Work Text:
"Dazai, who is Slug?"
Dazai yawned in a state of quiet, as if time were a luxury not to be wasted. He scratched his head and batted his lashes a couple of times before realizing that two shining eyes and white hair have been questioning him for who knows how long. The swivel chair in which he crouched has favored his sleep, for not talking about the headphones that muffled the chatter of his colleagues.
The whispering hum and the flashes of a thunder in the background were awakening him from his drowsiness.
The guy, with eyes like two precious gems, leaned closer and wrapped his arms over his chest before insisting again. "Are you listen to me, Dazai? Who is Slug?"
It was an ordinary working day, or rather, what Dazai believed. Until that question.
He coughed and cleared his throat, swallowing a lumpy mouthful. "Why are you asking me, Atsushi?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Well, he'd have replied Atsushi that Slug has been his former partner during his stay at Port Mafia, who was an annoying little mobster, or who wore an hat for cover a bald patch. However, he'd have omitted an important detail: he and Slug were lovers for years. And their relationship continued despite Dazai has withdrew from his old habits.
The phone screen lit up and the shell vibrated, shaking the wooden desk area where Dazai's bandaged wrist sat.
Slug calling
"Fuck!"
And that was why Atsushi asked who Slug was.
But what triggered Dazai like a spring was that Slug was actually waiting for him.
For a date.
Ah, Dazai. This time even the storm would saved you.
He picked up his phone and slammed his toe against the backlog of work that towered in front of his desk like a paper skyscraper. Sheets rippled in the air, scattering on the floor, as the lazy detective rolled up into a beige trench coat and prepared to flee.
"You need an umbrella if you want to get out." the dulcet sound of a female voice reached his ears, now under the door jamb that overlooked the hallway.
When Dazai ever owned an umbrella? At most he has curled up under a pile of newspapers or documents belonging to Kunikida. Which has infuriated the blonde detective on more than one occasion.
And that day it was no exception.
Dazai skipped the four floors of stairs while coarse yells spread through the building as a warning to his incompetence and laziness. He has been idle all day long, humming notes about a creepy double suicide song, and he also has the audacity to sneak away from work? No way! He would pay for that!
Well, maybe another day.
Chuuya was waiting inside his car, his fingerpads tapped impatiently on the steering wheel and the phone showed no signs of life.
How many times would he have to call that bastard?
The rain battered against the window and the roof like hail while the windscreen wipers sweeped the cloudy visual.
The mobster has planned a romantic date in a french restaurant. It was what could be called their anniversary, based on abstract calculations about their first kiss. Or at least, for Dazai they were abstract. And this is because the first times they had exchanged affection they were both overwhelmed by alcohol, which darted in their bodies like running water.
So actually they didn't know exactly when it had happened, but they could approximate the date around Hirotsu's upset face the following morning of one of their crazy nights. He had told them of various fistfights ended in languid kisses on the floor and embarrassment had bitten their cheeks, blossomed into various shades of pink.
And his former partner forgot about that. Perfect.
The drumming on the steering wheel increased as the minutes flowed, cadencing his frustration.
Just as his anger began to grind his bones, a slender figure crossed the entrance to the ADA building, slamming the door behind him.
Ten minute delay was acceptable, but an hour? C'mon!
Chuuya rolled the window car down to remind the reckless guy who appeared before him how useless it was to organize something for his lazy ass. "I ordered for 7.00 pm and now it's eight o'clock!" the fingers glued to the cell phone showed Dazai that he was actually in an inexcusable delay and as much as he could pray the redhead, this time the simple apologies weren't enough.
Dazai lifted his chin to the velvet sky; a thunder cut the thick air and the mantle split apart for a bat of an eye.
Then everything went static. Although the heavy rain hasn't stopped quenched the road.
It wasn't the time or the right place for a fully-dressed shower but apparently it was the only way to get to the redhead's car.
He was at an heartbeat away from his destination but that didn't stop him from getting drenched from the tip of his toes to his ears. He sought protection under the collar of the trench coat and shielded the beige lining between his arms but it was useless. It was an ice bucket that was falling repeatedly on his body. And he probably deserved it.
His hair stuck to forehead, tears of crystal-clear water streaked his face, dripping from his chin.
" Chuuyaa~, I was working, it's been a tough day." his sodden feet sent cold shivers through the body, his toes were ice sticks.
Dazai plastered a smile on his face. Obviously he was lying.
" You were working? The world is doomed then!" but it was a defensive attitude that his former partner — and lover — has used to know. And that's why he spiced his answer with a pinch of irony.
"Can I—?"
"Get in the car, asshole."
At least the redhead got him into the car. It was already a victory for Dazai.
"Chuuya I forgot it, I'm sorry." he confessed as he sat and sticked his backbone into the passenger seat while water began to flow from his clothes along the car interior.
This time sincerity was on his side.
"I already knew that, I am not surprised." Chuuya avoided his gaze, but in reality he wasn't angry. He was annoyed, of course, but it has been enough for him to have seen his former partner hopping from one puddle to another to appease him.
But Dazai who prayed to him, well, it was quite a different matter.
"Forgive me, Chibi."
Dazai swept an auburn lock aside and fanned out his fingers across his hair, dragging him closer.
Chuuya kissed the pearls of water from his mouth and felt a smile sprouting over his lips.
The detective traced the edge of his grainy lips with his tongue, watering the dryness and stealing the heat.
Him, thief of ardor.
He limped saccharine words — my Chuuya, Chuuya my love — and suddenly sweet and bitter danced on his palate: grape fruit, menthol cigarette and his same flavor inside his jaws. The fingers slid down the earlobe, it was a spell. At his touch they glowed a pastel pink and then it was the turn of the cheek to switch on like Christmas lights.
Their noses brushed, the breath quickened and the chest chased the rhythmical flow; their hearts fluttered up in the ribcage.
Another kiss. This time a longer break. A snap of lips in the afternoon shower, but they were in their metal shell like a bell jar, clouding the windows with their desire.
Curious eyes under swaying umbrellas would never have recognized their identities — nobody was interested in that young love.
They dotted the asphalt with their beaming colors; a rainbow brush stroke over glistening gray. Before it was mat but the water has washed it like a dirty cloth.
Chuuya buried his face into the crook of his neck, his hands flexing around his back.
Droplets hopped into his auburn waves; a fire that is smothered.
He rumpled his lips and his mouth wavered few words: I love you.
A flashes enlivened their features but his voice was silk and it made their romantic escape into torrential rain a summer paradise.
He sank into Dazai's wet embrace but felt no cold from his arms. Despite his trench coat was dripping like a curtain of water, the skin under the rolls of bandages maintained a pleasant temperature, perhaps because the shower hasn't yet seeped out into the achromatic cloth. But it would have done it soon. He would become a waste of bandages with a cold that trailed around the house looped in a kingdom of blankets, conjuring the redhead's name to seek charity. And cuddles.
"You're soggy, better if we go." Chuuya glanced one last time at Dazai's trench — from beige to rust brown.
And the same fate would also have happened to the waistvest.
Dazai gulped amazement. "Is Chuuya caring about my health?" he chirped and raised his eyebrows so as to create furrows on his forehead.
Chuuya sighed in a sob of frustration for allowing that bastard to reshape his daily routine but it was was late, they were already at stake." You are the worst patient ever and I would like to avoid the disaster of the last time."
He shifted his eyes as if he was mentally scrolling Dazai's snapshots — dangling like a worn cloak and spiritless — and this was enough for the skin to prickle with terror.
"We can take a real shower at my house." Dazai solicited a proposal that seemed to met the redhead's requests. "Do you like the idea, Chibi? ... watching a movie ... eat some junk food... "
The detective's hand hooked onto his arm, his knuckles arched and his fingers curled on the fabric of his coat. Their cuddles has been nipped in the bud so he was looking for a hold to bring him back.
But Chuuya shrugged his disappointment and jerked away.
"It's what we always do."
"I know. And do you know why I love it?" Dazai snapped on the spot, which was interesting for someone who struggled to get out of bed in the morning. "because you're there."
Chuuya's eyes widened; the gilded specks of his irises twinkled in the blue like the surface of the ocean during the sunrise.
He chewed his lower lip, stretching it with his teeth, reformulating his previous pondering and refraining from smacking his mouth again on his.
"Tsk, incredible!" his pitch suddenly choppy. "And just when I think that there is no hope for you..." Chuuya grumbled but is skin was sizzling from the smile that Dazai gifted him and the fingers that climbed over his gloved hand to intertwine with his into a loving tangle.
The truth was: there was hope for everyone.
Even for the weather.
Numerous gashes in the lead cloak and rolls of light had urged pedestrians to abandon their temporary shelters. The children splashed around in the silver pools while their parents, crowded with assignments postponed due to the storm, were preparing to perform their duties.
The rain would come again. It was a taste of the oncoming lightning storm that was already muttering on the horizon. But by the time it would pour out its anger on Earth, the two lovers would already have been under the covers, warmed by their beats and promises of a teenage love that showed no sign of surrender.