Chapter Text
"Are we going to talk about when we were teenagers?”
Are we going to acknowledge it? Moments in time that weren’t as few and far between as we made out? Are we going to acknowledge toxicity and hurt? Are we going to show compassion for two kids who had to find their way with only each other? Was it any real wonder that they hurt each other? Was it any real wonder that they loved each other?
They were partners, after all.
“Hey mackerel?” Nothing. “Dazai? You good?”
The brunette hummed, yawning into the back of his hand and planting his head on it.
Chuuya leaned down slightly (laughable) to see Dazai’s eyes. They weren’t dark, per se. They weren’t heavy, but they were teetering on it. They were as pretty as always, fucker. His gaze softened, as did the edge in his voice. “Tired?”
“From all the work I haven’t been doing,” he said in a sleepy tone.
“Someone’s self-aware today,” was the hum before his fiery chibi left his sight. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t follow him with his eyes, instead focused on the feeling of Chuuya’s arms when they wrapped around him from behind.
They stayed like that for a little while, starting to sway slightly after, well, they didn’t know. Osamu had leaned back and off his hand so Chuuya’s head could fit between his shoulder and head, right where the redhead nuzzled, soft exhales sending phantom shivers down his spine. One hand staying on the counter, while the other lay on top of the arms circling him.
Chuuya had closed his eyes, brown strands tickling his face, the rise and fall of Osamu’s chest under him grounding him. He removed an arm to place his hand over his beating heart. His chest swelled with pride- running his thumb over the area, smiling into his neck and leaving a light kiss there.
Something so gentle and calming reminded him of many things- hiding after missions, in service stations, abandoned buildings, alleyways. Hobbling to safehouses, covered in blood and unable to tell who was holding up who. Balls and social gatherings as guests and posterboys for the Port Mafia, half of them ending in lucrative deals and the other ending with wrecked rooms and toasting over a flaming building, talking and bickering and unperturbed by the collapsing hall before them.
Ah. It reminded him of Chuuya. Peace reminded him of Chuuya. Everything came back to Chuuya.
Fuck. He really did. He loved Chuuya. He was in love with Chuuya. He had been since he was a kid.
And he’d been the one to mess it up initially. He’d been the one to start everything- with the Sheep, in the mafia- where he tore Chuuya from what he’d garnered from himself, tore him apart during their partnership, then tore himself away as well.
He was going to fuck this up. He was. There were no two ways about it.
His stomach dropped, his throat tightened, he felt himself stiffen. And Chuuya would notice, because of course he would, he was the only person who would ever know Osamu this way. The only one who could, like he’d always been there. Because he basically had.
He’d already died before the mafia, risen by a boy who rivalled the sun at only fifteen, by a star so bright so young. A part of him had died with Oda, the ache quelled slightly by the Agency after two years alone. Four years without solid contact with his partner, now ex-partner, now partner again? He’d never really stopped being Osamu’s partner, not in his head, no matter what the reality was.
For someone who claimed to be so centred and aware, too aware, he really, really wasn’t based in reality- that the harder he held onto something, the quicker it fell through his hands like sand.
Chuuya wouldn’t even call him ‘partner.’
A soft hand cupped his cheek. It was meant to be safe, but it felt more dangerous than ever. Not because of the power Chuuya held with them, but the power he had over Dazai himself. Every part of him screamed the same thing. Run. Go.
Such a soft hand. Gentle swipes across his cheek. As he zoned back in, he realised he’d been staring down at Chuuya the entire time. Patient eyes stared back up. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t them.
“You back with me, Osamu?”
It wouldn’t work.
Chuuya’s bright eyes dimmed a little. No. I don’t want that. I need to leave.
A soft smile appeared, and the hand left his face. His chest tightened painfully, having to actively resist chasing it, pulling it back, anything.
“Go. I’ll be here.”
What?
“Can you come back tomorrow, though?”
The detective tilted his head slightly. Chuuya could practically see the complex equations in his head. This level of communication- did it mean something that they’d come this far? That Chuuya would ask so blatantly? He’d always been the more honest one.
“Just a walk,” Dazai decided. The redhead nodded, giving him more space. The door would be unlocked as it always was for Dazai. They held their gaze for a moment longer, before smiling and returning to respective activities. A gaze that said everything they needed to say:
Thank you.
Don’t get kidnapped, mackerel. See you soon.
‘See you soon’- how odd was that? Was it a promise that Osamu would return? Was he questioning him as to whether he would? Was he begging him to? Once upon a time, he had. He hadn’t asked if Osamu kept his old phone. There was bound to be incriminating evidence on it.
He probably had. Or maybe he hadn’t. On one hand, it was wonderful blackmail material. On the other, if Dazai never had any intention of meeting or seeing Chuuya ever again, what reason would there be to keep it? Certainly not for nostalgia’s sake. Maybe for a bit of entertainment, but beyond that?
Was that what this was? No. That was rude. Ane-san taught him better than that. That men could be pigs, sure, many of them were in the right circumstances, but he shouldn’t discount effort, even if it came from a pig. She generally said that in reference to getting something out of them, a favour or power or something like that, but Chuuya supposed he was trying to get something out of him.
Commitment. Chuuya knew he himself was afraid of that, which meant Dazai knew he knew a hundred times over. But they were already close. They already knew most of what there was to know about the other person.
Shit. They really were partners. Dazai Osamu was his partner. Always had been.
He’d say ‘I love you’ a million times, and there was a chance he’d never hear it out loud. That hadn’t been soukoku’s way, words couldn’t always express what needed to be said in the necessary time. Hell, he certainly hadn’t said it out loud enough for anyone to see marriage coming. Why did he even ask? How could he expect it?
God, why was he thinking about rings so much? There was work to do, damnit. They were partners. Fine. They were. And had been for as long as life had really mattered, for as long as life had seemed liveable, actually liveable. Sustainable.
He knew better than anyone to not believe the whole “everything happens for a reason” shit, not to hold onto it. It was nice sometimes, to believe there was better coming.
But Chuuya wasn’t something that could make people stay, and they didn’t need a reason to go.
He’d be okay with it. He’d be okay without hearing Osamu tell him he loves him. This was enough.
When he got back, the redhead was deep in paperwork. He grimaced. He’d left his poor dog to do someone else’s bidding while he went on a stupid walk for his stupid mental health. Selfish, selfish Dazai.
“Chuuya?”
He looked up from his work. Nothing more needed. The smile was implied, the contentment that Osamu was back in the apartment was, too.
“Does it bother you that I don’t say everything out loud?”
“Obviously,” he huffed, signing off on one piece of paper, putting it to one side, then turning attention to the next. On the battlefield, when it was Dazai’s master plans, seamless communication was a must, and was generally a given between them. Sometimes it’d take a few crucial moments, but it hadn’t killed them yet.
He flopped onto the couch. “Ah, but chibi can read my mind anyway! What reason is there to have to talk?”
“I, for one, am happy to keep that fishy mouth shut,” he agreed.
“So mean. Contradictory dumb slug.”
“Sure. Can you get me another pen?”
“You control gravity.”
“And I asked you for a fucking pen. Your legs aren’t broken.”
“Neither are yours,” the brunette sulked, pulling himself up from his seat on the couch. Chuuya rolled his eyes, he could practically hear the velcro sound. Shortly, shuffles were heard from his bedroom, Dazai no doubt having emptied the contents of his bag on their bed.
He smiled at the thought- it stayed, having heard little mutters drifting through the apartment. Miscellaneous complaints about inane things.
“You have so many trinkets,” the mafioso caught the pen ditched at his face with ease, smirking at the antics. “You’d think a child lived here with all the tiny little objects and the baby clothes-”
“And the whining baby that never shuts the fuck up and always wants to be fed,” he supplied, dedicating ten seconds to gleaning the necessary information on the page before marking that it needed to go to someone else. Honestly, half of this wasn’t his problem.
Unlike the jackass now standing across from him, who he could sense was about to say something crude. “I suppose I do like suckling.”
Chuuya didn’t try to hold back the laugh it drew from him. “Gross, dude.”
“If it was that gross, you wouldn’t let me do it,” came the smug response, an arm reaching across the island to tap the redhead’s chest. True.
“Get a new hobby, asshole.”
“Why would I when Chuuya is so fun to annoy?”
“And when I’m not here?”
“I’m thinking of ways to annoy Chuuya.”
“Obsessed.”
“Sue me.”
He smirked. “I’ll take all of your pitiful Agency wage bastard, and if I scrounge it all together, I might be able to buy a glance at a decent wine.”
With a cheeky grin and an expectant glint in his eye, he stepped back against the stove. “Sure. I’ll keep the offshore cash.”
His redhead vaulted over the island and into his space. A smooth movement. A normal one, for jumping in and out of danger. For jumping over rails into a river, and jumping over old metal gates with “DO NOT ENTER” written on them.
Late nights, teenage years, old competitions and old promises.
Chuuya looked at him. He sensed it in the eyes, questioning and understanding. Spit it out (patiently), rather than Spit it out (I’m seconds from kicking the shit out of you). Subtleties.
He placed his hand on Chuuya’s head, patting softly. Chuuya was as unpredictable as he was predictable. Maybe this is what he wanted to hear, maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know. He didn’t know . How curious. How annoying. How terrifying.
He’d been thinking. About actively resisting reaching for Chuuya. The action was full of intention, and dare he say, promise. That reaching out? Chuuya had tried. For years, and in his own ways, in personal ways.
But in order for one to actively resist, they had to actively want. Which means Chuuya always wanted to reach for Dazai, and it didn’t work back then, not because Osamu didn’t want it, but because he’d convinced himself he didn’t.
He wanted it, and Chuuya wasn’t pulling away.
He met cerulean eyes, so fond that he would’ve preened under their gaze if he hadn’t been shitting himself. Well, here it goes.
“You know I love you, right?”
Well. That felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Chuuya’s eyes widened in that cute way they did, still beneath Osamu’s hand. Not completely frozen, making a conscious effort to push up into the hand on his head. The detective chuckled. Cute little chibi.
“I love you,” he said again, giggling when Chuuya audibly whined, nodding his head to the side slightly as a way of telling him he needed to move that hand to his cheek. Who was he to deny? “Clingy chibi.”
A content little sigh. Osamu raised his eyebrows when he poked his tongue in and out at his palm.
“Have I broken you, slug? Where are your words?” He teased, patting his cheek lightly. A light huff and a lingering kiss pressed to his palm later, he bet he was as pink as his Chuuya was.
A hand tucked hair behind his ear gently. “I love you too, partner.”
Osamu malfunctioned.
—
The best thing in the world is subjective. Some vye for fame, others for peace, others for adventure. Some want a boring life, some want a loud one. Money. Time. All subjective.
Osamu, at this moment, thought that this was the best thing in the world. Chuuya, wrapped around him like a koala. Just sat in his lap. Nothing else.
Well. It would’ve been perfect, but typical, the chibi was ruining it.
“You’re thinking very loudly.”
“Shut up.”
Okay then. He could prompt the chibi, sure, but there was value in letting Chuuya decide if he wanted to speak or not. Physical contact was easier, more familiar. Holding Chuuya was enough, and if the redhead decided that it was a stand-in for words right now, that’s the way it would be.
They didn’t need them. And they could always talk later. That was Chuuya’s whole thing, wasn’t it? Letting Osamu take some space, like earlier, so they could communicate with more intention, better structured answers and questions. Clever chibi. He didn’t need prompting. Not when they were being this open with each other, sat alone in the comfort of their apartment.
A few more minutes passed before the vibration of a hum was felt against his neck. Osamu kissed the side of his head and pulled back so he could see Chuuya’s face properly. It’d been hidden in the crook of his neck for at least half an hour. He’d decided that he liked this angle a long time ago. God forbid Chuuya found out he didn’t actually mind looking up a little.
“Working overtime,” he hummed, scratching the base of Chuuya’s neck. “I can smell metal and rubber.”
Chuuya pouted. “I want to get married.”
They sat with that for a moment. Stared at each other. Osamu cracked first, grin growing at the obvious attempt by Chuuya to keep his own smile off his face. It didn’t take much longer before they were giggling.
Osamu held his love’s face in his hands, his chest cramping at the softness of it all, placing a kiss against his lips. Chuuya melted against it, his whole body releasing tension that’d been building as he clutched his partner as close as he could, damn the teasing he’d receive afterwards.
The redhead mourned the loss of the other’s lips, the feeling quickly replaced with overwhelming fondness as Osamu held his left hand in his, kissing his ring finger.
Amusement found its way back to the brunette’s eyes. “We never got divorced.”
Oh, right. Huh. Well, that made him giggle more than he thought it would. He recovered after a few seconds. “Divorce to marry?”
A raised eyebrow, still holding the hand lowered between them. “We could renew our vows.”
Probably a better idea. The mafioso sighed. “I want to do it properly this time.”
“You’re telling me it wasn’t real?!” A faux gasp and rough shaking of their intertwined hands. “How could you, you nasty carrot!”
That earned him a slap, but another very genuine giggle fit. Chuuya rarely giggled like this, like he was high. Because they found out when they were teenagers that alcohol made him loud (and fun), abrasive and tired in that order; and being high was a 50/50- either dissociating or giggling, no inbetween.
“So you’re telling me you want a party?”
“Hmm?”
“Witnesses at a courthouse? A party afterwards? Or a big celebration, super over the top, super poofy dress, lots of food-”
“You’re wearing the dress, dickhead.”
“Never said I wouldn’t,” he leaned closer, ghosting Chuuya’s lips. “I’d make myself a fool for chibi over and over.”
He pecked his lips and leaned back a little. “...it’d be pushing the alliance. If they knew.”
“So you’re really considering it.”
“I am on top of you right now. I will crush you.” Chuuya bounced once to solidify his point. Osamu smirked, shaking his head to focus, drinking in Chuuya’s knowing expression.
“Kinky. Who’s your best man? Or woman, either one.”
“Probably Ane-san, fuck being traditional- don’t you dare start spewing that bride shit at me.”
He nodded sagely. “Smart choice. She’d probably skewer you if she wasn’t.”
“Like I need your shit opinion. What about you?”
He tilted his head. Chuuya kissed him. Ah, that’s what he meant. “Maybe Chuu can help me pick the most suitable person.”
“Oh?” He nodded to continue. He liked Chuuya’s voice, sue him (don’t). “Blondie would probably be the most respectful apart from your boss- would either say yes if you asked? What about smartass Ranpo- he’d probably start shit. Atsushi is a safer bet than that, but he’d be blubbering through it, Aku would have a heart attack on the spot-”
—
“Technically we had a weekend in Vegas.”
The doctor grinned, nudging Ranpo giving him a look, neither having the decency to look confused or surprised as Chuuya muttered a quiet “shut the fuck up, why did you answer that-”
Atsushi at least had the decency to, Kajii in a similar position but with the nous to just walk away to where the cleanup crew were meant to show up. Kunikida clearly didn’t know how to feel- a mix of emotions spreading across his face like a narrative. Shock, disbelief, brief anger (?), confusion and something that almost resembled resignation and acceptance, all cycled through within a few seconds on the man’s face.
The mantiger looked to him, then two the gossipers in the corner of the group, then to Akutagawa, who watched them with…surprising neutrality?
“That doesn’t count.”
“It totally does.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Ranpo didn’t hide the glee in his eyes. “Why not?”
The redhead was unsure if this violated their unspoken ceasefire, but he was deep enough in the hole, so what the hell? “Because we were eighteen!” He paused, scratching his head. “Or seventeen…?”
A collective “ what?! ” sounded in the background of their conversation.
“We actually did something earlier than that.”
“What-! No, we- wait…yeah. We did.”
The crocodile tears followed, to no-one’s surprise. “You mean to say none of it mattered? You’re a heartbreaker, chibi.”
“I have an address book of women and dudes to prove which of us is the real heartbreaker here.” He left out the bit about the obituaries.
“Keeping that in a safe, are you?”
Chuuya smirked at the subtext, cocking his hip and throwing a glance over his shoulder- that subtext very clearly being ‘please keep it there.’ “Yeah, I’m keeping it as a record to remind you how lucky you are that I put up with you after all the shit you pull on other people.”
“For shame, Chuuya.”
(“Is this dirty talk?” Yosano muttered. Kunikida spat out his drink as Ranpo snorted.)
—
They sat in the back of the van, Kunikida muttering under his breath.
“Relax, Kunikida-kun~” Dazai drawled. “Ango can bail us out.”
“It’s not his responsibility to-”
“You can’t expect him to-”
“-bail us out, jackass.”
“-come every time you call, I certainly wouldn’t.”
“You don’t, Kunikida,” Atsushi muttered from his seat near the door. Kenji giggled next to him. Dazai, however, was staring between his partners, who’d locked eyes with a mixture of surprise and respect in their expressions.
“Fuck me,” he mumbled, leaning back and slouching. Just what he needed.
“What was that, shitty mackerel?” He glanced unimpressed at the growing smirk on the redhead’s face.
Atsushi and the Tanizaki twins seemed to be the only three surprised at Dazai’s lack of enthusiasm. Usually he was the jester, all overexaggerated movements and crocodile tears, but he seemed to hang up the hat this time. “The sound of me being ganged up on.”
A few moments passed before the blond detective’s voice bounced around the cramped van space. “He has…never shut up that fast.”
“I’ll teach ya a thing or two,” the mafioso leaned back smugly, nudging his partner in the ribs. “Bastard likes to think he’s so far above all of us, just mention the-”
A hand clamped over his mouth and a strained grin stained the brunette’s face. “Thank you Chuuya!”
(“He didn’t even say anything?” Naomi whispered to her brother.
“Best not to question it,” he whispered back. “Any idea what that’s about-?”
“Move.”
“What?! I’m not even near you, I’m literally tucked into the corner!.”
“You’re breathing.”
“You-? What?!”
Junichiro sighed, rubbing his eyes so he didn’t have to watch the mantiger and the mafia’s rabid dog. “Anyone feeling a sense of deja vu?”)
Chuuya’s eyes were alight with mischief. Kunikida seemed more than happy to let him antagonise his pain-in-the-ass partner, instead choosing to comment on the brawl that was about to start. He held his leg out, which bordered Chuuya and himself, very pointedly between the Double Black duo. “Don’t go past this line.”
“What did you say?” Akutagawa seethed among the complaints and offended comments from the rest of the van. Dazai’s mouth was hanging open, incredulous that Kunikida took Chuuya’s side, god, what was the world coming to?
The executive grinned, not good. “At least wait until we’re out of the van. How about we split the space, adults up here, children down there. I’ve got some stories to tell.”
Yosano and Ranpo, who’d been happily sitting on the floor gossiping, grinned and moved up, pushing themselves between ADA members. Along one side of the van now sat Kunikida, Yosano, Junichiro, Kenji and Atsushi; the other, Chuuya, Dazai, Ranpo, Naomi and Akutagawa.
Sharing a glance, Ranpo and Junichiro pushed shin-soukoku onto the ground. They could be in their own world. There was gossip to be had.
Then the van stopped. As did everyone, having noted that Chuuya and Ranpo were now making eye contact. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait for the black and white shitshow that was about to go down in the small space in the back of the van.
Smartass Ranpo, and a mafia executive with anger issues. What could go wrong?
They grinned. Christ, help.
“Before you start, Mr Fancy Hat, I’d like to remind everyone of something.”
The redhead nodded, sensing he’d probably like where this was going.
“Kunikida, Atsushi, Naomi, Junichiro, you all owe me lunch.” He accepted a low high five from Yosano.
She turned her eyes to Dazai, eyes almost predatory. “So how’d it happen?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Huh?”
Chuuya seemed to sit up at this, apparently having caught her drift quicker than the prodigy next to him.
Sensing kinship between them (he knew that was going to happen, for god sake), Dazai shoved Chuuya into the side of the van. “Stop it you vicious slug.”
“You mean who fucked who first?”
He groaned, one of many noises that only seemed to get louder. “Think of the children! Such a vile, disgusting-”
“Yeah, yeah,” the woman waved off, “shut up, Dazai. I’ve got money riding on this.”
He gaped. Then gaped at Kunikida, who looked…bored? Seriously? He eyed the boys below, who were, as predicted, pretty caught up in their own drama. Naomi looked slightly giddy (worrying), while Junichiro was being comforted by Kenji. Sweet Kenji. He had no idea what was going on. Thankfully they’d left Kyouka with Kouyou. Her poor, sweet, innocent ears couldn’t be tainted by-
…anyway.
Light shone into the small space, air cleaner and cooler as it rushed in, all at the same time as a certain short detective cheered and Yosano yelled “fuck.” Ranpo patted her on the shoulder, reminding her of a crucial fact.
As the children began peeling out at Ango’s directive, it left five. In a matter of seconds, 3 things happened.
Kunikida reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to Yosano.
Chuuya erupted into laughter, climbing past his partner to exit the van behind the other ADA members.
Un-fucking-believable.
“Can you believe that, Odasaku?”
“He absolutely can,” Chuuya smiled.
Osamu pouted. “Prick. I cannot believe I got stuck with such a vindictive, loud dog.”
“Break up with me then.” He snorted at the flick he received to the forehead. “That’s what I thought. Wasn’t exactly my plan to fall and stay in love with a freeloading, whiny beanpole, but here we are.”
With a huff, Dazai placed the flowers on the grave. Such odd feelings rushing through him. Grief, love, appreciation, sorrow and joy all in one. He took a deep breath, tracing the letters with his eyes. Seeing those eyes.
“Need a minute?”
“Need a chibi,” he said instinctively, still kneeling but holding his hand up for Chuuya to take. Calm rolled over him when he did- Arahabaki lightly buzzing under his own skin. He turned and kissed it, warm breath over a warm hand.
“Remember when I told you I married chibi as a joke?”
He let a moment pass.
“You asked ‘again?’ and Ango spat out his drink,” he smiled fondly.
( “What do you mean again?”
“Geez, Ango, keep up. It’s like you don’t even care about me!”
“Oh, my apologies for zoning out during half of your conversations about that partner of yours- you’re barely legal!”
Oda turned back to him, straight-faced as usual. “So this isn’t like the mission in America or Spain?”
“Nope!”
“Or Italy or any of the missions in Japan?”
“Nope! Completely different! You should’ve seen his face, Odasaku! It was hilarious!”
What he hadn’t seen during his explanation was the glance shared between Oda and Ango. The small smile that Ango eyed before sighing himself into one too.
What he hadn’t heard in his overly detailed description of the events was:
“Do you think he knows he’s in love with Chuuya?”
Oda shrugged.
“How did this even happen?” He drowned himself in whiskey.
And Ango missed the fond look in that redhead’s eyes too.)
“I figured you should be the first to know, since you’re probably the only one who’d expect it- or at least you’d pretend, but you knew better than that, didn’t you?”
“No doubt.”
“Technically we never got a divorce,” he chuckled, unable to stop that urge. Where did it come from? “So we’re gonna renew our vows. People will know this time, though. A big, dramatic wedding where someone yells out ‘I object!’ right before we kiss and chibi has to compete for my love-”
“As if anyone else could deal with your fishy ass. If they object, they can have you.”
There was a world somewhere out there, he was sure of it, where Oda was there, where Oda was Osamu’s best man. Where he and Chuuya got to become proper friends, where Ango had been honest with himself and chosen what he wanted. Where everything was simpler. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t simpler at all. Maybe it was just as complicated and messy. Maybe.
He looked up at Chuuya, smiling. Oda was right. Life in the light was a lot more beautiful.