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The city was quiet. Only the distant echoes of the recent brawl lingered, but for Chuuya, the world had long since gone silent. His body felt heavy, as if weighed down by the aftermath of Corruption. Darkness swam at the edges of his vision, but he clung to the remnants of awareness—just long enough to feel a familiar presence.
Dazai.
Chuuya's mind wavered in and out of consciousness, and though he couldn't open his eyes, he could feel something gentle. His head rested on something soft, and there was a sensation of fingers, faint but there (for all it was worth), running through his hair.
Warmth? From Dazai? The very thought seemed absurd, yet here it was, real enough in the dark fog of his mind. The tension from the battle slowly eased away as if Dazai's presence alone could nullify more than just his power. There was a certain level of comfort in that. In fact, there was a certain level of comfort in him that he had not felt since they had been partners more than four years ago. Simply being in contact with him quietened the voices constantly going off in his head.
But Chuuya couldn't cling to it long (as much as he would have liked to). He drifted into a deeper sleep, his body shutting down from the strain, from the toll of bringing Corruption out after years of disuse.
By the time he woke again, the warmth was gone.
Hard and uneven ground greeted him, his head no longer cradled in Dazai's lap. For a moment, he lay still, trying to process the familiar ache in his bones he had become unaccustomed with, the soreness that followed Corruption. But there was something else. A deeper ache. An ache that came not from his body, but from something far more fragile.
Gingerly, he sat up, scanning the empty space around him and wincing at what felt like a fractured rib. No sign of Dazai. His coat was folded neatly beside him, his hat resting atop it. Even his gloves were placed carefully next to his clothes, as if Dazai had taken the time to consider how he'd want them arranged.
But that was it.
No Dazai. No backup.
He was alone.
Chuuya's heart sank as the cold realisation hit. "You bastard," he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. He had trusted Dazai—again. Trust was something needed for Soukoku to function as one. Trust in Dazai’s strategic plans and his ability to always bring Chuuya out of each and every one with as minimal damage as possible. He should’ve left his trust to the other at that because to trust Dazai with more than just his life, more than just his power…
Well, this entire fucked up situation spoke for itself. He couldn’t trust Dazai with more than the technicalities of defeating the enemy and executing his plan. Still, it hurt.
After everything, he thought...
Well, he thought wrong. Clearly.
He should have known better. Dazai never stayed. Dazai never cared, at least not for him. Chuuya had never meant that much to the other.
His hands trembled as he reached for his coat, feeling the weight of disappointment settle deep in his chest. He should’ve known—he did know. But somewhere, buried beneath years of rivalry and frustration, was a foolish hope that Dazai might give a damn beyond the mission. Hope that Dazai had at some point given a damn about him.
Foolish hope really.
‘Of course he doesn’t,’ Chuuya thought bitterly, pulling his coat around him. ‘Why would he?’
And yet, the memory of those fingers in his hair lingered. He cursed himself for the way his heart still twisted at the thought of Dazai, of the warmth he’d felt in that fleeting moment. Was it just a dream? An illusion conjured by exhaustion? It had to be. Dazai wasn’t capable of tenderness—he never had been.
Chuuya stood, shaky on his feet, but strong enough. He didn’t need Dazai. He never had. He was the Port Mafia’s strongest, after all. He could handle himself.
But as he walked away, his footsteps echoing through the empty streets, the weight of betrayal followed him. Not from Dazai—from his own heart.
-
The Port Mafia headquarters felt even colder than usual as Chuuya stood before Mori, his jaw clenched. Another mission, another assignment. It had been less than a week since what was now being dubbed ‘The Return of Double Black,’ and there was no Dazai beside him. There hadn’t been one for four years, since the day he turned traitor, blew Chuuya’s car up and left without a word.
Mori’s voice echoed through the otherwise silent room. “I need you to secure the situation. We’ve recently caught wind of a skilled organisation interfering with our operations. They call themselves гнездо гадюки, or the ‘Viper’s Nest,’ a Russian organisation that deals in information and espionage. From what we’ve gathered, they are highly exclusive, with deep ties to various intelligence agencies across Southeast Asia.”
Mori leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and calculating. “They maintain power through blackmail—mainly targeting politicians and high-ranking government officials. Of course, this doesn’t mean they’re without any kind of physical ability. Reports suggest they have ability users within their ranks, though we don’t know the extent or nature of their powers. Someone in Yokohama hired them, though we haven’t yet identified who.”
He handed a dossier to Chuuya, flipping it open to reveal a set of coordinates. “I want you to intercept them. There’s a meeting scheduled for today. Take them down. It should be easy enough, Chuuya-kun.”
Chuuya’s fingers twitched. Nothing he couldn’t handle, right. Corruption was still fresh in his mind, the burn in his bones not yet healed. Well fuck that. He was strong—he didn’t need Dazai’s big fucking brains (or his damn smirk). He didn’t want to admit he had missed the smarmy bastard but he felt his absence more than he’d have liked too.
“Got it boss.”
God he needed therapy.
-
The industrial complex sat on the edge of the city, its hulking structures hidden away by the dense forest that surrounded it on all sides. It was far enough from Yokohama to have the city impervious to its happenings. Probably the reason they had chosen it as a meeting point.
Chuuya cracked his knuckles as he approached the group. “What’s up, assholes?”
For a while, everything went smoothly. Chuuya worked alone, fists flying as his ability took care of most of the group. They hadn’t expected an attack—let alone one from him. Most of them were no match; bullets ricocheted back on their shooters with a flick of his hand. One or two tried to call on their abilities, but Chuuya crushed them effortlessly, his power surging through the ground beneath his feet. The echo of Corruption still pulsed under his skin.
And then there was one left. And he was different.
The man’s ability sent tremors through the air, vibrations that distorted the very fabric of gravity around them. It became impossible for Chuuya to find his footing as the ground itself seemed to ripple beneath him. He staggered, barely able to stay upright as the force pressed down on him like an invisible hand, trying to grind him into the earth.
or a moment, Chuuya fought back fiercely, but he could feel the strain of Corruption still gnawing at his insides. His movements were slower, more laboured than usual. Each step felt like a war against the relentless pressure, the enemy’s power crushing him from every direction.
Just as the weight became unbearable, a familiar voice cut through the oppressive hum of battle.
"Really, slug? You’re this sloppy when I’m not around?"
Chuuya’s heart stuttered. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
‘Dazai.’
He didn’t have time to process the whirlwind of emotions that came with hearing that voice again. A gunshot rang out, colliding with the ability user's shoulder and breaking his concentration long enough for Chuuya to breathe again. The pressure eased, and in a flash, Dazai appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face, hands casually tucked in his pockets as if this were all just a game.
"You bastard," Chuuya growled, forcing himself to stand despite the pain. "What the hell are you doin’ here?"
Dazai gave a mockingly innocent shrug. "Mori thought you might need a hand. I disagreed, of course. You always say you don’t need me, don’t you?"
Chuuya clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don’t."
“Really?” Dazai’s voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were sharp, cutting through the space between them. “Because just a moment ago, you looked like you could’ve used one.”
The tension between them was palpable, thick and suffocating. Chuuya didn’t respond—he wasn’t going to give Dazai the satisfaction. Instead, he turned on his heel, launching himself back into the fight with renewed fury. His fists collided with the enemy, each strike harder than the last, anger blazing through his body with every hit..
Dazai stayed just behind him, not lifting a finger, simply watching, his gaze searing into Chuuya’s back. Chuuya could feel it—always that infuriating gaze, as if Dazai could see straight through him, see every weakness, every crack.
The fight ended in seconds. The enemy crumpled to the ground, defeated. Chuuya, panting and exhausted, wiped the blood from his face, his entire body aching. Without hesitation, he yanked a knife from his belt and slashed the opponent’s throat, a final measure.
Turning sharply to face Dazai, his chest heaved not just from exertion but also from the anger raging inside him. “You should’ve stayed out of this,” Chuuya spat, his voice low and dangerous. “There’s no way Mori sent you of all people. Or that you would’ve actually listened to him.”
Dazai tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with that infuriating, unreadable look Chuuya despised. “You’re not very convincing when you’re bleeding all over the place.”
Chuuya’s teeth ground together. “You’re ignoring my question.”
Dazai’s smile wavered, just slightly. “It wasn’t a question but fine. Mori didn’t ask me to come.”
Chuuya had long since given up on figuring out how Dazai came to know things like this, he was far more focused on the last part of the sentence.
“You think you can just waltz in and out of my life whenever you damn well please?” Chuuya’s voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. “Like none of this matters? Like I don’t matter?”
For a split second, Dazai faltered. The cocky, self-assured mask slipped, just a little. “You know that’s not—”
“Then what is it, Dazai?” Chuuya cut him off, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “What am I to you? Another pawn? Just someone you can use when it’s convenient? Because that’s how it feels.”
“Chuuya…I don't—”
"Save it." Chuuya’s voice was hard, but his eyes betrayed him, burning with unshed anger and something else, something more painful. "You left me there, Dazai. You always leave."
Silence stretched between them. Dazai, for once, didn’t have a ready retort. His eyes softened, but he still didn’t close the distance between them.
"I didn’t think you’d care," Dazai finally said, his voice quiet, almost too casual for the weight of the words. "You always act like you don’t need me."
"Maybe I don’t." Chuuya's fists tightened at his sides, trembling. "But I thought you gave enough of a damn to stay. Or hand me off at the very least."
Dazai's gaze flickered, his expression unreadable once more. He stepped closer, just enough for Chuuya to feel the warmth of his presence. His hand hovered at Chuuya’s shoulder, hesitant.
"You’re wrong, you know," Dazai said softly. "I do give a damn."
The admission hung in the air, fragile and raw. Chuuya felt the anger in his chest twist into something…something else.
"You’ve got a funny way of showing it," Chuuya muttered, his voice quieter now, all the fight drained from him. He looked away, unable to meet the other’s gaze.
"That’s because I’m not very good at this," Dazai admitted with a bitter smile.
The silence between them was louder than the fight that had just ended. Chuuya kept his gaze fixed on the ground, his chest still tight from both the battle and Dazai’s words. He could hear the faintest sound of Dazai’s breathing, steady and calm, while his own came in sharp, uneven bursts.
Dazai hadn’t moved. His hand lingered near Chuuya’s shoulder, not quite touching, as if he was waiting for something—for permission, or maybe for Chuuya to make the first move. But Chuuya couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Not yet.
"You always do this," Chuuya muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the bitterness still there but softer now. "You always make me think you don’t care… and then you go and say things like that."
Dazai didn’t respond immediately, his usual smirk gone, replaced with a rare expression Chuuya could barely read. Was it regret? Sadness? God, he still couldn't read the other.
"Everything I want is always lost the moment I obtain it," Dazai finally said, his voice quiet, almost unsure. "And I’ve never been good at this… at caring. It’s easier to pretend I don’t. "
Chuuya’s breath hitched, his heart tightening painfully at the rare honesty. He wasn’t used to seeing this side of him, the side that wasn’t cloaked in sarcasm and that infuriating grin.
"Then why do you keep pretending?" Chuuya asked, his voice rough with emotion. "Why do you always push me away?"
There was a pause, a long one, where Dazai’s hand finally settled on Chuuya’s shoulder—just a light touch, but enough to make Chuuya’s entire body tense. Dazai’s fingers were warm, steady, and the gesture felt more intimate than it should have.
"Because it’s easier to leave before anyone else does," Dazai admitted, his voice so soft that Chuuya barely heard it. "But with you… I can’t seem to stay away."
Chuuya’s heart pounded in his chest, his anger melting into something else—something far more dangerous. Dazai’s hand on his shoulder, his presence so close, the way his voice sounded almost vulnerable… It was too much.
Chuuya turned to face him, finally meeting his eyes. "You’re an idiot," he said, his voice low, but there was no venom in his words this time. "You really think I’m goin' anywhere?"
Dazai’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, a sad one. "Everyone leaves eventually."
Chuuya’s fists tightened at his sides. He could feel his heart in his throat, every instinct screaming at him to pull away, to put the distance back between them. But he didn’t move. Instead, he took a step closer, the tension between them becoming unbearable.
"Maybe you’re wrong about that," Chuuya whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "Maybe… I’m still here, aren’t I?"
Dazai didn’t answer immediately, but something flickered in his eyes—something Chuuya couldn’t quite name, but it made his breath hitch. Dazai’s fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, as if grounding himself in the moment, and for once, he wasn’t pushing Chuuya away.
The space between them was almost nonexistent now, the weight of all the things they had never said hanging thick in the air. Chuuya could feel Dazai’s breath against his skin, warm and steady, and he hated how much he wanted to close the gap, to let himself feel something other than anger or frustration.
He didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was Dazai—but suddenly, they were too close, too close to ignore the tension that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface.
Dazai’s hand moved from his shoulder, fingers brushing against Chuuya’s jaw, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. Chuuya’s heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he leaned into the touch without thinking.
"You—" Chuuya started, his voice barely a whisper, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t finish. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to, what he’d been feeling for longer than he cared to admit.
And maybe he didn’t need to.
Because before he could say anything else, Dazai’s lips were on his, soft and fleeting, like a question that hadn’t yet been answered. It wasn’t rough or desperate; it wasn’t the kind of kiss born from years of frustration or anger. It was quiet, gentle, and it made Chuuya’s chest ache in a way he hadn’t expected.
For a second, Chuuya froze, his mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. But then something inside him snapped, and he kissed back, the weight of everything they’d left unsaid poured into it.
When they finally pulled away, breathless, Dazai didn’t move. His forehead rested against Chuuya’s, his fingers still lingering on his jaw, and for once, the smirk that usually played on his lips was gone.
"You’re still here," Dazai murmured, as if the thought itself surprised him.
Chuuya didn’t know how to respond. His heart was still pounding, his thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions he wasn’t ready to sort through. But he didn’t pull away, not this time. "Don’t make me regret this," Chuuya muttered, his voice still rough with emotion.
Dazai’s smile softened. "I won’t."
And for the first time in years, Chuuya allowed himself to believe it—just a little.