Chapter Text
Besides learning the words to the tangible things in life, the first word that Dazai learned the true meaning of was the word: trade. It could be a noun or a verb, depending on the situation, but its definition is to exchange something for another. Often times, it’s used for menial things like groceries for money, and time and effort for reward. Perhaps it’s a trade of erasers between friends who like the others’ colour more.
Dazai’s life was built on trades. Not the common trades between consumer and producer, no, but trades on things that didn’t have set values. Dazai, instead of trading school supplies or allowances for things, traded his humanity for an ability, and empathy for intelligence. These were the first trades he had ever made, though, at the time, he didn’t realise he had made them. Nonetheless, it was the only thing that made sense.
As he grew older, his life moved onward and he learned more about the world and the people around him; especially the people. The way they acted so quickly and with such force over something they couldn’t even verify was illogical and went against his own instincts. It was why humans, to him, were fascinating. He started watching them, the way they talked to each other and the little things that gave each person away. The twitch in drunken fingers vs the twitch of lying ones. It was a puzzle to him, one he was desperate to find the answers to despite his wariness around drunken fighting.
The more he watched, he realised the way people would watch him. Pity, anger, disgust and more would fill their expressions when they would lay their eyes on his skin, at least those were the emotions he could identify. Pupils making slow incisions as they scanned his skinny frame and pale skin with too many blemishes than an eight year old should have. It was later in the evening after being victim to those gazes that he made his third trade, though he calls it his first since it was the first one he remembers initiating. He traded perception of self for privacy. He wrapped bandages around his bony joints and underdeveloped muscles. The pity was still there the next time he stepped out, but it was dampened by curiosity. He could handle disgust, he just didn’t have the wherewithal to understand pity. It made him laugh, how people could love and give themselves to people whom they’ve never met because of a scrape or bruise.
Morals, too, were a funny thing to him. The basis of right and wrong and how you can really only be either of those things to a person and the which one would be different per person was irritating. He would hear whispers of how there’s a moral grey yet everyone seemed to ignore it when it benefitted them. Feminine lips would spit curses at masculine ones yet still yield if both parties got something out of it. It was flimsy, and held no rational besides personal gain and that was a whole other can of worms he never had the energy to sink into.
Perhaps the amount of time it took him to figure out the basis of right and wrong was why it took him so long to realise another aspect of his life. Apparently, according to numerous books, forums and word of mouth, his parent’s didn’t follow the standard for ‘good’ parents. It was just a shame that it took their death for him to piece it together. He mourned for them the best way a person who doesn’t know what love is could, because even if they weren’t the best, they kept him alive and fed. Which is why Dazai made his fourth trade. He traded stability for freedom. He knew enough about the foster system to run from it. So run he did, even if it meant sleeping where it was a couple of degrees warmer than the air outside and not knowing what to eat the next day. He would wander the streets and his steps would lead him everywhere but nowhere, yet he was never truly bothered by it.
The first time the world traded with Dazai with force instead of with balance was when he was looking for food a few years after his departure from the house that smelled too much like booze and cheap perfume. It traded with him survivability for his fear and pain. The night of his trade was simple, he was checking one of his haunts for any scraps when a rumble echoed through the alley he was in. Before he knew it, fangs tore into his limbs. Barking, growling, and the sounds of his own agonised whimpers as the feeling of his skin tearing filled his senses. He could feel his muscles, which had been actually developing a little, being tugged and torn at as the group of dogs tried to eat him alive. It was by some kind of miracle that the owner of the place he usually found scraps at heard the commotion and chased the dogs away with a shout and loud claps. As the man approached him, Dazai could feel unconsciousness rapidly enclosing his vision as he felt what little warmth he had leak out of him and onto the soiled ground.
When Dazai awoke, which was a surprise in and of itself, he was met with hard eyes and a warm bowl of soup. Dazai spent a couple of months short of half a year with the man, learning about his illness and the small udon shop he ran. He listened to the man’s grumblings about his grandson taking over his shop due to his age, and listened still as the man spoke in fondness for his granddaughter who had just gotten her first job. Dazai also met the mans friend, the one who had patched him up after the dog attack. The doctor didn’t say much, didn’t even inquire on the scars on his body or the malnutrition, only telling his friend to feed him well lest he become a runt. The store owner only laughed and served Dazai another bowl of soup, this time with crab in it and the two adults chuckled quietly at the near starstruck expression on his face. It was then that Dazai realised he had gotten mercy for his fear and pain, and it made him less irritated at whatever deity set the dogs on him that day.
It was peaceful living in the shop with the man. He helped around the house and in return for shelter and food, and the transactional acts made his bones settle. However, just as things tended to go in his life, it the peace came to an abrupt end. Really, he was starting to wonder if he had made a third trade at his conception. He never saw his parent’s death, a woman had simply walked into the home, startled to find a child there, and told him the news before taking him away. This time, and for the first time in his life, he saw death. He saw its cruelty, at first, in the way the grandson would curse it when he thought no one wasn’t watching. He saw it in the way the granddaughter came for a longer visit with her parents. He saw it in the way those who knew the shop owner would pretend to be happy in front of the dying man, and cry, scream, and rage while away from him. When Dazai addressed this to the man, the dying man’s expression turned sad yet understanding. “Dazai-kun, people often lash out at the things they do not understand-”
“I know this, Kousuke-ojiisan.”
The man’s expression flickered with grief for a moment at the thought of the scars that marred Dazai’s body when they’d met before. “And I am sorry that you do, and that, out of all of us, you may understand that the most.”
“It’s insignificant.” The man just shook his head at Dazai’s matter-of-fact response.
“Nonetheless, they often don’t know how to respond to something that is hurting them.”
“They play up normalcy to cope with it.”
“Indeed, Dazai-kun, and sometimes, it can hurt them once they stop.”
The two sat in silence as the quiet echos of shouting slipped through the cracks in the door. The beeping of the heart monitor and the mechanical breathing aid broke the quiet enough to pay no mind to it.
“Dazai-kun.”
“Yes, Kousuke-ojiisan?”
“I do not expect you to stay, after all you have always been closer to me than my progeny, and calling us close is only masking the lenient respect you hold for me.”
“I do not dislike you, Kousuke-ojiisan.” Because he didn’t. The man gave him shelter for his work and company and they both know that he would have been quietly pushed out the door if he’d just sat around and did nothing.
“Perhaps, but nonetheless, I hope you take care of yourself. I do not expect you to go out of your way, but until you find something that would push you to, I want you to survive.”
“…”
“And do try to stay away from alley dogs, there won’t be many with enough kindness to patch you up.”
“Roger that, Ojiisan.”
The man passed that night and Dazai witnessed it since looking at anyone else in that room was unpleasant. It was mere moments before the man’s death that Dazai saw. The man’s expression had smoothed over from its usual hardness and pain. His muscles relaxed and for those moments, the man breathed easy. It was then that Dazai saw what death truly was. It embraced without prejudice and gave peace to those about to meet it. While everyone in the room panicked at the sound of the flatline, Dazai found curiosity in it. He slipped out of the hospital with two realisations.
First was that death was kind, not merciful and pitying like the man had been, but unbiased and all encompassing. Second was that he might be seeing the man a lot sooner than assumed.
His reintegration to life on the streets was easy. He had previously scoped out some good spots for sleeping and eating -with no dogs in sight, mind you- and plotted. He honed his skills in pickpocketing and played with peoples emotions to use the pity he always hated when he was younger to get something out of it. His displeasure for food and clothes was a trade that he was all too happy take advantage of. Other than for food, the manipulation was mostly something to occupy his free time while he planned his demise. He decided the day he would meet death would be in the embrace of currents. He spent the money he had pickpocketed on some canned crab for lunch and after passing by the childhood house and the shop, he found the nearest bridge and at twilight, he jumped.
Drowning, contrary to what the internet says, is not peaceful. The body needs oxygen to survive, therefore, it panics when there isn’t any in gas form. It is also slow, because the body needs oxygen, but it only has what it does in the moment. It starts redirecting, keeping the brain alive so it can find a way to survival. Too bad for Dazai’s body, because his brain doesn’t want oxygen in the moment.
Little by slowly, as he watches the sky through the water rippled surface, his consciousness slips and it’s quiet.
Waking up is already disappointing enough after going through all the effort of trying not to. Waking up to coughing your lungs out before passing out again is also unpleasant. Violet eyes filled with curiosity and wonder are attached to the body pulling him farther ashore, and Dazai, in the fleeting moments of consciousness, curses them.
The next time he comes to, he realises the mercy he had gotten before was a foul play. As the man with violet eyes introduces himself as Ogai Mori, an underground doctor and caretaker of the current boss of the Port Mafia, he realises the world, unlike death, is a sadist. A sadist with a pension towards balance and habit.
The world had traded his death for life in darkness. A mockery to what he truly desires.
Witnessing the boss of the Port Mafia’s death was a vastly contrasting experience. There were no people to rage in denial and greed like with the shop owner. Instead there was a stranger meant to lie to the Mafia, and a doctor with a lust for power and a vivid enough dream to satisfy it. The man convulsed briefly in death before stillness took his form and Dazai thought that death, perhaps, was fair.
Becoming the protege of the new Boss of the Mafia felt less like learning something new and bowing to orders and more like an unpaid therapist. He stuck around Mori out of habit at first. It was illogical to run from someone willing to give shelter and food and he wasn’t a dog that could be cowed by loud claps and shouts, even if the claps were ones of gunfire and shouts were the screams of those not ready for death’s kindness. He’s sure Mori found his dismissal towards standard moral principals convenient. When Mori gave him the solver oracle and officially welcomed Dazai to the mafia, he didn’t think it would do anything more than to let him glimpse why people fight against death’s embrace. Boy was he wrong because soon after, a red head changed that.
Chuuya Nakahara was an enigma to Dazai. The boy found the buttons to his irritation faster than anyone and decided not only to press them, but mash them. He was bright and full of vitality, and despite initial impressions, the boy was intelligent behind all the posturing and brutality. He understood Dazai, not wholly of course, not yet, but faster and better than most. While they squabble as he presses on the boy’s buttons in equal return, they see eye to eye when it comes down to intent. He was even more fascinating to Dazai after the fight against Randou and Dazai had a moment to let the fact that the red head was a literal god sink in. For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted to have someone. It’s why Dazai told him he loved him, though it was mostly to test how well the vessel of a god could read him and push a couple buttons in the meantime.
He didn’t have much time to ponder on such wretched things like wants and love with him being mentored by Mori and Chuuya being mentored by Kouyou. He was thankful, in a way for it. So while they were still partnered together regularly for missions, the time in between their occasional arcade outings and missions were spent apart for the first year.
Learning under Mori how to be a proper right hand and a seasoned veteran in war strategy was difficult. While the man was logical when it came to those subjects, the man was physical in teaching others. Mori had no doubt clocked Dazai’s intelligence and skill in manipulation as fast as he had his ability. He wouldn’t doubt the boss’ insistence in honing of such skills was for his own gain. It never bothered Dazai though. Even when, after acing the test on the book he was given the night before while he was on hallucinogenics, the teachings got painful. It was a given that poison tolerance would be a horrible experience, one leaving him shaky and unable to eat for hours even if his stomach was eating itself into knots. However, he wasn’t thrilled when, after they had finished all of the content he could learn through paper and pen, learning about torture meant being a victim to it.
It irked him how Mori’s actions made sense. The man’s emphasis on control over the human vulnerabilities like empathy, divulgence, pain and more were logical. It didn’t make it less painful though. He learned it though, little by slowly, with each drug, stab of a scalpel, and whispering of words, Mori’s advice and teachings were memorised and efficiently utilised. He knew, and he knew Mori knew, that his previous knowledge was lacking for the position he needed to uphold. Mori needed a veritable god and equal at his side, so despite the fact Dazai already surpassed his peers, he needed to be better.
“Experience-"
“Is the best teacher.” The boss grins at his response. Dazai’s eyes were glazed over, hands shaky. If it were anyone except Mori with Dazai, they would have either called the emergency line or simply ignored any words coming from his mouth, taking them to be murmurings of a druggy. However, Mori knew better and Dazai knew it, after all, it was Mori who made sure his drug resistance was so high. It was also him who taught Dazai how to act in and out of accordance given the circumstance.
“Indeed.” A quiet click pierced the silence and a faint noise began. Dazai flinched at the sounds. Before the boss could continue talking, however, he heard a murmur from Dazai. “What is it Dazai-kun?”
“You trade suffering for knowledge,” Dazai said, louder and with more certainty. He knows Mori knows about his trades with the world and vice versa, he had mentioned it the day after the doctor condemned him to life. At first, confusion tinted the man’s words, but the more Dazai spoke, the more the man seemed to understand. In fact, it had became a game between the two of them. Spouting out trades occasionally and getting each other’s approval or reproach at each one.
“I suppose so. Though an experience doesn’t have to have suffering to gain knowledge from.”
Dazai tiled his head at the disapproval. Perhaps the drugs were affecting him. “And yet ‘experience’ traded for knowledge diminishes the possibility for depth.”
“Does it though?”
The question made him pause, and his nerves thanked him for halting movement against the barbed wire around his arms and torso. “You are right, I suppose. Though my current position leaves much to be desired and not simplified to just ‘an experience’.”
The boss laughed at his comment, but ultimately brushed it off. “I can acquiesce that.”
Dazai snorted at the tease.
“Now, the lesson we will cover for the next week will be on another type of trade. With torture-“
“Pain for information, and you gift leniency after obtaining the information.” Sweat coated his brow as he spoke.
“With pleasure it is a similar aspect. However, the type of gamble you make isn’t their premature death, but in serving a person fully before getting your part of the trade.”
“Ecstasy loosens tongues.” A hum of approval. “Why didn’t we cover this before torture?”
“Because the gamble is steeper. If you fail, that’s when you resort to torture. Pain is universal, preference is key when it comes to trading with pleasure. For both, you must know the body, but knowing the littlest things that cause pain with enough pressure is vital in knowing to avoid such a thing in this situation.”
“And if you succeed, but they refuse to speak?”
“Then you either didn’t succeed, or you resort to better known methods.”
“Hardly seems fair.”
The look Mori gives him is amused. “I believe you know more than you think you do about fair trades,” Mori says with a pointed look at the bare canine scars on his knelt frame. “An even trade doesn’t have to be fair.”
“Information for a swift death.”
“Devotion for stability.”
“Anguish for business.”
“Love for hope.”
Of all the lessons Mori taught Dazai, those were his least favourite. The physicality of them made him want to burn his skin off. Of course, just because he didn’t like them doesn’t mean he didn’t excel in them. The boss wouldn’t let him be anything other than perfect and he picked up new concepts like a fish to water. Still, that week, and the weeks Mori would make an excuse to refresh his memory, were the worst. He’d end up on the floor of his shipping container for hours, staring at the swinging light attached to the metal roof until the sun rose, hands shaking the entire time. His mind drowning under the weight of millions of thoughts and body weighed down with emotions he couldn’t name. The rays would peak through the crack and burn into his eye until Chuuya would inevitably come to drag him back into the foray of darkness. The older boy seemed to know that something was effecting him if his silence was anything to say, but Dazai knew Chuuya would never know the full extent.
It wouldn’t be fair, and even if he was familiar with unfair trades, when it came to Chuuya, he try to make it fair. There was no need for Chuuya to go through the training Dazai did since he was under Kouyou, so mentioning it would be pointless. Their partnership relied on Dazai being the brains and manipulator while Chuuya was the muscle with enough battle smarts and understanding of his partner to follow Dazai’s carefully laid out plans. Chuuya didn’t need to be another Mori like Dazai did, so, he kept the methods of his teachings in a chest locked away in the back of his mind and key thrown to the sea.
He could tell Kouyou knew. The way she wouldn’t keep eye contact for long with weariness in her step and planned words. He could also see the way the woman would linger. Asking to talk to Mori after a meeting, dropping things off in person and sending ginger tea after a holiday or mafia event. The woman carried guilt in her perfect posture, and Dazai was too thankful to relieve her of it.
Time continued to pass and since Dazai’s trainings became sparse, he found himself fifth simultaneously more and less time. His duties became heftier, yet he found he still had time to drag Chuuya to arcades outside of their allowed mission times. He was fond of Chuuya, he knew, but he also knew that it couldn’t go farther because of their occupation.
Ever since meeting Chuuya, he knew gravity manipulator would struggle with his humanity, especially as he found a place with people and since Dazai liked the red head, he was resolute in helping the older boy find it. Kouyou did her part, raising him with poise and grace, and he knew his own time would come and come it did. He was quite offended when the boy believed that a measly 2,383 lines of code could imitate a human. Even more so that it took those two thousand odd lines of code could be his perfect antonym. He knows he is not so simple, so really, there was no uncertainty in his humanity. Nonetheless, he was ready to dust his hands of the incident, but Chuuya kept track of his favours and dues. At first, he thought the older boy would gift him something. He never thought his partner would be the one to push him towards his own humanity in return.
One evening, he and Chuuya were instructed to infiltrate a new foreign organisation that had been pressing on the mafia’s territory for too long and destroy the entire branch. Before they could do that, however, the boss requested the organisations financials so that if they even thought about retaliating, they couldn’t because they wouldn’t be able to support themselves through a minor war with the mafia. The mission was to take place in the timespan of a month max and the two of them were free to brainstorm how they would accomplish their goal. Ultimately, they decided to attack from two fronts. It would be suspicious if two kids of their differing capabilities refused to separate when they joined the organisation, so they decided that Chuuya would eliminate the attack force while Dazai worked on getting information on the organisation and tearing them apart from the inside with some lies and manipulation.
Getting in was rather easy and after the first few days, their differing talents were recognised and they were separated. Dazai knew Chuuya’s natural charisma would be able to win over most of the grunts so he wasn’t concerned, however, that left the rest of the job to him. Somehow, they were still assigned the same dorm room, though that was probably done out of their supervisors annoyance at their bickering. It ended up working heavily in their favour, though, and Dazai and Chuuya spent that first night laughing at it’s absurdity.
Two weeks in and they were both at the point where they wanted to be done with the mission. “Just because,” Chuuya groaned in frustration, speaking in their code since they had listening devices in their room. “Supervisor said we could take a month off doesn’t mean we have to.”
“Is the Chibi getting tired of hauling crates around and making talk as small as he is?”
Chuuya threw a pillow at him for that. “Gravity is annoying when you can't use it. I can’t wait for midnight.”
Dazai responded to the code in kind. They had previously agreed that both of their abilities were too recognisable so while Dazai got away with an intelligence enhancing ability, Chuuya had to tough it out without an ability which thankfully added to his reputation with the rest of the workers. “Why, cause you’ll be asleep in your lovely bed without worrying about all the crates you have to move tomorrow.”
“Not all of us have an ability that only works when no one touches you. I’m tired of passing things around to a bunch of people and places.”
Basically, Chuuya wanted to go back to the mafia and be done with this cooperation operation and for once, Dazai couldn’t help but agree. “I’m sure you’ll end up with a better assignment soon.”
For the first time that night, the red head looked excited. Dazai couldn’t blame him since he basically approved the idea of ending the mission earlier. “Anyways, which flowers were you thinking of bringing to your cousins graduation?”
Ah, which plan? Well, not their most catastrophic one, but one where Dazai allowed Chuuya to let off as much steam as he wanted. “I was thinking Jasmine and Lavender. Let him relax a bit as a reward for making it through a difficult degree.”
Chuuya snorted derisively from the cot across from Dazai’s. “I’m sure he’ll love the colour combo.”
Dazai tossed the pillow back at the older boy before responding. “As if you can say anything with your fashion knowledge being smaller than you are.”
Moving up the mission end time meant that Dazai had to get creative. Chuuya had been flawless, for the most part, with his assignment, but Dazai’s took longer to achieve simply because of hierarchies. This meant that in one night, Dazai had to weasel his way into the hierarchy and what better a way than to act as a smitten damsel trying his best despite a rough start. Dazai, in an effort to avoid being recognised resorted to wearing less bandages, however, he had needed an excuse for the bandages he kept so he picked a fight with Chuuya on their first day. The bleeding and other wounds were mostly superficial, Chuuya knew how to make it look a lot worse than it actually was, but it worked in making him look pathetic.
So, instead of heading back to his and Chuuya’s dorm room the next evening, he ‘accidentally’ lost his way and ‘coincidentally’ bumped into his ‘crush’ supervisor. While both Chuuya and him were still under the newbie supervisor, both of them had their own specialised higher up they reported to. This supervisor, Hideki, was his supervisor for the intelligence field he was assigned to early on.
“O-oh my goodness! I’m so sorry Hideki-sama,” Dazai stutters, picking up the papers he had dropped. He couldn’t help but cringe internally at how cliche it all looked, but the man had both an ego and a saviour complex. Funnily enough, despite being the head of the intelligence department, the man was quite simple. “I promise this will never happen again!”
The man chuckled at his flustered response. “Don’t worry about it Tsushima-chan.” The man was also a 45 year old pedophile. Which was incredibly easy for Dazai, who, while being lanky, could get away with seeming a little younger than he actually was with some expertly placed voice cracks and awkward stumbling. The man leaned down to help him. “Here, I’ll help you. Also, on that test the other day, I was impressed by your work. I have no doubt you’ll go far within this organisation.”
Dazai forced a blush to his face. “R-really, it wasn’t anything impressive.” The first nail is placed and the hammer ready. “It is all thanks to Hideki-sama’s kind guidance that I was able to get this far.”
“Oh you flatter me, boy, but trust me, you wouldn’t be able to do this if it wasn’t for some form of talent.” Hideki helped him stand and the mans hand stayed firmly placed on Dazai’s shoulder. “But nonetheless,” the man said, a hungry look in his eyes. “Don’t hesitate to come my way if you need any assistance. My door is always open.”
“Oh but, I wouldn’t want to intrude on Hideki-sama’s private time! Especially since I’m sure you’re so busy and free time must be hard to come by. I admire Hideki-sama’s diligence.” More nails are placed, one after another being hammered into the wood.
“It wouldn’t be intruding if its you, boy.”
The chuckle and tightening of grip around Dazai’s shoulders was sign enough of what the man wanted, but Dazai couldn’t be too quick to agree else he look eager. “A-are you sure? I was wondering about this one assignment but…”
“Come along boy, I’ll help you with that pesky riddle over a glass of beer.” The coffin was sealed and buried with each step Dazai took towards the man’s room. A wicked grin appeared on his face when the man wasn’t looking, but Dazai knew his job was far from done. It was just beginning and he was eager to see how much he could get from the man. “Perhaps I’ll let you try a sip or two.”
A few hours later, Dazai stumbled into Chuuya’s and his shared dorm room where he was faced with the older boy’s pacing. Despite their rocky start, Chuuya’s ability to show worry towards him was always fascinating, especially since the first half of their partnership mostly spent with them being trained separately. The gravity manipulator whirled on him the moment the door closed. A glare on his face and worry etched in his posture said all he needed to, especially since neither of them could talk about what was bothering the red head. Dazai just shrugged in response with a relaxed stance even as he limped over to his cot.
Chuuya grabbed his arm in response to his flippant behaviour and it seemed the older boy noticed the looseness of Dazai’s bandages and the coloured splotches that hadn’t been there when they’d seen each other earlier. The other boy flinched for a moment and Dazai just raised an eyebrow at the display, god did he want a shower. He tugged his arm from Chuuya’s grasp and started to take his clothes off as he made his way to the attached bathroom where he turned the shower on. When he turned, Chuuya was watching him with a constipated expression and Dazai sighed dramatically before making his way over to his partner. Taking his hand, he tapped out a message: We can talk about it tomorrow after debrief. Be ready at first meal time.
Chuuya tsked but didn’t push Dazai any further, instead laying down on his cot. When Dazai finished his shower and rewrapped himself in bandages to hide the red skin, he went to his own cot and fell into a fitful sleep. If he had simply stood under the spray in a haze for the first twenty minutes of the shower, well that was for him to know. There were plans for tomorrow that needed his energy.
Everything from there went off without a hitch. Chuuya easily eliminated all the grunts who didn’t run and any stragglers they couldn’t afford to keep alive while Dazai hacked into the bank records of the organisation with the master key he obtained from Hideki. He quickly put the information into a flash drive and tucked it into his bandages for storage before exiting the server room. Instead of rendezvousing with Chuuya who was supposed to be waiting further down the hall, he was slammed against the wall the moment he stepped out by one big mad Hideki.
“You fucking cock-sleeve whore,” the man grit out, his hand around Dazai’s throat and tightening. “Who sent you?”
Dazai, ever known for his inability to preserve his own life, simply smirked. “You seemed to like this little cock-sleeve last night Hideki-sama~.”
He was pulled away from the wall before slammed against it with more force. His head bounced against the wall harshly. “Who.”
“For a man in charge of intelligence you are awfully dumb,” he said with a point to his face. Now fully rewrapped in bandages, it really shouldn’t be hard to assume who he was, especially with the reported commotion that was surely coming from the earpiece the man was wearing. After all, who else controlled gravity and whose partner was perpetually bandaged. “It should be obvious.”
The man’s eyes widened and he tore himself away quickly. Really, what a dumb man. “The demon prodigy.”
“Indeed,” Dazai said, voice rough from the attempted strangulation. His hand fell to his gun which was hidden from the man in front of him. “Took you long enough.”
Instead of fleeing or cowering, Hideki smiled, full of maniacal glee. “I fucked the demon prodigy. Made him beg for it like a trained whore.”
Dazai scrunched his nose in both disapproval and incredulity. “Really,” he said, “I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing here-”
“I will ruin your reputation,” the man interrupted and Dazai couldn’t help but snort at the fact the man thought he would survive. “No one will be able to take you seriously after I tell people how you turn into a mewling bitch in heat when fucked.”
Dazai opened his mouth to reply but before he could, the squelching sound of flesh exploding filled his ears. Thankfully none of the blood got on him or the angry chihuahua responsible for the splatter made of debris of organs, muscles and bones alike on the wall in front of them. “Really Chibi, you don’t need to be that aggressive.”
His sigh only received an aggressive growl from his partner. “I would have made him suffer if his tongue wasn’t so infuriating to be around.”
“Yes yes, thanks for being my knight in fairy sized armour-”
“Oi!”
“But we really must be bringing this place to the ground. Think you can handle it?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes at the taunt. “Of course I’ll be fine. Now lets get out of here so I can actually do it and we can go home and sleep in our own beds. I’m tired of living in a room smelling like a rotten fish.”
Their report to the boss was simple. Dazai just handed over the flash drive and informed the doctor that the building was completely demolished, thanks to Chuuya, even though it could clearly be seen from the office windows. Mori sent the two of them on their way with a week break since that had been the initial time they were set to finish the mission and they didn’t have anything pertinent scheduled for either of them in the meantime.
Dazai was about to head to his container when Chuuya dragged him to the older’s place where they ordered in Indian food and played video games until they passed out. The next morning, Chuuya was already up and moving when Dazai woke up. The younger took a quick shower and put the clothes that he stored at Chuuya’s place for moments like these.
“Why’d you do it?” Chuuya’s question rang through the room the moment Dazai sat next to him on the kitchen island. He was on the actual island while Chuuya was standing and putting together lunch.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to read the minds of dogs. Do what?” The glare Dazai received was enough to have him back off from the teasing. The tense posture the gravity manipulator had was evident enough of the rage surely boiling within. With a sigh, he focused on the food being prepped. “Because it’s easy when it comes to infiltration.”
“Surely theres an easier way,” Chuuya states as he finished cutting up a carrot and plating it. “You’re smart enough to know that.”
“Chibi’s partially right, it wouldn’t necessarily be easier, but it would take longer and I knew neither of us wanted to continue playing house with that group.”
“Don’t put the blame on me.” The statement is met with a rough slam of the knife against the cutting board and it almost makes Dazai feel bad for the cabbage if he weren’t so envious of that cabbage not being his own neck. “You know I wouldn’t have cared enough for it to matter if I knew what it would cost you.”
“And what,” Dazai asks lightly. “Do you think it cost me?”
“Y-your,” the red head stutters with a flush on his face and vague gesturing. “You know…”
“I’ve never cared for firsts, but I promise, my chibified guard dog, that definitely wasn’t my first,” he points out with a raised eyebrow.
“Obviously I know that, but theres still… you’re still selling yourself when you didn’t have to and for something we didn’t necessarily need.” A sad tone took root in the red heads words and the cuts on the mushrooms seemed to follow its example. “Did you feel like you needed to?”
“Chibi, you of all people should know I see humans as complex chess pieces with personalities and experiences that influence their movement instead of organic living creatures with free will. The word need here is unnecessary. I got bored so I sped up the process.” The cold tone seems to snap Chuuya back to reality and the celery cuts become more even and certain. “It doesn’t matter to me because I am the one making sure people move the way I want them to. It’s easier to just move them myself than to trust them to move the right way on their own.”
It’s both an admittance of how much he trusts Chuuya and a statement of truth. Luckily, Chuuya is able to read through both. They exist in silence for a few moments as Chuuya puts herbs into a pot of stock. In a separate pot, he puts in cooked noodles, chicken and the previous ingredients. “You were shaking.”
The statement catches him off guard. “And?”
“Your skin was red and irritated after the shower.”
“And how, dear Chibi, does this relate to any of this.”
A frustrated noise comes from his partner and the older boy whirls around facing Dazai with exasperation in his body and melancholy in his eyes. “Because we are sixteen-”
“We’re almost seventeen and,” Dazai interrupts flippantly. “Technically thats the age of consent here in Japan.”
“And,” the boy continues, glaring at Dazai for his interruption and moves on. “You are clearly uncomfortable with the action of trading-
“So Chibi has picked up on my penchant for trades.”
Chuuya slaps a hand over Dazai’s mouth. “trading your body for something as measly as information we both know damn well you could have got from other less invasive means.”
“Well,” Dazai states. It’s muffled but he knows Chuuya can hear him. “Sex is rather intimate.”
“For fucks sake Dazai, you can barely be anywhere without your bandages without having some sort of crisis. That’s proof enough how you feel about people seeing you much less fucking undressing and fucking you.”
Chuuya’s face is red after his outburst and the sound of simmering soup plays on in the background of his heaving breaths. Chuuya’s not wrong. After so long with the bandages and after everything Mori tattooed into his skin with a blade instead of a needle or fists like his parents, he despised taking his bandages off around people. The older boy finally drops his hand, wet with Dazai’s saliva and wipes it on the perpetrator’s arm before washing his hands. “It doesn’t really matter though,” Dazai says to Chuuya’s back and before the older boy can whirl around with another speech on his tongue, Dazai presses his socked foot to his back, keeping him turned away as he continues to talk. “It can’t.”
Dazai watches Chuuya’s shoulders drop heavy with both realisation and grief. “You know,” Chuuya starts in a low voice, moving to stir the soup on the stove but still keeping Dazai facing his back. “I found out what Kouyou’s girls did not long after I joined the mafia and I asked her if I would ever have to do that and if I’d have to learn.”
Dazai’s hands clench into a fist. After the gravity manipulators struggle with his humanity, he didn’t need to go through a crisis of being a tool for information after finally reaching a conclusion. Rage rising within him as he asks in a dark tone, “she didn’t make-”
The shake of the gravity manipulators head makes the anger recede with as much speed as it had came, like a wave crashing on the shore before receding. “No, of course not. She said that I would never have to do that if I didn’t want to. However, if I just wanted to learn, she would teach me without any expectation that I would use it unless it was purely on my terms. She said she would teach me how to do it in an effectively, invasive and less-invasive. She would never force me to even if I was the best at it.”
“What a saint,” Dazai says dryly.
A sigh escapes Chuuya again before the shorter man finally turns around, seemingly having enough of Dazai’s wish to be left unseen. “What I’m getting to, you bastard, is that I don’t want you to do something that makes you clearly uncomfortable.” Chuuya raises a hand at Dazai when he sees the younger of the two open his mouth. “We’ll get to that, but first I want to say this.”
Dazai concedes with an annoyed scowl.
“Don’t feel like you need to or should sell sex for knowledge if we are partnered together. I have zero expectation when it comes to it. If you want to do it, then do it, I won’t stop you, but if some part of you, no matter how small, doesn’t, then don’t.” Chuuya grins a little. “Take it as a challenge, if you must you scheming, dead-eyed fish, but knowing you and knowing me, we’ll survive our missions without you needing to fuck someone or get fucked.”
Having said his piece and not hearing a complaint or refusal from Dazai, Chuuya turns back to his soup. They exist in silence as the smell of Chuuya’s soup slowly spreads through the apartment as it gets closer to being ready. A couple dozen of minutes that could have been hours later, Chuuya plates up the soup and hands some to Dazai who’s still perched atop the kitchen island. Leaning against the opposing counter and facing Dazai, the duo eat the chicken noodle soup. Its only halfway through their seconds that Dazai finally speaks up. “It wasn’t allowed to matter.”
“I’m sorry,” Chuuya says quietly, sincerity bleeding from his voice as much as Dazai wishes he was in the moment. Bleeding out dry on the floor high on painkillers so he wouldn’t feel it, only the buzzing of his brain slowly turning off as he loses awareness of the world and gets closer to shaking hands with death.
“It couldn’t because it shouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry!” The snap is uncharacteristic of him, full of vitriol and hatred, and it is quelled as quickly as it rose. Sniped at the bud to never grow again. “People are tools to me, so why can’t I see my own damn body as one the way I’m supposed to.”
“…”
“I didn’t want it to be that way.” A pause. “My body is simply an object to be utilised to it’s fullest. I am to be utilised to my fullest potential, it doesn’t matter how I may feel about the situation because it never will. I know this.”
He looks up at Chuuya, the bowls they both held are cold and all but forgotten.
“I just want it to be easy.” It’s a statement though it comes out like a plea, his voice cracking in a mix of desperation and mania. “Why does the hurt make it so hard to just be the way I’m supposed to.”
“I’m sorry.”
Chuuya was everything he knew he wasn’t. His passion behind every action and the heart that never lost its faith and love despite the conditions it was forced to grow in. Dazai wanted it. He wanted to trade his everything for Chuuya. The boy who couldn’t be just a god because he was so small. The boy who couldn’t be strings of code because he was Dazai’s perfect antonym and in being code, it would mean that Dazai was as much inhuman as he was and despite that being what Dazai was supposed to be, he knew he wasn’t. He would trade his everything, scars to the public, sex to whomever, autonomy to Chuuya and so much more to keep the older boy and the way he understood Dazai.
He hated it; to yearn for something, to be understood as well as he understood the other.
How vile.
How repulsively human.
Thankfully, due to their differing positions in the mafia, casual run ins at work were rather rare. Of course, Dazai would stop by the older boys office to annoy him into doing his paperwork for him, but it drove a wedge between them. It was both a welcome one and an infuriating one and something they both dealt with as much grace as two teenagers could. Nonetheless, Dazai spent a vast majority of his time with Mori or supervising attack and intelligence squads and therefore was swimming in the darkest parts of the mafia. Perhaps that’s why meeting Oda Sakunosuke felt like the first day at the shop. Similarly, Dazai had been injured and on the verge of meeting death. Similarly, he had been shown mercy when he was vulnerable. Similarly, Dazai felt no desire to leave. Oda was a kind man with a deceptively intimidating ability and morals that juxtaposed his occupation. At first, he was intriguing in his mundaneness considering the lives they live, however, as time passed, Dazai’s perception of Oda shifted. In those few days he stayed with the man and the times after them, Oda became Odasaku, a friend. He became someone Dazai cared for and one Odasaku cared for back.
At first glance, Odasaku may not seem so different to the shop owner, but the thing is, as much as the shop owner did much what he did for Dazai out of pity and self imposed fatherly duty, there was still a trade. Odasaku, from what Dazai could tell, had done it out of kindness. The same kindness that urged him to save the orphans and instead of insisting something from him in subtle or obvious ways, the man offered something else instead. He offered companionship. He just gave of himself expecting nothing in return.
As Dazai spent more time with Odasaku and then Ango, the more he saw how the ex-assassin saw past the little things he said and the dramatic actions he took. Odasaku saw past the sinew that kept all his masks and deviant tendencies together and instead of shooting the thing he saw, the thing that traded anything of itself for something, the beaten hissing spitting vile abomination of a thing, the man just nodded in understanding.
Odasaku saw a boy who had grown weary of the world due to his first trades and the sheer solitude it left Dazai in. He saw how that solitude leaked through his pores and filled his insides and decided to offer comfort in the only way he could: by being beside Dazai as a friend.
Perhaps it’s why Dazai told Odasaku and Ango about the trades.
The night they met in Lupin was like many others, whiskey tinged the serene air as the three of them sat at the bar. Odasaku, surprisingly started the conversation. “How’s the negotiation with the other port going? Has it improved from what you last told us?”
Ango, in a rare image of pure annoyance, groans before answering. “It’s been troublesome. We’ve barely made any progress due to the ridiculous demands they insist on making.”
“I saw a report on the last round of talks,” Dazai says to Odasaku conspiratorially. “Apparently, they’re asking for fifty percent profit and ownership of the land and its employees-“
“It’s on Port Mafia territory!” The exclamation makes Dazai laugh at Ango and Odasaku wince.
“And they even have the audacity to insist on being the curriers,” Dazai finishes despite Ango’s outburst.
Odasaku nods, sipping his whiskey. “Seems like an ordeal.”
Ango and Dazai’s affronted expression at the reply makes the man wince. “It’s absurd, that’s what is it,” Ango laments, a hand coming up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose and pushing up his glasses as a result.
“As frustrating as it is, it makes sense,” Dazai says, staring at the ball of ice he pokes.
“How so? Boss has me on negotiations and while he told me it was ok if there wasn’t a change, it’s not a fair trade, much less even,” Ango asks the executive, hoping to pick the mind that is near parallel to their boss. Odasaku also looks interested.
Dazai sighs. “When you start a deal, it is optimal that you don’t take a huge loss while gaining what you wish-“
“Like giving them Port mafia territory for practical pennies,” Ango grumbles.
“It is optimal to avoid those situations, yes, but from what I know about the deal, its not truly a deal, more of an investment with a bit of a gamble. We are expecting a heavy payout in our favour.”
Ango glares at Dazai from over his drink. “How is it that you always get more information from the situation than I do when I’m the one actually involved and not just being nosey.”
“He’s observant,” Odasaku states matter-of-factly, making Dazai laugh.
“Indeed, Ango, it’s called being observant.” The young executive says slyly while poking Ango’s side.
“Just answer the question.”
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Dazai takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “Anyway, in this case, an advance payment, though heavy, is needed so that the Mafia can reap the benefits. The the word investment, though it doesn’t really matter all that much.” Dazai then lowers his voice conspiratorially before continuing. “If what I know about the organisation is right, we will end up owning the entire company, thus expanding our reach to the neighbouring cities and even a few places in China, Taiwan and even Singapore.”
Ango gapes at him. “Did the boss tell you that?”
Before Dazai can answer, Odasaku does. “Probably not. They just operate similarly when it comes to strategy.” The older man raises an eyebrow at Ango. “Isn’t that why you asked for his input?”
“Oh? What’s this I hear? Did Ango want me to impart my invaluable wisdom upon him this entire time?”
The groan the bespectacled man makes the other two laugh. “That still doesn’t explain the fact that since this is a public deal, we will take a huge hit not only financially, but the mafia’s reputation too.”
“The mafia is prideful,” Odasaku muses as Dazai scrunches his nose.
“Think about it this way, Ango, the hit the mafia takes reputation wise will be made up tenfold by the repossession of the company. If we play our cards right, our reputation won’t even be wounded for that long. The trade you mentioned before is even, in the end. We repay their rather disastrous blow blow to our rep and financials by destroying them in a methodical way where we own them in the end.”
“Still doesn’t seem right or remotely fair in the beginning,” Ango grumbles but defers to Dazai’s plots.
“What if it doesn’t come out that way?” Odasaku’s question makes Dazai pause.
“Well, I doubt it, but say it doesn’t go that way, then we simply lose,” he states with a shrug.
Ango and Odasaku look surprised at his response, especially at his calm cadence at admitting defeat.
“It’s a gamble, most business is, but just like extracting information, sometimes you have to go through longer routs because the first try resulted in death or dissatisfaction. Not everyone cracks under pleasure and pain, but that doesn’t mean another person won’t.”
The two older adults didn’t know what to think about that statement, but ultimately let the topic lie after that. They departed from the bar an hour later, a generous tip on the counter for a bartender who knew how to keep in mouth shut. Ultimately, the deal ended up the way Dazai had initially predicted. To Ango, it felt like watching a script being played out in front of his eyes. Chills had shot through his body once he realised that. Because no one was actually handed a script. It was a mix of predicting human behaviour and feeding the right information to the right people that make them act according to Dazai’s, and ultimately the boss’s instructions. Ignorant puppets that think they act on instinct when in reality the strings that conduct their movement know how to keep them in that foolish belief so as to keep the show going.
It was masterful, and horrifying. Ango realised he never wanted to ever make a true enemy of Dazai or Mori, lest he end up thinking he’s dying a martyr’s death when in actuality he is dying a fools.
When Oda died, Ango, in a moment of weakness, was glad he was far away when it happened. That he didn’t have to face Dazai’s wrath while the boy, because he really was a boy, held the cooling body of the only man who offered understanding and kindness in the face of knowing what lie beneath the boys masks. They were all puppets, in the end, to Mori’s scheme. In a moment of bitterness, Ango couldn’t help but wonder if the executive knew the play they were all participants in. He got the answer, even if he deep down already knew it when Dazai negotiated with Taneda.
After Odasaku died, Dazai knew hatred. It boiled his blood, fed by Odasaku’s as it soaked his clothing and for the second time in his life, he saw a new side of death. It was kind, and it was fair, and now, it was also cold. It wasn’t the embrace of a mother. It was a force of nature, warm only in perception and not truth. It was the embrace of space. Cold, asphyxiating and unfathomable. Dazai positively yearned for it, but Odasaku had a wish for him. A life he couldn’t have so he offered it to him in kindness. So instead of killing Mori in revenge, he walked away. He didn’t think. He didn’t want to. He just walked out of the building and found a new life for himself. He knew Mori and could hear his voice following his every step.
“Just because a trade is even,” the man would say. “Doesn’t mean that it is fair.”
“A life for a permit,” Dazai would say in response.
“Indeed.” The boss would grin.
“A permit for a right hand.” He would win. He knew how much Mori valued him. How much he saw himself in Dazai and how he moulded him to be the same type of thinker he is. He blew up Chuuya’s car, the red head may not know for certain it was him, but Mori would know the implications of it: Chuuya wasn’t involved. It would also signify another meaning: no more corruption. Mori needed Chuuya alive, Dazai knew that, especially with his defection.
Which is where he inevitably found himself so late that is would be called morning while lying on a futon in a motel with cockroaches and mould in its corners, thoughts blinded by Chuuya and what his partner, no, ex-partner would think of his defection.
He didn’t allow himself to think about that often. If there was an upside to this defecting thing, it was no longer hearing the constant yapping of a small dog. Even if he did sometimes miss the body’s warmth and courage, it was between Dazai and his futon of the night.