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His laughter bubbles up from his chest like the champagne in his glass. The world itself seems to pop and fizzle with Doux sweetness.
The last two years had been a continuous test of will, laced together with labors that would bring Heracles to his knees. Chuuya had witnessed more bloodshed than a 17-year-old boy should and buried more of his friends than the average human heart could bear. Still, he managed to look fondly on his triumphs, and his growth as a leader was monumental. Chuuya has watched his superiors closely and learned to lead with an iron will and tender heart. It was through his undying loyalty to those he considered family that he’d earned his new position as Executive in the infamous Port Mafia.
Chuuya can still feel his friends in the breeze nipping at his cheeks. The last memory he made with them was intended to be a celebration, and now he can give it the ending it deserved. This time around, he can say “thank you” without hiding behind a sour face and frigid facade. He’ll allow himself the joy and pride they’d wanted for him, and he’ll do it with a smile stretched ear to ear.
He hasn’t refused a single drink offered to him throughout the evening, and it shows. His face is flushed, cheeks like roses in full bloom, and his laugh rides the wind to meet the stars speckled across the horizon. He stumbles a bit as he bounces from conversation to conversation, greeted with “congratulations” and pats on the back from his seniors and subordinates alike.
The boy can’t hide his sheepishness behind his proud persona when Kouyou places the most delicate hand on his shoulder and hums, “I’m proud of you, lad.”
Her smile feels like home, kindred and safe. Her approval doesn’t need to be the boisterous exclamations of their peers to have the biggest impact.
Kouyou doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean - words should be voiced with purpose and clear diction, as she’d taught Chuuya. She had never completely cleaned his speech of the vernacular he’d adopted from the Sheep, but she learned to appreciate the youth in his elocution.
The “thank you” Chuuya offers in response is small, but he trusts Ane-san to know how sincerely he means it.
He always feels so young in her presence. He tries to straighten up, to hide how the fountain of champagne and array of fancy cocktails he’d downed too quickly to taste had left his head swimming. Luckily, her focus is cast along the city skyline and not on the inebriated teenager under her palm.
“We have high expectations for you, I know you won’t let us down.” Like a butterfly floating away from its flowery meal, Kouyou breezily slips back into the party. All that remains is the ghost of honey and jasmine lingering in the air and the lipstick she’d pressed into the boy’s hair as she vanished.
Now that he’s alone, Chuuya takes note of an absence he should’ve felt much sooner. Nobody had dropped ice down the back of his shirt, “accidentally” knocked his drink over, or run off with his hat all evening.
“Ah damn it, where is that schemin’ bastard?” the redhead grumbles to himself. If there was one thing more unnerving than having Dazai around, it was when he was nowhere to be found. Luckily for Chuuya, you need only speak of the Devil and he shall appear.
“Oh, there you are Chuuya!~” Chills run down Chuuya’s spine, and he turns to face the lanky apparition. “You know I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever catch up to me. Kind of embarrassing to have a partner with a lower rank than you.”
A tumbler of whiskey in hand, Dazai couldn’t have looked less his age. It’s hard not to take note of the extra centimeters he’s gained over the last year when he already carries himself like a man 20 years his elder. Chuuya hates the way he distinctly has to look up to shoot daggers into empty eyes.
He wants to spit back a venomous retort, but his brain isn’t moving as quickly as he’d like. Instead, the new executive lets out a low growl and meets the other boy’s wide grin with a grimace.
Dazai responds with a soft chuckle as he goes to swipe the fizzing champagne flute, “Chibi is such a lightweight. He should slow down or he’s going to get himself into trouble.”
Although a bit delayed, Chuuya is still quick enough to avoid the theft and knocks back the rest of his drink with a defiant “gulp.” It isn’t until after he’s swallowed that he notices Dazai’s smirk and realizes that was his true intention. The snicker that follows is confirmation enough.
Despite the innate desire to do the opposite of any and everything his partner says, Chuuya internally acknowledges that, yeah, he is built on the smaller side and he probably should cool it if he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself on the most important night of his mafia career.
“Yo Dazai, you’re bummin’ me out.” His words are betrayed as he snatches a bottle of water off a nearby counter and takes a gratuitous swig.
“Oh, by all means, don’t let me ruin your big night.” Though Chuuya can assume that Dazai would actually love to ruin his “big night,” he doesn’t protest when the other boy excuses himself and disappears amidst the merriment without so much as a suggestion of provocation.
Alone again, Chuuya takes a moment to breathe. He finishes the water he’d started out of sheer spite as he watches the crowd thin. He takes in a few additional words of commendation as bodies pass by him, not fully registering the voices or faces slipping by.
The spinning has slowed, the high has mellowed. All that’s left for Chuuya now is the chilling night air and whichever stars could break through the light-polluted sky. He isn’t ready to go back home, knowing all too well that, once his head hits the pillow, he can only hope to awaken to another ordinary day of extraordinary expectations. So he sits at the edge of the rooftop bar, casting his feet over the quiet sidewalk down below. He kicks mindlessly, the city his playground and this quiet bar his swing set.
Had he ever actually been on a swing? It couldn’t be all that enjoyable for a boy who already played gravity like a violin, who danced on the air as effortlessly as he drew breath. Still, the echoing laughter in a sunny daydream was enticing. The scraped knees and bruised elbows earned by leaping off the upswing with the hopes of taking flight are badges of honor gleaming on his mind’s silver screen.
Chuuya sways, eyes shut, and imagines what it might feel like to fall and not control your landing. The way the stomach drops, finding the earth before the feet can; the way the heart stays suspended in the air while the body bids it farewell; it’s all so unknown to a boy who’s always been entirely in control. His body was what he knew and it could never surprise him.
“Watch yourself,” a voice calls from behind him. “If you fall and die now, I’ll end up with all your unfinished work.”
The boy turns back to find his partner poised and alone, suspended against a liminal vision of empty tables and half-filled cocktail glasses. “Great,” he groans to himself. His shoulders tense and he clutches the brick underneath him as he braces for the standard verbal sparring. The redhead doesn’t have the heart to fight right now, though. All he wants is to use the quiet cityscape as a backdrop to daydreams of life without glory.
Much to Chuuya’s surprise, Dazai doesn’t add on an insult or cruel nickname. Instead, his knees meet the seated boy’s eye line before he plops himself beside the small frame on the sill.
“I guess slugs are pretty sticky,” the boy mutters, mostly to himself. “I’m probably worrying over nothing.”
“Whaddya want, Dazai?” Chuuya inquires reluctantly.
“Hey, if that’s the attitude you’re going to have, I’ll just keep your present for myself.” The brunet grins, knowing just how to get his partner’s attention. He’s met with a mistrusting glare through skeptical eyelids and he knows he accomplished that goal.
“You didn’t get me anything.” Though phrased as a statement, it’s delivered like a question.
Pulling a small package from inside his oversized coat, Dazai responds “Yeah, you’re right. I guess this is just garbage then.”
The older boy takes on the ferocity of a small child on Christmas when he nabs the parcel from Dazai’s hand. The wrapping is glossy and black with a red ribbon attentively tied on top. He investigates the gift like a bomb to be disarmed. Once satisfied that there’s no quiet timer waiting to announce certain disaster, Chuuya unwraps the box slowly. He uncovers a nondescript cardboard box with a loose-fitting lid. Even more carefully, he lifts the top and peeks inside.
The redhead sucks his teeth once he realizes what’s waiting for him. Inside sits a small, stuffed dog - a miniature pinscher to be specific - dawning a red bow tie and pristine dog tag. When Chuuya removes the toy from its packaging, he can read what’s engraved on the tag.
One side reads “Slug,” the other “If lost, return to Dazai.”
He should be angry, he wants to be, but he just finds himself amused . He barely hears Dazai speak over his own soft chuckle.
“It’s platinum.”
“Huh?”
“It’s platinum,” the brunet repeats just a bit louder. “So Chuuya is less likely to ruin it when he’s being reckless.”
“Hm. Sounds like a waste a’ money to me.” He’s not trying to be curt, he’s just struggling to read between the lines. He knows it’s meant to be funny, in a cruel sort of way, but Dazai isn’t sporting his typical simper. His eyes lack the mischievous gleam that accompanies his taunts. Rather, he looks pensive, his mind wandering a haunted path that Chuuya could never seem to make out. Asking never helps, but that doesn’t often stop him from trying.
“Explain,” he demands.
“Well, it’s a common social courtesy that when somebody you know is celebrating a major accomplishment or milestone in their life, you give them a gift..” Dazai seems at least a little pleased with his daunting sarcasm.
“No, you asshole.” Chuuya slugs him on the shoulder and waits a beat, offering Dazai the chance to elaborate without too much prodding. “It’s only a little shitty. The last time you gave me a gift, it was a booby trap and you tried to drown me.”
“Chuuya overestimates how much time I have to dedicate to harassing him these days.” The boy’s shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re mine for life, no matter what your title is.”
“Uh-huh,” Chuuya nods, unsatisfied with the response but not willing to push any further.
When it’s clear that the other boy isn’t planning on vanishing again, Chuuya begins to speak.
“You ever think about what it’s like to be a regular kid? Like one that goes to school and plays sports and hasn’t killed anyone before?”
“Why would I waste my time thinking about the impossible?” He’s sounding more like himself now.
“Don’t be a buzzkill, shithead.” Chuuya’s still holding onto the stuffed animal, absently fumbling with its ears while he speaks. “You really never think about what it would be like to be… just a kid?”
Of course he did, at one point. A long time ago, when the Sheep had invited him to join their cause, he’d considered what it would be like to be surrounded by comrades his age. Sure, it wasn’t normal per se, but it could’ve been more of a childhood than the path he’d been wandering. Maybe he would’ve felt a little less lost. Maybe he would’ve spent less time questioning why he woke up every day if he had woken up to people whose hearts were brimming with enough naive optimism to wash away the stains of rational thought that clouded his vision.
But that’s not what happened. That was the closest he might’ve come to “normal” and he refused it, something he didn’t exactly regret but preferred not to dwell on either.
“What do you think you’re missing out on, anyway?” Despite his nonchalant tone, Dazai internally winces at the question. Nobody would benefit from worrying over the could-haves and would-haves they could never get back, but it seems to be completely consuming what little brains the slug has left.
“I dunno… stuff.”
“...Stuff?”
“Yeah,” Chuuya sneers defensively. “ Stuff. How am I supposed to know what stuff if I’ve never fucking met a normal kid?”
“So Chuuya is daydreaming about… nothing?” Dazai cackles. It’s all utterly ridiculous, pining for something neither of them could even begin to understand. What’s even more ridiculous, however, is the way the tip of Chuuya’s nose is dusted with the lightest pink. Or maybe it’s the way his eyes dart down to his hands when the carnation tones bleed across his cheeks to the tip of his ears.
“No, not nothing. ” He looks so small, still fussing with the little dog. He turns the tag over and over and over, winding up a music box that would chime a nameless mystery tune the moment he stopped.
“I’ve seen stupid teenage movies and those goofy shoujo animes,” the boy broods. “But I’m not dumb enough to think that’s what normal looks like, okay? So don’t even start.”
This only serves to entertain Dazai further. He tries to imagine Chuuya sitting in his room all alone, watching teen romance flicks, and downing a pint of ice cream. Then he realizes that even that was just a silly trope he’d seen on screen.
Not willing to give his company a chance to interject, Chuuya’s thoughts tumble past his teeth without a filter. “But they do their mundane shit and go to school and learn normal stuff like maths and physics and get food together and play video games and nobody dies.”
Oh.
Chuuya’s eyes had been bloodshot since 2:00, but the pain in them now wasn’t from the alcohol or the lack of sleep. He’s mourning a life he was never meant to know, and the only person in his life that might understand is looking at him like he’s brainless. The shining heart between his fingertips keeps turning.
“We play video games, right? And the only thing that dies is your massive ego.”
Dazai hasn’t seen Chuuya vulnerable in this way before. He’s watched the other boy bid his very origins farewell; he’s held Chuuya’s very life in the center of his palms. And yet, now, he seems so much more fragile. He needn’t bother being brave for the sake of his loved ones. He isn’t putting himself at risk to ensure somebody else’s safety. He is just begging to feel a little less alone in front of the one person who dreams of ways to make him miserable.
The fact that Dazai might be sincerely trying to comfort him pulls up at the corners of Chuuya’s lips. “Heh. You’re right. Why am I whining about missing out on embarrassing first kiss stories and high school sports when I could be complaining about how you cheat at every damn game we’ve ever played?”
The brunet nearly misses the tail end of the accusation. His brain had filled with dull static at the idea of the aggressive delinquent mooning over his first kiss . And then admitting it to Dazai? He must be having a fever dream. Perhaps he’d actually fallen off the side of the building and was having one of those pre-death hallucinations.
“Chuuya’s such a drama queen. Just because I outsmart you doesn’t make me a cheater.” He sticks his tongue out in petulance.
“But it’s sweet, a little dog fantasizing about puppy love~” Dazai watches the redhead furiously flip the slim tag between his fingers. “Too bad no girl would want to kiss a mutt like you.”
“Hah!? You’re the one always claiming me like some possessive freak!”
“Yes, because chibi is my mutt,” Dazai quips back.
“So you want to kiss me!?” Chuuya’s face flushes in full, now. His focus has turned up to the boy gaping back at him, wide-eyed and a touch flustered himself.
“N-no, sounds like Chuuya is projecting!” The static from before grows into mind-numbing dissonance. Even Dazai struggles to think through the grating discord.
“Ew, no way! You wish !” The older boy can feel his heartbeat quicken in a panic beyond any mission or combat. A threat to his life was commonplace. But to his pride? He’d already felt so pathetic wallowing in self-pity at an event that was supposed to honor him.
“I bet that’s the real reason you’re out here sulking alone, isn’t it?” He doesn’t believe a word out of his own mouth, but he rarely does these days. As long as the provocation alleviates him of any query or suspicion, that’s fine.
Chuuya leaps up in a heated frenzy, the red halo of Tainted starting to glow around him. Dazai jumps to meet him and wields those 14 cms to loom over his agitated senior. He sports the most patronizing smile he can muster and looks down his nose to meet the tempestuous glare aimed up at him.
“I bet if I kissed Chuuya, it would be the best day of his life, actually,” Dazai gloats before he realizes that he’s envisioning the possibility in his head, and his stomach wrenches.
“Fucking try it, I dare you,” Chuuya snarls. He clutches the little dog with the extra force of gravity, snapping the little red bow around its neck. The thin fabric floats to the ground, and the tag clinks on the cement between them. The faint melody hums in the back of Chuuya’s brain.
For how well he knows his partner’s tendencies towards torment, you’d think he’d have seen it coming. Dazai loves to win bets and piss Chuuya off; doing both at once is an opportunity he never passes on.
So he does exactly as he’s challenged. He slides his fingers through tousled copper to cup the back of his partner’s head and presses dumbstruck lips to his.
Rather than bashing in Dazai’s head as expected, Chuuya leans in.
Later, he’ll blame it on the alcohol, on the late-night, and on the innate desire to prove Dazai wrong. Right now, though, Chuuya just knows that he feels something different. He doesn’t know what you’re supposed to feel during your first kiss, just that anger probably isn’t very high up on the list. The dizzy delirium, the weightlessness , on the other hand… That seems right.
This seems right.
His little music-box heart chimes a curious tune, and he lets it lull his anxious mind into its trance. The melody guides his hands to Dazai’s lapel, their movements fluid and instinctual. When he pulls their bodies closer, he’s not met with resistance but with a hand placed gingerly on his hip.
Dazai understands what Chuuya means now, why he wastes so much time thinking about simple things that have no place in their world. He understands because his mind floods with potential missing moments he would’ve taken for granted in another life.
There’s a universe out there where he gets to kiss Chuuya all the time, and he’ll never know how precious that is. He gets to kiss Chuuya in the library when he can’t focus on his homework. He gets to kiss Chuuya when he’s pushed one too many buttons and he doesn’t know how else to apologize. He gets to kiss Chuuya goodbye every time they part, and he doesn’t worry about when the day will come that it will be their last.
None of that matters, though, because he’s kissing Chuuya right here, right now. They’re dumb teenagers blindly navigating hormones and emotions and mission reports and funerals, and they’re sharing their first kiss under the veil of Yokohama twilight
They’ll both pretend it went down differently; they’ll say it was just a game of chicken that had gone a little too far. They’ll omit the fact that it was the most gentle they’d ever been with each other, and they’ll conveniently forget the way they came up for air just to dive right back in.
They’ll try to push everything back into its cage like a beast, not to be trusted lest it tear their paper mache masks to shreds and leave them exposed to the most terrifyingly ordinary adversary they’d yet to face.
Love is a merciless monster. The twin darkness stands powerless against the way it curls Dazai’s fingers into auburn silk and presses Chuuya’s tongue to the brunet’s lips. They thaw, they melt, they evaporate in its scalding embrace. Just boys turned vapor, they’re left to intertwine and climb their way to a castle in the silver sky. They’ve become untouchable, if only for this moment.
The concord in Chuuya’s heart mends the discord in Dazai’s head as they merge, they resonate. Their heartbeats are nothing short of symphonious, harmonizing with their unified inhalations and the lullaby of a sleeping city. Chuuya’s fingers take hold of Dazai’s neck to find rhythm in the pulses under leather-clad thumbs.
No-longer-latent affection evolves to adoration in the waning moonlight and murmurs promises of impossible tenderness to two boys who needed them to be true. Under the crooning ardor, they’ve entirely forgotten their argument, no longer concerned with who won what.
Love can’t stop time, and their world of bloodshed and pursuit of power would continue to turn.
Much to Chuuya’s dismay, Dazai pulls away. Rather than stepping back, however, he rests his chin in the mess of russet locks and chuckles to himself.
“What’s so funny, asshole?” Chuuya barks in return, lacing his arms around the other boy’s waist and pressing his head to a thumping heart.
“I think I might have miscalculated,” Dazai hums. He can’t help but beam. He knows they aren’t meant for a simple story of young love and heartbreak, but that won’t stop him from stealing every moment he can for as long as luck will let him. The brief repose of heart-stopping intimacy was too tempting now that he’d tasted it. And frankly, it’s all Chuuya’s fault anyway. He hadn’t so much as given romance a fleeting consideration before the miniature mafia forced his hand.
It may not be cotton candy on a ferris wheel, but Chuuya won’t protest when Dazai shows up at the redhead’s door with a bucket of candy and video games he’s certain he’ll dominate. He might even like it when a terrible day ends with the radio playing softly in their shared office and them doing their best impression of a slow dance in the familiar glow of a city that tried to swallow their childhood whole.
It’s in these small comforts the boys can find out what it means to be kids. It’s in each other’s arms they learn to love and be loved in return.