Chuuya leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk. He frowned slightly at the thick layer of dust that covered the wooden surface. He shifted his heel to clear a small space in the dust, a single island of deep brown in an expanse of drab gray. His eyes roamed around the room as he studied the faded carpet and the sparsely decorated walls, the untouched bookshelves and the creaky ceiling fan.

It had been a while since he had last set foot in his own office.

His eyes landed on the doorway, and he quickly slid his feet off the desk. His shoes hit the floor with a light thump.

"Thanks for coming," he said, scooting his chair slightly closer to the edge of the table. "Sorry for calling you out like this."

Oda nodded as he briefly scanned the small room. He stood at Chuuya's door, his arms crossed loosely behind his back.

"No problem. Though it was a bit of a hassle to find your office. I can't say that I've been in the Port Mafia's main base very often, and I find it a bit difficult to navigate."

Chuuya snorted and gestured to the seat across from him. Oda stepped into the room, accepting the chair.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced yet," Oda remarked as he leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap.

Chuuya sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I suppose not. I wouldn't call Dazai's drunken introduction 'proper' by any means."

He removed the hand from his face and extended it across his desk.

"I'm Chuuya Nakahara," he announced with a grin.

Oda gave a small smile in return and shook the teenager's hand. "Sakunosuke Oda."

Though it was only his second time meeting the man, Chuuya decided firmly that he liked him. He liked his kind, but thoughtful countenance, his solid handshake, and even his taste in shoes. His manner was reserved, but it was not the same as Dazai's calculated emotional detachment. Oda's was wholly natural, and it set Chuuya at ease rather than on edge.

Chuuya didn't have much faith in Dazai's choice of company, but he had to admit that this time the brunette had chosen to befriend a good man.

"So, Nakahara-san-"

"Call me Chuuya. Everyone else does around here."

Oda nodded, then continued. "So, Chuuya, what can I do for you today?"

The teenager hesitated as a stab of embarrassment warmed his cheeks. He briefly considered dismissing their conversation entirely, but Oda's patient and utterly non-judgmental gaze filled him with a sense of resolve.

"I recognize that you and Dazai have become…close."

Oda nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Chuuya fiddled with his hat under the desk. "I have been working with Dazai for almost a year, but to me he's still a…bit of a mystery." He clenched his teeth as he continued. "I was hoping that you…might be able to tell me what you make of him. Your honest opinion."

The man across from him blinked. Chuuya gripped his hat tightly, crumpling the brim. It pained him to stoop this low, but he had little choice if he was to figure out how to continue working with his partner.

There was a long pause before Oda spoke, and when he did, his voice was even and calm.

"I have known Dazai for a much shorter time than you have. I'm sure that you already know everything that I know about him, and much more. But, if it is of any help to you, I would be happy to share my thoughts on your partner."

Chuuya quietly released a breath that he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. He allowed himself to sit back, placing his now-creased hat on the desk.

Oda was silent for a few moments, and Chuuya could tell that he was choosing his words carefully.

"Dazai is certainly a bit of an enigma," he said at last. "He is a seasoned killer, a cold-blooded murderer, and he is doubtless a very skilled mafioso. He gives little thought to morality, and more often than not smothers feelings with logic. He calculates and plans every move, and is always several steps ahead of both his enemies and his allies. But," he said, frowning slightly, "Dazai is an exceedingly fragile individual. It's quite obvious that he plasters on a fake persona to distract himself and the people around him from his inner tumult. You may know that he originally came to the Port Mafia to find a reason to live in the midst of such ugliness and destruction. However, he actively avoids creating deep attachments to the people and things around him for fear of losing them, though such attachments might serve as anchors for his floundering existence. He tends to pretend to hate what he wants to protect, and to love what he fears."

Chuuya's eyebrows wrinkled. "What does that mean?"

Oda sighed. "His penchant for suicide, for example, may have grown out of his fear of death. Dazai hates what he cannot understand, and so likely became obsessed with finding out the truth regarding the matter. Suicide, in his mind, is really a win-win situation: he finds the answers that he has waited so long for, while escaping from the cruelty of existence in this awful world."

Chuuya shuddered. He remembered the night that Dazai spent at the apartment, sitting on the bathroom floor while he helped wrap his bandages. He remembered his empty eyes, his detached voice, and the countless cuts scarring his arms.

Oda sat back, his face twisted in an expression akin to grief. "But he's still just a kid. A scared, sad, confused little boy. He knows so little about the world, but has had the misfortune of being exposed to its darkest parts. He's convinced that he's seen it all, but he hasn't even had the chance to see the beauty and goodness that this world has to offer."

Chuuya's heart throbbed painfully in his chest. He knew, deep down, that Oda was right. No sixteen-year-old ought to be involved this deeply in the Mafia. The Mafia was a house of monsters, grooming people–children–into bloodthirsty, ruthless killers. To the Boss, "good" meant following his orders, regardless of how unsavory they may be. The Mafia was its own world of blood and death, virtually irreconcilable with the outside world. And he and Dazai were stuck at the very center of it all.

He let out a strangled laugh. "I'm surprised that you still want to be friends with him, even though you know he's such a hopeless mess."

Oda pursed his lips. "It's true that he has his share of issues. However, I firmly believe that there is good in him. I'm determined to help nurture that, and I'm trying to do my best to show him the less terrible parts of living."

Chuuya's eyebrows furrowed as he considered Oda's words. "That's an interesting thing to hear from a mafioso of the lowest level."

He bit his lip as he realized the rudeness of his statement, but Oda didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sure it would be. My affiliation with the mafia doubtless casts a shadow on everything that I say. But I hope you understand that I'm being completely sincere."

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, curiously regarding the man sitting across from him. He could tell from the gleam in his eye and the set of his jaw that he was being entirely transparent in his thoughts and intentions. Here was a man who, despite his background and current occupation, was undeniably good.

He chuckled lightly. "I don't understand you either, Oda-san. You are such a pure-hearted, intelligent man. Yet here you are, working in a low-level position for the Mafia, knee-deep in one of the most deplorable professions in existence. I admit that I don't know how good you are at what you do, but I can confidently say that you are not the stereotypical Mafia type."

Oda shrugged slightly. "Well, I always wanted to become a novelist," he quipped. "I am good enough at my job, but I'm not particularly fond of it. But please excuse me if I got carried away in my assessment of your partner."

Chuuya's smile faded, replaced with a frown. "No, I think I understand everything that you said. Dazai, the absolute idiot he is, has a lot more going on inside that head of his than he allows anyone to see."

Now Oda was surveying him curiously. "If you don't mind me asking, Chuuya, why ask me about this? Why are you so determined to learn everything there is to Dazai?"

A breath caught in Chuuya's throat. He had somewhat expected the question, but it still caught him off-guard. He had, in fact, been wondering the same thing.

Why was he suddenly so interested in Dazai?

He forced a smile, though he knew that it appeared more like he was baring his teeth. "Why wouldn't I want to know more about my mysterious, yet incredibly infuriating partner? I'm simply trying to figure him out so that I myself don't go insane while working with him."

Oda raised an eyebrow. He seemed as unconvinced by the answer as Chuuya was himself.

He was silent for a few seconds before speaking. "Well," he said slowly, "I understand that Dazai can be difficult to work with. I certainly understand wanting to figure out how his mind works–I'm still working on that myself. But if, by any chance, your inquiries come from personal rather than professional curiosity, I will do everything in my power to help you."

Chuuya started, his face heating in equal parts annoyance and embarrassment.

"What does that mean, Oda-san?" he demanded, clenching his fists in his lap. "What exactly are you implying?"

Oda closed his eyes thoughtfully. "To put it plainly, I'm concerned for Dazai. I believe that if he continues to obsess over violence and death, his mental state will only continue to decline. He needs something to live for, and he won't find it within his work."

The redheaded teenager scowled. "So what does that have to do with me?" he growled.

Oda opened his eyes suddenly, his piercing gaze locked onto Chuuya's face.

"Believe it or not, Chuuya, Dazai trusts you. Deeply. It is up to you to decide what to do with that. I tell you this as his friend, and now hopefully as yours too." His voice was soft, but each word held incredible weight.

Chuuya slumped against the back of his chair, reeling. Oda's words rang in his ears, echoing through his head and mingling with the suddenly deafening thumping of his heart.

Dazai, the most unreadable and guarded person he knew, trusted him deeply. Dazai trusted him.

This shouldn't come as a surprise. We're partners. Trust is a necessity.

But why does it feel so significant when Oda says it?

Images of Dazai's rare moments of vulnerability raced through his brain. Dazai slumped on the bathroom floor in the deepest despair. Dazai dancing with him at Takahashi's party, the faintest glimmer of genuine happiness in his eye. Dazai giggling like a little kid with him in front of the convenience store.

What does that mean? What is Oda really saying? What am I supposed to do? What could I do to get through to a man who actively avoids attachments?

Why on earth do I care so much, if I'm supposed to hate him?

Lost in his thoughts, he only barely registered that Oda rose from his seat, gave him a small bow, and walked out the doorway.

He sat motionless for a few minutes, the room silent except for the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock sitting in the corner. He jumped when the clock suddenly chimed twelve, its familiar mournful melody filling the room. He rubbed his face and grudgingly rose from his seat, swiping his hat off his desk. He meandered down the hallway and stepped into the elevator. He reached for the ground-floor button, but suddenly hesitated, his finger lingering over it for several seconds. In a stroke of impulse, he jerked his finger up and pressed a different floor instead. The button lit up and the elevator doors closed before he could possibly change his mind.

***Chuuya and Oda are the besties that we've been deprived of. Indulge me. They deserve to be friends.

But would Chuuya and Oda actually have gotten along? I personally think that their opposing personalities might have balanced each other out, but it's also possible that Chuuya might have found Oda to be a little too boring/bland. It's kind of a toss-up for me, but I guess we'll never know haha.