Chapter Text
Nakahara Chuuya is many things.
A mentor. A friend. A leader. A wine enthusiast. A gravity manipulator. A vessel to a god.
A big fucking liar.
Oh, and a damn good actor to boot. Lippmann would have been proud of him.
Because unbeknownst to all, Chuuya is actually eerily similar to Dazai.
Dazai is well-versed in the art of lying. He can lie straight to someone’s face without batting an eye. He fabricates tales all while exuding a boyish charm that paints a picture of innocence. He effortlessly weaves saccharine words into grandiose statements, ensnaring anyone and everyone in his web of deceit.
Chuuya, on the other hand, mastered the art of lying by omission. He doesn’t go out of his way to tell a lie, he merely doesn’t bother to correct any misconceptions that others have about him. He goes along with it, adding a white lie here and there, laying a trap for those who are foolish enough to let their guard down.
It was a talent that came as a result of Chuuya being a street kid and being part of the Sheep. Young and clueless, he and the others had no choice but to learn how to read the room and adapt instantaneously. Hesitation would only increase the chance of being overpowered, physically and mentally. Selling himself short (pun not intended) was a surefire way to allow others to shrug off the possibility that he was capable of such terrifying destructive power. Downplaying his intelligence led to others conveniently discussing their gameplan in front of him.
Kouyou helped Chuuya further honed his skill when he was placed under her care after he joined the Port Mafia. After all, he soon found himself training under Kouyou and her girls in a brothel. Not just any brothel. It is the brothel that prides itself on once obtaining confidential and classified information that allowed the Port Mafia to expand its territory to neighbouring Kawasaki in the span of one night. Information that the torture squad led by Dazai was unable to extract from men chained in the dungeons of the Port Mafia.
Chuuya was taught that appearing weak and unassuming was a strength. One of the girls pointed out the wisteria that gently cascades down the arches, enchanting everyone with its elegance and grace, effortlessly disguising the deadly beauty that lies within. The significance was not lost on him.
He understood that being underestimated gave him the element of surprise, that being overlooked allowed him the freedom to move around behind the scene.
And when everyone is none the wiser to his antics, Chuuya got to have a little fun.
16
Chuuya is always ready to lend a helping hand. In fact, he will even take on the burden of others, just like what he did with the Sheep. He feels the need to protect those weaker than him, to look after those that he holds dear. The fact that he occasionally failed did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.
But there is one that he draws the line at - paperwork.
He will not do paperwork for anyone, not even for himself.
Doing paperwork is akin to watching paint dry. It’s boring, it drags on forever, it’s bureaucracy at its finest.
So when he ascended the rank in Port Mafia, gaining not only power but also more responsibility, he belatedly realised that paperwork was also included in the full package.
“Why can’t one of my subordinates complete the paperwork for me?” He half whines, half asks, rolling his eyes for good measure.
“Don’t be a spoiled brat,” Kouyou admonishes, shaking her head with a displeased look in her eyes. He suddenly understood how it felt like to disappoint an Asian tiger mom. Soul-crushing, and very likely unable to extract himself from the mess that he created. “You’re not illiterate. You're smart so just get on with it.”
Kouyou looks at him expectantly, as if he would suddenly jump at the opportunity to finish his paperwork because of a random compliment. But Chuuya is a fighter. So he averts his eyes, and whispers, “Sorry, Ane-san. I never had the privilege to attend school when I was young.”
Well, he wasn’t lying. He truly never attended school. He did however pick up basic survival skills which obviously included reading and writing, when he was living on the streets. Not enough to be as smart as Dazai but what he lacked in book smart, he made up for in street smart.
Kouyou lets out a gasp, a little bit embarrassed, a tiny bit surprised. “I - I didn’t mean to -.”
Hook.
“It’s ok, Ane-san. I am not ashamed of it.” He smiles at her. A sheepish smile that made Kouyou reach out to ruffle his hair.
Line.
“Don’t worry about it, lad.” She mull over her options, biting her lower lip, deep in thoughts.
Chuuya is ready to make a quick escape when she claps her hands together. “Let’s get Dazai-kun to write your report and teach you while he is at it.”
Sinker.
Wait… What?! DAZAI?!!!
Two hours later, Chuuya is thinking about ways to hang Dazai upside down from the ceiling. Dazai has reluctantly agreed to Kouyou’s request for him to help out Chuuya, after much threat and intimidation that involved a brief appearance by the Golden Demon, but that doesn’t mean that he will let Chuuya have it easy.
Sitting on the floor in an empty meeting room, because Chuuya had pushed Dazai off the chair after he called Chuuya a useless mutt, Dazai had spent more time insulting Chuuya rather than writing out the report.
“You’re so dumb. Just like an unevolved microorganism.” Dazai glances at Chuuya, a condescending smirk etched on his lips. “I know! I will call you slug from now onwards. Because you’re exactly like one in terms of size and mental capacity.”
Dazai places the pen down, leans back on his elbows to stare at Chuuya, all smug and patronising. Chuuya wonders what Mori would say if he grabbed the pen and stabbed Dazai in the eye.
“I hope you get run over by a bus. Repeatedly.” Chuuya scowls at him. “And then get pissed on by a dog.”
“Sounds painful, and smelly. I’ll pass.” Eyes crinkling in amusement as he scrunches his nose in disgust.
Chuuya rubs his temple in frustration. The clock strikes six, signalling that it was almost time for dinner. Something that Chuuya looked forward to every day. One of the perks of his life now is that he can afford to eat whatever he wants and he is not embarrassed to admit that he is making up for the times when he didn’t have that luxury.
So he swallows his pride, because he would also like to swallow some food soon, and delivers a heartfelt plea. “Dazai, I really don’t want to disappoint Ane-san so can you please finish this report for me? I’ll tell her that you did your best and have taught me all there is to know.”
Dazai grins. Dangerous and unnerving. “What do I get from this?”
“Not being murdered by Ane-san since you promised to help me out?”
“Eh,” Dazai says with a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t mind dying by the hands of a beautiful woman.”
A growl of frustration leaves Chuuya and Dazai looks utterly delighted.
“I’ll let you call me ‘slug’?” Chuuya offers experimentally. Time is ticking and the red sky has already given way to shimmering lights.
“You think that you can stop me from calling you ‘slug'?” Dazai asks incredulously.
“Fucking hell, just tell me what you want.”
Chuuya immediately regretted the words that left his mouth, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Dazai hums thoughtfully. Straightens himself up, never once taking his eyes off Chuuya. The lull in activity behind the closed door as more and more people left for the day became all the more obvious as the stifling silence descended upon them.
“From today onwards, I will have the last word on how any mission is to be conducted. You will listen and agree to whatever I decide. No buts.” All haughty and looking every bit like the Demon Prodigy that he is.
“Are you fucking mental?” Chuuya yells out, loud enough for Dazai’s eye to twitch involuntarily. “What if you asked me to put myself in harm’s way? I’m not fucking suicidal like you.”
“Don’t be silly. What good would a dead partner be to me? Mori will just assign me another one and that would be so much more troublesome.” Dazai’s tone indicates that it was for his own benefit, but for some inexplicable reason, Chuuya feels that something was off. The absence of honesty, perhaps?
Whatever. Chuuya just wants to get this over and done with.
“Ok.”
A disbelieving look. “Ok?”
“Are you deaf or are you purposely being a wanker?” Chuuya huffs out, hands on his hips. “I said ok. I trust you not to kill me even though you’re a shitty person with the personality of a psychopath.”
A blink.
Chuuya glares at him, tapping his foot impatiently.
A smile tugs on Dazai‘s lips as he says with faux nonchalance, “Good dog. As your gracious master, I will help you out with your paperwork until you learn how to write one yourself.”
(Unfortunately for Chuuya, he could only get away with Dazai doing his paperwork for another year because Mori started breathing down both their necks due to Dazai’s indolence, and he decided that picking up the slack was less taxing than worrying about his sanity.)
17
It’s rare that Dazai does not wander off straight after a mission, and instead stays around and waits for Chuuya. Chuuya eyes him suspiciously from the corner of his eye. An impending sense of doom creeps nearer for every second that passes while Dazai nonchalantly leans against the wall, staring at Chuuya.
Chuuya turns his attention back to directing the Port Mafia grunts on the clean up operation, pointedly ignoring Dazai’s heavy gaze on his back.
“If there are no questions, I will be leaving.” He lets out a sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair. It has been a long night and he really can’t wait to go home and de-stress. “I expect a full report sitting on my desk when I come in tomorrow.”
“Yes, Nakahara-san,” comes the collective response. A nod, and the men scatter off in various directions. Only then he finally turns around and openly acknowledges Dazai’s presence. The street lamp flickers erratically as Chuuya approaches, as if warning him to turn back around and let sleeping dogs lie.
“Why are you still here?” He asks as he looks straight into Dazai’s uncovered eye.
“Can’t I be a gentleman and wait for you?” is said with so much faux sincerity that it hurts Chuuya’s ears.
Chuuya arches a brow instead of trying to formulate a response to such a ridiculous question.
A chuckle as Dazai leans closer, hands in his pockets. “Let’s grab a drink at Lupin.”
Now that was even more absurd.
“Why would I want to do that?”
Tilting his head to the side, Dazai flashes him a charming smile, “Don’t you want to hang out with me?” A smile that he undoubtedly thought would break Chuuya’s resolve. Fortunately for Chuuya, he had the pleasure of witnessing Dazai’s flirting techniques plenty of times, plenty enough for him to know when Dazai has ulterior motives. And needless to say, Chuuya most certainly does not want to hang out with him. What Chuuya wants is to go home, shower and hang out with his friend from Bordeaux by the name of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Sounds extremely tempting but I’ll pass.”
He is rewarded with a pout, causing him to roll his eyes at the childish display.
“But Chuuya,” Dazai tries again, this time going for the earnest look. “Odasaku and Ango would be there too. Don’t you want to meet my friends? I clearly recall Chuuya doubting the existence of people who would willingly befriend me. Don’t you want to finally meet my imaginary friends, as you so eloquently called them?”
Now, that piqued Chuuya’s interest. Dazai had been enthusiastically telling Chuuya about his drinking buddies for a few weeks now, and they sounded like an oddball group. Unconventional and mismatched yet coming together to create a state of peaceful equilibrium. It reminded him of a certain ragtag group that still haunts his dream. He would be lying if he said that he was not curious about the mafia member who doesn’t kill and the uptight-looking fellow with glasses. Damn right he was curious as to why such pleasant-sounding people would actually want to spend time with Dazai.
He pretends to think it over, silently enjoying Dazai’s increasing restlessness at his apparent indecisiveness. To everyone else, Dazai was patiently waiting for Chuuya’s response. What they don’t see are the little quirks that Chuuya has picked up on throughout their partnership. The subtle tapping of Dazai’s right feet, the change in his breathing pattern, the almost imperceptible hunch of his shoulders.
“I would love too…,” Chuuya trails off, biting his lips, “...but I think -.”
“I will retract my offer in three… two…,” Dazai interjects, sounding rather annoyed, and is that disappointment that Chuuya detects in his tone? Chuuya pushes that thought away quickly as he yells out, “Fine! I’ll go with you! I swear to god, can’t you let a man think? What’s the fucking rush?”
“I knew that chibi would crack under pressure,” Dazai responds with a smirk. “So predictable and pathetic.”
“You know what else will crack under pressure?” He narrows his eyes, staring up at Dazai menacingly. Height difference be damned. Even when Dazai is looking down at him, he knows that Dazai is well aware of the danger that Chuuya poses. “Your fucking skull if you don’t lead the way right now.”
An amused chuckle is all he got in response as Dazai pushes past him.
The audacity. How dare he call me predictable and pathetic, he angrily thinks to himself. Chuuya will make him eat his words and choke on them.
And what Chuuya promises, he always delivers.
Which is why not an hour later, Chuuya is snuggling against Odasaku’s chest, or Oda-san as Chuuya has taken upon himself to calling that ridiculously good-looking friend of Dazai, drawling out the syllables as he pretends to be inebriated after just one glass of red wine. All while Dazai is looking torn between murdering his precious Odasaku or taking a picture as blackmail material. Chuuya is confident that Dazai will not do either because Dazai truly does treasure Odasaku’s friendship, and Dazai definitely does not want to be reminded of tonight ever again.
How, you ask, did Dazai find himself in this predicament?
Well, simply put, Chuuya is not a lightweight. In fact he is far from being a lightweight. Shame on anyone who thought that he couldn’t handle his alcohol.
The Sheep’s favourite pastime during nights spent huddled together next to a bonfire? Any type of drinking games.
The cardinal rule when losing a game of pool during every catch-up with the Flags? Loser downs a shot of whiskey.
The poison of choice to loosen someone’s tongue at Kouyou’s brothel? Sake shared between kisses.
In short, Chuuya is well on his way to becoming a full-fledged alcoholic at the ripe young age of seventeen.
So when Dazai laughed and mockingly asked if Chuuya was drunk after just one drink, just because Chuuya accidentally spilled a bit of wine on the table, Chuuya’s first thought was screw you, pretentious whiskey-drinking prick. Instead he let out a giggle and slurred out, “Am not drunk… I am..” He trailed off, hiccuped softly for good measure, before he sang out loud enough for the whole bar to hear, “... AM NOT DRUNK AT ALL!”
The mirth in Dazai’s eyes told him that this was the response that he was hoping for. And when has Chuuya ever disappointed his partner?
Too bad for Dazai, his glee only lasted for five long seconds, because Chuuya then inched closer to Odasaku and practically snuggled into his chest.
Watching Dazai trying to contain his surprise was worth the hassle of having to pretend to talk like an affectionate idiot. And if Chuuya detected a hint of jealousy radiating from Dazai, he doesn’t bother to worry about it. Because watching Dazai malfunction is way much more fun than trying to decipher his thoughts.
“Oda-san~~~,” Chuuya says with a fond sigh, “You are so… so…. soft and comfortable.” A contented sigh to prove his point. Take that, emo bandaged bastard .
Ango chokes on his whiskey. Dazai slams his glass down on the table with unnecessary force.
“Slug, you’re disgusting.” Dazai’s voice was purposely light but his eyes suggested otherwise. “Stop slobbering over another man.”
“It’s fine, Dazai.” Odasaku, ever the fine gentleman, says while patting Chuuya’s head.
Chuuya grins triumphantly at Dazai. “See? Oda-san doesn’t mind at all.” Angles his head to look at Odasaku with puppy dog eyes, “Right?”
Odasaku nods.
Ango doesn’t choke on his drink because he knows better than to drink right now. Dazai chokes on his whiskey because he is an idiot and he deserves to choke. Chuuya promised, didn't he?
“Am sleepy…,” Chuuya mumbles as he closes his eyes. Evens out his breathing carefully, ever so slowly. Another skill that he learnt from his days with the Sheep. Pretending to be asleep is the most effective way to prevent Shirase from dragging him around town at the ungodly hour of three in the morning.
Ango finally speaks up. “So how is he getting home?” Ever the responsible one.
A huff of annoyance as Dazai mutters out something that sounded suspiciously like stupid chibi.
Chuuya feels Odasaku shift slightly beneath him, carefully positioning Chuuya so that his arm is not tucked awkwardly between him and Odasaku. Bless his soul. Where can he get friends like that? Sign him up now!
“You know where he lives.” Odasaku’s chest vibrates as he speaks. Soothing and safe. Chuuya tries not to think back to when he laid down on Albatross’ chest. Him on the left, Lippmann on the right, both holding Albatross down as Albatross laughed maniacally while trying to wriggle away. “And he is your partner, Dazai. You should make sure that he gets home safely.”
“No,” comes the petulant response. “Do I look like I care?”
Fuck you too, Dazai.
“Dazai, do you really want me to remind you how much you talk about him to us? And how he is so distracting that it makes it hard to concentrate on your mission together?”
Chuuya’s ears perk up. Interesting. This will make for excellent blackmail material.
“What - I - I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
The ensuing silence spoke louder than any words could. He makes a note of this for future use.
“Fine,” Dazai grumbles out begrudgingly, “I’ll take my useless dog home. Just so that he will owe me a favour and has to come barking the next time I ask him to.”
If Chuuya wasn’t pretending to be drunk and asleep, he would have introduced Dazai to his right fist.
The sound of a chair scraping along the floor is heard before Chuuya is lifted up and deposited onto Dazai’s bony shoulders. Whiffs of sandalwood and pine envelopes Chuuya. Woody and heavy. It feels nice. Dazai’s hand snakes around his waist. “Wake up, chibi. I am taking you home.”
Chuuya startles at the tenderness in the voice. He lets out a noncommittal hum and allows Dazai to guide him out of the bar. A comfortable silence accompanies them through the chilly night. A precious moment of peace that these two young Mafiasos rarely get to experience.
Until they reach Chuuya's apartment and Dazai unceremoniously dumps Chuuya onto the bed, muttering out loud, “I really hate you. Stupid chibi. So stupid!”
Suffice to say, Chuuya had to bite his tongue and does his very best to not strangle Dazai.
The next day, Chuuya acts as if he remembers nothing about the previous night all while Dazai whines about how sore his arms are.
(And even after Dazai defected, Chuuya would only dare called Dazai while pretending to be drunk so that he could plead ignorance if he was ever called out.)
18
Being partnered with Dazai could turn anyone into a murderer. Dazai had the innate ability to act like a childish brat or a demonic psycho, sometimes both together at once. Chuuya used to be convinced that it was because Dazai was a little shit who took pleasure in making life miserable for everyone else. Misery loves company, isn’t that what people always say? Quite literally no one can beat Dazai when it comes to embracing all things miserable. His outlook on life, his sense of fashion, his idea of fun. Everything pointed to doom and gloom.
It was only when a sudden realisation struck Chuuya when he was once again saving Dazai from one of his many suicide attempts. Watching his vacant stare, feeling his body go limp in Chuuya’s hold, the way he curled into a ball after Chuuya tucked him into bed.
Chuuya finally understood that Dazai was not as complicated as he made himself out to be.
If Dazai was a villain in a manga, he would be that one charmingly cocky bastard with a tragic backstory and headstrong (read: stubborn as fuck) mentality that leaves one wondering what the everloving fuck is he actually planning to do. The sort of character that had people spending hours dissecting his every move, his every motive, only to discover that said bastard just has a convoluted sense of self.
And the saddest part is that Dazai really did believe in all the bullshit that his brain feeds him. He claims that there is nothing worth living for. He insists that he will never be as human as Chuuya. He says that he is not worthy, not deserving of love.
The truth is further from that.
Dazai is blind to the beauty of life. Dazai is just as human as Chuuya is. Dazai is not unlovable and most certainly deserving of everything good in this world.
Dazai merely never bothered to give himself a chance.
Pity that it had to be Odasaku’s dying words that finally changed Dazai’s mind.
“Chuuya-kun.”
Mori’s voice cuts through Chuuya’s thoughts as he returns his gaze to the man sitting in front of him.
“Boss, I have already told you what I know.” Letting out a tired sigh, he straightens himself. Dusts an imaginary lint off his shoulder. Tries to look somewhat respectful as he stood in front of Mori’s desk.
Prior to being summoned to Mori’s office, Chuuya had been inundated with information and questions alike the very moment he stepped through the door of the headquarters. If one more person asks if he knew where Dazai was, he will personally hunt down that stinky mackerel and gut him like the fish that he is. Grill him and then serve him to every single person who thinks that by extension of him being one half of Double Black automatically means that he knows everything about Dazai.
Even the mess left behind by Corruption is nothing comparted to the shitshow that Dazai has created.
Mori simply nods. Chuuya is not sure if Mori is nodding because he finally understood what Chuuya has been trying to say for the past ten minutes, or because nodding wordlessly is what every annoying boss does.
Chuuya goes for the third possibility.
“With all due respect, Boss, we all know who Dazai holds in higher regard.” The name Odasaku remains unsaid. There is no need for that. They both know.
Another sigh before Chuuya continues, “And Dazai is loyal to no one. Frankly speaking, it does not surprise me at all that he has decided to up and leave.”
Elise giggles softly from behind Chuuya. As if he had just said something funny. The only funny thing right now is why Chuuya has to be the one to state the obvious. All Chuuya needed to hear was Sakunosuke Oda is dead and Dazai Osamu has defected to piece two and two together. At that time, he didn’t even know about Mori’s involvement with Mimic. Dazai’s defection made even more sense when he learnt the whole story a month later after he went digging for more information.
“Your honesty and candour is much appreciated, Chuuya-kun,” Mori clasps his hands together, elbows resting on the table. Any lesser men would wither under Mori’s intense stare, but Chuuya did not spend so many years fighting his own demons to be afraid of another mortal. “And he hasn’t contacted you at all?”
“Trust me when I say that I have no idea what Dazai was, and is, planning to do. This is a side of Dazai that none of us were ever privy to.”
“I understand.” Mori unclasps his hands, leaning back on his chair. “Very well, you are allowed to leave.”
“Thank you, Boss.”
Hand still clutching the door handle, just as he was about to close the door behind him, Chuuya hears Mori shut and locks a drawer. He shelves away that information for next time.
Only when Chuuya reaches his apartment and pours himself a glass of wine, does he finally take his phone out of his back pocket. Glares at it momentarily as if it personally offended him.
Taking a huge gulp, he enters his passcode and returns to the message that he received from an unknown number. A message that he has left on seen for the past eighteen hours, way before shit hit the fan at Port Mafia. A message that simply read おつ.
Just as he was going to put his phone away, a new message came in. From the same unknown number.
This time, it consists of a kaomoji.
(人´∀`)
One lone kaomoji that conveys gratitude.
Two unspoken words that carry with it the weight of the world.
Yet he is not too sure what Dazai was thanking him for. He has an inkling but he prefers not to know.
Or maybe he simply pretends not to know.
Because ultimately, Chuuya is a liar through and through. He lies to himself just as easily as he left out, and will continue leaving out, potentially important information regarding a traitor when questioned by the boss.
You have the wrong number, he texts back, deletes the message thread and blocks the number.
(It took four years before Dazai put the kaomoji into words. Thank you for being my partner. Thank you for not saying anything. Thank you for giving me your trust. )