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“…Ah, there’s a slug.”
A winter night should be best spent with a nice drink on one hand, a cozy kotatsu to warm his legs, a beautiful moon to warm his soul, and a pretty lady to warm his side. Instead, he’s faced with a cloudy night sky after several hours of overtime, and a stupid slug standing under the pink and purple lights of Yoyo Plaza’s display.
Chuuya barely turns around to greet him with a fist. Instead of his usual fiery greeting, he’s a lot more restrained, gritting his teeth at him then trying to pierce his foot with an unsubtle stomp.
The lack of a violent death threat can only mean one thing: Chuuya’s in the middle of a job, in which case he’s making a play at being a responsible shorty who doesn’t lose his temper at his good-looking owner.
One hand in his pocket, and another idly holding an unlit cigarette, Chuuya sneers at him, looking rather fashionable and debonair in his current outfit. The purple shirt inside his coat blends nicely with the illumination wound around the sakura trees, to give them pink and purple flowers even though it’s not their blooming season.
“You’re actually going out for some night shopping?” A scoff. “Can you even afford the goods here?”
This area teems with tourists, with a lot of luxury brands making their home inside the malls. Close enough to the bay that the breeze is tinged with the telltale scent of the sea, it offers to complete the experience of visiting Yokohama.
“Mm, perhaps meeting you here is a sign that you should give me money so I can buy things.” Lack of money isn’t something to feel shame over, especially not when faced with this chibi. After all, stealing from him is too easy, defrauding him of his credit card is easier than grabbing candy from a baby, and annoying him into paying for him is all too common.
“Or maybe it’s a sign urging me to kill you before the year changes,” would come off as aggressive and threatening to their enemies. However, he’s seen this chibi clutch at his pillows while crying over a children’s movie about dogs, so it’s hard for him to muster any semblance of fear towards such words.
“Will you be so kind as to grant me my wish?” He raises his eyebrows, standing beside Chuuya so that their elbows brush together. Anyone who’d look at their backs might think that they’re close friends catching up, instead of old rivals casually talking about murder. “Then again, getting kicked to death by a chibi isn’t very nice.”
Chuuya shakes his head. “I’d also not want to dirty my shoes with your filth.”
Yoyo Plaza is a small space that serves as a connecting walkway between Landmark Tower Plaza and Queen’s Square shopping mall, with its main draw being the towering dynamic sculpture that looks a lot like a gnarly rollercoaster track. But in this evening, with the illumination set up to light up the winter night, the pink-and-purple trees grab everyone’s attention, casting a fairytale glow over the area.
…Well, most people pay attention to the illumination, at least.
His gaze is transfixed to the ends of the other’s curls, bouncing with the shake of his head. He can’t help but reach out to rub that hair between his fingers, the motion making him smell something like spiced tea. “New shampoo?” He asks, as if it’s natural for enemies to be so familiar with each other’s bathing routines.
“Verlaine has fallen in love with the wonders of online shopping,” is accompanied by an almost-helpless shrug. “He’s been ordering a bunch of imported toiletries and some other things that catch his fancy.”
He thinks back to the package that Kyouka has received the other day, bigger than usual. “Kyouka received a beautiful brooch,” he says. “She found it beautiful.”
“I’ll send word back,” with another shrug. Then, a frown flickers over his face, dancing along with the play of lights. “Why the hell are you still rubbing my hair? Are you wiping off dirt on it?!”
“I thought that it’d be warm, like fire,” is his simple reply. “Our client today owns a salon—she has mentioned something about how one’s hair is usually considered as one’s crown.”
“Fitting for you, that you have something that could be used as a bird’s nest on your stupid head.” With the tolerance of a king, Chuuya doesn’t actually chop off his hands, even though there’s a dagger tucked inside his coat. He’s always the first to complain about him, but he’s also always the first to let him come close, like it honestly doesn’t matter whatever anyone does to him, because he’d remain strong and unwavering throughout it all.
He mimics the shaking of the other’s head, adding a layer of dissatisfaction, “One would think that with Kouyou-san’s guidance, you’d be more skilled at saying nicer words.”
“You’re sure that you want me to deal with you like how Ane-san would deal with bastards who just suddenly touch someone’s hair?” A twitch of those lips, somehow managing to look glossy and full, even though he’s been out here in the cold for some time, and it’s already way past his usual office hours.
“Mm, so you’re saying that this is already your nicer way of treating me? Looks like you still have some conscience as my dog.” Before the shorty can refute him, he moves his hands so that he’s instead warming them by cupping them over Chuuya’s neck. It’d be a wonderful prelude to a public strangulation—with this kind of atmosphere, the moment that he leans in close, any onlooker would just think that they’re about to exchange a kiss under the lights.
But in the end, it’s just faked pink-and-purple blooms, and there are no sakura that would fall down, at least not for a few more months. The strangling is also fake, and more like a chance to warm his palms using the other’s body heat. It’s not an exaggeration to claim that Chuuya burns with passion and vitality, and the way he radiates warmth even on the coldest of winter more than suffices as proof.
“No matter how you’d try to disgust and distract me,” he says, slowly, “I still know that I’m on a mission, bastard.”
Therefore, he wouldn’t make a commotion.
“An assassination mission disguised as an accident that happens in the nighttime crowd?” He quirks his brows, slipping his fingertips under the lapels of the purple shirt, rubbing his thumbs against the dip down his neck. “The mafia’s workforce is quite sad, if such a task is left to a short-tempered little fairy.”
“We actually provide good holiday welfare for our employees, so I’m helping pick up the slack.” Chuuya’s hands are now hanging loosely over his beltloops, his unlit cigarette already whisked away to his pockets, because he’s a good law-abiding chibi who doesn’t litter. “Unlike poor scrubs like you who still have to work overtime and still get dismal pay.”
“If you’re this concerned over my finances, why don’t I take several million off you?”
“You think I’m willing to do charity for you?”
“But I’m helping you out now, aren’t I?” He smiles, relishing the stiffening of the chibi in his not-embrace. “Don’t you need a nice alibi? Your mission target has a lot of influence, and he has a public dispute with Mori Corporation, which means that to avoid his death being pinned on the mafia, certain tricks have to be done.”
Chuuya knows there are clear demarcation lines that separate their work now, with the two of them standing on opposite sides of black-and-light. Still, their relationship as ‘soukoku’ isn’t something that could be changed as easily as issuing a new ID card when it comes to having a new profession. It’s as permanent as the coming and going of seasons: always changing, while always remaining the same.
As such there’s only a scoff, before Chuuya doesn’t hesitate to admit, “As you’ve guessed, I’ll have to do it in a more old-fashioned way.”
And by that, it means no gravity manipulation, no grinding someone to dust under the weight of at least 10gs. Of course, snipers and such are out of the question too.
“Right? So you’d need an alibi so you can pretend that you’re just someone who’s hanging out here for no sinister reason.” They sway a bit under the lights, like lovers who can’t bear space between them. “Aren’t I nice, acting like I’m here to meet you for a date?”
“I have no reason to tell you anything about tonight’s mission.” A considering hum. “Yet, you actually worked overtime on such a cold evening, instead of flopping in your dorm like some dead mackerel. All so you could oh-so-accidentally drop by here at this hour, and touch my hair in public.”
“For the purpose of extorting money from you, in exchange of my help,” he reasons, then completely erases the miniscule distance remaining by brushing their lips together.
It’s far from the first time that they’ve kissed, intentionally or otherwise. Missions that involve life-or-death situations have the tendency of slamming their bodies together in exhaustion, or in perilous situations. That’s not even counting the times when Chuuya’s had to spoil his drowning plans.
But it’s the first time that they’ve kissed in this particular location, at this particular hour. He keeps his eyes open to watch the play of lights all over Chuuya’s face, a bit annoyed and a bit intrigued at how such an aesthetically-pleasing face belongs to such an impudent shorty. He licks those lips and doesn’t taste gloss, which means that its shine and attractiveness didn’t need additional help from any product.
How hateful this chibi is, and he sets out to punish him by nipping his bottom lip, then diving in further so he can lick inside his mouth. A suggestion of leftover smoke, coffee from several hours ago, and then it’s all swallowed up by Chuuya’s aggressive counter.
There are faint whispers around them, and it’s such a shame that the trees are currently coiled up in expensive lighting, because that means he can’t shove Chuuya against the trunk to achieve better leverage. Instead, Chuuya hooks his fingers on his beltloops, drags him closer, then kicks his shins, like he’s addicted to causing violence upon him.
The same goes for him, even though his methods are definitely more elegant. He doubles the viciousness of his kiss, and even drags his hands down and inside Chuuya’s coat, so he could squeeze the other’s waist, just before he pokes at the other’s ticklish spots.
That earns him another kick in the process, punching out laughter from his chest.
“Violence isn’t always the answer,” he singsongs, a bit breathless from their liplock.
“You didn’t even ask me a question,” is hoarse with aggression, along with the tight squeeze of arms around his waist.
Question-and-answer between them happens rarely because of actual interrogation, due to how well they know each other. They also maintain a kind of connection where there’s no need to hold the other accountable for their movements.
There’s no need to talk about leaving or staying in the mafia. There’s no need to talk about whether they’d end up crossing paths inside a restaurant after-work, or in a cinema during the weekend, or in an arcade during a rare holiday. There’s no need to talk about the existence of tacky hats in his closet, or the boxes of bandages inside Chuuya’s bathroom counter, or the fact that picking the other’s lock is his usual way of entry.
Still, he affects an airy air and asks, “Will this little fairy share his warmth with me tonight?”
“I’ll think about it after my work,” is rather dishonest, given how Chuuya doesn’t actually let him go, but he’s used to his dog acting like this.
“Is that so? I guess I’ll have to wait for a few more minutes then.”
A pinch to his waist. “You’re already accompanying me anyway, so you can stand to wait a bit more.”
A winter night should be best spent with a nice drink on one hand, a cozy kotatsu to warm his legs, a beautiful moon to warm his soul, and a pretty lady to warm his side. That said, having Chuuya in his arms would always be his choice on how to spend such a night.
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