Chapter Text
“Look at this, it’s my bone, and is that me staring and wondering: Strange, was my soul left behind and has it come back where its bone is, daring to look?”
Chuuya Nakahara
A Bone
—
“Hey, Odasaku, wouldn’t it be great if I met my death at the hands of a beer bottle in a filthy garage?”
“Eh, that sounds painful. Thought you didn’t care for pain?”
“True…”
“And that’s not suicide. It’s plain murder. Wouldn’t that defeat the whole statement of suicide? Or is it just death you’re after?”
“Hm. You make a fair point. I’ll have to reconsider my being here, then.”
Currently, Osamu and his reluctant chaperone are in the corner of a garage. It’s cold, the walls and flooring are damp, and neither of them are entirely sure who the garage actually belongs to. They were merely told by Kouyou that this was where they could find Chuuya.
And find Chuuya, they did. But not just him. There’s some filthy twat slurring and tripping over himself, holding onto the edge of a rusted table for support. His other hand has a bottle of beer in a death grip.
Chuuya and Dipso Junior have been arguing since Osamu’s arrival, and Chuuya looks just about ready to snatch the bottle and smash it over the boy’s head.
There’s a girl beside Osamu. He acutely notes the unusual color of her hair, an obnoxious pink you’d usually only see at comic conventions and whatnot. Osamu infers her favorite pastime is twirling her dainty fingers through the strands of it while huffing with boredom.
She seems to be part of Chuuya’s gang, maybe, but she doesn’t look all too interested in intervening with the argument proceeding before her. Perhaps this is routine.
“What are they arguing about?” Oda asks the girl.
“You,” she says, not turning to look at him. She lets out a heavy sigh and then dusts herself off. Stepping forward, at last, she stands in between the two.
“Enough of that. You’re drunk, Shirase.”
Dipso Junior isn’t having it. “He can’t just let two snobs into our base! And let ‘em sit in on a heist? Whadd’re they gunna do, hop in the trunk? Hide in the bushes and watch it unfold, hah?”
“Just hear them out,” Hair Twirler scolds.
“They’re gunna record the whole damn thing. Get Chuuya locked up again!” He pats his chest in an indignant manner. “And me, too!” He snaps his head around and stumbles over to Osamu and Oda.
“Ya got a tracking device on ya? Gunna send the cops our live location?” He grabs onto the collar of Osamu’s shirt and shakes him a little, but it’s more amusing than threatening. “Tell me, man. Where’s the tracker? Yer shoe? Probably some outrageous place like that, yeah?”
“Maybe it’s lodged in between my teeth,” Osamu says with a contemptuous grin. Messing with drunk people is great fun!
“Yer teeth?!”
It looks like Dipso – well, Shirase – might actually pry Osamu’s mouth open and inspect his teeth, but Chuuya grabs him by the arm and yanks him back.
“Stop that,” Chuuya hisses, swinging the boy’s arm around his shoulder to support him.
Osamu chuckles a bit. “Dear me, is Dipso embarrassing you in front of me, Chuuya?”
Chuuya shoots him a scowl that makes Osamu seriously reconsider continuing this bit.
Shirase blinks a few times with half-lidded eyes. “Who’s Dipso?”
Chuuya groans. “Yuan, take him to his room for me, yeah?”
“Yeah, Yuan, be a pal!” Osamu hollers.
The boy gives Osamu a nasty look, maybe telling him to stay out of this. Alright, duly noted. He’ll keep doing it, of course, since it seems to piss Chuuya off, and what’s better than that?
Hair Twirler scrunches her nose, but doesn’t argue. As she’s walking into the house with Shirase draped over her shoulders, she turns back and glares at Oda. “You’d better be here when I’m back.”
Oda frowns. “Was she talking to me?”
“Yeah,” Chuuya answers. “Sorry. She’s… kind of a racing nerd. Might want your autograph.”
“Ah.”
Chuuya gives Osamu a look-over, and he doesn’t look annoyed initially, but when he locks eyes with Osamu the same snarl re-emerges upon his face. Wow. This guy has some extreme beef with Osamu.
The boy finally speaks. “Why are you here. Is it true what Shirase says?”
Osamu’s about to speak, but Oda puts a hand in front of Osamu’s chest. Fine, Odasaku. You can do all the talking. Osamu doesn’t even want to talk to Chuuya at all, really, hah. Not one bit. In fact, he’d rather do just about anything else at this very moment, hahahahaha. Why would Osamu want to speak to Chuuya? Accusing Osamu of wanting to talk to the little rat is slander and prosecution! Yes, it must be. Case closed.
“What you heard from your friend is correct. We’re here to spectate one of your heists,” Odasaku says evenly.
Chuuya frowns. Skepticism creeps onto his face in a matter of seconds. “No.”
“No?” Odasaku’s mouth hangs open for a moment. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting Chuuya to just say no.
“Why the hell would I let you do that? And besides,” Chuuya glances over at the garage door, “Shirase is wiped out. We’re not doing anything tonight.”
Osamu’s face sours. “So you expect us to believe you actually need that guy?”
“Dazai,” Odasaku mumbles, a warning.
“I’m just saying, he doesn’t seem like he’d be of much use.”
Chuuya stares knives into Osamu with those stupid saucer eyes again – all too blue, blue like Kouyou’s teacup saucers. Ha. He’s got teacup saucer eyes. Every single part of Chuuya is amusing – every mannerism, every fleck of skin, every hair on his head. He’s a walking circus.
“It’s not a one-man show,” Chuuya sneers. “I can’t do it by myself. And you two aren’t going to be of help either. You’ll just get in the way.”
Wow. Cocky. Where’d he get such an ego?
“Well, that’s too bad,” Odasaku says, “because if we don’t go back to the agency with results, Mori says you’re out. Frankly, he wasn’t impressed with your practical demo.”
…Osamu doesn’t remember Mori saying that it had to be tonight. That doesn’t sound right. He almost lets the confusion slip onto his face, but he then assumes Mori’s just bluffing so they can get this over with today, so he remains silent.
The other boy’s face is all scrunched up, like he’s pissed off but trying really hard not to express it. He lets out a prolonged sigh – more of a growl, really. And then, at last, “...I’ll see what I can do.”
Odasaku smiles. “Thank you.”
“Lemme just go inside and talk to the others.” Chuuya huffs, brisking away and out of the garage. The end of his denim jacket gets caught onto the doorknob, and Osamu cannot remain quiet.
Chuuya’s head snaps back. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.” He yanks his jacket free and slams the door shut as he exits.
Osamu snickers once more, and then glances at Odasaku sideways.
“You’re welcome,” the man says.
“Why’d you do that?”
“You seemed like you really wanted to do this tonight. I didn’t want anything to ruin your plans. You aren’t a patient person.”
Huh.
“I didn’t care that much,” Osamu mutters after a lingering pause.
“Hm.”
—
Stupid Dazai. Holy shit. Chuuya’s gonna fucking snap him in half what the fuck what the fuuuck.
After a half hour of bickering, Chuuya and Yuan finally settle on a location to raid. Well, it’s not exactly a raid, since they’re severely undermanned – a grand total of two people plus two random bystanders – and all they’re going to do is snatch one car. Whatever they can get. Doesn’t fucking matter as long as stupid Mori is happy. Who the hell is Mori anyway? The boss of the agency, he presumes. He’s heard the name, he thinks, but he’s never seen him. Or maybe he did see him but he didn’t know it was him. Shrug.
They tactfully decide to leave Shirase behind, hiccuping on his grandmother’s lumpy couch. He’s definitely going to cuss them out the next day, because he hates being left out of heists. But, much to Chuuya’s displeasure, Dazai’s right – he’d be of no help, more of a hindrance than anything.
So they’re in the car now, Yuan in the passenger seat beside him. She’s reading him directions off a map. Dazai and the older guy, who’d introduced himself as Odasaku (well, actually, “Sakunosuke Oda, but please, call me Odasaku”), are sitting in the back. He doesn’t seem that much older than Chuuya, maybe early twenties. The articulate way in which he speaks is distinctly different from that of the average teenager. He has the beginnings of a scruffy beard going on too, so he’s knocked up a few years.
The guy, Odasaku – he looks troubled, kinda forlorn and shit. When Chuuya glances at him in the rearview mirror, he’s looking out the window as they hobble along the road. His presence is very unassuming – he can probably slip into any room completely undetected. That skill would be more useful to Chuuya than to Odaskau. It’d be super handy for heists.
Dazai, on the other hand, is the same as always: insufferable.
“You know you’ve speeded over at least five potholes by now,” Dazai snarks.
Chuuya does not spare him a once-over through the mirror. “What, you getting queasy from a few fucking holes? You’ve never go-karted over holes, Dazai?”
When Dazai doesn’t respond, Chuuya continues. “Yeah, you haven’t. And I’m the one who has to prove myself, apparently, ‘cause you’re just so much more versatile than me, aren’t you?”
Yuan lets out a stifling sigh, maybe to tell him to cut it out. Whatever. Chuuya stops talking. Dazai’s silence means Chuuya wins. Wins what, exactly… Chuuya isn’t sure.
“You know, Chuuya,” Dazai finally says, “driving over pot-holes isn’t equivalent to driving fast.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid.”
“Mm. Well, you’re acting like versatility is of any use in professional racing. But it’s not,” he says, quite matter-of-factly.
Chuuya twitches. He narrowly avoids a too-low branch in the road, swerving to the side. His grip on the steering wheel is tense. “You wouldn’t know that, because you’re not actually a racer yet. And you’re just saying that because all you know are tracks and pint-sized go-karts.”
“You’re acting like I haven’t driven a real car before,” Dazai sneers. But the way he speaks, it is evident he isn’t as worked up by this banter as Chuuya is. It’s all just fun and games for him. Like he’s obviously in the right and he’s just entertaining Chuuya’s wrong-ness.
Of course Dazai’s driven a real car before. Chuuya isn’t that stupid – of course someone like Dazai could get away with that without issue. “But you don’t have the experience I have.”
“And neither do you,” Dazai says, crossing his arms and straightening in his seat. “You’re really exhausting to talk to, you know.”
Chuuya snarls, whipping his head back. “Oh, really? ‘Cause you’re just darling!”
Yuan reaches over and snatches the wheel, and Chuuya swiftly faces forward again.
Yuan’s glaring, as though she’s really fed up with him. “Holy SHIT, Chuuya, keep your eyes on the ROAD!”
“He distracted me,” Chuuya protests, voice faltering, regaining control of the wheel. Dazai snorts.
“You’re not a little kid,” Yuan says. “Stop acting like one.”
Chuuya’s brows knit together. “How come he doesn’t get scolded?”
“‘Cause I don’t know him. I don’t really care about him.”
Chuuya’s lips tug into the slightest smile. “Okay,” he says, complacent and all.
“How much furtherrrrr,” Dazai yawns.
“We’ll get there when we get there,” Yuan says harshly, before Chuuya can interject.
Dazai sighs, cracking his knuckles. Through the mirror, Chuuya watches as he carefully pops each joint in each individual finger. What the fuck. What a fucking freak. He should be locked up in a fucking clinical institution. He shouldn’t be out and about, prowling the streets of Yokohama. He’s literally a danger to the public.
They get there after twenty-something minutes of Yuan frantically giving Chuuya directions, Chuuya just barely managing to follow them, and Dazai being a jackass the whole time. But they get there. Chuuya’s never been so thankful for a car ride to be over.
“Where are we?” Odasaku asks, the first time he’s spoken since the car ride began. He steps out of the car with grace, carefully scanning the surroundings. He’s almost out of place, what with the way Chuuya and Yuan spill out of the car and Dazai hops out straight into a pile of mud like it’s nobody’s business. Chuuya cringes at how Dazai seems to carelessly stain shoes that cost more than the car they’re about to fucking steal.
“There’s a junior high gang whose base is around here,” Yuan says. “Well, according to Shirase’s map.”
Dazai squints. “Junior high?”
Chuuya’s blood pressure is rising to unprecedented levels. This is unhealthy. “Yes, junior high. What, you thought we were going to rob the yakuza? Are we already boring you, Dazai?”
Dazai rolls his shoulder, and it cracks. Can he stop fucking doing that? “No, but I didn’t think you’d go for those younger than you.”
“Don’t underestimate them,” Chuuya huffs. “Ninth graders are vicious.”
“Uh-huh.” But he doesn’t sound all that convinced.
Yuan clears her throat. “Anyway. There’s a school festival going on and most of the junior highschoolers around here are over there – so there shouldn’t be any trouble. But still.” She pops open the trunk of the stolen Jeep and hands them each a Glock, and spare ammo as well.
Chuuya watches as Dazai runs his fingertips over the pistol in his hand.
“That’s not a toy,” Chuuya chides.
“Oh, really? Thank you so much for enlightening me, Chuuya! What would I ever do without you?”
Chuuya shoves his own gun into his pocket before he does something he’ll regret. “Turn the safety on.” He turns to Yuan. “What do they need guns for anyway? They’re just watching.”
Dazai interjects. “But Chuuya, what if a vicious ninth grader creeps up on us? Won’t Odasaku and I need to defend ourselves?” He bats his eyelashes.
“If someone shoots you I’ll fucking thank them.”
“Wow! You really don’t have a heart.”
“Don’t be harsh,” Odasaku mumbles.
Dazai cracks a grin. “I’m not going to take his insults in silence, Odasaku.”
Yuan closes the trunk. “Enough. We’ve gotta go if we wanna get there before they come back from the festival.”
“Fine,” Chuuya says.
They begin their trek through the woods bordering the abandoned parking lot that the junior highschoolers use as their base.
Yuan turns to Dazai. “You know, Chuuya doesn’t actually mean what he says. He wouldn’t let you get killed. It’d hurt his ego.”
Chuuya is within earshot, and his skin prickles. “It would not.”
“Whatever you say, shrimp,” Dazai says.
Chuuya’s about to respond when a voice echoes throughout the lot.
Apparently, the gang members are not all at the festival. Whatever. Where’s the thrill when there isn’t anyone to outrun?