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It's a slow night. A few regulars sit quietly in their respective seats at the bar. In a back corner, a table of what Chuuya thinks might be some sort of book club includes a handful of people, nursing drinks as they talk.
Compared to the teeming mass of bodies that can cycle through the front doors on a weekend night, tonight could be considered boring by most standards.
Chuuya doesn't mind it as much as a lot of the other bartenders do. It's nice to feel the different speeds of the bar, to get the chance to talk up a regular for over an hour before pushing out a hundred drinks in that same amount of time just two nights later.
It's unpredictable in a way, the varying paces are almost soothing.
He likes it here.
The door opens, and Chuuya glances up from pouring a drink for one the regulars to glimpse at a trio of three men that are laughing with each other. All it takes is the cursory glance to place their type—a skill he learned before stumbling into bartending but that he's perfected since—well-made suits peek from underneath designer coats.
Chuuya's a true professional because he finishes his pour with a twinkling smile for his regular and turns his face away from the newcomers before rolling his eyes.
High-end businessmen aren't just his least favorite customers, they're also his least favorite human beings to interact with.
They take a table near the back (thank god) and only one comes up to order drinks (another blessing) as the other two speak softly to each other (perhaps they won't ruin his night).
"Evening," Chuuya says to the man who steps up to the bar, grinning up at him, "what can I get for you?"
The man returns his greeting with a friendly smile of his own. Upon closer inspection, Chuuya would have never pegged him as the rich type. Red hair is slightly disheveled and the stubble on his chin is at odds with his expensive clothing and company.
"We're having a small celebration," the man says, eyes flicking over Chuuya's head to study the back wall, "could you recommend a whiskey?"
Chuuya tilts his head, gaze flicking once again to the two men still at the table, rapidly trying to decide if it's a 'just business' gathering or if the men actually like each other. "Are you looking for something to impress or something to chat over?"
His question seems to amuse the man. "Chat over."
Waving towards a specific bottle, Chuuya says. "I'd go with that, then."
"Three please, on the rocks."
Chuuya nods, already pulling out glasses and shifting closer to the ice. "Would you like to open a tab?"
"Please." The man replies, "Oda is the name for that.”
There's no showing off to be had when it comes to pouring three plain drinks, but Chuuya's years of experience are evident in how confident he is behind the bar as he pours the exact same amount of booze in each glass over the ice before pushing them across the bar.
Another smile easily tugs at his lips, "need help getting those back over?"
"I'll be good. Thanks."
Then, almost too easily, he's gone: heading back to the table and easily falling into conversation with his two companions as he passes drinks around. Chuuya considers them for a moment, relieved that they look like they won't be as insufferable as the other snobs he's had to deal with. Mid-thought, he catches the gaze of the man who sits on Oda's right.
A slight frown crosses the man’s face, but Chuuya's already looking away and moving to the other end of the bar—pretending that the eye contact never occurred so he doesn't have to deal with whatever stick is up the man's ass.
Hoping for the best, Chuuya winks at the regular he ends up next to, leaning against the bar to listen as the older woman starts going on about her home life.
Over the next hour, Chuuya pours a few simple drinks for people who slip in and out, relaxing back into the lull of the slow night as his previous concerns about snotty clientele fade away. He supposes it's predictable that the three men in the back need another round right when Chuuya is back to enjoying his night without being on edge.
It's not Oda that comes back. When Chuuya turns around from closing out someone's tab, he inwardly groans to find the man he made eye contact with earlier leaning against the bar, half-turned so he's looking out the windows.
Sliding the receipt across the bar, Chuuya thanks the customer for the tip before inwardly steeling himself and stepping in front of the businessman.
"Refills on those whiskeys for you?" Chuuya asks.
The man looks straight at him, and Chuuya can't help a small frown from crossing his face. Something about him is strangely familiar.
Instead of his original frown, the man's lips curl up into a slight smirk, dark brown eyes glinting impishly. "Of all the places to run into you, this is not where I expected it to be."
"Do I know you?" Chuuya asks.
"Chibi, I'm shattered that you don't recognize me. In fairness, it's been....what?" The man tilts his head, and Chuuya can picture a boy instead, the only person who has ever called Chuuya ‘chibi’—head tilted in the same fashion, lips pursed slightly—and he feels his stomach drop. "Twelve years, hasn't it?"
Clenching his jaw, Chuuya briefly wonders what kind of fucked up karma he must have for Dazai Osamu, of all people, to wander into his safe haven of a bar over a decade after Chuuya thought he was finally rid of the bastard.
"I'd be happy to recommend a different brand if the previous one wasn't quite what you were looking for," Chuuya says, trying to force the conversation back to something he can control.
The smirk widens. "We enjoyed the first one. I was sent to pick up the next round."
Nodding, Chuuya turns to grab the bottle. The quicker he pours the drinks, the sooner Dazai will leave him alone.
"Judging by how you're trying to rush me away, I'm assuming you vanishing from the face of the earth was by your choice." Dazai hums. "I wondered why your family never mentions you at society events anymore."
Placing the three glasses in front of himself, Chuuya says. "Your elitist circle of the earth isn't all there is to the world."
It's not something he would ever say to a customer in normal circumstances, and in normal circumstances, it would probably cost him his tip and a complaint to management. But Dazai is still Dazai, and he merely laughs. "Fair enough."
Dazai's gaze feels sharper than a blade as he watches Chuuya pour. He hums thoughtfully again before saying. "You've been doing this for a while."
"I'm good enough for the bar. Does it matter how long I've been doing it?" Chuuya retorts.
Seemingly oblivious to how tenuous Chuuya's control on his temper has become, Dazai shrugs. "Not particularly, it's just obvious that you're experienced. If someone told me twelve years ago that Nakahara Chuuya rebelled against the family business and became a bartender I would've laughed myself sick."
"Clearly you played the good soldier." Chuuya pushes the drinks across the bar top.
Dazai's drops Chuuya's gaze, picking up the drinks before dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "Played is the operative word there, Chuuya."
He's crossing back to his company before Chuuya can reply. Chuuya watches Dazai melt back into a conversation no doubt full of high-end business deals with paychecks larger than half of Chuuya’s yearly earnings. It’s a world so far apart from the small bar tucked away in a corner of the city, where Chuuya can push up his arms and his tattoos don’t get filthy looks, where he isn’t hassled to keep his hair clipped short for professionalism.
It’s the world Chuuya grew up in, and the world he left without a look back.
Of all the people Chuuya ever dreaded running into, he hasn’t even wasted the energy to imagine a reunion with Dazai Osamu. Raised as the golden children poised to take over lucrative family businesses, Dazai and Chuuya grew up with a relationship lost somewhere between close friends and bitter rivals, and Chuuya’s never regretted walking away from the family business, but he also never wanted to have to listen to Dazai’s inevitable mockery about how he ‘couldn’t handle the pressure’ after all.
Tugging his attention away from Dazai’s table, Chuuya goes back to keeping himself busy, vaguely wishing it was one of the nights where it was so crowded he didn’t have time to think.
It’s an hour before midnight when the trio gets up from their table. Oda comes up to the bar alone, giving Chuuya another friendly smile as he hands over his card and asks to close out his tab. Ringing him up quickly, Chuuya blinks when he’s handed a 100% tip, and his eyes flick past Oda to where Dazai is lingering by the door with the third man (waiting for Oda to finish).
“Did Dazai put you up to this?” Chuuya can’t help the question leaving his lips, gut twisting unpleasantly at the idea of Dazai thinking he’s a charity case of all things.
Oda blinks, surprised. “You know Dazai?”
Well, shit.
Chuuya just assumed the bastard would have immediately told his… (friends? business associates?) about their history.
Glancing up at Oda from underneath his lashes, Chuuya cranks the charm up to one-thousand as he waves a hand through the air to dismiss the question. “Not other than what he mentioned when he came for the round. I hope you have a great rest of your night.”
With a nod, Oda pushes away from the bar and makes his way toward the door. The three leave in the next minute.
Dazai doesn’t even look back once.
Good fucking riddance.
[12:52] Unknown Number
So, how did you get into bartending?
Chuuya blinks at his phone, racking his brain trying to figure out who could possibly be texting him. While he’s not unfamiliar with the experience of a forgotten hookup, it’s been several months since he went to a party crazy enough for it to be such a situation.
[13:10] Chuuya
who is this?
[13:17] Unknown Number
Dazai
[13:18] Chuuya
how the hell did you get my number?
[13:19] pretentious ass
I had a meeting in the area today
The woman working gave it to me when I told her we were old friends
The text is only half-read when Chuuya switches out of his messaging app to dial Kouyou.
“Hello?”
“You gave him my number?” Chuuya asks, skipping the greeting to get straight to the point.
Kouyou pauses, obviously surprised by Chuuya’s question. “Oh, that businessman who came in looking for you? He said you were family friends and that he had been asking old acquaintances and no one had contact information for you. Really, Chuuya, I know you’re on bad terms with your family but he said not even your mother knew how to-”
Closing his eyes, Chuuya reminds himself that without Kouyou he probably would’ve been starving the first year after his parents cut him off. Taking a deep breath before cutting off the lecture, Chuuya says. “They can’t get in touch with me because I don’t want them to.”
“The businessman, what was his name? Dazai? He seems harmless enough.”
It tugs a bark of laughter out of Chuuya. “Harmless is the last word anyone has ever used to describe him.”
There’s a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the phone (which is ridiculous because Kouyou has only known Chuuya for a grand total of four years). “If you hate him that much, change your number, people do it all the time. I need to get back to the front.”
Chuuya glances at the clock, “oh, right, sorry. Don’t give out my number to anyone regardless of what sob story they tell you.”
“You’ve never had a problem with me giving your number to cute guys before.”
His groan is cut-off by the call ending, and Chuuya rolls his eyes at the wall before switching back to the problem at hand.
[13:27] Chuuya
what do you want?
[13:28] pretentious ass
You never answered my original question
“Original question?” Chuuya mutters to himself, scrolling back up before swearing under his breath.
It’s like Dazai didn’t mature a day since they last saw each other. It’s the only explanation for why he’s still as obnoxious now as he was when they were thirteen.
[13:29] Chuuya
you clearly haven’t changed
“Dazai, are you paying attention to this call at all?”
Glancing up from his phone, Dazai shoots his most convincing smile at Ango. It, predictably, doesn’t melt the stern expression on the other man’s face since Ango’s been impervious to most of Dazai’s tricks since they graduated school.
“Of course I’m not.”
“If we land this client it could be-”
“-’an amazing opportunity for the company and showcase our value as partners’,” Dazai recites in a monotone, turning to face Oda as the man on the other end of the call continues to drone on. “Doesn’t he say that once a month?”
Oda shrugs, amusement clear on his face. “We do continue to get signed large portfolios.”
There’s a soft ‘ping’, and Dazai picks up his phone, skimming Chuuya’s text message.
[13:29] Chibi
you clearly haven’t changed
[13:30] Dazai
And you’re as prickly as ever
I thought leaving high society made people less crabby
[13:31] Chibi
true.
it must just be dealing with you then.
Grinning to himself, Dazai leans in his chair, balancing precariously on the back legs. Even though they had last spoken to each other as kids, Dazai never did find someone who was able to give as good as they got in a conversation with him, which is why Dazai never really gave up hope that he’d run into Chuuya again at one of the needlessly dull society gatherings he was forced to attend too many times a year.
Falling back into the familiar dynamic with Chuuya—honestly the only part of his childhood Dazai can say he didn’t hate—is infinitely more interesting than wooing over a potential client.
Ignoring Ango’s pointedly cleared throat, Dazai taps out a response.
[13:32] Dazai
I find Chuuya’s crabby personality to be charming in itself
“...but I know that this Dazai’s area of expertise.” At his name, Dazai tunes into the conference call. “Dazai, do you have any thoughts?”
Letting his chair swing back to the ground, Dazai reaches across the table to unmute the call, slipping into business-mode with ease. “It’s a solid proposal. It would benefit from a bit more diversification so the client is better insulated on all fronts, especially considering how much international business they handle...”
Chuuya’s five minutes away from throwing his phone out the window and pouring himself a glass of celebratory champagne as it gets run over by the cars speeding past on the street.
An hour of texting Dazai and he thinks he’s come dangerously close to bursting a vein once or twice.
Even over text, Chuuya can feel every ounce of Dazai’s smug self-satisfaction, every iota of his pride at still being the gem of high society while Chuuya pours liquor for a living. And Chuuya knows his blood-pressure would thank him for just blocking Dazai and changing his number, but he never was any good at walking away from the bastard while Dazai was goading him on.
[14:42] pretentious ass
Chuuya could be my date to a party
And no one would even know who you are
[14:43] Chuuya
that’s the damned point.
i don’t want anything to do with that shit
[14:44] pretentious ass
But I recognized you
And got your number
[14:45] Chuuya
It’s not one of your achievement awards
[14:46] pretentious ass
If it bothers you so much you could stop replying
Chuuya wants to wring Dazai’s neck. The bastard says it like it’s that simple, like Dazai is any easier to deter now than he was when they were younger.
If it was that simple, Chuuya would’ve gladly done it already.
His phone buzzes again, proving his point.
[14:47] pretentious ass
But I could always just come talk to you at your work
Speaking of achievement awards, Chuuya’s missed all of the ones I’ve won
You should come to the next one
[14:48] Chuuya
you don’t even take someone out for dinner before dragging them to one of those snoozefests?
[draft] Chuuya
i’d rather be caught dead
[14:48] pretentious ass
Good point
Does 8 work?
Chuuya’s fingers freeze where they hover over the ‘send’ button for his drafted text as Dazai’s response flashes onto his screen.
The bastard isn’t serious. Is he?
Their entire conversation has passed by in a blur of anger for Chuuya, and he scrolls back through the thread, trying to figure out how they even got to this point.
Chuuya can’t find anything in their conversation that would imply he has any interest in going out with Dazai, meaning the only logical explanation is that Dazai’s messing with him. As if Dazai has the time to slum himself around with the ‘lower class’ when his parents probably have fifteen potential marriages lined up for him.
And knowing the asshole Dazai was when they were younger, the other man is more likely to be toying with Chuuya, finding some sort of sick enjoyment at the possibility of leading Chuuya on. It’s exactly what his type would do, and Chuuya is torn between stalking up to whatever high-rise Dazai works in and shoving his phone so far down his throat that he’s unable to smooth talk another client ever again and figuring out just how dumb Dazai thinks he is.
With a scoff, Chuuya fires off a response, wondering how far Dazai is willing to take his game.
Files are dropped on Dazai’s desk with a pointed thud that he doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he waits for Chuuya’s response.
“You’ve been glued to your phone for over an hour now,” Oda says, plopping into one of the visitor chairs in Dazai’s office. “I’ve never seen you do that.”
Forcing himself to put his phone down for a moment, Dazai shrugs. “Reconnecting with an old friend.”
“The bartender?”
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Dazai asks, “how did you know?”
“He knew your name, and I thought it was odd how long you two talked when you picked up the drinks,” Oda replies casually.
A soft ‘ting’ pulls Dazai away from the conversation with Oda and back to the one with Chuuya.
[14:52] Chibi
are you serious?
Dazai blinks at his phone, a frown crossing his face as he scrolls back through the text conversation, wondering if Chuuya is the one being serious or if the other man had been completely oblivious to the fact that Dazai was flirting with him.
[14: 54] Dazai
Yes.
After over an hour of rapid-fire conversation between them, the five-minute wait it takes for Chuuya’s response feels like agony, and Dazai rereads the thread a second, and third, trying to imagine where Chuuya might be getting the wrong impression.
[14:59] Chibi
then no.
Dazai’s frown deepens.
[15:00] Chibi
i work until close tonight.
tomorrow.
“Everything alright?” Oda asks.
Dazai had almost forgotten his friend was still in the room.
Winking up at Oda, Dazai sends another text before opening his laptop to search for a good dinner spot. “Everything’s great.”
[15:01] Dazai
See you tomorrow
Wear something pretty
“What the fuck does that mean?” Chuuya shouts at his phone.
Chuuya absolutely 100% does not wear something pretty.
Despite Kouyou trying to force him to, Chuuya strolls out of his flat in a plain black t-shirt and black jeans, looking perfectly suited for a night with his friends.
Wearing something ‘pretty’ would be a complete waste of energy because Dazai isn’t being serious, and Dazai probably isn’t even going to show up, and dressed like this Chuuya can at least grab a drink if he ends up waiting on the sidewalk outside the bar (which is where they’re meeting since Chuuya refuses to tell Dazai where he lives) for longer than ten minutes. Which he 100% will end up doing, because Dazai is just being an ass, and if Dazai does bother to show his face, Chuuya plans to kick the bastard into next Tuesday so that he can be permanently free of Dazai’s presence.
He’s running five minutes late, and despite normally trying his best to be punctual, Chuuya can’t bring himself to care as he strolls along the same route he takes six times a week to get to work.
Rounding the corner, Chuuya stumbles to a standstill when he catches sight of Dazai leaning against the wall outside the bar. He’s on the phone with someone, tone clipped in a way that Chuuya can’t reconcile with the obnoxious texts he’s had to deal with for over a day. Despite clearly being on some sort of business call, Dazai isn’t dressed in the same tailored suit he wore to drinks with his friends. Instead, he’s wearing a simple shirt and slacks, looking almost as casual as Chuuya himself.
Forcing his feet to move forward, Chuuya continues toward Dazai until the other man notices his approach and quickly ends his phone call. Dazai is shoving his phone into his pocket by the time Chuuya is within earshot, and an impish grin spreads across his face. “I was starting to think you might not show.”
Chuuya can’t quite believe Dazai is actually here. “You were serious.”
Tilting his head, Dazai’s brows draw down in slight confusion. ”That’s why I’m here.”
“I thought you were...” Chuuya trails off, running his gaze over Dazai’s appearance and trying to wrap his head around it.
“You thought I was...?” Dazai prompts.
“Fucking with me.”
Brown eyes widen momentarily, and Dazai opens his mouth to reply before frowning as if something new just occurred to him. “You thought I wasn’t serious and you still showed up?”
Chuuya shrugs, at a loss for words. The anger that had been building up for a day, in anticipation of his assumptions being proven right, dissipates to just leave him confused.
Dazai blinks, and bursts into laughter. “This is why you were so easy to prank when we were children. I can’t believe you’d just...show up thinking it was a joke.”
Feeling his cheeks warm, Chuuya says. “Why would I think you were being genuine? My own family doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Calming himself, Dazai pushes himself from the wall, eyes still twinkling with mirth even as his voice sobers. “Nakahara Chuuya, I am genuinely interested in getting know you again and I’m genuinely asking you to go on a date with me, will you genuinely accept?”
Rolling his eyes, Chuuya mutters. “I get it, are you done?”
“Only if that means you’re accepting my invitation?” Dazai prods, holding out an expectant hand.
Cheeks now flaming, Chuuya places his hand in Dazai’s. “If you piss me off, I’m walking out.”
Dazai starts to lead him down the sidewalk, away from the bar and toward whatever restaurant he clearly has in mind (because Dazai knew this was going to be a real date and planned ahead—which sends Chuuya reeling all over again).
Directing a wink down at Chuuya, Dazai replies, “it took me twelve years to find you again, Chuuya. I’m definitely not scaring you off until we’re at least twelve minutes into the date.”