Chapter warnings: cussing, very minor sexual content

o^o^o^o^o

The boy is walking. Staring at his feet, where his tiny little shoes are lighting up with each clopping step. White tile passes by underneath him, reflecting a harsh, fluorescent light. He tries to catch up to the reflection, but each time he moves, it just seems to get further and further away. Before he can speed up and really chase after it, a hand tugs him back. He looks up at the teen walking beside him. Ever since they got here, the older boy has been silent, his brow furrowed with a pinched, nervous expression. The boy tries smiling at him, squeezing his hand, but the teen doesn't return the gesture.

They keep walking, further and further until a loud voice echoes throughout the hall. "Bonjour!"

The boy looks up to see a man in a white coat approaching, two men with thick vests and guns following. He's tall, taller than the teen, enough that the boy has to crane his neck back to see his face. The man smiles down at him, his dark eyes squinting kindly. He's got a thick beard that reminds the little boy a bit of his grandfather before he got sick.

Slowly, the man crouches down. "Bonjour," he says again, and then in carefully pronounced Japanese, "You must be Noe."

The boy thinks over every word slowly, still trying to get used to their sounds. And then he nods before pointing up at the teenager beside him. "And this is Charlie!"

The man pauses for a moment and then laughs. "Very good, I'm pleased to meet you both! My name is Doctor Ito and I run the facility here."

The boy nods again, not quite understanding what a facility is, but if this happy man is in charge, then it must be okay. The man continues, "The headmistress at your orphanage said it would be fine if you helped me with my research here. Is that alright with you?"

The boy thinks about it, scrunching up his little face. "If Charlie can stay with me," he decides.

Doctor Ito glances up at the older boy hesitantly. His smile falters for a moment. And then it comes back, just as reassuring as before. "Of course, he can stay," he says. "I'm sure we'll find plenty of use for your friend."

He rises back to his full height and turns a bit, offering his hand. The boy stares at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it with his free hand. "Now," Doctor Ito says, "let us show you to your room."

o-o-o-o-o

"I don't want to do this," Akutagawa says.

His words are quiet, spoken through clenched teeth and barely audible over the wind rushing past. Chuuya takes a last drag off his cigarette before dropping it on the pavement, scuffing it out under his toe. "Yeah, well. Welcome to the party."

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, tries not to reach for his pack and instantly smoke another three to soothe his nerves. His stomach gives an uncomfortable twist, like it's been doing ever since he woke up this morning. He'd sat up straight in his bed, feeling disoriented and panicked, almost like he'd forgotten something important, the remnants of his dream hanging like a fog. He'd felt better after a hot shower and a few cups of coffee and had chalked it all up to a combination of stress over the Les Fleurs fiasco and the apprehension of Mori sending him an appointment time and location for their meeting.

"I mean it," Akutagawa continues. "This is ridiculous. I don't understand why the Boss would want us to partner with these idiots."

Another gust of wind catches them and Chuuya grimaces as cold water hits the back of his neck. Fucking winter. "Believe me, I tried talking to him. He's made up his mind."

Akutagawa glowers before looking down at his feet. In the several days that he's been recovering, the bump on his head has almost gone away, but the cut on his face is looking worse. The black stitching is visible since the kid refuses to wear a bandage, and surrounding the entire cut is a sickly blue-green bruise. As Chuuya watches, the kid grimaces, reaching up to scratch at the edge of his stitches. Chuuya reaches over and bats his hand away from his face, earning a petulant glare.

Normally, he would be a little angry or exasperated with one of his subordinates fixing him a look like that. But instead, all he feels is the echo of a guilty pang in his stomach. Not only did he fuck up a trade deal and allow Akutagawa to get hit with an unknown ability, but in the process of stopping the kid, he ended up slamming him into the concrete face first. Chuuya has hurt plenty of people, even enjoys it sometimes. But he hates the idea of attacking his subordinates, especially Akutagawa who already went through hell as a kid.

And the icing on the cake; here they are, outside of a restaurant on a cold as fuck night, about to meet their arch enemies, one of whom Chuuya is definitely not lusting over (no matter what his libido seems to think) and the other who is apparently Akutagawa's replacement as Dazai's shiny new toy.

So. If the kid wants to glare and pout and sulk, Chuuya isn't inclined to stop him (not when he feels like joining in himself). They wait there in silence for a few more minutes before the boy is heaving another angry breath. "They're late—"

"Not just late," a familiar voice chimes up behind them. "Fashionably late."

His stomach drops sharply.

Chuuya turns with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow, trying to stifle the uptick in his heartbeat. Dazai and the tiger. It's the first time Chuuya has seen him since he ripped apart a dragon for him, and he looks better (now that he doesn't have a bloody wound on his back). He's back in his normal detective attire, his tan coat billowing behind him with the wind and his hands stuffed in the pockets. For just a moment, Chuuya lets his eyes linger on Dazai's face, the smooth jaw, the dark bangs that are even messier than normal. And then Dazai looks him straight in the eyes and smirks. His stomach gives a violent twist like he might puke, and he rips his gaze away and turns instead to the boy beside him.

The tiger stands there, lips thinned, looking for a terrible moment like he might run away or start hissing. He's wearing a puffy coat that covers part of his lower face, but even without seeing his mouth, Chuuya can tell the boy is frowning. He stands half behind Dazai, glaring at Akutagawa from over his shoulder. Akutagawa is staring back just as intensely, practically radiating savage energy.

Seeing the two boys acting like literal children settles something in his stomach, reminds him of his purpose. Oh hell, he thinks with a mental eye roll that takes eight years off his life. They really are just dumb kids, aren't they?

For a long moment, the four of them stand there silently, looking at each other. And then another gust of wind blows through and Chuuya decides he's had enough of being out in the cold. He steps forwards, holding out a hand. "Chuuya Nakahara," he says. "Executive."

The tiger looks at it suspiciously before he slowly reaches out to take it, shaking once and then snatching his hand back like Chuuya might bite it off. "Atsushi Nakajima," he murmurs, still sending an angry look over Chuuya's shoulder at the other teen. Chuuya grits his teeth in annoyance. Awkward little shit—

There's more standing and looking, each of the two boys still sending pointed glares at the other. And then Dazai clears his throat and gestures between them. "Should I formally introduce you two, or…?"

Both boys grimace like they've heard something disgusting, the tiger giving an apprehensive, "Dazai-san," at the same time that Akutagawa spits, "Fuck off."

Dazai starts laughing and Chuuya heaves in a breath, counting to ten, wishing that he were literally anywhere else in the entire fucking universe. Just be calm, Chuuya, he tells himself. An hour. You can do an hour without killing someone. And hey, you get free food. Even though he's rich now, it's still a good incentive from remembering the times he spent in Cone Street.

He opens his eyes to Dazai's dark gaze fixed on him, and he forcibly ignores the jolt it sends down his spine. "Right," he mutters, walking through the space between the teens and grabbing for the restaurant door. "Let's get this over with."

o-o-o-o-o

Fifteen minutes later, Chuuya is ripping apart another bread roll. They're covered in garlic and butter, not half bad for how dingy and old the restaurant looks. Plus, the bread at least gives him a reason to avoid eye contact with either of the toddlers next to him, or worse, that shitty mackerel who just keeps staring at him. He can feel that familiar gaze like a weight on the side of his face, analyzing him with smug amusement.

No one speaks. No one has spoken since they all sat down and Chuuya and Dazai put their orders in. Waiter and customer chatter fill the background.

Finally, a waiter comes over with their trays and begins filling the table, clearing his throat awkwardly. Chuuya puts down his bread roll and transitions to his soup, shoving a spoon in his mouth and stifling his reaction when he nearly melts the roof of his mouth off. He can almost hear something like a chuckle from Dazai, but he ignores it. That's all he has to do. Ignore Dazai. Somehow. Pretend like he isn't remembering the feel of calloused hands on his skin. Just keep his eyes trained on his food, or his wine, or…

Akutagawa.

He turns to the teen who hasn't even touched his food. He hasn't even moved really, still slouching in his seat and openly glowering across the table at the weretiger. Not that the other kid isn't also looking grumpy as hell, but he at least has the decency to pick at his food like he's trying to eat it. And Chuuya watches the two of them for about thirty seconds before he feels his blood pressure skyrocket. Fuck it, he thinks. If they're going to be forced to sit here in the supposed interest of a truce, then at least Chuuya is going to get some information out of it.

The weretiger jumps half a mile in his chair when he drops his fist on the table, but Dazai just looks up at him, grinning like he's been anticipating this very moment. Chuuya shoves past that, focusing instead on his goal, and how he very much is not in a good place to be screwing up another mission. "Alright," he says. "What's the angle here?"

Dazai's smirk widens a touch. "Angle?" he asks, voice deceptively innocent (Chuuya hasn't bought that shit since he was a kid).

Chuuya narrows his eyes at him. "Yeah, angle. Your lot just calls us out of nowhere, coming up with some bullshit reason to ask for our help?"

He turns his gaze from Dazai to Atsushi, but the kid just shuffles in place nervously, so he looks back to that infuriating smile. "Well," Dazai says, "it isn't asking for help so much as it's a proactive truce, designed to help us share resources in the event of a crisis—"

"Spare me the bullshit," Chuuya interrupts. "I want to know what you're really planning. What do you know?"

Dazai pauses, looking at him. And then he chuckles softly, raising his hand to cover his mouth. Beside him, Akutagawa growls something under his breath, but Chuuya just holds up a hand slightly, a silent indication to calm down and let the idiot continue.

When Dazai stops, he takes a sip of water and clears his throat. "Sorry," he says, "I just forget how straightforward chibi is." Chuuya grits his teeth at the name but keeps his mouth shut. Slowly, Dazai leans forwards, placing his palms on the table, and says, "We're here because these kids killed Shibusawa."

And… Chuuya knows that.

Shibusawa. The crazy motherfucker that Chuuya though he obliterated into tiny little specks years ago. It had taken Corruption to kill the man, though Chuuya would've unleashed the monster anyways after what that bastard did to his friends. Not only his new subordinates in the mafia; to the orphans, the homeless, the street gangs. Even part of the Sheep, completely ripped to shreds by their own abilities turning against them.

He remembers using Arahabaki long enough that Dazai had to carry him home, both his shoulders needing to be forced back into their sockets and his ankle in a cast for weeks. Laughing with tired satisfaction when Dazai told him that Shibusawa died screaming, eaten piece by piece by one of Chuuya's blackholes.

Far too kind for what someone like him deserved.

So. In a way, Chuuya is impressed that these two morons (who are still glaring at each other) managed to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to get the job done. When Dazai doesn't continue, just keeps looking at him like he's expecting a little light bulb to go off over Chuuya's head, Chuuya squints at the man. "Okay. So, they killed Shibusawa. And now you want to punish them by making them work together?"

Dazai laughs, waving his hand. "No, no. They saved the city. And we want them to save it again."

There's an audible grunt of disdain from Akutagawa that Chuuya can't help but agree with. It sounds so… goody fucking two-shoes that it almost makes him nauseas. "From what exactly?"

The mackerel just shrugs, reaching for his drink and sipping noisily through the straw. "Whatever comes next," he says plainly.

Chuuya stares. Just stares. Because here is Dazai, the dark former genius of the Port Mafia (who specialized in strategizing and violent interrogation), sitting across from him with a plate of tortellini and asking him to do one of the single stupidest things he's ever heard. To join the good fight and team up with their little hero squad. Just in case something happens.

When he remains silent, Dazai gives him an indulgent look. "I know you don't believe me. I'm not surprised. But surely even someone like you has noticed it, hat-rack." (What's that supposed to mean, stupid fucker?) "Every time some new threat comes to Yokohama, it gets bigger. Stronger. And they won't quit, not as long as the Book is hidden here. And one of these days, even you won't be able to stop them."

He pauses, releasing a quiet breath. "It's time. We need a new Double Black. A better Double Black. And these kids and you are the best chance we have at keeping our city safe."

It's very nearly what Mori said to him those days ago (with more insults woven in). And Chuuya knows, knows that he's partially right. Has felt it like an ache, like a never-ending exhaustion every time he hears of some new crisis he has to deal with. People will come, and they'll keep coming, looking for any little bit of power they can use to change the world the way the want it to be. But looking at these kids—a weretiger who can't even make eye contact with him, a moody sick kid with a magic coat… even with years of training, if it truly comes down to the city being in their hands, he's not so sure they'll make it.

But he doesn't have any better ideas.

Dazai takes another drink. "Believe me or not. Those are my plans."

"I don't believe you," Chuuya says. "And I think you're full of shit. But fine. Whatever."

There's a moment of silence. Dazai blinks at him and then his smirk grows into something satisfied and gloating. "I knew chibi would come around!"

Chuuya glares at him. "Don't make me regret this," he snaps. He turns to the boy sitting next to Dazai who glances into his eyes and then quickly away. His fingers twist at the edge of the tablecloth nervously. "And you: If I'm going to spend time teaching you, you're going to do what I say." Atsushi's cheeks go a bit pink, but he gives a jerky nod, keeping his mouth shut.

"This is bullshit," Akutagawa grumbles from beside him. Chuuya turns on the kid.

"That goes for you, too," he says. Akutagawa glares at him, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. Chuuya leans towards him, hissing quiet enough for just the boy to hear, "Unless you want Mori to give us an official Port send off."

The boy doesn't say anything, just jerks his head away to stare at the floor. Chuuya keeps watching him for a moment, but when it becomes clear he's going to keep his mouth shut, he turns back to the others with a sigh.

"So." He reaches up to rub at his forehead, trying to abate his growing headache. "Tell me what I'm working with."

Atsushi glances at Dazai before he quietly says, "I'm a weretiger."

He already knows that. Chuuya stares at him. Keeps staring until he realizes the boy isn't going to say anything else (Jesus, this kid…). "That all? Are we talking a full big cat transformation here? Half? Three quarters? Elaborate."

The boy's face goes red and he starts to speak, but Dazai cuts him off with a smooth smile. "Atsushi-kun is still learning to control the full tiger. Right now, he's mainly able to transform his arms and legs, giving him enhanced speed and strength." Chuuya looks back and forth from the kid whose face is near mauve to Dazai, who takes a bite of his tortellini. He just huffs and nods reaching for his own spoon when—

"Don't forget the healing," Akutagawa growls. "It's the only reason he's not dead."

Chuuya raises his eyebrows, glancing at Akutagawa who is leaning forwards in his seat, hands planted firmly on the table. "Healing?" he says, "that's useful—"

"It's lucky," Akutagawa snaps. "This boyis nothing more than a stupid child. He's pathetic and I refuse to—"

"You'll work with him because I tell you to," Dazai interjects coldly. He's giving Akutagawa a smile that conveys something close to a threat, his grip tight on his glass. "And if you don't, then you'll never see me again."

Akutagawa stops, his eyes widening as he looks his old mentor in the face. Shit. Chuuya feels something in his stomach twist for the boy. He hates what Dazai did to him, hates putting him back in this situation. But he also needs him to cooperate so they both don't end up on Mori's shit list. Akutagawa just keeps staring, looking almost like he's been slapped.

And then he pushes his chair back and all but runs from the restaurant.

Chuuya watches him go, trying to decide if he should get up and follow. And then he turns back, grabbing his wine glass and downing it. The boy won't be happy to see him after this anyways. Dazai lets out a quiet sigh, dropping his head.

For a few minutes, the three of them are quiet, nothing but the sound of the normal restaurant chatter in the background. And then Atsushi leans over and tugs on Dazai's elbow like a little kid. "Can I, uh…go?"

Dazai looks at the kid. And then he gives a huff of amusement. "Sure, Atsushi-kun. Tell Kunikida I'll be back later."

o-o-o-o-o

They're silent until the door closes behind the tiger. And then Dazai slumps in his seat. "Well. That went well."

Chuuya heaves out something that's a cross between a snort and a sigh. It was a disaster. But at least no one died. He calls for a water (he's not getting drunk the first time he has to see Dazai again. No thank you, he's been humiliated enough) and starts picking over his now cold food.

Dazai joins him, and for a long while the two eat in silence, save for the clink of their silverware on their plates. It's awkward, but at least the tension between them seems to have bled out somewhat in their conversation earlier. Chuuya uses the quiet to think about the last few days from the flowers and note to his talk with Mori. Finally, he pushes back his plate.

"Listen," he says. "I've already agreed to your plan, and I'm going to keep my part. But I want you to answer some questions."

Dazai stops, fork halfway to his mouth. He puts it down and arches an eyebrow. "We've already finished the negotiations. The deal is set."

Chuuya swallows, putting his hands in his lap so he can clench his fists without Dazai seeing. He hates asking for favors, especially when it shows his weakness. But here… Mori gave him an order. "This isn't about the deal. I know you've heard about what happened at the docks recently." As Dazai opens his mouth, he holds up a hand. "Don't play dumb."

Dazai gives him a smile that's near vapid, one of the ones he uses as a mask to hide any expressions. "Maybe I have."

Chuuya's jaw clenches. The fabric of his glove strain against his knuckles. "I want to know if you've heard anything about a group called Les Fleurs du Mal. They're a new group, only been around a few months. We think they're mostly made up of vagrants and homeless kids… but they have a gifted. A powerful one." He pauses. "I just want to know if you've heard anything. Seen anything."

Dazai sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. For a long moment he doesn't speak, and then he clicks his tongue. "Les Fleurs du Mal… haven't heard of them."

Chuuya scowls. "Wow, thanks. Very helpful—"

"I wasn't done, chibi," the detective interrupts. His eyes are very dark in the dimly lit restaurant, and for the first time tonight, Chuuya doesn't have the excuse of looking away. He stares back, challenging him with a tilt of his chin. "I haven't heard of the group. But we have been getting an increase in missing persons cases, runaways, the like. There's also been some increased crime. Break ins, robberies. We could be looking at the same people."

That's better. Not much more than what the Port already knows. But at least Dazai isn't bullshitting him or trying to hide the truth.

Dazai gives Chuuya a minute to digest his words before his eyes narrow. "And a gifted? What kind of gift?"

He hears that raspy voice again, telling him to wake up. Pictures Akutagawa haloed in a strange purple hue. "I'm not sure yet," he admits. "Some kind of mind control. Not like Q… more like possession."

He can feel those eyes flaying over him for a moment, and he does his best not to squirm. "Mind control," Dazai murmurs. "That could be bad. I'll keep an eye out."

And… it's not that Chuuya wasn't expecting Dazai to give over information, or even offer to help—but normally it's done with complaints, with goading and coercing because Dazai is incapable of not being an asshole for more than two minutes at a time. Yet he nods his head at Chuuya and the entire gesture seems strangely genuine. His gaze isn't as smug as it was before.

It's a relief. The first one he's had today.

Chuuya thanks him quietly, relaxing back a little. He takes a moment to mop up the last of his soup with a piece of bread and stacks his dishes with Dazai's. He's feeling… not accomplished. But something close. Satisfaction?

It's as he looks back that he sees it. A change in posture. A slight edge to Dazai's smile. The glint is back, and he— he looks like he did in the fog. Smirking down at Chuuya as he tried to catch his breath, teasing him, maybe if chibi hadn't punched me in the face I'd be able to kiss him more—until Chuuya had grabbed him by the collar and shut him up.

And he realizes far too late that he's been lulled into a false sense of security. This is—this is bad.

Chuuya's palms start sweating, the back of his neck prickling as every nerve ending starts screaming a warning. A foot brushes against his and Chuuya jumps hard enough that his knee bangs the table. His lungs constrict. He reaches hurriedly for his glass, uses it to hide his mouth.

Dazai just chuckles. Quietly, he says, "So… is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"Why would I want to talk to you?" Chuuya says quickly, and his voice comes out high and tense. He clears his throat, feeling his cheeks go red.

"Well," Dazai replies, "you're still sitting here."

Chuuya looks at him. And then he puts down his glass and starts to rise. Before he even makes it all the way up, a hand settles gently on his wrist. Instantly, he's pulling away like he's been burned, shooting a nervous glance at the other patrons who are all minding their own business, eating idly. And then he sends a furious glare at Dazai. They aren't in the fog again. They're not somewhere where they can pretend like they have privacy, or like it's okay that the last time they were alone together, they ended up tangled in each other's arms (it's very much not okay, especially not to their respective bosses).

"Sit," that smooth voice says. And Chuuya shouldn't. But he sits anyways.

Dazai's smirk turns into a grin. "I think we should pick up where we left off last time."

Chuuya tries to keep the blush from rising on his face, but he can tell by Dazai's chuckle that he fails. "What?" he says, ignoring it. "You ditching me after I saved your skinny ass?"

Dark eyes track down to Chuuya's collar, and he can feel them like a weight, trailing over his visible skin. "Mm, I was thinking before that."

Blood pounds in his ears. His hands clench. He can almost remember the exact feel of Dazai's tongue on his lips. And then he hears Mori's words. I need to hear you say it… say that you can follow through and not get distracted. And Chuuya knows, that whatever this is, this little flirtation between them needs to stop. Shouldn't have ever started, even if he was horny as fuck and tired as fuck and laying in a mystical patch of fog with the man he never quite got over.

Because it doesn't matter that they're forming some stupid truce. It doesn't matter that the last time Chuuya truly felt alive was with this bastard's hands on his skin. Doesn't matter that they still fit together as good as they did as teenagers. Dazai hates him. And Chuuya hates Dazai. And that's how it needs to stay.

He takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves. And then he opens his eyes and looks the detective in the face. "Listen," he says. "This isn't going to happen."

Dazai raises his eyebrows at him. "It's not?"

Chuuya shakes his head, continuing, "No, it's not. What happened last time was a mistake. And now… this is business. You do us a favor, we do you a favor. We train those kids, and we keep our fucking hands to ourselves."

Dazai is quiet for a moment. He taps a finger on the table. "Who says I want to touch you?"

He can't quite stop a scowl. "So, I just imagined your tongue in my mouth?"

"I don't know," Dazai says idly. "Is that what you imagine, chibi?"

Chuuya stares. His face gets hot again, and his throat squeezes with embarrassment. This is part of what he doesn't miss about this bastard—the pointed teasing. The traps littered throughout every conversation, just so he can watch Chuuya make a fool out of himself.

Before he can reply, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Chuuya reaches for it like the one lifeline he's been thrown in a stormy ocean. The screen lights up, a little message from Hitomu flashing. Oh, thank god, he thinks. I owe the kid a raise.

"My ride's here." He pushes himself upright. "I'll send you the training location later."

"I'll look forward to it," Dazai replies.

Chuuya can feel that heavy gaze on his back all the way to the door.