Chuuya liked to think he’d moved on.

He had a job, a reputation, a seat high enough in the Port Mafia that people shut up when he entered the room. He had power, purpose, something steady in a world built on blood and backstabbing.

What he didn’t have anymore—was Dazai.

Not since they were 18. Not since the bastard up and vanished without a word. No warning. No fight. No final insult or bloodied farewell. Just gone.

And now, four years later, Dazai Osamu was working for the damn Armed Detective Agency, walking around like the war-torn past between them never happened. He smiled during joint missions, cracked jokes no one asked for, and didn’t flinch when Chuuya threw curses like knives across the table.

Meetings between the Agency and the Mafia were hell. Everyone knew to sit between them—or away from them—because it was only a matter of time before someone snapped. Usually Chuuya. Always Dazai’s fault.

Chuuya called him a traitor. Dazai called him short. Chuuya threatened to throw him off the building. Dazai offered to jump first, “just to save time.”

And yet—when the mission started, when the bullets flew and the plans burned—Chuuya didn’t hesitate. And neither did Dazai. They slipped back into rhythm like no years had passed. Like betrayal had never happened. Like they still understood each other better than anyone else could.

They didn’t talk about it.

Chuuya didn’t ask why he left. Dazai didn’t ask if Chuuya ever missed him.

But their numbers stayed saved. There weren’t many people Chuuya would answer the phone for in the middle of the night, especially if the screen flashed Dazai. But he always picked up. Always. Even if it was just to yell. Even if it was silent. Even if the only thing either of them said was, “Where are you?” followed by “Send the location.”

They weren’t partners anymore. They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything, really.

But they were still each other’s first call when shit got ugly.

And deep down, buried under anger and pride and four years of silence, Chuuya still knew Dazai better than anyone. And maybe—just maybe—Dazai still knew him too.