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“I already said that I don’t want to avail of this… service,” he spits out, his desire to be civil warring with his desire to spit directly at this stupid, annoying barista’s face.
“But you’re alone on such a beautiful day,” the man smiles like he’s asking for a beating. “It’s my duty to make sure that even a chibi like you don’t have to spend Valentine’s Day alone and unloved.”
Chuuya grits his teeth. “I would really love it if you end up choking on this fork.”
“Oh! Now we’re talking!” Instead of backing off like a normal person, this barista—Dazai, as his name tag proclaims—claps his hands and sits on the empty chair opposite his. “I think a double suicide is lovely too!”
Oh no, it’s a deranged bastard.
He comes to this café wearing a full suit each time, because the mafia has an image to uphold. An Executive like him needs to show everyone that they too, could be stylish while being badass. Today isn’t an exception, even though it’s his day-off. And because it’s his much-awaited day-off, he isn’t about to let it be ruined by this persistent bastard!
He takes off his polite veneer for a moment, letting his bloodlust leak out, the kind that has always made his enemies collapse to their knees. “The only ‘double’ involved there is that I kill you twice.”
Unfortunately, it seems that those who work in the hospitality industry can be quite resilient against such things. Even if Chuuya thinks that this person deserves to directly sent to a hospital instead.
“You want to make sure I die by killing me twice?” Dazai raises one hand to press against his heart, as if he’s overcome with so much emotion, he’s about to burst into happy tears. “I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort you for being so small that nobody wants to date you, but here you are, romancing me so easily!”
This bastard actually went ahead and commented on his height! Fucker! Plus! Why is it his fault that the other’s taste in romance is so unpalatable!
He glances at the table setting that’s already in place. He tries his best to suppress the urge to drive the fork in his hand straight to the other’s carotid—murder in broad daylight is such a gaffe unworthy of being a Port Mafia Executive. Ane-san would be so disappointed in him. He could already hear Verlaine’s “such a dull weapon, it’s not even custom-made, oh my goodness” in response to him using a common metal fork.
“I think you’d make a good pair with the dumpster outside,” he says sincerely instead.
Dazai is equally earnest. “I think that dumpster is taller than you.”
His instinctive response is to grab the table and use it to slap the other’s thick face. As his fingers immediately grip the edges, the bastard’s hands reach out with lightning speed. The thought of being touched by such an insidious man makes him feel like he’s been electrocuted, his entire body tingling the moment the other presses down on his hands.
“Let me go,” he hisses, all sorts of uncomfortable from the way the fishy man leans over the table—and he’s been so distracted earlier by this entire mess that he didn’t immediately notice that the other’s wearing so much bandages. Blergh, disgusting. What the fuck is the point of wrapping himself up when the real, incurable, grievous injury is his shitty personality?
Dazai’s tone is soft and almost-breathless, one might be tempted into calling it ‘seductive’. Even if his next words are proof that he’s someone who’s unable to seduce money into entering his wallet. “The tableware and furniture here are quite expensive, and if they break during my shift, it will be my salary deduction.”
“I don’t fucking care, it’s your fault for being so annoying!”
“Ah.” So much provocation in that one syllable. “So you want me to become poor and destitute because of salary deductions, and then rendered unemployed by this café.”
He huffs, “I would be doing its clientele a favor.”
“And once I’m completely penniless and desperate, you’re going to swoop in like some tiny, tiny, tiny prince, and then offer to give me food and lodging, in exchange for breathing the same air of someone as gorgeous and charming as me.”
“Is the air here poisoned?” Chuuya asks blankly, mind stupefied by the stream of nonsense that just got breathed in front of his face. “Why am I suddenly hearing a bunch of delusional mutterings?”
“Don’t you worry,” a squeeze to his hands, a reminder that they’re still sort-of hand-holding over the table’s edge. “I’m not just a dream, even if one couldn’t be blamed for thinking that I’m too good to be true.”
“That makes it even more worrying! Also! The repetitions of tiny are uncalled-for! I’m not that small!”
Now that he thinks about it, why is the shop kind of empty now? On one hand, it’s good that there are less witnesses in case he ends up succumbing to the urge of murdering this guy. On another hand, why the fuck is he alone with this guy? Aside from being a top figure in an illegal underground organization, what kind of sins has he done to deserve this kind of abomination? On his day-off, no less?
Dazai nods and corrects his words. “Okay, darling prince.”
“That’s even less okay!!!”
Dazai nods again, radiating the aura of customer service employees who have to deal with unreasonable client… even if he’s the most unreasonable of them all. “Prince Chuuya?”
“Don’t call my name so familiarly!” Even if he’s a regular to this café, being called by name by an annoying staff member still irks him! “I can’t fucking believe I have to be saddled with such a vexing newbie on my free time…”
Because he’s a regular to this café, he pretty much already knows everyone. Is this his fault for being too busy with work? Because he’s been saddled with so much missions, he hasn’t had a free day in ages. He hasn’t come here in a month and now everything has changed?
“Why not?” A raised eyebrow. “Everyone else calls you by your first name…” He leans so much closer, until their noses are about to touch. “Unless you want me to feel special by being the only one not allowed to say… ‘Chuuya’?”
The way the bastard says his name is truly terrible, it makes him feel like he’s growing severe allergies all over his body. He could feel himself turning into a lump of flushed red.
“Especially despised,” he insists and wonders if it’s alright to just buy industrial earplugs so he can deal with the aftermath: namely, Verlaine’s lectures about choosing stylish weapons when assassinating someone. It’d be so much better than having to endure this constant flood of nonsense.
“Ah. But even the GSS Leader that you stomped with your tiny, tiny, tiny feet called you ‘Chuuya’?” Dazai tilts his head, a hungry and thirsty expression on his face that reminds Chuuya that his order for cakes and coffee has not arrived yet. It’s just that he’s been so busy trying to ward off this plague, that it’s only now that he realizes that he’s very hungry and very thirsty too.
Chuuya narrows his eyes, and drives the fork towards the other’s neck.
Dazai slips away like the slimy fish he is, tittering in laughter that would probably cause anyone else to pee their pants upon hearing. “Chuuya, you mean to say that I’m even more special than your enemies?” Eyes crinkled in delight. “That makes me so happy to hear.”
No wonder he feels so attacked by the other’s presence. “Here to assassinate me, asshole?” He gives a critical glance to the other’s lanky beanpole figure, and sneers. “I can easily snap your bones in half, so you better just surrender and make things easy for yourself.”
“I’m here to steal your heart,” Dazai confesses with a lovelorn voice, while the look in his eyes states that he’d be fine with directly reaching into his ribs and clawing it out of him, blood and all. “But since you’re so tiny, I might just end up stealing all of you directly.”
Now that the other isn’t holding down his hands—not that it would have been effective in actually stopping him, he’s so much stronger than that, damn it, he was just stunned by the other’s shamelessness, that’s all—he pinches the table with two fingers and swings it towards Dazai’s face. “Stop calling me small, insidious bastard!”
More of that low laughter that would feel right at home in a haunted house. “Now, now, are you sure you can’t figure out who I really am?”
“Your only identity that matters is that of someone who’s about to die in my hands!”
Dazai sighs, fake-swooning as he dodges. “You really do know how to romance me so well, Chuuya.”
Something pings in him at these words. The reason why he’s been so busy lately is that there’s an upstart organization that’s been causing trouble in the mafia. Thing is, it’s not the entire mafia per se—this organization seems to be deliberately targeting projects that Chuuya handles.
It’s not even something worth a dismissal or a big alarm. Just one missing packet from a trade route that deals with thousands per day. A minor accident near the port area where his squad is about to do a negotiation, causing the meeting to be delayed by a half-hour. One broken wine bottle in a shipment that contains hundreds.
Small things that could fly under the radar, if one isn’t so meticulous in doing their job. Nothing that could really harm him grievously, but would definitely get his attention, given how he seriously he takes his work. Something that’s irritating enough to feel like a small fishbone stuck in his throat, something that would make him appear like some deranged guy if he insists that someone’s orchestrating such tiny inconveniences from the shadows.
Judging from the shit-eating grin on the other’s face…
“—You’re that asshole who’s been causing me to do so much overtime that I practically have to live in my office for a month?!”
Dazai beams at him, suddenly looking so bright and carefree that it’s a little difficult to look at his handsome face directly, lest he gets his eyes burned off. “Ah, even though your brain is tiny, you did manage to guess it! I’m impressed!”
“Your brain is even smaller if all you can think are goddamn height jokes!”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m also thinking about what kind of matching pajamas should we wear while we sleep together.”
The shock of such a statement causes him to drop the table to the ground. The loud sound doesn’t manage to be louder than the roar of blood inside his ears.
“W-W-W-What the hell are you saying!” Is there a way to clean one’s ears so that they’ll be completely cleansed from hearing such things?!
“I may be a top Executive from my group, but if they find out that I can’t kill a short slug, then they’ll try to seize my assets, kick me out of the organization, then be hunted down until they can kill me and silence me.” It’s a depressing, but accurate recounting of what happens when someone has failed the organization so thoroughly. Dazai looks very cheerful as he says, “I’d be penniless, jobless and homeless! Prince Chuuya, since this is your fault, you have to comfort me and take me in as your boytoy instead!”
It’s no good. His mind has been thoroughly fried by this person’s words.
He tries his best to make it make sense. He clutches his forehead, hoping to pass the strength from his fists to his brain. “You… pretended to be part of this café’s staff… then spewed all this nonsense… because you want to join Port Mafia instead…?”
“Oh, I have no plans of working, being beautiful and smart already takes so much of my time and energy.” He makes it sound so reasonable, even if the actual contents of his statements have no relationship with reason or logic. “I told the café owner that I’m planning to propose to my boyfriend using a complicated play during Valentine’s Day, and she agreed!”
Chuuya looks down at his shoes, and at the broken table. Swings his gaze back to the fishy bastard who would probably be wagging his tail in excitement, if he ever becomes a dog. Closes his eyes, and comforts himself with a, “…this is just a deranged nightmare from overwork… this isn’t reality at all… I’m not this unlucky…”
“If it brings you any comfort,” Dazai hops towards him and hugs him as one would a stuff toy. “I’ve been planning on how to get you ever since you’ve been here last Valentine’s Day.”
“How is having a stalker supposed to bring me any sort of comfort?!”
Ignoring his protests and his struggling against the embrace, Dazai continues, “A Port Mafia Executive who just finished beating up an entire organization singlehandedly… and then blushing in delight over eating a slice of cake. It’s your fault for being so irresistibly adorable, Chuuya, I wanted to eat you on the spot.”
“Again, how is that supposed to bring me any comfort?!”
“I didn’t gobble you up immediately and instead used an entire year to study you and let you be used to my presence,” Dazai points out, self-righteous. “Aren’t I nice? You’re so small so it’s hard to see you, so I had to squint my eyes for an entire year, you know? I think I deserve some nice service as a reward.”
Veins throbbing, Chuuya goes on to wring his neck, “I’ll give you the most comfortable funeral service then! Bastard! I’m going to kill you so dead!”
Unperturbed by this violence, Dazai lets out a contented sigh and nuzzles against his forehead. “What a wonderful Valentine’s date this is, huh?”
“SHUT THE HELL UP, SHITTY DAZAI—!!!”
(Afterwards, Chuuya demands a mission to exterminate Dazai’s organization. Dazai calls it their second date, and Chuuya foams at the mouth on the spot. The next day, they go on their third date.)
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end
