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It was a punishment, perhaps, that Dazai has to assist Kunikida on an info-gathering mission. Especially because it’s a horrifically mundane one, where the chances of a scuffle (and subsequently, his chances of dying) are extremely low. He whined and begged against Shachou and the blond to let him skip - “Atsushi-kun can accompany you just fine!” “Ehhhhhh?” - but to no avail; Shachou took his partner's side for once and issued it as an order for Dazai to tag along.
“It's because you're good at information digging, Dazai. Kunikida can sometimes be too far on the straight and narrow, causing him to miss things because of his correctness.”
Those were Shachou's words to him, perhaps to convince him to attend, but that wasn't what caused him to agree. No, he wasn’t whipped for Shachou’s praise like Ranpo-san, but instead maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to find a beauty at the ballroom to commit double suicide with him.
You never know. Girls like that are elusive, existing right out of Dazai’s circles sometimes. It might happen that the event bores some beauty out of her mind and she’d agree to kill herself with him on a whim, a spur of the moment thought.
You never know.
He tightens the tie around his neck.
…
“What are you doing?”
“Hmm?” Dazai hums, turning towards his chibi partner. “What does it look like I’m doing? Stupid Chuuya doesn’t even know what tying a tie is.”
“I know that, you- argh!” Chuuya yells, violently scratching the back of his head. “I meant why are you tying it so tightly?! Of course I know you’re tying a tie!”
“Is it tight? I didn’t realise,” Dazai replies, looking back at the mirror.
That’s a lie, of course. There’s no way he can’t feel the strip of cloth cutting off his air supply, but he doesn’t know how to properly tie an adjustable knot, nor does he know how to estimate the length of cloth that he needs. It’s not something that the youngest executive of the Port Mafia can admit outright though, so he leaves it to Chuuya to read between the lines.
His partner rarely disappoints.
Chuuya crosses the space between them, planting himself between Dazai and the mirror, and gently removes Dazai’s fumbling hands from his unsightly handicraft. Wordlessly, he takes apart the tight knot around Dazai’s neck, deft fingers brushing against his bandaged skin with every slight touch. The skin-to-bandage contact constricts Dazai’s throat tighter than any cloth ever can, and he has to resist the urge to gulp down the saliva quickly pooling in his mouth despite the dryness of his throat.
Chuuya, much like Dazai, has been trained to smell nerves.
With the knot freed, Chuuya starts to pull on the two sides of the tie, adjusting its length until it looks right. Then he crosses the two sides and begins his masterpiece, pulling and looping the cloth round and round the growing knot, until finally he pulls the long strip through behind another section that he prepared earlier and extends it downwards. He kneads the knot a little before pushing the knot up, tightening the tie around Dazai’s neck.
He wonders if Chuuya would be willing to strangle him with those cursed fingers while wearing his blank, definitely-not-hot expression.
…
When he snaps out of daydreaming, he realises that his hands have finished the knot as well.
It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself, and looks back in the mirror. The princely garb on him - olive green vest, white shirt, black suit and tie - is far too familiar; hits home too hard. He’s surprised it still fits him, all things considered.
(It was the first suit he wore on a first social dinner undercover mission. Back then, his chibi partner…
Well, it doesn’t matter.)
Without meaning to, he feels like he’s about to throw up whatever little crab he had three hours ago just staring at his reflection in the mirror. He can almost see the bandages re-wrapping around his right eye when he decides that he’s had enough of this appearance and parts his bangs on the left, tucking the long bits behind his ear. At least with his Demon Trio hairstyle, he can distract himself long enough to forget where once, gloved fingers roamed all over his tie and chest, resting on his shoulder, gripping at his hip sometimes-
Stop it. Enough.
He dips two slender fingers into his rarely used tub of hair gel and slicks a miniscule amount into his tucked strands to keep them in place, not that it’s crucial. His hair normally does stay in place but he just doesn’t want to get distracted later on.
There’s a certain bad feeling pooling in his gut, coupled with a familiar tingling anticipation, and he’s preparing for the worst.
(Shut up - he’s not being self-conscious. What do you mean he’s trying to look attractive? No, shush.)
He wonders if Odasaku would agree with what he’s doing. He thinks about the most probable answer and sighs, but it does nothing to ease the anxiety in his gut.
When they reach the hall, the first thing Dazai does is escape Kunikida’s supervision.
“We’ll cover more ground if we split up! It’s a good strategy, you know. Everyone in horror movies uses it - write it down, write it down, write it down!”
And then he makes a break for it.
Only when he’s out of Kunikida’s workaholic sight can he be free to survey possible suicide methods. For example: alcohol poisoning, jumping off the balcony, strangulation by wires, drowning in the punch fountain, setting everything on fire with a Molotov cocktail - they all seemed like pretty good ideas.
So there he goes, wandering around the ballroom, checking out viable places to murder himself when he sees her.
(Him?)
A true sight for sore eyes, there's a lady, lady, wearing a ruffled maroon-pink skirt in the reddest heels. Her hair - beautiful fiery curls - fall to one side, and Dazai can't verify from where he's standing but he's almost sure that it frames her face just nice. Her lips - small, not overly-filled and most certainly kissable - move with such grace as she chats with a random stranger. Then she turns to him, perhaps feeling the stare he's been giving her, and her eyes-
Oh. They're black.
Dazai doesn't understand the disappointment that crashes into him afterward. But he is, and he turns away, not wanting her in sight any longer. A word, disgusting, floats into his mind, and he shakes his head, trying to rid himself of that thought.
He's being unfair to her, and he knows it. She's just another woman though, so there's no need to apologise to her about it, and besides, it's not like she could read his thoughts-
And then he sees him.
Again, with the short ruffled maroon skirt, red heels, fiery red locks swept on one side, but with the addition of knee-length socks, white elbow-long gloves, and the black choker added around his neck - except the colour of the clasp is blood with the reddest rose in the middle. Compared to the woman from before, his old partner forwent any form of necklaces, bracelets, rings, anklets - mafia procedures to ensure an easier time fighting or escaping. Dark, dangerously lidded, blue eyes stare back at him, judging him; slender, talented fingers clasping onto the wine glass in hand; red lips, slightly parted-
Dazai would recognise him anytime.
They both turn away.
…
“Come on, Chuuyaaaaaa, you gotta be more romantic!” Dazai teases his partner. They're just about to pull up at the mansion of the party but Chuuya's refusing to get into character.
“Here, here, let's practice: say ‘I love you, anata’. Say it, Chuuya!”
“Shut up. This romantic bullshit is making me puke,” the chibi executive complains back, attempting to swat Dazai away with his beautiful, slender, gloved hands nonchalantly. There's a slight scowl set on Chuuya's face thanks to Dazai's antics, but it's entertaining to see when Chuuya will finally snap considering he can't blow his cover during the night, including being unable to speak for the most part. And if he starts physically beating up Dazai now, he's sure to ruin his appearance.
“But Chuuya,” Dazai continues to whine, “you have to be more convincing than that. You're supposed to be my girlfriend for the night! Here, maybe you can kiss my cheek! That'll be evidence enough!”
“Disgusting,” Chuuya immediately shoots back with irritation in his voice, face settled into a look of nausea. “Besides, it'll ruin my lipstick.”
Dazai's lips curl into a pout as he finally backs away from Chuuya. “Chibi's no fun tonight.”
As he finishes saying that, their mafia limousine pulls up at the grand entrance. Everything around them - the steps, pillars, floor, even ceiling - is marble, accentuated with bright yellow lights. Ribbons, balloons, and flowers frame the doors and line the staircase, giving the scene tints of blue, red, and green.
A porter steps up to the car, gently opening the door and letting Dazai step out. He takes a moment to straighten his suit and tie before turning back to the open door, where Chuuya had just shimmied over to. As per courtesy and proper etiquette, he extends his chibi partner a hand, putting on what he hopes is a dashing smile, and Chuuya's mood shifts entirely from just a few moments ago. Now, his partner is all bright eyes and wide smiles.
He gets into character fast when he wants to, Dazai thinks. Not that he was worried about Chuuya's acting skills, but he's impressed by how genuinely and quickly he manages to shape his expression. It's a feat that barely anyone can manage, save for the two of them.
Chuuya takes Dazai's outstretched hand and steps out of the car as gracefully and ladylike as Ane-san's best courtesans. He takes a minute to brush down his dress and readjust his small sling bag - which is really just a pocket-knife and soluble poison pellet compartment, but nobody needs to know that - so that it sits comfortably just above Chuuya's hip. When he's done tinkering with his appearance, they share an endearing look in an effort to remain inconspicuous, before they start walking towards the stairs.
Then, five steps in, Chuuya grabs Dazai's elbow. He links Dazai's arm to his hands, safely clinging close to Dazai while wearing a sheepish and lovestruck expression as his eyes basically make hearts at his “object of affection”. He even goes as far as to press his body right up to Dazai's, leaving no room in between for imagination, and leans his head against the side of Dazai's shoulder.
The youngest executive finds himself desperately fighting down a blush because he hadn't expected Chuuya to be this complete in their act, but he can't say that he hates it.
In fact, their night just got a hell lot more interesting.
One information-gathering session later, after Kunikida has returned to the Agency’s office to file reports, Dazai finds himself lounging about in the dimly-lit ballroom. The aristocrats and the influential are engaged in what he learned as a sophisticated groping activity, better known as slow-dancing. He watches them from the sidelines, disinterested, with a small shot of sake in hand.
He doesn’t know why he stayed behind. Sure, Kunikida told him to look out for potentially crucial details that they missed, but he’s meticulous enough to know that the facts they scoured were sufficient and conclusive. He’s done this one too many times, under a different organisation, by a different name and title, to have left anything out.
And yet, he stayed.
(No, it’s not because of Chuuya. He’s not jealous that the chibi and Akutagawa are here undercover as a couple. He doesn’t stare at the way Chuuya clings to the operative as if they’re in love. No, he doesn’t.)
He sighs mentally, resigning to his duties, and actively tries to gather more clues while planning a potential hanging from the sparkling, crystalline chandelier. In fact, he’s so focused on imagining the ropes hanging from the wires that he doesn’t notice him approaching until the chibi scoffs at him at a volume that they know only Dazai can hear.
His face immediately turns into a scowl.
“Tch. This was a perfectly good night, chibi. Why’d you have to ruin it?” he whines to Chuuya, softly but annoyedly sing-songing it the way he knows makes Chuuya’s skin crawl. And, as if on cue, Chuuya shudders from Dazai’s squeaky pitch and glares at him.
“You tell me. Why have you been staring at Akutagawa and I?”
Dazai shrugs and smiles. “No reason. Just trying to figure out the limit of the ugliness of an executive’s dress code.”
“You bastard.”
And because they’re so familiar with each other, Dazai can feel, without seeing, Chuuya turning his head away from him. So he takes the opportunity to sneak a close-up glance at his ex-partner while Chuuya busies himself with gritting his teeth and muttering more curses at him, all of which he doesn’t hear.
It’s unfair, he ends up thinking instead. There’s very light makeup on Chuuya, with dark maroon eyeshadow, red lipstick he recognises as only Ane-san’s, a faint layer of concealer and slight blush. It takes him a moment to realise that there’s fake eyelashes on Chuuya’s eyes too, making him look more feminine, and the rose choker hides his Adam’s apple well enough for him to pass off as a girl.
A few pins hold his long hair in place, very obviously styled by Ane-san and possibly Gin. But something troubling about the hair has Dazai staring, and when he finally figures out what it is, frustration bubbles in him.
“You let them put hair gel in your hair? You know what it does, Chuuya,” Dazai mutters softly, subconsciously reaching for Chuuya's locks. His words give Chuuya pause and the executive turns to look at Dazai, their eyes meeting the moment Dazai's hand nestles in Chuuya's hair. In addition, they're standing close, too close, such that Chuuya's almost being embraced by Dazai, and their eyes are deadlocked with each other as Dazai's heart pounds in his ribcage, throat constricting as tightly as it did before, nerves on fire and palms threatening to sweat, and it's as if time itself has stopped because that moment of pain and yearning has never felt so long.
Until Dazai's hand starts moving to pat Chuuya. The trance breaks; Chuuya turns away to hide a fierce blush and so does Dazai, and they pull away from each other faster than bullets fly from Chuuya's hand. Neither of them know what to say and Dazai has a hard time getting his heart rate under control again, especially with the burning sensation in his fingers and palm.
It doesn't mean anything.
“Ane-san insisted, all right? I was having a bad hair day,” Chuuya manages to splutter after regaining his bearings. They're still reeling from the experience, both of them, fighting down the blood rushing to their cheeks and the lumps forming in their throats. Neither of them can bear to even glance at the other, as if they might spontaneously combust if they did.
It doesn't mean anything.
Their mortification dies down a little when the orchestra stops playing and the other guests are applauding the dancing couples. Everyone seems to filter off the dance floor slowly as different pairs step up to the challenge, and something in Dazai dies a little when he notices Chuuya's outstretched hand.
“Are you really going to reject a lady?” his partner quips, finally looking at him with a side glance, staring straight into his eyes with a confident smirk while fighting rosy red cheeks. Dazai's heart forgets how to beat for a moment - there's an incredibly painful pressure on his chest and he can't breathe; someone save him - but then he snaps back to reality just as quickly and takes Chuuya's hand with equal embarrassment, leading the executive, who has no right to be this beautiful, onto the dance floor.
In comparison, settling into their habitual initial dancing position is the easiest part of the whole night. Dazai’s hands find their ways onto Chuuya’s hip and shoulder, and the chibi places his on Dazai’s shoulder and chest - please don’t notice my heart rate, he thinks - and as per their dancing procedure, they look to the sides.
When the melody starts, their feet move in tandem.
It’s a strange thought to Dazai that other couples have one person leading the dance and the other one following. Between him and Chuuya, nothing of the sort exists. They both move in sync and always think alike because they can understand each other deeply enough to predict the other’s thoughts, creating less focus on getting the dance right and leaving room for the harmonious combination - the aesthetic, as Chuuya calls it.
It’s a shared perk between Soukoku.
And with that skill, they flutter about the dance floor quickly and gracefully, remaining cautious about keeping a low profile. At some point, Chuuya smirks, and Dazai feels him holding back laughter.
“What's wrong?”
Chuuya shakes his head, but entertains Dazai's question nonetheless. “These good-for-nothing socialites can't even dance better than the Mafia's people. What a bunch of bastards.” He looks up at Dazai after saying that with a lopsided grin on his face, but it leaves him distracted from the person coming up behind Chuuya too quickly-
-and Dazai pulls his ex-partner flushed against him, swerving out of the other couple's way. He feels Chuuya go still within his grasp, allowing himself to be pulled around like a rag doll by Dazai until they're out of the way, but then neither of them let go from the hug.
…
Dazai moves around the floor, socialising with some of the ladies as he lets Chuuya take care of finishing the disgusting, cumbersome, pain-in-the-mafia's-ass kingpin. There's still some details to be dug up from the powerful and wealthy here, and they weren't going to miss this chance to finish their recon jobs in one go. It gets to a point where he's acquainted closely enough with the girls that they're willing to pair with him on the dance floor, and playing the gentleman's role, he accepts their proposals.
He didn't expect Chuuya to be back so soon. When he steps off the floor and the last girl giggles at him and thanks him for the dance, Chuuya's staring at him, face carefully blank.
… to the untrained eye, anyway. Dazai can plainly see the hurt and incredulity in his eyes, and he looks away as Dazai approaches.
“Oh come on, chibi. Don't tell me you're jealous of her?” he teases Chuuya with a shit-eating grin on his face. His partner refuses to acknowledge him, taking a small sip from a wine glass he picked up before glaring at Dazai.
“Yeah? Looks to me you guys got pretty chummy. Good for you.” The chibi keeps trying to intimidate Dazai, glare him down, but they both know that he's failing to muster any heat behind his eyes and words. And he knows it's getting increasingly difficult for Chuuya since, knowing them, neither are ever prepared to admit defeat easily.
Then, before he can speak, Dazai flashes him another, more genuine grin and pulls him onto the dance floor.
“What are you-?” Chuuya whispers as the music starts permeating the atmosphere and all the couples on the floor, including them, take their first steps.
“Aww, I figured if the problem was that she got a dance chibi didn't get, then chibi should just get a dance! Problem solved!”
Chuuya looks at Dazai with disbelief in his eyes, before turning away and scoffing lightly.
“You idiot. You know that's not the issue.” But he allows the dance to proceed as it should, to “avoid attention”, as he tells Dazai later in the night.
“By the way chibi,” Dazai starts, but he stops himself in time as the music softens and slows and the click-clacks of the other dancers’ feet grow hush. ‘No good,’ he thinks, ‘we can't discuss plans like this.’ But all it takes is a sweeping glance around them and the figurative lightbulb above Dazai's head lights up.
He pulls the chibi into an embrace, bamboo thin arms wrapping around Chuuya at the shoulders. It shocks his partner, naturally - Dazai can tell by the extra spilt second it takes for Chuuya to respond in delicately winding his arms around Dazai's abdomen. They hug as they sway, no longer moving around the dance floor, simply shifting with the serene rhythm set by the orchestra.
“What the fuck?” Chuuya spits out in a hushed whisper, just barely loud enough to reach Dazai's ears. “Why are we hugging, asshole?”
In response, Dazai drops his head lower, such that his lips are just barely in contact with Chuuya's ear, and in a low, husky, breathy voice, he mutters:
“Because, Chuuya, we can't discuss our plans so loud. Silly chibi.”
Dazai feels Chuuya bury his face in his suit.
“Don't fucking whisper like that,” the foul-mouthed executive murmurs through what Dazai presumes is gritted teeth. “Bastard.”
…
Dazai doesn't need to see Chuuya's face to know that his eyes are wide, how could he be so careless, that their cover could've been blown just like that since no proper aristocrat would ever bump into another couple on the dance floor. When Chuuya doesn't regain his balance for a while after, Dazai understands that this time, it's Chuuya who's thinking too much and he taps his ex-partner lightly on the head.
“Stupid chibi got too cocky,” he comments as he loosens his grip on Chuuya and allows the mafia executive to pull away into the regular dancing position. It's obvious that he's still berating himself over that tiny detail, but Dazai knows better.
“Mou, chibi, are you really that dumb? It seems Chuuya lost a few brain cells without me around.”
A short tsk escapes Chuuya's lips and he stares up at Dazai.
“What are you going on about, you ass?”
Dazai thinks the pout on Chuuya's lips is horribly unjust - none of the words at the top of his head, cute, pretty, adorable, beautiful, gorgeous, can even begin to describe how wonderful his ex-partner looks. In fact, he would've gotten lost in Chuuya's eyes if it weren't for the looming shadow of those two dangerous people coming up behind them, again, a bit too quickly.
“I think someone's after you, Chuuya.”
It doesn't take much for them to safely cross the space of dancers, blended into the crowd away from those fuckers who Dazai can only assume are enemies of the Port Mafia. Pulling Chuuya, he makes a 180° so that Chuuya can get a glimpse of their harmless predators.
“The beige suit.”
This time, Chuuya pushes and pulls Dazai around to get a glimpse of what he's talking about. Recognition flickers across his face at the sight of the duo, and he whispers to Dazai, “They're part of our hit list. Let me get back to Akutagawa. We can finish them off now and complete two missions tonight.”
And so, they take their time manoeuvring towards where they'd spotted the operative trying to blend into the curtain, reaching the edge of the dance floor just as the music stops. They finish their formal bow and curtsey before filtering off, mindful of the locations of their persecutors, but Dazai noticed that the chibi was in no hurry to run off.
In fact, he stops walking a third of the way towards Akutagawa. Dazai halts with him, looking at the executive in patient await.
Chuuya nearly scratches the back of his head before remembering the hair gel in place, stopping himself just in time. He groans, annoyed, and loses some of his feminine charm in the process, but straightens himself and turns to Dazai.
“Sorry I gotta cut our date short,” he says to Dazai sheepishly. Then Chuuya slow-blinks, and he focuses his attention on Akutagawa ahead of him who seems to have noticed them as well because suddenly, there's visible sparkles in his eyes.
“Thanks for the dance.” And he's about to walk off when something in Dazai snaps - his arm reaches out too fast and grabs a hold of his chibi partner. Without giving time for Chuuya to react, he pulls him into a tight hug.
His mind blanks after that, and he has no idea what he wants to say, so they just stay hugging for a while until he feels Chuuya patting his back and realises that his eyes are getting wet.
“Chibi didn't tell me it was a date,” he mutters out, almost quiet as a mouse, trying to conceal his inner emotions from bursting at the seams. He hears Chuuya chuckle from within the embrace, and when Dazai finally loosens his grip, Chuuya looks Dazai in the eye wearing a wolfish smirk.
“Well then, let me make it clear to you.” Without warning, he's being pulled down at where his tie connects to his olive vest by Chuuya's firm grasp, barely able to stop himself before he slams into his partner's left shoulder.
And then, and then, he feels something peck his left cheek. He realises, belatedly, that Chuuya had just blessed him with a kiss, neglecting to give him time to react. It's over before he can process it, and by the time he does, Chuuya's released him and is staring with lidded eyes and a dangerous smirk.
“Fine. I'll remember to inform you if it's a date the next time, so make sure you save a dance for me.” Dazai pulls off an over-dramatic gasp at that, placing his hand over his heart as his mouth makes an almost perfect ‘o’ shape.
“Such a beautiful lady wants to book a dance? I'm so touched I could cry.”
And he is. Just for slightly different reasons.