neontoad

[neontoad]

Hi I've returned <3 Have a Soukoku.

[neontoad]

holy ghost

“Who do you think you are, fucker?” Chuuya growls. His cheeks flush with red, frantically fighting the things the purring voice makes him feel, the increasing pressure on the fabrics of his trousers cracking the thin ice that can barely hide the stormy sea anymore. Boss, his older self’s words ring in his head. Boss. This was never Chuuya’s ambition, but he can not help but see how… natural? this word sounds when he looks at himself decades from now. 

Boss. 

Everybody knows — the one who owns the Port Mafia owns Yokohama.

And Chuuya would not mind if the man also owned him. 

Gloved hands squeeze his waist and the touch completely disarms him. His fists flex, charged with electricity but unwilling to fight, the painful sensation of his fingers pushing against the heel of his palm ignored somewhere in the back of his mind. Slowly, the man’s fingers travel up to his ribs, a sucker punch very few know about — only himself and the lanky trench coat-clad bastard staring at them, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Oh, I do know,” the older Chuuya murmurs, fingers lightly tapping his ribs as if they were piano keys, the fabric of Chuuya’s shirt burning him, the annoying shield between the hand and the skin begging to be removed. “I am you. And I know exactly how you are feeling right now.”

Chuuya selfcest smut 🔞

22!Chuuya & 45!Chuuya

A sprinkle of skk

6.8k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64480801

Inspired by Sketchy's artwork here

[neontoad]

Dazai slowly realizing he’s happy

Dazai slowly realizing he doesn’t mind waking up since he gets to see Chuuya’s face.

Dazai slowly realizing he looks forward to going to work since he gets to be around his friends.

Dazai slowly realizing he smiles whenever he opens the bento’s Chuuya makes him.

Dazai slowly realizing he doesn’t dread the night since he gets to spend it with Chuuya.

Dazai slowly realizing he’s not scared to go to sleep, because Chuuya’s right beside him.

[neontoad]

When the alarm went off at five in the morning, Dazai groaned into the hollow of Chuuya's neck and tightened his grip around his waist. Chuuya buried his nose in Dazai’s soft, fluffy hair in response. As sleep faded away, his eyelids fluttered, and a faint smile—more of a sketch than a full smile—formed at the corner of his mouth.

If he could, if the world out there didn’t exist, Chuuya would stay like this, in his partner’s arms, forever. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t ready to let Double Black go yet, so he tried to reach for the alarm, a somewhat difficult task with the bandaged bastard on top of him, and he let out a hoarse chuckle. He wasn’t complaining, he liked it when Dazai pinned him to the mattress—in a non-sexual way—while they slept, and the familiar cold of No Longer Human got under his skin, silencing the growling god inside him, but they were going to be late for work.

[neontoad]

holy ghost

“Who do you think you are, fucker?” Chuuya growls. His cheeks flush with red, frantically fighting the things the purring voice makes him feel, the increasing pressure on the fabrics of his trousers cracking the thin ice that can barely hide the stormy sea anymore. Boss, his older self’s words ring in his head. Boss. This was never Chuuya’s ambition, but he can not help but see how… natural? this word sounds when he looks at himself decades from now. 

Boss. 

Everybody knows — the one who owns the Port Mafia owns Yokohama.

And Chuuya would not mind if the man also owned him. 

Gloved hands squeeze his waist and the touch completely disarms him. His fists flex, charged with electricity but unwilling to fight, the painful sensation of his fingers pushing against the heel of his palm ignored somewhere in the back of his mind. Slowly, the man’s fingers travel up to his ribs, a sucker punch very few know about — only himself and the lanky trench coat-clad bastard staring at them, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Oh, I do know,” the older Chuuya murmurs, fingers lightly tapping his ribs as if they were piano keys, the fabric of Chuuya’s shirt burning him, the annoying shield between the hand and the skin begging to be removed. “I am you. And I know exactly how you are feeling right now.”

Chuuya selfcest smut 🔞

22!Chuuya & 45!Chuuya

A sprinkle of skk

6.8k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64480801

Inspired by Sketchy's artwork here

[neontoad]

holy ghost

“Who do you think you are, fucker?” Chuuya growls. His cheeks flush with red, frantically fighting the things the purring voice makes him feel, the increasing pressure on the fabrics of his trousers cracking the thin ice that can barely hide the stormy sea anymore. Boss, his older self’s words ring in his head. Boss. This was never Chuuya’s ambition, but he can not help but see how… natural? this word sounds when he looks at himself decades from now. 

Boss. 

Everybody knows — the one who owns the Port Mafia owns Yokohama.

And Chuuya would not mind if the man also owned him. 

Gloved hands squeeze his waist and the touch completely disarms him. His fists flex, charged with electricity but unwilling to fight, the painful sensation of his fingers pushing against the heel of his palm ignored somewhere in the back of his mind. Slowly, the man’s fingers travel up to his ribs, a sucker punch very few know about — only himself and the lanky trench coat-clad bastard staring at them, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Oh, I do know,” the older Chuuya murmurs, fingers lightly tapping his ribs as if they were piano keys, the fabric of Chuuya’s shirt burning him, the annoying shield between the hand and the skin begging to be removed. “I am you. And I know exactly how you are feeling right now.”

Chuuya selfcest smut 🔞

22!Chuuya & 45!Chuuya

A sprinkle of skk

6.8k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64480801

Inspired by Sketchy's artwork here

[neontoad]

"We may be moved by different motives, Chuuya, but they converge into one singular outcome: we are just destroying ourselves."

"Corrupted hands and gentle touches" on AO3

Read here

(aka this post, but on ao3)

[neontoad]

bright

“It’s mine!” Dazai yelled when Chuuya reached for the orange maple leaf with a ripped corner. The perfect place for it was finally ready, the bright puzzle piece calling to be added to the collection.

It was gorgeous. It was perfect. It was his.

He slapped Chuuya’s hand away and grabbed the leaf, giggling in triumph and making a face at Chuuya. Such a lo-

The mocking expression vanished from Dazai’s face in an instant when he met the eyes of the man sitting in front of him.

The azure blue matched the bright sky, the spark in Chuuya’s eyes momentarily blinding Dazai. The sun’s farewell light behind Chuuya gave him a halo as the flowing golden rays gently merged into his hair like a river of liquid gold. As a cherry on top, as if carefully picked from a palette of a million colours with an eyedropper tool, the colour of the leaf perfectly matched Chuuya’s fiery hair, the whole world suddenly tinted with a unique shade of red, making the sunny day even warmer. 

Fluff

Rated G

Soukoku

Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/60614689

[neontoad]

“One soul in two bodies”, people often say about Double Black. Chuuya calls bullshit on that. It’s ridiculous. But then why every time Chuuya comes to work after tossing and turning in bed all night unable to fall asleep, he sees that Dazai has dark circles under eyes as well? Why every time when Chuuya checks his phone at 3am, insomnia eating him alive, he sees that Dazai is online, too? Why does it feel like there is one more person wide awake in the sleeping city when Chuuya’s staring at the ceiling, as wakeful as ever?

One night, a message pops up on his phone.

🐟: You awake?

“Fuck off,” Chuuya mumbles to himself and turns the screen off. The night is quiet. The air still seems to be vibrating after the notification chime. He counts seconds.

Nothing disturbs the silence anymore.

The next day Dazai keeps yawning and stealing glances at Chuuya as they sit in another boring meeting. He ignores him, even though every time Dazai covers his mouth with his hand, Chuuya can’t help but yawn too.

He sleeps well that night. He knows Dazai does, too - he can tell by how stupidly annoying he is the next day. Chuuya knows well that only well-rested Dazai possesses such a ridiculous ability to get on Chuuya’s nerves in record time. He sleeps okay again. And again. And again. Chuuya even starts thinking that maybe he’s finally out of that cursed bout of insomnia. Seems like Dazai managed to get some sleep, too.

Until another night comes.

He’s exhausted - they have just finished a mission, the last one in a strenuous sequence, and the only thing Chuuya wants is to sleep until next week.

He can’t.

His phone chimes.

He doesn’t bother looking - he knows who’s texting him. Dazai’s insomnia is not his problem.

He lies with his eyes closed, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’ll be able to trick his brain into finally shutting down and letting him fall into Morpheus’ embrace, giving him the rest he so desperately needs. He doesn’t know how much time passes until he hears a knock.

“The fuck you want?” Chuuya grumbles, looking at Dazai miserably standing in the hallway of his apartment building.

“Just checking on my dear partner.”

“It’s 4 in the morning.”

“You make it sound like it’s a problem.”

“I was sleeping, you bastard.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Dazai yawns and Chuuya follows suit, stretching his sore muscles. Fuck this, he thinks. I’ll let him be. Without saying a word, he turns on his heel and marches to the kitchen. Dazai follows him and plops on the stool. He probably thinks he looks smug. He looks like shit.

“I’ll have a whiskey,” he croaks and smiles.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya says, pouring Dazai three fingers and sliding it across the table before stopping in front of his wine cabinet. That’ll do, he thinks and pours himself a glass of red.

“You know, chibi,” Dazai muses, watching the ice in his glass bob up and down, “I blame you.”

Chuuya takes a sip of wine. He wonders if he looks as stern as he hopes he is. Or does he, akin to Dazai, resemble a miserable stray dog? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

“Whenever you can’t sleep, neither can I,” he continues. “It’s like we have some kind of invisible bond.”

Despite his fatigue, Chuuya can’t help but chuckle. Invisible bond! Dazai sure loves these stupid pretentious speeches. What an emo.

He downs his wine and goes to the living room. “Take your ass with your invisible bond to the couch,” he commands. “Let’s play.”

“It’s not a laughing matter!” Dazai whines but obeys, finishing his whiskey and leaving the cup on the table like the ungrateful pig he is.

Whiskey made him feel warm and fuzzy, making the unwelcoming sleepless night feel slightly less dire. Besides, playing video games with the slug is certainly a better pastime than tossing and turning on his old mattress. They play for a few hours, sleepiness going away as they keep beating each other in a video game, pushing each other with their shoulders and yelling at the top of their lungs.

Chuuya doesn’t care about his neighbours complaining - there’s no one living above him anymore, anyway.

The dark night gives way to the pale morning, timid rays of sun sneaking through the closed blinds. A ray falls on the empty whiskey cup, the last drops of the amber liquid shining like gold under the light. Another one shines on the shattered controller lying in the corner. Another ray of sun caresses the leaves of a half-dead plant on the bookshelf. Another - the picture on the wall, the five people on it forgotten by all but one. Another - the cobweb on the ceiling. Another - the brass door handle. As more time passes, the sun gets more comfortable dancing in the small apartment, its rays travelling across the walls, trinkets and furniture until they reach the boys sprawled on the couch.

Their breath is even, chests rising and falling in unison. Chuuya’s head is resting on Dazai’s lap, his hand against his chest still holding the beaten controller. He squirms when the sun shamelessly goes across his eyes but doesn’t wake up.

Neither does Dazai. He just smiles through his sleep and puts his hand on Chuuya’s back. The rays of sun stall before continuing to move across the room as if taking in the unusual, eerily peaceful atmosphere in the living room, the raging fire turned into quiet embers for a bit.

Chuuya might call bullshit on the “one soul in two bodies” idea.

But… the sun surely knows better.

[neontoad]

“There is nothing in this life that makes it…”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette, turning a deaf ear to Dazai’s yapping. He leans his back against the crane frame and squints his eyes at the lights of boats peppering Yokohama Bay like stars. Their little hiding point on the top of the port crane provides a perfect view of the vast and mighty sea they both adore but still… The night is cold and not particularly pleasant. Especially with Dazai babbling away about the meaninglessness of life, a pesky mosquito clad in black he has the misfortune to call his almost-friend. 

Pathetic. 

Still, even that is better than spending New Year’s Eve alone. 

He glances at his watch. Just a few more minutes until midnight. Until the date changes — and nothing else, really.

New Year is not a big deal.

Then why does it feel like it should be?

“If I were to jump off- oh!”

The genuine surprise in Dazai’s voice makes Chuuya’s head snap. He has to do a double take — Dazai looks ridiculous and almost human with his eyes crossed as he’s looking at a… large snowflake resting on the tip of his nose.

The snowflake melts almost instantly, leaving just a wet spot behind.

In unison, the boys raise their heads as they watch thousands of snowflakes descend on the city in an intricate waltz, the first snow deciding to grace the city in the last moments of the old year. 

Chuuya’s wristwatch beeps. 

And… it all changes.

As the snow continues to fall, Chuuya can’t get enough of the way little snowflakes stay on Dazai’s eyelashes, diamonds on the dark backdrop dissolving into nothing and quickly replaced by new, somehow even shinier ones. Dazai keeps grunting and trying to sweep the snow off the top of his head, and Chuuya has to resist the urge to grab his wrist and let the snowflakes linger on the dark brown strands for a bit longer. On the other hand… there is something precious in such fleeting, momentary beauty. 

The stray snowflakes on Dazai’s fringe twinkle under the crane lights, and it’s such a mesmerising sight, that Chuuya feels like his gravity is reduced to nothing as he floats in the galaxy of shimmering stars, lost in the shine so bright, he never wants to be found.  

Chuuya is brought back to reality when Dazai, ridiculously red-faced, lightly punches his shoulder and hands him a wrinkled plastic cup of o-toso sake. Their fingers brush when Chuuya takes the cup from Dazai’s hand, and he can swear that Dazai’s usually cold fingers are almost scorching hot — the fire Chuuya’d gladly embrace.

They clink their cups and Chuuya’s heart skips a beat at Dazai’s faint, sincere smile. 

“Happy New Year, Chuuya.”

“Happy New Year… Osamu.”

[neontoad]

“Here!”

Dazai is grinning from ear to ear, proudly showing Chuuya a handful of chestnuts he’s collected from the ground, and this is such an unexpected view, that Chuuya has to do a double take. 

He’s not mistaken. 

Dazai is smiling. 

A chestnut falls on the ground, - no wonder, Dazai's hands are overflowing with them, - and Chuuya picks it up, his eyebrow raised with scepticism.

When he reluctantly agreed to hang out with Dazai after a mission, he didn't expect him to start running around under a chestnut tree like a rabid squirrel, collecting chestnuts with such zeal as if they were no less than precious diamonds.

“You id-”

Chuuya doesn’t get to finish the sentence. His eyes meet Dazai’s, and the uncovered eye’s shine is hypnotic, its colour perfectly matching the chestnut’s, the dull colour turned into a rich hue of brown Chuuya’s never seen before.

On second thought, collecting chestnuts doesn’t look like such a lame idea. 

They start frequenting the park, and every time their pockets get filled with chestnuts, and their hearts with warmth.

Suddenly, autumn is not about gusting winds and rainy days anymore. For Dazai, autumn is about the fiery foliage of the trees that complements Chuuya’s hair so beautifully, and even though clear skies are a rarity in this season, Chuuya’s eyes are blue enough to make up for it. 

For Chuuya, autumn is about the deep brown of chestnuts, the colour he never knew was so warm - as warm as Dazai’s hand in his, as warm as the way he looks at him with timid adoration, as warm as the lively spark in his brown eyes. 

For them, autumn is about prickly husks leaving scratches on their hands, hot chocolate in paper cups, and sharing an umbrella on a rainy day, and always, as years go by, it’s about collecting chestnuts. 

It’s always about chestnuts. 

Their first kiss under the chestnut tree when they were 16. Their first “I love you” at 17 as they were lying on the grass, breathless, after relentlessly bombarding each other with chestnuts, smiles on their faces lighting up the gloomy Yokohama sky. 

Autumn is about chestnuts, warm hands and love.

Until it’s not. 

Chuuya is 18, and he doesn’t go anywhere near the park anymore.  

Seeing chestnuts in the grass doesn’t feel like a treasure hunt, but rather a bitter reminder of what he used to have. Frankly, he’d pay all the money in the world to cut down every single chestnut tree in this godforsaken city. 

Autumn is a shit season, if you think about it. 

Years pass, but Chuuya still can’t bear seeing a certain shade of brown. Much to his annoyance, it’s everywhere - in the colour of his desk, in the leather of his car seats, in the fallen leaves in the puddles of water on the ground. 

When he sees that shade again - the shade, as he looks Dazai in the eye in the Port Mafia dungeon, he tells himself he didn't miss it. He tells himself the colour doesn't look even more striking now that he can see both brown eyes looking at him with such longing, that he even lets himself reminisce for a split second.

One day they are heading to the ADA office after a joint mission. They aren’t speaking - they don't have anything to talk about. Not anymore. With the corner of his eye, Chuuya sees a familiar tree - it grew taller, but the way its leaves show off their autumn dress is the same as it used to be when they were younger. Before Chuuya knows it, Dazai is gone, running toward the tree with his trench coat comically fluttering behind him. Chuuya just rolls his eyes. Such a manchild. 

“Here!”

Dazai is grinning from ear to ear, his hands are full of chestnuts, and the way he’s showcasing his treasure to Chuuya wakes something up inside of him. Something that was dormant for so long. Something that he, deep down, missed so much.  

“You idiot,” Chuuya mumbles, intently looking at Dazai’s lips.

The chestnuts fall on the ground. 

It feels like their first kiss all over again. It’s chaste. It’s sincere. It’s perfect.

“Can we start again?” Dazai whispers into Chuuya’s ear, his warm embrace defeating the chilly September afternoon. 

Autumn is about forgiveness, warm hands and love.

Autumn is about them.

Autumn is about chestnuts. 

It’s always about chestnuts. 

[neontoad]

it's always about chestnuts written by neon_toad | @neontoad A Bungou Stray Dogs Podfic read by mistbornhero

The story of Chuuya and Dazai falling in love in the most colourful season of all.

Podfic Length: 29:34 minutes

[neontoad]

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, move!” Chuuya groaned, hitting the horn. The car in front of him didn’t budge and Chuuya swore again when the traffic light in the distance turned red.

Traffic jams in Yokohama have been horrible lately. The city was suffocating in exhaust gases, cars slowly moving like a colossal slithering snake accompanied by the cacophony of impatient drivers’ honking.

It was, to put it lightly, hell.  

“So rude, chibi,” Dazai said, lazily taking Chuuya’s hand off the steering wheel. “Watch your mouth.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. Dazai didn’t seem to give a shit about this pandemonium. No wonder — judging by the absentminded smile on the bastard’s face, he was on cloud nine from the fact he finally had a legitimate reason to be late for work every morning.

“You know,” Chuuya said, rubbing circles on Dazai’s hand with his thumb and cracking a small smile when Dazai squeezed his hand back, “some of us have actual responsibilities.”

“Really? Since when is being a filthy criminal an actual responsibility?”

“Since always. Also, you didn’t mind me being filthy last ni- Oh, finally!”

The car in front of them moved, but the green light barely lasted a few seconds before it went red again. Chuuya let out an unintelligible noise and gritted his teeth.

“Oh no,” Dazai crooned, leaning in and kissing Chuuya’s cheek, instantly feeling the tension go away. “Seems like we are stuck here for a while.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

Chuuya looked at his watch and sighed. He’s going to be so late —  but at least he can make the most out of this extra time with his nuisance of a husband.

Dazai smiled under Chuuya’s kiss paying no mind to the honking behind them, his world reduced to the sensation of the warm lips on his, tongues spelling out “I love you” in the ultimate dance of devotion. Everywhere, in every cell of his body was Chuuya, his vibrant presence yet again making him think that life, after all, might be worth living. 

Dazai covered the hand caressing his cheek with his, the butterflies in his stomach going into a frenzy when his fingers felt the ring under the glove. 

Hacking traffic lights? Child’s play.

Definitely one of his best machinations ;)

[neontoad]

“Chuuya Is a Sore Loser” needs a special edition, Dazai thinks one day, a genius prank idea brewing in his head. He’s not gonna lie - he’s really proud of this plan. He’s the best strategist of the Port Mafia for a reason - and his talents span further than planning missions. 

Step one - install a hidden camera in Chuuya’s kitchen.

Step two - get Chuuya drunk on some shitty wine and watch him embarrass himself, every single bit of his drunken delirium caught on tape. 

Step three - send the video to everyone in the Port Mafia and have a good laugh. With the nature of the prank, he won’t even have to bother with printing the newsletter out. Saving trees AND humiliating the hat rack? 

Sounds like a perfect plan. 

Installing the camera is a piece of cake - Dazai had messed with Chuuya’s apartment so many times, that he’d probably be able to do it in the dark with his eyes closed. 

Luckily, Chuuya immediately agrees to Dazai’s proposal to come over with a bottle of wine, his text message read and answered within seconds. Silly slug - he makes it so easy. Too easy, even. 

Just to be sure the plan works out, Dazai shows up with two bottles. He knows Chuuya has a very low alcohol tolerance, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

After the third glass, Chuuya’s cheeks get all red, a sure sign that he’s almost had a little bit too much. With his brows furrowed and speech slurred he already looks hilarious, but Dazai just knows it’s about to get even funnier. What is Chuuya going to do today? Dance to some obscure Eurodance music? Sing anime openings from the 90s? Tell some trashy story from his Sheep days?

Dazai has no idea and it makes him vibrate with excitement. He glances at the camera and pours some more wine into Chuuya’s glass. He takes a sip and puts the glass on the table with a loud thud. 

The show is about to start, Dazai thinks triumphantly. 

Chuuya makes a strange sound and Dazai giggles internally - seems like the Port Mafia will have the pleasure of seeing the “best” martial artist, the gravity manipulator Nakahara Chuuya throwing up all over his kitchen floor. Perfect. 

Another sound escapes Chuuya’s mouth. And another one. And another, until Dazai, to his horror, realises that Chuuya is sobbing, his shoulders jerking up and down, tears streaming down his red face as he desperately tries to wipe them away. 

“I have no one,” he wheezes through his tears. “They are all gone.”

Dazai takes another glance at the camera, immediately looking back at Chuuya. His eyes are red, his hair sticks to his wet cheeks, and the look in his eyes is eerily unnerving. It’s so raw that it looks like Chuuya can see right through him. Dazai opens his mouth but no sound leaves his mouth. What can he even say?

“I only have you, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya sobs. “You are the only person I have left. Don’t you leave me, too.”

The breakdown as well as the excessive amounts of wine seem to have drained Chuuya of the last of his energy. With his head on the kitchen table, he falls asleep, soft hiccups interrupting his even breathing. 

For a few minutes, Dazai sits still, watching Chuuya’s back go up and down, his wailing still ringing in his ears: “You are the only person I have left”.

He takes the camera and turns it off. 

Chuuya is way too heavy to be carried all the way to the bedroom, so Dazai lays him on the couch in the living room and covers him with a blanket. Tiptoeing around the kitchen, he cleans up, places a glass of water on the coffee table and quietly leaves. 

When Dazai gets home, he breaks the SD card in half. 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

The next day Chuuya doesn’t show up to work. The Port Mafia meetings are even more boring without him, and Dazai wonders if he should go and check on him. 

He doesn’t. 

Chuuya is back the following day. It’s as clear as a day that he tries his best to avoid Dazai, and when he can’t, he averts his gaze and doesn’t react to a single taunt Dazai throws at him. 

Naturally, Dazai comes to Chuuya’s apartment in the evening.

Usually, Chuuya throws something at him, or yells abuse, or kicks him down the stairs when Dazai breaks in. This time, Chuuya’s reaction makes Dazai’s blood freeze. 

“Leave me alone,” he whispers, his face full of horror and… shame?

Dazai takes a step forward.

“Leave me alone,” Chuuya stubbornly says again, stepping back. “Or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Unfazed by the empty threats, Dazai crosses the room and looks into Chuuya’s eyes. He can still see the flames hiding in them behind the crippling shame, and he has to admit that the raging fire looks gorgeous with icy blue, contradiction as bright as Chuuya himself. 

“Lea-”

Dazai cuts him short, wrapping his arms around Chuuya’s shoulders and pulling him close, instantly feeling the tension in Chuuya’s body disappear as he slowly raises his arms and wraps them around Dazai’s waist. 

He doesn’t know how long this moment lasts — it could be seconds. Minutes. Centuries. All he knows is that it’s more than enough time to say what he wants to say without using any words. 

Although… There is something that he’d like Chuuya to hear.  

Chuuya’s hair smells of peppermint, and when Dazai leans down to Chuuya’s ear, he thinks that it might easily become his new favourite smell.

“I’m not leaving you.”

Thank you for reading! Nezu on twt made the loveliest artwork for this little story, make sure to check it out!

[neontoad]

“Chuuya.”

As always, Chuuya was working hard to earn the Employee Of The Month award. Paying no mind to Dazai, he didn't take his eyes off the door of the office building they were assigned to watch. 

“Chibi.”

No answer came and Dazai sighed. 

It was all P-O-I-N-T-L-E-S-S. 

No one was going to get in or come out of the building on a fucking Sunday. Even criminals take weekends off once in a while. Except for them, it seems. 

“Chuuya, I’m bored.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue and shot Dazai a look of steel. 

“Do your fucking job, Dazai,” Chuuya spat. “And shut up.”

Dazai chose to ignore Chuuya’s thoughtful advice. “Such a workaholic! You are going to get a heart attack before you’re 20.” 

For a moment Dazai pondered if he should mention that Chuuya will probably be no taller than a barstool when he’s 20, but decided against it. Chuuya probably expects this jab, anyway. This just takes all the fun out of making a joke.

Dazai sighed again and fell into the pile of leaves.

The criminal organisation based in the building was so minor, so insignificant, that Dazai wondered if there was another reason they, out of all people, were assigned to this torturous, mundane mission. 

Double Black’s forte was offensive action, not surveillance. Beat somebody up? Sure. Destroy an enemy’s headquarters? Easy. Get the information out of particularly uncooperative people? Say no more. 

This shit? Give it to some low-ranking goon. 

At least the location was somewhat pleasant. The building was situated across from a small park, and that was where he and Chuuya had been waiting for hours, the bright early morning turning into a sunny afternoon. 

Late October had been showering Yokohama with sporadic rains attacking its citizens at the least convenient moment, its lead sky hanging low as an omen of the upcoming winter, piercing winds getting colder with each passing day.

Today was the complete opposite. 

As if trying to make up for the weeks of gloom and greyness, the clouds decided to open like a curtain and let the sun grace the city with its presence one more time. 

Dazai slid his bandage off his eye and looked at the blue sky through the intricate weaving of the maple trees. The sun on his face, the flicker of sunlight through the leaves, the faint humming of people talking in the background…  

He had to admit - it felt really good.

No one had to know, though. 

With another tragic sigh, loud enough for Chuuya to hear (of course chibi pretended not to), he sat down and started rummaging through the fallen leaves. Chuuya gave him a side-eye. Of course, Dazai pretended not to see. 

Collecting leaves and arranging them by colour felt way more useful and exciting than watching an empty office building for hours on end. The shades of yellow, red and orange danced in front of Dazai like fireworks in his hands as he was getting lost in painting a picture of autumn in front of him, the last farewell to the colourful season before the cloud curtains closed again and drowned the city in gloomy chill. 

Chuuya sighed and sat on the grass. He was still looking at the door, but his eyes kept darting to the vivid gradient patchwork blanket Dazai was creating in front of him.

“Grow the fuck up,” Chuuya mumbled and took a leaf from the ground. “The fuck are you doing?” His eyes quickly scanned the gradient carpet, and after a moment of consideration, he put the leaf between two others. 

It fit perfectly. 

The dance of colourful foliage got even more energetic now that two pairs of hands started arranging the leaves in a perfect pattern, the tribute to the most colourful season growing by the minute.

“It’s mine!” Dazai shouted when he saw Chuuya reaching for a large orange maple leaf, its bright colour calling to be added to the collection.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was his.

He slapped Chuuya’s hand and grabbed the leaf, giggling triumphantly. 

His eyes met Chuuya’s. 

The azure blue matched the bright sky, the shine in Chuuya’s irises sparkling brighter than the sun, this dazzling view momentarily making Dazai forget what he was doing in the first place. 

Dazai had always known Chuuya’s personality was bright like fire, but he had never realised how vivid and spellbinding Chuuya was on the outside, too. 

He looked at the leaf shaking slightly in his hand. 

As if carefully picked from a palette of a million colours with an eyedropper tool, the colour of the leaf perfectly matched Chuuya’s fiery hair, the whole world suddenly tinted with a bright shade of red, the colour making the sunny day even warmer. 

“What are you waiting for?” The feigned annoyance in Chuuya’s voice was debunked by the faint lines in the corners of his eyes, and Dazai’s eyes lingered on them, slowly travelling to the strand of hair tucked behind Chuuya’s ear and the ponytail he used to make fun of.

What was so funny about it?

“Oi, shitty Dazai. You awake?”

“Gorgeous,” Dazai whispered out. “Simply gorgeous.”

Was the mission useless? Sure. 

But… Was it a complete waste of time?

No. Definitely not a waste of time at all, Dazai thought and put the leaf behind Chuuya’s ear, his heart squeezing at the sight of the rosy blush blossoming on Chuuya’s cheeks, another stunning colour making the autumn day just a little bit brighter. 

Thank you for reading! Make sure to check out this wonderful artwork by Nezu on twt <3

[neontoad]

“Ouch.”

“Oh, stop whining, you rabid dog,” Dazai says, pulling the thread through the loop and tightening the knot. She takes one last look at her stitchwork and hums, brushing her hair out of her eyes and finally making eye contact with Chuuya. “You wouldn't have been injured at all if you paid attention to your surroundings for once.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Chuuya snaps, sceptically looking at the stitches. As always, Dazai did a perfect job patching him up. That doesn’t mean he won’t bitch at her. “I’m the reason why your ass doesn't have a single scratch.”

“Yadda-yadda,” she says and theatrically yawns. “I would have dodged the attack. But how would you know that, right? I’m only the best strategist of the Port Mafia. No way I would have predicted that ambush, yeah?”

Chuuya grits his teeth and turns away. So what if she’s right? Maybe when Dazai calls him a dog, she’s not too far from the truth. Blindly protecting people around him is what Chuuya has always been doing. He’s not planning to stop, even though the person he’s protecting is the most annoying lanky mackerel in the world. 

“Whatever.” Chuuya looks around the safe house. It’s a decent one. As opposed to the ones they are used to, it’s pretty spacious, there’s a kitchenette, a working shower and even a TV, a luxury for a place that’s only used in extraordinary circumstances. “Wanna watch TV?” he asks, prodding Dazai’s foot with his.

“How fun.” Dazai rolls his eyes, but still, she gets up and grabs the remote control. “I’m choosing,” she says and brushes her unruly hair out of her eyes.

Chuuya nods and plops onto the couch. He doesn't really care what Dazai picks. He just needs some kind of background noise, as well as long-awaited peace and quiet. As long as he’s getting that, he’s content with whatever horrid TV show is gonna be on TV for the following few hours. 

Of course, as expected of Dazai, she opts for some bizarre obstacle course gameshow, bush as much as Chuuya hates to admit it, it’s really fucking fun to watch. Two cans of beer materialise out of nowhere and the evening gets somewhat tolerable despite throbbing pain in Chuuya’s chest where he got hit.

As he watches the show, Chuuya keeps seeing Dazai’s hand darting to her hair from the corner of his eye, brushing it out of her face and behind her ear, only for the unruly locks to fall back a few seconds later. 

“Wanna tie your hair?” Chuuya asks when Dazai fixes her hair for the millionth time. 

“Do I look like a person who owns a hair tie?”

“Uh. Yeah. You don't, actually.”

“Mind your business then,” she says and tucks her hair behind her ear, an uncharacteristic curse leaving her mouth when it falls on her face again.

“Ok, here,” Chuuya says, his hands acting faster than his brain, and rips off a strip of fabric from his t-shirt. It’s ruined, anyway. Won't hurt to make it into a makeshift hair tie for his slob of a partner. 

“It’s not gonna help,” she says, without ripping her eyes off the TV. “It’s still gonna be everywhere. It’s annoying.”

“Cut it, then.”

“Eh.”

“Or I can cut it for you.”

“Nah.”

This is so Dazai - being obviously uncomfortable but doing absolutely nothing to fix it. Sometimes he wonders what’s happening in her brain. Sometimes he’s too afraid to know. 

“I have an idea,” Chuuya says. “I can braid it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Didn't know you were an undercover barber. Then why is your hair so shi-”

“I don’t fucking know how to do it!” he snaps, regretting he offered it in the first place. “I’ll follow a fucking Youtube tutorial. Or whatever.”

For a few seconds, it’s silent. 

“Ok,” Dazai says. “Fine. It’s gonna be hilarious. I just know it. Go ahead, Chuuya. Unleash your inner stylist. Try not to rip my head off, though.”

It’s gonna be hard not to, Chuuya thinks and opens the first braiding tutorial that pops up. It’s the most basic braid. He just can’t fuck it up, right? 

Needless to say, the third time he has to start again, Dazai is laughing and shaking so hard, Chuuya feels like her hair strands are reigns and Dazai is a particularly insufferable pony on crack. 

“I need a fucking hairbrush! Don’t you have a hairbrush?!”

“What do you think, Chuuya? Does it look like I have a hairbrush?”

In a way, Chuuya is glad there’s no hairbrush, otherwise, it might have become a murder weapon. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Stop fucking moving, shitty Dazai. I can do it. Give me a minute.”

“Of course, you can,” she says in the sweetest voice which makes Chuuya want to smack her. At least she stops moving.

“Maybe you should practice on yourself.”

“My hair is too short for braids if you haven't noticed, you blind mole.”

“Maybe you should grow it out. Like a mullet.”

“A mullet my ass,” he hisses through his teeth, trying his best to focus on crossing the hair sections in the right order. A fucking mullet. Never in his life. He’d just look like a moron. 

Finally, the braid is ready, and, feeling content and accomplished, Chuuya ties it with the strip of fabric he’s been holding between his teeth. 

He looks at the finished work. 

He swallows. 

It looks fucking horrendous.

“Uh,” he says, scratching his head. 

“What?”

“Uh. Nothing. Wanna see it?”

Instead of an answer, Dazai hands Chuuya her phone and he snaps a quick pic of that abomination of a braid. 

He mentally braces for another taunt (or probably a lifetime of taunts), when Dazai finally speaks.

“I love it.”

Chuuya blinks. 

“Thank you,” she says and moves to her seat on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, a light blush gracing her cheeks.

“Uh. No problem,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his beer. 

When they go back to the Port Mafia headquarters the next day, Dazai is still brandishing her ridiculously crooked braid. 

She still has it the day after. 

And the following day as well, even though it has gotten way too messy. 

Dazai still seems to like it. Chuuya likes it, too - although Dazai doesn’t have to know about it. 

“Wanna braid my hair?” she asks him the following day, handing him the strip of the ripped t-shirt, her hair messy and unruly. 

“Sure,” Chuuya says, opening the tutorial again. 

Hairdressing might have just become his new passion.  

Thank you for reading! Check out this lovely femzai art by Aimi on twt! I'm in love <3

[neontoad]

Chuuya doesn’t celebrate his 17th birthday. He’s home alone, downing glass after glass of Albatross’ favourite gin. Personally, Chuuya hates gin, but as much as he despises stupid sentiments, the bitter taste makes him feel like Albatross is here, like Albatross is alive.

The burning sensation gin leaves in his throat is incomparable to the bitter thoughts swarming in Chuuya’s head.

He thinks of how he’s now older than Albatross will ever be. Albatross will stay 16 forever, and it’s surreal how the person that used to be so loud and boisterous, now remains still and quiet in his grave.

Chuuya would give anything to wake up at night because of yet another crazy party upstairs. He would give anything to listen to his obnoxiously loud friend’s stories again. He would give anything to be dragged to another bizarre Albatross-style adventure again.

Eventually, Chuuya passes out on the couch and wakes up to the ringing silence, trying so hard to hear any noise from the vacant apartment upstairs, praying that it was all just a bad dream. 

There’s nothing but deafening silence.

He spends his 21st birthday alone again, binge-watching Lippmann’s movies. He’s older than Lippmann will ever be now, and it feels like the realisation is choking him.

“You’ll be 20 forever,” Chuuya says quietly, his voice cracking, as he looks at Lippmann smiling on the screen, radiant and charming, his charismatic acting becoming his undying heritage.

When Chuuya turns 25, he thinks of Iceman and Doc, looking through the pictures they’ve taken in their short time together. He reminisces and smiles thinking of his friends’ quirks. The smile disappears from his face when Albatross’ voice suddenly echoes in Chuuya’s head.

“You gotta save Doc,” Albatross says frantically, life rapidly fading from his eyes. Chuuya puts the photograph aside and covers his face with his hands. “Sorry, ‘Tross,” Chuuya croaks. “I couldn’t.”

Chuuya takes a day off on his 26th birthday — he can’t even bring himself to get out of his bed today, let alone deal with the Port Mafia business. He’s officially older than Pianoman now.

He remembers how Doc told Chuuya, Iceman, Lippmann and Albatross about the rumour that Pianoman will become an Executive soon.

Iceman just shook his head — he wasn’t the type to enjoy gossip. Albatross instantly started planning the party. Lippmann ran off to find out more from the Port Mafia’s secretaries.

Now, Chuuya is an Executive, even though Pianoman deserved to be one like no one else. Probably, even more than Chuuya — at least it feels like it.

He looks at the photograph of all six of them together in Old World, taken just a few hours before the massacre, smiling at the camera without a care in the world. It feels like it was just yesterday and at the same time like eons ago.

“You’ll stay forever young, guys,” Chuuya says to the photograph with a lump in his throat. “I wish I could be with you,” he adds, his vision getting blurry.

The Flags look at him from the photo.

Chuuya knows they’ve forgiven him.

Chuuya knows he will never forgive himself.