Chapter Text
1.
Chuuya receives an odd text message just as he’s finishing up the clean-up of the uprising he’s helping suppress as part of Port Mafia’s deal with some international Ability-user organizations. To be quite honest, his international missions have been pretty boring. They go well enough that he doesn’t even need to have back-up. Part of it, he thinks, is because none of the other organizations have something remotely passable when it comes to strategies.
It’s an odd feeling, to deal with something without the haze of Dazai’s plans shadowing his actions.
Chuuya shakes his head as he shoots the last guy in the head. That’s the only time he actually looks at his phone, because he’s a professional, damn it.
> MACKEREL :: Chuuya, do you trust me?
> MACKEREL :: You should be finishing up your mission in Russia. Take the next flight back to Narita and I’ll meet you at Warehouse 404, 72 hours after this message.
> MACKEREL :: See you.
…Well.
That is odd.
Dazai’s never sent him a message that’s (a) not littered with annoying typos that make his eyes bleed, (b) disgusting kaomojis and (c) that pleasant and straightforward. Dazai’s never been that civil!
It’s mind-boggling.
It’s surprising enough that Chuuya attempts to call the number back immediately, only to get the standard message about not being able to reach the intended party. So it means that Dazai has disconnected his number as soon as he sent the message.
Chuuya frowns as he weighs his options. He’s a professional, especially when it comes to dealing with his assignments. He’s an Executive, for fuck’s sake! He’s supposed to be a good role model for his subordinates! He can’t just… abandon a mission because Dazai sends him a civilly-worded instruction.
So Chuuya texts Kouyou-anesan, because she’ll definitely let him know if there’s something important—and Chuuya has this feeling that some shit’s going down.
> ANE-SAN :: As of three days ago, Dazai-kun had betrayed the Port Mafia.
…Oh.
Chuuya drops his phone into the Russian snow.
It’s… not that surprising, if he thinks about it. Dazai’s always been a rather finicky person, easily folding into the path of least resistance if it means getting his way in the end, because he’s an actual child. Dazai’s been rather distant lately too, not just because of the geographical divide between them.
But Chuuya’s not thinking straight. He’s staring at his dropped—and now, cracked—phone, the snow barely able to cushion the fall.
Dazai had betrayed the mafia and had asked Chuuya to show up at one of Dazai’s safehouses, one that he’s established away from Port Mafia protocols.
There’s a huge possibility that it’s a trap, because there’s only two options for Chuuya now.
He could be asked to stay in the Continent until he’s cleared of suspicions of betrayal as well, until he’s cleared of allegations of being an accomplice. Everyone knows that he doesn’t get along with Dazai, but everyone also knows that they’re soukoku, a legendary duo whose synchronization and power have made them the pair that everyone aspires to be.
Alternately, he could be asked to return to Yokohama immediately to lead the hunt for the escaped snake. Dazai would make for a perfect, irritating Hydra, and Chuuya’s the best candidate in cutting off all of his heads at once.
Chuuya falling into Dazai’s hands before any of those two things happen would be the best-case scenario for Dazai.
Thing is—
Chuuya trusts Dazai.
Actually trusts him.
Chuuya bites his lip—and makes the decision.
2.
Chuuya hurries back to Japan despite protests from the group that he’s been lent to as part of Port Mafia’s show of power disguised as goodwill. He leaves behind several attack suggestions and formations, because he’s pretty sure that even a group of middle-schoolers who’ve never touched a gun in their lives could subdue the remaining forces anyway. Only perfunctory clean-up is left to do and it’s not like they’d need an Executive of his caliber for that.
Chuuya submits the request for a private jet to the Boss, but doesn’t even get a read receipt. It forces him to book a ticket on a commercial flight and it’s a couple more hours of him thinking through his life, his life options.
It’s late evening when he finally arrives at Yokohama, parking his motorcycle a couple of meters away from the so-called Warehouse 404. Kodomonokuni Park is closed hours ago, which makes it easy for him to sneak into one of the barn-like warehouse at the northern edge of the park.
Chuuya finds the door unlocked.
Finds something unexpected.
Dazai is in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a bed of purple and gold flowers. There’s a knife sticking out of Dazai’s chest, but Chuuya can’t see any blood, certainly not from his distance. Instead of moving to get a closer look, Chuuya finds his feet rooted near the doorway, unable to approach his—partner, ex-partner?
Chuuya can only watch, in muted horror, Dazai cough and cough and cough, purple primroses and yellow tulips bursting from his lips like starbursts, drowning Dazai in vibrant colors that clash against his mafia black. Dazai doesn’t seem to have noticed his arrival, opting to take the knife out from his ribs and stabbing at his skin again.
That’s what drives Chuuya to motion, because he’s always rolled his eyes at Dazai’s sonnets about beautiful suicides, but it’s another thing entirely to watch him harm himself. Chuuya practically flies towards Dazai, his hands gripping Dazai’s wrists so he doesn’t harm himself. Dazai’s eyes are glassy, like he’s drugged beyond recognition, but that’s not what catches Chuuya’s attention. It’s the fact that the space where the knife was lodged into a few seconds ago—the skin is torn, but instead of blood spilling out from the wound, there are even more of the primroses and tulips cascading out from Dazai’s insides.
“It’s a rare condition,” Boss Mori’s voice suddenly booms into the barnhouse that only has Dazai’s coughs and gasps as background music.
Chuuya’s kneeling on the carpet of flowers, cradling Dazai’s wrists as Dazai continues coughing up flowers. It reminds Chuuya of Akutagawa, only worse, because it does sound like Dazai is trying to hack up his entire lungs.
“…Boss,” Chuuya eventually acknowledges, his attention torn between watching flowers bloom out of Dazai’s mouth and paying proper respect to the boss. There’s also a twinge of unease, because this warehouse is supposed to be only known to soukoku, and yet, Boss is here, walking towards them with hands clasped behind his back.
“We still don’t have enough information, but we know it’s called the Hanahaki Disease.” Boss continues like he’s holding a lecture. Chuuya’s hands adjust Dazai so that he’s seating more-or-less upright and so Chuuya can rub gloved hands over his back, feel his skin shake with the force of a flower whirlwind inside. “A person involved in such strong, tragic unrequited love will cough up flowers until he overcomes his feelings, until his feelings are reciprocated or until he dies.”
…Oh.
Chuuya worries his bottom lip as he thinks about the timeline.
“…What happened to his last mission?” Chuuya doesn’t have time tracking down Dazai’s whereabouts, given that he’s busy with his own life, but he does know that Dazai’s involved in Mimic dealings recently, mostly because his friend is involved. “Did… something happen to his drinking buddies?”
“You really are quite smart, Chuuya-kun.” Boss smiles and looks at Chuuya like he’s proud of him. “Oda Sakunosuke died in Dazai-kun’s arms. I reckon he encouraged Dazai-kun to quit the Port Mafia as part of his last words.”
As of three days ago, Dazai-kun had betrayed the Port Mafia.
“…I see.” Chuuya looks down at Dazai’s still-coughing form. “So I’m here to execute him for his betrayal?”
“On the contrary,” Boss says with the same smile, “I would be more than happy to overlook this indiscretion. Dazai-kun did contact you, after all. So he must still possess some sort of loyalty towards the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya feels the sting of accusation there. He’s kind of worried about Dazai, because for Dazai to have been tailed like this…
“Boss, I think it’s more likely that he just wanted to mess with me.”
Boss waves that concern away. “Dazai-kun could be rather childish, that’s true. But he’s still a valuable member of the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya doesn’t reply, because he’s not sure what he could say, at this point. He’s still reeling from the fact that Dazai’s apparently afflicted with this debilitating disease that would most certainly lead to a slow and painful death, given that Boss had implied that Dazai’s unrequited love would remain unrequited because Oda is dead.
“It’s your mission starting today, Chuuya-kun.” Boss continues smiling, peering down at them like they’re new toys that he can’t wait to play with. “Your duty is to help Dazai-kun recover from this illness.”
Chuuya bites his lip.
If it’s an order, then it’s a job. If it’s a job, then it’s something he must do.
“…Got it, Boss.”
3.
The haze on Dazai’s eyes don’t clear, even by the time Chuuya dumps him on his bed. Though really, to call that a bed is an insult to beds everywhere. It’s a single and it isn’t even made, its bedsheet crumpled and smelly like it hasn’t been washed in months. Chuuya shudders to think about laying on top of it, but he’s not about to bring Dazai to his apartment and have it be overrun by the garden of flowers. At this rate, Dazai can easily cover Yamashita Park with a carpet of primroses and tulips.
Dazai continues to cough, hacking sounds that Chuuya feels even as an outsider looking in. Chuuya supposes that the only upside to this is that Dazai’s insides seem to have been transformed to flowerville as well, so there’s no cause for worry about Dazai’s throat being permanently damaged from all this coughing.
…Well, at least not in the normal way.
Boss had said that they’re still studying the flowers that have left Dazai’s lips, but there’s a strong possibility that Dazai’s entire internal body has been transformed to flowers that are generated by the strength of his unrequited feelings. Boss had hinted that Dazai’s unable to be wounded – at least until he’s still able to cling on to his feelings so that he’s able to keep on replenishing the flowers that he’s coughing up.
Chuuya remembers the knife sticking out of Dazai’s ribs, mentally counts the amount of flowers that have left Dazai’s body.
In a way, Chuuya is impressed.
Dazai’s been coughing up flowers like a storm—he must have incredibly strong feelings hidden deep inside him.
Chuuya wonders how it would feel, to be at the receiving end of such relentless passion. Chuuya wonders—and stops himself, because this is Dazai. This is Dazai and Dazai is experiencing this because he’s so in love with someone else.
There’s no room for daydreaming.
Chuuya sits beside Dazai and helps him to a reclining position in hopes of easing the escape of the flowers from his mouth. Dazai only has one pillow and it’s very lumpy. Chuuya sighs and climbs on the bed, his back against the flimsy headboard, settles Dazai between his legs, his chest against Dazai’s back. Chuuya lets Dazai’s head rest against his collarbone—and he hums a wordless song that can pass as a lullaby.
Chuuya ends up lulling himself to sleep as well, but when morning comes, Chuuya’s surprised and gratified to discover that Dazai’s coughing has slowed down considerably over the night.