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One of the advantages of owning an expensive, self-sufficient dog is that Dazai could just saunter into a shorty’s apartment, rummage around his pantry, and be assured of one sumptuous meal.
It’s not as if it’s limited to a full meal too. Sneaking into Chuuya’s home means that he could lounge in the other’s couch, extending his legs until they’re spilling out of the opposite arm. As expected of someone with his height, and he takes a photo of his feet hanging off the other arm.
The surround sound system is also impeccable, making it an experience more cinematic than going to an actual movie theater. He brazenly connects to the other’s wifi, easily guessing the passcode that keeps on changing every day, but still somehow managing to be so predictable to his eyes.
‘GetOutShittyDazai1412’ isn’t that hard to guess, after all.
He borrows Chuuya’s home laptop, and makes sure to type in some dubious search terms, ones that would muck up his search history. [how to be a good dog], [how to pad my height], [how to pamper someone] are all entered into Google, ready to frighten Chuuya once he uses his laptop again.
Those are all good things, but lately, his dog has been very naughty and inconsiderate.
Dazai frowns as he picks the lock, and enters an apartment that hasn’t seen a shorty in quite some time. He sniffs at the air and finds it lacking in a certain dog’s smell. The prank that he’s planted by the doorway hasn’t been tripped too, which means that Chuuya hasn’t been home since two days ago.
He’s not part of the mafia anymore. He has no plans of ever returning to such a place. However, as a qualified dog owner, he should still make sure to check on his dog’s presence. It wouldn’t do to suddenly find that his dog has gone ahead and recognized another master.
Who would provide him with high-quality steak, if Chuuya’s not around to cook for him?
Of course, he could always commit credit card fraud and swipe Chuuya’s card at the most expensive restaurants, but it’d be food lacking in the flavoring of the other’s ire. Chuuya isn’t only his dog for life, but he’s also his personal maid, after all. Getting home to cook for him is within expectations.
So, Dazai contacts Hirotsu and asks the older man for details regarding this round of employment abuse from Mori. Shouldn’t he know that even Executives need to sleep soundly so that they’d never grow? It’s not as if there’s some grave emergency that requires Chuuya’s caliber!
It doesn’t take long for a response to reach his phone.
Then, his frown grows deeper.
Chuuya has actually volunteered to take on several missions in a row. That’s not surprising, given that he’s a workaholic idiot who’d like to wag his tail at the mafia.
But the proceeding note, one that states that Chuuya’s living in his office right now, which means that he’s sleeping there, which means that his subordinates could just walk in and catch a glimpse of the other’s sleeping, drooling, truly ugly face—
He shudders, bile rising in his stomach.
Such a disgusting sight, that he’s even feeling sick just thinking of it.
There’s only one solution to this matter, and that’s to drag Chuuya back home, and demand that he cook several crab meals for him in compensation.
One of the advantages of having been part of the mafia is that he knows the ins-and-outs of the headquarters really well. It’s child’s play to slip past the bodyguards and the receptionists hiding pistols in their vests. Probably fitting, because he’s about to find someone child-sized—oh, that’s an insult to children, when Chuuya’s as tiny as a slug.
It doesn’t take long for him to squeeze past the flimsy security on the floor of Chuuya’s office. There’s not much security here, aside from the surveillance cameras. After all, this is home to that one-man squad: anyone who has the gall to meet with gravity’s envoy is already courting death.
Fortunately, he’s really experienced with chasing after death. He has zero compunctions in humming, a bounce to his step, as he makes his way to Chuuya’s office.
“Ah, you’re truly ugly,” he says, as soon as he opens the door.
As mentioned by Hirotsu, the slug is currently catching some shut-eye on his desk. His shoulders are skewed in an unattractive slump, his overcoat acting as a blanket for his tiny legs. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his gray vest isn’t fully buttoned. His tacky hat is on the coatrack by the door, which means that anyone can just walk in and get threatened with an unobstructed view of his mouth partially open, a shiny trail of drool to his jaw.
“Truly ugly,” he repeats, eyes zeroing in on that shine, a clear indication of how long the other’s been asleep in this unattractive pose.
The Agency and the mafia are currently in a cooperative truce. If anyone else sees this sight, it would certainly make them keel over from how disgusting it is. As an upstanding member of the Agency, it’s only right that he prevents this kind of unnecessary casualty.
He locks the door.
He walks with slow, resolute steps, like an eagle circling its prey. Even if he isn’t in the mafia anymore, he still maintains his habit of writing down observations about this unusual life form. One that’s so tiny, but somehow not bursting into smithereens from how large his heart is, wanting to take on the burdens of everyone around him.
Observing Chuuya and listing down all of his annoying traits is part of his duty as a qualified dog owner, after all.
He watches him sleep, the sound of his steady breathing filling his ears. He’s probably also emulating a tiny dragon, breathing invisible fire with each snuffling breath—because that’s the only explanation behind how hot the room feels now, sweat pooling at the back of Dazai’s neck, the longer he stays here.
…Ah, it could also be because Mori is too stingy to properly fund the central airconditioning.
Whatever the reason, it makes him unbutton the top of his shirt too, in order to breathe a little easier.
In order to keep on observing the sleeping slug, he takes a seat on the other’s office table. It’s full of documents, but they’re arranged in neat piles that would make Kunikida proud. Dazai gets the urge to mess it up. He’d usually succumb to such an urge, but Chuuya’s already too busy in the recent days.
One more workload would mean that the chibi would take longer to get back to his home, which would mean that Dazai would have to wait longer so he could boss his dog around to cook homemade meals for him.
It’s only because of that.
And it’s only because he’s a genius whose mind could remember and process details so quickly, even at a passing glance. To the point that he could memorize all of Chuuya’s pending workload, as well as analyze the necessary steps that need to be taken in order to resolve them efficiently.
And it’s only because it’s so warm here, that he gets to his feet, and makes his way out of the office.
Not before he wipes his dog’s unsightly drool, of course.
It’s just that he’s too lazy to find a tissue or a handkerchief, and he’s loathe to use his hands on a slippery slug. So, he has to make do with wiping that drool away using his own mouth, that’s all.
One of the disadvantages of owning an expensive, self-sufficient dog is that Chuuya is prone to stupidity and disobedience.
Instead of being happy that his missions have been resolved, his dog barks at him and punches him, the moment he arrives home. With gloved hands fisting his lapels, “Why the hell were you messing around with my work, shitty mackerel?!”
He frowns, aggrieved at this rudeness. “Isn’t it because you’ve been slacking in your duties as my personal maid? I haven’t eaten your homemade crab porridge in five days!”
As expected, his dog has too-few braincells to focus on the right thing. “Who the fuck are you calling a personal maid?!”
“Obviously, it’s you!” He’s still very dissatisfied. “You’ve been so busy taking on so much work, even when this should have been less-busy time for you!”
Nobody bothers to point out that they’re now on different organizations, therefore making their itineraries supposedly unknown to each other. Then again, it’s not as if they’ve made it a habit to report each other’s whereabouts, even when they were still both under the mafia.
“Ha?! Isn’t it obvious that I’m piling up work now so I can take a vacation soon?!” Chuuya kicks his shins, but it’s his usual move, so it’s easy to dodge. “Not that you’d know that, since you just flounce off work whenever you want.”
His dissatisfaction deepens. “It’s not as if there’s any important event in your calendar, so why do you want to slack off now?”
He doesn’t even need five seconds to draw up a mental calendar of the important dates in the other’s life. There’s no important anniversary or holiday within the next month. So, the workaholic Chuuya shouldn’t have any reason to want to take a vacation!
Chuuya gives him a look like he’s insane. “Weren’t you whining about wanting to touch some grass and see some cows before they become that goddamn steak that you like to demand to eat so much?”
Dazai blinks.
Chuuya stares at him, before huffing and clicking his tongue. His face turns red as he stomps away, creating mini-earthquakes in his wake. “Tsk! You shitty mackerel!”
…Ah, his slug truly does adore him, huh.
Just because of that random nonsense that he’s spouted, Chuuya has actually decided to work so hard, so he can take him on a vacation.
It’s truly disgusting, knowing just how much Chuuya adores him.
So disgusting, that he’s shivering and feeling so sick that he needs to sway forward, preferably toppling Chuuya over so he could trap him under his body and never move.
“Fufufu, it really can’t be helped,” he says, snickering in delight as he jumps forward and cannonballs into Chuuya’s body. “I’d be a good master and reluctantly accept your overflowing love!”
Unfortunately, his dog’s mouth has become so acidic from all that wine he likes to ingest. Chuuya practically spits at him, roaring, “What the hell’s wrong with you! Oi! Stop pushing me against the table, if it breaks I’m going to crack your skull open! Oi!!!!”
-
five days before;
-
“I want to look at the cows, so that I know what they look like before they’re in my stomach,” Dazai says this with such a solemn look, almost like he’s reciting from a book.
Unfortunately, the only book that Dazai likes to read is that abominable suicide guidebook. Or that neverending stash of notebooks of complaints about him.
“Have you actually realized that you’re so insane,” Chuuya asks, without hope for an actual positive answer.
Dazai waves a flippant hand, as if he’s declaring a normal weather forecast, instead of something bound to cause a whirlpool in his consciousness for the rest of his life, “Fufufu, it doesn’t matter, I’d still have my chibi sheepdog, no matter what.”
Chuuya blinks.
Then takes a deep breath, cursing his terrible luck and even more terrible tastes.
“…Fuck, I can’t believe I actually like this idiot.”
Thankfully, Dazai is too busy thinking about steaks to listen to the sudden high-stakes gamble rolling all over his heart, on whether it’s worth it to take on so much overtime so he could grant this shitty mackerel his heart’s desires.
-
end