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In a way, Chuuya supposes, it’s very lucky that the first time he’s had the misfortune to meet Dazai is while he’s wearing that nice (and more importantly, cheap) rider jacket. It’s very cheap for its price, given that it’s rather thick and sturdy, able to provide Chuuya warmth even if he wears it while zipping through the skies and hunting down airplanes.
Subsequent meetings with the boy harboring dead-fish eyes have Chuuya wearing the same thick jacket. The first time that Chuuya’s not wearing it while in Dazai’s vicinity, they’re busy fighting for their lives, even if Dazai claims that he’d like to die the soonest and most painless way. Corruption licks into Chuuya’s skin, trailing a motley of blood and black into his being. The last day of duty of Chuuya’s rider jacket, it’s when there’s a stab wound on his back, blood seeping into the cloth.
Nothing related to Dazai can ever be attributed to luck and Chuuya feels nothing but a flame of irritation towards the boy who dares to call him his dog.
Chuuya literally kicks Dazai’s ass out of his room, slamming the door shut as soon as the tail-end of the other’s long coat disappears. Dazai’s picked up the habit of sauntering uninvited into Chuuya’s room at odd hours—they could be considered random if not for the fact that Chuuya’s fairly certain that Dazai has his stupid, spindly fingers dipped into everyone’s schedules.
Case in point—it’s nearly two in the morning because Chuuya went to have dinner and light drinks with a couple of people from the Black Lizard Squad, only managing to stumble back to his room past midnight. Chuuya’s nighttime routine—stretching and doing some light kicks, trying out the breathing meditation techniques that Ane-san told him about so he can control his temper better when dealing with his stupid-ass partner—takes time, so he’s just barely settled into light sleep by the time Dazai slips inside his room.
Trust Dazai to disturb him when he’s seconds away from restfulness.
In any case, Chuuya leans his back against the door, in case Dazai gets the idea of barging back in. He raises a hand and stretches it against the neckline of his loose, cotton sleep-shirt. The color on his chest is fading from the fire-engine red it usually is, whenever he’s within Dazai’s vicinity.
…He’s so screwed.
-
They live in a world where soulmates broadcast their connection to each other due to their traitorous, eager hearts. Starting from their first meeting until the day they die, soulmates’ hearts glow with various colors whenever they’re within their mate’s vicinity, the colors ranging from the softest pink of infatuation, to the pastel peach of content domesticity, to the steeliest gray of determination to protect, to the deep ocean blue of loyalty and trust, to the most seductive purples of lust.
—to the raging inferno of red flames that signify passion—
—to the all-consuming black of absolute consumption.
-
Dazai hums as he walks back to his room, shoulders rigid and back straight, despite the pain radiating from his lower back from his dog’s flying kick just a few minutes ago. At nearly two in the morning, the Port Mafia’s Headquarters is crawling with ants, low-level grunts whose jobs are to defy the natural circadian rhythm and live as creatures of the night.
Of course, Executives take turns on being the point of contact during the nighttime shifts. Of course, Dazai’s relationship with sleep is an ever-turning cycle depending on how busy the trains of thought inside his mind are, by the time he closes his eyes.
Upon unlocking his room and slipping inside the hollow darkness, Dazai grabs the beaded bracelet that he’s swiped from Chuuya upon disturbing the chibikko from his sleep. Of course, given that his dog is fairly stupid when it comes to things that aren’t related to his interests or to Dazai, it’s more likely that Chuuya didn’t even notice the bracelet’s existence.
It should be annoying, that kind of easygoing personality. Chuuya’s an Executive too, just a few weeks after his promotion. It’s with great pleasure that Dazai holds it over his head, that he’s older and shorter than Dazai and therefore can’t be called the youngest Executive in history.
…It’s with great displeasure, Dazai has realized, that it doesn’t really matter, because it’s not like Chuuya actually cares about it so much. Well. That’s not entirely true. Chuuya cares about it, but mostly because out of the fact that Dazai is relentless in his haranguing Chuuya about it. Beyond that, Chuuya’s all-too-happy to simply be in charge of his own squad, a group of people who enthusiastically swears their loyalty to him without a bat of an eyelash. Chuuya, who despite being an Executive and barely tall enough to hop to a barstool without cheating using his Ability, is invited to every single dinner or drink or after-work outing. Chuuya’s email is 90% invitations from various people.
Really.
Chuuya should be thankful for Dazai’s help in emptying his inbox of such useless pleasantries. Maintenance of their information, and therefore the funding of the IT Team is within Dazai’s jurisdiction (it doesn’t matter that he’s had to strong-arm another Executive for it). It’s within Dazai’s scope to ensure that the company’s IT resources are used properly—and that includes not using emails as some ploy to cozy up to a dog who’s too eager to bark and nuzzle at any human who gives it a lick of attention and treats.
…Ah.
It’s not like Dazai doesn’t give him treats or attention, after all…
Just two days ago, Dazai’s ordered some tulips from the Continent, all sorts of colors and still wet with dewdrops with how expedited the shipping is. He’s had them delivered to Chuuya, no card, no message. Chuuya spent an exact twenty minutes blushing about it like some flustered bride, then another two hours, five minutes and fifty-six seconds scrunching his nose and sniffing at it, then staring at it in bug-eyed wonder. Dazai doesn’t ever tell anyone about his hand on it, even if Kouyou-anesan tries to fish for information by telling him that it’s great that he’s looking into more traditional ways of courting.
And because Dazai is nothing but a conscientious pet owner, he tells Chuuya that the flowers are edible. Chuuya actually believes him and takes a dainty bite out of a red tulip. Dazai watches Chuuya’s mouth close in on the petals, watches that tongue dart out a bit as he’s wont to do when he’s concentrating, watches that nose scrunch at the taste, watches those eyes narrow as he tries to place the taste and sensation.
And afterwards, “Chuuya is such a gullible idiot, of course it isn’t edible!”
“You fucker—!”
“But this one is true,” Dazai says, smiling as he envisions those petals unfurling inside Chuuya’s esophagus, settling into his stomach, being broken down to its base components and being distributed into Chuuya’s bloodstream, to be absorbed fully by his small body. “Red tulips are a symbol of trust! And a declaration of eternal love.”
“I’m never believing you again,” Chuuya declares, before chucking the bouquet of flowers towards Dazai’s face.
“Ho-hum, is this Chuuya’s way of declaring his eternal love for me?” Dazai simpers as he flutters his eyelashes at Chuuya, delighting at the red seeping in like spilled Merlot all over those apple-like cheeks. “Ah, but I’m afraid that my eyes are quite set on the sweet embrace of death already…”
“Come over here and I’ll kick your skull to bits,” Chuuya invites menacingly—or at least, that’s what he’s going for. With the furious blush on his face and his fists trembling by his sides and his eyes terribly blue like the oceans deep enough to swallow Dazai’s life, he only looks arrestingly beautiful.
Really.
If only he’s small enough to fit inside his palm like a little fairy, Dazai would like him more, so he can bottle him up and keep him in his pocket, away from the elements and the passage of time. Maybe Dazai could even swallow him, the way Chuuya’s swallowed the treats from his master, the flowers that speak of trust and promises of eternal love, the same flowers that are already starting to wilt on Dazai’s bedside table two days after.
A slow blink.
Dazai comes back to the present time, where he’s alone inside a room that has an uncomfortable, single bed with a too-thin mattress that’s made of shallow cotton lumps, shoved against the only window. A customized wide-screen television hooked up to a computer and several gaming consoles, with a sweeping ‘table’ beside it, composed of game CDs stacked together as a solid mass. A closet nearly filled to the brim with bandages and cup noodles.
…Really. Chuuya is quite cruel sometimes, it’s rather interesting to see his beastly instincts manifest like so. Most of Dazai’s things are inside Chuuya’s room—Dazai’s clothes dwarf Chuuya’s in Chuuya’s closet, for starters. It’s a glorious sacrifice on his behalf, really. Chuuya’s idea of spending money is letting it slip through his fingers like stream water, buying anything and everything his heart fancies. And his heart fancies a lot of tacky things that burns Dazai’s eyes—Chuuya has a very unlikable taste, after all. So Dazai robbing him of closet space only means that he doesn’t buy as much of the tacky clothes as he actually wants, which means that there are less tacky clothes for Dazai to see him in.
Of course, Dazai has broached the idea of Chuuya just walking around while wrapped in bandages, as Dazai has a dresser-full of it. Because Chuuya has really shitty taste, he has declined rather forcefully.
No matter.
Dazai doesn’t possess any personal belongings, aside from his own self and Chuuya. All the knowledge and plans are stored inside his head and Chuuya is Chuuya, so technically, this room could explode from a gas leak and it would not mean anything to Dazai.
…Maybe he should try a suicide via a gas leak.
Dazai blinks down at his hands, at the bracelet in his hold.
Ah.
From Chuuya’s dinner earlier with the Black Lizard Squad.
There’s an impertinent newbie with a similar reddish locks to Chuuya’s. Because Chuuya hasn’t quite grasped the concept of human history and genetics and hair dyes, he’s had the idea planted in his tiny head about possibly being related to the newbie. The newbie, because he’s impertinent and wet behind the ears, actually thinks that it’s some sort of high-level flirting out of high school romance pocketbooks.
Dazai never gets invited to after-work drinks, not unless as a plus-one to an invitation meant for Chuuya. Which means that Dazai makes it worth his while, to buy off the restaurant and the land it’s plotted on while Chuuya has a noodle-slurping contest three rooms away. Which means that Dazai yawns as he makes himself comfortable on the couch that has the best vantage view over the ground floor of the bar where the newbie gives Chuuya a ‘matching friendship bracelet’ instead of the neon-blue fruity cocktail that Chuuya ordered, Chuuya’s focus more about the missing cocktail rather than the circle of beads that aims to tether him to ordinary humans.
…Back in his room, Dazai snaps the tiny string holding the bracelet together, tiny, negligible beads rolling all over his feet as he stomps over them.
Dazai settles himself over the uncomfortable lump of a bed, discarding his long overcoat along the way. He unbuttons his shirt but doesn’t shrug it off. He settles his hands over his waist as he lays down, back straight, shoulders stiff, like a pale corpse under the witching hours.
Just underneath his hands are his bandages.
Just underneath the areas covered by his bandages are the pulsing mass of black, a beast that writhes against his skin as they vibrate out from his heart and his blood and his body, an all-consuming consumption as he closes his eyes and thinks of Chuuya.
-
Chuuya sighs as he resists the urge to just kick open the window and just let glass scatter like petals in a whirlwind breeze. It’s four in the morning and the sun is about to splinter its way from the darkness and Chuuya’s not looking forward to answering explanations as to why he’s hanging off outside the Mori Corporation’s Headquarters’ 42nd floor.
…Still, he makes quick work of adjusting the gravity of the screws holding the glass window in place, so he can slide the glass away and then put them back in place, carefully avoiding any sort of contact with the sleeping lump of bandage-covered trash right beside the window.
It takes ten minutes, which is ten minutes more than Chuuya’s been willing to endure in his cranky state.
It’s such a waste of a good investment, a plush air mattress and an ornate king-size canopy bed, but it’s been two hours of tossing and turning in the wide expanse of the bed. Chuuya’s room smells like lavender and mint to aid in relaxation, while the room that Chuuya breaks into reeks of stale cup noodles and unwashed clothes and unvacuumed carpets.
Still.
Chuuya settles himself over Dazai’s corpse-like sleeping form, on all fours like the beast that Dazai teases him to be. He settles on his elbows and knees, sniffing Dazai’s unwashed hair that still retains the scent of the bar and restaurant that he had stalked Chuuya on last night. Chuuya then slides down, to the temples, to the squishy lobes of his ear, to the sharp jawline, to the pulse-point on his neck, to the dip of his collarbones, to the swell of his Adam’s apple, to the tuft of hair on his armpits, to the slight indentation of a nipple, to the rib just-above his stomach, to the bellybutton, to the place where Dazai’s strongest scent of musk is concentrated.
And Chuuya slides back up, satisfied that the smell of cup noodles and procrastinated chores have been chased away by Dazai’s scent. Chuuya settles more securely above Dazai, the press of sharp-boned lanky limbs somehow managing to be infinitely more comfortable than an imported mattress that costs a truly staggering amount.
His right ear lands right above Dazai’s steady heartbeat and Chuuya finds himself falling into peaceful sleep.
Once they wake up, Chuuya will kick his partner’s ass into gear so he’ll stop procrastinating his chores just because he sleeps over at Chuuya’s room nearly all the time. It’s never really worked previously, but Chuuya’s sneaked into Dazai’s room wearing only his boxers…
Chuuya’s last coherent thought is wondering, with a light snicker, how Dazai will react to seeing Chuuya’s entire being swallowed up in black, the moment they wake up.