blood money || YANDERE!Chuuya Nakahara

Twelve: Saviour.

A/N: Season three of BSD is my toy, and I'm playing around with it

"You need help there?"

A voice cuts through Chuuya's whirlwind of a mind. A claustrophobic sense of pain that appears in white-hot flashes before his vision. He grits his teeth and tightens his hold on the wound off his stomach, the noise of the henchmen like trotting horses to him in the background, "Dazai told me he won't help you."

"I don't want that prick of a suicidal kid to help me at all," He seethes, pain evident in the way he spoke. He tosses his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, "Fucking brat."

"I can help." Your voice is monotone. You carefully step over the waters by walking over the stones, water splashing feebly against your polished shoes. Your tie sways with each step, your collar having been loosened by Dazai after he had commented 'You look like a businesswoman.'

Even your looks were personalised by others. You had no such luxury in your head to be editing that sort of trivialities.

"Yeah, well can you?" He snaps back, watching as you carefully helped him up to his feet, throwing his arm over your shoulder while the other was still clutching at his stab wound. The dead weight was heavy, being immobilised by the rat poison following the betrayal of Sheep, but you found it manageable.

After all, he wasn't dead.

You had experience with true dead weight.

"I can," You say. Your eyes stare straight ahead, seemingly not struggling with the extra weight behind put on you. You walk with a timing that is almost perfect, as if even your walk had been practised and rehearsed, "Let us go to the clinic."

"You're a weird one," Chuuya comments. His steps are weak, faltering one after another under the injury in his stomach. His breathing is coming out as pained gasps, stifled by the grit of his teeth, "You show nothing, unlike that suicidal Dazai."

"I am Scalpel," You say, almost robotically, "I serve Boss. Boss says to bring you back to HQ."

"So you're not helping me out of pure altruism?" He says, a mocking tone to his words. He coughs in pain. You don't turn to face him.

"I only exist to please Boss," You say, your eyes focused like a bird of prey, unwavering and pinpointed to a target, "Boss is everything I have."

XX

From that day forward, Chuuya began to become...intrigued with you.

Obsessed would be a better term.

It was obsession the way he saw you in places where you weren't there, like afterimages, like water mirages in the dryness of a desert. There was something inherently different to you that he liked; it caught him like a claw to a knitted square.

It was strange, he admits. But it was love at second sight. He thought you were the pinnacle of what power was.

You were truly like your title: Scalpel. You had the surgical precision of one, sharper than diamonds, and had the unfeeling touch of one opening up a body to inspect the viscera. You were automata, a face without a face, dangerous and ruthless, emotionless and stable as a boulder embedded in soil. A stability to you that everyone else rotated around you, like there was a heaviness to your heart that couldn't stop the gravitational orbit of others. You were the trick hidden under the Boss' sleeve, always there for whatever services he required.

Including his personal services.

"You look so cute wearing this dress, (Last name)!" Boss exclaims. His smile is woven in his words, "Do a spin for me, won't you?"

You obediently spin around for him, your face of stone.

"Sooo cute!"

"Thank you, Boss," You say. Your arms are out by your sides so that he could run his hands over your underdeveloped waist, himself giggling at the intricate laces that flanked your sides. His hands are filled with handfuls of young, fragile flesh, before he lets go and claps his gloved hands together. His clean shaven face creases into a prideful, greedy smile.

"Let's try this dress, shall we?"

"Of course."

"And then I'll give you your briefing for your next mission," Boss says, sifting through the multiple shopping bags of dresses and clothes that he had purchased, "Alright?"

"Yes, Boss."

Your briefing was to find a man who had been stealing the Port Mafia's armoury and reselling them to the black market: find him and execute him on the spot. You walk out of Boss' room with a fluffy dress on. It shuffles with every step you take, the laces and ribbons bouncing.

"Are you seriously going to complete a mission wearing that?" A voice. You turn around, unblinking, to the source of it. A young boy wearing a hat, with orange hair. His eyes are grey-blue, gleaming with every step he took under the wavering sunlight passing through the overhead windows. His hands were in his pockets before he took one out to point at your attire.

"Oh. It's you," You say. Your dress rustles as you feel for your gun on your thigh holster, "Hello. I hear you've joined us."

"Yeah. I decided my loyalties lie within the Port Mafia," He points to his hat, "Doesn't this look good on me?"

"I killed the man that it belonged to," You say. He blinks in surprise.

"You were the one who executed Randou?"

"Yes," You say. "Bullet to the forehead."

"Damn," He finds himself whistling at your fortitude, "Hardcore."

"I don't know what that means," You start walking away from him, with Chuuya tailing you. His hands are back in his jean pockets, "Do you not have anything to do?"

"No. Boss doesn't have anything planned for me yet. You?"

"I have to find a man and execute him," You say. Your voice is as cold as glacier, packed ice; it was hard to gauge what you were trying to convey with that voice of yours, rumbling and vibrating against your teeth as you spoke, with eyes that betrayed nothing but mindless devotion.

"Say, why're you so dedicated to Boss?"

"He saved me. Rescued me," You say, "I owe him."

"That's it? You just owe him?"

"I owe him my life for everything he has done for me," Your voice hovers like the blue haze of cigarette smoke in a room after the cigarette has been put out; he can sense the faraway nature of the voice, wispy and prone to being wiped out, "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right," He says. You pause in your steps, turning back for the first time in your life, curiously, to face him, "But I get it."

"Do you?"

"I have the same sense about that sorta thing about you," He nonchalantly says, "Your values. Yourself. You intrigue me."

You find yourself being surprised at such an admission, "What?"

"I'm intrigued by you," Chuuya claims. His silver-blue eyes gleam, "The way you are. It's strange. I thought these sorts of feelings were stupid. Foolish. But I find myself...nah, that's stupid. Nevermind," He hotly waves you off, "Go to your mission."

"Alright," You say, your voice thawing into that of uncertainty, "Goodbye. See you."

"Come back alive, won't you?"

You let out a huff, and slap a hand over your mouth at that. What was that noise you had just made? You blink at the expanding horizons of your body, your emotions, and then regain your composure as fast as you had lost it, "I will."