Chapter Text
Three days. Mori’s blood still stained the floor, a reminder of the body that had once inhabited the room.
Three days. The executives met, none raising an opposition to the new boss. Mori’s reign was over for better or worse.
Three days. It took until day two for the fighting to stop, the news of Mori’s death slowly spreading throughout the city. It took until the morning after to eliminate Mori’s more passionate loyalists, nearly a fifth of the Mafia’s men meeting their end (on top of those who had fallen in recent combat).
Three days. Three whole fucking days.
Soukoku was tired. Neither man had rested since the power change, too much work to be done. Chuuya had assigned himself as Dazai’s bodyguard, stopping several assassination attempts as Dazai rallied his supporters, a plethora of problems produced in the heat of battle all waiting for the new boss’s input.
The war had been short yet detrimental, parts of the city damaged beyond repair. As the primary instigators, the repairs fell on the Mafia. Dazai had met with Ango several times, sorting out how the city would rebuild. They came to an agreement that the Mafia would pay for all damages while supplying around 80 men into the labor force. Considering the amount of men dead on the streets and the power shift, the PM can't afford to offer much more. With the assurance that Mori’s removal from power would prevent this from happening again, the government luckily agreed to subsidize the rest. Construction would begin the next morning, hopefully signalling an end to the bloodshed while reassuring the public.
Unfortunately for Dazai, the battle and its repairs had cost the mafia dearly, carving out over half their treasury and men. It would be difficult to recover, but he hadn’t been known as the demon prodigy for no reason. Along with government negotiation, Dazai had contacted the Mafia’s allies. Trade deals were struck, promotions and demotions dealt, the prodigy had no doubt they would bounce back financially.
Next they had to tackle the challenge of recruitment, something both halves of soukoku had been dreading. It was difficult to maintain their usual banter, both of them knew all too well the detriment of growing up in the mafia. Even so, there had always been a grim understanding that the best subordinates tended to start out the youngest.
The bombing of Suribachi city had thrown the city into ruin (more than it already was). It would be easy to disguise recruitment as a way of making amends for the chaos. ‘Port Orphanage’ would be built on the edge of mafia territory within the month, accepting all who seek shelter. Dazai issued the order. Chuuya has been quiet since.
- ❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Day four. Chuuya is so tired he could barely think. Normally this would be a bad thing, but part of him was grateful. If he started thinking now he would have to think about the men he killed. Good loyal mafia men with families and children smooshed on the wall like flies. Then after he was done grieving them he’d have to think about Mori. His old boss, a man he looked up to. His blood was still everywhere. Which reminded Chuuya of the number one thing he did not want to think about.
Dazai.
Dazai hadn’t changed clothes, nor bothered to wipe the blood crusting his hair down over his eye. The one eye that was visible could barely be considered an eye, more a never ending void creasing the brunette’s face with pain. Chuuya didn't like that look. Never had and never will.
At first the two talked and bantered, attempting to keep some level of normalcy with the chaos surrounding. A buoy in the vast storm of life that the two of them, young and dumb, once mistook as a ship.
The phone wasn’t helping. Dazai’s old work phone sat on the desk, ringing incessantly. Their conversation would halt, Dazai’s empty gaze staring with painful longing. He never reached to answer. Nor did he comment when the red head snatched the device, smashing it into the ground.
The orphanage was the final straw. Chuuya wanted nothing more than to rip up the document, holding himself back by a thread as his partner signed away the lives of an immeasurable population of kids.
Hazy water flooded the ginger’s mind as he attempted to drown the noise. He can't watch as the paper is taken. It’s truly a blessing that he’s too tired to think. If he could, there’s no saying what he would do.
Soukoku sits in silence, neither fully present yet both eerily on guard. Time didn’t seem to exist anymore, and even if Chuuya was sure it was the fourth day it felt like an eternity. Who knows, maybe they had always been there.
A knock echoes through the room.
Dazai’s throat croaks to life, “Come in”
The doors part as Kouyou strolls into the office, approaching with a brief head nod of acknowledgement. Neither Dazai or Chuuya reciprocate the gesture, both looking spaced. The newly appointed boss speaks robotically. Cold and practiced like the demon he was born to be.
“Status report.”
“Repairs have started and most, if not all immediate uprisings have been snuffed out. Reconstruction has begun and I have an architect drawing up plans for the orphanage. Our allies have agreed to help pitch in as a way to ‘invest in the PM’s future’. In other words, things are going to plan.” Kouyou stands tall, yet her voice comes out unusually soothing. Contradictory to her tone, her face was twisted into a kind of grimace.
Of course, Dazai wouldn’t have known that. Dazai had been staring at his desk for the past hour, not looking up once. “Ok.. You are dismissed.”
“Boss. Before I depart I wish to speak as an advisor.” A perfectly manicured hand rests on the table, causing the brunette’s eyes to meet the woman’s. “There is an important matter that I don’t think can remain unaddressed.” He stares for an uncomfortably long time, so long that Kouyou wonders if he even heard her.
“You may.”
“You and Chuuya haven’t rested nor bathed since the takeover. While your commitment is respectable, we can't risk you wearing yourselves out. Even in the power shift Soukoku is our strongest force.” Dazai’s head throbs as his eye droops back down to the desk in consideration. She wasn’t wrong. Dazai hadn’t been sleeping well even before becoming boss, and Chuuya wasn’t as accustomed to going long periods without sleep. Both of them had eaten a bare minimum, only accepting what Kouyou or Hirotsu hand delivered. Chuuya swayed as he fidgeted, a poor attempt to remain somewhat aware. Soukoku needed a break, and Dazai knew it. But..
“There’s too much to be done. Sure, we’ve started reconstruction and reinstated our safeguards, but it’s not nearly enough. The Mafia’s power structure needs to be reordered. I intend to give Chuuya a new title. I need to instate a new executive and assign Chuuya someone to help him manage the gem trade when he’s busy. I intend to promote some people and assemble a few more task forces. I also need to meet with Verlane, as I want him to train the new recruits we will soon have an influx of. These things need to be taken care of immediately and I cannot justify-”
“One day.” Dazai halts, both his and Kouyou’s attention drifting to the gravity manipulator, “Let's take one day off. Ane-san and Hirotsu-san can manage things for a day. We have the ball rolling on the essentials, promotions can wait a day.”
Chuuya and Dazai maintain eye contact, a silent conversation passing between the bound souls. Half a minute passes before the brunette relents, shakily pushing himself to aching feet.
“Kouyou-san, you are in charge until my return. Our priority should be rebuilding the city and managing rebellions. Treat Hirotsu-san as your second in command, and.. Issue an order for the office to be cleaned and disinfected.” Slowly, Dazai makes his way to the door. He reaches for the handle, only to pause. “I expect perfection. If you mess this up I'll have your head. Understood?”
“Yes boss.” The door slammed, shrouding the room in cold silence. Kouyou sighs. She always knew Mori’s rule wouldn’t outlive her, but she’d never imagined it’d turn out this way. What a sad, unexpected turn of events.
- ❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Exiting headquarters was simple. Both halves of Soukoku were skilled at traversing through secret tunnels and forgotten escape routes. The skyscraper was their playground, sprinting in and out of hallways with the delight of children playing tag. It was easy even in their half-conscious state, and before long the two mafioso strode the relatively empty streets of Yokohama.
Neither spoke, both already knowing the final destination. Entering through pristine golden doors, rising to the top floor the the most bougie apartment complex in the city, it wasn't long before Chuuya was unlocking the door of his penthouse.
His penthouse? Their penthouse. Once the two of them had called this place home. It was high enough to escape the sea of blood they usually choked on, safe enough to sleep and eat. It was the only place the demon’s skin grew warm and the god shrunk to a mortal. It was vulnerable, fun, impenetrable. It was a fortress so strong Chuuya had never once thought to guard his back.
That is until Dazai left.
It was only now that the two stepped past the wooden threshold that Chuuya realized how much he had truly lost that day. As his new car sat in soot and rubble the redhead had been too distracted by his anger to notice how cold the room had become. Locks. Locks on every single door. Chuuya hadn’t even noticed them there before he was left to his own paranoia. Every corner and mirror hid tragedies. He’d get to the bottom of a glass only to catch glimpses of blond hair. Blood, gloves, bandages, soot. In all Chuuya’s sorrow he’d forgotten this wasn’t normal.
A hand presses to the small of Chuuya’s back, snapping him from his momentary daze. Breath brushed his ear as dread rippled at his soul.
“Chuuya.. We should get cleaned up.” Quiet. So quiet. The door had been closed ages ago. They just continued standing in the genkan, in unmoving shock. Shock? No, not shock. Horror.
Vulnerable, warm, fun, impenetrable. I had been so long since either had felt such a thing. Unacclimated, like an eardrum bursting under pressure. Chuuya couldn’t breath, Dazai couldn’t think. He wouldn’t think. Neither wanted to. It was madness, utter madness, yet neither let it show.
Ten minutes. They stood in the genkan unmoving. Every few minutes Dazai’s hand would tap along the redhead’s spine. “Chuuya.. We should get cleaned up.”
A broken windup routine for ten excruciating minutes. Then, Chuuya broke.
A scream ripped from his throat, screaming into the apartment as he rushed forward. The redhead's fist collides with the wall, bursting it upon impact. It draws back again and again, each scream growing more and more painful. It burns. Everything burns. It wasn’t ok. Nothing was ok. How was he supposed to live with this? Why was it so hard to live with this? He had been doing it for years, why now did it burn so much?
Suddenly a hand grasps his shoulder. Chuuya’s sobbing screams halt as his fist rests in the hole that once was his wall. Rugged breaths tear through the air in a poor attempt to regain composure.
“Chuuya.. We should get cleaned up.”
“..ok.”