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It’s supposed to be a vacation, a way to destress and unwind from all of the whirlwind projects that he’s been involved in for the past year. It’s supposed to be his little treat, this retreat to a private beach resort. No paparazzi, no responsibilities, no headaches, just some much-needed alone time.
…So much for that.
Chuuya glares with the full force of his wish to evaporate the unwelcome sight in front of him.
“Come on, chibikko,” Dazai wheedles and makes lazy fanning motions using the one that’s not stupidly lugging a briefcase over the white sand. “You can glare at me when we’re inside some shade.”
Not even five seconds into finding out that he’s not actually as alone as he’s been led to believe, and he already has a headache the size of a small island. Still, if he isn’t so alone in this private resort, murdering Dazai out in the open is bad for business. Chuuya has a movie that’s due to come out in two months and getting entangled in a crime is going to affect the numbers, and then Ane-san will make him regret so many things.
…So, killing Dazai must happen inside the beach townhouse reserved for him, to eliminate possible witnesses.
“Fine.” He clicks his tongue when Dazai starts whining about the sweat and sand on his person. “But only because I don’t want to kill you out in the open, damn it!”
“Is this method acting?” Dazai asks as though he’s not an actor in his own right. “You’re auditioning for some yakuza thug for your next role?”
Before he can demand the source for that leak, Dazai adds: “Oh, or perhaps an incurable idiot with chuunibyou?”
He ends up succumbing to his urge to throttle the bastard, possible witnesses be damned.
-
It’s supposed to be a vacation. Or rather, a strongly-worded suggestion from Ane-san. He’s been running himself to the ground by taking on so many projects because he likes the challenge, but it does get pretty exhausting. Of course, part of the challenge is his ongoing bet with Dazai about who’ll win more awards by the end of the year.
It just so happens that a lot of his recent projects are things that he’s in with Dazai. Still, the two of them are firmly on separate companies, even if their respective managers and assistants are on excellent rapport with each other. This support group is only fortified by the fact that the two of them being in the same zipcode together has never failed to generate explosions, both in the number of squealing fans type of way and in the won’t-someone-think-of-Kunikida’s-blood-pressure way. Or the broken-eardrums-from-his-yelling followed by bodily-shoving-each-other way. Or the—
Urgh. There is a reason why they already have a pervasive couple moniker (soukoku, the most destructive couple), despite not being pitted together as lovers in any drama or movie.
…Anyway, his point is—
“Why the fuck are you here?!” This vacation is arranged by Ane-san, after all. Not to be dramatic, but she’s the last bastion in Chuuya’s life, as in the only other person aside from himself who hasn’t completely succumbed to Dazai’s wiles. He’s still very suspicious of hypnotism or blackmail being involved with how well Dazai’s made friends with the entirety of his social circle. “Ane-san would definitely not have arranged for you to be here to ruin my retreat!”
“This is all Shachou’s arrangement on my end.” Dazai sniffs haughtily, as he sprawls like a giant whale on the lounge chairs just off the sandy patio of the townhouse. Such a shame really, the white sand beach and the abundant clusters of coconut trees give the place a relaxing feel—needlessly ruined by Dazai’s existence.
“In short, you’re hiding from some scandal,” Chuuya concludes with a roll of his eyes.
“Being scandalously handsome is hard work,” Dazai agrees, lacking in shame in the same way that he’s lacking eyes or common sense, in that he’s stripped down to beach shorts with a fuckton of bandages for flavor.
Of course, it’s not like it’s impossible for Chuuya to get his phone and demand that he be whisked away from this turned-to-hell retreat. But then, he’s already rather tired and the sun and the wind feels nice on his face, and he’s already settled on the lounge chair beside the shitty mackerel’s, and there’s just no way that he’s going to turn tail, okay?
So Chuuya ends up closing his eyes and sunbathing there, trying to ignore the fact that there’s a bastard nearby.
-
It’s supposed to be a vacation, a peaceful retreat.
So of course, he gets unceremoniously woken up from his impromptu nap, by a water gun squirting water directly to his nostrils.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, bastard!” To prove that his threat is not mere formality, he disarms the water gun out of Dazai’s hold, and uses it to whack the asshole on the forehead. “What the flying fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Because Dazai is a spoiled brat who clearly bully all of his hapless and stressed managers and assistants to allowing him to have a full reign of evil, he does not have a smidgen of remorse on his face when he bodily tugs him out of his comfortable lounge, “Chuuya, help me catch that crab!”
“What the fuck?!”
“And then, cook it for me! Come on, you know crab is my favorite!”
Dazai has clearly been dropped on the head as a baby. Chuuya considers it a civic duty to whack him a few more times, maybe jostle something there to make him less crazy. “Have you been drinking? Why the hell are you more insane than usual?”
“…Oh, I see how it is,” Dazai says, sounding so sad for a moment that Chuuya nearly swallows his tongue in his haste to agree to the harebrained scheme of catching a crab armed with his bare hands and the water gun.
Thankfully for Chuuya’s dignity, Dazai immediately reverts to being an asshole that requires stern handling when he says, “You’ve finally realized it, huh? That your hair looks like crab legs, that’s why you want to protect your fellow small animals, ow, ow, Chuuya, you meanie, not my face!”
He gives one last vicious pinch to the other’s cheek, before he lets out a huff. “You should be thankful, anything is an improvement over your ugly mug.”
Of course, this is yet another part where Chuuya’s sadly alone in the world. An overwhelming number of people apparently think Dazai’s face is worthy of being voted ‘Most Handsome Actor’ three years straight, an award that Chuuya’s never been able to get. He has ten conspiracy theories, with the leading one being Dazai’s drinking buddies are the owners of the magazine publishing the blasphemous list, but nobody else seems to agree with him about the fishiness of it all.
So, sadly, he has to accept the fact that a fish is that award’s most recent winner.
“Mm, I see how it is.” Dazai nods sagely and does some weird gymnastics that allow him to sidestep Chuuya’s kick towards his shins, while simultaneously managing to put a sweaty arm over his shoulders. “You want to make me ugly so I’ll have less fans, I see, I see.”
“You’re already ugly!”
That sensible objection is handily ignored and slapped away with a brazen, “Unfortunately for you, my excellent cheekbones will thwart your plans each time.”
“My bone structure is better than yours!” More importantly, Chuuya is not a crazy mackerel, so that has to count, right?
“Feel free to keep on touching my face though, it’s the least I can do.” Dazai then grins like a devil who’s devilishly handsome who’s planning on devilishly shortening Chuuya’s lifespan in exchange for something stupid and inane, like more happy grins being bestowed on his person, urgh. “Oops, I forgot to squat so you can reach me.”
With an angered yell, Chuuya does better and shoves Dazai flat on the sand, before kicking him on the stomach. If his kick is not able to send the idiot flying or possibly even feel heavier than a light pinch… it’s just because he’s still feeling rather sleepy from his nap, okay?
-
It’s supposed to be a vacation, and they’re on the beach, so of course that means burying Dazai in the sand.
It’s actually quite fun, because he’s piled up the sand high enough on the other’s legs and torso so he can’t wriggle around. Or worse, make grabby hands towards Chuuya to distract him from his mission.
He’s putting on the finer details, ignoring Dazai moaning and pouting under him. Yes, under him. He’s gone through the trouble of piling up a thick mound of sand over Dazai’s hips, so he’s going to enjoy the comfortable fruits of his labor, okay? Radiating outward from Dazai’s form are eight sand-tentacles, Chuuya drawing suckers over them using his fingertips, doing it slowly and meticulously enough in hopes of killing Dazai with boredom.
Sadly, the octopus design aesthetic doesn’t require him covering Dazai’s mouth as well, so he can stop the stream of nonsense flowing out of it.
Things such as “Chuuya, you’re such a tease!”, “Mm, yes, that feels nice~” and “Oh, if only those suckers actually do work…” are relentless in their assault against his ears. Thankfully, he’s known Dazai for quite some time already, so he already has mastered the art of separating bullshit from important shit. Which means that he can turn a deaf ear for the most part.
He finishes his Dazai-Octopus masterpiece in an hour, snapping a picture of the finished product seconds before Dazai’s finally had enough and started reaching to drag him down to the sand.
-
It’s supposed to be a vacation, to a private beach townhouse. Privacy may have failed in keeping out shitty mackerels, but it has succeeded in ensuring that there is no hired help as well.
“Don’t just watch!” Chuuya grouses, though it’s mostly out of habit. “Make yourself useful, damn it!”
“Are you sure you really want me to help you with chopping vegetables?” Dazai asks this while wriggling his eyebrows, drawing attention to the reddened patch of skin on his forehead. They’ve been very liberal with applying sunblock prior to staying the entire afternoon out on the beach, but Dazai’s physical attributes are notoriously weak and this includes being weak against the sun.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, his hands remaining in steady motion with chopping through some carrots and cabbages for the seafood stirfry he’s planning to make. “By being useful, I meant that you need to get the fuck out of here.”
Dazai’s too lazy to learn how to properly cook (mixing ingredients to find the combo that will ascertain diarrhea doesn’t count) so it’s best for both of their stomachs if the cooking duty is left to Chuuya. And for Dazai to leave the kitchen, because his blatant leering at his apron is making him want to shove the other’s face to the frying pan.
“Mm, Chuuya’s really not honest,” Dazai points out with a laugh.
He makes a face, because really, tickling his ears at this point is just so unfair. “Coming from you, of all people?”
“Our relationship only has room for one dishonest person,” comes the fond reply. It’s delivered with a combination of a nuzzle and a kiss to the back of his ear, turning it redder from the combination of the heat, their closeness and the general sense of embarrassment that never manages to go away despite the long, long years of being together.
Chuuya huffs, but doesn’t commit to his initial idea of frying Dazai’s face along with his favorite crab. In fact, he even relents a bit and sags against the other’s embrace, further sinking against a solid chest when Dazai drops his mouth over his shoulderblade, kissing along the skin, without sparing a thought for the ongoing slicing that he’s doing.
“Finally admitting that you’re a damn liar?”
“That depends,” Dazai teases, his words muffled by his skin but still comprehensible. “Finally admitting that you were jealous?”
A click of his tongue. “I have no reason to be jealous.”
He really doesn’t.
He knows that Dazai getting involved in some false rumor and some nasty scandal happens as often as changing his underwear. Sometimes more frequent than that. Dazai is sought-after in those artsy, depressing films and in those serious drama-romance films, and that just means there are so many blind people in this world, okay? Getting linked to a costar is just part of the hype machine, he knows.
“So you’re just naturally sulking, to the point that Ane-san staged an intervention?”
“I just wanted a break,” Chuuya insists, though he’s starting to think that Dazai’s tendency to lie is starting to rub off him.
Dazai hums, then, “Well it can’t be a break from me.”
“It absolutely is, you’re the source of all my headaches!”
And a little bit of heartache too, but he also knows that he’s being silly in taking any of those rumors about Dazai seriously.
“Those headaches will disappear if you just agree to revealing our relationship,” Dazai says it lightly, the real weight of his investment betrayed by the way his arms tighten around his waist. “Maybe we can star as a couple in that yakuza-drama film first, to prepare the public.”
A beat.
And then: “Urgh, even Ane-san has fallen for your tricks! How were you able to convince her?! Does she know we’re—”
“Ah, she—like everyone else—thinks that we’re just stuck in some mutual pining stage.”
For two people who’ve basically gotten together within a full day of meeting each other, and then being together in a secret relationship for years, in an industry where such scandalous information usually can’t stay under wraps… well, that is one of the worst things to hear.
“Pining? Me? Over you?!”
Dazai’s entire body rumbles with laughter over his righteous outrage over the scenario. “See, chibi, we should just come out, lest this falsehood of me pining over you become more widespread.”
“Urgh, so when Ane-san arranged this… she thought she was setting us up? Urgh, why would she think I’m pining over you, there is no justice in this world!”
“Let’s call off our second bet,” Dazai refers to the second bet – that is, their bet on who between them would end up inadvertently revealing their relationship to the public. “We need to set the records straight, right?”
Chuuya thinks about it, before: “Let’s do it first thing next week.”
“Next week?” There’s a thread of visible delight on Dazai’s words as he becomes more enthusiastic in kissing his neck.
Valiantly and ultimately futilely fighting off a blush, Chuuya says: “Since we’re already here on this retreat, it would be a shame to leave it early, right?”
Dazai’s answer comes in the form of whirling Chuuya around and kissing him directly on the lips.
-
Hours later, they’re forced to order delivery for dinner, because the abandoned stirfry became darker than charcoal.
Thankfully, they’re both on a private vacation, which means that they wouldn’t be scolded by their respective managers for nearly burning the townhouse down.
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end