Surprise Night Visit

Tangles Of Trust

Chuuya sat across from Dazai at his polished wooden dining table, the only sound between them the occasional clink of glass as they both nursed their drinks. The air in the penthouse was thick with unspoken words, a tension that neither seemed eager to dissolve. The night had stretched on quietly, the two of them sitting in a strange kind of truce. Dazai had stopped talking—at least for now—and Chuuya, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, wasn't in the mood to kick him out just yet.

The only noise in the room now was the rhythmic drip of water from Dazai's hair, steadily falling into the little puddle he'd created on the floor. Chuuya shot him a glance, watching the droplets fall as if they were more interesting than the man himself.

"So," Chuuya started, the word almost tentative. "You really just gonna sit there all night?"

Dazai, as usual, didn't move a muscle. His gaze remained soft, distant, as if Chuuya wasn't even there. The only indication that he'd heard Chuuya was the slight raise of his eyebrows, almost imperceptible, before his lips tugged up at the corners.

"I'm just letting you enjoy your company," Dazai replied casually, though the hint of something darker flickered behind his eyes, like a shadow just out of reach. "You don't get a lot of visitors, do you?"

Chuuya snorted, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "I'm not a damn recluse," he muttered, though it was a half-hearted defense. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the half-empty glass in front of him. "Besides, I don't see you exactly crowding the place with guests."

Dazai's smile stretched just a little wider, but his eyes remained unreadable. "I'm not here to entertain you, Chuuya. I never said I was any good at it."

The silence that followed was comfortable in its own way. There was no bitterness, no malice—just the low hum of the city outside Chuuya's penthouse windows. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets below glistening in the light of the streetlamps. For once, it was just them, and the absence of the usual noise that always seemed to hang between them made Chuuya realize how strange this moment was.

Too quiet.

"Look, I don't know why you came here," Chuuya said, rubbing his temples as though to shake off the unsettling feeling. "But you might as well say something before I get bored and kick you out."

Dazai didn't respond immediately. He simply swirled the sake in his glass, the liquid catching the dim light. His movements were slow, deliberate—like he was in no rush to say anything, but was choosing his words carefully.

"I came because I needed somewhere to be," Dazai finally admitted, his voice almost too soft. "I've been... running for too long. From people, from things, from myself. Just wanted to rest for a while."

Chuuya blinked, caught off guard by the admission. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Dazai, who never let anyone get close enough to see the cracks in his armor, was letting a sliver of truth slip out. And it made Chuuya uncomfortable, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He was no therapist, and he didn't have the time or the patience to indulge in some emotional breakthrough session.

But, somehow, he couldn't push it away. Not tonight.

"You're telling me you came here to rest?" Chuuya raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "At my place? Why not go to your fancy shipping container? I'm sure it's more comfortable."

Dazai's smile faded, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered behind his eyes. A flash of weariness, of something darker, like he wasn't just physically exhausted. Chuuya caught it, and for a moment, he felt a pang of something like sympathy.

"I don't really fit there anymore," Dazai said, his voice quieter now, almost drowned by the silence in the room. "The container's not a home, Chuuya. It's just a place to hide. And I don't want to hide anymore."

Chuuya stared at him for a long moment, trying to process the words. What the hell was he even talking about?

"Are you telling me you're actually serious right now?" Chuuya's tone was sharp, but there was an edge of confusion in it. Dazai's words didn't make sense. The Dazai he knew wouldn't sit here and get sentimental about his place of living or his so-called "escape." This was the guy who treated everything like a joke, who twisted every serious situation into a punchline.

Dazai met his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages, and for once, there was no humor in his eyes. Only raw honesty—a glimpse of the man beneath the layers of sarcasm.

"I don't want to run anymore," Dazai repeated, quieter this time. "I'm tired, Chuuya. Of everything. Of the Mafia. Of Mori. Of the people I've hurt. Of... everything."

There was something almost fragile in Dazai's voice, something Chuuya hadn't heard before. It unsettled him, made him feel like he was seeing a side of Dazai that was too vulnerable, too exposed for his comfort. Chuuya didn't know what to say, so instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from whatever this conversation was becoming.

"You think I care?" Chuuya grumbled, though it didn't have the usual bite. "I've got my own problems, Dazai. Don't expect me to start holding your hand and singing Kumbaya or whatever."

Dazai chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "I don't need you to hold my hand, Chuuya. I never did. But you've always been there when I needed you... in your own way."

Chuuya looked away, his cheeks burning slightly despite the cool air in the room. He had no idea what to say to that. Dazai had a way of *disarming* him, of speaking truths that made Chuuya feel like he was the one being caught off guard, despite his usual coldness.

The two of them sat in silence for a while after that, each nursing their drink and staring off into their own thoughts. The tension between them had shifted, but it wasn't gone. It hung in the air like an unspoken promise. Chuuya wasn't sure if he wanted to acknowledge it or just ignore it completely.

But then, just as Chuuya thought Dazai might fall asleep at the table (or perhaps just die of boredom), the other man spoke up again, his voice oddly soft.

"I know you don't like me," Dazai said, and Chuuya could almost hear the quiet resignation in his words. "But I trust you. More than anyone. And that's why I came here."

The admission hit Chuuya harder than he expected. His heart seemed to skip a beat, and for a moment, he couldn't quite breathe. He never thought Dazai, of all people, would ever trust him—not in a way that really mattered.

"Don't say stuff like that," Chuuya muttered, pushing the feeling aside. He swirled his glass absentmindedly, avoiding Dazai's gaze. "It makes me think you're not completely messed up in the head."

Dazai's smile returned, but it was different this time. Less sardonic. More... grateful?

"Maybe," Dazai said with a soft chuckle. "But I'm pretty sure I'm beyond help. Just don't kick me out, alright? I'm tired of running."

Chuuya didn't say anything for a long time, but finally, he sighed, setting his glass down on the table.

"Fine," he muttered. "Stay as long as you want. But don't think for a second this means I'm going soft on you."

Dazai's smile widened into something more genuine, and for a fleeting moment, there was no distance between them. No animosity. Just two people who, in their own strange way, had found some semblance of comfort in each other's presence.

"Thanks, Chuuya," Dazai said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll be good for now."And for the first time in a long time, Chuuya wasn't sure if he was just being annoyed or if he was actually starting to understand what it meant to trust someone, too.