Soukoku One-Shots

Stitch Together My Bleeding Heart (It Only Bled for You)

For the most part, Chuuya liked being a part of the Mafia.

He liked getting to work in a large building with lots of windows. He liked getting to order people around. He liked the adrenaline rush of a powerful opponent he knew he could crush with his bare hands. He really liked the paychecks.

What Chuuya did not like, however, was having to shop for groceries at three o'clock in the morning.

Technically speaking, it's not like being in broad daylight would kill him. But he only shopped at one specific grocery store (since he obviously couldn't get delivery to his apartment), and the neighborhood was crawling with enforcement. He could crush them all to a pulp, but that would cause a scene and Chuuya wasn't keen on killing innocent people, despite what people might assume.

All this to say, he had a perfectly valid reason for being out and about at such an hour. The same couldn't be said for everyone.

Chuuya was looking at the prices of some of the seafood when he heard someone humming nearby. Who else would be shopping for their groceries at three in the morning? Chuuya thought, which was perfectly reasonable, so he turned to see who it was.

As fate would have it, the person was Dazai fucking Osamu.

Chuuya turned around immediately. He didn't have the energy to deal with this—maybe Dazai would just walk the other way and he could avoid the headache? It had been a long day and the universe owed it to him, right?

That was foolish thinking, though, because the universe was a bitch and they both knew it.

"Slug?"

Chuuya huffed a deep sigh, pushed a loose curl or two out of his face, and turned around. "Mackerel."

Dazai looked genuinely surprised—an expression he didn't wear often. "I didn't expect to see you here," he said, running his eyes up and down Chuuya's frame. It had been a while since Dazai had seen him in anything but his work clothes, Chuuya quickly realized. The same could be said for the both of them, though. Like Chuuya, Dazai was wearing a pair of plain sweatpants and a plain shirt, but his was long-sleeved and slightly baggier than Chuuya's ripped band tee.

"Well, if I'd known you'd be here, I would've stayed in bed," Chuuya huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dazai chuckled. "Such a foul mouth. Lacking your beauty rest lately?"

"You've got no room to talk. You're out here at three in the morning shopping for canned crab," Chuuya shot back, gesturing to the basket Dazai was carrying.

He shrugged. "I could say the same thing."

"You're not a wanted criminal."

Dazai's smile was sharp. "Of course not."

They both paused for a moment after that, analyzing each other. Dazai looked thin as ever, bandages just barely exposed by the droopy neckline of his shirt. There were purple bruises under his eyes—not the most severe Chuuya had ever seen them, but considerable. He still had the same porcelain skin, the same dark curls, the same mocking smile.

Dazai really was beautiful. Chuuya wondered if he'd ever told him that.

After the fall of the Decay of Angels, the Agency and Port Mafia cut all contact. What use was an alliance without anyone to ally against? Dazai and Chuuya fell back on opposite sides of the city just like they were supposed to, and Chuuya was mostly sure this was the first time they'd spoken more than a few words to each other in... half a year? Probably more.