Archive of Our Own

1.

When the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia first formed their alliance, Atsushi had braced himself for tension, maybe some conflicts in their cooperation due to their different lines of morality. What he didn’t expect was for Soukoku to take it as an invitation to start visiting each other at work instead, being disgustingly domestic when they weren’t trying to kill each other.

When Dazai had once declared that he and Chuuya were “partners,” Atsushi had assumed he meant it in the professional sense. Former partners. Equals in battle.

He had not realized Dazai meant that type of partner.

He sincerely hoped Dazai wasn’t expecting the same type of partnership from him and Akutagawa.

From his desk, Atsushi squinted his eyes at the duo, who were existing in their own bubble, disregarding everyone else as usual. Honestly, Atsushi should be used to it by now. Whenever the two were together, it was like the entire world ceased to exist except them.

Atsushi wondered if they even remembered that they were supposed to be enemies.

Yes, there was an alliance, but they were still from rival organisations. They were meant to stand on opposite ends of the battlefield, not… whatever this was.

At the moment, Chuuya was tending to the bandages on Dazai’s arm after the latter had returned injured from a mission earlier that afternoon. At first glance, it looked almost ordinary.

If one ignored the glaring issue that Port Mafia executive Nakahara Chuuya did not, in fact, work for the Armed Detective Agency. In fact, he hadn’t even been on that mission with Dazai in the first place, nor was it even a joint operation with the Port Mafia.

So Atsushi didn’t understand how Chuuya even found out that Dazai was injured or why he even felt the need to come when Yosano was a qualified doctor and it was just a minor scrape.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“Don’t complain,” Chuuya snapped, though he didn’t stop what he was doing. “You’re the one who said it was an emergency.”

Ah.

So it was Dazai’s fault as usual.

Atsushi really should have known.

Still, did Chuuya have to indulge him? And did they have to do this in the middle of the office instead of the infirmary?

The first few times it happened, Atsushi had found it endearing. Tenderness, which could easily double as weakness, didn’t come naturally to people like them who lived their lives surrounded by bloodshed. Catching even a glimpse of it felt strangely intimate, like seeing something not meant for public view.

However, the problem was that such tender moments never lasted.

Inevitably, Dazai would provoke Chuuya, and Chuuya would rise to the bait, leading to a fight and some property damage as a result.

Even now, from the corner of his eye, Atsushi could see Kunikida already flipping through his notebook frantically for the budget.

Behind the blonde, Chuuya carefully dabbed antiseptic onto Dazai’s forearm.

Dazai hissed in pain again.

“Does that hurt?” Chuuya asked, glancing up.

When Dazai nodded, eyes suspiciously glossy, Chuuya snorted. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn to dodge better next time.”

“Chibi’s mean!” Dazai whined, arms held out obediently while Chuuya resumed spreading ointment over the wound. The position made him look less like a feared former Port Mafia executive and more like a sulking child demanding attention.

“You deserve it,” Chuuya replied. “What kind of idiot walks straight into a shady warehouse without checking?”

Dazai blinked at him with infuriating sincerity.

“Your idiot,” he said solemnly.

There was a split second of silence.

Then—

Dazai yelped as Chuuya pressed the cotton down harder.

“Chuuyaaa!” he complained, writhing dramatically in his chair. “I’m fragile. You can’t treat me so roughly!”

“Stop getting injured then. Just call me like a normal person next time if you want me to visit,” Chuuya grumbled, reaching for the gauze.

It was just a shallow cut. And yet, Chuuya treated it with utmost focus, fingers steady as he layered the gauze, smoothing it down and adjusting the tension so it wouldn’t pull too tight against the skin. His brows were drawn together in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line.

He looked as though he was faced with a grave task, not the trivial annoyance Dazai had dragged him away from work in the middle of the day to play nurse for.

Atsushi found himself staring despite himself.

Dazai had gone uncharacteristically quiet.

Gone was the whining, the theatrics, the exaggerated flinching. His dark eyes followed Chuuya’s every movement as the ginger bent slightly to secure the bandage, voice lowering into a practical cadence as he recited aftercare instructions.

“Don’t get it wet for the next few hours. And don’t peel it off just because you’re bored,” Chuuya said, tightening the knot with deft fingers. “If it starts bleeding again, apply pressure first before you—”

“I love you.”

The words slipped in gently, without force or fanfare.

Atsushi blinked.

Dazai’s smile was soft, so soft it almost didn’t belong to him. There was no mischief in it, no calculated teasing. Just something open and startlingly sincere. He looked at Chuuya as though the rest of the room had ceased to exist, as though nothing beyond that small space between them mattered.

For a moment, the office felt warmer.

Looking at them, it was moments like these that touched Atsushi’s heart. It made him believe that life could truly be wonderful when you were given a chance at something like that. It was proof that even those who had done terrible things could still choose gentleness, still trust another with their hearts completely.

Sure, the pair had often demonstrated their trust for each other in battles. Atsushi had seen it firsthand. The seamless coordination, the instinctive understanding, the way they moved like two halves of a whole. However, Atsushi believed that trust was even more evident in moments like this.

In the way that Chuuya would drop everything and come running the second Dazai called.

In the way that Dazai—who trusted almost no one fully, who wore masks layered over masks—allowed Chuuya to handle his bandages when no one in the Agency, not even Yosano, had the privilege too.

For all that Dazai could be insufferable, Atsushi was glad that there was someone who could draw out this version of him. Around Chuuya, Dazai felt less like a role he was playing and more like a person. The teasing idiot persona slipped, revealing something human underneath. Something fragile in a way Dazai would never openly admit.

At his desk, Atsushi realized his hands had unconsciously stilled over his paperwork.

Chuuya had halted too, at the soft declaration.

The gauze roll hung loosely in his grip as he stared at Dazai, expression unreadable. He wasn’t flustered or angry. Just... still.

Atsushi’s stomach tightened unexpectedly. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous.

Was this the first time Dazai had said I love you? Surely not.

Atsushi thought they were already a couple, but had Dazai never said it before? Then this was—

“Did you even listen to a single thing I just said?” Chuuya’s voice cut through, suspicion narrowing his eyes as he leaned back slightly.

Dazai didn’t even hesitate.

“Nope.”

And just like that, the sweet moment was gone.

Atsushi deflated in his chair as Chuuya went to smack Dazai on his uninjured arm, cursing him all the while as Dazai dodged and called him a tiny chihuahua.

Atsushi sighed. He didn’t know why he ever expected them to behave.

Across the room, a loud crash echoed, and Kunikida’s angered voice thundered through the office.

2.

Bar Lupin was a familiar sight, and so was the brunet at the bar's countertop.

Dazai let out a long, weary sigh, pressing his cheek against the cool countertop as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. The ball of ice bobbed lazily in the whiskey.

“What’s wrong?” Odasaku asked, settling beside him and lifting his own glass. He had come at Dazai’s invitation. After all, Dazai was a friend who had helped him escape the mafia life unscathed. With his aid, Odasaku now worked part-time at the Armed Detective Agency when he wasn’t writing his novel.

Dazai lifted his head slowly, dark eyes meeting Odasaku’s. “Odasaku... How do you get someone to say I love you back?”

Odasaku calmly set his glass down, his expression level. “Forcing someone to say it won’t make them mean it.”

“But I want to hear it,” Dazai pouted, resting his head back on his folded arms and staring down at his drink again, tracing invisible patterns on the countertop.

“Why?” Odasaku asked, genuinely puzzled. Dazai didn’t strike him as the type to be swayed by words.

Dazai didn’t look up. “Why else?” His finger tapped the rim of his glass in a slow, rhythmic pattern. “It would be nice to know that he’s mine.”

Odasaku said nothing. There was only one person this could be about.

Nakahara Chuuya.

Odasaku didn’t know the executive all that well, even during his time in the Port Mafia. Chuuya had occupied one of the highest rungs in the hierarchy, while Odasaku remained at the bottom, content to stay there and avoid killing. Odasaku had only ever hung out with Dazai and Ango for their drinking sessions. And even then, Dazai had never once invited his partner along, even though everyone knew the two were inseparable in every way that mattered.

Odasaku had asked Dazai once, if the ginger would like to join them.

Dazai’s lips had pressed into a hard line, his gaze darkening into something dangerous, something that made Odasaku’s hackles rise even without a threat present. “He thinks people like you aren’t worth his time,” Dazai had said, unable to hide the iciness in his tone. The Demon Prodigy, hiding beneath the guise of a teenager, had leaned in slightly, studying Odasaku like an insect under a microscope. “The assassin who doesn’t kill. I wonder...”

His words had lingered, heavy and curious, before Dazai turned back to his drink, muttering something under his breath that Odasaku didn’t quite catch, “What’s so different about you?”

Even then, despite Chuuya’s apparent dismissal, Odasaku hadn’t let the cold attitude bother him. He felt there was more to it. Chuuya’s reputation was one of ruthless efficiency, but also of loyalty and quiet care for those under him, something rarely seen in their line of work.

So, he doubted that Chuuya actually looked down on him due to his position.

Not to mention, he remembered meeting Chuuya once, when the teenager had wandered the training halls, bored and restless. Chuuya had complimented him on his shooting scores, and Odasaku had responded bluntly that the other didn’t need to sugarcoat it since the shooting scores won’t prove anything against someone like Chuuya. The ginger had laughed then, inviting him to hang out sometime.

They never did.

Chuuya was promoted, while Odasaku remained where he was, eventually forming an unlikely friendship with the other half of Soukoku instead.

Funny how life worked.

Sometimes, Odasaku wondered if Chuuya had turned down the invitation out of jealousy. No one was blind to the affection Soukoku had held for each other. And yet, for once, Dazai had chosen to spend time with someone other than Chuuya. Odasaku never mentioned it. It wasn’t his place to meddle. Still, he caught himself thinking about it more than he liked to admit.

Back in the present, Dazai finally reached for his drink, tilting the glass back in a single, decisive gulp.

“Dazai, slow down—” the older man began, eyes widening at the speed with which the brunet was draining his whiskey.

But Dazai slammed the glass down on the countertop and immediately motioned for a refill, turning towards Odasaku with a seriousness that caught him off guard. “Odasaku, how do I make someone love me?”

“What is this about?” Odasaku asked, raising an eyebrow, already regretting agreeing to this meeting.

“My dog doesn’t love me,” Dazai said with utmost conviction, “so I have to make sure he does.”

Odasaku lamented the loss of his relaxing night. He didn’t sigh, though it was close. “Are you sure? Have you actually talked to him?”

Dazai’s lips pressed together, and he muttered sullenly, “What’s there to talk about? If he won’t say he loves me, that means he doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Odasaku tried patiently, though it was clear the words were not registering. Dazai had already begun another glass.

There were many reasons why someone wouldn’t say I love you, but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there, especially with Soukoku, who were practically soulmates. Even four years apart hadn’t fractured their bond. Coming back together felt as though no time had passed at all. However, Odasaku doubted Dazai would listen if he tried to explain all that.

When Dazai requested another refill, Odasaku sighed internally. He could only try to distract the brunet from trying to drown in his sorrows, or whatever it was he was trying to do. He engaged Dazai’s weird thought process, knowing the latter wouldn’t care for anything else.

“If you want him to love you...” Odasaku hesitated, thinking about how they were both clearly already in love. “...have you tried a romantic gesture? Something meaningful that he’d appreciate?”

Dazai paused mid-drink, flushed and slightly glassy-eyed as the alcohol began to hit. “That could work,” he said thoughtfully, his words slurring just a little.

“But all the things he likes are tacky,” Dazai added, frowning as he waved for yet another refill.

Odasaku blinked. How many had he gone through already?

By the time they hashed out some ideas that could work—or Odasaku offered suggestions, and Dazai continuously found fault with them—Dazai was already drunk, slumped against the countertop.

Odasaku let out a resigned sigh this time, standing to help him up. At least the Agency’s dorms were on his way home. However, Dazai seemed glued to the counter, stubbornly refusing to budge.

Before Odasaku could try prying him loose, a ringtone blared from Dazai’s pocket. The sound made Dazai stir with a small, sleepy murmur.

“Chibi?” he mumbled, fumbling for the phone and accepting the call, only to immediately drop it as he swayed.

Odasaku reflexively steadied him, scooping up the device from the seat. He brought it to his ear just in time to catch the barked voice on the line. “—the fuck are you? I swear if you’re out there hanging yourself from a lamppost, I will—”

“Nakahara-san?” Odasaku said cautiously.

The line went silent.

“Bar Lupin, huh?” Chuuya’s voice finally came through, sardonic and clipped, and the call ended with a sharp click.

Odasaku blinked at that, lowering the phone to confirm. It really had disconnected.

Dazai leaned forward suddenly, reaching for the phone and missing entirely, grabbing Odasaku’s wrist instead. “Chuuuyaaa... is that you?” he giggled, staring at the device, coated by a slightly reddish-orange shade that was caused by the dim bar lights. “You’re so short, I didn’t see you.”

Odasaku tried to push him back into his seat before he toppled entirely, but Dazai clung desperately, leaving him only a free hand to steady the other.

“Dazai, that’s not Chuuya,” Odasaku said, a note of exasperation creeping in.

Dazai pouted, ignoring him entirely. “Why aren’t you answering? I have something to tell you.”

He teetered dangerously on the edge of the chair, forcing Odasaku to step forward and block the fall with his body. The bruising grip on his wrist wasn’t helping. “Sit down—” he began, trying to guide him back.

“Are you listening?” Dazai demanded, even as Odasaku tried to hold him upright.

And then, suddenly, Dazai sat up, almost butting their heads. The high stool made him loom over Odasaku, and he laughed softly, an intimate note in his voice as he looked at the phone in between them. “I love you,” he crooned loudly. Then, he slumped down on Odasaku’s chest.

The sudden drop cleared Odasaku’s view of the bar's entrance, and in that instant, his eyes locked with Chuuya’s piercing ones. The Port Mafia executive stood just a few steps away, watching them with an inscrutable expression.

Odasaku’s breath caught, and his throat went dry. The situation felt wrong, somehow, with Dazai half in his embrace.

Before he could even greet Chuuya, the other strode forward. In one fluid motion, he hauled Dazai upright, slinging one of the brunet’s arms over his own shoulder and snatching the phone from Odasaku’s hand before he could react.

“If you value your life,” Chuuya said lowly, voice sharp and controlled, “stay away from him.”

There was no mistaking the warning. He hadn’t even bothered to remain subtle, immediately dragging Dazai away in tow.

Odasaku stared after them, feeling baffled and exhausted, mind spinning.

Why did it feel like he had just become a homewrecker?

3.

Higuchi hovered outside an office on the uppermost floors of the Port Mafia headquarters, pacing a small, anxious semicircle into the polished marble. Every few seconds, she would cast a furtive glance down the corridor, as if expecting something, or someone, to materialize out of thin air. When the lift at the end of the hallway gave a soft, traitorous ding, she snapped upright, shoulders back, hands clasped stiffly in front of her.

The doors slid open to reveal the very owner of the office she was guarding.

“N–Nakahara-san.”

Chuuya stepped out, a stack of files tucked neatly beneath one arm. His expression didn’t change much at the sight of her standing awkwardly in front of his door; he merely gave her a short nod. “Do you need me for something?”

“N-No.” Her smile stretched too wide, brittle with nerves. She fidgeted, fingers twisting together.

He regarded her for a beat, faintly puzzled. “Alright.”

He moved to brush past her and reach for the handle, but Higuchi abruptly sidestepped, planting herself squarely between him and the door.

“Ah, Nakahara-san—”

“Just Chuuya is fine.”

“Nakahara-san,” she insisted and then stalled, as if whatever excuse she had prepared evaporated on the spot.

One of his brows lifted, slow and deliberate. Under the weight of that unimpressed stare, she seemed to shrink a little.

“Well, the thing is,” she rushed out, words tumbling over one another, “I spotted a suspicious person in this area earlier. So I thought it would be best to secure the perimeter first, just in case. Perhaps you could return later? After your lunch break. Your safety is paramount to the Port Mafia, and we absolutely cannot allow anything to happen to you.”

Chuuya stared at her without so much as glancing at his watch. “Lunch break was two hours ago.”

“I meant coffee break,” she amended weakly, though it came out sounding more like a question. Her eyes darted sideways. “It might be an assassin. We should proceed with caution.”

As if summoned by the word, the sharp crash of shattering glass came from behind the office door. A split second later, the corridor was flooded with the piercing wail of alarms.

Higuchi stiffened. Doors along the hall burst open as armed mafiosos poured out, weapons drawn, eyes sharp as they searched for the intruder.

Chuuya leaned back slightly on his heels, expression flattening into dry annoyance even as the sirens screamed overhead. “Let me guess,” he said, voice cutting cleanly through the chaos. “The assassin wears a tan coat and is wrapped in bandages like a mummified idiot?”

Higuchi winced. “I–I didn’t get a good look.”

He pushed past her without ceremony and grasped the handle. “Shut off the alarms,” he ordered one of the nearby men.

“W-wait, Nakahara-san—”

He was still issuing instructions as he swung the door open.

A violent burst of red exploded directly into his face.

Petals—hundreds, thousands of them—erupted outward in a tidal wave, filling the doorway and cascading into the corridor. They spill across the marble floor in a crimson flood, drifting through the air before settling like a macabre snowfall.

The alarms cut off abruptly.

The sudden silence was almost worse.

The hallway, moments ago, braced for bloodshed, now looked as though it had been redecorated for Valentine’s Day. Red petals blanketed the ground ankle-deep, soft and absurd against the backdrop of hardened criminals clutching firearms. The security team, hardened killers who would not blink at carnage, stood frozen, collectively unsure how to react to the ambush of roses.

Higuchi exhaled so forcefully that her knees nearly gave out. She sagged against the wall, shoes buried beneath a carpet of red. “Thank God,” she muttered. “I thought he was going to plant a bomb again like last time.”

Chuuya, meanwhile, stood at the epicenter of the blast, half-buried in petals. He spat several out of his mouth with visible irritation and dragged a hand through his hair to dislodge the infernal things. “Why did you even let him in then?” he asked tightly.

Higuchi stared at the floor, mumbling, “He was kind of scary.”

Chuuya began wading forward, petals rising nearly to his knees as he stepped into his office. The room beyond was unrecognizable, drowned entirely in red. Sofas, desk, carpet—everything lay submerged beneath an ocean of roses.

“What is he trying to do now?” Chuuya muttered darkly, cursing his ex-partner under his breath as he trudged toward the source of the earlier crash.

The window at the far end of the office had been blown out, jagged glass clinging to the frame. Through the gaping hole, wind rushed in, lifting petals into the air and sending them spiralling outward over the city below like crimson confetti.

From the doorway, Higuchi cautiously peeked inside. Her gaze snagged immediately on the centrepiece dominating the room: an enormous structure fashioned entirely from red roses, their stems woven together into an elaborate, towering shape that stretched nearly to the ceiling.

It was unmistakably a grand romantic gesture.

“That’s... kind of sweet,” she murmured, as more curious faces gathered behind her to stare at the ostentatious display.

Chuuya didn’t spare the structure so much as a glance. He stepped up to the shattered window and looked down.

Petals were still pouring out through the opening, drifting over the skyline in a slow, theatrical cascade, like a confession that wanted the whole world to know.

His eyes narrowed.

There was no sign of a tan coat.

“Nakahara-san?” Higuchi ventured carefully. The hallway behind her was now clogged with onlookers pretending not to gawk.

Chuuya continued staring at the dizzying drop below. “Do you think,” he asked flatly, “that the idiot jumped out of the window of the hundredth floor?”

Higuchi rushed to assure, “Don’t worry, Nakahara-san. I’m sure he’s perfectly fine—”

“He’d better be,” Chuuya replied calmly, turning away from the broken window at last. His boots sank softly into the sea of roses as he faced the room. “Because I’m going to shove him out myself for ruining my office.”

Hours passed, and the cleanup was nothing short of a nightmare. Volunteers, most of whom had come just to gape at the extravagant display of affection for one of their executives, continued to sweep up the rose petals. Despite the effort, petals continued to spring out of corners and furniture crevices.

“How do you want us to deal with that?” Higuchi gestured toward the central monument of red, which remained too massive to fit through the doorway. The hallway outside buzzed with gossiping onlookers, all craning their necks to get a better view. Chuuya’s eyes twitched subtly at the attention.

Higuchi craned her neck to take in the massive structure. “What is it supposed to be, anyway?”

“A heart,” Chuuya said, arms crossed, keeping his distance from the red monstrosity. He’d be smelling like roses for days.

“It doesn’t really look heart-shaped,” Higuchi observed, tilting her head as she examined the oval base and the several pipe-like protrusions rising from the top.

Chuuya snorted softly. “The anatomical kind.”

The display wasn’t crafted by ordinary roses. Each bloom was massive, heavy on its stem, petals curling outward in lush, deliberate spirals. Their deep, rich colour suggested meticulous cultivation, heavily nutrient-fed to coax them into such extravagant size.

Higuchi’s eyes caught onto something small tucked amidst the red. “There’s a note here.” She plucked it out, squinting at the messy scrawl, “I love you…?” Her voice caught, and she flushed a deep pink, realizing she had read it aloud.

“Is Dazai-san proposing?” Higuchi asked, her voice brimming with excitement at the grand romantic gesture. The murmurs in the hallway swelled as the news spread, gossip bouncing from ear to ear. The relationship between the ex-partners was no secret. It was just that no one could pin down the exact nature of their dynamic, considering the pair acted like they were dating, married, and divorced, all at the same time.

Higuchi couldn’t help but think the roses were a sweet touch, despite the questionable aesthetics. Dazai’s colour coordination could use some work. The deep crimson of the petals, stunning outside, appeared almost ominous under the dim lighting of the office, like it was something bloody and pulsing for real.

Beside her, Chuuya remained motionless. His gaze was fixed on the blood-red display, impassive yet heavy with something unspoken as he stood silent before the heart offered to him.

4.

The gossip didn’t die down, and it grew worse when a banquet was held to celebrate the successful thwarting of another catastrophe in partnership with the ADA.

A few of Chuuya’s close subordinates couldn’t help but oooh and ahhh whenever the two were in the same vicinity.

Chuuya shot them a withering look and subtly flipped them off. Dazai, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on it, laughing gleefully as he clung to Chuuya’s side. “Chibi, do you like my gift?” he asked, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.

“Bastard,” Chuuya ground out through gritted teeth. “Do you know how annoying it was to find every single page of my files pressed with petals?”

“Doesn’t it make your heart beat faster?” Dazai asked cheekily, looping his arms around the shorter man from behind, utterly unconcerned by the dozens of colleagues around them. One hand slid casually to Chuuya’s chest as though to measure his heart rate. “They are my heartfelt feelings to you.”

Chuuya shoved the wandering hand away, his face a picture of restrained irritation. “It’s going to give me a heart attack, you mean.” He kept his gaze stubbornly on the podium, where the two leaders were giving a formal speech.

Dazai’s pout deepened at the lack of attention, his cheek pressed against the mop of ginger hair. “How cruel!” he whined, crocodile tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes.

“Fucking behave, you shitty waste-of-bandages,” Chuuya muttered lowly as he stared straight ahead, looking irked by the attention they were receiving.

“Chuuya,” Dazai gasped. “Are you ashamed of me? After all we’ve been through?” His voice rose with each word, loud enough to interrupt the speech up front. A few muffled coughs broke out from around them, as if to remind them this was a formal occasion they were in.

Chuuya didn’t even turn to look at the other, lifting a hand to accurately land a smack on Dazai’s face as a warning.

“Ow!” Dazai reared back with feigned pain, and he immediately shrieked, “Bad doggie!”

Every pair of eyes snapped to them.

Chuuya ignored it, wrestling Dazai into a headlock to silence the relentless screeching threatening to deafen him. After years of partnership, he had long since lost all sense of shame due to this insufferable bastard.

Across the room, Kouyou’s eyelids twitched at the ruckus. She thought that with Dazai gone from the Port Mafia, she would have some semblance of peace. Who knew the alliance would form? And now the two seemed to latch onto each other harder than ever, turning up at each other’s workplaces so often it was as though they were employed by both organizations.

At the front, Mori’s composure was impeccable, or perhaps he’d simply dealt with the two long enough to tune out their childish antics. He raised a glass in a toast to the alliance, swiftly wrapping up the speech so everyone could begin mingling. And hopefully, they’d forget the spectacle of Soukoku’s bizarre and violent display of affection. Youngsters these days, he mused.

Dazai sulked beside him, his presence like a dark storm cloud looming over Chuuya as he moved through the room, dutifully greeting others. Not that there were many to greet, considering that most wisely kept their distance due to his bandaged accessory.

The newer recruits, however, were braver—or blissfully naïve, yet to experience the harsh reality of the world, and thus fearless in the face of danger.

One young man stepped forward, voice bright and eager. “Chuuya-san—”

“It’s Nakahara-san to you,” Dazai interjected sharply, voice flat and commanding.

Chuuya paused mid-step, finally turning to face him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Is that why everyone’s been calling me that these days?”

The gloom lifted the moment Chuuya’s eyes met his. “Chuuya, you deserve respect, don’t you think?” Dazai said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, though his tone left no room for argument.

The group of recruits melted into collective awws, clutching their chests like they were witnessing a scene straight out of a romance drama.

Chuuya stared, incredulous, a twitch at the corner of his eye betraying his disbelief. 

Atsushi’s arrival was perfectly timed, calling Dazai away before Chuuya could do something like punch him for real.

The brunet let out an exasperated huff. “Duty calls.” He leaned in close to Chuuya, pressing a quick peck to his cheek without thinking. “Be right back. Love you.” Then he sauntered off.

Chuuya’s expression was indifferent as he watched him go, eyes narrowing only slightly. When he turned back, the recruits were whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

“Nakahara-san, is it true that Dazai-san proposed to you a few days ago?” one asked.

“Don’t you all have better things to do than gossip?” Chuuya asked grumpily, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter. He needed a drink. He was having war flashbacks whenever the rose display was brought up.

“It’s like a real case of star-crossed lovers who prevailed despite everything,” another chimed, eyes dreamy.

Chuuya almost spat out the wine. What were they even teaching the kids these days?

Even so, something softened in his eyes, betraying the fondness he felt for the younger members as he chose to humour them.

“They say you used to have a lot of admirers before Dazai-san got there first,” one girl gushed, hands clasped in front of her chest. “His confession must have been so romantic.”

Chuuya snorted. “He didn't confess.”

“What did he do then?” they pressed, curiosity bright in their eyes.

The executive’s gaze drifted momentarily, distant, as if recalling a memory.

“Nakahara-san?” the girl prompted, bringing him back to the present.

Chuuya's lips curved into a faint smile, a hint of wryness tugging at the corner. He addressed the eager group, “It wasn't a love confession... but he did make his feelings clear with a gift.”

“Was it something grand, like the roses that day?” another boy asked eagerly.

Chuuya paused unnoticeably, gaze flickering for a brief second. “You could say it was something similar," he grudgingly admitted.

The group giggled and whispered among themselves, excitement bubbling. One peeked out from the huddle, scanning the room. “He’s there,” he whispered a little too loudly, pointing.

Chuuya’s gaze flicked automatically in that direction, only to see Dazai with Odasaku, laughing at something the older man had said, leaning a little too close.

“Wait, who’s that?” a girl asked, squinting. “They look awfully—" Someone nudged her sharply, and she quickly clamped her mouth shut when she noticed Chuuya watching them too, his expression carefully neutral.

Chuuya drew his gaze back and took a sip of his wine. His voice was perfectly even as he told the group, “Alright, you all have fun. I still need to greet the others.”

“O-oh, okay. Take care, Nakahara-san.”

Whispering immediately erupted behind him as he turned away.

“Why did you bring that up?”

“I didn’t know—”

“Come on, guys—”

Chuuya didn’t let it bother him, striding away with a measured pace.

He didn’t see Dazai pulling away from his conversation immediately, disappointment flashing briefly across his eyes when he realized the ginger wasn’t nearby.

5.

The next incident that once again required the cooperation of the two organizations involved a tricky ability user.

“No one actually knows what his ability does?” Atsushi asked, scanning the brief that had been sent over from the police. His brow furrowed in confusion. “But hasn’t he already used it several times?”

“All they know is that it creates an unbreakable barrier that traps his victims,” Kunikida explained, adjusting his glasses. “But none of the victims, ability users included, can explain how they managed to escape.”

“Could it have a memory-wipe feature, like Lucy’s ability?” Atsushi pondered aloud.

“Could be,” Kunikida replied calmly before turning to Dazai. “What do you think?”

“We won’t know until we encounter it,” Dazai said with a casual shrug from his seat, unbothered. “Don’t worry, I’ll just nullify his ability when it comes to it.”

Atsushi tilted his head, examining a section of the report. “No one’s died, though, so the ability shouldn't be dangerous. Why would the Port Mafia even get involved?” He flipped through the pages, noting the string of robberies that ranged from banks to military facilities. As for his M.O., the ability user would just trap his victims in a barrier, allowing him to grab whatever valuables he could find and scurry off before they had a chance to escape. The duration of the barrier varied from case to case, with no apparent cause.

Odasaku, who had been called in to help, replied, “Even if he hasn’t stolen from the Port Mafia directly, he’s hitting locations in their territory. They won’t just let that slide.”

When the ADA finally deduced the location of the ability user’s next target, they informed the Port Mafia, and the two groups convened outside a large laboratory.

Atsushi’s eyes widened as he took in the swarm of Port Mafia operatives. “Isn’t this a bit of overkill?”

Chuuya stood nearby, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose in a relaxed posture. He gave a lazy shrug. “That guy robbed a jewellery store affiliated with us. We can’t let that go.”

At Atsushi's nervous look, he added offhandedly, “Don’t worry, we won’t kill him.”

The ability user was practically harmless, with no records of him killing or even hurting anyone. He only kept his victims trapped, and they all came out unscathed at the end. Once the ability user is caught, he would be handed over to the Special Division of Unusual Powers. The Port Mafia didn’t care where he ended up, so long as he stopped being a nuisance in their territory.

A plan was quickly drawn up. The ADA would enter first through the front entrance, leading the initial sweep. The Port Mafia, in turn, would fan out to cover every other exit, methodically searching each floor for their target. This way, they could cover more ground and search efficiently.

Inside the laboratory, the corridor split, and the four members of the ADA divided into pairs: Atsushi with Kunikida, Dazai with Odasaku. Each duo veered down their assigned path, moving cautiously through the echoing expanse.

Atsushi’s eyes scanned the massive facility, passing lab rooms filled with whirring machines and glass cabinets. At the open central space in front, polished steel walkways crisscrossed several floors above, allowing a partial view of the upper floors.

Ahead, a room was lit, drawing their attention. Kunikida readied a stun gun, fingers tightening around the grip as they approached. Swinging open the door revealed nothing but an empty lab. Atsushi relaxed slightly, stepping inside alongside Kunikida as they scanned for clues the ability user might have left behind. A large lab window spanned one side horizontally, its thickness suggesting it was reinforced

A sudden flicker of movement at the glass made them tense, until they realized it was Dazai, casually strolling past. He waved cheerfully when he saw them, entering through another door and joining them inside.

“It looks like this place connects both corridors,” Dazai said, the door swinging shut behind him automatically.

“Where’s Odasaku?” Kunikida asked, lowering his weapon.

Dazai gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “There was another branch off in the corridor. We split up to cover more ground.” He glanced around the lab room. “There’s nothing here. The ability user must have used this room as a shortcut.”

Then, without warning, a red glow erupted along the window, lines crisscrossing and thickening until a solid wall of light pulsed before them.

Kunikida muttered curses. “He must be watching us from nearby.”

“How unlucky,” Dazai said, leaning casually against the window frame. He reached out to poke at the glowing barrier, but it remained intact. “It’s placed right outside. I can’t touch it.”

Kunikida tried the nearby door. “It’s jammed. I think the barrier is blocking it.”

Atsushi checked the other door and confirmed the same.

“Great,” Dazai said, grinning mischievously. “That means we can slack off while everyone else does the work.”

“Oi, Dazai!” Kunikida barked, exasperated. “Be serious for once, will you?”

Dazai tilted his head, adopting a mock lecture tone. “Kunikida, you know you’ll get wrinkles twice as fast if you act so serious all the time.”

Kunikida blinked, clearly flustered. “Huh? Reall—”

The wall of red pulsed faintly, drawing their attention.

“Did the barrier just weaken?” Kunikida pushed his glasses up. The difference was subtle, the glow slightly lighter, almost imperceptible.

“But why?” Atsushi asked, pressing a hand against the glass to peer at it.

“So that’s how it is...” Dazai said, resting his hands in his coat pockets.

The two turned to look at him.

“The barrier reacted when I told a lie,” Dazai explained. “If we want to get out, I guess we just have to keep telling lies until the barrier disappears.”

Atsushi immediately whirled around to shout at the glowing wall.

“The sky is green!”

“I ate natto for breakfast!”

“I hate Dazai-san!”

“Atsushi-kun! Was that a confession?” Dazai gasped theatrically, eyes wide. “Unfortunately, I only do double suicides.”

“No! Dazai-san, I meant I respect you! I don’t love you like that!” Atsushi hurried to explain, waving his hands to deny Dazai’s claims. Then his gaze flicked to the red wall, and he frowned. “Dazai-san,” he said hesitantly, “The barrier didn’t react when you said you wanted a double suicide...”

If Dazai’s theory was wrong, it meant they would be trapped in the barrier for who knows how long without a way out. However, if Dazai was right, and the barrier reacted to lies...

Kunikida crossed his arms and sighed, “Dazai, seriously, you need help.”

Dazai harrumphed and whipped his head to the side. “Destroying a man’s dream like that. How terrible.”

“Wait.” Atsushi’s eyes widened suddenly. “It didn’t react to my lies at the start too.”

Dazai waved a hand dismissively. “If every lie worked, the barrier would be useless. It probably only reacts to lies that another person trusts, just like how it reacted when Kunikida took my joke seriously just now. And my guess is, the more profound the lie, the quicker it fades. That’s why the duration of the barrier fluctuates from case to case.”

Kunikida’s eyes narrowed, understanding dawning. “So that’s why no one can explain how they got out. It’s not that they can’t, but they won’t. Nobody wants to admit what’s likely a personal secret to the authorities.” After all, the police would require the full details of the event. It was probably easier to say they didn’t know rather than reveal what was said inside the barrier. And when everyone gave the same account in every case, there were no discrepancies found to suggest they could be lying.

“Exactly,” Dazai said, giving a small shrug.

“Oh,” Atsushi said, a mix of emotions on his face, “That’s...tricky.”

The room’s atmosphere shifted abruptly, plunging into tense silence as everyone locked eyes with one another.

Dazai's smile stretched unnervingly wide. “What’s this? Is no one willing to share their deepest, darkest secret?”

“We do need to get out of this room sometime soon,” he added, dark amusement in his tone.

Atsushi’s brows knitted tightly as he wracked his brain, debating which lie might work, and which secret he could safely reveal without consequences.

Seeing Atsushi struggling with himself, Kunikida took pity on him. “Atsushi, he’s just teasing. We only have to wait for the others to capture the ability user and get him to drop the barrier.”

Atsushi visibly relaxed, relief washing over his features.

Just then, movement beyond the barrier caught their attention.

Chuuya, flanked by a few of his men, approached. He raised an eyebrow at their predicament before smirking at Dazai. His lips moved, but the words didn’t reach them. It looked like the barrier blocked sound as well.

Dazai pointed dramatically at him, indignation written all over his face. “I wouldn’t be stuck in here if Chibi hadn’t been so slow!”

Chuuya scowled, mouthing a retort, and Dazai yelled back, “No way! It must be because you’re a slug! Tiny and slow!”

Chuuya aggressively flipped him off, saying something in return.

The two had drifted closer as they bickered, somehow managing to communicate despite the barrier blocking all sound. Eventually, they found themselves face-to-face, separated only by the glass and the glowing barrier.

Dazai suddenly hummed thoughtfully, arms crossed as he watched Chuuya step back, a red tint flaring around his form as he reared an arm to punch the barrier hard. The floor on Chuuya’s side cracked under the impact, but the barrier didn’t budge.

Dazai shrugged lightly at Chuuya’s muttered words. “I don’t know. But it could be.”

The two would have carried on in their own little world if Kunikida hadn’t reminded Dazai that the rest of them still existed. “Dazai, do you think phones would work? We could communicate with the others outside the barrier.”

Dazai seemed annoyed at the interruption, but he grudgingly pulled out his phone and dialled.

Kunikida looked surprised when the call connected, his plan actually working.

Atsushi suspected that Kunikida had thrown out a random suggestion on the spot just to get the two to stop flirting, not expecting it to succeed. Fortunately, it did.

Dazai turned on the loudspeaker, and Chuuya’s voice rang out. “So, what’s the deal with the barrier?”

Outside the room, the executive looked like he had his phone on speaker mode as well.

“Mm, apparently, it’s like a lie detector. It weakens when a lie is told,” Dazai explained.

“Oh, then why isn’t it down yet? I thought your habitual lying would have resolved it by now,” Chuuya mocked.

“Chuuyaa! That’s mean! I never lie to you!” Dazai protested, and the barrier pulsed, the red light softening just slightly.

Chuuya laughed, the sound spilling through the phone. “Keep talking, mackerel. You’ll be out in no time.”

Dazai immediately clamped his mouth shut, a sullen frown twisting his features at the teasing.

Though it was a possible approach, the thick barrier had only weakened slightly. If they continued in this fashion, it would probably take them hours to escape. The Port Mafia, or rather, Chuuya, who was heading the team, certainly knew that.

The executive chuckled. “Alright, alright. We’ve got the place surrounded, and we’re sweeping from the outside in. The ability user won’t be able to hide for long, wherever he is.”

“But I want to get out now!” Dazai complained, disregarding the audience they had.

Chuuya, on the other side, simply rolled his eyes. The men with him were all seasoned mafiosos, long accustomed to Soukoku’s particular brand of flirting and well aware of their fearsome reputations. They fixed their gazes somewhere in the distance, quietly fading into the background and pretending not to hear a thing.

“Well, I’m not using corruption just because you can’t wait ten minutes,” came the irate tone from Dazai’s phone.

“Ten minutes?” Dazai’s voice shot up dramatically in disbelief. “So, you’ve really become a slug now?”

Chuuya scowled. “Hey, if you really want to be a mackerel, I can dump you into the ocean when this is over.”

“Just stay put in there for the moment,” Chuuya said, signalling that he was about to hang up. “I’ll be right back with that guy.”

“Chuuya should stay.” Dazai pouted, bringing the phone closer to his lips.

Chuuya ignored the complaint. “Mmhm. I’ll be quick.”

“Fine,” Dazai drew out. The farewell slipped out of him automatically, like it was a habit ingrained over the years. “Bye. I love you.”

The words had barely landed before the barrier shattered immediately.

The thick wall of light fractured into red, dazzling shards, raining down in slow motion and dissolving into nothing before they could touch the floor. The oppressive glow slowly dimmed, then faded entirely, leaving the two groups facing each other clearly. Heavy silence reigned.

Though the exit was now clear, no one seemed able to move, still reeling from the lie that had just been told.

Dazai and Chuuya stared at each other, phones still in hand.

The barrier was gone, but something else now stood there, invisible and immense.

Chuuya’s face was utterly blank, blue eyes fixed on Dazai. Across from him, Dazai’s expression was carefully neutral. Too neutral.

No one else dared to breathe as the weight of realization settled in.

It was absurd. Unthinkable. Like claiming the sun won’t rise or tomorrow won’t come. Because Soukoku loved each other, everyone knew that. The two might fight and bicker, threaten murder on a daily basis, but beneath it all, there had never been doubt.

And yet, it was all upended by a simple I love you.

Footsteps suddenly thundered from the open walkway above, rapid and retreating.

The ability user.

He must have been nearby, trapped within the perimeter while waiting for an opportunity to escape.

Chuuya immediately snapped out of it. He cast Dazai one last unreadable look before launching forward in pursuit. His footsteps rang sharply against steel as he vaulted toward the stairs without hesitation.

Still, no one else dared to move.

Not when Dazai was standing there, his face hard as stone, his eyes a bottomless void.

The mafiosos avoided looking at him altogether, wishing they could melt into the walls. Whatever the issue was between the ex-partners, they valued their lives even more.

Slowly, Dazai lowered his phone.

He flipped it shut.

The click echoed far too loudly in the silence.

Atsushi and Kunikida hesitated, uncertain whether to speak, to comfort, or to pretend nothing had happened. In the end, neither of them said a word.

Without acknowledging anyone, Dazai stepped through the doorway, passing the Port Mafia members outside without sparing them a glance.

Through the window, his side profile betrayed nothing as he walked past. Atsushi followed him with his gaze until he was gone, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.

The lab outside buzzed with activity, a stark contrast to the tense quiet that had dominated the room moments before. Chuuya stood among the throng, the ability user already cuffed and sitting calmly at his feet on the curb, looking more bored than afraid.

Chuuya’s presence drew the attention of every passerby. Yet no one dared approach him directly. The mafia grunts, the Special Division staff, and even the junior members. They all kept their heads low as they went about their duties.

Somehow, word of what happened inside had spread. Whispers and wary glances followed Chuuya, as if he were a spooked animal or a ticking time bomb.

The ability user noticed the scrutiny as well. He hadn’t been overly concerned about being caught, knowing he’d probably be locked up, and not killed or tortured. Besides, given how recklessly he’d carried out his crimes, it was inevitable.

Still...

“That man in there... Who’s he?” the ability user asked, tilting his head toward the ginger with genuine curiosity.

Chuuya didn’t answer, his attention locked elsewhere.

Even amidst the shifting crowd, his eyes had caught onto brown, the shade of it so familiar that he could recognize it even with just a glimpse.

There, across the plaza, Dazai now stood. His eyes met Chuuya’s, unflinching.

Atsushi came jogging up from beside, breath quick from exertion and nerves. “Chuuya-san!” he panted. He had been looking for the gravity manipulator, unable to track down Dazai for answers.

“This... Dazai-san, he...” His words stumbled, fumbling for a rational explanation to try to smooth things over.

“M-maybe the barrier was triggered by something else,” he said desperately. He pointed at the ability user anxiously. “Maybe he... he let up the barrier to sow discord!”

“Hey! Why does everyone always blame me for what happens in the barrier?” the ability user complained. He told Atsushi. “Kid, I know we’re enemies and all, but I didn’t do shit. I was hoping the barrier would keep you guys trapped so I could escape.”

He groaned, ruffling his hair with cuffed hands. “I thought I had gotten everyone. Who knew there would be a swarm of you right after? Isn’t that a bit of overkill?”

Then, the man glanced up at Chuuya, saying nervously, "Look, I’m not one to meddle, but maybe you should think twice about your relationship with that man in bandages. My ability's pretty strong, you know, and I've never had a lie shatter my barrier like that.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. It was the biggest lie he had heard, and that was saying something when someone once confessed to a murder and had only weakened the barrier by half. It meant that the lie he heard just now was something meaningful, something someone strongly believed in, something that could shatter belief once the truth was revealed.

Atsushi obviously didn’t want to believe him and wanted to refute. However, Chuuya was still dead silent, gaze remaining distant.

Both Atsushi and the ability user exchanged uneasy glances, wary of breaking the silence. No one dared speak first.

Finally, Chuuya moved, and they both stiffened. He addressed Atsushi without turning, voice flat and detached. “Make sure to hand him over to Ango.”

Then, without another word, he walked away.

However, he didn’t manage to walk far before Odasaku, who had been hovering nearby, intercepted him. He gestured for the executive to step aside, leading him to a parked car. It didn’t offer true privacy, but the vehicle acted as a partial shield, a flimsy barrier against the prying eyes still lingering on Chuuya.

“I heard what happened,” Odasaku began, his voice uneasy, carefully measured. He wanted to prevent any misunderstandings, considering there used to be rumours about his relationship with Dazai when the two had left the Port Mafia together back then. He didn't want Soukoku's relationship to implode because of him. “I just want to make it clear that there’s nothing going on between me and Dazai. We can even ask the ability user to use his ability on me if you want,” he hurried the words out, wincing immediately afterwards. Because no matter what he said, it didn’t negate the lie Dazai told.

“Just... maybe talk to Dazai. I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Odasaku added, halting when he realized he was just finding excuses to defend his friend.

Chuuya’s expression remained neutral. “I know,” he said, brushing past Odasaku.

Another few steps, and his phone buzzed insistently. The screen lit up with Kouyou’s name.

He answered. “Ane-san. The ability user’s apprehended already, so your side can—”

“Chuuya,” Kouyou’s voice came gentle and hesitant, the pause stretching as if she didn’t quite know how to continue.

Chuuya let out a dry laugh. “Word sure spreads fast, huh?”

Kouyou’s tone sharpened slightly, though she softened it immediately. “I heard about the ability. Dazai, he...” Her voice faltered. Kouyou had always been vocal about her dislike of Dazai, but even she hadn’t expected this. In the end, she could only offer what she knew Chuuya might accept—her presence. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” she murmured.

“Ane-san, don’t worry about me,” Chuuya replied. His voice was calm, almost casual. “I’m fine.”

Kouyou exhaled, unconvinced, though she didn’t press further. “I understand. Take care of yourself, lad.”

With almost every eye on his retreating figure, Chuuya walked on, unbothered.

He had somewhere to be.

+1.

Chuuya sat alone in the dark of his apartment. The lights were off, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the room. He slouched on the sofa, fingers absently tracing the contours of a small device on the low table before him.

Around him, the apartment lay in disarray, every corner turned upside down. Chuuya couldn’t be bothered about the mess he made, a tangle of emotions coiling in his chest.

His gaze rested on the wall unseeingly, still smoothing over the tiny device in his hands, as if waiting for something.

A sudden, sharp awareness prickled at the back of his neck.

The apartment was deathly quiet. No footsteps, no whispers, no indication of the door opening. Yet Chuuya knew, without even turning, that he was no longer alone.

He didn’t need to look. He already knew who it was.

Warm arms slid around his neck from behind, tight and snug. A strand of hair brushed against his cheek, and a familiar scent drifted along his skin. Soft puffs of breath pressed against him when a face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hot and intimate.

Chuuya remained utterly still, the weight of inevitability settling over him.

“You love me. That's a lie, huh?”

He was careful to keep his tone even.

The silence stretched, thick and deliberate. Then, a slow movement in the corner of his vision, before lips grazed his ear. “Does Chuuya believe me now?”

Chuuya’s lips twitched, a twitch that was almost a smile.

Yes. He believed him now.

Dazai had likely orchestrated this from the beginning, to let Chuuya see the lie for what it truly was.

It was proof that even after leaving, even after four years apart, Dazai hadn’t changed one bit.

He didn’t love Chuuya.

Not then, and not now.

Chuuya clenched his fists.

Because what Dazai had wasn’t love. It was a darker and more suffocating thing. It was obsession, possession, a controlling thing that would not let Chuuya escape. Not in life, and not even in death. It was insatiable greed and destructive desire, a force that wanted Chuuya entirely, body and soul, heart and sinew.

He’d probably try to crack Chuuya open if he could, to crawl inside and burrow himself beneath ribs, root himself to beating heart, though Chuuya would crush him first if he dared try. But knowing Dazai, he’d probably enjoy that too. The sick bastard.

The manipulative, sick bastard.

The gentleness, the sweet words, the displays of affection. They were all fake. Just an elaborate act on Dazai’s part. One mask among many to hide the roiling darkness beneath.

Every slip of the tongue, every fleeting hint of something real, or even a careless drunken gesture. It was always deliberate, a carefully calculated performance to make everything seem real.

Dazai would never expose his true self to anyone, except, perhaps, Chuuya.

After all, if the world knew the truth behind the roses Dazai so theatrically gifted, the ones curated in secret gardens buried full of Chuuya’s admirers who had ‘disappeared’ or ‘reassigned,’ society would surely lock him away and throw away the key.

His roses were a statement and his ‘I love you’s were no different. Those three words, uttered so often between lovers, were meant for the audience. It was a way to stake his claim openly, declaring that Chuuya belonged to him, in the only socially sanctioned way.

Behind closed doors, Dazai would never utter such empty words.

Because a man like Dazai Osamu could never love.

Chuuya had known this long ago, ever since the day Dazai gutted a subordinate who had dared confess to Chuuya with a single rose.

The man had bled at their feet while Dazai’s smile remained unnervingly calm.

“Do you like my gift?” he had asked, the words light, almost casual.

Chuuya had said nothing, unreadable, and Dazai’s voice dropped into something low and possessive.

“Chuuya is mine.”

It was both a threat and a promise.

Bloodied fingers had traced lightly along Chuuya’s cheeks, almost lovingly, if not for the manic devotion burning in his eyes. “So beautiful,” he had sighed.

Then, his fingers dug in, and he declared, “Chuuya, I won’t let you go no matter what. And I’ll kill anyone who thinks they can take you from me, even if it’s you.” Despite the painful grip, there was something almost gentle in his voice. “So even if you hate me to death for this, that’s fine. Everything of yours, even your anger and resentment, I will still want it, because it’s Chuuya’s.”

Chuuya had tilted his chin down then, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

The dark pool of red on the ground was spreading, the same colour as the fallen rose, almost touching the tip of his shoes.

Chuuya lifted a foot before the red could stain it.

Dazai’s eyes darkened, a flicker of disappointment pooling low in his gut. He wouldn’t admit it, but he wanted Chuuya to want him back. It didn’t matter. Chuuya could try to escape, but it would change nothing.

And yet, the foot descended anyway, right into the puddle of red, the sole soaked to the point of no return. It was beyond saving now.

In the rippling, red reflection pooled beneath their feet, one silhouette yanked the other forward to kiss him fiercely.

Chuuya had never handled abandonment well. He wasn’t a saint or some righteous protagonist. He hated being left behind, hated being the one left standing in tragedies that had claimed others. Always the survivor, always alone. So, when someone chose him—stubbornly, obsessively, without question—something within him gave way. If they wouldn’t leave, then he would accept all of them, every dangerous, consuming, suffocating part.

But, even then, Dazai had left, and Chuuya had been left to pick up the pieces. If Dazai, for all his suffocating devotion, could walk away so easily, then Chuuya could not trust it. He could not allow himself to believe those words from that day.

And Dazai must have known it, too. He must have known that his promises, no matter how fervent, were hollow without proof. So, he acted, giving Chuuya exactly what he needed—evidence.

With the reveal at the lab, the ‘clue’ had been placed directly in his hands, and Chuuya had followed it.

And now, here he was, staring at the tangible and undeniable proof before him.

Chuuya gazed at the blinking trackers, the listening devices, and the pinhole cameras. They formed a sizeable pile on the low table, each item well-worn with years of use. They had been extracted from his apartment, his clothes, woven seamlessly into various items of his daily life.

Each one was a testament that Dazai had kept his promise. He had never let go, even after leaving the Port Mafia, even after disappearing from Chuuya’s world.

Chuuya chuckled softly, tossing the listening device he had been absently fiddling with into the pile. Dazai remained silent behind him, arms wrapped possessively around Chuuya’s neck, eyes half-lidded as he waited for the next motion, the next surrender.

Chuuya let his fingers thread through the soft strands of brown hair at the nape of Dazai’s neck, feeling the shiver that travelled through the man’s frame. A soft sigh pressed into his skin, a pleased sound that made the air between them tremble. Then, with a decisive tug, he drew Dazai closer, forcing him to turn and meet his gaze. “You could have just told me,” Chuuya said.

Dazai didn’t resist under the firm grip, predatory eyes flashing faintly in amusement. “Chuuya wouldn’t have believed it.”

A ghost of a smile curved Chuuya’s lips, and he released Dazai’s head. He shifted sideways, dislodging the other’s arms around him. A low, dissatisfied sound escaped Dazai when he readjusted, but Chuuya leaned in to cup his cheek, staring into molten brown eyes.

Their lips hovered, brushing.

“I love you,” Chuuya murmured.

Dazai’s pupils constricted instantly, and he surged forward, lips colliding with Chuuya’s in a way that stole the very air from the room. It was not gentle. It was something burning, possessive, and edged with obsession. It was suffocating and heavy with unspoken promises.

Chuuya tugged, and Dazai followed, scrambling over the sofa with relentless urgency. Teeth grazed lips and bit down hard, a mark of ownership, a claim, an all-consuming obsession.

Chuuya laughed, fierce and breathless, pressing back with equal fervour.

It didn’t matter that Dazai didn’t love him. Chuuya had more than enough for both of them. He only needed Dazai to choose him always, to stay, to never let go.

Later, after they broke apart, sprawling on the sofa with Dazai’s head pressed to his chest, Chuuya idly stroked soft brown hair. He stared up at the ceiling. There was something he was still curious about, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What I don’t understand is, why keep such a close eye on Odasaku?”

Dazai lifted his head, eyes dark and dangerous. “Must you speak another man’s name when I’m here?”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze fearlessly. Dazai flopped back onto his chest, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles at the base of his shirt collar. “He made you laugh,” he muttered sullenly.

Chuuya blinked at the ceiling. He didn’t remember it. He had always kept interactions with Odasaku brief. He didn’t need Dazai murdering another person out of jealousy, especially now, when he was supposedly “in the light.”

Still...

“I’m surprised you have such restraint,” Chuuya teased, tilting his head.

Dazai hummed, trailing fingers higher to collarbones. “He’s useful,” Dazai murmured. “You only pay attention to me when I’m around him.”

“I pay attention to you all the time,” Chuuya refuted. If he didn't, there might be another body in Yokohama Bay, or another catastrophe that required both organizations to work together.

“It’s different,” Dazai said firmly. “I have to manipulate things so you come to me. But with him, you seek me out. Every. Single. Time.” His fingers tapped against Chuuya’s collarbones, warning and possessive.

Chuuya snorted softly. “You’re a psycho, you know that.” He shifted a little when he felt fingers gliding up his neck, ticklish and lingering.

“You said you love me,” Dazai murmured. His thumb pressed softly against Chuuya’s pulse, a slow and deliberate pressure, while his fingers curled around his neck in a deceptively gentle hold. It was as if the wrong answer would doom him. “You can’t take that back.”

He sounded like a child throwing a tantrum.

Chuuya laughed breathlessly, pressing into his grip as an answer instead.