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The weather is beautiful at this hour as rain butts out from clouds as if it was a fucking water gun contest between those forms of gas. Lightning strikes down from the sky, yes, there is lightning too, hitting a random guy on the street, and Dazai can only wish that was him.
“Get out of my house!”
Yelled Chuuya as he tried to push Dazai out his door.
They had spent the day playing video games inside Chuuya’s apartment after they had decided to duel once again. The sun was going to sleep now though, which indicated their time for today had gone to an end.
Dazai went stiff and he pouted, “Why Chuuya, you wouldn’t be as cruel as to leave poor little old me alone in the rain now would you?”
“Yes, I am, now leave.”
The bandaged man turned around to face the shorter and gave the best puppy eyes he could make out.
He begged once again, frustrated, “Come onnnn, I don’t have a car and I’m sooo far away. Let me stay for the night and I promise, Chuuya, I won’t make a sound! We could even play some rounds more, y’know?”
Chuuya was about to speak, rather, yell again, when his scold got interrupted by a loud crash of lightning. If either of them thought the storm was strong, they had not seen anything, because after that strike what seemed already bad just went worse. They both turned to look at the sky and then back at each other. The ginger spoke after a loud sigh.
“Gosh, you annoying shit sock! I’ll let you in, alright? But if you say as much as a squeak, I will leave you on the street.”
They stumbled back inside the apartment accompanied by the brunette’s loud “thank you’s” - the detective removed his coat once again, placing it on the entrance’s rack, and he had a quick thought of saying “Look, it’s Chuuya!” little before he remembered that any tease would leave him walking on the soaked streets trying to find home like a lost, wet dog - which Dazai found blasphemous, as he was convinced that the only dog in the lodgings was the mafioso, who by the way, was making himself some sweet, warm coffee in dead silence. His face was stuck on a frown, almost as if he could read the detective’s mind. (That should be the other way round, annoyingly so.)
“Do you-“
“Could I-“
They spoke at the same time, only to cut themselves off when they found out the other was speaking.
“You go.” They both said once again, and sighed in annoyance.
“Want coffee?”
“Have coffee?”
Dazai decided to ignore the fact that they said the same thing once again, and spoke in a loud, annoying voice.
“Well Chuuya, that’s such a nice thing of you! I would have never imagined a little shit dog like you could ever have the basic manners to offer-“
The door to the entrance of Chuuya’s apartment glowed red and opened slowly, letting the loud sound of thunder get in with an instant feeling of cold breeze kicking in.
“Get out of my house-“ Growled Chuuya between teeth, “or shut the fuck up and drink it.” He pushed the cup of coffee he had just made to Dazai’s chest.
“While I appreciate your kindness, and the fact that you bothered to give me the coffee you made first - you had intended to make this one for you, and unlike you, I do not enjoy my drinks with enough sugar to send me straight into diabetes.”
Chuuya huffed in annoyance. “Then wait. And be quiet.”
“Yessir!”
…
It had been after some hours of coffee drinking, rounds of video games and loud banter that they finally decided to rest. They were on opposite sides facing each other, sitting on the expensive black couches that decorate Chuuya’s living room, living up to the fancy furniture of the entire apartment. They were divided by a just as fancy, just as expensive glass table, Dazai’s eyes focused on a book he had randomly picked out of Chuuya’s collection, while Chuuya scribbled with a pen furiously on what seemed to be a notebook.
Dazai set his book down slightly and wondered whatever the hell Chuuya was doing. He tried to go back to read, with little to no luck, as he kept being distracted by Chuuya who kept suddenly looking up at Dazai and just as quickly looking back down. And then it clicked!
‘Aww, how cute, he’s drawing me and trying to not be obvious about it..’ thought Dazai. It seemed like the most plausible conclusion, and then he had an awesome idea. What if, when the rabid dog is fast asleep, he gets his slimy hands on the sketchbook and takes a look?
That’s how he begun his theft plan, Dazai grinned as he pretended to be focused on the book on his hands, and Chuuya was absolutely oblivious to it.
…
It took around 2 hours for the sun to fully set and for the mafioso to call it a day. He stomped towards his room and told Dazai to “Just sleep in the couch or whatever! I didn’t even want you to stay here at all.”
Only some minutes later, the loud snoring of the ginger man could already be heard. The detective made use of his skillful slimyness and slid over to Chuuya’s room, slipped the sketchbook off his hands and slid back to the living room easily.
The sketchbook looked honestly eerie, it was black and had a bunch of edgy fucking stickers on it, the top center holding a big post-it, slightly curled up at an edge, which read “DO NOT READ,” and in smaller letters, “(Dazai.)”
Dazai grinned mischievously as he noticed this. “Now let’s see,” he muttered.
His innocent smirk was quickly drawn off his face and replaced by one of horror as he saw its contents.
The page he opened had a lot of things that could resemble drawings but were scribbled all over, and below them there was several tiny drawings of stickman Chuuya and Dazai in different situations. Chuuya had sunglasses and a proud smirk in each one of them. (Also having drawn a tiny thing that looked like a ponytail and his watermark ugly hat to recognize him, while Dazai just had a black scribble on his head which very lightly resembled his hair.)
The first read “KICKING DAZAI TO DEATH”, and depicted just that.
The second read “BLED OUT”. There was a smirking sunglasses Chuuya with his stickman hands on his hips standing next to a stickman that *resembled* Dazai, lying on the floor with two big fat crosses on his face, blood coming out of his torso.
The third read “STABBED”, in which smirking sunglasses Chuuya held up a knife to the air in which Dazai, with once again crosses on his face resembling him being fucking dead, was stabbed in. (“Horrendous!” Thought Dazai.)
The fourth read “GREW TALLER (HE DIED CRYING)” in which smirking sunglasses stickman Chuuya, with his arms crossed, was visibly taller than crosses on eyes Dazai who was also crying and very short. (Blasphemous! Impossible!)
The very last read “WON AT STREETFIGHTER (DIED FROM SORROW)” the last part in parenthesis having an arrow below it pointing to cross eyed Dazai laying dead on this weird rectangle which he assumed was the arcade machine while smirking sunglasses Chuuya had a big thumbs up pointed at the front. (Disgusting!)
Dazai frowned as he was deeply offended, and let his glaring eyes travel down to the bottom of the page.
In there, was written the “Our Father” prayer in what seemed to be none other than fucking latin and an absolutely disgusting, terrible handwriting which looked like one of a toddler. Next to it was a slimy fish with bandages, black hair and Dazai’s watermark pendant, which read “STINKY FUCKING MACKEREL” at the top, and at the bottom of that was a horribly drawn truck going over a stickman which read “GET RUN OVER” at the top, also in a flabbergasting handwriting.
You see, Dazai had suspected that the greasy slow slug was insane, but this was a graphic, raw example of it. He held his hand to his mouth, trying to hold his laugh in, thinking “he’s getting so bullied about this.” — Although, his laughter was cut short as soon as he looked at the next page. He instantly pushed the sketchbook as far from his eyes as possible and all his blood went up to his face, thinking, “Wait-oh-shit what’s this?!”
And there was the long awaited doodle of Dazai, one that didn’t depict some sort of violence, and just looked like a more accurate, more normal representation of the detective looking at somewhere else while handing his hand under his jaw. Dazai figured that the other drawings which seemed to have faces underneath but were scribbled and covered all over were also of him, but this is the only that survived. Next to that was a caption which read, “What is he thinking?”
This act was so cheesily gross that all Dazai could do was snap a quick picture of it while looking away and thinking, “I’m only doing this to show Mori.”
The sketchbook was carefully put back in its place, and later in the next morning, Dazai was sitting in Chuuya’s couch, staring at the picture he had taken with a heavy frown but a heavy blush as well. “No one deserves to see this.” He decided.
From across Chuuya’s door came his muffled, just-woke-up voice, asking in an annoyed tone, “Dazai what are you doing?” almost as if he could physically sense the act of sin.
Dazai panicked and spat out his first thought — “Drugs!”
…
Osamu Dazai, the shady detective, was no saint at all, as he too held a sketchbook that was plagued with sketches of Chuuya’s face.
There was a page.
There was a page which had Chuuya drawn twice. Dazai’s art style was in a way more realistic and detailed, while Chuuya’s took a manga style, or looked like it came out some stupid superhero kid comic. The characters in Dazai’s style also had huge eyes, as he liked to emphasize in that. In one of the two drawings of this page, Chuuya was glaring, at his left a message written in parenthesis that read “You look like a kid.” and at his right a message that said “You shine bright like the sun,” which was followed by another that in an act of self awareness said “Ew that’s fucking cringe.”
The second drawing was one of the chibikko, asleep. Next to that was written, “Will you look at that, he’s asleep. Could it be, Chuuya Nakahara looking relaxed? …He finally shut up.”
Osamu Dazai too held a sketchbook with Chuuya drawn in it, and the latter was aware of that, as he had caught him looking at him while seemingly sketching something. Chuuya needed to know what kind of acts of sacrilege were being written in that stupid sketchbook.
There was a page, which I’ve just mentioned. It is the page Chuuya first saw, when he managed to get a hold on Dazai’s book of horrors. (It was not an easy task.)
The moment he saw it he dropped the sketchbook to the floor, activated his gravity, his hair flew like a sayayin mode anime character and his hat flew out of his head as his blood rushed all over to his face and he screamed.
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
…
It had become a common occurrence to reply to each other in each other’s sketchbooks, initiated by the nosey detective, of course.
There was a page in Chuuya’s sketchbook which had a fish with Dazai’s head drawn on and a big cross over it, Chuuya holding a fishing rod while the fish Dazai swims towards it, opening his mouth wide towards the worm on the hook, and lastly a circle with weird hair and a X_X face which was meant to be Dazai.
Under there was written “Today I will be feeding ugly fish Dazai worms so I can lure him into my cave and kill him”
To which Dazai replied, “I don’t like worms, you’re just stupid.”
And under that Chuuya wrote in big capital letters and underlined, “GET OUT.”
Dazai’s handwriting was a weird cursive with massive capital letters and almost unreadable lowercase. It was also kind of loopy, almost carefree. Chuuya’s handwriting, hopefully only in his sketchbook, was messy and evoked a true feeling of rage.
There was a page in Dazai’s sketchbook that had a drawing of Chuuya looking at his phone and next to it a drawing of a tiny, angry Chuuya. Next to the tiny Chuuya there was written,
“CHUUYA IS A STUPID WHINY KID!”
“I HOPE YOU FUCKIGN DIE SOON” Chuuya had written as his reply.
“This is an invasion of privacy (╥﹏╥)”
Under the well drawn Chuuya with his cellphone was written,
“The dumb slug looks better without his stupid tacky hat on.”
“your intent of a fancy handwriting makes me want to kill myself”
“Then do it! My treat, Chuuya. <3”
Sure, the fact that they ethereally drew each other was fucking weird, but it’s not the first or the last fucking weird thing they’ve done about each other that they won’t currently acknowledge.
This just became another one of double black’s weird traditions.