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“What do you mean there are no more rooms?” Chuuya asked the receptionist, “I’ve been told that I have booked a room.”
“I’m sorry sir, but there is nothing booked under the name of ‘Nakahara Chuuya’.”
Chuuya had been sent out on a mission out of Yokohama by his Boss and was planned to be back by tomorrow afternoon. Instead, he was currently in a hotel that Mori said was where he’ll be staying for the night and had been told he didn’t have a place to stay for the night.
“And not under the name ‘Mori Ougai’?”
She typed something on her computer and shook her head.
What the fuck?!
He balled his hand into fists and gritted his teeth.
It wasn’t like Mori to not book him a hotel during out of the city missions. It also didn’t help that he wasn’t answering any of his calls so he couldn’t confirm anything and all the rooms were booked out.
I’m seriously going to be sleeping out?
Chuuya glanced through the doors while rain poured down.
He might as well find a different hotel to stay at with the chance he had.
“Sir?”
Chuuya looked back at her and hid the disappointment on his face. “That’s alright. I’ll find somewhere else.”
He grabbed his small suitcase and turned around, walking towards the exit but didn't as he bumped into someone (because that just had to happen to him).
“Oi, look where you’re going,” Chuuya growled.
He wasn’t in the best of moods to deal with people who didn't look where they were going.
“Oh? This is a surprise,” they said with a smirk creeping upon their lips, “if it isn’t Port Mafia’s executive, Nakahara Chuuya.”
He looked up at the person he bumped into and completely froze.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Chuuya grimaced at the Russian’s appearance. As this night could have been any worse.
“What is someone like you doing here, Dostoyevsky?”
“I just had some things to do here, nothing out of the ordinary. What about yourself, Nakahara-kun?”
He glared back at him. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“Are you perhaps staying here as well?” Fyodor asked, noticing the suitcase beside Chuuya.
He knew how to piss him off more.
“No. No, I’m not,” he responded and tightened his grip on the handle of his suitcase. “I’ll be going off now. I hope we don’t have to see each other again.”
Chuuya took a step towards the exit—
“Ah, Fyodor-san, welcome back! If you don’t mind me asking, do you know Nakahara-san? I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation,” The lady at the reception asked, making him stop right at the door.
What the hell is it now?
Fyodor glanced over to Chuuya, a weird glint in his eyes as they made eye contact with each other once again. “We’re acquaintances,” he replied.
Chuuya mentally rolled his eyes, acquaintances my ass.
“Oh, I see. Well, Nakahara-san doesn’t have a place to stay. Do you mind if he shared a room with you for the night? He told me that he had made a booking but it isn’t shown on our databases.”
He whipped his head around. What was this lady thinking?!
There was no way in hell he was going to share a room with someone like Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Dying sounded better than sharing a room with the likes of him.
“That isn’t necess—”
Fyodor had the audacity to interrupt him, “I don’t mind.”
He flinched.
Is he fucking out of his mind right now!?
Chuuya had no clue what he was playing at.
“I mind! I am not going to share a room with him!” He shouted, accusingly pointing his finger at the Russian and startled the receptionist.
Fyodor took his hand that was pointed towards him and smiled.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll be able to deal with it,” he said to the woman before directing Chuuya to the elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, Chuuya yanked his hand out of Fyodor’s grasp, “What the fuck was that for? Are you trying to give me a death wish?”
“Of course not. Although that may not sound like a bad idea,” he said, “I was simply trying to help you out.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You couldn’t possibly be afraid of sharing a room with me, are you?”
Chuuya shot him another glare, “Who’s fucking afraid of you? I won’t hesitate to kill you right here, right now,” he said, activating his ability.
The elevator began to shake.
“I was only joking.”
“Someone like you can joke?” He asked in a sarcastic tone as the red glow wrapped around his body faded away and the elevator was working again.
Getting out of the elevator and walking to Fyodor’s room was deadly silent.
Chuuya could hear himself breathing during the rest of the journey.
Fyodor unlocked his door and let Chuuya go inside first.
It was a simple room, a nice open space, a tv, a sofa, a bathroom and a one singular bed—
“Why is there only one bed?” Chuuya immediately asked once he saw it.
“Because it was supposed to be for one person? Do you think I could afford a bigger bed?” Fyodor replied with that annoying grin on his face.
“I am not sharing a bed with you.”
He brushed past him, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing Chuuya with one leg crossed over the other. Chuuya hated how he looked at him like that, not to mention the way he sat down on the bed, looking condescending as fuck.
“That’s fine. You’re free to leave,” he said with a lack of emotion.
Why is he making it sound like this is my only choice?
He probably wanted me to leave in the first place.
Then I’ll play your game then, Dostoyevsky.
Chuuya grunted and crossed his arms, “Too late for takebacks, rat.”
“Oh? But I thought you were the one who said you didn’t want to share a bed? Are you suddenly interested?”
He felt his ears flaring red, “Don’t get it in the wrong way, jackass. I’m not going out in the rain and I’m going to use the shower.”
Fyodor’s lips were curved in a smile, “Go ahead.”
Chuuya didn’t like how he was watching the entire time as he grabbed out his nightwear and walked into the bathroom.
He slammed the door shut and leaned against it.
One night and it’ll be over, Chuuya.
Just play his game and it’ll be fine.
He told himself but in the end, his chances of winning this game were slim.
- - -
Chuuya cautiously opened the door and peered through the gap and stepped out of the bathroom with his work attire in one arm.
“You’re not going to take a shower?” He asked.
Fyodor sat on the bed and was reading a book in one hand. His eyes didn’t leave the page, “No. I washed a week ago.”
He backed away, no wonder the room smelled of rat stench.
“When… do you wash?”
“Every 2 weeks.”
Chuuya didn’t know whether to be disgusted or plain horrified. How could someone say that their daily wash was ‘every two weeks’ surely his hair would be—
Why am I not surprised that it’s greasy as fuck?
“Go and take a shower.”
Fyodor stared at him blankly, “I didn’t bring anything—”
He had to be kidding.
“Are you dumb? The hotel provides you with shampoo,” Chuuya scrunched his nose in disgust, “you mean all this time, you’ve been under the assumption that there’s nothing provided for you?”
“Huh. I guess you learn something every day.”
“Yeah ‘learn something every day’, now get your rat ass into the bathroom. I will kick you out of the hotel room.”
“But Nakahara-kun, I’m the one who—”
Chuuya can’t be bothered talking common sense to the genius equalled to Dazai and being dense as a rock, he used his ability to shove Fyodor in the bathroom.
“Don’t come out until you’ve taken a fucking shower,” he said, loud enough for him to hear.
He never thought the sound of the shower water running would be so relieving to him, but it was. Chuuya sat by the sofa, where it wasn’t infected by Fyodor’s touch and turned on his phone.
Still no messages or responses from Mori.
How was he supposed to tell his Boss that he had to share a room with Fyodor Dostoyevsky and was about to sleep in the same bed as him? He wasn’t too fazed about his Boss’s responses but his own dignity afterwards.
I’m beginning to regret playing this game…
- - -
Fyodor finished taking a shower in a white robe provided by the hotel.
He found Chuuya already in bed, on his side and a column of pillows to separate each other. A small amused smile lifted on his lips while placing down his clothes on the floor out of the way.
Flicking the lights off to where the bed was so Chuuya could sleep in peace, Fyodor sat on the couch and opened up the book that he was reading. He wasn’t a fan of sleeping, staying up with a normal routine.
He heard some rustling by the bed and soft snores coming from Chuuya.
Fyodor couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself and looked back down at his book again.
Next, he heard a loud slap on the barrier of pillows Chuuya had placed. His arm made it over to ‘Fyodor’s’ side of the bed. He groaned and mumbled something under his breath that Fyodor didn’t understand.
His arms and legs sprawled on Fyodor’s side of the bed.
Fyodor peered up from his book once again. He was slightly relieved that he wasn’t in that position right now if he were to be able to sleep.
“Mmm…” Chuuya murmured, his foot suddenly making it to the ground.
Is he sleepwalking?
Fyodor watched as the redhead trudged towards him. His eyes were closed. His arms swayed while reaching for the Russian.
He put down his book and raised a brow, this was his first time dealing with someone who sleepwalked. What was he supposed to do? Wake him up?
Chuuya loomed over Fyodor and stood there for a few seconds.
“Nakahara-kun?” He asked, trying to see if he would respond if he said something.
(To nobody’s surprise) he didn’t respond to him but instead, his body slammed into him. Chuuya’s arms found their way around his neck and wrapped around it. By then, Fyodor’s arms were confused about where they were supposed to go.
“—me…” He heard Chuuya say in his ear.
“What was that?”
“—ug… me…” he replied with his eyes furrowed, “Fyodor…”
His heart weirdly jumped but wrapped his arms around Chuuya’s waist as he said. He gently pulled him closer.
“Is there anything else you want, Chuuya?” He softly asked.
“—bed…”
“Bed?”
Chuuya let out a quiet whine, “Come to… bed…”
Fyodor’s heart jumped again and brushed a strand away from his face. “Alright. Let’s get you to bed,” he replied.
“We.”
He lifted Chuuya up and moved him to the bed, “Yes, yes. We will go to bed.”
Turning the lights off, he placed Chuuya back on his side and laid down on his side. He heard more complaining noises from Chuuya and started to thrash all the pillows away, getting rid of the separation line.
The pillows were slammed against the wall and Fyodor’s privacy space was invaded by the Port Mafia executive.
“Good.. night…” Chuuya mumbled before immediately snoring soon after, his left arm planted on Fyodor’s waist with his head tucked under his chin.
Fyodor laid on the bed in an awkward position, confused about what he should do.
His heart was beating in a rhythm he had no comprehension of and his cheeks felt warmer than usual.
His hand fell into place, embracing the sleeping mafioso.
He’s quite adorable like this.
He breathed in the scent of his shampoo and his eyes fell by the sound of Chuuya’s soft snores.
- - -
Chuuya woke up to an unoccupied bed the next morning.
Did Dostoyevsky finally leave?
He rubbed his eyes and found a small note left on the nightstand. He didn’t like the looks of whatever would be in the note.
Eventually (out of curiosity) he reached for the note and opened it.
Thank you for last night.
- Fyodor
It took a few seconds for Chuuya to register those words and his face flushed red. What the hell did this guy think he was trying to do?
He shredded the note into pure nothing.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, DOSTOYEVSKY!”