Chapter Text
Chuuya never truly hated Dazai, rather he didn't know how to act around Dazai. Dazai just never knew how to feel much at all. Both are hopelessly bad at such frivolous tasks such as care and attention to others, making their partnership dull and ruthless.
December 23rd: Port Mafia headquarters.
Mori huffed out a sigh twirling a scalpel in his hands while looking out the frosty windows of the Port Mafia headquarters. He turned slightly rocking on his heels and faced the person who opened his office doors and is now slumped in one of his office's plush chairs.
“Dazai-kun you and Chuuya have so much potential to become a strong duo. As my protegee, I believe you already know this so why haven't you exceeded my expectations? Your last mission was an absolute failure.Do I need to remind you of what happens to those who fail me?”
Dazai perks up at the end of Mori’s statement, now fully upright and staring coldly through the man. Dazai had had a nagging feeling that he would regret obeying Mori's order to meet. He knew he was right. His empty gaze pieces through the man like cold ice shards before he decides to respond.
“I seriously don't know why you want me to become closer to such a brute! He's just a dog that kills boss……” Dazai whines and then trails off after looking at Mori’s unhappy stare.
“Well, then I guess you'll just be living with Chuuya until I get better results. Pack your things from your container, I'll have Chuuya retrieve you.” Mori smirks. This was not Dazai’s plan of how to spend the winter. Honestly, he just wanted to go back to his shipping container and change out of his soggy bandages or maybe hang himself because the lake was too cold. Dazai groaned inwardly. Living with Chuuya was akin to being trapped in a perpetual hurricane of explosive temper and short fuses. The thought of sharing a space with the volatile redhead was less than appealing. Too tired to refuse he bitterly says a low grumbly 'fine' and trys to waist as much time as possible. Yet, there he was, bundled in a ridiculous coat Mori insisted was essential for the winter, being ushered towards a black sedan.
The frigid Yokohama wind whipped at Dazai’s face as he stepped out of the black sedan, the snow crunching beneath his boots. The world was cloaked in a pristine white blanket, a stark contrast to the chaos that usually defined the city. He shivered, not just from the cold but from a growing sense of unease. Dazai watched the city slip past, its familiar contours softened by the winter's veil. A bitter amusement crept into his heart. This was his punishment, a solitary confinement in a metal box, while the rest of the world carried on, oblivious to his exile.
His mind raced, a whirlwind of dark humor and self-loathing. He imagined himself as a castaway, shipwrecked on a desolate island of rust and metal. The irony was not lost on him. He, the man who craved oblivion, was now being forced into it.
Arriving at his destination, the cold air hit him like a physical blow. With a heavy sigh, Dazai turned towards his shipping container. The shipping container loomed, a stark, imposing figure against the snowy backdrop. As he fumbled with the lock, his thoughts turned to the meager possessions within. A collection of mismatched clothes, a few books, and a surprisingly large amount of bandages. It was a life reduced to its bare essentials, a life stripped of everything but survival.
Inside, the container was a world apart. It was colder than outside, the metal walls radiating an icy chill. A thin layer of frost had formed on the few personal items scattered about, giving the space an eerie, otherworldly quality. Dazai began to pack, his movements slow and deliberate. With each item he touched, a memory surfaced, a fragment of a life that was rapidly receding.
Dazai hurriedly started to pack his few possessions of value in a small tattered bag. Within his bag was an old video game console, bandages, a few large band shirts and sweatpants, and some other items that he would need. The air in the shipping container made dazai feel uncomfortably cold. And the snow kept dripping into the container through the porous holes in the metal. The snow made dazai’s bandages soggy and scratchy making him almost wishing chuuya would come get him faster. Keyword almost. Dazai would dare himself to allow such care towards someone else. He heard the sound of a car and then footsteps crunching in the snow, he could almost anticipate that it was chuuya about to walk in the shipping container. It also struck dazai that chuuya had never seen the interior of his shipping container.
Dazai's amusement faded, replaced by a flicker of something more complex. Chuuya had never seen his inner con , this place that held the weight of countless cases and the lonely nights spent strategizing.
"Well, come in, slug," Dazai drawled, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Don't just stand at the door like a lovesick puppy."
Chuuya snorted, a gust of wind swirling in with him as he slammed the door shut. Snow dusted his crimson hair and the dark fabric of his coat.
"Lovesick? In this weather? You wish, mackerel."
Despite the retort, his eyes darted around the cramped space, taking in the fairy lights strung across the corrugated metal walls, the overflowing case files balanced on makeshift shelves, and the single, bare mattress tucked into the corner.
"You actually live here?" Surprise tinged Chuuya's voice.
Dazai shrugged, the gesture more theatrical than usual. "Why wouldn't I? Rent's cheap, and the commute's nonexistent."
A beat of silence followed, thick with unspoken questions. Chuuya seemed to be searching for something to say, his gaze lingering on the overflowing ashtray and the crumpled papers scattered across a dented metal desk.
"Looks...cozy," Chuuya finally managed, his voice laced with skepticism.
Dazai barked a laugh, the sound echoing harshly in the confined space. "Cozy? It's a death trap waiting to happen, more like. But it's mine."
He gestured towards a chipped mug beside a dusty kettle on a makeshift hotplate. "Tea before we head out?"
Chuuya grunted in assent, his gloved fingers brushing against the chipped mug as he poured the steaming liquid. Dazai watched, a strange sense of vulnerability settling in his gut. This was a side of him he rarely, if ever, showed – the man behind the mask, the one who craved a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.
"Not exactly how I pictured your secret lair, Dazai," Chuuya remarked, his voice softer than usual.
A wry smile played on Dazai's lips. "Secret lair? This is hardly a lair, Chuuya~.More like a sardine can with slightly better ventilation."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, a deeper understanding flickered between them. The storm raged on outside, but within the confines of the shipping container, a different sort of storm brewed – a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant words that stay unspoken .
Dazai raised his mug in a mock salute. "To my loyal dog picking up his master."
Chuuya snorted, the sound laced with a hint of amusement, and clinked his mug against Dazai's. "Yeah but I’m not your damn dog stupid fish."
As they settled back into their uncomfortable chairs, a newfound respect settled between them.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence Chuuya removers the whole reason he came was to follow bosses orders. Chuuya had to find a way to get dazai to leave soon because Mori had informed him he suspected dazai was getting sick. He grabbed Dazai's arm before the man could react, the grip surprisingly strong despite the bulky winter gloves. "Get your coat. We're leaving."
Dazai sputtered, a theatrical protest dying in his throat when he saw the steely glint in Chuuya's eyes. This wasn't a request; it was an order.
"Leaving? Not yet…" Dazai stammered, but he didn't resist as Chuuya pulled him towards the door.
"My apartment," Chuuya said grimly, throwing open the door and ushering Dazai out into the swirling snow. "You're not staying here tonight, not if you're still half-conscious from that fever."
Dazai felt a surge of annoyance followed by a surprising warmth spreading through him. He hadn't even realized he was feverish, the mission and the biting cold having numbed him to his own body. But Chuuya had noticed.
"Fever? You exaggerating as usual, Chuuya," Dazai mumbled, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.
They stumbled through the blizzard, Chuuya half-dragging, half-carrying Dazai towards the parked car. The snow seemed to have intensified, turning the world into a white blur.
"Don't argue," Chuuya growled, shoving Dazai into the passenger seat. "You'll thank me later."
As the car pulled away from the shipping container, the fairy lights cast a lonely glow in the distance.
Inside the car, the silence was different this time. It wasn't the tense silence of rivalry, but a reluctant truce forged in the face of Dazai's vulnerability and Chuuya's unexpected concern. Dazai slumped against the warm seat, the car's heater a welcome contrast to the icy sting that had permeated his clothes. Each passing moment brought a dull ache to his head, a throbbing counterpoint to the exhaustion dragging at him. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, an unwelcome reminder of the mission's close call.
Through a haze of drowsiness, he registered Chuuya's tense focus on the road, the way his jaw clenched with every bump. A faint memory surfaced - Chuuya's gloved hand, cool and gentle, pressing a cloth to his forehead.
"Why...?" Dazai rasped, the question laced with a vulnerability that surprised even him.
Chuuya's eyes flickered to him in the dim light.
"Because someone has to," he muttered, his tone gruff but laced with a hint of concern, "Besides, a dead partner reflects poorly on my abilities."
A weak chuckle escaped Dazai's lips. Even feverish and battered, their dynamic hadn't entirely dissolved. Yet, beneath the conflict, there was a flicker of something genuine - concern, perhaps? The car lurched to a stop in the dimly lit garage, its metallic groan swallowed by the thick silence that had descended upon them. Exhaustion hung heavy in the air, mirroring the weight in Dazai's limbs. He fumbled with the latch, pushing open the car door with a grimace. A wave of frigid air washed over him, a stark contrast to the stifling heat that had filled the car during the ride.
Each step towards the elevator felt like a stab to his head, his legs leaden and protesting with every movement. The world swam before his eyes, blurred by fatigue and the dull ache that throbbed in his head. Reaching Chuuya’s apartment door, he fumbled with Chuuya’s keys, their weight a burden in his clammy hands. The simple act of unlocking the door felt like solving a complex puzzle.
Finally, with a click that echoed in the stillness of the hallway, the door yielded. Dazai stumbled inside, the warmth of the apartment a welcome wave of comfort. Dazai felt his vision swim as dark spots formed. As a wave of dizziness came crashing down Dazai stumbled forward, effectively passing out. The welcome wave of warmth was the last thing Dazai registered before the world dissolved into darkness. He felt himself falling, arms flailing uselessly, and then blessed oblivion. A muffled thump echoed through the silent apartment as his body hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Chuuya, who had reached the living room just in time to witness Dazai's collapse, rushed forward. Kneeling beside the unconscious Dazai, a curse ripped through his gritted teeth. Concern, a foreign emotion he couldn't quite decipher, battled with his usual irritation. He shoved his coat off, the soft material landing forgotten on the nearby armchair.
His gloved fingers brushed against Dazai's forehead, the heat radiating off him a contrast to the coolness of his touch. Dazai mumbled something incoherent, his brow furrowed in discomfort. Chuuya sighed, a sound laced with exasperation and something else he refused to acknowledge.
With a practiced ease born of years of dealing with his impulsive partner, Chuuya scooped Dazai up into his arms. Dazai was alarmingly light, his usually sharp features slack with unconsciousness. Heaving him onto the couch, Chuuya grabbed a damp cloth from the kitchen, the cool fabric a necessity against Dazai's feverish skin.
As Chuuya began to press the cloth against Dazai's forehead, a sliver of worry gnawed at him. He couldn't deny satisfaction at seeing Dazai this vulnerable, but the concern outweighed the smugness. Dazai jolted slightly before moving around slightly, giving away that he was awake. He blinked, vision blurry, to see Chuuya kneeling in front of him, a look of begrudging concern etched on his face.
"Took you long enough," Chuuya grumbled, though his hands were gentle as he helped Dazai sit up. "Here, drink this."
He pressed a glass of water into Dazai's hand, the cool liquid a shock to his system. Dazai gulped it down gratefully, the fever making his throat feel like sandpaper.
"You passed out," Chuyua said, his voice clipped. "Couldn't even make it to the couch."
Dazai winced at the implied weakness. "Seems the fever finally decided to show up properly," he mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant.
Chuuya snorted. "Don't play tough. You're burning up." He placed the back of his hand against Dazai's forehead, the touch sending a jolt through him that had nothing to do with his illness.
"Get some sleep," Chuuya said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gestured towards the bedroom. "The couch isn't going to cut it for a fever this high."
Dazai hesitated, surprised by the offer. He wasn't used to Chuuya playing nursemaid. But the warmth radiating from Chuuya's hand and the comfortable bed beckoned too strongly to resist.
With a low murmur of thanks, Dazai pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Chuuya steadied him with a hand on his arm, the touch lingering a beat too long before he let go.
As Dazai crawled into bed, the sheets cool against his feverish skin, a strange sense of peace settled over him. He closed his eyes, the sound of Chuuya moving around the apartment a comforting lullaby. For the first time in a long time, Dazai allowed himself to drift off to sleep, not with thoughts of suicide, but with the bizarre hope that maybe, just maybe, things were about to change. A hope that maybe Mori’s mission for them to be closer is achievable.