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FRIDAY, 01:21 A.M
“Did he just—did he just jump out of the window?”
Nakahara Chuuya crumples a piece of paper with unnecessary strength, inhaling as deeply as humanly possible, “Yes, he did.”
He watches, attempting not to allow his anger to blind him, as Dazai Osamu lands on top of a car and graciously shifts with the door knob for no longer than twenty seconds. Just like that, the door opens, Dazai claims the driver’s seat and takes off. By the time the detectives who were chasing him get to the sidewalk, the car is nowhere to be seen. It is a building containing five floors, after all, and no one but Dazai himself would be able to fly out of that window and not break several bones in the process.
“Is this the only footage we have from last night?” Chuuya asks, turning to look at Hirotsu—a very experienced detective who, surprisingly, works under him. “Didn’t any of the other security cameras catch a glimpse of him?”
“To speak the truth,” Hirotsu begins, and Chuuya knows he isn’t going to like what he’s about to hear, “All the other security cameras from the neighborhood had their footage from last night completely wiped out. They must’ve forgotten about this one only.”
Chuuya grits his teeth, feeling a headache coming alongside the accumulated stress, “No, they didn’t forget about it. You know that asshole. He probably left it behind on purpose to infuriate me. What about the car license plate?”
“We tried to use it to track him down, but there were no other cameras that were able to find it. He must’ve gotten rid of it as soon as possible.”
It’s been over two years now, since they’ve been chasing Dazai and the rest of his phantom group. Thieves, criminals, and Chuuya’s team of proud detectives can’t seem to get a grasp on them regardless of how hard they try.
The worst part is, Chuuya might be starting to think they will never catch them. If it weren’t enough that Dazai managed to reunite some of the smartest and most problematic thieves in the entirety of Yokohama, they are also at disadvantage because, well, Dazai knows all about their methods—and he knows all about their methods because he was once one of them.
He was a great detective, really. Chuuya hates to admit it, would never say it aloud, but it’s the truth. One day, though, he suddenly vanished. Next thing they knew, he had become a phantom thief, and it was now their responsibility to shut his new business down.
“What did he steal this time?” Chuuya asks, massing his temple.
“A pearl necklace.”
Chuuya blinks, “Well, at least that’s not as bad—”
“Forgive me for not being clearer,” Hirotsu interrupts, and Chuuya notices the dreadful look in his eyes, “It’s the pearl necklace that sir Francis Fitzgerald, the owner of that building, intended to send to his wife, Zelda, as a gift for their anniversary.”
He takes a deep breath.
“I’m going to murder him.”
“That would probably not be appropriate.”
Chuuya groans, turning off the computer and staring at the clock on the wall. He was supposed to be home hours ago, wasn’t it for Dazai and his crew.
“When is Fitzgerald and Zelda’s anniversary?”
“In a week.”
“Well, then,” Chuuya stares at him, “We have a week to catch him. We already let those idiots get away with stealing our files on Fyodor’s gang, which only delayed our plan of capturing them for months, so we can’t let something big slip our hands again. Otherwise, they might transfer this case.”
Hirotsu blinks, “If we can’t catch the Phantom Thieves, no one else can.”
“Yeah,” He sighs, rubbing his neck and grabbing the keys over his desk, “I know that. You can go home for tonight, Hirotsu. I bet you wish you could’ve a long time ago.”
“What about you?”
One more time, Chuuya sighs, “I’m going to buy a very expensive bottle of wine with the very limited money I make as a detective, which is definitely not worth half the white hairs it gives me, and then I’ll study this video all night. I’ll catch Dazai, Hirotsu, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Always true to his word, Chuuya finds himself in his apartment, one hour later, with an expensive bottle of wine placed over his center table and a glass filled with the drink spinning between his gloved fingers. His TV is on, and the screen is showing him Dazai’s agile movements as he descends from the building, lands on the car and steals it. There is no sign of any of his colleagues, but, when he looks closer, he can see the tiny black bag peaking from Dazai’s hand.
There were guards there, of course. Fitzgerald would never allow such a precious gift to lie unprotected. However, that didn’t stop Dazai from knocking three fully armed and well-trained man unconscious and taking the jewelry with him. In the beginning, they wondered why the Phantom Thieves took each one of the artefacts they stole—with time, though, they learned that was pointless. There was no connection. They stole from whom they wanted, whenever they wanted.
He’s in his third glass, feeling the annoyance climbing up his spine as the wine goes down his throat, when his phone rings and he reads Akutagawa Ryuunosuke’s name on the screen. Akutagawa is one of the other detectives working under him—and one of the few people Chuuya selected to work on the Phantom Thieves’ case.
“Hey,” Chuuya holds the phone between his shoulder and cheek, reaching for the bottle and pouring some more in his glass, “Did Hirotsu get in touch with you about Dazai’s appearance last night?”
“Yes,” Akutagawa’s ever so monotonous tone reaches him, “He said you’d be studying the video tonight. Is there anything I can help with?”
“Well, it’d help me a lot if you had any updates that could lead me to put Dazai behind bars once and for all.”
He means it as a joke—although there is part of him that’s not quite sure Akutagawa appreciates or gets jokes—but the sharp inhale of breath he hears on the other side of the line gets him to freeze and wait. Five seconds later, Akutagawa sighs.
“I do, actually, have an update,” Akutagawa says, and Chuuya wonders, for a second, how bad it can be, “I was working on another case a few hours ago, talking to an inspector, when someone quite literally dropped something on my head. I looked up and caught glimpse of that… that phantom thief, Nakajima Atsushi.”
Ah. Well, that explains it. While Dazai is the one haunting Chuuya’s nightmares with his infuriating smirks and remarkable escape skills, it is Nakajima Atsushi whom Akutagawa seems to dread the most. Unlike Chuuya and Dazai, though, there is no history behind it. All he knows is that, ever since they began chasing the Phantom Thieves, Nakajima took a liking to Akutagawa, and Akutagawa hadn’t seen the end of it ever since.
“Let me guess,” Chuuya downs the wine, sighing deeply afterwards, “No one managed to catch him.”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, what did he drop on you?
“A small black bag,” Akutagawa begins, causing Chuuya to nearly choke on thin air, “But it’s not the same bag from the jewelry they stole from Fitzgerald. I presume they wanted the similarity to work as a teasing factor, as they normally do.”
Chuuya coughs, “Of course.”
“Inside, there were a note and a ring. The ring has a gem—ametrine. It’s legitimate. The note reads…”
“What?” Chuuya frowns, “What does the note read?”
“First, there’s a sequence of numbers. I sent them to Hirotsu and he said he’d look it up, because we think it might be a different car license plate. Then, under it, it reads ‘The number is a clue for detective Chuuya to come get the rich man’s jewelry back.”
“What else?” Chuuya asks, because he can hear the hesitance in Akutagawa’s tone, “What about the ring?”
Akutagawa sighs, “Well, it says, ‘The ring is a present from me to detective Akutagawa. It has no correlation to the case; I just thought it’d… remind him of my eyes.’”
“Little shit.”
“Yes, precisely.”
“Are you busy right now, Akutagawa?”
“No, sir.”
“Call Hirotsu and have him come to my apartment. In case it isn’t clear enough, you’ll come as well. Tell him to hurry the investigation. If the number belongs to a car license plate and we take too long, it might get left behind by the time we start chasing it.”
“Yes, sir. Should I bring anything else?”
“Well,” Chuuya clicks his tongue, twisting the now empty glass in his hands and staring at the nearly empty bottle, “Do you drink alcohol?”
“Occasionally, yes.”
“Bring your most expensive bottle.”
***
FRIDAY, 03:42 P.M
Chuuya nudges Akutagawa with his foot, nose wrinkling at the sight of his subordinate sleeping on his floor with an empty glass resting over his fingers. Hirotsu left an hour ago, and Chuuya insisted that he requested an Uber instead of attempting to drive home while half-asleep already. It is now to presume, then, that Chuuya is the only one up at the moment.
There are paper sheets, files, documents, notes and more spread all over the floor, the center table, the couch. Chuuya massages his temple, downing the third cup of water in the last ten minutes. He needs to sober up, now. By calling the agency and informing them that he was working from home in order to catch Dazai’s group, he got himself out of having to physically go to work today, but it doesn’t change the fact that he needs to get a grip and keep working.
Chuuya retrieves his phone from underneath one of the pillows over the couch and scrolls down, finding Akutagawa’s little sister, Gin, and clicking over the voice message button.
“Hey, Gin. I’m not sure they let you know—your brother’s not coming to work today. He’s currently knocked out on my floor. We’ve been working on the Phantoms, that’s why. I’ll let him get some rest and you can pick him up from here after work if you’d like.”
He releases his grip and watches the voice message get sent with a quiet sigh. Gin became a detective shortly after Akutagawa himself, and she’s done an impeccable job ever since. He knows how reliable she can be, and that’s why he attempted to get her on their Phantom Thieves’ investigation team, but Kouyou, another detective, snatched her away in order to take care of a different serious case.
Last night, they found out the number was, indeed, leading them to a car. It didn’t take too long to find it through the city’s security cameras, but it was already abandoned somewhere. Chuuya called one of their agents and had him investigate the place and the car as thoroughly as possible, and he’s still waiting for the precise results.
“Did we make any progress?” He hears Akutagawa’s sleepy voice and turns to look at him. He’s got an arm thrown over his eye and his chest goes up and down with a heavy sigh. “I hope we did. Otherwise, my body being this punished would’ve been pointless.”
“Good morning to you too, detective,” Chuuya smiles a little, “Wait a minute there, I’ll get you some water and, uh, painkillers?”
Akutagawa clears his throat, moving to a sitting position and roughly rubbing his face, “I feel fine. Water alone will do.”
Chuuya brings him painkillers regardless of his protests, though, and Akutagawa reluctantly swallows them. He also drinks the rest of the water as if he had been in the desert for the past few days. Chuuya doesn’t blame him, though. For someone who, quoting him, drinks “occasionally”, Akutagawa might’ve gone a little overboard with this investigation night.
“To answer your question, yes, we might’ve made some progress,” Chuuya informs him, flopping down on the couch and brushing his hair backwards, “They should have the results from the car’s analysis any minute now and we managed to locate the place where Dazai bought that stupidly extravagant outfit of his. All we need is to follow their traces, now.”
“Good,” Akutagawa sighs, getting up and groaning a little, “I do look forward to seeing prison bars keeping Nakajima Atsushi’s annoying face away from me.”
Chuuya chuckles, “Where is the gem he gifted you, anyway? That might count as evidence.”
“I highly doubt so. They always wear gloves, meaning we won’t find any fingerprints, and he most likely bought it from someone unreachable around Yokohama.”
“Oh?” Chuuya grins, “What, do you want to keep the ring?”
Akutagawa sends him a deadpan look, “That is not even remotely funny, sir.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry, but this is an order. I need the ring.”
He would like to believe there is no resistance on Akutagawa’s face as he retrieves the ring from his pocket, because—well, teasing the guy is one thing, but the last thing he needs is for one of his detectives to get emotionally attached to the people they’re chasing. That won’t work.
Akutagawa drops the gem on his hand and Chuuya frowns, spinning it between his fingers, “Does this actually look at all like his eyes?”
“Yes,” Akutagawa rubs his eyes, gritting his teeth, “Yes, it looks exactly like them.”
Chuuya places the ring over the table and stretches out his arms, “I’ll get back to work now, but you can take a shower if you’d like. Go feel refreshed. I already texted your sister, so you can stay around and not worry about the office for the afternoon.”
“I know I fell asleep, but—”
“Ah, don’t give me the ‘I’m good to work now’ bullshit. I need you at full energy, and I won’t have that unless you freshen up a little, okay?” Chuuya gestures toward the bathroom, “I’ll lend you some of my clothes, although I think our height difference might make it a little uncomfortable for you.”
Akutagawa sighs, probably aware that arguing with Chuuya won’t take him anywhere, and nods, “Thank you, sir.”
“And drop the ‘sir’. You slept over, I think it’s fine to call me Nakahara or even Chuuya if you’d like,” He says, “Go shower and leave the door open. I’ll catch the clothes and leave them on the sink.”
“Yes, si—Nakahara.”
There aren’t, indeed, many clothes in Chuuya’s closet that would fit Akutagawa—and that’s not even talking about their height or size difference, but also their style. Kouyou, as the great friend she is, always kept Chuuya in shape regarding his fashion choices, but there doesn’t seem to be someone for that role in Akutagawa’s life. Still, Gin shows up to work in suits and it fits her a lot better than the black, shapeless outfits Akutagawa chooses. He could learn a thing or two from his sister.
Chuuya reaches for a black shirt, and, in the middle of grabbing it, he notices a shirt thrown over a box in the bottom of the closet. He bends over and, as he recognizes it, he freezes.
It’s an oversized shirt—for him. It’s oversized, and it’s ridiculously ugly with those red apples drawn all over it, and that’s all because it doesn’t belong to him.
It belongs to Dazai.
“Piece of shit,” Chuuya grits his teeth, squeezing the clothing between his fingers. Dazai was never there—even when they were partners, Chuuya never invited him over, and he most certainly did not hang out with the asshole in their off-work times so that he could ever have been in contact with that stupid shirt. The only reason why he knows this belongs to Dazai is because, when he bought it, Chuuya ran into him at the mall. It was fast, and Chuuya paid him no attention, but the shirt was extravagant enough for him to carve it into his memory.
If that shirt showed up there out of nowhere, the only plausible explanation is…
“Dazai was here,” He says, dropping his own clothes and a towel on the skin and standing with his back to the shower, crossed arms while he looks at the walls, “As in, here, in my house.”
For a few moments, silence. Then, the shower stops, and Akutagawa asks, “What?”
“You can finish showering.”
“I’m finished. Can you pass me the towel, please?”
Chuuya does.
“I’ll ask,” Akutagawa says, and Chuuya waits, staring at the walls still, “What was that about Dazai being here?”
“I found one of his shirts in my closet,” Chuuya says, “It’s one of his casual ones. When we searched his apartment, they were all gone, and now this one has simply… reappeared. Out of nowhere. In my closet. And that’s because he was here, in my apartment.”
Akutagawa clears his throat and Chuuya hears the ruffling of clothes, “Forgive me for asking, but is it maybe possible that Dazai’s shirt was here… before?”
It takes Chuuya all of his strength not to spin on his heels and send Akutagawa a murderous look, “What exactly do you take me for, Akutagawa? I never, not even once, invited Dazai over to my house. Especially not shirtless, I’ll have you know.”
“I didn’t mean it as an offense.”
Chuuya sighs, “I know. It’s just—he infuriates me. You know that. If he came here, that’s just crossing every line in History.”
“I don’t think crossing lines is something that bothers him,” Akutagawa says, and he sounds like he’s being delicate. Tip-toing around Chuuya, trying not to annoy him even more now that Dazai managed to get under his skin like that. Smart of him.
Then something hits him.
“Hey, Akutagawa.”
“Hm?”
“Dazai knew your address.”
Akutagawa stops for a moment, “Well, yes, but I doubt he would have any interest in going to my house. Frankly, it was always his personal goal to get to you especially, Nakahara, sir. Even if he did come here, it’s doubtful that he would go anywhere else—”
“I’m not talking about Dazai,” Chuuya interrupts him, “I’m talking about the people working with Dazai.”
Silence. For long, stretching seconds. Chuuya thinks Akutagawa might be processing the idea—letting it sink in and attempting not to explode at the sheer idea at the same time. Then, slowly, he hears Akutagawa letting out a breath.
“You don’t think Nakajima would…”
“I wouldn’t put it past a criminal, no.”
Akutagawa clears his throat, louder this time, “I’m done getting dressed. I know we have to work, but you wouldn’t mind it if I went over to my house to take a quick look, would you?”
“Not at all,” Chuuya says, leaning against the doorframe and taking in Akutagawa’s figure. He looks funny, dressed in stylish clothes that are a bit too tight for someone his height. “You can have the rest of the day off, too. You worked with me the whole night and halfway through the day already.”
“Oh, but I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. It’s an order,” Chuuya points a finger at him, “Go home. Call your sister, ‘cause I told her you’d be here, and rest. If there’s anything there left by the Phantoms, let me know, and I’ll grab it from you tomorrow.”
Akutagawa sighs, “Alright, then. Thank you for the change of clothes, I’ll wash them and have them returned to you in no time. Also, if I may say…”
“What?”
“You should rest too,” Akutagawa says, pressing his lips together into a thin line, “I know Dazai overstepped all the boundaries by coming here, but you were up all night too. Get some rest, and, dare I to say, don’t do anything imprudent. You put a good team together in order to work this through the right way. Don’t forget that.”
Chuuya thinks that might be the sincerest and most heartful advice he will ever receive from Akutagwa, the silent and efficient detective, and so he nods with a big smile, “Trust me, Akutagawa. I know all that.”
***
SATURDAY, 11:01 A.M
“This way, detective Chuuya.”
Chuuya complies, following the guard into the prison—although he must admit, even as a detective, he dreads those places—and analyzing his surroundings carefully. There aren’t any other cells around. This one is a special one, heavily guarded and under thorough supervision ever since they brought that prisoner in.
More specifically, since Chuuya turned that prisoner over to them.
“We can’t bring him out of the cell, but you can stay here and talk,” The guard informs him, using the back of his hand to hit the bars and draw the attention of the man sitting on a pile of blankets on the ground, “Let me know once you’re done.”
Chuuya nods shortly, “Thank you. I will.”
“Oh, detective Chuuya. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Dostoyevsky,” Chuuya clicks his tongue, crossing his arms and stepping closer to the cell, “I’ve come to do business with you. It has reached my knowledge that you’re not closed to business after all, even after I put you in here. How resourceful.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky leans backward, one arm thrown over his raised knee as he looks up at Chuuya with the dangerous grin of a man who could walk out any second if he wanted to, “As one of my associates would say, the show must go on.”
“Nikolai Gogol,” Chuuya says, and Fyodor’s façade attitude drops for a second. It’s enough for Chuuya to catch it. “That associate, right?”
Dostoyevsky hums, tilting his head to the side, “How may I help you, detective?”
“You and Dazai had a rat and cat kind of rivalry, back when he was still a detective,” The detective says, squinting, “And, the thing is, we never knew which one of you was supposed to be the rat and which ones was supposed to be the cat most of the times. Regardless, you must already know it was thanks to Dazai’s efforts that we managed to get to you.”
“Ah, yes,” Dostoyevsky smiles, “It also know it was thanks to Dazai’s efforts that you fell behind on your chase for us.”
“We caught you in the end, didn’t we?” Chuuya clicks his tongue, the signs of annoyance showing already, “Listen, what I mean is, if there’s anyone who’s intellect matches Dazai’s, that’s you. You gave us real trouble, Dostoyevsky. There’s a reason why they chose to let you rot in jail.”
Dostoyevsky leisurely bites his nails, nodding, “I see. Your way of getting me to cooperate is by insulting me. Very unusual, detective.”
“My way of getting you to cooperate is by offering you something I can actually manage to get,” Chuuya sighs, “A sentence reduction.”
“You’ve said it yourself. I’m going to rot here.”
“I don’t mean you,” He shrugs, “You’re staying in prison forever because you were the leader of the gang. I’m sure you know the rest of your associates had better luck. They could actually use a good, generous sentence reduction for cooperating.”
Dostoyevsky chuckles, “So, you expect me to bargain for someone else.”
“Not any someone. I’m talking about reducing Nikolai Gogol’s sentence, Dostoyevsky,” Chuuya says, “It’s not illegal. It’s called rewarding someone for doing something good. I can transfer the goodness of your heart to the benefit of someone else.”
He knew, from the moment he went there, that he was going to face the risk of having Dostoyevsky laugh at this face and tell him no, detective, I don’t want to help, and I hope Dazai shuts your little agency down. He knew the risks, and that’s why he didn’t inform anyone else on his team before going. He hopes this doesn’t count as being imprudent, because disappointing Akutagawa isn’t a goal he has in mind.
Dazai speculated about Dostoyevsky and Gogol centuries ago. He was in a good mood the day they got in touch with Dostoyevsky, and he laughed that stupid laugh of his, looked Chuuya in the eyes and said, “He has a weakness. He’s a criminal, and possibly a monster, and he has a weakness. We don’t need to aim for Dostoyevsky—we can just aim for Gogol.”
That was also the tip that lead them to Dostoyevsky in the end. They went after Gogol, and, consequently, they found Dostoyevsky. Now, if it worked once…
“Well, then,” Dostoyevsky drops his hand, moves to a cross-legged position and stares up at Chuuya, “What part of Dazai’s mind do you need to get into?”
Chuuya smiles.
***
SATURDAY, 07:56 P.M
Kouyou swirls the glass of champagne in her hands, lowering it back over the counter as she looks at Chuuya. She got out of work a few hours early in order to meet with him, and Chuuya appreciates it deeply. She has lots of things to take care of, and paying attention to his urgent requests regardless has always been something she’s done.
“I thought asking for Dostoyevsky’s help would be the last thing you would be willing to do,” She says, “Isn’t there something about your pride? Not looking at things through the points of view of bad people?”
“We have less than a week now,” Chuuya says, sighing, “We’ll never catch Dazai at this pace. If we don’t find Fitzgerald’s necklace, we might jeopardize the entire agency. You know how powerful that man is. Besides, the boss—”
“Wouldn’t punish you for it, because I wouldn’t allow him to,” Kouyou cuts in, confident as always, “I understand, though. These Phantom Thieves have caused enough trouble as it is. If they’re willing to steal from Fitzgerald, it’s very unlikely they wouldn’t be able to do more damage. Still, I don’t know what you need me, of all people, for.”
Chuuya chuckles, “I’m always needing your help.”
“Yes, that’s true, but I’m sure you have a greater motive right now, don’t you, darling?”
“I want an opinion,” He admits, drinking from his glass of water—although very reluctant, because, truth be told, a glass of wine would please him much more, “I trust and cherish every single one of the detectives I selected for this case, but I need someone who cares about me to tell me if I’m being crazy or not. Hence, the necessity of your presence.”
Kouyou smirks, playfully flipping her hair back, ever-so-graciously, “How important does that make me, huh?”
“You might actually think I’m crazy, so, there’s that.”
“Whatever you tell me is only part of Dostoyevsky’s conviction, right?” She shrugs, “I won’t think you’re crazy for considering the possibility of following his tips. He’s clever, Chuuya. I think we all know that. It was your team chasing him, but everyone felt anxious while he was on the loose.”
Chuuya sighs, “Yeah, I know that.”
“Well, then?”
“You know how I used Gogol to get Dostoyevsky to cooperate?” He asks, and she shortly nods, taking a sip of her drink, “Well, Dostoyevsky has this theory—it’s stupid, really, if you think about it—but he was so certain, and I think there might be parts that actually mean something—”
“Chuuya,” Kouyou cuts in, serious eyes meeting his, “Don’t dance around me. Get to the point.”
Chuuya sighs, this time heavier and longer, and looks down at his fingers drumming over the counter as he says, “Dostoyevsky thinks I might be Dazai’s Gogol.”
Kouyou squints, “Meaning, his weakness?”
“I know it sounds like bullshit,” Chuuya states, “I laughed when he said that, but—but he wasn’t joking, Kouyou. He meant it. And, look, I asked Akutagawa to check if anyone had broken into his house, and no one had. I also had him check with every other member of our team, and, guess what? Nothing. It was just my house, and it was just Dazai. Now, I know that could’ve been all because I’m the leader and everything, but it’s more than that. I know it is. I’ve always known how much Dazai adores to annoy me—”
“Do you happen to remember” Kouyou begins, raising one finger in front of his face, “the last time you met with Dazai in person?’
Chuuya blinks, caught slightly off guard, and nods, “I mean, of course.”
“How was it?”
“It was a month ago. We caught up to them at this warehouse and we thought we had them surrounded. Dazai and that Nakajima, that is. It was the kid, Miyazawa, and that former doctor, Yosano, who got them out of there. There was also something shooting from the shadows. We supposed it was Tanizaki, another one of the Phantoms. They didn’t hit any of us, but they managed to get Dazai and Nakajima to escape.”
Kouyou shakes her hand, “I don’t mean it like that. I know all about the things that went on the report, Chuuya. I want you to tell me the off-record part. Did Dazai say anything to you?”
Chuuya clicks his tongue, “He always has something to say.”
“Think, okay? What did he say?”
“He said,” He begins, sighing, “That he would be looking forward for me to catch him, if I could. He also said there was no less than such a big capture to expect from a detective like me. But he wasn’t serious, Kouyou. You can’t take that into consideration. He’s always teasing me.”
“Oh, darling,” She drinks again, placing a gentle hand on his cheek right after, “No one gets under your skin the way Dazai does, and that blinds you. It makes you too unreliable to actually see anything.”
“You can’t expect me to believe he actually wants me to arrest him.”
“Of course not. Why would he want to be caught? That’s not the point, Chuuya,” Kouyou sighs, “The point is, if anyone were to arrest him, he would want it to be you. He believes you’re the best detective we have, and he knows how smart and skilled you are. He also knows, though, what an effect he has on you.”
Chuuya frowns, letting her words sink in, “So, what you’re saying is… you agree with Dostoyevsky.”
“What I’m saying is, perhaps you should stop looking for reasons for him to be wrong, and start looking at the stats of how likely it would be that he’s right,” She shrugs, “Besides, think as a detective. How brilliant would it be if you could use yourself in order to draw him?”
“Use myself?”
“You’ve said it yourself, right? It could jeopardize the entire agency if we didn’t catch him and recover that necklace—but, above everything, it could jeopardize you,” Kouyou says, emphasizing every word, “If you can find a way to let him know about that, then… well, it would be a great way to know whether Dostoyevsky’s theory is correct or pure nonsense.”
Chuuya pauses, stares at the glass of water before him and allows himself to think. He wanted to meet with Kouyou as soon as possible, because a major part of him wanted her to snap him out of the fantasy world Dostoyevsky appears to live in. Instead, there she is, agreeing with him, forcing Chuuya to expand him mind even more so that it can fit the concept of Dazai ever doing anything genuinely good for him.
“Say he’s right,” He begins, slowly, “Supposing Dazai actually sees me—me, and not anyone else, as a weakness. What am I supposed to make of that? What would it even mean, regarding Dazai’s feelings? I mean, under the assumption that he does have feelings.”
Kouyou smirks, “Oh, Chuuya. I think we both know what it would mean.”
Chuuya’s eyes widens and he rubs his face, “You know what? Forget this sobriety shit. Hey, bartender. What’s the best wine in the storage right now?”
***
SUNDAY, 01:12 P.M
The owner of the store where Dazai bought the outfit won’t talk. The results from the car are a little more hopeful, but it’s not much: the person who owned it before said a man in a mask offered him an obscene amount of money for it and took off. He also said the man with the mask left a note behind—it reads “same place from last time”, but Chuuya, Akutagawa and Hirotsu spent over three hours at the warehouse from last time already and nothing happened, so they’re basically seeing it as a dead end as well.
Chuuya hasn’t told anyone else about Dostoyevsky, neither does he intend to.
He’s been working solo on the whole unrealistic-weakness-plan thing. To be honest, he didn’t want to do any of this, but, if even Kouyou thinks it is worth a shot, he should at least consider the possibility.
Then, an idiotic idea hits him. He clears his throat, drawing Akutagawa’s attention to him. Hirotsu went on his way already, and Chuuya and Akutagawa said they would wait for a bit longer. Now, with this new light in his mind, he’s ready to wait on his own.
“You can go ahead, Akutagawa,” Chuuya says, running his fingers through his hair, “It’s a pretty hot day, and staying outside won’t do you any good.”
Akutagawa frowns, “If one of us has to stay here, it wouldn’t be appropriate for it to be you.”
“Don’t make me use the ‘it’s an order’ card again,” He smiles weakly, “It’s getting tiring. Come on, Akutagawa. Get going. If anything happens, I’ll let you know immediately.”
Akutagawa hesitates a bit more, but, in the end, Chuuya doesn’t have to use the “it’s an order” card before sending his subordinate his way. He waits a few minutes and looks around, directly at the supposedly deactivated cameras, and crosses his arms.
“Alright, Dazai. I’m all alone here, so, if that’s what you wanted, stop running. Come face me for once.”
It’s stupid. Chuuya sighs, sitting with his back against one of the cold walls and sweaty hands. It’s stupid and Dazai isn’t coming, because why would he? It isn’t like Chuuya never chased him alone. Well, not fully alone, as in, with no backup, because that would be stupid. And, in the end, that’s what Chuuya is. Stupid. This whole thing is stupid.
“Someone better buy me a pearl necklace once this is all over,” Chuuya mutters, annoyed, while unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt. It’s too hot for this.
“Aw, Chuuya, if I knew you wanted one of these necklaces, I would’ve stolen one for you before.”
Chuuya immediately jumps from his sitting position, reaching for the gun on his hip and pointing it at the new presence in the warehouse—the infuriating, masked, shit-eating grinned Dazai Osamu himself, standing there as if it’s where he belongs. He radiates smugness, and Chuuya truly wants to shoot him, punch him or, at least, flick his forehead right now.
“You’ve got guts,” Chuuya says between his gritted teeth.
Dazai smirks. It’s always the same, and Chuuya detests the fact that it looks exactly the same way it looks in his dreams—nightmares, he corrects himself. Nightmares only.
“Here I was, asking myself,” Dazai sing-songs, “When is Chuuya going to show up alone? Is he always surrounded by people? Is he just that kind of popular guy, huh?”
“Dazai, you—”
“Was that Dostoyevsky’s tip?” Dazai asks, and Chuuya positively freezes, “Showing up by yourself? I wouldn’t expect any less of such a cunning man. Of course, he would know I wanted to talk to you privately, which is why, Tanizaki, would you be kind enough to turn off the mics, please? And, oh, Kunikida, you don’t have to worry. I won’t do anything imprudent.”
Dazai is talking directly to the cameras, but Chuuya isn’t paying attention to that. He’s processing the first part of Dazai’s sentence, still.
“How,” He begins, breathing in, “How do you know I went after Dostoyevsky? If you say deduction—”
“Ranpo could’ve easily deduced that, yes,” Dazai shrugs with a smile, “But, no, that wasn’t what happened this time. I had a guy on the inside in that prison, that’s all. I wanted to keep an eye on Dostoyevsky, considering I don’t really trust the good guys to make sure he doesn’t end up on the loose again.”
“Convenient, coming from the guy who delayed his arrest in the first place.”
Dazai pouts, “I was just having some fun, Chuuya. I wasn’t going to let him do anything worse. Have some faith in me.”
“What do you want?” Chuuya asks, inhaling deeply. He wonders how difficult it would be to reach for his phone and alert Akutagawa. He then realizes that was something he should have considered earlier. “Why did you want to talk to me privately? What could you possibly have to say to me?”
“Honestly?” Dazai sighs, light and calm, “Right now, I’m here to torment you.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue, “I’m pointing a gun at you.”
“I can tell. I can also tell such a precious criminal is worth much less when he’s dead,” Dazai smiles, “Besides, you wouldn’t kill me, Chuuya. We’ve still got plenty of unfinished business to take care of. You can’t get rid of me just yet.”
“I wouldn’t have to kill you,” The detective tightens his grip, “I could shoot your leg.”
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be too efficient either,” Dazai says, “Because, unlike you, I didn’t come alone.”
Obviously. Chuuya knew Dazai would never show up by himself, but, had he ever thought that coming there alone would actually work, neither would he. He would have Akutagawa wait elsewhere, a whole team ready to burst in. They could outnumber the Phantom Thieves.
He screwed up. Majorly, this time.
“Torment me, huh,” Chuuya’s nose wrinkles, “Is that that satisfying to you?”
“Quite frankly? Yes,” Dazai says, and, for a moment, Chuuya thinks he sees the glimpse of an emotion he can’t name on his face, “Because it’s only fair, Chuuya, that I torment you half as much as you torment me.”
Chuuya scoffs, “Are you being serious? I’m chasing you because you left the agency behind and became a thief. The only reason I keep trying to catch you is because you ran away in the first place. How, exactly, am I tormenting you, when it was you who brought it upon yourself?”
There’s a quiet, growing smirk dancing on Dazai’s lips, “Such a brilliant detective, and you still don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Haven’t you been getting enough sleep?” Dazai asks, “I can see the dark circles under your eyes.”
“Shut up, Dazai.”
“Did you receive my gift, Chuuya?” Dazai asks, tilting his head to the side, “I thought, out of all my shirts, that one would match your style the best. You like innovating with fashion, don’t you? Ugly hats and everything aside. Those are all gone, right?”
Chuuya groans, “You did break into my house.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything,” Dazai says, “All I did was get in, leave the gift and get out.”
“You call that a gift?”
“You wound me,” The thief dramatically places his hand over his heart, “I was expecting you to love it. Really. I thought I knew your taste by now.”
“So confident for someone who left everyone behind two years ago,” Chuuya cuts him, and, for a moment, Dazai appears to hesitate. As if he doesn’t want to argue about that. But, well, Chuuya does. He doesn’t get a say in this. “You expect me to know things, and you want to know things as well, but that’s impossible. You left, Dazai, and that means you’re not part of the people who know things or whose things are known in the agency anymore.”
Dazai chuckles softly, “I don’t care about the agency, Chuuya.”
“Obviously. You never did.”
“What, do you miss me?”
“If I miss you?” Chuuya laughs, humorless and tired, “If I weren’t so busy searching your house and taking care of the mess you left behind, I would’ve thrown a party to celebrate your departure, Dazai. I was waiting for it—had been for a long time.”
Dazai smirks, “And did you love my goodbye gift?”
“I knew that shit with my car was your fault.”
“You know me so well,” Dazai winks, “Even after two years apart, right, Chuuya?”
Chuuya shakes his head, “Your note said the car license plate was a clue to get the necklace back. The car license plate lead me to that guy, who gave me the note that brought me here. Now, what else do I have to do? What game are you playing?”
“Let’s do things this way,” Dazai raises one finger as if he just had an amazing idea—which Chuuya seriously doubts, “If you can figure out what’s right under your nose, what I haven’t been hiding at all, and yet you refuse to see it… then, I’ll give you the necklace.”
“Are you joking?”
Dazai smiles, one of those smiles that appear to be genuine and calm, but Chuuya knows better. He knows not to trust Dazai’s forced demonstrations of realness, because there is nothing real about him. There never has been, if he left the agency so easily—if he’s capable of saying he doesn’t about it so naturally.
“You haven’t changed at all, Chuuya,” Dazai says, “I still know you. I know exactly who you are.”
“Listen here, you—”
“Hey, Atsushi!” Dazai exclaims, causing Chuuya to squint and tighten his grip on the weapon between his fingers. “We’re all done here!”
Chuuya grits his teeth, watching as the grey-haired phantom thief walks in, with a calm smile on his lips and his hands behind his back. That’s the man Akutagawa would love to put his hands on, throw in jail and never see again. If only Chuuya could do those things for him, hand over that man’s head on a silver plate directly to Akutagawa.
“Hello, detective Chuuya,” Nakajima bows, “It’s very nice to meet you. We’ve heard lots about your excellent work.”
Chuuya squints, “You, leave Akutagawa alone.”
“What, doesn’t Akutagawa enjoy my company and my gifts?” Nakajima asks, and there’s something about the way he acts—as if he’s a newbie in the whole criminal thing. He doesn’t own half of Dazai’s malice. “I thought I would win him over for good with the ring.”
Chuuya looks at Dazai and his brows furrow, “So much for talking privately, huh?”
“Oh, I’ve got nothing to hide from Atsushi,” Dazai says, placing a hand on Nakajima’s shoulder, “I trust him to keep all my secrets.”
“Well, then, congratulations, Nakajima,” The detective clicks his tongue, “You’d be the first partner he actually respects as an equal.”
Dazai stops, and Chuuya believes he has something to say, but Nakajima softly grabs his forearm and tugs slightly. That snaps him out of it. Dazai reaches for the phone in his pocket, unbothered by the sight of Chuuya’s gun pointed right at him, and types something quickly.
“My apologies, Chuuya. We’re a little late for our next mission,” Dazai says, winking, “I’ll see you again soon.”
“Dazai, don’t you dare—”
He does, anyway. He walks out as if he had permission to, and not even the sound and impact of Chuuya aiming for the ground right behind his feet and pulling the trigger seems enough to get him to stop. The last thing he does is look above his shoulder and smirk before disappearing.
***
SUNDAY, 05:36 P.M
There are, indeed, dark circles under his eyes. Chuuya washes his face once, twice, thrice. He looks at himself in the mirror and wishes he could erase Dazai’s most recent appearance from his mind, but there is no such thing as a detective who’s able to forget about an important development in his case.
Dazai claims there is something right under Chuuya’s nose that he needs to figure out. If he does so, allegedly, he will have the necklace back.
Either that or he could arrest Dazai for good—the thing is, how is he supposed to do that?
He texts Akutagawa, telling him there has been development, but he needs to go through it alone for now, and he will call him back once there’s something actually useful to talk about. Then, he forwards those texts to Hirotsu and considers that part done.
Chuuya bought instant coffee yesterday, and he fills a mug with it as he goes back to the center table and the dozens of files over it. He makes a quick, simple decision. He will overwork himself today, and he won’t sleep until there’s a satisfying conclusion on how to get to Dazai’s group. If, in the end, he doesn’t reach a conclusion, then… Then he will do as Dazai says.
He turns off his phone, double-checks his locked door and shuts the curtains.
***
MONDAY, 02:17 A.M
“We can’t do it,” Chuuya says, exhausted, and his entire body hurts. He shakes his head and sighs heavily. “We can’t capture them.”
***
MONDAY, 01:25 P.M
There’s a phone ringing. Chuuya detests the ringtone he chose for his own phone at the moment, because, while lying down on the couch and attempting to regain his strength, all he needs is to rest, but the phone isn’t allowing him to. It’s ringing, right in his ears, and he wants to crush it.
He reaches for it anyway, though, and Kouyou’s name on the screen convinces him to pick up.
“Hi.”
“Well, one word and I can tell you’re absolutely wrecked.”
Chuuya rubs his eye, “Can this wait, Kouyou?”
“No, it can’t. I have a lead on your case.”
“What?” He widens his eyes, moving to a sitting position way too fast. Everything around him spins for a few moments. “What lead? What did you find?”
“Do you happen to remember when, a few years ago, when I was still a teacher, I had this orphan student, Kyouka, who I constantly tried to help?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Apparently, her brother, who was also an orphan, took her in when he turned eighteen. I heard about it recently and had one of my detectives go check on her, just in case, because I wanted to see how well she was doing. The detective was Akutagawa Gin.”
“That’s… great, Kouyou, but I don’t see how—”
“Stop rushing me. I’m getting to it,” She says, and Chuuya immediately stops talking. “Kyouka is okay, and she invited Gin for tea to thank her for the visit. The thing is, while Gin was still there, Kyouka’s brother walked in. He walked out as soon as he stepped into the house, and any other person wouldn’t have been able to catch a glimpse of him, but Gin is special. You know we can always count on her.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen even more, “Are you maybe suggesting that Kyouka’s brother is one of the Phantom Thieves?”
“Not only one of the Phantom Thieves, Chuuya. I understand you know Gin’s brother has a nemesis.”
“Nakajima Atsushi.”
“The young man himself.”
“Did you bring Kyouka over to the office for an interrogation?”
“No. I won’t disturb her peace. We don’t even know if she’s aware that her brother’s a thief, in the first place,” Kouyou states, “I did put a tail on her, though. Tachihara will follow her anywhere she goes, and Kajii is watching the house.”
Chuuya blinks, “I can’t believe this.”
“Oh, please do.”
“Can you, please, ask Tachihara and Kajii to report to me if they see anything? I know you have your own cases to take care of, but—”
“It’s okay, Chuuya. I have Gin helping me at the moment and there isn’t much to worry about around here lately. If I need the boys back, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, we alone can take care of everything. And, yes, of course, I’ll tell them to report to you.”
“Thank you so much, Kouyou. You’re the most amazing person in the world right now.”
“Right now, only?”
“No. In general. You’re the most amazing person in the world, period.”
“Stop moping, now, will you? You have a lead. There is the possibility that you’ll manage to capture the Phantom Thieves and put an end to this, so stick to that thought. I trust you.”
Chuuya sighs, for the first time in a long time, in relief.
Once Kouyou hangs up, he calls Akutagawa and urges him to come over. Akutagawa tells him he’s finishing up with a simple case he started working on with his partner, Higuchi, and Chuuya nearly slaps himself for forgetting about Higuchi in the first place. As the most loyal person to Akutagawa in the world and an excellent detective, she could’ve been included and helped them before. So, he tells Akutagawa to bring her too. He also calls Hirotsu and gives him the same orders.
Not so long later, Chuuya finds himself telling the whole story to Akutagawa, Higuchi and Hirotsu. And, by the whole story, he means the whole thing, including the way he went to get a tip from Dostoyevsky, the way he met with Dazai and the entire conflict. It isn’t precisely needed for them to proceed with the investigation, but he believes that, if he is to work with them with even more fervor from now on, they deserve to know the whole truth.
He watches carefully the way each of them reacts to Dostoyevsky’s theory. Akutagawa’s ever-so-nonchalant expression melts a little, as if a revelation had presented itself to him. Higuchi, being included in the mission a little late, doesn’t seem exactly surprised—although there is some interest in her eyes. Hirotsu looks absurdly like Kouyou, the way she stared at Chuuya as if there was something she knew way before he did.
“It’s set, then, that it would be ideal for us to capture Nakajima Atsushi and have him take us to the rest of the thieves,” Hirotsu says, “Rather than play Dazai’s game.”
“Obviously,” Chuuya nods, “If we could use his sister to get to him, Nakajima might be the key.”
Akutagawa shifts in his position, suddenly looking mildly uncomfortable, “I have no intention of discouraging either of you, but…”
“But?”
“Do any of the Phantom Thieves strike you as the type of person to hand over their own friends?”
Chuuya squints, “Are you suggesting you think Nakajima is a loyal one?”
“I’m suggesting I think they all are,” Akutagawa says, “They wouldn’t have made it this far if they were willing to just betray each other.”
“So, what do you think? We just don’t follow this lead?”
“No, of course that’s not it,” Akutagawa shakes his head, “All I’m saying is, maybe we should think about a strategy where we can use that loyalty. It’s—it’s not about finding Nakajima and having him talk, but, rather, finding Nakajima and portraying his scenario as in one where he’s in danger.”
Higuchi turns to look at him, “As in, we make it seem like we’d do something to him?”
“Yes. We obviously wouldn’t, and we would need detectives whom Dazai was never around to play the part of the bad guys, like Gin and Tachihara, but it could work.”
“So,” Chuuya leans forward, “Instead of trusting that they would betray each other, we have to put our faith in the possibility that they’ll save each other? Risks their own lives for him?”
“It’s just an act,” Hirotsu says, clearly agreeing, “We won’t do anything unethical. Besides, supposing it doesn’t work, we’ll still have Nakajima. We can still try a different approach, especially if they don’t come for him, and have him talk under the allegation that his own colleagues left him behind.”
“You’ve said it yourself, sir,” Higuchi points out, drawing Chuuya’s eyes to him, “Dazai claims he trusts Nakajima. He claims they’re equals.”
Chuuya grits his teeth—not because of their plan, which is brilliant—but because it would be impossible for anyone, any of their enemies, to use that strategy when Dazai was still a detective. Because Dazai would never have risked his life for any of them.
Personal feud aside, though, Chuuya says, “Fine. Let’s try that.”
***
TUESDAY, 10:03 A.M
Nakajima went home. He was there for less than five minutes, and he left with a backpack, but he was home and now they have eyes on him.
“Finally.”
Chuuya is in his car, driving a few vehicles away from Tachihara—who’s, currently, a few vehicles away from Nakajima himself. The car the thief’s driving was also stolen—they already had it checked—and it doesn’t lead them anywhere. Still, the man does. Wherever he goes, they’ll follow.
“It’s very doubtful that he hasn’t noticed Tachihara yet,” Akutagawa says, leaning forward slightly on the passenger’s seat.
“It is. He’s probably leading us to a trap,” Chuuya confirms, “But that’s why Kajii and Hirotsu are still tailing Kyouka. If he wants to meet with her later, thinking that we’re all after him, looking forward to making us lose sight of him or run into a trap, he’ll have a surprise waiting for him whenever they meet.”
His phone starts ringing, that same annoying ringtone, and Chuuya gestures for Akutagawa to pick up for him.
“It’s an unknown number.”
Chuuya’s fingers tighten around the wheel, “Shit. Pick up and put it on speaker.”
“Chuuuuuuya,” comes Dazai’s voice, and Chuuya nearly lets out an uglier insult. He thinks he can hear the sound of a color closing on the background. He watches Akutagawa grab his own phone and start recording and nods positively. “Have you figured it out yet?”
“I’ll track this phone and find you instead. How about that?”
“Ah, but you see, Chuuya, I’m getting rid of this any moment now. I just wanted to have a chat with you.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue, “How do you even know my number?”
“Don’t think so little of me. Obviously, as the great partner I was, I memorized it.”
“I’ll change my number as soon as this is over, then.”
“But then, we wouldn’t be able to talk to each other, would we?” Dazai sing-songs, and Chuuya presses the accelerator with more strength than before, making sure to keep up with Tachihara. “I’d like to propose a deal.”
“No,” Chuuya says, “I’m not negotiating with you.”
“You do know I’m the leader of my little group, right? I’m sure I’m worth more than my subordinates.”
Chuuya looks at Akutagawa for a second, blood boiling as he realizes that, no, Dazai did not hesitate to get in touch in order to help Nakajima get away. It does seem like he’s taking good care of his fellow thieves. Not a feeling his former fellow detectives could ever relate to.
“Unless you propose to turn yourself over within five minutes,” Chuuya begins, “It’s a no.”
“Let’s raise the stakes a little. Stop following Atsushi, right this second,” Dazai drawls, “And I’ll tell you exactly where I am. I’ll stay here for thirty minutes. It’s long enough for you to get here.”
“You’ll just corner us.”
“I’ll be there alone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Are you sure, Chuuya?” Dazai asks, and Chuuya wonders how much of his amused tone is genuine, and how much concern he’s hiding in it. “You know I never lie in negotiations. I’m a man of my word. If you quit pursuing him right this moment, I’ll stay here and wait. Thirty minutes. Starting from the moment you say ‘okay’.”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and looks at Akutagawa. The detective looks as conflicted as he does. Tachihara hasn’t texted anything new, and it is safe to assume he still has eyes on Nakajima. If they caught him, they could draw Dazai and the rest of them some other way. That, or they could end up losing him by playing right into the Phantom Thieves’ game.
Thirty minutes. Depending on where Dazai is, they can get there, and Chuuya can request backup to make sure they will outnumber the Thieves.
Dazai is the leader. Nakajima is a pawn.
Dazai is Dazai, and Chuuya swore he would catch him.
“Okay,” Chuuya says, attempting not to pay much attention to the way Akutagawa’s eyes widen, “Text me your location right this instant. I’ll see you in less than thirty minutes, you tricky bastard.”
Dazai laughs, and Chuuya’s breath gets caught in his throat.
“See you, Chuuya.”
“Call Tachihara,” Chuuya says, spinning the wheel, “Tell him we’re calling the operation off for now. Did Dazai already send his address?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Put it on the GPS on my phone and send it to a backup team. We’ll be right there.”
Akutagawa complies, and he proceeds on looking down the moment he’s finished with both texting and putting the location on the GPS. Chuuya sighs, squinting at his phone. They should be there in fifteen minutes. That’s good enough.
“I know what you must be thinking,” Chuuya begins, swallowing, “But this is our best shot.”
“I don’t recall questioning you, sir.”
Chuuya sighs, one more time, “Don’t be upset with me. I know you wanted to catch Nakajima, but this is a way.”
“I’m not worried about Nakajima,” Akutagawa says, “I’m worried that you’re going to let your Dazai obsession, and I truly apologizing for putting it this way, get the best of you. You’re the best detective there is, Nakahara, and Dazai isn’t worth jeopardizing your career.”
“Oh,” Chuuya licks his lips, “Well, I wish you had said that before I agreed to his plan.”
“It wouldn’t have worked. I just… I hope this goes well.”
Chuuya breathes in, “So do I.”
***
TUESDAY, 10:59 A.M
“We made it.”
Chuuya smiles openly, arms crossed, side-eyeing his car and making sure the rest of the detectives won’t allow Dazai—handcuffed, deprived of his mask, vulnerable and at Chuuya’s disposal for once—to escape after the effort they put into this.
“We’ll take him straight to the cell,” Chuuya instructs, “We can’t afford to lose him now. Did everyone make sure there is nothing on him that can help him escape?”
Akutagawa nods, “Yes, we searched every centimeter of his clothes. There is nothing.”
“Excellent. Let’s get going. We don’t want him to have any fun ideas.”
“Detective Chuuya!”
Chuuya turns around, watching as one of the newest detectives, a girl named Lucy Montgomery, walks towards him. She was, apparently, one of the detectives Kouyou sent his way as backup. She joined around five months ago, and, according to Kouyou and some of her most trusted subordinates, she’s been doing an outstanding job.
“Kouyou told me to come with you,” She says, and, as she smiles, Chuuya briefly notices she has braces. They fit her appearance—especially the loose ponytail. “She would’ve preferred to send Gin, but, since Tachihara already went on the mission earlier, she thought it’d be better not to send all of her best ones away.”
Usually, Chuuya would protest, especially for never having worked with the girl before, but since it was Kouyou who ordered her to go, it should be alright.
“Akutagawa will be on the passenger seat, so you can take the back seat and watch over Dazai for us. If he tries anything, don’t hesitate to tell us, and Akutagawa will gladly change seats with you.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Is it alright?” Akutagawa asks as Lucy moves away from them and towards the car, “The new detective watching over Dazai?”
Chuuya shrugs, “It’s Kouyou’s suggestion. She rarely ever makes mistakes. Hey, by the way, I really think we’ll be able to catch the rest of them now. I’ll work as hard as I can to make sure you can put that bastard Nakajima behind bars.”
Akutagawa nods, giving him his best look of acknowledgement, and, for a guy like him, Chuuya supposes that’s a lot.
They get in the car and, the second Chuuya takes off, he hears Dazai’s infuriating laugh behind him.
“It’s been so long since we went out together, hasn’t it, Chuuya?” He asks, sounding like a free man rather than a trapped one. Chuuya decides not to stress over that. Whether Dazai’s attitude dies or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not getting out of this situation. The other detectives are driving right behind them. “The weather sure looks nice. It looks almost as nice as it did the day I left.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, “Sheesh, I wouldn’t know. I had to spend that whole day searching your stupid house and trying to get an early lead on you.”
“Aw, it’s such an honor, Chuuya.”
“Tease me all you want, Dazai,” Chuuya says, looking above his shoulder for a moment only. He meets Dazai’s amused eyes, sparkling with the same fire he always had. “It won’t change the fact that, today, I win.”
Dazai begins something else, but gets interrupted by the sound of a ringtone unknown to Chuuya’s ears. As Akutagawa retrieves his phone from his pocket, he realizes that’s where it came from. Akutagawa looks at him for a brief moment before picking up and putting it on speaker.
“Detective Kajii.”
“Those thieves, I swear! How do they pull shit like this every single time?”
Chuuya frowns, and Akutagawa moves the phone closer to his mouth, “What happened?”
“The girl, Kyouka, left the house and got into this woman’s motorcycle. The woman had black hair and wore some High School uniform or something. We tried following them, but they broke, like, every single traffic law in the book. Besides, they were on a bike, we were on a car. It was impossible.”
“Did Kyouka have something on her?”
“Yes, a backpack.”
Chuuya sighs. Akutagawa asks, “Did you get the license plate?”
“No, it didn’t have one. They must’ve removed it before heading for her.”
“That’s fine,” Chuuya says, inducing Akutagawa to move the phone closer to him instead, “We have Dazai. Even if we’re not tailing Nakajima’s sister anymore, we’ll get to them eventually. The leader’s bound to take them to us.”
“Stop moving,” Chuuya hears Lucy say, in a severe tone, and watches as Dazai sighs and lets his shoulders relax. Chuuya sends Lucy a thankful look and she smiles in response. He barely notices the fact that her loose ponytail is gone, and now her hair is entirely loose.
“Let us know if there are any new updates,” Akutagawa requests, “Otherwise, head back. We’ll be at the prison soon.”
“Sure, sure, will do.”
Kajii hangs up and Akutagawa lowers his phone, looking at Chuuya, “It was a good choice after all. If we lost sight of Nakajima, we wouldn’t have eyes on Kyouka either.”
“Chuuya always makes the best decisions,” Dazai sing-songs, “You can always count on the best detective of the entire agency to fix everything.”
“Shut up, Dazai.”
“I’m complimenting you,” Dazai pouts, with the boldness to look upset, “Can’t you take a compliment, Chuuya?”
“No,” Chuuya says, sighing in annoyance as the traffic lights go red, “Not if it’s from you.”
“Hey, Chuuya,” Dazai begins, and Chuuya wishes he would stop saying his name, “Want to be my partner again?”
Chuuya chuckles humorlessly, “We’re not taking you back at the agency, Dazai. And, even if you had connections enough to get you to go back to working at the agency in the end, I would be the last person willing to become your partner. I’d rather quit.”
Dazai hums to an unknown melody, falls into silence for a few moments, and, when he finally speaks, it comes out as nearly a purr, “Who said anything about the agency?”
Chuuya grits his teeth, “If you think you’re ever going to leave that cell and go back to your group of thieves—”
“His handcuffs!”
Chuuya abruptly stops the car, although not meaning to, at the loud sound of Akutagawa’s voice and the sudden shock as he looks back and finds Dazai—free, agile, fast as always—throwing the handcuffs over his lap and easily clicking open the door. Chuuya sees Lucy trying to reach for him, and he attempts to get his gun at the same time as Akutagawa, but, in less than three seconds, Dazai is out of the car.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Chuuya kicks the door open and looks around, finding Dazai on top of one of the stopped cars, leaping from one to the other with the agility of an athlete. The detectives on the cars behind him also show up, pointing their guns at the fugitive, and it is only a few seconds later that Chuuya realizes one of them might actually hit him.
“Stop!” Chuuya demands, the loudest he manages, and he hopes that it’s enough in the sea of vehicles. Those detectives haven’t trained for as long as he has. If he’s unable to hit the legs of a moving Dazai, so are they. And they might end up hitting him somewhere else. “Stop shooting right now!”
They do. Chuuya squints, watching as five of the detectives rush after Dazai, but then the lights go green, and everything changes. He gets to the end of the sea of vehicles and dares to turn around, finding Chuuya’s eyes one last time and bowing exaggeratedly, as if that was all nothing but a performance to him. He also winks, and Chuuya resists the urge to tell the detectives to go back to shooting.
“Nakahara, sir,” Akutagawa looks at him, suddenly appearing even more shocked, and Chuuya honestly doesn’t see how it can get any worse.
“What, detective? What is it?”
“It’s Lucy,” He says, gesturing to the inside of the car, “She’s gone.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen. He surges forward on the back seat and finds two things over the cushions—a note and a hairclip. Her ponytail, suddenly loose. The distraction she caused by ordering Dazai to stop moving, except it wasn’t only a distraction, it was also a warning for him to not draw too much attention while he opened the handcuffs.
Lucy was with them. Lucy was there to set Dazai free.
The note is written in elegant, cursive letters.
The Phantom Thieves send their regards.
“He ran away,” One of the detectives who went running after Dazai says, sounding exhausted as he supports his hands on his knees, “There were others waiting for him. They were pointing guns at us, and we were outnumbered. He’s gone.”
Chuuya looks up, at the blue sky, and sighs with all the frustration and annoyance filling his lungs, curling themselves around his heart, squeezing at his throat.
“We lost him.”
***
TUESDAY, 12:47 P.M
“Lucy was a newbie, Chuuya,” Kouyou says, rubbing her face, losing most of her graciousness as she process the entire report Chuuya handed over to her, “Of course I didn’t send her as backup. Of course I didn’t ask her to go with you! She lied to you!”
Chuuya flops down on his couch, throwing an arm over his eyes, “Fine. Fine, then. I lose. He wins.”
***
WEDNESDAY, 09:36 A.M
“I have a migraine,” Chuuya says, lips close to the phone as he sends Akutagawa a voice message, “I won’t make it to work today. I’ll work from home instead. If the Boss has anything to say about it, tell him to say it straight to me. Tomorrow.”
Ten minutes later, he receives a text from Akutagawa requesting that he doesn’t overwork himself. He ignores it.
***
WEDNESDAY, 06:57 P.M
“So, here’s the thing,” Chuuya punctuates his words by placing the glass of wine over the counter and turning around fully to stare at his friend, “Dazai says there’s something that’s right under my nose, and that I need to figure it out. If I do, he’ll give me the necklace back. Supposedly.”
Kouyou hums, having a sip of her dry martini and side-eyeing him, “Do go on.”
“I have no idea what it must be about,” He says, sighing, “It should be something from the time he was still at the agency, right? Something from those times that’s lasted until nowadays? But I have no idea what. Nothing is the same as it used to be.”
“Have you thought about our previous conversation?” She asks, “About the way your feelings for him blind you?”
“What am I supposed to do about that?” Chuuya groans, finishing his glass and gesturing for the bartender to fill it again, “I can’t erase my feelings.”
Kouyou shrugs, “You can always try to keep them under control. Also, redirect them, maybe.”
“How would I redirect them?”
“Is it always hate and anger?” She asks, and Chuuya frowns, “The sensations you get when thinking about Dazai. Are you always either angry at him or hating him for, what, being annoying? Is he so annoying that those are the only emotions he brings out in you?”
“When did you become my therapist?”
“Oh, darling, I can walk out right now—”
“No. Don’t,” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “It’s hard even to talk about him.”
Kouyou holds his chin between two of her fingers, “You don’t feel everything strongly about Dazai for absolutely no reason, Chuuya. It’s because you resent him for leaving you.”
If it were anyone else telling him that, Chuuya would laugh in their face and storm out. It’s Kouyou, though, and all he can do about the fact that she’s saying that is admit that, yes, she’s right, and storming out or laughing won’t be enough to pretend she isn’t.
“Don’t I have the right to?” He asks, “He was supposed to be my partner, but, instead, he’s my nemesis. Because he left. Because he chose to leave.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t about you, darling. He might’ve left for his own personal reasons.”
“I know that, Kouyou, it’s just—” Chuuya sighs, frustrated, “He turned himself over for Nakajima. If his escape plan hadn’t worked, he would be in jail right now. All that for a partner he has been working with for less than two years. I’ve known him since we were fifteen.”
“Chuuya…”
“It’s not that I think he left because of me,” He proceeds, looking away from her and at his feet, “It’s just that, as his partner, I would’ve at least expected him to think of me before considering the possibility of leaving in the first place.”
“Oh, darling.”
Chuuya’s eyes fly back to Kouyou’s face at her tone, and there’s something in her features—a mix of amusement, only a hint, and some kind of sadness. But it’s not that she’s sad for herself, but for him. Because she realized something.
“What?” Chuuya asks.
“Chuuya,” Kouyou begins, “You loved him, didn’t you?”
If Chuuya were drinking the content of his glass right now, he’d choke.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You can’t stop obsessing over him.”
“I have to capture him.”
Kouyou squints, unconvinced, “It was written in your report that you told the detectives not to shoot him while he ran away.”
“They were going to miss and get his vitals. We need him alive in order to get the things he stole back.”
“Lie to yourself all you’d like,” She goes back to her drink, apparently very satisfied with her own conclusion, “It isn’t unexpected for you to be oblivious to your own feelings for so long. Dazai did say there was something you were ignoring right under your nose, after all.”
Chuuya squints, “You can’t tell me you think I loved Dazai and he knew about it.”
“No, I don’t think he knew,” Kouyou says, “I do think, though, that, just as you didn’t know about that, there is something else he knows, and you don’t. You just have to dig a little deeper.”
“You’re doing all the digging.”
“And you’re not believing me, are you?” She asks, chuckling softly, “It’s okay, Chuuya. It’s terrifying to love someone, especially when they’re your nemesis.”
Chuuya shakes his head, “I don’t love him, Kouyou.”
She looks at him, sighing slightly, “If you say so, darling. But let’s hope you’re wrong. Otherwise, I don’t think you’ll find whatever it is that he intends for you to find in time to give that necklace back to Fitzgerald.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, Chuuya. You’re the best detective in our agency,” She says, and, to some extent, he can see what she means. Those words once came from Dazai, and the impact they had was considerably different. “I trust that you’ll figure it out.”
“Woah, thanks.”
“You’re welcome, darling. Cheers.”
***
THURSDAY, 11:26 A.M
“Francis Fitzgerald called and demanded to hear about the progress in our case.”
Chuuya lets out a humorless laugh, “Yeah, tell Francis Fitzgerald to shove it—”
“Sir,” Akutagawa cuts in, calmly as always, “With all due respect, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Sheesh, have you been having classes with Hirotsu or something?” He cracks his knuckles, turning around in his chair, away from his desk and computer, and looking up at Akutagawa, “I ran into Kouyou earlier and she told me she would have Tachihara help her because Gin wasn’t coming to work today. Is she okay?”
“Yes. Now would also probably be an appropriate moment for me to inform you that Higuchi is also taking her day off today,” Akutagawa says, and Chuuya frowns, which leads his subordinate to clarify, “They’re going on a date.”
Chuuya’s frown dissolves into an understanding expression, “Ah, I see. Well, then, okay. They both work really hard, this is the least we can expect them to enjoy of life in the meantime of not having to worry about work.”
“We’ve finished searching Nakajima’s house,” Akutagawa informs him, opening the file he’s holding in order to grab something, “We do consider him to be the clumsiest of the group. He left this behind.”
It’s a picture. It’s Nakajima—in his Phantom Thief clothes—, Kyouka—in normal, everyday clothes—and none less than Lucy Montgomery—in a uniform that appears to belong to a restaurant or a coffee shop, potentially. Nakajima has a blinding smile on his face, with one arm around his sister and the other around the traitor of a detective that Chuuya had the displeasure to meet one day ago.
“They look like a happy family.”
Akutagawa clears his throat, “Yes.”
Chuuya looks up at him for a moment, frowning, and looks back at the picture, “Did you find her workplace?”
“They said she quit six months ago,” Akutagawa replies, “And, when we went looking for the place she lived, her landlord also said she left six months ago. She must’ve been living with one of the Phantom Thieves in the meantime.”
“Has she been seen anywhere?”
“No. They must’ve messed up the security cameras of that avenue, the way they usually do.”
“Well, of course,” Chuuya sighs, “Did Fitzgerald happen to mention how expensive the necklace was? I know we don’t make that much money, but maybe—”
“I apologize for interrupting you,” Akutagawa begins, pursing his lips, “He did mention it, and I’d say it’s quite impossible for us to afford something like that. In fact, had the necklace been split in half, the entirety of the paychecks of our entire team for a few months still wouldn’t be enough.”
“Great,” He sighs louder, “Great, great. They’ll shut our team down. They might even fire me.”
Akutagawa nearly-frowns, “I highly doubt that.”
“Are you kidding me? I had him in my car, handcuffed, and I let his ally sit there, right next to him, and laugh in our faces while she set him free,” Chuuya massages his temple, “If the boss fires me, he might even be able to appease Fitzgerald’s nerves and not have him come after the agency for this.”
“Sir, you’re the best detective in this agency.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Chuuya asks, groaning.
Akutagawa sighs, “That’s because it’s true.”
“No, it isn’t,” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, “It isn’t when it comes to Dazai. I can’t deal with this the way I deal with every other case, because this isn’t every other case. I have, what, twenty-four hours now? Maybe less? To play right into his game. That’s the only choice left for me.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
Chuuya is about to say “no”, but then he stops, thinking about Kouyou’s words from last night. It might’ve been the drinks she had, causing her to speak that nonsense, or it could’ve been the fact that, unlike what other people think, it’s Kouyou the best detective of their agency, and she found out something about Chuuya that no one else would ever dare to believe.
There might be some ways to verify that.
“I’ll ask you a couple of questions,” Chuuya begins, “And I’d like you to be as sincere as possible in your answers.”
Akutagawa nods, “Of course.”
“Do you think I hate Dazai?”
“Uh,” Akutagawa blinks, apparently absorbing the question, “I believe that’d be something that only you—”
“Only I can tell, yeah, but I can’t, so I’m getting you to figure it out for me, alright?” Chuuya inhales deeply, “Please, Akutagawa. It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”
Akutagawa purses his lips, “No.”
“No. Oh, okay. Well, then, do I love him?”
He watches Akutagawa’s eyes widening and the way he shakes his head, “That’s truly something I couldn’t ever bear to answer for you.”
“Come on, Akutagawa. Think. You’ve been around me for a while now, chasing his group with me. You’ve seen me, you’ve seen my behavior when he’s around. I haven’t,” He sighs, even more deeply this time, “I need an outside opinion that’s not from my best friend. I need an unbiased opinion, so, please. Do you, by any chance, think there is the possibility of me loving Dazai?”
As a good detective, Akutagawa surely would be able to tell. He would be able to tear apart feelings like hate or love, especially if he saw them as a case to crack. Then, Chuuya believes his incentive is enough to get Akutagawa to look at things through that point of view.
Akutagawa pauses, looking up for a second, as if he’s looking for the answer somewhere else. Chuuya truly hopes it is somewhere he’ll get a clearer conclusion then “I don’t know” or “That’s only up to you”.
“I think,” Akutagawa begins, and Chuuya finds himself leaning closer to him, waiting for it, “Whether you love him or nourish any other kind of strong, hardly-described feelings… Those would be quite the same he has for you, Nakahara.”
Chuuya blinks, “What?”
“I mean, you have different personalities, so, obviously, you feel in different ways,” Akutagawa shrugs, “But, in the end, if it always leads you two to each other, and if you always end up tangled together in whatever it is… Well, if it’s love, it’s not only you.”
If you can figure out what’s right under your nose, what I haven’t been hiding at all, and yet you refuse to see it… then, I’ll give you the necklace.
“Akutagawa, you might’ve just shattered the last piece of sanity I had in me,” Chuuya begins, standing up, and Akutagawa’s eyes widen. Chuuya places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But don’t worry, ‘cause, even if you did, you also just saved this case.”
***
THURSDAY, 10:37 P.M
Getting in touch with Dazai is the complicated part.
There aren’t many legal ways, if Chuuya’s being honest, and he would rather not go as low as the people he chases by using illegal methods. He figures out, though, that it couldn’t hurt to go the warehouse from last time and talk to the security cameras supposedly controlled by the Phantom Thieves. Worst case scenario, they don’t have control anymore, the police does, and then Chuuya will have to explain why he was looking for the Dazai Osamu himself while alone and unarmed.
You know what, scratch that, Chuuya thinks as he walks into the place, worst case scenario, Dazai actually shows up and I have to face him.
“Tanizaki, was it?” Chuuya places his hands on his hips, looking up at the cameras, “I’m here to talk to Dazai. I’m all alone. Tell him to get down here already or I’ll burn that stupid shirt he left behind and use it to warm up the room when winter gets here.”
He takes a quick look at his phone and marks the time. If Dazai doesn’t show up in thirty minutes, he’s leaving. In fact, he wasn’t even sure whether to show up there tonight, supposing both Kouyou and Akutagawa end up being wrong and he ends up making a fool of himself in front of his so-called nemesis.
It’s been ten minutes, and Chuuya is starting to regret this, when the sound of a motorcycle outside the warehouse draws his attention. Chuuya breathes in, waiting, and nearly sprints out of the place when Dazai’s figure shows up at the entrance.
“Hello, Chuuya,” He smiles, mischievous as always, “I take it that you’re here to bargain?”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Chuuya crosses his arms, “I’m here to get the necklace back, if you’re a man of your word, as you’d like to say.”
Dazai steps forward, and Chuuya doesn’t step backward, “Are you saying you figured it out?”
“What, am I not the best detective at the agency?”
“Of course you are,” Dazai raises his arms, as in surrender, and smiles, “So, do tell me. What was it that you figured out, Chuuya?”
That’s the moment Chuuya realizes—Dazai doesn’t believe him. He thinks Chuuya figured out something that’s mistaken, and he’s waiting to laugh at his expenses.
That, or…
“Are you scared?” He asks, frowning, “Scared that I actually figured out? Because, you know, you were always the worst when it came to talking about your feelings, shitty Dazai. You never take anything seriously, and you’re always joking around, even now.”
“Am I the worst at expressing his feelings?” Dazai pouts, “Out of the two of us?”
Chuuya tries holding it in, but he can’t, and then he asks, “What is it about your new partners, Dazai, that you’d risk your own freedom for them?”
Dazai pauses, and Chuuya thinks he sees him frown. He takes that as his cue to proceed.
“You left the agency behind so easily,” Chuuya says, “You didn’t even look back. It must’ve been so simple for you, packing your stuff and fleeing. You even found yourself a new team right after, or were you already in touch with them by the time you left? I wouldn’t doubt it. You’re so fond of them, aren’t you?”
Dazai swallows, “Are you jealous, Chuuya?”
Surprisingly, his voice doesn’t sound half as teasingly as it usually does.
“Jealous? Do you, after everything, think this is about jealousy?” Chuuya asks, and, in the middle of wanting to prove him wrong so much, he finds that it might not even be necessary. “You know what? Sure. Sure, it’s jealousy. I’m a jealous partner—oh, forgive me, former partner—who doesn’t seem to be able to understand why his partner dropped him for a group of unknown people so easily. Would you be able to explain it to me, Dazai? Did you, in the middle of running away, even considered coming up with a shitty excuse to justify any of your actions?”
He doesn’t quite realize until a few seconds later that, while pouring his heart out, he inched closer and closer to Dazai. At each word, he takes a step, and, by the end of his oh-so-brave speech, they are standing less than one meter away from each other.
Then he takes one more step.
Dazai got taller. Of course, he got taller. Chuuya didn’t—he’s still the same height he was, back at the time they worked together. It makes the height difference even more evident, and, in any other scenario, it would’ve been funny.
“Answer me,” Chuuya demands, voice much lower now, “Answer me, Dazai. You owe me this.”
Dazai laughs—it’s a little wet, a little broken. Chuuya squints and observes the way he removes his mask, meeting his eyes.
“You did figure it out.”
Chuuya’s breath gets caught in his throat.
“That’s fair,” Dazai sighs, “Torture me for tormenting you. It’s fair, really.”
“I want an answer.”
“You were the only reason why it took me so long to leave, Chuuya.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, “Lying to me won’t do you any good.”
“I love you,” Dazai says, and Chuuya honestly feels like his knees might give out any second. He’s trapped between the wish to punch Dazai and the wish to… “I’m in love with you, and you know it. Why won’t you believe me, even now?”
“You left.”
“I had my own business to deal with,” Dazai smirks, “Besides, don’t I look much better while free?”
“You mean, while breaking the law?”
Dazai sighs, “And waiting patiently for you to be able to catch me.”
Chuuya grits his teeth, “I had you, and you ran away.”
“Well, of course. The life behind bars isn’t something I look forward to,” He shrugs, “But, if I were ever to be arrested, it would have to by you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have it.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
“Why, Chuuya, I’m actually quite honored that you took such a long time to come up with that whole speech and—”
“Will you shut up,” Chuuya says, grabbing Dazai’s collar and pulling him down. Their lips crash together, and Dazai lets out a noise of surprise that would particularly get a smile from Chuuya, wasn’t he too busy with his mouth at the moment.
It isn’t an extraordinarily long kiss—it’s only long enough for Chuuya to let Dazai’s words sink in and not have to say anything else in the meantime. It’s also a great strategy for him to figure out the reason behind the sound of his heartbeats ringing loud in his ears, the way his hearts appears to be attempting to break his ribcage. His fingers, wrapped tight around Dazai’s collar, would also be shaking if he didn’t have such a strong grip.
“Finally,” Chuuya whispers as he pulls away, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against Dazai’s, “I finally managed to shut you up.”
Dazai’s clears his throat, “Please, feel free to shut me up more frequently.”
“Shut up.”
“Well, make me.”
Chuuya does. Once, twice, thrice. He wishes to say he kisses Dazai until he forgets who he is, but it quite the opposite—he kisses Dazai until he processes that this is really Dazai, the man he’s supposed to arrest, and the one person in the world to get under his skin so deeply that not even his rational thinking manages to catch up. The man he believed to hate, and now… Now, he has no idea anymore.
He moves away at the feeling of Dazai’s hand on his pocket, and he squints hard at him. Dazai chuckles, retrieving his arm.
“I’m just fulfilling my part of the deal, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen. He reaches for his pocket and isn’t able to suppress the smile it brings to his face when he sees the pearl necklace resting on his palm.
“Next time, I’ll steal one of those and give it to you.”
“Do not.”
Dazai chuckles, melodic and calm, and Chuuya thinks he should’ve brought his handcuffs. He should’ve used this opportunity, this distraction, to make one more attempt at capturing Dazai. But, in the end, he got his pearl necklace, the Phantom Thieves would easily outnumber him, and—eell, it would be too cruel of him to use that kind of moment to betray him.
“Woah, would you look at the time?” Dazai exclaims, looking at his empty wrist. Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I have to go, Chuuya, but I certainly will not forget your brave confession tonight.”
Chuuya’s nose wrinkles, “Remind me which one of us actually confessed tonight.”
“You can fool yourself, Chuuya, I don’t mind it,” Dazai winks, catching him off guard by holding his chin for long enough to press a quick peck to his lips, “I’ll see you again soon.”
“I won’t stop chasing you. I’ll be the one to catch you, Dazai. Mark my words.”
“I will,” Dazai smiles, “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
***
FRIDAY, 12:15
“So, Fitzgerald didn’t say thank you, but he grabbed his necklace and went on his way, so I think it’s safe to assume none of us are getting fired this time.”
Chuuya chuckles, staring up and finding Akutagawa’s calm eyes on him, “That’s great to know. Let’s hope Zelda appreciates our efforts.”
He had a lot to think about when he got home last night, and, in the end, he figured it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on his newfound feelings—and neither would it bring him any satisfaction to think about Dazai’s newfound feelings.
They established their goals in the end, after all. Dazai will keep on being Dazai. Chuuya will stop him.
“Will I ever hear about how you managed to get this necklace back?”
“Legally,” Chuuya shrugs, “Don’t get too excited, though. This is only one win. We still need to capture every last one of them.”
Akutagawa nods firmly, “Of course. I’ll get back to work.”
“Also,” Chuuya stands up, smiling, “Thank you, Akutagawa. I wouldn’t have recovered the necklace if it weren’t for you. Also, please remind me to send Kouyou flowers as a ‘thank you’ later. And an invitation to hang out at the bar after work.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chuuya sighs, relieved and tired, as he flops back down on his chair. He hears a notification arrive on his phone and reaches for it, frowning at the unknown number and the lack of a preview. When he opens the text, all there is is:
chuuya, can you believe how careless famous people are? did you know edgar allan poe has a new manuscript lying around his living room, unprotected? i mean, it’s practically an invitation
“Oh, come on.”
“What is it, sir?” Akutagawa asks, turning around before fully leaving the room. Chuuya sighs, one more time, and lets out an involuntary laugh.
“What do you think?” He shrugs. “It’s always Dazai.”