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Dazai’s hand was pressed against the wound in his side. He had misjudged, as he looked around the destroyed upper quadrant of Suribachi City, what this battle would take.
He had sorely miscalculated. His mind was working on overdrive, picking up things that he wasn’t even conscious of, slowly checking off the post-battle list that he always had, the one that told him that everything was okay and everyone made it out. His eyes flicked around, checking them all off.
There was Kunikida, a cut above his brow, still holding his pistol. His glasses were cracked on the left side, a small spiderweb, but he nodded to Dazai, dirt smeared across his cheekbones. He was fine. A knot uncurled slightly in his chest, so tightly wound that he didn’t notice it until it began to loosen.
Atsushi was hefting Akutagawa out from underneath a large piece of rubble. Akutagawa’s face was pale, but his eyes were open, and he was sneering at the were-tiger if the other’s exasperated expression was anything to go by. They were okay. The knot uncurled further.
Tanizaki was laughing, slightly tinged with madness at finding Kenji dead asleep, near a crumpled building, curled around the stop sign he had used as a weapon like he was clutching a teddy bear.
Kyouka was getting brushed off by Kouyou, the elder cupping the small girl’s cheek, a proud smile on her face.
In the far distance, the agency’s van pulled up and parked at the nearest safe place. Yosano got out of the driver’s seat, grabbing her doctor’s bag as she took in the chaos. Dazai could see her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. Ranpo hopped out of the passenger side, frowning, opening a bag of chips before making his way into the ruins.
To his left, closer to the center of the disaster, Tachihara and Hirotsu were picking their way through the rubble, searching for something.
That was every-
No, it wasn’t.
Where was Chuuya?
Dazai felt the hole in his side scream as he shifted – the bullet shouldn’t have slowed him down this much, but he was sure that it nicked something important. No matter. He’d get fixed up later. This wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He had something – someone he needed to find first.
The knot in his chest was so tight it was hard to breathe.
The first time Dazai kissed Chuuya, he had been drunk and bored and sixteen and just curious how the angry dog that was his partner would react. He had earned the black eye that the redhead had given him and Mori laughed at him when he showed up to the office the next morning. Chuuya hadn’t spoken to him for three days.
The second time Dazai kissed Chuuya, they had been eighteen and it was Chuuya’s birthday. Oda had been off on a mission – something menial and easy, and Dazai had shown up at Chuuya flat, half-hoping the other wasn’t there so that he could mess with the kitchen and leave traps for his partner. Instead, Chuuya had answered the door, given him a cocked eyebrow and stepped aside without saying a word. Dazai hadn’t even known that it was Chuuya’s birthday until they had been drinking wine and it was mentioned. So Dazai’s birthday present to Chuuya was a sloppy kiss on the lips, half on a dare. They never mentioned it again, but Dazai began to wonder.
The third time Dazai had kissed Chuuya, they were twenty-two. They had just gone up against a large eldritch monstrosity. Chuuya was barely conscious, bleeding on the ground and Dazai looked at the other, feeling the same pull he had always felt whenever he was around the tiny redhead – some part hatred, some part fondness, and Dazai had never cared to look deeper. He had walked around the clearing, found Chuuya’s coat and hat and carefully folded the coat, placing it by Chuuya’s side. He had leaned over, brushing the darkened, sweaty hair away from Chuuya’s hazy eyes and kissed him lightly, tasting the blood and sweat of the battle. Chuuya had given him a small smile, just a quirk of the lips, and passed out.
The first time Chuuya had kissed Dazai had been a week later, fully healed from the toll of Corruption. He had shown up at Dazai’s dormitory at two in the morning, bullied his way in and kissed the other man passionately, pressing him against the wall of his apartment and hooking his hands around Dazai’s backside and lifting him up so that Dazai’s long legs instinctively curled around Chuuya’s waist. “That’s how you kiss someone, shitty mackerel,” the redhead had crowed at Dazai’s stunned expression. Dazai remembered the rest of that encounter in vivid detail.
He had stopped counting after that.
“Hirotsu?” Dazai asked as he approached the other. The older man was streaked with ash and dust, adding a pallor to his skin that matched his hair. His scarf was missing, and his coat was torn in several places
The old man turned wildly at the sound of his name, and something faded as he saw it was Dazai. It was the first time in the past decade that Dazai had ever seen Hirotsu look distressed. Something was growing in Dazai’s stomach – a feeling of dread he had never known.
“Hirotsu,” the brunette repeated, breathless in the dawn. “Where’s Chuuya?”
The gentleman’s shoulders sagged. “I am looking for him. I-” He cleared his throat, and Dazai could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. This was wrong. This was the miscalculation. “I lost sight of him during the fight. I am… we are…”
Dazai gave a short, grim nod. “We’ll find him,” he promised. He couldn’t help but look down at his left hand, at the silver band with the black ring through it that settled neatly on his ring finger. There was a new scratch on it – slight but the two had known the rings wouldn’t stay in immaculate condition.
He would find his partner.
“We should get married,” Chuuya said suddenly, his hand stroking Dazai’s damp hair. They were curled up in bed – Chuuya’s this time - naked, and sweaty, and Dazai was nearly asleep.
“Am I dreaming?” he murmured into Chuuya’s shoulder, too spent to move or do anything but bask in the comfort of this moment.
Chuuya’s laugh reverberated through his chest, and Dazai began to count the redhead’s heartbeats, memorizing them. This was his reason. “No, mackerel,” he whispered, placing a kiss to the top of Dazai’s hair. “You’re not dreaming. We should get married.”
Dazai forced himself to be more conscious – though it was so hard with Chuuya’s steady heartbeat in his ear and his hand stroking Dazai’s hair. “We aren’t even-”
Chuuya snorted, and Dazai listened to how the sound stuttered his heart. “Who cares?” the other laughed. “We’re partners. Fuck tradition. Let’s get married.”
Dazai didn’t have to think about it. “Sure.” He didn’t remember much after that, lulled off to sleep by the other’s steady ministrations. “Married.”
This was supposed to be simple. Another foreign Ability group was trying to move in on Japan, and of course, they had chosen Yokohama as the place to do so – not that that was merely coincidence. There had been a lot of planning from Tachihara, Dazai, Ranpo, Kouyou, and Ango to make sure that the enemy group had believed that Yokohama would be the best place to land. It was always more difficult to keep enemy organizations out when they landed elsewhere. Yokohama gave them home field advantage, allowing them to use all of the vast resources at the disposal of the four organizations.
From there, it was easy to fall back the mostly deserted upper echelon of Suribachi City, where everyone could let loose without fearing the death of bystanders or critical infrastructure if needed, though they had all thought it wouldn't get this far.
It had been the perfect plan.
He hadn’t accounted for the possibility that they would bring fighter jets.
Dazai coughed as he moved through the outlying debris, the clouds of dust and smoke from small fires. He thought he saw an arm from underneath a slab of wall in front of him. He rushed over, wincing at the lightheaded feeling. He was losing blood too fast.
He needed to find Chuuya.
He ripped the sleeve off his button-down shirt, grunting with the effort and twisted around his waist, staunching the flow of blood. He needed both his hands if he was going to move this rock.
It took too long and, too much effort, but Dazai was finally able to shift the rock enough to look at the body beneath it.
Not Chuuya. He let the rock slip from his ripped fingertips, looking around.
He shouted for his husband. He screamed for him, his voice echoing across the rubble.
No one replied.
Dazai did not believe in a higher power – how could he when the greatest power in the world was already within his grasp? But he hoped.
He hoped that if there were a higher power, then maybe Chuuya would be okay.
Even if that higher power were only Arahabaki.
The wedding was big, bigger than the two of them had even dreamed. Both the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia were there. Some members of the Guild had shown up – Lucy, Poe, Fitzgerald and Louise. Mori had sprung for a yacht draped in blacks, blues and reds. Fukuzawa had provided the catering. The two had fought over which planning was better like rival mother-in-laws, each insisting that their plans were better. The two had given up once the bosses decided to use the planning as competitive warfare.
There were only three rules for those who attended, carefully penned by Chuuya’s hand and given to each guest at the entrance to the ramp of the boat.
“Welcome to the wedding of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya, the duo known as Double Black.
1. No killing. Yes, that means you, Ryuunosuke.
2. If any one of you breaks the cake before we can slice it, you will be forced to spend an hour with Dazai doing whatever he wants. This is your only warning.
3. No gifts. Mori, put that back in your car right now. I’m fucking serious. If you don’t, there’s a file in the third drawer of your desk that others might want to know about. Do not test me.
Get drunk, or don’t, fuck you all. Thanks for coming.”
Mori had indeed tried to bring a flamboyant procession of gifts but had to return them to the car after reading the note. No one messed with the large three-tiered cake, and Akutagawa had stayed as far away from Atsushi as he could, because the other was getting tipsy and Akutagawa’s patience could only last so far.
The wedding had been a success. The yacht had been lit on fire. Ranpo had cackled merrily from one of the lifeboats with Yosano as they watched the yacht sink beneath the bay, having escaped to the best vantage point nearly twenty minutes before the blaze, with one bottle of wine, one bottle of champagne and most of the snack table. Karl chittered angrily from the bow, though Poe was nowhere to be seen.
The two toasted as Chuuya and Dazai kissed in the water, pulling apart and pressing their foreheads together. It was evident that Dazai said something rude, because Chuuya reeled back and splashed him full in the face before they were kissing passionately again.
Double Black were officially married.
Kunikida was at Dazai’s side, a hand on his shoulder. He was saying something, but the brunette couldn’t hear him. He was looking wildly around – Chuuya was out there… Chuuya needed help…
Two hands grasped his cheeks, forcing him to look at Kunikida.
Slowly, the sounds were filtering in through Dazai’s mind.
“Dazai,” the other was saying, voice low and serious. “We’ll find him. But you need to have Yosano look at you before you bleed out.”
Dazai tried to rear his head back, but Kunikida kept his hands firmly and gently on the other. Tears prickled at the corners of his amber eyes.
“Dazai.” There was no argument in that tone, the cadence of Kunkida’s voice a mere whisper. “Do you think he would want you to kill yourself looking for him? We’ve called in search teams. We’ll find him.”
Dazai was cold, his voice smaller than Kunikida had ever heard it as he whispered, “I need to find his… I need to find his hat. He’ll be so mad he lost his hat…” His voice cracked and he looked helplessly at the other Detective.
He was lost, leaning heavily on Kunikida’s shoulder, the strength leaving him, his whole world crashing around him as he bled out.
He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, his mind shutting down after the past week – the lack of sleep, the blood loss. He barely heard Kunikida’s shout as his body started falling to the ground.
He didn’t hear anything else.
Chuuya rolled his eyes at Dazai – Dazai wasn’t paying much attention to anything he was saying, too caught up in looking at his partner. The smaller man’s lithe frame was leaning against the armrest of the couch; feet curled beneath him. He was wearing his reading glasses as he went over reports – Dazai loved to see him with those the round frames accenting his cheekbones and bright eyes.
“If you’re going to be an annoying shit,” Chuuya was saying, staring at him over the rims like a stern librarian, “could you at least come back later when I’m not trying to get work done?”
“But Chuuya,” Dazai complained, pressing into his husband’s space. “You look too good with your glasses on. I want to bother you now.”
Chuuya set his report on the coffee table with an audible sigh, slowly turning back to face Dazai. He readjusted himself, and Dazai was aware of all the subtle movements of his muscled frame – the rolling of the shoulders, the way he was looking at Dazai with something building behind his gaze.
“Come here,” he beckoned, repositioning so that one leg was off the couch, and the other was leaning against the backrest – allowing access for Dazai to press his body against the redhead’s. Dazai did so without hesitation, kissing the other brutally. Chuuya’s hands were in his hair, and grasping at the back of his shirt. Dazai reached underneath Chuuya’s shirt, feeling the tightly packed muscles, the softness at the edges.
Not much work was done that night.
When Dazai returned to himself, he was laying on the ground, feeling the warmth seep through the broken stones. To his left, he could see the front left tire of the van, and to his right, was nothing but rubble. The sun was reaching its zenith. How long had he been out? He moved to sit up, but a firm hand pushed him back down.
“Absolutely not,” Yosano told him sternly. “I will not have you pulling your stitches.”
“Stitches?” Dazai murmured, before realizing that he was under a blanket. A cold feeling hit the pit of his stomach as he realized that Yosano must have unwound some of his bandages, but… it was fine. She had done it a few times before, yet it always made him shudder that anyone had seen.
Still, that wasn’t the point of this.
Yosano watched him wearily before running a hand through her hair. “Your husband hasn’t been found yet,” she finally told him with a sigh. “Everyone’s out looking for him though. There’s nothing you can do but rest. If you rip your stitches, I don’t know how long you’ll survive. You already need a blood transfusion, but I had a feeling that if you woke up elsewhere, you’d only kill yourself getting back here.”
Dazai scrunched up his face. Chuuya hadn’t been found yet. Though, he had to admit that the doctor was correct about everything else though. He would have burned the city to return to the scene of destruction, to try and find his stupid slug.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing yet. But don’t worry.” Here she smiled and tapped the side of her head. Dazai could barely see the earpiece that was fitted. “I’m getting updates every ten minutes about how the search is going. Ranpo and Kunikida are leading it. We’ll find him, Dazai. Trust us.”
Dazai was surprised to find that he did.
“Chuuya this is stupid, just stick with the plan!” Dazai yelled, eyes widened as his husband – his wonderful, absolute fucking idiot of a husband – was floating in the air nearby, looking away from Dazai as he saw the carnage that was happening.
The organization was far bigger than they thought it would be – they had aligned themselves with someone, and Dazai was thinking that it was probably a government considering how many human troops had been involved. Of course, they were looking for the Book, and for some damned reason, they thought that Yokohama held the secrets. Just as the Guild had nearly three years before.
Chuuya snorted. “The plan was for us to rebuff them near the harbor,” he snapped, finally turning his bright eyes towards Dazai, alighting softly on the ground in front of him. Dazai instinctively reached out, entwining his hand with Chuuya's.
It was always strange to see the mafioso disheveled when Corruption was not involved. Chuuya was untouchable, the strongest Ability user that Dazai had ever known. Dazai had known that Chuuya had once used his Ability to make sure that his hair and hat stayed in place during an entire fight. Chuuya’s hat was missing – blown off in the same explosion that had streaked his face with dark tendrils of black. A fine layer of dust from a nearby collapsed building settled over his clothing.
“Does this look like the fucking harbor to you, Dazai?”
The words hit Dazai. He had been wrong – there had been so many things that he and Ranpo had not accounted for when they had made this plan. Someone had to be giving them false information – and he would find that someone and teach them the value of not fucking with him.
Once this was over.
Airplanes screamed above them and Chuuya shoved Dazai out of the way as something else exploded nearby. Tanizaki was on a rooftop nearby, trying to craft an illusion that would confuse everyone that was looking. Dazai could see how much the large area he needed to cover was weighing on him, hands out, eyes closed, mouth open in a shout of effort as the green twinkles of his Ability spread slowly above them all, granting them the slightest cover.
Chuuya was on the ground now, next to him. “I’ll be back, Dazai,” he whispered, forcing Dazai to look at him. “I’m not using it, I’m just going to do my job. And there is no one else that can take down those planes.”
Dazai couldn’t say the words that he wanted to. He couldn’t whisper, except in the confines of his own mind, the fervent prayer of come back to me that thrummed with each beat of his heart. Instead, he let Chuuya’s dirt and dust covered hands grip his face, as the other man kissed him once passionately, and once gently before touching their foreheads together.
“Don’t you fucking die, mackerel. It’s your turn to cook dinner.”
Dazai let out a huff of laughter, his arms on Chuuya’s waist. “I’ll order us something from that Thai place you like. Curry sound good?”
Chuuya nodded, letting his lips touch Dazai’s cheek for the briefest moment. “Curry sounds great,” he agreed before drawing away from Dazai.
Dazai couldn’t help keeping his eyes on the other as he jumped away, hurtling through the sky like the demonic, feisty mafioso his was.
Touching his hand to his cheek, he drew in a deep breath and waded back into the fray himself. Normally, this was the part he hated the most – the front lines were not made for people like him, but he also had a job to do.
Chuuya could barely feel anything, every movement caused his mind to blank as surging knives rushed over him. One of his eyes was refusing to open, and his throat was thickly coated with dirt and dust and rubble. He tried to breathe in deeply, before letting out the smallest whimpers as he felt the broken ribs in his chest scrape against each other and send fresh tendrils of fire lacing through his body. He began to take shallow breaths in through his nose, trying not to move the ribs. He probably had at least four that were broken – though the damage didn’t end there.
There was a dim light around him, just a speck in the rubble – he imagined that was why he hadn’t run out of air yet, that small crevice that allowed him to see the hours that were passing outside where he was.
He couldn’t remember what happened, his mind delightfully blank as he tried to take stock of his injuries. He didn’t want to look down at his body – his head was swimming far too much for him to move it well, but he also knew that a building had, at least, partially collapsed on top of him. Only one arm and his upper chest was free. Everything else was trapped beneath the heavy stone and he couldn’t concentrate enough to try and lift it with his Ability.
Even if he did, he wondered if there was anyone that would find him.
He tried to remember.
He had been heading up in the air, trying to deal with the airplanes – there were only two, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he had taken down airplanes, though it was the first time it was military aircraft. Still, he was confident in his abilities.
What had happened?
He racked his brain, feeling the dull throb on his free shoulder – probably dislocated. Was there any part of him that wasn’t injured in any way?
What had happened in the air? There had been… he remembered taking down the first plane, sending it careening off the inlet and into the bay.
Looking up, he sighed – his exhalation becoming a sharp gasp as his ribs protested - seeing the tattered nose of the other plane. That one had crashed into him, sending them both into this building, trapping them both under the rubble.
Fucking pilot. Fucking airplane. Fucking stupid whoever-the-fuck funded them.
Chuuya wasn’t sure what he could do in this case. He didn’t know how much blood he lost or what his body would look like if anyone ever found him. His mouth was coated in dirt and dust.
He was so thirsty.
He was so tired.
Stay awake, he berated in his mind. If he fell asleep now, he knew the chances of him waking up again would be almost minuscule.
Dazai had promised to order curry. His mind latched onto that. Something concrete to look forward to.
Chuuya heard noise outside, the scrape of shoes against stone and the low thrum of voices. “Here,” he coughed, his voice soft and wispy against the encroaching void in the corners of his eyes. “I’m here.”
Something blocked the light – blurry shapes and loud noises.
Chuuya let the darkness take him.
It was Friday movie night – a tradition that Chuuya and Dazai had started after they were married. They would put on a movie, sometimes watching it, sometimes not, but it was a sacred evening for them both. The Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia knew that after 5pm on Fridays, Double Black was not available unless the city was well and truly in danger.
Surprisingly, both organizations agreed. Though whether it was due to the fear of what the two would do should their night off be interrupted, or because people respected that they needed time off, it was hard to tell.
Chuuya had cooked chicken fricassee and Dazai had devoured it, being in a strange hungry mood that was hard to track for him. The two had half-filled glasses of white wine on the table in front of them as they curled up under the blanket, Dazai’s head leaning on Chuuya’s shoulder.
Chuuya’s hand was stroking the brunette’s hair as they watched the movie. Sometimes, words cluttered the room, and they both just wanted to bask and enjoy. In their line of work, they had no idea what day might be the last one.
It was peaceful, and Chuuya felt warmth permeate his entire being, with Dazai pressed up against him and the city not in danger of being wiped out.
This was everything he needed.
Yosano perked up immediately as the earpiece crackled to life. “We need you over here,” Kunikida’s crisp voice rattled off where he was, before adding, “We found him.”
Yosano grabbed her bag, hopping off the back of the van. Dazai’s eyes widened. He had been stuck in a fugue state for the past several hours as the search teams – supplied by Ango and the Special Abilities Division – carefully went over the decimated buildings, trying to find out where Dazai’s husband had ended up. Everyone else had been accounted for slowly throughout the day.
Yosano placed a hand on his shoulder briefly, though the urgency in Kunikida’s voice pressed her into action. “They found him,” she told him. “I’m heading over there. You sh-“
But Dazai was already letting the blanket drop and grabbing his coat. There was a burning intensity in his eyes that prevented her from saying anything else.
Well, he had waited hours, which was more than she would have thought of him before today, so having him tag along now wouldn’t be terrible. His stitches should be set, and he was only limping slightly as they picked their way past discarded buildings. Several of the other members of the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency had already returned to their respective areas of the city to sleep off the first wave. With the knowledge that a government was probably behind this – regardless of the lack of regalia – they needed to rest and recuperate in case a second wave happened.
They had been rebuffed today, but who knew what else they could throw at them.
Yosano nearly stumbled when she saw the military plane laying in pieces across what had once been a row of houses, but was now nothing more than rubble. She held Dazai’s elbow as he tried to rush forward, eyes widened in panic.
Kunikida walked towards them, frowning. His normally blond hair was streaked with rubble and dirt, and his clothing was torn in several places. Aside from that, he was uninjured.
“Yosano,” he greeted, voice blank. “Dazai.” He paused, looking unsure of how to continue. “The… building fell on him. He’s alive. Barely. But we need to extract the rocks before-”
Dazai didn’t wait to hear more, and didn’t turn back at Kunikida’s surprised yelp of his name. He was driven by his need to see – to be there for Chuuya, even if his husband didn’t know it.
The idea that Chuuya could die had never fully entered his mind before – the possibility was always there, but it wasn’t present. It wasn’t something he had to face.
He walked closer to where the crews were carefully removing rubble ten feet below. He could see the small form, hair splayed around his head, arm laying crooked beside him. The rest of Chuuya was still hidden under the walls of the building that had fallen. Yosano rushed past him, sliding down the ladder, and on the ground next to Chuuya within seconds, barking instructions.
Dazai wouldn’t be useful there.
Something caught in the corner of his eye. He turned slowly – everything felt like it was happening too slow right now, muddled in water and thoughts. Caught against part of the wing of the plane was a small black shape. Dazai made his way over, allowing the contours of the object to form as he focused on it.
Chuuya’s stupid fucking hat.
Dazai grabbed it, feeling the old felt between his fingers. Something twisted in his chest came unbound. Not fully – but holding onto this old felt brimmed monstrosity set his mind at ease, just a bit. He carefully inspected it, brushing dust from the ribbon and chain that Chuuya had wrapped around it. Normally, he would be putting dust on the hat, trying to bend the rim just a touch out of place so Chuuya would have to re-iron it to it's desired shape.
Normally, Chuuya was right next to him.
Normally…
Dazai let out a breath that could have been a sigh and looked up, feeling the tinge and prickle at the edge of his eyes. Normally didn’t matter today.
It took another half hour before Chuuya was fully excavated, and at that point, Yosano’s Ability was already in full effect – she hadn’t wanted to do it while Chuuya was under the rubble in case of complications. Dazai hadn’t moved, hadn’t wanted to, just stood above the proceedings, making sure Chuuya’s hat didn’t fly off in the wind picking up from the bay.
Dazai watched as Chuuya mended before him. He didn’t wake up.
Yosano sat against her heels, looking up at Dazai, a tired smile on her face. “He’ll live,” she told him.
It felt like everything sagged out of Dazai at those words.
He’ll live.
He barely noticed that he was destroying the rim of Chuuya’s hat as he fiddled with it in his hands.
Chuuya was going to be okay.
They would still have dinner, and argue, and have Friday Night Movies, and Saturday Morning Cartoons. There would still be coffee in the mornings and glasses of wine or whiskey in the evenings. Arguments, and fights, outings and dates – they were both still alive to experience it all.
He didn't remember sliding down the ladder, hand fastened securely around Chuuya's hat. He didn't remember not knowing what to do with the fashion monstrosity, so he perched it on his own head. He didn't know if he had immediately rushed to Chuuya's side or if he had been frozen in place.
And then he was there, next to his husband.
Dazai sank to his knees beside Chuuya, leaning over to brush the matted hair from his face, counting every heave of the other man's chest, twisting his fingers around Chuuya's and holding their clasped hands to his chest.
Hours later, Chuuya would wake up, and Dazai would be there waiting for him. They would argue about stupid risks and stupid plans, and then, Dazai would order curry and Chuuya would pour two glasses of wine.
They would toast, to victory, to each other, to saving the city again, and then they would curl up on the couch, Dazai’s ear to Chuuya’s chest, counting each heartbeat, and letting that sound lull him to sleep.
For now, Dazai smoothed the hair back from Chuuya’s sweat-slicked forehead and placed a small kiss on his brow.
They were okay.