Chapter Text
The last thing Chuuya needed was his phone to ring.
He was stressed, ready to break into a liquor store and raid the contents just to drown the voices in his head, instead he was standing fifteen feet from an enemy with Tainted glowing on his skin. The phone buzzed relentlessly in his pocket, begging to be answered with haste.
He smiled, lopsided and disgusting, now fully engulfed in a red glow and ignored the vibrations thrumming into his thigh. A startled noise came from his opponent, caught off-guard by the ability transforming in front of him. Chuuya had sent a rage of splitting ground his way without lifting a finger, the concrete under his enemies feet cracking and giving way for him to fall through- it wasn’t a tactic he usually used, but Chuuya wanted the day to be done.
The air constricted around him, the cold seeping into every inch of his body. Chuuya naturally ran warm, rarely affected by the cold weather of the December months in Yokohama, but the breeze wouldn’t let up and the clouds covered the sky.
Chuuya sent another shockwave, the ground effectively swallowing his opponent whole with only a step forward from the Executive. He fished his phone out from his pocket, deciding he finally had time to answer whoever was incessantly calling; it was Mori.
“Boss,” Chuuya answered, his voice unbothered and light.
“Chuuya,” Mori replied, “I’m assuming you’ve buried our opponent with no issues?”
“None,” Chuuya affirmed before asking, “Next operation?”
“There are no more duties,” Mori sighed on the other line, “Yokohama is going to experience its first winter storm! I am so excited for Elise-”
Chuuya stopped listening, unable to understand how the leader of the Port Mafia was talking his ear off about a figment of his ability. It was uncanny but truthfully in character for the man, especially considering Chuuya had no bad news to deliver about their opponent- he rarely did.
“Anyway, be on call for the next few days rather than coming into headquarters,” Mori said, his voice uncharacteristically enthused. He ended the call there, causing Chuuya to furrow his brows and do a double-take of his phone. The boss had actually told him to stay home, something never uttered in Port Mafia history, the storm must be bad.
It made sense, as Chuuya then opened the weather app on his phone to see it was almost below freezing in the city. With heavy snow on the ground, he hoped nothing catastrophic took place.
With his job finished, Chuuya began heading in the direction of his home.
-
“It’s too cold.”
Atsushi was pulling a blanket further around himself, attempting to draw out any morsel of warmth it could provide.
The snow began piling down a few hours ago, coming down in an absolute downpour. White covered the small windows in the Agency dorm, from snowfall or piles they weren’t sure yet. It had gotten so bad they had huddled in one room, keeping warm any way they could.
Light from the street poured in through the small window as a dim white, lighting up a small section of the living room.
Although the Agency dorms were not the most prized place to lay your head down at night, they weren’t downright awful. They had central heating and cooling, making it so the detectives could turn on the heater. The issue was, the heater was old and worn from years of unuse.
“This is absolutely miserable,” Yosano sighed, shifting slightly on Kunikida’s couch, “When is this supposed to be over again?”
“Not until tomorrow evening,” Ranpo supplied, burying his head back into his blanket. Tufts of straight black hair stood atop the blue blanket, his figure shaking slightly.
“This is not good,” Kunikida said, his voice strong yet unsure, “I’m not sure how to fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix, Kunikida.” Yosano sighed, slightly annoyed she had to waste breath on calming the ideal-driven man.
A few moments of pure agony passed before the lights flickered, yellow searing bright until they completely dimmed, leaving the Agency members in a flush of darkness. Yosano, true to herself, began laughing at the sheer audacity of the situation presented.
Fukuzawa, the only person they could rely on to fix this issue, was overseas on official business, of course. He had brought the rest of the Agency detectives with him, something about them being needed for training purposes.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Yosano laughed before scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, “This is ridiculous.”
Kunikida dropped the blanket he had wrapped around himself and walked over to the small thermostat on the wall which was covered in a thin layer of grime, obviously untouched for some time. He tried to push the heating button, and then repeatedly pressed it with more force. The LED screen on the device wouldn’t light up, signaling the power had officially gone out.
Ranpo sighed deeply from the couch, shaking his head with a knowing feeling.
“The power is out.” Ranpo said to Kunikida, who was still smashing the thermostat.
“Goddammit!” Kunikida roared, angry as his fist came down on the wall with defeat. The room was getting colder by the minute, the cool air seeping in from every crevice. Without the central heat on, as weak as it was, the cold was going to freeze them in no time.
“I hope Dazai is okay,” Atsushi mumbled, “With the power being out, he’s always cold.”
“Fantastic idea, Atsushi!” Ranpo exclaimed, finally popping his head out from the blanket.
Kunikida brought a hand up to his forehead while Yosano laughed again, light and exasperated.
“That no-good freeloader is probably happy next door,” Kunikida sighed again, “He’s most likely the reason the power is out, sucking up all the energy with his giant TV.”
It was true, Dazai had a comically oversized TV in his dorm room, explaining that after the debacle with Fyodor he needed a way to calm his mind- which came in the form of violent video games. The rest of the Agency had long given up on asking him how he afforded such luxuries, like an X-Box and takeout multiple times a week, deciding it was probably a lump sum from his time in the Mafia.
“He isn’t next door,” Ranpo smiled, his face hiding knowledge, “You know that, right?”
“How would I know what that piece of shit is up to!” Kunikida fought, bringing himself back to his couch to sit.
Nobody answered, the chill in the air was enough of an answer to the qualms Kunikida had. The room remained silent for a while, everyone focusing solely on trying to stay as warm as possible. Atushi’s teeth began clattering against his skull unwillingly, he bit down hard in an attempt to stop them. Yosano’s breathing had evened, as if she was trying to tear her mind from the current predicament and find an inner peace she’d never known. Ranpo was completely silent, his witty personality diminished from the cold.
Kunikida couldn’t stand it, to see his coworkers in such dismay. After surviving the worst thing they’d ever encountered, they were now reduced to normal people because of a simple snowstorm.
A ding from his phone made everyone’s head shoot up beside Ranpo. Kunikida’s frozen fingers scrambled for the device, face dropping at the sight of the notification. He turned his phone around to show the others, displaying that there was a city-wide blackout due to the snowstorm. It detailed that the linemen wouldn’t be able to fix anything until the following afternoon when the snow stopped coming down and then unimportant things, like not burning propane inside because you could die.
“This isn’t going to work,” Kunikida muttered, his breath visible as he spoke. The temperature in the room had plummeted, the snow still piling outside, his phone limp in his hand.
“We could go to Dazai’s place.” Ranpo replied, slightly muffled by the blanket surrounding his head.
“There’s no way I’m walking in his shit to go freeze with Dazai,” Yosano grunted, “No offense to him- actually full offense to him and this stupid weather.”
“Dazai’s place is next door, he doesn’t have power either.” Atsushi mumbled, his fingers numb against the flimsy blanket in hand.
Ranpo shook his head and pulled out his phone, scrolling through it for a moment. His breath was visible in the air, his lungs burning with every breath he took. They wouldn’t die if they stayed in the dorms, but it wouldn’t be preferable. They likely wouldn’t move from their spots and suffer the long term effects of extreme cold exposure, which was highly unfavorable.
“Found it,” Ranpo hummed, shoving his phone in Kunikida’s face with a frozen arm. He quickly retracted, rubbing his arm in a feeble attempt to warm it back up after being exposed to the arctic temperatures of the room.
Kunikida stared at the phone in his lap, displaying an address on the edge of town. He fought back his protests, his doubt that there was absolutely no way Dazai lived at this address, in favor of warmth.
“He won’t be happy,” Ranpo sighed, “But he won’t want us to freeze either.”
“So, are we actually going out into that?” Atsushi asked, looking meekly out of the small window.
Ranpo shrugged, his eyes gaining a bit of their life back.
“I am not walking in that,” Yosano retorted, “It’s certain death.”
“To be fair, it’s only a seventeen minute walk.” Kunikida reasoned before standing.
“Fine,” Yosano huffed, making the decision for everyone, “But if I die out there I’m going to haunt all of you.”
With that, Kunikida busied himself with tossing a few clothes and food items in his backpack, not trusting Dazai to have anything of the sort in his secret place. He wasn’t exactly sure why he wasn’t digging deeper into the situation, or exactly why Dazai had an alternative residence and why it never came up- but he couldn’t care. His fingers were numb, the shake in his body was getting unbearable and anything was better than their current predicament. Maybe Dazai had a few more blankets, or a rechargeable heater since he was always cold.
Kunikida, with his coworkers in tow, opened the door to his dorm to find a pile of snow half his size waiting outside. He cursed, throwing his hands in the air before kicking his way through it.
“This better be worth it.”
-
Chuuya had returned home to Dazai seated in front of the couch.
It wasn’t an unusual sight, sometimes he would be lying down or fiddling with something on the coffee table though. The unusual thing was that he was seated on the ground, as if someone had pulled the string holding him together before he could make a further move.
Letting the door shut behind himself, he reengaged the security system before slipping out of his shoes and coat, placing them in their designated spots. Dazai looked like he had seen the depths of purgatory, his hair falling in front of his sunken eyes, hands still and unmoving on the rug beneath him.
The days drug on like this since their mess with Fyodor and his crafty ability. Dazai had a hard time unwinding these days, finding himself staring too long down the sink or his hands stilling in times unwarranted. It was different, not good or bad in Chuuya’s opinion, just different. They had always adapted with more or less words, to everything thrown at them. This, Dazai’s return of emptiness, was another thing for them to overcome.
Chuuya walked through the corridor leading to the living room and rounded the large couch, kneeling in front of his partner, who still had his shoes and coat on, blue bolo tie illuminated by the light coming from a lamp.
“Osamu,” Chuuya started, searching for any response, “You here?”
Dazai’s head dropped a bit further, his words unable to come to him. In the safety of Chuuya’s home, Dazai allowed himself to be himself, to let the weight and exhaustion of the previous months overtake him despite everything drilled into his core.
It hadn’t been a surprise, he and Chuuya had remained in good contact since they were fifteen. It was a rocky partnership at many times, fights becoming explosive and volatile from both ends, days and weeks without contact and opposing organizations made things difficult. Still, they made it work, not willing to give each other up.
They had no label, nothing that could possibly define the devotion they had to each other. There were times they didn’t know if it was strictly romantic, or platonic, or something in between. They had independently settled on simply being partners, in every sense of the word. They were too complex, too complicated by the intricacies of their everyday life to be reduced to a label.
There was a long-running plan, the truce, an alliance of sorts between their organizations; all strings pulled by Dazai and Chuuya. Dazai would drop hints at the Agency to remain peaceful with the Mafia, Chuuya would play cards to make sure Mori didn’t blow their heads off. It worked only because they worked together, and their goal hadn’t been lost in translation yet.
It was difficult, between the devastation Dazai had wrecked on certain Mafia members and the threats from Chuuya to his coworkers- they had to overcome a lot of demons in their past to make whatever it was going on between them somewhat functional.
“Here and present,” Dazai replied eventually, a shiver running through his body, “It is so cold outside, I thought I would die.”
“Of course,” Chuuya snorted, his hands coming to rest on Dazai’s shoulders, “I'll turn the heat up.”
Chuuya left to busy himself making their place more suitable for the incoming weather, no doubt in his mind it would be bad. He quickly turned the heat up and gathered a pile of blankets which he threw on Dazai’s head. Dazai made a small noise before grabbing one and pulling himself on the couch. He slipped out of his shoes and shrugged off his coat, throwing it on the floor with no grace.
“Your leg still giving you trouble?” Chuuya asked while taking a seat next to Dazai.
“Only a little,” Dazai lied, knowing Chuuya saw right through it, “Do you have to go into headquarters tomorrow?”
“No, thank fucking god,” Chuuya breathed, “Boss told me i’m ‘on call’ whatever that means.”
“Typical,” Dazai chuckled, some of the weight slouching off of him as he settled further into the couch, “He’s probably thrilled because it’s uninterrupted time with Elise.”
“Bingo,” Chuuya replied, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of Mori.
Dazai slowly shifted to get closer to Chuuya, his body coming to rest awkwardly on the couch. Despite years of being near each other, in quite more intimate scenes than this, the casual touch was difficult to initiate.
Chuuya, knowing this, wrapped an arm around Dazai and drew him into his chest. It wasn’t anything new, considering the duo had done unspeakable things and then neither could just ask to lay with the other, but it was them. Chuuya let his arm come down heavy and protective over Dazai’s back, rubbing circles on it in an attempt to work out the tension he held.
They laid in silence for a while, drinking in the unfiltered intimacy of the moment before Chuuya pushed himself up on his elbows. Dazai looked up with a playful anger dancing over his features, obviously comfortable and warm.
“Holy shit,” Chuuya said.
Dazai pushed himself up quickly and followed Chuuya’s line of sight outside the window where snow had begun falling. It had already blanketed the street and grass outside, collecting on the roofs and cars. It was falling like rain, fast and thick.
“I’m gonna shower before this gets worse,” Chuuya huffed, pushing Dazai off of him to make his way to the bathroom.
Chuuya closed the door behind himself but didn’t lock it. He busied himself with undressing, tossing his dirty clothes in the large hamper in the corner. His choker clicked off and found itself on the counter next to his harness, Chuuya’s eyes slowly moving from the garments to the mirror.
He could see the bags that had begun to form under his eyes and the tauntness of his skin, pulling at his cheekbones and chin. Chuuya was also tired, unable to show it as much as Dazai. The past months had placed weight on his shoulders too, feeling at times he was fighting for both himself and Dazai to hold onto a shred of their humanity.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Chuuya turned the water to a blistering heat and stepped inside, letting the downpour of warmth undo the knots that had formed in his muscles. He washed himself, taking time to fully relax under the spray. Dazai was here, safe, and so was he. The snow would encapsulate them for at least a day, trapping them in the house with nothing but each other. It came as a relief, now that they were older and not trying to rip each other open as they once did when they were teenagers.
The door opening should have surprised Chuuya, but he expected it. He heard the telltale signs of Dazai undressing, the garbage can smacking shut after days old bandages had been discarded in it.
Dazai stepped in under the spray and held Chuuya by his waist, his chin coming to rest on the other’s shoulder. Chuuya relaxed into the touch, basking in the warmth surrounding him and smiling contently to himself. Neither was sure when the lines of their partnership blended into whatever they had going on between them now, but neither were complaining.
Chuuya got the hint and turned around, wrapping his arms around Dazai’s neck and wallowing in the sight of his partner. Dazai dropped down slightly to capture Chuuya’s lips in a hesitant kiss, as if he was testing the waters. It simultaneously made Chuuya want to laugh and cry, the way Dazai was unsure of initiating intimacy after the trouble they’d gotten up to as emotionally repressed hormonal teenagers.
It made complete sense though, as they didn’t know where the rougher version of themselves ended and the softer began, when the understanding they held of each other, the innate desire to stay in each other’s corner started to marry with pure romantic undertones.
It didn’t matter as Chuuya took control of the kiss, understanding exactly what Dazai wanted from him. It was as soft as they could make it, water dripping between them as the kiss deepened. Hands wandered and unspoken words were exchanged in the steam.
A few moments passed and Dazai found his hands gripping for purchase on the sleek tile of Chuuya’s shower wall, the water hitting him almost directly on his back from the overhead spray. It was something to marvel in, the way one of Chuuya’s hands was placed on his back to keep him bent and open for his partner.
Chuuya’s finger teased him before sliding in easily. Dazai let out a sound, pushing himself forward and placing his arms on his head to hide from the pleasure. The finger slid in and out of him, teasing and deliberate, Chuuya knowing exactly what he was hoping for, what he needed out of this.
It was intimate as Dazai unraveled on Chuuya’s fingers alone, pushing each in with practiced ease. The noises tumbling from his lips were obscene and he knew it, unsure he could even feel embarrassed with how much pleasure rippled through his body with each thrust of his partner’s fingers. It was exactly what he was hoping for, to be slowly taken apart by Chuuya after fighting with his mind all day, knowing they would likely have time to get up to more nefarious and dirty acts tomorrow during the snow day.
The imagery was soft for a pair like them, yet Chuuya knew this was something reserved for him and him only, that Dazai had rarely slept around let alone allowed someone to take control of him in this way. Dazai hadn’t slept around at all honestly, aside from assignments that required it and the nurse when he needed his phone back. The months following those incidents, Chuuya had breathed humanity back into his partner after it had been given up in the name of progressing a case.
But to be helpless, hands clambering over head, sultry words whispered for only them to hear, strong and knowing hands roaming his body, Dazai felt he could relent his control.
Dazai rocked back with thoughts of trust in his mind, electricity shooting through his body as Chuuya’s hand found itself gripping his hip. He came with a stutter of his hips and a whimper leaving his throat.
Chuuya helped him wash afterwards, not asking or insinuating he wanted to take it further, completely content with watching his partner fall apart on his fingers with a possessive glint in his eyes. He washed the soap from Dazai’s hair with great care, as if he was handling something he never wanted to let slip through his fingers as it almost once had. Dazai appreciated the emotional intuition Chuuya had, to not push it further, not ask for more.
Chuuya stepped out first, letting Dazai stand under the warm water because god knows he needed it with how cold he ran. Chuuya threw on an oversized shirt and sweatpants before exiting the bathroom.
Dazai emerged in a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweats, sock covered feet shuffling on the floor until he flopped down on the couch. He glanced outside to see complete darkness, snow piling almost over the window now. Dazai groaned as he pushed himself up and closed the black-out curtains before falling back into his original throne on the oversized couch.
Chuuya was busying himself in the kitchen, the aroma of Dazai’s favorite ramen engulfing the air of the house. He allowed a smile to grace his face, the domesticity of the moment finally feeling right, finally feeling like all the work they had put in to make this work was worth it.
“Is Chuuya making ramen?” Dazai asked as he grabbed the TV remote to flick it on.
“Yep,” Chuuya affirmed while chopping vegetables, “Wanna-”
The words died in Chuuya’s throat as the power flickered, swallowing the living room and kitchen in a full darkness before slowly coming back on. Appliances beeped as they started back up and the heating system roared with power.
“Thank fuck,” Chuuya huffed, “Told you that generator was a fantastic purchase.”
“It was an excuse to spend money,” Dazai threw back, the remote flicking in his flailing wrist, “You love to do that, plus the only useful thing here stays engaged at all times.”
“Asshole,” Chuuya said with no real bite, “You’d freeze to death if the power actually went out, and starve, screw the security system.”
“Ugh, we are enough of a security system” Dazai faked a shudder running through him, he was immensely grateful Chuuya could afford such impenetrable technology so they could actually relax sometimes, “That sounds like the worst death ever though! Too bad you wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Keep talking and I’ll reconsider my kindness in letting you live.” Chuuya tossed the words but they both knew the interaction held no weight, simply words being said for the sake of speaking them.
Chuuya could see Dazai’s shoulders set as he picked a random channel to settle on, the exhaustion pulling him down. It wasn’t an unknown fact that Dazai had a difficult time sleeping, or unwinding in general- it was partly the reason he did what he did in the shower and why he was making ramen, it was an attempt to draw out a side of his partner that was more receptive to actual sleep.
The stove shut off with a click and ramen was poured into two bowls, leaving a heap still in the pot for the next day. Chuuya brought them to the couch, placing one on Dazai’s lap. The two ate in silence, eyes focused on the idiotic show in front of them. Dazai had chosen ‘Adventure Time’, a throwback to their days together in the Mafia when it would play absently in the background while the fought about ridiculous things like strength, humanity and how infuriating the other was.
Dazai finished his bowl after Chuuya, pushing it forward on the coffee table before falling over onto Chuuya’s lap. Chuuya, true to himself, didn’t say anything about the action and instead threaded a bare hand through the brown waves beginning to dry on his lap.
He kept his eyes open for as long as he could, blinking heavily by the time a second episode began playing.
“You can go lay down, y’know,” Chuuya said, his voice low but not soft, “I’m going to clean up out here and get ahead on some reports.”
“No,” Dazai breathed, nothing behind his voice but pure exhaustion. Chuuya sighed and continued threading his fingers through the other’s hair, occasionally running his hand down the other’s arm. Dazai reached over and pulled a blanket over himself, clearly fighting off sleep. His hand found Chuuya’s thigh, the same one his head was resting on, and gripped it tightly, afraid the man bringing him safety would disappear at any moment.
Chuuya just continued his ministrations of lulling Dazai to sleep in the safety of their shared space.
-
“You’re absolutely sure this is the place?” Yosano barked, her red face covered by a comically oversized scarf.
“Just knock already!” Ranpo raised his voice, shivering uncontrollably in a coat too light for the conditions. He didn’t care, none of them did at this point. Everything was closed and completely snowed in, even if they wanted to find warmth and reside in a corner store for the night the option had vanished.
They stood outside of a home, a real home, with a front door that didn’t connect to a hallway and a garage attached to it. It wasn’t huge, something between modest and ‘oh he has money’.
Kunikida raised his hand and knocked, snow immediately covering it from the onslaught of damn cold flakes everywhere. They were knee-deep in powder, freezing the entirety of their bodies from the second they stepped out of the dorms.
They could hear the door unlocking, a hefty security system disengaging sounded like angels singing in the moment. It was a beautiful sight, the door opening with soft warm light and heat pouring from the other side to reveal-
Nakahara Chuuya.
The Port Mafia’s resident Gravity Manipulator, the man who could destroy Yokohama without breaking a sweat.
“Move!” Ranpo said, uncaring that his coworkers were having a conniption about who opened the door. He pushed his way past them to be met with the unmoving stance of Chuuya.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Chuuya hissed, his voice low and threatening before a gush of freezing air rushed inside, “Fuck actually I don’t give a shit.”
Chuuya moved out of the way to allow Ranpo to stumble in, his clothes bringing unwanted moisture into the hallway. As Ranpo shook himself off, his coworkers stared as if they were frozen in time, completely unsure of what to do in the moment.
“Are you going to stand there until you all become snowmen or are you gonna get your asses inside?” Chuuya asked quickly, his voice teetering on the edge of pure anger.
The question tore them out of their bewilderment, at this point deciding inside of Nakahara’s home was better than standing out in the blizzard, or worse walking back to the freezing Agency dorms. The three rushed inside and stood with Ranpo, shaking themselves off as Chuuya pulled the heavy door shut to lock in the heat.
Chuuya turned to look at the Agency, his face holding both amusement and something else they couldn’t place at the moment.
“So,” Chuuya started, “Dare to tell me why the fuck you’re here?”
“Agency dorms,” Ranpo wheezed, feeling slightly better now that he was safe and inside, “No power.”
“Right,” Chuuya let his words drag at the uncertainty, “And you came here? Knowing who I am?”
The question was obviously directed towards Ranpo, who everyone knew knew that this was actually Chuuya Nakahara’s residence, yet Kunikida couldn’t help but try to explain why they had shown up on his doorstep like abandoned animals.
“We were informed this was Dazai’s alternative residence,” Kunikida was able to get out, attempting to straighten himself before hunching over again to keep some warmth inside of him, “Wrongly informed, may I add.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll send you back out into the storm?” Chuuya questioned, now leaning against the hallway wall with an eyebrow raised.
“No,” Ranpo shivered, “Not worried in the slightest.”
In reality, only Ranpo wasn’t worried. Atsushi still looked like he had seen a ghost, Yosano was rubbing her hands together hastily in case she needed to put up a weak fight and Kunikida was obviously fighting between ‘warm good’ and ‘Nakahara bad’.
“We,” Atsushi fumbled for the words as some of the warmth returned to his body, “Sorry, we will go.”
Chuuya laughed at the faces Yosano and Ranpo made at the weretiger’s statement, as if getting killed by the Executive was a much better way to go than trekking through the storm again.
It wasn’t lost on the Agency that Chuuya had become more of an ally than an enemy, especially in the past few months. They were well aware of his schemes with Dazai to take down Fyodor, and he had saved them from the Hunting Dogs- even if it was allegedly for a transfer agreement that suspiciously never went through.
“As fucking annoying as this is, i’m not gonna throw you all back onto the street,” Chuuya sighed, keeping up normal appearances, “But tomorrow, you’re out.”
Kunikida nodded, unable to show gratitude to someone with the likes of the Port Mafia but not exactly wanting to face the cold again. Chuuya showed them where to hang their coats, all too thin for the current weather and began walking down the hallway and towards the living room. He stopped right before the threshold, grateful they had the decency to remove their shoes to not disturb the man he had just gotten to fall asleep.
“Listen,” Chuuya didn’t turn but his voice was low and held none of its typical anger, “Dazai is finally asleep, wake him up and I’ll see each of you are killed.” The anger was back, biting towards the end of his threat.
They emerged from the hallway to a massive living room, an oversized beige couch was to their right, facing an even more oversized TV. The ceilings were high and various artworks decorated the walls. There was an open concept kitchen to their left with an island in the middle, holding various stacks of files, discarded mugs and children's drawings of all things.
It was an obscenely expensive space, something that the Agency members would never get their hands on. They saw Dazai, who was for once, genuinely fast asleep on the couch. From their angle, he looked small- smaller than they had seen before. He had a blanket fisted in his hands, covering the entirety of him minus his head, where his hair was damp and tousled over his profile. His chest was rising and falling deeply; obviously comfortable and out like a light.
“I’ve never seen Dazai sleep like that,” Atsushi said with surprise, “Not even in the office when I swear he’s out.”
At the same time, “Why is Dazai here and what the hell is going on?” Kunikida whispered, careful to not break Nakahara’s one request to avoid imminent death.
“He has a hard time sleeping,” Chuuya said, “You all should know that, when he’s out he’s out.”
Yosano chuckled to herself, the full picture of what was happening slowly becoming more plausible. Ranpo looked at her, silently glad this was the reaction she was having to being in a Port Mafia Executive’s home, knowing all the reservations she had towards the organization.
It made sense though, Nakahara was an extension of the Mafia- he wasn’t Mori. He had proved, through small acts, that he wasn’t all bad. Yes, he had committed atrocious crimes, downright murdered people, but there was humanity in him. Not all good, not all bad, simply Nakahara Chuuya, same as Dazai Osamu, proving to be more of a human than a weapon wielded by the Port Mafia.
“And Kunikida,” Chuuya breathed, keeping his annoyance at bay, “You’re a detective, c'mon now, I have power and you don’t, the choice of where to stay is obvious enough.”
Kunikida rolled his eyes, knowing he was lying and also knowing somewhat of how deep the bond ran between Dazai and Nakahara, that they still trusted each other above anyone else with their lives, if Meursault wasn’t proof enough. By the way Dazai looked, undressed from his usual attire with wet hair from a shower, he could tell this wasn’t because he deduced the Agency would lose power and Nakahara was his only hope. He didn’t have it in himself to fight, or put up an act though, he was thawing from the walk and he’d be lying if he admitted it didn’t feel fantastic.
“How come you still have power?” Yosano asked, “All of Yokohama’s experiencing a blackout.”
“Generator.” Chuuya replied, not needing to explain himself further. The group found themselves sitting at the kitchen bar, balancing on barstools as the feeling began to creep back into their hands and feet, faces still bright red from the assault of snow outside.
They watched as Chuuya poured himself a glass of wine before offering it to the Agency members. Yosano accepted, deciding there was nothing better to help the situation than to get plastered and Kunikida, against everything in himself, shook his head.
“I’ve got a collection, glasses,” Chuuya turned to open a glass cabinet filled with expensive liquor, “Take your pick, it’ll warm you up.”
Kunikida would never admit it, but the offer almost made him like Nakahara, he accepted a glass of whiskey. Ranpo and Atsushi settled for a glass of room temperature water, not able to handle anything with ice after the purgatory they’d gone through to get here.
“Ah,” Chuuya clicked his tongue as he saw the ramen still warm on the stove, “You want ramen?”
The group happily obliged and Chuuya poured them all bowls, unsure of why he was being so hospitable in the moment. Maybe it was their red faces, maybe it was the olive branch they were extending at the same time, maybe it was Dazai sleeping soundly on the couch. It didn’t matter, they’d never speak of the exchange and neither would Chuuya, it would go down as a funny memory to roll over in his mind only, maybe leverage if he needed a favor from them.
While they were eating, Chuuya gathered the bowls from the coffee table and began cleaning up the kitchen. Appliances beeped and steam emerged from the dishwasher as the redhead continued with no attention to the Agency sitting at his counter aside from pouring Yosano another glass.
“I didn’t expect you to be so,” Atsushi started, glaring down at his finished bowl of ramen, “Nice?”
“Kid,” Chuuya laughed before composing himself, “I’m making sure you guys don’t freeze, wouldn’t call that nice. Plus, Ryuu would not be happy if you froze and I could’ve stopped it.”
“What?” Atsushi stumbled over his words, completely caught off guard by not only Nakahara mentioning Akutagawa, but calling him by a shortened version of his given name.
“Please,” Yosano pinched the bridge of her nose, “Do not do this to us.”
“What?” Atsushi asked again, this time unaware of the danger looming in the room that came in the form of his exhausted coworkers.
“Him,” Yosano gestured to Nakahara, “And him,” She waved her hand towards the sleeping lump on the couch, she sighed deeply before continuing, “That is enough fraternizing with the enemy for us.”
“Oh my god,” Atsushi began turning a bright red, “It’s not like that!”
“We aren’t fraternizing,” Chuuya said from his place at the sink as he rinsed out the dishes, his voice holding no weight like he was absorbed by the running water.
“Sure,” Ranpo said, his eyes beginning to close but needing to get one last jab in, “Where can we sleep?”
“Oh, right,” Chuuya looked like he had actually been pulled from a train of thought, he dried his hands and pointed towards a door down the hallway, “That’s a spare room there, and a bathroom with a shower there, don’t have anywhere else unless that asshole moves from the couch.”
Ranpo nodded and pushed his bowl towards Chuuya who took it to the sink. He grabbed his bag off the floor and retreated to the bathroom.
It was jarring the way Ranpo deduced he was in no danger and neither was anyone else from the Agency, which caused the group to relax a little further. Yosano asked for a third glass of wine and Kunikida refilled his whiskey. It was a sight to see, truly. Two of the most Mafia-hating Agency members sitting in Chuuya’s kitchen, drinking together.
Atsushi eventually pushed himself off the bar in silence, quietly thanking Chuuya, and drug himself to the bedroom where he fell face-first into a plush western bed. He flicked on the small light, illuminating the space around him to see a well decorated room, the comforter his face was lying on definitely too expensive.
It was a simple room, obviously unused for some time if the light layer of dust on the wardrobe meant anything. Atsushi rolled it over in his mind as he changed out of the wet clothes and into ones he had brought from the dorms, how Dazai was lying on the couch unbothered, how the only guest room was obviously not used by him, how Nakahara had brought up Akutagawa just to spite him.
As he fell asleep on the bed, he couldn’t help but wonder if the partnership between them would turn out anything like this.
Still in the kitchen, Kunikida finished his whiskey, hesitating before accepting another pour from Nakahara, who was heavy handed. Yosano swayed slightly in her seat, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. She was further gone than Kunikida, who was further gone than Chuuya.
“So,” Yosano started, “Now that the children are gone, pray tell what exactly is going on here.”
Chuuya stiffened slightly at her line of questioning, not sure why she would loop Ranpo into the ‘children’, although it made sense. His wine glass stilled in his hand, the dark liquid swirling slightly from his grip on the stem.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Chuuya feigned innocence, his eyes watching to predict her motive.
“Why our coworker is passed out on your couch,” She replied easily, as if this conversation held no weight, “And why it looks to be a normal occurrence.”
“I don’t see why it’s your business,” Chuuya said, but his words came out almost unsure instead of the usual harshness. It was their business, frankly, why Dazai was lying there passed out on his couch but he didn’t care. What was between them was meant for them only.
“I’m sure it was difficult,” Kunikida spoke up, cutting the question, “After Meursault."
Both Chuuya and Yosano looked strangely at Kunikida, who was staring down his whiskey with heavy eyes. Maybe he was further gone than they had originally thought.
“Didn’t take you to be a sad drunk, glasses.” Chuuya hummed, glad the questioning was over from Yosano and having a new line of conversation to follow.
“I didn’t take you to be someone who let us in,” Kunikida admitted, the alcohol blurring the lines of his usually impeccable sense of self, “But here we are.”
Chuuya made a noise in response, something akin to acknowledgement. There was a lapse of silence in the conversation, the three openly understanding what they were doing was downright weird.
“It was,” Chuuya finally broke the silence and took a sip from his wine before continuing, “After the prison.” His vision landed on Dazai, who was still sound asleep on the couch.
“It was for us too,” Kunikida replied, eyes still not moving from his drink, “It’s probably why we didn’t run away at the sight of you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Chuuya laughed, unsure of why he was even allowing himself to entertain such a depressing topic.
“Dazai has had a hard time,” Yosano sucked in a breath as her eyes met Chuuya’s mismatched ones, “I’m sure you know.”
Chuuya contemplated this. It was an invitation to admit Dazai and Chuuya saw each other on a regular basis, yet it was wrapped in a carefully guarded disguise of reminiscing in the worst way. He flicked his eyes from Yosano to Kunikida and then again to the sleeping lump on the couch.
“Yeah,” Chuuya sighed, pouring more wine from the bottle into his glass, “yeah.”
“Nakahara, you’ve allowed us into your home, shared food with us, given us a warm place to spend the night,” Kunikida rambled, the other two sharing glances of concern to where this was going, “Why are you a Port Mafia Executive?”
“Hah?” Chuuya sputtered, in shock that was the train of though Kunikida was going down.
“I mean it,” Kunikida breathed, “You’re not good, by any means, at all.”
“Okay,” Chuuya said, his voice unsure and guarded.
“Oh god,” Yosano planted her face in her hand, shaking her head at Kunikida’s drunk ramble.
“But you also aren’t all bad.” Kunikida finished, now looking expectantly at Chuuya.
Chuuya was having a hard time understanding just how they got here, and how it divulged so quickly into a study of his character and morale. He knew, acutely, that he lived his life in the grey area. He tried to do good by the city of Yokohama, by the friends he lost, by himself, by Dazai- but the ways he achieved that didn’t need to be prim and proper. Chuuya had no problem killing in the name of the greater good, it was written into his code.
“Well, since we’re being honest tonight,” Chuuya sighed, contemplating one last time if he wanted to tell the truth or run away completely and fake an illness, “I signed an agreement I have to uphold.”
“Oh please, I know the likes of Mori,” Yosano shook her head before looking up, “There’s nothing worth protecting if it means you’re thrown into the Mafia.”
Chuuya’s lips found themselves in a tight line, tension beginning to grow in his body. He had to remind himself they didn’t know, they barely knew about Corruption, they would have no idea what he was actually doing in the Mafia- and who caused it.
“Before the Mafia, I led a group,” Chuuya swirled the wine, “I traded myself for their protection.”
“Oh,” Yosano mumbled, suddenly deciding downing her glass would fix the accusation she just made.
“Plus, my history is a bit of an anomaly,” Chuuya said, as if it were a fact everyone knew, “Being an Executive gets me the information I want.”
“I wouldn’t call it something to brag about,” Kunikida’s head dropped, “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t understand.”
“Doesn’t excuse mass murder, extortion, the list goes on.” Yosano said, her voice low but not accusatory.
“It doesn’t,” Chuuya agreed, meeting her eyes, “Just a fact of life.”
It stunned Kunikida, how Chuuya had no problem living the lifestyle he did to protect a group he was with a long time ago, to learn more about his mysterious backstory. It was frightening, to say the least, the dedication to others it took to sacrifice your life to the Port Mafia in the chance they’d get spared.
Chuuya left out the part where Dazai played a hand in it. Where he had coerced the Sheep into betraying him, where he had led Verlaine in the direction of the Flags. It was dead and buried, his intentions and his mind being much more sick and twisted than today.
“Chuuya,” A voice came from the couch, confused and disoriented. It was light, as if the person was trying to feel out just where the other had gone. Then, came a more threatening tone, something akin to anger, recognition of a situation they had no grasp on yet protective above all else, “Chuuya.”
Chuuya wasted no time placing his hand on the kitchen bar, engulfing the counter and Yosano and Kunikida in a red glow. Tainted quickly spread thanks to their contact with the marble, their gravity getting slightly lighter.
“Stop,” Chuuya replied, his voice the most serious and deadly they’d heard tonight, “It’s just Yosano and Kunikida. Ranpo is in the shower and Atsushi is sleeping in the guest room.”
Tainted dissipated from the pair, fizzling out over the counter as its owner disabled it. Yosano and Kunikida turned around to see Dazai, half awake, shoving a gun back underneath the couch cushions.
“My bad! I didn’t realize my coworkers would find their way here, storm must be bad!” Dazai said, trying his best to put on the normal facade he usually wore.
“It’s fine, Dazai,” Yosano sighed, trying to get the last drop from her glass after almost being shot by her own coworker, “We know everything we need to, all’s well here.”
“They’re drunk,” Chuuya sighed, his eyes not leaving those of his partner.
He could tell, from the cracks in Dazai’s composure, that he was beginning to leak. The heaviness that sat in his bones earlier had come back tenfold, the slow movements proving that he was half-lucid and obviously not up for casual drunk conversation with anyone, Chuuya included.
“Kunikida, you’re awfully quiet!” Dazai chirped, still trying to find his normal cadence of speech as he sat back down on the couch.
“Does he ever drink?” Chuuya asked nobody in particular.
“You got Kunikida drunk and I was asleep to miss it, I'm wounded.” Dazai fell back on the couch, his normal theatrical mask falling back into place quicker than Chuuya would like.
“Oh please,” Yosano snorted as she pushed her glass towards Chuuya to signal she was tapping out, “I’m sure the storm will make us unable to leave tomorrow, you’ll have all the time in the world to join.”
Dazai smiled at that, watching carefully as Yosano excused herself to the guest room. Kunikida stood, albeit wobbly on his feet, and actually thanked Chuuya for his hospitality before stalking off to the guest room, ignoring Dazai completely.
Chuuya stood in the kitchen with eyes locked on his partner.
“So, what did I miss?”