Work Text:
[ one ]
*
No one tells Chuuya that it’s colder in Yokohama at night.
He glares into the darkness, yanking his red cardigan tighter over himself as the wind cuts across his skin, biting and icy cold.
“This is ridiculous,” Chuuya mutters irritably.
“Ho~?” A shadow appears over his shoulder, annoyingly tall and looming. “Is Chuuya giving up already on our mission already?”
Chuuya doesn’t flinch; instead, he grabs a biscuit from the center hoard of snacks and throws it at the idiot behind him. “Shut the fuck up. You didn’t tell me it was gonna be goddamn freezing out here, shitty Dazai.”
His partner catches the biscuit between two fingers and beams radiantly. “Well, I naturally assumed the tiny chibi could read my mind—”
“Just because we’re partners doesn’t mean I know everything there is to know about you,” Chuuya retorts dryly. “We’ve only known each other for what? Less than a year?”
“Exactly seven months!” Dazai reaches past him to pluck another biscuit from the bag. “And somehow, chibi knows me better than any of the mafia grunts!”
“Because you only talk to me, genius. Now, when does this fucking stakeout end? I’m tired of this bullshit.”
Dazai hums, chewing his biscuit thoughtfully. “Well...it’s supposed to be overnight…”
The wind whips by again and Chuuya swears. His grip on his cardigan tightens. “Asshole, you’re lying. ”
“On the contrary, I am not. But if chibi asks me politely…” His partner wiggles his eyebrows mischievously and Chuuya hates him. “I could warm him up very quickly.”
“Oh fuck you,” he spits. “I’d rather freeze.”
Dazai stares at him as the wind whistles in their ears and their hair whips into their faces. “Hatrack’s stupider than I thought.”
“I’d rather not beg anything from you, thank you very much—”
A lanky, skinny arm, that should not be as comforting as it is, drops over his shoulders before he can protest.
“Can’t let my sheepdog catch a cold,” Dazai chirps lightly. His hand on Chuuya is tight as he begins to rub circles over his shoulder blades, carefully trailing downwards until he reaches his waist.
Chuuya shudders from the pure heat that curls underneath his skin, and resists the urge to sigh and purr as Dazai’s touch sets him on fire.
“Not your sheepdog,” he mutters, but he leans even closer to Dazai until he’s practically shielded underneath his arm. “But thanks. Asshole.”
“Purely for business, slug. Don’t go around thinking I like you now.”
Chuuya laughs, despite himself. It feels a little warmer. “Not a problem, mackerel.”
[two]
*
The meeting room blasts the air conditioning at the coldest temperature possible.
Chuuya swears it’s below freezing point as he squirms in his seat, cringing at the cold while listening to Ace’s updates on the shipping docks.
Fuck Ace, he thinks viciously. He just wants to get out of the room, before he loses a finger or five to frostbite (and yes, he’s completely aware that he’s being over dramatic, but still — what sort of hellhole is Yokohama to be cold all the damn time.
Honestly, you’d think he’d have learned by now. Apparently learning the lay of Yokohama is for losers, and Chuuya is exactly at the top of being a said loser.
One day, he vows, he’ll invest in a gorgeous, real nice coat for the tormenting cold. For now, he’ll simply suffer and pray for hell to finish soon, so he can return to his warm apartment and thaw out.
Ace talks for another cursed five minutes, and Chuuya wants to throw him and his idiotic PowerPoint presentation into a brick wall, because he’s the only thing keeping Chuuya from his massive, cozy apartment—
A coat flops into his lap, black, heavy, oversized, and definitely not his.
Chuuya blinks, looking around, and there’s a kick at his shin from underneath the table.
Ah. Dazai— wait, Dazai?!
His eyes flicker to his partner, who’s currently lounging against his chair, looking like a wild leopard ready to pounce. His collared shirt and tie are undone, missing a few buttons, and his overcoat is missing...in Chuuya’s lap.
Chuuya does his best to not narrow his eyes, but Dazai smirks anyway, the bastard.
For the cold blooded chibi , he seems to say.
Chuuya averts his gaze first and slides the coat over his shoulders. He’s immediately taken by the musky scent that surrounds it — pine, smoke, and a hint of antiseptic — and he fights a sigh as he practically snuggles into the massive overcoat.
Fuck Dazai, but Chuuya can totally get behind his coat.
It’s terribly warm, comforting to the point of idiocy (he’s never worn something so comfortable before, holy shit), and wonderfully cloying (he can only smell Dazai on the coat, and it’s fucking delicious , utterly perfect, sending his thoughts cartwheeling into a freeing haze that tunes out Ace’s piss-poor presentation).
Chuuya would absolutely like to drown in this coat, no questions asked. What a shame he can’t keep it forever (and if he did, he can’t help but wonder if he would need a certain mackerel to re-scent it, or if it’ll smell like this all the time).
And he very pointedly avoids Dazai’s smug grin at the end of the meeting, when he has to give it back.
(“Chuuya looks like he liked the coat a little too much, ne?”
“Literally shut the fuck up.”)
(three)
*
They’re supposed to be enemies.
It’s what’s written in the stars, in the books, in the names on the Port Mafia’s blacklist of people to ‘kill-on-sight.’
So why the hell on earth is Dazai in his fucking apartment?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chuuya hisses at the motionless figure on his couch.
Dazai pries open an eye, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Breaking in. Successfully, I might add.”
Great. Chuuya has Port Mafia ‘to-kill’ traitor and Detective Agency genius in his apartment, with no way to kick him out.
Maybe if he throws out the entire couch, he might have a couch. Dazai looks too lazy to detach himself from the cushions.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chuuya snaps again. “Don’t you have another couch at your shitty dorms or whatever?”
Dazai’s voice quickly shifts into an annoying wheedle. “But Chibi’s house is so much better!”
“Oh my fucking god.” He massages his temples and resists the urge to bang his forehead against a table. “You’re so—!”
“Unbelievably handsome? Ridiculously perfect?” His ex-partner smirks and wiggles his eyebrows, reminding Chuuya briefly of the time they were fifteen and stupid(er).
“Shitty. Annoying. A lanky bastard. Fucking idiotic. Take your pick.”
Dazai pouts. “Is that what Chuuya really thinks?”
“Ye—oof!”
Dazai’s arm latches around his waist, yanking him in and holding him flush to his chest. His body is ridiculously warm , and despite Chuuya’s attempts, he melts into Dazai’s hold like butter over heat.
“Chibi’s arms are cold,” his ex-partner murmurs. His hands, large and nimble, rub over his goosebumps tenderly, and Chuuya can’t help but sigh.
Maybe this time, he’ll let Dazai win this one.
“Warm me up then,” he breathes, peering up from underneath his lashes and Dazai’s lips curve into a crescent moon as he dips his face low.
“With pleasure, Chuuya.”
[ plus one ]
*
Chuuya awakens with a start. It’s dead in the middle of the night and the room is cloaked in darkness, save for the spot of light from the moonshine.
He’s barely able to read the nightstand alarm clock on the far shelf, before the mattress starts a tremor and the world tilts on its head.
Someone is thrashing next to him, twisting the blankets and sheets into knots, and Chuuya kicks off his own sheets, scrambling to touch his partner.
“Oi, Osamu,” he murmurs, shaking his arm. “Wake up, you’re dreaming.”
Dazai’s body only trembles fiercely, like an earthquake and he whimpers in his sleep. Chuuya chews the bottom of his lip and shakes him harder.
“Osamu, wake up.”
Dazai’s eyes fly open this time, but they’re unfocused and unseeing. His breath comes out in uneven pants and he swivels his head from side to side, searching blindly for—
“N-Not Chuuya! No, chibi, don’t—!”
“Osamu!” Chuuya grasps his partner’s hand and squeezes, praying it would do some good. “You’re dreaming, it’s only a dream—”
It works. His eyes blink into focus and his voice is groggy when he mumbles, “Ah...Chuuya?”
“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here, Osamu.”
Dark cocoa eyes, gilded with honey-gold in the dim light, blink rapidly, frantically, before softening. “You’re here.”
“I am. Always,” he whispers. He squeezes their hands and relief fills his lungs when Dazai squeezes back. “You alright?”
His partner’s head sways from side to side. “I—I don’t—can’t...Chuuya, I couldn’t—”
He looks so goddamn pained and Chuuya’s heart breaks, just a little. He holds onto his hand tight and reaches out to thumb his cheek.
“Shh...it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He tenderly pushes dark hair away from Dazai’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t need to speak, love. Not until you’re ready.”
Dazai nods weakly in his arms, before he whispers, “Hold me?”
Chuuya’s heart flutters with wild abandon (time changes him, but not so much when it comes to Dazai—some things will always be the same). “Of course.”
He wraps his arms around his partner’s waist, pulling him in tight and runs his hands up and down the scattered goosebumps across his skin. “You’re freezing , Osamu,” he mumbles. “So damn cold.”
Dazai laughs, tired but short and sweet. “Looks like we switched roles today, hm?”
“I don’t mind,” Chuuya admits. “Paying it back for all the other times.”
“You never need to pay me back, chibi.”
“But I want to,” he replies earnestly. Chuuya smiles at Dazai and his cheeks warm as he realizes the goosebumps have disappeared under his fingers. “You always kept me warm, so it’s my turn, yeah?”
“Silly chibi,” Dazai murmurs. He closes the short distance between them, and their foreheads bump, lips brushing but not quite kissing. “You always make me feel so warm.”
“I’m glad then,” Chuuya says quietly. “You always make me warm too.”
He feels Dazai smile in the same breath, and they close the distance, letting their lips meet in the middle for real.