Chapter Text
It’s not Chuuya’s first meeting with Mori Ougai when he is called to Portmafia headquarters in the late afternoon one day. The sun is setting somewhere beyond the clouded November sky as the elevator moves upward. Soon, it will be six months since he was uprooted and brought into the Portmafia, and while he hasn’t forgiven what was done (and will never forgive Dazai), he is beginning to settle.
The elevator chimes softly, and then the doors open. Across the hallway, two armed men in suits open the door for him. Chuuya inclines his head and marches past them.
Mori, Kouyou, and Dazai are already seated around a polished table, looking for all the world as if they were having a relaxing afternoon tea. Fine china gleams in the dim light, the lush carpet softens Chuuya’s footsteps.
“Chuuya-kun,” Mori chimes, rising from his chair. “Thank you for joining us on short notice. I hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important?”
Chuuya bows. “Nothing like that, boss.”
“Please, sit. And help yourself.” Mori chuckles, waves him to the table, playing the doting uncle. “The chocolate tart is delicious.” For all that Chuuya hasn’t met the man often, the act hasn’t fooled him once. There’s something about him that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand, and he’s glad when those cold, cold eyes aren’t fixed on him.
Still, he sits at the table, dons a placid smile, and accepts a cup of tea from Kouyou. It’s only when he raises the cup to his lips that he realizes the innocent gesture was not so innocent - but a move on the chessboard. There’s a tension hanging over the room; thick and unforgiving.
“Well, maybe Chuuya-kun can help us,” Mori says brightly. “You see, one of our former executives recently lost a very sensitive piece of data. We managed to track it down, but the retrieval is turning out a little complicated.” That loss, Chuuya knows, in truth had been theft by a powerful rival organization looking to get a foothold in Yokohama. The former executive is so because allowing the theft to happen cost him his life in what, according to rumors, was a gruesome and painful manner.
Chuuya fixes his gaze on the teacup Mori is holding; that way he doesn’t have to meet those cruel, piercing eyes. Instead he notices the relaxed set to the boss’ shoulders; and the near playful grip on the cup’s handle. Mori probably already has a dozen plans for the data’s retrieval; Chuuya’s presence serves another goal.
“I imagine crude force will not work?” Chuuya inquires politely. The tea is delicious; likely the type that costs a small fortune per pound. But it’s difficult to enjoy in present company; and the cup sitting before Dazai must have long since gone cold.
“I’m afraid we need the data intact,” Mori replies. Meaning whoever has the data will be able to command its destruction, Chuuya concludes.
“Do we?” Kouyou says. Her words are a challenge, yet her body language is completely at ease.
Mori sighs. “Dazai-kun?”
Well-trained puppet that he is, Dazai rises to the occasion. “The data itself may be gathered through other means. However, the data is most valuable in short-term, meaning timing is crucial. As such a swift retrieval presents the most ideal solution.” There’s no emotion in his words and his face is a flat mask; Chuuya isn’t certain if it’s more or less creepy than Dazai’s fake smiles.
“Exactly,” Mori chirps with a wide, wide grin and rests a patronizing hand on Dazai’s arm. Dazai doesn’t react at all, and it sends a shudder down Chuuya’s spine.
“Hm, I guess that makes sense,” Kouyou replies airily. “And I imagine the best way to retrieve the data would be to cozy up to that man, and then steal the data.”
“Yes, seeing as the current owner has rather intimate ties to the Diet,” Mori says, and leans forward. He rests his chin on folded hands, eyes narrowing. Ill foreboding fills Chuuya’s chest. “Now, however, this type of mission requires a bit of delicacy. I was wondering whether Chuuya-kun wouldn’t be suited to the task.”
The ‘of course’ is on Chuuya’s lips, but a foot violently connects with his shin under the table. Pain races up Chuuya’s leg, and his lips won’t move. And in that time, Kouyou has already spoken up.
“I don’t know,” she hedges airily. “This type of delicacies may not be suited to Chuuya-kun’s particular talents.” The degree of poison underneath her words makes Chuuya pause; swallows even the protest - he has a superb degree of control over his gift, but he has the feeling that this may not be what Kouyou meant.
Mori raises an eyebrow.
“I agree with Kouyou-san,” Dazai speaks up. “Chuuya’s gift is volatile, we know that. Should his temper be upset, the situation may easily spin out of control.”
Mori hums. “From what I’ve observed Chuuya-kun’s control is rather admirable.”
There’s a flash of something in Dazai’s eyes, and Chuuya thinks he should say something, but he doesn’t know what.
“It’s less his control itself, but more his temper which is the issue,” Dazai smoothly returns, and Chuuya tries to kick his leg underneath the table, too. Except his misses.
Mori chuckles. “Now, Dazai-kun, are you sure you aren’t letting your feelings cloud your judgement?”
Chuuya senses Kouyou abruptly stiffen next to him.
“It’s only experience informing my judgement,” Dazai returns, and Chuuya nearly misses the way Mori’s eyes narrow for a split second. “Unless your aim is to draw the Diet’s wrath? I thought you wanted to get that ability business permit, but if that has changed…”
Kouyou’s eyebrows rise in amusement, and Chuuya can’t quite hide his own surprise. Ability business permit? It’s the first time he’s hearing it, but the type of ploy fits Mori perfectly. Yet when he looks to the boss, there’s no trace of unease on his face; instead his smile seems to have widened. Dazai’s smile has curdled instead; but whatever error he made, Chuuya can’t spot.
“What do you think, Kouyou-kun?” Mori asks with a shark’s smile. Chuuya’s fingers instinctively clench in the fabric of his trousers. He doesn’t quite understand what Mori meant, but there’s blood in the water, now. “I have to admit, Dazai-kun indeed has more experience in these matters, though you also know Chuuya-kun quite well.”
“Dazai-kun brings up a valid point,” Kouyou replies after a beat, and Chuuya can tell she is gathering herself. There’s a hardness in her eyes that wasn’t quite as visible before. “This is not the type of mission Chuuya-kun is suited to. Especially considering the Diet involvement.”
Chuuya gulps. For all that he hopes to discover the truth one day, for the time being he’d prefer to stay away from the government and its research facilities.
Mori nods thoughtfully. It’s fake, Chuuya knows he has already made his decision. “He would have been the ideal candidate, though,” the Portmafia boss bemoans. “But I concur.”
“Mori-san,” Dazai speaks up, voice still flat, though Chuuya thinks he looks shaken. As he’s the one bleeding in the water. “There’s also the situation in Chinatown to consider.” That, at least, is a subject Chuuya knows about. A new gang encroaching on Portmafia territory and disturbing the local business. In the building talk has been that the mafia will launch a counterstrike soon.
“Oh?” Mori raises an eyebrow.
“The gang has a powerful sponsor abroad,” Dazai says. “I thought making a statement might be the best way to get the message across.” Chuuya can hazard this means Dazai plans to drag him along as his attack dog. He’s not too happy, but from what he’s heard about the new gang - well, he won’t mind crunching some bones.
“It’s bad style to have the same person be both messenger and contact,” Kouyou adds. “For these types of messages.” Her smile widens, though Chuuya isn’t sure what game she is winning.
“No, I suppose that won’t do,” Mori concedes. But there’s not a chance for anyone on the table to exhale in relief. “Dazai-kun, I trust you will be able to handle both issues, then?”
“Of course, boss,” Dazai returns obediently, and Chuuya looks to Kouyou for her reaction. That hard set has returned to her eyes, and somehow, whatever victory was gleaned, apparently was pyrrhic after all.
“Well, I look forward to seeing the results,” Mori says, leaning back with a wide smile. Chuuya recognizes a dismissal when he hears one, and despite Mori and Kouyou engaging in barbed pleasantries, they find themselves in the elevator down soon after.
“Dazai-kun,” Kouyou begins as the elevator begins its soundless journey down, bringing them closer to neon-lit advertisements, and the glow of traffic in the streets. “I would not be averse to helping you out with this one.”
Chuuya blinks. He knows Kouyou isn’t fond of Dazai, and explicitly disapproves of his workstyle. For her to offer support…
“You heard the boss, Kouyou-san,” Dazai returns tonelessly, but Chuuya thinks he looks tired. Or at least his reflection in the elevator’s glass casing does. “It’s my job now.”
Kouyou’s face falls. Now that they’re out of Mori’s gaze (or at least have the pretense of being out of his sight), the masks start to crack. “I’ll be on standby.”
Dazai gives a minuscule nod.
Kouyou sighs. “For what it’s worth, Dazai-kun,” she says, and the stark honesty in her voice makes Chuuya shudder. “What you and Mori-san consider the optimal strategy; from somebody who once thought so too, let me tell you that it’s not.”
Surprise flickers across Dazai’s face. Then he tilts his head. “It’s always worked so far.”
“I used to think the same,” Kouyou agrees with a soft sigh. Darkness curls itself heavily around the elevator as they slide from the building’s outside into the shaft.
Kouyou’s unspoken ‘I was wrong’ echoes heavily.
Four days later, Chuuya finds himself dragged to a fancy End of Year gala party. He doesn’t immediately understand why they’re here, especially when Kouyou says they’re only backup. They could be backup waiting in a van outside, Chuuya thinks, or even comfortably in the Portmafia tower that isn’t ten minutes away on foot.
Instead Kouyou made him wear a suit and is parading him around as her nephew while making small talk with the Big Names from Yokohama and beyond. At least the food is good, Chuuya thinks, as he helps himself to more fatty tuna.
He nearly misses Dazai. Not clad in his regular black, hair combed smoothly, and lacking the bandages usually wrapped around his head, the other boy looks strikingly different. The light grey suit makes him appear slender, near ephemeral, and Chuuya is pretty sure he’s wearing lip gloss and mascara. He’s about to call out and mock the other -
But then a middle-aged man in an expensive navy suit slips into place behind Dazai and leans forward, far too close, to whisper something into Dazai’s ear. Something in Chuuya’s stomach twists, and he almost shatters the plate he’s holding without quite understanding why. Dazai doesn’t pull away, instead, turns an airy smile toward the man, and makes no protest when one meaty arm slides around his shoulders possessively.
Chuuya has survived on the streets long enough to understand what he’s seeing. Still, the truth is - with his power backing Sheep, they never had to engage in this type of affair.
He can only watch in growing horror as Dazai lets himself be lead away by the man; is about to follow, when Kouyou brushes up against him. “Don’t,” she instructs, under her breath. “This is all according to plan.”
Chuuya turns to look at her, and he can’t help if the sheer outrage is obvious in his eyes. “What?”
Kouyou’s lips quirk. It’s not a smile, but something sad and understanding. Like she’s been where he is, a long, a long time ago. “Delicately gaining trust,” she says, echoing Mori, and Chuuya abruptly realizes that this was the mission he’d been considered for.
“Dazai-kun has until midnight,” Kouyou continues, and there’s a gleam to her eyes now. “If he doesn’t check in with us until then, we blow this place to smithereens.” The grim set of her face reassures Chuuya. Because yes. He’d rather unleash his power.
But he can wait until midnight.
tbc