Work Text:
The elevator cannot come fast enough.
“Quit stepping so hard,” Chuuya complains against his shoulder, landing a weak punch to his back. “It hurts.”
It wouldn’t hurt if you hadn’t almost killed yourself an hour ago , Dazai privately fumes. I thought I was supposed to be the suicidal one, you asshole. He has about a billion comebacks prepared to snap at Chuuya for being goaded into using Corruption like that— one sight of Dazai strolling through the port alleyways had been all the insurance he’d needed to unleash the beast, so to speak, and on some random rising gang too. Dazai had to drop everything he was doing (slacking off, buying a new manga that came out, checking on the fishery he’s using as a rendezvous point for his latest information broker) and run at the sight of a familiar fedora flying off on a preternatural breeze. Honestly, it’s a sign of magnanimous patience that Dazai’s been able to hold his tongue about the idiocy this long.
Now, Dazai just rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I'm trying to make things difficult. You’re just too heavy.”
He receives a wordless grumble in response as he waits for the elevator, nearly collapsing with relief when the metallic doors finally slide open. Just a little longer. Hefting Chuuya higher, he shuffles them awkwardly onto the elevator and struggles to press the button for the dorms, releasing a sigh of relief. Ugh, it’s such a pain that dumping Chuuya on the mafia’s doorstep would cause more problems than dragging his sorry ass back home would—
“Dazai-san! Hold the door for us!”
…or maybe he spoke too soon.
Dazai barely even suppresses the groan rising in his chest, because that’s Kenji’s voice.
Chuuya freezes on his back as three pairs of footsteps come rushing toward them from the stairwell, hurrying in hopes of catching the doors before they close. He immediately identifies the clack of sandals as Kenji, the click of heels as Yosano, and another pair of generic footsteps he can’t quite match through the overwhelming and utter dread. A moment of silent understanding passes between the former members of Double Black, and then reality snaps back.
“Hit the fucking button!” Chuuya hisses, wide awake and pounding relentlessly at his shoulder.
Dazai, already jamming his finger against the close door button, other hand clutching at Chuuya’s thigh so his injured ass doesn’t fall off Dazai’s back and onto the dirty floor— god fucking dammit stop thrashing around, dumbass, it’s not helping — is not amused. “I'm trying!”
“Try faster!”
Kenji is just rounding the corner as the elevator dings, the doors beginning to slide shut. He keeps hammering the close button, and Chuuya has both arms wrapped around his neck like a fucking vice grip, and Dazai’s just thought up a brilliant joke about saving the choking for the bedroom, please, when a hand shoots through the thin gap of closing doors to wrench them open. A bright and cheery smile comes poking through, shredding whatever pathetic bits of dignity and self-respect he still possessed.
“Whew, almost missed it!” Kenji says, his presence widening the doors to reveal him one-handedly hoisting a stack of boxes above his head, teetering dangerously close to the ceiling. “These city elevators sure are amazing!”
Behind him, the telltale click of heels signals the doctor approaching. Kenji hurries inside the elevator to allow room, pressing himself up against the back corner. That’s when he finally notices the mafia executive slumped across Dazai’s shoulders like a clingy, half-dead, human backpack, and his eyes light up with glee. “Oh! You’re the one with the upside-down hat!”
Dazai furrows his brow in a confusion so deep he hopes his partner can sense it somehow. If the way Chuuya stiffens means anything, then it definitely worked.
“Yeah,” he offers, sheepish as he tips the brim of his hat. “That’s me.”
Before Dazai can demand an explanation for whatever the hell that means, the telltale click of heels approaches and a familiar voice calls from not too far behind.
“It’s ridiculous! He can’t keep running off like this when he’s scheduled for work, we have a business to run here! What are we supposed to do with clients when we’re short-staffed like this?”
Yosano heaves a sigh, coming into view with an armful of boxes. “It’s Dazai, what did you expect?”
She turns and freezes the moment she sees him, then stiffens further when she notices them. Chuuya has his hat halfway tipped, Kenji bouncing up and down on his heels while Dazai stands awkwardly in the middle of it all, wearing a full-grown man like a backpack. He watches with horror the moment some realization dawns on her, mouth curling into a mischievous, knowing smile just as Kunikida himself comes barreling into view with his own stack of boxes.
Chuuya’s hands bunch up somewhere in his shirt. Kunikida stops behind Yosano, frowning and trying to puzzle out why she’s stopped, but then his eyes fall upon the elevator and his entire body goes rigid. Dazai internally winces as the man visibly processes what he’s seeing, struggling to place the familiar face before he understands, appalled and looking as if he’s found an infestation of roaches living in the elevator shaft rather than a person.
“Is that… Nakahara Chuuya?”
Concealing emotions might be his expertise, but even Dazai can’t contain the grimace after that statement.
Yosano pipes up before he can, smirking. “It seems he’s gotten himself into a little trouble, hm?”
Dazai glares like he can melt the woman with his eyes alone, because she clearly knows something and is being difficult about this, and he’s already having a difficult time here!
“Kunikida-san, did you know he can hold his hat on upside down?” Kenji chimes in, oblivious.
“No,” Kunikida answers, in a tone of voice that implies his not knowing that fact previously was an affront to humanity. “Why did you bring him here?”
“Are you seeing all that blood? He clearly needs a helping hand,” Yosano replies.
“But from Dazai? He’s a Port Mafia executive!”
“He can also hear you guys arguing about him right now,” Chuuya says. The previously mentioned blood-loss (and excitement of trying to get the elevator to close) has clearly taken its toll on him, considering how rough and drawn out the words are. “If you’re gonna kick him— kick me out, then just do it already.”
“No one’s kicking anyone out.” Dazai sighs. “I’ll get rid of him before tomorrow, just let it go for now, Kunikida-kun?”
“Damn, he’s not even staying the night?” Yosano shakes her head. “Even you’re not that cruel, Dazai.”
“Can he stay over longer?” Kenji asks. “I want to see him turn upside down again, but I’m busy right now!”
“He shouldn’t even be here now!” Kunikida huffs. Despite his words, he still shuffles into the elevator beside Yosano, doors closing behind him. “What even happened to him?”
“Zombies happened to him— to me, fuck, can you all stop doing that?” Chuuya groans and hides his face best he can, which in this scenario means he’s tucked his nose onto the nape of Dazai’s neck. The conversation, which he’s barely been a part of before, suddenly, rapidly slips from his grasp at the feeling.
“Sorry,” Yosano says, sounding not sorry at all.
“Zombies? ” Kenji gasps in pure awe. “Oh wow, the city sure has everything! I bet you fought them off without your hat ever falling off!”
Dazai can feel a smile twitching across Chuuya’s mouth, through the collar of his shirt. “Uh, yeah, I sure did.”
“Uh, no, you sure didn’t.” Dazai snaps back into the conversation. “You used Corruption. Your shitty hat is how I found you anyway. Try not to lose your things, next time.”
“You used what?”
Ah. Oops. Dazai forgot Kunikida doesn’t know about the full extent of Chuuya’s powers yet.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing,” Kunikida says, miffed.
“Ugh, look—”
Ding!
“Oh, that’s our stop,” Yosano says, shoving between them and nudging Kunikida through on the way. “We’ll talk to you guys later, have… fun. Yeah.”
“What?” Dazai deadpans.
“Bye upside-down-man!” Kenji calls, also nudging Kunikida out and down the hallway.
“See ya later kid,” Chuuya calls back.
“Dazai! ” Kunikida shouts, “We’re talking about this tomorrow! I’m not letting you off the hook that easily—”
“You know, I thought they’d have more objections,” Chuuya says. Dazai dumps him on the couch, earning a grumble, and goes to grab the first aid kit. “Seriously,” he says when Dazai gets back. “Are your friends crazy or something? They should hate me more than this.”
“Don’t get full of yourself. They don’t even know you,” Dazai tells him. He sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa and starts disinfecting and bandaging.
“Fuck off.” Chuuya shakes him off and raises his hand, wiggling his fingers around. The gauze wrapped around his palm doesnt even slip. “I guess your bandaging’s gotten better. I don’t even know why I’m surprised, considering…” He looks Dazai up and down, brow raised, and even though it’s nothing more than an appraising eye at the bandages perpetually adorning himself, it still feels too much like flirtation for how upset— no, mildly irritated , Dazai is right now. He grabs Chuuya’s hand again to finish patching him up, holding his arm tighter than necessary.
“Maybe if you didn’t use Corruption so easily like that, then I wouldn’t have to be your little nurse right now.”
Chuuya scowls. “It’s not like I wanted to. It’s a last resort, I know that better than—”
“Clearly you don’t,” Dazai interrupts.
They lapse into silence. Chuuya stares at him while he works; Dazai pointedly ignores the attention. He hums something innocuous to fill the silence, some showtune, and sighs when he’s finally done. “I’ll order takeout. You need to eat to get back all that blood you lost,” Dazai says, stretching and grabbing his phone. “You want American, or Chinese or—”
“Why are you all pissy?”
“I’m not pissy,” Dazai says. “Now, what do you want to eat? If you don’t answer in five seconds we’re just eating canned crab and Spam.”
Chuuya stares at him with a frustrated expression.
Dazai stares back.
“...five, four—”
“Fine, whatever. Uh, can you get beef bowls on delivery?”
“Yeah,” Dazai says. “I’m paying with your card.”
“You know my credit card number!?”
It’s around 7 in the evening when there’s a soft knocking at his door.
Dazai pauses the drama he was watching (muted and with subtitles, because Chuuya’s asleep on the couch and even if he’s mad, he’s not going to disturb a patented Chuuya Post-Corruption Nap™) and answers the door. It’s Yosano.
“Hey,” she says, already snapping latex gloves onto her hands. “Sorry I got held up before, but I’m here to help now.”
Dazai stares at her blankly.
“You know? To heal your heavily injured boyfriend?” She scoffs. “You seriously weren’t thinking of just slapping a couple of bandaids onto internal bleeding and hoping that would fix everything.”
Maybe he had been, but that’s kind of what they’d always done after Corruption anyway. Dazai doesn’t think it’s that bad of a plan… but then again, they were teenagers when they got into that rhythm, and Chuuya did develop an intolerance to spicy food after a particularly tough mission back when they were 17…
—Wait.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dazai tells her, opening the door to let her in.
“My bad. Ex-boyfriend.”
“Ex- partner,” Dazai insists.
“Ex-whatever.” Yosano bypasses the couch and goes straight to his kitchen, making a ruckus as she searches through his cupboards. “Where the fuck do you put all your knives?”
“My what?”
“I left my medical bag back in the office, so I need to borrow— oh, there we go!”
“Wait, wait, wait, run that by me again?”
Yosano twirls the knife deftly in her fingers, metal glinting in the overhead lights. “I left my machete back at the office, so I’m gonna borrow this so I can heal your definitely-not-boyfriend.”
“That’s my kitchen knife,” Dazai says, a hand to his heart. “You are going to use my kitchen knife to kill and get human blood all over it!”
Yosano levels him with a look. “When was the last time you cooked for yourself?”
“...yeah, okay, do whatever you want.”
Yosano snorts out a little laugh and walks over to the couch.
“Hey,” he says, watching as she navigates the cluster-fuck that is his apartment floor. “You know he is a Port Mafia executive, right? You don’t have to help us.”
“You were part of them too, weren’t you?” Yosano looks over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes. “I’m not just gonna leave him to suffer like this, Dazai. If he’s important enough to you that you’re sneaking him in here, then he’s important enough for me to lend a hand.”
Ah, fuck. He’s not expecting how much that makes his heart squeeze.
Dazai scrubs a hand down his face. “He’s not important to me,” he mutters. “But… thanks anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just buy me a coffee later if you feel really bad about it.”
Dazai smiles at her. “Black like your soul?”
“You got it.” Yosano finally picks her way through the mess and to the couch, leaning over it. “Wakey-wakey,” she says, grinning as she shakes Chuuya’s shoulder.
“Eurghaah?” he groans, lashes fluttering. “Aaaurgh!” he groans again, eyes now snapping open at the sight of a knife poised above him.
And then she shanks him.
Dazai’s gonna have a hell of a time getting all that blood off his couch later.
Dazai’s coming back up from getting a week’s load of convenience store meals to refrigerate when he hears it. The elevator snaps open and he shuffles out with his bags, muffled voices growing louder as he turns the corner.
“...see, I told you it was super cool! His hat doesn’t even fall off!”
Dazai whips around the corner so fast he stumbles, only to come face to face with a terrible little gathering in the hallway. Kenji and Atsushi both stare up at the ceiling with awe (Kenji specifically has stars practically glimmering in his eyes) where Chuuya currently stands upside down. True to Kenji’s words, Chuuya’s tell-tale hat is perfectly perched in place, as per usual. Dazai’s just walked in on them as Chuuya takes his hat and lifts it a few inches off his head, the kids watching as it falls backwards right back onto his head, instead of onto the floor.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dazai-san!” Kenji and Atsushi both cry out when they see him, though the latter has a nervous tinge to his voice, one that can only come from knowing that Chuuya and him mix as well as oil and water.
Chuuya flinches upon seeing him, immediately kicking off the ceiling and flipping back to the floor instead. “Hey?” he says.
Dazai narrows his eyes in suspicion.
“Atsushi-kun, Kenji-kun, were you two just going somewhere?”
“Uh,” Atsushi stutters. “We were going out to get ice cream?”
“So, would you like to not be late to doing that?”
“We’re not meeting anyone, so it doesn’t matter if we go out after a little bit!” Kenji pipes up. His smile is sunny and totally oblivious. Atsushi’s expression crumbles into panic beside him.
“I think we should maybe go,” Atsushi tells him. “Um, I’m sure Dazai-san has a lot to discuss with his friend!”
“Right!” Dazai says, shooing them off. “My friend and I here have some very important matters to talk about so goodbye, you two…” And when they’ve disappeared into the elevator, he whips back around to face Chuuya. “Not that I’m not absolutely fucking delighted at seeing someone as annoying as you here, why the hell are you even here?”
Chuuya looks away from his eyes, then at the floor, then runs his hand through his hair.
“...I forgot my jacket.”
Ugh. Dazai sighs and unlocks his door, letting Chuuya in behind him. “And I was hoping to keep it from you for longer,” he says, even though he hadn’t even realized it was here at all. Like he said, his apartment is a mess. Dazai drops his bags on the counter and goes digging through the stuff piled behind the couch, and finds a familiar woolen jacket under a blanket. He tosses it over his shoulder. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Chuuya says, and Dazai watches him slide it over his shoulders. And then watches as he proceeds to do nothing else.
“The door’s right behind you, in case your peabrain forgot,” Dazai informs helpfully. “Unless you actually came over because you desperately wanted to see me. I know I’m everyone’s wildest dreams come to life, and all.” And then he blows him a kiss.
Chuuya grimaces and kicks a stray pillow off the floor in a perfect arc at Dazai’s head. It nails him in the temple, but only because he let it.
“Ow,” Dazai deadpans, catching the pillow in his arms and squeezing it. “What’s your deal? If you don’t actually miss me then get out of my house, Chuuya.”
“This place can barely be called a house,” he responds, but crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring Dazai’s posture. “Look, it’s— I just wanna talk about yesterday.”
“That was two days ago, actually,” Dazai corrects, and this time actually dodges underneath the object Chuuya kicks his way (because it was the T.V. remote, and that one might have actually sent him to the hospital).
“Whatever, smartass.” Chuuya scowls and glares lasers into the floor. “Why’d you help me? And why’d you get so pissed off, too?”
“I wasn’t angry,” Dazai lies. Obviously too, by Chuuya’s expression. “And I helped you because it would be inconvenient if I let you die just like that.”
“You were fucking pissed off!” Chuuya throws his arms up like he's exhausted of Dazai’s shit. “Just give me a straight answer, for fuck’s sake!”
“Hard to give a straight answer when—”
“Stop dodging the question!”
Dazai throws the pillow he was holding at Chuuya’s head instead. Chuuya bats it aside before it lands.
“Sorry for thinking you were stupid for activating corruption when you could have just waited for help!”
Chuuya looks taken aback for all of two seconds before he shakes himself out of it. “If I had waited, then my subordinates would’ve died!”
“You don’t even know that,” Dazai scoffs. “It’s like you were asking to get killed. What if I hadn’t gotten to you in time? Or even noticed you at all?”
“Well, you did,” Chuuya snaps. “So can you stop being weird and annoying about this?”
“You’re the one who brought it up! Sorry for being worried about you if you found it so annoying, then!”
There’s a moment of quiet when Chuuya doesn’t immediately shout back at him after that one, and Dazai runs back over his words and sweats. He didn’t think that was… too incriminating, considering everything between then, but maybe it was. Maybe Chuuya’s actually weirded out now, or something, or—
“You were worried?”
Dazai stares at him in confusion. “Yes? Duh? Why do you think I took care of you afterward?”
Chuuya flushes, blank expression turning angry and embarrassed. “Fuck you, I don’t know! It’s, like, a routine or something at this point, so…”
“Me helping you after Corruption is a routine because I made it into one.” Even Dazai’s starting to feel embarrassed, now, talking about all this stuff that he thought was already obvious. “Oh my god, you actually are stupid, aren’t you?”
“And you’re an ass,” Chuuya tells him, but his voice cracks a little. “Whatever. Sorry for, like, worrying you or something. I guess.”
Dazai stares at the way Chuuya adjusts his hat so he doesn’t have to look at him, at the way his ears are bright red, and at how stiff and awkward he looks. “You guess,” he repeats. And then Dazai laughs. “Apology not accepted,” he says, “repent by buying me dinner.”
Chuuya’s spine snaps straight up, eyes going back to meet Dazai’s despite the previous awkwardness. “You used my card last time! I don’t even have anything to pay you back for, this is exploitation!”
“Big words, coming from someone so small,” Dazai says gravely. “And regardless of whose credit card it was, I was still the one that got you that dinner.”
Chuuya flips him the bird. Despite this, he still gets out his phone to order takeout again, grumbling all the while. Dazai looks over his shoulder to tell him to order the most expensive thing of whatever they’re getting, and gets elbowed for his efforts. So they have dinner together, and the night goes surprisingly well, and… Chuuya forgets his jacket again.
Dazai thinks it might be on purpose when he shows up again a couple of days later, and then on the weekend saying he forgot his tie.
Well, he’s not complaining.
He’s on his weekly Visit Dazai in the ADA Dorms Because Chuuya ‘Forgot’ his nth Item of the Week trip when it happens:
Chuuya turns the corner from the elevator and comes face to face with who’s probably the worst person to meet on these trips. It’s the uptight blonde from the agency, holding a mess of files in one hand, a few paper bags in another, and fumbling to get his keys out with what few free fingers he has left. Chuuya freezes upon seeing him. Glasses freezes too. The hallway lights flicker and buzz, and a few papers slide from the files.
“Uh—” Chuuya starts to say, trying to think of a good explanation for why a Port Mafia Executive is visiting the ADA dorms. because his current excuse doesn’t actually hold up well to anyone with more than a few brain cells (read: anyone but Dazai). He almost holds his hands up to show he’s not a threat, but shoves the instinct down. Glasses just continues to stare at him.
After far too long a moment, the man sighs. He pushes his glasses up his nose, face morphing into a mildly disgusted expression, and says, “Again?”
Chuuya’s so confused he startles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Glasses sighs, yet again, long-suffering, and turns back to his door, yet again fumbling with his keys. The papers slip further. “What do you think it means? You know, you could just go in through a window or something.”
“...You’re more mad about me not sneaking in than… actually coming over?”
“It’s not my business what you two get up to.” he shudders, like he doesn’t even want to think about it, and Chuuya kind of wants to defend himself against whatever assumptions Glasses is making. Then the papers finally fall to the floor, and he curses, crouching to pick them up. Chuuya hesitates a moment before deciding that it couldn’t hurt to give him a hand. “Thanks,” he says, expression still irritated. “I’m surprised you’re even still here. Or with Dazai. You know you could do better, right?”
Chuuya almost chokes. “Holy shit. Aren’t you guys friends?”
“Obviously,” Glasses replies. He takes the papers Chuuya holds out to him and stuff them back into his folder. “Which is why I’m obligated to warn people who decide to give him a try.”
Chuuya laughs, standing up again and crossing his arms. “You know I’m the bad guy here, right? Mafia ring a bell?”
Glasses scoffs. “Dazai can take care of himself. Even if you did hurt him, it wouldn’t be any of us you needed to watch out for, it’d just be him.”
“That so?” Chuuya grins. “Well, nice meetin ya, Glasses, but I need to not be late so—”
“Excuse me? Do you not know my name—”
“And for the record, I don’t really want to do any better. I’m good with what I got, but thanks for the advice anyway, though!”
Chuuya waves him goodbye, feeling kind of like he’s won over an army or something, and swings himself around the corner to where he knows Dazai’s room is. And then knocks face-first into someone’s chest.
“What the fuck,” he groans, and steps back to find Dazai smiling down at him. Chuuya feels a chill go down his spine.
“You don’t want to do any better?” Dazai asks, leaning over him, smiling so wide it’s taking over his whole face. “Aw, how sweet. I’m blushing.”
“Shut up,” Chuuya hisses, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment. He shoves past Dazai and down the hall, hearing the others’ laughter behind him.
“Aw, but Chuuya—”
“I said shut up!” Chuuya pulls his hat down to shield his eyes, going to open Dazai’s door and finding it unlocked.
“Come on.” Dazai catches up to him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around. His infuriating smile is still in place. “Just so you know, I don’t really wanna do any better, either. You’re just bad enough for me—”
“Shut up!”
“Oh, what do we have here?”
“Didn’t expect to see you, Fancy Hat-kun.”
Chuuya stiffens. He almost wants to take his face into his hands and scream. “...sup.”
The doctor (Yosano, he thinks. Kouyou’s mentioned her before, Chuuya thinks, though he can’t remember for what) smiles slowly at him, eyes lowered. Beside her, the detective (whose name Kouyou has not helpfully mentioned) sets a hand to his chin, smiling as well.
“2 A.M. in the morning, clothes all wrinkled, sneaking out quietly… I don’t even need my ability to figure this one out.”
“Now now, don’t tease him,” Yosano tells him, but she looks like she’s holding in a laugh. Chuuya wants to throw a fucking tantrum.
“It’s not…” he grits through his teeth, “what you’re thinking.”
“Uh-huh,” Detective says.
“It’s literally not,” Chuuya seethes.
“And I literally believe you.”
“Leave him alone,” Yosano says, saving the detective from having Chuuya straight-up attack him. “You’re gonna make him leave, and I actually have something for him.” And Chuuya’s anger subsequently subsides as he stares at her rummaging through her giant purse instead. She leans on the detective while she does it, and he slumps back into her, and Chuuya realizes he must’ve run into them on the way back from a late-night out drinking. “Here,” Yosano says, finally holding something out to him.
It’s a small box, plastic wrapped and with pictures of different, prettily decorated chocolates on it. He turns it over in his fingers and then looks back up at her. “It’s thanks for the wine,” she tells him, which suddenly makes sense. He left a bottle over at Dazai’s to give to her the last time he visited, because her stabbing him with a knife a while ago was apparently her way of healing him, even if he’d been too out of it to understand at the time.
“Thanks,” he tells her. And then, after staring at it for a moment, grins back up at her. “I’ll bring another bottle for you next time I come over.”
Slam!
“Are you trying to seduce Chuuya away from me, you witch?” Dazai booms from behind him.
Chuuya practically jumps in his shoes and spins around, seeing Dazai leaning out of his apartment with the door handle still in hand. Apparently, he’d been listening the entire time.
“You can keep your little hat-boy,” the detective tells him, shooing Dazai away.
“Unless he can get me access to his sister,” Yosnao corrects, and then winks at him. “Keep that in mind, Nakahara.”
“Leave him alone,” Dazai whines, throwing his arms around Chuuya’s neck and dragging him backwards. “You’re tainting him with your influence!”
“He’s more likely to taint you,” the detective grumbles. “If you get Dazai or the rest of us dragged into your mafia mess…” he says, and Chuuya realizes he’s tipsily trying to warn him.
“Oh, yeah, that too,” Yosano agrees. “Don’t mix Dazai up in all your stuff again, we like him with us.” A pause while she thinks on her phrasing. “Having him for us.”
“Aw,” Dazai says, letting go of Chuuya to hold a hand up to his heart instead. “You guys are adorable!”
“Not as much as your boyfriend!” Ranpo yells, and then cackles as he and Yosano walk away back down the hallway, leaving Chuuya to splutter after them.
“We’re not dating!” he whisper-shouts, which proves to be pretty ineffective. He whirls around to meet Dazai’s eyes, for solidarity, but finds nothing but the empty hallway. He’s been left alone, bewildered and heart hammering.
Ugh. Fucking typical. Chuuya raps his knuckles on Dazai’s door and says, because he knows the other is listening, “I’m not getting you mixed up in anything, by the way. Just so you know.” There’s a soft laugh through the door. Chuuya gets embarrassed and goes back to whisper-shouting. “Fuck off! Asshole! I’m leaving! Bye!”
And then he runs out of there.
“What are you doing here?”
Chuuya turns around, slowly, horrified, Dazai’s arms still around his waist from where he’d been adjusting his vest for him.
“Kyouka, I know what this looks like, but you can’t—”
And then his blood runs cold.
“Indeed. It does look incriminating.”
Chuuya closes his eyes and kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up.
“Oh, hey Prez! Fancy seeing you here!”
“Dazai,” Fukuzawa Yukichi acknowledges. And then after a pause: “Nakahara.” Chuuya opens his eyes. Fukuzawa is contemplating the two of them with an unreadable expression, Kyouka just as blank-faced beside him. In his hands are bags upon bags, and in Kyouka’s arms is a particularly pathetic-looking kitten. “We were thinking about fostering this cat in Kyouka and Atsushi’s dorm room, considering his ability.”
“A wonderful idea!” Dazai says. He then proceeds to sling an arm around Chuuya’s shoulder to lean over him and get a closer look at the kitten, as though it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been caught so close to Chuuya earlier.
“Do you two have anything you would like to share?” Fukuzuwa Yukichi asks.
“Hmmm, nope! I don’t think so, right Chuuya?”
Chuuya glares at Dazai who’s grinning at him so fucking brightly it may as well be daytime. “No,” he grits out through his teeth. But then Fukuzawa nods and steps around them, Kyouka craning her neck around him to curiously watch them, and he can’t just leave this as is so he blurts out, “Actually, yeah, can you not mention this to the Boss?”
Fukuzawa stares at him for one long, unbearable moment, grey gaze unwavering. Chuuya sweats under the pressure. And then he turns around again.
“I don’t know what misunderstandings you’re under, but I neither see your Boss enough nor care to speak to him enough for the matter to even come up.”
Chuuya almost falls over in relief—
“As long as you do no harm upon my employee.”
…Chuuya is pretty sure he’s not referring to physical harm.
“Wow, is this your third shovel talk this month? You’re just collecting them like infinity stones at this point.”
“Can it,” Chuuya tells Dazai. All he gets in response is a laugh.
“What’d you forget this time?” Dazai asks when he answers the door, and Chuuya draws a blank. He realizes that, for the first time, he hadn’t thought of an excuse to come over this time. His feet had just carried him here.
Shit… “My cufflinks?” Chuuya asks more than says.
Dazai smirks. He leans against the doorframe and makes a buzzing sound with his mouth, like this is a game show. “Wrong answer. Wanna try again, or phone a friend?”
“Just lemme in,” Chuuya says, pushing past him and through the threshold anyway. The place is significantly cleaner than the first time he came over here, due to the way he always complains about it and Dazai always inevitably puts a couple of things away just to appease him, like clockwork. There is still, despite all that, a pile of random items on every chair and surface in the apartment. Chuuya rolls his sleeves up to dig through a bunch of receipts on the counter when a hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
Dazai, smiling sweetly, one hand held up, twirls a watch around his finger, silver surface catching the light.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
Chuuya takes Dazai’s hand (warm, rough, lithe, and in desperate need of a manicure, gross) in his and then steals the watch back. He fastens it onto his wrist. “Thanks,” he says. “What’s for dinner?”
“It’s your turn to pick,” Dazai tells him. “Remember?”
Chuuya blinks. “Oh. Uh, let’s get Chinese, then.”
Dazai stares at him for one long moment, before he goes to get his phone to order. “Did you get caught in another shovel talk on the way here?” he asks casually. “You know you can just ignore them, right? They don’t mean any harm by it all either.”
“What?” Chuuya frowns. “No, I didn’t run into any of your friends on the way here. For once.”
Dazai glances up at him out of the corner of his eye, briefly. “Then what’s on your mind?”
…Oh. Huh. Chuuya already knew Dazai got… worried for him, and concerned for him, because he told him that before (and because Chuuya is the same for him) but it’s sort of different, having his moods picked up on like this so easily. “Nothing,” he says, and when Dazai levels him with a disbelieving look, says, “Really, it wasn’t anything. Just had a long day at work.”
Dazai finally goes back to his phone.
“...Alright,” he murmurs. Then he taps away for a few more moments before tossing it onto the counter. “Food’ll be here in thirty, by the way. And yes, I did get soup dumplings,” he says, and Chuuya closes his mouth from where he’d been poised to ask.
“I don’t know what’s up with all the shovel talks anyway, by the way,” he says. Casually. Nonchalantly. As a totally neutral conversation topic, and only because Dazai was the one who brought it up earlier. “I mean, we’re not even dating.”
Dazai raises both his brows at him.
Chuuya bristles. “...What?”
“Chuuya, slug, my little dude—”
“Call me that one more time—”
“Why do you think the others think we’re dating?”
“Because they’re dumb,” Chuuya announces. (Wow, great fucking comeback Chuuya, you’re so smart, Chuuya. Jesus Christ.)
“We’re kind of dating,” Dazai informs him, sounding almost regretful.
“We’re…” Chuuya tries to deny it. He can’t think of anything to counter with. “Fuck.”
“Uh, not that one, actually.”
Chuuya blushes. “Shut up,” he hisses, and shoves Dazai, who laughs.
“C’mon Chuuya, you have to admit it… you’re the one who keeps coming over anyway.”
“That’s because…” Because he very much just wants to see Dazai again, and hang out with him. And because Dazai just totally lets it happen every single time, no matter how bullshit his excuse is. Shit. The others are totally right. They are dating.
“Ok, fine,” Chuuya admits. “We might be kind of dating.”
Dazai beams. “Do you wanna cuddle until the food gets here?”
Chuuya stares incredulously at him. Does Chuuya wanna cuddle? Does Chuuya want to cuddle?
“Fuck yeah,” he says, and drags Dazai over to the couch, limp wrist and gross unmanicured hand in all.
And then they cuddle until the food gets there.