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An intruder.
Jouno drags a hand down the side of his face in what he could only label as true exasperation as he indulges in the trespasser’s slowed heartbeat that pique’s his interest ever so slightly. Given a half second, one may have even noticed the hint of a smile gracing his features, before his nose scrunched up in disgust at the suggestion of anyone having seen it, as unrealistic as it was.
It's as if there were no attempt in the first place to veil the intrusion of his abode– not that he’s even remotely surprised, Jouno just finds the subtle jab at his competence all too effective. It hadn't stirred him too much– not quite as much as he’d let on, still. Because in the case that he did let on, he’s sure his intruder would revel in such outward upset. The door remains almost ajar, the audible thunk of his weight against it only allowing the slightest of clinks of the hinges unlocking. It was as though his trespasser had wanted Jouno to realise his intrusion before he came to meet him inside, as though to stir his vexation even further. As the door creaks open, Jouno notes the way the key to his apartment so fruitlessly sits in his pocket; neglected again , now for a third time as far as he can recall. He bows his head, not out of bewilderment, but rather how inane such a thing was. Arriving home to his own apartment, that quite clearly appears occupied already.
He steps in ever so prudently of what he presumes shall be unveiled, removing his shoes as he does so as the warmer lightning of the apartment washes over him, a heaviness lifting from his eyelids as he basks in the relieved strain for just a moment. There’s quite an elegance to the way Jouno holds himself, even in his own home. In fact, there’s such a delicacy to the way the man walks across the floorboards, it’s as if he were stepping over the most fragile of flowers– ones he feared would wilt with the slightest hindrance. It’s like he’s witnessed this foreboding event times over, and this time he’s constructed what he believes to be a perfect scheme.
There was hardly a sound that’d reach the ears of those of standard ability. Jouno had learned this, over the years, this silence .
Jouno does above all, however, know there is no malign intention behind his visitor’s presence. This perhaps is the true reason he takes no “defensive” approach. He allows his senses to overshadow him for just a moment even, imbued by a familiar scent of whom he'd sure he'd be enamoured by, if he hadn't the mind to put a name to who it belonged to.
There's almost a skip in the way the man steps over to the couch in the centre of the dimly lit room before he jabs his heel into the blanket that hangs almost as lethargically as the man curled up within it. The blanket is torn from underneath Jouno’s intruder as he drags his heel, across the floor, enduring the screech that follows– thus the blanket is torn from underneath his intruder, who’s hardly spared a chance to react as he’s unravelled in his makeshift cocoon, eliciting a most satisfying thud as he hits the floor that Jouno spares himself a moment to revel in.
Then, there is a groan; Jouno does not choose to veil the smile that envelops his guise this time. Though soon enough it is again swept off from his face, having been so swiftly replaced by a scowl, just as prominent.
"Dazai." He sneered.
“You say my name with so much abhorrence!” The other man replies, sitting up as he assesses the dull throbbing in the back of his head– pain likely the result of the way he so graciously hit the floor in a disordered heap.
“Because your very existence is abhorrent, you’re a plague to my living essence.”
Jouno’s theatrical way of speaking had always left Dazai infatuated, whether it be for how hilarious it was, or for the way the man managed to sometimes utter the most enchanting strings of words. He was well spoken, more than most, so much so that Dazai found his words idyllic even, despite the loathsome words that fall from the same tongue all just as delicately.
“Quite sweet actually, that one–” Dazai starts, now heaving himself off the floor and onto the couch.
It’s almost as if Jouno hears the twitch of muscles that warrant Dazai’s lips to curl into a smile, because he's just as quick to dismiss the comment before the man had even finished, “Don’t speak, your heart beats slower than your brain works when you try to annoy me with it. Sometimes I fear you’ll keel over in the moment itself.”
“How fun. Trivia with you is always so thrilling!”
“It’s not trivia , you know what you’re doing.” His brows furrow as he speaks, crossing his arms over his chest as he acknowledges the way the brunet slumps back onto the couch after dragging the blanket back over the side.
“Well if both my heart and head were out of sync to you, wouldn’t it be bothersome?” It’s this regular lilt of mischief that evokes a rather dramatic sigh from Jouno, as he’s sure he recognises as one of fatigue, and much to Dazai’s surprise, that sigh is all the man offers, warranting Dazai to pick the conversation back up himself, "On another note, morning."
"No not quite, it's the evening." He corrects, the regular snark in his words
“So then why do you seem more miserable than you usually are? Which is quite , by the way.”
The implication that Jouno is not a morning person doesn’t miss the man, what irritates him more than anything however is the truth of the accusation. He gives nothing short of a hum in reply, one of which speaking more words than Dazai knew Jouno would be able to fathom, for which in return he pulls the other man by the hand to sit beside him, almost tripping him in the process due the abruptness of the motion. It doesn’t take the other a moment however, to lean his full weight into the brunet, who responds with no hesitation to pull Jouno’s head into his lap. The immediate compliance followed by such a motion though, is the true indication of Jouno’s exhaustion.
“Do you want me to run you a bath?” Dazai speaks after a moment, fingers carding through the other man’s hair, who surprisingly again shows no protest to the action.
There’s a frown that envelopes Jouno’s countenance, as if he found the question absurd– as if it was Dazai he’d least expected such a question from, “Who said I’d ever let you manage my bathroom?”
“Who’s to say I haven’t before?”
Jouno scoffs at this implication– another thing unbeknownst to him that chips away another hint of his already gravely fragile ego as he resists the immutable urge to smack the other in the side of the face for his jabs and remarks. Though, his general lack of verbal reply is quickly substituted for the way he sits up, pressing his palm into the edge of the couch before the mafia executive sweeps him up in his arms, almost too effortlessly considering what is to make of such outwardly scrawny arms. As he moves rooms, he jabs his elbow into the light switch to the bathroom before.
It’s a small room, not quite claustrophobic, however– in fact, the so careful placement of each item within the room was more than pleasant. One might say there was an unnecessary amount of things the man had kept within there, an array of products Dazai was sure cost more altogether than the entirety of the grotty container he claimed to be his abode would amount to. He’s also sure he couldn’t put a use to half the things in there, with their fanciful writing; bottles littered with gorgeous prints that simply displayed their lavishness alone. There’s also an array of glass ornaments that sit atop the windowsill, but they’re dusty, as if they exist purely for the sake of filling a space.
Casting his eyes down to the bathtub itself, he sets Jouno down on the edge, before turning the tap just as Jouno says, “You’re not leaving, are you?” The question was almost rhetorical– he knew the answer, and he was glad for it, but the clarification put him at ease regardless.
“No, I could never miss a second of your melodramas.” The gaiety Dazai had always offered in these predicaments particularly had always been a relief for the other, whom, despite this, scoffs at the quip as Dazai finds himself gaping at the vast selection of soaps and such, uncapping each one to smell them himself as he decides which he’s in favour of whilst Jouno undresses.
“And you will put them back as they were before.” It’s another masked question, spoken more out of an attempt to ask for reassurance as opposed to a demand in itself.
“Of course I will.”
“You say of course like it’s the norm for the likes of yourself.”
“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, the water’ll run too cold for you before you even get in at this point so I’d adapt my priorities if I were you.”
The comment is disregarded as Jouno lowers himself into the warm water, after having contemplated swatting at the man for his attitude. It’s an immediate soothe to the back pain he’s sure he can only associate with himself and the elderly women he sometimes finds himself under the scrutiny of when frequenting cafes. Dazai on the other hand is busy reaching for the tap itself. Instead of turning it off , however, he twists the stiff handle all the way at once unintentionally– releasing cold water almost immediately, that if not for Jouno’s senses, wouldn’t have been made a fuss about.
“You airheaded moron , turn it off!” Jouno lunges forwards, turning the water off himself as he does so.
Dazai’s follow-up laugh enables such a mistake to appear deliberate, and Jouno’s quick to cup his hands under the water, hands rising out in sudden ambush as he drenches the man before him. The brunet’s quick to accept defeat– more so out of what he’d have called pity, than genuine loss, as he doubts retaliation would go down well. Jouno could be a winner for one night. There’s no surprise that overwhelms Jouno, however, as he sinks back into the water, as unperturbed as he could outwardly let on; he anticipates the antics from the other man by now.
“Do not get them wet, that is revolting.” Jouno huffs, in reference to the man’s bandages, as he feels what he’s gathered as the loofah running up his arm and around his shoulders.
“Already are, not sure what you expected.”
“Well I expected a shred of wit from the man who’s above all appraised for such a thing, but here we are.” He hums, slipping a finger just under one of the bandages around his arm as he gives the slightest of pulls, then realising their looseness that came with them being over two days old by now, “I’ll change them for you tomorrow morning.”
“I bet you think you’re so generous.” The other man retorts, cheek just slightly tilting into the hand that had come to cup it.
Jouno clicks his tongue at the light dig at his self absorption, retracting his hand to dip it into the water, flicking the excess into the brunet’s face, who merely grins at his initial lack of retort.
“I am. I even accommodate you so you don’t resume decomposing in that.. container of yours.” Even the thought of it makes his nose scrunch up in protest, there’s a reason he doesn’t ever find himself personally visiting Dazai.
“You’re simply sick of changing the locks.” Dazai’s quick to add.
“And you’re quite obsessed with the notion that I ever cared to keep you out.” Jouno corrects, or so that’s how he perceives his response; it wasn’t a clarification that needed to be founded by any means, as the two of them knew too well the truth of such heavily shrouded words.
The two had eventually settled amongst a silence, a silence hindered only by the odd cursory comment, likely a complaint from Jouno, or a snarky retort from the other. Soon however, Jouno pulls his knees up to his chest, and Dazai breaks that silence at once– a typical thing, as if rehearsed long enough by now that the two of them know who should .
“Shame, I was hoping you’d stay a little longer so I could steal more of your fancy bathroom products.”
The joke does not land quite as humorous to Jouno as Dazai personally had deemed, being met with the expected amount of profanities in the other’s foul expression alone.
“It’s too cold, now.” Jouno shrugs. Dazai would call it lukewarm, if he had the mind to irritate the other man any further, who he’s sure that despite his fatigue is more than prepared to so viciously defend the idea that the water is now nothing short of cold , not lukewarm .
“I’ll leave you to get changed, then.” There’s a slight paranoia that hovers over Jouno’s throat at this, a forsaught tightness that he fears may just choke him if given the chance– the anticipation that the other man would leave regardless. It wasn’t an insecurity he possessed out of fear, more out of expectation. He hadn’t ever once watered Dazai down to the prospect either, but there’s always been an uneasiness surrounding the way he could never quite pick the man apart as intricately as he’d desired.
Jouno responds with a hum, leaning forwards to the plug as Dazai stands, heading for the door just as Jouno speaks again.
“You’re staying tonight?” He queries.
“Feeling extra philanthropic today, I might just.”
The snide comment evokes a laugh from both of them this time, Jouno then shaking his head at how ridiculous it was as he registers the click of the door when it closes, leaving him to his thoughts– thus reviving the quandary that had been pressing him for all the while he’d known Dazai. Jouno despises how such stupid comments strike him with this seriousness, as though he must microanalyse everything he’s told by the mafia executive for every possible ambiguity it may possess. Mind, it’s not his position that irks Jouno, the two of them are notorious criminal executives of different organisations, and Jouno’s living conditions are quite evidently more preferable– by no means at all is Jouno ‘bothered’ by Dazai. There was no underlying lie he had feared either, per se, Jouno didn’t need to read Dazai’s heart to understand the truth in his words. It was this general unpredictability however. The way that he knew a truth could snap into a lie so quickly. His intrigue reached so far it made him almost nauseous. Dazai was the most riveting man he’d ever met.
Jouno had, by the time he’d ridden himself of such a stupid dilemma, slipped into more comfortably fitting trousers, and a shirt that hung loosely upon his shoulders– he’d like to say it’d taken him less than five minutes to get changed alone, though with the indecisiveness that comes with detesting every item of clothing that rubs so irritably against his skin, or with a fingernail dragging across the fabric in just the wrong way, enough to make him gag, he’d changed his shirt twice.
The door to his room is left ajar, doesn’t take a moment after finding the other man only just having laid back on the mattress for Jouno to crawl over him, shoving his head just beneath the brunet’s chin as he swings a leg around Dazai’s own.
“You are on my side of the bed.” Jouno claims.
“I don’t think that’s a problem for you though.” The reply is stated so simply, and the warmth Jouno had received so briefly is snatched from him just as fast when Dazai pries himself away slightly, a kiss to the forehead compensating for the sudden loss; one so feverishly longed for that Jouno had began to doubt its happening.