The night air was sharp, biting through the thin fabric of Dazai’s coat as he stood on the rooftop overlooking Yokohama. The city glowed below, its lights casting fractured reflections on the bay’s dark waters. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, tilting his head back to watch the stars. A mission like this wasn’t supposed to be complicated—a simple exchange of information between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia.

Simple, until the figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Long time no see, Dazai.”

The voice was unmistakable: smooth, edged with steel, and laced with a venomous familiarity. Dazai turned, his expression splitting into a lazy smile as he faced Chuuya Nakahara for the first time in four years.

“Chuuya! Still as short and angry as ever, I see.”

Chuuya stepped closer, his blue eyes narrowing in irritation, the city lights catching in his fiery hair. “And you’re still as insufferable as I remember. Great reunion.”

Dazai let out a chuckle, though his sharp gaze flickered briefly over Chuuya. Four years hadn’t dulled his partner-turned-rival’s edge; if anything, the years had only sharpened him. The way Chuuya carried himself—the tension in his shoulders, the subtle shift of his weight—spoke volumes about the kind of battles he’d been fighting.

“I missed you, you know,” Dazai said, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt.

Chuuya scoffed, crossing his arms. “Save it. I’m only here because the boss wants this done quietly. Don’t think for a second this means I trust you.”

“Trust? Chuuya, you wound me,” Dazai replied, stepping closer, his grin widening. “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t trust me either.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, shared history, and four years’ worth of distance that neither of them could bridge—not here, not now.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Chuuya muttered, turning away to lead the way.

Dazai followed, his smirk fading slightly as he watched Chuuya’s back.