Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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You don’t have to save the world,

All you have to do is hold on to the things precious to you

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Well, now this was quite an interesting twist to a rather boring day. 

Nakahara Chuuya grinned under the brim of his hat. With nary a whisper, his coat fluttered behind him as he jumped from the top of the tower to land in the middle of a luxurious garden where lilies bloom. 

Chuuya slammed his first to an open palm. “You’re here to fight me, eh? Dazai!”

The group of Agency members tensed up when his silhouette fell from the blue summer sky like a black bird. Now, they began to raise their respective weapons while eying him with trepidation. 

The only odd one out was a certain man with an easy smile and an easier step as he approached the middle of the garden and away from his comrades.

“Well, well, well! if it’s not the shortest Executive in Port Mafia’s History! Ah, how horrible fate is, making me meet you on this otherwise perfect day! Can’t you just drop dead and let us pass?” Dazai asked not so nicely, leaning on one leg with hips jutting out cockily.

“No way.” He stomped on the ground, levitating pieces of rock around him, glowing red from the heat and friction of gravity “None of you are getting past me.”

Chuuya shivered in excitement when those burgundy eyes lowered into half-mast and bloodlust filled the air between them “Arrogant.”

With that one jeer, Chuuya sent the rock into the stone paving in front of the Agency’s line. Dust erupted from the impact and he used it as cover to run closer, breaking through the clouds to deliver a drop kick to Dazai’s head.

But, as always, his movement has been predicted perfectly even before he twitched a single muscle, the taller man stepping to the side so his kick shattered cobbled pavement rather than flesh and bone.

Not wasting even a moment, Chuuya brought his other leg down and used it to launch himself at the brunet, fist drawn. Dazai evaded each of his quick attacks until there was a gap in one of his more powerful punches where he could deliver a swift kick to Chuuya’s abdomen that had him flying back. Catching himself, Chuuya rolled into a crouch on the pavement. A grin began to creep up his face, matching the one on Dazai’s.

 “Go on without me.” The detective projected loudly to his colleagues who were hovering on the back. The tiger boy, who was ready to jump into the fight, jolted from his mentor’s words. 

“But, Dazai-san--!”

“It pains me to say, but you won’t win against this guy, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai said as Chuuya stood up between the settling dusts, cracking his knuckles with a smirk. “Go and catch the criminals while I’m handling this bulldog, okay?”

“Who are you calling a bulldog, huh?” Chuuya hollered the last syllable as he shed his overcoat, leaving the intimidation it represented for pure fighting prowess and ran straight to the detective who was ready for him.

They exchanged punch for punch, Dazai deftly blocking him until Chuuya managed to grab his collar and threw him down over his shoulder. The man grunted, but at some point he must have stolen Chuuya’s dagger; because his leg kicked the back of Chuuya’s knees and the next thing Chuuya knew a familiar blade rested on his neck.

“Go!” he hollered and this time the five people he came with nodded, running toward the mansion under Port Mafia’s protection, a warehouse for their jewel trafficking. 

“As if I’d let you go so easily!” Chuuya slammed his palm to the cobbled pavement, using his ability to levitate large rocks to them. But before it could reach the Agency member, a bandaged hand shot out and grabbed Chuuya’s neck, slamming him hard to the ground.

The Executive grunted, pain bursting on his back as the stones fell harmlessly back to the ground.

A feral grin graced their features as they faced like this. Chuuya kneed Dazai’s abdomen just to have an arm blocking it and the knife drew back to stab it where his head would be if he hadn’t moved to the side, severing locks of his hair.

Grabbing Dazai’s wrist, he squeezed until a pained noise fell from the man’s lips, letting go of the dragger. He drew up a leg and kicked Dazai away, the taller man landing a few metres from him and swiftly standing back up.

That was strange. He expected Dazai to block that.

Chuuya pulled the dagger from where it was stabbed into the ground, holding it steady as they stood and began circling each other like two predators in a cage.

They attacked at the same time, Dazai predicting when and how he would attack and was pushed to a defensive stance. Changing tactics, Chuuya grabbed Dazai's wrist and pulled him closer. Flipping the knife in his grasp, Chuuya slashed upward. But Dazai has stopped his momentum by digging his heels into the ground, throwing his upper body backward so it didn’t reach him. 

An uppercut was delivered to Chuuya’s chin before an elbow slam into the crook of his, making the grasp he had on Dazai’s wrist loosen.

Stepping back, Chuuya made a soft noise of confusion.

Something was strange. Dazai’s fighting was sloppier than usual today. Chuuya frowned, deciding to test his hypotheses as he launched himself to Dazai suddenly. As he predicted, Dazai stepped back, but he stumbled with his own momentum. Still, it was too late to pull his punches anyway, so he delivered a punch to the chest that stole all of Dazai’s breath.

The brunet gritted his teeth, drawing a fist to punch. Chuuya didn’t move his head, bracing for impact, but the punch did not even come close to where he was.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed Dazai’s arm and twisted his body, flipping the detective to the ground over his shoulder while still holding his arm. Chuuya stepped on the other shoulder with a sneer.

“The fuck are you trying to pull?”

“Why do you always assume I have something to pull?”

A handful of sand was thrown into Chuuya’s eyes. He really should have expected that. Dazai was well-known for fighting dirty when he met a stronger opponent after all.

Grunting, Chuuya loosened his hold on the arm which became his downfall since it grabbed his shoulder, throwing him forward and away.

The moment Chuuya was airborne, he activated his ability and floated on air, lowering himself to the ground with his arms crossed and brows scrunched. In contrast, Dazai was still struggling to get to his legs. After a full three seconds, he finally succeeded.

Chuuya growled under his breath. Three seconds. That was enough for him to throw his dagger to the bastard’s head, or slam him to the ground and throttle him, or even kick his head to make him lose consciousness then kill him when he’s out. 

What the fuck is happening here?

But his question was answered when Dazai’s hand came up to his temple, pressing in with a hurting expression. He was also breathing far too fast for the exchange of blows they had, barely an exercise compared to their past fights.

“…Dazai? Oi, you alright?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow. His eyes widened when the detective suddenly dropped to his knees with a noise of pain, hand clutching his head. “Dazai!”

The smaller man jogged to him, stopping a few paces away and called out his name. When no answer was forthcoming other than a hissed breath of pain, Chuuya dropped to his knees in front of the brunet and sighed when he saw the pain bleeding through Dazai’s mask “Oi, oi, oi. Don’t take dangerous combat missions when you’re sick, goddammit!”

“Ugh… have you considered the possibility that I was alright until I saw your face?” Dazai shot back, fingers kneading his temple. “Your very being is hazardous to health. My health.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you. You torture people just by existing, you know that? Toxic waste of a hominid,” Chuuya grumbled while rubbing Dazai’s back not-quite-gently.

“It’s my head that’s hurting, not my digestive system. Why are you rubbing my back ?”

Chuuya had to physically restrain himself from whacking the infuriating bastard. It’s his personal policy to not pick fights with downed dogs, not even if the dog has a too-smart mouth that keeps flapping uselessly. Instead he channelled all his frustration to an eyerol that he held for a moment to stare at the sky in sorrow before allowing his hand to go a little higher, massaging into the flesh of Dazai’s neck.

“There.” He huffed out gruffly.

“Ugh, I don’t think I will ever recover from this. You touching me is even more sickening than the months expired crab meat I ate.”

“Why are you even eating expired crabmeat? Did all your suicide attempt finally knocked off the loose screws in your head?”

“I’m not aware that I even have screws in my head. Have you been reading Frankenstein and mistook it for a biology book? Wouldn’t be surprising considering your IQ.”

Honestly, the pain would be overwhelming if Dazai was squeezing his eyes shut like that. Chuuya only wished that his mouth could be squeezed shut as well to stem this ridiculous stream of bloody annoying taunts.

“Isn’t there anything else you could put your mouth to? I’m tempted to just crush your throat right now.” He growled, plopping his ass to the cobbled pavement when he’s sure that an exciting physical fight wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“Then do it; why are you still massaging my neck? Could it be that you don’t want me to die?”

“Ha? I wanted you dead from the very first day we met, asshole. I’m just not into kicking a downed dog. Recover first then fight me so I can kill you properly.”

“Oh, how honourable of the man who just told me to put my mouth to something else. Do you want me to suck you off?”

“And have you nearly bitin’ my dick off again? I’ll pass.”

“That was the first time I had a cock in my mouth. For your information, my mouth has been described as magical.”

“Yeah?” Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Those people must have a low standard.”

“If you’re bad at sex you could just say it instead of covering it up like this, it’s embarassing.”

“It’s not a goddamn lie. And I’ve been told I’m great at rimming, how ‘bout that? I bet you don’t even have the guts to eat someone else out.”

“So you like putting your mouth to someone’s anus?” Dazai’s lips curled in disgust “Gross.”

Chuuya’s face burned hot as he lifted his other hand to muffle Dazai’s further taunting by clamping over his mouth. “Shut up, shut the fuck up right now.”

Dazai moved his jaws, muffled words pouring between Chuuya’s fingers. When the smaller man raised an eyebrow in answer, Dazai gave him a dry look, tapping his hand with a trembling finger.

“What?” Chuuya grumpily asked as he pulled his hand away, hoping that whatever’s coming out of his mouth won’t be so ridiculous as to make him want to commit homicide.

“Since I’m sick, can you let me go?” he asked. “I’ll catch up with my partner while you can go and look for the nearest dog house.”

“Haha. Funny.” He glared drily back. “What am I going to say to the Boss then!? ‘I’m sorry I let them in without a fight, I found a dying dog on the ground ’?”

“Okay, then. Fight me.” Dazai exclaimed as he raised his right hand. Chuuya eyed that hand, finger long and bandaged the way he remembered it had been five years ago, and sighed harshly.

“….Well, at least he can’t claim I  didn’t fight you.” Chuuya said with a shrug, curling his fingers around Dazai’s with their thumbs extending upward, pads pressing against each other’s.

“One, two, three… go!”

With the warning bells off, the two of them began a heated tournament of thumb wrestling that involved tugging at each other’s arm to disconcert the foe, actually swinging their arms around randomly to inflict confusion and just generally jabbing at each other trying to take down the other thumb first.

All in all, it was a mess.

With a victory cry, Dazai pressed down, crushing Chuuya’s thumb underneath his. “I won!” he cheered.

“Wha—how is that even possible?!” Chuuya stared down at his own thumb as if it had betrayed him. “You’re fucking sick and I can’t beat you?”

“You have to train a hundred years to reach my level, small stuff. Even then I would have another hundred years of experience under my belt.” Dazai bragged, flipping brown bangs out of his face. But that motion had him wincing, as if it had intensified whatever pain he’s suffering through.

“Huh. Bad idea?”

“Bad idea.” Dazai groaned, dropping his head to an open palm.

“What’s wrong, anyway? How long have you been having headaches like this?” Chuuya asked. He saw Dazai having migraines before, but barring the time he wanted to annoy the shit out of Chuuya by having him run around in circles trying to take care of him—which is all the goddamn time—he was silent and invisible in his pain. 

Dazai showing his pain meant that this was tortuous. 

Rising to his knees, Chuuya buried his hands in thick brown hair, massaging with small circles. He can hear Dazai sighing slowly, as if his fingers brought a marginal amount of relief to his pain.

“Careful, Chuuya. I’m going to start thinking that you care if you keep this up.”

The red haired man snorted “Yeah, you keep deluding yourself then. As I said, I just don’t want you to die before I can properly kill you off.” He grumbled, not letting up the ministration until he reached Dazai’s forehead, pressing small circles there with his thumb.

“How do you plan on killing me off, then? A punch? A kick? Ooh, maybe even Arahabaki?” Dazai asked, glee starting to charge into his voice despite the pained expression he’s still wearing.

“How about… boredom?”

“Huh?”

Without warning, Chuuya stood up, slinging Dazai over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He walked out of the mansion estate glowing with pride while Dazai was groaning in pain, fist pressed into his closed eyelids, the swinging motion evidently too much for him.

“Why would you do that?” he whined. “I don’t like pain, you know!”

“I know.” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Nobody likes pain.”

“Say that to the masochists!”

“Nobody likes pain they didn’t consent to!” Chuuya shot back the revised sentence “Good thing we’re supposed to dispose of the Ryuugamine family soon anyway; they’ve outlived their usefulness. But by god, am I going to get into so much trouble for this. I might have to take a vacation overseas.”

“And now you’re fraternising with the enemy. Hey, is the punishment for that still execution?”

Chuuya flinched, teeth baring when he heard the exclamation. “So you know what’s at stake. Good. Now don’t you fucking dare try and touch me.”

That was the only warning Dazai got before they were airborne, Chuuya activating his ability to float and zoom to the hospital not under Port Mafia’s control. The moment Dazai realised their destination, he howled lungfuls of “ Noooooooooo ”s that had many pedestrians turning their eyes skyward and caught glimpses of them flying away.

Well, shit. Vacation it is.

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“You called for me, sir?” Chuuya knelt on the carpeted floor, hat pressed to his chest. 

As usual, the carpet is so nice here , Chuuya thought to himself as his back became slick with cold sweat from the intense gaze he could feel burning into him. 

This was a rather unpredicted twist. He had planned on skipping town under the guise of emergency investigation until his superior either got bored of the charade or so buried in work that he would bomb Chuuya’s phone, whining for him to come back. But not answering summons when he’s still officially in the city would be the same as admitting guilt.

 Behind his desk, Mori smiled. “I did, Chuuya-kun. At ease.”

Following the order, Chuuya stood up, replacing the hat where they belonged. “I have submitted my report about the incident at the Ryuugamine Estate. Is there something else I could be of use for?”

“You have many uses, don’t sell yourself short.” Mori laughed as he slid a small book toward him. It was pocket-sized and flashily colored. “In the light of today’s failure, I would like you to read this and increase your skill levels, Chuuya-kun. And you don’t have to be ashamed; I myself never won against Dazai-kun.”

Chuuya had to bite back a squeak of fear when he read the title of the book. Dummy’s Guide To Thumb Wrestling Olympics. Instead, he put the book into his inner pocket and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s been outed, and yet…. did the boss’ smirk turn wider?

“Next time you bring someone to the hospital incognito, try to do something… less spectacular than what you did today.” Mori waved his hand with that calm smile still on his face. Beads of cold sweat rolled down Chuuya’s back as he kept his face as calm as he could.

“I shall keep that in mind. Anything else you’d like to tell me, sir?”

“Ah, yes. Tomorrow, an Executive meeting would be called to order a manhunt for you. If you’re caught, it would be instant execution.” He said airily like someone who easily broke a child’s dream by telling them all stars they’re looking at are actually dead millions of years ago. He pulled out a large brown envelope and pushed it to Chuuya, who was frozen by shock and fear in front of his desk.  “Here you go.”

“If I may ask, boss; what’s the reason?” Chuuya asked as he accepted the envelope, forcing words from constricted throat.

“Hmmm let’s see. You’ll be accused of assisting the Armed Detective Agency in taking the important witnesses and giving them entrance to the Ryuugamine Estate. On top of that, you will be burdened with the blame of setting off the poison gas that killed every guard and family member of the Ryuugamine.” Mori explained, resting his chin on intertwined fingers. “You know, the usual.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed “’ Will be ’, sir?”

“Yes. Your deed hasn’t spread yet because some… incidents had delayed our informants.” Mori answered his question. “Now, go ahead and open the envelope, Chuuya-kun.”

Chuuya obliged, uncoiling the red string that held it close. Picking out one of the slips of slick paper, he pulled it out to be faced with a large black and white x-ray photograph of someone’s skull. He scrunched his brows, wondering if this is some sort of test. He’d never been good with human anatomy in other senses than ‘hit there and they’ll die quickly, hit there to make them die slow.’

“What… is this, sir?” he asked after a moment of staring at the picture, uncomprehending.

“It’s Dazai-kun’s x-ray result.” Mori answered as he stood up from his chair, going around the desk to stand beside Chuuya. “An associate in the hospital took it for me.”

“And what does this have to do with anything, sir?”

“The reason is right here.” Mori raised a hand and pointed to a mass of pale lump in the middle of what he supposed was Dazai’s brain. Still, for Chuuya’s eyes that white lump was just… a white lump on a photograph.

“I’m… afraid that I still don’t understand.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Mori huffed in amusement, dropping his hand. “That’s a tumor, Chuuya-kun.”

Chuuya froze, hands clenching to crinkle the edges of the photograph. Cold crept into him, consuming his chest and reawakened his fear. His heart was thumping painfully as he stared at Mori’s face.

“Tumour… boss…?” he breathed out with wide eyes.

“Yes. Intracranial tumours are one of the most troublesome. It’s malignant, and the positioning is rather unfortunate; even my old doctor’s eyes could see that it’s inoperable.” He chuckled as he leaned back on his desk. “He would have one and a half months at most.”

Chuuya was left standing there frozen, staring at the boss disbelievingly. “I’m… sorry sir but are you saying that he’s—“

“Dying. Dazai-kun’s dying.” He said as he urged Chuuya to put the photograph back into the envelope. “The Executive meeting will be held at seven in the morning. I suggest you get out of the country before that, Chuuya-kun.”

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It was nearly midnight when someone pounded on his front door. 

Dazai really didn’t want to deal with anyone at this hour, especially with the headache beating louder alongside the reverb of the pounding. But he just wanted whoever it was to stop.

Exhaling in frustration, he dropped the blade he’s been using to carve bloody lines on his left wrist to the sink, wrapping a clean sheet of fabric on the bleeding wounds as he walked to the door.

“Who would be so rude at this time of night?” he grumbled to himself. Suddenly, his world tilted sideways and he had to catch himself on the couch. That was the thirty-second time this happened today. 

Dazai gritted his teeth when pain shot up his left wrist that he had just used to catch himself, blood spurting out the beating vein.

Calming himself and the race of his heart from the sudden spike of pain, Dazai went to the door and opened it with his right hand, hiding his left from view. He expected many things; ranging from other Agency members, a random stranger, an assassin, even a stray pizza man. But he didn’t expect his ex-partner to be standing there, fuming in the air of mid-October.

He slammed the door shut again.

Chuuya continued his banging on the door and Dazai had to muffle his mounting desire to grab a gun and put a bullet between his own eyes to stop the rhythmic pulsing of pain in tandem with that grating sound. The biggest reason why he hadn’t carried out that plan yet was because taking the gun meant he had to go to his room first and he didn’t think he could manage it like this.

Sighing, he turned back and wrenched the door open. He scowled “What do you want, hatrack?”

Chuuya’s eyebrows shot up at the nasty attitude. Dazai didn’t usually lose his cool like this, especially in front of people he knew could and would use it against him. 

Maybe it’s a side effect of dying. He snorted internally.

Without regard to politeness, Chuuya shoved himself into the apartment, ducking down beneath the stretch of Dazai’s arm easily. It was one of the few times when his height was an advantage. 

“I’m staying here from now on until whenever the Mafia decides I’m not worth it. It’s partly your fault anyway.” He exclaimed as he walked deeper into the apartment and dropped his suitcase by the couch before dropping his body there. “Oh, this damn thing is so uncomfortable. Why the fuck did you chose leather?”

“Chuuya, if you’re looking for a place to hide from the Mafia, their enemy’s base is a bit too glaring. Try the trash cans.”

“Unlike your stupid ass, I’m not going to spend my vacation playing around in dirty mud.” He thrusted the brown envelope to Dazai. “Here, from the boss.”

“From Mori-san?” Chuuya noticed how Dazai’s hand grasped the air just a little bit to the left of the envelope before he adjusted his aim and received it. “I wonder what’s inside.” He hummed. That was when Chuuya realised the blood-soaked fabric holding Dazai’s wrist together.

Sighing, he lifted his ass from the couch and retrieved cheap alcohol from the cabinet and an empty bucket. When he returned, Dazai was holding the x-ray photograph to the glare of the light fixture. Since his back was to him, Chuuya couldn’t see his expression. That didn’t matter anyway; Chuuya just placed the bucket on the couch and drank a bit of the alcohol, grimacing at the horrible taste.

“I see. This explains so many things. Hey, Chuuya. How long did he say I have?” The tone was airy and light, as if Dazai was discussing the weather rather than his own impending mortality.

“One and half a month.” He answered before he washed down the word with the equally bitter drink.

“It would be cut by half if you’re here, though. You’re stressing me out just by being around.” He said grumpily, putting the picture back carefully and let it flutter down to the low table. Chuuya flicked his wrist to him silently, motioning to the couch beside him. And Dazai had to really be out of it to comply as easily as he did, voluntarily opening the knot to show four deep scratches that still bled red.

Tipping the bottle, Chuuya watched as copper liquid washed down his wrist. When he thought it was sufficiently clean, the smaller man tied the fabric back, this time more securely than the sloppy tie it was before, meant to stop the flow of blood rather than to just let something absorb it.

Dazai stared at the freshly wrapped hand for a moment before he lifted it to poke and pinch at it, testing how it would endure. Finding the knot holding secure, he dropped it.

“I guess you can stay as long as you do the dishes and laundry.”

“Good enough.” Chuuya sealed his fate with those words.

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Morning rolled around and it found Chuuya with a proverbial elephant sitting on his head. The young man groaned at the pounding of hangover, mouth dry as sandpaper and even the smallest bit of light stabbed his sensitive eyes.

He wondered what had woken him up when he was finally capable of putting together a thought process. Usually, he slept well into the afternoon after he drank himself silly like last night. Granted, it was only a couple bottles but Chuuya was a lightweight, dammit. He couldn’t hold his liquor like Ane-san could outdrink every man in her party.

After the buzzing of his ears receded, he finally noticed the source of his disturbance; the dry heaving he could hear coming from the open bathroom door.

Groaning softly, he rolled out of the couch and stumbled into the bathroom where Dazai was kneeling on the tiled floor, knuckles white as it gripped the edges of the toilet. Dropping to his knees beside the taller man, Chuuya gathered brown hair in one hand to pull it back and rubbed Dazai’s coated back with the other. He wondered why Dazai was wearing his tan coat over pyjamas, but he put that thought into the ‘Dazai is a weird little shit’ mental folder.

He didn’t stop the motion until Dazai was done heaving, not commenting anything as he flushed the toilet and shoved toothbrush at the taller man.

Dazai stood up, swaying a little bit before he moved to the sink and grabbed the toothpaste, eager to get the putrid taste out of his mouth. “Why are you up so early, Chuuya? Thought a sloth like you should still be asleep.” He retorted with a hoarse voice.

And for a second Chuuya looked like he wanted to retort back, but then he stopped, turned to the toilet and then it was his turn to vomit into the bowl.

“Of course.” Dazai muttered to himself and ignored Chuuya’s hissed protest of ‘you’re not helping’ i n favour of slapping the red-haired man’s back none too gently while the other hand was still brushing his teeth.  

After the hack party that was the morning, Chuuya forced himself to get water for both himself and his whining flatmate. Hydrating duty done, he just dropped to the couch, not even bothering to put off his alcohol-smelling clothes.

At least Dazai seemed to get better as the early morning rolled. By eight he was well enough to torture Chuuya by playing a pair of goddamned mini cymbal while sitting just beside him on the couch. The redhead rolled out of the couch, kicking Dazai to the floor in process, and stomped to the bathroom where he took a long shower with hot water, not caring that by the time he’s out the stream has turned cold.

By the twitching smile he saw Dazai wearing when he got out, it’s pretty clear that the other man knew he just wasted all the hot water in retaliation.

Before Chuuya could be disgusted with himself for picking a fight with a sick man, someone rapped at the door.

“You expecting someone?” Chuuya asked, ready to kick the door down and take the potentially uninvited visitor out with it if he answered negatively.

“I am, actually. Should I take you to the training program so you won’t bark at everything that moved?” Dazai said as he walked past him to the front door. Chuuya rolled his eyes.

“Am not a dog.” He grumbled.

Putting on a bright smile, Dazai opened the door with a flourish “Good morning, Yosano-sensei!” he greeted with cheer. Laughing, the woman greeted him back before going in, closing the door behind her.

And then stopping when she saw Chuuya hovering in the living room.

Both of their eyes narrowed at each other, recognizing the enemy they once fought on the dank, dark tunnel where the Agency hid from the Guild. Just as her fingers were inching to the bag she’s totting, Chuuya’s was inching to the wall.

Dazai broke the tension by stepping between them.

“Oh, have you noticed my new coat hanger, Yosano-sensei? It’s so ugly I just had to pick it up from the trash.” He said cheerfully, motioning to Chuuya. “Please feel free to hang your coat any way you want to.”

“Who’s a—“

“Ssh, ssh, shhh.” Dazai hissed, clamping a hand over Chuuya’s mouth. “Coat hangers are not supposed to speak.” He whispered loudly in a playful tone. “Come on in, Yosano-sensei. I have tea ready.”

“Well then, pardon my intrusion.” Yosano said as she walked in with elegant steps, happily throwing her long coat to Chuuya’s direction. Growling, he caught the hapzardly thrown article of clothing and hung it on the actual rack right fucking behind him.

He watched with crossed arms when she sat down on the round low table of the tatami room, leaning his hips on the doorway. Soon, Dazai came with a tray, putting down the tea set he began pouring the fragrant drink into two cups.

Sipping the liquid, Yosano hummed appreciatively. “This is good.”

“Thank you. I taught myself the ancient art of Japanese tea making. Did you know it used to be a favored means of assassination?” Dazai answered with a winning smile. Yosano laughed softly and placed the cup back to the saucer.

“Well, I suppose you want to talk about something?”

Dazai nodded with a smile. 

“Did you find my message?” 

In answer, Yosano pulled out the sickeningly familiar brown envelope that Chuuya wanted to burn more than anything. Was that why Dazai was wearing his coat this morning? He must have gone out and slipped the envelope beneath the doctor’s door.

“I did.” She answered. “But I need to ask, Dazai-kun. Whose x-ray is this?”

Dazai’s smile was unfazed and steadfast even as he answered “They’re mine.”

The doctor went silent, and Chuuya didn’t even need to be able to see her face to know what sort of expression she’s making. He knew enough by seeing how Dazai’s melted.

Yosano’s gloved hand came up to squeeze his. “Even if my power works on you, I won’t be able to do anything.” She said, voice heavy with regret.

“It’s okay, Yosano-san. I want to die, remember? This is as good a reason as any.” He assured her with a softer voice, squeezing the hand on his back. “I just wanted to know what would happen to me.”

Chuuya watched with admiration as she gathered herself and straightened her back, strong even in the face of losing a member of her family. She pulled out one of the pictures and Chuuya could see a piece of white paper held to the photograph with a paperclip, on it was written three characters in alphabet.

He snorted. Only Dazai could write YAY on the photograph that foretold his doom.

“The tumour already spread to different parts of the brain, so the symptoms would be much more varied.” She began to explain as she pointed to the white lump of the tumour. “The main symptoms would be pain, aphasia and balance problems. Other than that, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, difficulty of motor skills, disturbances of eyesight… you might have problems with your memory too.”

“Another doctor told me that I would have one and half a month. What do you think?”

“The symptoms I mentioned… have they manifested?”

“The balance problem, dizziness, and vomiting have started.” Dazai answered lightly.

“Then they’re not wrong, but that’s the time you would have on the outside. By the one and half a month mark your body could only support basic systems-- respiratory, blood, digestive—and you’ll fall into a coma before you die.”

Dazai fell silent when he heard the news. His gaze was serious when he lifted his eyes to meet Yosano’s.

“I don’t want that to happen, Yosano-sensei.” He requested with a calm voice, eyes melancholic yet firm as he stared into the doctor’s. A smile tugged on the edges of her lips before she began to giggle, face flushed and her free hand coming up to cover her mouth. It was almost as if she’s laughing out of pity for herself who was now once again powerless in the face of death. 

“Ah, yes.” She said, smiling. Pulling on the zipper of her bag, she sifted through the murder weapons stashed into the innocuous blue thing until her hand came back out with a syringe.

The other two in the room were not naïve enough to ask what the liquid in it was.

“Why do you have that in your work bag?” Chuuya broke the silence.

“My Ability needs someone half-dead before I could heal them. This is for Kyouka-chan if she happens to be the one wounded.” She explained. Chuuya eyed the other gruesome murder weapons in the bag and pitied the people in the Agency who weren’t Izumi Kyouka.

 “Thank you, sensei.” Dazai bowed his head respectfully before reaching out to take the syringe. But Yosano’s hand retracted before he could take them from her palm. He lifted an eyebrow, silently questioning without the smile ever leaving his face.

Chuuya thought she would make him promise to not take it immediately or on impulse, or make other conditions like that. But then she extended her hand to him, offering the syringe to Chuuya.

It felt like being buried under the debris of a skyscraper.

He walked to where she was and knelt, accepting the syringe solemnly. Dazai watched the exchange without any protest, not even as the syringe disappeared into Chuuya’s pocket.

“Look at the time, I need to go to work.” Yosano said as she stood up. Dazai followed her to the front door. “I’ll tell Kunikida that you would be unable to go to work today.” She stopped and turned to him. “Would you like me to inform the others of your condition?”

There was a moment where Chuuya could see Dazai’s hesitation, but it quickly passed and he nodded. “If you would be so kind.”

When the door was open and Yosano was on the edge of going out, she stopped with a pained expression on her face. Turning back she left a kiss on Dazai’s cheek and patted it with a smile before finally leaving the apartment.

.

.

“Eat.”

“No.”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t eaten anything of substance since I came here the night two days ago.”

“No. Give it up.”

“Fuck you.”

In the end, their little spat ended with Chuuya sitting on Dazai’s hips, feet extended to pin both of the brunet’s wrists to the futon. He spooned some of the soup and potato chunk and lifted it to Dazai mouth. “Open up.” He ordered.

But, as always, Dazai decided to be difficult by glaring at him with a clenched jaw. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Chuuya used his other hand to squeeze his cheeks, opening his mouth so he could shove the soup in and then closing it forcefully so he wouldn’t try anything funny like spitting it out.

Begrudgingly, the taller man chewed. But after a few seconds, the strain in his shoulder slowly melted as he blinked in slight surprise, the soup making its way down his throat easily.

“You’ve been having nausea, haven’t you? Your doctor told me you would.” Chuuya murmured, spooning more soup. “Ane-san would make this for me whenever I’m sick. It won’t irritate your stomach but it’s filling enough to get you through.”

Dazai was a bit more cooperative with the next bite, drinking the soup and chewing the carrot bits with a thoughtful hum. There was definite spice in the soup, subtle enough for it to bring comforting warmth to the taste but not enough to trigger his sensitive stomach.

His body suddenly reminded him with vengeance about the fact that any food he has consumed over the course of two days has barely been able to stay inside him. The next spoonful and he was eagerly eating it. Chuuya blinked in slight surprise before it melted into a smirk at Dazai’s sour look at him.

“There, not so hard is it?” Chuuya said cockily as he lifted his weight from Dazai to sit beside him as the taller man rose to sit on the futon.

“Did Chuuya have a dream of nursing sick people to health so he learned how to make soups? I’m sickened just by the thought.” He grumped with a pout that he would later deny could ever be on his face.

“If it’s good, just damn say it’s good.” He grumbled as he handed the spoon to Dazai.

“As if I’d ever lie about something like—“ Dazai winced when the hot soup splatter over him. His hand has suddenly betrayed him and twisted the spoon, dropping it to the tatami floor.

“What the--? You okay?” Chuuya asked as he pulled out a pocket tissue he always had ready and wiped the stain out of the mats and from Dazai’s clothes. It would be hell to clean them if he didn’t do this immediately. Even so he still saw how Dazai’s hands trembled before he curled it into a fist.

…Difficulty of motor skill… he suddenly recalled the doctor’s words and something seemed to be blocking his throat. 

“You should have told me if it hurts, you bastard.” Chuuya hissed, pulling out a syringe that Yosano gave to him.

“What’s that?” Dazai asked, tone pinched with pain.

“Painkillers. Your doctor gave them to me.” He answered, bringing Dazai’s arm to him and expertly searched for the vein on his elbow, not even bothering to take off the bandages before he stabbed it in and pushed the medication into the brunet’s bloodstream.

“There. It should take effect in a few minutes.”

Dazai exhaled, slumping into himself. Chuuya noticed how he glanced at the soup once before resolutely ignoring it again. He internally sighed at the illogically proud ass in front of him. Throwing away the used tissues, he also went to grab a new spoon from the kitchen. When he saw the spoon, Dazai seemed to understand what he’s going to do, judging from the narrowing of brown eyes.

“Don’t you even dare protest. We both know I’m going to end up being the one to clean the mats, the clothes and the futon if you spill soup on them.” He pointed to the brunet’s face as he sat down beside Dazai, picking up the bowl and rested it on the crook of his folded legs.

“That’s our deal anyway, you are staying for dishes and laundry.”

“I agreed to look after the hygiene of your house, not cleaning up your mess.” He lifted the spoon to Dazai’s face. “Now, eat this you little shit.”

“I’m not even hungry.”

“Even a blind fucker can see you are. Stop being such a stubborn asshole and make my life easier. Eat.”

Dazai scowled impressively, as if receiving help was enough to send him into a trip of identity and existential crisis. Because of course it would. 

“Come on, it’s not going to be so tasty when it’s cold. Remember how cold soups taste like? Yeah, that’s how this one would taste, but doubly bad because of the spice.” Chuuya shook the spoon a little. “And don’t you think for a second I won’t force it down your throat before heating it up. Because I damn well would.”

Finally defeated by his own bodily needs and sound logic, probably also a little bit intimidated by the threat, Dazai sighed and opened his mouth, closing it around the spoon. Chuuya stared at him critically before he nodded, continuing to feed him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 .

.

“You want to go to work.”

Dazai was putting on his bolo tie, trying to put on the blue eyepiece on it. “Yep.”

“You always try to find any reason to ditch it when you’re healthy, and now that you’re sick you want to come in?” Chuuya shook his head as he swatted the hands away, putting on the tie efficiently. “There’s something wrong with your head.”

“There is. It’s called a tumour.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes at the smartass answer, letting go of the bolo tie. “Wait here, I’m changing my clothes.”

“You’re coming too?” Dazai shouted so his voice could be heard by Chuuya who was striding to the living room and grabbed his suitcase by the couch.

“I can’t let you die by being trampled by pedestrians yet! Whose name am I going to borrow when people come looking if you’re officially dead?!” he hollered back, pulling out a T-shirt, hoodie and comfortable trousers.

The point was that he needed to look as out of character as possible. And this would do the work, what’s with being the sort of clothes that made Chuuya swear that he would kill himself first before any of his subordinates sees him in these. And it was even effective on Dazai who immediately stopped walking the moment he saw Chuuya wearing them.

“When did I drag in a trashbag?” he mused to himself, disgust rapidly eroding amazement that someone would ever produce such monstrosity, eying the dizzying pattern of random contrasting colours on Chuuya’s supposedly black hoodie. He bought it for being an ugly motherfucker anyway, but the honest disgust in those eyes made him…

…want to wear it in front of Dazai more often.

“When you started living here, possibly.” He shrugged with a smirk, flaunting the hoodie and enjoying the gagging noises Dazai made.

Stepping out of the apartment for the first time in three days, Chuuya took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar shitty air of Yokohama City and exhaled in satisfaction. When they left the apartment complex, Chuuya pulled the hood over his hair, hiding the easily-recognized shock of colour.

Fortunately, Dazai didn’t have any problem with walking to the office. If anything, he seemed so jovial as he knelt in front of every random ladies with pretty face and asked for a double suicide, leaving Chuuya to growl and drag him away from the poor, harassed women. It’s almost as if he’s making up for the days he couldn’t get out of his apartment room.

In front of the building, Chuuya was torn between accompanying Dazai up and risking facing the Agency members all alone in their turf or go back right now and risking having Dazai fainting in god-know-which ditch of Yokohama without anyone being the wiser.

In the end, common sense won and Chuuya went up the elevator, swearing to himself that he’d bolt the moment they’re in front of the Agency door.

But Dazai, being Dazai, obviously thwarted his plan. The moment he was ready to turn back and leave, the bastard grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him along as he threw the door open and exclaimed--. “Good morning everyone! Have you seen outside the window? Let me tell you, it’s the perfect day to commit suicide!”

--a very Dazai greeting.

All inhabitants of the room stopped in their tracks when he appeared and there was a crash when the weretiger dropped the cup he was holding to the floor, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

“Dazai-san…” he breathed in disbelief.

“Yep, it’s me Atsushi-kun.” He grinned “And, oh, I got myself a new dog over here. I picked it up from the trash sorting facility. It doesn’t have a good attitude but I hope you guys don’t mind me bringing it to the office.” He said as he dragged a reluctant Chuuya into the spotlight.

“Am not anybody’s dog, you bastard!” he hissed to Dazai’s smiling face.

“Who is that, Dazai?” Kunikida asked, fingers have long since stopped their movement with his pen.

“You don’t recognize this?” Dazai blinked and at them his mouth formed an ‘o’ when he realised why. Grabbing the hood, he wrenched it back to let Chuuya’s red curls fly everywhere and reveal his face. “Ta-da!”

And Dazai seemed to be the only one unaware of the drop in room temperature.

He could see a poetry book being pulled out, snow starting to fall and a hand inching to an eyeglasses. The weretiger has even lowered his stance, ready to pounce.

Chuuya himself has calculated his winning chance (around 45%, 5% if Dazai’s touching him) and his possibility of success with running away by taking down a wall and making a break for it (almost 100%) when the side door opens to reveal a little girl.

It seemed like she was looking for something in the locker room when he heard the commotion and decided to check. When she saw who was by the door, her eyes widened.

Kyouka ran to him with a neutral face and hugged his middle, squeezing tightly. “Chuuya.”

“Oh, it’s little stuff.” Chuuya messed with the dark hair clinging to his chest. As both of them were taken in by Kouyou, they were encouraged to trust each other as two people she considered her children. Chuuya would be lying if he said he’s not fond of the girl. “How have you been, Kyou?”

“Good.” She answered, voice muffled by the hug.

And just like that, the tension in the office melted as if Kyouka’s stamp of approval was the prophecy of gods. Kunikida continued working, the staff continued scurrying around, Tanizaki went back to his laptop, Atsushi went to look for a mop and Dazai threw himself to the couch.

“Ah, this is life.” He sighed happily.

“So in the end you will just lie around, huh?” Chuuya kicked the bottom of the sofa where Dazai’s lying. “What’s the point of getting here when you could do that just fine in the apartment?”

“Ooh… Does this mean Chuuya wanted to hoard me all for himself?”

“I’m just irritated that I walked for fifteen minutes just so you can change your place of lazing around.” He grumbled. Before Dazai could contribute to their banter, Haruno was there, peeking in nervously.

“Um… Dazai-san? The president is asking… for you…” she trailed off, seemingly intimidated by Chuuya’s gaze alone.

“Is that so?” Dazai stood up, and Chuuya didn’t miss the one leg shooting out to keep balance when usually Dazai wouldn’t have needed that extra support. “I’ll be there~”

“Screw this, I’m going back.” Chuuya grumbled, shoving his hands to his pockets and walked away. “See you again, Kyou.” He patted the little girl’s head once before opening the door.

“Oh wait.” Dazai suddenly grabbed his jutting hoods to drag him back.

“What?”

“Here.” Dazai handed him a closed letter with a mischievous grin “Give this to your favourite old man of the day!”

“What?” Chuuya’s face twisted half in confusion and half in annoyed hostility.

“Just do it, do it!” he said as he pushed the smaller man out of the office and slammed the door right in front of his nose. Grumbling to himself, Chuuya pocketed it messily and stomped away. One block away from the agency, the fugitive mafioso was just walking when he heard a familiar voice.

“Nakahara-kun.”

Chuuya had to stop himself from snorting impolitely. On the alley he’s walking through, Hirotsu was standing with his hands folded behind his back, expression solemn.

“Hey there, Hirotsu-san.” He greeted, stepping into the darkness of the alley where he truly belonged. Hirotsu’s eyes stared at him critically.

“I believe you have a good reason for this?”

Chuuya thought to the brown envelope he’s going to burn the moment he’s back to the Agency apartment. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll trust your judgement.” Hirotsu nodded, eyes closed serenely. A smile curved Chuuya’s lips as he was once again reminded why he looked up to this man so much.

“Here.” He pulled out the letter Dazai entrusted to him and gave it to Hirotsu. “It’s from Dazai.”

“From Dazai-kun?” The older man caressed the letter after accepting it before slipping it into the inner pocket of his flowing black coat.

“He told me to give it to my favourite old man. Let me guess, did he call you here?”

Chuuya’s prediction was proven right when the ghost of a smile graced Hirotsu’s features.

“Unfortunately, I must leave now.” Hirotsu nodded to him. “It’s good to see you, Nakahara-kun. I wish you luck on whatever you are trying to accomplish.”

“You too, Hirotsu-san.”

When evening rolled around and Dazai came back from the Agency, he was met with Chuuya halfway up the stairs. The redhead lifted the brown envelope.

“I suddenly feel like playing fire. You coming?”

Shrugging, Dazai went back down the stairs again. Finding a suitable metal bowl lying around, they placed the envelope there, sprinkled some oil and finally a lighted matchstick.

As fire caught and crackled, Chuuya crouched in front of the gleam, poking it with a stick. Dazai was by his side; sometimes pointing out to a part still unconsumed by fire and Chuuya would push it to the middle until all that was left was black ashes.

.

.

Dazai has his first major aphasia episode four days later.

Chuuya was reading a random newspaper while drinking coffee he just bought from the café on the first floor when it happened. From the sound of it, Dazai was enjoying bullying his current partner now that he couldn’t retaliate physically.

Still, the shouts are so loud, louder than Chuuya’s, and he wondered if Dazai’s heads was ringing as bad as his just by listening to it.

It was just a word so simple—one that he should come across every day.

“Oh, Kunikida-kun! You know, you really are too dependent on your…” he trailed off, blinking when the word won’t come to him. “your…” he tried again, scowling when it still wouldn’t come.

Ideal. Chuuya didn’t even have to know Kunikida Doppo too well to know this.

The Mafioso didn’t need to peer over the paper walls to know that everyone was wearing the same goddamn sad expression. And if he couldn’t handle the thought, then it would be hundred folds worse for Dazai who was on the center of it.

So he stomped as loudly as possible to the room, squeezing the newspaper so that the sound of crinkling papers filled the room. “This is yesterday’s edition, shitty Dazai!” he shouted with a scowl. “I asked for today’s didn’t I?”

The ice broke along with Dazai’s answering retort.

.

.

By the next five days, it became a routine. Walk with Dazai to the Agency, get a cup of coffee, hang around in the break room and go back to the apartment at lunch time. Drag Dazai back along if it seemed like he couldn’t handle a full day. Have Atsushi help if he’s being a stubborn little shit.

There are a few things Chuuya learned about the Agency in that short span of time. That he hated Ranpo’s guts, the weretiger wasn’t as bad as Akutagawa made him up to be, and that Yosano is the angel from heaven that could control the whole office by herself but chose not to.

It’s good to have a routine he could stick to, but Chuuya was tempted to break it even if the clock was showing it’s only 11 AM. More than anything right now he just wanted to go back already since Dazai’s staring at him with puppy eyes that the fucker has perfected over the years as a weapon against him.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“For me?”

“I won’t even press a button to save you, what makes you think I would do this?”

“I’d buy you wine on the way back if you agree.”

“…what kind?”

“2014”

“2003.”

“2012”

“2007.”

“2010. With the side of fish and chips.”

“Fuck you, haggler. Deal.”

Chuuya stood up from the couch to the office area to drag another chair and placed it beside Dazai’s, who was now rubbing his face to the surface of his desk. Chuuya grabbed the documents he’s supposed to be proving and read it out loud. He knew Kunikida was keeping an eye and an ear on him, but he ignored the man because basically everyone was doing so too. They’re just much better at hiding it.

“Mmm… approve.” Dazai said after hearing the long-winded explanation about why they would start needing candy dispenser in the office.

“Seriously?” Chuuya asked with a dry look.

“Yep.”

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya grabbed a pen and signed the document. Almost as immediately as the pen left the paper, Kunikida was snatching it from him.

“Hey!” he shouted indignantly at the man who was scowling impressively down at the paper. But then he blinked. And blinked again. He pulled his eyeglasses off, rubbed it clean, put it on and blinked again.

“Did you write this?” he asked with incredulous voice, pointing to the forged name and signature.

“No. A dog came in and chewed the paper.” he asked with sarcasm dripping heavy from his voice.

“He’s good at forging my signature, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai said with his voice muffled by woods. “It’s going to be okay, trust me.”

Reluctantly, he obliged, putting the paper down in front of Chuuya and met him glare-for-glare before returning to his own desk. After signing three more documents, Chuuya threw his pen down and left with a grumble of needing to pee.

Dazai asked him to pee for his part too because he doesn’t feel like going to the bathroom. Chuuya threw a paperclip at his back, deciding that liver stones won’t be much a problem compared to the one Dazai already have and left anyway

After the call of nature was taken care of, Chuuya washed his hand religiously, splashing water to his face and let it dribble down his chin as he turned the tap off. After lifting his shirt to pat his face quickly, he stared at his own reflection, noticing the sunken eyes from restless sleep.

Before he could start some internal cussing exercise, the door to the bathroom opened and the weretiger stepped in, clicking the lock behind him. Raising an eyebrow, Chuuya leaned a hip against the sink, crossing his legs.

“Chuuya-san.” The boy started then trailed off as if not knowing where to start. Just as Chuuya was getting impatient, he finally asked; “Do you… care about Dazai-san?”

“Care?” Chuuya glared at the boy “Why the hell would I even be here, enduring your bullshit, if I don’t?”

The boy’s shoulders seem to shrink in guilt, but his eyes weren’t cowered just yet. They were burning.

“Then how could you be so strong?”  He asked with sadness clear in his tone. “You said you care about Dazai-san… and yet you act like that around him when you know that he’s—he’s—“ the word seemed like they were stuck in the boy’s throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and flinched away, gritting his teeth to bite back a noise.

Ah. So that’s the problem.

Chuuya straightened up with a sigh, shoving both hands into the pockets of his hoodie and walked to the boy. “Open the door.” He demanded.

“Not before you answer my question.” Atsushi demanded back, stance steadfast and refused to budge from his position.

“My answer is mine. You should look for your own.”

“Well, I don’t know where should I look!” he shouted before quickly calming down, aware that the whole office could hear him if he raise his voice. “I never have anyone who cared about me…. Anyone who I cared about before him. I just… I don’t know what I should do.” The boy shook his head, choppy white hair flying anywhere “Please… just tell me.”

Searching the boy’s utterly lost expression, Chuuya could find nothing that indicated deceit. There was only sorrow and the glimpse of hope behind heterochromatic eyes.

Bringing up a hand to scratch the back of his head, Chuuya sighed in exasperation. With one hand, he pinched the boy’s cheek and pulled it, tugging until the boy cried out, body following his finger, before he let it go. When the boy was rubbing his red cheeks, he stared into his eyes.

“Answer this yourself, brat. If you have someone you care about what would you prefer; knowing that they’ll suffer after you die, or that they’ll be alright even if you’re no longer there?”

He clicked the lock open and sidestepped the frozen tiger, returning to the desk where Dazai was sitting up, slouching slightly. He turned his head slightly to the side when Chuuya threw himself to his seat with a huff, picking up the next document.

“That was a long bathroom trip. Were you constipated?”

“The only thing I can’t seem to get out of my system is your face.” Chuuya said before he cut further bickering by starting to read the document aloud.

.

.

What made staying by Dazai’s side painful was the fact that Chuuya knew him far too well. When others easily fall for his smile and reassurance that he’s alright today, that his lack of energy was because of sleep deprivation and not the painkillers he had to take to even function, that his nausea has passed and his dizziness gone by how simply beautiful you ladies look today!, Chuuya couldn’t fall for it so easily. After all he trained himself to quickly read Dazai’s mood when they’re still partners, and it led him into reading far deeper than he needed.

That’s why when lunchtime came, Chuuya grabbed Dazai and dragged him to the dark computer room. He stared into Dazai’s eyes until the wall melted under the heat of his.

“Something you would like to say?” Chuuya asked, tone a little bit angry because Dazai was a stupid idiot who hid the fact that he’s upset so well Chuuya only realized it now.

After a moment of silence, Dazai look at him with a bright smile. They’re going out of the working environment whether he fight it or not, and Dazai knew this.

“I would like to visit Odasaku.” he requested.

Odasaku. When was the last time Chuuya heard that name? Four years ago? Five? He couldn’t remember. He could barely recall the face of the man that was once Dazai’s best friend, whether it be the color of his hair or the shape of his eyes; he was never closely acquaintanced with him in the first place.

(And Chuuya had despised him when he found that he’s the reason why Dazai left the Mafia.)

“Sure. Let’s go.”

They ended up borrowing Kunikida’s car because there’s really no one else they could reliably borrow vehicles from. The man’s eyes narrowed as if he’s holding back heartbreak when he saw Dazai skipping around with a carefree laugh, but he relinquished the keys easily. He told them to return before lunch break is over, but both knew that he wouldn’t enforce it like he usually would. 

The drive was rather eventful as they turned into the wrong street many times; sending the shorter man into cursing fits every time Dazai told him to turn back because they took the wrong route. The first few times Chuuya thought that Dazai did it to fuck with him, but when it happened again and again, he started to notice the pinch between the brunet’s eyebrows.

It seemed like pain; not of the physical kind. It was born from the fear of losing one’s own self to a cause that cannot be rectified.

Chuuya let one hand off the steering wheel to grab Dazai’s silently—offering what support he can without changing his expression or taking his eyes off the road.

A long breath was exhaled from Dazai’s lung as the man leaned back on the seat, lips curling into a rueful smile. “It seemed like I should have visited more often. My memory of going there is a bit rusty.”

“I can see that.” Chuuya answered, the bite of it sanded off.

There were a couple more sudden urge to turn back and a dozen more wrong turns; Chuuya never stopped the stream of complains whenever he was told they’re on the wrong street, but his words lacked the venom it had before he realized what was actually happening. Despite all that, in the end they did managed to reach the hills where Dazai said he buried Oda Sakunosuke’s body.

Dazai leaned heavily against him as they climbed upward, arm tangling with his. Many times he swayed, footing lost by the sickness that made him no longer capable of coordinating his movement. And Chuuya stopped his steps every time the taller man fell, but he never looked at Dazai whenever he’s on the ground. He stood still and silent, a sturdy branch for Dazai to lean against, a rock where he could drag his body up again. And afterward they’ll continue walking as if the fall never happened until the next one inevitably happen.

When they finally reach the tops of the hill, Dazai was covered in dirt and grasses as if he’d been rolling around in them. And probably that would have actually happened if Chuuya hadn’t had an arm constantly twined with his.

The sun has become red when they finally stepped in front of a row of headstones, made from white granite. This time, Dazai fell to his knees on his own accord, as if his body was no longer able to hold himself up.

“Hey, Odasaku. It’s been sometime hasn’t it? Happy birthday.” he greeted warmly with a tired voice.

Chuuya knew of moments when he’s unneeded or unwanted, and this was not one of them—Dazai wouldn’t bring him here if he didn’t want to. But he still let go of Dazai’s arm and walked away to lean against a large tree out of earshot, giving Dazai the privacy he deserved.

Sighing, Chuuya slid down to the ground, watching the sun sets into the horizons. The sky lost their color, gold and red drained away into deep purple then utter black. He watched quietly as the stars came out, one by one until they filled the whole sky with their twinkle. The crescent moon was also there, sitting calmly in front of the glittering sea like the anchor of night sky.

He has always had an appreciation for beauty, and the night sky full of celestial body was nothing but beautiful.

The night wind picked up and Chuuya shivered from the cold. The coat he’s wearing was rather thick, but then he remembered the flimsy thing Dazai favored because it ‘flapped dramatically with the wind’. He stood up and walked to where Dazai was, he could still see his figure still sitting in front of the white headstone, knees pulled up to press against his chest.

“—so you see, I’ll be seeing you again very soon.” He said softly, words carried over by the bite of wind. Chuuya nearly stopped his steps and was almost consumed by the desire to turn back to that tree again, not wanting to hear this. But he soldiered through and placed a hand on Dazai’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s already dark out. I think it’s high time we go back.” He suggested in a soft voice.

Dazai was warm beneath his palm, even from the layers he’s wearing. The brunet was silent for a moment before he nodded.

“Yeah. Kunikida-kun would be calling the police if we don’t come back soon.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Why do I feel like that statement isn’t fully a joke?” Chuuya huffed in amusement, pinching fabric between two fingers and tugging up. “Well, what are you waiting for? I’m hungry and cold. I want to go to sleep soon and it’s not going to happen here.”

“Ah, Chuuya is so impatient. How did you even get to become an Executive with that short fuse?”

“My fuse is only short when it concerned you, bastard.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, then.”

Dazai didn’t answer, he didn’t even lift his face from Oda’s headstone. Just when worry was building in Chuuya’s chest, crawling up the space of his throat, Dazai tilted his head up and grinned at him.

“I’m so tired from climbing this hill, Chuuya. Carry me home?”

“What are you, a kid? What sort of twenty-three years old ask to be carried? By men their age nonetheless!” he grouched even as he crouched in front of Dazai, offering his back. Bandaged arms wrapped around his shoulder, warm chest pressing up against his back.

Chuuya heaved as he stood up, bearing the full weight of Dazai on his back. The hot breath hitting his cheek and neck confirmed his fear; Dazai was having a temperature. Frowning, he crouched back down and put Dazai back to the ground, making the brunet let out a confused sound.

“Chuuya--? Why--?” but he was cut short when a large black coat was wrapped around him as a second layer of protection against the night wind. After making sure that the coat would stay where they are perched on Dazai’s shoulders, Chuuya lifted him up again.

He started the trek back to the car, walking down the slope of the hill carefully with the added difficulty of the weight on his back and the darkness of night. But he didn’t voice even one complaint, determinedly placing one foot in front of the other, letting his action speak for him.

Dazai rested his head on a shoulder, slender but so strong, holding up his body almost effortlessly. He closed his eyes and buried his face deeper into the simple shirt Chuuya was wearing, taking a deep breath.

“You remember the promise you made to me, Chuuya?”

The smaller man nearly stopped walking when he heard the sudden question, but he shook it off quickly, resuming his pace in silence. He’s aware of what Dazai was talking about, after all he only ever made one promise to Dazai; one that would be broken soon.

“I do.” He answered.

He could feel Dazai’s breath so hot on his exposed skin as he chuckled. “I have never thanked you for that, huh?”

“Why? Even though I said it, it still ended like this. I’m supposed to take care of you dammit.” Chuuya hissed, brows furrowing in building anger at himself, at the world, at the carefree tone Dazai’s using to suggest he did something worthy of gratitude.  

Even though I promised to protect you the way you protected me.

“But you did.”

“Huh?”

“I’m twenty-three years old this year; do you know how young I’ll die if not for you?”

And it was the painkiller Dazai had in the car before the climb that had his tongue so loose, Chuuya knew this. The brunet wouldn’t let such vulnerability out in the open air when he’s of sound mind.  “Dazai….”

“I never thought I’d live to be this old.” He mumbled, loud enough to be heard since his mouth is close to Chuuya’s ears. “I don’t blame you for me dying. I blame you for keeping me alive so long. But… could you promise me one more thing?”

“….What is it?”

Dazai pressed his lips against his chilled ear and whispered his wishes. This time, Chuuya really did stop walking, taking deep breath after deep breath to calm himself, to quell  the surge of emotions threatening to break free from the constraint of his mouth, to roll of his tongue in cries and denials.

He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed through the block in his throat. “I’ll do that.”

He could feel the curve of Dazai’s smile against his ear before that warmth disappear as Dazai dropped his head to his shoulder once again.

“I’m tired.” He demanded “Walk faster, Chuuya. I want to go home.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fucking slavedriver.” He grumbled and adjusted Dazai’s weight on his back.

It’s heavy.

.

.

.

The next day, Dazai was bedridden with a high fever. Yosano, who he called in the moment he realized that the temperature has climbed higher than last night, whacked him on the head when she found out he let Dazai sit on cold ground in October night wind for hours with only a spring coat to ward off the cold.

As he rubbed his stinging head, that woman’s whack was really painful dammit, Chuuya couldn’t help but thought that he deserved that. Yosano gave him supplements, cold medicine and more painkillers with directions of how to and not to take them in combinations. She left for work with an advice of keeping the sick man well-hydrated.

Break time rolled around and the front door was opened to let Atsushi and Tanizaki in. The two of them seemed like they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves in the bedside of the sick senior detective that they knew to always be larger than life.

Taking pity on them, Chuuya had Atsushi wiping away sweat from his mentor’s face with a cold towel so he don’t overheat and showed Tanizaki how to hydrate an unconscious patient. He pretended that he didn’t see the tears clinging to their eyelashes or the way they periodically snorted wetly and rub their faces on the crook of their elbow.  

Evening came and with it also came Kunikida. The fact that he didn’t scold Tanizaki and Atsushi who ditched work to spend the whole afternoon tending to Dazai was a testament of how important his partner was for him.

The older man was a hurricane as he stomped around the apartment, muttering to himself with his hands never stopped working on one thing or another. When he stepped out, herding Atsushi and Tanizaki with him, the apartment was so glowing Chuuya could see his own reflection on pan bottoms.

The next day Dazai’s temperature came down and he could annoy Chuuya perfectly fine. When the two boys and Kyouka visited him, they seemed to be relieved to see Dazai now capable of sitting up and laughing again. The next day, it has completely vanished. He was almost better than he has been ever since his diagnosis. Not only was his fever gone, he could stand up and walk despite the stumble every now and then. Even his aphasia wasn’t as bad as it was.

Seeing his cheerful face that only had the slightest hint of pain, Chuuya let him go to the Agency with the condition of being driven there by Kunikida. The moment the two children found out their mentor was going to the office, they actually came running back from said workplace back to the dorm so they could join the car ride.

Chuuya wondered what Dazai has fed those kids with to make them adore him so much. God knows he’s a pain in the ass who would screw up someone’s day for shit and giggles

He walked beside Dazai when he descended the stairs, one step at a time. They didn’t touch; there was a certain distance between their shoulder in the space offered by the cramped stairway. Whenever Dazai showed sign of stumbling, Chuuya’s hand would shot out discreetly, grabbing the fabric of his coat and let it go when his balance was regained.

When he was finally on steady ground again, he left Chuuya’s side to tease Kunikida. Maybe has was bored of Chuuya, whose reaction was always fifty-fifty between getting flustered or retaliating with verbal violence now he couldn’t commit physical one, and wanted fresh blood to torture.

That’s none of his business, though. He thought to himself as he climbed the stairs again.

He was there to watch as the four people went into the car; Kunikida behind the wheels, Kyouka in the navigator’s seat, which left Dazai on the back with Atsushi. Chuuya didn’t miss how Dazai subtly rejected the boy’s offer for help in going into the car. He also didn’t miss the crestfallen look on the boys’ face when he realized his help was unwanted.

And Dazai must have been getting soft from all the time he’s out in the light—instead of brushing it off like Chuuya thought he would, Dazai seemed to feel bad for the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder, using it as leverage as he climbed in and sat down.

The Nakajima brat seemed a world happier just by having Dazai lean on him for a little bit.

When the car zoomed away, one window open for Dazai to flutter his handkerchief and shout his dramatic goodbyes with a grin (dramatic goodbyes that included a request for him to eat the rat poison in the kitchen’s third drawer and choke on it before he come back home, naturally), Chuuya didn’t even bother to respond with words—he just rolled his eyes, showed the bastard a middle finger and went back to the apartment.

With the laundry magically disappearing last night, possibly into Kunikida’s apartment, to come back impressively pristine and the dishes taken care of by two women with long hair this morning, both of them claiming to be a staff of the Agency, there was nothing else he could do.

(About the two women, he was already on his way to flirting with the one with long black hair. He found her to be very beautiful. But when he tried to charm her, he saw Dazai looking at him from behind the girl’s shoulder. What’s most disturbing was that he’s not even teasing Chuuya for trying to pick up a younger girl—he just stared at him in horror and shook his head slowly.

Just by that he knew the girl is bad news and took measured steps back.)

With nothing else to do, he folded the futon and removed the round table from the tatami room. Taking off his shirt and tying his hair up with a random rubber band he found, Chuuya began his routine of working out that he has been neglecting for the past few days.

After so long, he enjoyed the pleasant burn of exertion in his muscle. He stood on both hands, already panting from the set of acrobatic he has done, to execute a twelve-set handstand push up. He varied it with only left hand, only right hand, then both.

He has to give it to Dazai, the guy know how to choose a house with good beam. It didn’t even creak when Chuuya hung upside down from it. He saw rope marks there, probably left over of him trying to hang himself, as he used it as a station for upside-down sit-up.

When he dropped from the beam in a graceful crouch, his stomach was burning and sweat ran down his body in streams. Executing a perfect split, he stretched his muscles as he gave his body a time to cool down.

But just as he was about to start his set of kicks, a frantic knock was heard from the door. Panting for breath, Chuuya grabbed his shirt and patted his flushed cheeks with it, letting it absorb the worst of the sweat as he walked to the door. “I’m coming!” he shouted.

Slinging the shirt over his shoulder, he opened the door to be faced with one of Agency’s member. A boy with red hair and oversized shirt. But when his eyes dropped to the figure he’s holding up, Chuuya’s eyes widened.

“Dazai?” he yelled with a slight choke. Diving down, he wrapped arms around broad shoulder and taking his weight away from Tanizaki’s trembling knees, ready to drop from the load.

“What happened?” He asked when he realized Dazai was unresponsive, head lolling on Chuuya’s shoulder.

“I don’t—we were just walking and looking for clues.” The boy shook his head, expression part fearful part sad. “And then he just suddenly fainted. The dorms are closer than the office, so I thought…”

“It’s okay. You thought right.” Chuuya assured him.

A muffled whimper was heard and Dazai was cracking his eyes open, brown orbs dull as he blinked.

“Gross sweat, grosser stink. Have you been working out in my room, Chuuya?” he jabbed weakly with his words.

“Yeah, and I had sweat all over your floor.” He growled. “The fuck are you doing walking around town in your condition?”

“Work.” He shot back before going to become unresponsive again, burying his face on Chuuya’s neck.

“Dazai-san…” Tanizaki said with worried voice, “Will you be alright?”

“I will.” He said with a cheerful tone without pulling his face away from sticky skin, either he’s comfortable there or didn’t have enough energy to move. Chuuya suspected the latter because as Dazai himself has noted, he stunk. “Thanks for getting me home, Tanizaki-kun.”

“It’s okay, kid. I got it from here.” Chuuya nodded at Tanizaki. The boy seemed to be conflicted for a moment, torn between staying by the older detective’s side and relinquishing him to a Port Mafia Executive’s hand, who was now on their side, but a member of criminal organization nonetheless.

It was Dazai’s smile that had Tanizaki wavering in his choice. “You go ahead, Tanizaki-kun. Atsushi-kun would soon need support; you’d want to be there.”

Lips thinning into a tight line, the red-haired boy nodded and left with one last look to Dazai and Chuuya.

The moment he’s out of the door, Chuuya was burying his hand in Dazai’s hair, pressing him down gently to rest his head on hard shoulder. “What happened?” he asked. 

“I can’t see, Chuuya.” He said softly, hiding his face in Chuuya’s shoulder. “My right eyesight went away when I got to the Agency’s office. And then my left was gone when I walked and I fainted.”

Chuuya forced his frozen hand to move again, forcing his body not to lock up and drag Dazai to the floor where he could wrap around the taller man in a knee-jerk reaction from the instinct to protect him. Instead, he gripped Dazai’s bicep and straightened him, looking straight into his unresponsive eyes.

“’s that so? Well, tough luck. You just have to suck it up, wimp.” He scolded the brunet.

Dazai snorted, the darkness receded from his expression, replaced with a smirk. Not gone, just suppressed for another day. “I guess I just have to look at the bright side, huh?”

“Are you seriously making blind jokes in this situation? Unbelievable.” Chuuya groaned, a hand on Dazai’s back as he guide him through the space of the detective’s apartment.

“I mean, really it has so many upside. Ever since you forced yourself on my humble home I’ve been forced to see your ill-giving face every day. Like this I won’t have to be threatened with vomiting my guts up every time I come back from work.”

“You did nothing but faint in the office anyway. As if you could call that work.” He grumbled and let him down on the couch. “Stay there, I’ll bring you something to drink.”

“Ahh… the joy of having a dedicated housewife. Please prepare my bath next.” He sighed dramatically.

“…Are you really so desperate you’re willing to marry me?” Chuuya asked with pure disgust coloring his tone “And what do you want as bath salt? Bleach, toxic or acid, my dearest honey-bunny sweetie?”

“On second thought, no. Bring me the bucket, I’m going to barf.”

.

.

.

Dazai’s headaches have been getting worse.

Three days has passed since he lost his sight and it seemed like it has returned, bit by bit, until he could see shadows and contours but not details. Chuuya would sometimes found him blinking down at something without touching it, as if trying to identify what it was by his damaged eyesight alone. It’s stupid, but something of Dazai seemed to be cracking whenever he was met with failure.

The detective still went to the Agency office. Day by day, the atmosphere was getting heavier and heavier until Chuuya has to escape to the other room and smoke in peace there. Sometimes Kenji would join him and told stories about his magical homeland, sometimes Yosano would appear with a sad yet understanding smile, on rare cases Kunikida would and they’d both smoke in silence.

“Why do you care about him so much?” the man asked him one day and Chuuya huffed out nicotine, staring out to the city skyline.

“I sometimes wonder why myself.” He murmured back.

Dazai stopped getting field duties, exchanged for paperworks that most of the time fell into Chuuya’s hands anyway. No one protested when they saw him working on the detective’s neglected desk as Dazai napped on the couch, warmed by his own coat, Chuuya’s and Kunikida’s.

(It didn’t escape his notice that the blond detective started wearing thick, long coats to the office after he noticed how Dazai was wrapped in Chuuya’s yet still shivered in his sleep. Chuuya didn’t comment.)

Everyone in the office knew about the syringe Yosano gave to him. And day by day, every member’s shoulders were dragged down even further by the knowledge that with the brunet getting weaker and weaker, the date also looms closer.

 Chuuya lifted his face from the desk, cracking his backbone and stared out of the window into the twilight. With a grunt, he stood up and walked to the couch where Dazai still dozing off.

“Oi, Dazai.” He called out, shaking Dazai’s body as gently as he could. “It’s time to go home.”

The brunet grumbled, eyes blinking open before it squeezed shut again with a small moan of pain. This was Chuuya’s most hated part, the way Dazai was so vulnerable after his nap in a public place. Chuuya stood in a way that would block any other people’s line of sight to the taller male, but it didn’t feel enough.

“You want me to get Kunikida to drive us there?” he offered. He knew Dazai was an utter ass about needing help from the people around him, religiously believing in his own strength to pull through. When he gazed at Chuuya, there was pain in his gaze that told the red-haired male that the painkillers must have worn off in the duration of his sleep.

Dazai’s body was getting used to it; he would need bigger doses to ward away the pain. Chuuya  grabbed an arm and injected another dose, watching as brown eyes became darker and darker until long eyelashes flutter shut as its owner fell asleep again.

“You okay there?” Kunikida asked, poking his head in.

“Yeah. Can you help me bring him to the car?” Chuuya asked, already pulling Dazai from the makeshift blanket that was piles of coats. Both of them grabbed an arm and slung it over their shoulders, dragging Dazai out and into the elevator.

At the car ride back, Dazai opened his eyes with a groan. He blinked his eyes open to see Kunikida’s eyes flicker to him from the rearview mirror, silent since he has a very strict ethic of driving a car.

Beside him, Chuuya was asleep, cheek pressed against the cold window and snoring slightly. His sleeping face was nowhere near as elegant as when he was awake, Dazai snorted at that fact.

“You’re feeling okay?” Kunikida asked in a soft voice.

“Mmm… sleepy.” He chuckled lightly “But, yeah.”

There was silence for another minute, Dazai staring out to the sky of dusk without seeing anything.

“Hey, Kunikida-kun. You’re going to lead the Agency someday, aren’t you?” he asked, carefully sifting through the information in his mind that has clumped together and turned into a swamp from which he couldn’t escape.

“If no one else of better leadership quality comes around, then yes.” He confirmed.

“If you’re at the lead, then it’s going to be okay.” A smiled curved Dazai’s lips as he closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat. “I’m sure that everything would be just fine.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because if it’s Kunikida-kun, then any problem can be reliably solved. The Agency would be okay as long as you’re around to take care of it.” He murmured, voice heavy with sleep and painkillers.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Kunikida huffed then fell silent.

“It is.”

Dazai missed how Kunikida’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, the way his mouth was turned down into a frown that would be visible from the mirror.

Inside the gentle jostling and rumble of the car as they made their way home in the twilight, Dazai’s words felt too much like goodbye.

.

Chuuya was woken up from his nap when the car stopped. He blinked his blue eyes open, stretching to pop the bones in his back before sighing. Glancing to the side, he found that Dazai has fallen asleep again, curling in the seat.

Dazai’s door was opened and Kunikida grabbed the young man gently, letting his head roll into the crook of his shoulder and carried the brunet in his arms up to the dorm. Chuuya grabbed the car key dangling from his pocket before he left and locked the car before following up so he could open the door of Dazai’s apartment room for Kunikida.

The blond put his partner down on the futon already prepared in the tatami room before kneeling formally on Dazai’s bedside, staring at his sleeping face.

Chuuya left him, opting to silently make some bitter tea in the kitchen. When two cups was ready, he brought them without care for the burn of his palm. He sat cross-legged beside the detective and handed him one of the ceramic cup.

They drank in silence.

After what felt like a long time, Kunikida finally drained his lukewarm drink, standing up and walked to the kitchen area. Chuuya could hear the tap turning on as the man washed the cup with the precision that defined him who he was.

“I’m going now.” He said, voice heavy.

“Yeah.”

“Oi, Nakahara.” Chuuya turned his head when the detective called his name. He could see the grave expression on Kunikida’s face. The man opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but then he closed it again and left the room without saying anything.

Night has fallen when Dazai finally opened his eyes again. He realized that Chuuya was lying down on the tatami mats beside him, eyes closed and red curls spreading everywhere. He reached out to grab the locks that for some reason were longer than the rest, twirling it between his fingers.

“You’re awake?” Chuuya asked without opening his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sapphire eyes opened and the owner glanced at Dazai whose hand was still tangled in red hair. “Bath or dinner?” He said lowly.

“Bath. Give me hot water.” Dazai demanded with equally low voice, anything else would make his ears ring.

Nodding, Chuuya stood up and prepared the bath. Dazai was barely able to stand up, but he gritted his teeth and did just that with Chuuya watching from the open bathroom door. The shorter man still grabbed his arm when they’re in the bathroom because falling here meant death unlike falling in the tatami room. Dazai sat down on the rim of the tub and only then did Chuuya let go of his arm.

Chuuya left him to his own device, grabbing apples and quietly peeled them one by one, cutting the fruit into bite sizes. He read somewhere that a little bit of apples can help with nausea, which was what Dazai has been feeling almost constantly.

When he was done cutting two of it, Chuuya placed them in the refrigerator for later then washed the knife he just used along with his hands that was stained by the juice. He squinted his eyes, feeling as if something was off.

Casting his eyes around to look for the source, his gaze fell to the knife he just washed.

Strange, he was sure that they had two knives. But there was only one in the pantry….

Eyes widening in horror, Chuuya made a break to the closed bathroom door, tap still running in the sink but forgotten. Banging his fist on the wood, he cursed when he realized it was locked. Dazai must have rigged it to lock itself the moment Chuuya was out the door.

Rearing back, Chuuya kicked the door in, wood splintering under the combined force of his strength and Ability. Not caring of the jutting pieces of wood that broke through his skin, Chuuya jumped through the hole into the bathroom.

“Dazai!” he shouted with terror when he saw the brunet sitting on the floor, back against the wall with red spreading all around him from the open wound of his wrist, the knife glinting in the light of overhead fixture.

Later, Chuuya could barely recall what happened afterward. But at that moment, when panic and fear gripped him, he grabbed Dazai’s wrist and the flutter of pulse he could still fell was a wash of clean water into the building magma that was his being.

He grabbed the showerhead and dragged it closer to wash the wound with high pressure, making Dazai whimper in pain, before making sure that it’s dry before pressing a bundle of clean scraps of bandages, stemming the blood.

“Ah… thwarted again.” Dazai mumbled to himself with a rueful smirk. “It’s funny how you could look so calm in this situation.”

“What part of me looks calm?” Chuuya hissed angrily, chest constricting from the sadness that he forcefully turned into fire. He twisted a fist into Dazai’s collar, tugging him harshly closer.

Dazai stared at him, eyes dark and emotionless. It reminded Chuuya of the legendary Executive that even now still haunted the streets of Yokohama by his title alone. But the illusion was broken by the crack of a grin.

“Stop caring so much, Chuuya.” He whispered, words falling from his tongue like honeyed poison. “You know it’ll only bring pain.”

A fist was raised and it hit the wall just beside Dazai’s head. Chuuya was breathing hard, fingers twisting deeper into the fold of Dazai’s shirt. They sat like that for a moment, Chuuya’s head bowed as he tried to stem the fury so they won’t overflow. But then Dazai leaned forward, pressing his face into his head.

“It hurts.” Dazai mumbled into red hair. “I just want it all to stop.”

“I know. I know, but this is not how you should do it.” He whispered back harshly. “I will be the one to kill you. I won’t accept anything else.”

“Then why aren’t you yet? I’m starting to think you don’t want me to die.” He said again. This time, Chuuya swallowed before he let go of Dazai’s collar, shifting until his back hit the wall beside Dazai’s.

“Hmph, you can die whenever the fuck and however the hell you want. As I said, I’ll even help you.” Chuuya said, sliding down the wall to press his shoulder to Dazai’s “But the people at the Agency deserve better than that. Especially those brats of yours. You picked them up, take responsibility.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Dazai chuckled, but he quickly fell silent when it proved to be too much. Chuuya crossed his feet over one of Dazai’s, hooking their ankles together.

“You will kill me when the time comes, Chuuya?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall for a moment before he nodded.

“I will.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“…Okay.”

.

.

Today would be the day.

Chuuya woke up in the morning with that knowledge weighting heavy on the back of his mind. Methodically he went to the bathroom to take a shower while preparing a hot bath for Dazai. The moment he’s out, Dazai would be awake and he’d carry him, too weak to stand on his own in early mornings, to the bathroom where he would leave the taller man in the tub to clean himself. Hot water should help with the pain.

After fifteen minutes, he returned with a change of clothes to find Dazai sitting in the tub drained of water and already toweled himself dry, brown curls sticking out everywhere.

“Bandages?” Chuuya asked.

“Uh-huh.”

Grabbing rolls of them from the cabinet, Chuuya bandaged his legs while Dazai did his arms. When the taller man inevitably stopped, arms weighted by the pain returning to wreak havoc in his body, Chuuya continued where he left off.

When the other man was decent, Chuuya helped him back to the futon, the stubborn idiot resolved on walking there even if he has to lean heavily on the other man for support, already replaced with a fresh one. The one stained with sweat from last night has been banished to the laundry.

Chuuya left him to settle between the sheets of the futon, going to the kitchen to grab a bowl from the refrigerator. As he fed slices of cold banana to Dazai, he asked about today’s plan.

“I already notified Kunikida-kun. He’d tell the others.” Dazai answered after he swallowed the fruit. It was one of the only things he could stomach now, even soup was getting too punishing for his system.

Chuuya hummed. “Painkillers?”

“No.” Dazai answered as he accepted another piece of banana and chewed. Chuuya nodded in understanding.

A knock was heard from the front door and the two of them stared at it. Glancing at the clock told them that it was only six in the morning, an ungodly hour for anyone to be visiting even if said visitee was unhealthy. Especially if said visitee was unhealthy.

“I’ll check.” Chuuya said as he stood up.

When he opened the door, he fully expected one of the Agency members living the same dorm. Or even The Boss because that would be just like him to drop by at this hour to fuck with people’s mind. But he was faced with a humongous bouquet of flower.

“Uhh…” Chuuya blinked at the white flowery parade going on in his sight.

“Oh, hello is this the house of… Dazai Nao-san?” the stranger with flowers asked, clearly reading the name off a clipboard.

“My given name’s pronounced Osamu.” He corrected and pointed to the flowers. “Delivery?”

“Yep. If you could just write your name and sign here. Not to offend or anything but people are still naming their kids with those kind of ancient names?”

“You’d be surprised.” Easily, Chuuya forged Dazai’s signature and handwriting. It was one of the things he picked up from living with him for so long. At this point not even experts could say that his forgery looks wrong.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your hard work, but what’s with the early hour, man? You eying for promotion or something?” Chuuya asked, exasperation bleeding in his voice, as he gave the clipboard back.

“Uhh, yeah. The sender turned this in last night and asked for it to be sent as early as possible today. Paid triple to make it came true.” He shrugged. “Just doing the job, you know?”

“Yeah.” Chuuya sighed.

“All seems in order.” The delivery man said as he checked the form. “Here you go. Good day, Dazai-san.” He handed the flowers and walked away while tipping his hat. Nodding politely, Chuuya closed the door and walked back to the futon where Dazai’s still lying down.

“Who was that—Whoa… am I hallucinating, Chuuya?”

The red-head snorted “I wish I’m hallucinating too.” He muttered as he placed the lavish bouquet beside him, right in Dazai’s line of sight.

“Who sent that?” Dazai asked, incredulity creeping into his voice. “It’s huge.”

“So even half-blind you could tell, huh.” Shaking his head, Chuuya ran his hand carefully over the flower until he found something that was definitely not plant. “Ah, there’s a card here.”

He flipped it open and read the words in the card. Ending with the sender’s name.

Dazai closed his eyes, seemingly falling asleep if not for the slight furrowing of his brows. “Him… huh….?” He opened them again. “What flowers are there, Chuuya?”

“There’s daffodils, white chrysanthemum…” he named the flowers easily. “And… there’s a bluebell as centerpiece.”

Dazai hummed in answer, blinking slowly. “Always so sentimental, Ango.” He mumbled.

“What do you want me to do with this thing, Dazai?” he asked while motioning to the bouquet. Dazai reached out for it and caressed the petals. He pulled the bluebell out and played with it before tucking the fragile flower beneath his pillow.

“Please throw out the rest.”

.

As Dazai has predicted, the first person to visit was Tanizaki who lived in the room just beside his. It’s almost like he was listening in and the moment he realized they’re up and about he’s been anxious to wait for a respectable time for invading other people’s home.

Hanging from his arm was the black-haired girl Chuuya tried to flirt with. She seemed sad as she walked in with the red-haired boy, both sitting by Dazai’s bedside.

“Tanizaki-kun, Naomi-chan.” He smiled. “It’s still kind of early, so I hope you don’t mind me lying down like this.”

“Of course not, Dazai-san.” Naomi smiled back, eyes already filling with tears. “Oh, I made some sweets yesterday. You liked the tiramisu I made, didn’t you? I made a whole cake just for you.” She said, fighting back tear as she placed a small box by his futon. Almost immediately, Dazai’s eyes brightened up.

“Really? That’s so kind of you!” he cooed. “Naomi-chan’s cakes are the best. You should teach me how to make them next time.”

Naomi laughed and even Tanizaki was chuckling through the tears clinging to their eyelashes. “Sure, Dazai-san. Just… come by when you feel better and I’ll you my secret recipe, okay?” she squeezed his hand.

“And yes, I’d even taste-test all of your experiment, you know?” Tanizaki grinned. “If Dazai-san’s there it would be better than the usual anyway.”

“Big brother, are you saying the cakes I made are usually bad?” Naomi asked, cheeks puffed out.

“Of course not, Naomi!” he frantically waved his hands in defense. “I’m just saying that—that Dazai-san likes cakes so much so he should be able to make some, right?”

“Hmm… what do you think Chuuya? Was the cake I made good?” Dazai asked.

“Dunno. I fainted in one bite, remember?”

Tanizaki looked like he regretted even suggesting.

After a lighthearted conversation with every part of the party ignoring any snort and sudden need to wipe one’s face on a shirt, the siblings was gone with the promise of making more cakes for Dazai when he recover from his illness. Chuuya could hear the girl breaking into tears right before the door was closed.

Five minutes later and Chuuya was fetching a bucket from the bathroom.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Chuuya said quietly as he rubbed Dazai’s back who was vomiting into it, the other hand holding back his hair.

“I can’t just let a lady’s hard work go to waste, Chuuya.” He said hoarsely when he stopped heaving.

“Hand over the rest.” He hissed hotly, swiping the remaining three-quarter of the cake. “It’s going to be more of a waste if you just ended up throwing them back up.”

Dazai put up a fuss from having his treat taken away. His cries were one of horrified indignation when Chuuya quickly stuffed his cheeks with the tiramisu until there’s nothing left. But in the end, it was a game of Chuuya knew Dazai knew thirty times over because both of them were aware that Chuuya hated sweets.

.

Surprisingly, the second one to visit was Kenji and Yosano. Both of them walked through the door bringing cheer and laughter to the room that was so heavy with Tanizaki sibling’s visit. Since the morning has largely passed, the pain has receded into a level where Dazai could stuff them into a box and ignore it in favor of sitting up on his futon.

“Ah, such young kids wouldn’t know how to appreciate a good life.” Yosano sighed while cradling his cheek. “Poor you, having to suffer through their spectacular youth. Good thing we’re here to celebrate, not cry over what is the most natural thing in the world.”

“Dazai-san, I brought a charm from my homeland.” Kenji frolicked to his bedside and gave him a small bag with patterns of gold sakura stitched on the surface.

“Wasn’t this your prized possession, Kenji-kun?” Dazai blinked as he rolled it on his palm, feeling the stones inside rub together. “You’re giving it to me?”

“Yes.” Kenji grinned as he crouched down. “My mom told me that I should give it away when I find a place to belong.  And then the person who I gave it to could find their own and give it away again!”

Even Dazai seemed touched by the sentiment of the innocent boy.

“Here’s my gift for you, Dazai-kun.” Yosano said as she pulled out a bottle of wine from god-knows-where and slammed it down on the tatami floor. “Chateau Lafite, 1865. Be grateful I’m opening this for you!”

Hearing the name of the brand and year was enough to have Chuuya’s eyes to sparkle as he crouched down to inspect the bottle, fingers almost religious as he tilted the bottle carefully to look at the label. “Holy shit, it’s the real thing.” He breathed in amazement.  

“Of course. I had a few… troubles in getting my hand on this beauty.” She said as she pulled out two wineglasses “I can’t wait to finally taste it.”

Kenji and Dazai watched in open amusements the two of them fawned over the bottle and actually made a big deal about opening it. They groaned almost in unison when the wine was poured into glasses. Dazai wouldn’t know the difference in hue and smell and the sort, but it seemed the two who actually knew was enchanted by those two factors alone.

“Why do I feel like I’m witnessing the birth of a nightmarish duo?” Dazai murmured to himself in glee, pain forgotten on the back of his mind as he watched Chuuya without the strain of worry that has almost been permanently etched on his figure ever since Dazai was diagnosed with terminal illness. There was now only childish glee as he lifted the glass and tossed Yosano.

“Oooh…” The two of them similar orgasmic sigh when the red liquid finally hit their tongue and the two observers finally broke into fits of laughter.

“Hey, hey let me have some of that too. Isn’t that supposed to be my present?” Dazai whined when his fit of laughter subsided, slapping tatami mats with open palm.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m drinking it for you.” Chuuya nodded sagely and clicked his finger toward Yosano. “And the reason is—!”

“—because alcohol is not good for brain tumor!” Yosano cheered, lifting her glass. “So we’ll drink in your memory, Dazai-kun. Don’t worry, this wine is excellent to remember you by!”

“I’m not dead, I’m dying!” Dazai whined, rolling his eyes in theatrical exasperation. “It’s not going to matter whether I have a drink or not, so let me have some already.”

“Ssh, ssh, shhh. Shut up. The dead are not supposed to speak, silly.” Chuuya said, a throwback to the argument they had. Chuuya turned back to Yosano and drained his glass in tandem with her, listening to Kenji’s bright laughter and Dazai’s whining.

He wished it could stay like this forever.

.

Izumi Kyouka was next, slipping in the moment Kenji and Yosano was out, steady feet barely making any whisper and clothes that barely rustle. Her way of moving was truly befitting of a talented assassin. She stood in the doorway to the tatami room, staring at Dazai intently. The older man smiled at her, beckoning her closer with a wave of his hand.

“Why are you just standing there, Kyouka-chan? Come here.”

After blinking once, Kyouka obliged; movement smooth as if gliding to the futon. She sat down by him, staring up his pale face with a sad frown. Lifting a hand, she messed through the brown locks on Dazai’s forehead carefully.

“Does it hurt?” She asked quietly. Dazai smiled, nodding.

“It hurts.” He answered honestly.

And that was how Dazai always was with his prized wards, Chuuya supposed. He didn’t care about shielding them from the world; on the contrary he placed them where the storm could beat against them the worst so that the moment they came out from beneath his wings, they’d be able to fly through any ordeal.

He has seen it happen once, reflected in the steel that has replaced gray eyes. It seemed like he’s seeing it again now, even though it’s a little bit watered down, more peaceful. There was no harsh words meant to hurt, no kicks and punches that would cruelly take a child’s capability of eating and walking for the next few days.

There were just the harsh truth, and sometimes that hurts the most.

Kyouka frowned even deeper, hands clutching white shirt as if conflicted about what to do. And he understood the sentiment—they are people raised in the darkness and sustained by blood. They know twenty ways about how to kill a person with a pencil but none about how to comfort someone important.

But in the end she settled for gently pushing Dazai’s chest down with both small hands until he’s lying on the futon. She climbed in and snuggled to him, face pressing up against his neck and arms barely capable of wrapping around him.

“Whenever I’m scared Atsushi would hold me like this and it’ll all go away.” Kyouka admitted quietly. “It’s so comforting and warm.”

Dazai smiled, patting Kyouka’s hair. “You’re right. It is.”

“Are you still scared?”

“I never am.”

“Liar.”

This time Dazai grinned, burying his face in dark hair. “Smart girl.”

.

Ranpo came bursting in when Kyouka was still in the room almost two hours later, quietly snuggled up against her mentor. He made so much noise that Chuuya was tempted to shove him out the door he just came in.

“Oi, Dazai!” he bellowed as he stepped into the tatami room, meeting Chuuya’s glare with equal intensity. “Oh, you’re still here, Kyouka-chan? Sorry, you want me to come later?”

Kyouka shook her head as she rose from her position. After a brief consideration, she leaned back down to peck Dazai’s cheek before finally standing up and left the room as quietly as she has come. Watching her leave, Ranpo shrugged, opting instead to walk to where Dazai was struggling to sit up.

He plopped down by the futon, not bothering to help the younger man up as he rummaged through the bag he always had by his side. For any other people that would seem cruel, but Chuuya saw the pure intention of pretending not to see Dazai’s pain so the stubborn bastard could still act as if he’s alright.

“So, you’re really dying this time, huh?” he said as he pulled out a paper-wrapped package.

“Ugh, yeah. This really sucks, Ranpo-san; I wanted to die without pain but here I am, dying in one of the most painful way possible.” He complained like a child would to another child.

“Hmm, well you can’t do anything about that. At least you’ll be too busy being dead tomorrow to mind the pain.”

They met each other’s eyes and were silent for a moment before they burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

Strange brotherhood it was, Chuuya could only squint at them; not getting what’s so funny that Ranpo was hitting the ground with his fist as he laughed. Even Dazai was bent in two while holding his stomach. Is this how geniuses act around each other? Is he just too stupid to read the subtexts that would be so clear to them?

Chuuya decided he was and ignored the two in favor of reading his guide to thumb wrestling.

“Oh here, got this for you.” Ranpo unwrapped the package and pulled out a white manjuu before shoving it to Dazai. “It’s the president’s favorite.”

Dazai hummed appreciatively and laughed when he saw that the manjuu has been bitten and all the sweet red bean paste has been eaten, leaving only the white outer layer. Still, he ate it.

.

“You are stupid.” Chuuya grumbled as he held back Dazai’s hair for the second time that day. “Why should you eat every damn bit of food shoved your way? That guy wasn’t even a lady.”

“Ugh. This is why you’ll never be able to survive manner lessons, Chuuya. It’s called being—being—“ Dazai frowned when the word wouldn’t come to him. Chuuya tapped his cheek and pointed outside the window.

“What’s that?” he asked. Dazai stared at the object for a moment before he answered with confidence. “Bird nest”

Chuuya nodded. “Good.” He placed a bottle of cold water into Dazai’s hand, grabbing the bucket to wash it out in the bathroom.

“You said good like I’m your pet. If anything shouldn’t you be my pet?” Chuuya could hear him saying from the open door of the bathroom.

Just as he was about to retort back, a nervous, irregular knocking was heard from the door. Cocking his head to the side Chuuya snorted. “There’s your pet. Come in!” he hollered the last part.

The door opened to Atsushi’s anxious face. “Excuse me.” He said timidly.

“Oh, Atsushi-kun!” Dazai called out happily, “Come in, come in!”

The boy obliged, coming into the tatami room painted golden with dusk and sat in front of Dazai, between the motes of dust. “Good afternoon Dazai-san.” He smiled softly. He met Chuuya halfway there, who walked into the tatami room and sat far away from where Dazai was, pulling out a phone and headset.

And when the redhead glanced to the boy, he was reminded of their brief talk in the bathroom of the Agency. The weretiger must have taken it to heart, because even he could see how he’s fighting himself to keep on smiling like that, masking the sadness he must be feeling and shoving them aside.

“Come here.” Dazai extended a hand to him. When Atsushi took it, he tugged the boy he could rest his head in his shoulder. “It has been a year since we’ve met huh? Aah… you’ve grown so well since then.” He praised. Atsushi’s breath hitched, but he forced the smile to shine as he pulled back a little bit so he could look into Dazai’s eyes.

“Really?” his wobbles as he grinned. “I’m…glad that you think so.”

A hand came up to pat him on the head. “Everyone has their own way of dealing with things, Atsushi-kun.” He said softly. “Someone’s way of dealing with sadness might not be suitable for you.”

And just like that, the boy broke under the pressure of his own grief, back bowing from its infinite burden as the dam broke and tears began to flow from his, eyes squeezed shut.

“You have done so much for me, Dazai-san. And…and I haven’t been able to repay your kindness – not even the slightest bit.” He sobbed into his mentor’s chest, the arms of the man who he grew to look up as an older brother, the second father that taught him not how to survive but how to live. His hands grappled on kimono-clad back as he wept openly.

Dazai waited for his protégé’s sobbing to slow down into whimper and the shaking of his body into shudders. When he has calmed down, Dazai placed both hands on shoulders still so narrow from youth and squeezed, urging Atsushi to look into his eyes.

“Actually, I have something I want you to do.” He said softly with a smile. “I can’t ask of this from anyone else, and it would be very hard to fulfill, you would probably consider giving up in the middle of it, but… will you listen?”

With a lost expression, Atsushi’s eyes searched Dazai’s face. But then it hardened and he nodded. “What do you want me to do, Dazai-san? You can ask anything.” He pleaded desperately.

“You see the bulldog over there, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai said in a low voice, meant only for them. Atsushi’s eyes shot to Chuuya’s figure, slumped on the wall with music pounding faintly from the headphone he’s wearing to protect Dazai’s privacy, before returning to his mentor’s face and nodded.

“He’s not actually as tough as he’d like to believe. Inside he’s very sensitive and fragile.” Dazai told him wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his sleeping kimono. “Atsushi-kun.” He said in a serious voice, smile dropping to gaze into Atsushi’s eyes. “Can I depend on you to take care of him when I’m gone?”

Atsushi’s face slackened in surprise but it quickly hardened again in a determined face Dazai has come to know so well over the past year of mentoring this boy. He had such beautiful eyes like this, burning fire and unbreakable resolve.

“You can, Dazai-san.” He nodded solemnly as if making an oath to himself. “I will do my best.”

“That’s good.” Dazai said, putting a hand to sift through pale hair. “I’m so proud of what you’ve become.”

Sniffing, Atsushi shook his head and scooted backward, giving himself space where he could sit in a formal seiza.

“I could never be who I am if not for you, Dazai-san. I probably would have died, alone and worthless in the streets.” He placed both palms on the ground and pressed his forehead to it, executing a formal bow “For everything you have done for me… thank you.” His voice broke at the last word.

A smile bloomed on Dazai’s face when he saw the position, almost like a child thanking their parents. He reached out to pat Atsushi’s hair gently. “And I you, Atsushi-kun. You’ve taught me many things I would never knew on my own.”

“I’m glad I met you.”

.

“Does it hurt?” Chuuya asked as he saw how Dazai squeezed his eyes shut, a trembling hand coming up to press against his closed eyelids.

“Yeah.”

Frowning, Chuuya slipped into the futon, pushing Dazai aside a bit to make space for his smaller body so he could lay his head on the same pillow. The brunet lolled his head to the side, brown eyes blinking open to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I read that this could help alleviate headache with making your body produce oxytocin.” He answered gruffly, pressing his hand to the back of Dazai’s head to press their forehead together. “Look into my eyes.”

The brunet obliges, shifting carefully so he, too, lay on his side. Almost naturally, Chuuya’s other hand came to his trim waist, pulling him closer as Dazai’s rested on his back.

They rested like that for a long moment, eye contact barely broken by blinks. He wondered what Dazai would see from the minimal sight he now has.

“Better?” Chuuya asked softly after what felt like hours.

“Better.” Dazai confirmed. Tilting his head to the side, he mouthed Chuuya’s hand that was placed on his cheek, pulling the thumb into his mouth “More.”

Sighing, Chuuya rolled Dazai over to lie on his back and climbed on him. With brown eyes on him, he pulled the obi holding the sleeping kimono together before leaning down, placing a kiss on the stretch of pale neck.

.

When the curtains of night fell, Dazai’s current partner finally visited. As was fitting for him, he only came after his office work was done. The man came in quietly and knelt on the tatami floor on front of the futon silently, eyes hard as they drilled holes into Dazai’s.

Any other time and Chuuya knew that Dazai would crack a smart comment about it, but this time he stared back just as solemnly, brown eyes focusing on what little they could see. This was their way of communicating, so Chuuya didn’t disturb them with any sort of noise, sitting with his back to the wall behind Dazai while staring out of the window.

After fifteen minutes of barely any blinks, Kunikida finally moved, rising from his seiza to crouch in front of Dazai, squeezing his shoulders with both hands.

“Dazai Osamu.” He said with a low voice, serious with a tinge of unmistakable sorrow. But there was also pride in there, gratitude and so many other things that cannot be put into words because of how fragile they are.

“Kunikida Doppo.” Dazai answered, and a smile finally curled his lips. He lifted a hand to place them on a broad shoulder, but it missed and hit his chest instead. He trailed it up carefully until it rested where he wanted them to and squeezed.

Kunikida’s eyes flickered as he searched Dazai’s face. Finding what he sought out for, his expression hardened and he nodded.

“You did well.” Escaped past his lips, gravel-rough with emotions, and it made the smile on Dazai’s face widen.

“And so did you.”

It seemed like Kunikida had his own way of communicating with the walking paradox of a man, the same way Chuuya had his. There was a thousand words unspoken there, a whole other world between them that Chuuya was not privy to. All their words were heavy with implications and meanings, and he was helpless to untangle the knots and tangle that was the Detective Duo. It was not a place meant for him.

Maybe… just maybe. That man might love Dazai as much as Chuuya does.  

When the older man was on the doorway, hand on the handle and was ready to leave, Chuuya approached him, handing him the letter Dazai wrote with his help just last night. At that moment, Chuuya thought that he doesn’t need eyes to see the way his face crumple in utter heartbreak.

The noise of words left unsaid between the two detectives was enough to deafen him.

.

Midnight was steady trickling closer as they waited for their last guest. Chuuya sat on the futon, replacing the pillow with his own laps. Dazai has been dozing on and off for the last few hours, brows pinched in pain when he’s more awake than asleep. He still refused the painkillers.

The curtain fluttered with the coming of a particularly strong breeze from the open window and Chuuya saw the smile on Dazai’s face at the same moment he felt the other presence in the room.

“Hello, Akutagawa-kun.”

A series of cough was his answer as the Port Mafia member walked into the stream of moonlight like a stalking predator, Rashoumon restless in sway of his coat. He threw down a small bouquet of flower; the elegant script of the card that fluttered near Chuuya’s leg he could easily identify as belonging to Hirotsu.

“You’re dying.” He said bluntly without any hesitation, waiting only for validation of his statement.

Dazai laughed airily, more of an exhale than anything. “I am.”

A sharp breeze went past them and there was a spike of red stabbed the floor just above Dazai’s head. Feeling his blood boil, Chuuya narrowed his eyes as if asking the brat if would do that with him in the room. The two of them knew who would win the battle of superior combat power.

But the black-haired man ignored him. Instead, Akutagawa glared at Dazai, gaze feral and animal as he snarled. “How could you?” he asked with a low tone. And it cut through Dazai even though he didn’t show it, the layers of pain and denial and broken hopes he could hear in his voice.

He won’t apologize for what he has done to this child. He did the right thing, nurtured Akutagawa into a person capable to standing on his own feet in the violence personified that was the Port Mafia. Even if hatred was what he got in return, then let that be the case.

But Dazai knew that it wasn’t completely true. Somewhere along the way he must have done something wrong because he failed in nurturing the hatred in Akutagawa the way Mori nurtured his and mistakenly let it evolve into admiration and another feeling that he couldn’t even admit to himself the younger man was feeling.

So he said what he could, “Akutagawa-kun. Thank you for visiting me.” And he said it honestly.

Rashomon stopped wriggling when those words hung in the air. Even Chuuya seemed shocked by the uncharacteristic statement, genuine words falling from his lips as alien as a tree would sprout from fire. Later on, he would blame it on the pain of dying but in all actuality that was his honest feeling.

Akutagawa coughed again, this time for some reason it sounded wetter, more painful, as if the tears he couldn’t shed was dripping down his throat in the form of molten lava. With a click of tongue, he walked out of the room through window, using Rashomon like a grappling hook.

The two inhabitant of the room was then left to the silence of the crescent moon. Neither of them could forget the heavy sadness and despair that broke through Akutagawa’s defenses as he ran away from the room.

“Chuuya…” Dazai said softly, looking out of the window where Akutagawa has just gone out of.

“Yeah.” He answered the unspoken request, combing back Dazai’s bangs with his fingers without looking away from the open window. “Cleaning up your mess has always been my specialty, remember?”

.

.

.

“You are three-parts blind, having a headache the size of your ego with a golf-ball sized tumor in your head, currently more dead than alive, and I still couldn’t beat you in thumb wrestling?!”

Dazai laughed arrogantly at Chuuya’s roared disbelief from he was lying on the smaller man’s laps “Now you would have to life with this shame forevermore, Chuuya! I shall call this the curse of thumb!”

“You’re ridiculous. This is ridiculous.” He groaned, wiping his face with the palm of his hand while the other came to the other man’s cheek to pinch it.

“Hmm… if I just lay here and don’t run away when you do me in, would it be considered a suicide?” Dazai mused, not fighting the tugs on his cheek.

“You’ve got to be so happy about this, goddamn suicidal bastard.” Chuuya sighed.

“I am.” He grinned “Although I ended up committing suicide without a beautiful lady, what a waste of a lifetime.”

“No proper lady would be willing to die with you.” Chuuya huffed as he pulled the cover up and tucked Dazai in, making sure that the chill of late October air couldn’t get to his body.

Before he could pull his hands back, Dazai caught one of them. Wordlessly, Chuuya let him pull that hand up and allowed Dazai to press his open palm against his cheek. Brown eyes were closed with a peaceful expression as Chuuya stroked the arch of his cheekbone with his thumb.

Stretching forward, Chuuya leaned down to bury his face into Dazai’s brown locks, breathing in deeply. He tried to push out the invading thought that this would be the last time he could do this.

“Hey Chuuya?” Dazai murmured softly into the space between his lips and Chuuya’s neck. “When I’m gone, would you miss me?”

“No I won’t. I’ll be happy that I have one less pest in my hair to mind. If I can revive Ace to make him get cancer and die a horrible death, then my life would be complete.” He said roughly, dishonesty clear in his tone. Dazai chuckled.

“You know, I think I would have been content like this. But now that it’s actually happening, I realize that there are still so many things I want to do.” Dazai murmured into the gentle calm that has fallen over them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I wish I have just a little bit longer.”

Chuuya’s chest constricted when he heard those uttered words. It was painful, so painful that the decompress of his lungs, frantically scrambling to get air flowing into his blood, brought only more agony. It almost as if burning embers has been poured directly into the stream of his blood. When he lifted his face again, he saw how serene Dazai expression was and it nearly did him in.

But he beat those feelings down, squishing them underfoot so they won’t show outwardly, nothing but the slight tightening of the edges of his eyes and the gnashing of teeth for a split second before he opened his mouth again to ask; “What do you want to do, exactly?”

“Ah, yes… I would really like to see Atsushi and Akutagawa maturing and finally can tolerate each other.” He chuckled. “It’ll take many years, but I’m sure they will start caring for each other. And then I would like to see Kyouka-chan opening up more. She’s still so jaded by her past, but I know everyone would worm their way into her heart eventually.”

Chuuya hummed when he heard those words. He grabbed one of Dazai’s hand, holding the cool palm against his cheek with one hand as he asked; “What else?”

“I want to see Ango again.”

Thin eyebrows furrowed when he heard that. He recalled the extravagant bouquet of flowers on their doorsteps, the name written on the card “Sakaguchi Ango? The guy who didn’t even have the guts to face you directly?”

“Mmm… I still couldn’t forgive what he did; I probably would never be able to.” Dazai trailed off, eyes searching Chuuya’s “But I miss having him as my friend.”

Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut and fought off the desire to weep, falling silent for a moment before he nodded, tilting his head to the side so he could press small kisses to Dazai’s wrist. “And then?”

“And then I want to see the sunrise on a beach again, I want to support the Agency and I want …I want…” he trailed off, eyes closing for a moment, silent except for his breathing. The red-haired man has seen it enough to recognize another aphasia episode. Chuuya gripped the hand on his cheek, waiting silently, patiently until brown eyes opened again, starlit bright and it broke something in Chuuya he never even thought existed. “…Chuuya….” He murmured in a soft voice.

“Yeah… You have me, Dazai.” He whispered against the skin beneath his lips. Turning Dazai’s hand, he pressed a firm kiss to the knuckles as if trying to burn the mark of him on the skin “You have me.”

A smile graced Dazai’s feature, something real and beautiful. One Chuuya hadn’t witnessed in so many years after he was submerged in the darkness that was Port Mafia.  

“Say it?” Dazai implored, nuzzling into Chuuya’s thigh beneath his cheek.

Chuuya dropped the hand he used to hold Dazai’s palm to his, caressing Dazai’s face with it as he bowed forward to press a kiss on the brunet’s temple and whispered with ragged breath, a raw and heartfelt “I love you.”

It was the first time he ever said those words, so small and insignificant but so powerful. It was left to hover in cold nights where only the two of them existed, stared down death shoulder-by-shoulder. Dazai didn’t miss any meanings loaded in just three words.

It’s cruel that Dazai would make him say it now out of any other time. But Chuuya figured he could be honest, if for just this moment.

“It’s time.” Dazai said to him with a peaceful smile. Swallowing, Chuuya nodded, pulling out the syringe he had in his pocket the whole day. He was not in the place to be hesitating, he knew that, and yet when he had the tip of the needle on the crook of Dazai’s elbow, he couldn’t bring himself to push it in.

The implications was slowly killing him, choking Chuuya with the thought of empty brown eyes. But then there was a hand wrapping around his wrist carefully, not forcing him to press in, just holding on there.

“Chuuya. You said it yourself that you’d be the one to kill me.” Dazai said, squeezing his wrist.

Chuuya nodded, not trusting his voice that he’s sure would break if he tried to speak now. He wondered if Dazai could see the pieces of him that was flayed off every goddamn second.

Closing his eyes, Chuuya calmed himself with a deep breath, bringing back what calm he could scrape together. When he opened his eyes, it was a steady sapphire that has no waver as they gazed into brown. Dazai smiled when he saw it and let his wrist go, hand resting on the sheets, body language without any fight.

Brown eyes closed as the syringe pierced his skin and into his veins. There was barely any reaction but for the flicker of his eye beneath flimsy eyelids even the content was injected into his bloodstream.

 “There.” Chuuya muttered as he placed the syringe down, now rendered useless “It’s going to be over soon.”

When Chuuya pulled back, he saw that Dazai has closed his eyes, breathing deeply. But when the cold vice of fear gripped him (He’s gone, he’s gone, ohmygodhe’sgone) burgundy eyes cracked open and met his.

It was almost as if everything has disappeared, as if nothing else mattered to Dazai. His shoulders were no longer strained by the burden of living, his eyes clear from the layers upon layers of bravado he’d put up.

There was only Dazai, the one that Chuuya has missed for so long. The one who would hold his hand when the world proved to be too cruel to be braved by one own self.

(The Dazai he saw by brief glances on the fringe of his sight, the one who would sometimes shine through the mask he wore to protect himself from the dark and pain of Port Mafia.)

“Me too, you know.” He said softly.

Smiling softly, Chuuya brushed away errant curls from Dazai’s face, tucking them behind an ear as he caressed Dazai’s face.

“Hey, Chuuya?” his voice was slurred now, as if dragged down by sleep. It’s already happening. Chuuya thought to himself with a dawning horror.

“Yes?”

“How did I do?”

Chuuya blinked at the question, not understanding. But Dazai laughed lowly with what breath he still had in his lungs. It was as if he was mocking yes, you are as stupid as you ever were.

Chuuya pretended to frown and flicked Dazai’s forehead without enough force to hurt, just enough to let across his feeling of annoyance. “What do you mean?”

“Was I… a good person?”

Chuuya eyes widened when he heard the question that escaped past Dazai’s lips, because when he stared into brown eyes, he could see the slight tang of desperation haunting that gaze. For some reason this was important, more important than anything Dazai has ever said or never said to him.

(Why? Maybe he would never have the answer.)

“…Yeah. You were always a royal pain in the ass and the general of asshole, but… ask anyone and they’ll tell you that you’re good, one way or anot--.”

“Not them.” Dazai cut him off with a subtle shake of his head, the only thing he still had energy to do. “You. What do you think of me now?”

“You did good.” Chuuya said past numbed tongue, pressing his hand on Dazai’s as if wanting an imprint to be left on his cheek. “You’re a good person, Dazai.”

“That’s good.” Dazai whispered, voice wavering as his eyes drooped in exhaustion. “I’m glad.”

“Good night, Dazai. I’ll see you again come morning” Chuuya stroked a hand through brown hair gently, separating clumps of them carefully. A hand came up weakly to the front of his shirt, tugging him down so the taller man could wrap his arms around a lithe shoulder.  

Dazai dropped his arm and lay back down with a contented sigh. He closed his eyes without fear, as if embracing death as easily as breathing air. Chuuya held his limp hand against his cheek, gripping the limb tighter when he realized that the other man has fallen asleep.

This is it, huh? Dazai wouldn’t wake up from this.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Chuuya bowed his head forward and pressed his forehead to Dazai’s no matter the strain his back has to endure to hold the position. One of his hand strayed to press gently against Dazai’s chest just above his heart. Every beat was a reassurement that not yet not yet, just a little more time, please.

Chuuya synchronized his breathing with Dazai’s, inhaling and exhaling in tandem, counting every breath until the last. He tried not to think of living in a world where he would no longer have this, the man he trusted with his life over and over again until it became a second nature to just do so; his other half he’d seen growing from a little boy with haunted eyes to the man he is now.

(A good man)

Tomorrow sun will rise and wind will blow and Dazai wouldn’t be there to witness it again.

Chuuya’s chest burns from the lack of oxygen and the world breaks.

.

“You remember the promise you made to me, Chuuya?”

“I do.”

“I have never thanked you for that, huh?”

“Why? Even though I said it, it still ended like this. I’m supposed to take care of you dammit.”

“But you did.”

“Huh?”

“I’m twenty-three years old this year; do you know how young I’ll die if not for you?”

Dazai….”

“I never thought I’d live to be this old. I don’t blame you for me dying. I blame you for keeping me alive so long. But… could you promise me one more thing?”

 “What is it?”

“Please be a good person.” Chuuya’s eyes widened as he took in the serene smile now curling the edges of Dazai’s lips. “Be a good person, Chuuya. That would be much more beautiful. It would fit you more than the side of the evil, I’m sure of that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well… if even I can fit in, I’m sure you could.” Dazai laughed under his breath, a shadow of his usual cheer slipping in. “And Chuuya’s so much kinder than me so he’d do many good.”

“I’m a Mafia executive, you know? Being called kind doesn’t make me happy.” He smiled bitterly. “But if that what you want…”

He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed through the block in his throat. “I’ll do that.”

.

The members of the Detective Agency were woken up by a mighty earthquake. Even Fukuzawa, who was staying the night at Ranpo’s apartment, seemed worried as he ordered the members to file out from the room.

Incidentally, all of them were not yet asleep, waiting in Kunikida’s room when the earthquake hits. Waiting for what, they didn’t know themselves.

But when they were on the yard of the Agency dorm, they finally knew that this was exactly what they have been waiting for. They gazed through the storm into the eye of it where Chuuya was, holding on to Dazai’s limp body with a howl of pain and anguish that shatters through the night sky, translating into the quake beneath their feet.  

And just by that agony they knew that their colleague, a member of their patchwork family, was finally gone. Tears made their way down Atsushi’s cheek as he and Kunikida roared with Chuuya, the older man falling to his knees; screaming their sorrow to the night sky for the loss of a dear life.

With No Longer Human deactivated with its owner’s death, Chuuya’s Ability unleashed with fury along with his suppressed emotions. The dorm was torn apart by a tornado of swirling matter around him, gaining momentum in a powerful wind that tore the debris into pieces smaller and smaller, eroded by the friction of the storm. They swirled, higher and higher to the sky before they crumble in their own weight and fell back down.

When Chuuya's cry was broken into ragged weeping as he finally let himself grief, the storm settled as suddenly as it came. Looking at the wasteland that has replaced anything caught on the track of the destruction, one cannot deny that it was truly a sorrow tainted so dark by innumerable grief.

.

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The City Where Wind Blows

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.

The starlight was bright on the sky of new moon. The chill of early November was still very much present in the breeze as it passed through branches and made them dance. Chuuya was crouching on the dirt, looking up to the night sky when he felt a presence beside him. There was no footstep to be heard, not that he expected them.

“Hey, boss.” Chuuya greeted as Mori stepped from within the darkness of the night that has fallen over the world. The older man wasn’t wearing his usual regalia befitting of a Mafia’s leader or even the white doctor robe he used to wear whenever he wanted to step out incognito. Instead, he was wearing a black suit, hair slicked back neatly.

“Good evening, Nakahara-kun. It’s good to see you again after so long.” Mori greeted him with a polite smile as he stepped closer. The shoes he’s wearing made only the smallest whisper when stepping on the ground as the man bent a little to place a bouquet of lilies in front of the blank headstone. “Hmmm… no engravings?”

“The Agency has many enemies. They didn’t want to risk it.” Chuuya answered as Mori straightened up beside him, folding hands behind his back while looking down on the white granite.

“This is indeed a good spot for resting. Dazai-kun would have agreed.” Mori said as he stared to the horizons where land was cut away to make way for the dark ocean of Yokohama. The wind picked up, bringing the distinct smell of salt. Chuuya cast his eyes to the side, to six white headstones as blank as the one he’s crouching in front of. Five of them were smaller than the one that sat right beside the one adorned with white lilies.

“…yeah, he would.”

“I would have to look for another Executive now that Dazai-kun’s gone. His seat needs to be filled since he obviously couldn’t do so anymore.” Mori mused, eyes skyward. “But, really, looking for a competent Executive is already troublesome enough. I don’t really want to look for two of them.”

“What are you trying to say, boss?” Chuuya smiled ruefully, losing all his edges in the bite of cold air. “You of all people should know I’m bad at these subtlety plays.”

Huffing in amusement, Mori answered him, “Nakahara Chuuya left the Port Mafia under Mori Ougai’s secret order. In light of the recent attack against Yokohama and Port Mafia by the Guild and then by The Rats In the House of Death, the boss decided we need to bolster our power and he was to infiltrate the Armed Detective Agency and lure Dazai Osamu back to the seat of Executive. The Ryuugamine Estate was just a stepping stone for that. When he resisted, Nakahara Chuuya killed him, also under the direct order of Mori Ougai.”  he smiled at the younger man. “What if the story becomes that?”

Chuuya fell silent, letting his eyes drop to the ground in front of him. In the horizons, the faintest specks of purple began to paint the sky.

 “Come back to the Port Mafia, Nakahara-kun. You already did what you could for him.” Mori murmured, his words heavy. The younger man lifted his eyes to look into the older man’s face and found it devoid of the usual polite smile. In its stead was a face haunted with ages old sorrow.

Pressing his lips together, Chuuya stared at the blank headstone in front of him before he made up his mind and stood up.

“Sorry, boss. I can’t go back just yet. I still have something I have to do.”

I want…

“I see.” Mori answered. His smile crept back to his face, that moment of vulnerability lost into the November wind. “If I might inquire, what is it that you need to do?”

Chuuya didn’t answer, staring at him. But Mori realized that the younger man wasn’t really looking at him rather at something behind him. Turning back, he saw the night sky has been lost and the break of dawn began.

The two of them stood silently, watching the sun rising from slumber, giving light indiscriminately to all living being and those that has never been alive. Bringing warmth and life to the ground, rejuvenating as a congratulatory for passing through the night. It painted the world with the brilliance of the living.

“One of them has been fulfilled now.” Chuuya murmured, eyes never leaving the horizon.

“Ah, yes. I do recall that Dazai-kun loved the sunrise. When he was younger, often time he would run away at dawn just to watch it.” Mori mused.

….to see the sunrise on a beach again

“Yes, sir. He really did.”

“Well, isn’t this the time for you to go, Nakahara-kun? I’m sure you have other places to be.” Mori laughed, making a shooing motion with his hand. “I’m happy that you waited here to say your goodbye.”

“I’m… sorry sir.” Chuuya tilted his head down, a sign of submissiveness.

“Don’t be. I always know Dazai-kun has always been rather selfish. It would be a challenge, wouldn’t it? To fulfill what he asked of you.” He asked with sympathy on his voice. Strangely, it didn’t feel fake.

“…Yes.”

“I will keep your seat in the Port Mafia empty.” Mori said without looking at him, still staring into the ever brighter glare of rising sun. “Come back when you’re tired of the light.”

Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Mori turned his face took look at him respectfully as he swept into a formal bow, knee bent and head bowed, right hand pressing against the beating of his own heart. “Thank you, sir. I will be going now. Please send my regard to Ane-san.”

“Of course.” Mori smiled.

With that dismissal, Chuuya stepped into the gloom of night still present in the hanging shadows of the sun’s glare. And this time, Mori knew that it would be the last he’d see of Kouyou’s protégé for a long time.

“You really have a way of pulling people together around you, Dazai-kun.” Mori chuckled as he crouched in front of the headstone adorned by a bouquet of white lilies and a single black top hat, cradling his jaw with a hand and sighed with a fond smile “I wish you could have used that talent in favor of the Organization rather than against it.”

Mori closed his eyes, inhaling the crisp air of the upcoming winter with the tang of salt. If he focused, he thought that he could hear the crashing of waves.

“Sleep, now. You have done enough.”

.

.

I’ll hold everything that is precious to me and never let them go

While doing that, I would live right here.

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