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“You want me to do what?” Dazai sputters indignantly, looking up from the paper in his hand. Granted, he has only read the first few lines of the mission brief but that was enough to cause him to go into a state of shock, and that is saying much since he is known for being detached from his feelings and for not having much, if any, emotions at all.
“I didn’t take you for one who couldn’t read,” Kouyou replies evenly with a roll of her eyes. Sighing, she leans back and crosses her arm, stern eyes staring straight at him, raising an eyebrow, challenging him to question her further.
Well, he’s not one to back down from a challenge. He didn’t get to where he is today by yielding to authority, by sticking to the rules. He’s the best assassin in Port Mafia because he thrives during a confrontation, because he embraced fear and turned it into a strength. And because he is a spoiled brat who isn’t afraid to speak his mind.
“Let me get this straight. You want me –,” stops to point to himself, “-- your best assassin, to take out this civilian, who might I add looks like he’s barely out of high school, and you want to send Ryu -,” stopping again to point to the poor boy cowering in the corner, “-- to handle Dostoevsky?”, he asks slowly, enunciating every word, as if speaking to a child, disbelief evidence in his tone.
“Excellent! You finally got it!” Kouyou exclaims excitedly, clapping her hands together like a high school girl, completely unbefitting of her true nature.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, the thorn in their side, always sticking his nose into Port Mafia’s activities, trying to steal their clients, disrupt their missions, hence removing him from the picture would greatly increase work productivity and morale, and not to mention, it would stop their clients from contacting them to complain about a suspicious cold-caller repeatedly calling them to request that they reconsider switching to the Decay of the Angel instead. And for someone like him, it would be a walk in the park. Why would they risk it by putting Ryu on the job? Ryu has only been going on solo missions for less than a year. He, on the other hand, has a spotless track record for the past three years. The Demon Prodigy, they whispered about him behind his back about his ruthlessness and skills.
“No. I won’t do it.”
“It wasn’t a request, Dazai. It’s an order,” her voice low and dangerous, losing the cheekiness it held earlier. He is very familiar with that voice and he knows that despite how instrumental and irreplaceable he is to the organisation, Kouyou is not to be defied. Just like Dazai, she did not get to where she is today, sitting at the very top of the infamous and deadliest assassin organisation in Japan, by being a pushover. She would tear you apart with one flick of her katana before you could even think of running away.
“You can at least tell me why,” he grumbles dejectedly, shooting a withering glare at Ryu before putting on a pout for Kouyou. Ryu shrinks further back, figuratively into his proverbial shell, and literally until he is blending seamlessly into the black walls. Dazai spares another glance at Ryu. Is that why he is always dressed head to toe in black? One of his camouflage tactics?
“If you would just finish reading the mission brief first, I would be more than happy to answer any questions that you may have,” she answers airily with a flick of hand, signalling him to sit down.
Plonking himself down on the chair opposite Kouyou, he starts flipping through the mission brief once more.
Nakahara Chuuya, male, single, twenty-four years old, lives alone, no known family or relatives, recently returned to Japan from France after graduating from University of Bordeaux, works full-time at a cafe nearby, no criminal record. His phone records, his bank account transactions, his Internet browsing history, nothing stood out to Dazai. He was just an ordinary man, nothing to indicate why someone would want him dead or why someone with Dazai’s skills is required to carry out the job. Just as he is going to whine some more, to push Kouyou for an answer, he sees it. A much clearer photograph of the man that he is to kill. Striking red hair as vivid as the sunset, the most dazzling blue eyes that he would gladly drown himself in, and a mischievous smirk that seems to toe the fine line between seductive and arrogance.
Trying his best to keep his expression impassive, he clears his throat, looking up at Kouyou. “So, are you going to tell me? Because I don’t see why I should be the person assigned to this.” His tone, casual and indifferent, but he is pretty sure that Kouyou has seen through him. It was just a split second twitch of his eyes, but nothing escapes the piercing stare of this she-devil. Hell must be missing a demon right now because he is staring straight at one.
The sly grin that she gives him only confirms his suspicion. She asks innocently, “He’s quite a beauty, isn’t he?”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” keeping his tone neutral, because damn it, he doesn’t want to give Kouyou ammunition against him.
“Well, if you must know. I think that this will be a good opportunity for both you and Ryu –," stopping to wave for Ryu to come sit down next to Dazai before she continues, “- as you deserve an easy job after having completed back to back missions for the last two months, and Ryu needs to prove to us that he has what it takes to keep up with his mentor.” She nods at Ryu, and he nods back indicating that he understood her loud and clear.
“So be a good mentor and set a good example, otherwise I will have to consider retraining you,” her tone chiding but her eyes gleaming with mischief, which was a rather scary predicament because Dazai was not sure whether she was being serious or not. Honestly, he doesn't want to find out. Dazai has managed to live this long because he picks his fights, and he knows that this is one that he will not be getting out unscathed if he doesn’t tread lightly.
With a loud sigh, he pushed himself up. “Yes, boss,” he mutters. “I’ll see myself out.”
Just as he reaches the door, hand already poised on the handle, he hears Kouyou pipes up from behind him. “Oh, did I mention that we have allocated two months for you to complete this mission so if you finish the job early, you can rest for the remainder of the time.”
Two months? The longest he has taken to complete a mission was two weeks, and that was one where he was dealing with a fellow assassin. Spinning around on his heels, the look of surprise and confusion on his face causes Kouyou to giggle, again like a high school girl. Dazai wonders if she has regressed in one way or another. “Now, shoo. You have a mission to complete,” she adds cheerfully.
Not waiting for any further invitation, he hurriedly turns the handle and lets himself out, letting the door slam shut after him. He desperately needs something to drink.
“I think she hates me,” whines Dazai, sounding more and more like a petulant child being denied a lollipop, instead of the highly-feared assassin that can use said lollipop as a weapon to gouge out someone’s eye.
“She treats you like a brother. Why must you be so dramatic?” Odasaku replies without sparring him a glance, calmly sipping his whiskey.
“Then tell me why is she making me carry out the world’s most boring job ever?” He wails out, flapping his hand to get Odasaku’s attention. “And why does Ryu get the fun job?”
“She must have her reasons,” came the steady reply, still not looking at Dazai. “And didn’t you say earlier that the target looks, what was the word that you used? Was it ‘interesting’? Or was it ‘captivating’?”
Now he finally turns to look at Dazai, a smirk on his face.
“You are supposed to be my friend,” grumbles Dazai as he now tries to look away, anywhere but at that annoying smirk.
“Who know? There might be more to this. Expect the unexpected, isn’t that what we are always told?” He ruffles Dazai’s hair as he says affectionately, “Think of it as a break, you’re only human, you need to relax once in a while.”
All Dazai could do was sigh for the umpteenth time.
He is confident that he can get the job done in a day but that would mean that he has 59 days of absolutely nothing to do. And he’s beginning to suspect that this might be a trap set by Kouyou. A convoluted game to mess with Dazai and he has to fill in the blanks and solve the puzzle. First, the unusually long timeframe for the mission, and second, Chuuya must be involved in some shady business if someone actually put a hit on him so he must be dangerous in one way or the other. And finally, maybe Kouyou has worked out from his split second slip up that he is actually interested in the redhead and she is now mocking his dismal love life, or lack thereof, as she has always done.
Sipping the caramel macchiato that he ordered from Chuuya, the one that had Chuuya yelling out “What do you mean you want twelve pumps of caramel? Are you fucking mental?”, with a most outraged expression on his face, blue eyes widening in shock, throwing his hands up in frustration, briefly forgetting about the concept of customer service when he heard Dazai’s order, and Dazai had found himself completely mesmerised by energy possessed by the redhead, and now he can’t stop stealing glances at Chuuya.
The way he oozes confidence behind the counter, his deft movements when preparing the drinks. The excitement that shines in his eyes when he chatted animatedly with his coworkers, occasionally throwing his head back in a hearty laugh that sounded melodious to Dazai’s ears. The gentle smile that played on his lips when he conversed with customers, awkwardly tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ears.
“Snap out of it,” Dazai mutters to himself, “He’s your target.”
When Dazai strolls into the cafe the next day, he is secretly pleased to see Chuuya’s eyes narrow in recognition. “You again?”
“And a good afternoon to you too. Is that how you greet all your customers?” Dazai replies with a chuckle.
“Just to those who order their drink with a side of diabetes,” retorts Chuuya with a roll of his eyes.
“Wow. I’m honoured that you remember me after just one visit.”
“Hard not to when your drink of choice gave me nightmares.”
“Think of me much?” Dazai asks with a playful glint in his eyes.
Chuuya glared at him in response.
Huffing out an amused laugh, “Well, can I get a medium caramel macchiato, twelve pumps caramel, extra whipped cream please?”
“You –!”
“Yes?” Tilting his head to one side, Dazai gives Chuuya a big grin.
Groaning in frustration, Chuuya grabs a takeaway cup, scribbling furiously on it, before shoving the card payment reader in front of Dazai, refusing to speak or look at Dazai. Tapping his card on the machine, Dazai hums cheerfully, earning him another annoyed glare from Chuuya. “I'll bring your order to you when it's done. Now get out of my sight,” Chuuya states dryly.
He walks to a table in the corner and settles in. He will stay till closing time today. He needs to observe Chuuya, memorise his routine, and then end this quickly before his mind starts thinking of nonsensical things again. He feels Chuuya walking towards him, looks up to see him gruffly setting his drink down on the table, walking off before Dazai could say anything.
“Dazai,” he calls out after Chuuya before he even realises what he is doing, “My name is Dazai.”
The only response he received was a muffled grunt.
It has been two weeks since his first visit to the cafe, and Chuuya has gradually warmed up to him. The two of them continuously banter back and forth like an old married couple, and when the cafe was quiet, Chuuya sometimes would sit down next to him, keeping him company. And if one would consider the fact that Chuuya is now referring to Dazai as mackerel instead of shitty bastard and not trying to punch Dazai in the face when Dazai calls him chibi, then he would even dare say that Chuuya might have fallen for his charms. Heck, Chuuya has once sneaked him a slice of chocolate cake, telling him that it was a treat for being less insufferable compared to other days.
Dazai is back at his usual spot at the back of the cafe. He picks this table because there’s no blind spot around him, and it gives him the perfect vantage of Chuuya. He has learnt that Chuuya clocks off at 5pm sharp, goes straight home, pours himself a glass of wine before settling down with a book or movie, occasionally plays some first person shooting game that Dazai has never heard of (not like he needs to play shooting games when he can shot a gun in real life anytime he wants), at times writes poetry in a thick leather bound journal, and finally goes to bed at 12am.
And how does he know all that? As any self-respecting assassin would do, he naturally has planted bugs and surveillance cameras, and mind you, plural not singular, in Chuuya’s apartment while he is at work.
On the weekend when Chuuya isn’t working, he goes for a run around the neighbourhood, picks up groceries on his way home, and settles back into the same routine. No friends, and no lovers. That strikes Dazai as very unusual as he can tell from Chuuya’s interaction with his coworkers and customers that he is well-loved by all, he even saw some girl slipping a paper presumably with her mobile number to Chuuya. And the look that the other redhead barista gives Chuuya absolutely screams ‘notice me senpai!’ each time Chuuya so much as spare a glance at him.
Chuuya’s life could be summed up in two words - predictably boring. The more Dazai thought about it, the more he thinks this is some stunt that Kouyou is trying to pull to mock him. But he did nothing to earn her wrath, and she wasn’t someone who would do something so trivial.
“Oi, mackerel! We are about to close.” A loud voice breaking his train of thought.
“So small yet so noisy,” Dazai whines out.
“You lanky bastard. Who are you calling small?”, came the indignant reply, arms crossed in front of his chest.
Finally looking up from the book that he is pretending to read, Dazai finds himself staring up at Chuuya, which admittedly does not happen often, and he thinks that he could get used to this view. Eyes like sapphire, hair like wildfire, and those sensual lips that Dazai has imagined kissing far too many times than he would like to admit.
“Small, loud and hard of hearing. What a pity.”
“Don’t make me throw your ass out.”
“Is violence part of the customer service in this cafe?” Dazai asks innocently. Chuuya lets out a frustrated groan and grabs the broom next to him and proceeds to sweep around, over and on Dazai’s feet.
“Chuuuyaaaaa –,” Dazai pretends to act offended, “- so mean.”
Chuuya continues to ignore his protests, putting the broom aside to clear Dazai’s table, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he seems to be deep in thoughts. So adorable, Dazai thinks.
And before he realises it, “Chibi, want to grab dinner together later?”
Chuuya's head snaps to look at him so quickly that he looks like he is about to give himself whiplash, mouth gaping wide and Dazai could see hints of surprise, confusion and suspicion flickering through his eyes. I could stare into these eyes for the rest of my life, Dazai muses.
He could see a faint blush spreading across Chuuya’s cheek as Chuuya pondered his question, and he could pinpoint the exact moment a lightbulb went on in Chuuya’s head, right before he narrowed his eyes at Dazai.
“Is that a trick question?”
“Are you an idiot?” Dazai sighs in exasperation.
The fire returns to Chuuya’s eyes. “What the fuck?” Chuuya sputters out, “You’re the idiot!”
“Says the person who can’t even give a yes or no answer to such a simple question.”
Glaring at him, Chuuya takes a deep breath before his eyes soften and he scans Dazai’s face for any sign of trickery. Apparently finding none, he swallows his nervousness, “Ok.”
Dazai beams at him, but before he could speak, Chuuya beats him to it. “Before you say anything, I do not trust your choice in food if your drink order is anything to go by so I’m going to decide what we will be eating.”
Dazai blinks once, looking taken aback, as if he did not expect Chuuya to be actually that committed to dinner, then beams even brighter than before.
One dinner date turned into two, two morphed into three, and a month later, Dazai was seeing Chuuya every day. And by seeing, it was definitely not an exaggeration. He excitedly sees Chuuya for dinner dates at the seafood restaurant near the pier, feasting on his favourite crab cakes because Chuuya always gave in to his whims. He reluctantly sees Chuuya off to work in the morning, peppering Chuuya’s neck with kisses until Chuuya pushes him off, complaining that he will be late for work. He apprehensively sees to it that Chuuya has fallen asleep before daring to whisper ‘good night, love’, tightening his embrace around Chuuya’s waist.
It stirs something deep within Dazai’s heart. The domestic bliss that has taken over his life, replacing the one littered with death and violence, where he detaches himself from society, limiting himself to a handful of carefully chosen friends, coming home every night to a silent apartment. Just like four seasons all rolled into one, Chuuya has shown him the scorching passion of summer, the ethereal melancholy of autumn, the lethal beauty of winter, and the blossoming hope of spring. Now that he has a taste of happiness, and has found someone to share that happiness with, he’s not so sure that he wants to let this go.
His time, or more specifically, Chuuya’s time is almost up. Dazai needs to make a move now or Kouyou would have his head on a plate if he fails a mission. Not to mention, his reputation is on the line. Fuck, what should I do? Calling Odasaku won’t be of much help, he would just tell Dazai to be a good person, and therein lies the problem. He is an assassin, and being a good person means to finish the job and not leave it for others to clean up his mess.
Burying his face into his hand, he lets out a deep sigh. Why did I have to fall in –. He mentally steps on the brakes before his mind could veer further of course. He wasn’t going to say the word out loud, and he was sure as hell not going to think of that right now. How could he, the emotionless and ruthless Demon Prodigy, ever comprehend what love is? He has always estranged himself from his emotions, only daring to open up just a little bit to Odasaku, so how could he even know what love is supposed to feel like?
He moves quickly to grab his coat hanging by the front door, hurrying to leave the house, in a paltry attempt to escape from the conflicting thoughts clogging his mind.
His legs move on auto-pilot, steering him towards the direction of Chuuya’s apartment. His hand acts on instinct, knocking on Chuuya’s door. His heart propels him forward, pushing Chuuya against the wall, clumsily crashing their lips together. Chuuya deepens the kiss hungrily, pressing into him with fervent urgency, letting out a deep throaty moan that causes Dazai’s brain to momentarily short circuit. The persistently annoying little voice at the back of his head drags him roughly back to reality, and he pulls away from Chuuya.
Chuuya looks up at him with concerned eyes, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and Dazai could only whisper out the first thing that came to his mind, “Hi –.”
“Did you just come all the way here to say hi?” Chuuya asks teasingly, both hands moving up to cup his cheeks.
“If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“I –,” Dazai falters, but Chuuya just looks at him patiently, hands still lingering on his cheeks.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, “I don’t know who you angered or what you did, but someone wants you dead. And I was given the task to kill you. Because I am an assassin, and I have been lying to you the whole time. Wait, I didn’t mean that. I have not told you the truth, but I am not lying when I am with you. Does that make sense?”
Words were tumbling out and Dazai was not even sure what he was saying, what he was trying to convey. And this feeling feels so foreign, so jarring, so unlike him. He doesn't dare look at Chuuya, staring straight ahead instead.
Chuuya gently tilts his head down, until he was staring into Chuuya’s eyes, blue and calm as a sky on a clear day. And spoken just as calmly, he hears the words leave Chuuya’s mouth. “So why don’t you try to kill me? Right here, right now.” Chuuya looks at him expectantly, a cocky grin on his face.
Did I hear that correctly?
“You heard me,” Chuuya continues smugly, completely disregarding the shocked look on his face. “If you’re not going to make a move, then how about I do?”
And in a blink of the eye, Dazai feels a cold blade against his throat. Impassive eyes stare back at him. Dazai’s survival instinct kicks in and he brings his right leg up, connecting with Chuuya’s gut. Chuuya flinches in pain and he takes that split second to slide away.
That seems to light a flame in Chuuya’s eyes, now burning with manic excitement. An excitement that was just as contagious as it was dangerous, coursing through Dazai’s veins like electricity, breathing life into him.
Dazai feels a blade whizzing past his cheek as he rushes forward, but Chuuya anticipated his every move, his every intention. And the minute that he felt Chuuya grab his collar, he knew that this was over. He feels his back hit the ground, and Chuuya is on top of him, knees on both sides, straddling him, pinning him to the ground. Breathless, he stares up at Chuuya, a heady mix of exhilaration and raw lust enveloping them.
“Dazai Osamu, also known as the Demon Prodigy, twenty-four years old, the best assassin from Port Mafia with 138 kills, no known family, can be found at Bar Lupin on most nights, loves whiskey and bandages, I could go on but I think I have covered the basics.” Chuuya does not break eye contact throughout, a smug smirk curling on his lips as he finishes speaking.
“Who are you?” Dazai asks just as calmly, eyes narrowed.
Leaning down slowly, Chuuya purrs next to Dazai’s ears, “I’ll reward honesty with honesty.” He moves back up to stare at Dazai as he speaks again, “I know for a fact that you're privy to Port Mafia's history and background, and you're aware of the gossip floating around that the current head took over Port Mafia because the rightful heir to the Kashimura clan, her elusive younger brother, gave up the throne. Well, guess what? My name is originally Kashimura Chuuya." He pauses, licking his lips, as if savouring the moment, watching Dazai absorb the information thrown at him. "So tell me, Dazai, what are you going to do now?”
The cogs start turning in Dazai’s head. “I see,” he says, half to himself, half in response to Chuuya’s challenge. And in a flash, Dazai flips Chuuya over, their positions now switched. “Then should I call you boss?” He grins wickedly, like a predator going in for the kill.
Chuuya blinks, and Dazai knows that his answer was more than satisfactory. Thus he wasn’t surprised when he felt Chuuya’s lips greedily pressing on his, Chuuya’s hand roaming all over his arms, his body, his hips with unrestrained urgency and brutal familiarity. And in this very moment, Dazai understands what it means to find someone that he would kill for, someone that he would live for, someone that he would die for. One hand moves to rip apart the clothing separating them, he murmurs in between kisses, “At your service, boss. Always.”
“So I see that you’re looking more radiant than usual.”
Looking up from the book that he is reading, Chuuya grins when he sees her. “Ane-san, it’s good to see you too.” Kouyou’s grin matches his as she gracefully sits down opposite him.
As he pours a cup of tea for Kouyuu, “I’m indebted to you as always.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Are you referring to when I took over Port Mafia in your stead so that you could pursue your love for poetry in France, completely disregarding the fact that our father intended for you to take over the family business, or do you mean when I –,” raising a brow as she lets the sentence hang in the air.
“Both!” Chuuya replies quickly, with a roll of his eyes, trying to look annoyed but treacherously betrayed by the mirth and coyness seeping into his tone as he adds as an afterthought “- but mostly about Dazai.”
Taking a sip of her tea, she glances up at him with a twinkle in her eyes before continuing, “I just want to hear you say it. It’s not every day that my baby brother asks for my help to set him up on a date."
"I asked to meet him, you arranged for a hit on me.”
"Yet you agree," she chuckles, mischief gleaming in her eyes.
"You insisted on testing his loyalty, as you so succinctly put it,” laments Chuuya exasperatedly, crossing his arms across his chest. “What if he succeeded in killing me?”
Kouyou looks thoroughly amused at his rhetorical question. “Are you doubting your own skills? And now that we know that his loyalty lies with you, we can safely assume that this extends to the organisation as well.”
He responds with a pout, earning him an affectionate laugh from Kouyou.
“And whenever we tried to set you up with someone, weren’t you always complaining about how boring the date was, and how everyone was so useless? And you wanted, and I quote, to spend a kickass day with a hot guy that is filled with violence and sex? It still never fails to amaze me how those words came out from the mouth of a literature graduate.”
“Then stop using my own words against me,” grumbles Chuuya. But he does not deny it, because not only was that true, Dazai makes him feel so alive. Dazai awakens the primal urges in him whenever they spar, yet makes him shiver each time Dazai presses feathery-light kisses on his nape. Dazai makes him feel like a king when he gives Chuuya a shoulder massage after a long day at work, yet makes Chuuya begs hysterically, eagerly, taking him apart with every touch, leaving Chuuya completely at his mercy. Dazai looks at Chuuya like he is the best thing that has ever happened to him, eyes brimming with pure adoration and devotion, yet there is dark possessiveness behind Dazai’s eyes when he moves to stares down at Chuuya, after leaving marks all over his body.
For someone like Chuuya, born and raised in a family of assassins, blessed with looks, grace and intellect, having men and women alike either cowering in fear at the sight of him or shamelessly throwing themselves at him, life has become rather bland. He could have anything, anyone that he desires without having to lift a single finger. So when he first laid eyes on the candid picture that Kouyou had shown him of her, Odasaku and Dazai drinking at a bar - Dazai with his messy brown hair, cold calculating amber eyes, a provocative smirk on his lips, defiance painted all over his face, it was just as if Dazai was taunting him to make the first move.
So Chuuya aims and he shoots, and he gets what he wants.