Chuuya and Dazai had just returned from yet another successful mission, and if Chuuya were with anyone else then he would be in a good mood, but unfortunately, he was with Dazai who refused to refer to him as anything else but his ‘sheepdog.’
What was his weird obsession with thinking that he owned him? Chuuya was his own… person… dammit.
“Did you write the mission report, slug?” Dazai asked expectantly, his back against the doorway of the lounge where Chuuya was relaxing on the couch. His body ached from the constant use of his ability, but his partner didn’t seem to give a damn, moving to lean over him and annoyingly poke his cheek.
Chuuya swatted his bandaged hand away, his muscles groaning in protest as he sat up from the sofa cushions. “No, I did most of the work so I figured you would be nice for once and do it yourself.”
Dazai pulled a thoughtful face, though Chuuya could tell just how fake it was. They had been working together for a year now and every time Dazai mocked him, it always seemed to make an all-encompassing anger bubble in the pits of his stomach.
Osamu Dazai simply annoyed Chuuya, despite their partnership, he didn’t know much about him, only his name and hatred towards dogs. He was just too fucking mysterious.
“I suppose that I was nice for once, I may have a report in my desk somewhere…”
Chuuya’s head shot up, his eyes widening in shock. Dazai had never willingly done work like that before unless Chuuya was down for the count after overusing For the tainted sorrow. This was exceptionally strange, was this Dazai’s weird way of manipulating him? Or maybe a peace offering?
“You’re catching flies” Dazai pointed out, and Chuuya snapped his jaw shut with an audible clack.
Dazai smirked, seemingly amused by the reaction. Chuuya was going to punch him to space one of the days, but not at the moment since he didn’t feel like typing out a report.
Chuuya wordlessly slid from the couch, stretching his sore limbs to follow Dazai out of the vacant room.
“You’re following me?” Dazai shot over his shoulder “I suppose you really are a loyal sheepdog.”
Scratch that, Chuuya would punt him into the atmosphere as soon as he got his hands on that report.
Though Chuuya was curious as to where exactly they were going, nor he or Dazai had an office in the port mafia building, (weird despite knowing that Dazai was an executive), meaning that they were going to Dazai’s personal home. Chuuya had never even heard anything about it before, though he assumed that it was like his own apartment.
As far as Chuuya knew, Dazai didn't own a vehicle, so his residence must have been within walking distance. “You think walking to and from work every day would at least give you some muscle, but you’re still a beanstalk.” Chuuya countered after Dazai made a particularly insulting comment about his height.
Dazai didn’t even say anything to that, shrugging with tense shoulders, his lips forming a tight smile. He was acting strange compared to his usual smug bastard self, but Chuuya wouldn’t question it.
The silence that settled over them was never uncomfortable, but this one was filled to the brim with something strange, a feeling that Chuuya couldn’t place his finger on. He could tell that Dazai was thinking hard, and the longer they walked the stranger he got, no longer taunting him or even talking.
Chuuya wasn’t sure if it was just his sore muscles making it seem like they had been walking for half an hour or if they actually had, but he was starting to grow impatient. Chuuya’s own apartment was in the opposite direction they were walking, and when they finally reached the outskirts of the town Chuuya had concluded that Dazai lived somewhere hidden from the rest of the city.
Chuuya wanted to roll his eyes, of course the genius would live somewhere where no one could find him, probably some high tech secret hideout or some weird shit.
Then they arrived at the outer port.
Chuuya scanned the area in utter confusion while Dazai pointedly avoided looking in his direction.
This couldn’t be right.
“Shitty Dazai, where the fuck are we?” Chuuya asked, jogging slightly to catch up with the others' long strides. The port was eerily quiet around them with only the crashing of the waves in the distance. This place had been abandoned a long time ago, though not even thugs, or the bravest of the homeless would dare to occupy this place, it was a ghost dumping ground not even attached to Yokohama. The whole place was blanketed with a foreboding gloom.
Shipping containers lie around them, and in the heart of those lay one specific one that looked to be in slightly better shape than the others.
Dazai didn’t answer him, instead coming to a stop in front of that locked shipping container. Chuuya watched numbly as he reached out to grab the lock and flip it around to a certain set of numbers and letters. With an audible click the chains fell aside and the doors opened, Dazai not hesitating as he stepped into his house.
“Welcome to my home” he announced without even looking back to gauge Chuuya’s distressed reaction.
Chuuya followed him in “Is this some kind of sick joke?” he asked, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence as he looked around, absolutely perplexed.
There was a lamp on a desk with a small refrigerator and chair sitting next to it. In the far back corner was a small-looking futon, a blanket strewn across it messily. The scene reminded Chuuya of the time he had spent with the sheepdogs, sleeping in the least comfortable of places.
Dazai headed over to his desk, finally turning back to him with a carefully blank look on his face “does it look like I’m joking?”
Chuuya wanted to cry. Or scream. Or maybe both.
Instead, he took a deep breath, in and out, before stomping over to shitty Dazai and pulling him away by the collar, away from the desk he was rifling in. He slightly grunted when he was thrown back onto the creaky futon, Chuuya stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.
Dazai didn't show any reaction, simply staring back up at him with those dull eyes.
Chuuya broke away from the staring contest, leaning closer “you,” he growled, jabbing a hand to his chest “have a lot of explaining to do.”
“My my, someone needs to learn guest etiquette. I hope you don’t stomp around everyone's house and manhandle them around.”
Chuuya shot him an unimpressed look “Maybe I would be polite if this was actually a house and not a damn shipping container.”
Well, at least he regained his shitty sense of humor, though Chuuya liked him better when he was quiet. Chuuya scrunched his nose up, moving to grab the chair and pull it up to the bed, cringing when it made a nail against the chalkboard sound against the floor.
Chuuya swung the chair around backward, settling down in it and gesturing with a gloved hand “go ahead.”
A strained smirk married Dazai’s lips “you sure are a bossy dog.”
Chuuya snarled, whacking his hand against the desk, too furious to feel any pain in his fist. “Dammit Dazai- I’m being serious!”
Dazai didn’t appear phased by the sudden outburst, but he exhaled deeply, eyes darkening a shade. It appeared that Chuuya’s message got across that bandaged head of his. The executive leaned forward, a hand idly coming to his arm to fiddle with the bandages that adorned his skin.
Chuuya could tell that he wouldn’t initiate the conversation, so he would do it himself. “How long?”
“How long what? Be more specific with your questions, Chuuya.”
Chuuya started, unimpressed, “You know damn well what I'm asking. How long have you been… living here.” He took another look at the surroundings, nose scrunching up. He wouldn't exactly count staying in this miserable dump as ‘living’ more like surviving.
Oh, so he was going to be tight-lipped about this? Fine then. Chuuya could just scavenge his desk and leave his sorry ass here. Though another thought lingered in the back of his brain.
Dazai had willingly let him follow him here, something he had never done before. It was basically a silent invitation.
Maybe he wanted Chuuya to find out, to know more about him.
Maybe he finally had enough of this shit hole and wanted out, subconsciously wanted someone to know of his suffering.
So Chuuya remained planted even as the sun started to set outside, he really didn’t want to be here during the night, but he would stay for as long as it took to beat the information out of his partner.
Then Dazai once again caught him off guard, gathering his thoughts and shattering the tense silence by speaking. “Ever since I first joined the Port Mafia.” And it seemed that Chuuya had punched the dam down because once Dazai started, the words poured from his mouth in a subdued tone.
“I wasn’t allowed to live in an apartment or anywhere in the city, the boss ordered that I find a place out of the city limits. I stumbled upon this place, abandoned where no one would bother me.”
Chuuya couldn’t say he was too surprised, he knew that their boss was far from a good person, in fact, he was one of the worst Chuuya had met. A manipulative fuck and a Machiavellian man, a step up from the street scum that stole from children because this man was the one who influenced the chain of sin.
Dazai was much like that himself, though Chuuya could see the major difference in the way the two conversed. They abhorred each other, Mori kept him at arm's length as if he was… terrified of Dazai.
Chuuya frustratedly ran a hand through his fiery locks “So he isolated you because he saw you as, what, a threat?”
Dazai pursed his lips “that is precise.”
Now Chuuya had to kick both Mori and Dazai’s asses to the sun.
“That’s not right.”
Dazai chuckled darkly “We work for the Mafia, nothing we do is 'right.’” He deadpanned.
Chuuya supposed he was correct, but his mind was reeling and his thoughts were clouded by a multitude of emotions. He needed wine if he was to continue with this conversation, so he stood from the chair, not bothering in moving it back to its previous spot.
“Come on shitty Dazai” he muttered, ignoring the slight widening of Dazai’s one visible eye when he grabbed his elbow, pulling him up from the uncomfortable-looking futon. “You’re coming with me.”
“Ah, is the Chuuya taking me to his doghouse?” Despite the jab, Chuuya could sense the curiosity hidden under it. Was he that puzzled that Chuuya would drag him out of this wretched place? Really, any good person with a good heart would.
Though he realized that Dazai had probably not encountered many good people.
Chuuya was a good person with a good heart. Right?
“Yes,” Chuuya released him from his grip “grab what you need, well come back and retrieve more stuff tomorrow when it’s light outside, but hurry the hell up I don’t want to be here for much longer.”
Dazai’s lips tugged up in a mischievous smirk “Is Chuuya perhaps afraid of the dark?”
Chuuya sniffed “No, what I'm scared of is catching some kind of disease from this polluted wasteland. You could have at least picked somewhere that was environmentally friendly.”
“I didn’t know you were such an ally of the environment,” Dazai teased, grabbing his blanket and what looked like a set of clothes. Chuuya was going to mention that there were plenty of blankets at his apartment but dropped it when he noticed the way Dazai tucked the bundle of fabric under his arm protectively.
“Alright,” Chuuya breathed, “let's get out of here. We can just hand over the report to the boss tomorrow… you wrote it right?”
Dazai smiled innocently “nope.”
Chuuya’s legs were just about ready to give out from under him when they made it to his place. It wasn’t anything special, a one-bedroom one-bathroom apartment, enough to accommodate him, but it was practically a wonderland compared to the dump that Dazai was living at for a good portion of his life.
“Are you hungry?” Chuuya asked, already heading to the kitchen to poke around his pantry. He needed to make another grocery store trip soon once he got paid for the recent mission. He already knew that Dazai didn’t eat much, but he damn sure would shove the food down his throat just so he wouldn’t pass out in the middle of a mission. He would like to avoid lugging his partner's ass back to headquarters.
He made an easy dinner, instant ramen because he was bone tired. Of course, he made Dazai take a shower, who knew what kind of chemicals he was tracking into his apartment. Would he mutate and gain another arm or leg in the future?
At least then they could probably sue Mori for all he had.
Chuuya twisted his chopsticks with more force than necessary, bringing the hot noodles up to his lips to shovel them into his mouth grumpily.
“Don’t snap your chopsticks now” Dazai taunted as he leaned against the kitchen island, across from where Chuuya was sitting on the counter. When in the hell did he get out of the shower?
Chuuya jumped slightly, looking up from his cup of noodles to face Dazai, his hair was wet and dripping onto the towel that blanketed his shoulders. Chuuya almost choked on the noodles in his mouth when he noticed that Dazai was no longer in work clothes. He had never seen him in lounge clothes before, sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“Don’t sneak up on people like that,” Chuuya reprimanded once he collected himself.
Dazai put his hands up but didn’t look apologetic in the least. Chuuya didn’t know how he would manage to live with this idiot, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Unless he found a room out of the city for him then he would be with him, because no matter what the boss said, Dazai wasn’t going to live in that storage container anymore.
Seriously, what if someone had accidentally shipped his house or something?
“There’s more noodles in the microwave,” Chuuya informed, slipping from the counter to place his cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower, don’t expect me to be a kind host or stay up with you or anything, I’m fucking tired.”
Dazai hummed in acknowledgment, surprisingly reaching for his own food. Was he so thin because he lived out there for so long?...
Before Chuuya could step into the bathroom (without any steam in it, did Dazai take cold showers?) Dazai cleared his throat. Chuuya sighed “what is it?”
Though the question was completely out of context, Chuuya had worked with Dazai for a year and understood it.
How long until you kick me out of here?
Chuuya waved dismissively at him “Until you find a place to live that isn’t a dump. Don’t take too long.”
Stay for long as you need.
That night Dazai retreated to Chuuya’s couch and lay with his blanket, staring up at the ceiling in wonder until he was finally lulled to sleep by Chuuya’s snoring in the other room half past midnight.
When Chuuya woke up in the morning breakfast was already made, and it was the closest thing to a ‘thank you’ that he would ever receive. He was surprisingly perfectly fine with that.
Dazai’s eyes were a bit brighter after he started living with Chuuya.