Work Text:
“To the right in the next turn.”
Yokohama is bathed in the warm light of sunset, street filled with car sounds and chatting from the nearby shops. The noise it’s starting to quiet down now that rush hour is coming to an end, with people going back to their homes now that the day is almost over.
When they step out of Kunikida’s black suburban (after thirty minutes attempting to finds a place where they can park the car), hot wind hits them in the face. The weather is damp and sticky, gluing clothes to their skin in Yokohama’s summer heat, Dazai has been complaining about it all day and still refused to take of any of their layers.
Kunikida is already used to Dazai’s silliness and stubbornness, to stupid plans that always work and following them everywhere because, even if it doesn’t make sense, he knows that he can trust Daza with his life. So, he doesn’t insist on the layers, he follows him into the car when it’s time to go home and, finally, follows Dazai’s directions until their standing in front of one of the fanciest buildings in the city.
The hallway walls are glass, tall windows that make the room look even bigger. Dazai stroll down the corridor like he belongs here, familiar with the place and Kunikida follows, felling like an outsider.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Did I ever say it was?”
When Kunikida follows Dazai into Chuuya’s penthouse he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is the time trusting Dazai gets him killed. Especially when he finds that no one is here, what means that they’re breaking in the most dangerous man in Yokohama home.
It happens after five days without a call or message from the executive what also means five days of Dazai being worried and more annoying than usual. So, even if it means a death sentence, Kunikida doesn’t have any other option but walk into the building behind his partner and observe as they enter the code that allows the elevator to take them to Nakahara’s private penthouse.
“Dazai, we shouldn’t be here,” he says when Dazai starts forcing the door open. “Nakahara is not going to like it.”
“The slug can’t care less about me breaking in Kunikida, he’s used to it.”
And, under the complaints about wanting his old partner to be there so he can cook for them, Kunikida can recognize the worry that lies in Dazai’s joyful voice as the door opens for them, leading into a dark corridor. Kunikida doesn’t even know if they should be here, this is Port Mafia territory, but Dazai is too focused on his current task of provoking his own bloody murder.
“He’s going to me mad .”
“That’s exactly the point of all this Kunikida,” when Dazai turns on the light Kunikida needs to blink a few times to get used to the brightness. “We’re messing with the enemy, that’s our duty as the ADA.”
And then opens the small wardrobe in the hallway, Kunikida just looks at them as Dazai starts messing around with the clothes inside, turning coats inside out and tying the laces of the shoes together. On the outside, Dazai smiles and jokes as he turns all the coats inside out and ties the laces of the shoes together, but his hands tremble and Kunikida may not be Chuuya, but he gets them, he knows Dazai more than everyone thinks.
“I’m done here,” Dazai announces as he kicks his shoes and wanders into the house. With a sigh, Kunikida crouches down to untie his own and place them next to Dazai’s ones, tying them in a neat and parallel row. “Kitchen or room?”
“Dazai-”
“I could mess with the tiny slug shampoo, but I don’t want a slow death,” Kunikida leans against one of the walls, he already feels tired, and they just arrived here. Dazai is a menace he doesn’t feel like dealing with right now after a full week of job. “What do you think?”
“I think that you should stop pretending that you’re not worried,” Dazai may be smiling and playing the silly guy, like he always does, but no one is so calm when his partner has been missing for five days. “You’re allowed to worry about him, Osamu.”
Their shoulders tense, like he’s been caught out of guard at the use of their name.
Kunikida doesn’t know the details, it’s safer this way, if he has as little information about the mafia as possible. He only knows that Nakahara has been out of Yokohama for almost a week, not allowed to call or send any message during the duration of whatever mission he’s in.
He also knows that it’s driving Dazai crazy, even if he waves it like it’s nothing. His partner has barely caught any sleep these days, too busy looking at their own phone, waiting for a call.
“Messing with Nakahara stuff isn’t going to make him come back any faster.”
“You’re underestimating Chuuya’s slug sense,” Dazai says, moving slowly to hug himself. “If I touch the wine cellar, he’ll burst through the door right now.”
“Still not news?”
“No,” Dazai answers after a few seconds, walking to the kitchen so he can grab a wine bottle. “Not even Kouyou is allowed to know the details.”
“He’ll be fine,” he’s a Port Mafia executive. Nakahara had made a name for himself during the years.
Kunikida remembers his parent's warnings when he was younger about not walking near the tall dark buildings that made Port Mafia’s turf, avoid certain areas, never walk near the harbor at night. The warnings about Chuuya Nakahara had always been painted around the city, even before he become the Port Mafia executive he is now.
He remembers, even before that, his parents telling him not to get near Suribachi City. Ironic, how he’s standing in the old King of Sheep kitchen now, who happens to be the stronger member of the mafia too. Kunikida used to listen to his parents, but life takes you to strange places, and now he’s ignoring two of their warnings at once.
“Can you stay with me?” Dazai asks. He’s not facing Kunikida, he’s still looking at the wine bottle on his hand before leaving it back in the cellar, eyes lost in the black kitchen tiles now. “I don’t want to wait for him alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to drive you here to ditch you Dazai,” approaching them is like getting near an injured animal or a stray cat sometimes. Kunikida’s hand rest against his shoulder, slow so Dazai can move apart if he doesn’t want to be touched but, instead of that they lean against Kunikida’s hand, and he takes it as an invitation to wrap his arm around Dazai’s shoulders. “But let’s order dinner and sit for a while, okay?”
Dazai's answer is just a small humming sound, he allows Kunikida to guide him to the couch and he drops against it with a sigh, “it never takes this long.”
Port Mafia doesn’t send their biggest trump card away for a week, it’s dangerous for Yokohama and for them, Chuuya is their strongest fighter, if anything happened in the city, he would be the one ending it.
Like he always does, after all Chuuya has saved this city more times than the ADA itself, and maybe Dazai is the only person in Yokohama who knows that the person saving them time after time is a criminal with an enormous body count.
“I’ll make some tea, you stay here and rest, okay?”
“Sure...”
Dazai folds over themself, legs tucked under his body and curled as small as he can be in the corner of the couch. This is not like him but, somehow, it makes Kunikida’s chest ache, it takes a lot of trust from Dazai to be seen like this, worried and tired and mask gone.
Nakahara and him only got back into their old relationship three months ago, after lot of awards meetings and conversations between the three of them, it’s still a work in progress, recovering what it was once.
Getting used to all this new situation.
“Do you know where the kettle is?”
“Yes,” even if he doesn’t know why he knows where a Port Mafia executive kettle is. He shouldn’t know it. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you...”
They look small, and Kunikida hates seeing him like this because of a man who is supposed to be their enemy, but he ignores the felling and heads to the kitchen instead.
For someone with an insane paycheck and a criminal, Chuuya´s penthouse leans more into the cozy and chaotic side than into the fancy magazine looking one. It's a big house, extravagant and expensive, but it doesn’t look cold or unwelcoming.
Kunikida feels conflicted about the place, it looks like a place anyone could call home, but knowing where to look for tea in your enemy cabinets feels wrong. Knowing where to search for two matching simple cups, probably part of a tea set, feels wrong.
Chuuya seems to live on memories and Dazai always says that it makes them sick, it’s too much and Dazai´s tended to prefer less packed places, sensory issues were a horrible thing to have when you lived around Chuuya Nakahara and his tacky place they say.
And the penthouse must cost more than Kunikida can even dream about, but it screams past.
There’s an old arcade fighting game Nakahara bought when the old place closed a month ago. For what he knows, Dazai and he used to beat about everything on that thing and after paying God knows how much for fixing a vintage machine, it’s still functional, so now they can make their stupid beets on the living room.
It´s funny, seeing that old game next to the costume bar counter Nakahara built in there too.
There´s photographs everywhere, frames covering the furniture and polaroid in the walls next to old posters that would suit a rebellious teenager phase better. Kunikida can recognize some rock and punk bands ones he used to listen when he was sixteen, and sharing musical tastes with Nakahara is another thing he wasn’t expecting to happen.
There´s a black acoustic guitar and a piano for some reason Dazai and him are still trying to figure out since, for what he knows, Nakahara doesn’t know how to play neither of them.
Kunikida turns his head away from all the memories that doesn’t belong to him, and he settles the kettle, eyes fixed in the two mugs now, discolored and chipped, before trying to choose a tea between the endless collection in Nakahara’s cupboards. Kunikida tries to ignore the bright eyes and smiles from the two kids that look at him from the photo hanging in the fridge, they look young, at that age Kunikida was probably studying for a test or hanging with Katai in his room, playing videogames. The kids in the photo are smiling, but he can already see scars in them, and it feels unfair and cruel and Kunikida looks away.
He goes back to the real Dazai instead, handing him a steamy cup of floral sweet tea, sitting next to them so Dazai can cuddle against his side instead of against the pillows.
“We were fifteen,” they say, and Kunikida frowns in confusion. “I saw you looking at the photo, we were fifteen, back from our first mission,” nostalgia paints Dazai’s voice when he cuddles closer, leaning against Kunikida’s shoulder. “We bet about who had to write the report, I let Chuuya win of course, we took that one in a photo booth in the old arcade.”
“That sounds far too nice coming for you, where was the trick?”
“I wasn’t cruel enough to make a guy who could barely write his own name do a report for Mori,” Dazai says. “Chuuya was too proud to admit it, but I still knew it.”
Chuuya had arrived at the mafia with a basic reading level, a terrible writing skill and even worse handwriting that had turned into elegant and beautiful with Kouyou and Hirotsu help through the years.
He had been such a fast learner, way smarter than people usually thought, he had catch up with Japanese fair quickly, and had started with English just for fun or out of spite, Dazai wasn’t sure about that one.
“He’s going to be fine Osamu,” hugging Dazai closer, careful so neither of them drops the mugs, Kunikida rest his chin against fluffy hair, one of his hands caressing Dazai’s arm. “He’s going to be back and kick your ass for messing with his things.”
“You’re not going to protect me?”
“From Nakahara?” he may be a good fighter, he’s glad for Fukuzawa’s efforts on training him. But Kunikida and his experience in the judo club when he was in high school have nothing to do against Chuuya Nakahara. “You run away from battles you know you can’t win.”
“Coward,” Dazai says, cuddling closer and his laugh tickles Kunikida’s neck.
“I prefer wise,” and, in an attempt of distracting Dazai, he takes out his phone. “What do you want to order for dinner?”
When he walks out of the room in the morning, Kunikida isn’t sure what he’s more embarrassed about. Having slept like a baby in a bed that isn’t his or the fact that, judging from the blanket on the couch, the owner of said bed had been the only one not sleeping on it tonight.
After dinner, when Dazai started to doze off, Kunikida had insisted on them getting some sleep, he had carried Dazai upstairs to the main room, but he didn’t expect his partner to cling to him like an overgrown octopus and, in the end, instead of moving to the couch, he had fallen sleep next to him in Nakahara’s bed.
When he approaches the couch to be at least a good guest and fold the blanket he freezes for a moment. There are blood stains in them and a few in the floor, still drying off.
The last ones are shaped like footprints and Kunikida swallows the knot on his throat. Blood is something he’s used to, but if Nakahara is badly hurt Dazai is going to freak out.
Luckly, instead of a slumped body, passed out from blood loose in the middle of the corridor he finds the other in the kitchen. There’s a weird thing about having a Port Mafia executive making breakfast, still dressed for work. Kunikida is nice enough to ignore the blood that coats the white shirt. He just hopes it’s not all his because there’s a lot and judging from the bloodied footprints, he already has other injuries. He regrets it only half a second later, he shouldn’t be wishing for other people to be injured.
This is the enemy, a rival and a dangerous person, if he’s covered in someone else's blood, the other person is probably dead.
“You should wake the Mackerel if you want to make it in time for work,” Nakahara says, not bothering to turn around. The kitchen smells like scrambled eggs and coffee, it’s a weird smell to mix with blood one, but Kunikida suppose that people like Dazai and Nakahara are used to it. “I have to go back to work in an hour and I want him away from my things by then.”
Kunikida looks down and checks that Nakahara feet are, indeed, wrapped by bandages. Maybe that explains the red glow that surrounds him, taking some pressure out of the wounds. The only other big injury seems to be in his arm, where blood has soaked the white fabric with red.
“We should leave around that time if we want to make it in time to the office,” Kunikida’s shoulder tense. Maybe he’s been tense since he walked out of the room. “We have a case scheduled.”
“You said it like Osamu cares about schedule and duty,” then he turns around and, suddenly, there’s a water jar against Kunikida’s chest. “Take this to the table and grab some chopsticks,” he orders Kunikida around like it’s the most natural thing ever, “the rice is almost ready.”
And Kunikida finds himself nodding, not knowing what else he could do but to obey. He is quick to set the table before heading back to the room to change into his work clothes, climbing the stairs as quick as he can.
That leaves Chuuya alone in the kitchen again and, when he hears the water running, he frowns at the pan and the eggs like they have any fault in all this.
“Wake Dazai up before stealing my shower!” he screams from the kitchen. “Get his lazy ass here!”
“Dazai is already awake,” long arms wrap around Chuuya from behind, the red glow going away not even after a second and Chuuya winces when his whole weight goes back to resting on fresh cuts. “And hungry, what’s for breakfast?”
“There’s only rat poison for invasive species like you,” but instead of pushing them away, Chuuya allows Dazai to hug him even closer. They cover Chuuya with the blanket too, until the two of them are more like a human cocoon than two people. “Let go Osamu, I stink.”
“I missed you too, my dearest,” Dazai’s chin rests against the mess that is Chuuya’s hair right now. He's not sure if it’s a good idea, he can feel dry blood covering part of it. “Did you get any sleep?”
When Chuuya moves around the kitchen Dazai follows, it’s clumsy and he’s about to drop the plate when Dazai steps on his feet, but somehow, they arrive at the table unscratched even with Chuuya’s limping.
“I slept for like, thirty minutes before Mori called asking for my report,” he explains. “So, eat fast, I need to shower and look presentable before going to his office as soon as possible.”
Dazai’s nose nuzzles against Chuuya’s neck, a small groan leaves his throat.
Disapproval.
The rice cooker beeps and Chuuya manages to get free from their embrace, going back to the counter so he can serve three bowls and get the coffee ready. Chuuya is always like this, rushing and moving fast like he’s running out of time.
“Work you fucking thing!” he shakes the poor coffee maker, and if looks could kill the machine would be broken. “Fuck!”
He should probably buy a new coffee maker. This one is already starting to fail. Probably after Dazai messes with it most mornings trying to boil milk or make tea on it.
“You look stressed,” and he can’t blame him. “You should rest slug.”
“I’ll be fine, Osamu.”
“You need to rest. You’ve been working for five days the rapport can wait-”
“It can’t wait, Mackerel, stop complaining about my work and eat,” Chuuya shoves a muffin into Dazai’s mouth. He must have picked some pastries from Dazai’s favorite bakery on his way home. “You were asking for breakfast two minutes ago.”
“You should be sleeping, not making Kunikida and me breakfast,” Dazai nibbles on his muffin, mumbling to themselves like a kid being scolded. They're way more relaxed than the day before now that his other partner is back in town and (more or less) unharmed. He can’t see if there are more wounds under Chuuya’s clothes, but he seems fine. Even like that the weight of spending days worrying is still there. “You’re hurt.”
“I was starving Osamu,” he says, searching for three mugs in the cabinets, if he notices the dishes in the sink from yesterday, he chooses to ignore it. “I’m a good host. I'm not letting you watch as I eat, so enjoy the food. Where is your boyfriend by the way?”
“Still stealing your shower,” Dazai says, leaning against the counter. “I told him you wouldn’t mind.”
“And I don’t,” not now. Not after three months of Dazai’s partner joining him on their usual break-ins. "But I need you two to leave soon so I can do my work and sleep for a week.”
Chuuya is planning to ask for a few days of rest, he really needs it. The idea of doing absolutely nothing for at least a weekend sounds amazing when each step he takes hurts, and his joints are on fire.
It’s not usual for him to have free time.
He's a Port Mafia executive, Chuuya can only leave the city during missions, otherwise he needs to be close in case something happens. The higher rank doesn’t come with more freedom, just responsibilities.
If Mori is a decent boss, he will have his first free weekend in what feels like years.
“I was thinking,” Chuuya says as he passes Dazai their mug. “We could go on a small road trip this weekend, drive around for a while and all that.”
“Oh,” the second Dazai’s face drops, Chuuya knows the answer, instead of sighting he occupies himself filling his own cup. Coffee to the rim. No sugar or milk. He would afford time drinking directly from the pot Dazai always says. “I had plans for the weekend,” it’s not always like this, usually Dazai is dying for some of Chuuya’s free time, they love having him for himself for more than a few hours. That’s why they’re here. That's why they broke in last night, so he could wait for Chuuya.
With their schedules and work, arranging plans is complicated seeing each other for more than a few hours a day.
It used to be easier back then, when they were both in the mafia.
“Kunikida and I are going to Tokyo, we’re having lunch with his parents, I thought I had told you.”
Chuuya freezes and Dazai’s hand around his wrist is the only thing that stops Chuuya from serving the boiling coffee over his hand.
“Slug?”
“I-”
He doesn’t know what to say.
“Kunikida has parents?” he blurts the question and knows how stupid it sounds the moment it leaves his mouth. He just can’t help it. Chuuya can’t wrap the idea around his head. Is weird, imagine Dazai sitting in a restaurant, smiling and laughing, is not strange. But Dazai sitting in a restaurant, his boyfriend's parents in front of him, asking them about their day...
Chuuya can’t see it.
“Yes? I thought you knew,” Dazai hand moves slowly. They take the mug from Chuuya’s hand and leave it on the counter. “I met them months ago, a lovely couple I may say, Doppo is a carbon copy of his mother.”
Dazai grabs a cloth that’s hanging on the wall then and starts cleaning Chuuya’s hand from the sticky feeling of coffee. He doesn’t say a thing about his reaction. They just wait for Chuuya to get his head around it.
“Sorry I just,” but he closes his mouth again. What is he supposed to say? Hey, sorry I forgot not all of us are orphans. Sorry I forgot that functional families are a thing. “I’m so used to... our situations and I-”
“You forgot that Doppo is not like us, yes, I figured it out by your face,” Dazai crosses their arms over their chest and goes back to resting against the counter with a sigh. “It really sounds weird, doesn’t it? Me, meeting someone parents.”
“It would sound equally weird if it was me,” the idea of sitting in front of someone's family and introducing himself doesn’t seem right. Maybe it’s because the only people he knows with alive relatives are Higuchi and the Akutagawa's. “Can you imagine it? Hello, I’m Chuuya Nakahara, human bomb and murderer, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dazai smiles with his silly act and that helps Chuuya, he relaxes a little.
He doesn’t know why he reacted like that in the first place.
Dazai dating someone who is normal —at least for Mafia standards— brings things like this into their home each day. Normal situations that make the balance in Chuuya’s life disappear. He's so used to his own reality that thinking outside that box gets complicated sometimes.
“If I meet your parents, I will put a bullet through their heads my dear.”
Dazai says like it’s the most normal thing in the world, moving to cup Chuuya’s face with their cold hands. Maybe that’s what makes Chuuya react like this to normal things. He's so used to the weird ones by now that if Dazai suggested a friendly meeting with his biological parents, Chuuya would think that his partner had gone insane.
This is how they work, bloody hands and violence as a gift.
But it’s a good thing.
That Dazai can get this other part of a relationship.
The things normal couples do and Chuuya can’t offer.
They deserve it more than anyone else he knows.
Kunikida can offer him a family. Chuuya can take him to a graveyard and introduce them to his dead friends.
“You don’t mind? I know it’s your free weekend but it’s Kunikida’s mother birthday and-”
“Tokyo you said?” Chuuya’s fingers comb through Dazai’s soft hair. They nod, leaning in so their lips rest against Chuuya’s wrist. “Bring me something from that liquor store I like, would you?”
“What a pampered slug I have,” they say and Chuuya can feel that smile against his skin. “I’ll make up for this I swear.”
“You know how I feel about your promises Osamu,” that rips a small chuckle out of them. “Buy something nice for that poor woman, I’ll take the kids instead of you for the trip, they behave better in the car than you.”
It’s been so long since he had taken the kids somewhere. He can grab Yumeno and Elise for a small road trip. Maybe the Black Lizard can join them, he misses having Gin and Tachihara fighting in the back of the car.
The sound of a door opening distracts him from his train of thoughts. When Kunikida walks into the room he does it in silence, like he doesn’t want to interrupt them, his hair is still damp for the shower, and Chuuya wonders how this man knows where he puts his towels, how there's a semi stranger in his home that knows where he places his things, but Kunikida stopped being a stranger the moment Dazai introduced them.
After all, someone who knows Dazai as much as the detective does, knows Chuuya too.
“Want some coffee?” Chuuya asks instead, moving so he and Dazai can sit at the table too. But Dazai doesn’t let him go, pulling him down so Chuuya sits on their lap.
What a picture they make.
Dazai, still in his over sizzed stay at home clothes, messy hair and pillow line on his face, hugging a dangerous criminal covered in blood stains.
“I can grab the kettle if you prefer tea.”
“Coffee is fine, thank you,” Kunikida sits on one of the chairs, back straight and shoulders so tense that he looks one second away from jumping like a spring. “We should leave in fifteen minutes if we want to make it to the ADA in time, Osamu.”
“Chuuya is already trying to kick us out, don’t worry about that,” Dazai says, reaching for his own bowl of rice. It feels good, seeing them so eager to eat, taking bites of both rice and scrambled eggs, gulping it all down with a sip of sweet coffee. He hasn’t been eating well these days, stomach full of worry. It seems like having Nakahara back and cooking for him helps with that.
“Want a second serving?” he asks, moving Dazai’s bangs away from his face so he can kiss their forehead and Kunikida looks away. It's something soft and intimate and he doesn’t mean to stare.
“No thank you,” Dazai hums when Chuuya’s warm lips graze their skin. They can feel Chuuya smiling as he kisses him. It's something soft and just for them to enjoy. “But I’ll take some to work if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll pack you two a bento then,” Nakahara says like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
And Kunikida can imagine everyone faces, when Dazai and him show at the ADA and take out two small boxes for lunch. He can hear Yosano’s laugh when Dazai claims that his dog made him lunch.
He's still not used about the ADA knowing about them.
The three of them.
Even if Nakahara and him are still trying to read each other, navigate this deal or friendship in progress or whatever it is.
But the worst thing about this whole arrangement is not learning to know each other, is relearning how to know Dazai. How to understand them for real, when neither of them has the complete picture.
Chuuya used to know Dazai way better than he did with himself, but that one was a version of Dazai that no longer existed. It's a Dazai that died with his best friend and was supposed to never come back, that lonely kid with empty eyes was gone and Chuuya would be lying if he said he wanted to see him again.
That empty thing was gone and, after all, under the surface it looks the same for Chuuya.
Same coffee order, same taste in food, same brand of bandages that they wrap in the exact same order he used to do back then, but the three of them know that Dazai has come a long way from how he was years ago. He's no longer the mafia, gloomy kid Chuuya met for the first time. They’re not the teenager laughing when he kills someone.
He doesn’t even kill now.
But neither is he the silly twenty-year-old he pretended to be when he first met Kunikida. He knows this other version of them, a brand new Dazai that had let him know about his past but not completely. Kunikida is just starting to get a peak of what he used to be, and it’s scary, but he wants to know his story and his past. Kunikida wants Dazai to open up and tell him slowly from the start.
Because in these two years, he has learned to pull Dazai out of a meltdown and how much food he can handle each day. But he still doesn’t know the story about most of the scars that cover their body.
Kunikida knows about the new ones.
Chuuya knows about the old ones.
It feels like they’ve been handed a chapter, but not the whole book. They'll get there, little by little, it all comes to learning and walking together in baby steps.
When it all started with quiet dinners, Dazai’s legs over Chuuya lap as Kunikida served him food and Dazai allowed him to scoop a little too much for his liking, Kunikida didn’t expect it to lead them here.
To an old enemy handing them their lunch at the door of his home, a warm smile in his tired face.
He didn’t expect Dazai to be this open about being cared and loved and abut thinking that he deserves it.
Kunikida didn’t expect to find a common ground with Nakahara, but after all they’re both here and trying this for Dazai, for his happiness and for how much they both care about him.
It's not a fight over Dazai.
Chuuya is not that petty and Kunikida is far too rightful to fight over a partner, knowing that would end up hurting someone.
The arrangement was complicated at first, opening your door for your partner's other boyfriend, letting him into your home, into your safe place, where you can be a normal twenty-two-year-old and not a mafia executive. Chuuya has always been a private person, keeping tons of secrets and emotions for himself, letting someone new into his life is always complicated.
Dazai craves to be known and seen, he fuels other people's energy to keep going. Chuuya's last wish is to have someone looking under his skin, he’s fine with the way he is. He doesn’t need to be seen.
But Dazai wants them to get along, they want the three of them to be, at least, friends for this to work. And loving someone like Osamu Dazai has you doing stupid things, like letting your enemy in and calling your penthouse neutral ground.
Even if the truce between the mafia and the ADA disappeared, Chuuya place was supposed to remain neutral. A white flag waving above them all the time.
And it wasn’t that complicated, seeing Dazai happy, made from everything else.
Sometimes, it feels... maybe not wrong, but it’s a strange feeling.
Right now, holding the door open as Dazai leans in, cupping Nakahara’s small face in their hands to kiss him goodbye. As Nakahara fixes Dazai’s bolo tie with small laugh, he thinks that this can work that, maybe, neutral ground can be real.
“I want you both here for dinner,” Chuuya says, hands still resting against Dazai’s chest. “So, we can talk without me having to kick you out.”
“Only if dinner is on us,” Kunikida finds himself saying. “Don’t mean to be rude but you look like shit Nakahara.”
That brings an even bigger smile into his face, and Dazai cracks a laugh.
“We’ll be here,” they say. “And I’ll made sure you rest while Doppo makes dinner, sounds good?”
Nakahara looks at them, an eyebrow arched, and that beautiful smirk painted on his face, it makes him light up like a firecracker.
“Sure, sounds good...”
It's a first step.
One of many ahead of them.
“Straighten your tie detective,” Nakahara takes a step closer, and the hand that is not holding into Dazai’s reaches for the red ribbon around Kunikida’s neck. “And keep Osamu in check.”
He has to look down to look at Nakahara in the eye, but he nods and intertwines his fingers with Dazai’s.
“I’ll do,” Dazai gives his boyfriend a last small peck in the lips before turning around. “See you for dinner Nakahara.”
“Have a good day at work you two,” the man says, leaning against the wall. “Don’t make anyone’s day more complicated than necessary Osamu.”
“I won’t,” they say, a soft smile painting his face. “I’ll be nice if you get some rest slug.”
“You just got yourself a deal,” and moving away from the door he pushes them both out of the house. “Now move or you’ll be late.”
“Bye! Love you!” Dazai waves his hand like a kid as the elevator doors close, and the last think Kunikida sees is Nakahara mouthing and I love you too back at him.
The ride down the building is short, but Dazai leans his head against Kunikida’s shoulder, more relaxed than he was when they did the opposite route.
“You were right,” they say. “He’s fine.”
“Wait until he sees the mess you made in his wardrobe,” Kunikida opens the door for Dazai to sit in the car. “Maybe I’ll be cooking your dead body tonight.”
“Don’t team with him!” but there’s joy and happiness under his complain. “What’s next? Telling Chuuya if I behave at work?”
“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” he says as he starts the car. “Maybe if we team up, we can get you to do your job.”
There's no bite in his voice, and Dazai is laughing as they drive through the silent streets of Yokohama.
“I think I can get used to you two teaming against me,” Dazai says and, for once his smile reach his eyes. “You make a good team.”
Yes.
Maybe they can make it.
Maybe they can make it work.
They're both stubborn and they both love Osamu.
This is going to work.
“You’re going to regret saying that Osamu,” he laughs too. “Nakahara and I are going to be your demise.”
“Then I’ll go in the best way I can imagine,” softness paints their voice. “I can’t wait for it to be time for dinner.”
“Me neither,” he finds himself saying. Even with the tension that still wraps about them sometimes, Kunikida knows that the only way of making it disappear is closeness and time together. And there’s something about Nakahara that, even if he’s the enemy, makes him to spend time around him. “You need to tell me what he likes, we can do some groceries before going back to his place.”
“Chuuya will eat anything you put on his plate,” Dazai says fondly. “But what about your dad sukiyaki?”
“Sure...”
Because sometimes your day ends with cooking a homemade meal for an enemy who is turning into something else.
With laugh in a kitchen that is not yours, but it can feel like home.
Kunikida life has always been inclined toward disaster and questionable decisions. Sometimes he wonders how someone like him, with his whole life planned and the idea of a simple future, ended in a place like the ADA. Sometimes he wonders when all his plans for a perfect, usual, normative family jumped over the board and instead of that he fell —face first— in love with Osamu Dazai.
It’s been two years and a half of loving them and, somehow, loving Osamu took him here. There was a turn of events, a few months ago, that took Kunikida here, to have Port Mafia Boss Nakahara Chuuya setting the table for three, as Kunikida makes dinner.
Yes.
This can work, he can see it clearly now, as Dazai grabs his old partner waist do dance around the living room, keeping him from doing any work.
Maybe he can be used to knowing where an old enemy keeps all his things and having the man packing lunch for him in the morning.
The road ahead is long and bumpy, but both Kunikida and Chuuya are ready to make their way through it.
After all, Dazai’s happiness is the reward, and that’s the most important thing for both right now.
Dazai is right, they can make a good team, Nakahara and him, they have more in common that they thought at first and, if it comes to Dazai, they will travel to the end of the world.
So, as he slices the meat for the sukiyaki with kitchen knives that are not his, Nakahara and Dazai’s laugh as background music, Kunikida realizes that the neutral ground thing can work.
As he offers Nakahara his plate and the man blushes to the tip of his ears, suddenly shy until Dazai kisses his check, Kunikida see how this is going to work.
They're going to do it, the three of them, little by little, even if it takes time.
Because if they have something now, after all they’ve been through, is time for finding themselves and their happiness.