen.

"The better question should be what I /didn't/ do, and the answer is that I didn't rob you, nor did I share your address with the internet ~"

Chuuya stalks down the hallway, prepared to yell, but when he finally spots Dazai at the table — one that is /set/ with dishes, red wine and even candles — his irritation ebbs away, especially because, despite his smart-ass response, the look on Dazai's face is /sheepish/,

almost embarrassed.

"I made dinner."

Chuuya's eyes fall to the food in question: chicken hot-pot. "I see that," he replies. "Did you burn it afterwards or something?"

"It's not my fault your stove is really strange."

"My stove is perfect."

"Then mine isn't, and I'm used to a bit less fire and heat."

Even though the smell lingers in the air, the food looks good, charred at some bits, but oh well. "Should I be worried?" Chuuya asks as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it over the back of his chair

before sitting down. "Just so you know, I can taste poison." One of the first lessons at mafia 101.

Dazai rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his food. "Now, why would I do that? I did enough puking already."

"I don't know, something about that double suicide you mentioned."

"With a beautiful woman," Dazai points out like it makes all the difference. "You only fill one of these criteria. Right?"

"Right." Chuuya pours wine into his glass. "I'm just having trouble believing that you would do something nice for me."

"That's where stupid little Chibi's wrong. This was something nice for /me./ You merely happened to come back from your mafia job at a convenient timing."

Chuuya can't really believe Dazai would do something nice for himself either, but that's a topic for another day.

The chicken hot-pot is... okay, some of the pieces, anyway — and as far as he can taste, it's not poisoned either. It's actually nice. Coming home and warm dinner is already waiting for you.

If there wasn't the whole /partners are a luxury when you work for the mafia/ thing, Chuuya would reconsider his dating and relationship policies.

"So, how was your day?" Dazai asks. "Did you get to kill people?"

"I saved a werewolf. Nice guy."

"The ones that shift into actual wolves or those that just turn into hideous and hairy people?"

"A healthy mix of both."

"Can I visit him? I've always wanted to see one."

"Sorry, no civilians allowed."

"What if I show them a magic trick?"

Chuuya cocks his head. "What, making things burn?"

"Making things... /stop./"

"Are you trying to imply that /murdering/ is your magic trick?"

"Eh, chibi is really dense."

Dazai lifts his hand, and a visible calm settles over him as he regards it, slowly twisting it this way and that way. "Do you remember that woman in the news a few weeks ago that robbed a bank with her teleportation ability?"

"Yeah?" Chuuya says slowly.

"And how the police force struggled to retain her because she kept escaping?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, I could have stopped her ability," Dazai proclaims, his eyes sliding from his hand to Chuuya. Cool. Alert. Gauging his reaction. "That's my magic trick."

Chuuya has to leave it to Dazai. He's surprised. He didn't expect that. And maybe it shows for a few seconds, but he quickly gathers his wits and shoots Dazai a look. "I don't know if that's cool enough.

No one wants a party pooper at their workplace."

Dazai's lashes flutter as he looks at Chuuya. "What if the werewolf goes rabid?"

"Easiest case, we take him out. Worst case, we have a /fight/ and then take him out. Either way, /fun./"

Lips pressed together, Dazai turns up his nose. It looks cute, especially because Chuuya knows he's being annoying. Two people can play this game.

He thinks he's starting to understand Dazai's bizarre behavior — on a surface level, at least. He's bored with life.

Not necessary /brave/ from what Chuuya can tell, just really fucking careless with his own life. It makes sense why he would search out a person like Chuuya, pushing ten thousand miles closer every time Chuuya says that it's too dangerous.

tw mention of suicide

Maybe it's just another cry for help, a seemingly easier solution to get caught in the crossfire instead of going through with the act of suicide.

Either way, Dazai's wrong. The mafia is not easier. The mafia isn't like anything he probably imagines.

Less epic. Less exciting. More unpleasant. Definitely more paperwork.

"I'm going to go to my class tomorrow," Dazai announces and makes Chuuya's eyes snap to him.

"You will?"

"That is what I said. Is your hearing all right?"

"Okay, Mr. Attitude," Chuuya says, tossing a napkin at his face. "That's good. Do you want to leave tonight or in the morning?"

"Tonight. I didn't pack the things I need, and I don't want to travel halfway across the city tomorrow morning."

That's... valid.

"I can drive you back," Chuuya offers.

"If you insist," Dazai mumbles like it's an inconvenience. /That brat./

Chuuya's grinning, though, because has an idea — which must wait for later.

Instead, he gets up and starts clearing the table, pointedly shoving Dazai's barely-touched plate towards him.

Dazai pointedly shoves it away.

"Have you even eaten today?" Chuuya snaps.

"Yes."

"What?"

"The breakfast you made me!"

Chuuya blinks. "That's it?"

Dazai's hand makes a shooing motion. "Stop looking at me like that."

"You should eat fucking more," Chuuya tells him, opening his dishwasher. "You can't survive on one and a half meals a day, idiot."

"First of all, yes. Me sitting here should be evidence enough. Second, why should I eat when I'm not hungry?"

"Why would you breathe even though it doesn't taste like anything?"

"You're comparing apples to oranges."

"And you're fucking annoying."

"But I am right."

"No, you're just a stubborn little brat," Chuuya mutters, throwing a towel over his shoulder as he wipes the surface of the counter. "Hey, you want to give me your number?"

With Dazai going back to his dorm, he'd feel a lot better if he could check in once in a while and see that he's doing fine. Sustaining something like an actual friendship probably won't be possible. Chuuya made a habit out of only keeping close with colleagues,

not willing to endanger any civilians, especially if he gets attached. It's a vicious circle, really. Leaving the mafia would mean leaving your family and friends, and who would want to be alone? Chuuya's too deep in it to care about it anymore, though.

"Are you hitting on me?"

"Yes," Chuuya lies and mockingly places a hand over his heart. "There's no one I want more than the broke college student who keeps ending up at my doorstep like a bedraggled kitten looking for a home."

When Dazai's brows furrow into a scowl, Chuuya waves a hand. "No, I'm not hitting on you, idiot. I respect myself too much to be interested in someone who isn't into guys."

Dazai stands up at that, facing him. "Why would you think that?"

Chuuya tilts his head. "Well, you keep mentioning you only want to die by a woman's side. I figured that's your version of saying /no homo./"

"Stop figuring then," Dazai mutters. "Chuuya's really stupid."

"Okay, cool... but are you going to give me your number or not?

You know, I could just find out myself, too."

"Ah, veterinaries and accountants can do that now?"

"/I/ can do that," Chuuya tells him with a smirk before holding out his phone. "Your number. Pronto."

Dazai carefully wraps his fingers around the device, somehow managing not to touch Chuuya, and it breaks his heart all over again. Either he just doesn't like being physical, or this guy is really fucking touch starved.

When Dazai returns his phone, Chuuya takes his hand and doesn't let go, catching his gaze. "Does this bother you?"

Dazai's eyes fall to their hands, his muscles stiff and frozen. "No," he says slowly as if he isn't sure himself.

"Then can I do something?"

"Okay..."

Chuuya withdraws his hand and instead steps forward, wrapping his arms around Dazai. One hand clutches his back. The other gently brushes the side of his bandaged neck.

"What... are you doing?" Dazai asks. Not moving. Not /breathing./

"Hugging you."

"Why."

"Because I'm pretty sure you didn't have a lot of those in your life," Chuuya murmurs and pulls him even closer until every inch of him is pressed against that idiot.

After they're done fucking, Tachihara always says Chuuya's like a furnace, /hot/, sometimes using it as an excuse to be lazy in bed and lie there for a while.

Despite all the layers Dazai has on him, he's cold. So incredibly cold. Like there's a hole in his body somewhere that lets all the warmth leak out. "Do you want me to stop?"

Dazai doesn't answer. He doesn't hug him back either.

That's okay.

Chuuya's not sure how long they stand there in his kitchen, illuminated by candles and gentle moonlight, but eventually, he lets out a yawn and decides that Dazai should, at least, try to get some sleep today, so he pulls away.

The silence between them as they get ready +

to head out is peaceful, relaxed, and only gets broken when they're outside, but Chuuya's leading them past his Bugatti.

"Another car?" Dazai guesses.

"Oh, like ten more," Chuuya feels his smirk grow, "but we're not taking any of them."

That's when they reach his bike. Flashy, pink, and absolutely gorgeous.

If Chuuya could fuck a motorcycle, he would fuck /this/ one.

Dazai's decidedly silent next to him. "That's..."

"Don't tell me you're scared," Chuuya teases. It's perfect for someone like Dazai.

There are other ways to seek a rush than death -- many great ways, and this one's the easiest and by far the most common. You get on the fucking bike, you fly down the street like it's the only thing that matters, and part of you feel lighter in the end.

Easy.

"Won't I get cold?"

Scoffing, Chuuya turns to him and zips up the beige vintage jacket he's wearing. "Once September ends, it will be colder, yes, but tonight's a warm night. You'll be fine." He raises his brow. "You up for it?"

Dazai's eyes slide to the bike +

then back to Chuuya before he lets out a long breath. "Fine."

Chuuya gives him a quick but efficient instruction, then hands him a second helmet and climbs on the bike. "You'll have to hang on tight," he shouts over the roar of the engine as he feels Dazai awkwardly settle +

behind him. "Like, really hold on. Don't be shy."

"I'm not /shy/," he hears Dazai mutters.

"One last thing," Chuuya cranes his neck around and shoots him a wide grin, "try to enjoy every fucking minute of it."

Dazai huffs like it's a joke, but Chuuya's intuition is pretty good and he's almost certain the gangly idiot will end up loving it. There was a time -- Chuuya's first few months at the mafia -- when he felt like Dazai. Stuck in a bottomless hole of monotony and leeching sorrow.

He wanted his family back. His friends. He didn't want to work for some old fucker with greasy hair, telling him to do this and that, trying to weave him deeper and deeper into the cobweb that's the mafia. Chuuya couldn't leave without endangering the sheep, though, +

so he tried everything possible to just stop that fucking /misery/, and discovered his passion for racing and driving in the process. He got used to life as a mafioso over the years, learned how to turn his feelings into battle fuel, but his habits stuck anyway.

If they are anything alike, Dazai will enjoy this.

Chuuya lets go of the clutch and eases their way into the traffic. For a while, he keeps it simple, until he's sure that Dazai's hands are wrapped around him tight enough; then he takes the longer route to the dorms +

and kicks up the speed several notches. Dazai presses closer. Chuuya's heart soars. They fly over the mostly empty streets.

Call him delusional, but Chuuya feels it; he feels the moment Dazai's death-grip around him shifts from horror to something more blazing, +

like digging your fingers into someone's skin as the kisses grow more and more desperate with each second.

It rattles Chuuya's lungs. It makes him dizzy with the desire to shake Dazai and tell him that the adrenaline he so desperately wants is right /here/,+

just a hand away; all he has to do is stretch out his arms and reach for it; all he has to do is say /yes./

When they arrive at their destination, Chuuya can't fight the smile tugging at his lips, too fucking excited to see the reaction.

It takes Dazai a moment to get to his feet and pull off the helmet and then he's... raising his finger.

"Not a word," he tells Chuuya.

"You liked it, didn't you?" Chuuya challenges. "You fucking loved it."

"It was okay."

"It was /amazing./"

"I have to go. It's late."

Chuuya lets his head fall back a bit, staring at the stars in the sky, so fucking far away and yet just within his grasp. Part of him has always wondered how far he would reach if he tried.

When he returns his gaze to Dazai, the idiot is already staring at him.

Chuuya arches one brow. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You don't want to tell me that this was really fun so that next time you start feeling bad, you will call /me/ instead of swallowing pills?"

"Can a veterinarian even be friends with a simple civilian?"

No, probably not. +

But leaving Dazai all by himself and dragging him into Chuuya's life could both end up with the same result, except that with this here, Chuuya, at least, has a chance of protecting him -- and he'd be really careful not to let anyone see them together, to begin with.

He settles on saying, "I'll make an exception for you."

"Should I be honored?" Dazai asks mockingly.

"No, you should be going to bed and getting rest." Chuuya lightly kicks his shin, but his smile is tinted with concern. "And I was serious about calling me. You can, okay?"

After a pause, Dazai nods. "Okay." He steps forward like he's about to hug Chuuya or maybe give him a pat, but in the end, he retreats, and just waves before turning around and unlocking the door to his dorm complex. Chuuya stays until he's sure Dazai's safe inside.

--

It's the next day, seven in the evening, to be precise. Chuuya has to get to work in one and a half hours. And the most productive thing he's done all day was stare at his phone, like one of those teenagers waiting for their crush to text back in those cheesy dramas +

that Yumeno watches sometimes.

Except that Chuuya is not waiting for a message from his crush, but from the stranger that somehow wiggled his way into his life, and is now refusing to give him any sign that he's /okay./

To be fair, it's been less than 24 hours -- but +

given what happened last time, it's completely valid to be concerned, right?

Chuuya gets up from his couch with a curse, throwing the phone halfway across the room, and decides to take matters into his own hands. He will just have to make a quick stop before work.

He's quite used to the route by now, so it doesn't take long until Chuuya spots the colorful building towering in the distance. He leaves his car in the parking lot of a grocery store nearby before heading towards the entrance, passing a few benches on the way and --

Wait.

On second glance, that guy who's reading looks familiar.

Chuuya stops for a moment just to admire the pretty view.

Dazai's sitting on a bench, a pen tucked behind his ear as he frowns at the book in his hands. His clothes weren't exactly ugly, per se, the last few times, +

maybe a bit boring, but Chuuya especially likes the white high neck sweater and matching black shirt Dazai's wearing today.

Not even a moment later, as if sensing his gaze, Dazai looks up, and he blinks. "Hello?"

"Hi," Chuuya says. "Did you lose your phone or something?"

"I think it's out of battery."

"You think?"

Dazai shrugs wordlessly, and Chuuya scrubs a hand across his face.

"Is that why you're here?" he hears Dazai ask. "Because I haven't called you yet?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but today's actually a +

good day. I didn't have time for a nervous breakdown yet."

Chuuya rolls his eyes. How the fuck do you tell someone you want to help them without actually saying it?"

"Whatever, idiot. Just charge your fucking phone, so that I know you're still alive."

"If Chuuya wants to +

text me so badly, he should just tell me ~"

Chuuya crosses the distance between them and snags the book out of his fingers. "I'm not asking you to send me selfies and tell me how your day went --" He makes a face. "-- though, if you /would/ like to do that, then /cool./ +

All I want is just a fucking sign that you're not sloshed in some stranger's apartment." Because not everyone is as nice as Chuuya -- and probably, not as stupid either.

"So what you're saying is that I'm on suicide watch," Dazai says with a hint of bitterness. "Got it."

Chuuya's about to reply when he actually sees the book that he stole, and his irritated frown immediately melts into a smirk. "A court of thorns and roses, huh?" He lets it dangle between his fingers as he shoots Dazai a look. "Look who's reading the fairie smut now?"

Dazai snatches the book back with a little huff. Chuuya lets him. "Stop distracting me. She's under the mountain right now."

Chuuya would threaten to spoil him but since Dazai attempted to do that once with this same exact book series, he must have already read it once. So +

instead of saying anything, Chuuya sits down on the bench, spreading his arms behind him as he closes his eyes and lets the last rays of the sun warm his face.

Dazai reads, occasionally telling him about what's happening. Chuuya listens.

This, he thinks, is pretty nice.

--

"Nakahara-san! P-please be careful--" Higuchi's voice trails off into a shriek as Chuuya does the opposite of being careful and breaks open the door with his foot before sticking his head in.

It's eerily quiet inside the basement -- supposedly housing one of the punks that +

has been selling unclean shit in port mafia territory lately.

With a wordless nod, Chuuya signals for Akutagawa and Higuchi to cover for him as he checks out all three of the rooms, and, unsurprisingly, finds them empty. Whether they got their information too late, or whether +

it was merely a rumor, doesn't matter right now because no one is here.

"You know," he hears Akutagawa say behind him, "for someone who always tells me not to rush in head-first, you like to do the opposite."

Chuuya clicks his tongue. +

"That's why you have to do as I /say/, not as I /do./"

"I'm not your subordinate anymore."

"Oi, don't blow your own horn just because they gave you your own puppies to lead." Chuuya smacks the back of the brat's head as he heads for the stairs. "I'll never stop being +

your /beloved/ mentor."

"/Annoying/," Akutagawa corrects in a grumble, but Chuuya chooses to ignore that comment in favor of checking his messages.

The last few weeks have kept him busy, so he's had to rely on text messages and calls to talk to Dazai.

As it is, he has two unread texts from the walking beanpole, but this time it's not a stupid meme, or a picture of the latest book he's reading, or him asking Chuuya how the animals at his job as a "vet" are fairing. No, they're much more simple. A "SOS" and an address.

Fuck.

Did someone discover a connection between the two of them?

Did Dazai do something?

Did --

There's no time to think about any of that. A SOS could mean anything, and he's not going to take any chances.

"Change of plans," Chuuya barks out to Akutagawa and Higuchi +

and climbs into the passenger seat of the car. The driver, Shimizu, doesn't bat an eyelash when Chuuya rattles off the address -- five minutes max from where they are now, thankfully -- and tells him to floor it like there's no tomorrow as Akutagawa and Higuchi hurry after him.

Working in the mafia, they're all used to having to do things quickly and efficiently.

"Do we have another lead, Nakahara-san?" Higuchi asks from the backseat as the car flies across the pavement.

Chuuya worries his lip, weighing his options here.

He knows that +

if it comes down to it, these two will be able to keep their mouth shut. Akutagawa might not like to say the words out loud, but it was Chuuya who picked him off the streets and gave him a purpose. It was Chuuya who helped him to control the beast called rashomon. +

Akutagawa wouldn't dishonor that invisible bond. And Chuuya doesn't need to worry about Higuchi. She'd walk face-first into a fire if her senpai asked her to.

Then again, Chuuya would prefer as few people as possible to know about Dazai.

In the end, having back up +

in his corner just in case trumps anything else.

"It's a different matter," Chuuya finally replies, watching their faces in the rear-view mirror. "I'll need you two to keep quiet about it. Got it?"

Akutagawa barely even reacts as he says, "Yes, Chuuya-san."

Good boy.

"Shimizu," Chuuya shoots him a look, "you too."

"I didn't hear a thing, boss."

Wonderful. Most of the time, it pays off to remember his subordinates' names and treat them like living human beings instead of expandable guard dogs.

The closer they get to their +

destination, though, the faster Chuuya's blood pulses with fear of the unknown. It's not an easy feeling to ignite in him, after half a life on the streets and the other half in the mafia, but Dazai has this special talent of shaking his carefully-built resolve.

Shimizu stops in a side street. The address Dazai sent him is in the middle of an indie shopping area, too crowded and full of civilians for a car to be of any use.

"Stay hidden until I give the command," Chuuya instructs, car door swinging open. "Be ready for combat."

"Any people to look out for, Nakahara-san?" Higuchi asks.

"Still unknown. I'll tell you as soon as I know more."

Chuuya hops out, and worms his way through swarms of oblivious people as he tries to call Dazai, and /again/ only gets his damn voicemail. Nothing looks out +

of the ordinary. No shouting. No screaming. No suspiciously-dressed people. No sound of shotguns firing. But Chuuya's not so easily fooled, and every single one of his instincts stays alert as he gets closer and closer. His brows furrow as he sees that the address leads inside a+

a clothing store.

He enters it, heart pounding in his ears, and then --

"Oh, good you're here."

Chuuya spins around, only to see Dazai grinning at him, wearing a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses. A /safe and uninjured/ Dazai. "Which pair do you think looks better on me?"

He switches to a pair with small, round glasses, ones that make him look like a hippie -- which is beside the point because Dazai is /completely, utterly fine/ --

"This one or the other one?"

"What the fuck, Dazai?"

He makes a face. "So not this one?"

"You fucking sent me a SOS for /this/?" Chuuya snaps.

"Well, I wasn't sure which ones to pick," Dazai says like it's totally obvious, "and I don't own a penthouse and twenty other estates in the country. I can only afford one pair."

The audacity of this little bitch --

"Chuuya-san," Akutagawa's voice comes from the ear piece, cutting off what was about to become the cussing out of the century, "we're outside the shop. Do you need us?"

Chuuya lets out a sigh, all the tension bleeding out with it, before he replies. "Stand down."

"Got it."

He turns his gaze back to the bastard named Dazai, but there's this strange glint in his eyes as he tilts his head and steps forward, /this/ close to breaching Chuuya's personal space. "Veterinarians have earpieces now? How curious."

And it's at this moment, that +

Chuuya realizes /fuck./ Dazai did it.

He outmaneuvered Chuuya.

"Don't think that this is some kind of shitty victory." Chuuya stabs a finger in his chest, delighting in the silent tremor that runs through the mackerel's breath. "Do you even know how serious a SOS is?"

"Yes," Dazai drawls, "that's precisely why I did it."

"I will strange you --"

"Is that what you guys do?" Dazai asks, and then mouths, "in the /mafia/?"

Chuuya's hands itch with the desire to fist in the idiot's collar and rip him a new one, /but./ They're in public.

And Chuuya has his emotions under control. He does.

Dazai grins, satisfied. "So now that you're here, you can still help me out, yes? The heart-shaped or the Ozzy Osbourne glasses?"

"Heart-shaped," Chuuya mutters as he turns to inspect the other options. "You look stupid +

in the other ones."

"That's not nice. Maybe you should wear the shades, and, you know, see the world through rose-tinted glasses and all."

"Ha, ha, you're so funny."

"One of the many good qualities I possess."

Chuuya sends Akutagawa a text instead of using his earpiece, +

adamant about keeping Dazai as far away as humanly possible from that side of his life even if the bastard would leap over with his arms spread if given the choice.

"Are you free for the rest of the day?"

Chuuya side-eyes him. "More or less."

"Want to watch a movie with me?"

"I'm not watching /the human centipede/ with you again," he says, his facial muscles twitching in disgust at the mere memory.

"I will pick a better movie this time," Dazai tells him. "I swear on my parents, chibi."

/On parents he has not lost one single word about before?/

Yeah, fat chance. Those either don't exist, or Dazai dislikes them enough to swear on them just to annoy Chuuya with a shitty film.

Chuuya shoots him a look. "/I/ pick. And we're watching at my place. Your bed gives me a backache."

read the continuation on ao3 here:

archiveofourown.org/works/30765812…