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Dazai looked at him as he closed his eyes for the last time, still trying to process his friend’s final words. He had been more like a father figure to him—one of the few people who truly understood him, or maybe the only one. No one wants their loved ones to die, especially not in their arms. Dazai knew death better than anyone else in that organization. Death followed him everywhere he went—but never too close, and never offering him the eternal sleep he had long desired—and still desired.
He only knew one thing: he had to honor the last wish of a friend, expressed on his deathbed. Obviously, the first step in starting this new chapter of his life was to disappear. In the Port Mafia, he wouldn’t have been able to save people or help orphans. The only thing he could do was disappear—and make everyone believe he had finally achieved his wish.
Odasaku was still lying before him, lifeless and cold, but still in his arms. Sweat dripped from Dazai’s forehead, his eyes—both now exposed—stinging. The bodies of his men, who had come earlier in the battle to help Oda, now surrounded them. Ango was gone, his cover blown, and for all Dazai cared, he could fall off a cliff. He had no one to return to now, and their usual spot at the bar would remain empty.
A person crossed his mind, but he wasn’t too sure. Nakahara Chuuya—his partner in crime for the past three years, the first person who made Dazai choose to live over dying.
Without even noticing, Dazai was already on his way to his Chibi’s house. By now, he was used to walking through that neighborhood—he knew it like the back of his hand—thanks to all the nights he spent at his partner’s. Any excuse was good enough to annoy the little slug. Considering the fact that he literally lived in a shipping container, there were issues. Like—it could flood during a storm.
The (ex-)executive arrived in front of the door and, looking at the intercom, he could only read the name of the person who lived rent-free in his head. He couldn’t move anymore, wondering if he was doing the right thing. His body was frozen in place, but his thoughts were clearer than ever—even if he didn’t believe it himself. He needed to know.
Without realizing it, he found himself ringing the bell three times. As soon as the door opened, his red eyes met the heterochromatic gaze of his partner, full of annoyance—like he was ready to scream his throat out. But one glance at Dazai was enough to stop him and make him wonder if it was necessary right now. Chuuya looked at the strange expression on the Mackerel’s face—a look he had never seen before. Many questions crossed his mind, but he knew better than to ask.
The ginger stepped aside, signaling for him to enter. The brunette walked in and stood in the center of the room. He wanted to speak—he even opened his mouth—but no sound came out. The shorter one closed the door and turned toward him, only to see the younger man’s back. He crossed his arms, waiting for the shitty bastard to start talking. But instead, Dazai turned around and met his Chibi’s eyes.
His eyes said everything. They didn’t need to speak—one look was enough to carry an entire conversation. The way his gaze looked more tired and empty than usual—not to mention the redness and swelling. Chuuya never thought he’d see the Mackerel so fragile and desperate. Something—something big—had happened. He didn’t ask, but he took Dazai’s hand instead, leading him to the sofa.
Something happened that hadn’t happened since they were sixteen: they hugged. Dazai rested his forehead on Chuuya’s chest, while Chuuya rested his chin on the Mackerel’s head. Chuuya could only guess. He’d heard something about the new organization in Yokohama. He’d also heard that its leader had taken an interest in one of the Port Mafia members. Honestly, he was smarter than people gave him credit for—maybe not Dazai-level smart, but he could connect the dots.
A few days ago, Dazai had shown up at his door around four in the morning—completely drunk. Of course, his dog let him in, and while Chuuya was trying to figure out what to do with him, the taller one started complaining about a bad premonition regarding the whole thing with Mimic.
They stayed like that for quite a while. Chuuya knew what it felt like to lose someone you love. Chuuya also knew there was something between him and Dazai—they both knew. They just didn’t say it out loud. There was something connecting them. Dazai had always had feelings for Chuuya, and only with the help of Odasaku and Ango, during one of their evenings at the bar, was he able to understand why he felt strange sensations in his stomach when Chuuya was laughing, or when he had that victorious smile of his during missions or just when they were together and playing at the arcade. Chuuya realized this later, when it was almost his seventeenth birthday, obviously after an evening spent outdoors stargazing and an intense conversation with Ane-san. However, in their line of work, there was no room for friendship, let alone something that had to do with romance. Their loved ones could disappear at any moment—just as had happened to Dazai that night, and just as it had happened to Chuuya two years before.
The main thing was that they could feel it—something binding them together. They would never speak of it openly. They were content with living in the moment, not worrying about the future—especially because it would have brought too much discomfort to the two boys—
Dazai’s cheeks were streaked with silent, bitter tears—for the second time. He opened his lips slightly and found the strength to speak. His voice was low, different from his usual annoying tone, and his forehead still rested on the shorter one’s chest.
«I'm leaving. I'm leaving the Port.»
His tone was calm, but Chuuya—his loyal dog—knew. He could detect a hint of fear in that statement. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though. Maybe because the Mackerel didn’t know where to start fresh?
Chuuya remained silent at first—he had no words. He closed his eyes, just to think what to say. He couldn’t be serious—he was the one who recruited him into the Mafia. He couldn’t abandon him. He wouldn’t tolerate being left alone. Not again—goddamnit.
«What—what happened?»
In the end, Chuuya let that question slip out of his mouth. He wanted to know what had happened for him to make that decision. He could think of a thing—or two—but he needed to hear it from his partner.
«He... The kids... Mori... Odasaku...»
He couldn't—he couldn’t continue. It was too much, even for him, the infamous Demon Prodigy—a title he bore with pride, a title that made anyone who heard it tremble, a respected title. Killing someone else’s loved one was one thing, but watching his loved one die in his arms was something devastating, even for someone as inhuman as him. Especially when that person was the only one who understood you deeply.
«Calm down, Mackerel. Take a deep breath, then start to tell me all the stuff that happened.»
He said it with the most worried look and the sweetest, calmest tone he could manage. Having never seen him in this condition, he didn’t know how to behave—leading him to say almost nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Dazai began to tell everything that had happened—from the explosion of the children to Odasaku’s last words.
When the brunette stopped talking, Chuuya had no words. But the only thing he was sure of was that he felt a strong urge to throw up—it was kind of a flashback for him. The mere thought of Oda having to watch his children get blown up reminded him of the day he stood before the lifeless bodies of his friends just two years ago. He knew too well the sensations that Osamu was feeling at that moment—because he had felt them too. He was sure, however, that for his partner, it was all new.
Dazai raised his head to look Chuuya in the eyes—he could see the disgust and sadness in his gaze, maybe even pity.
«Osamu,»
He started, his eyes looking into those red ones he so often thought about.
«Let it all out. I'm not gonna judge ya, because I know the feeling.»
Those silent tears intensified. His eyes seemed more empty and full of emotion at the same time—different from the eyes he sees on a mission, more like those of a boy his age whose close relative had just passed on.
Endless minutes passed. Dazai’s fists were clenched, so much so that his knuckles turned white. Chuuya brought his hand to the younger boy’s cheek and, with his thumb, wiped away the tears that were falling like rain.
«Do you—do you want to go out and take some fresh air?»
He asked, not sure what to suggest either. Maybe a couple of breaths of air would help calm him down. Dazai simply nodded, without saying a word.
It was dark outside now—they had obviously lost track of time. It was around 9 p.m., and the only lights that could be seen were the streetlamps that illuminated the road visible from the living room window of Chuuya’s house. They stepped outside and found themselves hand in hand, like two children ready to go to the park together. The park. No one knew it, except the two of them, but when they had their little night walks because they had nothing to do, they went to a small abandoned park. It had become their place when they wanted to talk about more serious stuff. There was no need for words, gestures, or glances. They already knew everything.
They began to walk, still hand in hand. This place of theirs was about a fifteen-minute walk from the ginger’s house.
It was all so quiet. The sky was cloudy, and the moon could barely be seen. Dazai had his face slightly raised toward the sky, his mind elsewhere.
«I feel judged.»
Said the taller one, still with that expression lost in his thoughts.
Chuuya obviously didn’t understand—he was the last person who could judge him in any way at that moment.
«Who is judging you?»
He asked with a raised eyebrow, turning his face toward the Mackerel.
«The clouds, of course...!»
He said it as if it were the most obvious and natural thing in the world, and Chuuya just stared at him for a few seconds before chuckling slightly at that statement. Dazai, however, did not fully understand why Chuuya started laughing.
It was a somewhat cloudy evening, and the moon's rays were barely visible, the only thing that provided light were the city street lamps.
«Then let them. It won’t hurt you.»
With that answer, silence fell. Dazai didn’t know how to respond—he was taken by surprise. Chuuya didn’t usually respond so lightheartedly to his jokes. In fact, he was always quite grumpy. But that night was different.
The tension was high between them. The air seemed heavy and hot, even though there was a light breeze that evening. In these situations—both—either drank or smoked so that the tension they felt would go down a bit with the help of either nicotine or alcohol.
Chuuya looked in the pocket of the jacket he had quickly put on before going out so as not to catch a cold and found his pack of cigarettes and, obviously, the lighter he had stolen from Osamu a while ago. He took it and looked at how many cigarettes were left before he had to buy a new pack.
Three cigarettes—one for him, one to offer, and one to share. So he would have his dose of nicotine for that day too—and who knows, maybe it would do the younger one some good after all that had happened.
«You never got your lighter back...»
He began, a small pause to turn his head toward him again.
«...Do you want one?»
It wasn’t often that his dog offered him something—most of the time, he took it without asking. He just nodded, still feeling like he couldn’t say a word, then took it, waiting for Chuuya to light it for him.
They arrived at the park half a cigarette later. Of course, Dazai immediately went to sit on the swing—his favorite game since he could remember. For him, it was never too late to play on that swing. He liked the breeze that cooled his face when he swung. It gave him a sense of peace that was different from many other things.
«It wouldn’t be bad to hang myself here using the chains of the swing.»
It was natural for him to make jokes like that, and the ginger was used to it. If he had to confess, though, he had been unsure for a while whether his partner was joking or if he was serious. That moment can also be taken as an example, but something screamed at him that he wasn’t joking—and that if one day he found him hanging lifeless, he shouldn’t be that surprised. Dazai had shown signs of mental instability several times, attempting suicide ever since Chuuya had known him, but no one had ever done anything to prevent it. Dazai had tried all the existing methods—even the ones no one would have thought of—and yet, for a reason he himself could not explain, he had never managed to follow through. Not because he didn’t want to—on the contrary, he put his heart and soul into the methods he tried—but it seemed as if there was a supernatural force that wanted him still alive and well in that world where everyone lived the so-called life.
The slug didn’t know what to answer. He just looked at him while he swung slightly on the swing, and then sat down on the swing next to him.
«Why not do something other than suicide?»
Chuuya was the first to throw his cigarette butt on the ground—Dazai made the same gesture not too long after.
«Like what? You and I getting married? Come on! Don't be the usual slug who doesn't understand anything»
He said rolling his eyes to the sky.
«Well, we could do that, but you take my last name.»
The shorter one said with a shrug, with a playfull smirk on his lips. In everyday life he wouldn't have said that, but right now he needed Dazai to think about something completely different, and an answer like that sent him into a tailspin. He could tell by the intense blush that suddenly appeared on the brunette's almost pale cheeks, and by the fact that he immediately turned his back on him. That expression too was new to Chuuya.
«We are not even dating, and I would never marry a dog-.»
«Stop with your nonsense»
Chuuya immediately replied, exhausted by the bullshit his partner was saying.
There it is, there it is! Dazai's lips curved into a small smile. Chuuya gave himself a point for completing a bit of his mission.
«I should think about this proposal of yours first, even though I never expected that my dog would seriously want to spend his life with his owner by signing the marriage contract.»
Dazai's small smile became a smirk in no-time.
«For the last time! I'm not your damn dog!»
Said the redhead, now with an annoyed face and tone.
«Do you prefer 'slug'?»
«Neither. But I think your brain is smaller than a mackerel's to understand it, shitty Dazai.»
«Do not bark at your owner, bad dog! Bad dog!»
Chuuya's nerves were on edge, but he was doing everything he could to avoid punching him right in the face.
«Maybe a little alcohol will do you good.»
The ginger said, rolling his eyes with the tick that had come to his eyes that he had gotten because of the bullshit that mackerel said, and that every time made him go mad.
Nearby there was a small bar, with a Japanese style that dates back to the fashion of the 1930s, little known and consequently not very busy. They went to that place after a mission or simply to have fun together—which didn't happen as rarely as they made people think. They could almost be called regular customers—they were friends with the owner(he obviously wondered why two young guys were already going to bars and drink at that age, but that's was before he found out, from other sources, that they were part of the Port Mafia, so he never dared to ask questions).
Dazai thought for a few seconds, still swinging on the swing. He was not totally wrong, though. Without giving an answer he got off the swing still in motion with a leap to land perfectly balanced and head towards the bar.
«At least wait for me, shit head!»
Chuuya cursed under his breath without being heard as he reached Dazai.
As soon as they entered the doors of the place they were immediately welcomed by the owner, who had positioned himself near the door to welcome the customers himself.
«I see you're back!»
The owner said with a light and welcoming smile—a man in his fifties, with the first white hairs and a black moustache with silver stripes.
«You missed us, didn't you? Today we only want the strongest alcohol you have.»
The brunette said with one of his usual faux smiles, before heading towards their usual table.
Chuuya stayed behind him, not following right away like the good slug he is.
« Don't mind it. He just needs to forget about everything for a night with some strong drinks.»
He told the owner before joining his mackerel at the table.
Sweet jazz music echoed in the room, light, almost a whisper to the ears of Yokohama's most feared duo.
Not even a few minutes later, drinks started arriving— fine red wine for the eldest and whisky for the youngest.
Dazai finished his glass in three sips, while Chuuya was more of a tasting type— he too finished his glass in small sips.
The night had become young—Chuuya had gone after only five glasses of wine, while Dazai had always been the slightly more enduring one (he wasn't in the best condition either).
They asked for the bill, left a tip, and then retreated into the dark streets of their beloved city. The path was the one to return to Chuuya's house. There was an awkward silence, and that was eating them alive. They didn't know what to say anymore. Honestly Dazai wanted to reopen the conversation about the marriage proposal that Chuuya had made him not even two hours before, but he did not know how. Maybe because it was a proposal he wanted to make to him as soon as they turned eighteen, and obviously after finding the right courage. They weren't together, even though they had had the experience of their first kiss together— they were so red that they decided to never speak about what had happened again—.
«Yes... my answer is yes...»
The words came out of his mouth like a sigh, just after he realized he was holding his breath.
«Uh? what are you talking about?»
Chuuya stared at him in confusion. The alcohol didn't let him connect the dots in time.
« The proposal. Even though I was the one who wanted to propose to you»
Chuuya's face turned into a tomato, but not from the alcohol this time. He hadn't expected it. Maybe it was true what people say: drunken words are sober thoughts. He had to stop suddenly, just to think about the confession his partner in crime had just made to him. It was unlikely that he was making fun of him at that moment. Dazai stopped just two steps in front of him, holding out his hand.
« You still want me to take your last name, right Chuuya?»
Nakahara Osamu. It sounded good.
Chuuya joined his hand with that of his future husband.
« Who can reassure me that tomorrow you won't wake up thinking you've made the biggest drunken mistake of your life?»
His heterochromatic eyes were fixed on the ground, not daring to raise even a millimeter.
«I thought to give a shot to life when I met you—t hat alone says a lot, don't you think?»
Chuuya didn't notice how the boy in front of him had moved closer to him to make him look up— hand in hand, gaze locked to each other with pupils slowly dilating, and breaths synchronizing.
There was no more beautiful sight that night.
«And now let's go and sign some documents, before the clouds judge us more than they already do»
And with those last words, with a confused but happy look on Chuuya's face, and a new light in Dazai's red eyes, the way had changed to go and sign documents that they already knew were the best choice of their lives.