Molly's Fics Cause she Refuses to Read Them on Ao3

The words that won't be left unspoken.

Tw/Tags: Armed Detective Agency Member Nakahara Chuuya, Port Mafia Dazai Osamu, Post-Corruption Ability Use, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Conflicted Feelings, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, ADA Chuuya x Mafia Dazai verse, Falling in Love
---

"I got you, Chuuya."

Looking back, it must have been a weird dream. Chuuya shakes his head again, leaping from the water tank to land smoothly on the concrete roof.

Looking back, there's no way he could have sounded so...

"Tsk! Bastard..."

Chuuya massages his shoulder, pinches a nerve and winces. He's still terribly sore.

A droplet suddenly crashes on his cheek and he wipes it with a gloved finger, frowning at the sky. It's dark and ready to crack open at any moment. Although Chuuya has always loved storms, he isn't particularly keen on getting drenched right now. He'd rather go back three floors down, change into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and bury himself under the covers. Fukuzawa forbade him to go back to the Agency for another two days anyway, despite Yosano's treatment and the fact that the young detective mentioned a solid dozen times he'd go mad if he was to stay home without anything to do after what happened just a little more than a day ago.

His pleas weren't heard and he was sent home.

Chuuya gets the point, he does. He still doesn't really know what happened back there himself, after all. But he doesn't particularly feel at peace and well rested when he's stuck between four walls with nothing else to do than think about the sheer force of destruction that was dormant in him all this time and... still is.

Chuuya curls and uncurls his fist, feeling every joint in his fingers crack, gaze focused on the creases in the leather when his attention is caught by some movement down the street. He leans over the edge of the roof, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black ripped jeans.

A black expensive sedan just stopped in front of the entrance of Chuuya's building, which makes him tense all over. The detective never moved to the dorms after joining the Agency. He kept the apartment he successfully got when he got out of the street and his past criminal life.

It's not a fancy neighborhood at all, quite the contrary, but Chuuya loves it dearly. That car, though, should have nothing to be doing here. It's dark out there but the nearest lamppost cast a yellowish glow over the man in black who gets out of the vehicle and circles it to open a door.

"Oh fuck," Chuuya breathes out, immediately getting away from the edge of the roof.

Too late, somehow...

"Oi, is Chuuya going to hide or are you coming down to greet me?"

Even seven floors apart from him, Dazai's annoying singing voice gets on Chuuya's nerves.

He does not want to deal with him now. He can't. How is that guy even here, to begin with, is beyond Chuuya's understanding.

The last time the detective saw Dazai's face... god, it's a blur.

"I got you, Chuuya."

It was a dream, has to be. Dazai, the Dazai, the mafia executive who's been paired up with him by a sick twist of fate and whose exasperating voice is reaching out to him now can't have been so fond... so caring.

Still, Chuuya cannot let him in the street like that, because he knows the bastard enough by now to know he'll make a fuss if the detective doesn't agree to hear whatever he has to tell him. He just hoped he wouldn't see him so soon... Because the mess induced by Dazai's existence in his head might be the only thing louder in Chuuya's mind than the Arahabaki matter. And that takes a lot of place. Yet, Dazai surpasses it and can torment him enough, and Chuuya can't help it.