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Chuuya’s tempted to shift closer, remove his gloves, and check for the bastard’s body temperature. It will probably be as cold as a snake’s, given his poor circulation, poorer living habits and poorest living situation that couldn’t even afford a proper heater. Still, it’s worth checking. Otherwise—
“Did you just say what I thought you just said?”
Dazai gives him a look that’s too warm to be properly catalogued under ‘Top 100 Looks to Give Your Long-Time Enemy from An Organization That You Betrayed’. Then, he says words that actually make his blood boil: “Chuuya, not only did you shrink in height, but even your ears have already failed you, huh.”
He waves his hand threateningly, ready to deliver his fist to the other’s jaw in the next second. “What the fuck do you mean I shrank in height?! Take that curse back, oi!”
“Ah, that’s just because you’re not wearing your tacky hat.”
“As if I’d sully my hat with the germs from this place,” he says with a wrinkled nose. Growing up with Sheep means that he isn’t new to tough living conditions, but there’s something about the way Dazai’s room manages to both be pathetically sterile and hollow, while also radiating the energy of a thousand lazy bastards.
He’s seen the other’s kitchen sink—it’s simultaneously untouched, while also sporting a mold colony that looks like it’s about to evolve feet. He shudders, both at his imagination and at how Dazai stretches out a leg to wiggle toes against his feet. He lets out a kick in retaliation, and several moments pass with them just kicking each other like children.
Eventually, they manage to swing back to their topic, to the reason why he, Nakahara Chuuya, Port Mafia Executive, has deigned to visit Dazai’s tiny dorm room in the middle of the night.
He sits on the windowsill, legs stretched out. It’s such a tiny room that half his legs are directly laid out over a lumpy futon that’s unfortunately occupied by a bandaged menace. “I could have been at my home, happily ensconced in my comfortable bed, instead of being in this dump,” he reminds. He’s tempted to smoke, but with a thieving bastard nearby, there’s a sad possibility it will just get snatched from his hands.
“Having such a big bed for such a tiny chibi goes against the laws of nature,” is said solemnly. “You should just donate your bed to someone tall who’d fit it better. Like me.”
“Sure,” he agrees easily. “I can make you choke on the headboard.”
“Speaking of disgusting things,” is the other’s segue, “does this mean that you agree to the plan?”
A sarcastic, “You’re actually giving me a choice?”
They’ve been enemies, even while they’re partners. Following Dazai’s plans and arrangements has been a big chunk of their three-year partnership, but it’s not something that he can completely break free from. If Dazai has actually explicitly contacted him to ask for help—instead of simply relying on their near-telepathic connection, like during the incident with that dragon—then it must be really serious.
Seriously annoying, that is.
“Being turned into that Russian Rat’s vampire lackey, temporarily team up with him in Meursault… you’re asking for a lot, bastard.”
“You’d also have to break free from the vampire’s thrall, then complete a wonderful surprise comeback and backstab Fyodor-kun,” is the helpful prompt. From his spot on the futon, Dazai looks like he’s just some normal guy about to normally go to sleep. Hair fluffed up from his recent shower, face clearer and lighter compared to four years ago.
He’s already burned the paper that has a list of the detailed plans of the prison’s layout. He doesn’t bother asking as to how Dazai has already predicted something that would happen a few months from now, as well as his procurement of the map of the supposedly-impregnable prison.
There are better things to focus his energy on, such as, “I’m not some ragdoll that you two assholes can fight over in the shittiest tug-of-war.”
Primarily because he’s seen surveillance photos of Dostoevsky, and he looks even more of a twig compared to this fish. Two beanpoles with arms weaker than wet cardboards. Any physical altercation between the two would just make him suffer from secondhand embarrassment.
“Mm, there wouldn’t be any fighting over you.” Dazai smiles at him, oh-so-natural and gentle. “It wouldn’t even be a competition, after all.”
He rolls his eyes at this dastardly confidence. That isn’t enough to vent his ire, so he also slams his ankles down over the other’s outstretched legs. “Absolutely no competition, because I’m beating up both of you.” Leaning against the window frame, he drums his fingers against his thighs. “I could already sense that the Demon is someone as annoying as you are. Absolutely disgusting.”
Dazai raises his chin, obviously offended by this comparison. Completely shedding his veneer of disaffected calm from earlier, “I’m so much cuter and smarter than Fyodor-kun!”
A dismissive huff. “Whether it’s a fish or a rat, the point is this: you think I’m someone you can just order around to do such annoying things?”
“It’s for the sake of this city,” is the softspoken answer. Of course, because this is Dazai and altruism has never had a place in his brittle bones, “Plus, should there be any question? You’re my dog, so you should follow my orders, Chuuya.”
He doesn’t mind following orders if it’s for the sake of greater good, even if the way that Dazai says it grates his nerves. “Seems like you’ve already been inflicted with rabies, if you’re being so out of touch with reality, shitty mackerel.”
“Fufufu, you’ll do it, though.”
“I’ll do it, but only because the whole world imploding is a much worse outcome.” Before the bastard can crow in victory, he adds, “And only because I plan on collecting payment.”
Dazai brazenly says, “I’m a law-abiding citizen who only has honest money in my bank.” He shifts in his futon, reclining a bit and spreading his legs as if in invitation.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of shit that lightning doesn’t even want to strike you down even if you’re such a liar.”
“I really don’t have money to offer as a reward.” Softly, gently. “And I also don’t have tacky hats in my closet, so I’m not sure what kind of payment you expect from me.”
“Let me kick you for an hour straight,” he sneers. In their first meeting, he’s mentioned that most people don’t last beyond nine kicks before spilling out information to him. He could kick Dazai 99 times and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Dazai sneers back at him. “You really have such a tiny mind. Can’t you follow the flow of the conversation properly? This is why you’re still single and tiny even at your age, Chuuya.”
“You’re single too, asshole!”
A nod. “Mm, but that’s out of personal choice, not because I’m so tiny that others can’t even find me.”
“Oh? So you’re not the one who’s been scaring away Fujimoto from trying to court me?”
It shouldn’t be as hilarious to watch, but it is. The expressions on Dazai’s face spins like a wild kaleidoscope, running through several degrees of hatred, jealousy, possessiveness and then realization that he’s been played. “There’s no Fujimoto in your squad, immediate colleagues or any other contacts.”
A pointed, “Seems like you can find me and my connections just fine.”
“Are you sure that kicking me to death is the best price you can ask for?” Half-mast eyelids. “The sight of my pitifully crying face should be worth more than billions, right?”
He makes a face. The sight of the other’s crying face would be priceless, but there’s no way in hell it’d be genuine. What use does it have to watch the other put on a faked, theatrical melodramatic rendition of it?
“You still owe me so many things from before. Not to mention my car, all of my wines that you’ve changed into vinegar, the headache from dealing with you…” He counts this up, each of the other’s transgressions mentioned with each step he takes to approach the mackerel. “Billions wouldn’t be enough to cover it all.”
Dazai pouts at him, clearly annoyed that his obvious hints at seduction are being stomped down on.
It really shouldn’t be hilarious, but it is. There probably isn’t anyone else in this world who’d look at this genius with a terrifying mind and call him hilariously stupid.
“I’ll be taking an advance payment,” he murmurs, climbing Dazai until he’s seated on his lap, their noses almost bumping. He leans close, close, close, until he senses the other’s chest freezing, not breathing at all.
He raises his hands and lightly brushes against the other’s face, as if he doesn’t dare to fully touch such a fragile treasure.
Swallowing his laughter, he says, “As my payment, I just want to see you smiling happily.”
That makes Dazai’s facial expression turn into something very amusing. Not everyone can say that they’ve managed to shock the mackerel into gaping speechlessness.
He leans in and bites the other’s cheek, before hopping away and floating all the way to the open window. He savors the shocked look for a moment, thinking to himself that Dazai is so much more pleasing to the eye when he’s like this.
“Next time we meet, make sure I can’t bite you, shitty Dazai,” he calls out, jumping off the window and being wrapped red with gravity manipulation as he flies away.
Once he’s several roofs away, he hears Dazai screech out his name, and that just makes him succumb into laughter. As far as payments go, that’s really one of the best.
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