Chapter Text
It’s not the first time that Dazai has snuck into the brothel that Kouyou nee-san runs, and it certainly won’t be the last. Being Mori’s protege has it’s perks and he gets free run of most places on his name alone, but he is still a minor and Kouyou does run a brothel. Kouyou bends to him for most matters, but this is one that she’s put her foot down on.
What she doesn’t know is that he charmed the courtesans who work here with one simple smile and that they are more than willing to let him in whenever he wants. They think he’s adorable, and who is he to argue with them? Especially when it gets him easy access to a place he’s supposed to be barred from.
And especially because he has a mission tonight.
Dazai knows that Kouyou has a new ward. He knows this because he’s heard overheard Mori talking to nee-san about it, whispering behind closed doors where they had assumed that no one would overhear them, but they always seem to underestimate how clever he is and how much he hates Mori (it will be their downfall, someday, he thinks). He doesn’t have a whole lot to go on, just a name-Nakahara Chuuya- and a location.
From what he overheard, he knows that Chuuya is staying somewhere in the brothel. Part of him wonders just what about the kid is so special that Kouyou nee-san would let him stay there when Dazai is barred entry; she must be really attached to him to go to such great lengths to hide him.
Thankfully, the girls at the brothel know more than him. All he has to do is mention the name to them, and they erupt into a fit of giggles and smiles and titters that make his head hurt but he knows better than to let his irritation show. They trip over themselves to tell him about the cute little redhead kid that Kouyou-sama guards like a hawk; they tell him that it’s rare to see her without him clutching at the back of his kimono, hiding behind her. Chuuya is from France, the courtesans whisper to him, and he’s got the most beautiful blue eyes and silky red hair.
And all of this is fascinating, but it doesn’t tell what he really wants to know, which is where Chuuya’s been staying. Dazai has never been the kind of person to trust other people’s opinions; he’ll decide if Chuuya has any merit or is worth his time when he meets, because anyone who Mori takes an interest in is someone Dazai needs to keep tabs on. All it takes is a sweet smile and a innocent question, and the women are pointing him up the stairs, to the top floor, where Chuuya’s bedroom is supposed to be.
If Dazai were nice, he would knock on the door and poke his head in, introduce himself politely. He would be quiet and calm and subtle about his unannounced visit.
Dazai is not nice.
He throws Chuuya’s door wide open, letting it slam against the wall with a bang. The person who had been sitting on the bed (he can only assume it’s Chuuya) leaps a full foot into the air and scrambles to face him, and Dazai finally gets a good look at this boy everyone’s been talking about.
Immediately, Dazai can see why Kouyou nee-san has taken Chuuya under her wing. The boy is...well, beautiful, there’s really no other way to describe it. He’s petit, a good 12 cm shorter than Dazai is, and he’s skinny; a strong breeze looks like it could knock him over. Chuuya is pale, paler than anyone Dazai has ever seen before in his (admittedly short) life but still breathtakingly beautiful, proving a sharp contrast with his eyes that are a dark blue that make Dazai think of the water down by the port and his hair that is an almost unnatural shade of red and falls around his shoulder in soft curls.
He’s only distracted for a second by the other’s looks, but it’s a second too long. Anger at himself wells up inside him and Dazai resists the urge to grind his teeth. He’s a mafia brat, and things like sex and a pretty face shouldn’t matter to him, not if he wants to stay alive. And usually, he’s very good at keeping his emotions under control-his ability to disconnect from feelings is what drew Mori’s attention in the first place.
“Hello.” Dazai says pleasantly, masking his distaste. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He takes a step into the room and is pleased to see Chuuya scoot backwards on his bed. Good. The kid should be afraid of him.
“My name is Dazai Osamu.” He continues, and he can see Chuuya’s eyes widen in recognition. He’s not surprised; he’s become rather infamous in the Port Mafia as Mori’s shadow, a demon prodigy in his own right. He knows exactly what he’s capable of and it looks like Chuuya does as well, and that pleases him. “And you’re Nakahara Chuuya.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Dazai takes another step towards Chuuya as he speaks.
Shoved back into the corner of the bed, Chuuya looks like a cornered animal. However, he doesn’t seem to be frightened. His body is stiff and his lips are parted slightly, but he hasn’t backed away from Dazai again and his expression is impressively blank. Dazai realizes that Kouyou hasn’t taken the boy in just for his pretty face; there’s something dark about him, something he does a very good job of hiding but is dangerous nonetheless. Dazai stops and tilts his head and ponders just what about this scrawny brat could be useful to a mafia executive. His distraction costs him, because he fails to notice the other tensing and shifting his legs around.
Chuuya kicks him.
Dazai has been trained in the art of combat and while it’s not his favorite thing, he is decent at it. Chuuya’s strike is sloppy and the position he kicked him from didn’t allow for the blow to have full force.
It still hurts.
Dazai stumbles backwards, knocked off balance from the blow. Chuuya clipped him just in the ribs, right where he has old bruises and cuts from training with Mori. It stings and the breath is knocked out of him, but he remains standing. When he looks up again, Chuuya is eyeing him coolly.
Dazai lets out a bark of laughter.
This is interesting, this is fun. No one has dared to oppose him in a long time and yet here this kids is with the guts to hit him.
Unfortunately, all the noises he’s made up to this point had drawn unwanted attention. He feels Kouyou nee-san’s presence behind him before he actually turns to face her, and oh she is mad. She doesn’t say anything to him, but she doesn’t really have to either. Dazai knows exactly how much trouble he’s in and what the consequences are. He watches as she glances over quickly at Chuuya and, upon finding him unharmed, turns her attention back to him. He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender; he’s strong, but so is Kouyou and pissing her off more tonight is a bad idea.
As Kouyou is grabbing his wrist and yanking him along, it occurs to him that Chuuya didn’t speak a single word. In fact, the other didn’t make a sound, didn’t even cry for help like Dazai had been so sure he would do. He lets himself be lead from the room thinking of only one thing-Nakahara Chuuya is definitely worth his time.
*
Mori is waiting for him when he gets back, eyes cold and posture still, and Dazai knows that Kouyou nee-san has already informed him that his protege has found out about Chuuya.
Pain is something Dazai is used to however, so this is okay.
It’s okay, because now he knows where Chuuya’s bedroom is, and there’s an old tree right outside of it that is perfect for climbing on. Pain won’t deter him from his new mission-make Chuuya talk to him.
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Chuuya looks utterly terrified to see someone appear outside of his bedroom window, and Dazai can’t blame him. His punishment from Mori has left him with several new bandages wrapped around his head and arms, so he knows he looks like some sort of mummy straight out of a horror story that’s just popped up outside his window.
There’s not much he can do besides smile and wave, however, so that’s what he does. Out of fear of him falling, out of shock-who knows really?-Chuuya dashes over to the window and throws it open.
“Did you miss me?” He asks, voice sickly sweet even to his own ears. Chuuya is getting over his surprise at someone knocking on his bedroom window in the middle of the night, and his impassive mask is starting to slip back onto his face. He takes several steps back from Dazai and climbs back onto his bed.
“Aww, don’t be like that Chuuya.” Dazai croons, following him across the room. Then he pauses, as he notices something different. “Nice hat.” He snickers.
Dazai has no idea where Chuuya’s gotten the tacky thing from, but there is a felt hat that’s slightly too big for him sitting on top of his head. The smaller boy flinches slightly, and Dazai pretends that he doesn’t feel bad about it.
“Our meeting got cut short last time.” He says, perching on the edge of the others bed. Chuuya blinks at him.
“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” He asks. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it is that Chuuya hasn’t spoken in front of him yet. The spark of defiance that the redhead had shown him last time is nowhere to be found and in it’s place is a subdued boy who is just as pretty as Dazai remembers, and that pisses him off for reasons he doesn't want to think about.
Dazai knows he didn’t imagine it last time. He’s an excellent judge of character (that’s why Mori is so afraid of him, and both of them know his mentor is very very afraid) and he knows Chuuya has the potential to be so much more than this doll sitting in front of him. He knows next to nothing about the boy's past, his thoughts, his emotions, but Dazai has never been wrong when it comes to judging someone. This submissive act is not who Chuuya is, and Dazai’s become mildly obsessed with bringing his true character to light.
He can’t do anything if Chuuya doesn't talk to him, however.
Dazai pulls out every trick he knows to try to bait Chuuya into talking to him; he switches back and forth between sweet and harsh, hurls insults and compliments in the same breath, is equal parts kind and cruel-and Chuuya remains quiet and impassive through all of it. Only his eyes betray that he’s still listening to what Dazai is saying.
Eventually, Dazai runs out of tricks and falls silent, chest heaving. The two of them stare at each other, waiting to see who’ll crack first.
Chuuya turns his back to him and refuses to acknowledge him, no matter what Dazai says or does. With a snort, Dazai knocks the hat off the other’s head in a fit of pettiness and walks out the door.
He heads towards the stairs, trying not to feel frustrated that he’s failed again.
*
It’s not until he sees Kouyou make some sort of fluttery hand gesture at Chuuya weeks later while he’s sulking in the brothel, hiding in the shadows, that it all clicks into place for Dazai. Chuuya is watching his mentors hands with an intensity that Dazai has never seen before on the redhead, like they mean something to him. And they do, Dazai realizes with a jolt, they do mean something to him, and suddenly, Chuuya’s refusal to talk makes a lot more sense.
Dazai’s mind is working a mile a minute, as he considers his newfound knowledge; Chuuya is from France he knows, so this will be a bit more tricky, but he’s always been adaptive.
Plotting, Dazai sets out to get the books he needs to put his plan into action.
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Chuuya, bless him, is still surprised when Dazai shows up at his window, knocking politely on the glass pane. The redhead panics for a minute, pivoting back and forth between his window and his door before he finally decides that maybe he should let Dazai in before the idiot gets the idea to jump off the window to try to kill himself.
With practiced ease, Dazai hoists himself through the window and into Chuuya’s room. Carelessly, he brushes dirt off his coat, ignoring the redhead who is staring at him intently. Only when he’s done does he look at the other. “Good evening Chuuya.” He says cheerfully, walking over to the others bed.
Dazai makes himself at home on Chuuya’s bed, scooting up so that he can lean back against the pillows. Chuuya has followed him across the room and is now hovering by the foot of the bed. Once again, Dazai is struck by how frail and lost he looks-he squashes those feelings quickly, focusing on what he’s about to do. “I have a gift for you.”
Chuuya looks torn between curiosity at what it is Dazai could have possibly brought him and utter terror. Dazai tries hard not to think about what kind of life the boy in front of him could have lead that would have him afraid of a gift.
He places his hands in front of him, palms facing Chuuya, index fingers and thumbs touching at the tips. He flips them around until his palms are facing upward, then points towards Chuuya. The redhead is watching him with fascination as he brings his hands back towards his sides, fists curled with the thumb and pinky sticking out before he lays one hand flat in front of him and rests the other one on top of it. Finished, he puts his hands in his lap and grins at the other boy. “How are you tonight?” He asks, translating what he’s just signed at the other.
Chuuya’s eyes are blown wide and his mouth is hanging open slightly and it’s a drastic change from the blank stare he usually gets. His hands come up, make feeble half gestures, fall limply back to his sides. Dazai sits in silence, waiting for Chuuya to decide how he really feels about the situation.
The smaller boy recovers quickly, because the next time he raises his hands up, they dart back and forth in the air, changing shapes and form quickly, effortlessly, in something that reminds Dazai of a dance. He watches for a while, entranced by the sureness with which Chuuya moves his hands, how much more animated he’s become, how happy he looks all of a sudden, before holding his own hand up to the other.
“Wait.” He says, and Chuuya’s hands freeze mid-air. The redhead is staring at him uncertainly. Dazai lifts his left arm up in the air and runs the fingers of his right hand along it from his wrist up, stopping at his shoulder. “Slow down.” He continues. “It took me like 30 minutes to learn the basics and there’s no way I can understand you if you go that fast.”
Chuuya nods his head so fast that Dazai is briefly concerned the other may get whiplash from it. He moves so that he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, feet tucked under him, facing Dazai. It’s adorable he thinks, and smiles softly at the other. Chuuya’s cheeks are bright red and his eyes are shining in the moonlight and Dazai can see his fingers twitching next to him, like it’s taking all his effort not to start rapidly signing again. Dazai takes this opportunity to show off what he’s learned in the past few days.
“It’s nice” he says, sliding his palms across one another, “to meet you.” He finishes by bringing his hands together, index fingers sticking straight up. The smile that Chuuya gives him makes his chest hurt, but he ignores it in favor of watching the boy sign the same thing back at him, movements far more fluid than Dazai’s own.
Things have shifted between them, and Dazai knows instinctively that Chuuya will answer his questions this time around.
“Are you actually mute?” Dazai asks, and he can see Chuuya turn red even in the bad lighting of the room. The redhead shakes his head, and Dazai hums. “Didn’t think so.” A beat. “Japanese is a hard language to learn, especially if you’re used to French.” Chuuya looks surprised that he knows about the other’s heritage, but he gets over it quickly. Slowly, he nods his head in agreement with Dazai’s assessment.
“Don’t you get lonely? Not many people know sign language-and on top of that, it’s French sign language, not Japanese.” Briefly, Dazai ponders on how Kouyou nee-san knows the language, before writing it off as part of her past that she hasn’t cared to share yet.
Chuuya’s shoulders slump and he picks at his comforter and Dazai tries to understand why he feels bad for the other. A mafia member who’s been tapped as one of the next potential executive members has no time to worry about frail looking redheads who can’t speak a word of Japanese.
He’s already decided that he won’t leave Chuuya alone, but a little help won’t hurt.
“Teach me.” Chuuya’s head snaps up again, and the hope in his eyes is making Dazai’s chest twist again, so he lobs one of Chuuya’s pillows at his head to make him stop. It hits the redhead squarely in the face and falls to the ground with a fwumph. The hope has transformed into irritation, and Chuuya springs at Dazai, who is in no way ready to be tackled by a small angry French boy. They topple to the floor, twisting and pinching at any part they can, Dazai’s laughs mixing with Chuuya’s wordless snarls.
Thier fight is interrupted by a sharp “Dazai” that comes from the doorway. Kouyou is standing there, glaring down at the two of them, and Dazai takes the distraction to push Chuuya off of him.
“He started it, Kouyou nee-san.” He says innocently, and Chuuya punches him with a lot more force than he’d thought the smaller boy capable of. “Ow Chuuya, friends don’t hit friends.”
The redhead has the audacity to roll his eyes at him, and it takes all of Dazai’s willpower not to poke him in the ribs in retaliation.
Kouyou doesn't share in their amusement. “Come here.” Her voice is soft and dangerous and this is the second time he’s been caught disobeying her, but Dazai isn’t afraid. He makes to get to his feet-only to be stopped by Chuuya grabbing onto his arm. Both Dazai and Kouyou turn to him in surprise.
Chuuya himself looks a bit surprised at his own audacity, and then his face twists into something firm and resolute. He sits up straighter, shifting his weight slowly, and then begins to sign at his mentor.
Chuuya’s hands are moving too fast for Dazai to follow; it’s amazing how fast the redhead can morph his fingers from shape to shape, position to position, without stumbling or hesitation. It doesn’t match the shy, demure boy that Dazai had seen before at all. Chuuya finishes whatever it is he’s saying and the only bit Dazai catches is the sign for ‘please’ at the end of it all. He’s staring at Kouyou, eyes shining and hands clasped in front of him.
Kouyou stares hard at her ward, thinking hard about something. Dazai waits patiently.
Finally, she lets out a sigh. “Alright Chuuya, if that’s what you want.” She glances briefly at Dazai. “But he’s trouble, you mark me.” There’s a small smile on her face that takes some of the bite out of her words, and Dazai has the sneaking suspicion that she’s just glad that Chuuya is coming out of his shell.
“How mean, Kouyou nee-san!” He yells after her as she sweeps from the room, kimono trailing after her. He can hear her laugh, light and airy like a tinkling bell, and then the door shuts with a quiet click. Silence settles over the room, but it’s not stifling or unbearable like it’s been in the past. Chuuya is still crouched next to him, breathing hard and hair a mess, but he looks so happy, so proud of himself, giving Dazai a shy grin and it’s here that Dazai realizes how fucked he is.
It goes against every rule for survival that he has, goes against Mori’s own teachings, goes against his own selfish nature, but he doesn’t care. Come whatever may, he won’t abandon Chuuya.
With a sigh, he flops back onto the floor, taking care to clip Chuuya on the way down.
“Teach me?” Dazai says again, only this time, it’s an actual question. “You teach me sign language, and I’ll help you with your Japanese.” Chuuya lays down and leans into him and Dazai stiffens in surprise. When Chuuya shows no signs of moving away from him, he lets himself relax slowly, stretching his hand out on the floor palm up. Chuuya’s hand crawls after it and comes to rest right on top of Dazai’s own, lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly.
“Okay.” It’s the first thing he’s heard Chuuya say; the redhead's voice is scratchy from months of disuse, his pronunciation is terrible and his accent is heavy.
It’s the prettiest sound Dazai has ever heard.