Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chuuya’s hands shook as he looked at the report from the doctor. He had gone to three specialists so far, two of them trusted Ability users – one had been helping Chuuya for years, and one of them was the Boss. He had hoped.

Oh, God, he had hoped.

Tears pricked into his eyes as he felt his legs give out under him, sliding to the ground in the entrance of his apartment. He could try again, he knew – he could keep on. For a bit, but his body was already starting to break down around him. He’d noticed it on missions recently – a strange numbness in his fingers or a moment of breathlessness that didn’t make sense.

He let the letter fall to the ground. Curling his arms around his knees as he pushed his forehead, trying to breathe steadily through the sobs that threatened to shake his entire body. How long did he have?

What do you do when you know you’re going to die?

It had always been a question that his squad had always asked. The Black Lizard had always been around death, and they had lost so many people in a variety of missions that spanned from smuggling to assassinations, to being the front line of defense against the Guild, the Decay of Angels, the Armed Detective Agency.

“Get drunk, find a girl and have a good time. Maybe blow something up.” Kajii.

“I’d probably try to say goodbye to those I loved.” Higuchi.  

“Are we talking 24 hours or months? I don’t know what I’d do with 24 hours, but with months, I’d travel. See the world. Murder someone that deserves it.” Tachihara.

“I’d ask a cute girl to dance and...” Gin.

“I’d find somewhere quiet. Away from all of you.” Hirotsu.

“Hm.” Akutagawa.

How was Chuuya going to tell anyone? Boss knew. Maybe he could just die, and Boss would take care of it. He wondered if he’d be given a funeral. It wasn’t often that members of the Mafia had full funerals for the fallen, not even for executives. There were quiet toasts to the fallen within squads, opening and pouring a favorite drink over a stone, or into a river.

In the Black Lizard, it was customary to toast to the dead, laugh raucously at their life, remember the good times and the bad, and after a night of drinking and causing havoc, laying a tally on one of the foundation stones on the base of the Port Mafia Towers. Sometimes, they’d leave a bottle, or a flower, or some other token, but for the most part, those of the Black Lizard knew that at the end of their lives, their names would be erased from all records, and the only thing to remember them would be a sad tally mark in a stone. 

It was safer for everyone if their names were forgotten. Safer for their friends, their families, and the other members of the Black Lizard. At the end of the year, there would be a quiet toast to all the fallen, their names whispered one last time before fading.  

Chuuya didn’t want to fade away, even though he knew it was for the best.

Chuuya shook himself from his thoughts, staring down at the reports. He didn’t understand most of the words written there, but... he didn’t need to.

“It’s your internal organs, sir,” the doctor had said, breaking down the medical jargon for Chuuya to understand when he had looked blankly at the doctor. The man had been one of the physicians that Chuuya had worked with on and off for years and was one of the few that knew of Chuuya’s full Ability, and its drawbacks. “Your Ability, it seems, is damaging your organs, most notably your heart. If we had caught this sooner, there could have been options. Have you ever had a heart attack before?”

Chuuya shook his head.

“Then it may be the aftereffects of the more… violent side of your Ability has led to either internal damage or weakness.”

“And…” Chuuya’s throat was dry. “And this atry-atri-“

“Atrial fibrillation. It is actually rather common form of an abnormal heart rhythm. Normally, it wouldn’t be terribly concerning, but coupled with everything else however, it is something to be concerned about.”

“How… How concerned?”

The doctor gave him a scrutinizing look over his glasses. “I will have to discuss with some of my colleagues to be sure, but you may want to start… preparing.”

Chuuya didn’t have to ask what that meant.

It could have been moments or hours before Chuuya had stopped crying onto his knees, alone in his dark apartment. He couldn’t quite grasp the conversation. Even now, it felt like a dream, and his mind couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was…

That he was…

He had to tell Dazai.

Oh, fuck, he had to tell Dazai.

His eyes flitted around the entrance, to the two pairs of house slippers for himself and Dazai, to the empty rack next to his where Dazai would normally hang his coat. The brunette had moved in with him only a month prior to this, but it felt like it had been going on forever. There was no “official” move in with his partner, but a gradual understanding that Dazai lived here now.

He had been thinking of proposing, not telling his partner and lover that he was dying.

“Here,” Chuuya had said warmly, tossing something at Dazai as the other lounged on his couch, reading a book with one leg kicked up over the back, a mug of tea on the side table above his head.

Dazai caught the small object, hanging it above his head as he looked at it, . It was a plain key on a thin metal necklace.

“Ooooh, is this the key to Chibi’s heart? But I thought I already unlocked that!” Dazai gave Chuuya that smile that always made his heart thump out of rhythm.

Chuuya’s eye twitched. “Fucking idiot, it’s a key to the front door.”

“I don’t need a key for that, I have lockpicks.”

Chuuya stomped over to his partner, allowing the other to grab him around the waist and pull him down onto the couch. Chuuya squirmed a bit to get more comfortable, lying on his partner. He reached up and slapped the other’s forehead lightly. “You’re an idiot.”

The arms around him tightened as Dazai gave him a lazy smile. “Your idiot.”

Nausea surged in his gut, rolling through him. He was on his feet in less than a moment and scampering through the apartment, hurling himself into the bathroom to vomit. He stayed there until there was nothing left in his stomach.

He lay against the cold tile, staring up at the dark ceiling.

What was he going to do?

His eyebrow twitched as he yanked himself to his feet, staring at the morose man in the mirror. Without hesitation, he clapped both his hands to his cheeks, hard enough to leave a shiny, bright red spot.

“You aren’t dead yet, you fucking idiot,” he growled at his reflection, happy to see the determination glinting in his own eyes. He might be dying, but he was an executive of the Port Mafia. Tomorrow always could have been his last day. Just because he knew it was coming didn’t mean he had to let it control him.

He winced slightly as he realized he still needed to tell Dazai. Of the two, he was sure Dazai would take it worse. Now he just had to figure out how to prevent Dazai from following him to death.

He’d deal with that in the morning.

Chuuya had greeted Dazai at the door when he returned home early in the morning, half dead from exhaustion due to a stake-out with Kunikida, and covered in dust. It had become a ritual with them – stay up for the stakeouts and make sure the other made it home. Sometimes they were unharmed, and sometimes, Chuuya falls through the door and starts bleeding through his shirt due to a knife wound that he hadn’t noticed.

That only happened once, but Dazai still liked to bring it up, so it counted.

Chuuya looked over his partner appraisingly. He did… acknowledge that Kunikida was a good teammate for Dazai – when he wasn’t blowing a whole gasket for the stupidest reasons (which, the redhead had to admit was hilarious.) No blood, just exhaustion.

“Shower, now,” the redhead said brusquely, grabbing Dazai’s coat off him and wadding it up. It was filthy. He didn’t ask questions – that was rule one, established ages ago. Work was work, and neither of them was going to divulge anything work related.

“Chuuya,” Dazai whined, yawning. He looked like he was about to gather the redhead in his arms. Chuuya side-stepped with ease.

“Shower,” Chuuya snapped. “You’re disgusting and you’re not getting into bed like that. Absolutely not.”

Dazai began to walk away.

“Shoes, you fucking idiot!”

Ah, Dazai had forgotten that. He yawned widely, slipping out of his shoes and leaving them in a messy heap. He’d come back for them later. Chuuya liked neatness, and there were certain things that Dazai didn’t push him on. He waved his hand at them, silently indicating he would get to them, before starting to strip down on the way to the bathroom.

It was after the shower, and after some sleep, that Chuuya shoved him onto the couch, kissed him fiercely and then drew away to grab the coffee he had set in the kitchen. When he returned, he handed Dazai his large blue mug, the one that had the giant, stupid looking fish staring out from it. Grabbing his own mug – one with a banana slug on it.

“It’s a slug for my slug!”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“No! Then Chuuya would have to clean the blood off the bed.”

“I’d just buy a new bed, dumbass.”

“Rude! My Chibi is so rude to me!”

He didn’t know how to put it off anymore. Wordlessly, he handed Dazai the envelope he received from the doctor. He sipped his coffee hurriedly, just to do something, and nearly dropped the mug when he scalded his tongue on the hot liquid.

“What’s this?”

Chuuya took a moment, clearing his throat, before he nodded to it. “Read it… it’s…” He took a deep breath. “It’s the results.”

Dazai immediately dropped his smile, noting the serious air around his partner. He put his mug on the coaster and opened the envelope. It took less than a minute for him to read through everything. Once. Twice. Three times.

The words didn’t change.

The words did not change.

Chuuya was…

Dazai’s eyes blurred at the words on the page – heart failure. It came down to heart failure, due to the aftereffects of Corruption on the body. His chibi was...

No, that couldn’t be right. They hadn’t had enough time yet – this relationship was still so new, budding with new experiences and shared moments between them – the lazy mornings curling up in the bed, Chuuya buried in his arms; the afternoons when they would curl on the couch to read, or watch a movie; the days that Chuuya would cook him crab and yell at him to eat his vegetables.

Morning coffee at the kitchen table or on the couch, their sides pressed together.

The way Chuuya curled his leg around Dazai’s when he wasn’t paying attention, focusing on his work papers, or his phone.

Chuuya lightly smacking the back of his head when he said something especially funny, pretending to be angry, while also hiding a smile at the corner of his lips.

The way Chuuya’s nose scrunched up whenever Dazai said something romantic, but his red ears gave him away that he liked it.  

Two toothbrushes in the little ceramic shark holder on the sink.

He couldn’t concentrate on the fact that that could all be over soon.

Chuuya’s hands were on his face, bringing him up to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere today, or tomorrow, but I…” His voice caught and he looked away, almost embarrassed. He wanted to give Dazai the option, the out.

Dazai frowned, hearing the unspoken words in Chuuya’s cowed body language, the way that he curled in on himself, defensive and small. “I’m not leaving,” Dazai said firmly. 

“It might be easier if you do," Chuuya replied, not looking at him. Even his voice sounded small.

“I am not leaving,” Dazai growled, annoyed at how much Chuuya was shrinking into himself. He had done that too often, too many times – after Corruption, after the first few times they hooked up, after missions, and movie nights. He spent eight years running away from Chuuya. This time, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Dazai felt something catch in his throat. What could he do? Chuuya wasn’t going out in a hail of bullets, or against a monster. There was nothing for him to fight or figure out, nothing that Yosano could cure in a heartbeat with a manic smile. The paper in his hand was damning in its own way, more than a noose, or a firing squad. Chuuya was going to...

Chuuya was going to...

No. He… he wasn’t allowed. Chuuya wasn’t allowed to...

Dazai would figure something out. He would… he would fight whatever deity or illness was trying to take Chuuya away from him.

He’d figure out the semantics on it later, but this could not happen.

Chuuya’s cool fingers brushed his cheek again. “Hey,” he whispered, fitting himself against Dazai’s body as they had done a hundred times before - as partners dragging each other off the battlefield, as friends watching movies or playing video games long into the night, as lovers curling around each other in the chilly mornings.

Dazai looked down at his partner. The smaller man smiled at him.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his head burrowing into Dazai’s shoulder. “I’m here.”

Dazai sucked in a long, deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he dropped the paper and wrapped his arms closely around his slug, his other half, his partner in every sense of the word. HIs forehead dropped onto the redhead's shoulder, and if there were tears, well, no one would have to know. 

Chuuya gripped the back of Dazai’s sweater as tightly as he could, while his other hand reached up and cupped the back of Dazai's head. 

It was hours later when they were curled around each other on the couch. Dazai had refused to go to work - he’d sent a brief text to Kunikida before turning off his phone. Normally, Chuuya would have threatened him, and done everything short of dragging him there himself, but today… today he wanted Dazai here. He wanted to make plans with his partner, and ensure that Dazai would stay alive after…

They had a movie playing on the TV, and they were half-paying attention to it as they cuddled under the dark green and blue striped crocheted blanket.

There was a lull in the movie - they had seen this one half a dozen times anyway - when Chuuya said, “Promise me you’re going to live to be a hundred years old.” His hand was lying over Dazai’s heart, and his fingers curled slightly in Dazai’s shirt. He had opened his mouth and started this conversation several times, but hadn't gotten past one or two words. 

Dazai looked down at the other, eyebrow raised. He didn’t want to talk about this – it would be easier to just ignore it… and what? Wait until Chuuya was… He still couldn’t even think the words properly. Even though Chuuya wasn’t currently doing well. That was the best he could come up with.

The redhead drew away from him until they sat side by side.

“What?” he said instead. He wanted to look away, but Chuuya had captured his attention.

“You’re going to live to be a hundred,” Chuuya repeated insistently. His eyes were shining, and Dazai could see the effort it was taking him to finish his words. “You’re a genius, you can do it.” Each word seemed to solidify what he was saying, almost as though he were becoming more confident and sure in his message as he continued. 

Dazai was gripping the cuffs of his shirt hard enough that he could feel the strain of the threads. “What… if I can’t?”

Chuuya slapped the side of his head, lightly and with an exasperated expression – the same one he used when Dazai hummed his suicide song or demanded nothing but canned crab for three days straight. “You’re going to live to be a hundred,” he said quietly, firmly. The sky was blue, the sea was green, and Chuuya would be damned before he let Dazai die because of him. “And then, after you make it to one hundred, you’re going to find me in the afterlife, and the next life, and you’ll tell me all about it. You’ll tell me who you annoyed and who you loved. You’ll tell me about Kyouka going to college and Ryuu being an idiot. You’ll tell me about all your dumbass do-gooders and let me know what finally killed Mori in the end.” His voice was hoarse, but he pushed through as he continued, “Promise?”

Chuuya held out his fist, pointing it towards Dazai, and there was an earnest expression on his face that Dazai wasn’t used to seeing. The moment stretched – and Chuuya’s bright eyes were boring into his.

Dazai felt his throat close, and his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to respond, to say anything – he still couldn’t imagine a world without Chuuya, couldn’t imagine what life would be without the fiery redhead.

Chuuya waited for him. He didn’t say anything, and didn’t move his fist. The world narrowed to this one moment, this one promise – one that Dazai did not want to give, and did not want to follow through with if he did.

This was a negotiation – he knew it, and Chuuya did too. He couldn’t lie here. It wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t like to Chuuya – he could and did frequently. Usually, Chuuya was aware of it. He knew Chuuya just as much as the other knew him.

Slowly, he unclenched the fingers of his right hand and raised his fist, bumping it against his partner’s. “Promise,” he said quietly, hoarsely, as though it ripped his throat to say the word.

Relief sagged in Chuuya’s shoulders. “We’ll figure something out – you’ve already got-“ Here, Chuuya wrinkled his nose. “-a disgustingly good support group in your band of annoying ass detectives.”

“None are Chuuya,” Dazai grumbled, petulantly.

Chuuya huffed out a laugh. “Of course they aren’t me,” he gave his partner a dazzling grin, though it was shaking a little at the side. “I don’t share.”

That caused Dazai to snort, unwittingly.

“Talk to them tomorrow, but no more of this depressing shit,” Chuuya finally grumbled. “I’m not dead yet, and I’m not going to waste my time being sad about it. For fuck’s sake.”

Dazai felt something unwinding in his chest, something unraveling. Chuuya was still Chuuya, and for right now, Chuuya was here.

The next day, the two of them started “making preparations” and Chuuya still hated that word.

He set up drinks with some of the members of the Black Lizard. He set up a dinner with the Akutagawa siblings. He made sure to reach out to Kouyou and offered an afternoon at an exclusive teahouse. Each of the people in the Port Mafia accepted these invitations. Some of them knew what was happening, but most didn’t. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Chuuya to go out with the men.

It was late afternoon when he received a call from an unknown number. He answered and waited.

“Is this Mr. Fancy Hat?” Ah. It was the irritating detective – the one that was somehow even more of a pain in the ass than Dazai.

“And you’re the annoying little shit detective, aren’t you?”

“Hard to say that I’m little when I’m older than you. But that isn’t why I’m calling.”

“I didn’t think it was.” He waited. Ranpo would get around to it whenever he felt like it.

“Come to the office.”

Chuuya snorted. “Funny, why would I?”

Ranpo blew out an exasperated breath. “You are needed for Dazai.” There was a brief pause and Chuuya could hear a yell in the background. “I don’t want to deal with him anymore.”

Ah. So that was it. Dazai must be in one of his moods. Chuuya frowned. “Fine.” And then hung up.

It didn’t take him long to reach the Armed Detective Agency offices and he curled his lip at the rundown building. He began ascending the steps, wondering exactly what madness Dazai was getting into. When he opened the door to the office, he was taken aback by Dazai sitting quietly at his desk and seemed to be engrossed in paperwork.

Chuuya blinked once. Twice. He didn’t think he had ever seen his partner so diligent with paperwork.

Looking around at the members of the ADA, he could see that they were just as shocked as Chuuya was.  

“Finally!” Ranpo cheered from the other side of the room, spinning around his chair. He had a lollipop in one hand as he hurried over.

Chuuya sighed, suddenly exhausted. “What am I here for?”

Ranpo gestured at Dazai, who hadn’t even looked up once since Chuuya had entered. “That.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “You would think you would want him to do his work.”

“We do, but this is scary,” came a timid voice from behind him. Chuuya turned to see young man with asymmetrical white hair and dual-colored eyes. The tiger, Chuuya vaguely recalled, but couldn’t remember his name. "He's been like that since he got into work. On time." The tiger paused. "We thought he was ill at first."

“So?” the redhead asked. He had wanted to start on his own paperwork today after updating the necessary people and having a far too long meeting with Mori about what his duties were going to be for the time being – they would meet again in one month to discuss again.  

“Fix him!” Ranpo insisted, bringing the redhead back to the present. He stared at Chuuya suspiciously for a moment, pulling out a set of square glasses and with a flourish, placed them on. He narrowed his bright eyes in a way that made Chuuya shift uncomfortably. After only a few seconds under this intense, scrutinizing look, the detective’s face and shoulders fell. “Oh. I see.” He sounded defeated. 

Chuuya could feel a blush crawling up the back of his neck. He knew that Dazai waxed poetic about Ranpo’s intelligence, but could he really tell from one glance?

Without another word, Ranpo disappeared, sidling past Atsushi and heading down the hallway. Chuuya watched him enter an office at the end of the hall – possibly Fukuzawa’s? He had only been in the offices twice and didn’t know the layout.

Atsushi looked at him. “Do you know what he meant?”

Chuuya gave a heavy sigh, suddenly feeling very old, and very tired. “I do, kid,” he answered, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he walked over to Dazai’s desk, dragging a nearby chair over and plopping down next to his partner.

Dazai’s eyes flicked to him and then back to his computer.

Chuuya leaned in and whispered, “Are you possessed?”

Dazai filled in one of the reports quickly and saved it. “No,” he replied. “I’m preparing.”

Chuuya leaned back. “For what?”

Another report quickly typed up. Chuuya didn’t even try to read them – he respected rule number one.

“Vacation.”

Chuuya blinked. “What vacation?”

“Ours.”

This was the first time that Chuuya had heard of this, but Dazai was in one of his short answer moods, so he wouldn’t divulge until he wanted to.

Chuuya pulled out his phone, checking through his own emails. There was one from Kouyou – she would be fine for the teahouse next Thursday if he was free. He sent a quick reply confirming it. There were reports for him to go over, but he didn’t focus on those – those were much better handled on the computer, anyway. They never loaded properly on his phone.

They hadn’t been sitting for long when Dazai slammed his laptop shut with gusto. “Done!” he announced and then stood. He looked at Chuuya and nodded. “Wait here.”

He disappeared down the hallway, the same direction Ranpo had gone.

Chuuya shrugged and went back to the game on his phone. He was used to dealing with Dazai.

Kunikida gave him a look from where he was working on his own computer. Chuuya ignored him. He wasn’t even going to pretend to explain Dazai’s insanity to the blond.

Kunikida should know by now anyway.

Chuuya felt his stomach grumble. Dazai and Ranpo had been in that office for over an hour, and Chuuya was wondering what he really was doing here. The other members of the ADA kept giving him glances, especially as he became more agitated with impatience. His skin was beginning to crawl the more they looked at him.

The young blond kid kept giving him the biggest smile, and honestly, Chuuya thought that was the creepiest one. Not that he thought the kid was scary, but who did that to an enemy combatant? He swore he could see flowers behind that smile.

Finally, he could wait no longer. He’d just pop into the café below the building. Dazai could find him there – or at home. There was no reason for him to be here.

He was walking down the first few stairs when Dazai called out to him, rushing over.

“Took you long enough, mackerel,” Chuuya snapped.

“Awww, is chibi’s blood sugar low? You should take care of that, or you won’t grow.”

Chuuya turned around, fisting Dazai’s shirt and dragging him forward. “Who’s fucking fault is that?” he growled.

Dazai looked unperturbed, even as he had to grab onto the wall for balance, but he was smiling and this felt normal. Chuuya released him. “Let’s go grab something good to eat.”

“Crab?”

“Absolutely not.”

The two ended up at a small café, where Chuuya could assure himself that Dazai would eat something even if it wasn’t a full meal. He understood. Sometimes hunger didn’t happen – and that was often the case with Dazai, but regardless, they had a deal – one thing on the menu, no matter how small. It could be an appetizer, a side dish, or a croissant. Chuuya didn’t care so long as he ate something.

“What vacation?” Chuuya asked after they were seated.

Dazai smiled at him as he looked over the menu. He didn't answer, opting to hum instead. 

“Dazai.” There was an edge to Chuuya’s voice now. “What vacation?”

The brunette chuckled. “Well… I made a deal with Ranpo and the President,” he began. “From now until…” His happy-go-lucky voice faltered for a moment. “Until further notice, I’m going to be a consultant! So that I can take care of my chibi hatrack!”

Chuuya was taken aback. He had not expected this from his partner, but something said that perhaps he should have. Dazai was clingy, even though he didn’t know how to show it. Chuuya would know.

“All right.”

“We should go somewhere,” Dazai said after they had gotten their food.

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, thinking about this. He’d love to see France again – had always enjoyed visiting, for work and pleasure. He also had loved Italy, even if that was specifically work related and he’d only manage to cram one afternoon of sightseeing into that trip.

The redhead leaned forward, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve got a few things planned over the next two weeks with some friends, but… yeah.”

Since learning about his condition, Chuuya felt that maybe, they were taking a step in the right direction.

“What would you do if you knew you were going to die?”

Chuuya had laughed and slung an arm around Tachihara’s shoulders.

“Whatever the fuck I want.”

After they started, the days progressed slowly. Chuuya hadn’t felt terribly bad at first – sometimes he’d get chest pains while walking for too long, and he noticed he was starting to cough heavily, and though his cough wasn’t nearly as bad as Akutagawa’s, it was steadily getting worse. Chuuya had tried to hide it at first, but Dazai was a genius, even if he was an infuriating one. Cups of tea and throat medication appeared by his elbow whenever he was trying to hide that he wanted to hack. 

The two were on the couch one late afternoon. Chuuya was reading a book, Dazai was pretending to. He kept adjusting his position, and he had started to chew on the side of his thumbnail. He hadn't turned the page to his book in nearly ten minutes when Chuuya had had enough waiting. 

Chuuya set his book down, and glared at the other man. “Out with it,” he snapped.

Dazai looked up at him, mildly startled.

Chuuya’s scowl deepened.

“I was just thinking… what if you hadn’t used Corruption as much, would this have...?” Dazai began.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, understanding where the other was coming from. It isn’t like he hadn’t thought that, but he had also dismissed it as illogical. Dazai would as well, once he got his emotions under control. "I could have been shot instead,” he said dryly in response. It was the third time this week that Dazai had brought this up – though not quite this plainly, and frankly, Chuuya was going to scream if they had to play this circular argument again. It didn't matter the what ifs. What happened, happened and now they were dealing with it. 

“But I could have-”

“What, come up with something different against a giant squid monster and a fucking dragon?” Chuuya deadpanned.  

Dazai felt the fight leave him. “Fine, those were good plans.”

“Exactly. Now, shut up about it. This isn’t your fault and I’m tired of hearing about it!”

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“I’m gonna fucking destroy you in MarioKart.”

“Like you could, hatrack.”

A month later, and Chuuya was coughing blood. He had tried to make sure that everything was as normal as possible for as long as possible, but his symptoms – which before had just been a light cough and momentary weakness had progressed to swelling in his legs and long, drawn out, bloody coughs.

It didn’t help that he had a discussion with Mori that morning.

“Boss, it’s fine… I can still-”

“No, you’re useless to the organization like this,” Mori had said. He wasn’t being harsh, or untruthful, and Chuuya wished he had been. He could never bring himself to hate Boss, not like Dazai did. He didn’t even know half of why Dazai hated Mori, but Mori was firmly under rule number one - no work talk - in their discussions and neither brought him up unless necessary.

Chuuya choked back whatever he could say in defense of that.

Mori sighed. “Chuuya,” he said. Elise was perched at his side, in a lovely blue dress that Chuuya had helped pick out for her.

“Yes, Boss?” He snapped to attention, ignoring the brief flare of pain across his shoulderblades. 

The older man sighed, and there was a touch of something in his eyes, though Chuuya couldn’t tell what it was. It could be discomfort, or regret, or even boredom. Mori always kept his emotions close to his chest, behind that cheshire smile. “Chuuya,” he repeated. “I am… unofficially… releasing you from your duties. To the organization, you will still be an Executive, and you will still be the leader of the Black Lizard. However, I am placing you on leave to…” His voice trailed off.

Die. Chuuya nearly flinched.

Mori steepled his fingers as he leaned forward on his desk. “You have been loyal to the organization for the past eight years,” Mori continued. “Allow us to commend that loyalty. You are… unofficially… retired, Chuuya.” There was a brief pause. “Thank you for your service.”

Chuuya was still reeling from the conversation. He was given the freedom to die in the way that suited him – though he was still wondering if going on one last mission and going out in a hail of bullets before the illness got him would be better.

It would certainly be quicker.

He entered the apartment. Dazai was lounging on the couch, his hands tapping out the beat to a song in his head. Chuuya took a moment to just enjoy the sight of his partner, completely at ease in their apartment. The conversation from earlier was both a weight and a balloon around his shoulders.

Dazai’s eyes snapped to him when he didn’t move into the apartment, smiling.

“Welcome home, chibi.”

"I’m home, shitty Dazai.”

There were good days that followed –

Chuuya and Dazai walking along the harbor park, not quite in Port Mafia territory, but not too far away from it. They had bought some crepes from a truck in the middle of the park that Dazai had heard about from Atsushi and Kyouka. Dazai had tried to put his crepe in Chuuya’s hair and Chuuya had slammed his foot so hard into Dazai’s side that the taller man flew over the railing into the harbor. “Bad dog!” the man had sputtered, treading water. The crepe was lost to the sea. 

Chuuya gave him a vicious grin. “I’m just sending the mackerel bastard home.”

--

Dazai surprising Chuuya with a trip to France for his twenty third birthday. The two spent two weeks causing havoc and running from the French Police – Chuuya because he was a wanted criminal in conjecture with a few unsolved cases, and Dazai due to his inability to follow any sort of pedestrian laws, or laws in general.

After thoroughly pissing off four French officers, the partners had taken refuge in the Lourve, slipping in through a side entrance with the help of Dazai's smiles and Chuuya's gravity - all of which led to a small heist of a ring from the mid-1600s while they were bored and waiting for the police to give up.

Hiding in the wing that had early Renaissance paintings, Chuuya slipped it onto Dazai’s finger, whispering, “Marry me, asshole. When we get back to Japan.”

Dazai stared at the gaudy gold ring inlaid with three diamonds around a garnet the size of a marble. Happiness bubbling inside him, more than he had ever known, and he nodded, not caring as they heard the police around the corner. “We’re buying a better ring though. This one sucks.”

--

The two of them ring shopping in early July, finally deciding on matching silver bands, with two black lines through the circumference – double black.

They hadn’t waited for an appointment at the court. They hadn’t needed to. Dazai called in a favor from Ango and the two were married in the morning and spent the rest of the day celebrating quietly – and not so quietly – between themselves.

Not a single friend was there to witness the wedding, though group texts were sent before phones were turned off. They spent a week in Osaka for their last minute honeymoon, though they didn't sightsee often, preferring to thoroughly enjoy each other's company. 

- and there were bad days -

Chuuya coughing blood so violently that Dazai had called a physician to come to their place. The physician prescribed some medicine to ease the pain, but it was clear by what he hadn’t said that Chuuya’s condition was deteriorating.

Chuuya spent most of that day in bed, with Dazai curled around him. Dazai’s fingertips lay over Chuuya’s pulse, counting the beats with each second that passed, watching their rings shine in the soft light from the window.

--

There was one morning that Chuuya had gripped Dazai’s hand so tightly, Dazai could feel the tremors running through the other’s weakened body. He could tell that every little movement made by his husband was giving him pain - from the slightly movement of his head, to trying to shift to find a more comfortable spot. There wasn't anything that Dazai could do. He sat by Chuuya's bed, mopping sweat from his brow and held his hand tightly, wishing for Chuuya's fever to break and he would be able to sleep. 

“Promise me, Dazai,” he had whispered, eyes hazy with both panic and sickness. “Promise me they won’t get my body. You have to… have to burn it or destroy it, or something. Promise me.”

Dazai’s breath left him in a sudden whoosh. It took a moment before he gripped Chuuya’s hand back, just as tightly. He brought them up to his mouth and kissed Chuuya’s fingers. “I promise, Chuuya,” and the redhead was taken aback, not just by the fierceness in his voice, but the use of his given name. They rarely used their names, having a plethora of fond insults to describe and refer to each as.

Still, his panic ebbed as he stared into those glinting amber eyes. He wouldn’t have to worry about the government or any random organization taking his body and studying it. Let the experiments that created him also die with him.  

- and then there was…

The morning was cool, the smell of the sea was intoxicating in the air. It had been six months since Chuuya’s official diagnosis, and Chuuya knew that their cozy life of adventure and quiet afternoons would soon come to an end. His legs were swelling every day, and he could barely breathe without wheezing and chest pains. He still insisted on their morning walks, where they would hold their hands in the fog that drifted in from the harbor. Chuuya would point out people they saw, and Dazai would come up with stories and tales about their lives. Some of them were probably true, knowing Dazai’s ability to read people.

They hadn’t been able to do the full circuit in nearly a month – they used to walk roughly two kilometers every morning, and now they were down to less than one.

Each step brought pain, and Chuuya was blinking spots from his vision. “Lady in pink,” he wheezed out, nodding towards a woman that was looking in a shop window.

Dazai stopped them so he could get a better look. “She’s thinking about buying a cat for her sister,” he finally said. “She’s worried about work, but she’s worried more about her sister. She’ll be traveling soon.”

“Ah, makes sense. What about him?”

Dazai looked at a tall man with unbelievably long arms and legs and nodded. “He’s thinking about taking up stage acting or being a janitor. Oooh, maybe a chimney sweep. He’d be able to reach the whole chimney.”

Chuuya chucked and they continued.

The sun was peaking over the harbor when they took a seat along the edge. Chuuya leaned into Dazai’s shoulder, letting the other wrap his arm around him. The morning was chilly – autumn had just begun, and the leaves around them had begun to turn. There was a brisk breeze, but nothing too bad as they watched the ships leave for… whatever far off destinations they had.

Chuuya’s hand was wrapped firmly around Dazai’s, and he was struggling to breathe. Dazai looked at him, worry plain on his face.

Chuuya gave him a half-hearted glare. “Ah, don’t give me that look,” he snapped, though there wasn’t any heat in it. “We knew this was coming.” He didn’t know how, but he knew. Maybe it was the monster half of him that knew.

I wanted more time, his mind screamed. But there never was enough, was there?

“Chuuya?”

“Dazai… you’ll be alright, won’t you?” Lie to me, tell me the truth, tell me anything so that I can go and not worry about you.

There was a blank look on Dazai’s face – the kind that had first had Chuuya comparing him to a dead fish at a marketplace when they were sixteen.

Chuuya’s head was still against Dazai’s shoulder, but he was looking up at the younger man. He waited.

With a sigh that Chuuya could feel through his entire body, Dazai laid his head on Chuuya’s and said, “I’ll make it to on hundred. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Don’t you… forget it.”

Dazai’s throat closed. He placed a kiss to the top of Chuuya’s head and brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “I’ll see you again, my chibi,” he whispered, leaning down and capturing Chuuya’s lips in a kiss. It tasted salty, and he wasn’t sure if it was because his throat was clogged, or if it was due to the tears that had begun to fall. His voice was hoarse when he continued, “Make sure it’s not boring, my chibi husband?”

I’ll miss you, I’ll meet you there, wait for me. The words went unsaid, but both could hear them as loudly as if they had been shouted.  

“You got it, shitty husband.” I’m sorry, I have to leave first, I never wanted to.

I love you.

It was a bright morning, down by the harbor when Chuuya left Dazai, the two curled up on the bench they always sat at, where they could see the ships go, wondering where they were going to.

Dazai had done as he promised and burned Chuuya’s body himself, holding his hand until he could no longer. He stood by the ashes, letting the wind take them and scatter them to all of the places that his husband loved to go. He lost track of the amount of time he sat next to the scorched remains of the pyre he had built, a few kilometers outside the city. Long enough that the cold night had fallen. It had only been twelve hours since his husband had gone, and he could already feel his resolve crumbling as he began the long way back. 

The apartment still smelled of Chuuya, still rang with his laughter.

When he returned home, he had sent out two texts.

To Kouyou: He’s gone.

To Fukuzawa: I will be back at work on Monday.  

Dazai lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, and for the first time since he was fifteen, he hated Chuuya. He hated him with a passion that was fierce, and burning like an inferno.

How dare Chuuya make him promise years? How dare the redhead leave him alone?

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He hadn’t cried – not since he sat with his partner and watched the final light fade away, felt that final puff of breath on the side of his neck. He hadn’t cried. Something told him maybe he should – maybe he should cry.

He didn’t though.

He stared at the ceiling, his fist clenched around his husband’s wedding ring, feeling the edges digging into his palm. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to die.

But he had promised. Chuuya might not talk to him if he didn’t at least try before they met again.

Days had passed since he had given Kouyou the news, and though she had tried several times to reach out to him, all her texts went unanswered. Her latest text was just a picture: a tally mark on a black stone. Anger flared in Dazai when he saw the picture and he had thrown the phone across the room, not looking at it while he curled up on the couch, watching the afternoon light fade over the floorboards. 

It was well past midnight when Dazai stood by himself at the foundation stone, looking at the latest tally mark. There were flowers of all sorts in front of him, and little notes that would fade in the sun, or be ripped away by the wind, a bottle of red wine, and an empty teacup. Dazai felt the lump in his throat as he looked at all the bits and pieces that people in the organization had left his partner. Chuuya was well-known, and well loved. Dazai knew that.

Just like he had for Oda, there would a gravestone for Chuuya at the cemetery – or would be, once it was completed. Though the mafia didn’t care to take care of remembering their own, Dazai would. For these two, Dazai would remember. The cenotaph was to be completed by the following week, and Dazai wanted it near Oda’s – so he could visit both as frequently as he needed to.

He squatted down and poured a bottle of red wine. He took in a shaky breath as he set the empty bottle next to all the other offerings.

He rubbed the back of his head, staring at the innumerable tallies. One day, this stone would be filled, and there would be nothing left. Perhaps by then, Port Mafia would be dismantled, and no one would know what this stone meant to any that had worked there.

There was a kiss of wind on his cheek, the feeling of fingers carding through his hair and Dazai let out a small huff, almost a laugh - the closest he had come since that fatal day two weeks prior.

“Seventy-seven years, chibi,” Dazai whispered, brushing his fingers against Chuuya’s mark before standing. This would be the only time that he would be here, he promised. “I’ll meet you there.”

The wind picked up again as Dazai turned away and headed off, folding his arms behind his head. He still had work to do.

Epilogue

Dazai opened his eyes, surprised by the brightness and the faint waft of decay on the wind. He looked around, spinning more than once as he realized he was in Suribachi City. It had been over half a century since he had last been here, so he was mildly confused about waking up here.

Especially in the middle of the street.

And standing up.

And being young again, if the reflection in the broken glass of a nearby window could be believed. His white hair, wrinkles, and tired eyes were replaced by what he remembered he looked like at twenty-two, or what he would have looked like if he had taken care of himself. No bandages, no scars, just… him.

A bright, ringing laughter chimed in the air, echoing down the street. Before Dazai could do anything, he felt his body thrown backward by the force of what felt like a kick to his spine. He fell, rolling forward far more than he meant to, ending up in a heap by a low stone wall. 

This was familiar, but his mind was still fuzzy, still trying to process it. He rolled over onto his back, swearing, even though he could not feel any pain.

The sun above him was blinding in the cloudless, brilliant blue sky. A shadow shifted, blocking the sun and Dazai squinted, and his entire body froze. This was hope. This was cruel.

He knew that silhouette.

Chuuya was laughing above him, holding out a hand. Dazai could see their wedding band glinting on it. Chuya looked exactly as he did at twenty-two, but healthy, as he did before the illness started wasting away his muscles, causing the swelling in his legs and the ever-constant wheezing. He looked healthy and complete.

“Chibi?” Dazai croaked, barely breathing.

Chuuya’s smile was just as sharp and brilliant as it was in Dazai’s memory. Even as the brunette had become gray, and old, and wrinkled, he had held that smile in his heart, carved there where it could never be forgotten. He let himself be pulled up. It was less than a second that he was gripping Chuuya’s shoulders tightly, hands roving down his arms, grasping, and checking and hoping. Oh god, he was hoping.

“Oy, not so rough,” Chuuya snapped as Dazai pinched the smaller man’s wrist. The redhead reached up and smacked him lightly, wearing that indulgent look of can you see how insufferable you are. It made Dazai’s chest tighten.

This… couldn’t be real.

Dazai cleared his throat. “Am I…?” Dreaming? Dead? Hallucinating? What was the answer he wanted?

Chuuya leaned forward without answering, grabbing his face and kissing him, the tips of his fingers curling in Dazai’s hair. It took less than a second of his brain short-circuiting before Dazai was kissing back just as fiercely, his arms wrapping around the slim waist and pulling Chuuya flush against him.

Chuuya pulled back, a light blush on his cheeks, and Dazai was content just to rest his head against Chuuya’s, their forehead’s touching as he stared into those summer-blue eyes.

“You’re dead,” Chuuya explained after a moment. “It’s been a while, mackerel.”

Dazai inhaled sharply – and this whole experience just got stranger. “And Suribachi City? Is this hell?”

Chuuya shook his head, drawing back, but he hadn’t stopped smiling and Dazai found he was smiling as well. “Nothing like that,” the redhead said. “Just thought it would be a fitting place to greet you. Meeting you again.”

Dazai's breath caught, and his chest constricted as memories assailed him, some that were near forgotten. 

“I didn’t ask, you little shit. I’m fifteen. I’m still growing.”

“Heh… Then I’ll put a little curse on you. I, being fifteen as well, will continue to grow while you’ll stay the same height.

“Yep, you’re still a piece of shit. Your plan better not fail and get us both killed, or I’m gonna kill you, Dazai.”

“I’m fine with that. Now, let’s do this, Chuuya.”

“The Dazai wouldn’t have been captured out of bad luck or carelessness. If you were that incompetent, I would have killed you long ago.”

“It’s a reunion long in the making. A surprise of this caliber is only fair.”

"Did you use Corruption because you believed in me? You’re gonna make me cry…"

"Yeah, I trusted you were too damn crafty and far too stubborn to just die." 

"So this is how you wake Snow White? Kinda violent, don’t you think?"

"Hey you're the one that antidote in yet mouth knowin' you were gonna get punched in the face." 

“You’re stuck with me now, my short and angry husband.”

“Ah, my dumbass husband, nothing makes me want to vomit more.”

Chuuya looked at him so exasperated, and so fondly, that Dazai wondered briefly if he, too, saw the brief flashes of their lives to this point. He opened his mouth to make a joke when Chuuya kissed him again softly, before whispering, “Thank you” against his lips. Dazai had made it to 100 – near three weeks prior to waking up here.

Dazai made a face, pulling back so that he could continue looking at his partner, memorizing him anew. “Don’t do that, it’s creepy,” he said blankly, looking absolutely horrified.  

Chuuya raised one eyebrow, the sneer Dazai loved slotting into place on his face. “Alright, you tacky bastard-”

Dazai’s hands tightened on Chuuya’s waist. “Better! Now I don’t think you’re possessed.”

“Really hard to be possessed when I’m the dead one, asshole.”

“According to you, we’re both dead.”

“Yeah, but I have practice at it. You’ve been dead five minutes.”

“Is this eternity then? Getting bullied by you.”

Chuuya laughed again, cutting off the argument. Dazai marveled at being able to hear Chuuya sound so light and knew that he would do everything he could to keep the smaller man laughing.

“I guess it is,” his chibi agreed with his signature jaunty grin. “Complaining?”

Chuuya held out his hand and Dazai grabbed it, greedy for any contact, to make sure that this was real.

Dazai huffed, looking down at Chuuya out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, yes I am!” he whined, hanging off his partner. “I have seventy-seven years of complaining because of you. This is your fault, so you have to keep me company forever and listen to it all!”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Sure, dumbass. I’ll listen to you bitch about your very long life.”

“Good! First thing’s first-" And he kissed Chuuya again. "Now, Atsushi and Akutagawa-”

Chuuya grinned, squeezing his partner’s hand and led him away, listening to the news from all those he knew and didn’t know as the facsimile of Suribachi City blurred and faded around them as they continued walking in step together.

Fin.