Chapter Text
Dazai might be considered intelligent, book smart and street smart in equal degrees, but even he has weak spots, and back when they'd been seventeen those weak spots were even more prominent, especially in comparison to Chuuya. There is a lot one can say about a mafia brat, but Chuuya thinks the more important characteristic comes in the form of this one’s inability to discern emotions.
At first Chuuya was so sure he was being fucked with. After all, how can someone be this dense? Dazai’s insistence on not being human did not help matters, and Chuuya, on more than one occasion wanted to scream, ‘You have emotions even if you choose to not acknowledge them, jackass!’
He tried explaining this to him so many times, but the lesson never stuck.
___
“You’re feeling sad because your friends couldn’t meet up with you.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“You’re moody because Mori is making you do shit you don’t want.”
“Not true.”
“That thing you feel when I get hurt is concern.”
“Conceited much?”
___
It was exhausting. There was no getting through that thick skull, nothing at all.
Until, suddenly, there was.
Admittedly, it took him a bit to realize. About six years to be exact.
‧₊˚✩ ✦ ✩˚₊‧
Being an over glorified indentured servant is not easy but it has its perks. Chuuya has access to food and shelter. He’s got coworkers that sometimes feel like friends. But best of all he’s got purpose. He has people that look up to him and that need him. He’s got more money that he can think to use. He’s got enough luxury to take it for granted.
The illusory freedom of cattle being allowed to graze wherever they wish is sweet relief if he never looks over the horizon because these comforts come at a steep cost. His free will. His dwindling innocence. And what is left of his childhood.
Gutting a man takes a lot out of a person, especially if that someone is Chuuya who has never been fond of unnecessary carnage. There is not a lot of normalcy in the mafia, and though the liberty of choosing his own path has been taken from him indefinitely, Chuuya makes good of a shitty situation.
Sure, he’ll never have a tranquil family life, with the cute house, the wide backyard, the dog and the two kids. Whatever, he can live with that. He’ll never get the chance to be wild and free like the people his age tend to be. Again, that’s okay. After the Sheep Fiasco he’s not yet ready to be shackled by new connections. It’s hard enough to trust his subordinates. (Welcoming new people into his heart only to have them destroy it from the inside? Yeah, no thank you.) He may not be able to hit those milestones, house, spouse and kids, in this lifetime—god knows he probably won’t survive to see his thirties—but that doesn’t mean he can’t get a taste in small infrequent doses.
He won’t ever get to be married, but he can date around if he wants. He can’t go out with friends his own age but he can at least talk to random people in bars, befriend them for the night and forget their names the next day.
And so that is what he does.
His first excursion is on a Friday night, too long past midnight but not that close to sunrise. His shitty partner has gone to meet up with his entourage, Chuuya has the rest of the night off—chances are he won’t have to report for work until Saturday afternoon so he takes the opportunity to hunt for a good time.
He picks a bar randomly, orders his drink of choice and scans his surroundings. It’s mostly middle aged men and older college students drinking themselves stupid at this hour. In retrospect, he should have known there wouldn’t be anyone his age.
No shit, he scolds himself. It’s ass o’clock and you’re in a seedy bar in the middle of mafia territory.
Maybe he should try some other place. Not tonight though, he’s already bone tired and the disappointing results of his first experiment ain’t helping things.
Fine, he’s calling it: this one’s a bust.
He finishes his drink with one last gulp and places one neatly folded bill under his glass. Come to think of it, where do high school kids even hang out? From his time with The Sheep it’s hard to say, they weren’t exactly the well-adjusted types.
He is deep in thought while putting on his coat when someone settles by the counter to his right. Chuuya spots the person's forearms first as they rest on the bar. The strange boy is weirdly close to Chuuya as he goes to shrug his jacket on, adjusting the collar and the sleeves. Next he notices the guy’s face: nice brown eyes, piercings on his eyebrow and left cartilage and straight black hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hey,” he says.
Chuuya is tempted to leave without saying a word, but life has taught him to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe tonight won’t be a complete fail. “Hello.”
“Not to pry or anything, but is there a reason you’re here alone?” The stranger isn’t looking at him, instead searching for the barkeep and catching his eye. He raises a hand lazily and gestures for him to come over.
“What’dya need?” the bartender asks before Chuuya can respond to the guy’s question.
“Scotch, neat. And a second glass of whatever my friend here ordered.”
Chuuya observes the stranger’s face. It’s youthful, not yet matured into sharp features. Possibly on the younger side of his college friends. A first year?
“You’re wondering how old I am, right?”
Chuuya doesn’t hide his amusement at being found out. “Am I that transparent?”
“Nope, I’m just that good.” He sighs contently when the barkeep gets their drinks. A slow sip of his drink later, the stranger grins at Chuuya. “Why don’t you try guessing how old I am?”
“Well, I think you’re a first year in college, but I don’t know what age that would be.”
He hums. “Good eye, but not quite.” His eyes crinkle from his toothy grin. “I’m actually in my second year but I’m the age most people would be in their first year.”
“How does that work?” Chuuya asks.
“I skipped a year in high school so I started uni early. I’m actually eighteen.”
Oh, they're closer in age than he expected.
"I'll be seventeen in two months," he offers.
The stranger chuckles. “Yeah, I figured we'd be about the same. You seemed like the only person here anywhere near my age.”
“You keep insinuating that you’ve been watching me,” Chuuya says, leaning against the bar. “Am I interesting?”
That startles the stranger. “Ah, well,” he stutters. “Maybe I’m the one who is too transparent.”
Chuuya smiles. The flustered response an endearing quality he thinks he likes. “I think it’s nice.” Unlike some people he knows, it’s quite refreshing to look into someone’s eyes and know there are no ulterior motives or secret agendas.
“I’ll level with you,” the stranger says. “I thought you were cute, and I saw you getting ready to leave so I panicked. I really didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to talk to you.”
“Well,” Chuuya takes his seat again, comfortably settling in to drink his new glass of wine. “Let's talk.”
They converse the whole night about many things. Likes, dislikes, foods and hobbies. Chuuya has to make up a few things but keeps it honest, mostly. The stranger finally introduces himself after round three, going by the name Haru. His friends cheer conspicuously at them when they leave, sending kisses and scattered comments of ‘use protection you two!’ Haru’s face goes red from his neck to his ears, Chuuya doubles over laughing.
As it turns out Haru is about his shitty partner’s height. Chuuya notes this as they walk down the empty, early morning streets. It seems it rained somewhere between Chuuya’s last mission and this morning, he never even noticed. Time, for once, seemed to fly.
Haru insists on walking him home. When asked why, he says, “I really enjoy talking to you. I’m really just putting off saying goodbye.”
Chuuya smiles and his cheeks hurt from overuse. He knocks his shoulder against Haru’s arm. Haru does the same.
They stop in front of his apartment building too soon. It is pretty stupid to share his home address to a stranger but Chuuya cannot be paid to care. Screw the consequences; it’s always too much effort to be cautious. He just wants to crash in bed anyway.
Haru shuffles from foot to foot, hands thrust deep in his jacket’s pocket. “I had fun tonight. Will I see you again?”
Chuuya thinks a bit. It’s more likely that his job’s schedule will prevent them from seeing each other again. But Chuuya is not about to put effort in avoiding Haru. If they see each other again, then they’ll see each other again.
“Maybe,” he says. “I’ll see ya, and I had fun too.” With that Chuuya turns and goes inside the lobby of his building. Once showered and clean, Chuuya throws himself in bed, giddy and smiling into his pillow like a fucking idiot.
He had fun.
He had fun.
Later that same day, while he’s on his way to report to Mori about last night’s mission he runs into his least favorite person ever.
“What’s with your freaky smile?” Dazai asks after spotting Chuuya walking down the hall. He's been more of a pain in the ass ever since he got his stupid braces.
Chuuya huffs in annoyance but it hardly dims his good mood. “What’s it to you, dipshit?”
They both stop in front of two imposing doors. Dazai rolls his eyes and sighs. In unison they push the doors open and step inside where their boss will listen to their report and then debrief them on a new overarching assignment that will take up most of their time this month.
It ends up being tiresome and boring, but Chuuya swallows down his annoyance, like the professional he is.
“Yes, sir,” they both say at the end, each with differing amounts of respect.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, Dazai is yapping like a damn dog. “Why can't you tell me why you’re in a good mood for once. Come on, please, I wanna know, come on, slug. Tell me, I have a right to know. Please tell me, or I’ll annoy you until you do. I can do it too, I have the patience to bother you until you break-“
“Fine!” he shouts. Dazai instantly perks up. “I met someone at a bar, we talked the whole night.”
A pause.
“Huh?”
Chuuya smiles at the memory, reliving the night in his head. “He’s a second year university student. He’s only two years older than us and in his second year. He told me it's because he skipped a year in high school. Now that I think about it he must be very smart.”
“Big deal, I could have graduated university by the time I was fifteen.”
Chuuya doesn’t even hear him. “After that he even walked me home, which I thought was nice of him. He was very sweet.”
“He walked you home did he? What, did he rub your belly too? Did he give you a treat for putting out?” Dazai’s words, as always, are cruel but the venom in his tone is even worse.
Chuuya thinks that snapping and hitting him square in the face would be so satisfying but chances are Dazai will just dodge, and that will make him angrier. Instead Chuuya sighs and says, “I wish I could trade him for you, he’s nicer to look at too.”
By the grace of god the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Chuuya steps out without a backwards glance, brushing off his partner’s comment in exchange for the continued survival of his good mood.
“See ya, loser.”
On his way out he doesn’t see Dazai has completely frozen, completely unresponsive. He only notices that Dazai has not said anything. The elevator doors close and Chuuya revels in his triumph, smug for the rest of the day. After all, it’s not often he manages to leave that damned chatterbox at a loss of words.
Unfortunately, Dazai makes up for that moment of stunned silence by not shutting the hell up for a second the next few weeks. Constantly pestering him about the boy from the bar, making snide comments about a person he hasn’t met and generally being a walking headache. Chuuya never lets the boy’s name slip, nor the name of the bar. Dazai’s attempts to pry the information out of him are all for naught.
‧₊˚✩ ✦ ✩˚₊‧
Back then, in the back of his mind Chuuya had wondered why this was such a big deal to Dazai and he had been so charmed still by Haru that he hardly noticed that the mackerel would follow him to his apartment every day after that conversation in the elevator. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty and it wouldn't be until a few years that he would understand the reason Dazai had obsessed so much over one simple boy and why he suddenly had a spike of interest in his journey home.
Years later Chuuya would ask Dazai what the hell that was about and get the cheerful response of, “That loser couldn’t walk you home if you were already going with me!”
Chuuya didn’t have the energy to mention that there isn’t a maximum capacity of people that could walk him home, and it was more the gesture that he found sweet more so than the act itself.
Alas, at sixteen he’d been too blind to see what was staring him in the face.