009

The morning started off wonderfully.

Birds were chirping, the air stank of gunpowder and blood like always, and Chuuya was humming a tune as he headed to his pantry, clearly in a good mood.

He was about to enjoy a rare moment of peace...

...until he opened his stash.

Empty.

"No. No no no no—" he muttered, ripping open the cabinet door again. Empty. Every. Single. Bottle.

His eye twitched.

Rage bubbled.

And there, taped mockingly to the wall inside the cabinet, was a note, written in a handwriting so familiar it could only belong to the spawn of Satan himself.

Dear Chuuya,

You once told me wine was for celebrating victories.I figured surviving another week with Mori-san breathing down my neck was worth celebrating.Don’t worry, I didn’t take all of it. Just the good ones. You’re welcome.

—Dazai OsamuP.S. The 1898 was terrible. You have trash taste in both wine and fashion. Oh, and you snore really loud.

The waste of oxygen even had the audacity to draw a doodle of him on the corner, angry and yelling with the caption: “Short and sour”.

Chuuya's body trembled, gripping the piece of paper until it's wrinkled on the side.

He could practically see the smug grin in the ink.

There was silence...until he snapped.

"DAZAAAAAIIIIIIII!" He ripped the paper in half.

“YOU SON OF A—!”

His voice echoed like a siren of doom throughout the Port Mafia HQ.

Seething, Chuuya stormed toward the infirmary.

If that bastard was hiding with the sick and wounded again to avoid consequences, he was gonna find out just how sick he could get.

He kicked open the infirmary doors.

“WHERE THE HELL IS—huh?”

Nothing.

Empty bed. No Dazai. No annoying laughter. Just silence.

“Of course,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“The bastard probably teleported to another dimension just to avoid getting decked.”

He turned around, ready to leave, when...

Clink.

The soft sound of a cup being set down.

He froze.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.

There, sitting up calmly, sipping a cup of water like it was the most normal thing in the world, was you.

Two days ago, you looked like a corpse barely breathing.

Now?

Alive. Awake. Staring straight at him.

Chuuya’s soul almost left his body.

Almost.

Because Chuuya Nakahara does not scream like a little girl and run away like a cartoon character.

Even if his legs were currently trembling like noodles in an earthquake.

You didn’t say a word. Just looked at him.

Then, your eyes shifted downward. Calmly, curiously.

To his legs.

Oh no.

His eyes widened. He followed your gaze, and-

Damn it. They were shaking.

“I-I'm not scared of ghosts, alright?! ” he blurted, pointing a finger before you could even open your mouth.

“I’m not! Don’t get the wrong idea!” His face was beet red from embarrassment.

You blinked slowly.

He continued rambling, desperate to salvage his pride. “It’s just... cold in here! Yeah! The AC’s on full blast or something! This isn’t fear, it’s a biological reaction!”

The AC wasn't on...

“…So you’re scared of ghosts?” You asked, tone neutral, but your eyes say everything.

“I'M NOT!!!”

Silence.

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your water again.

Cool. Unbothered. Judgy.

“Don’t you dare tell Dazai.” He jabbed a finger again.

“I swear if he finds out about this, my life will be ruined.”

You tilted your head slightly. Still no words. Just quiet judgment.

"Ugh... I can already imagine that smug grin on that bastard's face..." He shivered.

He groaned and turned on his heel. “I need a drink.”

Then he paused, remembering why he’d come here in the first place.

“DAMN IT, HE TOOK ALL THE WINE!”

With that, he barged out.

"......" You stared at the exit where he rushed out.

"Dazai, huh?" You muttered.

Chuuya leaned against the cold metal railing, the Port Mafia’s rooftop offering a rare moment of peace.

The wind tousled his red hair as he stared out at the skyline, arms crossed, lips pressed into a scowl.

“Tch... Damn bastard. Can’t even keep his thieving hands off my wine,” he muttered. He’d combed the whole damn building and still no sign of Dazai.

He let out a long, tired sigh, breath curling in the air. “What am I even doin’...”

“Are you afraid of ghosts, Chuuya~?”

The voice came out of nowhere. Calm, laced with amusement. Too close.

“GAH—!” Chuuya jumped a good half-step forward and spun around, heart slamming in his chest.

“What the hell, Dazai?! Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

Dazai stood there with that smug grin, hands tucked in his coat pockets like he hadn’t just shaved ten years off Chuuya’s life.

“You looked a little pale. Thought maybe you saw something spooky.”

“How the hell do you know what happened?!”

“I overheard. You know… outside the infirmary,” Dazai said nonchalantly, taking a step forward. “You were talking to yourself. Loudly.”

Chuuya’s face turned red. “Tch—You eavesdropping bastard!” he snapped. “And I wasn’t scared! Just... surprised. Anyone would be! That guy looked half-dead two days ago!”

“Oh, right,” Dazai hummed, looking up thoughtfully. “You mean my mentor? The one you saw awake before I did?”

Chuuya blinked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Dazai’s smile grew even brighter—dangerously so. “Say, Chuuya… did you know he's right behind you?”

“…He?”

“There’s one behind you right now. You know, a ghost.” Dazai said sweetly, a bright smile stretching across his face.

Chuuya froze. “You’re full of it,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I’m not falling for that.”

But Dazai didn’t stop. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to an eerie whisper. “He’s tall… hollow eyes… no mouth… just standing there… watching you.”

The blood drained from Chuuya’s face. “You’re bluffing…”

“Really?” Dazai’s grin widened. “You can’t feel the chill behind your neck?”

Chuuya’s breath hitched. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head... and found Dazai’s face mere inches from his own.

“Boo.”

“AGH—!!” Chuuya practically leapt a meter back, fists up. “You little—!!”

Dazai doubled over in laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re too easy, Chuuya! That was perfect!”

“You’re dead meat!” Chuuya shouted, face red and furious. “I swear I’ll—!”

But Dazai was already walking away, humming.

Chuuya huffed, rubbing his arms and muttering curses under his breath.

As he watched Dazai disappear down the stairwell, something clicked in his head.

'…Wait. My wine.'

“DAZAI YOU PIECE OF SHIT—I’LL KILL YOU FOR REAL THIS TIME!!”

That night, the door creaked open with practiced silence. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

“Dazai…”

Your voice was hoarse, quiet—like it hadn’t been used in a long time. Maybe it hadn’t. The name left your lips slower than you meant, dragging out memories heavier than your body still was.

He paused in the doorway, and for a moment, the atmosphere felt different. Heavier. Sentimental, like something unspoken hung between you.

Then he grinned. “Wanna drink with me?”

You blinked. Your gaze dropped to the bottle in his hand, brow twitching faintly.

Judging by the familiar label and the very recent scent of someone else’s frustration… it was likely the ginger-haired kid’s wine.

You didn’t mention it.

He sat beside you, already half-lounging, handing you a glass like this was some late-night rooftop hangout instead of a sterile infirmary.

The first sip was warm, unfamiliar. Sharp. You coughed.

“You’re kidding,” he said, eyes lighting up. “That little? You’re that much of a lightweight?”

He laughed. Loudly. Freely. It echoed too much in the quiet room, but he didn’t care.

Neither did you, really.

The mood had shifted from something heavy to something—oddly enough—almost comforting.

Chaotic, maybe. But comforting.

It reminded you of the early days, when he’d follow you around like a stray with nowhere else to go.

Back when he was quieter, colder.

Now, he was warm in the worst way.

"......" You stayed quiet, taking another sip which only seem to make the boy smile wider.

“Do you know how boring it was here without you?” he said after a while, pouring himself another glass.

“Mori is always pestering me, Q causing troubles and Chuuya being short-tempered as always.” He sighed.

You didn’t respond, but your eyes didn’t leave him.

He kept talking. About what happened while you were gone. About Q. About Chuuya, who apparently tried to kill him twice already. You listened.

You always did.

Eventually, your grip on the glass slackened. Your eyelids were heavy.

You lasted longer than he thought you would, but not by much.

As your breathing evened out, he tilted his head slightly, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His gaze drifted—then stopped at your lips.

He didn’t know what to make of that feeling. So he didn’t try.

Instead, Dazai leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder, muttering something about the room spinning.

Sleep came quick for him too, lulled by the quiet presence he hadn’t realized he missed so much until now.

And just like that, the night settled into something still. Something peaceful.

Like the world outside didn’t exist at all.