Work Text:
Being worked to the bone is unfortunately just one of the less obvious signs of being involved in a criminal organization. He’s joined in order to be able to observe Death closer than he ever would have as an upstanding civilian, but he’s beginning to think that death by overwork is about to become a reality for him.
Isn’t that quite boring?
It’s far from painless too, not to mention that it would happen while he’s in service of Mori-san. His already-sour face curdles even more at the thought that while he’d get the peace that he’s been longing for, it would also mean that he’d perish just a month into joining the mafia. Worse, there’s a certain dog who’s also joined at the same time as him, so wouldn’t that chibi scoff at him, for not being strong enough to survive the backbreaking workload?
With all those thoughts swirling in his mind, he steps out of his current home.
It’s the first solid time-off that he has ever since joining the mafia. It’s almost surreal—a teenager already being in charge of his own squad, as well as a member of the underworld actually stepping out into a brightly-lit summer weekend.
He nimbly avoids the traps that he’s set up on a shortcut that he’s found, connecting the shipping crate to a road that has substantial foot traffic. Two hours before the lunchtime rush, and the streets are filled with a lot of people. Loud chatter from kids his age, occupying the sidewalk like colorful Tetris blocks. Salarymen valiantly using umbrellas to ward off sunshine, ladies in sundresses vigorously fanning themselves.
Summer vacation is in full swing.
Several people look at him oddly, curious about the heavy layers of his outfit, then growing more interested as they admire his face. It can’t be helped, good bone structure is just one of his weapons, more powerful than the sun when it comes to having his own spotlight.
He checks his phone, considers the amount that has been deposited to his bank account. It’s not even a fraction of the amount of money he could have gone if he’s stayed as the prim and proper son of the Tsushima Family. It’s the first salary that he’s ever earned using his own work, but it’s difficult to muster any sort of excitement about such a thing.
If he shows such a figure to any of the kids in the same sidewalk, they’d probably invite all of their friends to throw a party, maybe even fantasize about booking an entire hotel for the day. Imagining their reactions don’t make for an interesting thought exercise.
His thoughts stray towards a shorty who has joined at the same time as him. That would mean that he’d also get his first salary now. Because he’s an idiot, he’d probably do something inane like buy gifts for Kouyou-san or those subordinates who have helped him during his first month here.
He considers texting Chuuya to demand that he gifts him something. After all, it’s because of him that he’s even known to join Port Mafia. Plus, as the owner, he deserves treats from his dog.
…Then again, it’s his first time-off after a full month of heavy work. He’s not particularly enthused at having it sullied by a slug.
He decides on going to a certain apparel shop. Trying out new clothes isn’t really to his taste, but he needs to buy something that he could use often as a reminder to his slug that he has better taste than him. Several clerks flock towards him, voices sweet as they ask him if he needs assistance.
Gentle, fragrant ladies with fair skin and no knowledge about his involvement with the mafia. Would they still be as welcoming if they know that just yesterday, he’s finished a mission with a dog who casually demolished an entire building full of their enemies?
It’s a shop that caters to all sorts of styles. His eyes catch on a certain display. Black pants, but the waistline is high enough like a half-corset. On another rack, there’s a simple long-sleeved white shirt, but its sleeves have a contraption that makes it easy to hold folded sleeves in place. It’d be useful when re-bandaging his forearms and hands.
The designs are similar enough to his current attire, that he wouldn’t appear like he’s a silly boy who buys whatever catches his eye, without thought for consistency. Plus, the cinched waistline would make him look slimmer and more fragile in his dog’s eyes, so it’d be easier to trick him into buying him snacks.
Decision made, he purchases the items and changes to them right away. Disappointingly, this entire trip hasn’t even taken more than an hour. Having time-off is nice, but it’s also… boring.
He purses his lips. Is this part of Mori-san’s tactics in making him spend more time working?
As if sensing his uncharitable thoughts towards the Boss he respects so much, a slug appears in front of his eyes in one intersection.
“…Geh.”
A startled Chuuya looks at him, before curling his lips in disgust. “Urgh. Such bad luck. Why the fuck are you here, shitty Dazai?”
“That should be my line,” he says. “This is a busy shopping street, so why is a dog walking around without a leash?”
As expected of a brutish chibi, that makes Chuuya jump up and imitate a cat with all of his hair fried up, waving fists at him. “I’m telling you right now, I won’t hesitate to beat you up if you continue with the shitty dog jokes!”
“Sure, whatever,” is his airy response, flicking his wrist as if to consider him as dust. “But here’s my prediction,” he says while wagging a finger in front of a scrunched nose, “You’re not going to hurt me. In fact, you’re even going to treat me to some shaved ice!”
“Ha? You’re dreaming if you think—”
As swiftly as his irritation ignites, it’s extinguished just as fast. An expression that’s a lot closer to what other teenagers would have. It’s in such contrast to how vicious he could be when he’s fighting or snapping at him. In fact, it also looks so innocent compared to the stylish delinquent aura he’s exuding right now, with his sporty jacket and high-top shoes.
“—oi, what is wrong with you?”
There’s no tactfulness whatsoever in his question. There’s also no carefulness in his movements, as he invades his personal space. Blue eyes squint at him, transforming into an inquisitive bunny inspecting his master.
Suddenly, a pair of hands in black-red gloves squeeze his waist, as if to physically measure its size.
“Did you shrink or something, shitty Dazai?”
If such an interaction happens between ordinary teenagers, it would probably be considered as flirting. Worse, a boyfriend worried about his lover’s health.
This kind of reaction is within his expectations. After all, Chuuya has proven to be the sort to worry incessantly over other people, despite acting gruff and cool like some shounen manga hero. Given how he’s worked hard to protect an organization full of children, acting like a busybody motherhen is part of his behavioral pattern.
Still, to actually experience it makes him a little bit unmoored.
The blaze of the summer sun above them feels starker against his skin. This is all Chuuya’s fault—tiny animals with high metabolism also boasts of high body temperature. With how close he is, with how he’s holding his waist, laws of thermodynamics dictate that he’s affected by the surplus of warmth.
“And now you even look like you have a fever,” his slug grumbles to himself, before shifting his hold to his wrist to tug him along. Even without calling forth his Ability, he appears to have erected a gravity wall surrounding them, as he’s seemingly impervious to the stares they amass from everyone else.
They must look quite the pair. A shorty with a thunderous expression, wearing something that could be considered fashionable in delinquent circles. And he’s practically dragging along someone who’s wearing a respectable suit.
“Stay here,” Chuuya parks him eventually on a plastic bench. “I’ll be back soon.”
As flat as his skin that has no wrinkles whatsoever, “Chuuya, this is the senior citizen’s waiting area.”
“It’s fine,” the slug tells him without any compunctions about this kind of thing. “At this hour, there’s not a lot of grannies who go shopping, so you can rest off your fever here while I buy things.”
He pitches his voice to the highest and whiniest he could, “You’re going to abandon me here while you go play and shop around?!”
A gloved hand flicks his forehead. “I’m going to buy ingredients for hotpot.”
Oh, maybe Chuuya does have potential to be a good torture technician. He screeches, “Hotpot in summer?!”
“Sweating is good for someone with a fever,” and it’s said with such a patient tone, it’s as if his dog is treating him as one of the Sheep’s unreasonable toddlers.
Of course, that is absolutely unacceptable. Touching a slug is dangerous, in case he ends up sticking so much that they couldn’t be pried apart eventually. But he does so anyway, clinging to the other’s jacket so that they’d end up grocery shopping together.
It’s a good chance to make sure to spend all of Chuuya’s money by sneaking in all sorts of expensive snacks. They fight over every purchase, just as they fight as to who controls the pushcart.
Their grocery shopping takes a full two hours, but he comes out of it successfully tricking Chuuya to buy a shaved ice machine. That, and a shorty paying for all of the food. It’s quite the haul and he’s very pleased with himself for managing to pull it off.
Happily munching on fried onigiri, “I was expecting you’d save your first salary to buy gifts for Kouyou-san or even Hirotsu-san and… urgh, Mori-san.”
“The best kind of thanks I can give Boss is to fulfill my responsibilities to the organization,” is the very proper response, enough to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
“Uwaaa, a workaholic shorty isn’t going to grow tall! I’m going to add this on next week’s edition of the ‘Chuuya is a silly shorty’ magazine!”
“Stop cursing my height!” A swipe to his shins, but it’s not serious at all, given how the chibi is holding on to several plastic bags. “And stop spreading that stupid magazine around! If you like writing so much, then do your paperwork, damn it!”
“Eh, but that is boring.”
“And talking nonsense about me isn’t?!”
“How can it be boring?” His hands on his back, as he walks backwards so he can meet Chuuya’s eyes. Even in a busy street, he’s not worried that he’d end up bumping to anyone. “I get to annoy you and watch you jump around like some dog thrown to a frying pan!”
“…Why the hell would you want to fry dogs, oi.”
He puffs his cheeks and lets out childish laughter. “A fried chibi would shrink even more, how pitiful.”
“Shut the hell up!” Even old dogs can learn new tricks, and even short dogs can understand a losing battle. A deep breath, as Chuuya rolls his eyes and says, “Anyway, I do plan to show my thanks to Ane-san and her subordinates.”
Chuuya’s clothes aren’t newly bought. They don’t look too old, but they’re definitely from his time in Sheep, given the design of his jacket. As they arrive at the chibi’s apartment, he could see that it’s also quite bare and lacking in loud décor that would match such a blazing personality. Seems like aside from today’s purchases of food, he hasn’t touched that money yet.
There are no extra house slippers, so he steals Chuuya’s and leaves the slug to pad around in his socks.
“Since you’re making a nuisance for yourself, might as well be useful.”
After these words, he’s then dragged towards the kitchen counter. A vague gesture for him to sit atop it, since there’s only one chair and it’s all the way at the dining table. A space that’s not used to receiving guests, and there’s a burst of satisfaction in his gut at the thought of being the first person to invade such a place.
He tilts his head. “You want me to be a taste-tester?”
“Since you plan on mooching off me anyway,” is the casual explanation. “Buying gifts is easy, so I wanted to thank Ane-san by cooking something for her.”
He wrinkles his nose. “This is your way of climbing up the ranks? Sucking up for favor?”
A wooden spatula hits his thigh. “It’s called knowing how to show proper gratitude, you bastard.”
He claps his hands together. “If you’re so good at showing gratitude, then you should thank me a lot for deeming you worthy of becoming my dog.”
Of course, such a statement sparks another round of fighting between them. It’s even more unrestrained, given all the sharp implements around them, and the fact that they’re now out of public eye and street cameras.
In order to shut him up, Chuuya ends up shoving the shaved ice machine to his arms. “Make yourself useful and shave off your tongue there,” is the snippy command.
He sticks his tongue out, knowing that the other man wouldn’t be able to resist doing it himself once he sees him deliberately use it incorrectly.
He ends up spending the night—though it’s inaccurate to call it as a ‘sleepover’, because no sleep happens. Eating, making shaved ice, demolishing the pile of snacks—they all serve to bloat their stomachs, to the point that they’ve transferred their fighting to the world of gaming consoles.
Before they know it, it’s Sunday morning and his phone rings.
“…Geh, it’s Mori-san.”
He could already sense nothing good would come out from this call. Sure enough, there’s an emergency mission that requires both of them to work together. A sly tone that tells him, “It shouldn’t be a problem to bring Chuuya-kun with you.” Like he already knows that they’ve somehow ended up gravitating towards each other and spending time together even on a day where they could have gone without interacting.
“A mission?” Eyebrows raised at him. “You should be thankful then, I’ll continue defeating you some other time.”
“Wow, you’re only this short, but you’re already so senile? There’s no way you’re defeating me, Chuuya~”
“My height has nothing to do with this, shut the hell up!”
It’s one weekend out of many in an entire lifetime. It’s a rare weekend that has brought him equal amounts of peace and excitement, and he starts to wonder what kind of trick he can play on Chuuya next time, so he’d end up cooking for him again.
(If he’s spent several hours without contemplating death, because he’s too busy teasing his dog, and because he’s too busy contemplating as to what kind of leash should he buy for his unruly puppy—well, that’s just him being a good owner, that’s all.)
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end