Chapter Text
An upbeat jingle interrupted the classic rock song that had been playing. Chuuya raised his spatula as he looked up from his frying pan. The cell phone sat on the counter beside the stove. Caller ID revealed it was Osamu Dazai.
“Not now,” he mumbled, swiping decline.
The day had been abnormally long. It felt like anything that could go wrong was on the table. From a fly landing in his much-needed coffee to having a close call during a shootout. All he wanted was a nice dinner and a quiet night at home.
The next song played two minutes before Dazai called again. Chuuya rolled his eyes. Knowing that waste of bandages, he likely wanted to talk about some beautiful woman he saw and tried to double suicide with. Or would want to talk Chuuya into meeting him for drinks.
The call dropped before Chuuya declined it. A text popped up on the screen.
Mackerel: I understand that Chuuya is busy. I’m sorry for reaching out.
Well, that’s pretty mature of him. Usually, he’d call a dozen times before stopping. He’s never apologized before.
Wait, could he really need to talk to me?
He didn’t want to risk being wrong – plus he was a little curious – so he called Dazai back as he continued cooking. He didn’t have to wait long before hearing Dazai’s voice.
“Hey, slug.”
“What’s up, Mackerel?” Chuuya shuffled the sauteing vegetables around the frying pan. “Sorry I missed your calls, I’m cooking dinner.”
“Wow,” Dazai said. “Must be hard since you can’t see over the stove.”
Chuuya stared down at the pan. “Ha, ha. Very funny. What do you want?”
“What, can’t a man call up a dear, old friend? Time is fleeting, we should get along.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly a normal man.”
“You’re right. So right.” Dazai paused, then asked, “Hey, if I was there right now, what would we be doing?”
“Huh?” Chuuya had never been asked that before, especially not from Dazai. “I dunno, are you here right now?”
He walked around the kitchen as if he’d find him on the other side of the island. He returned to the stove, then checked on the oven.
“No but please try. Just tell me what you’d do if I was there.”
“Shit,” Chuuya said with an exasperated shrug. “I guess I’d make you a plate to eat with me.”
“What are we eating?”
“Lamb ribs, sauteed vegetables, a little wine.”
Or a lot if I have to put up with you.
“That sounds like the perfect meal. And you’re quite the little chef too.”
“Ugh, sure. So, do you want to come over for dinner?” He felt awkward to invite him over so last minute but it was easier than drawing out whatever game Dazai was playing.
“I wish I could but I have an engagement I can’t get out of.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were working. But what does that have to do with your question?”
“I’m actually on my way back from a case. Or I was. I guess I wanted to finally know where we stand.”
Chuuya furrowed his brows. Dazai was acting stranger than usual. Then it hit him.
Dazai was a danger to himself.
Chuuya felt like he was moving through molasses. He put the spatula on the counter but missed. It clattered on the ground.
He asked, “Where are you?”
Is he cutting again? Did he take pills this time? How many places does he know where to hang, drown, or jump?
“Don’t hang up on me, please,” Dazai said.
“I’m not. Let me help you if you’re in trouble.”
The longest pause between heartbeats passed before Dazai said, “It doesn’t matter. You won’t make it in time.”
“Where the hell are you?” Chuuya’s hands shook. He gripped the counter to keep himself from crushing the phone in his other hand. “Tell me right now or else… Or else I’ll hate your guts forever, Dazai.”
The room spun around him, validating his need to hold onto the counter.
Tell me you’re drunk and at a bar but you’re fine. Tell me you’re in the middle of a grocery store and you’re fucking with me but you’re fine. Tell me anything.
Just be fine.
Be fine, Dazai.
“I’m at the bottom of Yokohama River,” Dazai finally said, voice as fragile as freshly fallen snow. Chuuya feared it would crack, just like his heart to hear his ex-partner talking so slow and quiet as he continued.
“In the driver’s seat of a rental. I didn’t mean for this to happen. The road was still slick from tonight’s rain, and I hydroplaned off the bridge. I hit my head and passed out long enough for the car to hit the bottom upside down. I missed my window of opportunity to escape.”
Chuuya racked his brain, wasn’t there common knowledge about these kinds of situations? It took too long for it to come to him.
“Alright, stay calm,” Chuuya said, taking charge. “You need to unbuckle your seatbelt, and…”
“Chuuya,” Dazai interrupted but the mafioso kept rambling.
“…find something to shatter the window. You have to get out of there and swim as fast as you can.”
“Chuuya, stop.”
He was getting worked up. It sounded so simple to him, why hadn’t Dazai already done it?
“Take a full breath before smashing the glass and don’t stop swimming upward until you see the stars. Do you understand?”
“The river’s too deep for me to make it to the surface in one breath,” Dazai explained. “And the current is strong. I won’t make it.”
“But it’s easy. Take a deep breath. Break the window. Swim until you see the stars. Don’t you want to see the stars, Dazai?”
Dazai sighed heavily. “I want to see you, Chuuya. My eyes have been closed this whole conversation so I can picture you. God, you’re so short, I almost didn’t see you over the imaginary stove.”
Dazai was the only one chuckling.
“Alright, you asked me. Now what would you do if you were here?”
Other than not die.
Dazai was reflective for a moment before he said, “I’d sit at the island and watch you cook. You’re a showoff so I’d have to listen to you talk about every step and the value of each ingredient. And I’ll hang onto every word because it’s Chuuya talking. Then when we’re drunk on godawful expensive wine, I’d ask you to dance.”
Chuuya didn’t say anything. He didn’t argue with Dazai that they hadn’t done that in years or that he’d rather be sober if they were going to be intimate for the first time. Dazai continued as if the silence was confirmation.
“Would you let me dance with you, Chuuya? Actually, don’t answer that. My eyes are still closed, so I’m already imagining it. I always thought you were a good dancer.”
Chuuya looked over his shoulder, half expecting Dazai to be there. As if this was just another one of his pranks. There was nothing but the night sky and his posh apartment with glass windows so clean he could see himself reflected back.
The man staring back looked just like Chuuya on the verge of tears.
He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and asked, “Why didn’t you call for help?”
“I called you, Chuuya, because I needed to hear your voice one last time.”
Chuuya crouched low, unable to feel his knees or the muscles in his thighs. His hand adjusted so he could still cling to the counter. It was like playing a game with Death – you can’t take Dazai as long as I hold on. And, bitch, I’m not letting go.
“You bastard, help could’ve came for you already. They would’ve done so much more for you.”
I can’t do shit but listen to you die.
“Listen, I don’t know how much air I have left. I don’t want to die in pain, I don’t want to suffocate or drown.” Dazai’s voice cracked, he sounded like he was fifteen again; young and trying not to cry. “Chuuya, I called you because I’m scared to die alone. I’m sorry.”
In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never admitted to being afraid. Anxious maybe, nervous for sure. But scared to die?
Shit, that means this is real.
The room moved but it was Chuuya dropping flat onto his knees. His heart was a rabid animal trying to dig its way out of his chest. He let go of the counter so he could flatten his palm over the pain. The last time he felt this helpless or hurt was when the Flags died.
“Why are you sorry?” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said in false annoyance, “Idiot, you’re the one about to…”
Chuuya couldn’t say it. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but his throat filled with cotton, and he choked on air. He refused to believe they were having this conversation.
This isn’t happening to me. This is happening to the man in the reflection. He’s the one about to lose his best friend, not me. I’m sauteing vegetables to go with the rack of lamb in the oven. There’s a bottle of Petrus chilling and I have a new record to listen to.
This can’t be my life right now.
“Chuuya, did I lose you?” Dazai asked.
Chuuya shook his head as if Dazai could see. Then said, “Tell me this isn’t real.”
A pause as Dazai adjusted in his seat. Chuuya tried not to picture him hanging upside down, trapped in place by his seatbelt. Did his head touch the ceiling? Was he crooked like a hanger from being flipped?
“You want me to lie to you?”
Chuuya hung his head. If Dazai used his last phone call on Chuuya, then he deserved to say his final words. He tried to think methodically about this, turning this heart wrenching phone call into just another mafia job.
“I’m glad you called, Osamu,” Chuuya began, voice already shaking. “I’m here for you. Go ahead and keep your eyes closed, I’ll shut mine too. We can talk like we’re in the car together.”
You won’t have to die alone, Osamu.
“Thank you, Chuuya.” Dazai cleared phlegm from his throat, likely from crying or forcing it down. “I know we’ve fought and gone our separate ways a few times, but we’ve always come back.”
“Yeah, at least once a year like the damn flu.”
Dazai laughed and Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh too.
Dazai continued, “We had good times. Remember when we went to the arcade for the first time? We placed a bet and you lost. I never told you that I cheated.”
“I know you did.” Chuuya pushed his bangs away from his face. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”
He chuckled. “I guess not.”
“I appreciate all the times you nullified Corruption before it could kill me,” Chuuya said, gripping the hem of his shirt. “You were always gentle with me during recovery. Sorry I sometimes mistook your kindness as trickery and reacted like a mad dog.”
“Promise me you won’t use it again. At least not until you find someone like me. Well, better than me.” A brief, reflective silence followed until Dazai said, “Chuuya, can I confess something?”
Chuuya forced himself to stand. If he stared at the hardwood flooring any longer, he would punch through it. The neighbors below wouldn’t like that, of course. Once on his feet, he turned off the stove and the oven. His appetite was nonexistent.
Now that he was free of distractions, Chuuya said, “Go ahead. Tell me anything.”
“For the longest time I wanted to die. I was so jaded and dissatisfied with life, it felt pointless to keep going.” He stopped to sob. “Now that I’m getting what I want, I don’t want it anymore. Isn’t that just like me?”
Chuuya cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could pop open the wine bottle. It was a vintage Petrus he had won at an auction. He brought it to his lips and tipped his head back. It went down smooth as Dazai wept in his ear.
“I don’t want to die, Chuuya,” Dazai sobbed as if the decision was Chuuya’s to make. “I know I’ve done a lot of bad things but there’s so much good I could do with more time, right?”
“Right,” echoed Chuuya, no longer holding back his own tears. He gulped down the wine as Dazai unraveled.
“Shit, I haven’t even had my twenty-third birthday yet. I think this was the first year I actually looked forward to it. Kyouka asked to bake me a cake, isn’t that sweet of her? Plus, who’s going to be Kunikida’s partner when I’m gone? He’s so strict on himself but he’d make a good future president for the Agency. And someone needs to help Atsushi the way Odasaku helped me, and fuck, I never made peace with Akutagawa, and my head hurts from when I hit it but what I really hate is that I missed so many chances to be honest with you.”
It was a lot to take in. Chuuya’s head was reeling, trying to process what mattered to Dazai. He made a mental note to talk to Akutagawa, though he wasn’t sure what he could do for the ADA. Perhaps he’d find a way to coach Atsushi, he had some universal advice that could help the young weretiger.
Chuuya Nakahara was an esteemed mafia executive, but he wasn’t so busy that he couldn’t tie a few loose ends for Dazai. Especially with their rich history. Dazai had his low points, but he had always been there when Chuuya needed him most.
Dazai’s dying. When I go to sleep tonight, I’ll wake up in a world he no longer lives in.
If only we had more time or had done things differently…
Chuuya scratched at his throat to free his own confession. “It was hard working with you, but I wouldn’t want the easy way if it was with someone else. Even when I thought I hated you, you were still my partner and best friend.”
“I love you, Chuuya.” The words sounded so final coming from Dazai, yet it felt like Chuuya needed to reciprocate the feeling.
“If you survive, I’ll say it back to your face,” Chuuya said, as if the promise was enough to make Dazai rise out of the water and walk back to dry land like Jesus. “I’ll say it a thousand times if you show up at my door in the next hour. Hell, I might even kiss you.”
“That’s a nice offer but I’m getting tired,” Dazai responded with a yawn. “Thank you for staying on the line with me. But I don’t know if I can keep talking.”
“Thanks for calling,” Chuuya said as if this had been a friendly catch-up. “And if you’re tired, that’s alright. You can relax and listen to me talk.”
Chuuya paced the apartment as he took control of the conversation. He prattled on about work, how Akutagawa won’t stop bringing up ‘Jinko’, the new record he bought, a café he wanted to try. At first Dazai threw in a few comments and the occasional ‘uh huh’ and ‘Is that so?’ but eventually there was silence.
It was the heaviest burden ever placed on him, but he didn’t stop talking.
“I don’t blame you for leaving after Oda died, but I wish you had told me. I worried about you. If you ate, where you were sleeping, what kind of people you surrounded yourself with. Even when we reconnected and I found out about your new life, you were always in the back of my mind.”
Chuuya stopped pacing. He looked outside the tall windows, wishing Dazai got to see the stars once more. Unable to bear his reflection any longer, Chuuya pulled the blinds closed to avoid throwing the couch through the glass.
”You know what’s stupid, Osamu?” He waited as if a response would come. “I think if we had put our egos aside and tried a little harder to not run away every time we got too close, we could’ve been something great. At least more than what we are now.”
The apartment was so quiet Chuuya could hear his heart breaking. He wanted to finish the call strong since it was their last.
“All this to say,” Chuuya said in a broken whisper, rubbing his knuckles over wet eyes, “I love you, partner.”
Then the call ended for good.