Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It is his obligation to be involved in the Kingdom’s politics. To be always there during negotiations, to be wise and caring for his people and, whenever needed, to be cunning for the sake of his homeland. 

Such is the life of the crown prince.

It is also common for anyone holding that title to despise their responsibilities, at least until they reach a certain age and level of experience. Young princes and heirs to the thrones all around the world prefer to prove themselves worthy in battle, not in politics and the art of speech. They find the charades of royal courts boring, which they undeniably can be — just as they can be deadly.

Dazai Osamu, however, has never complained about it much.

Not more than he complains about being alive, anyway.

The royal court is close and, as long as you’re somewhat careful, it’s also harmless; the battlefield is far away and blooming with misery and suffering. The battlefield is for those who fight to live, for those with a purpose. Not for the ones who ask Death for a dance on the sleepless nights.

Why would he, someone who hates pain, willingly go there?

There is no reason for that.

Dazai knows it. His father, the King, knows it.

One could think that it’s a perfect situation: the crown prince not only has a silver tongue but is also willing to use it when necessary, and he doesn’t try to throw himself into the flames of a battle that could render the Kingdom heirless. It’s enough to have all the royal officials and the King himself turn a blind eye to his… certain pastimes.

But regardless of those — he always comes out of them alive, thankfully, even if Dazai curses that fate — it should be everything the King could ever ask for.

Life, however, doesn’t like it when things are perfect.

Life thrives among steep hills and high cliffs, among old forests and stormy waves, not on smooth sails and flat roads.

Which is why, despite being the prodigy the Kingdom has been praying for for generations, Dazai can’t simply pull the strings from behind the scenes. He can’t stay in the castle, away from others and left to his own devices until his skills are actually needed. Oh, no.

Mori, his father and the King, has a different idea of how a crown prince should be brought up. To him, the heir to the throne should know their Kingdom just as much as they should know the plays that dictate its laws. To him, one of Dazai’s obligations is to see all of what he will one day rule, both good—

“This way, Your Highness.”

—and bad.

The stone steps are damp and steep, the stench of blood and piss and everything Dazai doesn’t care to name lingering in the air and flowing into his lungs. The torches on both sides of the spiral staircase light up his path as he follows the guard further down the dark prison, the clanging of chains and quiet, insanity–driven humming getting louder as they move lower and lower.

“We—” the guard clears his throat when he reaches the base of the stairs, stepping to the side as he waits for Dazai before he gestures for the prince to follow him down the dark corridor. “Forgive us for the lack of a more proper welcome, Your Highness. We weren’t expecting a visit.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dazai answers, patiently waiting for the guard to find the right key to open the metal gate leading to the cells. “It’s a prison, it isn’t meant to be a reception hall.”

Even if they knew beforehand, there isn’t much they could have done to prepare.

It’s a relatively small and usually forgotten prison in one of the seaside cities, mainly used for lesser bandits and drunkards that pick the fight with the wrong person. It’s nothing much but its dungeon does run deep, for the sake of keeping the noise away from the townsfolk' ears. 

There are rarely more than three, maybe four, guards stationed around here — that many is enough. There is only one entrance to the prison and it happens to also be the only exit, with no windows whatsoever in any of the cells. It’s an easy place to guard, a place impossible to escape from on your own once you’re thrown down here.

It’s small, just like the town itself — irrelevant to the bigger picture, most of the time.

Yet, this is exactly where Mori decided to send Dazai for his… learning experience.

It isn’t the prince’s first time in a prison, he’s seen the outside and the inside of some of the bigger and older ones. It’s all the same: damp and dirty and making anyone of a lesser nerve want to puke. 

It’s boring.  

The prisoners are the same no matter where he goes, and there really isn’t anything for Dazai to do here, other than evaluate the condition of the prison itself and meet the prisoners before…

“When did you say the next execution day would be?” the prince asks once the metal bars creak open and the guard gestures for him to go inside first.

“At noon, two days from now,” the man dutifully answers, leaving the torch in a holder on a wall and following Dazai. “Will you be gracing us with your presence until then, Your Highness?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Another order Dazai isn’t exactly thrilled to follow through, even if he doesn’t mind it as much as this. At every execution in every city and town, no matter how far away from the capital, there needs to be at least one representative of the royal court. 

The King only attends the executions in the capital. More often than not, it’s one of the officials and not a member of the royal family. This time, it happens to be Dazai. There isn’t much more to it.

The sounds of their steps echo far into the prison, the path lit up by the torches on both sides. 

The cells are all as one would expect: mouldy all over and clearly not having been cleaned in at least months. Years, more likely, if ever at all. Some are missing beds, some only have a few broken wooden panels left in place of a frame. 

The prisoners turn their heads towards them when Dazai and the guard walk past their cells, some crawling to the metal bars to either beg for mercy or throw insults at the two men. To curse them for being free, while they are left to rot in the darkness.

Again, nothing special about it.

Dazai spares them half a glance at best, not bothering to look at the more rowdy ones at all. The guard with him, however, tries to silence them all, probably fearing for his own skin, should the crown prince feel offended by any of it.

He won’t.

Whatever the prisoners have to say to him, Dazai has already heard worse.

Eventually, they reach the far end of the long corridor, where — if they rule from elsewhere also applies here — the more dangerous prisoners are kept. Or the more insane ones, at least. And it’s there that Dazai comes to a stop all of a sudden, making the guard walking behind him almost bump into his back.

In the cell on his left, there’s an old man rolling on the ground, laughing maniacally and drooling all over his face.

The cell on his right, however, is silent — but not empty.

There’s a figure in there, a man, lying on the suspended bed. 

His arms are folded behind his head, his legs brought up and crossed casually, one thrown over the other. His clothes are visibly old but nowhere near as torn up and dirty as all of the other prisoners’. There are many layers Dazai can see, thick boots with a small heel and little, silver chains and threads with feathers dangling from different parts of the man’s attire.

 What Dazai can’t see is the man’s face.

As he’s lying there, unbothered by the maniacal screaming of his neighbour and the prince’s presence — is he asleep? In these conditions? — he keeps an old and slightly worn down hat on top of his face. 

From under it, Dazai can only see a waterfall of russet locks hanging from the side of the bed, curling and threaded into small braids every here and there. It’s not long enough to meet the floor but it appears more well–kept than it should be, given the place the man is in.

He appears of a smaller build but it may be because of the lazy pose and the clothes concealing his figure, along with the dim light falling into the cell.

‘He doesn’t fit in here,’ Dazai finds himself thinking — why, though, he isn’t sure.

What he does know is that the man looks like he’s comfortable, on a bed that must be anything but that, surrounded with the stench that has even Dazai putting all of his strength into keeping his face straight.

“Commander,” the prince calls out, his voice levelled, and the guard behind him straightens his back on command.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Do you know this man?”

The guard blinks, then looks at the prisoner leisurely lying down on his bed. “He’s a pirate. He was brought here a week ago by the royal marine guard, but they didn’t leave us a name.”

“How so?”

“They said it is to make sure his crew doesn’t find out about his whereabouts, Your Highness.”

Dazai narrows his eyes at the pirate, trying to see through the nonchalance and the hat obstructing his view, but… Naturally, it doesn’t work. And even if it did, Dazai isn’t sure what it would change, other than satisfy the weak tingle of curiosity in the back of his head.

“He is to be executed two days from now.”

Ah, so it’s the peace before the final fall.

With a low hum, the prince turns around and starts walking down the same path the two of them came from, hands folded behind his back and his sword dangling from the golden belt at his hip.

He will satisfy his curiosity on the day, then, along with his duty to face those he sends to their end in their last moments.

***

Calling the commotion of an execution day ‘boring’ is probably inconsiderate at best and utterly disrespectful towards the prisoners at most — but does Dazai care? 

Not so much.

He does his part because that’s what is expected of someone with his title but, other than that, he finds the whole ordeal a waste of his time. Especially here.

He is a guest of honour, seated high on the balcony of the most presentable buildings around the town’s square, his guards a few steps behind him. The local council are seated below him, on the tribunes put up around the square, right in front of the ‘main stage’ — the gallows.

Some of the more important officials from the neighbouring cities have come as well, most likely because they had heard Dazai would be here, and they take the seats alongside him on the balcony, though slightly behind the prince’s chair.

It’s an execution of criminals, not a celebration of sorts, but, to many gathered here, the difference between the two is non–existent.

Crowds have gathered around the town’s square, low voices gossiping all around and many fingers pointed towards where Dazai is sitting. There are arguably more guards than there would be if a member of the royal family weren’t present, dressed better than they would for what they call ‘low lives’ funerals’ behind closed doors.

The weather is mockingly beautiful for a day like this, clear sky and the Sun shining brightly above them.

With a golden cup of wine in one hand, Dazai watches as the square gets filled with citizens and as the guards prepare for when the time comes. The clock tower on the opposite side of the square shows 11:58, two minutes before the prisoners will begin their last walk under the Sun—

On the first ring of the bell, the crowds quiet down.

And then… the doors of the secured cart for transporting prisoners open.

The first few that come out are faces Dazai must have seen two days before but didn’t bother remembering. Men and women that squint at the brightness of the day and curse at the guards that lead them to their demise. Some are struggling, some have lost their mind, and…

Then, that man steps out.

A prisoner and a pirate — yet, he stands as if he owned the place, not just the sentence.

His posture is straight, his steps confident but light all the same, as if he’s floating above the ground and letting the wind carry him forward. His shoulders don’t slump, even with wrists chained behind his back, and the hair cascades around his face like a veil of braided flames, even the Sun paling in comparison to the fire of it.

And, finally, Dazai can see his face.

A face no less confident than the man’s steps, with a playful, lopsided smirk stretching his lips. He’s far away but Dazai doesn’t lose a single detail, slightly leaning forward to see better—

And, oh, those eyes.

Dazai has seen a fair number of pirates in his life, in various circumstances, but those—

Those eyes belong to the sea.

They are the sea. 

Clearer than the sky and swirling with dangerous waves of the ocean. Azure so bright, Dazai can feel himself drowning in it even from here. 

There’s defiance in them, there’s courage and life captures in the two orbs. And, for the brief moment that the pirate catches his gaze, Dazai swears he can hear the sound of the waves hitting the shore, and not just the people’s whispers around him.

It doesn’t last, the pirate only sends him a wide grin before looking away as he’s made to climb the stairs leading to his end, but… It makes Dazai wonder:

Have the seas gifted the pirate those eyes once he swore his life to them?

Is it magic, or perhaps a curse, that has made them this fierce and beautiful, so untameable in a body that could easily be swayed away by the waves?

Because to think that, in this mundane and cruel world that doesn’t care for matters as fleeting as human lives, someone could be born with two jewels for eyes, is too unimaginable for Dazai to believe.

Humans aren’t beautiful. They aren’t interesting.

Being alive isn’t worth it most of the time, and yet—

This man, walking so confidently to stand at the last stage of his play, his back straight before Death itself — this man is as wild as Nature, and just as captivating. Drawing everyone’s gaze to him as he stands proud and unbothered.

A god in a mortal body, he must be.

“Nakahara Chuuya,” the chancellor reads out from a podium by the gallows. “For the crime of—”

But a fallen god, for he will not sail again.

Feeling fresh air flow into his lungs once his mind snaps out of the thoughts of blue eyes and fire hair, Dazai leans back in his seat, trying to calm his heart. He brings his wine cup to his lips, taking a long sip as he listens to the long list the chancellor reads out about the pirate.

It’s a pity, truly.

But it’s not like there is anything Dazai can do to extend the man’s life, nor does he feel the need to. He’s intrigued by the pirate, this Nakahara Chuuya that dares to defy the hollowness of life itself, but that’s all there is to it.

Curiosity sparked by the unknown.

And no matter how strong his interest may be, it doesn’t go above the law.

“—you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging.”

Even at the sound of those words, the pirate doesn’t seem the smallest bit concerned. Quite the opposite, actually, he seems to be holding back a laugh, the corners of his lips trembling to stay down.

“Damn,” he says, playing idly with the hat he’s holding in his hands behind his back.

It earns him a wave of rumours to spread among the crowd, while Dazai narrows his eyes at him, watching one of the guards put a noose around the redhead’s neck.

“Any last words?” the chancellor asks, rolling the paper with the sentence closed again.

But Nakahara Chuuya’s grin isn’t that of a dead man walking— 

“Nah, I’m good.”

—it’s that of a fearless beast.

Dazai can’t help the way his lips twitch at that, amused by the man’s bravery even when they tighten the rope around his neck. Call it defiance or stupidity, or maybe delusion that this will somehow end well for him — it is a show like no other Dazai has ever seen unfold before him.

He doesn’t know Nakahara Chuuya but his attitude will be missed, at least for a while.

One eye twitching with annoyance, the chancellor nods at the guard standing at Chuuya’s side, giving him the signal to push the metal rod that will end it once and for all. But just as the man’s fingers wrap around the cold metal and the muscles of his arm tighten—

Crash!

Crack!

Everything happens too fast, even for Dazai.

There’s a loud crash of a barricade, or a market stall being destroyed. There are people’s loud voices and the sounds of horses echoing between the buildings, everyone’s head turned towards it.

There is a snap of the floor under the pirate’s feet and… when Dazai looks back at the gallows, there is no body hanging from the noose.

No Nakahara Chuuya in sight.

Anywhere.

Once the chancellor and the guards notice it as well, there are orders being shouted right and left. Some of the prisoners try to use this chance to escape but the chains around their wrists and ankles make it impossible. The crowds around the square become unsettled, a commotion breaks out as people look around in fear.

Dazai gets up from his seat, coming closer to the balustrade of the balcony, his eyes scanning the crowds below. It should be impossible for the pirate to hide among the boring grey of townsfolk.

He’s too unlike all of them.

He’s too bright to lose sight of, too—

“Oh,” a voice rings at his side. “I’ve been dying for a drink.”

Before Dazai knows it, the golden cup isn’t in his hand and he isn’t standing anymore. 

Instead, he can feel a half–hearted push — a kick — to his chest that makes him stumble back more in surprise than from the force of it. The back of his knees hit the chair he was sitting on before, and he falls back on it, staring with wide eyes at…

Nakahara Chuuya.

Perfectly balancing on the thin balustrade, and with Dazai’s golden cup in one hand.

How did he get here?

When did he get here?

Everyone, including the guards, seems just as frozen in surprise as the prince, because no one moves as the pirate walks along the balustrade until the very end of the balcony. Not until he chucks the whole contents of the cup down in one go.

Not until he spins around, facing Dazai one more time and—

“Thanks for that, Your Highness~”

He throws the cup back towards the prince, the gold hitting the floor with a loud clunk.

He winks at Dazai from above a satisfied smirk, his lips slightly red from the wine and… he falls backwards.

“Catch him!”

“Go after the sea rat!”

“Protect the crown prince!”

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE?!”

The sound of fluttering clothes echoes around him but there is no Nakahara Chuuya with him anymore. There isn’t…

Once he comes back to his senses, Dazai jolts away from the chair, quickly coming to the balustrade to look after the pirate. His fingers grip at the cold stone, his sword, tangled in the dark cape, hitting it next to the prince’s leg, and his eyes searching for where the redhead must have fallen…

But he’s not there.

Instead, Dazai sees a cart with a stack of hay quickly driving away from the crowds — Nakahara Chuuya laughing loudly on it. There are two men with him, dressed similarly to the redhead from what Dazai notices before they turn around the corner, and they’re heading for… the port.

Pirates.

Nakahara Chuuya’s crewmen.

“Your Highness!” one of his personal guards calls out. “Are you okay?!”

But Dazai doesn’t answer, he can barely hear the voice through the echo of a redhead’s laugh ringing in his ears. He can’t see him anymore but he also can’t peel his eyes away from the spot where he last saw the spark of russet hair.

Where life defied death.

Where—

“Your Highness!”

When one of the guards comes to his side, Dazai snaps his head towards the boy. He’s the youngest here, having been in this post for less than a month.

However, instead of asking Dazai whether he’s hurt or anything like that, the boy’s eyes widen visibly, a long strand of white hair blowing at the side of his face as his gaze falls to Dazai’s neck…

“Your… your jewel…”

His eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, Dazai reaches with his hand to his chest, right below his neck… and he doesn’t feel what should be there.

The gem he was gifted on his coming of age ceremony, the one he has always carried with himself ever since. But, weirdly enough, he doesn’t feel sorrowful at its loss, nor does he feel anger. 

There is an urge growing inside of him.

His heart is beating faster than usual and his mind is a hot mess.

His fingers tremble slightly as they tighten over the material of his dress shirt, crumbling the material under the golden clasp of his cape — but it’s not because he wants the jewel back.

A treasured gift as it may have been, it’s merely an object of monetary value.

No, Dazai wants him.

The pirate.

Nakahara Chuuya.

***

It’s been two months.

Sixty days of no luck whatsoever.

Dazai not only set a hefty prize for bringing the pirate to him — alive — but also sent out his best men after him. Every bounty hunter in the Kingdom must know about the prize by now, both those that work on land and those that sail with the pirates.

Yet, there has been no sign of the redhead.

No one can even come close to telling Dazai where Nakahara Chuuya might be, not before it’s far too late to follow the trail.

The only thing these last two months helped with is gathering more information on the pirate. There isn’t much credible intel, most of what Dazai now knows are rumours and tales of what has been carried down from one mouth to another, hardly any witnesses to confirm the tales.

He’s the captain of Arahabaki, a ship of black and red flags. That’s the easy part.

Him and his crew are said to be invincible, no matter who they face. One rumour has it that even a flock of ten ships couldn’t defeat them.

Whether Dazai believes that or not, he hasn’t decided yet.

It’s impossible to defeat or to catch them, unless they want to be caught. Yet, they aren’t exactly the type to spread fear among those who sail the seas with them. They aren’t ruthless, or cruel. They are pirates and they do plunder the ships they come across, but mostly only royal navies, or those carrying riches. 

Apparently, if you happen to catch them in one of the shore towns, you can drink with them with ease.

Even more apparently: in the towns run by pirates, cities outside of the jurisdiction of any Kingdom on the continent, Nakahara Chuuya and his crew seem to be liked. Their presence is always welcome, no matter the conflicts they find themselves entangled in.

But the trails they use to navigate the ocean?

The times when they step onto the land?

Dazai hasn’t found a single person that would be able to tell him these things.

Which isn’t good.

He’s becoming restless as the days go by, the memory of red hair and blue eyes the only thing keeping him from giving up. It’s the first time Dazai has ever pursued something — someone — this earnestly and with so much conviction. It must be why the King allows him to fall a little behind on some of his other responsibilities. Pity, if nothing else.

What does Dazai want to do once he captures the pirate? He doesn’t know.

But the confident figure smirking at him before letting the wind carry him away from Dazai’s reach has been a constant guest in the prince’s dreams. The sound of his voice and laughter, even if Dazai only heard it very briefly, never fails to make his heartbeat grow faster.

He wants Nakahara Chuuya.

He wants to talk to him, to listen to him, to gaze upon him, to touch—

God, he doesn’t know what it is or why he’s feeling like this, but it’s driving him insane.

He has never felt like this before in his life. His days used to be dull and grey, too slow in their passing, and now he finds himself looking forward to every sunrise. To every time the sky paints itself with the same colour as that hair, to every hour of hope that he’ll find out something new that will bring him closer to his goal.

For two months now, Dazai hasn’t asked Death to grace him one more dance.

He has abandoned his mistress of cold embrace, all for the sake of a man that is everything Dazai despises — colours and freedom and life.

Tired after another day of no clues and a long council session, Dazai walks down the hallway leading to his chambers with a tired expression. His neck hurts from reading all the papers and bending over the maps, and no matter how long he massages it, the ache doesn’t go away.

He twists the knob with a defeated sigh, pushing the doors to his chambers open. A dim light of the candles welcomes him inside, the servants must have come earlier to light them up, and…

There’s a faint breeze hitting him, coming from the open window.

It carries the smell of the neighbouring forest and the distant seaside and… a distinct, unfamiliar scent: the smell of rum.

“I’m hurt, you know?”

Dazai freezes, his eyes snapping at the window as the doors behind him slowly close.

“I’m pretty sure my head is worth more than this.”

There, on the window still, is the man he’s been chasing for the past two months. He’s sitting there with his back leaning on the window frame, one leg dangling on the outside and the other brought up, his boot leaving a dark, dirty imprint on the white marble.

His arms are outstretched, lazily resting on his knee, and between his fingers, he’s holding a WANTED poster — the one with his face on it and the prize Dazai has set.

“Makes me think that you don’t actually want to catch me,” the pirate teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief as his lips curl into a smirk, met with dumbfounded silence coming from the prince because…

He’s here.

Nakahara Chuuya is here.

In Dazai’s castle.

In his chambers—

“You—” the prince finally manages to breathe out, but he’s too late. Before he can finish, the redhead speaks over him, throwing the piece of paper to the floor.

“Anyway, I’ll give a piece of advice: if you want to catch me, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

And then, just as he has unceremoniously barged into Dazai’s life without so much as a warning, the pirate jumps down the window — on the outside — and disappears once more. 

Only, this time, they aren’t as low above the ground as the last time. This is one of the highest towers in the castle, jumping from here means death—

Yet, a sense of déjà vu washes over him when Dazai runs up to the window and looks outside, bending over the window still… 

The pirate isn’t there. Not alive, not death.

He’s gone, hidden among the shadows.

Now, Dazai could call all of his guards to chase after him but he’s pretty sure the redhead will be gone before they even begin the search. He has slipped away from him for two months and he somehow managed to sneak into the castle without being noticed. To the crown prince’s room, no less.

‘He’s good,’ Dazai thinks to himself. ‘Better than good.’

He’s dangerous and free.

And he has thrown a challenge at Dazai—

His fatigue already forgotten, Dazai storms out of his chambers, scaring the servant walking past his door.

“Your Highness…?” the servant calls after him, but the prince ignores them. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down as he walks the long hallways and the maze of turns, leading him to—

“Osamu?”

—the royal library, where the King is still going over the reports of the day.

The guards have let Dazai walk inside without so much as a knock, they’re used to him coming in uninvited and they know the King allows it. 

When Mori sees him get closer in silence, the prince’s breathing slightly heavier than it usually would be, the man’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Let me go after him,” Dazai cuts straight to it, stopping in front of the long table with papers scattered on top of it.

Mori blinks at him, confused. “Let you go after… who?”

“Nakahara Chuuya.”

“I thought you already sent your—”

“No,” Dazai cuts him off. “Let me go after him.”

It takes another second for realisation to fill Mori’s eyes and when it does, the King considers it for another long moment. His gaze slides over Dazai — over his expression and posture, over the slight tremble of his fists — and when he finally lets out a heavy sigh…

“Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

Dazai’s first instinct is to argue — but then, he realises that Mori is agreeing to it.

Just like that.

“That’s it?” he asks in disbelief, blinking at his father sceptically.

“Would you abandon that idea if I asked you to?”

No. Dazai would go through with it anyway, with permission or without it. He simply thought he’d have to fight Mori at least a little bit before then and not… just ask and get what he wanted.

It’s strange.

Convenient but strange.

“I thought so,” the King sighs again. “But if you'll do me the favour of listening to my wishes, take Atsushi–kun with you at least.”

Well… that may have been Dazai’s plan all along.

***

“Y–Your Highness, I—I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll leave you behind, Atsushi–kun~”

“I—Your Highness?! Please, wait for me!”

Dazai, however, doesn’t spare his guard a single look back. He nudges his horse to continue walking as Atsushi gathers his things and climbs on his own, quickly catching up to the prince.

They’ve been on the road for the last week, and on the pirate’s trail for the past month, travelling from one port to another, one town to the next one. They have already reached the border of Dazai’s kingdom and, yet, Nakahara Chuuya remains out of their reach.

Every inn they come into, there are rumours of a pirate that was there just a few days ago.

Every port knows of him, some even managed to catch a glimpse of flaming locks or hear an echo of his laughter, but they never know where he’s going next.

He’s like the wind.

Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Everyone is aware of his presence but no one can ever catch him.

“Your Highness,” Atsushi tries again, lining up his horse with Dazai’s. “I really think we should turn around while we still can.”

“I hear your suggestion, Atsushi–kun, and you’re free to do as you please.” Tilting his head to the side, Dazai sends him a smirk. “I can continue on my own from now on~”

Atsushi’s shoulders sag. “I can’t do that, Your Highness…”

“My, my, isn’t that a pity~”

“I know we haven’t run into too much trouble but this is different. Your title may not only not be enough to keep trouble away but it may attract it.”

Because they won’t be in their kingdom anymore.

They’ll be on neutral grounds. In the Port City that’s ruled not by any of the big powers on the continent but by the pirates themselves. The biggest and most dangerous port known to man.

A city that never sleeps and never stops drinking.

A city whose streets are like waves, easy to get lost among and never to return from ever again.

“Oh, but that’s exactly what I hope for,” Dazai muses.

That’s what he’s impatiently waiting for. The Port City is the east most part of the continent, bordered by Dazai’s homeland from the south and by the mountains from the north. It’s the last place—last chance he gets at catching Nakahara Chuuya.

Crossing the mountains is a death sentence for anyone stupid enough to try it and sailing on the sea… Dazai possesses many talents that make his life easier and he doesn’t fear the far, wide ocean as much as he should, but he isn’t so arrogant.

Challenging a pirate in their own domain is foolish, and even that requires first finding them.

If Dazai can’t find Nakahara Chuuya on the land, where his web of connections spreads far and wide to every corner of the continent, how can he hope to even come close to him out on the sea? Where fate and luck weave humans’ paths, not their knowledge?

 No, he’s going to finally catch up to this pirate here.

He’ll walk into every smallest corner and every trap if he has to, if it means he can see those crystal clear eyes again—

Atsushi lets out a heavy sigh, his voice resigned to his fate. “But if anything happens to you, Your Highness, His Majesty will blame me for it…”

Well… Such is the fate of a royal guard, isn’t it?

It takes them another two days but, come the morning marking 40 days of Dazai’s chase and over a hundred days since he first saw the pirate, the Port City’s open gates finally come into their view. Maybe to call it ‘gates’ is too generous, considering how it’s merely an old barricade, dating far into the past and not having been used even once in Dazai’s lifetime, but it is the official entrance to the city.

The first thing Dazai notices are the buildings: not as rundown and dirty as he expected them to be, even if they’re far from the buildings in the capital. Then, there is the smell—

“...ugh,” Atsushi quietly groans next to him as they pass by the guards — because those people are the guards, right? — who don't pay any attention to them, too busy playing cards and drinking… something.

There’s salt in the air, the smell of the sea and the waves hitting at the shore, but there is also the strong smell of people here.

Of blood and piss.

Of rum and ale and roasted fish.

This city smells of everything the capital is deprived of: of crime and life. Of lawless freedom.

Dazai doesn’t comment on his guard’s displeased expression, he knows Atsushi has always had an amazingly sensitive sense of smell and he understands it must be a struggle for him to be here. It’s not a pleasant experience for the prince either, but his purpose for being here is much stronger than his disgust.

There are heads that turn their way as they continue further into the City but only a few. Most people are either too busy with their own business, too drunk to notice them, or they don’t care enough about the outsiders to spare them a glance this early into the day.

It’s both a good and a bad thing.

Good, because the locals aren’t afraid of Dazai when he talks to them. They don’t beat around the bush with their words and are openly honest about not minding a little bribe to loosen their lips. And bad, because…

Dazai has no authority here and they all know it.

It’s already well into the afternoon that he and Atsushi stroll into the biggest inn in the City, right by the pier. Not defeated yet but still without a clue. Tired and hungry and—

“Oh, my,” the innkeeper muses when she sees them approach the bar counter. “To think I would live to see the day when a royal dove comes to my doorstep.”

The innkeeper stands behind the bar, pouring herself a pint of ale as her eyes follow Dazai’s movement. Long, red locks fall down her figure, braided with golden threads at one side and falling over her face at the other, a black eye path peeking from underneath her bangs.

She isn’t like the locals, nor does she look like the other people inside the inn. For one, she looks clean and her clothes aren’t torn in more places than they aren’t.

A white blouse loosely hugs her body, not a single stain on it, opening up to the cleavage, where many metal and golden chains dangle from her neck. The same treasures decorate her wrists and fingers, clicking with every move of her arms.

The gold, it’s everywhere on her body, as far as Dazai can see, but it doesn’t hold the same arrogance as the royal riches. It doesn’t look like she’s flaunting them — those bracelets and rings look like victory, not inheritance.

The one eye that remains seeing sparkles with knowing amusement, a small scar on her lower lip not tainting the fearless smirk.

“Have you lost your way back home, Your Highness?”

Atsushi fidgets uncomfortably behind Dazai when the woman’s words ring inside the inn, more heads turning their way. He doesn’t like it here and he doesn’t like the way people address the prince, but Dazai told him not to interfere so… he stays quiet.

Dazai, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered by the slightly mocking tone of the innkeeper. He isn’t offended by it, though maybe a little surprised to be addressed to openly.

“Not at all,” he says, his well–trained and polite smile unwavering as the two of them get closer to the bar. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Oh?”

“Ozaki Kouyou, am I correct?”

The woman chuckles at that, her lips curling up even more, intrigued. “Among other names that I’ve been called, yes.” 

She takes a long sip of her ale, then places a half–empty glass on the counter, some of it spilling down to her fingers and the wood. Whispers rise around them, mostly amused gossips, but the woman only shakes the droplet off from her hand as she arches a brow at Dazai to take a seat.

“But if you’re here for me, you have to order something first. I don’t give out information for free.”

“Fair enough,” Dazai says, looking over her shoulder and at the displayed bottles… “A glass of whiskey, then.”

“And for the lad?”

Atsushi blink, surprised, when Dazai glances at him over his shoulder in a silent question. “Um… just… a glass of water, please?”

A wave of quiet laughter rings through the inn, some of the people shaking their heads as they down their drinks with amused grins.

“Water?” Kouyou repeats, perfect white teeth shining from behind her lips. “A glass of clear water here costs more than a glass of my most expensive wine, boy. Are you sure?”

Atsushi’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I—”

“It’s fine,” Dazai answers in his place, putting two coins on the counter, a silver one and a gold one.

“But Your Highness—!”

“Coming right up,” Kouyou muses, snatching the coins before Atsushi can voice his protests, which Dazai silences with a small wave of his hand anyway.

To call what the boy gets a glass of clear water is an overstatement, but at least it doesn’t smell like something… not water–ish. Dazai’s whiskey, though, isn’t half–bad, even if it’s not the best quality out there.

“So,” Kouyou trails off, wiping one of the glasses to keep herself busy. “How can I be of service to the royal family on this beautiful day?”

Somehow, every time she speaks of his title, Dazai feels like Kouyou is mocking him. Like there is no respect whatsoever in her words, only a playful game of pretend–manners.

But that’s fine.

Dazai isn’t here for people’s respect. He’s here for—

“Nakahara Chuuya,” he says without hesitation. “I’m searching for him.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware.” She tilts her head to the side, towards a pile of crumbled and wet paper sheets in the corner of the room. “I use the posters you sent out for him as wipes when I run out of cloth.”

They’re outdated anyway.

When Dazai decided to do this himself, he made sure to send out a letter rendering the prize for the pirate’s capture useless.

“You need to make your questions more precise, Your Highness. Two glasses won’t buy you everything I know.”

….right.

“Is he here?”

“Somewhere,” Kouyou hums. “For now.”

“‘For now’?”

“Pirates rule this city but their real home is the sea, dear prince. No one stays around for long at a time.”

“Where is he, then?”

The woman chuckles, looking around the inn as she throws the dirty cloth to the side and puts the half–clean glass behind the counter. “Clearly not here, I’m afraid. But he was.”

“When?”

“He and some of his crew stayed for the night. They left two… three hours ago?”

Dazai’s heart sinks, his fingers tightening around the glass as Atsushi’s wary eyes glance at him. “...left?”

“My inn, not the city. Not yet.”

Involuntarily, Dazai relaxes again, and Atsushi places a hand over his chest as he lets out a relieved sigh.

“Do you know where he is now?”

Kouyou’s eye narrows slightly, a deep red shining brightly as she hums without a word. She wets her lips slowly, leaning on the counter in front of Dazai, her arms on the dark wood and one of her hands reach out—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she muses when Atsushi reaches for his sword on instinct, and she shoots him an amused glance.

It makes Atsushi hesitate, the boy looking between the two with clear conflict in his eyes. It’s his duty to protect the prince and while Kouyou hasn’t done anything yet, she is too close to him. She’s within range of hurting the prince—

But Dazai gestures with his hand for him to calm down, and his wish is Atsushi’s command.

It’s only when the boy’s hand leaves the hilt of his sword that the room that has fallen silent a moment ago, is growing back into the rowdy atmosphere form before. It may not seem like it, but everyone’s eyes are on them.

On the outsiders.

On someone who may start a fight where they really shouldn’t, because it means death for them here.

“Good boy,” Kouyou teases. Then, her gaze comes back to Dazai as the tip of her nail grazes the underside of his chin. “Do I know where Chuuya is, you ask?”

Her words are whispered between them, their faces close enough that Dazai can feel the warmth of her breath. He stays still, waiting for what the woman will do next, when…

“But of course,” she chirps, all too happily. 

Kouyou takes his jaw in her hand, sharp nails and hard metal of her rings digging into the prince’s skin. She turns Dazai’s head to the side until he’s facing the windows of the inn and she leans impossibly close, her lips brushing Dazai’s earlobe over the dark hair. 

But the prince doesn’t even notice it. He can’t, not when something else catches his attention immediately:

It’s blue.

A bright shine reflecting from a jewel dangling from a man’s torn hat.

And eyes of the same colour laughing at him from underneath it.

“He’s right there, isn’t he?” Kouyou purrs into his ear, her lips curled as she watches from the corner of her eyes as Chuuya walks past the window, his arms folded behind his head, and disappears once again.

“That’s—Your Highness!” Atsushi calls after the prince when Dazai jumps away from the bar and heads for the door. “Wait!”

Kouyou only looks after them from behind the bar and the two only half–empty glasses, her shoulders shaking in a small laugh.

“My, my~” she muses to herself, while Dazai…

He was right here. Chuuya.

Dazai saw him merely a few seconds ago so… where is he now?

Where did he go? How did he disappear so fast?

“Your Highness!”

“Do you see him?” Dazai hisses, looking around before turning into yet another narrow alley. “Did you see where he went?”

“I—” Atsushi whines when they pass a stack of garbage piled up at the end of the alley. “No, I didn’t. But—”

The boy yelps when he almost runs into Dazai’s back, halting barely in time and taking a step back as his heart hammers, both from the chase and surprise.

“The pier,” Dazai whispers, his voice slow and unnaturally quiet.

“Huh?”

“A pirate. He’s…” Turning around abruptly, the prince starts walking back in long strides. “He’s sailing out, isn’t he?”

That’s why he looked so smug, because he knew Dazai would chase after him into the city. Because Chuuya knew he would lose him and by the time Dazai would realise it, it would be too late.

Nakahara Chuuya would be gone. Again.

This city is a maze, especially for those who don’t know it. There are endless alleys mapping out the labyrinth of dead ends and traps laid out at every corner. The redhead must be familiar with it and that’s why he lured Dazai away from the port, to make sure it would take him a while to get back.

If he were anyone less, Dazai may not have made it back on his own at all, and certainly not in time.

But he isn’t anyone else.

He isn’t as helpless as some members of the royal family undoubtedly are.

When old buildings give way to the sky and the coast, Dazai doesn’t waste a single second as he runs towards the port, Atsushi right after him. His eyes scan the ships and the people there, searching for a familiar flame of hair blowing in the breeze and…

It’s there.

On a ship that has already left.

They’re still close by to see clearly, Dazai can even hear the crew’s voices over his heavy breathing as he stands at the end of the wooden pier. Chuuya is sitting on the edge, one leg dangling freely overboard and one brought up, his arm propped on it lazily. He’s wearing the same clothes as when Dazai first saw him and the same smirk. 

The same challenge. On his face and in the hand he waves at him.

“Atsushi–kun,” Dazai says, eyes narrowed at the figure getting away from him.

“Y–yes?” the boy pants, catching his breath after running here in full armour.

“You can tell my father it was my choice.”

“Huh? What do you—YOUR HIGHNESS?!”

One, two, three strides — and then, there’s water.

“YOUR HIGHNESS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Atsushi shouts after him, watching with terror as Dazai’s figure disappears into the port’s waters. “PLEASE COME BACK! OH, GOD—”

But Dazai doesn’t listen to him. He can barely hear Atsushi’s voice over the water splashing all round him as he swims towards the ship. It’s a pain and it quickly turns exhausting beyond belief. 

He’s fully clothed, his boots and sword weighing on him cruelly. His cape is in the way, and it’s hard to move.

The water is cold and his eyes sting from the salt but… Dazai doesn’t give up.

He has come this far. Nakahara Chuuya is here, so close if only he tries a little bit harder—

(“Damn,” Albatross cackles at his side, bending over the edge to look back at the pier. “He’s really desperate, isn’t he?”

“I think ‘insane’ is a better word for it.” Doc says.

From Chuuya’s other side, Piano Man drapes his arm over the redhead’s neck and shoulders. “Should we hurry up or…?”

“Nah,” Chuuya grins, his interest picked. “We’ve got time.”

“...should we throw him something?”

A hum. “Not yet.”

“And if he drowns?”

“Then that’s what he gets for being stupid and underestimating the sea.”

Albatross bursts out laughing at that, throwing his head back as his arms dangle from the side of the ship. “No mercy even for the lunatics jumping into the sea for you, huh?”

Chuuya snorts. “None at all. Let him work for it a bit longer.”)

When Dazai’s fingers wrap around the rope ladder thrown to him from the ship, his body gives out for a moment. A wave washes over him, submerging him deeper, but he doesn’t let go of the rope, no matter the tiredness.

He pulls himself out from underwater, coughing as he climbs high enough to catch a breath without risking swallowing sea water even more.

His body is trembling, both from the cold and the strain, as he climbs the rope ladder. His clothes stick to his body uncomfortably and his hair gets into his eyes. His breathing is heavy and the sword and the golden belt around his hips are heavy—

But he’s so close.

Even if he slips more often than he’d like to, his boots are too wet to support himself more securely — he must push a little bit more.

He can see it. See him.

The redhead is sitting right at the top of the rope, he hasn’t moved even once. There are other people around him, amused cheers of encouragement coming his way, but Dazai doesn’t care about them.

“I…” He pants, his arm shaking as his fingers wrap around the pirate’s ankle. “I caught you…”

His body is dangling from the rope ladder at this point, one arm hooked over it as Dazai holds onto the redhead’s leg, staring up at him with intense, unwavering eyes. Everything aches and there’s salt in his eyes, making it painful to keep them open, but…

When the pirate looks down at him, so close once again, it’s the only thing Dazai can bring himself to care about.

And Chuuya…

The hold around his ankle is weak. It would be easy to shake it off with even the most effortless moves. The man staring at him from below looks like he’s about to faint, shivering from head to toe, and his voice is rasped.

He looks wrung out. Hanging over the border of anger and desperation.

Then, Chuuya’s gaze travels from the dark eyes that shine like amber when light hits them right, to the wet clothes sticking to the prince’s body. Droplets trail down his fair skin, there’s a flush spreading from his cheeks to his chest, most likely from exertion. 

It must be uncomfortable but they have loosened around his collar, exposing white gauze wrapped around his throat and sharp collar bones.

Chuuya smirks, sharp and mischievous, and his voice is like a low purr—

“You certainly caught my attention, Your Highness.”

Dazai’s foot slides off the rope when Chuuya snaps his leg out of his hold, turning around in his seat and hopping off the edge. He slips but he doesn’t fall, catching himself just in time.

“What are you all waiting for, huh?”

He can hear Chuuya’s voice and the footsteps coming from the deck, but he can’t see the man, he can only see—

“Yo~” 

—another pirate. A few of them, actually, all draped over the edge and staring down at Dazai with clear expectation.

“You coming up or staying there?”

They don’t seem hostile — they find it amusing, don’t they? — but not one of them offers to help pull him up, either. 

Forcing his body to move one last time, Dazai climbs up until he reaches the other men. He slides onto the deck rather gracelessly but with how tired he feels, he can’t bring himself to care about that. His eyes scan the deck, searching for—

A hand firmly holding onto his shoulder stops him when Dazai tries to walk towards the pirate he’s been chasing.

The man isn’t rough with it but he doesn’t let him go. His hair is short and there’s an eye patch over his right eye, a long scar stretching across his face. He remains silent, his gaze and fingers speaking for themselves:

‘Do not move.’

‘Do not take another step.’

“Let go,” Dazai says, his voice levelled.

“I cannot.”

“I said—”

“Now, now~” the other pirate chirps, skipping to stand in front of Dazai. He pats his crewmate’s shoulder lightly, a short, blond braid falling over his shoulder and a pink feather decorating the tip. “There’s no reason to fight so soon.” He looks over his shoulder… “Right, Chuuya?”

“Hm? Oh.”

Looking back at them from a few steps away, by the door leading to the captain’s cabin, the redhead grins at the scene. His eyes meet Dazai’s gaze with ease, sparkles of life and challenge glittering like waves on the open sea.

Beautiful, yet terrifying.

“Right,” he coos, and Dazai wants to hear more of it. He wants to hear it form up close—

“Don’t,” the man holding onto him stops him again, pushing the prince back a little without letting go of his shoulder.

Dazai glares at him, too tired to care for what he says. “Do not—”

“Yeah, yeah, stop it right there,” Chuuya cuts him off nonchalantly. He steps a bit closer and it’s the first time Dazai sees him from up close while standing on the same level, and… 

Nakahara Chuuya is short.

Very short.

He’s perfect—

Momentarily, Dazai forgets about the other men, focusing his mind on the redhead as he feels his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m…”

“I know who you are, Your Highness,” Chuuya smirks at him. “And while I’m flattered to see get so… wet for me so eagerly—”

There are muffled chuckles echoing around the ship, and Dazai sucks in a sharp breath, focused on the sweet curl of Chuuya’s lips and nothing else.

“—we’re already on the sea. I don’t need my cabin any more wet than it usually is.”

Then, without another look, he turns around and waves a hand over his shoulder as he walks away and disappears behind the wooden door.

“Dry yourself up first if you want to talk.”

But—

“Come on,” yet another pirate says from behind him, white hair with black accents blowing in the wind as he taps Dazai on the back. “I’ll show you where you can change.”

***

His hair is still damp, but it’s not dripping water anymore.

The clothes he was given are old but they fit, and most of all — they’re dry. It’s not the most comfortable fit out there and the material stinks of alcohol and fish, but so does the entire ship. And the crew. And everything, really.

It’s unsettling to have his sword taken away but it couldn’t have been avoided.

While Dazai doesn’t consider himself a hostage or a prisoner, he isn’t exactly a guest here, either. They don’t trust him, they have no reason to, and letting a man that has been chasing them for over a month walk around freely and with a sword…

Again, it’s understandable that they would take it away.

Piano Man — or at least that’s what the man introduced himself as — leads him to the door where Chuuya disappeared into before. Next to it, Iceman — are they allergic to regular names here? — sits on the barrel next to it, arms crossed over his chest. His one eye creaks open as they approach but, with no sword in sight and with Dazai finally being dry, he closes it soon after.

“Word of advice,” Piano Man says, turning to Dazai. “If you’re thinking of fighting him, just give up already. You can’t win.”

He isn’t here to fight.

Though that sentence does stir something in Dazai’s gut.

“If you want to bargain, don’t try to trick him, or you’ll end up wet again.” As he says it, the man’s lips tremble in a held–back laugh, but Dazai doesn’t comment on it. “Otherwise, good luck!”

Despite what he expected, Dazai ends up being unceremoniously pushed inside the cabin, the doors slamming behind his back with a loud thud as he stumbles forward with a surprised gasp.

He looks over his shoulder briefly but he doesn’t catch another glimpse of the two men, and when his eyes get used to the dim light of the room…

There are maps glued to the walls, loose fabrics and shiny treasures scattered around. There’s a wide bed nailed to the floor and a chest of drawers next to it. There’s a separate cabinet with nothing but bottles of all kinds stashed inside, and a long, messy desk next to it—

“Damn,” an alluring purr rings from the other side of it. “Now you look like any other land rat, Your Highness. How disappointing.”

—and Nakahara Chuuya sitting right there.

The pirate’s legs are up on the desk as he leans back on his seat, one arm lazily resting over his stomach while the other holds his hat up from his face. He’s effortlessly beautiful like this, basking in the light coming inside through the small window on one of the walls.

Red braids with dark threads fall over his shoulders, his eyes shine no less brightly than they did out in the Sun. He’s relaxed and it’s drawing Dazai in to him more, the casual swing of his arm as he throws his hat onto the bed is like a spell being cast over the prince.

It’s hypnotising.

Dazai wants to see it again, he wants to see all of it—

“Are you just gonna stand there all day?”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Dazai blinks. Then, he clears his throat and steps closer carefully. The gentle sway of the ship is messing with his balance and the clutter on the floor doesn’t help but Dazai can make this work.

He has to.

He’s been waiting for this chance for far too long.

“I must admit,” he says, never breaking eye–contact. “You’re a difficult man to get a hold of.” And Chuuya answers him with a smirk.

God, that smirk is everything—

“That’s how one stays alive around here, Your Highness.” He nods at the chair opposite to him without changing his position, hands folded over his stomach and his feet up on the desk. “Go on. You earned yourself an audience.”

Chuuya says it like it’s mercy that he’s showing, a thoughtful gesture, and not an actual reward for the prince’s stubbornness from before. 

But Dazai will take it and he’ll work with it.

He sits down for the first time since coming onboard and… oh, his muscles needed that.

However, now that he’s here… what does he say?

Chuuya’s piercing eyes are messing with Dazai’s head. He’s been so mindlessly chasing after the pirate for these past few weeks that he has never thought of what to say once they do meet. 

Great.

All his years of navigating the schemes of the royal court and for what? To be unable to utter a word in front of a man that has infected him with this weird feeling?

To not know what to do when the blue eyes scan his face?

To forget what words even are? Because why should they matter when a being so vibrant and loud with his presence alone is right there, so close Dazai could touch him if he only extends his arm?

“You…” Dazai starts, spreading his fingers over his thighs as he thinks. “You say it’s how you stay alive, yet I saw you in prison not that long ago.”

Well, that’s far from what Dazai envisioned their conversations to start with, but it’s better than nothing, right?

“I had business here,” Chuuya huffs. “And I’m still alive. Is that all?”

“No. You—” A blue shine in the corner of Dazai’s eye gives him an idea. “You stole something of mine.”

“Ah, that I did.” Chuuya tilts his head. “You want it back?”

…why is it so easy?

“...you would give it back just like that?”

A snort. “No. I’m just asking if you want it. I haven’t said anything about giving it back.”

Good. Good.

Dazai doesn’t care for the jewel all that much but if it gives him a chance to talk to Chuuya more, he’ll fight for it with every last bit of his strength. Hell, he’ll make it into a sacred treasure if he has to, just to keep the pirate here.

“It’s a royal treasure, you know? You could get—”

“What?” Chuuya’s smirk is amused, his eyes laughing. “Get arrested? Sentenced to death? Been there, done that. Come up with something more creative, Your Highness.”

Dazai bites the inside of his cheek.

For some reason, Chuuya calling him ‘Your Highness’ doesn’t feel as good as it should. There’s no respect in that title when he says it, no fear and not a single drop of care for it.

Just like with Kouyou, it sounds like mockery.

Like he could call Dazai by his name, he must know it, but he chooses to call him that instead, because… here, it belittles him.

On the sea, there are no kings or queens, and no princes.

There are no castles.

Yet, Dazai, a prince born and bred, is here with him. His royal robes and armour are somewhere on the ship, and his actions from before… it all speaks for itself. Dazai isn’t where he belongs but he continues to act like he owns every step he takes.

It’s a habit, but it’s worthless here.

To Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai is merely a high born land rat. A prince, who has thrown himself into something he has little knowledge of, all while hoping for the best because he’s used to having it easy.

But Chuuya won’t be easy.

Because the ocean isn’t, either.

Letting out a sigh, Chuuya puts his feet down and stands up. “Listen. I’m not fucking stupid, I know you aren’t here for that jewel I took.”

He walks away from the desk and up to one of the drawers, taking out… a vial of ink, a feather pen and a piece of paper?

“If you want to stay and think about what it is that you’re trying to gain, then stay. But let me tell you: you’ll have to work for it. Or get off my ship right now and swim back home.”

At that, Dazai’s body stills and his eyes narrow into two slits—

“No.”

A snort. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“I don’t mind the work.” 

Not that he knows what it means. Not really.

What would a royal born know of labour? Of what it means to earn to see another day?

His determination, admirable as it may seem, makes Chuuya laugh out loud as he makes his way back to the desk. “I assure you, you will.”

Then, he leans with his back on the desk, his leg coming up and his boot coming to the armrest of Dazai’s chair. He places the objects in front of the prince and smirks down at him with all the mischief in the world—

“But first, you’re going to write something for me, Your Highness.”

***

“I’m too young to die…”

Above him, Kouyou hums without a single hint of compassion, while Atsushi’s cheek is pressed to the cold wood of the bar counter, a half empty glass of ale between his fingers. Not the first and probably not the last one.

“And— hic! —and for something so stupid…” he wails. “I— hic! —”

“Your prince isn’t dead, boy,” Kouyou says. “Just tell that to the king and hope for the best.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Atsushi makes a weak cry as he bangs his head on the counter. “It’s not— hic! —that simple.”

He’ll be hanged, for sure.

Or beheaded.

He had one job and it was to keep Dazai, the crown prince, safe. And he did. God, for weeks now he has made sure nothing would happen to the prince. Not a single scratch. Not even a single day without food.

Why is the world punishing him for doing his best?

Why did Dazai choose to throw himself into danger—?!

“You shouldn’t drink if you can’t handle it,” someone says, and Atsushi turns his head to the side to glare at the newcomer.

The man leaning on the bar is wearing a loose, white shirt opening up around his collar and a long, black coat that reaches to his shins. Silver earrings dangle for his ears, black hair with white tips falling around his face.

He smells like alcohol and salt.

He smells like a pirate — like everyone here.

“Who— hic! —who the hell are you?”

A sigh. “No one important.”

He doesn’t look at Atsushi but he bows his head politely towards Kouyou.

“Here,” he says. “This should save your head for now.” 

The man place something on the counter next to Atsushi’s head, and the boy has to pull himself up to squint his eyes to see what it is—

An envelope.

A letter.

And next to it, a golden clasp, most likely taken from… Dazai’s cape.

Atsushi’s eyes widen impossibly far when his head snaps to the stranger. His hand reaches to his sword instinctively, every fibre of his being shaking to pin the stranger down and demand that he takes him to the crown prince, but—

A single tap of Kouyou’s finger on the counter is enough to remind him of where he is and of how his actions may end. 

“He jumped on his own,” Kouyou says.

And…

Atsushi’s face twists again in defeat, his body slumping forward with a wailed cry—

“He did, didn’t he?!”