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Walking around in the cold seems to be counterproductive for a festival that’s supposed to promote good health and ward off colds for the coming year. Even for someone like him, who has an excellent physical constitution, it’s something worth trying.
Not that he would have skipped going, given that it’s a ‘gentle suggestion’ from Boss to relax on this day. Since it falls on a Sunday though, Boss didn’t mandate everyone to attend at the same time, providing leeway for people who are on their rest days.
Chuuya briefly met up with Kajii, Gramps and the rest of Black Lizard, but has swiftly made himself scarce. Kajii’s presence meant that there’d be a lot of lemon-related experiments, and he’s not about to suffer through his bath being soaked in lemon juice.
The festival is supposedly copied from a similar event further south. On the coldest day of the year, one is to soak in a cold-water bath, before partaking in warm drinks and hot porridge. A purification ritual that’s supposed to cleanse one of bad luck and dirt, before fortifying them to withstand colds and flu for the rest of the year. As it stands, it’s now an attraction by this newly-built shrine and its new man-made hot springs.
He’s always been healthy, but lately, he has been suffering a lot of headaches.
…Of course, today isn’t any different.
Just as he’s about to leave the shrine and its hot springs resort, in search for hot drinks—he sees an unfortunate sight. He lets out a heavy sigh as he bumps into a certain group that he’d really rather not face on his day-off. Or on any day, for that matter.
“Ah. I did think I saw a good-looking guy earlier, but Dazai-kun here insisted it was just me fantasizing about his looks.” The Agency’s doctor is fixing her hair as she walks, making sure that her butterfly clip is properly fastened. The edges of her hair are damp, showing that she also just finished the ‘soaking in cold water’ part.
Chuuya’s gaze deliberately slides away from Dazai who’s standing beside her. As expected of a stupid fish, his neckline is soaking wet. Toweling dry is apparently too difficult a concept for such a genius.
“I’ve always thought that you’re the kind of person who didn’t tolerate any kind of bullshit.” Chuuya raises an eyebrow at her. “How did you not stab this fish for polluting your ears with such nonsense?”
Dazai huffs and pitches his voice high, “Spent a lot of time thinking about Yosano-sensei, chibi? She’s too tall for you, so you shouldn’t even dream about it.” He looks like he’s going to pull out a gun in public, if Chuuya ever says anything that would indicate interest in her.
As someone who’s worked with Dazai for several years already, she seems well-versed in ignoring him. She matches Chuuya’s raised eyebrows. “You’ve been Dazai-kun’s partner longer and you somehow haven’t stabbed him yet?”
He shrugs off the indirect accusation about being too soft towards a mackerel. “Who says I haven’t?”
“You’re actually ignoring me?!” Dazai stomps his feet and tries to kick Chuuya.
He rolls his eyes as he counters with a kick of his own. “If you said something worth responding to, then maybe I would actually talk to you.” Given that they’ve both known each other for a long time, this just results in a stalemate where they trade air-kicks and dodges.
Because he knows it would irk the mackerel, he turns to Yosano again and asks, “Should I be expecting the whole Agency to show up then?”
“Most of the kids went straight to the eating part.”
She gestures for him to update Ane-san about Kyouka’s whereabouts. She blatantly peeks at his phone and he generously lets her glimpse at Ane-san’s number. Whether or not Ane-san replies to her is none of his business.
“A pity that a certain big kid didn’t join them,” he sighs again when Dazai tries hard to wedge himself between them. “It would have been nice if I didn’t get dirtied by a fishy presence right after a purification ritual.”
“That should be my line,” Dazai says with a sneer, as he deliberately rubs against his side. “Being so near a sticky slug cancels out any purification powers whatsoever.”
“Let me send you six feet underground,” he proposes. Their odd trio walks together, by tacit understanding, towards a cozy izakaya six blocks away. Most of the stores near the shrine are likely to be filled to the brim with other festivalgoers.
“Can a shorty like you even reach it?”
“Want to try it right now, bastard?”
“It’s no wonder the mafia has a lot of trade routes regarding alcohol,” Yosano says, whistling. She walks back six steps away from them, as if she wants to pretend that she doesn’t know them at all. “Listening to your bickering should be enough to drive one to alcoholism.”
“It’s the Dazai influence.” He’s more than happy to place the blame where it should be. “Dealing with him is enough to make one risk liver issues.”
To Dazai, Yosano says, “See, Dazai-kun? If your partner appears to love wine more than you, it seems like you only have yourself to blame.”
He gives a kick towards the pouting mackerel. “You actually have the audacity to complain about me to your coworkers?”
“Don’t you always yell about me whenever you get drunk with your buddies?”
Another kick that gets dodged by the mackerel swimming away from him. “Because you do shit like put trackers on me and listen to my drinking sessions!”
“It’s not my fault that you always turn down my invitations to go out,” is said with such a pitiful whine, one would almost expect puppy-dog ears to burst out of the other’s head, drooping forlornly.
“Oh? You mean like your most recent invitation for us to go out so you could get me struck down by lightning?” All of Dazai’s text messages to him are death threats, it’s just a matter of how thinly veiled they are. A lot of times, even a simple ‘.’ is a provocation that could lead to a stroke.
“Why would I ever invite you to a boring date?” Dazai clicks his tongue, as if he should be praised for his invitations to deranged outings. “I’m not such a boring person.”
“And why would I ever agree to your invitations?” Chuuya mimics the other’s annoying tone. “We’re not dating at all.”
Yosano’s laughter interrupts them. “Fancy Hat, you’re still single?”
“I am,” he responds, and ignores Dazai’s unimpressed harrumph beside him.
She smirks like someone who does enjoy playing on the blade’s edge of death. “You seem gentlemanly enough, so how about it? Want to try going on a date with me?”
He opens his mouth to give a teasing response, but Dazai beats him to it. Whatever the ritual is, it doesn’t seem to work in warding off a sudden burst of cold pressure emanating from the gloomy mackerel. “Yosano-sensei, this idiot chibi is mine.”
On any other day, that kind of line would have worked nicely to boil his blood pressure past a healthy point, the kind of hypertension that would require immediate medical assistance.
Right now, he is still in dire need of a medical intervention. Like he’s suddenly infected by a quick-onset poison, his entire face explodes in feverish warmth, tingling numbness overriding his usual nerve functions, his heart and his lungs going haywire and forcibly disconnecting themselves from logic and reality.
Hearing Dazai make this straightforward claim is too surreal, he could only gape in shock.
As if also electrocuted by his own words, Dazai eventually coughs and says, “After all, he’s lost a bet to me when we were fifteen.” There’s a sense of smugness in his words, as if he’s happily parading the fact that they’ve known each other for a near-decade now. “He’s been my dog for life ever since.”
He rubs the heel of his left hand against his chest, before using that to smack the other’s forearm. “You mean that bet where you rigged the arcade machine just so you could defeat me?”
“A victory is a victory.” Airy and without shame for being called out on his cheating ways. “Or are you reneging on your words, chibikko?”
His lips twitch. “An invalid bet isn’t worth discussing.”
“Fufufu. Sounds to me like you’re just running away from reality.” They run a bit, as Chuuya chases this bastard who likes to twist his words. Yosano doesn’t match their pace, continuing to stroll languidly, her eyes on her phone.
Chuuya doesn’t need to snip back something about Dazai being the expert on running away. From the mafia, from his responsibilities, from his claiming words just now. Instead, he focuses on pertinent things, such as, “Shitty mackerel! Come back here so I can kill you, damn it!”
After this mini-chase, they eventually reach the izakaya they’ve been angling for. As expected, it’s not as crowded compared to the ones they’ve passed by. It’s sandwiched between karaoke bars with glitzy lights, a Family Mart, a pharmacy and a 24-hour grocery store. Compared to the bright signboards of the other shops, it feels rather subdued.
“I’ve never noticed there’s a place like this,” Yosano eventually says, as Chuuya waits for a waitress to meet them by the front door and lead them to a private table.
“It’s a family business,” Dazai explains without explaining anything, like usual. “The owner’s not particularly relying on this for income.”
Back when they were newly-assigned as partners, they used to have a safehouse one block away from here. This area has a nice cluster of necessary shops that would guarantee their basic needs, as well as grant them ample cover. They’ve eaten many suppers here, nursing light injuries while blaming each other for the little inconveniences during their previous mission.
“Oh, it’s your usual dating spot,” Yosano concludes succinctly.
“I’m not dating a shitty fish,” Chuuya denies sourly. “A ‘usual dating spot’ doesn’t exist.”
Dazai’s expression is even sourer. “That’s not what you said when you clung to me last night.”
“You should get your brain checked—good thing there’s a doctor here.” Chuuya jabs a thumb towards Yosano. “Because that kind of thing didn’t happen at all.”
“I think I’m going to get sick if I have to listen to your silly lovers’ quarrel for one more minute.” A shake of her head, as she shakes her phone at them. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds here, so I don’t have to render the festival’s ritual useless.”
Her point being: she’s really going to get sick if she stays with them.
Chuuya makes a face at being lumped together with Dazai, as if he’s also a harbinger of a scourge. However, he’s not the sort of person who’d beg someone to stay when they’ve already made their intentions of leaving clear. A careless wave of goodbye is all he uses to send her off. At least it isn’t as impolite as Dazai’s cheery way of saying goodbye to her, as if he really couldn’t wait to shoo her away.
Not that she would have minded. It seems that while they’re busy bickering, she’s managed to get Ane-san to respond to her texts.
The waitress finally arrives, eyes lighting up upon seeing familiar faces. She doesn’t even bother asking them to confirm their seating, immediately leading them to their usual private booth. Big enough for four, but only ever occupied by two.
They sit down on opposite sides, separated by the low dining table. They open their menus, checking page for the current specials and new items. Their way of ordering is already tempered by the length of time they’ve known each other. A certain rhythm as they alternate, no order repeated twice, no need to confirm with each other what they want.
Eventually, their waitress leaves after jotting down their orders.
Once left alone, Chuuya drums his fingers against the table. “Isn’t she a good coworker of yours?” Implication being, he should treat work colleagues a little nicer.
In front of him, Dazai leans his elbows on the table, one cheek against an upturned palm. There’s an expression of supreme dissatisfaction when he mumbles, “She called you ‘good-looking’, chibi.”
“You despise her for having eyes?”
Dark eyes on him. “They all know that you’re mine.”
There are so many things that he could dissect from that statement alone. Chuuya hums as he considers the plague in front of him. “How strange. How come I haven’t heard anything about such a thing?”
“You’re hearing about it now,” is the prim response, deliberately cool.
Just as how Dazai knows him well, he also knows the other in turn. Despite this play at being unaffected, like they’re simply discussing idle things, he could see the tension in the other’s posture.
…Last night, they ended up quarreling.
That’s not exactly an uncommon thing, given their volatile relationship and their clashing personalities. It’s just that, last night’s fight is Dazai complaining about Chuuya not returning to his apartment at an early-enough time to cook crab hotpot for him on such a cold day.
They occasionally sleep together, sure. Sometimes, Dazai trespasses into his apartment and mooches off his pantry’s contents, sure. Oftentimes, Dazai doesn’t act with a guest’s etiquette and instead has the audacity to treat him as a personal servant and live-in chef.
Chuuya’s work is busy enough that he doesn’t have time for dating or for meeting other people. It’s not like he’s seeing anyone else aside from the infernal fish. To be quite honest, he doesn’t have any energy or interest in others too.
But, it’s one thing to tacitly spend time together when they both have gaps in their schedules. It’s another thing entirely to be that controlling or demanding, when they haven’t really confirmed their relationship beyond those occasional trespassing into each other’s personal space.
Perhaps it’s futile, given that he knows what kind of person Dazai is. But it’s also because he knows what kind of bastard Dazai is, that he also wants something that would prove to himself that he isn’t simply suffering from some kind of rabid virus that eats his brain, to think that there’s something different with their relationship now.
Their waitress returns, bringing with her several plates of food. Hot tea for both of them, seafood congee with overflowing toppings to start off their supper. She excuses herself immediately, having worked here for quite some time, and already familiar with their tempers and their tendency to treat others as air when they’re together.
Chuuya sighs, and picks up the cup of hot tea. Dazai mirrors his actions, and they sip at the hot beverage in tandem. With tacit understanding, they exchange cups, even if the contents are the same.
Anyone else who’d see this act would probably think that they’re doing a strange reenactment of sharing and exchanging a sake cup. It’s said that drinking sake from the same cup is a ceremony to understand how each person feels, thereby pledging loyalty to one another. Of course, there’s also the fact that drinking from the same cup during a wedding ceremony is said to share a couple’s soul.
“You already know where my spare key is,” is what he eventually says, insides warmed by the drink and by the look that Dazai gives him. He briefly closes his eyes, racking his mind if there’s something that he really needs to say.
There are various sundries, and various small things, but when it comes to things that are important, they already know it deep in their hearts.
“Alright,” Dazai agrees, boyish instead of childish like earlier. “I don’t know where my salary card is, so I’ll be relying on you?”
“Eat shit and die,” is his quick response. “Raising an actual fish would be more worthwhile than dating someone like you.”
A puff of laughter, as Dazai slinks over the table, easily avoiding all the dishes, and settling beside him. A clean, astringent scent wafts out from him, freshly washed with clear water and the scent of winter that has clung to them as they walked earlier. “If you raise me, you can eat me many times.” He sounds very serious, as he pleads his case. “So, it’s more cost-effective to deal with me.”
He angrily stabs the other’s waist using his chopsticks. “I’m not interested in eating such a skinny beanpole!”
“Fatten me up first?” A flutter of long lashes towards him. “Feed me that seafood congee quickly, so we can complete the festival’s requirements.”
A cold bath, a warm drink, a hot porridge: to purify the dirt, to warm one’s insides and to ward off the colds for an entire year.
“I feel like I’m warding off a cold in exchange for inviting a plague into my life,” he complains. He doesn’t actually dunk the other’s face into the steaming bowl of congee, which is more than enough insight to how he really feels.
On a cold, winter night, the two of them are entwined in warmth.
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end