Chapter Text
It’s late into the night in the city of Yokohama, the stars absent as clouds loom above. Trees rustling in the wind was the only sound, minus the roar of the blazing fire before him. It’s almost fall, so there’s a slight breeze in the air. The scent of rain can be picked up on faintly, which, is good… cause something needs to put this fire out. He’s damn sure not going to do anything about it. Dazai sighs, the time has come. He stands with his hands shoved into his pockets, admiring the wispy flames and the melting metal, alone, having just blown up Chuuya’s car, so the annoying redhead doesn’t follow.
Dazai doesn’t dare touch his now ex-partner’s motorcycle. He may be suicidal but he doesn’t want to die suffering. Admittedly, he knows how much it means to Chuuya and Dazai can’t bring himself to go that far. The smoke and flames rising off Chuuya’s ugly, tiny car is enough.
Dazai absolutely can’t do this Port Mafia shit anymore. Odasaku asked him to go into the light, into the side of good, and for all hell, it was his dying wish. Record expunged, thanks to extorting Ango, a long conversation with The President, and a few hours of final considerations, Dazai is going to join the Armed Detective Agency. “If both sides are the same, become a good man.” has played on a loop in his mind for so long.
Determining Chuuya’s car has been effectively taken out like it’s his mortal enemy or something, Dazai finally heads out. Away from the Port Mafia, away from that demon of a man Mori, but also, and he’d never admit this- painfully away from Chuuya. It’s fine. He knows Chuuya will adapt. It’s not like that feisty bastard needs Dazai for anything, technically. Should he have told him first? Before sneaking off into the night like a runaway teen? Probably. He’s not feeling guilty or anything though, of course. Dazai doesn’t experience guilt, right? Yeah. Into the shadows of the dark side of the city and towards the lights of the ADA he goes.
Meanwhile, Chuuya was sleeping peacefully until he heard an explosion outside, jolting him immediately upright. He already has a bad— yet solid, idea of what might’ve happened. Chuuya climbs out of bed and quickly tosses on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before exiting his flat, jogging outside to find his fucking car on fire. Anger boils inside him, instantly. He runs towards the flaming vehicle, noticing the handy work that is all too familiar and understanding Dazai has been off-kilter for a while… he just knows.
"What the fuck… Dazai! That stupid fucking bastard…!"
By the time Chuuya gets through swearing to the gods over the utter disrespect of them ever creating a person like Osamu Dazai, the man in question here has already made it to the ADA headquarters. Slinking into his new flat, which is inside the red-bricked building he will be working from now on, he rests his head on the door after locking it behind him. A few steadying breaths later, he recovers his bearings. This is the right choice. He knows that. It doesn’t make this shit feel any less uncomfortable or uneasy, though. Dazai tosses his bags to the floor and collapses back onto his new, unmade bed.
Chuuya, after making multiple phone calls with no response, hops on his motorcycle in a blind rage and zooms across the city. He doesn’t know where to start, or where to look. Where exactly does a suicidal, bandage-wasting fish run off to after blowing up someone’s car? Gripping the handles of his bike so tight his knuckles are white, he checks the river first. No fish. He checks the Train Station, Central Park, Lupin- which was a dumb stop, the place is obviously closed at this hour but he’s panicking, alright? Dazai may seem invincible, and he probably is, but you can never be too sure. He was also mad at himself, because of how completely fucking worried he was.
Dazai’s attempts to relax, shutting his eyes on the preemptive thought that Chuuya can’t, or maybe the best word is, shouldn’t, find him at the ADA. He gave his partner no warnings, no note, not even a conversation that would connect Dazai to the Agency. Chuuya is a cunning and clever one though, even if Dazai can’t fully admit that to himself. His phone has been ringing nonstop, the name “Slug” shining in the darkness of his new bedroom. He doesn’t answer it. Why would he? It’s been done. Chuuya has no reason to continue to put up with his shit anymore. They are considered enemies now.
An hour passes, and Dazai has burned his mafia attire to a crisp inside the little fireplace in his living room. Reflecting a little despite himself, coldly observing the embers fly off of his old coat, he supposes he could’ve at least warned Chuuya. A single message, a letter, something. Dazai didn’t tell Chuuya anything though, in fear he would convince him to stay with the Port Mafia.
Dazai knew that annoying menace to his brain would be the only person who would have the power to convince him to stay. If anyone was going to make him reconsider, it’s Chuuya Nakahara. But we don’t make life-altering choices based around hot-headed Chibi’s, now, do we?
In the middle of Yokohama Center Square, Chuuya comes to a halt and slams his fists into the dash of his motorcycle. Anger and worry threaten to consume him at this rate. He tries to call Dazai for what feels like the thousandth time, only to receive silence again.
“Fuck! Where the fuck are you?!” Chuuya yells into the night. Glaring up at the black sky as though the stars themselves are to blame. As if the absence of them on this particular night is what’s creating this sharp ache in his chest.
He pulls into a mostly empty parking lot, save a few vehicles scattered around, and rests his head in his hands. Gripping his hair, fighting off a panic attack he really doesn’t fucking need right now. Chuuya just sits for some time before he tries one more time to contact the idiot in question. Ripping his phone out of his pocket, he fires off another text, in a desperate final attempt. Dazai isn’t answering calls, but maybe he will respond to a text? Whatever. Chuuya will try anything.
[1:50AM] Slug: Where the hell are you?
Dazai groans when his phone lights up the darkness for the millionth time. He knows it’s his pissed-off best friend. Sighing, he opens the text, staring at it for a while. ‘I really should just continue to leave him on read…’ he thinks, and that’s exactly what he does for over half an hour. Eventually, though, he becomes too aware that Chuuya can and will at least try track him down to no end if he doesn’t give him something. So, Dazai texts back, begrudgingly.
Chuuya is grumbling to himself as he stares at the small “read” under his text, shaking his head and aggressively tapping his foot against the side of his bike. Dazai takes forever to reply, but at least Chuuya is aware he’s still alive. So much time passes that Chuuya debates on just starting his search again. When he does start his bike back up, finally a text message from “Mackerel” comes through. Chuuya cuts the roaring bike off again and texts him back immediately.
[2:28AM] Mackerel: Is the Chibi worried for my safety?
[2:30AM] Slug: Just tell me where you are. I’m gonna go insane, out here driving around in circles. You blew up my fucking car and we both know that I have to be the one who always keeps tabs on you. Since you act as if you want to kill yourself every hour.
Dazai huffs, glancing out the window of his new living quarters. The light from the street lamp outside his window gleams into his room, casting shadows across the foreign environment. This place is nothing like his shipping container that he had recently taken up home in to distance himself from everything. This place is also nothing like the apartment he shared with Chuuya, before he started to slowly cut ties. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but he supposes it will soon enough. Dazai read the word vomit of a text from Chuuya but… what can he say? They are enemies now. The Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia are not on good terms, to put it simply. After some thought, he knows he has to create distance between himself and his ex-partner.
[2:43AM] Mackerel: I’m alive and well. Now, get out of my fucking phone and go home.
Chuuya’s frown deepens at Dazai’s reply. Dazai will drive him up the wall for the rest of his life, he’s sure of it. He hastily shoots a message back, almost instantly. Chuuya is entirely too stressed about what’s going on to give a damn about how it might look to Dazai.
[2:45AM] Slug: I’m not going home until I’ve seen you with my own 2 eyes. That’s the only way I’ll know for sure that you’re ok. I’m not taking no for an answer.
Dazai runs a frustrated hand down his face. This fucking annoying little bastard cannot take a hint to save his life. After more thought, he decides to just give up, assuming honesty will probably sting enough to push Chuuya away.
[2:50] Mackerel: I’m leaving the Port Mafia. I’ve joined the ADA. We are enemies now. Get the fuck out of my phone before Mori finds out and locks your ass in confinement for contacting me.
Chuuya’s heart drops into his stomach as he reads Dazai’s message. Joining the Armed Detective Agency, meaning they’re now enemies..? What the fuck? But Dazai is his partner? What about him? Why didn’t they talk about this before such a massive decision was made? They talk about everything else. Chuuya’s rage spikes to another level and without a second thought he starts his bike and charges towards the ADA headquarters. He screeches to a halt outside. Dazai can hear the tires burn into the pavement from his room. Chuuya, shaking hands be damned, sends a rather alarming message.
[2:53AM] Slug: So you’re my enemy now? I can kill you without worry? What a lovely surprise. Open the goddamn door or I’m gonna break it down myself.
[2:54AM] Mackerel: Break in and see what happens you annoying little bastard.
Dazai shoots back a threat instantly this time, with no hesitation. It’s not even his first real day on the job. What kind of impression would it leave if his ex-partner destroyed the ADA’s property before he even gets one shift under his belt? The text is futile since he clearly hears glass shattering downstairs in the office. Lovely. That’s going to be a joy to explain to his brand new co-workers come morning.