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Ah, there’s something about today that makes his stomach churn.
It’d be so much better if he can just stay tucked in his futon, hands busy with the limited-time event of his current favorite mobile game. Two tins of canned crab over salted crackers, as he drinks two cans of lime-flavored beer.
That would have made for a nicer start to his day.
Alas, he’s here in the Agency, face smushed against his desk overflowing with paperwork. He lets out a deep sigh, inexplicably reminiscing about the time when he could simply hide away and refuse to do any work because there’s someone who’d definitely pick up the slack for him.
Dogs are hateful beings, but having a dog truly makes for a convenient time when trying to skive off work.
Right now, Yokohama is facing a crisis of several people escaping from a special Ability prison from the neighboring city. As a port city that has many links to foreign transport channels, it isn’t difficult to see why escapees would flock here.
Cooperation with the Special Abilities Division and the Port Mafia means that the clean-up has been done quite efficiently. There are still some stragglers that have managed to hide from their sights, but it should only be a matter of time. With involvement from the government and the mafia, Kunikida is a lot more high-strung and stricter when it comes to letting people slack off.
He sighs again. He also jots down a mental note to ruin Mori’s plans one of these days—that quack doctor is cruel enough to assign Chuuya to man the air and sea border, which means that he’s rather far away. Of course, Dazai could have done his best to sneak out to the lighthouse where his dog is assigned, but why should he do that, when the dog should be the one wagging his tail and following his master?
If Dazai goes there, then wouldn’t that be open to be misconstrued as him actually wanting to see a tiny slug?
It’s the absolute worst.
So, he sighs again and tries to catch some extra shut-eye against his paperwork.
Things are not meant to be however. Kunikida arrives with a grim face, like he’s delivering a sad news about his favorite stationery shop suddenly closing down. “One of the mafia’s top brass got affected by one of the escapees,” he says. “It’s the last one, so our original commission is closed, but the mafia has requested for us to help save one of their own.”
“Did Mori-san finally croak,” he asks, yawning.
Kunikida looks graver than an actual cemetery. “Worse. Nakahara Chuuya has been affected with a space-time ability.”
-
“—you look quite cute now, huh!”
That’s the scene that Dazai sees the moment he steps into the building that serves as a neutral zone for their joint operation in this case. There’s a lot of Port Mafia members around. Usually, such an atmosphere would exude a severe aura.
Now, there’s a rambunctious dog with his arm around Akutagawa’s neck, dragging the poor boy close to endure having his hair ruffled, Rashomon obviously strained as he reins his instincts to just stab.
The last escapee to be apprehended has the power to affect space-time by forcibly swapping a person with their version of self from another time. A powerful Ability that could cause collapse if left in the hands of someone who can’t control it properly.
Right now, Dazai clenches his fists as he watches Chuuya laugh so merrily with various mafioso, seemingly without a care in the world. He has the aura of an uncle who is going down the memory lane, finding various coworkers and laughing at how young and innocent they looked.
“I can’t believe I forgot just how little eyebrows you once had!”
“Oho, Higuchi, if you want me to tell you when you’d stop being single, you have to be nicer to me and not just to Akutagawa, okay?”
“Trust me, you’d have a scar that would make you so damn cool, Tachihara.”
“Damn, how could you look so much younger in my time, Gramps?”
“Ane-san, you look as timeless as ever. No, no, not a single wrinkle even fifteen years later, I swear!”
Then, he seems to have noticed the arrival of Agency members.
He bounds closer—like an excited dog, tsk—and there’s a fruity and oaky smell on him, certainly not his usual fragrance. Like he’s been surrounded by expensive wines before being transported here.
His face remains the same, save for the fact that his jawline appears more chiseled, giving him a more mature aura. A velvety hat that he hasn’t seen before, with purple trimmings and a chain made of intertwined rubies and sapphires. He looks casual and very expensive, like he’s already retired and is simply basking in the sun from some exclusive resort in the Caribbean. Fitted pants that hug his legs, showing off the fact that he might be near-forty, but he still retains his well-muscled form. The tightness of his pants is offset by the looseness of his striped blue button-up, top two buttons undone. Sleeves are folded up to his elbows, showing off a muscled forearm that’s a bit more tanned than his current self. A heavy Rolex on his wrist.
On his collarbone, there rests a loose choker with a ring hanging from it. Much like a leash that invites one to hook a finger over it and pull, the ring has a sizable blue diamond stone on it.
He looks very expensive. Chuuya’s never been the sort to treat himself harshly, but he usually lives within an average citizen’s means, save for his usual splurges on certain things: his hats, his wines, his bike and his gifts to others. At the very least, he’s not the sort to live so lavishly that it blinds Dazai’s eyes from all the shiny trinkets on him.
He sneers, “Is this your version of a midlife crisis?”
Chuuya’s in the middle of talking to Atsushi, “Wow, you look even more of a kid fifteen years back, huh?” when he hears this line.
Blue eyes blink at him in askance. Brows furrowed, like he’s doing his best to get his tiny mind into action. After a few seconds, he seemingly gives up and resorts to asking, “Wait, who are you again?”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
That response is like having a C4 bomb detonate right on his face. It takes him several minutes to regather his wits that have been scattered profusely by his dog’s audacious comment.
Much worse, Chuuya doesn’t seem to have any remorse with dropping such a bombshell, already moving on to chat with other Agency members. He claps Poe’s back and congratulates him while wagging his eyebrows. He’s even shaking his head teasingly at Kunikida and Yosano, like he has some juicy gossip that he absolutely cannot wait to divulge.
It’s all so—
“—CHUUYA!” He runs to where the other is, grasping his wrist tightly. “How dare you ignore your owner like this?!”
It should be unreal, how Chuuya has grown more aesthetically pleasing over the years. While some people are desperately trying to look eternally young for the sake of beauty, fifteen years has seemingly added fifteen times more attractiveness to him. “Aging like fine wine” is such a cliché statement and it doesn’t do justice to the way his dog has become even more alluring.
Eyebrows furrow again, and this close, Dazai could count his slug’s eyelashes, could trace the laugh lines that would grow deeper as he ages, a sign of a life well-lived.
“Oh,” sounds so anticlimactic. “You’re Dazai, huh.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
This time, Chuuya lets out a helpless little laugh, followed by a clap to his shoulders, like he’s trying to comfort one of poor Black Lizard members that is dragged with him to his drinking sessions. “Sorry about that, I just haven’t seen Dazai Osamu in more than ten years so it took me some time to remember you.”
He would be more concerned about being accused of screeching, but at this point he can only shriek, “More than ten years?!”
What the hell has this chibi been doing over an entire decade? More importantly, what the hell has been his future self doing? How could he let this slug have peace for more than a decade? He should be harassing him on a weekly basis, at the very least!
“This is fifteen years in the past, right?”
He nods stiffly, mind on overdrive. Does that mean that he’s actually succeeded in his dream of pursuing a cheerful, painless suicide? That would be great, but he also refuses to accept that he hasn’t made arrangements to disturb Chuuya, even when he’s already on the afterlife! How could he let this dog just forget about him so easily?!
“I’d be getting married soon, and then I’d move out of my place to somewhere nearer the sea.” A light shrug, drawing his attention to an earring clipped over the left earlobe. A marbled blue stone that gleams under the light, surrounded by the loosely-braided red locks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard from Dazai Osamu since then.”
Another bombshell. Silence rings so loudly in his ears that it feels as if he’s been submerged all the way to the bottom of Marianas Trench. He faintly realizes that everyone around them has retreated to a safer distance, but he can’t focus on that.
He’s trying to focus on breathing, on making his heart continue beating.
His dog has the gall to get married without his permission? So there’s someone who’d sleep in the same room as him, have the chance to doodle words on his forehead, see him when he’s all vulnerable? So there’s someone who’d get to taste the fruits of Chuuya’s labor in learning to cook gourmet meals, have the right to spend all of Chuuya’s money to buy all sorts of things? So there’s someone else who’d be contacted by a hospital or the mafia in the case of any emergency happening to his slug?
More importantly, this person would get in the way of Dazai harassing Chuuya?
“Who is it,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his vision red. “Is it someone I know?”
He’s going to have a nice talk with them, stress to them the importance of soukoku maintaining contact for the sake of Yokohama. More importantly, one of the few things that give him energy to live through the day is the thought that he’d get to annoy a slug. He’s not going to allow someone to just waltz in and steal his entertainment from him!
Everyone around him is stealing his dog! First, there’s those people from Sheep. Mori-san, Ane-san, everyone in the Port Mafia. Flags, Adam, Randou-san, Verlaine-san. His subordinates. Even Ango has apparently tried to invite Chuuya for a drink! And then even Dazai’s coworkers seem to be in good terms with him in the future!
Why! Chuuya is his dog and his dog alone! He’s the one who saw him first, he’s the one who found him and made him see that there’s so much more to the world than doing whatever anyone else wanted him to do!
This older Chuuya is unfazed by his anger. He has the gall to shrug again, like he’s simply dealing with inconsequential things. “With your information network, is there anyone you don’t know?”
…Tsk, that’s true.
Still, that’s not the point—!!!
“Who is it,” he repeats, holding Chuuya’s wrist with enough force to imprint his thumbmark to his pulse point.
“And what are you going to do?” A raised eyebrow. “I won’t tell you. I’d rather that he’s unharmed by your hands.”
Someone else receiving Chuuya’s brand of protection? He gnashes his teeth, enraged. Who is that person! He needs to find him! And it’s apparently a ‘him’—! Gay marriage is still currently illegal in Yokohama, so the law would either be changed so drastically in such a short time… or it’s a foreigner? Is Chuuya going to elope with someone to a far-off place?
Something snaps inside his brain.
Foreigner… somewhere far away… somewhere where gay marriage is legal… someone who’d insist on Chuuya not having further contact with Dazai…
“I’m going to kill Shirase,” he concludes, tasting acid in his mouth.
Chuuya lets out a snort, then pats his cheek using his free hand. In what seems to be a sleight of hand, he produces an apple candy and a small bottle of water. “I know you don’t like apple as much, but it’s the only flavor I have left.”
He stares at him blankly.
“It’s antacid candy,” is the explanation. After a few moments, Chuuya seems to tire of waiting for him to pluck it out of his hands, so he unwraps the candy and shoves it to his mouth, before pushing the water bottle’s opening to his lips. “Don’t keel over in front of me, oi.”
“…I’m still going to kill Shirase,” he says after he swallows the antacid.
Another snort, as Chuuya pats his cheek using the half-empty water bottle. “He should have formed a stray dogs shelter by now, are you sure you can approach him with so many dogs around him?”
“Is he your husband now?”
“Nope,” is the easy answer. “But I still won’t tell you who.”
“I’d just torture the information out of Chuuya once he returns.” The space-time Ability is unstable and should be automatically undone in a few hours, apparently. In case not, he can always touch the now-recaptured user directly.
A heavy eyeroll. “As if you could.”
He clenches his teeth again. He may be the most effective torture technician in the mafia during his time, but Chuuya’s stubbornness is even more legendary.
“Who is it,” he asks, sounding petulant even without additional faking. “You’ve chosen him over the mafia? How could you have met someone who—”
“He’s very sweet to me,” Chuuya interrupts him. There’s obvious fondness in his voice, a sweetness that cannot be faked. “He buys me whatever I want too,” is followed by a gesture towards his entire self, at all the ostentatious gems that seemingly hang from a little fire fairy.
“So you’ve become a gold-digger,” he accuses, still seeing nothing but red-hot rage.
“He somehow has more money than me, so why not let him pamper me?” A flippant, carefree attitude. “Plus, it’s pretty funny how he’d always be ready with a sportscar and a vintage wine for me.”
That kind of finances narrows it down. Someone in the underworld, royal bloodline, politics or a shady business. He twitches at the possibility that it’s that Guild leader—he should have planned for Atsushi and Akutagawa to punt him entirely off Moby Dick.
“You’re already happy with a sportscar and wine?” His free hand has his fingers digging to the meat of his palm. “I can buy a lot of those things,” he gripes, a panicky feeling winding up his gut. Like he has to hold on now, or else he’ll really lose his dog for life.
“You can?” Full of skepticism. “So you’ve been mooching off me and your coworkers for shits and giggles?”
“That’s not the point,” Dazai whines. His chest feels tight with emotion. “You’re my dog so you should be with me! Why are you being bewitched by some ugly man who only has money in his name! I’m your partner!”
“—Pfft.”
He glares at the slug laughing at him so much that there are tears in his eyes. “Chuuya!”
“…You really are one of a kind, shitty mackerel.” Chuuya’s eyes are very blue. The sweetened fondness from earlier has swelled to a deluge of affection, threatening to bowl him over. “Don’t cry, idiot,” is the gentle order, a pair of thumbs rubbing the edge of his eyes that are definitely not on the verge of crying out of frustration. “I tend to do crazy things whenever I see you sad.”
At those words, Dazai feels his breath hitch.
Suddenly, his mind seems to work faster, his breath coming easier, his shoulders being lighter.
Chuuya’s words from earlier—
“Sorry about that, I just haven’t seen Dazai Osamu in more than ten years so it took me some time to remember you.”
“I’d be getting married soon, and then I’d move out of my place to somewhere nearer the sea.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard from Dazai Osamu since then.”
—!!!
“Chuuya!”
This time, when he shrieks, he’s also stomping his feet to the ground, incensed at being played around by his dog. Something bubbles in his gut, giddiness sparking electricity all over his limbs.
“Oh, you’ve finally realized it?” Warm hands pinch his cheeks. “Seeing you panic like an idiot is really nice, but there’s one look that looks the best on you.”
Chuuya’s insistence on calling him “Dazai Osamu”, him hinting that his husband will do everything for him—
“You’ve tricked me,” he mumbles in dismay.
“You’re the one who’d insist on being called Nakahara Osamu, who’d insist to buy me so many things, as long as I agree to marry you and move somewhere closer to Yokohama Bay so you’re closer to your fellow fish.” More pinching to his cheeks, as they go forehead-to-forehead. “Just so you could monopolize every part of my life. Just so you could sneak in poison to my food, bomb to my sportscars… You’re really an idiot.”
Will knowing about the future ensue in their memories being wiped in order to maintain the chronological order? Or will knowing the future make no difference in the end result?
“I’ll make sure that you agree to become my dog for life,” he promises.
Chuuya scoffs, then rubs their noses together. He doesn’t kiss him—a tacit understanding that he’d save it for when his timeline’s Chuuya returns. He’d bite him on his lips and make sure that he agrees to take on his surname instead.
“Bring it on, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya tells him with shining eyes, just as a bright light covers him to signal space-time bringing him back to his proper timeline.
The moment the light dissipates, he opens his arms and catches his Chuuya against his chest. He leans down and bites his cheek, the beginning of more to come.
-
end