Work Text:
His phone vibrates incessantly inside his pocket, right as he’s about to take a sip from his steaming cup of coffee. With the sheer inconvenience of the timing, he already has a guess as to the identity of the caller.
Just like always, he ignores it. There is never a proper time to run away, but there also isn’t a proper time to deal with a stinky mackerel that radiates fishiness everywhere. Early in the morning right before he’s had a dose of caffeine is certainly not it.
So, he goes on to drink his coffee.
And just as he’s about to swallow the blessed elixir of a workaholic’s life, his phone stops vibrating. And then, it starts vibrating and wailing out an unwelcome ringtone of: “Shorties who drink so much coffee will shrink into an even smaller slug~ woo~ woo~”
Just like always, he ends up suffering through a murder attempt so early in his day.
He nearly suffocates on his coffee, sputtering out in rage. How the fuck did the bastard even manage to change his ringtone when he’s clearly put it on mute?! What the flying fuck?!!
Dismayed that he ended up wasting a mouthful of coffee thanks to a bastard, he quickly picks up his phone and his thumb hovers over the option to block the other’s number.
It’s the same number that the other has had ever since their middle school days. Because his brain isn’t actually as small as the other keeps on claiming, such a short number sequence has already been long burned into his memory. He could recite it backwards in his sleep. He doesn’t actually need to save it as a phonebook entry.
He should have blocked it long ago, never mind the niggling possibility that the other could circumvent it anyway. Dazai’s bored enough to build a robot version of himself for random amusement; he’s definitely bored enough to learn things such as hacking into his phone and unblocking his own number.
…Still, he should block him.
If only for the brief respite from the other’s stupid voice singing a customized, deliberately off-tune ringtone.
But then, he remembers the idiot mackerel jumping off from random buildings right after calling him and leaving him shitty ‘farewell messages’ such as “I’ve made you the beneficiary of all my bandages, Chuuya” and “if I die now, this means that our bet record stands in favor of my victory”.
One thought of the shitty mackerel that has evolved to a shitty mackerel thief always leads to another and another. Like a giant snowball rolling down a mountain, gathering dirt and causing destruction in its wake.
It’s not even seven in the morning and Chuuya’s already shaking in rage at the sidewalk between the café and his office. It’s a regular part of his routine, along with his skyward yell of, “Shitty Dazai, I hate you so much!”
-
Another regular feature of his daily routine is sitting on his desk, finishing off the pile of reports and answering all of his emails by ten o’clock.
He lets out a sigh of relief. There is nothing more beautiful than a clean desk and a clean email inbox. Right on the moment that he relaxes and leans to rest his back against his chair, Akutagawa knocks on his door and delivers bad news.
A short cough before, “The Phantom Thieves have sent out a heist notice.”
He glares at the second phone—his personal phone—that’s resting innocently in his desk. Several hundreds of missed calls and a spam barrage of LINE messages. His sigh from earlier becomes something heavier. “Of fucking course there’s a heist.”
When he picks up the card that’s part of the Phantom Thieves’ specialty, it takes all of his self-control to not tear it into hundreds of pieces, imagining that it’s Dazai’s face that he’s destroying.
For this heist’s ‘message’, there’s a long unintelligible code on top. Below it, there’s a note: “This cipher can be decoded by shifting to a specified number. Hint: this refers to the number of times a small slug has refused to indulge the sexiest, cutest, coolest thief today!”
He isn’t masochistic enough to actually count the number of times that the other has tried to melt down his phone. Even his actual phone has stopped counting past the first 99 attempts. Still, because he unfortunately has known this dramatic, petty bastard since middle school—
“Set up the usual team. I know the code already.”
He waves off the look of undisguised awe that Akutagawa shoots him.
It really isn’t worth any admiration.
Dazai can’t stand it if he isn’t paying him any attention. He’s already tried stealing a bottle of wine from his cellar yesterday, so today is his turn to act like a giant baby.
Later that day, they set up camp at a museum that’s showcasing a rare sapphire. Due to the last-minute notice, Dazai and his cohorts are easily able to steal the gem right under their noses.
Even with the last-minute notice, Chuuya knows this asshole’s tactics, so he’s able to ignore all the body doubles and the smokescreens. He chases after the person who’s disguised as a janitor, taking the emergency staircase and practically flying up to race against the elevator’s ascent to the rooftop.
“YOU SHITTY FISH, STOP RIGHT THERE—!!!” He bellows as soon as he catches up to the bastard on the rooftop. He ignores the burning sensation on his legs as he removes his coat, balls it up, then uses it as a projectile to hit the other man’s stupid head.
Dazai actually staggers a bit from the blow. “Such a brutish chibikko,” he complains, rubbing at his forehead that has a pinkish imprint from the impact.
There are only several meters separating them. His lungs are burning too, but he still yells, “Shut the hell up! Come here and give me your hands, damn it!”
At these words, Dazai perks up, eyes shining as he practically skips towards him. He’s grinning widely, cheeks flushed as if he’s the one who just ran up twenty flights of stairs. “Ah, chibikko, have you finally realized things?” He reaches out with his left hand, angling it strangely, like he’s asking Chuuya to eat it or something. “I’ve waited for almost twelve years, you know?”
It’s probably the breathlessness that’s causing his thoughts to slow down, because he’s just confused as to what twelve years this bastard is talking about. Well, it’s been almost twelve years since he’s had the misfortune of meeting him, but aside from that…?
…It doesn’t matter.
What matters is that Dazai’s left hand is in reach.
“I’ve waited almost twelve years too,” he says, because he’s already sensed that this person is no-good from their first meeting. He’s long wanted to lock him up so he could stop annoying him, stealing his bento, stealing his bed covers, stealing his credit cards—he’s been practicing to be an irritating thief for so long, damn it.
For possibly the first time in their life, Dazai looks stupefied enough to stutter, “R-R-Really…?”
“Really,” he responds firmly. Yeah, this idiot is the type to be moved by someone revealing that they’ve always wanted to put him in jail.
“O-Oh.” Dazai swallows hard. His cheeks grow even redder. Is this bastard actually sick? This is what he gets for insisting on doing heists on cold nights and then jumping off chilly, breezy rooftops. His voice is small and hushed when he says, “Today’s sapphire is no good compared to… to…”
And now he’s going to insult the gem that he’s stolen right under the noses of the police?!
Chuuya clicks his tongue in anger, grabs the other’s hand, ignores the other’s squeal, and fastens a handcuff on him.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Why isn’t he reacting! Is he just going to surrender this easily?! After all the trouble he’s caused?!
Chuuya twitches, then clears his throat. “If you’re going to be this obedient, give me your other hand too.” When Dazai doesn’t seem to be breathing with how he’s turned to stone, he takes the other’s hand and gently cuffs him. “Your 3341 code today. If you’re going to say that ‘you’re lonely’, I can be nice and make sure that you have company in your prison cell.”
Dazai still doesn’t react, going catatonic on the spot.
The beanpole is too damn tall, so Chuuya has to stand on his tiptoes so he can check the other’s temperature. “Oi. Are you actually sicker than usual today, shitty Dazai?”
That snaps the mackerel out of his trance. With puffed-up cheeks, he leans down quickly and headbutts him. Full of grievances, he whines as he slips out of the cuffs, “You’re such a stupid chibi! Stupid! Shorty! Small-brained!”
In a puff of smoke, the mackerel disappears, but his red-eyed, red-cheeked expression is burned into his memory.
Today’s sapphire is left by his feet.
Just what the fuck happened…?
-
He doesn’t get a lot of time to think about the other’s oddness.
The morning after, he gets volunteered by Mori-san to attend a press conference that’s supposed to improve the image of the police in the eyes of the public. Or something.
He’s not quite sure how this is going to help, especially since the questions are all in the vein of, “Can you tell us about your ideal woman?”, “Do you already have someone you like?” and “Does your heart already belong to someone?”
At first, he suspects that it’s part of Dazai’s machinations. He can’t be blamed for thinking so—for every 99 bad thing that happens to him, 100 of them are due to Dazai. The extra 1 is reserved for the bad thing that he just hasn’t heard about yet.
Then again, if it’s Dazai, there’s no point in asking these things. He’s infuriating, but he’s a genius and he’s known him for a long time, so he should already know the answers to these things. Plus, with this kind of personal questions, he’d probably throw a tantrum about, “Only I have the right to know these things about my dog!” or something similarly irritating.
So, because this isn’t part of Dazai’s arrangements, Chuuya sighs and gives them a winning smile, reciting something that should be a good soundbite: “I devote my entire being to protecting the city of Yokohama.”
-
He spends the rest of the day staring at his phone, to the point that he takes longer than usual to complete the paperwork related to yesterday’s case.
He’s seriously worried if Dazai has ended up in a ditch somewhere. He can’t remember the last time he hasn’t received at least a hundred messages by lunchtime. On top of his worries, he’s also mentally replaying the conversation from last night.
Dazai stuttering and looking so lost is such a rarity, after all.
He can’t be blamed for wanting to revisit that memory over and over again.
He’s almost floating off the ground in a daze by the time work ends for the day. He considers contacting Dazai, because it really is too strange to not hear anything from him.
Did he end up inhaling too much smoke from his smoke bomb yesterday? Was he really sick? Should he buy some crab and cook hotpot for the bastard, because everyone knows that he’s a shitty cook and a dumbass who would prefer to languish in his bed instead of taking medicine?
His feet are already taking him to the supermarket. He doesn’t call Dazai—it’s not like he needs the other to open up the door for him or anything. He still has a copy of the other’s key, but only because it’s been foisted off him and he’s just never bothered to return it.
Sometimes, he does surprise inspections on the other’s apartment, after all. He hasn’t been able to find solid evidence that Dazai’s a Phantom Thief, that way, but he has plenty of evidence that the other is a dumbass who still hasn’t learned how to do proper household chores over the years that they’ve known each other.
He frowns when he reaches Dazai’s apartment.
The mackerel bastard isn’t around. His bed does look like it’s been wrecked by a whirlwind, and there’s still the faint leftover scent of his shower gel in it. So, he must have slept on it recently.
Well, if he didn’t end up in a ditch… he should just go back to his own place, in the next building over.
…Well, he’s already here… he’s already brought crab… he doesn’t particularly like it, so it would just take up unnecessary space on his fridge…
It happens then, while he’s finishing up his cooking of crab soup and some other meals so that Dazai’s fridge can actually do its job instead of being a useless decoration. The television is set to the news channel, part of his occupational disease where he wants to be kept updated on the city’s happenings as much as possible.
Breaking news, the segment says. Chuuya nearly breaks the table in front of him.
The marquees are one headache after another.
“Phantom Thief Blue steals the city of Yokohama”.
“Phantom Thief Blue steals all the paperwork relevant to the city’s identity and changes the ownership information.”
“Phantom Thief Blue amends the paperwork in many places, and renames the city to a City of Stupid Slugs.”
“Phantom Thief Blue declares that he will return the city he has stolen only if a certain slug comes and enters the code to unlock the safe hiding the original paperwork.”
Chuuya could only stare in disbelief at the television for the next fifteen minutes.
That mackerel bastard… is really sick, he needs at least ten punches in the face—!!!
-
So that he doesn’t have to field calls that would ask “Are you that slug, Chuuya-san?”, he switches off his other phone. The one whose number is known to his work colleagues.
He only brings with him his personal phone that is reserved for a certain bastard. After all, he’s prone to smashing it to the ground, so it’s only right that he has another means of contact for everyone else.
He packs the rest of the cooked meals and sets them inside the fridge. No matter how angry he is, he’s not going to waste his cooking efforts. He packs the crab soup separately, because he’s planning to throw it on Dazai’s face.
Armed with that and his fists as his weapons, he marches towards the overdramatic mackerel’s stronghold. He doesn’t call for back-up. After all, Dazai is most definitely setting up camp in his own apartment—and what would that reveal? That he’s an accomplice to this sloppy attempt at terrorism? No thank you.
Sure enough, Dazai’s shoes are haphazardly strewn about over his welcome mat. “Would it kill you to actually line your shitty shoes up properly?!”
From his dining room, there’s Dazai’s, “Yes, yes, welcome home, chibi, I can smell the crab already, I want to eat!”
“I’m not feeding you, you damn thief!”
“I plan to return it anyway as soon as you enter the code.” From his slump over the dining table, Dazai has the gall to pout at him, like he’s the terrible one here. Instead of the actual damn thief.
“If you’re planning on returning it anyway, why don’t you just… not steal in the first place?!” He swings the insulated bag that contains the tub of crab soup, so that it slaps the other’s cheek.
As expected of a shameless guy, Dazai gamely focuses on getting his favorite crab out, instead of being reprimanded. “Just think of it as me making sure that you have money, chibikko. The city’s too peaceful, so if there aren’t any excitement happening, then there’d be no need for your job, right?”
“What’s the point of getting money if you’re just going to mooch off me,” he asks in dismay.
“Mm, that’s the entire point of it! You should earn more money so I’ll have more crabs to eat!”
They argue a bit more, until the crab soup has gone from the single microwaveable container to two separate stomachs.
Chuuya stares at the way the reddish sunset reflects on the building right across his window. Dazai’s apartment building. Fuck, the mackerel really is inescapable. The many times they’ve flashed Morse Code lights at each other from across the window… Just one of the many codes that are in their lives.
He makes a gesture at the stupid fish in front of him. “Give me the safe, and I’ll enter the code.”
“You won’t ask why I stole the city?”
He rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it because of how I answered that interview question.” It’s not a question.
Dazai’s eyes glitter at him, before he pushes forward a briefcase that has a number pad on one side. “Mm, does this mean that you’re admitting to knowing the code?”
“If this explodes,” he warns just as he’s about to enter the code, “it’s going to explode on both our faces.”
“A romantic double suicide~”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He meets Dazai’s eyes, and enters 18782. Could be read as, i-ya-na-ya-tsu. Unpleasant guy.
Dazai breathes in, standing up sharply, an unpleasant expression on his face. Like he’s on the brink of throwing the biggest tantrum of his life. Like he’s about to cry a river that would drown the entire city. The city that Chuuya has claimed to devote his entire being to.
…Pfft, he really is such an idiot.
Before Dazai can run away and throw another tantrum, he also stands up from his seat and grabs the other’s left wrist. Shifts his hold so that he’s moving the other’s fingers, to type up the correct code, the confession that this cowardly guy has orchestrated to witness.
14106.
A short beeping sound to indicate that it’s the right code. But they don’t pay attention to it, the beep already swallowed up by the sound of Dazai banging his legs against the table as he tries to climb it, so he can jump Chuuya.
A long kiss, interspersed with bickering.
“Finally, I thought you’d take another twelve years to realize it.”
“The person who’s too afraid to give a straightforward confession can just shut up, oi.”
They don’t stop bickering, but that’s just the usual for them.
-
The next morning finds Chuuya facing a murder attempt at five in the morning. It comes in the form of a skinny octopus trying to suffocate him by hugging him so tightly that his lungs are squeezed out.
His heart is also squeezed out of his chest when the octopus mumbles, “I can’t believe that I have such bad taste to fall for a stupid slug, is this karma for having such a sexy body, genius brains and sparkling charm?”
…No, that’s just him having an aneurysm from being so aggravated at such an early hour without a drop of coffee in his system.
He doesn’t get to drink coffee yet, but Dazai’s coffee-colored gaze, full of mischief and affection, drowns him the moment he opens his eyes.
On the twelfth anniversary of their meeting, the sun shines bright on the city of Yokohama, and a new routine is added to Chuuya’s daily life.
-
end
“14106” = “ai-shi-te-ru” = “I love you” (◡‿◡✿)