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1.
Dazai squints at the photo Mori passes over.
“This is the leader of the Sheep?” No way. He’s calling the bluff. Mori must’ve taken a picture of some random very cute boy around Dazai’s age solely to get him inclined to take on this case since Dazai expressed his disinterest earlier.
Then Dazai’s unbandaged eye looks a bit closer. The picture is a little grainy, but the deep, dark circles under the boy’s pretty eyes are unmistakable.
“He looks tired,” Dazai comments idly, keeping his tone perfectly flat.
“Indeed,” Mori hums, “rumors say that he doesn’t sleep at all.”
That catches Dazai’s attention. Doesn’t sleep at all? Lucky. Whenever Dazai tries that, he ends up passing out at the most inopportune times; like last week when he collapsed in the middle of ordering a raspberry muffin. Apparently he freaked the cute cashier out enough that she quit. Unfortunate, really, as Dazai was hoping he could convince her to commit double suicide with him.
But anyway. If this Sheep guy has a trick for not sleeping, Dazai would love to hear it.
Ah, damn. Mori won this round. The slimy smirk on the greasy bum’s face says that he knows this too.
“Fine,” Dazai sighs. “I’ll report back later. Bye.”
“I look forward to your return.”
“Whatever.” Dazai rolls his eye and exits Mori’s office without looking back. No point in ruining his remaining good eye by forcing it to gaze upon such a disgusting lump of flesh and cruelty.
“Excuse me,” Dazai plants a hand on the short redhead boy’s muscled, bare shoulder. Lovely skin, if a little pale. Maybe that’s why he’s wearing a tank top instead of that green coat that usually shows up on CCTV footage, trying to soak up some sun. “Any chance you’re Chuuya Nakahara?”
But, instead of an answer, the redhead wobbles and proceeds to collapse.
“Woah there.” Dazai catches the boy in his arms, one under his shoulders and the other scooping up his knees, before the boy can face-plant into the dirt.
A frown mars Dazai’s lips as he examines the boy: Same copper-colored hair, height, and shockingly dark eyebags as all the descriptions of Nakahara that the Port Mafia has obtained. But Dazai was told that Nakahara did not sleep, and, for whatever reason, the boy curling into his arms is clearly out cold.
Well, this is quite the predicament.
Dazai has no business with a Nakahara-lookalike and should just dump the boy into the dirt and be done with it… But. Well. He is kind of cute. His pale, scarred fingers have latched onto Dazai’s coat, and he is curling in close to press up against Dazai as best he can.
It’s not often people chose to be close to the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia.
…Besides, he never made an appointment with Nakahara. And he doesn’t care about Mori’s expectations. So, really, there is no real rush to find the leader of the Sheep.
Dazai wanders over to the nearest alcove and settles down. He keeps the sleeping redhead in his arms, unwilling to give up the first human contact he has had in months. It helps that the boy is deceptively light. Dazai figured he would be heavy considering the lean muscle visible on his bare arms, but the boy is definitely underweight. Eh, not like Dazai can talk much in that department. He gets it. Food is an enemy that defeats him more often than he’d like to admit.
Well. He is now sitting, the cute boy still curled in his arms.
What was step two, again?
Dazai sits there a moment, pondering what he is supposed to do next. He could try to nap? But that would leave them both vulnerable. It’s Suribachi City, not exactly the safest spot for an afternoon nap. Plus, Dazai is trying to learn how to not sleep, so sleeping voluntarily is rather counterproductive.
Well, that leaves him with the option of sitting there and waiting for the cute redhead to wake up.
It’s not that creepy to watch a stranger sleep, right? Cause Dazai has limited options as to how he can pass the time and currently the most appealing of those options is observing the stranger in his lap. The boy looks so innocent and peaceful, his chest rising and falling in a smooth, repetitive fashion. His hair gleams copper in the sunlight, daring Dazai to shift the hand currently holding the boy’s shoulders so that his fingers can play with the longest strands. It’s probably soft.
However, playing with the hair of the sleeping stranger in his lap does cross the line and sound like a thing Mori would do, so Dazai refrains. Watching is… still a bit creepy, he can admit that, but less invasive than petting someone’s hair without their consent.
Though the stranger technically never consented to being held while he slept, but the boy also fell asleep on Dazai without asking, so it’s kind of equal.
Whatever. He’s not inclined to do anything that Mori would, so he’s not petting the stranger’s hair and that’s that.
Two hours pass by quickly. Dazai’s arms have gone completely numb at that point, but the cute boy is still sleeping soundly, so it’s a worthy sacrifice.
“Hey! Hey, you!” Looking up at the call, Dazai finds a pink-haired brat pointing at him. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Let him go!”
Dazai looks down at Cute Boy, then back at the brat.
“Who are you?” He asks the pink-haired girl as she stomps her way over, hands on her hips as she scowls down at him.
“That’s my best friend you’re, uh, assaulting! So just let him go before I make you!”
Dazai’s visible eyebrow raises. “He fell asleep on me.”
“Well, you must’ve made him or something! Creep! Let him go!” The girl’s shouting is drawing attention and that is never a good thing. It’s even worse of a thing in Suribachi City where the people that would come after Dazai for being mafia would not kill him quickly.
“Okay, fine. Here.” Dazai stands up and passes the still-sleeping Cute Boy over to the annoying girl.
The moment Cute Boy is passed to the girl’s arms, he stirs. A tiny groan slips from his chapped lips as his eyelids flicker.
“You okay?” The girl asks, setting the boy back on his own feet.
“Yeah,” Cute Boy’s voice is rougher than Dazai expects but somehow suits him perfectly. “Yeah, I feel great actually. What happened?”
“You fell asleep on me,” Dazai offers. Cute Boy startles at that and quickly snaps his gaze towards Dazai. The boy’s eyes are a beautiful blue that Dazai is momentarily lost in, but he recovers quickly.
“Really? Wow.” The boy stares at him intensely.
Dazai averts his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to fight back the blush that wants to tint his cheeks. That is very not allowed: the Demon Prodigy does not blush just because he has a cute boy’s attention.
“What’s your name?” Cute Boy asks. “Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“I, um.” Dazai panics, flailing a little. “Osamu.” He immediately gives himself a good mental slap for that. What kind of idiot gives their real name out just like that?!
“Osamu,” Cute Boy repeats. Dazai no longer regrets giving his name; he can ascend right here and now. The way Cute Boy says his given name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s trying to memorize the taste of it, is officially the best moment of Dazai’s life.
“Look, I—”
“Come on,” the girl hisses, tugging Cute Boy’s arm. “We have to get back. Everyone is worried about you.”
“But—” Cute Boy casts a longing look Dazai’s way even as he lets the annoying girl drag him away.
“Now.”
“Right.” Cute Boy offers Dazai a smile. “Thanks for letting me sleep, Osamu. I hope to see you around.”
Dazai opens his mouth to reply and finds his silver tongue tied.
Cute Boy disappears around the corner of a building.
How unfortunate.
Guess his break is over: time to go find Nakahara.
2.
Alright. After a whole week of digging for information, Dazai finally has a concrete lead: the Sheep’s leader is supposed to appear at the shipping yard tonight to stop some kind of arms deal between two gangs that messed with the Sheep a little while back.
Naturally, Dazai wants to use this as an opportunity to scout out the enemy, watch the battle, then engage.
However, it is difficult to do that when Hirotsu and his squadron are hovering just behind Dazai, making lots of noise and being extremely obvious with their size alone.
“Just go away!” Dazai hisses, glaring at the old man. Hirotsu doesn’t flinch.
“Apologies, Sir. Boss’s orders.”
“Stupid Mori,” Dazai grumbles. How typical of the boss to ruin Dazai’s plans.
“Fine,” Dazai says, “but I’m going to hide over there—”
He cuts off when Hirotsu’s hand wraps around his upper arm, holding him in place.
“Apologies,” Hirotsu repeats, “but the boss requested I stay near you tonight. As a precaution. He can’t have you dying on him if this turns into a fight.”
While Dazai would love to be furious at Mori right now, he’s more concerned with the way his heartbeat is not responding to his attempts to control it. And how, even though he’s tugging to get away, Hirotsu won’t let go of him.
“Let me go!” Dazai’s voice cracks, something he can hopefully blame on puberty if anyone asks, and he tugs harder. Hirotsu frowns but doesn’t release him.
“You’re too visible, come this way.” Hirotsu pulls, dragging Dazai further behind the shipping container the mafia is set up behind, towards the rounded-up goons of the night.
There’s a blur of red, then Hirotsu’s eyes go wide and the man is flying back, slamming into the shipping container hard enough it dents.
Before Dazai can process what just happened, a hand is grabbing his own and yanking him in the direction opposite the mafia. Stumbling, Dazai quickly regains his footing by picking up his pace to match that of his captor.
He glances over to see who would dare attack the Port Mafia in such a manner, a cool interrogation ready on his lips, only for all his thoughts to fade away as he finds his kidnapper has ginger hair and a rather short stature.
All his thoughts fizzle away until the only thing left is the all-important realization that Cute Boy is holding his hand, even if there is a stupid glove in the way stopping skin contact.
Then his brain kicks online enough to inform him that Cute Boy seems rather frazzled, if his panicked, mumbled cursing is any indication. Cute Boy drags them into an empty alleyway and ducks into an abandoned store off that, where they finally halt. Good, Dazai was getting tired of running.
“Oh my god,” Cute Boy gasps, “that’s the mafia. What are they doing here?! Wait, more importantly.” Cute Boy looks to him, those blue eyes so serious and so stunning at the same time.
Dazai is fully prepared to admit to anything this boy asks him.
“Osamu, are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?”
He hears the words, then needs an entire five seconds to process them through the concern dripping off Cute Boy’s lips.
Please let this be how he goes. Death by listening to Cute Boy say his given name like he genuinely cares about Dazai would be the best way to go.
“Osamu?” Cute Boy lets go of his hand in order to grab both of his shoulder and give him a tiny shake. “Hey, you good?”
“Uhhuh.” Dazai responds very intelligently.
Cute Boy squints at him. “Maybe you’re in shock? I dunno. Come on, let’s get you sitting down. And maybe something to drink? I don’t remember what’s supposed to help with shock… Yo! Shirase! Grab a water for him, will you?”
The words fly right over Dazai’s head as Cute Boy takes his hand again, tugging Dazai along. He doesn’t look around, finding his time is far better spent watching the way Cute Boy’s hair bounces around his face as he walks.
He is absolutely willing to follow this boy anywhere.
That is probably not a good thing, but as long as Mori never finds out, it’s fine.
“Here, let’s sit down.” Cute Boy nudges Dazai into a room that’s separated from the rest. It’s a small room, something along the lines of an old storage closest, but there is a futon laid out on the ground.
Cute Boy sits down, so Dazai does too. For once, he is not upset at the rather claustrophobic nature of this tiny room.
“Chuuya, catch.” Some random nobody tosses Cute Boy a water bottle and leaves, which is then handed to Dazai. He curls his fingers around it, not really sure what to do.
He blinks.
“Your name is Chuuya?” For some reason that fact feels important.
“Oh,” Cute Boy laughs. “Yeah, I guess I never introduced myself last time. Sorry. Well,” Cute Boy flashes him a smile so pure Dazai’s good eye nearly goes blind, “I’m Chuuya Nakahara. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Osamu.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Dazai blurts. He sticks out his hand, playing it off as a handshake, but also wanting to take every opportunity possible to feel the weight of Cute Boy’s hand in his again.
Laughing, Cute Boy takes off his gloves and shoves them in his back pocket, then clasps Dazai’s hand with his own to shake it. It’s warm. Dazai’s fingers tighten, holding onto Cute Boy’s. Cute Boy makes no move to let go either.
“Honestly, I’m so glad I found you again, Osamu. I’ve been looking around all week, so imagine my shock when I—” Cute Boy cuts off with a long yawn, then shakes his head and blinks furiously. “Um. Anyway. Yeah, I really wasn’t expecting to find you about to be kidnapped by the mafia, so—” He cuts off again, yawning. “Ah, jeez, sorry. I usually don’t—” Cute Boy’s eyes flutter shut and he slumps forward, flopping into Dazai’s chest, fast asleep.
Dazai blinks. He’s not religious, but thank you god. This is the new best day of his life.
A handful of minutes pass where Dazai has let his arms drape over Cute Boy, hugging him to his chest since Cute Boy has curled in close on his own, then Dazai’s brain clicks.
“Oh,” he whispers, dread rising. “I knew I had heard that name before.” Chuuya as in Chuuya Nakahara, King of the Sheep. The guy Mori wants him to track down and recruit to the mafia.
…Yeah, that can’t happen. Whenever Dazai is in the same space as Chuuya, his braincells promptly fly out the window. He can’t deal with Mori without his braincells.
Hm. Well, he’ll have to think about this when he does not have the most adorable being on earth curled in his arms. Clearly, there are more important things to focus on right now than thinking.
Dazai must fall asleep some point because he is woken up by panicked screeching.
“CHUUYA! Chuuya, where are you?! This is bad, dude, seriously bad!” The door to the storage-closet-turned-mini-bedroom is wrenched open, a grey-haired boy standing on the other side. “Chuuya— huh? The heck? Is he asleep?”
Dazai glances down and finds the boy still fast asleep, clinging tightly to him, so he nods.
“Yep. For someone who is rumored to not sleep, he certainly has a bad habit of falling asleep on people.”
“…Okay, that is seriously weird, but we do not have time for it: the Port Mafia is outside! Like, right now! If Chuuya doesn’t wake up, we’re all dead.”
Dazai groans. “Of course they are.” He should have assumed there was some tracking device planted in him somewhere.
But that can be dealt with later. First, he has to make sure the mafia don’t storm the place. No way is he letting Mori and Chuuya meet; that vile man does not deserve to be graced with such sheer beauty.
“They’re after me,” Dazai sighs. “I’ll go out and they should leave you guys alone.”
“What? The mafia is after you? Um, look, let’s just wake Chuuya up, somehow, and let him take care of them—”
Ignoring the idiot, Dazai very gently removes the adorable bundle clinging to him and lays the boy on the futon. The moment Dazai lets him go, Chuuya whimpers and stretches a hand towards him. His heart forgets to beat.
Chuuya’s eyelids start to flutter, which snaps Dazai out of his heart attack.
“Tell him I said goodbye,” Dazai orders the boring dude standing there gaping.
With that, Dazai strolls out of the Sheep’s headquarters (why on earth did Chuuya think bringing some stranger he only met once before back to their actual HQ was smart?) and smiles blanky at Hirotsu.
“Aw, you found me! Boo, fine. Call off the search party, I’ll go back.”
“Hm. And why are you here, Dazai? This does not seem like a place you would—”
“Attempt suicide? You’re absolutely right, there were no good beams anywhere around here! Trust me, I had a good look. Now come on, take me back to headquarters already. Mori will want my report.”
With a long sigh, Hirotsu jerks his head, calling his men off, and leads Dazai to a very mafia-esque black car. Dazai slides into it and forces himself to not look back, to not check to see if he can spot ginger hair in the rearview mirror.
“—And that concludes my report on why bringing Nakahara into the mafia is a waste of my, sorry, everyone’s time and would ultimately be a mistake.” Dazai stares blankly at Mori as the man squints at him, trying to determine if Dazai is lying. Of course he is. Chuuya took Hirotsu out with one kick and would obviously be a strong offensive power… but Mori doesn’t need to know that.
“I see.” Mori steeples his fingers. “In that case, we might as well let the small-time gangs work themselves out. No point in getting involved with such rabble.”
“As much as I hate to say it, I agree with you, Boss.” Dazai’s nose wrinkles at the agreement.
“Very well. You may go, Osamu.” Mori turns his attention back to the papers on his desk, but Dazai is certain the man still notes the way his lip curls at the use of his given name. Only one person is allowed to call Dazai that, and it is not Mori.
Marching back to his office, Dazai allows himself a content hum: he managed to get the mafia off Chuuya’s back for at least a little while. That’s got to count for something.
Three years fly by in a blur. During that time he never hears Mori mention Chuuya again, save for a brief comment about the Sheep being completely wiped out by GSS, another local gang.
Dazai had to leave that meeting and pretend that knowledge didn’t make the tiny, frail thing that is his heart crumble apart.
3.
It’s a boring day like any other when Dazai drags himself into a random diner. He’s not hungry, nor does he want coffee, but he also doesn’t want to go do the job Mori assigned him, so he’s going to kill a handful of minutes here first so he’s late.
Dazai slides into one of the booth-style seats, facing the door, and looks out the window at all those going about their day, unaware of the danger in their midst.
“Hi, welcome to Casey’s Diner, what can I— Osamu?”
Dazai whips his head around so fast his neck cracks, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, not when Chuuya is staring at him with wide, gorgeous blue eyes. The last three years have treated the other well: Chuuya hasn’t grown much taller, but his hair is longer, curling over his left shoulder, and the bags under his eyes are gone— er, actually, no. Now that he’s looking closer, Dazai can see the makeup Chuuya has smeared under his eyes to cover the sign of his exhaustion. There’s a tiny smile on the other’s lip, like he might be just as glad to see Dazai as Dazai is to see him, but, most importantly:
“You’re alive?” Dazai blurts.
Apparently that is the wrong thing to say since Chuuya’s smile drops away and his eyes grow darker.
“Oh. Yeah. You heard about… that, huh?”
“Kind of hard not to. It was a big deal at the time.” The Sheep pushed GSS too far one day and did not survive the other, more experienced, gang’s retaliation.
Or, at least, that’s what Dazai heard. Clearly there was some mix-up along the way given the fact that Chuuya is quite clearly alive right now.
“Right. You, uh, you doing okay? I, um, I tried looking for you that day and for quite a few days afterwards… I only stopped when Yuan sat me down and explained that you were dead. But I mean you clearly aren’t dead so I should never have stopped looking, so I’m really sorry I did.” Chuuya bites on his bottom lip, nibbling away at the chapped pink flesh. If he were thinking rationally, Dazai would acknowledge that Chuuya biting his lip seems to be a nervous habit of some variety.
However, Dazai’s braincells have been slowly melting into a puddle of incomprehensible goo so all he is capable of thinking is ‘oh, Chuuya’s lips.’
Thankfully Dazai is well trained in multitasking, so he is able to draw himself away from staring at the other man’s lips and reply to the question in a proper and intelligent manner:
“Huh?”
Dazai slumps forwards until his head smacks into the greasy diner table’s surface. Oh, if only they could see the silver-tongued Demon Prodigy now. Maybe Mori would laugh himself to an early grave.
There’s a rough snort of laughter, then the wrinkling noise of fabric shifting and a creaking seat. Dazai peaks up from the table to see Chuuya slide into the booth across from him.
“Well, I guess we’re kind of even?” Chuuya tires, his tone forcibly light despite the hesitation in his eyes. “You thought GSS killed me, I thought the mafia killed you.” Then Chuuya breaks into a blinding smile. “But, hey, we’re both alive. So, uh, any chance you want to come over after my shift?” Chuuya averts his gaze, his cheeks going adorably pink, before Dazai is able to process the sentence.
As soon as his brain kicks in and links words together, his eye flies wide open, his spine straightens, and he gapes at the man across from him.
“Wha— you— um. Me?” Dazai squeaks. This can’t be real. He doesn’t remember taking anything lately, but there is no way this is real. He’s high, this is a fever dream, or he’s dead and in heaven. There are no other options.
Then Chuuya’s eyes fly wide open.
“OH! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Um, no, not like— like that. To sleep.” Seeing Dazai’s blank expression, Chuuya quickly elaborates. “I can’t sleep. That’s just been a fact of my life since I can remember. But then you did… something, and I was able to sleep with you there.” Chuuya sighs, “I’m really tired, Osamu. So, if you’re not busy, I’d really appreciate it if you let me sleep on you for an hour or two. I can pay you too, I wouldn’t ask your time for a favour so freely.”
Dazai stares rather dumbly for a second as he tries to figure out the best way to respond: Please sleep on me? Thank you god, this is the new and improved best day ever? Chuuya, I will gladly quit the mafia to be your pillow for the rest of my life?
“I— I’m not busy today,” Dazai gets out around a dry throat.
“Really?!” Chuuya brightens immediately. “And this doesn’t, like, creep you out or anything? Cause if it does—”
“No!” Dazai blurts. Chuuya blinks, taken aback by Dazai’s sudden exclamation. “No, not creepy. I mean, it’s very reasonable when everything is considered. Who wouldn’t want to sleep now and then, right?”
“Right.” Chuuya breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Osamu. Uh, I need to get back to work, so what can I get you? Whatever you want, it’s on me.”
“Oh, no, I’m not hungry…” Dazai trails off. Chuuya’s hopeful expression stabs deeper than any knife ever could. “…I like cheesecake?” Dazai offers in a near whisper.
“Okay! I’ll be right back.” Chuuya whirls around and scampers off, letting Dazai get a nice view of the other’s rear as he walks.
Dazai swallows hard and quickly texts Hirotsu to let the man know Dazai got held up and will not be making it to the job.
Time is an illusion that passes far too quickly, and suddenly Dazai finds himself holding Chuuya’s hand, only a leather glove separating them, as the other pulls him through the streets of Yokohama. Chuuya is talking about something, maybe his job, but the words rush in one ear and right out the other.
Chuuya is willingly bringing Dazai to his home.
Dazai gulps heavily.
The first time, when Chuuya brought him to the Sheep’s base, was forgivable: Chuuya didn’t know who he was. But this time, when Chuuya knows Dazai has connections to the mafia — even if those connections aren’t clear — it feels like it means so much more.
“—Sorry it’s messy,” Dazai zones in enough to hear Chuuya’s apology as they enter an apartment complex and Chuuya brings them to one of the rooms. “I wasn’t exactly anticipating having anyone over, so I haven’t cleaned recently.”
“That’s okay. I live in a shipping container,” Dazai mumbles, the words falling off his tongue without any prompting from his stupid, dumb, mushy brain.
Chuuya stops, the keys in the lock, to gape at him. “Seriously? Is that… safe?”
“Sure,” Dazai replies. “Why not? No one knows I’m there.”
“Okay, I guess. Well, if you ever need somewhere to crash, you’re more than welcome around here.”
Dazai forgets to do things like move his feet and not stare dumbly at Chuuya when the other gets the door open and walks inside.
Chuuya glances over his shoulder, brilliant blue eyes flashing with amusement.
“Are you just going to stand there all day?” Chuuya grabs Dazai’s wrist and drags him inside. Dazai goes willingly.
The apartment is small, but homely. There’s a tiny kitchen, a living room area that is mostly taken up by the large couch that’s piled high with pillows and blankets, a dresser shoved in the corner, and a doorway that presumably leads to a bathroom. There’s no bed, but knowing that Chuuya can’t sleep, it makes sense that he wouldn’t waste money on something he wouldn’t use often.
“Make yourself at home,” Chuuya says, waving a hand around as he kicks off his sneakers and heads to the dresser.
Dazai tries not to stare too obviously when Chuuya slips off his work shirt and changes into a much softer t-shirt that drapes down to mid-thigh on the shorter man. He stops pretending to not be staring when Chuuya shimmies out of his pants and takes the gloves off, leaving the man in only an extra-large t-shirt and his boxer shorts.
“Um,” Dazai squeaks, his visible eye wide as he stares openly.
“What?” Chuuya asks, cocking his head. “I’m not sleeping in my work clothes. Oh, did you want something to change into too? I might have—”
“No thank you,” Dazai quickly interrupts. He’d expire right on the spot if Chuuya let him wear his clothes. “I’ll just. Uh.” Dazai slips his coat and tie off, dropping both to the ground. After a moment, he kicks off his shoes too.
“You sure?” Chuuya offers again. “I’d feel bad if you weren’t comfy.”
“I’m good,” Dazai mumbles. “Um. Couch?”
“Yeah.” Chuuya smiles warmly at him, grabs Dazai’s wrist, and tugs him over to the soft couch.
Dazai ascends for the nth time as Chuuya shoves him down onto the couch and immediately climbs on top of him to curl into his lap.
“This okay?” Chuuya asks, shifting slightly.
“Amazing,” Dazai replies, bringing his arms up to trap Chuuya there. The redhead hums contently, his head resting on Dazai’s chest.
“Thanks, Osamu,” Chuuya mumbles sleepily, one hand curling into Dazai’s shirt to hold on as Chuuya quickly drifts to sleep.
Dazai stares blankly at the wall for the next forty-two minutes, convincing himself that no, this isn’t a dream.
Once he comes to that conclusion, Dazai lets a small, happy smile curl his lips as he tightens his grip on Chuuya, hugging the redhead closer.
Mori slides a picture across the desk.
Dazai doesn’t need to look at it to know what’s there, not with the victorious glint in Mori’s usually dead eyes.
He looks anyway.
A grainy image of he and Chuuya from yesterday, taken through the window of the diner, stares back at him.
“Osamu,” Mori starts with a small chuckle. “I thought you said that Chuuya Nakahara would be a waste of the Port Mafia’s time. Imagine my shock when I find out that you abandoned your job yesterday for him.”
Dazai swallows, his throat too tight.
He should have known better, should have assumed Mori would have spies on him even after all these years.
“Nothing to say?” Mori croons. “Well, that’s alright. I’ll just send my team in to acquire Nakahara now and—”
“Don’t,” Dazai growls, his tone dark, proving how much Mori has gotten under his skin. He immediately regrets saying anything. Mori’s eyes gleam brighter as a cruel smile curls on his lips.
“Oh? And why should I call them off? There is no point denying Nakahara would be an asset to the mafia… Unless there’s something you can offer me that’s more enticing?” Mori purrs, clasping his fingers together and waiting expectantly, knowing Dazai has fallen right into his web.
“Fine,” Dazai snaps. He knows exactly what Mori wants: not one particular thing or mission completed, but rather Mori knows he has found a chink in Dazai’s armour, a spot to press to ensure compliance. Dazai never had a reason to swear loyalty to the mafia, or to rebel against it, until now.
Now, if Dazai doesn’t follow Mori’s every order, punishment will fall upon Chuuya. The very thought makes his jaw tighten and his fingers curl: bright, adorable Chuuya, who just yesterday napped on him for three hours, made Dazai play video games with him (Chuuya lost horribly and proceeded to do worse in the following rounds as he swore louder with each win Dazai pulled off. It was hilarious), then insisted Dazai stay for dinner. It was the best meal of his life.
“You won’t touch him,” Dazai whispers. Despite the volume, it’s not weak. His words are a dark, dangerous promise.
“Don’t give me a reason to,” Mori replies, that victorious glint still prominent in his eyes and in his smile. “Now, I believe you have a job to be getting to.”
A file is pushed across the desk, right next to that picture.
Dazai takes the file without looking at it, grabs the picture too (no way is he leaving that with Mori, even if the disgusting man has surely made copies), and leaves the room.
4.
“Sir, the mission is complete.” A grunt reports, their voice wavering slightly.
Dazai hums to show he heard, too busy examining the scene to respond verbally. Three corpses lay splayed around the room, riddled with bullet holes. Blood covers the floor.
He clicks his tongue, disappointed. The grunt gulps and takes a step back.
“Get a cleaning team here,” Dazai orders. “Tell them to burn it down.” He’s already gotten all the meagre information these three idiots managed to compile against the Port Mafia, so there is no reason to salvage this building.
Spinning around on his heel, Dazai stalks from the room. The goons on either side of the door straighten to attention as he passes. How tedious. Now that Mori has officially named Dazai his successor, the underlings have been even more annoying than normal.
His phone chimes, signaling a text came in. Knowing it’s from Mori, Dazai doesn’t check the message. He is on his way to report back now anyway.
Then his other phone rings. Dazai halts in his tracks, an uncalled-for smile curls his lips up, and he answer the call.
“Do you want dessert or dinner?” Dazai asks.
“Hi to you too,” Chuuya replies, amusement clear in his tone. “Actually, I got off work early and am making dinner and somehow there just happens to be enough for two people…?”
“I just finished work, I can be there in twenty.”
“Great! See you then, Osamu!”
After tucking that phone away, Dazai changes directions and pulls his work phone out. Guess he does need to reply to Mori’s text after all.
“Chuuya!” Dazai calls, flinging the door to the other’s apartment open and strolling in. He has been over enough times now to not freeze up outside the door anymore. Now he is accustomed to locking the door behind himself, taking his shoes off to set the on the mat, and hanging his coat on a hook on the back of the door.
The redhead in question is standing in the small kitchen section, back to Dazai, busy stirring something. Chuuya glances over his shoulder to meet Dazai’s gaze and beams.
“Osamu, hey. I’m glad you could make it! I hope you’re hungry— shit, are you alright?” Chuuya abandons the sauce he’s stirring and rushes over.
Dazai blinks and suddenly Chuuya is patting his chest and poking at his arms.
“Where are you hurt?”
Chuuya’s palms splay over Dazai’s heart. He promptly forgets how to breathe.
“Osamu? Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Dazai wheezes very intelligently for six seconds, then remembers how to form words.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got blood on your shirt,” Chuuya counters, his gorgeous eyes narrowing. “Seriously, Osamu, what happened?”
Dazai glances down and realizes that, yeah, he totally forgot to swap his shirt out before coming over like he normally does. White doesn’t exactly do a good job of hiding blood splatters.
“It’s not mine?” Dazai tries. Then he winces, realizing exactly how incriminating that sounds.
It’s been five weeks since he re-met Chuuya and he has been doing a good job keeping Chuuya away from the mafia. He is not about to change that now just because of something as stupid as a shirt.
“If it’s that bad, then I’ll take it off.” Dazai unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, very proud of himself for his quick thinking.
Then Chuuya’s eyes flick to his chest and Dazai realizes he just took his shirt off in front of the most amazing person ever, who probably does not want to see the mix of bandages and scars that paint Dazai’s torso—
“I mean, I certainly have no problem if you’re comfortable, but I think I might have a shirt that would fit you? Let me check.” Chuuya patters off to his dresser and bends over — bless whoever had the grand idea of creating skinny jeans — and returns after a moment with a worn-looking navy shirt.
It gets passed to Dazai’s hands, then Chuuya speed-walks back to the kitchen to check on dinner, leaving Dazai with the largest dilemma he has faced since deciding whether to take over the Tokyo mafia: does he wear Chuuya’s shirt or stay shirtless?
All his mushy braincells are on team ‘wear Chuuya’s shirt,’ however, if he does so, Dazai is worried he may simply expire on the spot. Dying in Chuuya’s apartment, while it would be a great way to go, would surely freak the redhead out and that is not exactly ideal.
“Hey, Osamu, you like spices, right?”
…He needs to live long enough to eat the meal Chuuya is cooking for them, but eating shirtless is a little uncouth. Taking a deep breath, Dazai slides Chuuya’s shirt on. It’s soft, smells like Chuuya’s laundry detergent, and is utterly amazing. Dazai’s vision goes white, showing him the other side—
“Osamu?” Chuuya’s voice yanks him back to reality.
“Huh?”
Chuuya peeks over his shoulder, an amused expression on his face. “Did you hear any of what I just said?”
“Um.” Dazai just stares, unsure how he missed the fact that Chuuya is wearing an apron. It’s red with black dog pawprints. Dazai doesn’t even like dogs, but he will adopt all the dogs if Chuuya wants them.
“Jeez,” Chuuya sighs, “your job must be stressing you out, huh? Go sit down, I’ll bring dinner over in just a minute. Then we’ll watch a movie and relax, sound good?”
“Absolutely.” In a bit of a daze, Dazai stumbles over to the table and plops down on the seat that is slowly becoming his spot. A giddy smile takes over before he can stop it: he’s got a spot at Chuuya’s table. Take that world.
They are in the middle of whatever movie Chuuya picked for them to watch when Dazai’s phone goes off. Immediately recognizing the dial tone, Dazai groans.
“Not him,” Dazai whines. “Can he seriously not do anything by himself?”
“That bad, huh?” Chuuya (bundled up in a soft blanket to keep their bare skin from touching. Unfortunate, but Chuuya said something about really wanting to watch this whole movie with Dazai without falling asleep, so the blanket is a necessary evil) leans over to grab the ringing phone. “Well, I think you’re maxed out for the day, so I’ll let them know you aren’t going back to work.”
Before Dazai can protest, Chuuya answers the call.
“Hi, Osamu can’t come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?” After a moment Chuuya sits up straight, his eyes going steely in a way Dazai has not yet seen. “Excuse me? Wanna repeat that, punk? No, no I do not know or care who you are, I’ll kick your ass—”
Dazai plucks the phone from Chuuya.
“Akutagawa, please shut up.” Dazai keeps his tone perfectly flat so that Akutagawa knows he messed up.
While there is heavy, ragged breathing on the other end of the line, his annoying subordinate does not say anything.
“Good,” Dazai sighs and lets the arm that is sprawled over the back of the couch shift so the tips of his fingers can play with Chuuya’s hair. It is just as soft as always. “Now, explain why you are interrupting my evening.”
“Dazai, I completed my mission. My squad lost four members, but that was inevitable; they were weak anyway.” There is a moment’s pause. Dazai’s eyes narrow. “Sir, might I inquire as to who you are spending your evening with? They seem rather brash and incompetent—”
“Akutagawa.” Dazai lets his fingers drop from Chuuya’s hair, his tone going cold. “Insult him again and I’ll kill you. You are not as indispensable as you think you are.”
“Apologies, Sir. I—”
“Email your report when it is finished.” Without waiting for a response, Dazia hangs up. He tosses his phone aside and groans, wishing the couch cushions could swallow him up so he wouldn’t have to deal with Akutagawa’s dramatics tomorrow.
When he blinks his eyes open and flicks his gaze to Chuuya, he finds the redhead eyeing him curiously.
“Osamu,” Chuuya shuffles a little closer, making the tiny frown on his lips more prominent, “I’m going to ask something and I’d really like it if you were honest with me.”
“Okay.” Dazai knows better than to assume he can not do what Chuuya wants when the redhead is close like this.
“Are you in trouble?”
Dazai blinks.
“Are you involved with the mafia? Do you need help getting out?”
“Um. Maybe a little bit involved,” Dazai mumbles. “I may possibly be the current Port Mafia boss’s heir.”
“Well, shit.” Chuuya takes a deep breath, running a hand through his loose hair. “Okay, we can figure this out.”
Dazai blinks again. “You aren’t mad?”
“What?” Chuuya shakes his head. “No, of course not. I’m not sure how you got mixed up with them, but you’ve done what you had to in order to get by. I can’t fault you for that, not when I’m glad that you are here with me today. Just,” Chuuya sighs, “please let me help you get out. I know you’re too good of a person for the mafia. And I know we haven’t talked about abilities, but my ability is really strong. I can fight, I can protect you if you’ll let me, Osamu.”
When Chuuya says it like that, all confident and brave, Dazai wants to believe it. Then he swallows, feels the edges of his bandages against his throat, and realizes the hopeful future he wants to live, the one where he can stay at Chuuya’s side, is a pipedream. Mori has Dazai wrapped tight in his web. He is in too deep to escape now.
Dazai averts his gaze, looking to the floor. He won’t be able to do what is necessary if he can see Chuuya.
“Don’t be stupid,” Dazai says, his tone flat and hollow. “Can we just go back to when you didn’t have confirmation I am in the mafia?” There is no way Chuuya hadn’t wondered, not knowing that the mafia was after Dazai years ago.
“Osamu, please, let me help.”
Chuuya’s hand lands on Dazai’s arm. It’s warm, gentle, safe.
He knocks it off and stands up. The small hitch of Chuuya’s breath hurts more than any of the wounds that gave him the scars that litter his body.
“Just stay out of it.” He can’t let Chuuya get hurt. Not now, not after fighting to keep him away from Mori’s clutches for so long. “You can’t help.”
“You don’t know that!” Dazai doesn’t look, but he can hear Chuuya climb to his feet too. “Dammit Osamu, don’t shut me out. Talk to me, tell me what you need. You aren’t alone in this anymore.”
“I need you to drop this,” Dazai fights to keep the pleading tone for his voice and mostly succeeds. He starts towards the door.
“Osamu, wait—”
“Stay away from the Port Mafia, Chuuya.” Dazai slams the door on his way out and tries to pretend that he doesn’t hover outside, fighting the urge to rush back inside, apologize, and hugs Chuuya until the shaking in his hands goes away.
5.
His phone rings. Given he knows exactly who is calling, who has not stopped calling him for the last two weeks, like a persistent mosquito, Dazai does not look at the caller ID and merely continues conversing with the man across from him. Said man is a casino owner in Tokyo that Dazai has been tasked with bringing into the Port Mafia’s web. The call cuts out, then his phone dings multiple times, signalling a series of texts coming in. Dazai continues steadily ignoring the device in his pocket.
“Excuse me,” the casino owner clears his throat. “Do you need to get that?”
“No,” Dazai replies smoothly just as it starts ringing again. “Now, as I was saying—”
“If you aren’t answering, turn it off, boy.”
Dazai’s eyes narrow. He knows that from this angle and with this dim lighting, his visible eye has gone red.
The casino owner gulps.
“As I was saying,” Dazai repeats, “you would be paying forty percent to the Port Mafia—”
“Forty? We had agreed on thirty!”
“That was before you annoyed me.” Dazai narrows his eye at the man. “You know who I am, yes? And what will happen if you do not take the deal I am willing to offer you?” He slides the paperwork across the table separating them. The casino owner gulps but withdraws a pen and signs the dotted line.
“Excellent,” Dazai purrs, “a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll see myself out.” He collects the paperwork and saunters out of the building, humming in an amused way when he feels a sniper rifle leveled his way. They won’t pull the trigger.
A loud bang sounds out and Dazai has just enough time to be shocked they actually shot at him before someone is tackling him to the ground.
He goes to shove the person that tackled him off but pauses when he finds Chuuya sitting on Dazai’s thighs, one hand planted on his chest.
“Chuuya?”
“You idiot,” Chuuya glowers at him. “Why didn’t you pick up?!”
“I was busy.” And still feels bad about upsetting Chuuya but also can’t apologize for it, so he’s at a bit of an impasse with himself.
“Well, in case you were curious, someone put out a bounty on you. That’s the third assassin I’ve found on my way to find you.”
“Oh.” It’s starting to dawn on Dazai that he should be very curious about why there are assassins after him and how Chuuya knows that, but it has also dawned on him that Chuuya is straddling him. One of those things is far more important.
Stormy blue eyes narrow as Dazai’s intelligence leaks away. “You look like you’re about to say something stupid, Osamu. Don’t do that. I’m still mad at you for being so stubborn about this whole mafia thing.”
“What mafia thing?” Chuuya glowers at him. “Oh, right, that one.”
“Yes, that one. I literally offered to fight the entire mafia for you and you said no.”
Dazai gives a tiny shrug — as good of a shrug as possible when still splayed out on the sidewalk. “Mori would hurt you and I don’t want that.”
“I guarantee that none of them would be able to lay a finger on me.” At this, Chuuya smirks. “Again, we never talked abilities. I have only met one other person like me, and while he did kick my ass, I also found out he’s technically my brother and have him on speed dial, so if we really need backup, we’d be fine.”
“But Mori—”
“We’ll make a plan.” Chuuya climbs off Dazai, who is kind of sad at the loss of contact, but acknowledges that the middle of the street is not the best place for the conversation Chuuya is insisting on.
Sighing, since a few braincells are pattering back online now that he is not in active contact with Chuuya, Dazai gets to his own feet.
“Chuuya. I appreciate your willingness to, as you put it, fight the entire mafia for me, but I can’t take that risk. Mori is a very dangerous man, and I’ve been doing my best to keep the two of you from meeting for nearly four years.” Dazai looks Chuuya dead in the eye, trying to impart how important this is. “Please don’t go after him on your own—”
“Osamu, you’re being stupid again. I’m not alone, and you aren’t either. I joined the Armed Detective Agency, and the president agreed to help me get you free from Mori, apparently he’s done something similar for someone else before, and I can always call my brother in for help. He loves beating people up together.”
“…You joined a detective agency? Do you actually, like, solve crimes?”
Chuuya smacks Dazai’s shoulder and covers a smile with a scowl. “Don’t be rude, Osamu.” Then Chuuya averts his gaze and fiddles with the edge of his navy coat. “But no, I haven’t had any solo cases yet. I mostly chaperon and bodyguard their resident genius, who is astonishingly horrible with directions and can’t fight his way out of a paper bag.”
Dazai finds himself nodding, then jolts and takes a step back, trying to regain some control in this conversation. He needs to convince Chuuya against trying to overthrow Mori for him, not ask questions about Chuuya’s new job, no matter how interested he is in finding out if Chuuya likes it better than waiting table at the diner.
“Well, Chuuya, it was lovely to see you again—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Chuuya grabs Dazai’s wrist before he can back up another step. “You do not get to disappear right now. There are literal assassins after you and I haven’t convinced you that it is okay to leave the mafia. Come on, I’ll rent a car and we’ll head home.”
Dazai cannot find the strength to will his limbs to not follow after Chuuya, so he does. He follows all the way to the rented car, allows himself to inquire about Chuuya’s new job on the drive back to Yokohama, and finds himself trapped in Chuuya’s arms as the redhead hugs Dazai to his chest, a blanket between them, and encourages Dazai to go to sleep.
For some odd reason, despite upsetting him, it is clear Chuuya still cares for him. Dazai isn’t quite sure what to do with that, but he kind of likes that thought.
Unfortunately, that thought also tells him that Chuuya is not going to let this mafia thing go.
+1
Dazai paces the length of his shipping container. His brain is overactive and buzzing with ideas, quickly making and discarding plans just as it has been doing since he got home last night. It’s now morning, so his feet are a bit sore from pacing.
Chuuya seems to have it in his head that tossing a bunch of people up against Mori is going to do the trick. While Chuuya did explain his ability to Dazai last night — and it is very powerful, there is no denying that gravity control is incredibly useful in many ways — he doesn’t know Mori like Dazai does.
Mori is a planner. He will have planned for Chuuya to come after him at some point, either back when first learning of the king of the Sheep, or more recently when Dazai and Chuuya re-met.
The only thing that will be able to take down Mori is something that he won’t see coming, something stupid and improvised that has a higher chance of failing than it does of success.
Sighing, Dazai tugs his black coat onto his shoulders and heads to HQ. He’s just about late for a meeting.
Pushing open the doors to Mori’s office, Dazai strolls inside, hands in his pockets, completely at ease. There are no guards inside the room — there never is when the boss and his heir are speaking.
“Ah, Osamu. Good of you to join me this morning. Please, take a seat. I have a new mission report to go over with you.” Mori doesn’t look up from the paperwork he is skimming.
Without breaking stride as he walks closer, Dazai pulls out his pistol, aims, and fires within a split second.
It actually goes off. His eyes widen as the bullet meets its intended target. Mori crumbles from his desk chair and flops to the ground, unmoving. Wide, empty eyes stare blanky at the wall.
“Huh.” Dazai didn’t actually expect that to work. Yet, even for such an intelligent, calculating man, a single bullet to the head is all it takes.
Pocketing his gun, Dazai turns on his heel, shucks his coat off so it flutters to the ground behind him, and exits the office. The guards on either side of the doors straighten to attention as he passes, not having heard the gunshot thanks to the soundproof walls Mori installed years ago.
Dazai walks out of the Port Mafia headquarters having just murdered the boss without a single person stopping him.
Taking a deep breath, Dazai shoves the door open and prances inside.
“Chuuya!”
The redhead snaps his gaze up from a laptop and to Dazai, surprise clear in his eyes. “Osamu? What are you doing here?”
“I brought snacks.” One of Chuuya’s coworkers perks up at the mention of food as Dazai skips over to Chuuya’s desk, humming contently under his breath, and places the box of randomized pastries he nabbed from a café on his way over on the desk. Then he hops onto the corner of it, swinging his legs happily.
“Why?” Chuuya grabs the box and slides it closer, opening to lid. A pleased smile crawls over his lips as he spots his favourites resting inside.
“Well, I figured I should make a good impression with your co-workers.” Dazai bites the inside of his lip then goes for it. “I would hope they wouldn’t mind having me around, considering I would very much like to ask you to be my boyfriend, Chuuya. And I’m pretty sure visiting at work is a thing couples do.”
Chuuya flushes adorably but doesn’t avert his gaze. “I think I would like that very much, Osamu. Though my brother might have something to say about me dating a member of the mafia, so—”
“Oh, that.” Dazai waves a hand nonchalantly and grins. “I quit this morning.”
“…You quit the mafia.” The look Chuuya gives him is one that words cannot come close to describing.
“Yep! Now I can devote all my attention to being the best boyfriend ever!” Which is his plan. Dazai is perfectly happy not having a job and just staying home doing whatever he feels like — for a few years at least, he might get bored, who knows — has more than enough money to live on thanks to being a high-ranking member of the mafia for a few years, and wants to devote the time and attention to boyfriending that Chuuya deserves. That ideal pipedream life he thought was impossible is suddenly right in front of him.
“Okay, I am going to question how, exactly, one quits the mafia later, but for now…” Chuuya shuffles a bit closer. “Can I kiss you?”
“Please do.” Dazai leans down and their lips brush together softly. It’s a gentle kiss, if a bit awkward since this is Dazai first ever kiss and he’s pretty sure Chuuya is in the same boat, but—
Chuuya’s lips part, Dazai’s brain dies when he realizes that this is probably where he is supposed to ‘deepen the kiss’ or whatever.
Then Chuuya slumps into his chest, snoring.
“Ah.” Dazai’s lips twitch up. He pats Chuuya’s head. “We’ll work on that.”