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Going down to the boundary between the worlds of humans and youkai is pretty vexing, especially since he has to contend with listening to human screeching upon his arrival. Other youkai aren’t any better, given that they either make a nuisance of themselves by trying to hit him with paltry attacks, or they kowtow to him and beg him to take them as an apprentice.
It can’t be helped though. There have been rumors about certain spirits running amok—using today as a chance to cause so much chaos. In order to maintain the peace between the two worlds, occasionally going down to show his face at the alliance meetings is part of his responsibility as the current holder of the title, ‘Shuutendouji’.
…Even if it can’t be helped, it doesn’t mean that it’s any less annoying. So irritating that the only way to regain his good mood is to enjoy special wine gifted to him by Ane-san hundreds of years ago. It should pair well with the blood-red moon tonight, plus some of the plum cakes that he’s bought on his way back.
Of course, he should have known that there are truly no good things associated with today’s trip.
At first, he’s been relieved when he didn’t smell a familiar bastard’s scent during the meeting.
It’s bad enough that their respective mountains are still relatively near each other; it’s even worse because that shithead likes to fly over to his mountain and annoy him too often.
So, learning that shitty Dazai has skipped the meeting has brought him palpable relief.
He clenches his fists. He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple!!!
In front of his eyes, the spot in his cellar reserved for that gourd of special wine is conspicuously empty, with only a few dark feathers left behind as if it’s enough of a payment for taking his wine away.
“Oi, bastard! Return my wine to me!”
“Fufufu,” comes from somewhere high. “I don’t mind giving it back, but I’m too lazy to bring it all the way down to a shorty’s level~”
Experience born from years of chasing this asshole all over the place whenever he does unfunny shit like this has Chuuya renovating his place to be made of enchanted stone that wouldn’t break as easily when his power leaks. Spacious enough with high ceilings, certainly not because a dumbass tengu keeps on complaining about not having enough space to spread his wings whenever he visits.
They spend the next several minutes half-sparring, half-squabbling. Knowing that the bastard is crafty enough to not end up as an unsightly corpse in his abode, Chuuya doesn’t hold back in his attacks. In return, Dazai puffs up laughter and sheds his damn feathers all over the place, waving his bright red fan and causing whirlwinds that mess up his hair.
Sparks sizzle in the air as their magic clash. Dazai is fond of experimenting with strange spell combinations, and he’s fond of punching them right back towards the other’s smug face.
Eventually they end up outside in his stone garden, lit by the red haze of tonight’s moon.
Dazai sits on the peak of the tallest stone slab, geta-wearing feet dangling and kicking like some brat. When his mouth isn’t flapping its gums and spraying a bunch of irritating things, he could even pass for some nymph more beautiful than the subjects in various paintings in the human world. Of course, the main requirement for that is for the fishy bastard to stay zipped.
Chuuya clicks his tongue as he sits down on his usual spot. He picks up a porcelain drinking cup. Moments later, there’s the sound of flapping wings, then Dazai descends, blocking his view of the moon. With gentle movements, the tengu that currently sits on the number one spot pours wine to both their cups.
“So, how are things in the alliance?” Dazai sits beside him, stretching out his legs. His massive wings are relaxedly splayed out behind them, wide enough to encompass him too if the other so wishes.
He sneers, “You’d have known it if you didn’t skip the meeting earlier.” The wine is sweet and robust, yet somehow managing to be light on his tongue. He makes a mental note to send gifts to Ane-san in return for this treasure.
“How cold you are,” is not exactly a complaint, given that Dazai still sounds so noncommittal. “Or is this your way of telling me that you looked forward to seeing me earlier, then you were oh-so-disappointed when you didn’t see me?”
He gives him a look, before shaking his head. The red moonlight paints a blush over the other’s cheeks—it’s enough to make him look like he’s a rosy painting. It’s a load of bullshit, of course. “You already sound drunk with just one sip, oi.”
A puff of laughter. Dazai folds his left leg so that he can idly rest his cheek against his left knee, so that their eyes could meet. “Hey, what makes you think that I haven’t gone through the rest of your wine stash while you’re away?”
He snatches the crimson fan resting on the other’s lap, the one that can supposedly whip up whirlwinds and miracles. Without care for the prestige and legend behind such a magical item, he uses it to smack the other’s face. “Bastard! Don’t you fucking dare touch the rest of my stash! I’m going to make you to a barbecue, damn it!”
Dazai wrinkles his nose. “A wine-addicted chibi like you would probably have the bad taste to marinate me in wine, so I’ll have to pass.”
He smacks him again using the fan, this time over his chest. Even with extra padding afforded by his infernal bandages, he’s still such a beanpole. His lips twist. “Why would I waste my precious wine on some meatless twig like you?” He drops the fan, then holds out his cup for the other to pour more wine. “You wouldn’t be nice to eat at all.”
One of the spells that Dazai has experimented on is to weave some temperature-regulating magic over his bandages. The bastard has pestered him to assist in testing this magic, by way of wearing bandages on his person too. It’s wrapped snugly around his torso, warmth always on his stomach, reminiscent of the touch of feathers against his skin.
“Pfft, talk like that is one of the main reasons why humas are so scared of a shorty like you.” A bandaged hand swirls the liquid in his own cup, looking like blood because of the ominous sky. “They now think that you’re the sort to actually eat flesh.”
Youkai like them have long, long lifespans. Nevertheless, nothing lasts forever. Even those with the biggest magical reserves still need to return to the earth and complete the cycle of reincarnation. That means that there have been countless other demons who have once possessed the name ‘Shuutendouji’, the strongest oni in the land.
“My predecessors probably did something like that,” he says, offhand. Not that it matters to him—his predecessors had their own lives, while his life is his alone. Plus, the idea of eating someone else’s flesh is disgusting, especially if it involves this lanky fishy bastard.
“Mm, I’ve heard that the previous Shuutendouji was not only also very short,” and there’s that laughter once again, “but also quite idiotic.”
Even if he doesn’t care for his predecessors’ affairs, it’s hard to escape knowledge of what happened to the previous Shuutendouji. Tricked by humans into drinking poisoned wine, ultimately leading to him being weakened enough that he could be felled by lesser demons. A great upheaval of powers to punctuate an already-chaotic era, great catastrophes plaguing both worlds.
It’s both been touted as a cautionary tale for demons being arrogant enough that they don’t bother to have some sort of vigilance about their safety, as well as a banner for how good things can happen when humans and demons plot together.
If nothing else, the previous Shuutendouji’s death has ushered in the formation of the alliance between humans and demons, in order to work together to maintain balance between the two worlds and combat heavy calamities.
“You like to claim that you’re some genius hotshot,” he knocks their wine cups together when Dazai starts poking his nose using the tip of his right feather, making him want to sneeze, “but you have nothing but stupid height jokes.”
A shrug, “It can’t be helped that you’re really tiny though. I’m just pointing out logical observations.”
He considers it, looking at the red moon. There’s hardly a ripple over the liquid in his cup, his voice steady. “And is there a logical explanation to you making a nuisance of yourself today?”
Something that he’s noticed over the years: Dazai is even more irresponsible during this day. The anniversary of the formation of the alliance—the anniversary of the death of the previous Shuutendouji.
The bastard is capricious and prone to being flaky, but he’s still the number one daitengu, after successfully usurping the spot of Sōjōbō, the previous king of all tengu. Dazai is active enough in all important matters regarding the balance between the two worlds, but it’s only on this particular meeting that he always hides like the slacker that he truly is.
“Let me see…” He continues looking at him, dark eyes glittering. His face is full of the familiar teasing that he’s had the misfortune of experiencing over the years. “You’re away from your lair, so it’s even easier for me to snoop around your home?” An exaggerated sigh of pity, his expression shifting to something more meanspirited. “I’ve been thinking that I can finally find your hidden stash of paintings of my glorious face, but as expected, you’ve hidden it really well!”
This time, he picks up the red mask hanging loosely from the other’s waist. He presses the long nose of the tengu mask against the soft flesh of the other’s liver. “That’s because there’s no such thing! Why the hell would I keep such a disgusting thing?!”
“Ow,” a plaintive sound. The faking doesn’t last long. “Because we always see each other anyway, so there’s no need for you to keep copies of my face, I understand.”
“You understood nothing!” Utterly disgusted, he thinks of grabbing the other’s fan once again, maybe cause a whirlwind to send him all the way back to his own mountain, and also clear the air of his fishiness.
This time, Dazai grabs his wrist once it’s already made its way to his lap. “This fan is very special, you know?” It’s easy to break free from the other’s hold, but for some reason, he keeps still. “It’s something that can only be wield by certain creatures. Those that are considered as the top tengu. After all, this is supposed to be something that can cause miracles.”
Chuuya watches the small twitches on the other’s face. Maybe he’s really drunk, but he thinks that underneath the usual teasing expression, there’s a look that gives off the atmosphere of a child about to cry.
It’s quite vexing.
Dazai is annoying enough when he’s all slimy and flirting with various youkai and humans, not sparing a thought for the health of the heart of all those creatures that he attacks with flowery words. He’s also irritating enough when he trespasses into his mountain, rearranging the things in his house so that they’re all at the topmost shelves that would require him to use some magic to reach. Not to mention, all the thieving of his wines.
But most annoying of them all is when he’s like this: looking at him with this strange expression on his face, being close enough and splaying his wings wide enough to swallow him, but not quite daring to fully commit to it.
With his free hand, he sips the wine until his cup is empty, before using it to knock on the other’s forehead. As if he could knock the nonsense out of the other’s head. “Haven’t you heard from your predecessors that there’s no such thing as miracles?”
Knowing how lazy the other really is, it’s obvious that the only reason he made all the fuss to usurp the previous king of tengu is so he could get his hands on this powerful fan. There’s no grand ambition, no all-encompassing goal to unite nor rule over others of his kind.
“Mm, but it doesn’t hurt to try, yes?” Soft in a way that makes it understandable as to why there are still creatures swayed by his flirtatious words, even if everyone already knows what kind of scumbag he is.
“…No miracle is big enough to make you less annoying, that’s for sure.”
He may not be the type of person who could claim to be a strategic genius, but it’s not like he’s an utter scrub when it comes to thinking. Especially since it involves this asshole who always flies around him and keeps on shedding feathers all over his abode. Black and red feathers, even though his wings are only colored black.
After a few moments of contemplative silence, Dazai lets out a sigh. “It really is annoying to deal with you, Chuuya.”
“That should be my line, oi,” is his quick retort. Instead of pulling away entirely, he sets his hand down over the other’s thigh. It’s bony, as expected. Unexpectedly warm, and he could almost feel the thrum of the other’s blood. He grasps the handle of the miraculous blood-red fan, and ignoring the other’s hold on his wrist, he throws it somewhere inside his home.
Perhaps it should fittingly land in the spot vacated by today’s stolen wine, an offering in exchange for another.
Eyebrows raised, “You’re brazenly stealing the treasure of the king of tengu, chibikko?”
Just like how there have been previous Shuutendouji before his generation, there have also been previous king of tengu. It’s even said that some human diviners and priests that have grown to be so arrogant and conceited, end up being reincarnated to become tengu after their death.
Put together with Dazai’s refusal to ever go near the boundary of the worlds between humans and demons on this particular time of the year—there’s one way to explain all of this.
Likewise, there’s only one way that he can respond to such a conclusion.
“With me here, there’s no need for you to rely on anything else to give you miracles,” he says with a heavy conviction, meeting the other’s eyes.
Strangely enough—or maybe not so strange, given everything—Dazai shakes so hard that his feathers fall off in droves. Not exactly crying, but there’s a certain vulnerability to the way his eyes widen. Like he’s the one who’s suddenly been wrapped in a tumultuous storm, as if that fan capable of causing whirlwinds has been used against him.
So Chuuya stays still, meets his stare. As the strongest oni of the land, he is capable of staying strong no matter what kind of problems sprout.
Eventually, an almost helpless, “I really hate you, Chuuya. How is it that small idiots can cause such big disturbances?”
“Someone who looks like they’re so touched they’re about to cry has no right to say such a thing, oi.”
The previous Shuutendouji has been killed because he’s been poisoned. A human has been behind such a plan. The previous Shuutendouji was supposedly someone that lost control and caused so many calamities, and so it had been considered a good thing for him to disappear.
Because of the success of such a plan, an alliance has been established between humans and demons, laying the foundation for further cooperation to combat other calamities.
Of course, that’s how it’s been recorded in the books.
Chuuya’s always found it strange—a wine-loving connoisseur like Shuutendouji would have been impossible to trick into ingesting poison through his wine. Especially if it came from an enemy human, during such troubled times.
“It’s because I’m so moved that I’m witnessing evolution happen before my very eyes,” Dazai tells him, head slightly bowed. The blood-red moon above doesn’t do a good job in hiding the reddened edges of his eyes. “A shorty with such a small skull for his brain can piece things together with such small hints?”
The previous Shuutendouji must have been quite close with that human. Or at least, trusted him enough to let him somewhere near his wine stash. Or at least, trusted him enough to still drink the wine, knowing that it was poisoned.
“So after you’ve poisoned me, you couldn’t accept the fact that I ended up dying,” he says, voice light, like they’re discussing something far-divorced from their past selves. “And you’ve ended up going mad enough, became a calamity, caused so much havoc, then you’ve been reincarnated into a goddamn annoying bird.”
His past memories don’t return to him, but that’s fine. This is his life now—and he doesn’t need confirmation or permission from his past self as to how he’ll proceed.
Dazai’s eyes flicker. “It’s supposed to be a game between us, but someone else got in the way.” An aggrieved tone curdles his words. “They ended up switching the poison into something more potent.” He doesn’t deny the rest.
He also doesn’t say anything about wanting to claim the fan in order to bring about a miracle, perhaps some impossible means to redo their past. He doesn’t need to, for Chuuya can already sense such sentiments. Warm and sticky, clinging to his skin, just like the enchanted bandages wrapped around his torso, squeezing him with a phantom sensation of someone wanting to embrace him without fully daring to.
There’s only one thing he can say to such an admission.
“You’re an annoying idiot,” he says with feeling. He flicks the space between the other’s eyes in order to dispel the stupid expression there. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving me more wine.”
The things that have happened in the past are all in the past. They’ve now both been reincarnated. Plus, if his past self really despised Dazai for any of these, he would have had a stronger reaction upon seeing him again.
But in this lifetime, the only thing Chuuya remembers feeling upon seeing that stupid, annoying face is—
He draws the other close by the waist, fingers clawing into the spot where wings sprout from the other’s back. Preventing him from running away from this, keeping them together throughout the years and catastrophes.
—once again, and forever more, he wants to drink with him under the moonlight.
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