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The phone booth is behind a shabby apartment building on the outskirts of Yokohama. It’s mostly hidden between trees, but the light inside makes it stand out so late at night.
Chuuya approaches it with a vigilant eye, ready for something —or someone— to emerge from the shadows.
His hand reaches for the door handle, and he pauses. He tries hard to listen to anything that could indicate he’s in danger, but all he can hear are crickets and the distant barking of dogs, so he deems it safe. Or something close to it.
He enters the booth, closes the door behind himself, and waits.
Truthfully, he isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. All he has is the sticky note with coordinates and a date that welcomed him home after his mission abroad. For all he knows, this could very well be a set up by Mori; some twisted test of loyalty, maybe to measure up how easily Chuuya is taken by curiosity.
He’s made an effort to disguise himself; he knows that his stature is easily recognizable if someone is looking for him, but at the very least he can make it a little difficult by hiding his strawberry blond hair under a cap and using some oversized clothes to hide his body. If push comes to shove regardless, he can fight back.
He chews on his lip as his eyes fall on the phone like it could jump up and attack him any second now. It may sound paranoid, but with the way things are right now, he doesn’t think it’s that farfetched. His car did blow up out of nowhere a couple of months ago.
The phone rings, and he flinches.
Chuuya’s never heard a pay phone ringing before; it’s too loud, too high pitched, too insistent. He entertains the idea of turning around and going back home for a brief moment, but if this was what he keeps hoping it is, he’d regret missing his chance his whole life.
His shaky hand reaches for the phone and brings it to his ear. He blames his shakiness on the cold.
He holds his breath as he waits for the person on the other end to speak first. In case this is a trap, he doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing the stupid hope in his voice.
There’s movement, like the other person is getting comfortable, and then…
“Hi, Chuuya~”
He slumps against the wall and closes his eyes with a sigh.
“Hey,” Chuuya replies. He tried to make his voice sound steady, but he knows better than to think it fooled his other half. “How’s the runaway life?”
“Meh, could be better with a sexy redhead here to keep me company.”
Chuuya scoffs. Against all reason, he feels a dumb smile creep up his face.
“In your dreams.”
“That’s true,” Dazai sighs, like a lovesick high schooler. Chuuya hums. “I can’t tell you much, but I have enough food and water to last me through several apocalypses.”
It’s not enough for Chuuya, but it will have to do for now. He understands what it takes to be hiding, especially from an organization as big as the Port Mafia. He’s been there before.
“Are you actually eating and drinking those?” Chuuya asks, arching an eyebrow. “Three times a day?”
“I’m trying.”
Chuuya will take little wins like that. He may not be there to remind Dazai that his body needs food to keep functioning, but he hopes that the lessons he’s drilled into his partner’s thick skull have left a mark.
“Do you have any books?”
“I have one.”
“Not the stupid suicide book; actual literature.” His words are met with silence. Chuuya grimaces. “Can you get one?”
“I could. I don’t care either way, though.”
Chuuya shakes his head, even if Dazai can’t see him. It’s just so much like him to not give a shit about his mental state.
“Maybe not now, but you will at some point.”
“I don’t expect to be hiding for long enough for it to bother me.”
Dazai must’ve meant to make it sound reassuring, but for Chuuya…
“But what if you do?”
He knows what Dazai sounds like when he knows something with absolute certainty. He knows the words he uses, the tone of his voice, the slight changes of his breathing pattern.
Dazai isn’t sure of where he stands right now, that much is obvious, so Chuuya can’t allow himself not to worry.
“Chuuya, I promise you, I’m fine.”
He closes his eyes and forces himself to believe those words, even if Dazai’s always been the furthest thing from ‘fine’, and now, with his best friend dead…
“I don’t like you being alone,” Chuuya confesses.
Dazai’s not a child, no matter how much he acts like one. He can take care of himself, Chuuya knows; he also knows that it gets nearly impossible for him to do so when his mind is so loud that he can’t even think straight and his skin itches with the urge to be split open with a blade.
“I don’t like it either, but I’m managing.”
That’s as much of a concession Chuuya will get, so he relents.
Dazai had been better than he was when the two of them met. It’s been a joint effort of Dazai making fewer attempts to end his life and Chuuya learning to pick up on the subtlest of queues that something was wrong. Now that they’ll be apart for who knows how long, Dazai will have to carry the full weight of those efforts on his own shoulders.
Chuuya believes that he can do it, but it won’t be the easiest task.
“So why pay phones?”
This booth isn’t as creepy as the previous ones. This one’s outside a convenience store, but no one seems to be inside. Either the overnight employee fell asleep, or it’s closed. Chuuya doesn’t care as long as no one bothers him.
“Your phone’s most likely bugged,” Dazai starts, which Chuuya already suspected. “Your whole apartment must be, as a matter of fact. I can’t risk Mori finding out about these calls and deeming you a traitor, so… pay phones.”
Chuuya hums. “Not your worst idea, I guess.”
“Awww, slug, you flatter me.”
“Are you using pay phones to make the calls too?”
“I am,” Dazai replies, doing that fake overly cheerful voice that Chuuya hates. “The booth I’m in right now is giving me the creeps, actually. I’m at an abandoned gas station, can you believe the phone still works? Must be fate.”
Chuuya snorts. “Or maybe you fixed it to make this call.”
“Ah, who knows.”
“Are you in Yokohama?”
He hears Dazai’s sharp inhale, and he knows he shouldn’t have asked.
“You know I don’t kiss and tell~”
He suspected that Dazai would never tell him a single clue about his hiding place since the first call, but can anyone blame him for wanting to know just how far away his other half is?
“Well, my booth sucks,” Chuuya complains, in a poor attempt to salvage his pride. “It’s cold.”
“Chuuya should’ve worn one of his tacky fur coats.”
“They’re fancy,” he argues. “Too fancy to wear to a shady convenience store in the middle of the night.”
“Freeze, then.”
“I am.” His visible breath can attest to that.
“How are things at home?” Dazai asks. He sounds genuinely interested, though Chuuya knows he isn’t actually asking about the Mafia. “Is my guard dog keeping everything together?”
“Not your dog,” he groans. The most embarrassing part of him feels a swell of affection at the familiar jab. “It’s fine. Boss has kinda given up on ever finding you, but I assume you already knew that.”
“I know how Mori’s mind works better than anyone,” Dazai confirms, like the cocky bastard he is. “What else?”
Chuuya huffs. Dazai’s not an impatient person, but if he’s pushing, he must be making himself sick with worry. Call it codependency if you want, but neither of them are used to being away for so long. Chuuya’s perversely relieved that he’s not the only one losing sleep over his partner.
“...Hirotsu’s been asking me to join him and the Black Lizard for drinks every Friday,” he confesses, like it’s some shameful secret.
“Is Chuuya making friends?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Haven’t joined them yet.”
He’s never been shy about making new friends, but this is different.
No matter the reason, he’s building a new life without his partner in it, even if it’s momentary. It makes Chuuya feel like a traitor, ironically enough.
Dazai doesn’t think the same. “You should,” he says, with a painfully soft voice. “They could be fun.”
The words leave a bitter taste in Chuuya’s mouth.
Tell me to ignore them. Tell me to lock myself in my apartment and wait for you. Be the annoying, possessive partner you’ve always been.
“I don’t want to end up drinking too much and embarrassing myself,” he argues.
“I’m sure our dear Hirotsu wouldn’t let that happen,” Dazai replies, somehow even softer than before, and Chuuya knows that he knows exactly what’s going through his head.
It brings tears to his eyes, though he can’t decide if they’re the happy or angry kind.
“Ane-san said the same thing. More or less.”
“Is she-?”
“Pissed at you? Absolutely,” Chuuya replies, eager to switch to a different subject. “She’ll kill you if she ever sees you again, by the way.”
“I expected no less.”
“I-” Chuuya pauses. He isn’t sure that he wants to say this, but Dazai will find out sooner or later, even if he’s in Europe or Australia or South America. He’ll find out, and they’ll end up having this conversation anyway. “I’m an executive now.”
A beat.
Chuuya’s heart drops to the floor when the fear that Dazai hung up the phone creeps up.
“Are you?” Dazai asks. His voice is brimming with pride, and Chuuya can’t decide if that’s better or worse than him sounding the littlest bit pained.
“Just since a month ago, more or less.”
“Not too bad for a slug,” Dazai replies. There’s no missing the audible smile in his voice. “I bet all the goons in the mafia fought to be the first in line to become your subordinate.”
Chuuya’s cheeks heat up despite the cold. “Shut up.”
“Was Akutagawa in that line?” Dazai asks, not even trying to hide his amusement. “He’s always had a weird thing for you.”
“It’s called affection,” Chuuya corrects, rolling his eyes. If he was feeling a little snappier he’d say that it’s no wonder Akutagawa cares for him, since he’s never beaten the shit out of him before, but he keeps quiet. “No, he’s got his own team to lead.”
“Is he-?”
“No, he's not an executive. Not technically. Just-” Chuuya catches himself off guard when he realizes what he’s about to say. He frowns. “He’s the new Double Black, I guess.”
Considering it takes him a second to reply, Dazai must’ve been startled by his words too.
“On his own?”
“He doesn’t need anyone else.” Unlike me, goes unsaid.
That’s a whole different conversation that Chuuya doesn’t have the emotional energy to have right now, and he’s sure that Dazai recognizes it.
“He’s an idiot.”
Chuuya scowls. Dazai’s treatment of Akutagawa has always been a point of tension in their relationship, and as much as he hates to be having the same conversation they’ve had a million times before, he won’t let his partner trash talk such a hard working kid.
“He just lacks experience.”
“And he’s an idiot.”
“Well, he’s doing great so far,” Chuuya argues, hastily. “He’s been training even harder since you left.”
“Were you mad?” Dazai asks. Anyone else would’ve missed the subtle hint of fear in his voice, but not Chuuya.
He’d love to say he wasn’t, but he thinks that he owes Dazai the truth. Besides, it would be nice to get it off his chest and cuss his partner out for old time’s sake.
“Of course I was,” he replies. His vision clouds with tears, and he looks up to stop them from spilling. That would be embarrassing. “You told me I was the love of your life, threatened to marry me-“
“Threatened?!”
“-and then I came back to the news that you betrayed the Mafia without a word to me.”
Dazai hums. Chuuya takes the moment as an opportunity to get his heartbeat under control and try to stop more tears from gathering in the corners of his eyes. There’s no reason for this to upset him so much; why is he still-…?
“When you put it like that, it does sound like my bedside manner needs some work.” Dazai concedes. Chuuya laughs, against all reason. “Are you still mad?”
“No,” he replies. It’s not entirely a lie. He isn’t angry anymore; the bitterness in his chest is something closer to hurt. “You didn’t betray me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Chuuya frowns. It’s a valid question, technically. He doesn’t know anything about Dazai’s life right now, so he can’t know anything for sure, but he thought it was safe to assume that-
Has he been an idiot all this time?
“Did you?”
Dazai groans. “Of course not.”
Chuuya doesn’t like his tone in the slightest, because it tells him one thing: “You’ve thought about it.”
“I get bored,” Dazai replies, like it’s nothing. Like his words don’t feel like a stab to his back; a painfully familiar sensation to him by now. “I think about many things.”
“Like finding someone else to warm your bed.”
“I’d risk getting found if I did it.”
“And that’s the only reason why you haven’t.” Dazai doesn’t reply. It hurts so much that the actual stab to his back from Shirase feels like a warm hug. “Fuck you.”
He takes the phone away from his ear. He notices his hand is shaking, and he can’t blame it on the cold at this point; the temperatures are rising all around Japan.
The truth is he’s furious.
He goes to hang up, but Dazai’s voice makes him freeze.
“Please don’t hang up!” he begs , loud enough to be heard despite the phone not being pressed to Chuuya’s ear. “I’m sorry. Please stay.”
Chuuya’s weak to Dazai; he always has been.
He sighs and brings the phone to his ear again, though he’s still pissed and wishing he could punch Dazai in the face. Even if his partner is a traitor in more ways than one, Chuuya doesn’t actually want their conversation to end on such a hurtful note.
“I’m here,” he whispers. He’s worried that his voice will break if he speaks any louder.
“I’m sorry,” Dazai repeats, with a shaky voice. “I don’t want anyone else, I promise. I don’t even think about anyone else. Every time I wish I had someone with me, it’s you I want.”
Chuuya’s eyes are frozen on the phone. The worn out buttons, the stickers around the tiny screen.
He can understand the loneliness Dazai must be feeling, only that he most definitely feels its effects in full force. Chuuya can at least go have some tea with Kouyou or chat with Tachihara if he’s feeling lonely, but he’s pretty sure that Dazai has no one right now.
No one but Chuuya and these once-in-a-while phone calls.
“Love?”
He huffs. Anger’s still burning like fire in his gut, but it goes down a little with the bat of butterfly wings in his stomach.
“Don’t start,” he tries to berate him, but he’s aware that he doesn’t sound intimidating at all. As a matter of fact, there’s a little smile raising the corners of his lips already, against his better judgment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dazai’s voice betrays that he knows exactly what Chuuya means, but he still pretends to believe his act.
“You always start using pet names to distract me when you know I’m actually mad,” he points out. He tries to sound frustrated, but he knows that he isn’t fooling anyone.
“Well, is it working, doll?”
The pet name –which Chuuya will never admit is his favorite– makes him blush and a dumb smile appear on his face. He busies himself disentangling the cord of the phone while he silently orders the flush on his face to go down.
“...No.”
“I wish I could see you; I bet you’re blushing.”
“Like Hell I am!” Chuuya denies, though it sounds more like a squeak.
“You always look so pretty when you blush,” Dazai comments, audibly amused at Chuuya’s expense. Typical. “I can almost picture it. I need to know what you’re wearing, though.”
Chuuya snorts. “Really?”
“I need the picture in my head to be as accurate as possible.”
He shakes his head, amused but also annoyed at how shameless his partner can be. “We’re not doing some… weird phone sex thing.”
“Boo!”
Chuuya laughs, despite the fact that it’s not funny and he’s still a little pissed at Dazai for even allowing him to think he could be cheating. Now that he’s cooled down, though, he can understand why his partner didn’t try to deny Chuuya’s accusations: Dazai told him he loved him just a day after knowing each other. He’s been so sure of Chuuya for so long that even the possibility of him looking at anyone else is laughable.
Both of them know this. Chuuya knows this, most importantly, but well…
He supposes that the year apart has cemented some baseless doubts in his brain, and he’s a little more irritable than usual. Sue him, he misses Dazai.
“I’m wearing a sweatshirt you left in my apartment,” Chuuya volunteers, eventually. “It’s blue.”
“Does that mean my dog misses me?”
“Not your dog, asshole,” Chuuya replies, smiling. “But of course I miss you.”
Dazai takes a deep breath, and Chuuya thinks it’s safe to assume that he didn’t expect that admission from him. Mr. Emotionally Constipated has a fun way to underestimate just how much he means to Chuuya, but it’s not like he’s much better in that department.
“I miss Chuuya too.”
“Do you miss him?”
The night is warm, and they’ve been talking for over an hour, so Chuuya’s sitting down on the dirty booth floor with his back on the cool glass. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that Dazai is sitting in front of him, against the opposite wall, kicking his legs to be a menace.
“Yeah,” Dazai admits. “Every day.”
Chuuya frowns.
He understands the pain of losing your closest friend, and he wishes Dazai never had to experience it. His partner has never offered any details about Oda’s death, but judging by what he’s heard through whispers around the Mafia, he has to assume that it was an easily preventable death. Dazai must know it too, which can’t possibly make the pain any easier.
“I should’ve said this before, but I’m really sorry for-“
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dazai interrupts, hastily. There’s some weird background noise, which Chuuya assumes must mean he’s near a highway or some busy avenue.
“I’m still sorry,” Chuuya insists, because it’s the least he can do. They’ve tiptoed around the subject for long enough. “I know he meant a lot to you.”
“He did.”
“Wanna tell me about him?”
“Chuuya knew him,” Dazai replies. He sounds amused, though there’s the sublest hint of affection in his voice that would go unnoticed by anyone else; except for Oda, maybe.
“Barely.”
He must’ve exchanged around ten words with Oda since Dazai and him met. Aside from the few times his partner mentioned him in conversation, Chuuya knows virtually nothing about the man that changed Dazai’s life so drastically.
Dazai takes a deep breath, and Chuuya gets as comfortable as he can get to hear the story.
He hears of how they met, of the kids Oda took under his wing and the curry shop where he housed them. He hears of Oda’s favorite whisky and how he tried tomato juice once to figure out why Ango likes it so much, only to end up gagging at the first sip and downing a whole glass of whisky in one go.
He hears of Oda’s last days; the secrets, the betrayals, his dying wish.
Chuuya listens to every word carefully, cherishing every shared memory like it’s his own. He thinks he owes it to the man that meant the world to Dazai.
(At times the background noise got too loud and Chuuya could barely hear Dazai’s voice, but he strained to listen to every word.)
“Sounds like a sweet guy,” Chuuya comments, once Dazai’s done.
“I guess he wasn’t so bad,” Dazai replies, no doubt trying to sound nonchalant. He could never fool Chuuya. “He reminded me of you.”
“‘Cause I’m not so bad?”
“Because your heart’s too big,” Dazai clarifies. As if to agree with him, Chuuya’s heart beats faster. “And both of you saw the good in me despite everything.”
“I’m glad you had him.”
Fuck knows he needed someone other than Chuuya to treat him life an actual human being rather than just a ruthless executive, or as the ridiculous grunts used to call him, ‘The Demon Prodigy’.
As if a demon would sneak into people’s apartments and whine because the owner doesn’t want to stop cooking to cuddle.
“I’m glad too,” Dazai admits, softly. His two years in isolation have been good on him, against all odds. “Though I think his perception of me was a little unrealistic; if he thought I could live on the side of the light.”
“I think he had a point,” Chuuya argues. “And I think you think so too, at least a little bit, if you were willing to leave to give it a try.”
“...I figured it was worth giving it a shot.” Dazai admits, timidly, like it’s something to be ashamed of. On the contrary, it makes Chuuya feel so proud of him that his heart could burst out of his chest any second.
“So what’s your plan?”
“My plan?”
“You’ll have to come out of hiding at some point, right?” Chuuya points out. “What’s the plan then?”
He doesn’t even entertain the possibility of Dazai not having a plan; that’s simply not an option. Dazai always has plans for his plans, he’s always one step ahead, and he’s had two years worth of time to kill now; there’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s ready to step into his new life.
“Glad you should ask,” Dazai replies, with an exaggerated cheerful voice. “Ango found a job for me.”
“Ango? The… nerd with the round glasses?” He wanted to call him a traitor, but he doesn’t know Dazai’s feelings about that guy as of right now. He doesn’t want to risk unintentionally pouring salt in the wound.
“The only one.”
“What does he have to do with-?”
“Long story,” Dazai sighs, like the mere idea exhausts him. “I will tell you everything in person.”
Chuuya’s heart skips a beat.
The last time he saw Dazai, they were eighteen-years-old, and his partner was going through another growth spurt that annoyed Chuuya more than the fact that he became an executive first.
Is Dazai taller now? Has he been eating well, or are his bones still protruding from his skin like they always have? Is his hair darker? Are his eyes brighter?
Chuuya wants to see him again more than anything-
“Is that safe?”
-but not if it means putting him at risk of being found by the Mafia and brought back to the world he escaped. It wouldn’t be fair, and Chuuya refuses to be responsible for it.
“It is now,” Dazai reassures him. He sounds so excited that Chuuya has no choice but to let go of all his worries. “We’ll still have to be careful, especially since I will be an enemy of the Mafia, but we can sneak a few hours here and there.”
“Okay,” Chuuya agrees, uncaring of how eager he may sound. He’ll take even just a few minutes if that’s all he can get; that’s better than years without seeing Dazai. “When are you starting your new job?”
“Tomorrow.”
That’s… way sooner than Chuuya expected. Dazai must’ve been getting everything ready for his new job for quite some time now. He must be busy, and adapting to a whole new life means he may grow even busier, which makes a new question pop up in his mind.
“When am I seeing you?”
Dazai sighs. It sounds like he’s smiling. “When you look to your left.”
Chuuya does as told, not giving himself a chance to wonder if it’s a cruel joke or some weird trap.
The phone slips from his fingers and he stands from the floor so clumsily he hits his shoulder on the shelf. He pays the pain no mind.
Dazai’s out there walking down the road.
Even from afar, it’s clear he grew taller the last two years. Chuuya would be irritated if he wasn’t so happy to see him.
His steps also seem lighter, and his right eye is free of bandages. Those two gorgeous, teary brown eyes stare at Chuuya with so much adoration it’s overwhelming in the best of ways.
Chuuya slams the door to the booth open and runs all the way to Dazai.
The burner phone Dazai used to call him this time falls to the floor with a crack that echoes all around the deserted street, but neither of them care about that right now.
All that matters is that Chuuya’s arms are hugging Dazai’s shoulders so tightly it hurts.
His feet aren’t touching the ground; Dazai picked him up and is pressing him so close against his chest that Chuuya can feel his heartbeat, matching his own. Their hearts fall in sync again so easily it’s scary.
Chuuya can feel tears wetting his neck, but he can’t bring himself to make fun of Dazai for being a crybaby when he’s in the same condition.
When Chuuya tries to lean back to look at him, Dazai’s grip around his waist grows tighter. He laughs, though it sounds strained, and pats his partner’s chest to get him to give in a little.
Once he does, Chuuya’s lips are all over his face.
“I love you,” he mutters, over and over again, between wet kisses and soft sobs.
Dazai laughs too, and he lets himself be pampered with affection for another moment. Then, he tilts his face to catch Chuuya’s lips with his own.
With his lips pressed against his partner’s, he whispers: “I love you too.”
The phone on the floor of the booth pings as Dazai begins making his way to his new home with Chuuya in his arms.