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Chuuya’s list of reasons why he stuck out in Japan wasn’t as long as Dazai liked to claim, hair aside, everything else was normal thank you very fucking much. Nonetheless, he did have qualities that were uncommon to say the least.
The biggest one was that he was Jewish, and one of the few Jews he had even met. Obviously his parents had to have been, or else he wouldn’t have remembered being Jewish in the first place.
It was a little hard to reconcile that with the undeniable fact that there was an actual god inside of him that he was the unwilling vessel for, but he preferred not to think too hard about it. At the moment, his running assumption was that the big man God had gods under him, but that was still an up in the air theory.
It wasn’t as if he had very many people to work through an identity crisis-breakdown with, so it was easier to just assume his idea was right and call it a day.
But that didn’t mean he was any less apologetic over being Jewish at all, and he wasn’t exactly afraid of people finding out: he could rock anyone’s shit if they got pissy over it. And he had, many times. Direct action, he liked to call it.
Because of his openness about it, he had actually met the one other Jew he managed to locate within the harrowing business that was the Port Mafia: a young Black Lizard squad member who had a Czech mother.
For almost a year now, he had assumed they were the only two Jews, and it wouldn’t exactly be unlikely–Jewish people in Japan weren’t common. Which is why his current predicament had him in stunned almost seething silence.
He didn’t really remember how he had gotten into a full out physical fight with Dazai, bitter biting words thrown from both sides, but it had happened. As it did almost every time they spent more than five minutes together.
Dazai was a hard person to be around, sue him.
Nonetheless, something one of them said, probably Dazai, kicked up a spiral that they both continually fell down as they tore into each other with teeth bared. It had gotten out of control from back and forth shoves with snappy words to fists at each other's throats.
That was how Chuuya had ended up above Dazai, sprawled in the carpeted hallway on one of the thankfully currently abandoned floors of HQ, fist digging into his collar and growling at the shit-eating grin painted on Dazai’s face. The bandages around his eye looked like they were starting to come loose, and Chuuya had wanted to strangle him with them.
Dazai had a hand in his hair, nails digging into his scalp, the other pulling at his collar, finger snagging in the choker around his neck.
The boy under him had opened his mouth to make another fucking comment, so Chuuya had shaken him pre-emptively to prevent another stream of infuriating nonsense from tumbling out of his mouth.
The force of his shaking–which unfortunately didn’t make Dazai hit his head hard enough to knock him out so he’d shut the fuck up–had knocked loose a golden chain that was beginning to ride up and out of the bandages wrapped around his neck.
Without thinking too hard about it, half-assuming it was something stupid he was wearing for some unknown reason–which would be on point for him–Chuuya reached down and hooked it under his nail to pull on it, curiosity getting the better of him.
Dazai didn’t stop him at first, eye squinting in veiled confusion before it widened imperceptibly and a bandaged wrist shot out towards his own hand, grabbing it in a tight vice-like grip. For looking so skinny, Dazai could be surprisingly strong when he wanted. The hand in his hair was gone, thankfully.
He had to have drawn blood. Blood that he’d have to wash through matted hair because the bastard didn’t know proper restraint.
It was too late though, as Chuuya already pulled the necklace from its confinement of bandages, and was eyeing the dangling bit with a mixture of shock and annoyance.
It was a Star of David.
Dazai was wearing a Magnen David necklace. Why was he wearing one? The one obvious conclusion was that Dazai, his least favorite person ever, was Jewish. Which was infuriating in every single way possible.
Why was Dazai Jewish too? Chuuya wants nothing in common with the bandage wasting mackerel under him. Why didn’t he ever say anything? All of the reasons made him a little more annoyed at Dazai.
Maybe he felt unsafe? Which was ridiculous because he’s seen Dazai laughing in the face of things that would make normal sane people cry. It was probably just because Dazai was Dazai, and was being his usual secretive annoying self. Which didn’t help.
He flicked his eyes up at Dazai, still scowling, but he could feel the confusion bleeding into his expression. “You’re Jewish? Why didn’t you say anything?” Between him and him alone, he was a little insulted that Dazai hadn’t told him.
Dazai, on his part, looked resigned and mildly annoyed, but he always looked somewhat annoyed so Chuuya wrote the second half of his face away into the recesses of his mind. Dazai gave him a smile, one he had titled the ‘I want to kill you but I can’t’ one. God he was irritating.
Dazai had quite a few smiles that he could tell apart and differentiate down to the smallest detail, but that was something to unpack another time. At the moment, the thing to focus on was the necklace, and the fact Dazai was a secretive bastard with everything he ever did.
“I didn’t want to be associated with the likes of you,” Dazai said sweetly, and Chuuya was kind enough to not point out the bull-shit lie. He was not kind enough to drop it though.
“Sure Dazai,” Chuuya huffed, dropping the necklace back down. “And here I had thought you were a goy with how fucking annoying you are.”
Now that got a reaction.
Chuuya watched in amusement as Dazai’s face contorted into a look of genuine offense as he dropped his hand from Chuuya’s wrist. “That’s low, even for you chibi.”
“Stop fucking calling me that you slimy bandage wasting son of a bitch!” Chuuya shook him again, train of thought momentarily forgotten before he remembered why he was annoyed with Dazai again.
“Your attitude and lack of thinking had me believing you were the goy~” Dazai trilled again, and Chuuya nearly yelled at him. Dazai was talking out of his ass again. Dazai knew he was Jewish.
Annoying fucking bastard.
He had half a mind to shake him again in pure annoyance, but Chuuya only glared at him as he dropped his fist away from Dazai’s collar. He was a little confused why Dazai didn’t bother to tell him, but he thankfully wasn’t Dazai, and therefore wasn’t going to pry. Although it was Dazai, he probably had his reasons.
Probably.
Hopefully they were at least decent reasons and not just the ‘I like to annoy Chuuya and it’s my favorite and only hobby’ type of reasons that he always seemed to have.
The original reason they had even made it to the floor was already mostly moved to the back of his mind, but not without the knowledge that they’d be at each other's throats again by the end of tomorrow.
Chuuya cast him yet another bitter look and stood up, and if he made sure to step heavily on Dazai as he did so, well there were no witnesses to prove a thing. And if the wheeze Dazai made was oddly satisfying, that was nobody's business but his own.
He didn’t offer Dazai any help in standing back up, only crossing his arms as Dazai swept to his feet, taking care to shove his necklace back between the bandages around his neck, and a moment later he lifted his hands to tighten the bandages around his eye.
Chuuya must have screwed with them pretty badly though, because Dazai only succeeded in making them look worse, something Dazai seemed well aware of as he glared back at Chuuya. “Look what you did, you messed them up,” he whined, and Chuuya only scoffed at him.
“You always look messed up,” he retorted instantly. Dazai pulled his face into something of faux-shock.
“That’s awfully rude you know, what if those are the last words you ever say to me?”
“I hope they are. Fuck you.”
“You wish,” Dazai responded flippantly, ignoring the enraged and disgusted noise Chuuya made. Chuuya, to his credit, had been taking anger-management lessons with Kouyou (against his will), so after the outburst, he took a deep breath and mentally counted to five. The overwhelming feeling of hatred was pushed away.
When he looked back at Dazai, the feeling was back in full force. Everyday he loathed that Dazai was so high up and important in the Port Mafia, or else he’d have killed him already.
Well, that or someone else would have succeeded–an inevitable with how much he ran his mouth. Honestly, he was surprised any of the other members hadn’t just snapped and shot him point blank.
“You’re the most insufferable person–”
“--That’s a big word for you, did you open a dictionary–”
“--fuck you, can you let me talk?” Dazai rolled his wrist in a ‘continue’ motion, amusement apparent on his face. “Thank you, asshole,” Chuuya continued on. “I’m inviting your annoying ass over for the holidays, Shabbat too if you want.”
Offering was an impulsive decision, but the way Dazai’s eye widens again in shock, along with the near blush that bloomed across his face made it hard to regret it. Chuuya was sure he’d regret it once Dazai tried to light one of them on fire or something of similar nature, but as of right now, he felt warm.
He watched as Dazai tilted his head down a little bit, something he had learned meant that Dazai was somewhere between embarrassed and just unsure of what to do. At least that’s what he assumed it meant in context, considering Dazai did something similar when he was about to say the most fucked up gruesome thing to some poor bastard he was pointing a gun at.
After a long moment of Chuuya beginning to regret the entire conversation and bracing for whatever vindictive comment Dazai was going to give him, the boy across from him finally spoke, voice oddly subdued.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“Okay?” Chuuya parroted, tilting his head with the words.
Dazai looked up at that, a weird look in his eye but a grin on his face. “Have you become a broken record? Has that hat of yours finally swallowed your teeny brain?”
Of course Dazai couldn’t stay civil for longer than 60 seconds.
“Shut the fuck up, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya snapped at him, using all of his willpower to not engage in another physical fight with him. “Either be there on Friday or don’t. I know you’re not even working Friday evening, so don’t pull that.” He rolled his eyes as he turned around, intent on disengaging from the conversation completely. He felt a little too warm and giddy, which was also something he didn’t want to unpack.
“Another opportunity to bother the hatrack? I accept.” Chuuya’s eye twitched at the comment, but let it go anyway. It was as close as a normal confirmation that Dazai would be there, so he’d take it. Which also meant he had to actually cook for someone else. Fine. He could do that.
But if Dazai insulted his cooking again, he might not be able to resist throwing a cooking knife at him. Again.
“Fuck off,” Chuuya re-iterated. He staunchly ignored the elated feeling that wrapped around his guts at Dazai’s agreement to show up. “I’m going to see Ane-san, do not come with, I’ve seen enough of your fucking face.”
He was going to share his new revelations with her, minus the absolute bombshell that Dazai being Jewish was.
It actually wasn’t overly shocking if he thought about it, the slimy bastard knew everything about Purim already, but he had only assumed it was because Dazai liked to know everything he could possibly get his hands on, and was visibly agitated if he didn’t.
No, he was going to go bemoan his feelings to Kouyou as she usually did over tea. She seemed to know something about it that he didn’t, but she refused to spill.
Dazai let him go without a fight or trying to hang off of him, but he could feel his eye on his back as he walked away. If he was almost looking forward to celebrating anything with Dazai, that was between him and God.