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At this point, one could say that they’re already war-hardened veterans at this. This, being pretending to be a couple on a date as part of their mission cover. Chuuya already suspects foul play, but he’s not quite sure who to pin the blame on.
After all, the missions come from Boss Mori—and he’s such a logical, reasonable man who cares about the organization, so surely he wouldn’t keep on assigning them to this couple (eurghhh) missions if it isn’t for the sake of the Port Mafia, right…? Whenever there’s something foul going on, he always suspects Dazai, but surely, given their mutual hatred of each other, that mackerel bastard wouldn’t be doing something to make sure that they always get this type of mission…? That idiot wouldn’t be so masochistic as to want to constantly be on fake-dates with his enemy, right…?
…Anyway. Blame assignments aside, it’s time to refocus on their assignment.
They’re supposed to investigate a businessman running a drug cartel underneath his IT company, and according to the intel, said businessman does not spend much time outside his impregnable fortress of a mansion that also serves as his company headquarters. That is, unless it’s to indulge in romantic dinners with his current model girlfriend. Their target is a loyal patron of the restaurant they’re currently in, which prides in only accepting couples for its dinner reservations.
Ergo, they can only tail their target if they pretend to be a couple as well.
It stinks too much of bullshit.
Which? Too fucking bad, because the restaurant is actually rather nice.
Excellent wine selection—which he cannot partake in, because he’s in the middle of an active mission, while partnered with Dazai. It really is too bad, because Dazai is the number one reason why he’s driven to drink, but he’s also the number one person that Chuuya never wants to be drunk around, because he’s quite certain he’s going to lose more than just his dignity that way.
Great ambiance—the candles burn a soft, relaxing amber, while there’s an ongoing string concerto in the middle of the restaurant, raised platform and all.
Delicious food—even if the restaurant’s dinner set is quite gimmicky, as they insist on only providing one plate per entrée, forcing its diners to share servings and more importantly, cutlery. Most of the patrons around them are gladly feeding each other. In the spirit of blending in, the two of them try their hand at it.
“Say ‘ah, I’m a bastard’,” Chuuya prompts sweetly, leaning towards Dazai and dipping his voice low so that any eavesdroppers will only see the two of them whispering sweet nothings at each other. To make it sweeter, Chuuya adds, “Come on, I hope you choke and die on this.”
Dazai maintains his smile even as he’s chewing, making him look rather creepy. Creepier than usual. And then, because he’s always been a shitty loser, Dazai returns the favor by shoving a fork into his mouth and nearly scraping off his palate in his insistence to make Chuuya savor the food properly.
Their first course is spent that way, alternating in trying to dislocate each other’s teeth using the cutlery, all while sporting coy smiles targeted towards each other, faking unbreakable eye-contact while surreptitiously scanning the room over each other’s shoulder.
“See anything?” Dazai asks the moment that the waiter has picked up their plate in preparation for the next one to be served. “Ah, that’s a cruel question, seeing as you’re too small, hmm?”
“It’d be a wonder if I could see anything,” Chuuya bites back, “since your huge-ass head full of hot air is in the way.”
“So you do admit that I’m huge, huh?”
“A huge piece of shit, sure.”
They return to whispers that could reasonably be interpreted as ‘romantic’, if one was clueless and unable to see the way that they’re glaring at each other instead of exchanging passionate eye-contact.
The next course is served. Seafood spaghetti—one of Dazai’s favorites, even if he pretends that his favorite meal is the blood and tears of their enemies, or something equally dramatic. And it’s unfair, okay? Chuuya can’t partake in his favorite wine, while Dazai gets to enjoy his seafood while on their mission?
Chuuya resolves to eat quickly to deprive Dazai of his meal, uncaring if he has to be uncouth and use a damn spoon instead of the fork that’s already in Dazai’s hands.
Dazai’s eyes glint, and then he says, “Our target is here.”
His first instinct is to look around wildly, but he suppresses that. Because they’re already veterans at this. While his eyes dart around to confirm their target’s presence, Chuuya keeps shoveling spaghetti to his mouth, unwilling to fail in his self-assigned mission of depriving Dazai of a good meal.
…Ah, there he is, on Dazai’s two o’clock. The angle is all wrong, so Chuuya shifts closer until he’s nearly sitting on Dazai’s left thigh instead of his actual chair.
“…Chuuya?” There’s a breathless quality to Dazai’s voice, making him sound more like his actual age instead of a demon prodigy. Probably due to the fact that he’s a weakass twig who can’t handle the added weight of someone—even if that someone isn’t fat, damn it, he’s a growing boy, he’s not that heavy! Chuuya shifts so that he’s more securely seated, because he’s not about to crash to the ground with a graceless squawk if Dazai suddenly proves that he really can’t handle someone temporarily sitting on his leg.
“I see him,” Chuuya whispers around his spoon, and continues tracking the movements of their target. Even as he continues eating. Their target stands up to meet with his date. Chuuya continues eating.
Their target doesn’t really do anything too exciting, so Chuuya continues eating. And eating, and eating, until—
—huh?
The strand of spaghetti that he’s slurping into his mouth suddenly feels taut, and then before he knows it, Dazai’s face is too near. He nearly yelps—nearly, because he notices that the other end of the strand, the last one, is on Dazai’s mouth.
And that’s just not on, okay? He’s not going to give up on this strand! He conveys his displeasure with a waggle of his eyebrows, while Dazai simply raises an eyebrow at him and moves closer.
Chuuya goes cross-eyed trying to meet Dazai’s eyes so he resolutely leans in so he gets the other to back-off, closing his eyes so that they don’t get strained. Dazai’s heartbeat is suddenly dizzyingly fast—wait, how can he feel that—
—oh fuck no, Chuuya’s brain cries, but it’s all but swallowed up, just like the poor spaghetti strand that they’re fighting over. Dazai, greedy as he is, chases it inside Chuuya’s mouth. Chuuya tries to say something like, there’s no more spaghetti here, you dumbass, but Dazai swallows that as well. Even swipes his tongue this way and that, as though to thoroughly inspect every part of his mouth.
Several moments pass before Dazai pulls away. Chuuya’s not quite sure, because he thinks that he’s gone through a heart attack, a stroke and a petrification all at once. Can’t forget a nasty fever too, because his entire body feels like it’s been doused in flames.
“Our target,” Chuuya manages to say in-between Dazai’s further examination of his mouth, his jawline and his neck. It’s right about the only thing he can coherently think of now; otherwise, he’ll be forced to think about the fact that they’re in public and he’s basically climbed up Dazai’s lap completely now. “We’re going to lose our target.”
“I already planted a tracker on him,” Dazai says quickly—without bothering to drag out his boasting. Instead, he drags his stupid tongue all over Chuuya’s gums, and eurghhh he really is the worst, the actual worst.
“I hate you,” Chuuya tries to say, but he’s only managed to say “I” and “you” properly. Dazai laughs against his mouth and Chuuya tries to console himself by thinking that at least all those couple missions will be so much easier now.