Work Text:
It’s such a bewildering sight, more stupefying than that One Time Atsushi dreamed—ahem, had a nightmare—of Akutagawa suddenly having bushy eyebrows. It’s been two years since he’s been with the Agency, and he’s seen his fair share of mystifying sights.
The sight of his mentor being drunk? Surely one of the harbingers of the apocalypse. This is Dazai Osamu, someone who once slam-dunked himself into a water tank filled with alcohol, then came out of it burping happily, the alcoholic contents completely decimated, and even had the audacity to ask for more wine. This is Dazai Osamu, who could outdrink anyone.
This is now Dazai Osamu, his mentor, splayed out like a gutted fish over the table, exhaling a breath of hectares of vineyard. He occupies one end of the table, legs stretched out to the opposite side, so nobody could leave, as the table’s other end is flush against the wall. His arms are sprawled forward, his fingers drawing random circles on the tabletop. His voice is hoarse and teary, sounding like someone who’s just cried himself to sleep. His face is turned to the table’s surface, but even his hair strands look sufficiently limp and gloomy.
It’s such an interesting, terrifying sight. Even Kunikida-san—firm believer in ‘no alcohol during lunch breaks’—looks on curiously instead of whacking his head. After all, the sight of Dazai-san being open with his private affairs is just too rare.
Everyone is here, ready to listen to some exciting gossip. Thankfully, the owner of the restaurant under the Agency’s office is a very understanding person. (Ah, come to think of it, Ranpo-san has dragged Poe-san out to buy some snacks, right before Dazai-san flopped on top of the table and trapped them here. So, everyone but those two detectives are here.)
With a hiccup, Dazai complains to the table, “Ahh, I hate it so much… Why am I stuck in such a healthy relationship where there’s someone making sure I eat three full meals per day?”
Atsushi can only blink and hesitantly ask, “Um… Isn’t that supposed to be the goal?”
“Of course not!” The brown nest wiggles on the tabletop. “I only entered into a relationship with such a stupid little man because I wanted to prove to him that he’s the worst kind of boyfriend!”
Atsushi has the sudden urge to cover the ears of himself, Kyouka and Kenji. This doesn’t seem like something that young, impressionable ears should listen to. Unfortunately, he only has two hands and that’s not enough for six ears. Even more unfortunate, he’s too flabbergasted to even move.
Silence rings over their table.
Not minding the petrified state of his listeners, Dazai continues to air out his grievances, “He’ll plan out meals in advance and force me to wake up to eat his homemade breakfast! And then laugh at me so cutely when he forces me to eat grilled mackerel for breakfast! Cannibalism jokes shouldn’t sound so adorable!”
Atsushi gulps air. He’s not sure whether he’s thankful that he can’t see his mentor’s expression right now. The tips of his ears are red as he sways his head from side to side, as if trying to wipe his thoughts against the tabletop.
“Then, he’ll text me to ask what did I eat for the second meal of the day? Then he’ll graciously respond to my texts asking him what he’s wearing with a, “here’s a picture, you senile bastard”? Of course I know that he’s wearing his tacky hat, but if he really wants me to have a good lunch, he needs to provide me with my dessert too!”
It’s every man for himself. Atsushi raises his hands and covers his ears. He’s suddenly having so many war flashbacks to all of the times that he’s heard his mentor creepily laugh about eating dessert, then holing himself up in the Agency’s bathroom. He once thought it’s been haunted by a ghost with grudge, but it was just Dazai-san laughing darkly while promising the person on the other end of the phone line, “I’ll make sure to savor your insides well later tonight.”
Unfortunately, because he’s also curious, and Dazai-san’s nullification ability seems to nullify even his palms as physical sound barriers—he still hears what comes next.
“And when I come back home, he’ll be wearing this frilly apron with a dog in it!”
Someone, who sounds like Kunikida-san, if he’s soullessly drowning in spit, asks, “So that’s why you’ve been learning how to embroider dogs…?”
“And he’ll even indulge me when I trick him into spoonfeeding me dinner! And he’ll listen to everything I say about my day! And he’ll remember them and ask updates about the gossip I share with him! He even remembers the 34th item on Kunikida-kun’s ‘ideal woman’ checklist!”
“What a responsible man you’ve managed to—OI, WAIT A MINUTE, WHY DO YOU KNOW—?!”
Dazai-san sounds so distressed when he says, “He agrees to bathing together and wearing matching pajamas. I like having unpredictable sleep schedule, but when there’s a chibi cuddling me and massaging my head, then I have no choice but to sleep well!”
Naomi whispers something that sounds like, “This sounds even more lovey-dovey than us, nii-san! We can’t let them beat us!”
Atsushi ignores that bit for the sake of his sanity. Still, he can’t help but ask, “Umm… isn’t that the point???”
He really doesn’t know what’s going on. His mentor’s complaints sound so genuinely distressed that he’s starting to think that he’s the weird one for thinking that it actually sounds like a perfect relationship? He too would like to be petted to sleep?? Maybe not by Nakahara Chuuya—because he does treasure his life, he doesn’t want to know if he could regenerate an entire neck if a certain someone’s jealousy gets the best of him—but that sounds like such a wonderful life???
“He’s excellent at household chores and he doesn’t even break my neck when I install the twentieth camera in our bedroom! He knows how I drive and yet he still allows me to drive him, and buys me three cars!”
…Fine, that last bit is really terrifying. Atsushi has experienced the Dazai Special Driving™ and he could safely say that it’s the one experience he’d really rather not repeat anytime ever. If there’s any doubt that Nakahara Chuuya is a godly presence that cannot be measured by human standards, this is it. How his insides have managed to stay intact, and how his heart managed to stay enamored, even through all of this should be etched upon the record of the world’s most powerful miracles.
Three cars? Atsushi would be okay with three premium chazuke meals every week! A quick look at the entire table shows that everyone is making rapid calculations about a certain Executive’s salary, as well as how he’s somehow unable to afford common sense, by lavishing Dazai-san with so much luxuries.
“He complains about my attire so much that he buys eight coats, four shoes, five cufflinks every month! He even asks me to pick one vacation destination every quarter! He spoils me a lot, I hate that chibikko so much!”
He tries not to sound too jealous of his mentor’s cozy life when he says, “That sounds like he loves you very much…?”
“Love…?” Dazai-san bangs his forehead against the table. “That chibikko has been on a mission in Kyoto for 14106 minutes! All of his clothes don’t have his stupid slug smell anymore!”
…
…
…
Suddenly, the reason for this drinking binge and airing of grievances has revealed itself. Atsushi’s head hurts, especially since Dazai-san starts drunkenly singing a modified version of his ‘double suicide song’. Instead, it’s now listing several meals that he’d like to eat off his lover’s body once he returns.
The bell to the restaurant rings.
Ranpo-san cheerfully asks the table that is filled with different stages of catatonia, “How is it? Has Dazai-kun finally finished bragging about his lovey-dovey relationship with Fancy Hat?”
-
-
-
Somewhere in Kyoto, there’s a man in red and in love.
He’s cross-legged while floating on air, a red glow surrounding him. In front of him, there’s a phone floating while in loudspeaker mode, blasting music to the alley that has been cordoned off by Port Mafia members.
Said music is uttered by a very crazy mackerel who knows how to play up a very melodramatic tone. Knowing that bastard, he’s probably shaking in laughter while he says all of these nonsensical things.
Head massage? Isn’t that just him trying to strangle the asshole for somehow sneaking into his office and hiding important paperwork?
Breakfast in bed? Isn’t that just him avoiding food poisoning by cooking things himself so the idiot can’t poison him and then force him to skip work and just cuddle the entire day?
Buying all those clothes? Isn’t that just because the bastard insists on wearing nothing but bandages while he’s inside their home, so he has to save his eyesight by buying him a full attire?
…Hating him?
…Isn’t that just because Dazai is an idiot who can’t be honest with himself? (Not that he has a lot of room to talk, but he’s disparaging his shitty mackerel here.)
Still, the music has served its use.
Chuuya smiles at the last head of the yakuza in this region. Everything else has been suppressed by his efforts, after all.
“You heard it, right? The bastard’s intel?”
Gritting his teeth over all of the injuries that have bloomed red on his body, the man hisses, “You cannot find—”
Chuuya sighs. “That shitty mackerel is lazy and irresponsible, but he wouldn’t lie on this.” He taps his fingers on his folded knees.
From the bastard’s complaints about the meals: “Three full ships have left the nearest port. The second one is laced with explosives that would make anyone who approaches it grilled like a mackerel.”
He continues, bored already by this person’s ways of resisting the mafia’s torture methods.
“Mentioning cannibalism means that you’ve had some contact with the remnants of the Rats. Senility… the old man janitor in your building is actually the real boss of your organization and you’re just a decoy.” He stretches his arms as he starts to float down to the ground. “34 means that the receptionist from your building—that Miyo woman, is the one handling the communications for the rest of your group’s escape.”
He breathes. “And you’ll need three cars for the proper route—that’s been mapped out already.”
He has already relayed the information to the rest of his team. After a few minutes, there’s someone who rushes into the alley and reports the mission success.
Chuuya smiles again, the last sight his target will see before he kicks them to death.
“You heard it, right? My pet fish misses me so much that he’s started daytime drinking, so it’s about time I finish up here.”
Once he’s given the orders to the subordinates who will handle the clean-up, Chuuya takes off like a blazing red comet.
After all, a certain mackerel did tell him, “come quickly, I love you.”
-
end