Work Text:
in spring
Like most things that involve him, it started out pretty simple. Some concerned citizen from the neighborhood calls in to report some sort of disturbance: big balls of flowers raining down from the old willow tree by the Izuchi Park.
Like most things that involve the Armed Detective Agency, it’s a case that’s deemed to be too much for civilian police to handle.
When Nakahara Chuuya arrives at the park, he valiantly fights the urge to curse the hell out of Kunikida for defeating him in the janken for tonight’s turn to be on-call. It’s a good thing that he’s still awake – his newbie partner is too naïve and new for this kind of shit – so he’s able to go here minutes after the assistance request.
Halloween’s not as prevalent in Japan compared to the countries he’s been to, but this scene easily outweighs all the horror displays that can be dredged up in late October.
Slick blood licks at the edges of his leather shoes as he approaches the willow tree in question. Lifeless puppets hang from the branches in an almost artistic design, limbs rearranged to spell a romanized name.
And it’s not just any name.
It’s his.
He’s been to many crime scenes in his life, despite his relatively young age, but there’s something sickening at the sight of those bodies beheaded, with the heads of the twenty-plus victims being the flower-balls that was initially reported. The noses, mouth and eyeballs are stuffed with yellow flowers, while their ears and hair are splayed out in an approximation of reddish petals.
“Did you like it, Chuuya?”
Like most things that involve him, it’s pretty simple in its complexity.
“It’s in bad taste, fucker.”
Already, his gun is ready to shoot, a fact that the person lying on the ground casually ignores.
“It’s supposed to be camellias in full bloom.”
“It’s a mass murder and an affront to basic human decency.”
“Are they treating you right over there?”
Chuuya doesn’t answer – he knows the drill. Because if he says ‘no’, the person in front of him will definitely ensure that the members of the Armed Detective Agency won’t see sunlight in a few hours. Because if he says ‘yes’, the person in front of him will definitely do the exact same thing, this time in the name of misplaced and irrational jealousy.
“You should come back to me.”
“I won’t ever come back to the Port Mafia.”
“Hmm, even so, you should return to me.”
No doesn’t rise up from his throat as he continues to focus the gun on the other’s temple, while he waits for back-up in this unwinnable fight against the Boss of the Port Mafia.
And as he stands there, he wonders, not for the first or hundredth time, why things came to this.
in spring
Against a backdrop of falling cherry blossoms that accompany a new school year for most people their age, Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya celebrate the beginning of something else.
“Are you ready, Chuuya?”
“Stop asking me over and over again,” Chuuya gripes but accepts the good-natured elbowing.
They’ve joined the Port Mafia at the same time, but they’ve been taken in by different mentors, which means that they’ve never had the chance to be partnered together for a mission.
Until now.
“We’re gonna kick serious ass.”
“Sure you’re gonna say that?” Chuuya never forgets to tease Dazai for the other’s lack of stamina and strength behind his punches. “I’ll probably end up kicking all of the asses there. Including yours.”
“Haaaaa, Chuuya’s learned to become so mouthy.” Dazai slips the gun and dagger seamlessly inside his uniform. “Treat me to dinner later, okay.”
“HA?!”
“Since I’ll kick more ass than you.”
“Pfffft, you’re on!”
in summer
Like most things that involve him, it’s beyond heartless and cruel.
Naomi’s speechless in her desperate anger, while Kenji has cried himself to sleep.
The Port Mafia—or rather, the Boss—has started an uncontrollable march against all the other organizations that have gifted individuals in their employ. Surprising no one, the first target is the Armed Detective Agency—or rather, the scant remaining family members of the agency members.
Burnt alive in their houses while they slept.
Chuuya hopes that it meant that they died painlessly.
The Director has issued an iron law that they shouldn’t retaliate thoughtlessly.
Days later, when the task force set up to combat Port Mafia is decided, Chuuya’s not surprised to see his name right across a location that is so far away from civilization it’s almost the prehistoric era.
in summer
Against a backdrop of fireworks lighting up the sky, Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya mix with the crowd as they hunt down their target in the middle of a summer festival.
“Say, come to think of it,” Dazai starts out conversationally, but he’s always been a little shit who starts things out innocently enough. “You did go all out in your yukata today, huh.”
“I did not.”
Kouyou-anesan’s the one who made sure that he’s all dolled-up today, not him. He’s been so very against it, but nobody lasts more than a month in the Port Mafia without knowing the other’s not someone you go against.
“Were you hoping to impress some girl?” Dazai’s tone is sly but steel-cold. “She can’t see you, given how short—”
Chuuya bops the other on the head.
He doesn’t miss the fact that Dazai finds a lot of reasons to adjust his lapels and hang on to his elbow though.
It makes his cheeks warmer, made hotter in a way that the summer heat never could.
in fall
Like most things that involve him, it’s needlessly crazy.
“Ah, are you mad about your friends, Chuuya?”
Chuuya lets his body do the talking – a punch to the other’s eye for daring to cut off Atsushi’s leg; a kick to the other’s stomach for tying Kunikida up and leaving him alone in the middle of train tracks.
He beats Dazai up.
Dazai lets him.
It’s a tango to their demise, only interrupted by the arrival of both the personal squad reporting to the Boss, as well as his backup.
He never quite manages to shoot Dazai right on his forehead for stomping on his heart.
in fall
Against a backdrop of the full moon looming on the sky, Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya clink their glasses together in a rare moment of peaceful camaraderie that can only be due to a successful completion of a difficult mission – destroying an entire organization and its headquarters filled to the brim with Ability users.
“I’m now an Executive, so I’ll get to order you around, Chuuya~~~♪”
Chuuya doesn’t grumble too much about how he’s the one who does all of the work in their partnership, but Dazai’s the one who gets all the credit. He says a line or two about it, lost in-between the bottles of wine and sake they empty together. He makes sure to comment on it, because he’s not about to admit that he’s proud of his partner’s skills in strategy being recognized—to the point that he makes it as the youngest Executive in Port Mafia’s long history.
“Che. Soon enough you’ll be trained to succeed the Boss.”
“Ehhhhh, I’m not interested though.” Dazai swishes the drink in his cup. “I’ll be content with bullying Chuuya!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and regrets it because he’s already starting to feel tipsy. “You like winning games, of course you’ll want to succeed Boss.”
“Ahhhh, with how well you know me, I’ll end up falling for you, Chuuya!”
“W-W-W-W-W-What?!”
“Ahahaha, I’m just kidding, no need to be so red!”
“I’m drunk!”
“I know!” Dazai claps his hands together – a sure sign of a terrible idea to come. “So I can do this~~~”
But drunk as Chuuya is, he knows enough that he shouldn’t.
He dodges so that Dazai’s kiss ends up on his cheek instead.
“…hmm, it’s fine this way too.”
“HA?!” Chuuya makes sure that his voice is loud enough to drown the wild pounding of his own heart. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“…bullying you.”
“You—!!!”
in winter
Like most things that involve him, it’s filled with warring emotions.
“Let my subordinate go.”
He’s been commanded by the Director to stay inside their hidden base, been ordered to stay put while another team searches for Atsushi. He tells himself it’s because Atsushi is still a newbie, despite the year of being part of the agency; he convinces himself that it’s because there’s no guarantee that Atsushi will survive this encounter even with his increased regeneration capabilities.
“Ah, ah, ah~~~♪” Dazai sounds and looks downright pleased, even going so far as to childishly twirl around the torture room, his arms spread out to his sides. “Here I was, thinking what else I needed to do to make sure you show yourself to me~♫”
“Let Atsushi go.”
Dazai’s smile quickly drops and he points a finger towards Akutagawa and his sidekick. “Cut off another finger.”
“…yes, Dazai-san.”
“LET. ATSUSHI. GO.”
“See, why do you call him by his first name?”
“He’s my subordinate.” Chuuya approaches Dazai, his gun already trained on the other’s face. “More importantly, he’s my friend.”
Distaste is visibly apparent on Dazai’s face, but he apparently forgets about that when Chuuya enters within his personal space.
“Hmm, nobody believes you anymore, you see?” Dazai places both of his hands on Chuuya’s cheeks as they lean in closer together as one unit. “You have sooooo many chances to kill me, but you never do~ Isn’t the Agency worried that one of their members can’t ever let me go?”
Ignoring Atsushi’s yells, Chuuya then tugs at Dazai’s necktie with his left hand to bring their faces impossibly closer.
Whispering against Dazai’s lips, Chuuya delivers his own ultimatum, his right hand slowly pointing the gun’s muzzle to his own temple: “This is a two-way street, Dazai. I’m not the only one who can’t let go, you see?”
in winter
Against a backdrop of the pure white snow-covered grounds of Yokohama, Dazai Osamu comes home to the apartment that Nakahara Chuuya owns – a one-bedroom apartment at the edges of the city, far away enough from any of their colleagues that they can maintain privacy, but not so far-away from the city that it’ll be a pain to live.
Chuuya’s never learned how to fully sleep when Dazai’s not yet home, so the moment Dazai pushes the bedroom door open, Chuuya opens his eyes blearily.
“…Dazai?”
“Are you expecting someone else?” Dazai laughs as Chuuya scrunches his nose at the joke.
“Urgh, just shut up and let me sleep.”
“Hmm.”
Dazai slips underneath Chuuya’s warm blankets, still in his work clothes. They’ve been like this for the longest time, but it’s not like they’re lovers or anything like that.
Nevertheless, Dazai holds Chuuya close.
And Chuuya lets him.
“I’m home,” Dazai says directly against Chuuya’s earlobe. There’s a pause as he determines and weighs the words that threaten to spill out of his mouth. “I’m now the Boss of the Port Mafia.”
(He doesn’t say anything about how Mori called him to give him a solo mission—to eliminate one Nakahara Chuuya, described as a hindrance to one Dazai Osamu’s potential and growth.)
(He also doesn’t say anything about how Mori’s now starting the overhaul of the Port Mafia headquarters, changing the carpet of the main office from the light red he favors to a blood-red that only a dead body can provide.)
(He promises himself to never say anything about all this is because this is the only way he can think of to protect the strongest man he’s ever known.)
“…urghhhh congrats?” Chuuya’s never been the smartest when he’s groggy with sleep, the words not processing properly amidst his sleepy haze. “And welcome home, you shit.”
Dazai buries the words deep inside him as he breathes in Chuuya’s scent.
Even as the seasons change, even as the human heart stops beating, he swears to never let this man go.
Like most things that involve them, it’s filled with undeniable love.
Against a backdrop of time crawling by, of alliances changing hands, of people’s lives passing by, of a one-bedroom apartment that remains hidden from the public eye: Nakahara Chuuya comes home to a door that has two key copies, to a house unlocked unlike the way he left it earlier in the morning, to a kitchen warm with the smell of crab hotpot, to a coffee table that has a cup of decaf coffee and a bottle of opened wine, to a scene with Dazai Osamu in it.
“I won’t apologize for earlier.”
Chuuya meets Dazai’s eyes so that he doesn’t have to actively see the piles of bandages on his couch and the bloodied towels from Dazai’s effort to extract the bullet and bandage his own hand.
“…Alright.”
He won’t apologize either.
But he won’t be so cold to Dazai today, because no matter what, the fact is that even without plans and calculations and predictions, Dazai moved on instinct earlier to block the shot to Chuuya’s head with his own hands.
Dazai smiles at him and it’s like all those years ago.
“…I brought some crab.”
“Okay.”
Dazai will try to destroy everything again tomorrow—he’ll try to stop Dazai again tomorrow, they both know.
But for now—
Like most things that involve them, it’s easy to explain with the fact that they just can’t let each other go.