Chapter Warnings: cussing

o^o^o^o^o

Home. Sweet, sweet home. He closes the door behind him with a sigh of relief, a million pound weight dropping off his shoulders. Chuuya slumps against the door and takes a moment to just breathe, before he kicks off his shoes and goes further in.

His apartment is the exact same as when he left it, blanket folded on the back of the couch and a bottle of his favorite wine chilling for this exact moment. The only difference is the small neat stack of mail on his counter. While this isn't a Port building, it's certainly one that is no stranger to mafia tenants. Whenever Chuuya goes away, he always gets one of his underlings to get his mail and water his plants.

It's still cold and empty inside. Still that same almost clinical feeling that he's grown to not-quite hate. But it's at least a respite from work, a little haven where he can ignore his responsibilities, at least for a little while.

With a sigh, he sets the bundle of his notes about Les Fleurs down next to the other letters, and then he bypasses it completely to pull out a glass and his wine. He's grumpy at being back, angry over whatever new "project" Mori has him signed up for, and most of all he's fucking exhausted. Has been for so long.

So Chuuya is going to ignore his pile of papers, put on his favorite record, and drink an entire bottle of wine in the bath.

And tomorrow… tomorrow he'll get to work.

As he makes his way towards his bedroom, he shoots one last glance at the papers he put down on the counter. And then he closes the door, sealing it out of his mind.

o-o-o-o-o

It takes barely more than a day to finish the negotiations. He already had them pretty much done when he boarded the flight home, but he gives the Magadan Executives the courtesy of revisiting a few points. After that, it's just coordinating. Sending each other updates on the status of their shipment, how much has been gathered, when they plan to disembark on their shipping schedule, payment plans, etcetera, etcetera.

It's easy. Methodical. Gives him something to do during the days besides reminding Hitomu to pick up his dry cleaning. Each morning, he receives updates from Magadan and writes out a few replies. And then he works on anything else on his plate. Sometimes he heads into his office to work on paperwork or to meet with Mori and Kouyou and keep them updated on the negotiation status. Other times he works from home, letting Hitomu read off his emails and type out replies as he does other tasks (it's one of the best parts of having an assistant, Chuuya decides).

After a few days, he even tries to get a head start on the new gang by sitting down with Black Lizard. Gin is quiet as always while Tachihara won't stop complaining. Hirotsu just apologizes and explains that they truthfully don't know much.

"I don't think there's very many of them," he says, rubbing at his goatee thoughtfully. "We raided what we thought was a base, but they had gotten everyone out by the time we arrived. Either they somehow found out about our plans, or there was a limited number of them, allowing them to evacuate quickly." He pauses, sipping at the wine Chuuya poured for him. "We think they've been using the sewer systems to travel."

"Yeah," Tachihara interjects, grimacing sharply. "They stink." And then he blinks and starts cackling. "Get it? Because they suck but they also smell bad!"

He keeps laughing until Gin leans over and elbows him sharply in the side.

Hirotsu just pauses to release a deep sigh. The gaze he gives Chuuya is one of a deep, weary exhaustion that Chuuya can sympathize with far too well. Hell, he'd be exhausted too (well even more exhausted) if he had to be around Tachihara day and night. "We haven't had the opportunity to interrogate them either; in a couple of their raids, the guards managed to capture a few, but each time they died before they could be questioned."

"Might be some kind of poison," Chuuya muses. "Did you try identifying the bodies?"

Hirotsu nods. "Two of them didn't have any information, but another registered as a missing person. Sounds like her family put her in rehab a few years ago, but she escaped the facility and they haven't seen her since."

Chuuya thanks and dismisses them, then chews over the information. Replays the scenarios in his mind over and over throughout the day, and still hasn't reached a conclusion by the time he's back in his apartment, waiting for his dinner to cook. A bunch of nobodies; children, homeless, junkies, all banding together into a little group and somehow deciding to start attacking the Port Mafia. It's strange. Too cocky almost. Anyone who's grown up here knows to leave the Port Mafia alone, and yet this group of thieves gets it in their head to take them on?

It doesn't make sense. There's not a strong motive.

When he was a dumb kid running around in Sheep, their goal was to help the street orphans. They didn't always go about it coherently, often too caught up in posturing and boasting about how strong they were. But the motivation was there. When they fought for a piece of territory, it was to keep another gang from selling drugs to the orphanages there. When they stole money and goods, it was to help pay for food and medicine for the other kids in Cone Street.

They were dumb, and they fucked up more often than not; but ask any of them what they were fighting for, and they would tell you that they were saving themselves, saving their brothers and sisters, and every child who this city ever abandoned like garbage.

But this… this isn't like that. They've barely done more than show up and prove themselves to be nuisances. And at random locations too. Once in a warehouse, ambushing and killing two Port Mafia guards but leaving the stock untouched. Again, in one of their business fronts, stabbing the man who owned the building before taking barely any of their money. A few more locations, all across the city, but none that ever resulted in the injury or death of more than three people.

It's not like they're wreaking havoc; far from it. They're a minor annoyance, one that Mori wants taken care of quickly and quietly. But it's almost as if they aren't trying to undermine the Port. They're just… testing them.

Trying to figure something out. Something that Chuuya doesn't understand yet. He thinks of the Port Mafia guards who were tortured before they were killed, likely kept alive for hours. Thinks about how the store manager had attended several meetings with the higher ups in the Port Mafia, called Mori by his first name.

And he realizes that maybe this gang isn't necessarily trying to take down the Port. Not yet at least.

They're just… looking for something.

And Chuuya needs to find out what it is.

o-o-o-o-o

He's just sat down at the table when he hears a quiet thump. Chuuya pauses, chopsticks midway to his mouth as he glances around. His apartment is nice and has the price tag to prove it. It's been soundproofed, fitted with black-out blinds, laid with heated floors. So. Chuuya shouldn't be hearing anything, even if his neighbors are in a screaming match.

But there it is again. A quiet thump, almost a knock. Like someone is leaning over and rapping their knuckles on the wall. A thump and a pause followed by a few more thumps. Chuuya glances towards his bedroom where the sound seems to be coming from, frowning. And then he lets out a sigh, pushing his dinner away and rising.

One peaceful fucking dinner. Is that too much to ask? He thinks bitterly.

As he makes his way cautiously through the apartment, the sound increases, becoming more insistent. The pauses become shorter and shorter, until the thumping is a near constant beat. It keeps going, getting louder, until it echoes around his bedroom. The water on his nightstand shakes with it.

And Chuuya doesn't get scared easy. It's hard to when you're the horror story people tell their naughty children about. But this, whatever it is, is making an apprehensive knot form in his stomach. Makes his heartrate increase and sweat prickle at his hands and armpits. Chuuya pauses, reaching for his knife and unfolding it with a too loud click before he follows the sound further in, towards his closet. Almost like it can sense him, the thumping rises into an all out banging, as though someone is using their two fists to beat the wall.

He hesitates outside the closet, trying to picture what he might find. An intruder who broke in? Some kid playing a prank? It's hard to say who would be dumb enough to pull a stunt like this with someone like him.

With a last deep breath, Chuuya steadies himself. And then he steps around the corner, clicking on the light—

Instantly all sound stops.

Chuuya pauses, knife raised, looking around his entirely empty closet.

The banging is gone, the air so still and quiet it's almost as though it was never there. Chuuya swallows, looking around apprehensively, but there's no sign of anything besides the soft swaying of hangers on the clothes railings.

He waits a few moments, poised and ready to attack anything that might pop out at him. And then slowly he approaches the wall, creeping towards it. It's still quiet, and the echo of his breath in the space is too loud, making him hyperaware of every rustle of his clothes, every heartbeat, every piece of carpet shifting under his foot. He gets closer and closer until he can reach out and place his fingertips on the wall, running them gently over the surface. And then he leans and presses his ear against it.

For a long moment, there's nothing. No thumping or banging. Even his own breathing seems to quiet down. And right as he's getting ready to pull back—

"NOE."

Chuuya jumps with a hiss, turning and striking out at where the sound came from. His knife slices through one of his shirts before he realizes that there's nothing in front of him, and he turns again, ready to attack—

But there's nothing there.

He's still alone. Standing in his closet with his knife held out. By himself.

He pauses, heart thumping in his chest, trying to figure out where that sound came from, why it feels like there are eyes on the back of his neck. The shirt he sliced through rocks precariously and then slips off its hanger, landing in a heap on the floor. Chuuya stares at it, reaching up to rub at his neck where all his hairs are standing up. It's nothing, he tells himself. You imagined it. You're a mess and you're tired and now you're hearing things.

But it doesn't make him feel better.

He leans down to pick up the shirt and throw it away, but before his fingers can even brush the fabric, a knock echoes in from the living room of his apartment. His heart skips a bit, hackles rising. But he forces himself to take a deep breath; he knows what his front door sounds like, and it's far different from whatever banging noise his exhausted brain concocted.

Slowly, he makes his way back through his apartment, folding his knife away as he does. He still keeps his hand on it in his pocket though as he glances through the peephole and twists the lock.

"What?" he snaps, looking out at the intruder.

Hitomu blinks at him, taking a nervous step back at Chuuya's tone. "Uh, hi," he says quietly. "I, uh, brought the files you wanted."

Chuuya looks at the kid, dressed in his usual too-big suit and breathing a bit fast, like he's either taken the stairs or is nervous. Under one arm is a small stack of folders, lined neatly with sticky notes separating the important parts. And then Chuuya looks down at the other thing the kid brought; a giant vase, filled to the brim with flowers. Roses, lilies, a ton of other types that Chuuya hasn't seen before. Chuuya stares at the flowers, feeling his stomach drop. Oh, oh shit, he thinks. This isn't happening. And then, Kouyou is going to be so pissed—

It's not like Chuuya hasn't had his fair share of admirers or fuck buddies. But Chuuya has a strict rule about never touching another Port Mafia member, especially someone working as his subordinate. And it's not like he hasn't noticed the way the kid follows him around like a puppy or blushes every time Chuuya looks at him, but he was just choosing to attribute it to nerves. If this is really what it looks like… Chuuya needs to put a stop to it now.

He gestures towards the vase slowly. "You buy those?"

The boy follows his gaze to the flowers. And then he promptly sputters and starts coughing so hard he almost falls over. "No!" he exclaims. "No, I—I was just—they were in your office and I thought I would bring them, and—" he cuts himself off.

And… it's a relief (crisis averted). Almost. Chuuya raises an eyebrow at the kid whose face has gone mauve all the way down to his shirt collar as he opens and closes his mouth like a fish. "You just… found a random gift in my office. That may or may not be a trap. And you thought you would bring it here?"

He stares at the kid as he absorbs the words. Those brown eyes widen in further panic. "Oh my god," the boy breathes, "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just—"

Chuuya holds up a hand, stopping the boy's hysterical tirade. "Whatever, it's fine. Just… don't do it again."

The kid nods frantically, hard enough that Chuuya almost worries he'll fall over. "Yes, sorry. If it's any help, I don't think they're boobytrapped."

It isn't. But it at least makes Chuuya snort with something close to tired amusement. He reaches out and takes the stack of folders from Hitomu, then brushes his fingers over the vase and uses a touch of his power to levitate it. Hitomu steps back, still blushing furiously. He glances at Chuuya, then quickly down at his shoes. "I should, uh, get going," he says to his feet and promptly turns and starts speed walking away.

Chuuya lets him get about halfway down the hall before he's leaning out and calling after the kid. "Hitomu?"

The boy turns, almost losing his balance. He rights himself, blushing even harder. "Yes?"

Chuuya hesitates. "You weren't… I don't know, pounding on the wall? Earlier?"

The boy blinks at him. "No," he says plainly. And then his eyebrows furrow nervously. "Should I have been? I can next time—"

"No," Chuuya cuts him off. "It's fine."

And then he closes the door.

o-o-o-o-o

He takes the folders and the flowers inside, setting the former on his growing stack of paperwork that's taking over his table. And then he walks the flowers over to his kitchen island, still levitating them. He spins the vase slowly, scanning over every angle for a sign that it's somehow booby trapped or tampered with. The flowers are all vibrant, some of them looking dewy like they've been freshly misted with water. Probably Hitomu, sappy kid; Chuuya's noticed that they boy's office desk is littered with succulents and little plants. These are an expensive bunch of flowers though, paired with an equally gaudy crystalline vase, and an envelope of thick, rich paper nestled between the buds. Far above that kid's paygrade.

But it's like the kid said; he doesn't see anything overly suspicious.

Finally, he sets the flowers down and reaches out, picking up the envelope. It's weighted nicely, definitely written on a fancy cardstock, and the back of it has only the word "Greetings!" scrawled on it in fancy looping writing. Chuuya grimaces at the overly bubbly script before he sticks his thumb under the seal and rips it open. Inside is a single folded paper. Chuuya pulls it out, giving it a hesitant glance before he's unfolding it.

He barely catches a glimpse of more of the same, fancy script before a pressed flower falls out, drifting onto his counter. Its purple colored petals contrast sharply over the granite. Chuuya eyes it with a sinking, uneasy feeling in his stomach. And then he turns his gaze back to the letter and reads it.

By the time he's done, his stomach is cramping even more, knotting up with apprehensive energy. He rereads the words, then again. "Well," he says finally. "Fuck."

o-o-o-o-o

"Well," Mori says, handing the letter over to Kouyou so she can read it. "That's certainly not good."

Chuuya snorts, crossing his arms and leaning back onto the couch. "You're telling me."

He'd shoved the flowers in the garbage disposal and then was up half the night contemplating what the letter meant. Then, as soon as he knew Mori was in the office, he'd called an executive meeting. So here they are, at seven in the morning, drinking their coffee and reading a letter while Elise sleeps on the couch behind them.

Chuuya chews at his lip, studying Kouyou quietly. He isn't able to see the letter from here, but he can tell by Kouyou's reactions which parts she's at; he's read it enough times that he almost has it memorized word for word.

First a creepy poem, written entirely in French. Que j'aime voir, chère indolente, De ton corps si beau, Comme une étoffe vacillante, Miroiter la peau… Then at the bottom: You want to know more about us? About Les Fleurs du Mal? Do you really think you're ready to find out, Noe?

Mori tuts, steepling his fingers under his chin as he thinks. "Les Fleurs du Mal…"

"The flowers of evil," Kouyou says, laying the letter back on the table. "A little dramatic, isn't it?"

Chuuya shrugs, reaching for and drinking from his coffee. After a night spent over analyzing every line from the letter, he feels like he could down the entire pot and still be dead on his feet. He rubs tiredly at his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on. Kouyou gives a soft hum and begins fanning herself softly. She continues, "And what about this Noe? What's that supposed to mean? Or who?"

For a second, it's like being back in his closet, feeling phantom eyes flaying over his skin. Hearing the word, so loud it was almost a shout, coming from directly over his shoulder. NOE. He offers another, more hesitant shrug, covers his mouth with his coffee mug so Kouyou won't be able to see his expression. "No idea," he mutters.

It's not like he doesn't want to tell her about those moments, filled with panic inside his own apartment. He does, and probably definitely should. But there's something holding him back. Something that makes him hesitate to reveal that bit of weakness. Something besides Mori still contemplating beside him. He can't quite put his finger on it, but like Chuuya has come to believe; his gut is right, and if it's telling him to keep his mouth shut, then that's what he's going to do.

Finally, Mori lets out a deep breath. "Well," he says, "it may seem a little out of character for our mysterious street gang to be so bold, but… if they made a point to get this to us, then we have no other choice but to perceive it as a threat."

Chuuya grimaces. This is what he was afraid of; another threat rising in Yokohama. One that he'll probably end up having to wipe out. Just more fucking work.

For a long moment they're silent. And then Kouyou says, "I'll have my girls on high alert and increase security at our more popular houses."

Mori nods, turning to Chuuya. "Chuuya-kun, how are the negotiations with the Russians?"

"They're fine," Chuuya says. "We're expecting our first shipment to arrive tomorrow. I'll oversee it personally and bring Black Lizard just in case these... Les Fleurs try to pull anything."

Mori hums in agreement. "You can also borrow Akutagawa and Higuchi. There's something I want you to tell them."

Chuuya coughs out a mouthful of coffee. Take Akutagawa and Higuchi? They haven't been assigned anywhere together in months. And there's something that he wants Chuuya to tell them? It doesn't sit right, makes a chill run down his spine. "Sir?"

Mori glances at him, then pauses and turns to Kouyou. "Ozaki-san," he says, "would you mind going and spreading the word that we have a name for our little street gang?"

Kouyou pauses, sipping at her mug. And then her eyes widen. "Right," she says. "Yes. I will do that."

And now he's sending Kouyou away? (Oh god, it just keeps getting fucking worse—)

The door closes behind her with a final click, the last nail in the coffin. Chuuya stares at Mori uneasily. Mori returns his gaze before offering a quiet sigh. He reaches out and refills his coffee, then offers some to Chuuya. Chuuya declines, clutching his mug so tight he almost worries about shattering it. Finally, Mori sits back, stirring in the last of his sugar. "You remember that I mentioned a special project, yes?"

Chuuya nods jerkily.

Mori returns the gesture, looking upwards like he's trying to find an answer written on the ceiling. He's silent for a long time.

"If this is about Russia, or… something like that, I can fix it," Chuuya says. "I just—"

Mori holds up a hand to stop him. "You're not in trouble, Chuuya-kun," he says. "I just have a job for you. And I know it's one you won't like."

"Oh," Chuuya says. Oh. He watches Mori's face for a hint at what it might be, but the man offers nothing in his expression besides an almost apologetic grimace. "Well," he says hesitantly. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

Mori chuckles. "That depends." He takes another drink and closes his eyes for a long moment. And then he opens them and looks Chuuya straight in the face. "I suppose I'll just say it: the Armed Detective Agency contacted me while you were gone. They're looking to form a… partnership, if you will. A truce."

Chuuya stares at him. Mori breathes deeply and continues, "They are interested in the possibility of forming a new Double Black. Between the weretiger and—"

"Akutagawa," Chuuya realizes. Dazai's two prodigies. The one who he's currently raising, caring for, building into a hero. And the one that he broke apart piece by piece, creating a caustic, angry boy who hates everyone almost as much as he hates himself.

The boss nods. "Akutagawa. And they'll be needing someone to train the two of them. Dazai and I reached the conclusion that along with his guidance, you are the best man for the job."

Chuuya is quiet for a long time. And then a sound bursts out of him that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "That's—I." he stops. "No."

He can't do it. He won't do it. Not to Akutagawa. Not to that kid that Dazai abandoned (just like he abandoned Chuuya). Not when Akutagawa can still barely think of anything else besides pleasing that bandaged bastard or getting himself killed trying. And most of all, Chuuya can't do that to himself. Not if it means seeing Dazai every day. Not if it means being harassed or messed with. Not when the last time they were together he had his tongue down the other's throat. He refuses to give Dazai that ammo, to submit himself to that treatment.

So, no thank you. He'll pass. He'll keep his sanity and his dignity intact, so help him god.

Mori heaves out a sigh loud enough that Elise grumbles and rolls over on the couch next to him. "Chuuya, just think about this," he says.

Chuuya stands, pacing across the room. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. "I am. This is—"

"Ridiculous?"

(Fucked up)

"Something like that," he snaps. He can feel a kind of desperate anger gathering in his chest, making his throat tight. "You can't seriously believe that bastard. After everything he's pulled. If he wants our help it's because he's planning something."

"Yes, he is," Mori says, and for the first time his voice has a bite to it. His eyes are hard, tone icy as he adds, "Sit down please."

And Chuuya looks at him. Glares at him, really, from across the room, trying to gauge how serious Mori is, how far he can possibly push this before Mori finally decides a mouthy executive is less useful than a dead one. Mori's gaze is cold, the same gaze that Dazai was trained to use, that he used to stare at Chuuya with. And then it softens just a touch. He gestures. "Sit."

So Chuuya sits, crossing his arms. He doesn't look away, just keeps his gaze trained squarely on Mori's face until finally the man gives, heaving another sigh like this entire conversation is paining him. "Tell me, Chuuya-kun, haven't you noticed it? Every threat, every emergency, every organization that opposes us… they're getting worse. Getting stronger. Doesn't that worry you?"

Chuuya swallows thickly. "No. I'm stronger. I can stop them."

"Yes," Mori concedes. "But will you always be here? What about the next time you're in America or Russia… do you truthfully think you can make it back in time to save all of us?"

And… And Chuuya doesn't know. He's strong, yes. Terrifyingly so. But he's not a miracle worker who can teleport across continents in the blink of an eye. There are aspects of him, of the thing inside him, that are more than human. But when it comes to traveling… there's only so much gravity can do.

"It's time," Mori adds gently. "There will be more threats. More enemies. And we need our new blood to step up and bare more responsibility. We need this alliance and we need you to make it all work."

It makes sense in a horrible way. Chuuya has been tired, been run dry to help save the city time and time again from some jackass who thinks they can rule the world. If this really works like Mori thinks it might… it will be nice. Could be great even, not having to worry every fucking second that the world is going to burn down if he relaxes. But there's something else. Something Mori isn't saying. Mori isn't a terrible person, despite what those goody-fucking-two-shoes at the Detective Agency think. But he also isn't a philanthropist; he doesn't just help people out of the goodness of his heart. There's something else going on here, underneath the façade of a truce.

It doesn't matter though; there's only one answer Mori will accept.

Chuuya's fingers clench into fists as he takes a deep breath. "Fine. But if that bastard puts one toe out of line, I'm breaking his legs and leaving with the kid."

The smile Mori gives him isn't so much a happy one as a triumphant one. "I knew you'd see reason. And if Dazai really does do something to undermine the truce… then I give you full permission to finally exact the revenge you've always wanted."

His revenge. Killing Dazai. Gutting that bastard in front of all his little detective buddies. It's what he's fantasized about for years. Thought about constantly from the time he found out that Dazai was still alive, was joining the "good" side. But over the last few months… fighting to save the city from Q, beating a tentacle monster, defeating a fucking dragon. Seeing Dazai, laid on the ground with a knife in his back, blood on his white suit, and tasting his breath as Dazai kissed him desperately, clutching his fingers in Chuuya's hair…

He doesn't know if revenge is what he wants. Not anymore.

"I think it's an even better idea with the recent Les Fleurs development," Mori adds, drawing Chuuya out of his thoughts and back into the room. "The Detective Agency might be willing to help a bit once they have our cooperation." He pauses for a long second, and his voice is quieter, more serious as he says, "I know you can do this. I know you can. But I need to hear you say it. Say that you can follow through with the mission and not get distracted."

Get distracted by what? Killing Dazai? Kissing him? He can't tell which one Mori's insinuating, but either option is damning. But Chuuya just looks at him. Really studies those cold, rust colored eyes. The gray hair starting to come in throughout Mori's beard and at his temples. His finger, tapping rhythmically against his knee.

It's not just Chuuya, he realizes. It's not just him who's exhausted, feeling the wear and tear of the non-stop conflicts. Feeling that every turf war, every organization pissing contest is taking years off his lifetime. Mori is stressed, being pressed into a corner.

And he's going to find a way out, whether Chuuya is helping him or not.

Chuuya gives a nod. "I can do this."