Chapter Text
A sigh escaped Chuuya’s mouth as he finally landed in his bed, the tiredness he had worked up throughout the day seeping into the white sheets under him as he sunk into his mattress. His eyes closed, as if automatic, right as his body found itself comfortable.
Less than 5 minutes after returning home, the mafia executive had already fallen asleep.
Finally, after a long week, Chuuya would get to relax.
-Ring-
-Ring-
Chuuya’s eyes opened suddenly at the sound of a phone ringing, his brows furrowing at the ear-aching sound.
He was used to waking up to calls– there was a reason he never put his phone on silent, but he had just gone on a mission the night before. Frankly, he was exhausted and didn’t want to deal with work right now. But, no matter how he felt about it, just as with every call before, he had to answer. Last time he missed a call it was an attack on the main base of the mafia, and his late arrival almost caused the end of the whole building. The aftermath wasn't something he was looking forward to experiencing again.
He groggily reached for the phone, his arm grazing over the mats on the ground. The foreign feeling of the rough and firm texture immediately waking him from his tired stupor.
Why the hell was he not in his bed?
Alarmed, he quickly attempted to sit up, pushing the unfamiliar blankets off him, his body stiffening with the sudden movement as if preparing itself for an attack. Still tense, he began reaching to see if he still had any weapons on him, as if instinct, only to find nothing.
Judging by his lack of weapons, he only had his ability, which caused his alarm to increase. He didn't necessarily need a weapon, he'd be fine without one, but it made things a hell of a lot easier. He didn't know what he'd be up against, or if his ability would even work on it.
However, much to his dismay, before he could activate his ability a pinching ache came crashing through his mind. It felt like the worst headache of his life, no, more like someone had stabbed him repeatedly in the head. Though, even that didn't seem to be harsh enough to describe the pain shooting through Chuuya. Stabbing wasn't that bad in the grand scheme of things. Chuuya could most definitely take a stabbing. This was different.
His body was sluggish and his sight was blurry as it was consumed with pain, something which caused him to double over and clutch his head as his stomach pushed against the cold floor under him. Feeling the stiff mats beneath him, a thought immediately popped into his mind, solidifying his belief of an attack of some kind, and even more so solidifying his belief that he wasn't in his home.
Chuuya's penthouse floor was tiled, so even if he had somehow rolled onto the floor, there was no way it would suddenly be made of tatami mats.
-Ring-
At the 3rd ring of the phone, another spike of pain shot through Chuuya, causing him to grasp his head at the ache. Despite how badly he wanted to figure out what was happening, his vision was blurry with thoughts so muffled he couldn’t see 3 feet in front of him, much less focus on finding out where he was.
Chuuya has had migraines before, aggressive ones too, but that wasn’t what this was. Hell, even the pain after corruption paled in comparison to the mind-numbing sensation that was spreading through his body.
It felt as if something was trying to fight against him in his own body, like every organ was trying to escape its container, shaking and clattering with every movement he made. The pain was so debilitating he didn’t even notice the vomit rising out of his mouth and landing on the once-clean mats beside him.
Chuuya could hardly feel his limbs move through the pain. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if they couldn't move at all, it’s not as if he could tell. Everything felt so heavy that the very thought of moving was exhausting, much less attempting to just to figure out if he was even able to. The cutting daggers of pain rattled up his limbs whenever the littlest particle touched him, if anyone were to fight him right now he’d probably faint instantly.
At the thought of being taken down, he continued attempting to move despite his pain and stupor. No way he’d die in such a lame way, not after all he’s been through. So just as he had always done before, he pushed and pushed through it– hoping that he would either get used to it or it would go away.
-Ring-
As a ring echoed through the room for a third time, it was like a switch was flipped in Chuuya. The pain that had brought him to curl up on the floor miserably had disappeared. His limbs, which were so cramped that he couldn’t move them properly, now didn’t show a hint of soreness. Actually, if it weren’t for the vomit on the floor and sweat dripping down the sides of his face, he would’ve thought it was all some sort of hallucination.
Not even a second after he realized it had stopped, his body started to adjust, as if realizing he wasn’t in pain anymore. His vision focused and his throat swallowed down what was left of the bile in his mouth. The disgusting sour taste worsening his already damper mood. His mind, although still a bit fuzzy from the pure bewilderment of his morning, was suddenly just as clear as it had been the night before– the night, in which, he had fallen asleep in his bed. Not the floor of wherever he was.
Right. Where the actual fuck was he. Chuuya began getting up, trying to ignore the shock of the immense pain he was in barely a minute ago. If anything, finding out where he was would be the best bet to finding out whatever the fuck that was. Plus, maybe his unknown location caused it somehow. He couldn’t rule out anything yet, and if he continued staying in this place, he had no idea if he’d have to go through that whole fiasco again.
Standing up and stretching after what felt like years, Chuuya looked around the room. He knew he’d never been here before, but for whatever reason a strange sense of familiarity stayed in the back of his mind. Has he really been here before and just forgot about it? He still remembers random times from when he was in the sheep, and that was over 7 years ago by this point. It’s not as if the building didn’t stand out to Chuuya either, it really wasn’t something he saw everyday. After all, it looked ancient in comparison to what he was used to. Maybe if he had seen it when he was younger it would’ve been different to him, at that time anything would’ve been a luxury. Though, judging by the newer mats on the floor it couldn’t be as old as he imagined.
From what he could see, the floors were made up of tatami mats in a beige tone, the corners built up with brown plank outlines, contrasting against the musty-looking stone color of the walls. A large window was centered on the wall furthest from Chuuya, creating the only light source in the small area.
Right as he saw the window, he hesitantly walked up to it. If he really was somehow kidnapped, there’s no way the kidnapper would leave such an easy-to-access window. As he went up to the window and opened it, he started thinking a bit more.
The only time he could have been taken was while he was asleep, and because he’s such a light sleeper there's no way he wouldn’t have noticed something moving him. On top of that, if he truly was kidnapped, which is the only reasonable explanation he can come up with, then why is he free to move? No sane kidnapper would leave a mafia executive to his own antics, not tied up or without any other form of restraints. Much less in a room with such thin walls– he could probably punch through them with his bare hands alone.
The only thing Chuuya could think of that could have been an attack was the serious pain he was in earlier, and that went away just as quickly as it came. And it didn’t seem to be an outside attack, judging by how it felt like his organs were fighting against his body, a feeling he knows all too well because of his ability. He wouldn’t have mistook it for something else. It’s not like it could be an ability either, unless it was something similar to Q’s hallucinations. It couldn’t be a physically dependent ability, seeing as he didn’t have any soreness after. Even then, that type of ability Q has is so rare the chances of that being the case is basically zero. Maybe it was some kind of poison? No, it couldn’t be that— it would have also left evidence.
Despite the sudden change in scenery and the intense pain he had just gone through, Chuuya was already thinking through several possibilities. It may not be his most advertised strength, but Chuuya was extremely adaptable. A skill he had achieved during his time in the slums, and something that he would never admit improved from Dazai’s impromptu and unpredictable bullshit during their teenage years.
Speaking of Dazai, maybe this was another of his cheap tricks. Knowing him, he’d be able to move Chuuya without waking him up one way or another if he was set on it. Plus, Dazai knew every torture method out there, no doubt he knew how to inflict as much pain as possible in someone without leaving so much as mark.
Yet, Chuuya couldn’t help but doubt that was the case for his current circumstances. As much as Dazai likes mentally torturing him with his stupidity, Chuuya doubts that he would resort to doing anything sneakily– not to mention putting him through that much pain. And, if he did, he’d stand in front of Chuuya and brag about it. Seriously, what the fuck was going on?
-Ring-
Another ring echoed through the small room. Chuuya recognized the sound by now, having heard it four separate times. He looked for the source of the sound, hoping for some explanation. If he didn't figure out what was going on and fast, he would leave and go back to his penthouse.
Finding the source of the sound wasn’t difficult, it belonged to a phone lying face down on the floor next to where he had awoken. Looking at it, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t his phone. The model was a few years older than Chuuya’s own, not to mention the home screen, a picture of a bridge he’d never seen before. It vibrated aggressively in his hand, as if telling Chuuya to pay attention to it. How annoying.
Flipping it over, he saw the caller ID, a certain ‘Kunikida Doppo’. Although Chuuya didn’t know the man too well, he knew that he was in the Armed Detective Agency for one. And, from what Chuuya had heard and seen in their few interactions, he was a stickler for the rules with one hell of an ability. Akutagawa himself had stated that the man was good at his job after their short fight a while back.
Now, what the hell did he have to do with Chuuya’s predicament? If he was such an upstanding guy there’s no way that he’d kidnap a sleeping mafia executive. Not that Chuuya thought he could if he tried, anyway. Maybe the entire agency was working together to kidnap him? No. The agency wouldn’t have the confidence to attack an executive, taking him down is not worth the whole mafia being after them, assuming that they did have the strength to take him down– which he doubted.
The rings of the phone continued until Chuuya finally answered the call. It’s the closest thing he has to an answer, and if worse comes to worst he hangs up and leaves. Though by now Chuuya probably should have just gone home, he reasoned with himself to sedate his own curiosity. Probably not professional, but at this point he couldn’t care less.
“...Hello?”
“Nakahara! Do you know what time it is?!”
The voice bellowed through the phone, so loud Chuuya had to move it away from his ear. Ignoring the volume, what the man said confused him even more than he already was with his situation. Something Chuuya thought to be impossible.
He was talking to Chuuya, that's for sure. He said ‘Nakahara’ so loud Chuuya will probably have it ringing in his ear for the next week. But, where in the world did he get the confidence to speak to Chuuya like that? In the few times they’ve talked he’s always been extremely professional, not yelling at him like an overzealous mother.
Maybe Chuuya was a bit biased because he was used to Kunikida’s professionalism, but he couldn’t help but be a bit irritated by the aggressive tone of voice Kunikida had used.
Typically, Chuuya encouraged people to talk to him casually, even his subordinates. Which in the mafia was seen as something out of the ordinary, if not condemned. It had taken years to get everyone used to calling Chuuya his first name after he became an executive. Even now, newer goons have to have it beaten into them. Though, Chuuya’s more loyal subordinates usually do it for him. However, having people speak to him casually that didn’t mean he liked to be yelled at, there is a certain degree of respect that should still be held.
“No. Why?” Chuuya asked, his tone becoming more stern though laced with curiosity.
If he found out why the time was important, he could discover why Kunikida was calling him using an unknown phone, if he found out that he’d probably find out what was happening. Of course, all of this was just a blissful hope if Chuuya were being frank, in reality he had no clue if it would actually end up going down that path. He was honestly just inches away from bluntly asking, but if he showed any concern or panic who knows what would happen.
Plus, if he alerted the agency of what was going on, they could take the chance to attack the mafia while he was figuring this out. Not that they ever would, actually knowing them and their goody-two-shoes ideologies they’d probably try to help him, but he’s not taking the risk of endangering the mafia because of his personal issues. Well, his personal issues became mafia issues the second he became an executive, he supposes.
Maybe Chuuya came off a little too irritated with his questioning, because Kunikida obviously did not like his response. He was even letting the guy get away with his tone from before!
“It’s 12:30 in the afternoon. 12:30!” The man said in a voice so loud Chuuya’s sure it could be heard for an entire mile, just through the phone alone. His tone had also shifted, turning from a sharp yet calm reprimanding into an angry, upset display.
“Huh?”
Chuuya was probably expecting a response more akin to; ‘It’s time to die!’ or ‘It’s time to pay your penance!’. Why in the world was it being 12:30 important? Sure, he had work, but with his current situation, he’d probably have to call out anyway. It would probably upset Mori and Kouyou, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. Not that Kunikida should know, or care, about Chuuya’s work schedule.
Of course, today is more baffling to Chuuya than any day he’s gone through in recent years, and he’s seen some… strange things. He almost shivers at the thought of some of the things he’s walked into. Yet, it seems Kunikida wants to take the record, making it as if every passing thought is met with an immediate and even weirder response than the last.
“Work started hours ago!”
“...Okay? Why does it matter to you–”
Kunikida cut him off with a sigh before Chuuya could finish his sentence, seemingly so focused on reprimanding Chuuya that he didn't listen to him speak. If Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think this guy was intentionally trying to get on his last nerve. And if that was his goal he was definitely succeeding, Chuuya could practically feel the veins popping out of his head at the interruption.
“Nakahara, because you’re usually always on time to the office and never request for leave, if you just ask, we can give you an off day. However, you still need to call in.” The repositioning of his glasses could almost be felt through the call as he talked so matter-of-factly.
Chuuya was seriously speechless, his mind blank at the detective's response. Is the agency stalking him or something? No, it can’t be that. He said, ‘ We can give you an off day’. As far as Chuuya is aware, Kunikida is not in the mafia, much less in an high enough position to be able to give Chuuya an off day.
Maybe Chuuya is overthinking this, but Kunikida is known to be a very punctual man. Quite obviously, on top of their few interactions, he called Chuuya at exactly 12:30. There is no way he’d make a mistake as big as saying ‘we’ in reference to the mafia, much less without correcting it. This combined with his lack of professionalism during their call showed Chuuya that he either mistook Chuuya for someone else, or something was seriously wrong.
Chuuya knew, though, that he wasn’t mistaken for someone else. Hell, the first thing the guy said was his name— Chuuya had already decided that Kunikida knew who he was talking to like 2 minutes ago. But, what else was Chuuya supposed to think? What other conclusion could he come to when faced with such a weird situation?
Chuuya looked at the phone with a hint of confusion and concern before responding incredulously.
“Right.”
He gave a short response to Kunikida before hanging up, seemingly much to Kunikida’s dismay if his short yell was anything to judge by. Chuuya didn’t care much. Unfortunately for Kunikida, the fact that Chuuya was late for work was the least of Chuuya’s concerns right now.
Standing in the middle of the small room, Chuuya didn’t move. He still held the phone in his hands, even after he hung up.
Chuuya knew that time waited for no one, and every second he stood still was another second he could be figuring out what was going on. Yet, he still didn’t move. Perhaps it was a feeling of anxiety holding him back from moving, maybe pure confusion. It’s not like Chuuya knew or cares to know, it didn’t really matter to him at the moment.
Eying another room in his peripheral vision, Chuuya turned. The different room didn’t give him any solace, though. Not anything to tell him what was going on or what to do. It was just a kitchen. Just a fucking kitchen. Maybe he had gotten his hopes up, thinking he would ever even get a hint of what was going on, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Walking into the sad-looking kitchen, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were a few dishes in the sink, a fridge that looked like it was barely running, and the walls seemed to have spots of mold scattered throughout the crappy looking wallpaper.
Chuuya probably looked like a lost child with the way he inspected everything, walking around slowly and taking peeks at the tiniest things. Call him paranoid, but he wanted to know anything he could. Unlike certain people, he couldn’t just put on glasses and know everything about anything.
As he looked through the kitchen, he saw two doors. Both doors were placed in the corner of the kitchen on either wall. It was a bad placement in Chuuya's opinion, if opened at once the doors would hit each other. Judging by the dents and scratches on them, it’s something that’s happened several times before, too.
Opening the door to his left, he was met with a horrific stench followed by a minuscule moldy bathroom. The tiles on the floor had dirt between them, and the wall directly in front of the door had aggressive water stains that reached almost to the ceiling. Did the person who lived here clean at all? Even a bit of air freshener would go a long way here. Actually, dish soap alone could solve several problems.
Did he really have to step on those gross tiles? It wouldn’t be the grossest thing he’d ever stepped on, he’s been on literal battlefields, but that didn’t mean he wanted to step on mold.
Preparing himself to walk into the disgusting bathroom, he peered down at his feet, almost as if he were warning them.
However, contrary to what he was expecting when he looked down at himself, Chuuya was wearing something completely different from what he had worn to sleep the night before. It wasn’t that he had somehow rolled out of his shirt or pants in his sleep, rather, his entire outfit had changed.
The last night was pretty hectic work-wise, with a surprise attack on a cargo shipment at the port. Seeing as it was a surprise attack, at night, they didn’t have the proper forces prepared to take care of it. So, Chuuya, essentially an attack force himself, was called in to deal with it. He didn’t want to be there, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. The fighting lasted a few hours, which was fairly quick, considering Chuuya was against an entire team of men. But, this meant Chuuya only got home around 3 in the morning. He fell asleep almost immediately when he reached his bed, without changing out of his work clothes.
Yet, right now, he was wearing a pair of pajamas. A pair he would never buy himself, by the way. He thought they looked silly, if not stupid. Like comically bad. The kind you’d see a cartoon character wearing while they held a candle. He had been so distracted before that he hadn’t noticed something as obvious as this. Chuuya internally reprimanded himself at his obliviousness. Even in such a confusing situation, a mafia executive should never let their guard down that low.
Thankfully, noticing this caused the thought of being kidnapped to be crossed off his list. In what world would a kidnapper change their victim into such dumb-looking pajamas?
On top of the strange pajamas, Chuuya was barefoot. Something that always made Chuuya uncomfortable. He actively avoided not having shoes, and at the very least socks on at all times. A habit he formed in the Sheep after an attack happened and he wasn’t prepared, leaving the Sheep in shambles for a few weeks. It wasn’t comfortable, no, but it lets him rush out when he needs to, and he’s willing to make sacrifices if it keeps things together. He isn’t willing to lose anything because of his own carelessness.
As he entered the moldy bathroom, he solidified his resolve to continue that habit. The cold dirty tile felt frozen on his feet, a chill shooting down his spine as he stepped further in. Whether it was from the temperature or a sense of foreboding is something Chuuya will never know for sure.
The bathroom wasn’t big, only large enough for the basics inside of it. The shower head was mounted on the top of the wall, the only thing below it to catch the water being a drain, a far cry from the porcelain bathtub that would catch the water under Chuuya’s own shower.
Walking past the toilet and in front of the sink, he noticed the dirty mirror that sat directly above the faucet, his eyes opening wide at the reflection that met him.
“...What the fuck.”
He inched closer to the mirror, leaning so close his nose almost touched it as he eyed his face. He pinched and pulled at his cheeks, leaving small red marks at the force. He wanted to slap his cheeks to see if he was even awake, but held himself back and instead just analyzed his appearance.
Chuuya looked like himself, but he didn’t look like himself. As stupid as it sounds, he could tell that something was off about his face and body. His hair was longer and tied back, more similar to his hairstyle at 16 than at 22. His face was less sharp, too. Even if not noticeable to the naked eye, Chuuya could tell. It was his face, after all. It didn’t stop there either, he had noticeably less muscle mass, to the point that it was somewhat disrupting how he moved, something which he had originally passed off as residual symptoms from the pain he had experienced earlier.
However, even more impossibly than all of this, he had fewer scars.
Normally, his body had lots of scars. They covered his limbs and torso to no end— markings from both battles in the mafia and battles of his personal life. Yet now, he was missing most of them. Not that he exactly wanted them, hell, any other day if they had faded he’d be pretty happy. But, the problem is they didn’t fade. They were gone.
Perhaps this impossibility was a wakeup call for Chuuya, because he had begun putting the pieces together. His strange reflection, the out-of-character behavior of Kunikida, the strange dorm he had woken up in, the reference to his work that wasn’t concerning the mafia, all of it.
He wasn’t in his reality, was he?
With that thought, Chuuya said goodbye to his hopes of relaxation.
June 28th, ####
The thought that people would be better off without me crosses my mind constantly. Yet, I refuse to dwell on it.
Because I know that often times, it is the truth. And I don't want to face the truth. The truth is never better than the lies.
That's why lies exist. A blurry film lining over the dead eyes of the miserable.
- xxxxxxxx.