Archive of Our Own

Nakahara Chuuya had just returned from an overseas mission. For three and long months.

Although it hadn’t been an exactly problematic mission, it certainly had been a tedious one.

Chuuya was rarely sent abroad by the boss, but he was not someone to question.

Usually, he never had the inclination to question or contest his Boss' orders. After all, he was only meant—only expected—to follow them, without saying anything.

Besides, it was not that bad. Chuuya knew that Mori had the organization's best interests at heart.

When the man brought the subject to light, he simply nodded and bowed. The next day, he left Yokohama.

And at first, it had been a completely new setup.

There, Chuuya was not meant to kill, punch, or fight against anyone.

No.

His only tool was words, and the battlefield was a tedious conference room.

It was beyond boring, but he knew it was necessary.

Eventually, he learned.

He learned to be a diplomat and represent the Port Mafia.

Back then, before he left, his partner had told him that much.

He had also mocked Chuuya because he was sure he was unable to do anything but “bark” and “punch.”

Well, Chuuya proudly proved Dazai wrong.

There, a diplomat was born—a former fighter, now representing the Port Mafia.

And all of this had happened between alcohol, a few laughs, and insults.

Although Dazai's opinion on that had been clear, "Ugh, who am I going to annoy if Chuuya is not here?!"

It may have been his way of saying that he would miss Chuuya, but it's not that Chuuya noticed it—he was way too drunk by that time.

So, he simply grumbled, "Go bother someone else then."

"Buahhh, that's so rude!" Dazai whined with his annoying high-pitched voice. He almost pouted like a child. "Then I hope Chuuya’ll die there, so I will never have to see his face!"

And Chuuya was probably too drunk to answer anything back.

After this exchange, everything was a blur. He didn't remember anything about that night.

And this scene filled his thoughts when he returned to the Mafia building, with the intent to report his mission.

As he walked down the hall toward the boss' office, he wondered about what Mori's reaction would be like.

Chuuya was aware he had learned quite a lot during those months, especially when the country he had been in was France.

He had a whole meticulously planned and written report. Perhaps his good mood was related to it.

He was more than certain he'd be promoted to executive after this.

And the best part?

He'd finally read the documents about his past.

Lost in thoughts that he almost instantaneously had dismissed, he stopped in front of the door that gave access to Mori's office.

Then, two confident knocks were heard.

A melody reverberated after a brief and lingering silence.

"You may enter," the soft but cold voice like ice said.

He carefully opened the door and stepped in, bowing respectfully as he usually did.

In his hand lay the documents.

"Welcome back, Chuuya-kun." Mori talked with his elbows pressed against the table and his fingers intertwined, displaying a sluggish and uncharacteristic smile on his lips. "I hope you have good news for me."

Chuuya raised his head as his expression went rigid and serious.

After some time, he nodded. "Boss," he bowed once again, but this time it was just a slight one. "I have the report here," he lifted the papers slightly.

Mori didn't react as his eyes sharply hovered over his subordinate.

He didn't say anything for a while, and Chuuya didn’t move either.

"Oh well! You may leave them here," he nodded towards the desk. As Chuuya walked firmly toward it, putting the reports there in a gentle move, Mori watched it with a thoughtful expression. "I think you know what comes after, don't you, Chuuya-kun?"

Chuuya looked at Mori with an emotionless expression.

Mori continued, taking his subordinate’s silence as a consent to speak, “As the leader of this organization, I am forced to admit that you've become an extremely important asset to the Mafia.” his tone sounded exactly like a lullaby— but if one would ever fall asleep, one might, would never wake up. Mori smiled a little more openly and genuinely. “But before anything, I need to discuss it with the other executives, as you may have calculated,” he gestured into the air—slow and fluid movements.

Chuuya's expression didn't change—he said nothing for a moment. "I understand, Boss."

Mori smiled. "I am certain everyone will agree with it, but... ahhh, you know how the bureaucracy around here is, right?"

The answer was silent, but it was there—written all over Chuuya's stormy and lively eyes.

The man gazed at the other for a while, seeming to irradiate with expectations that he wanted to see if they were true.

Yet, that didn't make Chuuya very nervous.He was more than used to Mori’s mechanisms, after all. After a while, straightening his posture, Mori gestured toward the door with his typical neutral expression.

"If there isn't anything you think I should be aware of, you are dismissed."

A bow and Chuuya left—unaware of Mori's slow and mysterious smile that appeared as soon as he had turned his heels to leave.

And an agreement between the executives was, in fact, quickly obtained.

Everyone knew that Chuuya had been essential to the Mafia—he and Dazai Osamu, but that was another story.

Normally, a promotion was just a piece of paper, but for some reason, Mori decided to give Chuuya something else.

Well, actually no. It had been two... no, three things.

Two of them were surprisingly pleasant, and Chuuya benefited from one of them.

The third one was given to him, in the worst time possible.

It had happened just after Chuuya had accessed the documents about his past. Those pages were possibly the worst thing Chuuya had ever laid his eyes on.

But although extremely perturbing, it hadn't been surprising—Dazai once had told him about it, as an act of forgiveness for some stupid and precipitated action he once had made.

Speaking about Dazai... Where was he?

As he was thinking about it, Kouyou entered the room, bringing in the mafia elegance and a certain pleasant smell—her perfume. Light steps echoed around him as the woman rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

"Congratulations, lad," she greeted, her voice calm and elegant like a violin solo. Then she quickly—but elegantly—retracted her hand from her pupil's shoulder as she walked towards an empty seat at the table.

Chuuya looked up at her with a respectful nod.

"Ane-san…" he smiled a little, "Thank you," he nodded.

Kouyou smiled back and then sighed.

"Mm. I heard the boss has been thinking about giving you something... special..."

Chuuya's heart was still heavy, and his mind was spinning from reading such cruel reports.

"Is that so..." he said with no enthusiasm; he paused and then looked at her. "Was everyone in agreement with my promotion?"

Kouyou lifted a hand to her pink mouth, seemingly thoughtful.

"If I remember correctly... yes... everyone was in agreement with your promotion," she smiled—almost a fraternal, proud smile. "I expected no less of you, lad."

Chuuya reciprocated the smile, but then he stopped.

Something was not making sense here.

Because he remembered what Dazai had told him when he became an executive.

"Well, being an executive has its perks, you know? I can always vote against Chuuya's promotion!"

Although it had been a joke, Chuuya—more than anyone—knew how far Dazai would go just to annoy him. He was certain that Dazai would vote against his promotion, just to annoy him, and not because he was against it.

After all, he had been the one giving him clues about those awful documents. He made Chuuya’s pain a little more… bearable, and that was something that Chuuya was thankful for—not that he would ever say it to Dazai.

So, there was no way that Dazai had voted for his promotion.

But just to clarify his doubt, he asked Kouyou for information.

"What about Dazai?" he asked, and Kouyou narrowed her eyes. "Did that bastard vote for my promotion?"

"Dazai-kun?" she asked, then paused, pressing her lips together. "Oh, Dazai-kun was not there to vote, so don't worry," Kouyou smiled.

That caught Chuuya off guard. He wasn’t in the mafia? How was that even possible?

Dazai didn’t make overseas missions as he was the Boss’ right hand. 

So why was he not in the meeting?

"Did that bastard skip the meeting?" Chuuya found himself wondering out loud.

Kouyou looked at him for a while, with a cautious expression.

Then she sighed. "In a way... yes," she said quietly; Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he let out an incredulous laugh. "Did that bastard skip his obligations, again?" he half-smiled a bit, amused—as his partner, he was more than used to Dazai's irresponsible and indifferent behavior.

But still, Chuuya couldn’t believe the guy’s attitude—the disrespect. Plus, he lost a perfect chance to ruin Chuuya’s life, which was a bit unusual.

Kouyou stared at him with a doubtful expression—she was looking at him as if Chuuya was having a strange behavior. Inclusively, she even frowned with questions behind her eyes. 

But then her face became increasingly more understanding and almost... apprehensive. 

That was what surprised Chuuya—he waited a bit anxiously for her answer.

Then, it arrived.

"Chuuya, lad..." she sighed softly, closing her eyes with almost a sad expression.
"Dazai-kun..." she paused. "Is not in the mafia... anymore."

And each word, each interval between them, felt like a slap.

Leave it to Kouyou to make everything emotional with her incredibly silk voice.

Time stopped, and so did Chuuya’s mind.

He wasn't able to answer it.

So, Kouyou, looking at him, sighed and explained.

"Yesterday he was declared a traitor," she informed, then paused to give Chuuya some time to process the information; she added, "He is not in the mafia anymore. That’s why he was not part of this meeting." her voice was gentle, like a silent apology.

And Chuuya… Chuuya… he couldn’t quite explain what he was feeling at that moment.

If someone would ever ask him what he was thinking, he'd… be silent.

Because… he didn’t know.

All he felt was something similar to emptiness.

Similar to the collapse of the wall that was being built.

Something similar to… pain.

Pain... he hadn’t felt that in a long time. But it was an old friend to him, a familiar sensation. He could recognize the sword that crossed his own heart anytime.

Kouyou didn’t speak anymore—probably in respect—and she gave Chuuya the intention of wanting to leave.

But before she had the chance to do it, he spoke for the first time.

Straight as a narrow.

"Oh. Is that so?" his voice was not trembling or anything, but his heart was emptier than he had remembered. "I wonder why I was not informed of."

Kouyou sighed in concordance. Slowly.

"The Boss thought it would be something that would trouble your performance, so he didn’t tell you," she said.

The next words were not thought nor planned.

They just flew out of his lips, like it had been a shot.

"Then, the Boss was wrong," he said firmly, making Kouyou widen her eyes. He looked directly at Kouyou. "The fact that Dazai is not here anymore doesn’t make things any different," he said, not leaving her gaze. "I’ll be the same as I always had been," Chuuya declared, and Kouyou looked surprised for a while. Then she glared at him, trying to find—perhaps—a lie or an act—but there were none.

Therefore, Kouyou, visibly relieved, raised her eyebrows.

"I see... I am glad you are not letting your emotions take control of your obligations," and she was being genuine.

Once more, Chuuya didn’t think before speaking.

"Why would I even care about Dazai leaving? He is nothing to me. He was my partner, but from the moment he betrayed this organization," he tried to control his anger, "he has lost that privilege, and he is no longer part of my life."

Despite his notable emotional control, Kouyou noticed how he stood up and pushed the chair—noisily.

She smiled neutrally, understanding the situation—but she didn’t say anything about it.

Chuuya, however, continued. "I have better things to do than to worry about traitors," he said, and bowed his head. "If you excuse me, Ane-san, I have something to do."

Kouyou smiled. At that point, she didn’t know who Chuuya was trying to fool—her or himself.

She cleared her throat, hiding a smile behind her sleeve.

"Of course, lad," she said. Nevertheless, "I look forward to working with you as an executive, Chuuya," she said softly.

And he just offered a plain smile, but grateful anyway.

"I feel the same, Ane-san."

After those words, he left and didn’t look back.

His mind was empty, and he didn’t think about Dazai or the fact that he had left the mafia during the whole course.

Chuuya was pretty sure he was not thinking about what he was doing, just walking without a destination.

Perhaps it had been his inner voice telling him to meet his past.

And for once, he followed it.

His heart was beating quickly with some anxiety as he walked down the stairs.

He felt like he was seeing his past before his eyes.

Memories that were lost for years were coming back.

The Port Mafia basement.

He was in front of it.

He was feeling nothing and thinking about nothing.

Dazai had left; he was a traitor.

Okay, that was fine for Chuuya.

He had always known Dazai's poor loyalty to the Mafia.

That was totally fine with him, so... so why was he there?

If it had meant nothing, why was Chuuya looking for someone to talk with... if... if his departure meant nothing?

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts, and he pushed the door that gave access to the basement.

The sound of blades clashing echoed, and a voice he hadn’t listened to in a while—but never forgotten—filled his ears and went straight to his empty heart.

Suddenly, the blades stopped, and he heard a muttering before the same voice said, "Chuuya, little brother... what a... pleasant surprise..." his voice was melodious as always, and for once, it felt like a blessing to Chuuya's emptiness.

He, indeed, had not felt like that in a while.

He walked towards the man he called his brother, then he looked at him, eye to eye.

"Paul Verlaine."

The man he had once wished to kill.

The murderer of his friends.

But also his savior.

The gradually visible light showed his brother's majestic features and his elegance.

Paul Verlaine had a beautiful and calm smile on his lips. It almost made Chuuya's heart break in pieces, seeing the warmth and adoration written in those eyes.

He felt incredibly weak.

Those cold and sharp eyes—the eyes of an assassin, who killed with no hesitation and whose hands were filled with blood.

But to Chuuya, the gesture felt immensely warm—a warmth that came from the man who had murdered his friends with brutality.

Perhaps it had been due to his current situation, but... Paul Verlaine's smile felt like a blessing.

Maybe, for once, Chuuya could see him as a proper brother.

He felt like a child who wanted to run toward his brother's arms and cry until the night came.

However, Chuuya didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t... cry.

Instead, he closed his eyes as he sighed.

And Verlaine immediately noticed something else behind his beloved brother's heart.

He looked like a child—small and fragile—who was struggling to admit that they had been responsible for breaking their mother's vase.

Struggling to ask for help, for a hand.

It reminded him of the day he saved Chuuya from that researcher.

He looked so vulnerable... he almost looked like a stray dog...

His face, polished like marble, was beautiful as always, lit by the illumination. But his eyes were like two polished jewels that didn’t shine with life.

Stagnant, yet beautiful.

Inside, Verlaine could see something that he knew no human could: solitude.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"I have a table where we can talk," his voice was soothing, and it felt better than any caressing. "Walk with me."

And like a lost sheep, Chuuya followed Verlaine to the table.

As they sat down, he noticed the teapot and several cups, with the respective dish under each one.

Verlaine's artificial heart squeezed as he carefully looked at Chuuya, who seemed unsure of even perhaps his own existence.

However, Chuuya didn’t seem dead. If anything, it felt like... he had just seen someone dying.

And oh, he remembered the anger his brother's eyes irradiated... but now? He was more like a kicked puppy.

He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want revenge.

Chuuya lost someone, that was certain.

But lost someone to what... lost someone to who?

These were Verlaine's thoughts as he glanced at Chuuya.

"Tea?"

Chuuya nodded as he watched the man pouring the liquid into the cup; he did the same for his cup and then looked at him gently.

"So... what brought you here, little brother?" he paused as he noticed the lack of reaction from Chuuya. "Don’t get me wrong, it’s always a delight to see you, Chuuya, but... you must have something in mind right now... don’t you?" he said, as he mixed the sugar with the tea with a spoon.

Chuuya didn’t react. He really felt like a robot.

Empty and dead. Behind his eyes, there was nothing but empty and plain loneliness.

Finally, he looked down as he sighed.

"I came to you... because you are the only one who can help me," he said.

Verlaine’s eyes lit up and stopped mixing the sugar with the spoon.

All those years he had wanted to hear those words. Strangely, it felt wrong, seeing his brother’s face. But...

"No one will ever be able to understand me." his eyes were like sharp knives. As an assassin, Verlaine had seen less brutal looks. Then, Chuuya’s tone briefly palled. "No one... no one but you... brother."

He diverted his attention to the cup as he used his spoon to mix nothing in particular.

Verlaine did the same, and a smile appeared on his lips.

It was a sad, kind smile. The type of kindness Verlaine had reserved for his two favorite people.

His brother and the only human he was never able to hate.

No matter how much he tried.

The metallic sound filled the air, giving it a certain melancholy. A sad scenario that would fill Verlaine’s artificial heart for a long time.

"Well, then." he said as he lifted his gaze toward his brother. Then he opened another smile. "How can I help you, dear brother?"

It felt surreal how two people, such as them, doomed to the endless darkness and solitude, could be able to have such a moment.

Two brothers speaking.

And there was something incredibly poignant about two doomed souls—brothers not by blood, but by circumstances—speaking.

Something tragically beautiful.

Slowly, Chuuya raised his head and looked inside Verlaine’s eyes—deeply and dripping with feelings.

They were not empty anymore.

The jewels shone. They were shining as a storm, as lightning would severely punish the stormy sky.

It was a painful beauty.

There were no tears, no sounds, just an upcoming storm like his little brother was.

Verlaine loved him more than anything.

He had learned to love the stormy sky more than the rain... Rimbaud... he hated cold weather...

Verlaine never really minded a little storm.

Especially when the storm was about his little brother.

Named  Nakahara Chuuya, cursed by birth, tortured by life.

Unwanted by death.

If he was human, which Verlaine knew he wasn't, Chuuya had stopped feeling like that a long time ago.

He was... no longer human...

And there was something beautiful about that.

"You said people often lie to deceive and to foul other people, right?" Verlaine nodded slowly. Because he had never been one to lie.

At least not to the person in front of him.

"I did. Humans are not trustworthy creatures." Then he added with a sigh after a pause full of past. Full of his past. "Every human but Arthur." Every word carried a lingering strain. "He was... an incredible human being." His smile illustrated the intensive and burning adoration Verlaine felt for his deceased ex-partner.

His dear, dear friend.

His inspiration during days of solitude.

It had been so meaningful that Chuuya had to swallow. He didn't think about the fact he had just lost his partner.

Dead? Alive?

Chuuya didn’t know.

Chuuya didn’t care.

Yet, he felt a staining pain on his chest.

Even so, he proceeded, like he always did.

"You can't trust no one but your allies." he said, slowly, almost as if diligently tasting his words. "Your partner included, right?" his voice was now a bit higher, but still not too high. Still controlled.

To anyone, it’d probably have been nothing, but to Verlaine, it was the confirmation he needed.

He stopped drinking his tea, with a cautious expression.

He was not looking at Chuuya.

There was no need for that.

Verlaine stayed quiet for a while, but then he took a sip of it and lowered his hand with the cup. He pressed his lips together, pondering.

Finally, he said as he gently placed the cup on the little dish, "I see..." The sound reverberated in the air. "...So this is about that guy..." he sighed. "What was even his name?" He pretended to think, not giving Chuuya any chance to answer. "Ah, I remember... Dazai-kun... wasn't it?"

Chuuya saw how Verlaine's tone changed.

Then, silence filled the air.

He didn’t confirm nor deny it. He dodged the conversation he started like an agile warrior would dodge the blade of death.

Instead, he took a silent sip of his tea. The hot liquid slipped down his dry throat and lightly burned his lips.

Then he placed it on the small dish with a tired sound, with a sigh.

"You were right," he said. But Verlaine didn’t react as he blankly stared at his brother.
Chuuya noticed it and he didn’t care. "You were right about thinking of the future and not the present." he ended up admitting as Verlaine watched him attentively.

It was not possible to see what the man was thinking.
"What I have today might not exist tomorrow or... it... it might turn out to be a complete lie." He paused, and his tone was painfully silent and low.

He sighed tiredly, full of regret.

"I was a fool to think that something could last forever."

He looked down at his tea in the cup.

His faint reflection was shown.

He tried to see more there, a light, a smile, his friends, life... but there was nothing.

No hope on the tea.

No hope for a quiet and normal life.

His life was like that hot tea—burning and ephemeral.

It would eventually end.

And it was often so sour.

Sometimes, not even the sugar could help.

Chuuya wanted little biscuits with the tea.

That way it'd be more bearable.

"People come and go," after his meditation, Chuuya spoke. He paused a bit.
"They do whatever they want, and they don’t give a fuck about the other’s feelings."

Verlaine looked at him with an apprehensive expression. His previous blank face melted.

"Humans... humans are, indeed, treacherous creatures," he said like it was obvious with his soft tone. His eyes were like the sea—blue and deep. "They can’t be trusted." he smiled and looked at Chuuya, placing his empty cup aside. "But I suppose this is nothing new... I told you this before, didn’t I?"

Hesitantly, Chuuya nodded. It was such a small reaction.

One could have easily missed it.

He looked like the child Verlaine met.

"You did." Solemnly, he agreed. "But I was too much of a fool... to hear it." Regret filled his words.
"You were right."

Verlaine smiled a little with his eyes.

"I should not give in to my emotions, nor should I think about the people who don’t... give a damn about me and... my feelings... my emotions." And the tone was significantly sadder.

No, it was not exactly sadness, it almost looked... disappointed.

"I shouldn’t have given in."

He should have not.

Because now, it was too late to tell past Chuuya that.

Now, he would just have to live with it.

Verlaine stared at Chuuya silently for a while and then opened his mouth, placing his forearms on the table.

"You... you don’t seem very surprised," he commented. "Deep down, you knew one day... this... would happen, right?"
He paused and then added softly, "You just didn’t want to think about that possibility, right?"

Oh.

Chuuya... Chuuya did know that.

Chuuya knew how far Dazai’s loyalty to the organization could go: it was not much.

But... that wouldn’t change what he was feeling.

And so, he looked away, away from his brother’s somehow curious gaze, a bit uncomfortable.

"I am... I am not surprised," he admitted painfully, and paused. "I have always known that bastard's loyalty was almost nonexistent and that... he was a selfish asshole." He paused after those words.

Because calling Dazai, his partner, that felt very real.

For the first time, he meant it.

Dazai was incredibly selfish and a disloyal person.

Those words didn’t feel like a source of anger or irritation like they usually did.

Now they just... hurt like freshly opened wounds.

His partner was a selfish asshole.

He was surprised how calmly he had said that. He was not even angry. It was almost... strange.

But then... Chuuya looked at Verlaine, who looked at him with slight curiosity and a cautious expression.

"But I trusted him."

And he did.

He trusted Dazai with his life.

Contrarily to the mafia’s popular belief, Chuuya knew Dazai would never, ever disappoint him.

After Verlaine and the fateful Dragon Head Conflict, Chuuya could have said that there was no one he'd trust more than Dazai.

Because... that’s what it meant to be a partner, right?

More than... a close person, Dazai was his partner.

They might never have had... something as pure and precious as a friendship... never have had a peaceful relationship... but...

Chuuya wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Now that Dazai was gone, Chuuya noticed that.

And so, he continued. 

"Dazai... I trusted my life to him and he... he was my partner. He was always someone that I knew I could rely on, no matter what." He paused as his eyes spoke what his mouth didn't. "And... I thought this meant something to him... at least... like it meant to me."

That was like a slap. It felt like one.

Verlaine stayed silent. His eyes were filled with memories from a distant past,

A past that Verlaine had not been aware of, and he could only dream how Arthur had felt when he betrayed him.

If it had been like Chuuya was... then... he didn't want to think about it.

So he stayed quiet. He had no word in the matter.

And Chuuya continued.

"But this was my fault," he said sternly "I didn’t think about the future and the possibility of someone... someone as dishonest as Dazai could leave the organization." He paused, merely to take a quiet sip of his tea. Then he said, "Without saying anything."

Verlaine simply looked at him.

That was all he did.

All he could do.

His brother was speaking, and he listened.

"And... and he probably even made fun of me." He laughed dryly, more dry than the Sahara Desert. "...leaving something behind to annoy me." He sighed, changing his tone, and it was the closest he could come to a cry. He proceeded like the warrior he was, with a decided tone. "So... after what happened... I decided to think further," he declared.

A pause.

"Because... I don’t want to think about what I’m doing at the moment. I don’t want people like... Dazai... to order me around like a sheepdog." His voice was intense and almost emotional.

Then he added quietly, "I want to be responsible for my own actions and thoughts."

After a while, looking at his barely emptied tea, Chuuya looked at his brother.

Verlaine saw a sixteen-year-old Chuuya there.

Aware of his demise.

Dazai Osamu was a human, and humans love excessively.

He wouldn't be the exception.

He knew too well that look when he glanced at Chuuya.

So, there was no way that he didn't care about him.

Still, he wouldn't say that to Chuuya, who seemed sure Dazai didn't "give a fuck" about him.

So, instead, he said,

"But you are right that you shouldn't expect anything from people," he said. "Chuuya... people will try to benefit from your weaknesses and use your feelings, that's... that's how humans are. I know it." He smiled bitterly. Rimbaud was not like that. And something told him Dazai was not like that... too. He continued calmly. "But sometimes... something, we should give the benefit of the doubt to people's actions..."
Dazai-kun certainly had a choice to leave," he added.

Chuuya looked at Verlaine.

It was not a sharp look, but it was not kind either.

"Yes," he said, "And I certainly have the right to clean him from my life."

It was the answer. Verlaine only nodded. Because he had that right.

"You do," he agreed. "And you would probably be correct, because that guy doesn't seem like someone you can trust." That was a fact. "But..." he sighed, "You shouldn't expect anything good from people. You saw what your sheep friends did, right?"

Chuuya stiffened, not expecting that. Verlaine continued, "You saw how the Mafia has been treating you... manipulating you... didn't you?"
Chuuya downed his glance. Verlaine smiled. "I have told you before, but... this world doesn't deserve you, little brother."
He paused. "You shouldn't give your all and your life to them: you have no guarantee that they will do the same for you."

There was no answer.

Because they both knew the outcome.

"About thinking further..." he sighed. "Well... you can't escape your fate and your existence, Chuuya." He leaned back a bit. "When you were sixteen... I gave you a way out, remember?"

Chuuya didn't answer.

"-and you refused it," he smiled, closing his eyes. "And I understand why, but now you have to accept the cruel consequences and the wickedness of this world." His voice was, for the first time, firm and authoritarian; then he softened it and his eyes too. "I am here for you, whenever you need."

With this, Chuuya was silent.

He didn't have any answer.

Even if he wanted to deny it... it was all true...

He remembered Verlaine's words like they were yesterday's, including the speech about destiny and his fate.

And none of them were pleasant nor tranquil.

He ignored it for years, but now... it seemed to be the time to face reality.

And so Verlaine spoke. "The first step in life is to accept your fate," he explained quietly; he sighed. "Chuuya... there... there is no happy ending for people like us." His voice had that lingering poetic tone, like a ballad. Ballad of death. "Our existence was meant to bring chaos and destruction.
When it comes to anything else, we are unqualified for it," he said with an apprehensive tone. "Why do you think you are unable to keep a stable relationship?"

Silence.

"Because you are not suitable for that. Sure, you can temporarily enjoy that feeling, but deep down... you know... you know it won't last..."
He shifted his glance. "Am I not right?" he asked rhetorically. "You knew it would happen with Dazai as well. Like you told me: you ignored the future." His tone was like a solo of a sad violin.

It went straight to his heart.

Chuuya simply pressed his lips together, seeming to restrain his crying or something else.

"Chuuya... little brother... you know... you know I am right, correct?" He smiled. "You are in the mafia, but for what? What are you doing here? Why... why did you stay? You might have a lot of reasons, but... what makes you stay here? What is it?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice," he said. "It's a place to stay, a place to live."

Verlaine was silent. Chuuya sighed, shifting in his seat.

"Besides, what can I do if I leave the Mafia? Nothing. No choice. I have no choice here, Verlaine." A cold tone. "I never had."

And it was true. But that didn't make it any less painful.

His brother smiled.

"It's too late, isn't it?" he said. "You now understand why I said you should never have been born, don't you?" Chuuya raised his head, and his eyes were slightly reflecting.

Verlaine sighed.

"Unfortunately, this was the life people... they gave us," he said, almost wistfully. "Ah, them... We can't defeat nor fight it."

Silence filled the air.

"Like a storm," almost like a poem, Verlaine said. "Fate... the end is like a storm." He smiled, almost kindly. "We don't know when it will happen, but we do know for a fact that it will happen."

Chuuya looked at him. "You remember the storm, don't you? You can't fight it." Then he added, "You can't win it."

Chuuya, who had been silent, finally spoke.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?! To kill myself like that bastard wants to?" He paused a bit. "To lock myself away from everything and everyone like you do? To be a cold murderer like half of the Mafia is? Tell me, Verlaine, what should I do?"

He was not screaming; he was not angry. Verlaine was not his target. It wouldn't be fair shouting at him. So he sighed.

"I don't know what to do. I know what the future awaits me, but... I don't know what I should do at the moment," he calmly placed a hand on the table. "I asked you because..." He sighed. "Because I thought you would understand me."

But all Verlaine could offer was a smile. Useless as it was.

"I do, Chuuya, I really do."

"But you can't do anything to help me," he said as a fact.

He knew that.

They both knew.

"That's right. I can't do anything," Verlaine calmly agreed with a nod.

"Should I just... give in and..." he realized he had stood up with the storm of emotions, despite his voice being calm, and sat down with a sigh. "...be what people expect me to be? The executive the mafia wants?"

It took a while until Verlaine's answer.

"It's your choice, little brother. All I can say is that everything you have today is temporary." A kind smile. "The storm is certain, but you don't know when it will happen. So you won't be able to pack your life before it breaks in. It will just..." He stopped.

Although it had not been clear, Chuuya had understood it. The storm... was a storm. There was nothing else left to do.

He pressed his lips together and then sighed. A bitter smile appeared.

"Bah, I should have known you would only make things worse," he said a bit disappointed.

"Nonsense." Verlaine shook his head. "I am not the one making everything worse. Reality is... Life is... It's not something I can control." He looked at him very seriously. "Only you can. If you want to end your journey, do it. But if you want to live in this illusion, temporary and dishonest as it is... you are welcome to do it as well."

Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

"I am not locked up here like you are, Verlaine." He paused. "You keep speaking as if I had any choice here." He paused again. "Which I don't." He sighed. "Between seeing my friends dying and seeing myself under the mafia's claws, I prefer a hundred times the latter," he said.

Verlaine looked at him.

"You did choose your cage, dear brother."

"I did," he said, because... he did. "I did for the sheep and... now I have a job to accomplish and expectations to reach..."

His brother cautiously watched him.

"Even back then, it's never my choice."

That's why he should have never been born. It was his punishment for his existence. Verlaine was certain Chuuya knew that, but refused to accept it.

"I see..." he said. "Someone showed you... must have delivered you the sweet illusion of free will..."

Been there once and it's not pretty, he thought. Arthur's words. He wondered if Dazai had been that person for Chuuya.

But his brother looked utterly decisive.

"Whatever you are thinking—don't," he said sharply. Then his tone changed. "I am staying here because I have no choice and... and... and it's not so bad." Finally, he stood up, his face devoid of emotions. "I'll just have to clean that bastard from my mind and memories. And everything will be fine." He smiled once again, without emotions.

Ah, so it was like this... Chuuya... lost his last... and only hope...

Oh, Verlaine... he was quite acquainted with that.

And because of it, he smiled understandingly.

Chuuya was still looking at him, probably expecting something from his older brother. Smiling, finally Verlaine said, "Is that so?" He paused, opening his smile further. "Then... I wish you the best, little brother," he said, with genuine honesty. "You know I am always here to talk."

Chuuya, already on his feet, looked at him almost with an ironic expression. His brother's dramatic words had always made him unironically annoyed.

"Sure," he said. "I am certain, you won't go anywhere." He turned on his heels and sighed. "Because it's so hard to find someone down here, right?" He laughed a bit and started to walk away.

However, one last piece of advice was left.

"Chuuya."

The new executive stopped walking uneasily. Then Verlaine said, "Don't trust people, nor expect something from them." He paused. "If you expect the worst from people, whatever they do will never disappoint you."

Silence filled the air, and Chuuya's breath was audible. His expectations were low enough, at least he thought that, but... apparently, he still expected a hint of empathy and understanding from his partner—no, ex-partner.

Ah... Verlaine... Pau Verlaine...

How his brother was right...

But despite that, Chuuya still laughed a little. It was almost as artificial as Verlaine's soul.

"Well, at least a good piece of advice from my older brother!" He waved a hand in disdain. "I’m not expecting anyone to carry me home or something, so don’t worry." Then he stopped talking, stopped walking. The sound of his shoe hitting the ground reverberated.

Verlaine waited for his brother's last words.

"Don’t worry," Chuuya said. After some time, he looked over his shoulder. "How can I expect something I don’t know what it is?" He paused, smiling bitterly. "You and I, more than anyone, know what—how this is, right?" His eyes were dark.

People say the eyes are the reflection of the soul.

"It has always been like this," Chuuya added, before looking ahead and walking toward the stairs to leave. Due to this, he was not able to hear Verlaine’s equally bitter laugh.

On that very same day, Chuuya thought through Verlaine’s words and radical advice. They hit his head like hammers. But it didn’t hurt. Not anymore. It just... left him... strangely... aware of himself.

That night, he sat down at the wooden table in his house with a wine bottle in front of him. It was a Petrus 89. It had been a present from a client, and Chuuya had saved it for an eventual celebration.

Usually, he never drank alone. He was always accompanied by people, with nights filled with laughs, smiles, and jokes...

Chuuya never drank alone, but... seeing how late it was... no one would likely have wanted to drink with him, and... he didn’t really want to see anyone.

Not that day.

He found himself lost in his brother’s words about Dazai, about his life... And it was all so true and genuine that it made him sick.

He just wanted to forget everything he had been told. Too much, too much, too much for him—too much, way too much. Truth or a lie, it had stung his chest.

And perhaps as his only choice and without any hesitation, he grabbed the bottle in front of him. He opened it and pressed his lips against the bottleneck. It felt more like a medication.

Alcohol cured pain, right?

Just for a second, he thought about... stopping it.

But he didn’t... pull back, tilting the bottle to make gravity run the wine straight to his throat.

It was not meant to taste the wine—which was a shame, really, considering its quality—but to drink. He drank just for the sake of drinking. For the first time.

And... he was aware of it... or... half of the bottle. After that, Chuuya was not responsible for what happened. Nor aware of what he had felt.

He did remember that the wine’s taste was bitter, as it was accompanied by such acid thoughts. Verlaine’s words... his past... his future... his present... Dazai’s departure...

His heart was pounding heavily in his chest. And then, he blacked out.

The night was over for Chuuya.

But in the morning, when he woke up, he had his head on the table and a terrible headache. As he lifted his torso, his eyes noticed small spots that were drawn on the table’s towel.

Chuuya assumed those were wine drops.
(and not regretful tears)

And so, from that day on, Nakahara Chuuya and everyone forgot about Dazai Osamu and his betrayal.

Just like Chuuya had told Verlaine, he'd surround himself with work, guaranteeing that his life would gain some value.

And, in fact, it did.

The compliments, the fame, and even the jealousy gave some color to his life... but only for a while.

It had been something, although it was meant to not last forever.

In the end, Chuuya would find himself alone, at a desk, his schedule filled with meetings, his boss frequently relying on him, papers, pencils, people...

And in the beginning, it felt right, until... he felt that inevitable and pungent loneliness.

He'd remind himself countless times of his brother's words:

"Nothing lasts forever, and everything is temporary. Don't get too close to people, you will never know when they will stab you from the back."

...

Silently, he wondered if this was how Dazai felt before leaving... more like a weapon, a mafia asset than a human being.

No longer human.

Ah, even away, Dazai occupied his thoughts.

It was almost... it almost made Chuuya miss him... to miss him more... miss him more than the hatred he felt for him.

"You are a kid too,"

Fifteen-year-old Dazai had said, eyes more dead than a fish's. Chuuya could remember it.

"I am not just any child,"

Back then, Chuuya had said.

But back then, fifteen-year-old Chuuya took pride in what he did. He would kill a bunch of people as long as he'd use his fists—his feet.

Now?

Now Chuuya didn't take any pride... not when the person he wished to defeat was no longer there.

Now that Dazai had left the organization, he had no need for that.

Now it was just... boring. It was almost as when he was the sheep leader, but back then... back then Chuuya hadn't met Dazai.

Now, he knew Dazai... now that he finally got his former partner, he could say he didn't want to see him ever again.

Chuuya knew it wouldn't be a peaceful reunion... if possible, he'd like to avoid that.

...

Maybe Verlaine was right.

Maybe Dazai had been responsible for delivering the illusion of having a choice...

Because now, Chuuya noticed how different his life was... without him...

He didn't think often about Dazai. He had not lied when he said he was dead to him, but... sometimes... when he looked at Dazai's former apprentice...

He'd find himself lost in memories.

And once he found it, he never wanted to let go.

He once wondered if this was how Rimbaud had felt when he found Chuuya.

If his words had been to Verlaine and not to Chuuya.

Because... Chuuya felt similarly. Once, he told Akutagawa something he'd liked to tell Dazai:

"If you can't find something worth living for... find a reason worth dying for."

The boy's eyes had shown a hint of surprise.

Chuuya wondered if Akutagawa knew to what person those words had been tailored for.

After all, fifteen-year-old Chuuya did know ... but he didn't care.

He hadn't care if Rimbaud's words had been for Verlaine and not for Chuuya.

It hit him all the same.

And he remembered Arthur Rimbaud's words like it had been yesterday's.

"Chuuya-kun, can I ask you a favor? Live. There is no longer… any way of knowing… who you are or where you came from... But even if… you are but a pattern… etched on the surface of raw power… you are you. Nothing changes that… because all people, all humanity… their brains and flesh… are nothing more than patterns—beautiful patterns… upon the material world..."

Rimbaud died in peace with his friend.

Chuuya really wished he could mourn Dazai like Rimbaud did to Verlaine...

But... how could he possibly mourn something that never ended?

He could mourn the beginning, the day he met Dazai, the moment he trusted him but...

Chuuya had always done what he wished and... he didn't regret meeting... Dazai... or trusting him...

When his car was burned, turned into flames in front of his eyes... it didn't feel like the end.

He didn't feel angry or irritated... well, sort of a bit annoyed, but...

What predominated was... something close to disappointment because... their relationship had never died.

It had been buried alive, without even ending.

And because of it... it hurt when he first heard from Kouyou.

So...

"The only way to stop the suffering is to never be born."

Perhaps... then... he should grieve the day he met Dazai.

Maybe that's what he'd mourn about.

Yes, he'd bury the past, live the present, and think about the future.

And so, Nakahara Chuuya lied to Verlaine when he said he had always done what he wanted, no regrets.

He even lied to himself.

Because, there was one thing he regretted in his life.

And he knew it.

Chuuya was not sorry for the poor end of their relationship, no.

He didn't regret trusting Dazai, either.

He didn't regret being his partner.

He didn't regret their hangouts.

He didn't regret any of those.

No.

However, one thing he felt terribly sorry for.

The day he met Dazai.

It had been his biggest and only regret.

Nakahara Chuuya had always done what he wanted, he never had regrets.

Yet, he regretted the day he looked at Dazai.

And that, he felt sorry about.

Terribly so.

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