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“I don’t want to go to school,” he complains, turning his head away, but keeping the other man in his peripheral vision. “You can’t make me!”
In the whole city—perhaps even the whole country—there’s nobody else who’d dare to raise their voice against the person beside him. Well, nobody important, at least. Only the completely ignorant and senseless would look at Chuuya and think that he’s someone to be provoked or disrespected.
Nakahara Chuuya. The youngest mafia Boss in the whole history of the underworld. He has taken over the mafia within a year of his joining. He has blazed up the ranks from being part of a juvenile gang that has been absorbed by Port Mafia, all the way to becoming the leader. An unprecedented meteoric rise, that has a number of people protesting against his youth and smearing his name as someone who has a phantom backer directing his movements.
In Dazai’s eyes, he’s just a stupid chibi slug who nags at him so much, all while indulging whatever he wants.
It’s maddening.
It’s bad enough during their first meeting as eight-year-old kids. It’s even worse now that Chuuya has a paycheck that can easily answer his whims of wanting four different villas so he can wake up with different views. Especially since his view is always the same anyway, cuddled up against a chibi who’s so sticky in the mornings, given his naturally high body temperature that makes it seem like he’s hugging a furnace.
“Okay,” Chuuya agrees easily. There’s a lazy air to him, as if the austere aura that he carries with him when he’s at work is smudged by the backdrop of their shared bedroom, shelves too-crowded with books and knickknacks, walls running out of space to pin their many photos on.
He pouts. “You’re not going to ask me why?”
He knows that Chuuya is only two months older than him. The other’s stature is quite petite, ideal for him to embrace and use as an elbow-rest. But his demeanor has a mature quality to it, like a sunny, inviting beach suddenly dropping off to an abyss. It’s part of the reason why he’s been intrigued by him in the first place—magnetized by trying to unmask the other man and peer underneath him, to see just where is this too-aged feeling is coming from.
…In a way, it makes him feel like he’s being treated like a kid. It’s funny, endearing and annoying all at once.
“You’re going to whine at me about it whether I ask or not,” Chuuya tells him simply, before dragging him away from the bed using his wrist. “Go take a shower first, I’ll make breakfast.”
“I’m not going to school,” he repeats, petulant.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, then pushes him towards the bathroom. “You still need to shower if you want to disturb me at work.”
“I didn’t even say that I wanted to go at such a stuffy place!” His complaints are met with a light chuckle, as footsteps pad away from him. “I could just want to be lazy and sleep at home!”
With him facing the shower, he doesn’t see Chuuya anymore, but he’s sure that the chibi’s rolling his eyes again, but still smiling indulgently at his words. After all, they both know that he would never pass up the chance to be able to disturb him at work.
When he goes to shampoo his hair, his hands brush against his face. Huh. He’s smiling. Somehow, it still feels a bit strange, to be able to feel his emotions physically etched onto his face. A part of him thinks that it’s such an impossibility. That he’s an alien masquerading as someone capable of genuinely smiling over such silly things.
When he steps into the kitchen, towel draped loosely over his neck as his hair drips water all over the place, Chuuya sighs and quickly approaches him.
“You like skipping classes because the lessons are too simple for your genius mind, and yet you don’t even know how to dry your hair properly.”
His chibi’s hands smell of butter as he vigorously rubs his hair with the towel. Standing on tiptoes to bridge the difference in their height, and his nose is filled with the scent of the milk body wash that Chuuya’s so fond of, like he’s trying to use milk everywhere possible to save his pitiful height.
“A chibi who doesn’t even go to school has no right to scold me,” he points out, even as he winds his arms around the petite waist, leaning his full weight against his slug.
“I’m busy making a living for our family,” Chuuya responds dryly, before patting his cheek. “A certain pet fish of mine is so picky with his meals that he’d sometimes demand rare ingredients just for the sake of giving me headaches.”
Sometimes, he feels like he’s living a make-believe life. He’s never been the sort to take a fairytale at its face value.
Others see Snow White as a poor victim of the Queen’s jealousy, as someone who deserves a happy ending that is offered to her by her Prince. In his mind, he thinks that there’s no way someone could be so blind about the way their beauty changes the world. Snow White must have known that she’s alienated from everyone because of her looks, and she must have known that someday, her death would come. Perhaps she even yearned for it.
Perhaps she despised the Prince who came out of nowhere, who dragged her out of death’s embrace even though he knew nothing about her, even though they were strangers whose only fate was that intersection in their lives.
Sometimes, he wonders what is the trick behind Chuuya cherishing him so much. Sometimes, he thinks he senses bloodlust from the other man, directed towards him.
So, sometimes, he insists on testing the other’s loyalty towards him. Sometimes, he sends him on wild goose chases for rare ingredients. He’d only drink milk, if taken from a mountain goat high up in the Himalayas. He’d only wear gloves, if sheared from sheep that grazed in New Zealand. He’d only agree to take the Tokoyo University entrance exams, if he gets to drink coffee from Colombian beans directly handpicked by Chuuya.
Sometimes, he even deliberately contacts gangs and other mafia groups, and gives them instructions on how to obstruct Port Mafia’s dealings. Just so he could see how Chuuya would react. Just so he could see if Chuuya would look at him with pure disgust and betrayal.
Each time, Chuuya only ever rolls his eyes, curses him, and then smiles and says, “You’re such an annoying fish.”
Each time, it feels like he’s getting closer and closer to becoming a real human being, cocooned in so much love and care.
He can’t help but want to push the boundaries as much as he could, anyway. “What’s the point of having all that money if you’re just going to spend it on tacky hats and expensive wines? Obviously, you should use it to pamper me!”
“Pfft, obviously, huh?”
He moves to take a seat on the dining area, watching Chuuya bring over dishes that are glowing red with his Ability. He’s particularly enthused in nullifying Chuuya’s ability at random moments, but they’ve both agreed that eating time is sacred and off-limits to such pranks. After all, it’s him who’d go hungry if the plates end up getting dropped on the floor.
A part of him thinks that he’s not the type of person to eat because of hunger, that eating is something that he does because it’s what’s expected of a human being.
Looking at the sumptuous meals that Chuuya prepares for him each time, it’s hard not to feel any sort of hunger. He hungers, for the overwhelming affection in omurice that has “shitty Dazai” written in ketchup, for the vegetable salad topped with croutons shaped into tiny fishes, for the fact that Chuuya does this every day without fail, even if he’s busy with work.
He wants to devour it all.
When Chuuya drives to work, he plays with the car’s radio, changing channels so often that it’s a wonder the controls haven’t short-circuited yet. One of his hands browses through news sites, class chats, social media.
“You’re really so annoying,” his chibi grumbles, then catches his wayward hand and holds it so he’d stop playing with the radio.
He’s satisfied for the rest of the car ride.
When they step out of the underground parking, Chuuya pushes him against the private elevator that leads directly to the top floor. It’s unfortunately not to do something naughty—depending on one’s definition of it.
Several bullets come flying towards them. Chuuya removes his coat in one swishing motion, flaring it out and using gravity manipulation on it so that it would float in front of him, acting as a wall to prevent any attacks from reaching him.
He hums, hearing the sound of bullet shells falling like torrential rain over the underground parking lot. He reaches out, fingers millimeters away from touching the makeshift wall, therefore nullifying it.
Even though Chuuya is busy bundling up the intruders so they could be interrogated, it seems that he has eyes everywhere. “I’d be very cross if you nullify it, shitty Dazai.”
“Mm, that’s not exactly an incentive for me to behave.”
After all, one of his most fervent wishes is to see Chuuya’s composure crack so thoroughly. It’s not that Chuuya’s never angry or irritated with him—but it feels so soft. Like there’s still a depth of emotions that he hasn’t seen the other display. He wants to unlock it all and experience them for himself.
Amidst the gunfire, Chuuya says, “I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you got hurt.”
Of course, that just means that he reaches out and nullifies the ‘wall’, just so he can see Chuuya’s expression directly.
There’s no bloodstains on Chuuya’s clothes, of course. He’s too powerful for such a thing to reach him. There’s at least two dozen unconscious people behind him, but he looks like those have nothing to do with him.
Blue eyes are almost gray at this angle, with how hotly they burn. A different kind of anger, this time. Chuuya clicks his tongue, but it seems that he’s expected that he’d do something like this.
But eventually, Chuuya sighs, then moves to embrace him. A deep kiss in full view of the surveillance cameras, something that goes on for the entirety of the elevator ride to the top floor. And then, once the doors open, Chuuya pulls away and says, “If my coat got dirtied because of your stunt, I’m going to make sure you handwash the stains out yourself.”
The rest of the day goes as usual. He starts off dozing and slacking off in the red couch that’s facing Chuuya’s desk. He lounges there as he sends a bunch of messages on his phone, while he listens to Chuuya’s admonishment of the security team that has allowed such an attack to happen.
At this point, nobody even bats an eyelid upon seeing him there in the Boss’s office. They’ve grown used to his presence, even if he still hears them murmur about how strange he is. Or about how their Boss seems perfect in all aspects, but he has this weird hobby of keeping a brat as his pet.
He’d be more annoyed with such statements, if not for the fact that Chuuya is seated upon his throne, and saying things like, “I can take care of such attacks myself without a problem.” Gloved fingers drumming against his desk. “I cannot allow such a relaxed security when I bring Dazai here though. That idiot has no attack power whatsoever, so if even a single hair strand on that stupid head is missing…”
Chuuya doesn’t finish his words, but there’s no need to. The threat is palpable already.
He doesn’t even wait until everyone is dismissed. He hops to his feet, and flops himself on top of Chuuya’s lap, pinning him down on his seat. “You’re so embarrassing, Chuuya. You really do like me that much, huh?”
“All I want is for you to live a long, healthy and happy life,” Chuuya recites it like he’s a little fairy weaving a magic spell. “That’s all that matters.”
He finds his breath catching in his throat. In this moment, he feels all of the other’s sincere desire to surround him with the brilliance of life.
In times like this, cheekiness has always served him well to diffuse the blockade in his throat. “So, I can skip the university entrance exams since that really isn’t going to bring me any happiness?”
“…I’m not raising an uneducated mooching fish,” Chuuya tells him flatly, before rubbing his chin like one would a dog.
It’s obviously a way to annoy him, so he bites his chibi’s face in retaliation.
Eighteen. It’s been ten years since he’s met Chuuya. There’s still a long, long time ahead of them. Somehow, somehow, a long happy ever after is starting to sound like something that he hungers for as well.
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In order to regulate his insomnia and help quiet his mind, they’ve agreed to Dazai taking sleeping pills. Lately, the mackerel hasn’t been needing to taking them, as his breathing goes even naturally, whenever Chuuya agrees to sing a lullaby to him.
He watches Dazai’s face slacken into a peaceful visage, open for him to read all of his secrets.
Chuuya’s eight and freshly out of the explosion in Suribachi Island, when he ended up getting bombarded with memories from what he’s gleaned to be another timeline. A world that’s both familiar and not. A world where he ends up getting chained to a man who has freely jumped off without care for those that he’s left behind.
The pain that barreled into his consciousness—it’s been too much for the eight-year-old him. It’s not something he ever wants to experience again.
And so, since that day, he tirelessly searched for the man responsible for it.
“In another timeline, you’ve already had your victory.” If there are infinite possibilities and infinite branches of timelines, he refuses to believe that there is nowhere where his happiness does exist. “In this world, I’m going to take mine.”
He knows that with Dazai’s mind, there’s a possibility that he’d learn about parallel worlds and other timelines. He knows that Dazai would suspect that he has ulterior motives. He knows that Dazai wouldn’t stop trying to test him.
He knows that Dazai is behind half the trouble Port Mafia is facing, orchestrating various organizations’ movements so that they’d give him a headache. He knows that Dazai isn’t able to resist the allure of death that the underworld radiates, that he isn’t able to resist scheming against him. He knows that Dazai is the one behind that attack earlier, wanting to test his feelings so badly to see just what he’s planning.
That’s more than fine with him.
“That’s just how much I hate you,” he murmurs against the other’s forehead. “If you hate living so much, if you hated me so much in that other world, then in this world, I’ll make you want to shackle yourself to me.”
For Dazai to end up wanting to live his life in this world, for Dazai to end up never being able to extricate himself from him, for Dazai to end up never even thinking of the possibility of leaving him—
Isn’t that the best revenge of them all?
“Shitty Dazai, I’ll make sure that we’ll accompany each other in a very long life.”
It’s a promise of the lifetime.
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end