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Dazai liked to be warm. It may be contrary to popular belief within the Port Mafia, but the young Executive was not always as cold as he seemed, nor did he like to be so. However, he had an image to keep -- that’s what he said, anyway.
“Another cold night, tonight,” he murmured to himself, poking at the sphere of ice in his glass and watching it bob around in the amber liquid. Dazai didn’t know if he would see Oda today or not, but he hoped he would.
Dazai took a long sip of his drink, feeling the whiskey burn as it slid down the back of his throat and settled in his stomach. The warmth he received from the alcohol was dangerous, and temporary. It only ever stayed briefly before it needed to be replaced, refreshed.
The sound of the bell rang through the mostly empty bar, but Dazai paid it no mind. He could tell who had entered by the footsteps nearing his right side, and the brunet only looked up when the other person came to him.
“You’re thinking too hard about something again, Dazai.” A low timber, rumbling quietly in his ear. Dazai closed his uncovered eye and leaned back with a smile, feeling the solid warmth behind him.
“I’m just thinking about how cold it is, that’s all. I was hoping I’d see you tonight~” He opened his eye, blinking up at Oda curiously. “You didn’t bring Ango tonight?”
Oda hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before straightening. “No, should I have? And if you wanted to see me, you could have just called me, Dazai. You have my phone number.” He didn’t move to sit until Dazai had straightened as well.
Dazai laughed at his boyfriend’s response, shivering briefly at the loss of warmth from his back. “I would be concerned if I didn’t have your phone number at this point, Odasaku. I don’t mind it being just us, that’s why I didn’t ask Ango to come. I was thinking of coming over and crashing at your place.”
“Oh?” Oda glanced at his phone. “Well, we could go now, if you wanted. I’ll make us dinner.”
Dazai loved it when Oda offered to make dinner. Which was most nights that he came over to the older male’s place, since Oda seemed constantly worried about Dazai’s health, but he’d never say no to a freshly cooked meal.
The warmth of whiskey could never compare to a hot meal, or the feeling of warmth that seeped through their clothes as the two cuddled together. That’s what Dazai thought about, that night, as they laid together in bed after a relaxing night in.
Oda’s warmth was the warmest of anything he’d ever know. This, Dazai was sure.