indensity | ic contact & overflow for prismatica

[Chuuya frowns at his glass.]

I didn't get you out.

[He'd made sure to leave before that. He'd stayed close by, sure, he'd been ready to step in if the rescue had gone bad at the end, but there were a lot of people coming to save those who had been kidnapped by the cultists. They'd all had it under control.

And his point was, he didn't want the credit.]

You shouldn't count on an enemy.

[Chuuya will always come to rescue him, if Dazaineeds him to. He hates that about himself.]

Mm.

[The noise he makes is non-committal. Maybe he hadn't been the one to open the cage door, but Chuuya had been there, and Dazai had seen him. Even if he'd left, he wouldn't have if it wasn't a sure thing, and is it wrong that that still settled something inside him, still satisfied a need, even after everything that's happened? Maybe it is, but that doesn't change it.]

Is that really what you want to be?

[More questions he shouldn't ask, because he doesn't really want to know the answers, but here they are anyway.]

[His frown just deepens. He finishes off his glass, signalling for another right away. This is a bad idea, and he knows it.]

That was your call.

[Dazai is the one who left. Dazai is the one who joined the enemy. He keeps trying to put that on Chuuya, and it's annoying, it pisses him off. None of this was Chuuya's choice.

It's just what it is.]

I'm not leaving the mafia, and you're not coming back.

[This is all going wrong again, isn't it? It was a terrible idea. He should have just let Chuuya go. He should let him go now. He should just agree and leave it there, establish this boundary above all others and let it go.

But since when has he ever done what he should? And when has he ever been able to let anything at all about Chuuya go?

This bartender, at least, seems perfectly content to let them drink themselves stupid, as long as they don't start getting loud, or making a fuss. Another round for both of them, and Dazai focuses in on the warm, foggy feeling slowly building inside him, ignoring that aching, empty pit at the bottom of his stomach.]

Actually, it was Mori's.

[There's no end to the bitterness in that name, a cutting sharpness to the sound of his voice. Something deeply personal, and just as quickly shoved away with another drink, Dazai shrugging his shoulders.]

You would never have come with me, and if I'd stayed I'd be dead.

[So where does that leave them? He doesn't know.]

[Chuuya is starting to slump over the counter a little. He’s drunk, and he’s in a shit mood, and holding himself up is exhausting. And it’s easier not to actually look at Dazai this way.

As always, Dazai is full of bullshit.]

Mori wants you back. He doesn’t want you dead.

[He might be slurring his words a little, but he only sounds all the more confident in his own words. Mori wants Dazai at his side. Mori invited him back, has a spot for him should he choose to return. He offered Dazai that invitation in front of several people, so there’s not really any denying it.

Not that he thinks Dazai is lying, either, but as usual there’s more to the story than what he’s bothering to tell Chuuya.]

Cut the crap. Either tell me what happened, or shut up. Why did you leave?

You're not stupid. You know better.

[Mori might want Dazai back, but if he can't get him back, or he realizes that Dazai isn't the useful tool he'd always thought he was, then there's only one option left. Dazai is too dangerous to leave out there, too dangerous to not be under his control or dead. But Mori plays the long game, and there's a reason Dazai has always played along. Even now. Even after everything.

He knows what Mori could do. And if Mori realizes that he really cares, now...

He's not going to think about it. At least, that's what he tells himself, right up until Chuuya asks that question. And now...]

...Come home with me.

[He's drunk, too, has to be to be making that offer, even if it sounds more like a demand, but he doesn't want to talk about this in public. He doesn't want to talk about it, period, but Chuuya's asked, and Dazai is going to give him an answer. Or try.]

I've got a bottle at my apartment. We can drink more, there. Just come on.

[Chuuya actually looks at Dazai at those words. You're not stupid. Those are some of the last words he ever would have expected to hear from him, and for a moment he just stares, eyes slightly wide. Then he realizes what he's doing, and he turns away again.

Of course he knows it's more complicated than that, though. But he's sick of not knowing the details. It's not supposed to matter, but it does. He can't let go, and he's tried, for over four years now. If it's more complicated, then he wants to understand.

He's not an idiot, and he doesn't have to be kept in the dark.]

Okay.

[Just like that. He says it like it was a given, because it was. Dazai won't leave him alone, and Chuuya has --

He hasn't missed that.

He stands up, unsteadily, holds onto the counter. He forces gravity to obey him.]

Can you even walk, asshole?

[They're true, anyway. Chuuya might not be the same kind of smart he is, the same kind of smart Mori is looking for, but he's not stupid by any means, and there's no reason for Chuuya to be confused about him saying so. Except there is, isn't there? They've never exactly complimented each other. It's always been insults and undercutting. He can feel Chuuya looking at him, hear the shift in clothing as he turns, and turns again, and--

--agrees.

Good, he didn't want this to be a fight, too. There's always a fight, and sometimes it's a comfortable fight, one that feels familiar and safe, but so often lately it's been the other kind that gets under his skin, makes him restless, makes him hurt in ways he doesn't like. So it's good that this isn't a fight.

It is, however, a challenge.]

What are you going to do if I can't, carry me?

[The banter is familiar, and he watches as Chuuya stands none too steadily, watches as he uses that tiny amount of his ability to keep the forces of gravity from tugging him to the ground. The face Dazai makes is probably more than a little familiar, too, as he stands up himself. There's no wobbling involved, but he is much, much more precise with where he puts his feet, and definitely plants both hands on the counter for longer than he should need to.]

As if you could, without Gravity to help you.

[One hand lifts, waves in an almost elegant motion, if overdramatic.]

After you.

I'd dump you in an alley.

[It's more than familiar. The banter feels so much better, so much less complicated. This is how they've always talked to each other. Chuuya starts walking for the exit, very carefully.]

I don't need my Ability to walk.

[He might, actually. He's definitely been drinking too fast, but he didn't think he'd be leaving for a while. And if he's got gravity on his side, why not take advantage of it, especially if that means he gets to laugh as Dazai stumbles.

Especially if that's a distraction from how heavy this still feels.

He's just sick of how much it hurts.]

Really, and after I offered to share my alcohol with you, so rude~

[This. This is what he's missed, and maybe it's stupid but if it is it's stupidly reassuring. The banter, the bickering, and the knowledge that it isn't meant, or if it is it still won't stop Chuuya from helping him.

Or it used to not. Past tense. He isn't sure if it's present, doesn't want to find out for sure or he might 'accidentally' trip and fall into Chuuya, make him carry him just for the contact, just to feel him warm and solid--

He's definitely had too much to drink. Especially if he's thinking like that. Dazai doesn't stumble inside the bar, but he sways, and the empty feeling inside him weighs him down horribly. He wishes he had Chuuya's ability to carry it, pretends he doesn't feel it.]

If that's the case, then you don't mind if I lean on you, do you?

[That's it. Stick to the familiar banter, the safe spaces, let it carry them. That's a good plan.]

[They've both had too much to drink. Chuuya has to stop for a second because the world is spinning, but then he gets the door open, and at least the fresh air outside helps. A little.]

So you're admitting you can't walk?

[And he still wants to drink more. He wonders if the bartender would have let him take a glass with him, although he's not going back to ask. It's too far. And getting to Dazai's apartment feels urgent.

At least it shouldn't be too far. Closer than his own, or he might have suggested they go there instead.]

If you fall, I'm leaving you behind.

[Why didn't he buy a bottle and take it with him.]

I'm walking now, aren't I?

[He is, really. He's walking a little too close, in fact, close enough that as Chuuya stops in front of the door Dazai has to lift a hand to keep from running into him, long fingers braced on the doorframe over Chuuya's shoulder. The air will help. It has to. At least then Chuuya's scent won't be in his nostrils then, there will be less of that urge to bury his fingers in that red hair and...

...and it does help. A little. Fresh night air, and he breathes deep as he follows Chuuya out. It isn't far to his apartment; for all that he doesn't spend much time there, it really is conveniently placed. It feels like a safe space. Neutral ground, as much as anything could be.

With fresh air and Chuuya's words comes a fresh wave of something desolate and out of place, and Dazai's quiet for a long moment before he answers, maybe a little more seriously than he should despite the light and airy tone he affects.]

Would you really?

Barely.

[He says, even though Dazai is behind him, and he can't see how he's actually walking. He does notice the hand above his shoulder, though, and gives it a distrustful look. Dazai is going to lean on him, isn't he?

But then he doesn't, and instead he asks that. Chuuya shoves his hands in his pockets.]

Should I pick you up?

[Dazai has been gone for four years. It's not like Chuuya couldn't have needed him in that time, but apparently he's the one supposed to come running when Dazai needs him. Which is -- That's not what that question was about.

He doesn't want to talk about this, not when he'd been managing to push away his feelings again. He ducks his head, leaving him hidden by his hat.]

Let's just get to your apartment.

Mm.

[Right. His apartment. Dazai doesn't respond to the question, aside from a noncommittal noise. The silence is heavy, awkward, wants to be filled in a way it hasn't ever felt before. At least, to him. More than once, he questions this choice. But what other choice was there?

Thankfully, it's only a few more blocks to his apartment. Hopefully not long enough for Chuuya to fully change his mind. Just long enough to let that silence stretch, and he only breaks it when they're inside his apartment, shedding his coat, glad for the lack of Sanguis tail and ears for once. A low ebb in the moon, maybe. He still feels that push to claim, to fight, to win, but that he can handle at least.]

Glasses are over the sink.

[He'd promised Chuuya more drinks, hadn't he? Even if he thinks he's had enough. Or maybe not anywhere near. Hard to be sure which. In the meantime, he fetches a bottle from another cabinet, moves to sit in the living room. It's the only place with seats at all.

It's also got a very distinct reddish stain on the white carpet. Blood is tricky to get out of deep pile.]

[Chuuya goes to get the glasses, because even if drinking is a bad idea, he still needs the distraction. And this is going to be a lot easier if he's drunk. Maybe he'll pass out, and he won't have to do this.

Except that he does want answers. It's been four years, and he's wondered, tried his best to figure it out with what little clues there were. It's gnawed at him. And now Dazai might actually answer, so he can't exactly waste this chance, either. He walks over with the glasses, handing one over and holding the other out for Dazai to pour.

He notices the blood stain. His free hand goes up to touch the scar on his throat, but he forces himself to look away.]

So, talk. Tell me what happened.

[If they're doing this, he's not going to waste any time.]

[Right. Answers. He can only put the words off for so long, but he'll take what he can get, right now. Long enough to pour two glasses. Long enough to set the bottle down on the little side table, long enough to take a sip, to wish the liquor could burn more than it does.

Where does he start? I made a promise. But no, he thinks of just what Chuuya had said to him the last time--I always knew you could care, I just--and he might not know the rest of that sentence but he knows that isn't where to start. Not if he still wants Chuuya to be his ally, and definitely not if he wants...whatever it is that feels like it's been missing for years and he didn't know it.

He could make this easy. Mori miscalculated. He thought I was like him. Turns out I am, but not in the ways he wanted. But that's not the whole of it, either, is it?

The beginning, maybe. But even that...

He's overcomplicating. Time to stop.]

I finally realized that everyone was expendable to him, except for me.

[It's not an answer. Not the whole answer. He's still figuring that out, four years later, and he's never tried talking about it, not really. Not in the way that he and Chuuya seem to need, infuriatingly slow and clumsy the way nothing else is with them.]

Do you know how we met?

[Chuuya doesn't sip his own drink. Not yet. He sits on the couch, half watching Dazai, face still slightly downturned because he's still feeling too much. But he's listening. He promised he would do that much.

He immediately wants to argue, but he holds himself back. He'll save it for when Dazai's done.]

You know I don't.

[No one really does. He swirls the drink in his glass. He remembers asking Dazai once, but he didn't get an answer, just a joke. And he'd dropped it because he figured it was none of his business.]

I don't think anyone except the two of you know.

[Right. That one time. But he'd still been too close to that moment, still waiting for Mori to keep his promise, even as part of him knew it was futile. Even now it still feels too close, even though it's more than a third of his life since, and doesn't that just make it worse?

Dazai stretches his legs out, ankles crossed, fingers of both hands laced around his glass as he stares at nothing--or maybe something very, very distant.]

No, of course not. He wouldn't say, at first. People could get the wrong idea.

[He pauses, a long moment of silence, but it's not as though he's stalling. It's more like he's unburying something long left hidden.]

He found me, on the street. I thought I'd hidden myself well enough, thought I'd finally managed to find a way to die peacefully, but then--I woke up in that dingy clinic, and there he was, smiling. I cursed and shouted, I even begged him to let me go so I could try again, and he just...smiled.

He told me that if I was just going to try again, that he'd just have to keep an eye on me. And he did. The second time, and the third, and the fourth...somehow he always found me.

Until that day. He told me after he patched me up that he had a favor to ask me. Nothing too strenuous, I was still healing, after all. But if I did him this one small favor, then he'd teach me how to mix a medicine that would let me end my life quickly and painlessly. And I'd been trying for so many years...

[He seems to have forgotten the glass in his hand, voice gone dreamy and distant, and now he remembers it, pulling himself back together and roughly tossing it back, pouring another with a hand still far too steady.]

I'm sure you can guess what the favor was. And what happened after.

[The death of the old boss of the Mafia. Mori had told Chuuya that himself, with Dazai in the room. And of course, he hadn't kept his promise, had he?]

[He'd known that Dazai had wanted to kill himself for a long time. Hearing it like this though, mentioning so many attempts before he even joined the mafia - and there had been enough even after he'd joined -it hits hard. It's a different kind of pain. He still wants to know what happened to make Dazai despair so much, but he knows this isn't the time to ask.

Finally he lifts his head, actually looking at Dazai while he listens to his story. He doesn't want to miss any of his expressions now. This is too important.]

When he killed the former boss.

[In front of Dazai, making him his witness, and trapping him in mafia politics. Yeah, he'd known all about that. He'd never thought much about it, really. It had always just seemed inevitable that the two of them would end up with this sort of life, that they were made for it, that it was right.

He's starting to suspect Dazai didn't really agree.]

So Mori lied to you.

[That wasn't news, either. Mori lies. They both knew that. But Dazai isn't finished, and Chuuya is doing a good job forcing himself not to argue anything yet. It's against every instinct he's got, but maybe his instincts can sometimes be wrong.

He's never saying that out loud, that's for sure.]

[At Chuuya's correct answer he lifts his glass in a salute, something ironic and pensive in the gesture. Right. The death of the old boss. Sometimes he still dreams about that day. What he'd realized, even on that day...he'd never wanted to be a part of any of it. He'd never wanted to be a part of anything, and yet he'd known even then, hadn't he? That this wasn't an ending.

The rest, though--

He almost doesn't recognize the sound that escapes him as laughter, but there it is, quiet and sharp and almost fragile. If only it were that simple.]

Oh, no. No, he didn't lie, I'm sure. He rarely ever actually lies, you know. He shifts the truth, omits things, skews your perspective, but an outright lie would imply he hasn't already predicted your reactions. If he were forced to lie, it would mean the situation was desperate.

He didn't lie. But he also didn't specify when he'd teach me, did he? I only ever made that mistake once, but that's all he ever needed.

[He can't get lost in that, though. Can't get trapped in his own bitterness. Chuuya isn't arguing yet, but it's only a matter of time. And yet, this is part of everything, too. Part of his reason.]

It's what he does. Mori offers you the illusion of choice. You have options, but he's already weighted the situation, arranged things so there's only one real choice you can make. He's an amazing tactician, after all.

You've seen that firsthand. Choices that aren't really a choice at all. Do you think either one of us ever had a chance at not becoming part of the mafia? He knows a useful tool when he sees it.

[Tools. That's all they were. And maybe that was fine, once upon a time, and maybe he still has trouble thinking of people differently, himself, but it still chafes.]

Yeah. He used you to force my hand.

[If that's accusatory, there's no real force behind it, just a statement of fact. But Dazai was the one who made Chuuya that deal - he'd spare the Sheep if Chuuya joined. The choice had been easy, because, as Dazai just said, it wasn't really a choice at all.

But even if he knew a lot of what Dazai is saying, it's still starting to explain things, just a little. The fact that he's saying it says a lot, and his tone helps as well. Chuuya keeps watching him.

He sets his drink down, abandoning it.]

It's what makes him a good leader. It's what allows him to protect the mafia, why it's grown in strength since the day he took over.

[Disagree with him, Dazai. Argue with him. Point out what he's missing so that he can finally make sense of all of this.

This isn't because he wouldn't let Dazai kill himself, because Chuuya doubts anyone in the ADA would let him do that, either. That kid he's taken in definitely wouldn't. For that matter, Chuuya wouldn't. No, there's more there.

[Dazai doesn't answer that statement. After all, it's something they both know already. Dazai is the reason Chuuya is part of the Port Mafia. And even today he's not sure how to feel about any of that. So much of his feeling is tied up in who he was, what he was at the time...

The rest is--if not easier, then simpler, at least. It feels like a more academic debate. Like the kind of discussion Mori used to encourage. Like a lesson, and there's a strange mingled feeling of nostalgia and bitterness at the thought.]

Is it? Is that what makes a good leader? Recognizing how to use people? Seeing them as tools? Knowing how to back them into the right corner? Is that all it takes?

[Maybe he'd thought so once. Maybe he could still think that way. But somehow he doesn't think that's the only thing that matters to Chuuya. Not if he really thinks about it.]

[That's not an argument. That's a description of who Dazai used to be, or at least the kind of person everyone thought he was. And a perfect description of Mori as well. Chuuya absently twirls the hair falling over his shoulder, head tilted slightly, needing to word this right.

Yes, he wants to say. Yes, that's what makes a good leader.]

A good leader will use any means necessary to keep his subordinates safe.

[He releases his hair again, lets it bounce back to its original shape.]

It's what I was missing. [He's never told Dazai that. Never mentioned that conversation he and Mori had to anyone.] It's why I failed as a leader. Try to be friends with your subordinates all you want, but they'll still never see you that way, not when you're the one holding all the power.

A good leader will use their subordinates. A good leader knows their strengths, what they're capable of. That's what lets them know they're valuable. I never gave the Sheep that, which is why they thought I'd be so willing to just throw them aside.

And a good leader gets their hands dirty. A good leader makes the difficult decisions. Because protecting the mafia comes first, always. And yeah, sometimes that means forcing someone's hand.

The Boss doesn't take any of it lightly. And neither do I.

But that's not his goal, Chuuya. His goal has never been to keep his subordinates safe. Lives don't matter, except in the form of currency.

[Trying to find the words for this is difficult. Trying to find words that don't make him feel like a hypocrite is impossible. He does his best to ignore the swirling discomfort in his stomach, the feeling that always comes from talking about things that feel too genuine, things that hit too close to home. He fights the urge to dissemble, to redirect. For the first time...ever, maybe, he thinks, they're talking. They're talking, and they're both trying to actually communicate. He needs to try.]

An efficient leader knows how to use their subordinates. How to leverage them against each other. How to play their strengths and weaknesses off each other. How to play their personalities. All use does is make them feel useful. That's not the same thing as valued, not unless you've very carefully framed how use is to be perceived.

[And Mori had always been so very careful, hadn't he?]

We've always been taught that one is the same as the other. But they aren't the same at all. Mori is good at what he does. But you're wrong about his goals. His first priority is not protecting the mafia. His first priority is establishing his own vision of order. Everyone else--they're only a means to an end. They aren't the goal.

[He's too drunk for this. Or not drunk enough. He's angry, and trying to ignore it, because he wants to hear what Dazai has to say. But at the same time --]

-- Coming from you?

[He has to say it, at least once. Dazai is more similar to Mori than he is, and still he's trying to call him out for behavior that he used to imitate.]

I guess you never said that lives don't matter, just that life doesn't.

[He slides his hand around to rub at the back of his neck. He'd thought this conversation would be about Dazai.]

The mafia is part of his vision of order. He considers himself a slave to the mafia, so I don't know where you're getting the idea that he doesn't prioritize it. Because sometimes, some people die?

ic contact & overflow for prismatica

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cw all of Dazai's stuff here on out

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