011

You had expected another monotonous day in the Port Mafia headquarters, an illusion of calm draped over a nest of vipers.

The kind of quiet that made your fingers twitch for the weight of a gun or the familiar hum of Koi-iki surrounding your palm.

Instead, you were greeted by Dazai.

"L/N-san~" His voice was sing-song, boyish, just as it used to be—like a child begging for attention, or maybe approval.

He held a bento box, one you knew he didn't make, but had stolen.

The contents likely weren't the only thing he pilfered that morning.

His grin stretched across his face, eyes half-lidded and lazy as ever, but you caught it, that glint of something deeper, more dangerous, barely masked beneath his playfulness.

Then you felt it.

Thin arms circled around you from behind, a sudden weight pressing into your spine. A soft, delighted giggle followed.

"I missed you!" The familiar cheery voice made you paused.

You stiffened. Dazai went rigid.

You turned slowly, the name falling from your lips. “Q...? I thought you were locked up.”

The sight of them reminded you of the enemy infiltration. The headache amount trying to get to Q.

The wound on your back, caused by the knife one year ago throbbed.

Q tilted their head, lips curled in an angelic smile that was anything but. “Mori-san let me out! Isn’t that nice of him?”

Their voice was light, sing-song, but Dazai flinched like it was laced with poison.

Of course. If Mori released them, there was nothing more to question.

“Can I spend the day with you?” Q asked, still clinging to you, eyes wide with something unreadable. “Please? You’re still my mentor, right?”

You hesitated only a second. “...Alright.”

You needed distance from Dazai anyway. He was... acting like before.

When Mori first separated you. When the clinginess had started to take on something sharp. When he started to form attachment.

Behind you, Q turned their head just enough to smirk at Dazai. It was a split-second shift—pure, smug triumph under cherubic innocence.

And Dazai?

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t protest.

But you felt it. The way his jaw tensed. The look in his eyes, gone flat, empty, cold. Like something had been carved out from within.

Jealousy.

But not like a child’s tantrum this time. Not the pouting or silent treatment.

Something else.

Something dangerous.

His eyes followed Q like a hunter watches a fox darting too close to its den.

You walked away with Q. Unaware. Unknowing.

No, maybe you noticed. But didn't do anything about it.

The last time Dazai felt this way, Q ended up in an underground cell. Locked away, forgotten.

All because of weak emotions.

And this time?

This time he was fifteen.

Old enough to know how to wait.

Old enough to know how to plan.

He has always been old enough.

For the next few weeks, life within the Port Mafia settled into a rhythm that, to an outsider, might have seemed almost mundane.

But the silence was never real.

In the undercurrent of calm, beneath missions, meetings, tea sessions with Koyo, and Mori’s order's something else simmered.

Dazai watched.

He didn’t cling to you the way he used to. Not exactly.

Oh, he still found excuses to be near you.

Still appeared with snacks or stolen bento boxes, still tossed his arm around your shoulder or flopped dramatically across your lap, complaining about Chuuya or the tedium of mafia life.

But it wasn’t the same.

His touch lingered longer. His eyes stayed fixed just a little too long. He smiled, but only when you were looking.

And when you weren’t?

He watched Q.

He didn’t threaten them this time. No tantrums. No demands to "get rid of the brat."

He'd learned his lesson. Mori didn’t respond well to childish jealousy. No,if Dazai wanted Q gone again, he had to play a longer game.

So, he smiled.

He played the game.

He was polite.

He even started treating Q like a teammate.

And Q, cocky as ever, ate it up.

"You’re not so bad, Dazai-san." Q said once, perched upside down on a couch with their arms hanging off the side like a bat.

“Maybe you just needed a little training, too.”

Dazai just chuckled, low and amused. “Maybe you’re right.”

You’d walked in during that moment, catching only Q’s laughter and Dazai’s relaxed posture. Your expression softened to see them getting along.

Q thought they’d won.

You didn’t see the look Dazai gave them when your back was turned.

It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even cold.

It was calculating.

It was subtle, the first mistake.

A subordinate found dazed and crying in the break room after a “game” with Q.

They didn’t speak of it, not at first, too shaken. But the fear in their eyes was enough for Mori to take notice.

Dazai played dumb. “They’re just playing, Mori-san. Q gets bored easily.”

But Mori wasn’t stupid. He didn’t like uncertainty. He especially didn’t like liabilities.

And when the second incident occurred, two junior members in the medical wing with fractured wrists and memory gaps, he took action.

This time, Q didn’t smile when the guards came for them.

They didn’t smirk at Dazai.

Because this time, there was no warning.

Just the cold click of cuffs.

You found out hours later.

Too late to stop it. Mori had already signed the order.

Q was detained again, locked away in a reinforced chamber lined with nullifying devices and sedatives mixed into their food.

“You protected them once. You almost died for them. Shouldn’t you be relieved, my sweet executive?”

He caressed your cheek as he said it. You didn’t flinch.

You never flinched.

"If that's what you wish for." You closed your eyes.

Your thoughts weren’t on Mori.

They were on Dazai.

Because Q hadn’t acted out on their own. You knew them well enough to suspect as much. Their mischief wasn’t reckless, it was calculated. Controlled.

And lately… careless.

Too careless for Q.

Which meant something or someone had been pushing them.

You found Dazai in the training room, idly throwing a knife at a spinning dummy, over and over. The blade buried into its heart every time.

He turned to you with that same tired smile. “Ah, L/N-san. You look like you lost something.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“You did it.”

A pause. Then, “Did what?”

“You wanted them gone.”

Dazai shrugged, not denying it.

“Maybe,” he murmured, twisting the knife in his hand.

“But they slipped up, didn’t they? You taught them better than that. Maybe they weren’t as good a student as you thought.”

He looked up at you then. Really looked. And the smile slipped, just for a second.

“You weren’t supposed to mentor anyone else.” Those dark and dead eyes stared back into yours, reminding you the time when you first met him.

Silence stretched between you.

You should’ve reprimanded him. Punished him.

Instead, you asked softly, “Are you satisfied?”

Dazai stepped closer.

“No,” he said, eyes dark and steady. “But I’m patient.”

He’d waited.

He’d planned.

And now, you were his again.

“You weren’t supposed to mentor anyone else.”

The words lingered, heavier than the air in the room. Spoken softly, like a secret, but with an edge. Jealousy honed into something far sharper.

You studied him. Dazai Osamu, fifteen and already too dangerous. Already too intelligent. Already too... attached.

That was the problem.

That was the risk.

You were a Port Mafia executive. A weapon. A loyal one.

And loyalty didn’t waver. Not even in the face of something as human as affection.

So, you made a decision.

“It’s lunch time. Let’s go.”

Dazai blinked. His expression flickered, surprise, confusion, and then something warmer. Something smug.

His eyes lit up.

You turned before you could see the grin that split across his face, but you heard the soft shuffle of his footsteps trailing behind you, quick and eager.

You didn’t miss the irony. The more you distanced yourself from him, the worse he became. Quietly destructive. Dangerous in that cunning, invisible way of his.

So now you would do the opposite.

Let him close. Let him think he was close.

Let him believe you chose him.

Even if it fed into that twisted affection, even if it wrapped tighter around your throat like a noose—at least it would keep others safe.

At least it would keep Mori safe from troubles.

You told yourself that.

He knew. Of course he knew.

Knew why you were doing this. Knew what you were trying to prevent. Knew you better than you liked.

But he played along.

Because that’s what he did best.

Lunch was quiet.

The kind of quiet that pressed down on your chest, suffocating in its unnaturalness.

Dazai didn’t fill the space with idle chatter like usual. He watched you.

Carefully. Curiously.

And then, in between bites of stolen soba and a stolen glance, he asked it:

“If I become the boss... would you act the same way with me as you do to Mori-san?”

The question was light, off-handed. Almost innocent.

But you heard the weight behind it.

Becoming Boss meant one thing.

Mori would have to die.

Your chopsticks paused. Barely a second. But Dazai saw it. He always did.

“No.” Your voice was flat. Cold.

A half lie. But still, a lie.

But the kind of lie you needed to tell.

Even if he saw through it.

Especially because he saw through it.

“I won’t entertain that thought.” You met his eyes, calm and steady.

“Not from you. Not from anyone.”

He stared.

Then smiled.

Not the usual mischievous smirk. Not the lazy, amused curl of his lips.

This one was quieter. Private.

Knowing.

You’d seen that look once before.

When he’d broken a rival’s hand for touching your jacket.

Not because of the offense. But because he hadn’t been the one to do it first.

“Loyal to the end,” he murmured, voice like silk over blades.

“To the one who picked you up first. That’s what makes you beautiful, you know.”

You didn’t reply.

You didn’t need to.

Because the truth was this, Mori was the first hand extended to you after the blood and fire. The first voice that called you useful.

And for someone like you, that meant everything.

Even if the hand was cold.

Even if the voice was wrong.

Even if someone else, someone newer, reached out too.

Your loyalty didn’t move.

That was unless... Mori actually dies.

Dazai leaned in closer, elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm.

He stared at you the entire time. Didn't even touched his food.

When you glance at him he'd smile.

The calculation.

The patience.

The resolve.

He wasn’t joking.

You rose from the table, brushing your coat back into place.

He stood too, as if to follow. But you turned away before he could.

You didn’t look back.

Because even now, even after everything, you hoped, maybe foolishly, that keeping him close would keep him from doing something irreversible.

But behind you, Dazai stood motionless.

And smiled.

Because this?

This was everything he wanted.

He had your attention again.

He had you again.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Even if it wasn’t enough.

And he could wait.

He’d always been good at waiting.