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izanyas · 5 years

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I’d Love to Go Drowning

Written for Soukoku Week 2019, day 1: “Baby, then it’s only you can pull me from the waves.”

Enjoy this mysterious surprise AU fic!

Rating: T Words: 6,700 Warnings: guns, needles, suggestive innuendos.

I'd Love to Go Drowning

The cruise ship Atsushi brings them to is a delight.

Sleek metallic grey finish, indoor and outdoor pools on two different decks, row upon row of maze-like corridors opening to luxury suites. Dazai enters one of them on the highest of the decks, where the priciest rooms should be located; the bed is easily twice as big as the one in the beach hotel he slept in the night before, and the size of the jacuzzi in the en suite makes him whistle appreciatively.

"Do we have time for this?" Atsushi asks helplessly when Dazai opens one of the taps. The water is immediately at the right temperature when it comes out. Clear as crystal. The sound it produces when it hits porcelain is nothing short of heavenly.

"Maybe," Dazai replies. "If we're quick enough. You should enjoy this more, Atsushi-kun—it's all thanks to you that we're here after all."

"I feel bad for leaving Kunikida-san alone…"

Dazai plays with the water for a moment longer—sliding his fingers under it to feel the very texture and heat of it, running a nail against the silvery shine of the faucet. It's gaudy, but in a good way. He has seen his fair share of absurd luxury these past few years, and thought for a long time that nothing could surprise him anymore, but this…

Atsushi truly is a wonder.

"Don't worry about Kunikida," he says, turning off the tap. Atsushi grimaces at him when he rises from the side of the tub, which makes him smile. "He's a jack-of-all-trades, master of all," he teases. "He'll be fine."

"We still shouldn't waste time," Atsushi mumbles.

"You are, of course, entirely right."

They exit the suite one after the other, Atsushi following behind Dazai with his back bowed slightly forward, as if he fears that any moment he should be scolded. No one is going to scold him here, but Dazai elects not to say it out loud. Better for Atsushi to realize this for himself than hear it from him, and then take it as reason not to believe any of it.

Kunikida is downstairs with their mark still, making conversation with all the airs of a university professor delivering a lecture. Or at least, he was when they left him to it. He did not bother to berate them for leaving, not in front of the woman they have taken as a target, but the twitch of his left eyelid had said it all.

It is another flight of stairs before they reach the highest of the ship. Shadows loom behind the stained glass of the engine control room located there, and Atsushi bows a little more, looking ready to crawl his way past it, even though there is no door for those shadows to come out of. Dazai pats his back with a smile and directs him to the office a little further ahead.

"How do we get in?" Atsushi whispers at him.

"Check your pockets."

Atsushi does, and inhales in surprise when his fingers come out holding a white keycard. "When did it get here?" he says, staring at it in half-fear and half-wonder.

"Ah, the mysteries of the job," Dazai replies lightly.

"You put it there, didn't you."

"Now, don't go accusing me like this, Atsushi-kun. One would think me a criminal."

He did slide the card into Atsushi's pocket, though.

Atsushi shakes his head defeatedly and swipes it against the digital reader of the lock. The green LED blinks at them; the room opens with a click.

Behind it is a lavish office come straight out of crime drama. A carpet at least as thick as Atsushi's wrist spreads lushly over the floor. Above it sits a polished Louis XV desk complete with gold leaf finish, each of its four drawers locked, the papers on it sorted neatly. A black Montblanc fountain pen rests next to a leather writing pad—it shines greenly in the setting sunlight pouring in from the window.

"Very nice," Dazai can't help but say, stroking the spines of old and dusty books lined on wooden shelves around the room.

He sees Atsushi blush from the corner of his eyes.

They pull in the heaviest of the bookshelves together, freeing the wall behind it where the steel safe is ensconced. Dust rises with their movements; Dazai almost feels the need to sneeze.

"You know the code, don't you," he tells Atsushi.

Atsushi frowns at him. "How would I know the…"

But Dazai can see the confusion leave him before he can even finish his sentence. The, "Oh," of excitement he lets out then warms him.

He has so missed having a student. And Atsushi is much more eager for his teachings than the rueful Akutagawa ever was.

Dazai chases thoughts of Akutagawa from his mind quickly; this is no place to be having them.

"Take your time," he says, leaning against the bookshelf. The smile etched on his lips feels a little less solid now. "The weather still looks good."

Atsushi has the safe open within a single try—his memory is excellent as well. He is quick to recover the taupe folder hidden inside and open it atop the desk, where daylight will make reading it easier. He stays like this for a minute or two whilst Dazai examines the sheer detail of the office around him. He can smell the wood that Atsushi leans against, as well as the slight stuffiness that permeates the air. The windows are thick here, after all, to parry the strength of ocean storms. They do not open easily for ventilation.

Atsushi tries to hand him the files once he is done reading them, but Dazai shakes his head. "I trust you," he says. Atsushi's flush at this is immensely gratifying. "No need for me to double-check."

"I remember you telling me not to trust anyone, not even my own self," Atsushi replies blithely.

"And therefore you should not have trusted my words."

Atsushi must be starting to suspect that Dazai is full of mostly hot air. Still, he nods with only slight exasperation, and puts the folder back within the safe all by himself. A minute later they have locked it again and put the bookshelf back where it belongs, and the garish room and ancient-looking desk vanish behind the electronic door.

"So what do we do now?" Atsushi asks as they walk down the stairs to the first deck where Kunikida is. "Just wait?"

"You have this whole place as your playground, and you want to just wait?" Dazai replies. "Come now, don't be silly. Go have a swim in the pool, enjoy yourself. We've got some time left before we need to make a run for it."

"I don't really like swimming so much, though…"

Their conversation comes to a stop once they reach the restaurant. Although daylight is still high outside, every suspended lamp has been lit, and a golden glow bathes the wide room. Voices come to Dazai from all around the place: shards of words and indistinct phrases running one after the other, carpeting the dining room, softening the sound of waves outside. He can barely feel the swell of the ocean under his feet—up and down and sideways.

Then he looks over at the bar, at the glinting bottles lined behind a mustached man making conversation with two women, and stops walking.

Atsushi nearly walks into him. "Dazai-san?" he asks plaintively.

Oh no, Dazai thinks.

The delight within him now is of a completely different kind. It thrums through him from neck to toes and pools heatedly in his belly, knocking out his breath as blue eyes meet his across a mile of guests in dark suits and brightly-colored gowns.

It's terrible, truly, and Kunikida will have his hide for it, but Oh no is all the regret Dazai can bring himself to feel. He makes his way through the waves of guests as if wading through a current, almost swimming himself. Emerging from behind them feels like a breath of air after crossing the length of an olympic pool head-down.

Dazai reaches the bar. He places a hand upon it, the skin of it turned translucent by the light shining up through white stone. The man before him takes another sip of his glass, stains his lips black-red with wine. He doesn't say anything.

Finally, when he can't bear it anymore—when he's had his fill of looking him up and down and feeling his mouth dry—Dazai asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I think you know," comes the even reply. "You fucking idiot."

His voice alone is dizzying. Dazai closes his eyes to it, braced against the counter and feeling like he needs it to stay upright, like those words out of that mouth will be enough to make him fall.

"This is a surprise," he says.

He knows his own words are breezy. He knows Atsushi has joined them now, is looking between the both of them in curiosity, will hear just how raw he sounds with excitement.

He opens his eyes again. "Hello, then," he offers.

"Hello," Chuuya replies. Wolf-like and rough, his lips stained with the wine, his neck framed so lovingly by the harsh cut of his suit that it is mouth-watering. "You're a right mess, aren't you."

Dazai laughs.

Atsushi makes a faint and confused noise when Dazai sits on the free stool next to Chuuya. He moves accordingly, placing himself by Dazai's other side—behind his back—like an adorable duckling. Dazai would worry more about his lack of confidence if he weren't busy absolutely drowning in Chuuya's eyes.

"Dazai-san…?"

"We've got some time," Dazai cuts in, never looking away from Chuuya. Chuuya isn't looking away either, though he seems much calmer about it than Dazai himself could hope to be right now. "Sit down, Atsushi-kun."

Chuuya takes another sip of his wine as Atsushi shuffles to his own stool. Outside the light darkens, as clouds pass before the sun and spread quickly over the sky. The lighting changes; Chuuya's drink turns as black as night, and shadows wash over his face, sculpting deeper into every angle.

"Where's my hat?" Chuuya says conversationally.

"I wouldn't know," Dazai replies, still drinking in the sight of him. "I have to say, however, that you look much nicer without it."

"Bastard."

It makes him want to laugh again. It makes the glee in him swell until he thinks his own smile will become fixed on his lips forever.

He makes a gesture toward the bartender, asks for whiskey in so rough a voice that his throat aches with the word alone. Even this brief interaction isn't enough to pull his eyes away for more than a second, especially not when Chuuya says, "I wouldn't recommend the bar."

"Oh no?" Dazai replies.

"Wine tastes like crap." Chuuya shakes his glass at him empathetically. "This is the third brand I try, and I may as well be drinking vinegar. What kind of shit place is this?"

"Ah, Atsushi-kun was in charge of finding the location."

Chuuya leans forward and around Dazai—Dazai can't help but breathe in the scent of him, so achingly familiar, as he does—and stares at Atsushi.

Atsushi has turned crimson. "I'm not twenty yet," he explains, miserable. "I can't drink alcohol."

His eyes fly between Chuuya and Dazai in confusion, though Dazai knows he will not dare say anything without knowing what is going on first.

What an excellent apprentice.

"Do you pick them straight out of kindergarten now?" Chuuya asks Dazai, pulling back to his seat entirely.

"Akutagawa was younger than him when he started," Dazai retorts. "You and I were even younger."

"Right, because things went for all of us. At least tell me Kunikida's here to make sure this ship doesn't hit an iceberg."

As if on cue, the boat rocks a little more powerfully than before. Liquid sways within glasses and flutes; people lean opposite to the dip of the sea in order to keep their balance. No conversation stops for the disturbance except for theirs.

Outside, the sky is grey. Thick clouds soaked with water prepare themselves to burst open on them.

"Atsushi-kun is very, very good," Dazai says once the boat has stabilized. "But yes, Kunikida is here. If you're lucky you'll get to say hi."

"How he can handle you without me around, I'll never know," Chuuya replies. His voice is not so light now.

Behind Dazai, Atsushi has fallen silent and still.

Dazai's whiskey is brought before him. The color and gleam of it is not quite lifelike to the expensive brands that should be sold here, and he doesn't drink from it, but his fingers wrap round the glass anyway. Chuuya's hand finds the foot of his wineglass much the same.

"How long has it been?" he asks Dazai softly.

"Two years," Dazai replies.

Two years, a month, and twenty-seven days.

"Two years already, huh…"

Chuuya hasn't changed at all since the last time Dazai saw him, of course. His hair is cut the very same, he has on his fingers the same golden rings he had gotten on his twenty-seventh birthday, even the suit he is in now looks similar to the one he wore during their last meeting. But it has been such a long time that the details were forgot, and watching him now feels like discovering him anew.

God, Dazai has missed him. He misses him so much.

Chuuya's free hand is gloveless now. It rises to Dazai's cheek, touches it with just the pads of two fingers, cool against his fevered skin. It strokes down from cheekbone to chin and rests just shy of his neck.

Dazai's smile comes painfully this time. "No, don't do that," he tells him. "You are completely breaking character."

"Like I have a choice in the matter," Chuuya retorts evenly.

His hand doesn't move until Dazai takes it and brings it down himself. He traces with his thumb the fresh scar above the first knuckle of his index finger. It was left by a gun with awkward recoil just over two years prior.

"I missed your thirtieth birthday," Dazai says. "I do feel sorry for that."

"You mean you missed the opportunity to call me old for the two months it took you to catch up."

"Well, yes," Dazai grins. "But I also wish I'd taken you to Malta like I said I would."

"Then take me next year," Chuuya says. "Don't miss another one."

It hurts a bit, right into the soft of Dazai's heart, but it isn't this Chuuya's fault that he is feeling so maudlin.

Thunder growls over them all. Glass sounds echo as the suspended lights move, knocking into each other, as the boat rocks again headfirst into what feels like a giant wave. Wine and whiskey spill over the white-lit counter, reaching the mixed drinks that the barkeep has been preparing, staining the elbows of the man behind Chuuya who is staring soullessly into his coffee.

The floor below their feet floods with seawater.

"Dazai-san," Atsushi says, worried.

Dazai looks into Chuuya's eyes and strokes the scar on his hand. He hears Atsushi gasp as the people around them vanish without so much as a sound. He feels the shaking and trembling of the boat's skeleton, the unmistakable rumble of destruction as their time here runs out and the endless ocean surrounding them breaks open into a storm.

The glass doors at the end of the restaurant shoot open, and Kunikida walks in, drenched by the rain and thunder outside, blood staining the front of his suit jacket. Dazai tears his eyes away and looks at him above Chuuya's head.

"Dazai," Kunikida calls loudly into the now-empty room, "you better have gotten the—"

He freezes in his spot when he sees them.

Chuuya takes his hand back. He grabs the felt hat that has suddenly appeared on the countertop and shoves it on his head. If his glass had not rolled away with the heave of the storm and shattered, he would have taken the time to finish it, Dazai knows.

"Hi," he tells Kunikida after turning to face him, and Kunikida's face goes bloodless.

Surprise does not hold him for long. Kunikida is too rational a man for that. It isn't a second later that he bares his teeth at Dazai, his fists clenched so tightly that leather creaks on his fingers, all of him looking like a figure of myth, a harbinger of just fury.

"Dazai," he says.

His voice shakes and groans with rage. Dazai smiles at him faintly.

"Looks like it's time for you guys to run," Chuuya says conversationally. "Nice touch with the storm and all."

"You flatter me," Dazai replies.

"Not on your life." Chuuya fidgets with his own gloves, looking once between the both of them—Dazai and Kunikida—before turning to the only other person around. "Atsushi, was it?" he asks.

Atsushi has the air of someone trying to shake off a daydream. "Ah, yes," he replies, very nearly panicked now.

"Place looks great," Chuuya tells him. "I don't know where Dazai found you, but you're made for the job. Just get the wine thing fixed and you'll be good to go."

Chuuya is never less than absolute about giving praise where it is due. It has made quite a few people flustered in the past, most spectacularly of all Akutagawa, and Atsushi is no exception. Even through his confusion, the boy cannot help but blush. "Er—thank you?" he replies.

"I look forward to meeting you topside," Chuuya says. He smiles kindly.

Then he shoots Atsushi between the eyes with the gun he just procured from a holster under his arm.

Atsushi's eyes go white, then close. The hole in his forehead has only just enough time to leak a few drops of blood before his body falls with a splash to the flooded floor.

"Ouch," Dazai says, wincing. "That was a little rough, Chuuya."

"You've gotta take off the kiddie wheels at one point and you know it."

"Dazai."

Dazai and Chuuya turn to Kunikida as one at the call. Kunikida shudders bodily when Chuuya faces him, seemingly unable to stop looking at him, no matter that anger distorts his face every time he does.

"What the hell," he says, nearly breathless. "What the hell is this?"

"I was surprised too," Dazai replies. "It's not like I planned for him to show up."

It is no defense at all. Judging by the face Kunikida makes at him, he is all-too aware of it as well.

Dazai can see Chuuya very well from his side. He hasn't really been able to stop looking at him, not even with the whole world collapsing around them as it is doing now. If he were still new at it, he would be falling and trying desperately to keep his balance. None of them is less than dreadfully experienced at this whole game, however.

Because Dazai is looking at Chuuya, he sees the color of the smile that Chuuya directs at Kunikida. He feels between his ribs a pang of such longing that not even seasalt can wash away the taste of it.

"Kunikida," Chuuya says.

Kunikida shudders again, anger and grief warring over his face. "I don't want to hear it," he cuts in. "Not from Dazai's pale imitation of you. Next time we talk, it'll be face to face, so shut up."

The admiration in Chuuya's smile and eyes is entirely Dazai's.

Kunikida kills himself cleanly, adding barely a touch more blood to the mess over his clothes that must have come from their target's projections. His body falls and vanishes as Atsushi's did earlier, and Dazai finds himself alone in the collapsing dream, his own wishful thinking staring at him with Chuuya's face.

"I hate goodbyes," he tells the projection futilely. "Don't go mushy on me now."

"I wasn't gonna say goodbye to you anyway," Chuuya replies with a shrug.

His gun is once more lifted. It comes to rest at Dazai's throat, cold and familiar. It kisses up his neck and chin, warms itself at his cheek, the way that Chuuya's lips did whenever tenderness stayed their frantic lovemaking.

"You'll find me, won't you," Chuuya says.

Dazai can't stop himself from reaching out and framing his face with one hand. It has been so long that he hungers for anything, even for a shade, but nothing here can satisfy him. Not the feel of Chuuya's skin, not the softness of his hair. He presses a thumb to Chuuya's mouth and thinks only of how lacking this is compared to the real and living thing. "Who do you think I am?" he replies.

He doesn't close his eyes when the gun's mouth touches his forehead. Seawater floods his legs to the knees as the ghostly ship they are on sinks into the ocean, but the only wetness he feels comes from Chuuya's tongue flicking against his finger.

He doesn't hear the gunshot at all.

There was a time when reality felt like the dream rather than the other way around when Dazai woke up like this. Yosano used to mutter that it was due to just how young he was when he started doing this, to just how much his mentor at the time benefited from him being in that state of confusion. Dazai used to blink and linger on couches, on hotel beds, in the luggage compartments of trains, his mind fogged with the same haunting question: am I still dreaming?

Then he met Chuuya, and the problem disappeared entirely. Chuuya never mistook dreams for reality, no matter how much time he spent roaming mazes and making gravity bend to his will. Chuuya never longed for the freedom of dreamscape after waking up. To Dazai, Chuuya felt a little like reality made into a human being. Like a five-foot-three totem with sharp eyes and a filthy mouth.

Dazai wakes up for the first time in years with that age-old grogginess in him, blinking tiredly at the ceiling of the beachside hotel where they chose to conduct the extraction. He sees Atsushi in no better state next to him, shaking as he checks his own forehead for a bullet hole, and Kunikida at the other side of the room, behind where the woman they robbed lies unconscious.

Kunikida is quick to make away with the needle in his arm and rise from his armchair. Fury still paints his face white and red, and his eyes are fixed onto Dazai with an intensity he has not felt in years. He is nothing if not a sticker for hygiene, however, so he waits until Dazai has shaken off the langor and taken out the needle in his own arm before he storms over and grabs him by the collar.

The paintings hung from the wall shake and rattle in their frames when Dazai's back hits the plaster. Kunikida is a meticulous man about many things, perhaps especially the health of his body, so he is strong enough after years of regular working out to almost lift Dazai off the ground entirely.

"What," he breathes onto Dazai's face, "was that."

Atsushi calls their name worriedly from his side of the room. Dazai sends him a smile, says, "It's fine, Atsushi-kun," before Kunikida shakes him again.

"Dazai!" Kunikida snaps at him.

"It was just an accident," Dazai tells him. "Just a one-time thing. He didn't cause any trouble, did he? Sweet as a lamb as always."

"You don't fucking know how dangerous this is—"

The woman on the bed groans, cutting their words short. They all turn to look at her in unison.

"Don't think this conversation is over," Kunikida murmurs threateningly after he is sure that the sedative has not worn off yet. His fingers tighten at Dazai's neck. "Don't you think I'll let this slide."

"I wouldn't dare," Dazai replies.

Kunikida drops his collar, allowing Dazai a brief second to massage his own neck while he asks Atsushi to get their things in order.

It barely takes more than a minute. Atsushi is still too new at it to truly know how to proceed outside the dream, so he collects their coats and watches from the side as Dazai and Kunikida fold the PASIV back into its case, as they place the woman onto her bed properly and clean away any trace of their presence.

The weather outside is lovely. Dazai has no fondness for the sort of luxury resort they are in right now, but the Mediterranean is always a good place to be at this time of the year. Warm wind sweeps into his hair as they walk out of the hotel—giving the last of her bribe to the woman in the lobby downstairs—and every breath he takes smells of cooked sand and calm water. Food stalls soon replace terrace restaurants as they reach the harbor. A majestic cruise ship waits there, glinting in the sunlight, but only Atsushi's eyes linger upon it for longer than a second.

"Magnificent work, by the way," Dazai tells him a few hours later.

They are on the evening train to Madrid, crammed within a compartment in company of an old man who slumbers deeply enough to look dead. Kunikida reluctantly looks up from his book to nod at Atsushi, avoiding Dazai's eyes so as not to give him a hint of an approving face.

He is so, so angry still. Dazai knows he should feel worse for slipping up like this, but he got to see Chuuya again. It kind of trumps any remorse he could experience about it.

"I've never seen so many details before," Dazai continues. "The water, the desk... most people will tell you that it's the trinkets that are difficult to get right, but truly, they've never had to recreate the feel of water on skin or the lines on wooden furniture. You are extraordinarily talented."

Atsushi has gone red to the ears. He squirms in his seat, looking quickly at the train window, as if the idea of jumping out of it is one he should consider. "I'm sorry I messed up on the wine, though," he says awkwardly.

"Oh, don't worry about this. Our target this time didn't drink." He smiles and adds, "And you kind of fell on a picky customer."

Kunikida's hand tenses. The hardcover of his book gives a faint cracking sound.

"Um, who was he?" Atsushi asks him uneasily. "The man at the bar. Was he one of that woman's projections?"

"No, that one was mine," Dazai replies. "My apologies. I'll be sure to keep my own subconscious in check next time."

Atsushi isn't impressed with the wink Dazai gives him, and probably even less with his words, considering how much of a point Dazai made to teach him that one's subconscious isn't controllable at all.

Truly, Dazai has missed teaching.

"I thought only the target could populate a dream," Atsushi says. "That's what you told me."

"Normally, that's the case," Kunikida answers, finally breaking out of his silent treatment. He snaps his book closed when Dazai opens his mouth, cutting him off, glaring at him all the while. "But dreamsharing isn't an exact science," he goes on. "We all brings things to the dream, so it's not unheard of for objects or people to appear. They're not usually this talkative, however."

"That man looked a lot more real than the projections…"

Dazai leaves them to discuss the intricacies of compounds and machines and experiences. He looks at the dry landscape unfolding around their train like the décor of a film. He drinks from the sparkling water shoved within his bag.

He thinks about Chuuya.

Their hotel is Madrid could be called miserable next to the one they exited that morning, but it's one Dazai likes, and it has the advantage of a wide rooftop under the stars where no one ever goes. He takes Kunikida there after they leave Atsushi in his room for the night and remind him to set his alarm for six. They have a plane for Tokyo booked the next day, and local authorities to avoid in case their client decides to jump ship and deliver them to the police. The earlier they get across customs, the better.

It wouldn't be the first time someone decides that their information is lacking. This client has paid them in full already, but he has not yet replied to the message they sent, detailing their target's plan about the energy conglomerate she works for. Dazai and Kunikida both have gotten used to being careful.

Kunikida sits nervously on a wooden bench of the rooftop that has been in this exact same spot for years. Dazai wisely chooses not to tell him that he once sucked Chuuya off right there.

"So," Kunikida says darkly. His eyes are like a hawk's even in the penumbra. They look over Dazai sharply, no less impressive for the height that Dazai has on him now that he is seated. Dazai has thick enough skin not to fidget or squirm, but it's a close thing.

"So," Dazai replies, "I miss him. You can't blame me for that, can you?"

It will not be enough to soften Kunikida up, and he knows it. No matter how much Kunikida misses Chuuya too.

"You've been missing him for two years," Kunikida says, implacable. "You've never let a single projection of yours invade a dream before, no matter how wishy-washy you can get."

"There's a first time for everything."

He can almost hear Kunikida's teeth grind together. Any other day and Dazai would be cowed by just how incensed he is, by the fire in his eyes which has become so rare ever since they met and Kunikida settled into healthier living habits, but not now. Not today.

He can still hear Chuuya's voice in his ears. He hadn't been able to recall it to the fullest, in all of its rough quality and depth, before his own subconscious tugged the memory to light. His skin feels swollen still with the sound of it, with the touch of Chuuya's fingers on his face. He has never craved anything as much as he does this touch—deprived of it for two years and then given a brief, so brief, taste of it again.

It has been two years, one month, and twenty-eight days since Chuuya disappeared. Two years, one month, and twenty-eight days since he last felt Chuuya's touch.

He thinks he understands, now, why most of his colleagues say extractors always lose their grasp on reality.

"What is going on, Dazai?" Kunikida asks.

Dazai doesn't answer him.

Kunikida sighs. He brushes a hand over his own face in a gesture as annoyed as it is exhausted. Weary. "Why Chuuya?" he tries again. "Why now?"

"Must there be a reason?"

"Yes," Kunikida seethes. "With you, there must be."

Dazai feels on his lips the same smile that his projection of Chuuya gave Kunikida in the dream: admiring and mellow and only the slightest bit enamored.

"I'm sorry, Kunikida," he says.

He grins when Kunikida flushes and looks away from him. Kunikida never did fully make up his mind about Dazai's offer—or Chuuya's, for that matter.

Chuuya vanished before Kunikida could give it a proper answer, and, well. It wouldn't feel right without him.

Kunikida's face has gone lax and morose. He looks above the low barrier surrounding the roof, his skin basked in the glow of streetlight, his hands linked above his thighs in such a tight grip that his knuckles have gone white. He slouches forward, but Dazai has not a doubt that if he were to touch him now, he would find every one of his limbs as tense as steel cables.

It is what makes the decision for him, truly: the sight of Kunikida so burdened with misery after seeing Chuuya again, and the crawling knowledge that he would never have been able to resist anyway.

He never even considered resisting.

Kunikida blinks when Dazai hands him his phone. The light of the screen is too bright after minutes spent in darkness; he squints at it after taking it in hand, and fetches his glasses from the breast of his jacket.

Then he reads Mori's message and inhales in shock.

Dazai waits him out calmly, touching his wristwatch habitually, stroking the engraving under the case where it fits snugly to his skin. It has been a long time since he has needed his totem like this.

"This is a trap," Kunikida says eventually. Dazai's lips curl; nothing comforts him more these days than how predictable and solid Kunikida is. "You know it's a trap," Kunikida adds, giving him back his phone.

His face is no longer stricken with misery, however. He looks at Dazai in worry instead.

Dazai pockets the device. "I'm willing to take the risk," he replies.

"It's impossible to do."

"You and I both know that isn't true."

"We'd need a team of at least five people, plus the amount of money and connections—"

"Kunikida," Dazai cuts off. "Breathe."

Kunikida does so after a moment of stillness. He chokes on it, as expected, having not realized just how close he came to hyperventilating in the past twenty seconds. Dazai is used enough to how anxiety manifests through his friend that he feels no hurry, waiting for him to find his bearings, listening to his coughs as he clears his airways.

Two years ago, Chuuya would have sat by Kunikida's side and patted his back with a frown until he quieted.

Kunikida manages on his own. He breathes in, breathes out, his head hung between his knees until finally, he calms down. His face is flushed and sweaty when he lifts it again.

"If we do this," he tells Dazai in a rough voice, "we're going to need the best of the best."

"I happen to have found us a miracle architect," Dazai replies, jovial.

"Atsushi's only done this once."

"But you saw it. You felt how perfect that dream was. You should've seen the tap water, Kunikida—I couldn't tell the difference at all. That's never happened with anyone I worked with in the past, even Mori."

Kunikida frowns upon hearing that name, worry once more creasing his brow when he looks over Dazai, but Dazai ignores it. He crosses the distance between them and sits on the other end of the bench, leaving enough room for their thighs not to touch.

"It was only his third time dreaming at all," he says. "His first time doing actual extraction. Think of how perfect he could become if we went two or three levels down."

"You madman," Kunikida mutters, looking away. "This is why Fukuzawa-san didn't want to give him to you."

Dazai laughs. He doesn't deny it.

There is a light flickering at the edge of the rooftop, orange rather than yellow, a thing as old as this whole hotel is. Dazai can remember just how Chuuya looked under it the first time they came here, how his red hair had shone in the crushing heat of summer, unbearable while they kissed, sweaty skin on sweaty skin. He had forgotten the smell and taste of him until that projection showed up and pulled the memory out of his very guts.

It feels like drinking again after years of abstinence. The alcohol is down his throat, down his belly, digging a space for itself that Dazai will be febrile to fill again once it runs out. He feels parched already.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Kunikida asks then.

Dazai doesn't need to look to know that he has a hand in his pocket, touching the small notebook there which serves as his totem. He can barely stop himself from sliding a finger under his watch again.

"I got the email only a few hours before we had to go down," he replies. "I didn't want you to be distracted. Your distractions tend to cause avalanches."

Kunikida shudders. "At least I wouldn't have brought Chuuya to the dream," he spits back. "That was barely even him at all. He'd kill you if he knew about it."

"I know."

Another silence, broken only by tepid wind rushing through foliage.

"Dazai," Kunikida says once he is done making sense of his own thoughts. "We'll need Akutagawa for this."

Dazai breathes quietly. His tongue runs over the two fake teeth in his mouth, and he feels almost as if they ache again. "I can forge well enough," he replies.

"Not well enough for this."

The problem with Kunikida is just how reasonable he is. He used to be somewhat more malleable; back when Chuuya was around to act as a pillar for Dazai's sanity, Kunikida could occasionally be swayed into agreeing with stupid ideas. He could have faith in Chuuya's ability to be rational in both their steads. Since Chuuya went missing, Kunikida has been as unmoving as a cliff. He has been the epitome of prudence.

"Akutagawa is in Yokohama," Dazai concedes with a grimace. "With Mori. Yosano should be there too, though definitely not with Mori."

"Do you think Akutagawa knows already, then?" Kunikida asks.

Dazai shakes his head. "Mori's probably keeping him because he knows we'll go get him ourselves, and he won't miss a chance to see me," he says. "If Akutagawa knew, he'd be long gone already."

Akutagawa would be the kind of idiot to try and do this all alone.

The last time Dazai saw Akutagawa was in Shibuya, after shooting the both of them out of a dream whose target had vanished without a trace. After an hour spent roaming the halls of a maze created by Dazai himself, looking futilely for the Russian man they were supposed to steal from, understanding too late that something had gone wrong.

Understanding too late that the Chuuya who followed in their steps was only a shadow.

Akutagawa had all but screamed as he tore the needle out of his arm and ransacked the hotel suite, as he ran out of the door in the footsteps of their target, who couldn't have been gone for longer than a few minutes.

Dazai hadn't followed him. He had looked at the desk chair where Chuuya had sat only moments ago. His hat had still been there, right where Dazai had put it after taking it off Chuuya's head.

He had been the one to hand him the compound, to clean the crook of Chuuya's arm and put him to sleep. "Wake me up with a kiss if you get back before me," he had said then.

"Sure," Chuuya had replied. "After I kick the chair from under your ass."

When Akutagawa had come back, empty-handed, and found Dazai sitting there in silence, he had punched out two of his teeth.

"We're doing this," Dazai says.

Mori's email has been burning against his thigh, through the pocket where his phone is hid, since he received it the night before: I know where Chuuya-kun is. Work this job for me and I'll tell you.

Refusing was never an option. Dazai had replied immediately, and then received the details of what Mori wanted out of him.

Kunikida sighs deeply. The very sound of it tenses through Dazai's throat, makes his chest ache in empathy, but he is not afraid. He hasn't been afraid of Mori since a young man with red hair first waltzed into his dreams.

"I miss him too," Kunikida says. Forlorn and more open about this than he has been even when Dazai called him years ago, saying, Chuuya's gone. "But we don't even know if he's alive."

"He is alive," Dazai retorts easily. "He's of no use to that man dead. Chuuya is way too good at what he does, you'd have to be stupid to kill him."

"If he knew how easily you praise him when he can't hear it…"

It tears a smile out of Dazai again.

Next to him, Kunikida stretches his shoulders. He cracks his knuckles, then his neck. He leans back against the wooden bench until his eyes find the glowing Madrilean sky, and Dazai remembers Chuuya doing the same thing with his hand in Dazai's hair, as Dazai kissed the hot skin of his belly.

"We'll find him," Kunikida says resolutely.

"We will," Dazai agrees.

He knew this since the second Chuuya vanished. They would find him, no matter where he was hidden, no matter how long it took. His certainty in the matter has not weakened in the least.

Inception, he thinks, touching his wristwatch. Stroking the engraving under the platinum case of the dial.

It's probably easier to achieve than it sounds.

#soukokuweek #soukokuweek19 #bsd #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #fic: i'd love to go drowning #featured

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tia-dreamer · 5 years

Text

SoukokuWeek2019 Day 4

Prompts:

Price - Debt and Payment - “Take a good swing at me and everything is even.”

Nice, normal mornings weren’t really something that was familiar to the people working at the Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama. So when one such morning rolled around quietly, when suddenly there were no emergencies or extra chores to do and even Dazai was only lazing around on the couch, everyone distrusted it. Immensely. These sort of morning’s always came with too steep a price. In the two hours since the work day started Dazai had caught six people sending prayers to various deities, seen Ranpo case the room, twice, and had been enduring looks from every single person in the office. Even from the Chief! It really wasn’t fair. Dazai had nothing to do with this, and he had, for once, little inclination to stir up trouble.

Though that was suspicious in it’s own right, maybe, so even he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And drop it did, about fifteen minutes later, when the door to the office was flung open violently, in a way that hinted at a kick more than an enthusiastic push. Dazai saw a good amount of people relax, from his vantage point, and then blanch.

He heard the croaked sounds of breaking floor panels and familiar footsteps before he ever caught a glimpse of their surprise visitor. He buried his head more in the couch cushions. No, Chuuya was annoying on the best of days and he didn’t want to get kicked around again for some tiny issue that the Chibi blew out of proportion to compensate his stature.

“Ah, Nakahara-san?”

Weird, Kunikida sounded perplexed.

“Heh?! So you all do know me. Wonderful. So where is the Spoiled Brat?”

Dazai hadn’t heard that nickname in years- what-

“Aaaah- What happened, Nakaha-”

“What do you think, de-tec-tives?”

Dazai had a bad feeling about this. But the conclusion his brain was shoving at him sounded disastrous and he really needed to check it, before he started believing it. So he sat up, made his way over to the opening of the visitor booth and turned to look out into the office.

“Chib-eh?”

Well. Fuck.

Staring back at him was a tiny - and for once he didn't mean his height, though that of course was a fact as well - version of Nakahara Chuuya. A fifteen year old version, to be exact. Same clothes, but short haired once again, and he couldn't see that one scar on his jaw that Chuuya had gotten at 17.

“Fuck me, did you let someone stretch out your skeleton, asshole?”

That pulled Dazai out of his stupor. His response was reflexive as always.

“No, I just think Chibi shrank overnight. I didn't know you wanted to compete for the ‘tiniest microbe’ competition so badly you’d get yourself de-aged Chuuya.”

“I just woke up to a stranger poking me with needles and an older version of your little shackle freaking out. I don’t know what happened, okay?”

A huff, but less aggravated and much more indulging than he had heard it in years. Dazai let a smile slip onto his face.

“Well, Chuuya most probably ran afoul of an ability and now I get a flashback to Mini-Chuuya. Maybe I should send them some flowers? Chuuya gets a lot less cute when he grows… or rather, when he ages. You don't really grow, Chibi, even though I tried watering you.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Wait what?”

Dazai decided to ignore his coworkers in favour of interacting with a much less jaded version of his ex-partner. Not to mention that Chuuya was actually scared, considering he hadn't risen to half the bait Dazai had slipped into their conversation. It had always been the easiest gauge for his mental state.

And Chuuya must be wondering what the deal was with Dazai at the ADA of all places. Maybe he didn't want to see it right that moment, but he would get the picture soon enough. Dazai didn't want anyone else to see that confrontation.

So he went and slung an arm around his ex-partner-turned-child-present-partner, ignoring how Chuuya didn't even try to shrug off the contact, and tried to grin at the whole office, all of whom were staring in shock or horror at the scene. Ah, silver linings, those were a thing people prattled on about sometimes, didn't they?

“Well, I guess Chuuya and I will see if I can’t find a rogue de-aging gifted, so we’ll be going-”

“Dazai-kun.”

Dazai stiffened as Fukuzawa-san stepped into the office proper, looking somewhat more severe that usual.

“Ah, yes, Chief?”

“Mori-sensei just informed me that their Executive went missing after a run in with a very curious ability user. It seems he is no longer missing, though.”

Dazai felt the startling and unfamiliar urge to shove Chuuya behind him and hide him from view, even as the 15-year-old stepped forward instead, straightening out and jaw stubbornly set as he stared at the man who fought with Mori on even footing. Not that Chuuya actually knew that.

“I didn’t go fucking missing. And who wants to know that anyway, I don’t answer to you.”

Dazai wasn't aware of whatever face he was making, but it was probably a pained one. A cornered Chuuya was never a good thing. Even now, Dazai could hear the floor creak ominously, and Chuuya was tensing like he was readying himself for a fight. This was… less than ideal.

After a quick moment of contemplation Dazai reached out to pull Chuuya back towards him, hand mostly on his left shoulder, but very deliberately also touching the side of his neck.

“Down boy.”

“Not a dog, Dazai. Two weeks of no names, remember?”

Oh. That made the age Chuuya had been… well, de-aged to much easier to pinpoint.

“Ah, it has been seven years for me, Chuuya. But I’ll be nice and refrain anyways, how’s that?”

A kick against his shin, and then Dazai’s face was pulled down a good foot until it was almost level with Chuuya’s.

“Don’t fucking patronize me, shitty mummy. I’ve been in worse situations and you don’t need to fucking coddle me. You never did before.”

He didn’t so much as blink at the rapid change in perspective.

“Ah, but last time we were both irresponsible teenagers. I’m an adult now and you're still tiny.”

Another kick, hitting the exact same spot with pinpoint accuracy, before Chuuya stepped away and to the side, eyes never leaving the people around them. He smirked.

“I call bullshit. That one over there is younger than me, and considering she has her own desk and a knife that she’s been grasping at for the last five minutes, I doubt this place is any less of one that employs children.”

The grin turned wolfish as he met Kyoka’s gaze head on. “And I’ve definitely killed more people than her. You're not coddling her. So you can shove your adult responsibilities up your ass.”

Again, both of them ignored the offended gasps and exclamations from their audience. Dazai had to admit they weren’t used to that. He didn’t call them out either, and didn't want to be called out for his own hypocrisy any more than them. But Chuuya had always been blunt and sharp-edged at the same time.

So a rueful sigh was the only reaction Dazai allowed himself.

“Very well, Chuuya. But fighting’s still not in the plan right now.”

“Quite right.” Fukuzawa interrupted whatever Chuuya had had to say to that, and gave them both a quelling look. Thankfully Chuuya only glared, uttering a “Tch,” before falling silent and focussing on Fukuzawa-san as well.

“Nakahara-kun. I will inform Mori-sensei of your whereabouts. Considering your temporal displacement, you might be under considerable stress, so I will negotiate terms with him to have Dazai and you stay together and for the ADA to take on your case to reverse whatever happened to you.” His gaze shifted to Dazai, who felt himself straighten, relief coursing through him. “Dazai-kun, please show Nakahara-kun to our infirmary. We should at least make sure that there is no unexpected strain on him.”

And then the white-haired man turned on his heel to step back into the hallway.

“Eeeh?” Chuuya fixed another glare at Dazai. “What is he-”

“Chuuya.”

The redhead narrowed his eyes at the taller man. “Urgh. Fine. I don’t want to stay near an audience anyway.”

That was as much of a concession as Dazai could hope for, not that it meant that Chuuya had surrendered to whatever plan the people around him were making. Dazai knew that with a surety that came from years of being stuck next to Chuuya in these sorts of situations. So he led the way towards the infirmary and Yosano-san, and hoped against hope that it wouldn't blow up in everyone’s faces. After a few steps, a third set of those made themselves known, and both of them turned around, almost simultaneously. The little out-of-synch movements were a stark reminder that this wasn’t his Chuuya- his time’s Chuuya. They came face-to-face with Kunikida, glaring and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I do not believe leaving you alone with a Mafia execute is a good idea, Dazai-kun. For your safety and ou-”

Dazai threw a quelling look at his partner. He really didn’t need Kunikida to give Chuuya more information on what the situation was like. It would complicate things immensely and-

“Oh come off it.” Chuuya swatted at Dazai with a hand and shook his head.

“I don't have the full picture but you've obviously left m- the mafia. I’m an executive and that guy is your new partner. And we’ve had run-ins that were less than friendly. I won't be here that long, so I don't much care because for now you’re a somewhat more annoying version of my partner as far as i'm concerned, so don't sweat it, okay?”

Abort. Deflect.

“Chuuya is really giving his brain a workout today, are you sure you won't drop dead from exertion?”

A quicksilver grin as Chuuya gave him the finger. “You’re the one with no stamina to speak of, spoiled brat. That's the whole reason why you can't call me names, remember? OR are you getting amnesiac in your old age?”

The grin that took over Dazai’s face then was completely involuntary, for the record. And he got a pleased little grin in return as Chuuya noted that yes, Dazai remembered quite well. But then Chuuya’s expression hardened as he looked back to Kunikida.

“You wanna come, you walk in front of us. You obviously trust Dazai, but I don't trust you at my back, mullet-man. Not even if shitty Dazai does.”

In the face of one person already on the verge of a conniption, and the looming threat of Yosano-sensei, Dazai was actually loath to poke Chuuya by admitting that he had grown his hair out to at least resemble a mullet in the furthest sense as well.

Instead, he took a few steps, laid a hand on Kunikida’s shoulder and then dragged and pushed him towards the infirmary in front of Chuuya.

Yosano caught one glimpse of the Chi- of Chuuya and slammed the door in Kunikida’s face. Dazai genuinely didn't know who had the funnier reaction: Kunikida, who was squawking something about decorum and basic curtesy, or Chuuya, who stared and then started laughing. Dazai was probably the only human in existence who could see the flash of calculation that made Chuuya’s eyes glow before the redhead, seemingly impulsively, started cackling and jeering about scared old ladies.

And it was effective. Chuuya knew as well as Dazai did how to coax people into certain reactions. For Dazai, it was a learned skill he used in accord with his observational abilities - he was brilliant at figuring out exactly what to say, but Chuuya got people. And an impertinent teenager calling her old? Yosano-san hauled them all into the room after less than ten seconds of loud taunting.

What followed was a rapid fire check-up that went over surprisingly smoothly, considering that Chuuya didn’t know her and had never taken well to strangers prodding him, and that Yosano-san only ever interacted with him the time he had attacked their hide-out. It was a less than ideal situation for a cordial visit. But the two of them spoke little, and interacted mostly through gestures and nods and really, it almost seemed like they had come to an understanding right under Dazai’s nose without making it apparent in any way. How had they done that?

But then they were done, and Yosano swept out of the room, “to update Fukuzawa-san on the situation”, and Kunikida and Dazai both stared after her. Chuuya apparently hadn’t felt the need to do the same, because he was flopped down on the bed and had pulled out a phone he was holding above his head and by all appearances engrossed in.

Kunikida fell for it like the utter fool he was. Dazai almost wanted to shake his head, but then again, most people didn't expect a 16 year old to deliberately thump his nose at them or try to aggravate him. And Kunikida would see the child before the 16 year old mafia member and mass-murder weapon just because he was lounging around, playing on a phone and affecting a careless attitude. Chuuya had learned exactly how to take advantage of people’s misconceptions. He’d routinely seen Dazai pull the same move, after all.

“Are you not the least bit cornered about your situation, young man?”

Moments like these, Dazai could see exactly what the math teacher had been like once upon a time. He had a certain “adult-to-child” demeanour that was, if Dazai was being honest, and he always tried to be so as little as possible, very aggravating.

“‘Course not. The boss can’t stand missing an executive and the mummy misses the older me- I’ll essentially cease to exist as soon as they find whoever did this. And that won’t take long with the port mafia on the job.”

“Do not talk so casually about death!”

Chuuya turned his face towards the blonde man. “Your partner was literally humming that bloody suicide song of his when I arrived.”

“Dazai should never be a standard to which to hold yourself-”

“I fucking know. Get off your high horse, mullet-man. I’m not suicidal, I’m realistic. And I haven’t ever seen that waste of bandages as someone I wanted to be like in any capacity.”

“Aww, Chuuya, you’re hurting my feelings!”

“Fuck off, Dazai, you don’t have feelings that can get hurt.”

It was telling how complacent Dazai had gotten within the ADA when it took honest effort to suppress the minute twitch at that. Kunikida seemed too just get more aggravated.

“Now-”

“Oh please. You may know this version but Dazai is still the same shithead who manipulated my friends into stabbing me in the back and also literally stabbing me just so he could get a minion of his own.”

Blue eyes glared into Dazai’s direction. “Not to mention that he also decided that clumsily flirting with me would be a good idea afterwards because he had no people skills and wanted an obedient little housewife and attack dog in one.”

Kunikida sputtered. Dazai just wasn’t sure what to think of Chuuya airing out their past in front of his current partner. Especially because the blonde started muttering something mostly unintelligible, and the only words Dazai caught were something to do with “straight” and “terrible” and Dazai really didn’t care to know exactly what made Chuuya chuckle at that. He could extrapolate it anyways, thank you very much, especially when Chuuya calmed down and shook his head at the former math teacher.

“You guys completely fell for his shitty obfuscation didn't you. Figures.” And then a mean little grin spread over his face.

“I was his first kiss.”

And when Kunikida, predictably (really, Dazai needed to teach his partner something about composure in the face of obvious distractions. Then again, he had never needed to teach that before) lost his calm once more, Dazai was all to aware that Chuuya’s grin was a mirror image to his own.

Chuuya had picked up a lot just by watching him. And Kunikida’s denials continued, much too Chuuya’s obvious amusement. “Ya’think the guy knew other people he’d get into a five foot radius off? Fuck no.”

And that, apparently, was too much for the blonde’s brain, because it evidently gave up on processing anything it had been occupied with for the last minutes, to instead fixate on Chuuya’s vocabulary.

“Language.”

“Fuck you I lived on the streets for 7 years.”

Dazai now really wanted to laugh at the way Kunikida turned purple, but Kunikida might implode if he did that, so instead he raised an eyebrow at the sixteen-year-old and raised an eyebrow. He was met with a sharp grin.

“I don’t think most girls will appreciate that sort of language.”

Chuuya’s head turned so quickly towards the blonde again that Dazai almost got whiplash, and the face Chuuya wore was one of utter bewilderment.

“I literally just told you that I own Dazai’s first kiss. I’m fucking gay, what the fuck would I care what some civilian chick thinks about me?”

Dazai still tried, but now he really couldn't hold back his laughter. Oh, that was precious.

And that was the scene that Yosano arrived back to: Chuuya glaring incredulously as Kunikida squawked and Dazai laughed at the whole situation.

Chuuya was remarkably quiet and almost… well, not exactly docile but definitely more agreeable than expected as they made their way out of the ADA and as Dazai started herding him towards Dazai’s own flat. He was not going to leave him out of his sight, and he had sensibly decided not to think about the reasons for that.

The calm lasted until they had turned three corners and Chuuya dragged Dazai along in two consecutive loops, executed to catch any possible tails and really, Dazai fell into step with Chuuya way too easily. It had been a habit before they both turned 18, to shake any tails and trip up Hirotsu when they wanted less supervision.

It was plain discomfiting. Everything was nostalgic in ways that bothered Dazai. The Mafia had been horrible, and still was. But these weren’t bad memories. Ambivalent mostly, though he couldn't help a certain fondness when it came to the pure life that Chuuya exuded as 16, arrogant and confident and settled into a space that he could fit himself into.

Seeing him like this, Dazai only just realised how much the PM had broken his partner in the later years. He knew how it had broken himself, but he hadn't been watching closely enough to see the same thing happen to Chuuya.

Evidently though, it had.

Just for a moment he wondered how much he himself had contributed to that. But that almost made him want to throw up, so he turned towards the currently 16 year-old to start some other nonsensical discussion and met Chuuya’s own narrow-eyed stare.

“What is she going to want?”

“Huh?”

Chuuya levelled a glare at Dazai. “The Doc Lady. You said you trust her with your life, but you also said she is an acquaintance,” Chuuya affected air quotes, “of the boss’s.”

“Chuuya, Yosano-san’s not like that.”

That had come out more placating than Dazai had intended. And Chuuya, understandably, growled at that.

“Bull. Ane-san said it's... like, Debt and Payment. It's a ‘principle of human interaction.’ And seriously, you know as well as I do that His acquaintances never do shit for free.”

Dazai hummed noncommittally as he steered them around another corner, smoothly avoiding the police outpost on that street.

“Yosano-Sensei is possibly the person least likely to ever become one of Mori’s typical acquaintances, Chuuya. There is quite a bit of bad blood there, from what I have gathered.”

And incredulous look.

“What, you haven’t gone snooping and gotten your hands on the whole story? When did you grow a sense of respect for other people’s privacy?”

“Imagine trying to spy on Ane-san, Chuuya.”

That single sentence made both of them wince as they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. If he had been a lesser man, Dazai would have shuddered. Spying on Ozaki Kouyou was as good as signing a warrant for eternal torture- not death, but unending, eternal torture. Dazai was not a fan.

“Fact is, Yosano-Sensei may know Mori, but she is not the type to ask for payment from a 16 year old. Maybe it will be different once you are back… to an older age, but I doubt you will care all that much.”

There was a huff.

“Alright, we’ll see.”

“Aww, doesn’t Chuuya trust me?”

The bristling came as no surprise, even as Dazai made sure to smile extra-irritatingly.

“Not as far as I can throw you, shitty mummy. You know that.”

Dazai shrugged. “Well, you are here.”

“Because there is nowhere else to go! At least you’re honest with your fucking shady shit.”

The brunette stopped and rolled his eyes. “Of course, Chuuya, but I did mean that you are here- this is my apartment building.”

Chuuya stared up the clean, if somewhat old high rise and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve really moved up in the world, now, haven’t you,” he quipped, voice laced heavily with sarcasm. Dazai very obviously bend down a little to smile at him. “Well, since Chuuya never went up all that much I did have an advantage, didn’t I?”

He got a rude gesture for his trouble and a quick hand snatched the keys and stomped inside.

“Fuck off!”

Dazai trailed after the teenager, smug grin firmly settled on his face until they both were in the elevator and Dazai pressed the button to his floor. It was a quick ride, and then Dazai made a beeline for his door and was overtaken by Chuuya as soon as he had discerned which door Dazai was heading towards. He let them both in.

The apartment Dazai lived in was the complete opposite of his staff-cleaned room in the Port Mafia. After two years in hiding that had been intentional. Possibly the most deliberate decision he had made during those years. It wasn’t vast or clean-cut, it wasn’t a stylish combo of monotone colours and the lights and window blinds weren’t automated.

Not to mention that he had to take out his own trash which… he should have done two days ago, judging by the state of his overflowing bin.

And he knew he had a spare futon somewhere because Yosano had gotten a new one for her place and the old one hadn’t been threadbare yet… he just wasn’t sure where exactly it was.

Chuuya, evidently completely unbothered by the state of Dazai’s flat, had slipped off his shoes and made his way down the hallway meanwhile to peer into every room until he found the kitchen. And he’d already found the Onigiri Dazai had planned on having for dinner, as well as two cans of canned crab from his emergency stash.

When Dazai entered the room, Chuuya wordlessly shoved the cans at him and proceeded to dog into his Onigiri and Dazai very belatedly remembered that Chuuya had been a bottomless pit during his teenage years. He didn't even know if that had changed. He made a face at the redhead.

“Were you not planning on eating me out of house and home, Chuuya?”

“Fuck off, I’m hungry, and tired and its not even 6. You don't have shit to cook and I’m not going outside again. You’ll just drag me along into another disaster.”

“I think Chuuya is the disaster out of the two of us.”

Chuuya snorted.

“Yeah right. That little assassin girl was great at detailing exactly how much shit you get up to while you were talking to that boss of yours.” A click of his tongue and a bite as he watched Dazai sit down opposite him. “Seems to me like you just walk from one shitshow into the next ever since you left the PM.”

Dazai took a very deliberate bite of his crab.

“Shitshows are universal when you’re around ability users, Chuuya.”

The redhead rolled his eyes at him.

“Oh fuck off with your evasive bullshit. I already said I don’t care, didn't I? I know exactly what the Port Mafia is like.”

Dazai stared at him for a moment. Maybe this version didn't care, but his partner did.

It had been overly blatant during both their reunion in the basement and during the Lovecraft debacle. Dazai just hadn’t noticed that he had been stepping on someone’s trust at the same time. Words didn’t matter. And neither did words spoken as Chuuya slumped over in exhaustion. Those were negligible. But that his partner, a version of his partner that didn’t know him half as well too, had chosen to come to him when faced with a situation that could have had multiple available solutions?

It drove home what Chuuya had already said a few times. He did trust Dazai. Not just in the “we have to work together and you’re my ball and chain and you won’t let me level the city” kind of way, but genuinely trusted him to search him out in a vulnerable situation.

Dazai swallowed another bite and got up, making a deliberately stupid little wave at Chuuya and made his way out of the room to find the second futon.

This wasn’t something to think about now, when Chuuya watched him closely enough that he might even be able to decipher Dazai’s thoughts.

Older Chuuya and his preconceived notions was much easier to lead around the nose.

He ignored the catty “coward” comment that drifted after him.

Dazai’s phone rang at 3 a.m. that night.

Chuuya had sat up straight on his futon before Dazai even turned to the side to reach for it, a dark, lanky silhouette in the room that was only illuminated by the sliver of a waxing moon.

He picked up the phone and accepted the call from a blocked number. And really, at this time, there were very few people that would call him.

“Dazai-kun.”

“Mori-san!” Dazai chirped, deliberately chipper, as he watched Chuuya tense and straighten. “What seems to be the problem at this hour?”

“I do fear for your intellect, if you cannot deduce it from the situation, Dazai-kun. But very well. We have found the hiding place of the ability user that affected Chuuya-kun, so we would be very happy if you could make your way there post haste.”

“Ah, but it is very early, Mori-san, don’t you think?”

“Fukuzawa-dont has assured me that you will be happy to help and resolve this issue as soon as possible, Dazai-kun.“

Dazai sighed. There was little he could do to stall for time in this. And with the way Chuuya was up and grabbing the day clothes at his side, he knew so as well.

He suppressed another sigh. “Very well, Mori-san, send me the address and we will make our way there.”

He almost grinned the pause that followed.

“You might remember Chuuya at 16, Mori-san, I won’t be able to keep him from going without grievous harm to myself and we both know I would rather avoid that.”

“Very well. See that you don’t dawdle,” came the terse reply, and then the call broke off. Dazai pouted slightly at his phone. Mori could really bet indescribably rude.

And still, he rolled out of bed and made his way towards his wardrobe, pulling out a somewhat darker attire than he regularly wore nowadays.

When going into an area undoubtedly swarming with Port Mafia goons though, he was very much conscious that this would make it just a little easier for him to blend in and keep the tension at a minimum. Not really necessary normally, but he was walking in there without any sort of back-up this time.

Dazai went into the bathroom after Chuuya came out, completely dressed and hair still wet, but not dripping all over the place like Dazai sometimes left his own.

And fifteen minutes later they were stepping outside again, heading towards the nearest subway station as some other blocked number send him coordinates. The train ride was filled with a mostly tense silence, with Chuuya obviously caught up in his own thoughts and Dazai trying to puzzle out whom he would have to deal with in the next half hour. Hirotsu was almost a given, but he didn’t know whether Mori would send Akutagawa and Gin-chan just to complicate matters or if he would not, to facilitate a quick and successful mission.

It was a bit of a toss-up, and as such not something Dazai was particularly happy about.

When they did get out at their final station, they both noticed the suited men waiting for them at the street corner. Dazai only just caught the undecipherable look that Chuuya send in his direction before they met up with the men and were lead down a few alleyways, only to stop in front of what looked like a shop in the middle of renovations, and one that was awfully quiet.

“Huh, is the show over already?”

A familiar voice reached them from the door. “Dazai-kun, Nakahara-kun. You’ve missed the exciting part.”

Hirotsu-san stepped out a minute later, looking as unruffled as always, even in the face of a way-too-often-seen traitor and a de-aged superior.

The older man gestured for them to step inside.

“We’ve already captured the ability user, and Mori-sama was asking for a quick resolution of the matter, so if you would, Dazai-kun?”

Dazai hummed and turned to look at his de-aged partner, feeling his smile turn... weird on his face.

“Well, Chuuya, that was a very short-term solution to your fear of aging, don’t you think?”

“At least I don’t dress like a grandpa, half the time, you fucking waste of bandages.”

A sharp grin and a shove that did make Dazai stumble, even though he had seen it coming.

“Now go and resolve this fucking mess, you procatinating disaster.”

“Stop trying to order me around brat, you’Re to tiny to look down on me.”

But Dazai went and turned around, walking past the row of grunts and Hirotsu to stand in front of the obviously unconscious man. It was a male, most probably over 40, lying in the dirt and obviously at least somewhat post-torture. Dazai couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for him. He’d attacked Chuuya after all. And speaking of Chuuya-

“Just a minute.“

“Chuuya-kun?”

Hirotsu’s face looked vaguely disapproving as the teenager ran past the goons and right at Dazai, who, really, had expected this. Chuuya would want to get in at least one hit, he’d known that.

But then, suddenly, Chuuya was right in his face, and Dazai knew that look. It was stubborn and fixated on him and really, it felt nice to be looked at like that. Like someone wanted him. Like someone cared.

It felt a lot less nice when he considered that this was an out-of-his-depth sixteen-year-old who had latched onto him for all the wrong reasons.

Dazai didn‘t want this Chuuya. He had outgrown this Chuuya when Chuuya himself had outgrown that age. He still liked the boy, loved him, maybe, but in a distant sort of way. Like a memory, perhaps, and definitely not in a way that would make him comfortable kissing a teenager. Especially with all these people around him.

So he stepped back. And, really, the look the boy gave him was… it hurt Dazai possibly almost as much as it seemed to hurt Chuuya. But this was the right thing to do. The thing Oda would have nodded his head and smiled at him for.

But Chuuya’s face… Dazai crossed the distance he had put between them himself and hugged the redhead.

There were… so many things he could have said, but none felt adequate because, in the end, Chuuya had been right. This version of him would cease to exist- would, for lack of a better word, die. And though they both had always been more than familiar with the harsh reality of their own mortality, it still had to be scary.

So he hugged his younger partner and felt gratified, maybe and slightly humbled, as he felt the smaller male hug him back and bury his pale face in Dazai’s vest. And then Dazai reached back with the other arm to blindly grasp the forearm of Chuuya’s attacker.

There was a shocked gasp, and a cut-off yell, and something pulsed in Dazai’s arms before the rapidly aging body crumpled to the floor, heavier than Dazai could manage to hold up with one arm. Instead he went down with him, kneeling as he tried to lay Chuuya down gently, head cushioned on his lap.

Just from the way his jaw was clenched Chuuya was almost certain that Chuuya was living through a condensed amount of growing pains. Of course he wouldn’t scream. Both Dazai and Chuuya had learned very, very early on in their mafia careers that screaming often only made things worse.

And then Chuuya‘s hair was back at normal length, slightly wet looking and Dazai would bet that Chuuya would take a 30 minute shower the moment he got back to his own home.

Most people would have stayed unconscious after something like this. Chuuya woke up half a minute later, scowl on his face and eyes narrowed.

“Fuck that was a fucked up trip.”

“Well, if Chuuya hadn’t decided he wanted to try out the newest de-aging treatment this could have all been avoided, but Chuuya’s brain is possibly too small to think of the consequences.”

Dazai knew that it wasn’t his best work. Really, he did, but the actually amused snort his partner made was just about worth it.

He didn’t stop the Chibi from sitting up, didn’t try to help because that would have just resulted in a fist in his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet either.

He should have. Dazai knew he should have, but it just wasn’t something he was willing to do right this second. With a certain amount of absentmindedness he noted that Chuuya didn’t seem to want to stand up just yet either, was resting back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling.

Dazai managed to do the same thing for one, strangely peaceful moment as well, and then he was caught off guard the second time in the last fifteen minutes as Chuuya, once again, decided to get right into his personal space.

He was clutching at Dazai’s collar again, the brunette noticed vaguely, as he stared into still narrowed blue eyes.

It wasn’t the same soft look the sixteen-year-old version had levelled at him. It was harder, more bitter and held a wealth of history but at least it was really Chuuya’s. And so were the words.

“You don’t get to pull away and deny me after you coddled me this whole day, bastard.”

Chuuya kissed him before he had really processed the words.

All things considered, it was one of the chaster kisses between them, but Dazai could feel his blood rushing towards his face anyway. They were in public. Hirotsu of all people was standing not 10 meters behind them and the first thing Chuuya did after a day under the influence of a quirk was kiss him? When had he stopped being capable of predicting the Chibi?

Dazai kept sitting on the floor when Chuuya stopped pressing their lips together and stood, barking orders at the Port Mafia members surrounding them. And then he swivelled around to glare at Dazai and point a finger at him as Dazai finally started to stand up.

“And don’t you fucking vanish! We need to talk about some things. I’ll come by tonight, and don't you try avoiding me. I need to go do fucking paperwork now.“

Dazai stared at the tiny whirlwind that was his partner and sighed. Really, today was already not his day. He had just been planning to hide on the Agency’s sofa for a while. So, really, he didn't feel like having a talk with Chuuya. Those always ended with a bloody nose, even if you could talk and blackmail himself out of everything. The grin he affected was, Dazai admitted to himself, deliberately shady.

“Ahh, Chibi, how about this: You take a good swing at me and everything is even right now, so you don’t have to come and search me out later.”

To be honest, it was kind of impressive that Chuuya had even heard him over the ruckus the Mafia Goons were making around them. But he evidently did? Because he sent an exasperated glare into Dazai’s direction.

“Are you fucking… Urgh.” Then he took Dazai’s wrist and dragged him out of the room and down the hall, ignoring Dazai’s questions in favour of looking at doors and finally pulling both of them into something that looked like an office. The door was shut with a kick, and then Chuuya was in Dazai’s personal space, hands coming up to grip at his shirt collar and pulling Dazai down until their foreheads were almost touching.

“Listen to me for once in your goddamn life, Mackerel. What you did was decent. Really, fucking decent, ok? I know, you're on the side of the light and all that blah blah blah. But I didn't expect shit as a 16 year-old. You would have had an easier time not trying to coddle and protect me from your own friends. No one would have blamed you. You wouldn't have done so at any other time. So there's something that actually changed. I didn't think so before, and somehow I think you didn't either. So take this situation as proof, got it?”

Dazai thought back to leaving Chuuya, exhausted from corruption, lying on a battlefield. Thought of a sixteen year old version not even shrugging off his arm, as Chuuya let go of him and stepped back a tiny bit.

Then Dazai felt a punch on his shoulder, much less painful that it could have been and shifted his focus to stare into Chuuya’s eyes.

“We have more to talk about. I mean what I said. Be home tonight. I’ll hunt you down if you’re not, but you wont like it.” Dazai made a show of pouting.

“Ah, but who says I like Chuuya near me at any time? You’re annoying, Chibi.”

A snort, utterly amused. Oh. That was… not the intended reaction.

“Yeah, try selling that to someone who didn’t see you light up when I was talking about our little bets and who didn’t see you shuffle around your whole living space just to keep me near you. You know as well as I do that there are more than enough places that you could have shipped me off to, but you didn’t.”

“That’s because no one knew whether the ability would have adverse effects on your control, so of course it was safer to keep you supervised, Chuuya.”

Dazai was trying - really, really, trying - to extricate himself out of whatever this situation was starting to devolve into. But Chuuya wasn’t rising to his bait, wasn’t even huffing or stomping off, and all of that made Dazai decidedly less certain what he was dealing with now.

Not that he got another chance to try and get back into familiar waters when Chuuya just grinned at him, and then turned to strut out of the door.

Dazai let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling once more. He needed to get a grip. And then he needed to figure out exactly what had happened in the last two days and what had changed.

This was important. But for now he would make his way home and bury himself in his futon. It was too early to deal with such a weird day.

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