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“Isn’t that quite unhealthy?” Chuuya wrinkles his nose at the sight of Dazai’s grocery-cart, filled to the brim with tons of junk food in crisp tinfoil wrappers. He also feels an itch to rearrange the purchases, for they’re just haphazardly thrown into the cart with no regard for proper stacking.
“Our deal is that you cannot die of any reason outside of old age,” he reminds the other, even though he’s sure that with Dazai’s perfect memory, it’s not something he could have forgotten. “You’re going to get sick from all that junk.”
Dazai does his little twinkling laugh, as though he finds the prospect of death due to MSG particularly appealing. “Is that worry I hear in your voice?”
“Of course I’m worried.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he says this, and narrowly side-steps Dazai swooning into his arms. In case it gets misconstrued by anyone, including the eavesdroppers who are not even trying to be subtle in their clogging of the grocery aisle, he clarifies: “I’m worried that you’d be going back on our deal.”
“I never lie on negotiations,” Dazai says with a singsong. “You do know that, right?”
“Then get rid of those stupid things,” is said with an imperious tone, and finger pointed at the offensive pile of junk.
A pout, but then Dazai choreographs his next set of movements slowly, giving him enough opportunity to karate-chop his hand to halt his plan to transfer several items from his grocery cart to Chuuya’s. The fact that Dazai only transferred five packets (compared to the dozens piled in his cart) is already more than he’s expected the other to yield.
So he turns his nose up at them touching his neatly-piled groceries, but doesn’t chuck them away. He spares a brief moment to appreciate the fact that they’re in-sync even in something so mundane as grocery shopping, because immediately after transferring some of his stuff, Dazai places his left hand on the leftmost part of their now-shared cart’s handle.
And then, moving as one, they resume combing through the aisles.
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Most of their conversation goes like this:
“Oh, I want to try that one.”
“Sodium level is too high, so no.”
“Stingy! Boo!”
“I’ll cook seafood hotpot later if you want something briny.”
“…I want lots of crabmeat.”
“I expected that much.”
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And like this:
“Ah, can you even reach that, want me to help—ow, ow, ow.”
“Shut the fuck up, you big baby, I didn’t hit you that hard!”
“…Heh, at least you admit I’m big, chibikko.”
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Or this:
“Blergh, protein shakes are disgusting, why must you have such awful taste, chibikko?”
“Stop complaining—it’s not like you’re the one drinking it!”
“Still, what if I—”
“Pffft, you, drink those shakes? Exercise? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“If you end up having being more muscle-for-brains, you’d really be no worse than a dog~”
“You—!!”
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And then, they’d occasionally discuss something that would make any eavesdropper scratch their heads and wonder if they’re actually together or are just very intimate enemies:
“This shampoo should work wonders on your bird’s nest of a hair.”
“What’s the point, I’d be fine with stealing your shampoo~”
“How are you still so stingy when I’m the one paying?”
“But what’s yours is mine, right? So your money is my money too.”
“I hope you’re not about to say that your money is mine, because I’m pretty sure you’re penniless, you bastard.”
“Pfft, you got me there.”
“…the cedar notes in this shampoo would fit your natural scent better than my shampoo would.”
“My natural scent…? Have you been sniffing me, Chuuya? Are you finally admitting to being a dog?”
“Your natural scent is that of a stinking fish.”
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And then something that would make any normal person want to flee:
“That pineapple reminds me of the grenade we used during the Beppu mission.”
“…fuck, I wonder if the hot springs there have returned to the normal color by now.”
“It’s been more than eight years, so…”
“…out with it, I’m sure you’re just itching to show off your memory that’s somehow so sharp when it’s not about remembering whose turn is it to wash dishes.”
“But the soap makes my fingertips prune-like and my bandages wet!”
“How about you, get this, stop wasting bandages instead?”
“Ah, I get it, I get it, you want me to be naked at home, huh?”
“I didn’t say to stop wearing clothes! Just get rid of the stupid bandages! It’s not like you have anything to hide from me!”
“…So you just want to see me naked?”
“Quit with the nakedness already! That’s how we ended up with that damn pineapple grenade last time, now that I think about it!”
“Ah, such fun times…”
“That damn mission report was a fucking bitch to write at the time, damn it…”
“Okay, I’ll make it up to you and write your reports from now on.”
“For the love of god, do not even joke with that, I’d rather shove pineapples on my eyes than let you write any of my reports.”
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By the time the two of them finish their rounds on the grocery and basically buying so many things it feels like they’re preparing to fill an apocalypse bunker, they’ve already spent four hours. They’re both smiling by the time they step out of the store. Since they’ve opted to utilize the store’s delivery service, their hands are free to link to each other’s as they take a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood.
Even though Dazai’s just recently moved in to Chuuya’s place, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger to the area.
…Still, it’s a good way to spend the rest of their afternoon, especially since things gain another perspective when experienced with another person.
Privately, Chuuya thinks that moving in with Dazai isn’t so bad, in the end.
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(That kind of warm and fuzzy feeling only lasts until the delivery arrives at their apartment, which is also when Chuuya discovers that all of the protein shakes that he’s added to his cart have mysteriously disappeared.)
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end