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Being on the side of light means that he has to do his best to save people. It means having to sacrifice himself in the name of doing good deeds. It means being on the frontlines, even if it means great detriment to his own self. It means staying strong for the sake of Yokohama. It means—
“I don’t understand what this all means, Dazai-san,” Atsushi’s voice interrupts his musings. “And at the rate things are going, I’m not sure if I want to.”
“Adults have their own adult circumstances,” he responds with the gravest tone he can muster, while not-so-subtly hedging the younger man to the side, so he’d stop disturbing his view of the open sea. With a heavy sigh, “Yokohama is in danger of being subjected to the ugliest, most disturbing sight in the history of mankind.”
A long pause, before, “…Dazai-san, your nose is bleeding.”
“I’m taking psychic damage upon thinking of such a sight.”
Another long pause, before, “This beach is fairly large, so why are we somehow moving towards where members of the mafia are?”
“Atsushi-kun, good students don’t keep on questioning their mentors.”
“No, no, I’m pretty sure that questioning teachers is supposed to be a good sign of being a good student!”
Dazai twitches as his meat shield—or rather, the person that’s going to distract the mafia once they come within a few meters—keeps on talking.
It’s difficult enough to hear things over the splash of waves hitting the tracker that he’s placed on the target’s clothes, given that he’s busy swimming like a dog in the distance. It’s made even more challenging when his protégé, out of the goodness of his gossipy heart, has followed him instead of the rest of the Agency members who are setting up their beach camp.
Dire circumstances require more astringent measures. “I’ll give you two tickets for a chazuke restaurant buffet if you go and distract the mafia members.”
“…Are they expired tickets?”
They absolutely are, but he figures that he can either steal money from a certain chibi’s bank account to make up for it. Or trick Akutagawa into paying for the meal, in the name of bonding as shin soukoku. The point is, Dazai has plans for it. “It’s your chance to have a nice date with Akutagawa,” he says as convincingly as he can.
It works. Whether it’s the promise of chazuke or a promise of eating with someone who dislikes eating, which therefore means that he can get more food—it doesn’t matter. He hears Atsushi’s footsteps as he scrambles away. It’s immediately followed by a yelled-out, “JINKOOOOOO”.
Ah, finally. He can focus on his task.
However, is it really fine to call it ‘focus’ when his eyes are glazing trying to look at his target? He’s already moved to the shoreline, which is the closest he could get without outright swimming.
Usually, he would be ecstatic to form a more intimate bond with bodies of water. Unfortunately, it is the height of summer. Worse, it’s the hottest summer in recent history. It is truly unkind to bandage connoisseurs like him, who has to change his bandages more often, which leads to him running out of supply quicker.
Therefore, hurling himself to the sea isn’t going to do his dwindling supply of bandages and his already-dwindled supply of money. The next payday is woefully a full two weeks away.
Dazai stands there, feet on the sand, as he unblinkingly stares at the waves. The waters glimmer under the scorching sunlight. As big as this expanse of water is, even it isn’t enough to douse the tiny ball of flame that’s swimming along the surface.
As expected of an idiot, Chuuya lacks measure of things such as ‘restraint’ and ‘common sense’. The chibi is enjoying the waves several meters further than the depths that most human beings would attempt on a casual summer day. He’s so loud and vibrant, that even beyond the tracker that’s just sloshing the sound of waves to his ear, Dazai could still clearly hear his delighted laughter at being embraced by water. His red hair is like a persistent beacon attracting his gaze.
…At least this way, it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep track of him.
He stands there, staring hard at the chibi who’s even smaller because of the distance. He ignores the other beachgoers, especially the kids who ask their mothers, “Mom, why is that person wearing a full coat while on the beach?” or “That person’s nose is bleeding and he isn’t moving, is he still alive?”
As a genius, he’s used to not being understood by his surroundings, after all.
…Well, there’s at least a certain dog who’s very good at sensing his presence. The red star starts to swim back to the shore.
Dazai feels his heartbeat quicken.
His important mission is about to come up! As a person who’s on the side of light, he’s going to do his best to save people! He’s ready with his sacrifice, the tan overcoat that he’s currently wearing despite not fitting the beach dress-code. As an upstanding Yokohama citizen, he’s going to make sure that none of the other beachgoers are subjected to the disturbing sight of a wet dog!
The moment Chuuya walks on the shore, he’s going to wrap him up in his coat so nobody else gets to see how he looks like when he’s all wet and dripping all over his chest and his swimming shorts.
After all, Dazai is already standing beside the chibi’s discarded items. Over a small, square picnic cloth: wine glass-patterned slippers, wraparound sunglasses, colorful beach jacket, toy gun, phone and wallet. There’s even a small beach umbrella perched to give these items some shade. They’re surrounded by a red glow, the chibi’s way of showing off with his control of his Ability even from such a distance, even while he’s distractedly swimming.
…Point being: he knows that Chuuya’s out there, wearing his swimming shorts, the bug attached to its inside pockets, and nothing else.
What if the waves are a little too harsh and it weighs down those shorts so that his hipline becomes more visible? What if the temperature difference between the cold water and the muggy air makes his nipples harden into pink pebbles that would simply invite onlookers to take a bite?
Dazai shudders at the thought. It really is too disturbing. That would usher in a bloodbath comparable to the Dragon’s Head Rush, because he surely would not stand aside and let anyone lick a chibi’s chest.
What if they get infected with sheepdog germs? It would be so much worse than a vampiric infestation, because instead of sucking blood, they would want to suck a chibi’s skin! Absolutely unbearable! He hasn’t even had a chance to do it, so how can he let others poach his right as his dog’s owner?!
As he’s busy thinking of such important things, Chuuya arrives within several meters’ distance.
—Summer is really terrible.
The sun is overbearing with its hotness, making his entire body break out into sweat. It’s so hot that his mouth grows dry enough, even affecting his throat, all the way to his lungs. Even when he parts his lips, attempting to grab some humidity from the surrounding air, it doesn’t work to alleviate the surge of thirst.
Summer is really, really terrible.
Not even taking into account the sun above, the sight in front of him is enough to his vision swim. He suddenly feels like commiserating with travelers who cross deserts. It’s as if his eyesight has been liquified, and there’s only a glimmering, red mirage of an oasis in front of him.
He sways forward, feeling extremely dizzy.
Chuuya finally emerges from the sea, rising up like some water nymph that the sea doesn’t want to let go of. Water droplets cling from the roots of his hair, all the way to the curled tips that stick to the sides of his face and neck. Shiny lines form over his chest as gravity drags these droplets downward, following the curve of his pectorals as well as his abdominal muscles. His swimming shorts are indeed weighed down by the water, the jut of his right hipbone enticing someone to reach out and grab hold of him. The waves slosh against the shape of his calf, and even his toes look dainty enough to be considered as made of seafoam.
Summer is really, really, really terrible.
Dazai thinks that he’s having a heatstroke on the spot.
And the worst part? Chuuya doesn’t even look surprised that he’s there. He simply blinks, his lashes looking longer and fuller because of the wetness. Lips, shiny with seawater, pull into a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing, wearing that god-awful coat while at the beach?” One step closer. “Are you planning on getting arrested on accounts for being a shady bastard?”
He blinks again when Dazai’s throat is too dry and his brain too fried to establish proper communication channels. He comes closer, wet feet padding on the sand. He brings with him the crisp scent of the sea.
Blue eyes peer at him, the usual irritation now layered with something like concern. “Oi, shitty Dazai, are you having a heatstroke?” Sounding both disgusted and amazed, “Urgh, is that a nosebleed? Oi, what the hell is going on?!”
One hand reaches up to touch his forehead, presumably to check his temperature. Or murder him. Both seem plausible.
Because Chuuya is a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny wet dog who is so much shorter than him, it means that in order for the chibi to touch his forehead successfully, he has to stand on his tiptoes. Since they’re on the beach full of wet sand, it means that Chuuya has to stand so close to his body, even use his own feet as footholds. His bandages and his coat grow damp from the other’s closeness.
“…Oi, you’re burning hot, you bastard,” is Chuuya’s assessment after touching his forehead.
He tries to console himself with the fact that with this, he’s at least accomplished his mission. Because Chuuya is such a tiny chibi, when he stands this close to him, it means that everyone else’s view of his wet body is obscured by Dazai’s presence.
“This is all your fault,” he mumbles, before swaying forward and dropping against the other’s body. He has enough presence of mind to ensure that his chin lands on the other’s petite shoulder, while his arms tightly wrap around a slim waist. This way, he can be sure to continue shielding everyone else from the terrible fate of seeing his dog’s body.
…After all, he’s not going to be merciful if anyone else starts appreciating the other’s body.
Annoyingly enough, his serious accusation is not received with the gravity it deserves. Chuuya simply huffs at him, burning the side of his face as if the other has breathed dragonfire over him. “You’re the one who snuck into the mafia-reserved side of the beach and you’re blaming me?”
“Exactly.” He’s loathe to remove his arms from his dog, in case said dog gets ideas of wriggling away from him. However, it seems that Chuuya’s temper has been refreshed by his dive to the sea. He picks the opportunity and fumbles with removing his overcoat, and then draping it over the other’s body. “It’s your fault for not knowing how to dress up properly, chibikko.”
“The one who’s wearing bandages and an overcoat at the beach has no right to tell me that!” Still, Chuuya doesn’t actually knee him in the groin or bury him in the sand, so that must mean that he’s acknowledging the wisdom of his words.
He buries his face in the chibi’s neck. Ah, it’s still wet. His mouth is still dry. The obvious solution is to lick it so he can quench his thirst. He’s prepared for his tongue to be assaulted by a heavy taste of salt, but his slug tastes very sweet.
Huh. That doesn’t make sense. He’s probably just affected by the heat, and it has scrambled the signals between his taste buds and his brain. Best to lick it again so he can be sure.
…Huh. It’s still very sweet. Chuuya’s wet chest is rumbling against his bandage-wrapped own. The hitching of his slug’s breath sounds and feels so nice, that he can generously ignore the words that provide the background music.
“What the hell are you doing! Stop licking me, I’m going to kill you, asshole!”
Ah, it’s really music to his ears.
Ignoring the other’s wild protests that somehow don’t translate to shoving him away and punching him to the sea, he hooks his fingers over the elastic of the other’s shorts. In-between his attempts at drinking off Chuuya’s skin, he asks, “Don’t you always like to say that the people with power should do their best to protect those who are lacking in strength?”
“What does that have to do with whatever you’re—ah, damn it, if you bite me there, then they’d definitely see—! Oi—!! Stop biting me harder—!!!”
“I’m just making sure you take responsibility,” he says simply, before he decides that the best way to quench his thirst is to drink directly from the other’s mouth.
As expected of a genius, he’s absolutely right.
Everything tastes so much sweeter and nicer when it’s flavored with Chuuya’s moans.
…
…
…
…
…
…How very strange. Why does his entire body feel like it’s been submerged in a black hole, while also being crawled by a thousand ants? His face feels like it’s been scraped hard against some sandpaper too…
His head still feels woozy, like his brain has been reduced to a slushie swirling inside his skull.
It takes several moments before he could focus on the sounds above him.
“—psychic damage? That’s the last thing he said to you?” Chuuya’s familiar gruff voice. “This shitty mackerel is so fucking dramatic.”
Something like a mix of Atsushi and Akutagawa. The sound of gentle waves, of footsteps padding away. A slight swoosh of wind, until someone’s tiny, sand-covered foot is kicking him lightly in the forehead.
“Oi, shitty Dazai, stop pretending to be knocked out, I know you’re awake now!”
It takes effort open his eyes. Chuuya is standing beside him, looking taller than usual. Instead of a sheepdog, he could now be compared to a German shepherd. But only because of the perspective.
Right now, he’s lying on his back, while everything from his neck down is buried under the sand. To his left side, the side further away from the waves, there’s an entire nation of sandcastles. There’s even a crab-shaped one. Regardless of whether gravity manipulation has been used to cheat on making them, it still means that a substantial amount of time has passed while he’s unconscious.
“You got a heatstroke, you fool,” is the succinct explanation from his chibi. Right now, he’s smearing more sand against his chin using his foot. His shorts aren’t dripping wet, and he’s wearing his beach jacket, even if it’s not fully zipped up.
Dazai mentally recites a eulogy for Atsushi and Akutagawa. After all, they’ve seen Chuuya’s abs at such a close range—
Another kick to his jaw. “Whatever shitty thing you’re thinking of, knock it off.”
“Is a silly chibi trying to read my mind?” This is the worst day in forever. Where did the sweetly moaning chibikko go? Summer is really terrible, making one fall for mirages.
“You call me silly?!” Chuuya squats by his side, then starts punching him over the sand lump on his chest. With scorching heat rivaling the summer sun’s, he goes on a rant:
“You’re the idiot who got a heatstroke! Ended up nosebleeding all over the place! Fainted and nearly drowned on shallow waters! All because you’re too cheap to buy sunscreen! And because you’re too stupid to stop wearing your stupid bandages and your stupid coat when you go out in the beach!”
Dazai could only blink at him, speechless as his mind tries to connect the dots.
The late hour, the dried clothes, the mass of sandcastles built around him, as if to patiently pass the time while waiting for him to wake up—
Chuuya continues on, ignoring his awestruck look.
“Who the fuck cares if you have some scars! Your face is ugly and your personality is even uglier so nobody would go near enough to see them anyway! And even if someone thinks that your scars are ugly, who the fuck cares about that person, huh?! Don’t tell me that just because you’re on the side of light now, you’re just going to be a goody-goody two-shoes and allow them bully you?!”
By the time Chuuya is done, he’s already holding Dazai’s cheeks and shaking his head as if to physically shake some sense to him.
He licks his lips. “…So, what I’ve understood is that you like my body so much that you want me to strut around half-naked.”
Chuuya shoves his head back to the sand. “YOU UNDERSTOOD ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!”
Ah, his chibikko is really too feisty. He isn’t docilely moaning for his kisses, but this chibi who’s angrily stomping away, leaving him buried in the heavy sand to be possibly pinched by wandering crabs…
It really is a lot sweeter.
Especially since he sees Chuuya carrying his tan coat with him as he causes mini earthquakes with each angered footstep that he makes.
That’s the sweetest kind of invitation he could ever receive.
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