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“Osamu . . . Osamu . . . Osamu . . .”
As usual, Fyodor was hunched over his computer in the corner, posture horrifying enough that to the eye he somewhat resembled a crippled shrimp. Dazai was settled on the sofa on his phone. Nikolai was sprawled out over the remaining space of the sofa.
And apparently, being high had convinced his mind that his sole life goal was to annoy the shit out of everyone else in the room.
“Osamu . . .”
Dazai pointedly ignored him.
Nikolai poked him in the thigh. Really, Dazai’s attention span was so bad at times. “Osamu.”
“What do you want.”
“Food.”
“You’re in luck! We have a kitchen.”
With an irritated groan, Nikolai repositioned himself so that his head was stationed at an awkward angle against Dazai’s hip. “But I’m comfortable . . .”
“Well, I’m definitely not,” Dazai mused, cringing when Nikolai adjusted again and made it several times worse. “Oh, ow. Ow ow ow.”
“Then get up!” said Nikolai.
Dazai sighed loudly. “Dickhead.”
“Never . . .”
Another sigh—this time, one Nikolai knew with a sense of victory, to mean relent.
“If I get you food, will you leave me be?” he said.
Nikolai grinned triumphantly. “I love you. I love you so much . . .”
Rolling his eyes, Dazai coaxed Nikolai into sitting up before lifting himself up from the sofa with a (third) sigh of long suffering. “A thank you would be more appreciated.”
“Thank you,” replied Nikolai, punctuating it as Dazai stood up by patting him on the ass.
Dazai narrowed his eyes. “You suck.”
“Oh, and you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure you wanna say that to the guy making your food?”
Cackling to himself, Nikolai wriggled across the space Dazai had made vacant. His limbs hung ragdoll-style off the edge of the sofa. “You find me very funny.”
“Oh, I can assure you, I do not.”
“You do.”
“Do not.”
“You do.”
“Do not—”
“How did I manage to end up in a relationship with the two most irritating people known to man?” Fyodor cut in, swivelling around in his chair. He’d been stuck on one paragraph for a good ten minutes now, forced to listen to the racket the two of them were making. “Either be quiet or go and be disruptive upstairs.”
“Whatever you wish, sir,” Dazai muttered.
“Don’t push it.”
(Dazai stalked haughtily into the kitchen.)
Yawning, Nikolai started to count the marks on the ceiling. “God, I’m in a weird mood,” he said.
“I can tell. How you can be exhausted, full of energy, and somehow perpetually horny, all simultaneously, never fails to amaze me.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Nikolai—but he wasn’t really sure which one he was offended at.
Fyodor opted to go back to tapping at his keyboard. The—backspace. The reason—backspace. Perhaps the reason—backspace. Who knew a single sentence could form such a formidable enemy? Writing was both his hobby and his scourge.
Dazai somehow managed to walk through the kitchen, reach the fridge, open it, look around, and frown at its waning contents before even realising he had no idea what he was looking for. “Kolya, what do you want?”
“What is there?” came his voice from the living room.
“Honestly, not very much. Fedya, when do we get more food?”
“You are walking to the supermarket tomorrow evening,” returned Fyodor.
With a whine, Dazai said, “Why me?” (He stared at an uneaten packet of ham with great suspicion that it had expired.)
“Because it’s your turn this week.”
“Mean,” said Dazai. (The ham was definitely expired.) “Kolya, do you like out of date ham?”
An incredulous laugh. “Why is that a question you should have to ask?”
“Is that a yes?”
“What—no.”
Dazai snickered to himself as he chucked the packet in the bin. “Just making sure.”
Stretching in his chair, Fyodor said, “Please do not give Kolya expired ham, no matter how much you hate him. The aftermath will be pleasant for none of us.”
“Why do you have so little faith in me?”
“I have many reasons.”
“If you give me expired ham, I’ll give you a black eye!” chimed Nikolai cheerfully.
Dazai laughed. “Oh, you’re just so sweet.”
“That’s why you love me.”
“I doubt my love for you more and more with each passing day. What do you want to eat?”
Nikolai adjusted on the sofa, almost falling off it. Fyodor wasn’t even turned around to see, but chuckled anyway. Nikolai glared at the back of his head. “Um . . . whatever. I don’t care,” he said—before quickly adding, “as long as it’s not out of date . . .”
“Be glad you remembered to add that,” Dazai chirped, opening the freezer. Ah, a pepperoni pizza. That would do. “We can share a pizza. You won’t eat all this.”
“You don’t know Kolya well enough if you don’t think he can eat an entire pizza alone,” said Fyodor.
Cackling, Nikolai said, “Oh my God, remember that one time at the pizza hut when we went to England?”
Oh, Fyodor could vividly recall it. “Weren’t you high then, too?”
“I always get hungry . . .”
“Um, a big pizza, please, with lots of cheese . . . uh, I don’t know how many inches . . . Fedya, do you have a measuring tape on you?” Fyodor began to imitate in English.
Nikolai scoffed indignantly. “I did not sound like that.”
“I don’t care about the size as long as there’s lots of cheese,” continued Fyodor. He’d turned around now. Nikolai was still draped over the sofa, grinning like an idiot. “Twenty-four inches?” (He switched to Ukrainian.) “Ha, that’s almost as big as . . .”
“How do you remember it so well?”
“Because I was the one who had to apologise profusely to the poor woman serving us.”
“She didn’t even understand! I switched to Ukrainian just to say it to myself!”
“I was apologising for the rest of it.”
(One of the perks of having two boyfriends was that Dazai didn’t need a podcast to fill the silence anymore. He could just listen to them bicker as his own personal one.)
“Besides, what if she’d known Ukrainian, Kolya? You can’t assume these things.”
Nikolai scoffed. “Right, yeah, sorry. Next time I go to England, I’ll just assume all the people there who can barely understand my accent happen to speak fluent Ukrainian . . .”
“You can never be too careful. Back when I went to America, a high-school student recognised my accent and swore at me in Russian.”
“Was it—”
“Yes, of course it was suka blyat.”
A sigh. “They all know that one . . .”
(Dazai set the timer for the pizza. Maybe he’d get himself some chocolate milk.)
“What did you say to the kid?”
“Well, of course, I started speaking very fast Russian . . .”
Cackling, Nikolai said, “Oh, you’re evil, Fedya . . .”
“He disappeared very quickly.”
Pouring himself a tall glass of chocolate milk—it was actually the right brand, this time; not long ago, Nikolai had bought entirely the wrong one, and Dazai had been forced to go out and fetch some himself—Dazai moved to wait in the living room.
“Osamu, how long will the pizza be?” said Nikolai, because he was impatient.
“I just put it in,” muttered Dazai, making his way to the doorway. “Probably not longer than—eeeuuuuuaaagghhh!”
Because—
There was a moth. On the door.
The door that was between him and the living room.
The door that he was less than a metre away from.
“What sort of fucking war cry was that?” Nikolai said, craning his neck to get a better look at Dazai in concern that he might have actually slipped and cracked his head open or something.
Dazai was not there. In fact, he was back by the oven, chocolate milk splashed a little over his sleeve in his rush to escape. “There’s a moth . . .”
“Good Lord. You’d have thought you’d spotted Slenderman outside the window.”
“I’d rather it have been him . . .” Dazai murmured woefully.
From his chair, Fyodor just said, “Kolya, can you get it? Please?” (He had finally figured out a wording for the sentence. Hoorah.)
Nikolai sighed dramatically. “Can’t you just make Rodya eat it or something?”
“He’s asleep upstairs.”
“Useless fucking rat . . .” Nikolai muttered, weathering the sharp glare from Fyodor with a roll of his eyes. He dragged himself off the couch. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine . . . because I’m such a good boyfriend . . .”
Dazai sipped his chocolate milk with a threatened expression. “Don’t put it near me . . .”
“Why are you so petrified of the things, anyway?” said Nikolai, picking up a coaster from the coffee table and striding into the kitchen to fetch a glass. “You’re not this scared of flies.”
“Flies are predictable! Moths . . . moths are mysterious . . . I never know what they’re gonna do . . .”
Unconvinced, Nikolai just said, “Right . . .”
It wasn’t too difficult to catch the moth. Honestly, it hardly seemed alive where it was clinging to the door. Nikolai just put the glass over it and scooped it in with the coaster. Hilariously, Dazai left about three metres’ worth of space between the both of them as he followed Nikolai through the living room to make sure he actually let it outside.
“Fedya, could you unlock the door? Hands are kind of full . . .”
(Fyodor pulled out his desk drawer for the keys.)
“Ahh . . . I hate moths . . .” Dazai disdainfully watched the moth’s weak attempts at escaping its predicament.
“It’s barely even moving.”
Dazai pulled a disgruntled expression. “Still . . .”
“Ooh, you’re scared? You’re scared?” Nikolai couldn’t help but tease. “Scared of something the size of your fingernail?”
“Kolya.”
This was where Nikolai made his fatal mistake.
Grinning stupidly, he moved towards Dazai. “Woo, so scary, right?” He waved the glass near to his face. “Oooh, it’s gonna eat y—”
He didn’t get to finish the word before Dazai’s reflexes kicked in. Panicked at having what might well have been his worst fear waved near his face, he flung out a hand—
—and punted the glass, by its base, straight up and out of Nikolai’s hands.
The only thing that could be heard was a loud smash, then another—right as the light went out.
Both of them blinked at each other in the dark.
Fyodor made a long, frustrated sound, and buried his face in his hands.
“Did I just . . .” started Dazai.
Nikolai groaned. “You did.”
“I just broke our living room lightbulb with a glass.”
“You just broke our living room lightbulb with a glass.”
“I did.”
The both of them looked nervously at Fyodor. Concerningly, his angered expression looked far more dangerous when illuminated only by a computer screen.
He stared at them for a long moment before saying, “Just fucking clean it up.”
(No protests were heard.)
“Oh my God. I just thought of a really topical joke . . .”
Dazai had found himself the role of sweeping up the glass smashed in the corner. Nikolai had occupied himself with the remnants of the shattered lightbulb that had dropped to the middle of the floor. Fyodor was still typing away at his computer—now with a little more fire behind it.
Sighing, Dazai just mused, “Don’t bother.” He still had no idea where the moth had gone—and it was made worse by the fact he was in the dark, with only his phone torch to guide him.
“How many moths does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Nikolai said anyway.
No one said anything.
“Two, if they can get inside it in the first place.”
Fyodor tried not to scream.
“You are so annoying,” Dazai said.
Nikolai smiled sweetly. “I know.”