Additional Tags: Soukoku Week 2018, day 2: shade, au where skk are normal citizens without abilities, still set in yokohama tho, its fluffy until its not
Summary:
Dazai's surprised to see someone else under his tree. It's not his tree, not really - it belongs to the city - but it's the tree he always sits under, and there's someone else under it. He's never seen that before.
Summary: Chuuya leaves for thirty minutes, and thirty minutes is all it takes for Dazai to prove why he's truly the one that needs parental supervision.
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Gifted to @memosfromchuuya
Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day Three - “Your goody-two-shoes act really puts me off."
He doesn’t know how Dazai managed to do it, but he did. Somehow, in the span of the thirty whole minutes he went to the corner store to pick up juice for the boys – but two different flavors, because Ryuu can’t possibly drink the same flavor that Atsushi does since grape is for babies, and he’s a big boy who likes strawberry – chaos breaks out.
Thirty minutes. That’s the most he was gone and such a short amount of time shouldn’t have been long enough for anything to happen. Yet when Chuuya pulls back up to the house and steps out of the car with the bag of juice and snacks in his arms, and sees the door wide open, he stands for a couple of minutes, staring, because he knows without even entering the house that something stupid’s happened.
Well there’s no fire. No sirens. No windows are broken. None of the children are outside – a plus. Maybe it’s not as bad as the last time. Maybe I just forgot to close the door.
But he knows that he didn’t forget about closing the door, and he knows that the longer that he stands there the worse whatever the hell is going on inside is going to be. He contemplates just leaving, but at this point that would be willful negligence, and at the very least, one of them needs to be mildly responsible.
When he finally feels less inclined to impale Dazai with something sharp, and is certain that no one is dead or dying, he approaches the house. Kyouka waddles from somewhere else in the house and sits in the door jam, and he’d be bothered more if she wasn’t sucking away at the binky in her mouth and the stuffed bunny he and Dazai bought her for her last birthday wasn’t cuddled in her arms. Her heads tilts up at him expectantly in that too-aware kind of way for her age when he leans down to scoop her up, balancing her and the bags in his arms.
“Let’s go see what your dumb dad did this time…”
There’s toys… everywhere. Chuuya almost steps on one on the way in, seeing it just seconds before sticking his foot in the middle of some hideous Lego creation. There’s stuffed bunnies and bears and little toy cars scattered around and for some reason a plate in the middle of the floor with a half-eaten PB&J and paint in the carpet and on the walls –
“Dazai Osamu!”
There’s a laugh that answers him that makes him scowl and seriously contemplate divorce.
“I’m going to kill him. Dead. Murder him –”
As he makes his way through the house, looking this way and that, he finds a trail of hand painted pictures along the walls leading from the front of the house, through the kitchen and into the living room. That’s where Chuuya finds Dazai perched on the couch, idly watching as Ryuu and Atsushi sit in front of the wall, a can of red and blue paint for each of them. Dazai watches with a smile as they stick their hands into the paint and press their paint-covered hands against the wall. Chuuya is fairly speechless when both of Ryuu’s hands go into his can of red and he marks all over top of the little blue prints that Atsushi made on the wall, swirling the colors into purple.
The boys go back and forth doing this and they are entirely covered in paint – Ryuu’s dragon onesie and Atsushi’s white tiger one, ruined. Their hair is a mess, sticking up at all sorts of angles with sticky and drying paint; their faces are in the same states, with Ryuu’s streaked in red and Atsushi’s in blue and blotches of purple. The biggest shock however is the fact that they’re not arguing, which is a first, since they’ve been going at it non-stop since summer break started. Neither of them have had a break from the other with school, usually leading to fight after fight after fight.
Of course, they’d bond over ruining the fucking house while Dazai sits and watches.
Before he can explode – because it’s there, waiting, somewhere between that throbbing popped vein in his temple and him setting Kyouka down so he doesn’t accidentally hurt or startle her – Dazai speaks.
“Don’t they look cute together when they’re getting along?”
Dazai sounds innocent. Looks innocent, if he hadn’t been married to the bastard for more years than a sane man would and with him longer than that still. Chuuya can see that smirk on his face.
“You. Call this. Getting along?”
“Well, they’re not yelling at each other and Ryuu hasn’t tried to bite Atsushi, so I’d say it’s a win.”
“Our house is a disaster.”
“Paint washes off, darling.”
Chuuya stands there, unable to form words. He glares down Dazai for a moment, who still has a tranquil little smile on his face, before looking back at the boys. Kyouka has made her way over there with her fat, wobbly little legs, tentatively sticking her fingers in the paint on the walls. What floors Chuuya is when it’s Ryuu, and not Atsushi, that takes her hand gently from the wall, dips her fingers slowly into the pain, and begins to instruct her on how to make pictures like the ones he and Atsushi have scrawled all over their walls.
“Like this, Kyo-chan…”
It’s cute. It really damn well cute, and it shouldn’t be. The fury shouldn’t be seeping out of him the more he gets a look at their children playing nicely with each other, especially not when they’re only playing nice while completely wreaking the walls…
He sighs. Fine. Fine. They’re getting along and it’s kind of nice and maybe even picture worthy.
“They’re cute… but that paint isn’t going to wash off. You’re not that dumb.”
“I hadn’t intended for it to. Remember when I mentioned redoing the walls –”
Normal morning, normal thoughts and normal problems
I finished this at 3 am this morning so it's probably Really bad and i want To apoligize but Please suffer through it. Day 7 of soukoku week Prompt: Free Day Warnings: slight language, in the end i Really didn't know what i did anymore Summary: Fluffy morning and then my creativity barged in and set everything on fire.
Slowly blinking Dazai awoke. Smiling content as he takes in the sight in front of him. Even as a normal occurrence Dazai was still stunned at the sight of his petite partner sleeping beside him. The brunet had made it a habit to wake up before Chuuya. He loved peppering Chuuyas serene sleeping face with soft kisses, languidly combing through russet locks and to relish in the tiny noises of comfort uttered by the redhead. This went one for a few more minutes until blue eyes slowly cracked open. The redhead blinked a few times, bathing in the light touches of his lover. Tiredly he looks up to meet two warm brown orbs scoffing as he sees the lazy smile painted on his partners face:” Were you watching me sleep again pervert?” Dazais laugh floats through the air:” My, my why so grumpy so early in the morning Chuu-Chuu?” Chuuya just grumbled angrily in his pillow for a few seconds until he decides now that he is awake he might as well get up and make breakfast since the mackerel sure as hell won´t do it. Just as he tries to move out of the bed a bandaged hand grabs his wrist and pulls him back down. Now again cuddling with Dazai he sights:” Shitty Dazai let go of me.” “Nope Chuuya´s so tiny your degraded to my personal snuggle item!” At this the smaller one cried out frustrated and struggled to rid himself off Dazais dead weight. Sadly Dazai had him in a death grip and after a few futile seconds of struggling he gave up his resistance, it wasn´t as if he didn´t enjoy this clingy side of his lover. The smaller men almost dozed off again when suddenly a loud noise interrupted their docile morning, laughing he wheezed out:” Now, if you would let go off me I could go and make us breakfast and your stomach wouldn´t need to scare me this much again.” With that he gave his lover one last push and ventured off to the kitchen. All the while the brunet gulped down his slight embarrassment and decided to instead let his gaze follow Chuuyas retreating figure, appreciating his mussed hair and beautiful figure clad only in one of Dazais shirts and his boxers. The brunet wasted more time laying in bed until his stomach decided to remind him that he was supposed to join Chuuya for breakfast. Sighing he gets up and follows the delicious smell to the kitchen, where he finds Chuuya making French Toast for breakfast. Upon his entering the redhead looks up with a faint smile, which only intensifies when he sees Dazai struggling to keep in a yawn. The taller men ventures over to Chuuya unable to keep his hands to himself. So instead he snugs them around the smaller ones waist and rests his head atop Chuuyas.” So small and comfortable!”, he coos. Not dignifying this with a response Chuuya just keeps cooking, happily humming some French song and somehow managing to brew some coffee for Dazai and himself while doing so. Eventually the redhead finishes and the two men settle down for breakfast, their playful banter never dying down. Shortly after breakfast they both finish their morning routine and part ways right outside their apartment complex with a chaste kiss. Chuuya walking towards the headquarters of the port mafia thinking about their domestic morning, how he wishes they could stay like that forever. It pains him to admit it to himself but Chuuya still can´t trust Dazai again completely. Not so shortly after four years of separation. Something dark, spiteful still saying that Dazai will just leave him again, that he wasn´t enough last time and still won´t be enough. He couldn´t go through something like this again, not after last time. Painful memories swell up, memories of him trying to pick himself up again after Dazai left. Crying himself to sleep, waking up from nightmares, drinking until he passed out, sleeping with random strangers in search of comfort and this cruel voice in his head telling him that he isn´t good enough, that Dazai never felt anything for him, that he was stupid and got used, that this is payment for the sins he committed and that he should subdue to darkness inside of him. Still Chuuya had struggled and fixed himself again, but he wasn´t sure if he could do so again so he kept a tiny bit of himself guarded and didn´t let himself fall for Dazai completely again. It doesn´t help that Dazai refuses to tell him why he left. He doesn´t trust you the voice in his head crackles but he decides that he wants to trust Dazai for now. At the same time Dazai heads for the ADA, also lost in deep thoughts. The brunet thinks about how many more lazy mornings he will be able spend like this with his little hat rack, the truce will come to an end eventually and then what? They would be working against each other. Can a relationship really work under such circumstances? And there where other factors to be regarded as well, what if Mori finds out and uses Chuuya against him. Dazai shakes his head he could find solutions to those problems when they worked together and put their minds on it, far more dangerous to their relationship where his insecurities eating him inside out. He didn´t deserve Chuuya not after he what he put him through. He shouldn´t question Chuuyas dedication to him after all this but still he can´t help himself but to think that someday the redhead won´t put up with his quirks anymore and that he will leave him. The brunet doesn´t know if he could take that now when he finally learnt to admit to himself that he was human.That he had emotions. That he loved Chuuya. Again he shakes his head and decides to go for a refreshing drowning to get his head free, maybe the lovly maiden walking before him would even join in?
Later that day when they where in their home again Chuuya and Dazai sat down and decided to discuss their relationship seriously. No more hiding, if this should work they had to work out their issues. Even though there had been screaming, fighting, tears and breakdown the next day they woke up next to each other and maybe their relationship wasn´t magically perfect but now they both believed in a future together,
Summary: Dazai's always there to bring him back, and there in the days after, too, when Chuuya needs him just a little more.
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Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day Two - “That’s what being a partner means, right?”
The apartment is still, almost too quiet for the middle of a weekday. Dazai has kicked everyone out – all the visitors and well-wishers, every person with curious, prying eyes and pressing questions, too. The only person he hasn’t is Kouyou, but there’s no kicking Kouyou out of anywhere and she’s left on her own already; she simply knows when space is needed.
And Dazai needs it, badly.
He leaves the living room, littered with cards and slowly browning flowers, bags of get well soon gifts and other bullshit that’ll probably end up in the trash, to head tiredly to the kitchen. There’s scotch in the cabinet with his name on it, fresh ice in the freezer and he pulls out a glass and fills it full with both. He sighs as he does, long, drawn out, too weary for someone that hasn’t cleared seventeen yet and while he’s got his mind on Kouyou and how maybe, perhaps, he could have done with her in his space after all right now, she likely wouldn’t approve of his methods of coping.
Regardless of his ill-timed regrets, he’s got his scotch, anyway, and the burn of it down his throat when he tosses it back is welcome. Dazai hasn’t been able to feel much of anything but a general, encompassing numbness since that night, and as feeling slowly ebbs on in, he can’t help the desire to chase it all away again with more burning alcohol, and feel a little less human than his mind and body are trying to make him.
It’s not the first time that they’ve done this, but each time he has hopes it’s the last time, as unlikely as that is. They still don’t have a decent handle on Corruption – no clue how long Chuuya can actually last while in it, no real idea what it even is, though Dazai has some guesses and none of them are particularly pleasant. It doesn’t really matter they’re inexperienced with the whole thing, and the fact that they can’t safely toy around with it is part of the reason Chuuya’s knocked out in his bedroom, pumped full of painkillers, practically dead to the world.
They’re tools. They’ve always been tools. Dazai doesn’t fool himself into thinking that they’re anything more to Mori; he lost that childlike ideation years ago and Mori’s never done much to prove him wrong. Perhaps to the others… yes… there’s something more there with the others, like Kouyou and old Hirotsu, and even little rabid Ryuu-kun, but the others aren’t the Boss, and what the Boss wants the Boss gets – nice little demonstration of his prized Double Black.
You could have said no. That we weren’t ready. You’re his partner, you know that better than anyone else –
Dazai shakes his head. You know better than that though, don’t you? He’d have told Mori no, if he thought it have done any good, but he knows Mori and knows sooner or later, he’d have gotten what he wanted, anyway. Mori hadn’t gotten the chance to see Corruption up close, after all, and it’s always been a fascination among the Mafia since he and Chuuya discovered it as children. Whatever other methods Mori would have used outside of a polite request would have been less than pleasant for either of them or anyone else involved. It’s as inevitable as the next drink Dazai slings back, and the second, and as unavoidable as Dazai passing out on the couch that evening.
Some partner you are.
The first thing Dazai does when he wakes up in the morning is trek to his bedroom, wobbling with a sloshing, unhappy stomach. His head feels like Kaiji exploded a truck load of lemons over it, and he can’t exactly see straight yet, but he knows his own apartment, damnit –
“Ouch, shit –!”
…except for when he stubs his toe on the door jam leading into his bedroom, it seems.
Chuuya’s still there, in his room, still in the same position on his back in the middle of his bed, arms folded atop the two layers of comforter that Dazai and Kouyou tucked him into the night before. There’s bags beneath his eyes that don’t belong there; even sleeping he looks tired, and the corners of his mouth sag down in a frown. His hair fans out over the pillows, and the vision is almost picture-book, strawberries and cream, until Dazai reaches out and runs his fingers through the sweat-greased tresses that haven’t been washed out in days.
Ahh… He’ll love that when he wakes up.
But he’s not awake yet. His chest rises and falls steady in his narcotics-induced sleep. Chuuya snores like an old man, something Dazai’s always expressed as an annoyance while finding it mildly endearing.
If he lingers any longer, he knows that he’ll start to think a little too hard on everything. So, he leaves Chuuya in his bed, giving a small little pat to his forehead, and decides to do something constructive on his day off.
The apartment is a mess, between what others brought over for Chuuya and his own mildly chaotic system. It’s a surprise to many to learn Dazai is the one that likes to live in organized chaos and not Chuuya, but Dazai knows if Chuuya wakes up to a mess after having been pushed through Corruption, a mild hospital wing stay, and no shower for days, it’ll only heat his already hot-headed mood. It doesn’t usually bother him; Chuuya’s frustrations with his sloppy living are usually amusing and really, does he care if Chuuya’s a gross, unshowered mess? Not really, not on a normal day, but it’s not a normal day and he recognizes it’s one of a few of the least things he can do at the moment, because Chuuya will care. He’s able to bring Chuuya back, after all, not fix the aftermath and that’s honestly the most annoying of the failings of his ability.
No point griping over things you can’t change.
He gathers the bags and the cards, scattered about the living room, as well as the flowers, and brings them to his bedroom. Flowers arranged on the nightstand, bags of gifts over by the window, out of the way. Cards to the nightstand, too, after he thinks about it, and then he sets to straightening the rest of the apartment.
It’s a distraction, mostly. A purposeful distraction but one nevertheless. It keeps him from looking at the clock every few minutes and instead only every hour or so, trying to gauge if Chuuya’s slept a little too long or if he can afford to let Chuuya sleep longer. Eventually it gets late enough and it’s been long enough since his last meal that he thinks it’s time to fix something to eat – and by fix, he preps instant noodles and dresses them up a little better than the packet of powder seasoning that comes with the noodles will do.
They’re good enough, for the moment. Chuuya will need more than instant noodles or… He looks through his cabinets and there’s bread that’s not too hard to make sandwiches with, and about a spoonful of peanut butter in the bottom of his peanut butter jar… rice… more rice…
He sighs. He hates cooking, and doesn’t do it very well on his own, either, but he drags his ass out after finishing up his noodles to see if he can bring back something decent for when Chuuya wakes up.
Dazai pulls a recipe from online, and has Kouyou on the phone.
“…and that’s boiled now, Dazai-kun?”
“Yes, Kouyou-san.”
“Whisk in the miso paste then.”
He does, keeping his phone propped between his shoulder and ear. He’s never made miso soup, but the simplest of recipes seemed easy enough to make. He calls Kouyou merely for a second opinion – he’s an Executive, and therefore definitely self-sufficient, after all.
“Ah, got that. Then –”
“The onions, tofu, mix those in too.”
“…alright. I think it’s all done –”
“What is?”
Dazai isn’t often taken by surprise, but he doesn’t hear Chuuya leave the room and looks over his shoulder a little wide-eyed when Chuuya speaks. Chuuya doesn’t look much better, if he’s honest, even with the twenty-six going on twenty-seven hours of sleep. If Dazai didn’t know better he’d have been steam-rolled, but that’s entirely beside the point. He stares at Chuuya, who glares tiredly back at him, before slowly approaching with stiff steps on legs that peek out under the oversized shirt Dazai put him in, with the intention being that sleeping in his shirt and boxers would be a little more comfortable than sleeping in his works clothes and harness.
Chuuya peeks into the pot of miso boiling on the stove. He sniffs at it, and Dazai’s pleased he doesn’t seem by put-off by the scent. Chuuya gives it a curious stir as Kouyou tries to get Dazai’s attention again on the other end.
“Is that him? He’s awake? Dazai-kun?”
“Hm? Ah, yes, Kouyou-san, he’s awake.”
“…how does he look?”
Like he needs another twenty-four hours of sleep. Like he’s going to topple over any second now. Like he needs to never do another damn thing Mori says again –
“Better.”
Kouyou sighs, a tired sort of relief in her voice.
“I’ll let you go, Dazai-kun. I’ll call later and check on him. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Kouyou-san.”
The line goes quiet and Dazai hangs up. Meanwhile, Chuuya’s still stirring, almost listlessly, watching the tofu and onion swirl around in the miso broth.
“Doing that won’t make it taste any better,” Dazai says after a moment. Chuuya doesn’t have to look at him for Dazai to know that he’s rolled his eyes.
“I can’t believe you cooked.” Chuuya’s voice sounds raw, like he’s speaking through a sore throat. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”
“As if I’d kill you in such a lackluster manner.”
“Heh. Funny.”
It’s not, not really, but they lapse into a silence and it’s not too uncomfortable.
“Seriously, I can’t believe you cooked. You never cook.”
“I cook.”
“Tch. Instant noodles doesn’t count. No, you don’t.” He pauses. And Dazai counts down the seconds to the inevitable question. “It was bad this time, wasn’t it? How long have I been out?”
Dazai shifts against the counter, idly playing with a loose string from one of his bandages.
“Since coming out of it, or since being here?”
“What do you think?”
“That you’re hungry, which is why you’re so annoyed.”
That’s not the case, but Chuuya doesn’t argue with him about it as Dazai pulls down a bowl. Dazai spoons it full of miso, salts and peppers and plops a spoon into it before sliding it across the counter over to Chuuya. Chuuya merely stares down at it, and then around the apartment. One of his brows raise as he does, and Dazai has the urge to slide his fingers through Chuuya’s messy, greasy hair if only to distract him.
The food does that for him, though. Chuuya takes a spoonful, and then another. He coughs, once, and Dazai realizes he was maybe a little heavy handed on the pepper.
At least it’s not killing him….
Chuuya’s tired blues scan the apartment while he eats, and it’s only a few more quite spoonfuls that he eats before he’s talking again.
“You cleaned, too.”
“How uncommonly observant.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
Trying not to.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like shit, Dazai. Drugged shit.”
“Fun.”
“Not really.”
Dazai doesn’t have anything else to say to that, and Chuuya goes back to eating. Dazai lets him, and watches how Chuuya shovels his bites into his mouth. His hand shakes, spills a little, but he doesn’t hover too bad, only goes to grab a paper towel and hand it over to Chuuya to clean up for himself. After another few bites, Chuuya speaks again.
“Has he at least satisfied with what he saw?” Chuuya doesn’t have to say who he is.
“He said we were above and beyond expectation.”
“Well, great I guess.”
“I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.”
Chuuya pauses his bite, and looks over at Dazai. The bags that were there while he was sleeping still hang under his eyes, somehow more than they had before. Last time they had gone through with Corruption, it had been out of necessity, and it hadn’t left Chuuya looking so weary. What a waste of the ability, doing it for show, letting it drag out the way it had.
Dazai can tell that Chuuya’s not particularly convinced by his assertion, though he supposes that’s fine; he’s not convinced that Mori took it to heart, either, and can see it in the shrug that Chuuya gives before he goes back to his soup.
“You’re going to unravel those if you keep picking at them, you useless mummy.”
Dazai hadn’t realized he was still picking at his bandages, but stops and shakes his head.
“Come on. Finish up.”
“Why the hurry?” Chuuya grumbles out.
“I need a bath and you might as well take one with me, too.”
Dazai preps the bath while Chuuya finishes eating. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and bubbly with a bit of liquid soap poured in while it was filling. Dazai strips, out of clothes and bandages and piles them out of the way on top of toilet. When he sinks into the water, he sighs, leans his head back, and waits for Chuuya.
I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.
There’s a number of ways he could make it happen, and if he thinks enough on it, a handful of those ways he could do and get away with, without getting himself into too much trouble. It’s less himself in trouble and more Chuuya, though. Mori likes using him as leverage, sometimes. Mori likes using a lot of things as leverage. It didn’t used to work… there was a point where he didn’t have a lot to care about, but now it seemed there was a lot – comparatively speaking.
I’ll tell him it’s not something that can be controlled right now, even with No Longer Human. He wouldn’t risk Chuuya like that… Chuuya’s too powerful and useful in the long run he needs him more than he needs –
“Are you trying to drown?”
Dazai opens his eyes and looks over. Chuuya’s already out of his clothes and has two towels bundled in his arms. For the first time that evening, Dazai smiles, a little.
“That wouldn’t be very pleasant, would it?”
“Don’t know; never tried to drown.”
“It’s not very fun.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, but there’s a tug of a smirk of his own at the corner of his lips. Chuuya walks in, still wobbly even if he tries hard not to be. He sets the towels aside and lowers himself gingerly into the bath in front of Dazai, back to chest. Dazai reaches out to help him, splaying his fingers along Chuuya’s back while his other hand takes Chuuya by the wrist to steady him.
They don’t say anything while Dazai washes him. He soaps up a sponge with the same liquid soap he’d used for the bubbles in their bath, drags it and suds along Chuuya’s scarred, bruised back. He’s gentle with it, at least, while Chuuya sits and slowly his hands ease out the tension in the way Chuuya sits, until he’s slumped forward a little. He mutters something, as Dazai brings his hands up and over his shoulders.
“Hm?”
Chuuya doesn’t respond immediately, but Dazai just keeps washing him until he does.
“I said thank you,” Chuuya says, louder this time. “For the soup. For this.” Then, quieter again – “Mori’s a shit-head, you know?”
Dazai pauses at the wavering in Chuuya’s voice, used to Chuuya being free with his emotions though never quick to tears. It’s unsettling. Angering. But he knows Chuuya won’t want to be coddled even if he’s appreciative of… this. He’s always been appreciative of this, after rough missions.
His arms wrap around Chuuya, holding him about his waist while he settles his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder.
Summary: He knows it’s selfish, but every time he thinks about their day at the tailor’s, and the days that led up to it, he teeters between annoyance and that worry, again. He’s never had to worry when it comes to Dazai; perhaps that’s what throws him off the most about the situation, but whatever the case, he deals with it by not, and that’s fine with him, for now, because he can at least ignore the fact that things are changing.
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Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day One - Sartorialism.
Chuuya doesn’t know why he was dragged there. He has better things to do than sit on a stool in the middle of the tailor’s shop, swinging his legs back and forth as he sits, petulant, dejected, waiting around for them to finish.
Them are Dazai, and Mori, standing before a mirror as Dazai perches on his own stool, getting tape measure stretched across shoulders he has yet to properly grow into, down legs that are too thin and lanky, and wrapped snug but not too snug around a trim waist. His tailor is an old man that mutters to himself and jots numbers down onto his liver-spotted hand, is kind of stooped and hunched as he moves lithe around Dazai’s frame, and Dazai’s height even with the low-standing stool he stands on doesn’t help much since he barely clears Mori’s chest at this point. Mori, who has to help hold him up since Dazai’s got a cast on his leg from taking a particularly painful tumble down not one, but three flights of stairs the week before.
Chuuya almost feels like he deserves it, with how damn smug Dazai had been when he’d told him the news. He was going to be an executive. Him. A child. The youngest in Port Mafia history and everyone had been talking about it since Mori had announced it. Titters and whispers followed Dazai everywhere now, and his official induction would be held in a week, with all the Executives and important mafia members attending to celebrate the ascension.
For some reason, this also meant Dazai would be gifted with a new suit. New jacket. A few other new things, as well – power, subordinates…
Only the best for an Executive of the Port Mafia.
He was supposed to be happy for Dazai. They were partners, weren’t they? Friends, even. If it had been him, he’d have expected Dazai to behave like that. Be happy for him, tell him congratulations, maybe even fawn over him a little. Watching Dazai get himself fitted, however, measured and pulled into suits of different cuts and colors at Mori’s direction, he couldn’t help the current of worry and jealousy at the sight of it.
Where did he fit in all of that? How were they supposed to be partners if Dazai was going to be an Executive? Did Dazai even think about that, when he accepted the position? Double Black couldn’t be a double when one of them was off doing… whatever the hell it was Executives did. Stuff that probably wouldn’t involve him. Stuff that Dazai wouldn’t be able to tell him about.
Stupid Dazai… Stupid promotion…
“Chuuya-kun, what do you think?”
He looks up when Mori calls to him, and the disdain on his face his barely hidden in the shadow of his too-big hat. Mori’s got Dazai turned around, facing him, and Dazai doesn’t really look like Dazai; the suit he wears looks like it was made for adult, all dark and sophisticated, and almost too much like Mori’s own for comfort. Dark and a little too big for now, but the tailor will rectify that, he’s certain. There’s even a scarf draped over Dazai’s shoulders, one that’s a little too long, too, and skims down by Dazai’s knees.
“It looks dumb,” he scoffs, and looks away when Dazai tilts his head at him, his one eye that isn’t bandaged looking at him curiously when the words come out of his mouth. Mori laughs, though, and turns Dazai back around to face the mirror.
“We’ll fix that, don’t worry, Dazai-kun. You’ll have this tailored by the end of the week, yes? We need it for a party, of sorts.”
The old tailor coughs out an affirmation, and Mori gathers them both to leave. Chuuya says nothing, and neither does Dazai.
Chuuya avoids Dazai for the week. They have nothing to do, no assignments to take on, and Chuuya can at least ignore the impending party in the confines of his room, or roaming sneakily through Yokohama, away from all the people that won’t shut up about it. Dazai keeps trying to catch him, but Chuuya knows how to evade, even if Dazai knows how to chase, though he knows that it’s likely Dazai is giving him space intentionally.
He knows it’s selfish, but every time he thinks about their day at the tailor’s, and the days that led up to it, he teeters between annoyance and that worry, again. He’s never had to worry when it comes to Dazai; perhaps that’s what throws him off the most about the situation, but whatever the case, he deals with it by not, and that’s fine with him, for now, because he can at least ignore the fact that things are changing, rapidly, and he and Dazai might be changing with that, too.
On the day of the party, Chuuya continues to avoid Dazai, right up until the point where Kouyou comes to his room, knocking softly to let him know that it’s time to go. He can’t avoid any longer, and he truly doesn’t want to go. He likes parties, likes people and socializing, but this feels more like a nightmare than anything that he wants to entangle himself in, with a bunch of people locked in celebration over something that feels like a loss to him.
Kouyou talks to him along the way, but he barely pays attention, giving nods and sounds of affirmation when and where he needs – but nothing more. If she picks up on his mood she gratefully says nothing.
Most of the guests are there once they arrive, and he leaves Kouyou’s side to mingle. He’s child among adults, but people know who he is, and he’s greeted here and there as he moves through the crowd, intent on finding something to drink and maybe a snack – and avoiding, once more, having to go anywhere near Dazai. But somehow, Dazai finds him, and he’s unable to avoid anymore.
He comes over with Mori in tow, and Hirotsu not far behind them. Chuuya eyes the two of them, before looking at Dazai.
His suit fits him better now, perfect and tailored to his body. It’s no longer draped largely over his frame, but cut close, crisp and professional. He’s Mori’s little protegee, a vision of the Boss, and it sinks that sick feeling in his stomach that he had when he’d gone to the tailor with the both of them.
“Chuuya-kun, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off.” His eyes flit up to Mori smiling down at him, and his brows furrow a bit before he tips his head.
“Sorry, Boss.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it was unintentional.”
Mori doesn’t sound much like he actually believes that, but he scoots a stumbling Dazai forward before Chuuya can really think on it.
“Mingle. Have fun. It’s your night, after all, Dazai-kun.”
Mori leaves them and Chuuya watches him move into the crowd with Hirotsu following. He frowns a little, and wishes that he’d have taken Dazai to parade around with him, rather than leaving him standing there in front of him.
“Annoyed, Chuuya?”
His eyes snap to Dazai, whose head is tilted like it was in the tailor’s shop, though there’s not much curiosity in his expression. There’s not much of anything there, which usually means that Dazai’s come to understand whatever it was that made him curious in the first place. It makes Chuuya want to kick him, right in his bad leg, because Dazai doesn’t understand, no matter how much he thinks he does. Stupid know-it-all.
“Only because this is a waste of time.”
“And here I thought you liked parties.”
“I do.”
“Just not mine?”
“Just not this one.”
Dazai stares at him a little more, still not curious, not even a little, more so like he’s got all the answers figured out already and is just waiting for Chuuya to confirm it, and that frustrates Chuuya even more. His eyes move away from Dazai’s onto his suit, taking in once more how he looks less like Dazai again and more like someone else; someone that’s replacing Dazai. He can’t even see Dazai’s bandages beneath the suit, and it’s far too formal for what he’s used to when it comes to Dazai. It’s all so different, and swirls uncomfortably with the envy and anxiety that comes with seeing the change, even if it’s something so simple as in the way that Dazai looks. It signals something bigger, greater, and –
Dazai reaches out to him, but he knocks his hand away.
“You know, you can say you’re jealous,” Dazai says. “It won’t hurt my feelings.”
Chuuya scoffs. “Jealous? I’m not jealous. Just ‘cause you think you’re all high and mighty –”
“– sounds like something a jealous person would say –”
“– listen, not everyone cares about your fancy new position –”
“– least of all you, clearly –”
“Shut up!”
The glass in his hand breaks, spraying him and Dazai with the juice that was in it. A few people look over their way, but Chuuya ignores them, glaring at Dazai. When he blinks, though, and stares through the start of tears to see the mess all over his hands and Dazai’s suit, now wet with drink and Chuuya feels bad despite wanting to be indignant.
He turns on his heel and leaves, pushing through the crowd and ignoring the people that stare after him. Chuuya makes it to a bathroom, door slammed loudly behind him. He thrusts his hands into the sink, washing away the stickiness of the juice on them and the blood that comes from the small cuts from the breaking glass. He picks on pieces, tossing them angrily into the sink, when the bathroom door opens. At first, he ignores it, focused wholly on his hands, and the blood that runs out of them, and how annoyed and hurt he is even if he doesn’t have a reason to be either of those things, coming to the sloppy, half-believable conclusion that it’s all Dazai’s fault, Dazai and his dumb promotion and his stupid new suit and it’s entirely nothing to do with anything else –
“You should be more careful.”
Chuuya jumps, and looks over his shoulder. Dazai’s there, in his wet suit, leaning over on his crutches. Chuuya frowns at him, and turns back to the water, now running pink.
“Don’t tell me what I should be. It’s your fault, anyway.”
“I gathered that with how mad you are at me.”
“Good for you, you’re so smart you figured that mystery out real quick.”
Chuuya hears the clack, clack of Dazai’s crutches, and he very pointedly keeps his eyes on his hands. Rather than saying anything, however, Dazai puts something on his head. When he looks into the mirror, he sees his hat perched, lopsided. Where the hell had he even pulled that out from?
“You dropped it when you stomped off.”
“…thanks.”
Dazai lets him wash his hands, and there’s a paper towel in Dazai’s hands when he turns around. When they’re dried, they stand there in silence, regarding each other. Finally, Chuuya sighs.
This is stupid. The whole thing is stupid.
“Sorry about your suit,” he says, gesturing to Dazai’s still-wet front.
Dazai stares at him, and doesn’t say anything. That’s something concerning to Chuuya; Dazai’s always got something smart to say to him, or a quip, or at the very least another of those knowing-too-damn-much kind of looks. But there’s nothing, and that worries him a little – worries him further still when all Dazai does in response is shrug at him, and turns to leave. That feels too final to him; feels too much like Dazai leaving and he’s already felt like that’s exactly what’s happening already.
His response is reflexive. He’ll be embarrassed by it the next day, or probably in the next few minutes, but Dazai’s back is turned to him, and he wraps around him in an awkward, tight hug.
“Congratulations,” he mutters. “On making Executive.”
Dazai is stiff, for a moment, before the tension slips out. He shakes, and Chuuya almost pulls away thinking that he’s somehow upset Dazai, when one of Dazai’s hands grip his arm, keeping him there and preventing him from pulling away.
He’s laughing.
Chuuya scowls, and he knows he could break Dazai’s hold, if he wanted to, even without access to his ability. But he stays there pressed against Dazai’s back, anyway.
“What’s so damn funny, I just complimented you and you’re laughing at me.”
“It’s only funny because you’re so stubborn about this whole thing.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“You’re right, you’re not stubborn. You’re jealous and upset.”
Chuuya opens his mouth, and then closes it. He grumbles, and frowns, settling his chin on Dazai’s shoulder.
“Everything is going to be different,” he says. “You gotta know that.”
“I was actually referring to you being jealous and upset over me getting a new suit and you still wearing that old thing, but if that’s what you mean –”
This time, Chuuya does break out of Dazai’s hold, going to smack him on the back of the head. Dazai somehow manages to dodge, even with his dumb bum leg, skipping awkwardly out of Chuuya’s reach.
“You bastard. See if I’m nice to you ever again.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be any different from any other day, would it?” The laughter is gone from Dazai’s voice, and it’s not on his face, either, when he looks back at Chuuya again.
“…Dazai?”
“Nothing’s gonna change, Chuuya. At least not between us.”
Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day Four - “Once again, I chase my wish that slips through.”
Chuuya goes looking for Dazai after he defects. He stomps their haunts with purposed steps, fueled with one part alcohol to two parts swirling rage. He strides angrily into establishments, storms through abandoned warehouses, even stalks through the parks and the little markets scattered through Yokohama where he and Dazai used to roam, fists clenched with fingers ready to unfurl just to ring that traitorous bastard’s neck.
We haven’t seen him, bar owners tell him, bodies quivering as Chuuya’s frustrations rattle their store-front windows. He didn’t tell us anything, they and every other damn person who ever saw hide and hair of that shitty bandaged-wearing piece of trash tell him, yet he keeps going, and going, ready to tear Yokohama down until the buzz of his alcohol wears off, and his rage ebbs out like the tide and leaves nothing behind but something pathetic and pining and washed up.
He’s not even given the courtesy of knowing why. It’s shitty either way; the Mafia was the one thing that made them more than homeless little street urchins and he abandons it without batting an eye. He abandons Mori, who isn’t perfect but he’s better than the alternative, and Kouyou, and Akutagawa and him without so much as a word of warning of a hint beforehand –
But why. That’s the thing that he wants to know the most and he seeks out the answer finds fuck-all of one. He’d turn over every single rock along Yokohama’s shore, rifle through everything that Dazai has ever touched just for the chance of uncovering a reason.
Dazai leaves nothing. No notes. No clues. No secret messages with bar patrons or hidden in the places that were only special to them. It would have been such a stupidly Dazai thing to do. Do something like this and then leave little convoluted bread crumbs that led straight back to him.
But no. Chuuya has nothing but let-downs to chase and bitter alcohol to chase those away, too. He does that for a few days, and then for a week or so in a cycle that leaves him with nothing other than headaches the next morning and toilets filled with vomit. Kouyou puts a stop to it before the second week can cycle around, but it doesn’t stop him from looking. Every head of brown hair captures his hopeful gaze and in turn the crestfallen ones, too. He lingers too long, sometimes, with an ice-diluted glass of brandy at Lupin’s, thinking that if he sits there staring at the door, the gravitational pull of his want will magically whisk Dazai through the door.
That never happens, though, and more than once he falls asleep, only to have Kouyou pick him up and bring him home, but it never really feels like home, not when Dazai’s not there to laugh at him for being shit at holding his liquor.
He thinks it’ll better. It does, sort of. He stops chasing the idea that there’s a reason Dazai’s gone, and that Dazai left with a purpose that he’d soon uncover, and settles on the reality that there was no reason other than Dazai’s a selfish bastard and there’s nothing to chase not because he simply hasn’t found it yet but because Dazai didn’t give him anything to follow.
Additional Tags: Soukoku Week 2018, day 1: hanakotoba, Alternate Universe - High School
Summary: Though it may be slightly unusual for someone soon to finish high school, Chuuya Nakahara's always had a bit of an obsession with the Japanese flower language. Unfortunately for him, a certain someone decides to take advantage of his interest.
