Chuuya Nakahara would never admit it out loud, but living with Dazai Osamu had become… normal. Too normal. What started as a temporary arrangement—born out of Chuuya’s restless nights and Dazai’s dark ones—turned into something steady, almost domestic. The Port Mafia’s infamous Double Black, sharing the same cramped apartment like they weren’t supposed to despise each other’s guts.

At least, that’s what they claimed: hate. Chuuya swore Dazai was a manipulative bastard, always hiding a grin behind some cruel remark. And Dazai? He liked to call Chuuya a “dog on a leash,” poking at his temper until sparks flew. Anyone looking in from the outside would’ve said they couldn’t stand each other. But if that were true, then why the hell did Dazai still end up on the couch every night, stretched out like he belonged there? And why did Chuuya keep letting him?

It had started after Corruption—after one of those nights when Chuuya’s own body betrayed him, when his power ate him alive. Dazai had been there, as always, to pull him back. That night, instead of leaving, Dazai climbed into Chuuya’s bed without asking, shrugging off his coat with the excuse that it was safer. “Just in case,” he’d said with mockery laced in the corners of his voice. “If you lose control again, I’ll be right here to nullify you.” But Chuuya knew it wasn’t just that. He could hear it in the quiet way Dazai breathed beside him, like even Dazai found some peace there.

Not that Chuuya would ever point it out. He had enough trouble ignoring the way his chest tightened whenever Dazai leaned too close, or the way he caught himself staring at the curve of his partner’s smile longer than he should. They were supposed to be rivals, partners, whatever—anything but whatever this was. Crushes were for kids, and he was a soldier, a mafioso. He had no business feeling his heart stutter every time Dazai brushed against him on purpose.

But late at night, when the city outside was quiet and Chuuya woke from dreams he’d rather forget, there was always the faint weight of Dazai’s presence—sometimes on the couch, sometimes right next to him. And for all the chaos they caused together, for all the hate they swore they felt, Chuuya couldn’t deny it: having Dazai there made the nightmares easier to bear.

Maybe that was the worst part of all.