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It’s early in the morning when Chuuya notices the invitation, tucked between the miniscule gap between his front door and his carpet. It’s in an opera-cream colored envelope, thick and lightly-scented. The envelope isn’t sealed.
Chuuya wraps the envelope in his gravity control. There are only two types of people who’d send him fancy-looking invitations by daybreak: enemies and Dazai. Not that Dazai isn’t an enemy; it’s just that he’s a special breed of asshole altogether that he can’t be lumped with others.
Chuuya would be very impressed if whoever sent him the envelope is able to pack an explosive or a nerve agent inside tiny package, without alerting Chuuya’s senses. He would also be very pissed if his well-appointed penthouse goes through an explosion, which is why he approaches it with caution.
After a full mug of coffee with two shots of espresso, Chuuya feels more armed to handle the sort of headache he’d get from the invitation.
In a way, Chuuya supposes he’d prefer if this came from Dazai.
Better the devil he knows and all that shit.
After all, this envelope finding its way here before Chuuya wakes up means that the person managed to get past the security of both the building and the one set up by Chuuya himself. It means that the person is aware of Chuuya’s schedule, deftly avoiding Chuuya’s odd working hours this past couple of weeks, choosing to leave it on the one day off that Chuuya’s had in months.
…Yeah, it’s better if this is from Dazai, rather than someone else that Chuuya has to look out for.
The invitation is printed on a thick card with the same consistency and color as the envelope.
It’s short and to the point.
Chuuya,
Let me make up to being a shitty partner to you all these years.
Let’s have a dinner date at that restaurant that you wanted to try.Yours,
Dazai
Chuuya drops the letter like it’s a bomb.
What the flying fuck.
-
Chuuya spends the rest of the day in some sort of daze. He half-suspects that the letter itself has some drug in it.
Let me make up to being a shitty partner to you all these years.
…What the fuck, really.
-
Chuuya foregoes his original plans of driving around Yokohama and maybe visit a nearby beach using his bike.
Instead, he spends a good chunk of his time before dinnertime browsing a couple of sites. There’s a weird tension thrumming inside him. He discreetly drops by the Agency’s office, to see if there’s an ongoing apocalypse there, anything that could display the sudden invitation.
By four in the afternoon, he starts preparing for the dinner date.
Past couple of weeks have been brutal on his sleep schedule and skincare routine, after all. He’s not about to show up on the Sky Restaurant looking shabby.
With a mud mask drying on his face, he putters about his walk-in closet, ignoring some of the clothes that are hanging there. His clothes could be divided into three categories: clothes that Ane-san sends over to him (meaning, he can’t ever refuse them no matter how much they clash against his sensibilities), clothes that he’s bought using his own money, and… clothes that are still paid-for by his card, but have been ordered by a certain mackerel bastard who likes to hack into his online bank account and laden it with shitty purchases of items that he’d never, ever use.
Of course, Chuuya could have just gone with his usual outfit.
But it’s his day-off, okay?
If he wants to go out to a fancy restaurant while wearing something that’s not his usual outfit, that’s fine, right?
On the bed, he lays down the clothes that he’s chosen for today’s outing: purple button-up that appears velvety black under certain lighting; black tie with a silver crown clip; leather gloves that comes up half past his palms, exposing his wrist; black suitjacket; black pants that hug his legs; black leather shoes that appears deep purple under certain lighting.
All the while, he keeps on checking both his phones. His social media is blissfully quiet; his emails are mostly just him CC’d on a couple of reports. There’s nothing there that requires emergency action from him as an Executive.
He’s—
He’s not exactly nervous, okay?
After washing off the mask from his face, he inspects his skin critically, checking if there’s any telltale eyebags or any zits or anything that can out his recent stressful days.
As his hands are busy buttoning his shirt up, his gravity-controlled phone hovers in front of him, one click away from connecting a call to MACKEREL. Their most recent ‘interaction’ is still there on his phone’s records, a missed call from him seven days ago. Dazai, as always, never picks up unless it’s to piss Chuuya off personally, preferring to let Chuuya scream abuse at his voicemail.
Chuuya’s fingers twitch.
In the end, he doesn’t end up calling Dazai. That would just give him further ammunition, after all.
-
Chuuya arrives at the Yokohama Sky Restaurant at five in the afternoon, orange sunset flooding the entire scenery.
“…You’re early,” Chuuya ends up saying in surprise, because his date is already there, also wearing something different than usual, looking suave and debonair in a way that he’s only looked whenever he’s on a mission that entails seducing some poor sod for information.
His date’s smile is soft, made even softer by his tone, “You might not believe me, Chuuya, but I’m actually looking forward to this.”
Chuuya squints at him, trying to read him. Trying. He exhales after a few moments, before he says, “No. I actually believe you.”
“Oh?” A quirked eyebrow. “That makes me glad.”
White on Dazai reminds Chuuya of the incident with the Apple Suicides, of how Dazai claimed to be the Snow White that deserves to be woken up less violently than a well-deserved punch to the face. White suits Dazai well in a way that black does—no, it probably suits Dazai more, to be in the light, instead of him being by Chuuya’s side and being called ‘soukoku’.
Right now, white hangs on Dazai’s frame, looking like the exact inverse color version of Chuuya’s outfit.
“…Fufufu, I knew what you’d wear.”
Chuuya’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“I could predict each one of your moves,” comes the murmured reminder. “Now, let’s go. I’ve reserved the entire room for us.”
“If you had this much money,” Chuuya starts. “Then you won’t need to have such a long running tab and letting me pay for all of your shitty purchases.”
“Fufufu, but isn’t it nice? Chuuya paying for me is a nice feeling.”
Chuuya stares, bewildered. He can feel himself flushing red, something that the other takes advantage of, grabbing him by the arm and ushering him towards the table closest to the balcony’s edge.
The Sky Restaurant is the tallest restaurant in Yokohama, occupying a portion of the top floor of the city’s tallest hotel. The biggest draw of the restaurant is its awe-inspiring views of the Yokohama skyline and the bay, made all the more beautiful during sunset, as the city’s lights start to wake up.
It offers such a spectacular view, but Chuuya and his date only have eyes for each other.
Their dinner is very peaceful, china clinking as they go through the meal courses. There’s an in-house mini-orchestra who performs a series of songs to serve as background music for them.
Chuuya doesn’t dare disturb the atmosphere between the two of them, even as he starts to feel a little bit more nervous as the night goes on. He’s decided to adopt a wait-and-see approach to this one. He’s going to wait for the other’s cue, for whatever the other’s going to say.
A gloved hand reaches out for his face as he finishes dessert.
Chuuya flinches, avoiding the other’s attempt to wipe off a stray crumb from his lips.
“Why are you being shy now? It’s unlike you.”
“I’m not shy,” Chuuya retorts.
A scoff follows when he sees the other’s smirk as he stands up, and makes his way to the orchestra. It’s all arranged beforehand, because there’s not a lot of commotion as they present a cello to him. Chuuya watches, as the other starts playing the cello in the middle of the mostly-empty Sky Restaurant.
…It reminds Chuuya of the time that he had a mission with Dazai, which involved infiltrating a Gothic-style mansion, complete with an entire room dedicated for musical instruments. Dazai had claimed that he’d never played an instrument, but he managed to play the piano fluidly upon the first try anyway. Chuuya remembers watching Dazai then, moonlight streaming into grand piano in the middle of the room, knowing that he shouldn’t be indulging his stupid partner with his time-wasting antics, but failing to stop himself from sitting beside Dazai in the bench anyway, fingers joining in playing a phantom rhythm that only the two of them can hear.
The musical performance ends, and Chuuya feels his heart catch in his throat the moment he stands up and bows to him, while stretching out a hand.
“How about a stroll, dear prince?”
-
The two of them end up strolling on fairly-empty streets. Stars overhead wink at the two of them, walking close enough for their fingers to brush innocently against each other, and even tangle up together.
…Well.
They’re close enough for that, but Chuuya resolutely keeps his hands to himself. His left hand is tucked inside his pocket, where his phone is. Prior to arriving for his date, he’s muted all notifications but one. His phone hasn’t vibrated even once.
Chuuya keeps a half-step behind his companion, watches as the other leads him towards the seaside using quiet roads.
There’s a strange pressure on Chuuya’s chest as the two of them stop a few meters away from Yokohama Bay. The serene splashes of waves against the shore is peaceful to listen to, but it only agitates Chuuya even more.
Brown eyes look at him with so much naked affection and it is painful to look at.
“...I actually like the Sky Restaurant,” is what Chuuya eventually says to break the odd atmosphere between them.
A gentle smile. “That’s why I invited you there. I knew you liked it.”
“Is that so?”
“Chuuya.” The affectionate gaze doesn’t waver. “I shouldn’t have betrayed you. I should have brought you with me. I should have done so many things, but I’m only realizing my… foolishness, now. I would like to earn your forgiveness, if you’d let me.”
Chuuya watches him critically, trying to read him.
—trying.
He feels his heartbeat pound harshly against his ribs as he asks, “Why?”
“I could beg for your forgiveness, but it’s better if I earn it by showing that you can trust me again.” A heavy sigh, followed by a footstep to bridge their distance, so that the tips of their shoes brush together. “It’s all because—Chuuya, I love—”
Sharp inhale.
“—not what I asked,” Chuuya says, patience all wrung out, sharp as the blade that he presses against this person masquerading as Dazai. “Should it be better if I ask, ‘why the fuck are you disturbing me on my day-off’?”
“…Chuuya, I just—”
“Stop calling me so familiarly,” Chuuya digs the edge of his dagger against the other’s shirt. It’s thicker than he expected—military-grade bulletproof vest, then. “I’ll give you two choices: divulge your information, then die. Or die immediately. Your choice?”
A slow blink, which looks so familiar it aches.
Chuuya drives the dagger further and the fake-Dazai laughs as he backpedals away from getting stabbed in the gut.
“Fufufu, now, this is interesting.” The condescending smile on the fake-Dazai’s face is the most natural expression that he’s put on during the past couple of hours. “I’m pretty sure that it’s not a matter of the physical characteristics. What gave me away?”
“Everything,” Chuuya says flatly. “From the moment you left me with that invitation, I knew you were a fake.”
“With so much conviction?”
“That shitty Dazai would never apologize, especially not to me.” Chuuya declares with a huff. “He’d literally rather die.”
“I won’t be so sure of that,” the impostor says with a guileless smirk. “It is unfortunate that we weren’t able to extract valuable information from him, but the most important information that he holds is the fact that he’s dearly regretting not being able to apologize to you and take you out on a promised date at the Sky Restaurant.”
Chuuya’s breath catches in his throat. “…The Ability that allows information exchange? You used it on him?”
“Yes.” The impostor’s smirk widens. “That’s why, the fact that Dazai Osamu wants to apologize to you—it’s true. Aren’t I absolutely angelic for allowing him to do his heart’s desires?”
“I don’t believe you,” Chuuya’s hands shake, the denial strong.
“This disguise is perfected by an Ability, as well.” The impostor says, evenly. “So, Nakahara Chuuya, how is it that you managed to find me out?”
“I told you—I knew it from the start.”
“Even if you harbored suspicions, I’m sure that you still dearly wanted to see if it’s true, because it’s something that you’ve longed for, isn’t it?”
Chuuya stares hard at the fake-Dazai’s face. It’s true—everything about this Dazai’s appearance is perfect. Even the way his bangs fall across his eyes, the way some of his hair are tucked by his ear, the slightly uneven bow of his lips—it’s all Dazai.
“He’d never apologize to me,” he repeats. “And even if, by some strange turn of events, he actually wants to, he’d never do it this way.”
“Oh?”
“He’d make it very inconvenient for me,” Chuuya says with a wry smile, as he recalls every single one of Dazai’s antics. “He’d interrupt my sleep and he’d drag me all over Yokohama in some wild goose chase, set up some low-level goons to kidnap him and leave me some stupid-ass cryptic message so I’d come rescue his sorry ass, then he’d complain that it took me so long, appear in front of me looking beaten-up to near-death that I’m the one who ends up feeling guilty and sorry instead. He’d make some offhand reference about a mission we’ve done before, and he’d somehow spin it so that in the end, I’m the one telling him that it’s alright for him to betray me.”
“…You’ve considered the scenario very well.”
Chuuya steadies his blade. “So, Mr. Low-Level Goon, how does it feel to be manipulated by a shitty mackerel?”
The smirk on the fake-Dazai’s face twitches. “I’m afraid that I’m the one who holds all the cards right now, Nakahara Chuuya-kun.”
“Doesn’t matter if the other guy’s not playing poker with you anyway, does it?” Chuuya asks, before kicking at the ground and hurtling several gravity-infused rocks towards the fake-Dazai.
“Are you sure about this?” The impostor asks calmly as he sways in graceful arcs, avoiding the rocks. “Aren’t you worried about what I’d do to Dazai-kun if you resist?”
“Knowing that asshole, he’s probably having the time of his life getting tortured,” Chuuya says with a roll of his eyes.
“Oh? So you won’t allow yourself to be captured in exchange for us releasing him?”
“You have the shit enough taste to disguise as that shitty mackerel,” Chuuya points out. “I doubt you have the good sense to actually follow through your words.”
“Fufufu, at first, I simply wanted to seduce you to our side to break Dazai-kun,” the impostor admits shamelessly. “But now, I believe that there would be a great merit into truly having you with us, Arahabaki.”
“You’d have better luck breaking that asshole by withholding canned crab from him,” Chuuya offers, as he continues his attack using the rocks in his surroundings. He doesn’t do flashier attacks, because he’s still waiting for the other’s next move.
…Yes, Chuuya’s known all along that the person who invited him isn’t Dazai.
For one, Dazai would never, ever apologize him, not sincerely, at least.
Two, Dazai would never do anything that Chuuya has said he wanted. So Dazai going with his desire to have a nice dinner in a restaurant he wanted to try, while watching the sunset? No fucking way.
Three, Dazai would never do something so… mundane and considerate as a printed invitation. No, he’d more likely mess around with Chuuya’s penthouse’s plumbing, make the faucets leak out water in timed intervals that would—eventually, after Morse Code-decoding—spell out the specifics of their meeting.
Four, Dazai would never willingly spend lavish amounts of money on something like a date. That mackerel fucker is so broke it almost makes Chuuya cry, after all.
Five, Dazai would never do something so useless and meaningless as apologize to Chuuya by taking him out to a dinner date. No, he’d know that Chuuya would never believe him anyway. He’d know that Chuuya would never want to listen to his words of apology and repentance.
Six, Dazai would never go for a dinner at a fancy restaurant as his idea of a proper date, unless it’s part of a mission. No, his stupid date ideas involve more headaches and would end up with him getting strangled after a failed double-suicide proposal.
Seven—
Chuuya knows every single one of Dazai’s outfits.
Since his card is the one that has suffered—and continued to suffer—from paying for them.
And perhaps more importantly, Dazai never keeps any of his nicer suits in his Agency-provided dorm.
No, he’s somehow able to sneak into Chuuya’s penthouse suite and claim a part of his walk-in closet for those suits that never seem to disappear no matter how many times Chuuya throws them out.
So, no.
Before the date, Chuuya’s checked with his contacts, with the Port Mafia information, and even hung around the Agency to check Dazai’s whereabouts. There are no sightings and the Agency folks don’t seem worried that Dazai hasn’t appeared in a week. Apparently Dazai’s slack work ethics has never changed.
So, Dazai’s been captured, for seven days now.
And his captors are seeking Chuuya for ransom.
That’s the mindset that Chuuya has the moment he walks into the Sky Restaurant.
Dazai’s always played around with his emotions, but he’d never do something like this.
“So you won’t consider falling into our hands, Arahabaki?”
“Eat shit and die,” Chuuya responds, glaring.
The phone inside Chuuya’s pocket vibrates, once.
Oh.
The glare that Chuuya has subsides considerably. He points the blade towards the impostor’s face. “I hope that disguise isn’t permanent, because that is the ugliest face in existence.”
With that parting shot, Chuuya uses gravity manipulation to propel himself upwards and back towards the Sky Restaurant.
He leaves behind someone who ends up removing something that looks like a latex mask, revealing purple eyes underneath, the ‘Dazai Osamu disguise’ falling apart. A moment later, the man, Fyodor Dostoevsky, receives a notification from the guards he’s stationed around his captive.
A twisted grin appears on his face, but it’s eventually swallowed up by the nighttime darkness of the area.
-
Chuuya arrives back at the Sky Restaurant in less than four minutes. He ignores the exclaims of the staff as he ushers them all out of the area, calling up Hirotsu-san so he can make arrangements for a strict gag order on this place.
That taken care of, Chuuya then dials MACKEREL, closes his eyes, and listens to the entire floor for the tell-tale sound of a phone vibrating against something.
Tracing the sound leads him to the women’s bathroom.
…Really.
Chuuya rolls his eyes and mutters about shitheads having shit taste.
He kicks open one locked stall, and is not surprised to find Dazai there, seated on top of a closed toilet bowl, hands and feet tied tight. There’s a couple of bruises and wounds visible on Dazai’s face but no injuries that look life-threatening. Chuuya approaches, and tears off the duct-tape on Dazai’s mouth.
“…Hi, Chuuya~♪” Dazai offers up a bright grin, looking like everything’s fine with the world. “Why did you take so long? I almost died from boredom!”
Chuuya exhales, before punching Dazai’s forehead lightly.
“Shut up, shitty mackerel, I hate you so fucking much.”
Dazai laughs in response, clearly not believing him. “How was it? Did you end up falling for me even more?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya repeats, shoving Dazai back so that there’s room for him to kneel on the toilet seat. “I’m very annoyed about my day-off getting ruined.”
“Your one day-off in months and you spend it rescuing me from Fyodor-kun.” Dazai says with a self-satisfied grin. “A very fun day, isn’t it?”
“It’s not fun at all.” Chuuya points out. “And I told you to shut up, didn’t I?”
“Oh, did you? Funny, all I heard was a dog barking.” Dazai tilts his head and blinks slowly. “I think there are better ways to shut me up, hmm?”
Chuuya looks at Dazai critically, before leaning forward to kiss the words out of the shitty mackerel, deciding that, hey, he deserves a bit of reward for this annoying day.
…After all, he’s already gone to the trouble of chasing out everyone from the restaurant.
…After all, Dazai’s already gone to the trouble of arranging a ‘first date’ for them.
It’d be a shame to waste all this effort.