044

The Port Mafia’s lower levels echoed faintly with muffled voices, the distant hum of electricity, and the sharp tap of a pair of boots with a very specific kind of rage behind them.

“Dazai, I swear to god, if you don’t stop following me like some clingy housewife—!”

“Oh, Chuuya, don’t flatter yourself,” Dazai drawled behind him, hands laced behind his head.

“You're not nearly domestic enough for that. Too much yelling. I’d rather marry a blender.”

“You’d marry a toaster if it came with a knife sharpener,” Chuuya snapped, whirling around to face him.

Dazai gave a thoughtful hum. “Hmm. That does sound romantic.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Dazai blinked innocently. “Only when you're unconscious, and unfortunately, I can't chloroform you anymore after last time.”

“Last time I kicked you so hard you forgot the alphabet.”

“I didn't forget the alphabet, Chuuya. I just temporarily decided 'R' was optional.”

“You are optional,” Chuuya growled.

A few mafia subordinates passing by expertly redirected their gazes to the floor.

They knew better than to linger when these two started.

The last guy who laughed during one of their arguments ended up in a garbage compactor as "an accident" a few minutes later.

Chuuya exhaled slowly through his nose and kept walking, Dazai still tailing him with all the grace and silence of a haunting.

“…So?” Chuuya asked suddenly, almost as if the question had been itching at him and only now forced itself out.

“So what?” Dazai blinked, brows raised.

Chuuya glanced sideways, his tone unusually mild. “You’re not upset?”

Dazai’s expression shifted— slight, but enough to catch. He tilted his head. “About what?”

“The mission,” Chuuya said. “The one they sent him on.”

Dazai stopped walking.

Literally stopped.

Behind them, one of the passing mafiosos tripped over his own feet trying not to slam into Dazai.

Chuuya took another two steps before realizing Dazai wasn’t next to him anymore.

He turned around, frowning. “…You did know about it, right?”

“…Mission?” Dazai echoed, slowly.

“What mission?”

Chuuya looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “L/N-san’s mission.”

Dazai blinked.

Twice.

“He’s being sent overseas,” Chuuya added.

Dazai’s voice faltered. “Over…seas?”

“Long term,” Chuuya added.

Now Dazai’s eye twitched.

“Wait. Wait. What do you mean long term?”

“I mean the kind of mission that doesn’t come with a roundtrip ticket,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms.

“Might take years. Dangerous. High profile. He might not make it back.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The silence between us stretched until it felt like a thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

I narrowed my eyes, watching him.

Dazai wasn’t moving.

For once in his damn life, he was standing perfectly still. That alone was unsettling.

He wasn’t supposed to be still.

Dazai moved like a ghost—always pacing, always leaning, always dragging people into whatever game he was playing. But now he looked like something had short circuited.

I’d seen that expression before. Not often. Maybe twice, three times, and it never lasted.

But I always remembered it. That dead look in his eyes.

He looked like someone had reached in and scooped something out of him. And left the shell standing.

“…You’re lying.”

His voice was quiet. No inflection. No sarcasm. Just flat, like he was talking to himself more than me.

I blinked. That was not the reaction I’d expected.

“What?” I asked, frowning.

“You’re lying,” he said again, this time turning his head slightly in my direction.

His hand moved under his chin, fingers twitching like he was calculating something, or trying to keep himself from snapping the bones in his own hand.

I took a cautious step back.

“Dazai…” I said slowly, “I’m not joking. I saw him before he left.”

That got him. His eyes twitched. Something mean and dark flashed behind them.

He murmured something I couldn’t make out. Not even with how close I was standing. Just a whisper of sound between his teeth, low and urgent.

The kind of sound someone makes when they’re desperately trying to rationalize something to themselves.

Then he just… stopped.

All of it. The muttering, the twitching.

He went still again, face smoothing into that familiar unreadable mask.

He turned toward me with mechanical precision. “Where did you hear it from?”

I didn’t answer right away.

I didn’t like the look in his eyes.

There was something dangerous brewing under his skin—something sharp. I swallowed.

“He told me,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. “L/N-san told me himself. Said he was being sent out by Boss. Long term.”

Dazai didn’t blink. But I saw it. That tiny twitch in his finger.

Then, just like that, he walked past me.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t glare. Just walked.

I turned, confused and more than a little annoyed. “Oi! Where the hell do you think you’re going, Dazai!?”

He didn’t pause. Didn’t even look back. “I’m going to see Mori-san.”

There was something final in the way he said it.

I scowled. “What, you’re just gonna barge into the Boss’ office and demand answers like some moody brat?”

That got a response. A hollow, empty laugh.

“If I’m a brat, then what does that make you? The loyal dog that fetches his leash every time someone snaps their fingers?”

My jaw clenched. “Say that again, asshole.”

He didn’t. He didn’t need to.

The air around him practically buzzed with something I couldn’t name.

And for once, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to follow.

I narrowed my eyes.

What the hell was that?