Archive of Our Own

15
In a world where soulmates are an undeniable reality, it’s easy to imagine that everyone would feel incredibly fortunate to have a certainty that someone is destined to walk into their life and never leave, at least one person, maybe more if you’re the type to make your own family by choices of fate, forever tied to them by destiny. After all, how could anyone not be lucky to know that such a person exists, waiting somewhere out there? But even in a world of guaranteed soulmates, not all fates are equal, and not all fortunes are alike. For some, recognizing their soulmate is an immediate, almost tangible experience, while for others, it can be cryptic bullshit. Soulmates can be identified in countless ways: by touch, by sight, by sound — but that connection is never set in stone. Fate, ever an asshole, doesn’t follow a fixed path. The way soulmates are recognized varies, shifts, and sometimes, it can take time.

Some people are born with identical birthmarks, spots that match perfectly when their soulmate comes into view, signaling a connection that’s easy to spot, flowers that appear on their skin, a face even. Others are connected by the legendary red string — a tangible, unbreakable link that draws them closer with each passing day, leading them toward each other no matter how far apart they are. There are those whose connection manifests through mysterious black shapes, blobs of ink or shadow that appear on their bodies, only taking form when their soulmate is near, shapes swirl and coil until they form recognizable patterns, shapes that are distinct only in their presence, forming when the two fates are ready to unite.

But then there are idiots like Chuuya —people whose bond with their soulmate isn't visible in the conventional ways. For them, the connection is not defined by touch or sight, nor by a mark or thread. Instead, their connection is bound by words. For some, these words are the first thing they’ll hear from their soulmate, phrases that will echo in their minds for the rest of their lives, words that will define them, their future, and the essence of their bond, as stupid as they might ever be. For others, the words only appear once they meet their soulmate, when they share a first mutual feeling, “a moment of deep understanding that triggers the emergence of those words on their skin.”

Supposedly. Rather, that’s how it’s written in the fucking books, when in reality, it could be anything, the first thing you thought about them it’s that they’re ugly as fuck and they thought the same? Well, there you go, that’s what you get on your arm.

But, until that moment, the words are hidden, waiting in the silence.

The words appear only once that connection is real, tangible, and reciprocated, whatever the fuck it may be, usually, they manifest as twin words, the same phrase on each of the mate’s body, often these words will appear on the arms, perhaps creeping up the wrist or spiraling around the forearm. In rarer cases, fate is bold enough to allow the words to show on the face, around the neck or lips, as if daring to be exposed to the world, also because it thinks its fucking hilarious that to make the words go away, to end the lingering uncertainty of their presence, you must meet your soulmate and touch those twin words, bridging the gap between them, meaning, skin to skin touch.

Yeah, fate is a bitch.

For Chuuya, it was always clear that he was one of those damn idiots, he always knew he was one of the rare few who wouldn’t have the comfort of seeing a mark or feeling an instant connection. No red string, no matching birthmarks, no mysterious shapes. For Chuuya, there was nothing. No words appeared on his skin, no symbols to follow, no thread to pull him towards someone. It was a stark absence, one that couldn’t be ignored, one that set him apart from those whose connections were so clear. His soulmate was out there, somewhere, but until they met, Chuuya would remain none the wiser about the fucker, worst part is; the emptiness was palpable, a void where something as simple as a touch, a phrase, or a mark should have been. It wasn’t hard to decipher what he lacked. And that absence, that nothingness, would be his fate until the moment those words — his words — finally appeared.

World be damned but for something so important, he had taken his sweet time to notice the moment they did finally appear, not his fault he was so caught up with being betrayed by the people he considered family and joining the fucking mafia. Kouyo had been the one to point it out to him. "Oh, my… I thought you said you had no markings."

Her voice was soft but tinged with fake surprise, it felt a little dangerous. The words rolled off her tongue with an unsettling ease, as if she already knew the answer, or at least suspected it.

“I don’t.” He answered, the words slipped out easily, detached, like the automatic answer to an old, predictable question. Chuuya was used to this. The question had followed him through his life, and he had long since mastered the art of brushing it off, even if this was Kouyou, there just wasn’t more to this matter, but in exchange, she offered a gentle, but as unsettling as ever, smile. “Then what is that in your wrist, Chuuya? I’m sure you remember I don’t like being lied to.”

The smile she gave him was disarming at first—soft, delicate, and almost reassuring, like the calm before a storm, yet, there was a sharpness behind it, like a predator’s fangs just hidden beneath a veneer of sweetness, you know, like a cat, kind of. Her eyes were locked on his wrist, and the fake warmth of her smile only emphasized the weight of the words. The threat was subtle, but it didn’t need to be loud to make its presence known, like all the words she ever used, the way she said "I don’t like being lied to" wasn’t just a statement; it was a promise of consequences.

He only took a second to dwell on the confusion her words brought, until he actually checked, and, sure enough, there were a few letters in his wrist, black, messy handwriting read…

Irritation.

A fleeting moment of silence stretched between them, but Chuuya wasn’t looking at her anymore he couldn’t stop his gaze from locking to his own wrist, the one thing he thought was as ordinary as any other part of him. Yet now, it felt impossibly alien, as if he had grown another head there. The letters that appeared on his skin were crude, like someone had hastily scrawled them without care, but it was clear, with no point to doubt.

First things first. What the actual fuck?

One, he apparently met his stupid ass soulmate in between all this shit, and two, the first thing they share with each other is irritation?! Who does the bastard think they are?!

The realization hit him like a slap to the face, and his mind raced. His first shared word with this person—his soulmate, if that was even what this was, because it had to be, of fucking course it had to—was “Irritation”? Of all the things they could have had in common, this was what he was bound to? A bitter, unfiltered reaction that was both utterly ironic and irritating in itself. His frustration bubbled up inside him, but he kept it tightly locked away, his jaw tightening.

It must have been clear in his expression how conflicted he was, because Kouyo’s own softened, as a light laugh escaped her. “Well, who would’ve thought…”

Her eyes softened for a moment, the flicker of a laugh breaking the intensity between them. It was light, airy, almost amused, and yet somehow it still managed to slice through the tension like a warm knife through cold butter. Her laugh was not mocking, but rather, strangely understanding, as if she found this turn of events more ironic than anything else. It was a laugh that hinted at knowing far more than she was letting on, one that made him feel both seen and exposed all at once. “I swear I didn’t-”

“Now, now, there’s no need to worry about it, dear.” Her voice was calm, but the words themselves had an almost soothing quality, as though she were trying to smooth over something that could easily spiral out of control. Her face remained serene, impossibly composed, with a strange honesty that didn't quite match her usual demeanor. It was the kind of face that could convince anyone that everything was under control, but just as Chuuya opened his mouth to speak again, something flickered behind her eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but there was a shift—a brief flash of something hidden, something he couldn’t quite name. “Just… make sure the boss doesn’t find out.”

The words were quiet, but there was an edge to them now, a fair warning, more out of concern than as a treat from her part, and it took Chuuya a moment to process it, but it wasn’t too hard to get as the gears in his mind clicked into place. His brow furrowed slightly as the pieces fell into place, he had never been one to hid too much of his emotions, but he wasn’t exactly one for showing his cards either, especially when the stakes were so high. “Yes, I… I would not want a bounty on their head.”

A bounty on someone’s head wasn’t a simple inconvenience. It was a death sentence— at least under the order of Mori, it felt like one, and well, everyone knew what happened to someone after their mate died, few and far between were the ones who kept on living and didn’t follow them soon after, it was said that, the sorrow that tainted one’s heart after losing their other half was unbearable, that it didn’t just taint the heart, but everything, the mind, the body, your eyes and sight became impossible to live through, and people just went mad, as thought their sanity went away with the life of their partners.

“Well, yes, that too, but…” Kouyo’s voice trailed off as she sighed softly, her gaze drifting away from him. There was something in the movement—something almost... weary. A quiet resignation in the way she turned her eyes toward the side made it feel as though she were seeing something beyond the room, beyond time itself, her eyes, just a moment a second almost too long, seemed to hold onto something, and if you looked hard enough, you might think you could see memories, countless fragments of the past flickering through her gaze like ghosts passing through the lens of her emotions.

“… it could become a weakness.” The words hung in the air between them like a heavy mist, this wasn’t just about the danger to the boss—no, it was about the vulnerability it could expose, the chink in the armor of the organization. Chuuya’s thoughts paused. He wasn’t the type to doubt their boss—not even a sliver of hesitation would pass his mind when it came to loyalty. But there was a bitter truth in what Kouyo said.

The understanding they shared wasn’t one that came from weakness, but from the knowledge of how far Mori would go to protect the apparent only thing he cared for, it was the same unflinching loyalty, the same cold pragmatism, and in this world, weakness was a death sentence.

Right.

Chuuya’s gaze hardened ever so slightly. He couldn’t afford weakness, not now, not before, not ever.

Kouyo nodded slowly, her face unreadable, and then her voice dropped, taking on a subtle weight, a near whisper as though she were letting him in on something he might not fully grasp just yet. “Mori-san is also a bit… petty, if you will, about his own marks, ever wondered why he wears gloves?”

Her words carried a different tone now—slightly teasing, but laced with a knowing that Chuuya hadn’t expected, it was almost as if she considered that side of the matter like a joke, or like one would look to a lover’s square, as if she were daring him to see something that had been there all along but wasn’t noticeable. Mori’s meticulous nature, his obsession with appearances, and, more intriguingly, his control over everything. It wasn’t just about the marks on his body—it was about the person he shared them with, but Chuuya had no idea what that even meant. “I… what?”

This time, she outright laughed, albeit softly. “The reason he wears gloves, you see, he has the same type of mark as yours, I found out one time I catch him off guard after a meeting, there are two words in his hands, one in each.”

“I… I see, but whoever it is Boss’ soulmate shouldn’t they be around here? I doubt the boss would risk them like that.” He answered, if only slightly confused, he had almost expected his boss to be one of the extremely rare people who didn’t actually have any marks, hell, he’s not sure if she’s joking right now.

Kouyo’s eyes softened again, and some of the tension that had left briefly returned to the room. “What do you think the words were, Chuuya?”

He felt a chill run down his spine. “Uh… love, maybe? That’s a classic one, but then again…” He looked back down to his own wrist, classics were bullshit, fuck his soulmate. “Maybe something more complex, like respect? Admiration?”

Her eyes didn’t loosen any of the tension as she gently shook her head, and now there was something unnervingly still about her. The calmness in her movements—so delicate, so precise—only added to the weight of the tension that hung between them. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, she was in control, it was the kind of control that made the air feel thick, like the silence between them was charged with unspoken words and suppressed thoughts. Her expression was unreadable, but the intensity in her eyes said everything: this was serious.

Then, slowly, he spoke, Chuuya's voice broke through the charged silence, but even as the words left his lips, he felt a shift in the air, something unsettling rising up inside him. His voice was tentative, unsure, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he didn't fully understand. “… fear?”

“Oh, he surely wishes it was.” Her words came easily, almost too easily, but the sharpness beneath them cut through the calmness like her blade would cut through bodies, there was no humor in her voice, despite the light chuckle that followed. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that invited joy; it was the kind of laugh that made you feel like you were missing something, something important. Her eyes, now sharp and piercing, locked onto him. The warmth had disappeared from her expression, replaced by something colder, something far more dangerous. “Idiot.”

“Excuse m-” Chuuya’s confusion was evident, his brow furrowing as the words barely made it past his lips. The shift in Kouyo's tone caught him off guard, a sharp contrast to the composed demeanor she usually held. This wasn’t the Kouyo he knew—the one who always spoke with measured patience. This was something else. And the suddenness of it left him thrown off balance, but before he could even form a proper response, she cut him off—effortlessly, almost dismissively.

“And hate. Those were the words.” Her voice was flat now, as if the conversation had already ended in her mind, the weight of the statement pressed down on him, more powerful than any explanation could have been. It wasn’t just about the words anymore—it was about the meaning behind them. And he was starting to realize just how deep it all went.

Chuuya stared at her in silence, waiting, searching for more—more insight, more of an explanation—but as the seconds ticked by, it became painfully clear that she wasn’t going to offer any further clarification. The way her gaze held steady on him, almost impassive, told him everything he would get to know, there was nothing more to be said. The message had been delivered, and it had cut through the fog of confusion he’d been lost in.

He understood now. The words she had spoken were more than just labels-

Be careful.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Dazai’s voice was barely above a whisper that night, filled with disbelief and a sense of growing annoyance as his eyes locked onto his wrist. He had finally decided to change his bandages after what felt like ages, and as soon as the cloth fell away, the sight that met him was nothing short of impossible. His breath caught in his throat as the letters stood there, bold and stark against his skin. No. This couldn’t be. “No, it must be- it-”

But no matter with how much hate he looked down on his wrist, the letters stud there, as if laughing at him. He had thought that this was impossible, he was meant to not have this things, how could a being that is not even human have a soul, much less a soulmate?

The word was repulsive even only in his mind. Even thinking it made him feel sick. It was a concept he had never believed in, a weak, sentimental fantasy he had long since rejected. And yet, there it was, mocking him, as the letters on his wrist seemed to shimmer with a malevolent life of their own. He stared at them with growing frustration, as if sheer hatred could erase what had appeared on his skin, yet the letters stood defiant, refusing to blur or fade, like they were laughing at him—at the very idea of him being someone’s “other half.” He was not a being capable of feelings, much less of love. A being who could slip through the cracks of reality itself, a creature who had no use or need for such attachments. Yet here he was, trapped by something he could not escape.

He didn’t think twice before trying to scratch at it, but low and behold, it refused to waver and without thinking, he dug his fingers into the skin around the letters again and again, trying to scratch them away, to force them to disappear. But no matter how hard he clawed at it, the letters refused to budge.

They didn’t smear or fade. They were as permanent as the very skin they were etched into, taunting him with their stubbornness. His curse under his breath was low, bitter. “Dammit.” He needed to calm down—needed to think this through. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, pushing back the waves of frustration. It’s okay, he could work with this, he just needed to figure out who it was and get rid of them.

It wasn’t like he could rely on something as fragile as a bond. And, in his mind, there was no way Mori could find out about this. A connection like this could be exploited. He would not allow anyone to use him like that. The thought of someone else—someone he didn’t even know—having the power to manipulate his life, his very existence, was infuriating. The idea of vulnerability was... unacceptable.

Death wasn’t the only way out, but it certainly felt like the most straightforward. But that wasn’t enough. Mori was living proof that there were worse fates than death. And Dazai hated pain more than anything. The idea that someone, even in his own twisted situation, could cause him pain made him feel something he wasn’t willing to admit. No. He had to control this.
There was no point in giving Mori an easily exploitable weakness, and there was no point in having anything anyway, even soulmates could be taken away, and he hated pain.

Oh. Right.

The risk supposedly the pain inflicted on yourself if your- other, died was ‘unbearable’. The horror stories—those dreadful rumors—that if your soulmate died, the agony would be unbearable. Even Dazai, with all his cynicism and disdain for sentimentality, couldn’t ignore the stories. The idea that anyone could affect him like that was laughable, like a bad joke out of a cheap book. Nothing would hurt him that much, there was nothing to break if everything was broken to begin with. He would make sure of that.

Alright, change in plans, trap the unfortunate idiot who fate assigned him, lock them away somewhere safe, secluded, hidden from everything and everyone. Just trap whoever the unfortunate idiot was somewhere safe and secluded forever! It’s foolproof.

Now, he just had to find this idiot. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? They always made it seem like this connection would be impossible to avoid, but Dazai couldn’t imagine that the person could be anything like him. Surely, finding them wouldn’t be that complicated. He was Dazai Osamu, after all. If anyone could control the situation, it would be him.

Now, now, there laid the next step, surely the word was a good start, he had been too distracted by his annoyance to notice what it was, but it surely would be some cliché, although, if it had to be something that they felt mutually…

Irriation.

Change in plans again. To hell with keeping them alive.

Dazai’s mind twisted like a knot tightening, his thoughts spiraling out of control. Alive? No, that would only give them the chance to make him feel more than he ever wanted to. Alive? Why bother? He wasn’t in the mood for mercy, not when his emotions-

He would make sure this—whatever it was—would never feel like anything more than a burden, a constant reminder that fate was playing with him in ways he never asked for.

No, wait. He couldn’t act in a rush, though. He needed to be calm, calculated. Methodical.

But even as he tried to rein in his thoughts, there was something stirring in him, something that made it harder and harder to ignore. How could this person already have such an effect on him? How was this person already altering him so damn much?

The frustration simmered beneath his calm façade, but he buried it under layers of cold calculation. There were other ways to deal with this, weren’t there? Instead of just cutting them out, maybe he could make them regret even existing in his life. Psychological damage. That was the solution, wasn’t it? If he couldn’t break them physically, then he’d break their mind. Make them submit.

He’d bend them to his will, reshape them until they were nothing more than a tool—a puppet in his hands, easily controlled, even if the idea twisted like a blade in his chest, there was something sickly satisfying about it. Something that fed his ego. The thought of turning them into an obedient servant, someone who would follow his every command, without question, filled him with a dark sort of glee.

And the best part? It would be so sweet to rub it in Mori’s face. The boss—the great Mori—would see, wouldn’t he? That his- other, was with him and acting as he ordered, not far away hating his guts and playing detective with a child.

Dazai smirked at the thought. He could almost picture it—the look on Mori’s face when he found out, he’d enjoy that far too much. Maybe having a place where no one could betray him, where everything could go according to plan wouldn’t be so bad. Control. The word felt almost too satisfying to ignore. The possibilities were endless.

So maybe, just maybe, having an obedient dog for life wouldn’t be so-

Just as quickly as those thoughts entered his mind, something changed.

Of course.

Of course it was him.

Fuck.

The revelation hit like a punch to the gut, sudden and unforgiving. The one person Dazai could never ignore, the one person who had always been a thorn in his side just in the short time since they had met. The one who had the nerve to be both an inconvenience and a complete sight to stop and observe. It just had to be him.

Dazai leaned back against the wall, a dry laugh escaping his lips, but it lacked any humor. This was absurd. The reason he had kept going, the reason he was still alive after all this time, and it was because of that idiot? The one who constantly got under his skin, the one who drove him mad with every word, every action, every glance, every stupid breath? It was too much. He should have known. He should’ve seen it coming. But he hadn’t. And now he was left standing there, caught in the most ridiculous of traps.

Only that chibi could be annoying enough to do this to him, to force his life into this tangled mess of fate and frustration. Dazai’s teeth gritted together, a mixture of anger and disbelief bubbling up within him. He had seen it all—pain, betrayal, darkness that looked back from the abyss. But this? This was new. This was something he wasn’t prepared for, and it only made him hate it more.

Yet... the absurdity of it all felt strangely fitting. In a world where nothing ever made sense, of course, it would be him.

Oh, well. Chuuya was already his dog for life anyway, wasn’t he? Did it really matter that it was now far more permanent than he had initially thought? Whatever.

It wasn’t like Dazai had need to go announcing it to the world. He just didn’t need to tell Mori about it, not under any circumstance for now at least. The last thing he needed was the boss turning this situation into an advantage, making them into a team, exploiting the bond that could, should form between them. If Mori ever found out how useful this could be, he’d be over them in a second.

So, forget about rubbing it in Mori’s ugly face. That part of the plan was officially off the table. Dazai would keep this little secret to himself—for now. He would act like norml, it didn’t matter. No big deal.

It wasn’t as if Dazai covering his arms was anything weird. There had been a reason why he hadn’t noticed the markings until now. It didn’t change anything. He’d lived his life keeping things hidden—what was one more secret? Nothing had to change.

No, really, it was as if nothing had happened. He didn’t need to overthink this. But the thought of teasing the slug—of rubbing it off just to annoy him—would be so funny. He could already picture Chuuya’s annoyed expression, his fists clenched, lips curled in that familiar scowl. So satisfying.

Yeah, so funny.

If it weren’t for the strange twist in his stomach when he thought about it.

Dazai frowned slightly, pushing the sensation aside. He wasn’t one to let something so trivial bother him. It didn’t matter. Why give Mori such an advantage? The thought struck him unexpectedly. Why even let the boss have leverage over this, if it meant that much? No, Dazai would keep this to himself. If Chuuya wanted to know what the bond meant, he could figure it out on his own. It wasn’t like it changed anything.

Nothing changed.

Yet, why couldn’t he shake off this feeling of uneasiness that settled into his chest?

17
“That’s quite enough.” Dazai said, as he gently grabbed Chuuya’s hand, making his body go still quickly and before he could fell, he was holding him in his arms. “Is… is it though?”

He couldn’t help the fond sigh that escaped his lips, as he helped support the redhead. “Yes, it is, it’s fine now.”

“Good…” Chuuya chuckled as he finally gave in, his head falling lump on his partner’s shoulder, as his eyes shut down and the last thing he felt was the other’s warmth, as Dazai hold him closer, just enough to lift him up so they could go back. A worrier he was, as always.

It had been a while now, since he had discovered the slug was his soulmate, and less so since he had stopped trying to prevent the two of them from growing closer, not much he could do when Mori had assigned them as partners officially, double black, soukoku if you will. It didn’t help much his case of trying to keep them apart, from being as emotionally distant to the chibi as possible, but alas, here he was, unable to smile at his partner’s sleeping form.

It was said that the bond with one’s soulmate was quick to develop, that the connection was almost instantaneous, fiercer than a blizzard and tougher than life itself, it was a lost war since the beginning, but he had to try, and failed amazingly, but he tried.

Chuuya was annoyingly good at making him grow attached, at forcing him to, from trying to kick his ass in any game they encountered, to be the only person to slap some sense into him (he loved Odasaku, but he wasn’t one to stop him more than to join in with him), to force him to eat three meals a day, to keep bandages in his own apartment “just in case” even if it was far more than you’d have just for first aids, to smile openly or scoff and talk back if it called for it, to just-

Make him feel alive.

The slug had probably taken a look at him, asked the world if anyone was going to wreck that thing and not waited for an answer, because how had he wrecked him, starting by making him want to keep on living just barely after they met, not even months into whatever it is that they have and then- then he just kept on going.

That’s why the new word that he found under the old one on his wrist that night after he had cleaned Chuuya up wasn’t a surprise. He had developed this habit of checking on it after they had one of this missions, for whatever reason, seeing it and then seeing the twin mark on Chuuya’s own arm shine lightly as they got into close range was weirdly soothing.

That’s why the word ‘trust’ didn’t come up as much of a surprise and more as a confirmation that he was doomed, and down bad, really bad. It wasn’t that he doubted how much the chibi seemed to trust him, misplaced feelings if he had any say in it, but realizing just how much he himself trusted Chuuya back was.

It’s not as if he didn’t really know, but-

He had kept saying to himself that it hadn’t been trust, it was just his predictions coming true, not that he trusted Chuuya, he was just predictable, well, that’s what he had been repeating and he had fooled himself until now, now that it was clearly thrown on his face that it wasn’t that.

Dazai sighed, as he run his fingers delicately over Chuuya’s words, his skin had always been soft, probably Ane-san’s doing, and even the way the letters glowed in bright white as he touched them gave his chest a disgustingly warm feeling, he wanted to puke and also to keep doing this the rest of his life.

Leave it to Chuuya to make him feel so contradicting at the same time. He read over and over the two words, as he did every night one it had only been one, and honestly, now he had grown tired of it, just one was fine right? Who would miss ‘Irritation’ anyway, not that he wasn’t often irritated by the chibi and his ugly hat and tiny temperament, as tiny as him!

But the word annoyed him now. It always had, really, it was more of a problem than it wasn’t, it was evidence that could be used against them if Mori ever found out, well, it was if he found out about his, almost everyone on the mafia already had seen Chuuya’s since, while he didn’t scream about it to everyone, wasn’t exactly set on hiding it either like Dazai did.

He pulled his own closer, and even if the touch only lasted for a second, all the letters started to disappear one by one, and it was only then, as he smiled down to the word left, that he realized the fact that Chuuya was definitely going to notice it, and not only that, but that he was the only one who could’ve done this.

…

He could always throw the slug out and pretend that someone else had picked him up. Ah, but then what would he do if his dog didn’t come back to his master? He couldn’t let that be, well-

Whatever. Chibi didn’t have that much brain capacity, surely he wouldn’t think too much of it! And if he did-

If he… did… he didn’t have any reason to answer his questions, is not as if Chuuya would rip off his bandages to check for himself, he would never, even if Dazai wouldn’t mind, he trusted that Chuuya would never-

Whatever, he wouldn’t notice.

If it gave Chuuya any sense of security on those feelings, it was just a side effect.

Using corruption was always tiring for Chuuya, worst part was that he could barely remember anything after it, as if his brain was too tired to store his memories properly, but if anything —he could trust, yes trust it had been a weird realization to have, but he was over it now — the mackerel to take him back to one of their safe houses, or to base to be hospitalized if it went too far, and to stay by the side of his bed until he woke up to keep arahabaki silent and let him sleep.

Dazai will patch him up before or as he passed out, change his clothes, and although he kept making fun of his hat, he’d make sure to recover it from wherever it ended up in. So it wasn’t all that bad, nothing out of the ordinary, that’s why he was so weirded out when he woke up and the idiot wasn’t in sight, but he heard some water running somewhere close, so he probably was taking a shower? Huh, that was a new one, but whatever, not his problem.

It just meant he had time to get back to reality on his own terms, so, he assessed the situation, the room was a familiar one so nothing weird in that, he was in too big clothes for him, so those were probably Dazai’s, his hat was on the nightstand, his choker under it and all his injuries were treated, a few bandages that made him annoyingly match his partner, but his right arm was mostly fine, which was lucky, after all he’d be the one to write their report on this mission because hell knows the mackerel won’t.

That’s when he noticed something new, something that had changed. His word.

It had been already like two years since the word ‘irritation’ made its annoying appearance on his arm, all this time he was more or less ignoring it, just vaguely checking his companion’s arms as a glance, just in case, and nothing more, and now, it was gone.

As if it had never been there, save for the fact that a new one had replaced it, now, Chuuya knew for a fact that a new shared feeling wouldn’t replace the old one, as it was clear with his boss, it was just a week ago when he saw the words in the back of his hands for himself, in sharp, bold letters was written “Idiot” and “Hate”, so yeah, one feeling wouldn’t erase the previous one but even if that was true, it seemed as though that had happened.

Trust.

Appeared instead, to represent the bond he’d share, shared? with his soulmate who he was yet to discover… or did he?, because while irritation could have been anyone, considering how mad he had been all the time back when he joined the port mafia, the list of people he trusted boiled down to a very, very tiny number, so tiny in fact that he was already starting to get flustered just by thinking about it.

First, obviously it wasn’t Ane-san. Her marks were beautiful red carnations and golden butterflies that run down her shoulders and back, she had said how sadly, she’d already found the person who matched them and she was never to see them again. If that meant they had decided to keep apart as an agreement, if the person had passed away or if she decided to keep them as far away as possible, he didn’t know. But it wasn’t her, that much was clear.

Second, well… he had once trusted Shirase and Yuan, but that was a long forgotten feeling, and even when he met them again, he couldn’t help but keep them at arm’s length, he could forgive, however not forget.

The flags were… they were gone. No point in even trying, not to count that they all had marks of their own.

And then, to the last option, who just got out of the bathroom, fresh clothes and white, new, bandages covering him as always, along with his annoying smile that made Chuuya’s heart drop. Same as always. “Eh, it seems like the slug finally returned to the land of the living~”

“Shut the fuck up.” He answered back, looking away in a failed attempt to hide the blush creeping up in his face, because it could only be this asshole, couldn’t it? No one else was here, his mark was there yesterday and it had changed over night. There wasn’t anyone else he trusted around here. “Huh, chibi is so small I barely hear him.”

“I said shut the fuck up! Leave me alone so I can change, you bastard!” Chuuya said, still looking away, not noticing the fond smile in Dazai’s face as he went out of the room, but he sighed as soon as he heard the door opening and closing. He looked back just to be sure, but the mackerel was out now, good. “Fucking hell…”

He ran a hand through his hair as he tried the process the new information. He had found his soulmate, for a few years now, he knew his name: Osamu Dazai, he knew how he looked, he knows him pretty well, he’s a bandaged stinky and suicidal mackerel with chocolate brown hair that he had imagined running his hands through more than once and stupid dark brown eyes that could make a chill run down his spine. He was also part of the mafia, an important enough piece on Mori’s chest board that he wouldn’t put a bounty on his own demon prodigy’s head, but also one that he’d give anything to have more control over.

Even he could see that much, and that was likely the reason why Dazai hadn’t said anything until now, oh, that too, the bastard knew, way before him probably, and had kept quiet until now, under good reasons, Chuuya still remembered vividly the conversation he had with ane-san way back when he first noticed the word on his wrist, and if there was anyone more aware of weaknesses and how the mafia worked, it had to be his partner.

Now, what he didn’t understand, was why he had so carelessly decided to let him know, then acted as if nothing had happened as soon as they laid eyes on each other, had he even meant to let him know? Hell, of course he did, the bastard didn’t do anything he couldn’t use for something, but what did he win letting him know?

What even was the point of-

Oh. Maybe-

Chuuya looked down again, back at his wrist where the letters stud, same messy black writing as before, Trust.

Maybe there wasn’t really any point in it at all, maybe he just… he… trusted Chuuya would know what to do with that information, which was, well, nothing at all. Not for now.

“Bastard.” He mumbled under his words, light chuckle escaping him as he got up to start his day, and if he called his partner less curses that day, it was a coincidence.

18
“Excuse me?” Were the only words that came out of his mouth as his boss finished his explanation. “So you didn’t know either, huh?”

“I… I’m still on the way back, boss.” Chuuya managed to answer, he felt as though something was cutting down his words from his throat, he had still half an hour of flight until he arrived back at japan. “I can see that… Oh, well, it was a last resort to think he would’ve told you anything.”

Chuuya didn’t answer anything to that, the lump in his throat becoming so big that it was eating away all the words his thoughts managed to produce since he first heard that his… that Dazai was gone. “You can take your time to come back to the office. See what you do for now.”

Go search for him as soon as you land. Was what Mori really meant, and he knew that. “Yes, boss.”

The call ended there, but the facts didn’t really pierce its way on his skull until he went back to his apartment, the world felt muffled, and his own body felt lump, as if he wasn’t himself and he wasn’t even able to hear arahabaki right now, as if that thing too was too far from reality for him to notice.

Dazai was gone. Not a word, not a sign, nothing, absolutely fucking nothing. He left everything behind, his things in the 4 walls he called home that he checked on his way back, the stuff left also in Chuuya’s apartment, their safehouses, money in the bank, his office, everything was still, as if he was just to come back from a mission but even from that he would’ve taken something.

He left everything. Even him.

When he found out that the executive hadn’t just disappeared out of nowhere one day while he was out of the country, the fear that he might be searching for a body instead of a breathing human stroke him down. Oda Sakunosuke was also gone, he had learned, and while he never knew the man personally, Dazai did.

He had almost laughed like a maniac when he found out. Of course he left, he left, he left, he left. The torn on his side finally left. It was awesome, wonderful even! He had finally gotten his wish of going away without anyone being troubled by it, so much so that no one was able to find him yet!

It explained the pain that robbed him of breath every time he looked down on his wrist, so much so for trust when he couldn’t even bother to call him about the death of his best friend. So much fucking bother with letting him know they were soulmates just to disappear, so much fucking bother to look at him with adoration just to go die somewhere where he’d never be found, so much for dying without troubling people when he was already going mad before confirming his death-

Chuuya allowed himself to start laughing like a madman when that night he went back to his apartment, walking, because some bastard had decided that now was the best time to make his car blow up, whatever. It didn’t matter. Didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter.

Chuuya collapsed onto the couch, the room eerily quiet around him. His fingers fumbled for the wine bottle on the table, the glass gleaming darkly in the dim light. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, after all. A time to drink, to unwind, to forget for once. Dazai was gone, he had been waiting for this moment for years now!

And that was fine, right? It had to be fine.

He unscrewed the bottle with a sharp twist, the sound oddly satisfying in the silence. Raising the glass to his lips, he tilted it back, letting the rich, deep flavor burn as it slid down his throat. He could feel the warmth spreading through his chest, the alcohol pushing away the sharp edge of reality, even if just for a moment.

Celebrate. Celebrate.

Another gulp. Another, he’d drink until he couldn’t feel the weight of Dazai’s absence—no more irritating banter, no more stupid grins that seemed to make everything worse. It was fine. He could handle it. He could.

He laughed. It was rough and uneven, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of his chest, the wine seemed to fuel it, turning the laughter into something almost maniacal. It was loud, echoing in the room like a madman’s cackle, the kind of laughter that didn’t make sense, the kind of laughter that came from someone who had long lost his grip on reality, and what was he if not lost?

"Ha! Yeah, that’s it... that’s perfect," Chuuya muttered between laughs, his voice rising in pitch. "Finally, some peace. No more of… that idiot and his- his smile and- and warmth and-… stupid eyes!"

But with every laugh, the hollow feeling in his chest only seemed to grow. His throat started to burn, not from the alcohol, but from something deeper down on his own soul, he felt like he was suffocating, drowning in his own laughter that sounded more and more like a cry for help, as it got tainted by something dark and dry.

The laughter cracked.

The sound of it shattered in his own ears, and before he could stop it, the madness drained away, washed up by sorrow, and replaced by the hollow ache he couldn’t ignore anymore. His chest tightened, a sharp, painful pressure that seemed to crush him as his face fell, the ridiculousness of it all hitting him like a wave. The truth surged up so suddenly, so violently, he couldn’t keep it down any longer.

He dropped the wine glass, the liquid spilling across the table, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Dazai was gone. Probably forever.

The thought hit him like a blow to the gut, and the sobs came before he could even stop them. His hand gripped his shirt tightly, trying to steady himself, but there was no control anymore. The tears spilled down his face, hot and fast, and all he could do was let them fall, his chest shaking with each ragged breath and he gripped at his own wrist, tears blurring his attempt to read the last connection between them.

"Why… why is he…?" Chuuya whispered to no one, his voice broken, barely above a sob, barely even there, as if it had bee lost along his senses. "Why did this… why?"

His mind spun in circles, trying to make sense of the mess inside him. He had tried so hard to convince himself that this was what he wanted. No more Dazai. No more of the constant chaos that came with him. But now, without him, everything was silent. Too silent. Empty. Chuuya felt empty.

Without his partner-

His soulmate. Nothing made sense.

The pain of it—the ache of his absence—was crushing. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t face the reality that him, the one person who had been constant in his life, the one person who never let him forget who he was, that he was human, was just... gone.

And it was all too much. The weight of it, the suffocating emptiness, the crushing silence—everything seemed to collapse in on itself, and it didn’t take long for Chuuya to find someone to blame. Himself.

"Why... couldn’t I...?" His voice broke, a fractured sound that barely escaped his throat, as if each word was a struggle against the weight pressing down on him. "I just fucking had to—he trusted me! He had… he…"

The words caught in his throat, his breath ragged as the guilt twisted around his chest like an iron vice. He tried to swallow it down, but it only made the crushing ache worse, sinking deeper, until he could barely breathe. His vision blurred again, but this time it wasn’t from the alcohol—it was from the suffocating realization that all of this, all of it, was his fault. He had let someone he cared about die, again, even when he had sworn he wouldn’t.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

For not being there. For not being the partner Dazai needed. For not noticing the cracks, the signs, the moments when things had started slipping. Why hadn’t he known? Why hadn’t he seen the way Dazai had been acting? The way he’d distanced himself—those quiet moments when he should have been there, when he should have known.

His breath hitched as the words tumbled out in a messy, desperate stream. His hand shook as he reached for the bottle again, but his fingers were too numb to hold it. He dropped it to the floor, the sound of it clinking harshly against the ground like a cold reminder of everything he couldn’t fix, of how he was the cause of destruction in everything he touched.

It was his fault.

For not being here. For leaving, for being somewhere else when Dazai needed him. He hadn’t been there to stop him, to pull him back from whatever darkness had claimed him.

Why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he been more attentive? More... present? Why hadn’t he taken the treats to his own life more seriously? Why hadn’t he-

Each thought, each question, twisted like a knife in his chest. He had failed. He had failed when it mattered most. And now Dazai was gone, and it was because he hadn’t done enough.

For being too wrapped up in his own bullshit, too distracted by everything else. Dazai had been there for him countless times—had protected him, kept him alive, kept him sane when the world was falling apart around them. And now? Now Dazai was gone.

For being a bad partner. For not being enough, for not doing enough, for not stepping in when it mattered. His whole life had been spent taking care of Dazai, or at least, trying to keep up with him, but somehow, in the end, it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, he hadn’t been enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the image of Dazai’s vacant absence—the thought of him, dead-

For a fleeting moment, his hands trembled, fingers curling into fists, as if he could physically grasp the mistake, take it back, make it right. But it was already too late.

He let him die.

The thought slammed into him like a freight train, and the pressure of it nearly drove him to his knees. The guilt washed over him, suffocating, consuming, until he couldn’t think about anything else. He could hear his own voice, harsh and broken, muttering the same things over and over, as if somehow repeating them would change the outcome.

Why hadn’t he been there?

Why hadn’t he protected him? Like he had sworn himself he would.

A voice he barely recognized came out of his own lips, broken and fragile, carrying the few remaining pieces of his soul in it as if somehow that could make everything right. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry."

The words were almost automatic, slipping out between desperate sobs as he sat there, trapped in his own guilt. He wasn’t speaking to anyone—at least, not to anyone who could hear him. There was no one left. No one who could fix this. Dazai was gone.

Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the image of him, of the emptiness he felt in his chest. But even that was impossible, because the ghost of Dazai's absence lingered everywhere, filling up every space, every corner of his mind. He had failed. He had failed him. And now he was gone. Forever.

His hand shot out instinctively, grabbing at his arm, like he could physically hold onto something to make him come back to him. The word ‘trust’ had been there for so long, and it had been the one thing he could hold onto through the endless chaos and confusion. The one thing that kept him here, that kept him tethered to something—someone. Dazai.

But now... now, something was changing in front of his own disbelieving eyes.

He froze as he looked down at the mark, the scar glowing faintly, shimmering as new letters began to form beneath the word trust. Chuuya’s breath hitched, his fingers trembling as he traced the letters with wide eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Sorry.

He blinked. His heart skipped a beat, then pounded in his chest as the truth washed over him like a wave. The word sorry—it was unmistakable, a message from Dazai, same dumb messy writing as before, carried through their one connection that no one else knew about. He was sorry. Dazai was sorry for leaving him without a word, for vanishing and making him believe he was gone forever. Hell, he probably wasn’t even aware of it himself, if Chuuya knew him well enough, and he did. Dumbass.

But more than that, Chuuya realized—Dazai was alive.

Alive. Not dead in some alley or the bottom of the ocean.

A wave of relief washed over him so suddenly it took his breath away. The hours of confusion, of grief, of not knowing... it all shattered in that moment. His heart, which had felt so heavy, suddenly felt lighter. It was as if the ground beneath him shifted, and everything—every fear, every doubt—faded into the background. The trust that had been there, the silent connection between them, hadn't disappeared. It had always been there, why did he ever doubt the idiot? Of course he wouldn’t just die.

And then, without thinking, without even meaning to, Chuuya laughed.

It wasn’t the manic, broken and mad laughter from earlier. This one was real, a genuine laugh that bubbled up from deep inside, full of the kind of relief he hadn’t known he was holding onto until now.

"You better be, damn mackerel," he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out with a kind of confidence, a warmth, a sense that everything will be fine, okay, probably not, but it was already more than before.

He leaned back against the couch, still chuckling as he wiped his face, his fingers lightly brushing over the word sorry etched into his skin delicately, as if somehow that could be transmitted to his other half. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the last of his worry melted away. Dazai was alive. He hadn’t been left in the dark forever. And now, he could breathe again.

He had been wrong to think that Dazai’s absence meant an end. This mark, this word—it was all the proof he needed. Dazai was sorry, which was already a feat in itself, god, he was so teasing him about it when they met again, but more importantly, he was alive, and somehow, that made everything feel just a little bit more manageable. More real.

Chuuya stood up, his steps steady now, the weight of the world seeming a little less heavy on his shoulders, sobering him up. The mark on his skin—the mark of trust that had shifted into sorry— was just enough.

"Guess I'll have to let you make it up to me when I find you, huh?" he said to no one in particular, a smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes still locked on the mark. “Damn, beanpole.”

And for the first time in a long while, Chuuya felt something other than pain. He felt the quiet stirrings of hope, and the certainty that everything would be fine.

Dazai woke up with the word ‘sorry’ on his skin and he wanted to throw himself out of the nearest window, because Chuuya was never going to let him live it down.

20
Settling into the office had been... well, different. Not exactly what Dazai had expected, but then again, not too different either. It just... was. The mundane, everyday rhythm of his new life at the agency had its own charm, even if it was a little too predictable for sometimes, it had just enough trill, but well, predictability was also a luxury when you were always running from your past, he was growing to appreciate that.

His coworkers were nice enough, though. Nothing too spectacular, but they were interesting in their own ways. Getting on Kunikida’s nerves was a hobby Dazai was quickly getting used to, especially since the man’s reactions never failed to amuse him. Talking to Ranpo was another favorite pastime. The detective’s antics were endlessly entertaining, though it wasn’t always clear if Ranpo was actually being serious or just pretending to be clueless, the man was smart, smarter than him even, and as for Yosano—well, they’d quickly developed a mutual understanding, as if the signature of trauma caused by Mori was written on both their faces. It was fun, he liked them already.

Speaking about things related to Mori, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the president to the face for too long. Not after seeing the words “Idiot” and “Hate” on both his hands, he, unlike his previous boss, didn’t hide them, almost as if he was proud of it. President Fukuzawa really was something he’s growing accustomed to, but he appreciated the passive effort to spite on the mafia boss, so on his book, he was good.

Aside from that, there was only one thing he didn’t appreciate, the fact that everyone else had a clear mark. “Told you that marks are stupid.”

“Are they really?” The doctor asked, a teasing smile on her face as she leaned on the detective’s desk, who scoffed. “You literally have the easiest of the marks out there, Ranpo.”

“And? That doesn’t make it less stupid. You were the one to tell me that love literally makes you stupid, so marks are stupid, why would anyone do that to themselves? Are they not dumb enough already?” Ranpo answered back as he crossed his arms, the red string on his pinky making a dramatic effect as he did so. “What if your soulmate is a rich beauty that will buy you all the sweets you want?”

The detective looked at her with disappointment in his eyes. “I wouldn’t submit myself to a boring idiot just because of money, I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, what if it was a rich beauty almost as smart as you and interesting? And also loves mysteries, or something, from overseas since your string is so far away?” Yosano said, her smirk growing bigger as Ranpo looked at her in disbelief. “Like I told you, that wouldn’t happen.”

Ranpo looked away, his gaze dropping, his shoulders tensing slightly. Dazai, who had been idly listening from his desk, immediately caught the shift in Ranpo’s demeanor. “Why couldn’t they be?”

"Oh no. He is." Ranpo muttered, the slightest hint of a blush creeping up on his face. It was barely noticeable, but Dazai caught it.

“Wait, what—” Yosano blinked, confused.

“American. Tall. Gloomy. Loves mysteries. Smart. And… filthy rich.” Ranpo continued, clearly trying to play it cool, but Dazai could see the faint flush in his cheeks. “How do you—?”

“So, like I said, is stupid.” He deflated, and while the doctor was too busy trying to process that sudden revelation, Ranpo’s eyes fell down on someone else. Oh no. “Stupid but interesting, wouldn’t you agree, Dazai?”

“Eh? What would I know about that?” He lied, lied like his life depended on it. “I mean, you’ve met yours.”

“Me? But if I don’t even have a mark!” Dazai flashed a dangerous smile to the detective, who didn’t even flinch. “Do you now?”

“… why are you so interested in my soulmate all of the sudden?” Dazai shot back, a polite and fake smile on his face. “… you’re taking tomorrow off, aren’t you?.”

“Huh?” He wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea, but before he could add his amusement, Kunikida shut him down. “He hasn’t completed his paperwork yet and is barely the middle of the week!”

“Ah, Kunikida-kun, were you feeling left out?” Dazai quickly teased the man, a big grin on his face as the blonde stared at him. “Of course not.”

“Eh? But kunikida-kun has a long list of things that his soulmate must be, doesn’t he?” He kept teasing, Dazai had already stolen and read before all the things noted down in that notebook. “If one’s soulmate must be their compliment, then they have to reach those standards.”

Ranpo chuckled at that. “But doesn’t your mark say imperfect?”

The man sighed before going on a long rant about it, which Dazai tuned out but was the outcome he expected, the less attention towards his own other half the better.

Not because he didn’t want to complain about Chuuya, of course he did! He had one too many things to say, like the fact the word ‘nostalgia’ had appeared on his arm because of him! That sappy slug! Or how he had been growing his hair, and that he hadn’t gotten rid of his stupid hat.

No, and also, it wasn’t just because he didn’t want to think about how they still couldn’t see each other. Not when it was still so fresh, when he was just adjusting to his new work and the mafia was finally starting to relent on their effortless tries on searching for him. Also, he liked his coworkers, he really did but-

Telling them his other half was a mafia executive was a bridge he’d cross when he had to, and now wasn’t the time, although it seemed as if Ranpo already knew, because of course he did.

He went through the rest of the day as usual, then went back to the dorms and allowed himself to just fall down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling for a second, before pulling his arm out and carefully removing the top part of his bandages, and carefully traced down his fingers on the letters one by one. “Trust”, “Sorry”, “Nostalgia”, “Dumb”, “Care” filled his arm and part of his hands, a small memento of the hat rack.

He sighed almost unwillingly, closing his eyes and bringing his arm back closer, it’s not proved whether or not if doing anything to the marks sent something to the other, and it wasn’t as if he was trying but if he held them like a lifeline, or sometimes, traced them delicately like he used to do after missions where they used corruption, it wasn’t exactly a coincidence either.

Did it mean something? Maybe, who knows, he just kind of misses having a dog follow him around…

Misses?

…

Dazai sighed again, dragging his hand over his face in frustration. Fine, whatever. He was alone anyway. He couldn't deny it, no matter how much he tried to distract himself. He missed Chuuya.

He missed the way his hair always smelled like apples—fresh, sweet, and unapologetically him. How could he ever forget the way Chuuya would smile, that smug little grin of his, right before kicking ass without breaking a sweat? And that stupid laugh that Dazai couldn't help but adore, even if it was the most obnoxious sound in the world. And his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes that would look at him as if he meant something. No one else ever made him feel like he mattered the way Chuuya did, as if he was human, as if he was real.

And then there were the quieter moments, the ones that no one but him ever saw. How Chuuya would follow Dazai’s plans, no questions asked, like he was the only person who truly understood him. The way he’d relax, ever so rarely, his face softening into a peaceful expression when he slept. The sight of it was almost enough to make Dazai forget about the world. It was a peace that Dazai would’ve gladly sacrificed anything for, just to see it more often.

And well, technically he was-

Or wasn’t he? Is not as if his decision to leave could’ve been stopped by Chuuya, it didn’t have much to do with him after all, but maybe if he had been there back then, they wouldn’t be alone and apart right now, he could’ve stolen the little slug along, and now they would be-

He shacked the wishful thinking out of his head.

What ifs aren’t real, and now... now, it felt like something precious had been ripped away from him. Chuuya was far away, and the absence was suffocating, filling every waking moment in which he wasn’t distracted with loneliness, his life turned into missing redheads’ hours apparently.

He missed him, every single part of him, his stupid face, and shiny eyes, soft hair and dumb fashion choices. He could barely keep it in check, so much it hurt. More than Dazai could ever put into words, more than he'd ever admit to anyone, even himself, maybe even more than fate had anticipated when it decided to tie them together.

He… he missed him so much.

And somehow, it still came over as a surprise when he felt a new word form on his skin, he quickly glanced at his arm, watching the letters come into sense.

I miss you.

“Of course you do, you clingy dog!” He said with a big grin in his lips as he stared down at the words, all of his loneliness backed down to the deeps of his mind even if just for a little while, and it didn’t taint his smile at all, not even a bit as the corners trembled upon the sight of the new word.

Of course Chuuya missed him, he was such an emotional little thing! He was probably crying, curled on a small ball of a chibi on his bed, calling for his name! the thought was almost so funny that he started to laugh so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

What do you mean you don’t hear him laughing? What else could cause tears? Of course he was laughing.

Oh fuck it.

AngoThe traitor already owed him too many favors for a lifetime, and if he needed them now he would use all of them if necessary.

Dazai practically sprinted from his bed, took his keys and just- ran-

Ran without so much as a thought, his body moving faster than his brain for once, running away from all the thoughts that screamed into his head that this was a very bad idea.

He literally ran to Chuuya’s apartment, that was more of a penthouse but whatever, the new one that he didn’t even think twice to break into, not that it was hard, after all, you had to be an idiot to try and rob a mafia executive and that enough was a good security system, you’d only try this if you had a death wish, and what did he not desire but that and a little redhead with anger management problems?

That’s why, as soon as he stepped into the room, it didn’t surprise him when a voice—so faint, yet so achingly familiar—reached out to him, it was soft, weaker than he remembered, but even in its fragility, it carried that sharpness, that unmistakable edge that was all Chuuya. The kind of voice that had been burned into his memory, one he’d replayed in his mind during the long, lonely nights. Hearing it now, though, it felt like his heart stopped for a moment—like everything in the world had suddenly fallen into place. Like he was where he was meant to be. "Who the fuck are you, and what do you—"

A wave of warmth spread through him, melting the cold that had settled in his chest for so long. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, a fluttering ache that only grew stronger as he stepped further into the room with urgency, frantically searching for the sight that matched the sound. “It seems the chibi hasn’t-”

Before Dazai could even finish, his words faded, lost in the overwhelming flood of emotion that suddenly overtook him. His eyes locked onto Chuuya’s, and time… stopped. The world seemed to stretch and bend around them, leaving only the two of them, standing there across from each other. Dazai's breath caught in his throat, a mix of disbelief and longing bubbling up from deep inside him. He could hardly believe it was real, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Chuuya was standing there, he didn’t grow a millimeter, the same fiery eyes that Dazai knew so well, eyes tainted under red circles that gave away more than the other would ever say, hair messy and undone, his hat missing and letting it show it was a familiar scene. And yet… everything about him was different. There was something softer in the way he held himself now, something deeper, something that made Dazai ache to hold him close as soon as possible, it was like the years that had passed between them had reshaped Chuuya, yet somehow, it only made Dazai want him even more.

The ache in his chest intensified, the weight of all the unspoken years pressing on him. The longing, the quiet desperation, the feeling that no matter how far apart they had been, there was something undeniable between them. It all came back to him, the moment when he had finally sat down at the hideout place and thought of him. Of how he left him behind, without so much so as a word or proof that he was alive.

Those sleepless nights when he worried about Chuuya being forced to use corruption without him there, all the moments that he drowned himself on memories, everything, all of it crashed down on him again, just at the sight, at the closeness that they finally had again.

Chuuya was the first to speak, his voice a soft tremor, laced with affection but still holding onto a fragility that made Dazai’s chest tighten even more when he saw the smile that the other didn’t even try to hide. “You idiot… you shouldn’t be here.”

Dazai’s heart caught at the sound of it. That voice. He had dreamed about it, longed for it in the silence of all the days they’d spent apart. He tried to respond with his usual mockery, but his words faltered, slipping out more honestly than he intended. “Is that the way you welcome your master?” His tone was light, but there was an undeniable warmth in it—a rawness that he couldn’t hide, even if he tried, and honestly?

He was done trying to hide it.

The words hung between them, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet. Neither of them moved. It was as if they were waiting for something—some sign that it was okay, that they weren’t dreaming.

Then, almost imperceptibly, they both took a step forward. Tentative. Unsure, but it didn’t stop there. The next step came more naturally. The distance between them, once vast, seemed to shrink with every breath they took. And before either of them could stop it, they were moving towards each other with a force that felt inevitable, like the world had been pulling them together all along, because it really had been, until neither of them had the strength left to deny it.

Dazai’s heart pounded as they closed the distance between them, every step bringing them closer to the one thing he had craved most. And when he was within arm’s reach, Dazai slowly grabbed his face between his hands, holding him like what he was, the most precious human to have ever been born, his most precious person. He whipped away the few tears escaping down the beautiful pair of blue eyes, a fond smile betraying his own face. “Stupid slug.”

“Bastard mackerel.” Chuuya had mirrored his actions, and they hold each other for just a bit more, taking in the sight in front of them, but it wasn’t enough, not after so long, not after everything, not after this, never again.

Fate dared them to do it this time, as a new word appeared on both their faces, the surprise lingered on them for only a second, before a smirk made itself known on their lips that were know tainted by inky words.

Love.

And well, they weren’t ones to back down from a dare.

Their first kiss was far from chaste, to say the least, as Chuuya pulled Dazai down grabbing at his shirt that was undone sooner than later, and the detective’s hands went quickly down from his face to his lower back, and low, low, low they went.

Not that either of them had a complain, well, no, that was a lie, because Chuuya would have rather not had to be hold up by Dazai as he pushed him against the wall with the desperation of a hungry beast that he didn’t even had to try and match as Dazai carried him to the nearest counter even if only to have a little bit more of space.

And then the couch was next when that wasn’t enough, as if anything was ever enough between them.

And the bedroom, when their backs were already in too much pain but just not quite enough to cover for their rampaging desires.

Dazai did wonder if not wearing the bandages around his neck just to be a show off will finally give Kunikida a heart attack the next morning, though, Chuuya wearing something higher, would prompt questions from Ane-san. Specially in the mid of July.

Oh, whatever, it was their problem, was what both thought when the sun raised, hours later than either of the starting ones for them. “So… what now?”

“Shower?” Dazai asked back with a stupid smile in his face, his grip on Chuuya’s waist not faltering a bit, he rolled his eyes. “Not that dumbass.”

“Chuuya is being mean to me!” he cried, hugging his partner closer, Chuuya sighed, leaning into the touch. “Oh shut up I’m not-”

“And not how I want him to be!” Dazai added, just in case Chuuya had forgotten that he held no love for his own life, not more for it than he did for him anyway. “That was not-! Ugh, just shut up!”

Dazai couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and affectionate, as he watched Chuuya’s face flush a deeper shade of red. The way his eyes darted away, clearly embarrassed but still trying to keep up his tough exterior, made Dazai’s heart swell with fondness, endearment, all the words he would never say and yet the other knew already. The memories from last night flooding back, making his chest ache in the best way. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Chuuya’s head, his lips brushing gently against the messy strands of red hair. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice soft, teasing, but full of something that couldn’t be conveyed by words, not ones that existed, since humanity could never come to the bare understanding of them.

Chuuya’s gaze snapped up to meet his, his face still red, eyes narrowed in playful irritation. The scowl was there, but it wasn’t as sharp as usual—just a mask to hide the little flutter in his chest that Dazai loved being the cause of.

"Do you now?" he asked, the teasing lilt in his voice only making Dazai’s smile widen. He could feel the warmth of Chuuya’s breath as the redhead looked up at him, trying to pretend like he wasn’t completely melting under Dazai’s attention and his body was leaning impossibly closer and melting under it. He was so pretty he’d outshine the morning sun and stars, put all the poets to ever attempt to describe beauty to shame, even with that scowl. Too pretty, really. Dazai couldn’t get enough of it, not that he needed to know, damn, Chuuya already got enough compliments as it was, he didn’t need Dazai also feeding his ego.

"Yes, of course I considered it before coming here," Dazai said, his voice light but carrying that familiar playful edge. "Unlike some people, I actually plan ahead."

Chuuya stared at him, his expression a mix of disbelief and fond exasperation, knowing full well that Dazai was saying bullshit. They both knew it, but neither was going to say it. The moment stretched, both of them silently acknowledging how ridiculous they were, how easy it was to fall back into this rhythm, after all this time, as if hadn’t happened at all.

"Just say those are mosquito bites," Dazai teased, his voice soft but full of amusement, his eyes dancing with mischief as he bopped Chuuya’s nose with his finger and his other hand gently traced the marks he left all around the other’s neck, not ones that said anything on their own but that spoke more than a thousand words. The playful banter was comfortable, almost like a secret language only the two of them could understand. And despite the teasing, there was an undeniable softness in his gaze, something warm and unspoken that passed between them that only now Chuuya was noticing.

Chuuya opened his mouth as if to protest, but then stopped, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. He couldn’t hold the scowl for long when Dazai was looking at him like that, when the warmth of his presence was just so... familiar, so sweet and warm, like being covered in the softest blanket that had just been under the sun, it smelled like light and tasted like a home he never knew he had. "You’re unbelievable," he muttered, but his tone was softer now, the words carrying a hint of affection that he wouldn’t admit aloud as he bopped the other’s nose back. Dazai’s eyes softened as he watched him, his heart aching with something tender and familiar, deniability long ago had been thrown out the window.

"I know," Dazai whispered, almost to himself, as if savoring the quiet moment between them. His hand reached out instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from Chuuya’s face, just as he had done the evening before, his touch was gentle, as he held the most precious human on earth, the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him, and that wasn’t a though competition, but it had to count for something. "I know you better than you think."

The quiet lingered between them, the teasing forgotten for a brief second, replaced by something sweeter, rarely honest, raw and vulnerable. The affection between them, unspoken and undeniable, sweet and honest, filled the space, and for a moment, everything felt right. There was no need for more words, like there never was between them, not spoken out loud at least. “And so do I.”

“I really am gonna say mosquito bites though.” And that, Chuuya knew was completely honest too, that’s why he rolled his eyes, ones that flooded on fondness.

“… Remind me why I slept with you?” Chuuya asked in disbelief again, as a mocking smirk appeared on his lips, and Dazai gasped, a hand on his heart as the softness deluded itself into familiar bickering. “Chuuya only wants me for my body!”

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” He chuckled, as they hugged impossibly closer, their eyes locked on each other like the idiots they were, their eyes saying far more than they ever would dare. “You didn’t deny it!”

“Of course not, I hate you.” Chuuya said, endearment on his face as a little glow brought back a word in both of their lips that they didn’t even need to look at to know what it said. “Oh, wouldn’t you look at that?”

“Someone is being needy and a sap it seems.” Dazai said back, not waiting a second to take Chuuya’s chin up and pull him closer, who smirked upon their distance disappearing. “Who would that be, huh?”

They made the words disappear again, lost in their own little world until both of their phones started to practically scream for their attention, killing off their little world secluded from society and needs in life. “I swear to-”

“Hello?” Dazai answered, equally annoyed but already a master at hiding that, working under Mori left you that ability. “DAZAI YOU BANDAGE WAISTING-”

The detective pulled the phone away from his ear for a minute, just as Chuuya reached to answer his own phone call. “Ane-san?”

“Oh, it seems you’re still alive.” She said, relief briefly covering a sharpness between her words that he wasn’t happy to hear one bit. “Yes?”

“May I ask what made you not come to the office in… more than four hours?” Her tone remained sharp, and he bit his tongue trying to think of a good excuse, whatever but the truth, anything but the truth. “I was… doing business.”

“What kind of-”

“Chuu, is very rude to call me business! Oh, hi ane-san!” The. Fucking. Bastard. If glares killed, Chuuya would be single now and with a body in his hands to hide. “Ah… I see, so that type of business.”

“I can explain-”

“We both know you can’t, not the kind of explanation I’ll like.” She said, her tone defeated, as if this was something she knew unavoidable yet disappointing, and Chuuya hated to disappoint her but it was the worlds fault, not his. “Just make sure to keep it inside.”

“I- yeah, I will.”

“Good, and Dazai?” She called the ex-mafioso, who was teasing the hell out of who Chuuya assumed, was his coworker and seemed to only stop his amusement so he could attend to Kouyo. “Yes?”

“Break his heart and you can say bye to that misery between your legs.” She adverted, and a glint of mischief run on Dazai’s eyes, he had two options: accept the treat or be himself. And well, you know how the old saying goes, be yourself, unless you can be batman, then be batman. “Eh? But it pulled Chuuya out of his misery last night!”

Chuuya ended the call before he heard any answer back to which will follow a conversation he was not thrilled to have, he hid himself under the blankets just after he kicked his partner out of the bed. “Fuck you!”

“Isn’t it too early? I also enjoyed last night but we should have breakfa-”

“Shut the fuck up!” He said, throwing him a pillow with all his strength, but it still wasn’t enough damage.

23
“Is… is something the matter, Dazai-san?” His protégé asked with his usual awkwardness, after all, his mentor had been staring down on his neck for a while now. “Hey, Atsushi-kun… ever wondered about your mark?”

“I… yeah, I mean, it used to be a comforting thought back when I was younger.” The boy admitted, as bashful as ever, and to that Dazai had a conflicted look on his eyes. Okay, he had picked Atsushi up without knowing about this, and did it make it better or worse? “I’ve never been able to really know what it is though, it was just this all black form that I could ever barely see-”

“It’s a dragon.”

“Huh?” Atsushi looked back at him, confused but Dazai had made his choice. “A dragon, Atsushi-kun, pretty poetic for a tiger, wouldn’t you think?”

“I… I don’t know-” He stuttered, frantically searching for it with his hands, even though that wouldn’t do anything and his mentor was already feeling bad for him. “And it’s fighting a white tiger.”

“Huh?!”

“Like I said, pretty poetic for-” Before he could finish, Atsushi interrupted him, just as he predicted he would. “But… but it was all black before…”

“Oh, Atsushi-kun! It means you’ve met your soulmate already then!” He answered, amusement in his voice even though he was really, really sorry for the boy, his significant other seemed to be even more of an annoyance than his. “I… but- but when?!”

“That’s up to you to figure out, you didn’t think fate was going to do all the work, did you?” Dazai teased at his discouraged mentee, who sighed for a long moment before his eyes seemed to catch something, because he stared at him. “Uh… Dazai-san?”

“What? Is there something on my face?” He asked, an innocent smile on his face that he was doing his best to keep, because couldn’t the chibi stop being a sap for five minutes? “Yes, uhm… there in your… uh…”

“My what, Atsushi-kun?” He was so going to these the hell out of the hat rack when he went back home if it was what he was thinking, really, such a clingy dog! The boy made a little signally on his own face, pointing at his cheek. “In your… uh, there over there it says…uhm…”

“Yes?” The anticipation made his smile grow bigger, but that only seemed to make his protégé warier of talking. “It says… ‘annoying’”

Of course it did. Of course. Dazai grabbed his phone without his face moving an inch and dialed the first number on it. “Slug?”

“The fuck you want?” Came a voice from the other side of the line that only he heard. “Care to explain the new one?”

Chuuya scoffed on the other side. “New one? What, you couldn’t go a few hours without me already?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Dazai hang up at, but not before he heard a curse coming out of his partner’s mouth, then, he turned back to his mentee. “Hey, Atsushi-kun, don’t you want to come with me to run a little errand?”

“I… I don’t know if it’s a good idea…” He admitted, slowly retreating to his desk before being stopped by his mentor, who hold him by the neck of his shirt. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Atsushi sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he trudged toward the door, thankful for the brief escape from the looming lecture he was sure they’d get from Kunikida. The older man was deep in conversation with the president, so they had managed to slip away unnoticed. However, their departure did not go unnoticed by their local number one detective, who was lounging lazily in his chair, an amused glint in his eye.

"Say hi to mister fancy hat for me, and tell him he’s pretty smart for the bad choices he makes," Ranpo called out, his voice dripping with teasing sarcasm.

“Is he now?” Dazai shot back, stopping mid-step to turn towards Ranpo, a playful grin spreading across his face. The usual mischief in his eyes was replaced with a glimmer of challenge. “I mean, who else would call their own ‘mate annoying?”

Atsushi, now caught between the two of them, looked from one to the other with growing concern. He didn’t want to be involved in this—. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into their back-and-forth. He let out a soft, almost silent sigh, trying to shrink into the background. But Dazai had other plans.

“Oh, Ranpo-san," Dazai said, a playful chuckle escaping his lips. "Just because Poe-san is off on a book tour doesn’t mean you have to get all grumpy, you know!”

Ranpo’s teasing smirk faltered for just a moment, a hint of surprise flashing across his face as he sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m not grumpy!” he retorted quickly, though the slight pout at the corners of his lips suggested otherwise.

Dazai, of course, wasn’t about to let it slide. “No, no, I get it. Chibi gets grumpy when he’s lonely too!” he teased, his tone light and almost too sweet, as if he were indulging in a joke only they knew the punchline to, his partner had learned long ago that Dazai’s teasing came with a side of affection that was hard to ignore, at least when it came to him, but he wasn’t there right now.

Atsushi, who had tried his best to fade into the shadows, suddenly found himself backing away even more, silently wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. Ranpo’s eyes, however, narrowed as he met Dazai’s playful gaze.

“Who’s lonely here?” Ranpo shot back, leaning forward, his teasing smirk now replaced with a more intense expression. “The one going out in the middle of the day for a mark?”

Dazai’s smile didn’t falter, but something dangerous and knowing flashed in his eyes. It was the kind of smile that made you wonder if he was playing a game that no one else knew the rules to. “Oh well, I’m not the one pulling his string, am I?” he said, his voice light but laced with something else—something teasing but almost too serious.

A brief flicker of something soft passed over Ranpo’s face before he glanced down at his pinky. It was something he’d started fiddling with a lot recently, something to occupy his thoughts whenever the person on the other end of the string wasn’t around. He narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly what Dazai meant.

"Well, at least my first clue wasn’t Irritat-" Ranpo began, but he was cut off mid-sentence by Dazai’s raised hand and a playful smirk.

"Enough, boys," came a calm, authoritative voice from the doorway. The president, with Kunikida trailing behind him, stepped out of his office, his sharp gaze falling on the two detectives. "That’s enough."

Atsushi let out a soft, relieved sigh, grateful that the tension was finally broken. The president’s voice had a way of making them stop—without even raising it, he had the power to quiet both the detectives. He shot a quick, apologetic look at Kunikida, who was already on the way to speak, but paused upon seeing the president’s calming presence.

“We all have our… mishaps,” the president continued, glancing briefly at Dazai and Ranpo. Atsushi didn’t miss the way both Dazai and Ranpo’s minds simultaneously wandered to the president’s hands, both of them inwardly (and somewhat outwardly) thinking And the president has two big ones.

“There’s no point in drowning in them,” the president finished, his voice a soothing balm to the rising tension in the room.

Both detectives nodded obediently, their expressions shifting into the kind of softness that only came from being mildly scolded—like children caught in the middle of a prank. "Ranpo, it’s okay to feel lonely—"

“I’m not—!” Ranpo immediately interrupted, but his voice lacked the usual defiance, replaced instead with a softness that made his protest seem more like a reflex than anything else, and it probably was.

The president, unfazed, continued, “There’s no shame in it. I got you some brownies from the store two blocks from here, you can go to my office to get them.”

The sudden shift in Ranpo’s demeanor was nothing short of adorable, well, at least to his adoptive father. In the blink of an eye, his tough exterior crumbled and was replaced with a childlike excitement. His previous irritation was forgotten as he hopped off his chair in a smooth, almost effortless motion, rushing to the president’s office with a smile that had somehow managed to wipe away the earlier tension. “Thanks, shachou!” he called back, his voice full of genuine gratitude.

The president rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in the expression that he couldn’t hide. He turned towards Dazai, his eyes narrowing slightly, though the smile on his lips made it clear there was no real malice in his words. “I need not remind you that words are mutual, do I?”

Dazai looked away with a slight pout, the playful smirk still lingering on his lips. “Now, now, I’m sure you’re already running late, so you can go for now,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Kunikida, ever the stickler for protocol, opened his mouth to object. “President, Dazai hasn’t—!”

The president, however, interrupted him with a patient smile, his voice calm and composed. “We wouldn’t want people thinking our detectives are annoying, would we?”

Kunikida, after a brief pause, sighed in defeat. “I… I suppose not,” he muttered, though his annoyance was still evident.

In the meantime, Dazai had snuck over to Atsushi, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as the younger man tried to shrink into the background, his face flushed with embarrassment. “We’ll be back! Or not!” Dazai chirped brightly, his teasing grin wide as ever. Atsushi sighed again, this time more in resignation than anything else, as he was practically dragged along in Dazai’s wake.

They walked for a while, until they reached the docks near the bay, where they turned around and somehow found themselves on a small café, almost hidden between the shadows. “What are we here for, Dazai-san?”

“To get rid of this annoying thing of course!” He said, a little emphasis on the word just so the double meaning of his words came more obvious. “Uh… were meeting your m-mate here, then?”

“Atsushi-kun really is coming along as a detective, I see!” Dazai praised, an easy smile on his face as they entered, it didn’t do anything to calm down his mentee though, because, why was he here again? “So… how are the-”

“You bastard!” Was the greeting they got, as a voice came running from behind them and kicked Dazai down all the way to the wall, Atsushi took a defensive position as soon as he saw who was behind it. “What is the mafia doing here?!”

“Jinko!” Yelled another awfully familiar voice as soon as they came in sight with each other, and sooner than later they were both charging towards each other, now he really started to wonder what was happening here. “What is up with you?!”

Dazai gave a dramatic sigh as he straightened up, brushing himself off before strolling towards his partner, who was standing there with a scowl firmly planted on his face. “Chuuya is such a meanie~” Dazai hummed, his voice teasing and carefree, as if he were a child pouting for attention, and well, he kinda was begging for attention right now.

Chuuya’s glare could’ve burned through glass. “Me?! Who’s the idiot who made me walk around with this on my face, huh?!” He jabbed a finger at the word that showed itself shamelessly on his cheek, another masterpiece of Dazai's planning, no doubt. His sneer deepened as he glared at his partner. “You’re lucky I-”

Dazai’s lips twitched upward into a chuckle. “You what?”

Chuuya didn’t answer, but the faint appearance of another word on his lips conveyed the message, a fond smile appeared on Dazai’s own. “I also walked all the way here, you know?” he said with a mock pout, clearly not too concerned about the situation at hand. He looked like he had just emerged from a field of daisies, utterly unfazed, ah, the things that Chuuya did to him.

Chuuya let out an exaggerated sigh, his hands on his hips. “Yeah, and you made this happen.” He pointed with a dramatic flair at the battle between the two younger boys in the corner. They were just about to throw arms, much too focused on each other to notice the storm of frustration brewing on the redhead’s face. “Shouldn’t you stop them?”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Hmm, but I want them to do it!” His voice was filled with mischief, as though he were a child in a candy store, enjoying every moment of the chaos he had indirectly set into motion. Before Chuuya could aim another punch in his direction, Dazai’s finger shot out, pointing at his mentees’ necks. “I’m sure you saw it too, didn’t you?”

Chuuya froze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out a long, tired sigh. “And this was the only way?” he asked, incredulous, though a small, fond glimmer of exasperation appeared in his eyes. It was clear he was trying to stay annoyed, but the situation had gotten too ridiculous to take seriously.

Dazai just shrugged with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, his usual carefree attitude taking over. “It was the funniest one.” He wasn’t even trying to hide the lack of shame—he was just enjoying the show, and at this point, it seemed there was no going back.

Chuuya couldn’t help but stare at him, and Dazai shacked his head defeat. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, conceding to stop the two of them before the local got in danger of absolute destruction.

“I’d rather not cover more of their destruction on my tab.” The redhead said as he walked over to sit on one of the booths, while Dazai dragged himself to stop the fight, still grinning from ear to ear. The chaos between the two younger boys was still in full swing, each trying to get the upper hand as they exchanged mock punches and sharp words.

With an exaggerated groan, Dazai dropped into his usual dramatic pose. “Alright, alright, that’s enough, you two.” He stepped into the middle of the commotion, making no effort to look imposing. Instead, he just stretched his arms wide, like a parent trying to break up an argument between squabbling children. “D-Dazai-san!”

“Come on, let’s get this over with and grab some coffee~” Dazai cheerfully declared, grabbing both Atsushi and Akutagawa by the arms. It wasn’t really forceful, but certainly enough to pull them along with him. Akutagawa, as usual, went completely limp at the touch, making it easier for Dazai to drag him, with surprising ease. Honestly, couldn’t the kid just not be so dramatic? Stupid teenage angst. (His own stupid teenage angst, couldn’t he abort that plan?)

Dazai made sure they sat on the opposite booth from Chuuya, who was half-heartedly staring at the menu as though it held all the answers to his problems, named Dazai. He didn’t look up once. “Is it over now?” Chuuya asked, his voice barely lifting from its usual bored tone, yet the way his eyes flicked to Dazai made it clear he was at least mildly paying attention to what was happening.

Dazai immediately slung himself into the seat next to Chuuya with a grin that could only be described as far too pleased with himself. “But of course!” He answered, in his usual cheerful sing-song voice, clinging his arms around Chuuya’s shoulders in a way that had Atsushi and Akutagawa squirming. There was no stopping the cringe that gave them; it was just too much.

Atsushi, feeling incredibly awkward at the scene, cleared his throat. “Uhm… Dazai-san?”

The detective looked over at him innocently, his arm still draped around Chuuya as though nothing was amiss, as though it was the most normal thing and not a disgusting show off of pda. Atsushi's discomfort was palpable—Akutagawa sitting next to him probably wasn’t helping, and the way Dazai was almost lounging on Chuuya like a cat on a perch wasn’t helping either. Atsushi glanced towards Chuuya, signaling with his eyes toward how Dazai was physically attached to him, but the Mafioso ignored it completely, brushing Dazai’s hair back in that almost too casual way. “Yes?”

Atsushi’s voice was unsure. “Weren’t we here to meet your mate?”

Dazai blinked as if he were surprised, adopting an exaggerated, innocent expression. “But we’re doing just that?” His grin was mischievous, eyes gleaming with delight at his confusion game.

Both Atsushi and Akutagawa stared at Dazai, their minds processing the unexpected turn in the conversation. “Huh?!” they both blurted out simultaneously, their confusion uniting them in the shared bewilderment.

Chuuya, never one to sit quietly when Dazai was causing chaos, finally looked up from his menu. His gaze was as sharp as ever, but there was something softer about it when it landed on Dazai. “Stop teasing them so much, will you?” he grumbled, but it wasn’t out of honest malice, he might have been annoyed, sure, but there was a hint of affection beneath the scowl that his partner could see.

Dazai, undeterred, feigned confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied with exaggerated innocence, his voice light and playful. His eyes flicked down to the word on Chuuya’s cheek, though. Neither Atsushi nor Akutagawa had said anything yet, both caught in the awkward realization that the word across Chuuya’s face was an unmistakable marker of something more personal, not that there was much to deduce when the same word was shamelessly plastered on their mentor’s own.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he gave a resigned sigh. “I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?” he muttered to the two younger ones.

“Oh.” Was all that came out of Atsushi’s mind. His face flushed slightly, still caught off guard by the sudden, too intimate atmosphere between his mentor and his mentor’s soulmate, apparently. The word on Chuuya’s face, bold and impossible to ignore, was making him feel more than a little awkward, worst made by the one on his lips.

“Now that you two stopped being dumbfounded, would you mind getting this off of me?!” Chuuya demanded, his voice sharp, but there was a slight edge of amusement to it. Neither Atsushi nor Akutagawa could bring themselves to say anything—whether he was talking about the word on his face or Dazai, who had latched onto him with a sense of possessive affection, they couldn’t be sure. Either way, it seemed like a conversation best left untouched.

Atsushi’s eyes lingered on the word plastered across their faces—"Love"—and he couldn’t help but feel how utterly out of place it seemed. Not because it was wrong in any way, but because it felt too big for the two of them, too personal to ever be anything more than a joke, it didn’t fit with them, maybe because he’d never heard them say anything close to it before. There was something oddly vulnerable about it that neither of them could fathom commenting on.

“Eh, but I missed the chibi!” Dazai chimed in, his tone lighter than ever, a teasing grin playing across his face as he leaned further into Chuuya’s side, ignoring the glare that followed, as he rubbed his cheek with the redhead’s and the word ‘annoying’ disappeared.

But Chuuya seemed just as surprised as Atsushi and Akutagawa at Dazai’s sudden confession. His eyes widened slightly, a breath of disbelief escaping him. "You what?" he muttered, his voice trailing off. The edge of irritation that had been there earlier softened, replaced by something a little more incredulous, and soft, almost disbelieving. "Don’t tell me you…?"

“Of course.” Dazai responded, his grin never faltering, though there was a small, soft warmth behind his eyes as he regarded Chuuya, a vulnerability that only the other could see. "I always miss you, you know that."

Atsushi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flicking to Akutagawa, who had yet to look up from the table, his expression unreadable. It was hard not to feel like an intruder in this moment, but something about the way Dazai and Chuuya interacted—especially when Dazai was being so open and affectionate—made the whole thing feel less like a joke and more like a quiet confession, like something he couldn’t look away from but that he didn’t want to know about.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, but the warmth lingering in his gaze betrayed his attempt at maintaining his usual tough exterior. "You idiot, of course you’re a sap." he muttered, though he made no move to push Dazai away. In fact, he leaned just a little closer, as if the gesture was an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond between them.

"Yeah, but you love it," Dazai teased, his voice lilting, as he tucked his head closer to Chuuya's, their foreheads touching and a smile of contentment on his face. “Don’t you?”

Atsushi couldn’t help but stare, it was like watching a car crash he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted. It was like watching something much deeper than just playful bickering; it was familiar, comforting even, in its own way. He could tell that this was the usual for them—the teasing, the affection, the way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle no one else could quite figure out.

“As if this was only my fault.” Chuuya said, his voice quieter now, his usual fiery demeanor giving way to something softer, even as he tried to push Dazai closer playfully. "Enough with the dramatics.”

“So impatient~” And as they leaned too close for the comfort of the younger duo, Akutagawa had mercy on him and used his ability to cover Atsushi’s eyes. “I never said it before, but thank you so much.”

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Which happens to be you.” Atsushi couldn’t help but chuckle at that affirmation, and even though nothing changed on the other’s expression when he finally released him, there was a new mutual understanding between the two of them, even if it came from this shared trauma.

“I can’t believe you’re making me look soft in front of them." Chuuya said, when they finally pulled apart, and if their messy hair was anything to go by, Atsushi owed Akutagawa big time.

“Is that so bad?” Dazai asked, his voice lowering slightly, his teasing tone slipping away, just a bit, as he met Chuuya’s eyes. "They’re already used to your softness, Chuuya. The only one you need to impress is me."

Atsushi felt his cheeks burn at that, and he quickly looked away, trying to focus on anything but his mentor's unexpected tenderness, he had enough trauma as it was, and Akutagawa, on the other hand, looked as if he were trying his hardest to remain detached from the scene. It was clear they weren’t exactly used to this kind of open affection between their superiors, and neither of them knew how to handle it yet.

But Dazai and Chuuya, despite the bickering and teasing, seemed entirely at ease, there was something undeniably genuine in the way they interacted, something that made it clear they weren’t getting apart anytime soon. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, they had a deep understanding of each other—one that didn’t need to be said aloud to be felt.

Finally, after a long moment of comfortable silence, Chuuya sighed and shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, fine," he muttered, finally giving in. "But if you make me do this every time, I’m going to put more vegetables on your bento."

Dazai’s grin widened, and he moved to pull him closer, clearly delighted by Chuuya’s reluctant admission. "Sounds fair as long as it isn’t bell peppers." he said, pressing his cheek against Chuuya’s with a smug, satisfied smile. "I’ll pay whatever you want, just keep looking at me like that."

“Oh, it’s so gonna be bell peppers only.” Chuuya said teasingly with a soft smile on his face, leaning into the touch of the taller man, who pouted upon his words. “Chuuya is being mean again!”

Atsushi blinked and looked away again, unsure whether to laugh or just keep pretending he wasn’t witnessing this level of public affection. Akutagawa seemed to be doing much the same, though he was probably processing it all with a lot more internalized grumbling if his blank face was anything to go by.

By then, Atsushi had quite a bunch of things to process, first, his mentor’s soulmate was port mafia executive Chuuya Nakahara, second, they both knew and were grossly fine with showing it off, and third, apparently the cute lunch boxes that Dazai always brought to work were made by the Mafioso. “Oh, right, shouldn’t you tell them?”

“Ah, for once the slug is right!” Dazai said, apparently only now remembering that there was an apparent reason for bringing them aside from inflicting psychological trauma. “Tell us what?”

“What is it, Dazai-san?” Akutagawa finally addressed, coming back to reality at the call of his former mentor, who flashed a dangerously familiar smile at them, Atsushi felt a chill run down his spine.

“You two are soulmates too!”

Akutagawa might as well have fainted right there and now by how still he went and Atsushi was perhaps, starting to understand his mentor’s fascination by the river.