Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

12
Dazai, Chuuya, and the alchemy of love

✦✦✦

Scattered clouds occasionally block the moonlight from illuminating their path. Chuuya’s driving remains steady, even if one of his hands is busily intertwined with Dazai’s as it rests over his belt buckle. Cool winds whip past them, but he’s impervious to the chill, thanks to his thick-faced and thick-skinned jacket in the form of a clingy mackerel.

They hit the road straight after escaping from the Tsushima Family’s mansion. Their first stop being the bathroom in Shirase and Yuan’s place, so they can change out of their sopping wet clothes. Baki’s travel cage and suitcase are loaded to his bike in quick motions.

With an exit like that, there’s no doubt that they’ll be hunted down. It’s only a matter of trying to outrun them, because the Tsushima Family will also soon face some charges and investigations. No matter how entrenched the rot is, there will always come a day when it would rot the foundation so terribly that it collapses from within. Chuuya has faith in Sakaguchi’s team, especially since he’s being assisted by Fukuzawa’s new agency.

In the meantime, while all that fanfare is exploding, he and Dazai will happily enjoy some much-needed vacation. It’s a good plan in theory. Implementing it, on the other hand… “Will you stop trying to tickle me already?! Do you want us to crash?!”

Dazai wrapped around him like an oversized cape is distracting enough. Arms weave tightly over his waist, and he even insists on holding hands even while he’s driving a goddamn bike. As if that’s not enough, Dazai does his best impression of a leech, mouth attached to the side of his neck like he’s trying to catch up on supper. “If we do crash, it’s bound to be a lovely double suicide, ne?” Words that caress his ears, making him shiver.

His instincts roar at him to turn around and smack the idiot for talking nonsense. Then, he remembers his resolve to not flinch away from difficult topics. Thing is, it’s obvious that Dazai’s not the most stable person on the planet. He’s gloomy and apathetic at times, dissatisfied boredom towards a lot of things in life. He’s never made it a secret that he doesn’t find meaning in continuing to live.

And yet, he’s still here. Many, many years later, he’s still here. He’s also learned to be an even bigger headache, but he’s still here with him. Still, even if he racks his brains, he’s hard-pressed to find anything he can say that’s not derisive. So he ends up with a, “If we crash, I’m saving the bike first and leaving you to rot.”

“How cruel.” Yet he sounds so happy. Lips move against his neck. “Where are you taking us?”

They’ve been on the road for several hours now, driving with the moon on their back, racing against the awakening of traffic. It’s easier to travel long distances without being hindered by commuters. He steers the bike towards one of the exits, moving them westward. “Don’t you already know?”

“Mm, I do have a guess.” And because Dazai’s guesses tend to be always correct... “You actually remembered Arisato-sensei, huh.”

The principal for Yokohama Middle School. Ex-principal now, after his various embezzlements have been reported. With how much real estate and cars he managed to stow away all over the country, it’s not surprising that there are some that remain outside the police’s radar. “We’re just borrowing one of his properties for a bit.”

Once the dust finishes settling in Yokohama and they’re free to return without worries, they can even helpfully point the police to the illegal property.

For now, the priority is to reach their destination without crashing due to Dazai’s friskiness. It’s as if a dam has been opened, after years of holding back. The fish’s clinginess isn’t new, but he’s downright effusive now with his affection. Not even four hours since they’ve met again, and he’s already like this, a giant slimy snake with a vampiric obsession with his throat.

The next few minutes unfold in relative quiet. Their breaths and heartbeats synchronize, acting as one cohesive unit. Peace never lasts long when there’s the mackerel involved, so it doesn’t take long for Dazai to muse, “Doesn’t this remind you of something?”

“Of the fact that I really should throw you off the road if you keep on distracting me?” It’s really amazing. As if Dazai’s a rubber band that’s been stretched taut with tension, but the moment that they’ve met again, he’s snapped back to his previous state. Back to the lofty teasing, just with a bit more brazen skinship. As if they’ve reverted to status quo.

…Though, he can sense it better now: the dark, hungry possessiveness that’s been there all along. That greedy aspect of their relationship that he’s always chalked up to a childish insistence in owning a toy so thoroughly. He can feel its teeth closing in on him, nestling him in-between its blades. It feels… quite nice.

“Mm, I guess this is one way to bypass having to install a child seat.” A nostalgic sigh. “Remember when you got scolded by the police uncle for riding your old bicycle with me?”

“I’ll give you five seconds to fix your words. You’re the one who got scolded, I just got dragged in!” It feels like they’ve been transported back to their high school days, when Dazai would act like a dying whale at the possibility of actually using his legs to walk to school. Getting scolded for the unsafe driving practice of sharing one bicycle.

“It would have been alright if you just agreed to install a child’s seat…” Ah, there it is, the idiotic suggestion making a comeback. It’s not really worth squabbling over, so he settles for pinching the skin on the other’s hand.

Another spell of silence. They’re nearing their destination, around twenty more minutes of driving. Dazai’s question floats to his ears, “Say, this property has been abandoned for so long, right.” Right against his earlobe, “Doesn’t that mean that there’s a huge chance of it being like a haunted house?”

Throughout the years, his resistance against jump-scares hasn’t seen a lot of improvement, even if Dazai makes it a point to trick him into watching a lot of horror movies together. More accurately, he blames his lack of improvement when it comes to dealing with such things on Dazai himself. After all, seeing how delighted the shitty mackerel is whenever he nearly-breaks his hands whenever he’s surprised by g-ghosts… He can only shake his head at yet another instance of him spoiling the man’s strange tendencies.

Full of warmth, “If you want it to be haunted so badly, I can always make you become a ghost.”

Niigata Prefecture is well-known for its skiing and hot spring industries, so areas further away from the mountains tend to not attract a lot of traffic or attention. In this manner, it could be said that Arisato-sensei truly exercised a lot of brainpower in choosing where to plant the fruits of his corruption.

They eventually pull up to a two-story house with a fenced-in lawn that is quadruple the size of their home. He hops off first, offering his arm to help support Dazai down. A four-hour ride isn’t anything to sneeze at—as expected of a mackerel whose physical stats are lacking, he’s weak-limbed when he eventually clambers off the bike. There’s a bright flush on Dazai’s face though as the fish wriggles towards him, like he’s shocked and pleased that Chuuya didn’t just leave him to face-plant to the ground. What a weirdo.

After a few minutes, Dazai’s hands regain enough steadiness to pick the locks, opening up the gate in no time.

He can’t help but whistle as soon as they manage to get the bike inside. He hefts Baki’s travel cage in his left hand. Dazai copies his whistling as he takes care of the suitcases. The décor is on the ostentatious side, a design philosophy of ‘just throw money at it’ at work. It’s quite an eyesore. It’s only made worse by the fact that the place is clearly out of touch with the concept of maintenance and cleaning for several years. Vines cling to the doorways, giving off the impression that they’re going to hiss awake any moment.

A very satisfied, “Mm, I really couldn’t have chosen better. What a perfect place to spend our first night together.”

His face heats up at the provocative tone, but he maintains a solid wall of, “It’s sunrise in a little over two hours, oi.”

It’s revealed to be a futile struggle, because Dazai simply shrugs—shrugging off the disconsolate state from before as well—and sets the suitcases against the wall. He gestures for him to set Baki’s cage down too. Their cat stays asleep throughout this, already used to the trials and tribulations of the human world. Once both their hands are freed, Dazai squats a bit, extending his arms forward in a manner not too different from zombies.

He’s already well-versed in the other’s strange brain circuits, but he still has to ask: “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I haven’t been by your side for several months…” Slight wavering, but it disappears quickly. “And you’ve already grown so stupid? Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing, Chuuya?”

He swats the hands that are extended towards his waist. “That you’re asking for a beating?”

As it’s a residential area, there isn’t a lot of streetlamps punctuating the streets. There’s only the moonlight filtering through the dark clouds. Still, the scarce amount of light doesn’t dampen the rosy blush on the other’s face. “Ano ne, Chuuya. Isn’t this the classic scene of the bride being carried over the threshold?”

…It really is good that he’s already set Baki’s cage down, or else he would surely dropped the metal over his feet. “W-W-W-W-W-What are you talking about!” His brain is wiped out in record time, considerations for what they’re going to do in the future, as well as how to survive the next few hours in this house that looks haunted by dirt: all the thoughts whoosh out of his head. “We haven’t—! I haven’t—!! You haven’t—!!!”

Dazai’s doing a tomato impression too, but his shamelessness is on another level entirely. “After you’ve kissed me so passionately under the moonlight, you’re now going to abandon me at the altar? Isn’t that rather cruel of you, chibikko?”

“What altar!” He gestures towards the walls that are filled with plant outgrowth. Nervous anticipation sparks inside him. “Also! Passionately! Who the fuck! Wasn’t it you who—”

“Oh, it’s indeed me,” Dazai cuts in, and then kisses him more thoroughly compared to several hours prior. The silver tongue that’s slick enough to trick even the snakiest of salesmen, the black tongue that doles out poisonous words often, it sweeps all over his mouth, tricking him and poisoning him.

Not even when his back collides against the vine-covered door does he manage to extricate himself from the series of kisses. Not even when his head knocks back against the wood. Not even when he mimics the vines around them and hikes his legs up over the other’s waist, drapes his arms over the other’s neck.

The door provides a sturdy enough support that they don’t tumble to the ground, even when his head grows dizzy from all of this. Beyond a mouth-to-mouth contact, it’s as if he’s directly touching the other’s heart like this. Dazai’s body bears down on him, but instead of his instincts flaring out at being trapped or suffocated, he only has the feeling of being contented. That Dazai really did come back to him, even if he’s had to drag him by his lapels. Of course, since this involves the mackerel, whatever contentment he feels is quickly overturned when Dazai suddenly sweeps him off his feet, breaking off their kiss.

His dissatisfied “nngh, what—” becomes even more aggrieved when he realizes just what the other is planning. “We haven’t—! I haven’t—! You haven’t even asked me yet—!!!” are his protests, but the mackerel turns deaf and goes on to carry him past the threshold anyway.

His breath is choked up inside his lungs at the way Dazai looks down at him, victorious and affectionate, the immense possessiveness clearer than ever. And then, before he can even choose to hide his face against the other’s neck for this embarrassing bridal carry, he ends up choking as well. Years of clogged-up dirt filling the air after getting disturbed by their sudden entrance.

Twin helpless expressions at this supposedly romantic entrance ruined by all the dust. He ends up coughing out laughter, wheezing as he trembles in Dazai’s shaky hold. There’s the hazy layer of dust motes, but Dazai’s awestruck look is soft enough that he ends up reaching out to touch the edges of the crinkled eyes, the trembling lips.

They end up slinking back out, camping on the front steps of the house. There’s no snowfall tonight, which helps keep them from being covered in frostbite. Quite warm for the season, made even warmer by the fact that they’re pressed tightly side-by-side.

“It’s such a shame that we had to leave so quickly,” Dazai says while playing with his hands. A habit from years before, but it’s only now that Chuuya realizes the ulterior motives behind this movement. “You didn’t get to fully appreciate me wearing such an elegant kimono, it truly is a loss.”

“A mackerel in traditional garb is still a fish.” A rather tasty-looking fish, but a fish nevertheless. Seeing the other outfitted so finely only serves to make him feel rather touched that Dazai has spent all their years together dressing up in casual, comfortable clothes. Tacky ones, most of the time, but it’s still quite nice to know that the other’s that at ease with him.

“Hmm, I’ll be generous enough to give you fanservice some other time.” There’s laughter in the other’s voice, like he definitely knows that Chuuya’s heart went through several backflips upon seeing him in that crimson kimono accented with gold. A treasure gift-wrapped in silk and extravagance. “Still, it would have been nice if we could have stolen something from that mansion before leaving, help fund our honeymoon trip, ne?”

After all the years of hearing Atsushi say ‘honeymoon trip’ in hopes of getting money, he’s a lot more tolerant to that phrase. As such, he simply pinches the other’s fingers and says, “You’re actually going to claim that you haven’t stowed away a fuckton of money?”

“But it’s just enough to buy two remote islands and one private jet! Whatever shall I do if that runs out?!”

He rolls his eyes against this bunch of nonsense. Knocks their arms together, practically falling into the other’s lap. He has faith that they wouldn’t need to hide away for more than half a year. “Perhaps it’s time you do some actual work.”

As expected, the barrage of complaints arrive. “Ah, you truly know how to deflate the mood, chibi. Why bring up work now when we’re just starting to be lovey-dovey?”

“The hell do you mean by ‘starting’, oi!” Before the fish can be truly deflated, he quickly adds, “You’ve been so sticky for so long, isn’t that enough!” In his haste, his words don’t catch up to his brain until they’re already out in the open, ready to be picked apart. “I mean—!”

Right on the heels of the realization of the feelings that have been etched into him so deeply that he’s ended up considering them as part of the default: the realization that they’ve been acting so much worse than actual couples for so long. No wonder Shirase and Yuan never wanted to listen to him complain about Dazai. Scratch that, no wonder nobody ever wanted to listen to his complaints.

He doesn’t get to explain the rest of his thoughts, because Dazai moves to block his mouth once more. There’s something careful in the way their lips touch. Like Dazai’s worried that he’d suddenly decide that going through all that effort and all those years of headaches aren’t worth being kissed so ravenously. Really so stupid, this mackerel. He raises both his hands and licks the other’s teeth.

Time passes by like that, nestled against each other, until Baki’s meowing in discontent the moment sunshine hits his cage.

Darkness recedes, and is replaced by light.

✦✦✦

Chuuya squints in hopes of going blind and finally ending his misery. It doesn’t work. The sight in front of him is still terribly bright.

“Fufufu, how is it? I look very dashing right now, don’t I?” Dazai strikes another pose, happily modeling his current outfit, along with his newest set of… accessories. “Ah, I get it, you’re struck speechless by how wonderful I look, I understand completely.”

“I’m struck speechless alright,” he allows. It’s a severe underestimation: he feels like he’s been run over by a truck. He reminds himself that this is the supposed top scholar for their generation, the supposed demonic genius who has managed to become Port Mafia’s Boss over one night of hostile takeover.

He squints again. No, he doesn’t see any of that. All he sees is a preening idiot who mistakenly thinks that wearing a bunch of bandages all over his body counts as some avant-garde fashion choice. It’s a study of contrasts. The lower half makes him want to bleach his eyes, but the upper part… Ah, glasses really do look nice on him, after all. It’s almost enough to make up for the disastrous bandages.

Dazai is impervious to his judgmental glare. “If you wear the bandage suit I made for you, it’d be a couple’s outfit!”

…Also impervious to common sense. “I burned that ridiculous ‘armor’ already, as it rightfully deserves.” He actually hasn’t and has packed it along. He reasons that on the off-chance that someone needs to investigate their home, he doesn’t want to deal with explaining the criminal act of having a goddamn suit made of bandages in their closet.

“Is that so? How cruel, how cruel~” He’s grinning widely though.

It’s nice, seeing him smile so earnestly. Unburdened, seems to be the right descriptor. As though simply knowing that Chuuya loves him back is enough to erase a lot of his problems. He really is an embarrassment who deserves to be teased for at least ten years for this kind of sappiness, but it’s… really nice to see.

Urgh, it’s hopeless. He’s absolutely done for. Dazai is still preening at him, much like a peacock prancing about and showing off some ugly plumes. He smacks his chest to stop him from leaning down for another kissing session. “Will you get dressed properly already? We still have shit to do!”

Four days after they’ve temporarily left Yokohama, they receive an encrypted message from Edogawa Ranpo, Fukuzawa’s Agency’s lead detective. They’re assisting Sakaguchi’s team in compiling compelling evidence to fully hammer down the Tsushima Family out of the sphere of political influence. One of the most important facets of this is to provide undeniable proof that they’re dealing with a terrorist group such as Dostoevsky’s. Since the Russian man’s capture and subsequent death, his organization has been acting like a headless chicken, running about and causing havoc everywhere.

Edogawa’s message includes a tip about a secret liaison between Dostoevsky and the government. Not just the Tsushima Family. Someone who’s been going around the country as a special guest researcher.

“This guy looks very shady,” Chuuya murmurs as he reviews the file once again, Dazai behind him changing into something more suitable for entering a university. “And also quite familiar.”

A flick to his earlobe. “Remember that train trip when we went to Mount Fuji?” At his assent, Dazai continues, “He’s the one you called ‘Snobbish Researcher’. The guy who swapped suitcases with Ango-kun.”

“Ah, that guy.” A beat. “Did he really swap with Glasses Nerd?” His memory about that case is a bit foggy, since it’s been several years. More importantly, there had been a number of suitcase swaps in that case.

Of course, he also blames Dazai for this. His mind is filled with so much of the other’s nonsense that it’s difficult to reserve memory space for everything else.

The metal of Dazai’s eyeglasses is cool against his face, the mackerel squashing their cheeks together as he pastes himself beside him. They’re still technically on the run, since Dazai’s official status remains as ‘someone who confessed to a murder’ and ‘someone who was kidnapped from the Tsushima Family residence’. They’re at a traveler’s hotel nearest to Kagoshima University, sharing a double bed without much difficulty.

…Well, there are some difficulties, but those could be mostly attributed to the fact that Dazai’s current idea of eating three meals a day doesn’t involve actual food.

Right now, Dazai alternates between talking and eating his neck. “Mm, back then, Ango-kun came to exchange papers with Shibusawa-kun, at the behest of the government. Cooperation between some black market research, most likely.” Between the lines: the fact that this means that the government has been aware of Dostoevsky’s presence for that long. “Nikolai Gogol’s presence back then was most likely linked to him either helping or thwarting Dostoevsky-kun’s plans.”

“A bunch of assholes,” is his succinct summary. “That clown’s seriously crazy.” He’s apparently survived—and upon regaining consciousness, has immediately sought out a cooperation with the police. Not out of any awakened desire to be a good citizen, no. The caveat being that he gets to be the one to bury Dostoevsky’s corpse. “I really don’t get it.”

“Is it so hard to believe that someone would feel so strongly for another person? That they’d be fine with both hating them and helping them?” The playfulness that has reappeared over the past four days has receded once again, leaving behind something that’s propped up the hollow-eyed mafia boss. Dazai retreats too, after several moments of no response from him, ungluing their bodies.

He catches the fish’s elbow before he can complete the swimming act away. He doesn’t use too much force, but Dazai trembles anyway. It’s really strange to witness him act like this, barriers paper-thin and just as fragile. His instincts usually rears their head when he wants to rip something apart, but the only thing he wants to reap right now is the reward of seeing the other man be this transparent.

It’s… quite adorable.

“I can believe that someone would feel so strongly towards another person.” Looks him in the eye to ensure that there are no misunderstandings, not anymore. “But I also believe that if it’s really love between them, then causing grievous harm to the other party is out of the question.”

Then again, it seems that the mackerel’s tendency to overthink the worst isn’t something that can be remedied by eye contact or by skinship. Dazai turns into stone, hands and expression cooling considerably. “I hurt you,” is what he says, sounding as though he hurt himself just getting the syllables past his throat. “Even so, I—”

It’s his turn to block Dazai’s mouth, just to stop it from spouting more nonsense. Dazai kisses back immediately, but when he pulls away, the miserable look crashes down just as swiftly.

He sighs, then pinches the man’s cheeks. This kind of palpable vulnerability shouldn’t make him so happy to witness. But he can’t help the way his heart speeds up nevertheless, touched and buoyed by the other’s trust in showing him this part of him. He rubs his thumbs over the droop of the other’s lips.

“I get it.” As simple as that. “You wanted to be on top of whatever was happening. And the only viable place you could do that was as the boss of a powerful underground organization.” It’s not a choice he agrees with nor is it something that he’d do if it was him on the other’s shoes. But he understands.

“…I left you all alone.” It should look absolutely pathetic, given that his cheeks are still squished.

“What ‘alone’ are you talking about?! I have Baki! All of our friends wouldn’t stop mooching food from our fridge!” Then, he sobers up and mumbles, “I knew you’d be back anyway. So it’s not like I was hurt or anything.” Takes a deep breath before, “Still, it’d be better if you never do that again. Less headaches for me.”

Before Dazai can recover and resolve to tackle him back to bed, he quickly darts away. The wind from his fast movements provide a little respite against his burning face. “S-So! We should quickly get going! The faster we can track down this Shibusawa, the faster we can get back home!”

That’s enough of an incentive for even someone as lazy as the mackerel. The walk to Kagoshima University is peaceful. Winter break has started for most of its faculties already. Most of the people outside are groups of students lugging their own suitcases as they go back to their respective prefectures for a few weeks of break.

It’s so much warmer here, as one of the southern prefectures, so the coats that they wear are on the thin side. Dazai insists on warming their hands together inside his pockets anyway. Nobody pays them any excess attention, which means they can continue chatting about unsavory things, catching up on matters that need to be discussed during their time apart.

“That rat’s goal was really… so pretentious.” Only a massive asshole would think, ‘ah, such a peaceful world, it’d be nice to introduce superpowers into it and mess things up’.

“Mm, I hadn’t been able to get the specifics out of him, but he’d managed to get his hands on a copy of The Magnum Opus. Or at least, a very convincing fake.” An unspoken thread about the time when he’d captured Dostoevsky, then placed him at the basement reserved for extracting information. “A set of documents that details the four phases needed to transform base substances and create the philosophers’ stone.”

He still vaguely remembers Lemon Man harping about it that time. “The stone that can supposedly do anything and everything under the sun.”

“With the entire world as an array, he wished to obtain and use the philosophers’ stone, along with various other treasures, as an offering to god.” Dazai says it so casually, like it’s not a very insane thing to do. “And then, he’d make his case for this world to gain supernatural abilities.”

Similar assessment as earlier: “That rat is seriously crazy.” For something so fantastical, he’s willing to shed the blood of so many people. He’s willing to drag Dazai into his schemes. Chuuya’s starting to think that being figuratively and literally backstabbed by the Tsushima Family is too kind a consequence for his crimes.

“A genius like him believing in it…” Dazai’s hands tighten over his. “There must be something very compelling in whatever document he’s seen.”

Because they’ve been together for too long, he picks up the thread swiftly. He gives a warning pinch. “If—and I stress this, if—there’s really a recipe to make that stone or whatever, we are not going to try it!”

He doesn’t think they’ll succumb to the temptation of such an absolute power, but he can’t say the same for anyone else. It’d be seriously annoying to be hunted down by others if they somehow get their hands on the real stone.

“Mm, don’t worry your tiny head over it. I already have everything I want with me, so I have no use for the stone, even if it exists.” It’s such a straightforward line that he trips over his own feet upon hearing it whispered against his ear. Urgh, this is that mackerel’s payback for that moment of vulnerability earlier, damn it!

“S-S-Shut up! I didn’t ask!”

“But you were definitely hoping I’d say something like that, ne?”

With that kind of shamelessness, there’s no other reaction than to elbow him to the side. He doesn’t let him fall disgracefully towards the white-gray pavement, which is his display of kindness. It’s a kindness that proves to be unnecessary, because Dazai just continues his preening as they move deeper into the university.

“Ah, their gazes are too passionate! I really do look good in glasses, huh.” As if on cue, several tittering noises reach their ears. “If you insist on me doing a career change, I suppose being the hottest professor isn’t too bad.”

Why is there a hotness label included in the career name? More importantly, “Pfft, you, a teacher?” He shakes with laughter. “You can’t even be bothered to do your own homework, and now you want to work as the one assigning them?”

“Fufufu, doing it and ordering others to do it are two different matters.” Despite being so close that they must appear as a three-legged abomination to onlookers, their elbows and knees don’t bump too harshly when they continue walking. A byproduct of knowing each other and each other’s spaces so thoroughly it doesn’t even bear conscious thought. “Having me as the master whose orders have to be followed… ah, that’s pretty nice.”

He rolls his eyes. He has a feeling that this will just lead to Dazai pestering him to get along with his shenanigans, so he nips it in the bud. “You’d be the worst teacher ever.” A beat. “Let me guess. While you were… the Boss, you probably had your poor subordinates memorize some 100-step plan of what to do.”

Dazai is obviously surprised that he’s willing to talk candidly about his position as a mafia boss. He’s quick to recover though. “Oho? Predicting my actions, huh?”

What is there to predict? This is the guy who spams anyone who requests tutoring from him with various senseless meme videos. The same guy who asks for a crab croquette cooking lesson, but his step one goes straight to pestering Chuuya to hand-feed him. The same guy who’d literally rather die than pull his weight at groupwork, but will spend a half-hour explaining some weird shit and then tell anyone who doesn’t get it that they’re stupid.

“You’d be the sort of shitty boss who’d then be so disappointed that nobody could read your mind.” He pinches the other’s hand again. “Even though you yourself are the one making it hard for others to understand you in the first place, hmph.” Typical mackerel, really.

“…It’s fine if only Chuuya understands me.”

It pinches his heart, hearing those words. He hides his fluster by elbowing the other. A part of him wants to shove Dazai to the wall and climb him up, hear more of these things. A bigger part of him is appalled at the thought of being caught by campus police and scolded like a pair of frisky, hormonal teenagers.

Thankfully for his dignity, they’ve already reached the office reserved for special faculty. Shibusawa Tatsuhiko holds a special status of being a sought-after invitation-only professor, after all.

Not-so-thankfully, it seems that they’re too late. The office reserved for Shibusawa is left open, making it easy to see that it has already been vacated. An empty white room save for two men who’ve arrived faster than them. He doesn’t recognize their faces, but he does recognize the fashion sense.

“Fancy hat,” he gasps in delight, much to Dazai’s consternation.

The two long-haired men turn to them at once, all synchronized motion. They then exchange a wordless glance. They’re both wearing hats now, the matching ribbons in red and blue. Dazai breaks the ice by extending his hand, and also extending his poisonous claws, smiling as he says, “From the spy organization Transcendentals, I presume. Seems like you’re also tracking down a rat’s tail, yes?”

Chuuya facepalms with the hand not held hostage in Dazai’s coat’s pockets. It’s said in English and even if one only has basic understanding of the language, there’s no hiding the provocativeness of it. With the pretense pierced together just like that, the ensuing discussion is so much easier.

The two—having introduced themselves as Arthur and Paul—don’t reveal much, but they do confirm that they’re looking to consult with Shibusawa. They also confirm that Shibusawa has quickly gone underground, unable to be tracked down, his post set to be replaced by a different researcher soon.

It’s definitely not the kind of news they’re hoping to get, but as two private citizens currently in-hiding, they don’t have a lot of resources to continue searching. Dazai takes over contacting Edogawa—he doesn’t say it, but it’s obvious that he finds the other man as someone interesting to speak with. Geniuses and their brains, really.

This leaves Chuuya up to finish pleasantries with this pair of ‘spies’. And with Dazai busy talking with someone else, that also leaves him free to finally express his admiration for the duo’s clothes. He comes out of the experience with several contacts for custom-made coats and hats. It’s a pretty good haul.

“It’s the worst,” comes the tide of disagreement. A deep frown. “Now you want to dress like some other man?”

“And there’s even two of them,” he teases with a light chuckle. It only gouges a deeper frown into the other’s face. It makes him sigh in turn, reaching up to rub the furrow on the other’s brow. “You do know that it’s impossible for me to not be influenced by anyone else that’s not you, right.” By the way Dazai stiffens and pouts harder upon hearing these words, he’s managed to hit bull’s eye.

The all-consuming possessiveness rears its head. “…I know,” is pressed against the side of his face. “It’s vexing that I can’t just hide you away where only I can see you. It’s irritating that I see you talking to other people. It’s annoying to see you so effortlessly charming everyone around you.” A ragged breath. “But, I can live with it.”

He rolls his eyes at the aggrieved tone that’s pretty much begging to be coaxed. He shouldn’t indulge this sort of greediness that wants to tie him up with restraints both tangible and invisible. Still, he moves his hand to rub the other’s nape. A reminder that he can always break his neck, while also comforting him.

“You claim to be so smart, but you truly are so stupid.” Before the silly fish can flap about in protest, he adds, “Shouldn’t you be even happier with this? There’s all this less-annoying people around me, yet I’m dumb enough to pick you.”

Revitalized by this, Dazai lifts his head and beams at him. Inside this empty white room, his cheerful smile is the brightest and purest thing in his eyes.

✦✦✦

Four months have passed since the explosion of the bombshell news that the Tsushima Family—one of the country’s longest-standing political dynasties—is embroiled in too many crimes, including collusion with several foreign terrorists. There’s still a lot of volatility in Yokohama, but it has considerably calmed down.

To the point that a summer vacation is not a completely irresponsible idea.

“You just want to slack off,” Chuuya accuses the fish wriggling over his lap, transforming his thighs into makeshift pillows. Despite his misgivings, he deigns to place his hand over the other’s forehead, absentmindedly running his fingers over his scalp. “This is supposed to be for work, remember?”

Their detective agency has reopened… somewhat. It’s not the exactly the same as before, since they’re now operating in a rather niche environment. Their clients are now several government agencies, who need their help with investigating things that need delicacy and underground connections. The latter one especially relevant, since Dazai has—against all common sense—somehow retained control over the Port Mafia. Even if that organization also been transformed into something rather different from before.

“Actually, is it okay to continue calling it Port Mafia?” He asks as the train finally moves away from the station, starting their southward journey. “It’s still shady as fuck, but to call it a ‘mafia’ is a bit…”

“Mm? You don’t think that calling me a mafia boss is cool enough?”

“You’d be cooler faster if I pour cold water over your face.”

A sightseeing train ride. They’re en route to Kagoshima University once again, ready to meet with the distinguished researcher that has replaced Shibusawa. There’s some chatter about the discovery of The Magnum Opus. Whether it’s genuine or not remains to be seen, the most important thing is to secure it immediately.

Of course, this trip could go so much faster if they actually used more sensible means of transport. But since Dazai exists, this means that he’s used his usual method of chucking darts towards the map, ‘not-planning’ a trip to coincide with work. Not-so-coincidentally, they end up riding the New World Country line, the same sightseeing train line they used all those years ago.

…Not exactly the same. It’s now operated by a new owner, after a complete overhaul once it’s been implicated to be related with Dostoevsky’s businesses. More foreign entities are involved businesses nowadays, helmed by a multinational conglomerate calling itself The Guild. It has successfully muscled in the market share of GSS and the Date Group, making it one of the leading forces in freight and shipping. One of the things they’ve taken over is this train line.

The world is changing, footprints of the past leaving their imprints well into the future. And then, for cases like the Rats, it’s as if the world is doing its best to erase their influence, slowly but surely.

“Say, how about a bet, Chuuya?”                                                                 

“Congratulations, you lasted five minutes being quiet.” He tugs at the brown bangs. They’re long enough that Dazai sometimes ties them up with a small scrunchie, just to get them out of his face.

…Hmm, maybe he should help this dumbass cut his hair. One of Dazai’s many quirks: his supreme unwillingness to let others come near his nape while wielding sharp objects, such as scissors. This also rears its head when it comes to other people seeing Chuuya’s nape—which leads to him learning how to do proper haircuts even to himself. He doesn’t want an encore of his uneven hairstyle, courtesy of the mackerel’s first (and only) attempt at cutting his hair for him.

“…You’re not paying attention to me,” comes the pouting complaint. It’s good that they’re now on a VIP carriage, unlike the last time they’ve been here. Not only does it come with more spacious seats and a bed, there’s also plentiful of privacy. This way, the general public is at least spared of a first-hand experience to this idiot’s childishness. “Are you thinking about me, at least?”

He flicks the other’s nose. “About how much I want to kill you still for cutting my hair like this, yeah.”

Dazai beams at him and plays with the edge of his hair. Obvious satisfaction over the fact that while that first hair-cutting section involved a lot of hair-splitting screams, Chuuya kept and maintained the hairstyle over the years anyway.

Confidence bolstered by the reminder of the haircut shenanigans, Dazai’s grin widens as he proposes his bet. “As I was saying, let’s play best of five, Motorcycle Race IV.” Despite the lengthier and more comfortable seats here, Dazai’s legs are long enough that they still hang over the edge of the seat as he lies down lengthwise. And yet, his expression makes it seem like he’s achieved the pinnacle of comfort. “The winner has to pamper the loser lots! And never disagree to whatever I ask you to do, even if means having to wear a maid’s outfit!”

There it is, the Dazai Specialty™ of silly bets with even sillier consequences. His lips twitch as he reminds him, “You already went ahead and called yourself a loser there.”

“But if I get to see you wear a maid’s outfit while calling me ‘Dazai-sama’, is it still apt to call me a loser?” A grin that shows just how proud of himself he is. Seems like #4 in his accursed birthday wish list remains to be Chuuya calling him ‘Dazai-sama’.

Merciless, “That makes you an even bigger loser, oi.” A shameless embarrassment too, but that’s part of his usual already.

“Fufufu, this is why I’m the Boss, you see. I’m able to see the things that need to be prioritized, as well as discern what a true victory really means.”

“Your shady speech would be more convincing if you aren’t making grabby hands at my face.” Contrary to his words, he obliges the mackerel’s request for one kiss that immediately turns into ten. “Also, what the fuck is so fun about a maid’s outfit?! It’s just…” He gestures towards the air. “…Urgh. I don’t even know.”

Dazai snickers, pulling him back down for another series of kisses. “Do you want to know how much I’d like it?” Lips swollen and shiny. “I can demonstrate a preview now.”

With a flourish, he pulls out his phone, navigates to a to-do list and ticks off ‘train: private cabin’. It’s sandwiched between ‘train: public seat’, ‘train: station’ and ‘train: bathroom’.

He laughs despite the embarrassed anticipation that flares up inside him. “Awfully ambitious, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to call it having expectations for the results of my planning.” A smile more inviting than any fox’s.

It’s not until their window is pierced by the yellow sunlight of the following morning that Chuuya’s managed to successfully extricate himself from the stupid octopus still snoring in bed. Some of the hickeys on Dazai’s throat are already lined yellow from the bruising, and there’s a big probability that the marks on his own body are so much worse.

Shitty mackerel proves to be worse than a dog. At this point in their relationship, he’s already aware that Dazai considers it an affront that Chuuya’s body heals supernaturally quick. Since it makes it difficult to leave lasting marks over his skin. The ‘super genius method’ that Dazai has managed to come up with is simply to outrace his healing by basically making him into a walking collection of kiss-marks.

Of course, because their relationship has started out with competitiveness, this just eggs him on to do a tenfold retaliation. Especially whenever Dazai taunts him with a, “I bet tiny mushroom chibikko can’t leave marks on my neck because he can’t reach it.” Even while they’re horizontal.

“Really worse than a dog,” he grumbles, then wears whatever clothes are within grabbing distance. It just so happens that the ones he managed to drag are Dazai’s. He has zero scruples stealing the mackerel’s clothes. If nothing else, this isn’t even sufficient payback for all the times that the fish has stolen his scarves, socks and handkerchiefs.

On his way to the bathroom, he fiddles with the long sleeves that he has to roll up to his forearms. His entire body is radiating soreness and exhaustion, but it’s something that he’s getting accustomed to. Dazai’s sudden burst of stamina when it comes to… these things, too, is something that he’s growing used to.

He drops by the dining car so they at least wouldn’t keel over from starvation the moment they have to alight at Kagoshima. He nearly keels over by the time he returns to their VIP cabin, because Dazai is now wearing his choker, leaving it unclasped over his neck, and absolutely nothing else.

“What the fuck,” is the only thing that manages to crawl out of his suddenly dry mouth.

“Doesn’t it look nice?” Honey-slick smile coupled with an unholy light in his eyes. “This is what they call ‘boyfriend clothes’, yes?”

His protests about how ‘his choker doesn’t count as clothes’ get stuck in his throat. It stays there for a time long enough to make their food grow cold. They’re almost at their destination by the time Chuuya’s able to string his braincells together so he can whack the other in the shoulder and make him focus on his next task.

“So stingy,” Dazai complains while watching him change into his actual clothes—instead of the oversized ones that are too good at triggering the other’s beastly antics. “So bossy too.” A gigantic pout on his lips. “I’m still the boss of the Port Mafia, okay! And you’re making me clean the train windows!”

“Don’t forget to clean that spot on the door too,” he orders imperiously, trying not to die of embarrassment at the sight of the questionable stains. Of course, they could always just leave the stains be, but the thought of the train’s cleaning staff seeing those… He might end up wanting to jump off instead.

More grumblings of, “Such a bossy chibi.” He still acquiesces to wiping off the stains anyway. It’s to the point that he generously rewards him by agreeing to give him one of his fondest wishes: getting handfed. Ever the opportunist, Dazai gets the most mileage out of this ‘reward’, not-so-sneakily nipping at his fingertips and licking his hand in the process.

Kagoshima University is one short bus ride away from the train station, though the two of them have elected to walk the distance. Making up for not being able to sightsee during the sightseeing train ride. “Staring at Chuuya’s blushing face is more than enough,” the mackerel opines, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t even think of slacking off before we finish our job,” Chuuya warns, but it’s definitely a lost cause, given that Dazai’s already muttering about itineraries to their ‘summer honeymoon trip’. After all, the prefecture has no shortage of tourist attractions: an active volcano looming over the city; a preserved castle a few bus stops away; a dolphin waterway by the coastline; an international space station further south.

Summer makes the city’s air humid and sticky, but nothing can defeat Dazai when it comes to stickiness. Summer vacation hasn’t formally started yet, which means there are lots of students and faculty who stare at their linked hands. More accurately, they’re all staring at the bite marks that Dazai is proudly displaying right now.

When the mackerel loudly and shamelessly points at various places that they pass by while rating them as possible spots for making out, he elbows him and hisses, “I’d rather deal with literally anyone else but you!”

Unfortunately, his halo of good luck has always been shattered by the mackerel’s presence. When they reach the office of Shibusawa’s replacement, he blanches at the sight of the person he’s about to deal with next.

This person is supposed to be the one who made an outstanding discovery regarding The Magnum Opus, the step by step reference on how to make that mythical philosophers’ stone. This person is supposed to be a top scientist. This person is supposed to be a respectable figure.

This person is currently trying to squeeze lemon into his eyes.

“The world is fucking doomed,” Chuuya says with great feeling.

Their arrival successfully grabs the attention of this lemon-addicted scientist. Casually tossing the lemon aside like he hasn’t been doing crazy things with it, this ‘top scientist’ then exclaims, “Ah, it’s Dazai Chuuya-dono!”

“YOU REMEMBERED ABSOLUTELY NOTHING,” is his calmest interjection.

Dazai actually drops his hand, so he can clap in glee. “Ah, what a smart person! I can feel your overflowing wisdom!”

“Don’t encourage him!” He whacks the other’s arm before the two idiots can form a coalition to make his head hurt. Seeing that the other is undeterred, already starting to talk a bunch of nonsense about this lemon man’s ‘great vision’, he doles out an ultimatum: “If we don’t get this shit done today, I’m not going on a date with you!”

That works like a charm, the happy-go-lucky idiot transforming into a fish’s approximation of seriousness. “Motojirou-sensei, we’re here to obtain the documents you believe to be The Magnum Opus.”

Thankfully, despite having such questionable tastes, Motojirou is serious enough when it comes to scientific discoveries. He immediately goes into Researcher Mode, rambling a lot about the set of documents that he’s gotten his hands into. They’ve apparently been encrypted into exam worksheets. Partial decryption suggests that it’s actually a list of methods and materials needed to create ‘a red stone that can change the world’.

A pair of messy brown heads bow together to inspect the manuscript laid out on the desk. Chuuya stands beside Dazai, one hand on his phone as he updates Sakaguchi about them making contact with the scientist. Shibusawa’s whereabouts are still unknown, but given Gogol’s continued cooperation with taking down the rest of the Rats, it shouldn’t take too long. Once he’s done with updating Glasses Nerd, he moves on to check messages from their other friends.

Gin’s busy posting updates on the hilarity between Atsushi and Akutagawa having a contest on who can pet more cats within ten minutes. Higuchi’s posting the same thing, but Atsushi’s non-existent in her photos. Kyouka’s post is about her sister coming to visit her to teach her kendo over the summer break, as her school has added a kendo event in their upcoming athletics meet.

Chuuya checks his calendar and adds a note to visit Kyouka’s school to show their support. He then messages Kouyou-anesan and asks her if she can spare some time to practice with him too. It’s a serious request, even if part of his motives is wanting to see just how Dazai would react to this.

On one hand, it’s quite funny to witness just how intimidated he is of Ane-san. On another hand, he’d be the sort to pay for the opportunity to be beaten up via sword-wielding. He’d also probably want to cop a feel in the process.

...He’s really been changed, huh. To think that he’d find these antics adorable and interesting, instead of something that he doesn’t want to be associated with. Perhaps it’s always been like that, all along.

That realization makes him take another step closer, until he’s plastered so fully against the other’s side, not even air can come in-between them. With how tightly they’re squeezed together, it’s easy to feel the jolt in the other’s heartbeat. They’ve known each other for a very long time, and they’ve been officially dating for months, but Dazai is still enough of an idiot to be flustered over the weirdest of things.

Dazai can be so shameless when it comes to things like sex. Case in point: him actually starting to wear less bandages, since it means getting to flaunt all the marks that Chuuya leaves on his skin. He’d also just straight up whisper things like, “I want to fuck you over the bathroom sink” while they’re doing very boring things such as eating at a public restaurant.

But when it comes to small things, such as Chuuya deigning to hold his hand unprovoked, he’d go all rosy and shy.

Like an actual dumbass. It’s even more noticeable over the even smaller things like this, him simply taking that one sidestep to bridge the gap between their bodies. As if the idea of Chuuya treating him gently is such an impossible dream for him for so long that he never even dared to wish for it.

On top of that, lately, he see-saws between shamelessness and cautiousness. Like his happiness overflows to the point that he can’t help but just be so effusive with it. Like his happiness is too much that he fears he’d scare Chuuya away with it. He’s a lot more docile, following his orders and requests despite complaints, like he’s scared that Chuuya would somehow fall out of love at any sign of upset.

…Such a silly mackerel, really. He squeezes the other’s hand, leans his cheek against the other’s shoulder in order to see him become more flustered. This brings the manuscript right into his line of sight. “Huh? So this one really is about how to make a stone that grant wishes? Isn’t that too much like a fairytale?”

His words shock the other two into stillness. Dazai’s voice is a tad hysterical as he asks, “Are you saying that you can decipher this code, chibi?”

He squints at him. “It’s fairly easy to understand.” The code isn’t exactly easy, but it feels natural to his eyes.

One thing that hasn’t changed in their relationship is their competitiveness. His statement makes Dazai huff out a challenge. “Let’s have a race to decipher the entire thing, then, chibikko.”

“And what will you do in return, loser?”

Arms crossed over his chest, “If I lose, I’ll be the one to wear that maid outfit!”

“Isn’t that more of my punishment then?!” Because there’s no doubt that Dazai would milk that situation a hundred times over. He’d probably even volunteer to do some chores, and then he’d end up doing them badly. He can just imagine Dazai using that as an excuse to ruin his clothes in the laundry. It’s a landmine waiting to explode.

“Then better make sure I win then, so you’re the one who gets to wear it,” is the other’s conclusion.

“So I lose either way?!” A lose-lose situation awaits him, but he still starts deciphering the papers in front of him.

Motojirou’s muttered “So I can just leave you two be and proceed with my lemon experiment?” is buried under their competition. They don’t bother to be polite, simply dragging some chairs over so they can focus on the papers splayed out on the table.

By the time they’ve gone through half of the document, they’re neck-and-neck in their race. Summer in the south means that the sun stays in the sky longer than usual. Despite the extended daylight, the sky is already snuffing out the last of the gold by the time they actually deign to lift their heads from the papers. Motojirou is nowhere to be found, apparently having clocked out already and leaving the two of them behind in a room filled with lemons.

“…Since it’s a tie, then we either both lose or both win.” He stretches and feels his muscles twinge from being stuck in one position for too long. Dazai reaches out with his spindly fingers and leaves spider-trails of warmth over the length of his back and shoulders, his usefulness at massaging in full display.

“Eh? Competitions always have one winner, you know.” The arm-rests separating their chairs are rendered obsolete by the way Dazai tilts sideways so he can rub his cheek against his. “How about we say our winning condition in the count of three?  Then we can choose which one we’ll do.” Another rub. “Ready?”

Both of them, without waiting for any countdown whatsoever:
“A date on the dolphin waterway.”
“A date on the space station.”

They pull away so they can shoot incredulous looks at each other. The shock on Dazai’s face is too much, crossing over directly to sucker-punched affection. It’s too much for him to look at, so his eyes slide to focus on the other’s chin when he asks, “You’re actually passing up the chance to swim along with your fellow fish? Voluntarily?”

After all, the reason why he’s mentioned the waterway himself is because he’s been expecting that the mackerel would want to attempt drowning with fishes. Tsk, this is what he gets for trying to be extra-considerate towards a fish.

“I thought the space station would fit you better,” is what Dazai ends up saying after a few moments of blinking at him in wonder, the awakened stars outside falling into his eyes. Then again, he has a propensity for ruining the moment. “It’d be such a great opportunity for you to be so high up, you’d finally know how it feels to be as tall as me…”

They elbow each other on their way to packing up the documents in a waterproof bag and closing up Motojirou’s office. It’s strange that the scientist has just up and trusted them with this, but he supposes that lemon man’s eyes are fixed strictly on his lemon experiments, so he probably doesn’t even care so much about his discovery of these materials.

The Magnum Opus. So far, it seems to be the real deal from the myths. The details about the experiments that have been performed by thousands of philosophers, over thousands of years. The four phases of change, from dirt and non-precious materials, to silver and gold. To eventually creating a red stone that can change the world with its abilities. Humanity’s way of breaking free from mortal bindings.

“It’s really so stupid,” he sighs. “Countless people spilled countless blood and sweat, for the sake of something that hasn’t been proven to exist.”

After all, across all these efforts, across all these resources, nobody has been able to succeed in creating the philosophers’ stone. And yet, there’s that strong, unshakeable faith, that things could be so utterly changed, that even things that could be considered as nothing could become something so irreplaceably precious.

They make their way out of the building, but they stop by the main entrance, summertime rain making a spontaneous appearance. “Mm, but you only think that way because you’re already h-happy and satisfied with what you have, right?” The sudden downpour paints a misty haze over the entire place, but instead of blurring Dazai’s face, it only serves to highlight the faltering uncertainty.

“…Yeah,” he says, mouth dry. “I’m very happy now.” Even happier, when he teases, “The new custom-made fedora I ordered is due to be delivered soon, after all.”

“You’re really such a stupid chibi,” Dazai whines. “Obviously, you’re happy because you have me!”

“Obviously, huh.” He affects an unimpressed stance, but it melts all the same, when Dazai pulls him by the hand so they can run in the rain, laughing while trying to trip each other the entire way.

✦✦✦

He looks at the mackerel who’s swimmingly wet in front of him. He hangs his hat over the peg at the back of their front door, free hand smacking the other’s grabby—and more distressingly, very wet—hands away from his body. “I only left for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes!” He cannot stress this enough. “And I come home to this chaos?!”

“Welcome home,” Dazai chirps at him. This greeting is mimicked by Momo, his niece that has been entrusted to him by Shirase and Yuan so they can enjoy a day to themselves. Thankfully, she isn’t in the same state as the mackerel that’s been left unsupervised for thirty minutes. He really doesn’t need more judgmental looks lobbied his way, every single one of their friends judging him for his shit taste in fish.

“I’m back,” he sighs, then kicks Dazai away from him, handing the fruits of his short trip to Momo in the process. Snacks, alongside some materials for a school project that she’s supposed to be doing while she’s in their care.

She’s thankfully well-behaved enough for a kid, trotting towards the dining table. Puts Baki in her lap as she eats while doing her homework.

In contrast… “What the hell happened?”

Dazai’s stare is full of expectation as he flaps sopping wet arms at him. The moment that he sighs once more, helping the other strip off his clothes, the mackerel starts flapping his mouth too. “Mm, I was thinking that Momo-chan really should have a holistic education. As her good uncle, it’s my job to teach her how to shoot guns, right?”

“There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.” One wouldn’t know it from looking at this stupid fish, but he’s still the most influential figure in the city’s underground. Even if the Port Mafia is less of a mafia and more of… a special taskforce, at this point. “And so, you decided that teaching her how to use a water gun is actually a good idea.”

And it’s not even the usual water gun, no. A special custom-made one, based off the electric card gun that the Rats used to have. Redeveloped into something new, a byproduct of Dazai tinkering with it in hopes of eventually distributing it as a safer alternative to actual guns.

Dazai flutters his eyelashes at him. “Aren’t I such a good teacher?”

“You’re an idiot who’s going to get a cold because you pulled this shit in autumn. Your opinion is invalid.” In the interests of not ruining a child’s eyesight at such an early age, he drags Dazai towards the first-floor bathroom so he can continue stripping off the remainder of his ‘clothing’. In this case: his usual inner mummy cosplay.

Dazai actually wears very little bandages most days. He has grown to prefer showing off his skin—specifically, the marks that Chuuya’s left behind—more than his desire to place a layer between himself and the outside world. The scars from before they’ve met are now mostly faded lines that wouldn’t be obvious unless one really traced and memorized them. Still, Shirase did beg him to not let Dazai parade his hickeys while babysitting, so he’s on full mummy mode.

“I won’t get sick though,” Dazai says with complete confidence. He barely moves, standing in place and letting Chuuya do the unwinding of the damp bandages. Doesn’t even have the mercy to squat a bit, so he’s forced to rise to his tiptoes and plaster their bodies together so he can better reach for the bandages on his neck. When he goes close enough that he can feel the turquoise against his body, Dazai swoops down and kisses him, slow and sweet. “After all, I have this lovely protective charm.”

Even though it’s been years since kissing has entered the sphere of their relationship, he’s still rendered breathless by it, each and every time. It takes him several moments before he can gruffly quip, “Yeah, I’ll protect you from stupidity, so let me beat you up, okay?”

“You being sweet is more than enough to damage me,” Dazai teases back. It’s an obvious manipulation, goading him into acting even sweeter, but he bites anyway. Pushes the idiot towards a quick warm shower. Rubs him with a towel so vigorously that his hair becomes a fluffed-up nest. Helps him re-bandage himself to sustain his mummified aesthetic.

Crowded together against the bathroom counter, Chuuya tightens the bandage over a pale wrist. “Had enough?”

“Never,” is the heartfelt, shameless response. Nuzzling against his forehead, “Momo-chan is such a good kid, maybe we should steal her away.”

“Are you sure that you should be suggesting a kidnapping in broad daylight, ‘Good Uncle’?”

“If you’re so opposed to stealing away someone’s kid,” Dazai starts with an exaggerated sigh, making it sound like he’s the stupid one for not wanting to do criminal acts, “then we can always adopt someone.”

It’s not a serious suggestion, because Dazai doesn’t get tongue-tied upon saying it. Still, he briefly imagines it. The two of them raising a kid together. And then he’d go to jail for killing the dumbass father who’d teach a bunch of nonsense to said kid. It’s a horror-tragedy in the making. His lips twitch anyway, laughing at the mental image.

Once Dazai’s re-dressed in dry clothes, they pull each other back to the dining area where Momo is obediently doing her homework. It makes him chuckle again. He turns to the mackerel, as though to compare him to the actual kid. “There’s no need to adopt anyone, not when you’re the biggest baby there is.”

A shamelessness that has only gotten worse over the years. “Mm, I understand. You only want me to be your baby, ne?”

He rolls his eyes. “A baby who’s full of shit, yeah.”

Momo’s obedience apparently extends to copying her elders. She chirps in solidarity, “Full of shit!”

The culprit behind this parroting reveals himself quickly, as Dazai affirms, “Full of shit! You should say that when your dad starts complaining about me, okay?”

He whacks the other man over the head. “The only reason Shirase and Yuan complain about you is because you teach their kid a bunch of nonsense!”

Thankfully, that’s the extent of the day’s damage to the kid they’re babysitting. They drop her back to her home after several hours, passing up on the dinner invitation extended to them. Mostly because Yuan will certainly murder Dazai once she hears about today’s antics. And while Chuuya’s always supportive of anything that’s related to teaching the mackerel a lesson, he needs him alive and whole for the next part of evening.

A fancy hotel dinner with several government contacts and researchers. After several months of extensive experiments, they’re apparently ready to demonstrate the manufacturing of the so-called philosophers’ stone. Chuuya still thinks it’s not a good idea to create something so powerful. He also remains skeptical about the success of making it.

“It’s better if we just attend the event, that way you can see it with your own eyes.” That’s Dazai convincing him to not stick out a middle finger to the line-up of scientists and government officials. “And then, you can stop worrying your chibi head over it and go back to paying all of your attention on me!”

“That’s your reason?!”

“Well, if you don’t want to pay attention to me, I can always think of other ways to make sure that you only have your eyes on me.” Voice kept low so that their conversation doesn’t leave their personal bubble. “I’ve always wondered how it’d be like to pluck your eyes and just keep them in a nice jar, you know.”

One of the things they’ve agreed on is to openly discuss anything and everything with each other. No matter how idiotic, no matter how nonsensical. No matter how dark. As someone with a lifelong affair with defensiveness, it’s taken a lot of convincing for Dazai to agree to this compromise.

As such, Chuuya gives him his promised ‘incentive’ for being forthcoming with his darker thoughts. Leans close and initiates a kiss, even though they’re in public. One kiss per moment of honesty isn’t such a bad deal, all things considered.

And then, “Go ahead and try it. See if I don’t gouge your eyes instead, dumbass.”

Before Dazai can express his appreciation for that reply, a commotion breaks out in the front stage. Ah, seems like the demonstration is already over. He clutches Dazai’s fingers, as his eyes zero in on the display. There are projectors helpfully zoomed in on the process up front, the gold being melted to leave behind a tiny red stone. The excitement doesn’t last long. Under everyone’s eyes, the red pebble cracks, then withers into dust.

There’s palpable disappointment in everyone else’s body language.

Chuuya only feels relief. It’d cause more trouble if the demonstration ended in a success. There’s no doubt that there’d be people like Dostoevsky, eyes filled with ambition and plans, who’d clamor for the existence of such a reality-breaking existence. For the sake of a peaceful world, it’s better if it doesn’t exist.

“It’s good enough like this,” Dazai murmurs. “If this world gains supernatural abilities, I’m sure Chuuya would just use his powers to kick me to death.”

“I can kick you to death even without supernatural abilities,” he corrects him good-naturedly. “But… you’re right. It really is good enough like this.”

Yokohama in autumn is a sea of reds and oranges, vivid colors of decay that are vibrant even at the stretch of nighttime. The streets are lined with plants that persist on blooming even when the rest of their brethren have already shed their leaves. It’s cold, but not freezing, though Chuuya barely feels it, given that he’s bundled up in a thick coat and in his boyfriend’s one-armed embrace.

“You’re lucky nobody else is out on the streets right now, so nobody else can witness you doing your silly antics.” For a brief moment, he imagines it, Dazai’s subordinates witnessing their ‘cool, collected cucumber’ of a leader being like this.

Like this, meaning Dazai holding up an umbrella over the two of them. Even though it’s not snowing or raining at all.

“Mm, you’ve always been pitifully clueless.” A squeeze to his shoulders. “Don’t you know? People who share an umbrella together are bound to be together forever.”

He’s vaguely heard of such a saying, but since it’s coming from Dazai, the believability has plummeted down to negative levels. After all, this is a guy whose mouth spews out 99% bullshit and 1% blackmail. “Can’t people just share an umbrella when there’s someone who’s forgotten theirs?”

Bulldozing past his question, “It’s called a love-love umbrella.”

Now he believes it even less. He rolls his eyes. “Ah. Remember that one time when you wouldn’t move from the library and it was raining?”

As expected of someone he’s known for more than ten years, Dazai knows exactly what he’s referring to. “That time when I was procrastinating doing my thesis? Yeah.”

“Because you stole my umbrella that day, I had to share one with Tachihara—”

As expected of an idiot whose possessive streak is longer than the entire length of the solar system, Dazai immediately blocks his mouth with a deep kiss. The umbrella is forgotten by their feet, as the mackerel uses both his hands to clasp him tight. As though trying to claw past space and time so he can erase that very platonic umbrella-sharing from existence.

“Your jealousy is so ridiculous,” he gasps out as soon as Dazai gives him some leeway for breathing. His physical condition is better than ever, but all of his training leaves him whenever their lips touch, leaving his legs in a wobbly mess. “You do know that, right? You’re utterly ridiculous.”

Tachihara’s now working as one of Mori-sensei’s assistants. His former university advisor is now the leading figure in developing prosthetics, piggybacking off the technology that’s been used by Shibusawa and Dostoevsky in that case with the monkey’s paw. The man is so swamped with his new job that he always looks one sneeze away from crying whenever they have the chance to meet up.

…More importantly, even if there’s the off-chance that Tachihara has feelings for him, it’s not like it’s going to change anything.

After all, ever since their first meeting, his life has already been stuffed full of a certain fish, that he doesn’t even have room for anyone or anything else.

“I’m the only one you’ve ever shared a love-love umbrella with,” Dazai eventually says with a pout, picking up the fallen umbrella. “Right, Chuuya?”

“Ridiculous,” he repeats, just to drive the point home. Still, he’s already been infected by this virus, so he allows the silly mackerel to return to their previous position, raising the umbrella over their heads, fending away imaginary love rivals, snow, rain and sunshine.

Their walk is mostly quiet, no other people affected with the same stupidity as them to take leisurely strolls during autumn evenings. They swing by a convenience store, Dazai insisting on buying a couple of things that he’s not allowed to peek at.

“Between the two of us, I’m not the nosy one, oi.” For better or for worse. He can still remember the consternation on the mackerel’s face when he’d revealed that he hadn’t actually touched the ‘secret box’ filled with proof of his stalking over the years.

They bicker for the rest of their walk back home, just like always. When they’re at the front gate, Dazai suddenly suggests, “Maybe we should get a dog, Chuuya. One that’s not you.”

“I can and will lock you out of our home,” he says mildly.

“I wouldn’t want to adopt a dog even if you give me a lot of money. But since you don’t want to adopt a kid, then I can make do with it?”

He points out, “You also don’t want to adopt a kid!” And then, he squints at the other. “What the fuck is going on, why are you so hung up on adopting now?”

After much hemming and hawing, Dazai eventually says, “Baki’s getting old.” Due to the eternal cold war between cat and fish, it’s rarer than a blue moon for the other to address their cat by name. “You’re too used to fussing over him, so before he…”

“And you think having a kid is the same as having, what, a back-up pet?” He smiles anyway, because to hear the other man be so considerate is something that should be encouraged, rather than made fun of. “Our son is very resilient, I’m sure he has many, many years ahead of him.” He takes a half-step to the side, burrowing into the other’s chest and rubbing his forehead there for a moment. His words smudged against the other’s coat. “Still, thank you.”

Dazai rests his chin over the top of his hat. Wraps him in a warm embrace that wards away the chill. As though to ensure that he wouldn’t feel cold, he also adds a series of words guaranteed to boil his blood. “If we do have to get a dog, we have to name it ‘Nakahara’, okay?”

“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but why?”

“That way, you’d have to get a new name for yourself if you don’t want to be called by the same name as a dog!” Dazzlingly bright. “How about changing your name to mine?”

At this point, they’ve already known each other for twelve years. He can already read the other’s bullshit with considerable accuracy, so he knows that this is this cowardly asshole’s way of probing if he doesn’t have objections to certain things. Still, he’s not going to just let this idiot get away with such a pathetic way of proposing. More importantly, “I’m not going to call myself Dazai Chuuya, that sounds ugly as fuck, damn it!”

The insult doesn’t land as intended. Dazai pulls back briefly, eyes shining. His lips are redder than poisonous apples, and more effective at affecting him too. “I like the sound of that. Say it again?”

“You are ugly as fuck,” he says right to his face.

Smiling as though such an assessment is considered high praise, “Such a stingy chibikko, this is why I’ll always be the one who’s 1.5Chuuya in height.”

“I’m giving you five seconds to rearrange your words, bastard.”

Because he’s dealing with an oversized brat, the mackerel simply wriggles away from his grasp, swimming through the cool autumn air and initiating a chase all over their home. He keeps his voice down even when all he wants is to yell a lot. “If you surrender now, I promise to be 0.000000001% less harsh in kicking you!”

A twinkling laugh. “To be kicked to death by an angry beauty is pretty interesting, though?”

“I think it’d be more interesting to crack your head open and see just how much stupidity is inside it,” is his earnest response. Even if Dazai always lets out such transparent ‘complaints’ about how they’re able to read each other so perfectly, he thinks that there are still too many things that he doesn’t understand about him. And he’s seized by that feeling, of wanting to comprehend the other fully, down to his very marrow.

“Mm, that should be my line, chibikko.” A snicker. “Would be nice to see how can such a big heart fit in such a tiny space, ne?” Darting close to him, sneaking in a kiss, before slithering away once again.

They keep their playful chase to the first floor out of respect for their cat sleeping upstairs. And also because there’s a big possibility that running up and down the stairs might cause the exercise-phobic mackerel to perish on the spot. With the difference in their physical abilities as well as attitudes towards proper exercise, it’s laughably easy to be able to snag Dazai by the neck and just shove him against the wall, ending this race.

Then again, Chuuya cooperatively lets the other slip past his pursuit, extending the chase. Dazai’s sleeping habits have remained on a seesaw grind over the years. He has no problems sleeping in and coiling around his body like a persistent four-limbed octopus, but falling asleep to begin with occasionally poses challenges.

Sometimes it could be easily solved by drinking warm milk drizzled with honey—especially when Dazai gets to haughtily lord it in front of their cat, as though to assert dominance over the fact that he gets to drink something personally prepared for by Chuuya. The mackerel refuses to deflate even when he reminds him that he also personally prepares Baki’s food sometimes, diverting from store-brought food every few weeks.

Sometimes it takes the two of them clearing dozens of levels in new games. Sometimes it’s through physical exhaustion by running all over their home.

Never have they attempted using sex as a means to exhaust Dazai, even though they have their separate reasons. Chuuya, because he knows that it’s nigh impossible to stop the mackerel once he gets going and sex only results in the other being more energetic. Dazai, because in his unabashed, righteous words, “Eating Chuuya up should only be reserved for enjoying my chibi, not for any other reason.”

So it’s like this, that Chuuya plays along, and lets the twig-armed beanpole shove him towards the washing machine, seating him there. “I caught you,” Dazai declares without scruples towards the fact that they both know that this achievement is due to Chuuya not even running at a quarter of his full speed.

Because they’re in the laundry room, what catches his eye is the lump of wet clothes that are waiting for their turn to be washed tomorrow. “I still can’t believe that you’re even more childish than an actual kid.”

“It’s your fault, you see.” Still with zero compunctions about ignoring facts and common sense. “You were gone for too long, and so I became so bored… I mean, very sad that you weren’t around.” A bite to his earlobe, a lick to his left temple. “I had to amuse myself by playing with water guns! Otherwise, I’d just spend a very long time pining for you!”

“A very long time, huh.” Amused, he pinches the other’s waist as he tilts his neck to the side to allow the shitty mackerel to continue marking him. An incurable obsession, really. This is so much better than letting the idiot have his way by writing his name all over his skin. “And how long is that, exactly?”

“Very, very long.” A beat. “Two minutes.”

A fair assessment: “You really are so full of shit.”

“Mm. I’m sleepy now. Carry me?” An amendment: a very spoiled princess who’s full of shit.

With a heavy sigh, he moves as though to agree to this spoiled request. But he doesn’t forget to mention, “That time when I shared the umbrella with Tachihara, he even offered to carry my bags—”

In a flash, Dazai’s already off him, tugging impatiently at his arm with enough force to dislocate it. “What are you waiting for, chibikko, come here and I’ll carry you up the stairs like the best, greatest, tallest, cutest boyfriend I am!”

He rolls his eyes. “No fucking way, we’d just have a murder on our staircase.” Because Dazai would end up dropping him, therefore making him seek revenge. Alternately, because Dazai’s arms would just shrivel up and die from the effort, and then he’d end up choking on his own breath from laughing at the other man’s failure.

Dazai focuses on the wrong thing. “So you don’t disagree that I’m the best, greatest, tallest, smartest, nicest, cutest boyfriend ever?”

“Your delusion just became longer, oi.” He doesn’t take the other up on a chance to do a bridal carry on him, but he does acquiesce to the embarrassing embracing-slash-wriggling as they move as one organism. Wrapping his arms over the slightly-fattened-from-home-cooking waist, he consoles himself that since his face is buried on the other’s chest, he doesn’t actually have to witness their alien-like movements with his own two eyes. He keeps his face hidden when he mumbles, “I don’t know about any of those nonsense. But I know that you’re my only boyfriend ever.”

The mackerel in his embrace practically vibrates with swooning delight upon hearing those words. Even though they’re already common sense at this point. Really such a silly fish.

Also an annoying fish who likes to ruin the moment, because he then declares, “I, Dazai Osamu the chibi’s Only Boyfriend Ever, have decided to bestow upon you, a supremely wonderful reward for being such a good chibikko!”

“Can you not?”

Ignoring his words, “Therefore, tomorrow morning, I shall dazzle you with a very nice breakfast in bed, cinnamon toast with honey made by yours truly!”

He can’t help but shiver upon hearing the most effective death threat. “Why am I being punished, oi?!”

Unfortunately, Dazai can be such a single-minded bastard at the most inconvenient of times. As such, come morning, Chuuya’s already busy with reviewing his last will, as sounds of impending doom rattle from the kitchen.

He even makes sure to have a video conference call with the juniors that he’s named as executors of his will. Even if they look very unreliable at the moment. Especially Atsushi who’s just wailing, “I haven’t even eaten breakfast and I want to throw up! Chuuya-san, please stop bragging about your lovey-dovey life already!”

“I’m not bragging! I’m telling you to take care of Baki and have Dazai arrested if I end up dying from eating his stupid, handmade, definitely cursed meal!” He thinks it over and emphasizes the important part, “Which he’ll be serving to me as breakfast in bed.”

“No, no need to repeat it ten times, we get it already, you’re on your twelfth year of honeymooning… stop making us mortals be jealous already…”

“I’m clearly giving you valuable life advice. Listen up,” he starts, and is gratified that the Akutagawa siblings actually do shift their postures, obviously paying attention. Gin even has a phone raised, ready to record him. “You have to not let yourself be so easily tricked into a relationship, okay? Especially if the other party is an asshole who can’t even cook, who’s so childish that he plays water guns with actual kids, who looks very nice in a dark suit while acting as a mafia boss, as long as he doesn’t open his mouth…”

Atsushi’s groaning, “Is this the payback for all the ten-thousand yen bills that Dazai-san had given me over the years…”

Chuuya would love to talk more, but Dazai’s already by the doorway, a walking red beanpole. He’s stolen clothes as always, and his cheeks glow in a red similar to the scrapes on his fingers. That’s alarming enough on itself. Then, his gaze roves further down to look at the contents of the tray being ushered towards him.

“…Look,” he starts, feeling his heart pound in his ribs. “I understand that you’re still technically Port Mafia’s Boss. So there are some shady aspects, yeah?” Without waiting for the other to respond, he continues, “I won’t let anything tear us apart, so I’ll always be with you, but we have to talk about these things…”

“Not that I’m not happy to hear such a lovely confession…” Dazai tilts his head as he sets the tray down on the bed. “But what are you talking about now, Chuuya?”

He points at the copious red stains. “Why is there blood on the tray! Did you end up stabbing someone! Do I need to help you bury a body, damn it!”

“Ano ne, Chuuya. Isn’t it obvious that I made you cinnamon toast with honey? Why would there be blood involved?”

He stares hard at the ominous lump that gives off a feeling of something that’s directly sourced from a volcano’s magma. Charred black and red, with drizzled red droplets. There really is no similarity from something that’s called ‘cinnamon toast with honey’.

“…Then what the hell are those red things,” he gripes, even as he reaches out and rubs the reddened skin on the other’s fingers. How he managed to injure himself while making toast, he still cannot fathom.

The flush remains. “I figured that since I made this with a lot of my f-feelings, it should be adequately colored, right?”

He looks at the black-red lump that shouldn’t even considered as anything but a biochemical weapon. “I could only detect deadly feelings here.” He tries to think of something nice to say and can only come up with, “Truly amazing, how you’re able to come up with this. What recipe did you even use?”

An affronted gasp. “How could you say that? Of course, I didn’t use any recipes for this masterpiece! This is my great work, my magnum opus, even! I only followed the feelings in my heart!”

“No, this really could have gone differently if you actually followed a recipe, oi…”

“…We can go out for breakfast instead,” is accompanied by a pout so big that he already feels full seeing it.

Or maybe that’s just the sense of dread for what he’s about to do next. Without letting himself be swayed by common sense, he shovels some of the charred toast into his mouth. “If my tongue ends up shriveling into dust, I’m killing you,” he promises without any heat whatsoever.

Dazai kisses him, chasing away the taste of blackened toast. “Don’t worry, you still taste very delicious.”

“You think burnt toast is a masterpiece, you aren’t allowed to comment on anything related to taste,” he fires back, before returning the kiss.

In their enthusiasm, they end up rolling all over the bed, caught up in trying to devour each other. They avoid the food tray, causing them to roll off the bed entirely. Chuuya flips them sideways mid-fall to redistribute the impact.

It somehow ends up with Dazai’s bolo tie being skewed to the side and against the floor. The thud of their bodies isn’t enough to hide the sound of something cracking open. With wide eyes, they scramble to sit upright and check what’s happened to the gem. And comes across a discovery: “…It’s actually a locket?”

Not a traditional one, at least. But the impact coupled with years of use has wedged it open. There’s no indentation where one could place a picture, but there’s a tiny red stone inside, not even as big as a fingernail. It doesn’t look like it’s been cut using professional methods. Its crimson color swirls like it’s made of viscous blood. It should look sinister, but warmth is the only thing that comes into his mind upon touching it.

Plus the fact that it’s just big enough that it can be halved and end up as a stone in an engagement ring. His face heats up at the thought.

Dazai doesn’t seem to pay attention to the red stone. His hands are busy tinkering with the turquoise, spending the next three minutes in deep concentration, before he finally lets out a relieved sigh. “Ah, thank goodness it didn’t break or anything.”

“Oh? You finally discovered good taste and think this is your best accessory?”

Dazai then flips an impatient hand towards him, handing the bolo tie to his hands, gesturing for him to replace it back on his neck. Or perhaps an invitation to strangle him.

“Of course, this is one of Chuuya’s heartfelt, lovey-dovey presents for me! I need it whole so I can lord it over you forever!”

Yup, strangulation it is. “Did you forget? This one is supposed to be a cursed necklace, idiot.”

“And yet the only one who got cursed is you with your tiny, tiny, tiny height~”

“Argh, come back here, you—!!!”

✦✦✦
epilogue

“Hmm. I still think that she could have played it with more emotion,” Dazai complains as the two of them exit the concert hall hand in hand.

Most of the attendees flock towards the valet, awaiting their fancy cars to whisk them back to their mansions. For the two of them who consider the entirety of Yokohama as their backyard, strolling is part of their usual routine. The city might see bursts of new skyscrapers or new shopping areas, but the overall scenery remains the same. Despite that, boredom rarely settles over his eyes anymore.

Of course, that could mainly be attributed to the fact that his eyes are permanently glued to a certain dazzling sight, something that he can never get enough of. He has a feeling that he can spend several lifetimes, live different parallel lives, and he’ll always come back to this certainty: that he can feel the warm spark of human life as long as he’s with Chuuya.

Even if his chibi says such tasteless things like, “I think Suzuki played it wonderfully. You’re just uncultured swine who cannot appreciate sophistication.”

It’s not as bad, compared to before, but he still bristles each time he hears another person’s name floating out of Chuuya’s mouth. Especially when it’s accompanied by anything remotely positive. Suzuki’s the first person to have ever successfully sent a love letter to Chuuya’s locker, sneaking past his carefully maintained net over the other man. After all, even back then, he’s kept a close eye on the chibi’s affairs, considering it as part of looking after what he has always considered as someone belonging to him. Never mind the fact that the love letter is a desperate bid for help. He’s always marked her existence as a sore spot in his mind.

So, it really can’t be helped that he draws himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders to look the most imposing he could be. With the air of someone who balances the city’s underground to ensure that nothing like the Rats or the Tsushima Family could ever resurface again, he says, “Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale Op. 51, No. 6 was originally composed as a piano piece, so to have it rearranged and played as a cello means that—mmph.”

Nobody dares to interrupt him and nobody dares not listen to his words. Even when he’d been abducted by the Tsushima Family’s guards, he had been treated with so much leeway and avoidance. Nobody dares to get too close with him, nobody dares to offend him so thoroughly, because he’s the most useful piece they have.

Nobody, aside from Chuuya, that is.

It is both frustrating and flattering, to be regarded so highly. After all, only someone who truly cares about him would bother with clashing against him so much. It’s a feeling that he’s been basking in for so many years now.

An added element to their relationship: being the recipient of Chuuya’s rare initiative to kiss him, especially in public. There’s not a lot of people around and there’s the cover of nighttime, but it’s still a considerably public space. Thrill jolts into his system as he enjoys it a bit more, lingering even when Chuuya pulls back.

Not too long though. As much as he wants to savor each of their contact, he also never wants to miss the chibi’s expression after the displays of affection he initiates. He always flushes so beautifully, looking surprised that he’s succumbed to his urges. It’s the same for this time too.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the blush on his right cheek. “Since you interrupted me, I take it that you agree with my assessment that her cello could use a lot more work?” Jealousy still coils within him, at the thought that she actually has the audacity to send two VIP tickets to Chuuya for a concert with love as the theme. She even addressed her dedication to ‘someone who’s about to have his birthday soon’! It really is too much. Thankfully there’s Chuuya in his arms, all kiss-flushed.

A raised eyebrow. “Weren’t you going to say a bunch of stupid shit so I’d be goaded to blocking your mouth?”

Oops, busted. “I still stand by my assessment. She’s a hundred years too early to dedicate a concert to your birthday!”

“You’re lucky I actually find your possessiveness hilariously childish rather than horrifying.” A pat to his cheek, like mollifying a child. “It’s been a long day. Do you want to go straight home instead?”

“Mm, I’m very lucky indeed.” He smiles, leans down to bite the skin above the other’s choker. It’s irrational, but he feels like he can obtain energy this way. “It should be fine to stroll around. If I get too tired, you can just carry me home, right?”

“You should reserve your brainpower for dreaming up of more realistic things, oi.”

Their current reality is strolling hand-in-hand, taking a longer route to get home. They’ve lived here for so long that each part of the city feels like a living, breathing part of themselves already. Still, there are some parts of it that make Dazai falter upon approach.

“Ano ne, Chuuya, are you bullying me? Is this because I insulted that girl?”

A heavy eyeroll is lobbed his way. “You’re thinking too much, dumbass.” A tug to his hand, and they both instinctively curl their shoulders, hiding even though there isn’t anyone else around. “I’ve been meaning to get a new protective charm, I just haven’t had the chance to do so.”

An unspoken “because we make conjoined twins look like they’re separated by an ocean, and you have a lifetime ban from our local shrine” hangs in the spring air, flowery-sweet.

Of course, given their influence over the city now, it’s laughable that such a thing as a ban from years ago could deter them. A ban that was given to him because the staff of this shrine didn’t appreciate him trying his best to get the best possible luck for the hospitalized chibikko. But it’s almost as if they’re separated from that entirely. Work is work. Their personal life exists on a wholly different plane.

Plus, it’s pretty fun, sneaking in like this, like they’re a pair of young lovers hiding an illicit affair. Ah, that cherry blossom tree looks like a nice place to push Chuuya against, and then kiss him silly, and then—

Chuuya shoves him to the side, sensing the direction his thoughts are taking. “Have some respect for the shrine, damn it!” He’s looking so adorably embarrassed though, eyes darting around like he’s also entertaining similar thoughts.

It takes a lot of willpower to stop himself from just losing control right then and there.

And as expected of a chibikko who can read his thoughts so clearly, Chuuya sighs and tells him, “If we end up… doing something… out here, can you really guarantee that nobody would end up walking in on us?”

That’s more than enough to sober him up. After all, there’s no way he can allow just anyone to have a sneak peek into how his chibi looks like when he’s in the throes of passion.

A big chunk of his savings over the years has been reserved for buying and maintaining the cloud storage where he keeps all of the pictures and videos that he’s taken of the other. Not to mention buying all the equipment and wiring to ensure that he gets to have multiple angles at the highest quality available. And then, to avoid anyone else from ever seeing the contents of said cloud storage, he’s also ended up setting up a company that handles it… Ah, the things that he’s done for the sake of keeping the chibi all to himself.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Let’s go steal some protective charms, Chuuya!” To further tease the flush on the other’s face, he adds, “Then you can cook the promised feast for me when we get home!”

“We’re not stealing anything! We’re just checking if they left the charm dispenser unlocked!”

All hissed out, like some angry cat. Ah, Chuuya as a cat would be adorable, so much cuter than that idiot cat who keeps on licking the slug’s face whenever he’s nearby, as though to claim territory. Unfortunately, he’s such an idiotic cat that he doesn’t even realize that Dazai has already laid claim over Chuuya many times over.

They continue sneaking around to check if the wooden stall that serves as the dispenser for charms hasn’t been locked up. To keep up with the times and the crowds of people, charms and luck strips can be ordered in stalls that look like wooden versions of vending machines.

He whistles upon seeing that the stall is locked. “Looks like they’re stricter about security than expected.” A grin. “Want me to pick the lock?”

A loud exhale. Exasperation that’s more fondness than anything else. “Like I said, have some respect for the shrine, damn it.” Chuuya then starts dragging him away by the hand.

“Are you sure?” Between the two of them, it’s still Chuuya who more readily believes in such things, after all. An interesting dichotomy. Chuuya believes in things such as gods and luck, while also putting a lot of stock in his own capabilities in solving whatever problems he has. Ah, it really would be interesting to see just how the chibi’s brain is wired, to end up as someone so fascinating like this.

Blue eyes slide towards him. A huff. “I was hoping to get you a new charm ever since that got opened up,” a poke on the turquoise hanging over his neck, “but I guess this just means that I’ll have to function as the protective charm for you, huh?”

Truly fascinating. Incredibly endearing too. “Fufufu, and that means that I’ll be your protective charm too, right?”

That works fine with him. After all, they haven’t been drawing new year luck strips separately anymore, his lifetime ban from this local shrine notwithstanding. Chuuya’s luck is his, his luck is Chuuya’s. Just one more thing that conjoins them.

A knowing look. “If by that you mean scaring off anyone away from talking with me, then yeah, you’re doing an excellent job, bastard.”

Chuuya doesn’t have an official post in the Port Mafia—in his words: he doesn’t ever want to have Dazai as his Boss, even if only by name. But he’s pretty much there all the time anyway, acting as his assistant, bodyguard, eyecandy, makeshift pillow, secretary and other half. Helping him maintain the balance between the government, the side of pure white light and the side hidden in the shadows. It’s a good compromise between having a job where he doesn’t have to strictly follow boring rules while also being challenging enough to not let boredom settle in.

…More importantly, it gives him ample resources to keep an eye on this city, to ensure that it remains a safe place for Chuuya to keep smiling in.

“Then I deserve a reward, don’t I?” A snicker. “Let’s go home quickly! I’m getting hungry and you still need to cook a lot!”

Another huff. “It’s supposed to be my birthday celebration and yet I’m the one who has to prepare everything?!”

“Fufufu, I’d be more than happy to help you out in the kitchen.”

“Never mind, I don’t fancy having food poisoning on my thirty-first birthday.”

A little over fifteen years and two months after their first meeting. They’ve known each other for half their lives. It feels too long and too short at once. His life before-Chuuya exists only in a sea of blurry gray, unremarkable and not worth remembering at all.

He places his free hand in his left pocket, touches the small box there. It’s been there for the past four years, ever since that red stone has tumbled out of his turquoise bolo tie. An additional layer of binding that he can lock over the other. A more permanent way of marking his presence over the other’s life, entwining them together tighter.

“…What, no comeback to that?” Chuuya nudges him. “Are you falling asleep standing up?”

A half-truth, “I’m more tired than expected.”

Today started out with brunch at the now-restaurant owned by several of Chuuya’s juniors from the orphanage. They ate with their juniors, which was fun enough, especially since they got to watch the hilarity of Atsushi and Higuchi fighting over who can force Akutagawa to eat more vegetables. Of course, it was actually Chuuya who ended up winning, because he’s an airhead idiot who can charm even the prickliest of hedgehogs.

Kyouka’s older sister and her husband moved permanently to Yokohama, so after-lunch was reserved with helping her process several paperwork to transfer her registry. At the same time, they also processed their own paperwork, adding both their names to their properties, instead of simply leaving it up as Chuuya’s.

Before, he did everything he could to avoid linking their names together, so that Chuuya would never be implicated with his identity as the Tsushima Family’s heir. It was an exercise in futility, as the two of them have already been hopelessly intertwined ever since their first meeting. It was one of his rare miscalculations, one that he was all-too-happy to rectify.

Their afternoon was spent meeting with the new publishing company that’s now handling the anonymous printing of Chuuya’s poem anthologies. A company established by Chuuya’s fanclub from university, even if the chibi’s still in-denial about the fact that every single one in that group is a diehard fan.

Dinner before the cello concert was spent with the two culprits for Chuuya’s hat obsession. Paul and Arthur rarely are in the country given that they’re actual foreign spies, but ever since taking up his post in the Port Mafia, he’s had a lot more contact with them. Every day, he seethes at the fact that Chuuya still thinks they’re the most fashionable men to ever walk the planet. Something that can only be soothed by him annoying his chibi into wearing all sorts of outfits on his behest.

All in all, it really isn’t too far-fetched to say that it’s been a very tiring day.

Still, Chuuya makes a face like he can sniff out the fact that it’s not the complete truth. But his usual worrywart tendencies take over soon enough. Gloved hands start patting him all over his chest and torso, as though to dislodge the teeth of fatigue away from his body. “If you’re really tired, then I can piggyback you home?”

A jolt of energy. He beams. “Is this your chuunibyou tendencies kicking in once again? Want to wear me as a cape?” After all, with their substantial height difference, his feet will definitely get dragged against the ground.

“Yeah, if you’re energetic enough to make such annoying jokes, then you can walk a bit more, asshole.”

Oh, his chibi’s evolving in his strategies at catching his bluff. “So stingy!”

“You’re supposed to be a genius, yet still haven’t figured out that you shouldn’t piss off the one who’d be cooking crab croquettes for you?”

“You’re just a chibikko, so you still haven’t figured out that I can always just steal off the crab croquettes straight from your mouth?”

As usual, their way home is filled with bickering and trying to shove each other off the sidewalk. Once they pass by their front gate, the air is filled with a heavy scent of flowers in full bloom. Chuuya’s hard work—along with his reluctant, kisses-incentivized contributions—on their yard shows its fruits every springtime, filling the space with assortment of petals in colorful fireworks.

Chuuya elbows him when he clings even harder, making it difficult for the chibi to start picking off some flowers. A tradition born out of his insistence that he be pampered by the other’s idea of romanticism.

He once demanded an extravagant bouquet of 999 red roses—the flower language of promising a love that will last until eternity—just to see how much angry blushing his chibi would do. Only to wake up the following day with 998 different flowers dumped into him, along with several tongue-tied exclamations of: “This isn’t counted as romantic, I didn’t buy this from a florist!”, “I was just doing some pruning! I’m just dumping the ugly and sickly flowers on you!” and “This is just to shut you up!”

Shut up he did back then, and it’s the same for him now. He watches Chuuya shove three azaleas and one red tulip towards his chest. Red tulip to mean ‘a declaration of love’. Azalea to mean ‘patience and modesty’.

“Ah, I’ll add these to my collection.” He already has reserved a plot of land in Suribachi Island to be used as a storage for all of the Chuuya-related paraphernalia that he’s collected over the years. He keeps the flowers for as long as possible, dries them carefully, before adding them to a pressed album.

Of course, not all things are as easy to preserve as the ‘totally-not-romantic bouquets’. For example, the bed that they broke due to over-enthusiasm. That’s the main reason why he’s had to look into a bigger storage facility to begin with.

“You’re really such an idiot,” Chuuya gripes at him. “You’re wasting money in preserving these when I can just… urgh, give you more in the future, damn it.”

“If I could, I would love to preserve you whole,” is what he murmurs directly into the other’s lovely, lovely mouth. “Just eat you up and make sure nobody else can touch you.” Even if Chuuya indulges him in his desires to tie him up occasionally, along with all of his other requests, sometimes it feels like it’s never going to be enough.

Chuuya then kisses back with a, “Like I said, you’re really such an idiot.” And then the clamoring inside his ribs subsides, at least for the moment, soothed by the other’s love.

Even if it is springtime, it doesn’t mean that it’s a good idea to continue making out in their garden. Especially since there’s a lot of other food he’s looking forward to eating tonight. With great effort, he pulls away from the kiss and hounds his chibi into cooking the promised feast.

The short walk from the yard to their front door is filled with squabbling over a bunch of random things: which is a better weapon between a pair of chopsticks and a fork-and-knife; the best alarm clocks, along with Chuuya’s threat to dunk him into the freezer; whether writing a memoir titled “when a genius falls in love” is going to get him kicked out their bed; whether Chuuya blushing over handholding could be considered a redox reaction.

Still, the moment they step into the threshold, they pause whatever they’re bickering about. “Welcome home,” they tell each other, matching smiles on their faces. They then smoothly resume their tiny arguments, while trying to trip each other as they change to house slippers.

For the sake of Chuuya’s birthday countdown, he picks up their stupid cat from their bedroom and actually deigns to play with it downstairs. He’s kicked out from the vicinity of the kitchen, which is truly very cruel of the chibi, depriving him of the chance to start snacking on him while he’s flitting around in an apron.

He comforts himself with the fact that he’ll soon get his request: a grandiose midnight feast that would put top-tier New Year buffets into shame.

Symbolizing celebrations of wealth and success: golden sweet chestnuts with sweet potatoes; crunchy golden herring roe; baby dried anchovies in sweet caramelized soy sauce and sesame seeds; sweet rolled omelet; pickled chrysanthemum turnips. For good health: sweetened black beans. For his tastebuds: fishcakes, salmon roe, shrimp tempura, crab croquettes.

Most of it have already been prepped before they left the house this morning, but it’s still a very busy time for Chuuya to finish cooking everything.

The door connecting their dining-and-kitchen to the first floor living area is kept open. Dazai settles beside the doorway, poking Baki’s nose and complaining loud enough for Chuuya to hear. “Your chibi father won’t let me taste him while he’s cooking. He’s already an adult and yet he can be so stingy!”

“Oi, it’s already past the bedtime for children. Especially those who are useless in the kitchen, you oversized brat,” comes the return volley.

He sticks his tongue out, even though they’re technically separated by a wall. With one hand, he continues poking and prodding at their cat’s stomach, fattened up by a lifetime of luxurious care. His other hand does the same at his own waistline, two centimeters more compared to when they’ve started formally dating. Then, he decides that since Chuuya apparently finds him so much sexier like this, it’s nothing worth worrying over.

He leans against the wall, smothering a yawn. Hmm, maybe he really is more tired than expected. He tries to pull up a game and logs into Chuuya’s account to mess with it, but he’s thwarted by another series of yawns.

Hmm, maybe it’s less about exhaustion and more about the fact that the world is still quite boring when there’s no red star in the vicinity. They’re only separated by one wall and yet he already feels like he’s missing a limb.

…Who would have thought that he’d be this affected by something, much less another human being? Love truly is a formidable force.

Perhaps not simply love. It’s Chuuya himself who’s the formidable force. He has a feeling that even if love is removed from the equation, just the other’s existence would be enough to remold his insides. Even if they’re enemies, even if they’re on opposite sides, even if they’re torn apart, he would still be transformed, just by the act of knowing him.

…Seems like he really is too tired. He finds himself unceremoniously pulled from the confines of sleep via a great force crushing down on his stomach. He coughs awake, rolling towards the source of impact by instinct honed over the years. Because there’s only one idiot chibi in his proximity who could be silly enough to trip over him.

“Oi, what the fuck, if you’re so sleepy, then you should have told me earlier! Don’t sleep on the floor! What if you get sick! I don’t want to wear that nurse costume again!”

A voice that’s gruff and melodious at the same time. The expression on Chuuya’s face is too vivid, concern for his wellbeing radiating hotly like a burning supernova. And then, layered underneath, is the unmistakable desire for him, as if the only reason he actually ended up tripping over him is because he’d been too distracted looking at his face.

More effective than a kick or a punch, is the undeniable proof that as much as he’s been changed by the other, he also has the same effect on him. That what he feels for the other man—the love, the desire to possess, the deep dependence, and everything else in-between—is reciprocated completely.

He’s had years to get used to this knowledge and yet he’s still floored each and every time.

The light from their kitchen streams in, framing Chuuya’s slender body with a bright halo. A blazing wildfire that forms a red crown. A swirling storm that drowns whoever meets his gaze long enough. A brilliant lifeforce that cannot be replicated nor contained. An unbelievable person who loves him so much that he’s chosen to be with him, despite knowing all of the dirt and hollowness that exists inside him.

He sways as he stands up, Chuuya’s hands instinctively reaching out to help steady him. Their cat hisses at them for causing a commotion that interrupts his sleep, but perhaps is wiser than he’s given it credit, because he trots away from them, giving them privacy. Or maybe simply chasing a more peaceful napping spot.

Still, he can’t find the ability to care about anything else save for the now-ungloved hands clutching his. He frees one hand so he can slowly reach into his pocket, and take out something else that he’s been working on for so long.

The chibi raises an incredulous eyebrow upon seeing the object.

A black envelope, slightly crumpled, but still rather elegant and dramatic, given that it has a gold wax seal. And the contents are written in embossed gold.

Chuuya picks it up gingerly, like he expects it to explode in his face. And then, he explodes in laughter, half-collapsing against him as he reads through it.

“…You… you really are such an idiot!” More laughter. “You’ve actually been jealous of that love letter? Even though it’s just a code asking for our help? Are you serious?”

“This is my birthday gift to you, Chuuya,” he corrects his chibi. “Living for thirty-one years without ever receiving a proper love letter is rather sad, so I’m here to remedy it!”

“Pfft, this just looks like some melodramatic nonsense, what are you even talking about,” is filled with more sniggering, Chuuya leaning most of his weight against his chest. He keeps on re-reading the letter that he’s painstakingly written down in hopes of erasing the memory of that Suzuki woman’s love letter out of existence.

“Ano ne, Chuuya, you haven’t received a single, proper love letter so how would you even know how it’s supposed to look like?” Black and gold is a very elegant color combination, it’s just his luck that his chibikko’s eyes are too tiny to see nice aesthetics.

Blue eyes look shiny with tears from laughing too much. “Why do I have the feeling that I’ve actually received a bunch of love letters, but you’ve just been stealing and burning them?”

Oops, busted. “You keep on nagging at me to help throwing the trash, after all.”

“You’re the biggest trash of them all,” Chuuya tells him with so much overflowing affection he nearly collapses on the spot.

Perhaps it really is for the best that there aren’t any supernatural abilities and no successfully-made philosophers’ stone in this world. Chuuya’s already too powerful, even with his collection of non-romantic lines that end up going straight to his heart.

A formidable, inescapable, inevitable force worthy of being etched down in masterpieces and legends.

Powerful enough that even a coward like him can gain strength. He shifts them so that the light can illuminate Chuuya’s face better, because he wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life. With a deep breath, he says, “It’s been five years, five months, and eighteen days since you confessed your love to me, Chuuya.”

That moment when he’d made his decision to simply accept being hated and despised. That moment when he’d allowed himself to be abducted, if it means being able to keep Chuuya safe. That moment when he’d looked up and saw Chuuya’s face, streaked with the blood of the enemies he’d defeated just so they could see each other again.

That moment when all his plans had crumpled down in the wake of the simple desire to simply be with him forever.

Chuuya pokes him hard on his stomach, dangerously close to where a certain box is nestled inside his pocket. “What the fuck are you talking about now?”

“Ah, my apologies.” He chuckles a bit to ease off the tension. “You’re so tsundere so you actually only confessed your hatred for me, ne?”

The sweetest confession there is: “I hate you for driving me insane like this!” Because there really is no better way to describe it. Being driven to such a single-minded devotion, it can only be called insanity.

And as expected of someone who’s jumped down into this craze with him, Chuuya blinks at him in confusion. Before dropping a bombshell of his own, “…Hasn’t it been fifteen years, one month and twenty-two days?”

It’s even more powerful than a bomb. He’s utterly wrecked as his mind connects the dates. He’s probably making a goldfish impression at the moment, but there’s no helping it. It truly is such an earth-shattering revelation. He has no other outlet for the sudden surge of emotions, that he falls forward and anchors his teeth against Chuuya’s neck, biting him out of the instinctive desire to claim him. Capture him, so they can wreck each other even further.

A pair of hands clutch his back, keeping him in place. He bites him harder for that, wholly encouraged.

It takes several moments for him to recover some sense, pulling back from his impromptu feast over the other’s skin. He rubs the other’s waist over his clothes, as he tries to put things into words. “…Ah, so you mean to say… that not kicking me to death on our first meeting is considered your love confession?”

They’ve known each other, changed each other, and loved each other for fifteen years.

Chuuya’s face is red even as he rallies to put up a willful front. “That’s good enough for a shitty mackerel like you.”

…He wants to live in this peaceful world longer, so he can continue knowing, changing and loving this star in front of him, for however long, for the rest of his life.

He shifts his hold towards the pair of hands that are strong enough to exercise the softest kind of gentleness possible. Sinks downwards, until he’s kneeling on the floor. “Fufufu, then maybe this should count as kneeling and begging for forgiveness?”

Back then, Chuuya’s declaration: “I want to personally tear off that damn smug face of yours and make you kneel in front of me, begging for forgiveness!”

And he’s been utterly torn free of his defenses, of his restraints, just as the other wanted. He’s never been more satisfied at having to fulfill another person’s wishes.

Chuuya stares at him like he’s trying to burn him alive through his eyes. A sigh. “…I won’t forget all the shenanigans you’ve pulled, and I’ll only forgive the ones you actually are sorry about.” Another sigh.

“You’re the most annoying mackerel bastard in the entire world, but… you belong to me. And I belong to you.”

Then, smacking him in the forehead is Chuuya’s left hand, warm and bare, ready to be permanently marked. There’s absolutely zero romanticism, but it’s made even more romantic because of that. “So, you can make do with that.”

“How about it, Chuuya? Let’s have a bet.”

Not even one second later, “You’re fucking on, shitty Dazai.”

“Fufufu, I haven’t even said the bet yet?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Of course it’s to see who’s going to be the better husband between the two of us!”

His lips twitch into the widest smile of his lifetime, as he pulls out the box from his pocket. A pair of rings that has the red stone split into two, a single brilliant gleam shared between them.

A promise of a lifetime.

—Dazai, Chuuya, and the alchemy of love.

✦✦✦
the end

thank you so much for reading!