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“Oi, cut it out!” Chuuya yelled, slamming his fist on the counter; the harsh impact rattled the coins he was stacking and sent them scattering across the counter.
A group of three teenagers turned toward him. The one with spiky, electric blue hair, whom Chuuya assumed to be their leader, flipped him the finger while the other two cackled and tipped the claw machine back and forth; each push and pull had the machine’s legs hitting the floor with a rattling bang.
He clicked his teeth together, a low growl resonating in his throat. His hand clenched at his side. They were lucky Chuuya was in a relatively good mood: the arcade was ten minutes ‘til closing, and he’d finally be free after a long day. Unfortunately, the homestretch included a trio of cocky little bastards.
Chuuya put his hand on his hip and tapped his foot on the floor. Pointing toward the exit, he said, “We’re closing in a few, so how about you guys just leave before I kick your asses out the door.”
The leader glanced at Chuuya’s employee badge, then met his eyes. He smirked, even as he pouted, and Chuuya nearly hopped over the counter so he could knock the kid’s lights out.
“But Nakahara-san, the claw machine is broken.”
Sighing, Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose. He inhaled a shuddering breath to cool his nerves, then slowly exhaled it. He’d managed to survive the cheering, hollering, and the arcade’s general racket thus far. Chuuya could power through a few more minutes without losing his mind.
His arm dropped to his side, palm slapping against his thigh with a sharp sting. A deep scowl dipped between his brows. Glaring, Chuuya spat, “Come back tomorrow when it’s fixed.”
The short kid wearing the most hideous vomit-green, yellow army bomber jacket pounded on the machine’s glass case. Chuuya could see the metal claw swinging against the inner glass, out of the corner of his eye. Even some of the toys were shaking under each forceful hit. And with every fist-to-glass impact, Chuuya felt the last shreds of his patience twist and snap like a frayed string.
“This thing ate our money,” the short one told him between three nerve-grinding thumps, “so either give us our money back, or open it so we can pick something out.”
These annoying shitheads.
And Chuuya thought nothing could compare to the way that lazy jackass—who visited the arcade nearly everyday—pissed him off.
Red clouded Chuuya’s vision. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, nails digging into his palms. He sucked in another deep breath before exhaling it in a loud whoosh. Teeth baring, Chuuya smiled an evil smile that Kouyou often chastised him for: “ Even the snot-nosed, ill-mannered brats are customers, Chuuya-kun; we have to do our best to provide the service they came here for. Though, if I could, I would gladly wring their necks for throwing leftover food and trash on the floor. Unfortunately, that would mean a loss in the arcade’s potential profit. So let’s keep both our tempers in check, shall we?”
Chuuya pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, then made his way down the length of the counter. He slid the large silver ring onto his finger and spun it around; the brass keys clang together with a rush of metallic tings as they circled left, then right, then left again with a flick of his wrist. The sound echoed in Chuuya’s ear, drowning out the music and colorful array of noises emanating from the games. It was oddly soothing.
As he stepped over the barrier separating the public and employee spaces, he asked, “How much do we owe you?”
The leader slung his left arm across his chest and brought the hand to the right of his face. He tapped his finger against his chin in an uneven rhythm. Funnily enough, the way he hummed in thought and grinned like he was a gift from God reminded Chuuya of a certain somebody who was most likely creeping around outside, waiting to enter the arcade after he locked the doors.
Dazai’s ‘coincidental’ appearance was a worry for later. Right now, Chuuya’s current pain in the ass was something that made the vein in his forehead throb with every exaggerated tap and dramatic sigh. This scrawny kid seriously thought he was hot shit. Too bad he and his sidekicks shared a total of one brain cell. Otherwise, they would’ve known better than to press Chuuya’s buttons.
Despite their attempts to set him off like ticking time bomb, Chuuya managed to remain outwardly calm. Deep down, however, he was fighting a tremendous urge: to roll his eyes when two of them quietly laughed into their hands. Chuuya won. He made sure to let out a long, incredulous scoff, though. The exhausted, heavy breath hung between them as he strolled past the teenagers to the other side of the yellow claw machine.
“Well?” Chuuya prompted once he was standing in front of a square panel. “How much did you put in?”
There was another drawn-out “Hmm…” while he sorted through the keys. A “I dunno—I don’t remember. What’re you offering?” followed as Chuuya slid the correct one inside the lock and twisted it to the left; it opened with a click and a squeal of the panel’s hinges.
Chuuya looked from the panel to the leader; their eyes met through the glass, their staring contest only interrupted by the claw swinging like a pendulum.
“If you can’t quit it,” he warned, “then you won’t get shit tonight or tomorrow.”
“Alright, geez.” The leader placed his palm at the top of the machine and leaned forward until Chuuya could see his breath fogging the glass.
“I changed my mind about the money.” He pointed at a stuffed animal hidden beneath a purple dinosaur. “I’d rather have the white bunny in the blue dress right there.”
Chuuya bit his lip. Technically, it was company policy to return the money so the customer could spend it on another game. Keeping the money and coughing up the plushie, though... It was a tempting idea.
But, no. There was a better one.
“How about this.” Chuuya closed and locked the panel, then glanced at the teenagers with a charming smile. “I’ll put the rabbit in a place that’s easily reached so when you come back tomorrow, you’ll have the toy and a couple of free coupons from the arcade’s food court.”
Their leader wasn’t entirely convinced. “Yeah, okay. Free food. Fine. But what about the toy? Even if it's at the top, that doesn’t mean we’ll get it.”
Shrugging, Chuuya replied, “I’ve been working here every summer since I started college. I know how to arrange them to get what I want.”
With that tidbit, he could see the gears (slowly) turning in their minds. And Chuuya saw it the moment it happened: the dots finally connecting; a bright spark appearing in their eyes; their lips curling into triumphant, sly smirks.
Well, that was easy. Too easy. It was almost disappointing. Almost.
Chuuya pulled out his phone, making a show out of looking at the time before he turned his gaze back on the leader. He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “You guys are running out of time. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Deal.”
“Alright then,” Chuuya said; his grin was sharp, and judging by their faltering expressions, probably a tad menacing.
Minutes later, the teenagers were strolling out of the arcade with their pockets full of change and a skip in their step. They were even polite enough to flip Chuuya the bird as they backpedaled across the street. Brats.
Tomorrow was Chuuya’s day off. Originally, he’d planned to stay in for the night and study, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by and see how Akutagawa executed his revenge. They were in for a rough surprise, after all.
Once the front entrance was locked, Chuuya headed back to the claw machine. He opened it, then began digging through the stuffed animals. There was a noise from a corner that made him roll his eyes.
“Not breaking in tonight?” Chuuya asked, glancing out of the corner of his eye to watch Dazai walk out from a dark corner like a serial killer. Dramatic dumbass.
“Well, I can’t be too predictable, can I?” Dazai replied.
“Predictable? Hah.” Chuuya turned his attention to the rabbit at the front of the bin, slightly buried beneath a dinosaur and green crayon. He popped up on his toes and leaned forward, reaching for the rabbit with an outstretched arm; his fingers barely brushed its own fluffy arm.
“You’ve been doing this since I found you trying to drown yourself in a nasty toilet.” Blowing his curls from his forehead, Chuuya stretched further, continuing with, “It’s been—what?—three years and you still haven’t fucked off or found someone else to bother.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do?” Dazai asked, and Chuuya nearly jumped out of his skin; he hadn’t noticed Dazai leaning against the glass with his arms folded and ankles crossed.
“Die?”
“Ah, if only you were as nice to me as you were to those kids trying to swindle you.”
“I am nice to you despite you doing everything in your power to piss me off,” Chuuya countered, pulling out an armful of toys.
There was a muttered, “Could’ve fooled me,” before Chuuya thrust the toys against Dazai’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs with an umph.
“Make yourself useful, if you’re just gonna stand there.”
Dazai pouted. “Listening to your biggest fan cheering you on while you relieve some... stress isn’t useful?”
Chuuya yanked a small basketball from the bin and threw it at Dazai. He smiled when it smacked him in the forehead.
“You’re gross.”
“Not as gross as you.”
“I’m not the one who’s gonna die of infection by drinking toilet water or electrocute myself by messing around with the game cabinets.”
“That only happened once, and that’s because I rearranged the circuits so you could play however long you wanted. Without paying, may I remind you.” Raising his eyebrows, Dazai grinned mischievously.
“And besides, Chuuya should be grateful that I’m such a kind person,” he continued, struggling to hold onto the stuffed animals as he brought a hand to his chest. “After everything I’ve done for you out of the goodness of my heart, I forgive you...now the question is: will you forgive me?”
“Excuse me?” Chuuya asked, brows furrowing as he raised his finger. “One, please tell me what the hell you’ve done to make you forgive me”—he raised a second finger—“and two, what the ever loving fuck did you do?”
“Well, to answer your first question: for leaving my love lost in the abyss of unrequitedness.”
“Asking for a double suicide is a pretty strange way to confess your so-called love to someone.”
“And your lack of enthusiasm when I ask for your hand in a double suicide is truly heartbreaking,” Dazai mumbled, his eyes misty and hand clutching a plushie in a death grip.
“I really don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because you love me?”
Chuuya turned away with a roll of his eyes. He reached back into the claw machine, the tips of his fingers snatching the bunny’s arm, asking, “Anyway...my second question?”
Rather than answer, Dazai tapped on the plastic window in an uneven rhythm. Chuuya cut his eyes to the side, prompting Dazai with a sharply mouthed, “What?”
The corners of Dazai’s lips slowly curled into a grin, sly and mischievous. Chuuya’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open: somehow, that smug as hell smirk and dark sparkle in his gaze told him everything he wanted to know.
“You bastard,” he growled as he slid out of the machine, the bunny clenched in his fist.
“You really do call me the sweetest, most adoring things,” Dazai said, batting his lashes.
Chuuya whipped the bunny at Dazai; it nailed him in the eye with a satisfying whack . Then, he darted off toward the arcade cabinets, calling out a “You’re dead!” over his shoulder while he weaved between the rows.
“Such a romantic, chibi is!” he heard, followed by Dazai’s annoying laugh trailing after him.
As he approached his favorite fighting game, Chuuya couldn’t help the goosebumps rippling across his skin at Dazai’s cackle. There was a chance it was due to his panicked imagination, but he was almost positive the cringe-worthy sound had transformed into something manic, eerie, echoing in Chuuya’s ears until it rattled taunts into his bones and iced his veins.
Time slowed to a crawl when Chuuya came to a halt in front of his fighting game’s cabinet. His blue eyes narrowed, hands balling into white-knuckled fists and teeth grinding as he stared at the red-bordered monitor. The name ‘Mackerel’ stood out in huge blinking letters next to the top spot; Chuuya’s name, which had been changed to ‘Slug’ (god damnit, Dazai) was in second place.
“Poor Chuuya’s a loser,” Dazai teased, and Chuuya nearly leapt out of his skin—he didn’t notice Dazai standing there like the creeper he was.
“I hate you,” Chuuya shot back, glaring at the taller man.
Dazai cocked a brow. Chuuya watched him slide onto the stool of the adjacent cabinet. He still held the pile of toys, and if Chuuya hadn’t been so pissed off and ready to throw hands, he would’ve found Dazai’s struggle to keep them in his arms hilarious.
The almost-comedic moment was fleeting because Dazai was turning toward Chuuya with a wicked smirk, stare bright with mirth.
“So,” he purred, and Chuuya gagged, “what do you plan on doing now that the infamous Nakahara Chuuya has been knocked down a peg?”
That was a challenge fair and square.
Chuuya plopped down on the red padded stool. Placing his hands on its surface, he said, “I’m gonna whoop your ass.”
”Well, then,” Dazai began as he threw the toys onto the floor, the bastard, “let the games begin.”
A foul mood hung in the air. Anyone who passed by Chuuya sitting behind the counter could feel his aggravation and barely suppressed temper rolling off of him in thunderous waves. And to save themselves from his fury, they all flocked toward Atsushi after Chuuya snapped one pencil during an attempt to assist a customer with a food order. He couldn’t blame them. His less than desirable attitude was Dazai’s fault, they knew. That earned him a reprieve from Atsushi, seeing as he’d been victimized by the waste of bandages countless times.
As he flipped through the pages of his literature book, Chuuya wondered if he should start an ‘Anti-Dazai’ campaign. He would have one member to start, and if he kept up a steady flow of chuzuke, Chuuya was sure Atsushi would join him in his endeavor.
Heaving a sigh that was more like a growl, Chuuya underlined a section of text with a sharp flick of his wrist. He clicked his pen closed, then opened it with another press of his thumb. The minutes ticked by: Chuuya read, underlined, and clicked his pen.
“Are you done?”
The sound of Akutagawa’s voice startled Chuuya out of his seat; his foot slipped on the metal rest, and his pen fell to the floor.
“Huh?” Chuuya hummed, whipping around to face Akutagawa. He suppressed a wince at the pure annoyance burning behind the other’s gray eyes. A part of him was surprised he hadn’t turned to ash under Akutagawa’s fierce stare.
“Are you done clicking your pen?” Akutagawa asked.
Grimacing, Chuuya knelt down to pick up said pen. “Yeah, sorry.”
There was a “Tch,” followed by Akutagawa stomping toward the food station, leaving Chuuya to crumble under his lingering anger.
Obviously, he was still pissed at Chuuya over the expired food coupons and the claw machine’s missing bunny. Chuuya would find a way to repent for his crimes another day.
He stood with his pen in hand, then slipped back onto his seat. It had only been a few seconds before he heard, “So, have you met the new king of the castle?”
Chuuya’s gaze snapped to the side to find Dazai lounging around like he owned the place, the bandaged freak. He observed as Dazai flashed a luminous, flirty grin at the poor young woman unlucky enough to be ensnared by his whims.
“A new king?” she asked, smiling prettily as she danced the tips of her fingers up Dazai’s arm to rest on his shoulder.
Both Dazai and Chuuya’s brows shot to their hairlines. A snort escaped Chuuya when he saw Dazai shrug off her hand, playing it off with a casual stretch of his arms over his head. The man actually valued his life. Who knew?
“Ah, yes,” Dazai continued, and although he was still looking at her, Chuuya could feel his eyes on him. “I managed to dethrone our poor Chuuya in his favorite fighting game.”
“You beat Chuuya-san?” she gasped.
Chuuya could tell she wanted to look at him, to see the fallen champion—Dazai’s words, not his—and how he was doing in his jilted state. But she refrained; she must’ve sensed his horrible attitude regarding Dazai’s win, too.
“I’m absolutely amazing and talented, I know,” Dazai said, and the woman giggled.
Dazai peeked at him over her shoulder. His playful smile twisted into a sultry smirk and a dangerous glimmer sparkled under his hooded eyes. The sudden heat behind his stare was enough to have the hair on the back of Chuuya’s neck standing on end and shivers cascading down his spine, a light blush creeping up on his cheeks. Chuuya focused on his book with a snarl and click of his pen.
“So,” Dazai said, just loud enough to regain Chuuya’s attention; he ached to stab Dazai’s eye out. “Shall I show you how good I am?”
Chuuya was wrong: Dazai didn’t value his life after all, because if that wasn’t a gross double entendre, he sure as hell didn’t know what was.
He grumbled as she let out an encouraging, “Oh?” then laughed while scampering after Dazai in the direction of Chuuya’s game. And as they strolled away, Dazai had the audacity to glance at Chuuya with a sweet simper, looking too pleased for his own good.
Then, Dazai winked. Chuuya stuck his tongue out at him. Jerk.
If he hadn’t been on the clock, Chuuya would’ve thrown another ball at Dazai’s head with the intent to kill. That would’ve saved both him and the girl from Dazai’s daily bullshit.
Once the arcade closed for the day, Chuuya sat in front of the arcade cabinet. He glared at the monitor. A scowl settled between his brows as he read the scores: Dazai bested him by one point. He wasn’t sure how Dazai managed to maintain that lousy point after days of Chuuya trying to reclaim his victory, but he would be damned if Dazai kept it.
His hands got to work. Chuuya muttered a “Thanks, motherfucker,” to Dazai for the combination that allowed him to freely play the game to his heart’s content. Surprisingly, Dazai was useful for something other than a swift kick in the ass.
After punching in Dazai’s code, Mortal Kombat sprung to life. Music floated from the console’s speakers and pictures of playable characters appeared on the monitor, accompanied by ‘Choose Your Fighter’ in flashing yellow above the list.
He chose his usual fighter, Scorpion, one that always had his back and never let him down. Then, he moved onto his name, which still read ‘Slug’ (no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change it), and tapped the large red button to begin the game.
Just as both his fighter and his fighter’s opponent got into battle position, Dazai spoke into his ear, “Cheating, are we?”
It took all of Chuuya’s willpower not to elbow Dazai in the nose. He exhaled an impatient huff out of the corner of his mouth, blowing his curls from his face.
“Sorry, not all of us sink to your level,” Chuuya spat, eyes glued to the monitor. He quickly moved the red joystick to navigate his fighter while the fingers of his other hand flew across the blue and green buttons to land a combo attack. His opponent was knocked flat on their back. They swiftly shot to their feet and repositioned themselves to battle again.
“What’re you doing here, anyway?” Chuuya asked. “Don’t you have anything else to do like jumping in a river?”
He could practically feel the hearts and sparkles raining down on him as Dazai’s gleeful voice squealed, “Are you finally proposing a double suicide? You truly do love me!”
Chuuya cut his eyes at Dazai. “Not only is that still not romantic, you really need to find another past-time because trying to piss me off isn’t the way to go.”
Leaning down, Dazai hooked his chin over Chuuya’s shoulder, his hands reaching around to rest on either side of Chuuya’s own.
“But you’re my favorite past-time,” Dazai whispered into his ear, his breath fluttering through Chuuya’s hair.
The unfiltered want dripping from every syllable caused heat to rise in Chuuya’s belly. He inadvertently jolted in his seat before trying to hide another squirm. Dazai caught the slight movement anyway, and the throaty laugh that kissed Chuuya’s skin was nothing short of sinful.
“Yeah, well.” Chuuya paused to clear his throat, then changed topics when he asked, “What happened to that girl from earlier? Made her cry already?”
“Oh?” Taking a step back, Dazai twisted around Chuuya’s body so he could obstruct his view by leaning into his face.
It worked. The movement distracted Chuuya, leading to a press of the wrong button during a crucial moment in battle. ‘FINISH HIM’ flickered across the monitor in big red letters, and his fighter was knocked out cold. Defeated.
“‘Oh’, what?” he growled, reaching up to flick Dazai in the forehead.
“Sorry, I was too caught up in your absolutely gorgeous death stare.”
“Will you get to the point before I slap you upside the head?”
“Kinky,” Dazai hummed. “Please do.”
And he did. Chuuya landed a smack to the back of Dazai’s skull. The painful wince and mumbled “Ow!” were totally worth the sharp sting warming his palm.
“Anyway, there were no tears today because I’m a gentleman who only has eyes for one,” Dazai stated, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “Though, it’s obvious someone is jealous of my charm.”
Clicking his tongue, Chuuya turned his attention to the monitor. It only took a few taps to bring up a brand new game. Music floated from the speakers and a montage of colors and battle cries greeted him.
“I’ll tell you how I did it,” Dazai said as he perched on an adjacent seat. “All it would take is a ‘yes, Dazai’s my king’.”
“Hah?!” Chuuya exclaimed, head snapping in Dazai’s direction. “Please give me a good reason to say that of all things, you pervert.”
Dazai put his elbow on the arcade cabinet’s yellow control panel and brought his cheek down to rest on his fist. “Aw, c’mon, chibi, indulge me.”
“How about you just play me fair and square? No cheating or tricks. Think you can handle that?”
“Ooh!” Dazai chirped. “What will I get if I win?”
“A punch in the dick.”
“But I thought you loved this d—”
“Do not say it,” Chuuya hissed.
Dazai faced the monitor. He let out a dramatic, dejected sigh. “Fine, but I want something if Chuuya wins.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Chuuya replied, “That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
With lightning speed, Dazai’s fingers maneuvered across the control panel to connect to Chuuya’s new game. Dazai’s character, Sub-Zero, appeared as well as the name ‘Mackerel’ at the very top next to his high score. Chuuya scowled.
“You’re so annoying,” he said.
“I know,” Dazai replied with a cheeky grin.
Chuuya cracked his fingers, gaze focused on Scorpion on the left and Sub-Zero on the right, with ‘Round 1’ hovering between the two.
“Let’s do this.”
‘FIGHT!’ flickered red, yellow, then red again before Chuuya guided Scorpion to flip into the air, landing behind Sub-Zero with a series of punches that sent pixelated blood flying across the screen.
Next to him, Dazai let out a little harrumph that was highly amused, yet Chuuya could detect a hint of impatience underneath the sound. It brought a slight grin to his face; Chuuya reveled in any opportunity where the flirty, cool, calm and collected Dazai Osamu lost his composure.
His silent win was short-lived: Sub-Zero kicked Scorpion from behind, sending him sprawling onto the ground. When Chuuya pushed the joystick up, leading Scorpion to stand, Dazai’s Sub-Zero landed an uppercut to Scorpion’s jaw with a spray of blood and cheers from the crowd.
‘SUB-ZERO WINS!’ flashed in blue above Sub-Zero standing with his arms in the air.
Round 1 was over. Chuuya didn’t bother sparing a glance at the score. He already felt the pompous aura radiating from Dazai.
“Tch,” he hissed, his nose wrinkling in disgust and teeth baring in a snarl. “Don’t start bragging until we’re done.”
Round 2’s announcement cut off anything Dazai might’ve had the audacity to say.
This time, Chuuya aimed to kill.
Scorpion roundhouse kicked Sub-Zero, sending him spinning through the air to land on his back; he quickly recovered and shot to his feet. That didn’t deter Chuuya, though.
“Is that all you got, Dazai?” he taunted, pressing buttons with seasoned dexterity to land critical blow by critical blow to Sub-Zero. Adrenaline spiked his veins and coursed through his blood with every cheer from the crowd, every pained groan from Sub-Zero, every successful hit driving his excitement higher and higher until he felt like he was sailing in open air.
The power behind his attacks was easily supplied by imagining that he and Dazai were in the arena, and Dazai was finally, finally getting the ass whooping he oh so deserved.
Chuuya’s fierce ambush proved successful: ‘FINISH HIM!’ appeared in bold letters, urging Chuuya to lead Scorpion to victory.
“Finish me, Chuuya!” Dazai ordered.
Chuuya’s gaze whipped toward Dazai, eyeing the waste of space bouncing in his seat with a gross shudder. “Why are you so freaking nasty?”
“Hurry,” Dazai said, “or you’ll miss it.”
Chuuya turned back to the monitor. He pressed a button, and the crowd disappeared while the two fighters stood there surrounded by black. Scorpion ripped off his mask, then blew fire from his mouth at Sub-Zero’s feet. Dazai’s character burst into flames, quickly leaving a skeleton burnt to a crisp in his place.
The scores popped up: Chuuya beat Dazai by seven points. A wide smile crossed his face as his name slid back to the top spot. He clenched his fists, basking in a job fucking well done.
Round 3 began.
Again, Chuuya was swiftly swept into battle. Kicks, punches, flips, blood, cheers, Dazai’s various reactions—they all fueled his fury and delight. Watching Sub-Zero’s health bar steadily drain from green to red was just the icing on top of the absolutely delicious cake.
And with another cry of victory and removal of his mask, Scorpion set Sub-Zero aflame.
Being the first to win two rounds meant the match was over. Chuuya was once again the number one player in Mortal Kombat.
He didn’t bother to hide his elation when he cast a sidelong glance at a pouting Dazai and chuckled lightly. “Looks like I won.”
“Chibi is victorious,” Dazai agreed, sounding awfully excited for having had his ass handed to him.
He swiveled in his seat, nearly toppling off it of when his annoyingly long legs smacked the cushion of Chuuya’s own seat.
“Oi! Watch what you’re doing,” Chuuya scolded him.
“So, chibi is victorious,” Dazai repeated. He reached out an arm and pushed Chuuya’s shoulder, coaxing him to shift in his seat so they were seeing each other face-to-face.
“Yeah, I am.”
As he spoke, Chuuya watched Dazai gaze at him from hooded eyes, his hungry, salacious smile sending goosebumps ripping along Chuuya’s arms and heat rushing down his spine to pool in his belly. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and swallowed thickly. A deep red blush crawled up the back of his neck and blossomed in his cheeks.
It wasn’t the first time they fought until Chuuya eventually won. Most likely, it was a Pavlovian response: as long as Chuuya held nothing back, the reward was always worth it. Rubbing it in Dazai’s face was just a bonus.
Chuuya licked his lips, then asked, “What do you want?”
Reaching out a hand, Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward until their lips met in a deep kiss, soft and sweet, yet filled a darker promise.
There was a light pink dusting the tops of Dazai’s cheeks when he pulled away. The color was simultaneously seductive and unexpectedly adorable, considering Dazai’s shameless flirting and constant need to have his hands all over Chuuya whenever, wherever he could.
“Would you go out with me?” Dazai asked, his smile shy and gaze glistening with hope.
Chuuya’s eyebrows shot up. “You do know we’ve been dating for months, right?”
“Yes, I know,” Dazai replied, patting Chuuya’s cheek. “But I left my wallet at home and I’m hungry.”