Chapter Text
“I got us a tiger,” Dazai lobs this opening shot the moment he arrives at their temporary ‘base’, crinkling sounds of plastic bags the only indication that he actually did what he said he’d do: buy some essentials.
Division of labor is necessary for them to coexist, so Chuuya looks up from his spot on the floor, the room surrounded in a reddish glow as he uses gravity manipulation simultaneously on several rags to clean up the place. He raises an eyebrow at the fact that there really is a tiger cub peeking out from a goddamn plastic bag.
“What the fuck,” is a very succinct, restrained, mature response to such a sight. Also, because it’s how things should be: “Welcome back, mackerel bastard.”
“The magazine did say that people in a committed relationship usually have proof of their commitment to each other.” This is said offhandedly, as Dazai kicks off his shoes by their doorway.
Despite himself, Chuuya shuffles closer to peer closer at the poor tiger that Dazai must have stolen… somewhere. “Don’t people usually get rings?”
He’s never had the chance to really listen in on the dramas that Yuan liked, busy as he is with upholding Sheep’s protective stance, but he’s pretty sure that rings are involved? Maybe? Maybe it’s only for a pair consisting of a guy and a girl who don’t want to strangle each other?
“Are you going senile so soon? Didn’t I give you a leash two days ago?”
“I wish I’m senile so I don’t have to remember that.” Chuuya rolls his eyes and picks up the second plastic bag from Dazai’s wrist, so he can double-check if the bastard bought things other than poison or bandages or canned crab. He’s so sick of canned crab, he’s going to throw up directly on Dazai’s face if he so much as eats that for one more meal.
“Since a ring is a no-go…”
“The leash doesn’t count as a ring!”
Dazai continues on, “I got us the next best thing on the list.”
It’s been a few days and Chuuya’s already regretting not burning that damn magazine. Relationship advice for dummies, the article promised. Both of them are the furthest thing from being normal humans and both of them are still learning to navigate a lot of things. Still, something’s telling Chuuya that it isn’t such a great idea to take a magazine’s neon-printed words as gospel on certain matters.
“So you got us a pet,” Chuuya says flatly.
“Oh, it can also transform to a kid.” Still offhand, as Dazai flops into the couch as though shopping for essentials is back-breaking work. He sets the plastic-bound weretiger on the floor, before resuming his fainting princess impression.
A befuddled blink, before blowing up: “What the fuck, you got us a weretiger?!”
“People in a committed, lifelong relationship often have proof of their commitment to each other,” Dazai repeats snootily. “It usually comes in the form of a ring, a pet, or a kid.”
He doesn’t know where to start, so he settles for, “We’ve only met for a week!”
The weretiger inside the plastic bag doesn’t dare make a sound, confused and mildly terrified by the duo quarrelling-flirting.
“But we are committed, yes?” An eyebrow raised as a challenge.
Chuuya deflates a bit, as though sobered by the reminder. “…I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Dazai… doesn’t exactly soften, because he’s still a Class A bastard, but it’s close. “If you get it, then go and cook dinner already!”
“What do tigers even eat?” They can eat humans, right? Would the tiger get indigestion if he eats Dazai?
“How mean, Chuuya’s definitely thinking of letting the tiger bite me…” A tone filled with exaggerated grievances. “Is this payback for me putting mayonnaise on your conditioner?”
“That was you?!”
“It’s only the two of us in this apartment, who else would it be?” A hollow laugh that doesn’t quite manage to hide his displeasure. “Are you hiding a secret boyfriend somewhere, chibikko?”
“Boyf—”
“Ah, but let me tell you, I know even the color of your underwear so you can’t hide anything from my eyes~”
Their ‘base’ is a studio apartment that doesn’t feature any dividers separating the ‘living area’ (featuring the couch that Dazai’s pretty much commandeered as his throne) from the ‘bedroom area’ (the double mattress set on the floor directly behind the couch) from the ‘kitchen area’ (a simple one with very limited appliances, which works just as well because the fewer things there are for Dazai tinker with, the better). Only the tiny bathroom is separated with a door just-beside the kitchen.
It’s something that’s already a considerable luxury for Chuuya, who’s lived in the slums with the Sheep members for a great number of years.
He’s lived in such cramped quarters, surrounded by so many other people, but it’s now in this space with just the two of them that he feels very exposed.
There’s a couple of meters separating them, with him already starting to wash the rice for their dinner. Dazai’s still flopping about like a beached whale on the couch, his unfairly long legs dangling off one arm.
Chuuya makes a face as he considers Dazai’s previous statement. There really is nowhere to hide in this apartment. They don’t even have an actual closet or cabinet; they’ve basically gone here with only the clothes on their backs and some. Two black suitcases are parked side-by-side on one corner of the room, which serve as their ‘closet’.
“Have you been messing around with my suitcase again?”
“Eh? Didn’t we agree that what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine?”
“Hold up!” Chuuya turns around after plugging in the rice cooker. “There’s something very wrong with that statement!”
“Oh yes, I forgot to add: Chuuya is mine.” It’s said so casually that most people would be unable to detect the undercurrent of steel there. Most people, that is. Chuuya’s already recognized that he’s just like a child, cruel and pure in his desires, deathly possessive of anything that can pierce through his bubble. A wild see-saw between apathy and desire. Such a strange, annoying, conceited mackerel, really.
“That’s not the part I’m talking about!”
“It isn’t?” Dazai swings his legs off the couch and starts prowling towards him. Yes, prowling. With the solid intent on his single visible eye, there’s really no other word to describe his approach. He looks like he’s about to devour Chuuya on the spot, as though he’s the tiger and Chuuya’s today’s dinner. “Then what is your complaint about, hmm?”
A scoff. He can kick Dazai and have him fly all the way to the next city. He’s not scared of him ever making a move to consume him. “If what’s mine is yours, then what’s yours should also be mine!”
A matching scoff, before Dazai’s lips stretch wide in an infuriating grin. “Ooh, I see, Chuuya’s finally seen the beauty of my bandage collection!” After all, the suitcase filled with Dazai’s belongings is pretty much just a stash of bandages, along with clothes fit for funerals with how monochromatic they are.
“Even if they’re trash!” He doesn’t quite stomp his feet like a child throwing a tantrum, but the building shakes a bit anyway. “It has to be equal!”
Anyone who’d listen in to this conversation would probably assume it’s a pair of brats trying to divide toys. Of course, anyone who’d try to listen in on them will wind up dead, or at least tortured and severely traumatized. In fact, the weretiger that’s been unceremoniously plucked from an orphanage has long closed his eyes and ears so he’d stop witnessing things that are too difficult to comprehend for his fragile mental state.
…In any case, the most important thing in a relationship is that matters are discussed between the people involved. That’s what the magazine said and it’s pretty much the statement there that resonates the most with them.
Dazai pauses in his approach only once his feet are wedged against Chuuya’s. His hands make home on the countertop, pinning Chuuya there with the width and weight of his body. It isn’t an inescapable cage by any means, but Chuuya merely rattles against him, their bodies bumping against each other in a dance that has grown rather familiar already.
A few more moments of wordlessly locking gazes, until Dazai lets out a satisfied hum.
“…Fine, what’s mine is yours too.” His lips curve up in a wicked grin as he presses it against an earlobe. “Except my towering height, that is. Even a genius like me can’t think of a way to make a hopelessly-chibi chibikko achieve the impossible, you see?”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and makes Dazai roll on the floor with the force of his punch. And then, an angry roar of “I’m fifteen and still growing, damn it!” ripples through their current home.