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When Dazai heard that Chuuya hadn’t experienced proper snow, he knew it was his top priority to fix this.
“Oi, when would I have seen it? It’s not like the Sheep took holidays, and I remember fuck-all from before that.” Chuuya muted the credits and turned toward him on the couch. He narrowed his eyes, crinkling his forehead in a way that Dazai did not find cute. “And why does the amount of it matter anyway, mackerel? I mean, it’s all snow, right? We get some here.”
“Key word: some. Before you’ve gone frolicking in deep snow, you haven’t truly lived.” Dazai shook his head in mock sadness. Even after working side-by-side for nearly a year, Soukoku still had plenty to learn about each other.
“And you’re so worried about living?” Chuuya flicked his arm. “This all reeks of you being a judge-y asshole just to rile me up. Like that time you called me pathetic for not knowing Disney movies, and then ran around all day making that stupid Goofy impression.”
“Ne, Chuuya, for once I’m not! It’s simply a joy in life you need to experience.” Dazai stroked an imaginary beard. “Of course, the true wintery experience might be less fun for someone so short—you’re more likely to get cold, you see…”
Chuuya squawked. “Now that is a damn lie! You’re always way more bundled up than me. And remember last month when we had to share that futon? I overheated you so bad you bit me awake at, like, three, you damn weirdo.”
“Your arm was in the way of my face!” protested Dazai. “No, that was from the beautiful symphony of your snoring, chibi. Though that’s true, you were a little space heater…”
“I don’t snore! You don’t think someone would’ve told me? And for the last time, I’m not that much smaller than you… aghh!”
Dazai dissolved into peals of laughter, while Chuuya flipped him off and left to go back to his own room. Their take-out order would arrive soon, anyway.
He was getting better at discerning Chuuya’s limits and stopping just shy of them. Perhaps Dazai could stand to exercise a little more mercy, but banter with his dog was one of his raisons d’être these days. Chuuya also flushed so easily—with alcohol, of course, but also with any strong emotions, which his partner took great pleasure in eliciting. Honestly, the sight might someday be the death of Dazai—but wouldn’t that be a lovelier way to go?
At the time, Chuuya dismissed this as one of Dazai’s seemingly nonsensical get-to-know-you questions.
Oh, how wrong he was—but he wouldn’t realize for a couple of weeks.
His first inkling came on one of their days off.
“Goooood morning, Chuuya!”
“Hah?” Chuuya blinked up the intruder in his living room. He was already awake, of course, relaxing with the newspaper and a cup of coffee, but he didn’t expect Dazai to break in until noon or so. “What’re you doing here?” The mackerel didn’t have that unhinged, sickly aura that hinted at insomnia, at least worse than normal, and he didn’t show any obvious signs of distress.
“My slug worries too much.” Dazai strode in like he owned the place, the bastard, and made a valiant effort at ruffling Chuuya’s hair.
With a deftness born of practice, Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s wrist, stopping its trajectory mid-air. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d fucking admit to your injuries on the battlefield,” he grumbled. “You seem all right now, though…?”
“Chuuya is correct!” Dazai took a sip of the coffee, wrinkled his nose, and put it back where it belonged in front of Chuuya. He slipped smoothly into the adjacent kitchen chair, like he was putting himself back where he belonged, too.
“So, you’re here because…”
“It’s shopping day!” Dazai was practically sparkling. “As of an hour ago. I had to come here myself to make sure you were ready to go!”
“Hah? Is there an event, or some such?”
“More or less! The next couple weeks are supposed to be colder than normal, and I just stained some of my winter clothes on our last job. Can’t get the blood out, so my gloves aren’t as warm or soft. Probably could use another sweater layer, too.” Dazai shrugged, the picture of innocence. “We should go together.”
“I didn’t realize you cared about that sort of thing.” Chuuya worried his lip, then continued sipping on his coffee. “Usually I’m the one dragging you to the store when you’ve got more hole than sock, and stuff like that.”
“Chuu-uuya, you wound me.” Dazai flopped himself over onto the kitchen island. “Weren’t you listening? I want a fast end, not one that’s slow and painful. Do you know how long it takes to die of hypothermia? Or what if I don’t die, but I simply swoon, mid-confrontation with a rival organization?”
“Fuck. You really are a princess, huh? ’Course we’re not gonna let you freeze.” Chuuya gulped down the rest of his coffee, putting it down with a clatter and a vaguely feral smile. He stood, sending his coat and keys to himself with gravity. “Well, you coming? And you’d better not pull that ‘chibi, I’m bored’ shit you did last time we went shopping on a day off. This one’s all your idea, so you’d better find the crap you need and wait around while I get mine.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Dazai perked back up, springing to his feet. Not knowing better, you might think he was the “dog” in their bizarre friendship. “I will be the best co-shopper ever. It’ll be amazing. Except, hmm, I seem to have left my credit card back home…”
Chuuya rolled his eyes but pulled out the second copy he’d had made. “This is for convenience, because if I lose my own credit card, I’m screwed. You’re giving it back by the end of the day, or I’m picking one of my revenge methods at random.”
“Understood!” Dazai accepted the plastic card like a precious gift. “Thank you, Chuuya! Allons-y!”
They made their way to the mall, and shopping was surprisingly unpainful. Both found warm clothing they liked—Dazai bought a hat, for once, which could surely involve teasing payback—and naturally, they stopped for a snack or drink when they tired of looking through stores.
Despite the fishy start, Chuuya gradually forgot to wonder why Dazai was so keen on replenishing their winter gear.
Dazai was beginning to think he’d do literally anything to make Chuuya happy. Usually on the downlow, of course. He preferred not to interrogate this impulse too deeply.
In this case, he’d fixated on one problem: snowlessness, or rather, exposing his dog to an adequate variety of life experiences. Dazai already had a plan. (Of course.)
The Port Mafia Headquarters’ ambience alone was usually enough to suck the light out of him, but not today. He arrived for their next meeting with a bounce in his step, prompting a deeply suspicious side-eye from his partner.
Settled into his office chair, Mori didn’t seem to notice or care. “Here is your mission.” He handed them a brief on a clipboard, ready to skim.
Dazai knew what the pages would say, mostly, so he let Chuuya read it first. His partner looked increasingly bemused. “Sapporo? For some event? I didn’t think we had jurisdiction there.”
“We don’t. However, do you recall that rival gang that caused us so much trouble, stiffed their payment, and split town? It was a few months after the start of your tenure.”
“Hard to forget.”
“Well, we’ve kept an eye out for them, but they were just spotted resurfacing in Sapporo,” Mori continued. “Funnily enough, no one else wants to deal with them either, so local criminal elements asked us to help take care of them. For a nice fee, of course.”
Glancing over at his partner, Chuuya stiffened. “What an interesting stroke of luck.”
“Isn’t it just?” Dazai’s smile sharpened, and he turned back to Mori. “I was just telling Chuuya that snow would do him good—cool his hotheadedness a bit, perhaps.”
Mori raised an eyebrow, amused. By now, he knew better than to mess with the strange dynamic powering Double Black. “I’ve arranged transport two days prior to your mission in case anything changes on the ground. Otherwise, blend in and engage in local tourism. Consider it… a team-building retreat.”
Even the coolness of Dazai’s mafia persona couldn’t fit the excitement that was trying to claw its way out.
As soon as they’d left the office, Chuuya dragged Dazai into a stairwell and pushed him against the wall. “What have you got planned, mackerel? You’re never sparkly like that in mafia meetings—like the cat who got the cream.”
“Meow.” Dazai blinked. He made no move to escape from Chuuya’s clutches. “Well, it’s as simple as I’d said. You get a little more winter experience up north and forget your shrimpy woes. If I managed to find the Port Mafia a useful connection for us to handle, all the better.”
“So I don’t need to be fucking worried for my life right now? Or my sanity? Because that coincidence was fishy as fuck.”
“Chuuya. Chuuya, darling.” The chibi’s face was a deep red, whether with anger or something else, no one could say. “Have I ever led you astray?”
It was remarkable how his partner managed to have an intimidating aura, even at his height and level of flusteredness. Dazai let himself slide down the wall so Chuuya could loom more conveniently, kabedon-style.
“Yes,” Chuuya finally said. “Not when it counts, but I’m pretty sure 90% of the woes in my life can be traced back to you!”
“How generous.” Dazai leaned forward. “But don’t I also make your life more interesting?”
“That you do.”
Slowly, Dazai started to pull himself back up, diminishing the distance between them. Chuuya traced his journey with his eyes, making no move to retreat.
Dazai leaned a little bit closer and licked Chuuya’s nose.
“What the fuck? Do you have a nose fetish, or maybe a death wish?” Chuuya released him from the wall, momentarily stunned, and Dazai saw his chance for a quick getaway. He turned and started running down the stairs.
“Well, definitely the second one! Fufufu.” Chuuya started descending too, with heavier footfalls than his diminutive stature might imply.
If anyone were to enter the stairwell at that moment, they’d hear the manic, gradually receding voices of Port Mafia’s bickering. In fact, a grunt popped their head in, heard the ruckus, implied what it meant, and immediately ducked back out to take the elevator—anything to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. No one wanted to be collateral from Double Black’s bickering.
“I swear to god, if you call me your dog one more time, while you’re out here randomly slobbering on me and shit like that, I think you’re the biggest hypocrite alive—”
“Biggest? Chuuya admits I’m taller, now?”
“Oi, you grew more last year, I’ll grow more next year, what’s the big deal?” The running pauses for the faint thump of someone kicking a wall, and then it settles into two calmer sets of footfalls. “And that’s beside the point, jackass.”
“You’ll have to really look up to me someday. I guarantee.”
“Those are fighting words from someone whose entire diet is canned crab… and spite.”
“It’s just so tasty, Chuuya! Say, can we stop by the kombini after work?”
“I’m still annoyed at you, mackerel.” A pause. “Yeah, of course we can go, what’re you looking at me like that for, hah? And don’t forget it’s games night. This time, I’m gonna win for sure.”
When the big day finally arrived, it was Chuuya who got the keys.
“But Chuu-uuya, it seems so fun to pilot a helicopter.”
“No fucking way.” Chuuya shook Dazai’s arm off his shoulder. “I was in a car driven by you once, and that was plenty.”
“But this is in the air! It’s different.”
“Exactly. More potential for disaster.” Chuuya met Dazai’s gaze, dead serious, until his partner finally shrugged. “Besides, why do you want to so bad? The weather’s gonna be shitty, if it continues like this, and I can navigate better with gravity. Would’ve thought you’d jump at the chance to be a passenger princess.”
“Hmm, good point.” Dazai’s face softened, and they kept walking. It was weird to think that everyone associated the teen with a stone-cold killer, when Chuuya so often saw him as a marshmellow: soft and goddamn impossible to get out of your hair.
Finally at the helipad, the pair climbed in. It was Chuuya’s first time flying in an aircraft, rather than floating near one or ripping it apart, but he hoped that dubiously legal driving had given him a transferable skill. That, and he’d studied the mission’s preparatory materials (including basic helicopter tips), which the mackerel beside him surely had not.
Lifting off was thrilling, and his partner’s excitement—crowing about how the trees looked like tiny broccoli—well, it certainly didn’t hurt. The first leg of their journey was similarly uneventful, though the brooding clouds turned to increasingly heavy snow.
“Still all right, Chuuya?” If he wasn’t delusional, it almost sounded like concern in Dazai’s voice.
“Of course,” Chuuya said tersely, but then he smiled. If Chuuya couldn’t handle a few unruly clouds, what kind of gravity manipulator was he? He might not give a shit about the helicopter itself, but certainly he cared about its passengers and the efficacy of their plans. Since he could, he parted the next snowy bank of clouds with even greater vigour, noting the little gleam in his partner’s eyes.
What was Dazai’s deal, anyway? He looked at others like they were nothing, regular-Chuuya like he was a person, and Chuuya-in-action like he was some kind of… god or something. Perhaps he was. Chuuya was working his ass off to gain more information about Arahabaki, but that would all come in due time.
“Have you memorized the landing point, or do you need a reminder?” Dazai waved around the stack of briefing documents, presumably containing a map.
“I’m good.” Chuuya blinked. “Weird we’re stopping, what, half-hour’s drive southwest of Sapporo. Why wouldn’t we just make it to the city? We’re already a thousand kilometres from home.”
“Yeah, well, guess they thought it would be too unsubtle.” Dazai hummed. “We should arrive with enough time to relax before nightfall, if we ever make it.”
“Well, hold tight. We’re almost there.” Chuuya himself felt fine, but his skin crawled with the energy born of sitting still for too long.
Dazai simply gave him a dazed little smile. The bastard was damn confusing to Chuuya… but it was fine.
Besides, what did one mission matter, in the scheme of things?
A few minutes before they landed, the snowstorm let up. There still wasn’t great visibility, with the clouds, but they could now see the ground below, blanketed in white.
Beside Dazai, Chuuya was practically vibrating.
“Did the slug have extra coffee this morning?”
“Fuck off.” Facing forward like a good little pilot, Chuuya smirked at him from the corner of his eye. “It’s been a couple hours without moving, okay, and it’s a whole damn Hallmark movie out there. It’s neat.”
“If I knew Chuuya would be so interested in the snow, I could’ve arranged a field trip sooner.”
Chuuya spluttered. “This isn’t a field trip! It’s just… a mission with a bit of extra preparatory time. You heard Mori.”
“Sure, sure.” Dazai checked the coordinates again. “Oh, hey! Our helipad is about three hundred metres, straight ahead.”
One of the orchards southwest of the city was conveniently affiliated with the “partner” organization.
His studying apparently coming in handy, Chuuya landed the helicopter with only a gentle thud. “Thank fuck. Feels weird to be flyin’ something that’s not me, though it was pretty fun.” He reached over to unfasten his seatbelt.
“Hmm, Chuuya did well.”
“Hah?” Chuuya’s head whipped over. “You’re complimenting me? Did you bug this to blow up when I unlock the door, or something?”
“Wow, ye of little faith!”
“In you? None.” Chuuya flicked his arm lightly. “Plenty when it counts, actually, but zero faith you’ll refrain from being a little shit disturber.”
“Destroying our way home would count as a cute prank?”
“To you, sure.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes but snorted, and then he grabbed his scarf and warmer jacket from the helicopter’s storage compartment.
“Oi. Shall we go, then?”
Dazai got out first, savouring the crunch of fresh snow under his feet. He slammed the door shut and walked over to the other side of the helicopter, where he saw Chuuya—frozen by the door, with a dazed smile on his face.
“Now here’s some real snow, chibi.”
“Dazai,” Chuuya sounded almost breathless, “I’m invoking clause twelve.”
Clause twelve implied that its user could act like a child, diva, deranged animal, etc. for a few minutes without any judgment from the other half of Double Black. (Often, of course, this would quickly degrade into both of them being ridiculous, but such matters never left the room.)
“Noted,” said Dazai.
“All right!” Chuuya clapped once and then adopted a running stance. “’m gonna fuckin’ frolic!”
And frolic he did. Chuuya set off at a gallop, grinning at the crisp crunch of each step.
It was striking. From a lesser person, running chaotic laps around a deserted orchard might seem ridiculous to the point of hilarity. After all, what’s the point? But from Chuuya, little god of strength and vigour, it was like seeing a force of nature in its purest form. The redhead ran anywhere he could break fresh snow, whooping, occasionally hopping up against one of the sturdier tree trunks as if this was parkour. At one point, he somersaulted down to roll in a larger pile of snow, laughing, before hopping back up, brushing himself off, and continuing life as a whirling dervish.
Dazai considered joining for a moment, even if the snowfall didn’t pique him with novelty, but as he fixated, his only priority was occasionally reminding himself to breathe.
Gravity combat could be similarly eye-catching in terms of power and agility, sure, but there was a key difference between these varieties of feral Chuuya. What truly arrested him was the sight of unreserved, unabashed joy on the other’s face, rare and precious… and exhilarating.
Fuck. I think I’m in love with you.
Though he’d long suspected it, joked as much, the thought was a sucker punch that Dazai quickly side-stepped and slapped with a “think about later” sticker. What was that? Nothing. He continued leaning against a tree.
Finally, Chuuya flung himself back onto the snow. He made a snow angel, with one last “hah!” and then settled into stillness, breathing heavily.
“Chuuya,” Dazai smiled. “Surely it’d stay within the clause if I recite seasonal poetry?”
Chuuya was too happily exhausted to be appropriately wary at this suggestion. “Sure, whatever!”
From memory, Dazai began his recitation, his voice calm and deep.
Chuuya closed his eyes and hummed, visibly settling into the rhythms of Dazai’s voice in a way he wouldn’t usually allow himself.
Dazai made it through the entire poem without interruption:
“Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in this world.Oh, I could not have said it better myself.”
You could almost see the moment that the lightbulb went off. “Hold up… your subject matter seems a little fishy.” Chuuya started to sit up.
“Don’t tell me,” Dazai mock-gasped, “My partner recognizes himself in the subject, a little dog? Cute and excited in the snow?”
“Clause twelve!” Chuuya declared, flopping back to the earth. “I can’t hear you until I’m a respectable mafioso again.”
“Wait, wait!” Dazai plopped down as well, so they were laying side by side in the snow. “Chuuya.”
“Hmm?”
“For once, I’m not trying to be a dick.” He sighed, smiling, noting how the air puffed out from his body in a little cloud. Though he was on his back, facing the early dusk, Dazai watched Chuuya from the corner of his eye. “I just… it makes me happy to see Chuuya so carefree. And everyone deserves to have memories like this, so… I’m glad we could come.”
“Hah? You serious?” Chuuya rolled on his side to face Dazai, propping up his head. “I had no idea you knew how to speak ‘emotional vulnerability’.”
Dazai felt his face heat. He rolled over in Chuuya’s direction as well, eyes roaming. “Oh? I didn’t hear anything. It must be this region’s mythical winter fairies.” He grabbed a handful of the soft fresh snow—fuck, he should’ve worn his mittens—and shoved it down Chuuya’s shirt.
“You two-faced mackerel bastard! It’s like you’re begging to be frozen fish!” He sprung up to a seated position.
Dazai did some quick math. Could he outrun the chibi? Well, no. Maybe he’d have better odds while nullifying, but having an irritated force of nature an arm’s length away was surely deleterious to his health, even if they were both sprinting. And did Dazai truly have the stamina—or motivation—to sprint when genuine, mafia-level danger wasn’t involved?
Mind made up, he made his move, and the pair of them ended up wrestling on the freezing blanket of white until Dazai finally called for mercy. They both got up, brushing snow chunks off every conceivable surface, laughing and slightly out of breath. God, neither of them would say so on pain of death, but this was fun.
Was their time here subtle? Absolutely not. The haphazard footprints and markings all throughout the orchard told a chaotic tale, but it was lightly snowing, and what would their mafia affiliates do? Fuck-all, probably. It was fine.
Mission accomplished, they grabbed the rest of their stuff from the helicopter and made the trek out to their lodgings.
“Chuuu-uuya, it’s so early,” moaned Dazai.
“Tough luck, asshole! Someone made this tourist itinerary, and someone stayed up ’til the asscrack of dawn—singing off-key, no less—and neither of those were me. You’d better believe we’re staying on schedule.
Chuuya watched as Dazai relaxed into a deep stretch, making a drawn-out squeak, and braved opening his eyes. It was almost comical how he startled, realizing that “his dog” was in fact four inches from his face.
“Wakey-wakey! Unless Dazai wants to”—he checked the list—“buy coffee near our hotel in boxers, garnering hypothermia and indecency charges, you’ve gotta get your shit together soon.”
Dazai still seemed a little thrown off by Chuuya’s looming-alarm-clock technique. Careful not to bump their skulls together, he turned, untangled his legs from the sheets, and leapt to his feet. “Ahhhhh.” He gave his head a shake, his hair flopping around, and made a little experimental scream. “Chuuya has a good point. It would be a pain to die today.” He got ready for the day, flinging himself into pants, socks, and everything the weather required.
A few minutes later, the two mafiosos were ready for a day on the town.
They went to the site with a snow slide first, because “it’ll get busy later, and that sounds so fun, Chuu-uuya.” Chuuya was loathe to admit it, but the mackerel was right. Though he could literally fly, there was something appealing about careening down a slide of snow with wild abandon.
They had to stay undercover today, but who would know if he increased his mass a bit for the slide?
Exploration continued. Chuuya learned what curling was, though they skipped it this time, and they admired different types of snow art, namely impressive sculptures of a variety of sizes.
There was time to look, but Chuuya had to eventually drag himself away from many of them, including an impressive dragon.
Eventually, they were hungry, and Dazai was delighted to learn that crab was in season. Once they’d gotten lunch, it was time to visit the other site.
Dazai was practically dragging Chuuya by the sleeve. “Next up is the ice! Let’s go, chop chop, doggie!”
“You’re more of an asshole when excited, eh?”
“Guilty as charged.” Oh, and here came Dazai’s rarely-pulled-out puppy dog eyes. Rare on the job, rather. They seemed to make more of an appearance in Chuuya’s apartment.
“Whatever. I don’t care, just lay off about my height for a couple of days. Travel truce, or some shit.”
“Deal!”
The ice sculptures were easily as impressive as the snow art.
“That’s you,” said Chuuya, pointing out a blue fish inside a special aquarium ice sculpture.
“Next year they should add some sea slugs,” grumbled Dazai, but his tone didn’t match his face at all. When Chuuya looked over, Dazai’s colour was high.
“What? Have I got crumbs, or something?” Now would be a rude time to mention it, given that it’d been a while since lunch, but—
“Nope!” Okay, a squeak at that pitch was suspicious. Chuuya looped his arm into Dazai’s and dragged him to a more private spot, which turned out to be an alleyway.
“Did you spot an enemy operative?”
Chuuya could see the conflict play out in the micro-expressions on his partner’s face, and it was unusual enough to unnerve him.
“Oi, cat got your tongue? You with me, Dazai?”
“Chuuya!” Dazai gave a weak laugh. “Calm the fuck down. It’s… not a work thing.”
“Hah?” Chuuya ran through the mental checklist. “Your condition seems fine, we just ate, there are no visible bridges or the like, you weren’t showing signs of emotional distress—until five minutes ago, and it’s weird, by the way—we were just running through your travel plans. What ‘not work’ thing could it possibly be? You didn’t even check your phone! If—”
“You.”
“Hmm?” He must have misheard.
“Forget it.” Dazai’s face closed off.
“No, no, I’m pretty sure I heard the mackerel say ‘me’.”
“I just… wanted to do something that made no sense, and Chuuya would find it disgusting.”
“It’s you, bastard, I can take whatever you dish out.” Chuuya propped himself up against the brick wall with his elbow, the picture of casual. “It’s rare enough you want anything, and your itinerary’s been good. I don’t want whatever shit this is to bog you down.” His gaze sharpened. “Don’t actually kill me, or harm my clothes, but otherwise… try me.”
Dazai’s eyes were huge. “Really? The chibi trusts me that much?”
Chuuya flushed slightly under the weight of Dazai’s happiness, especially as he stepped closer. “Yeah. For some reason.”
In slow motion, Dazai stepped closer, gently pressed his hand into the small of Chuuya’s back, and pulled him in for a deep kiss.
It lasted eternities, and yet not nearly long enough.
“There!” Dazai exclaimed. “Now I can put that out of my mind for a bit.” At that, he sped away.
“Hah? Hah???” After a few moments of stunned silence and bizarre brain chemicals, Chuuya ran after him. They chased each other through the ice sculpture area for nearly an hour, thankfully not hurting anything or anyone, except for their credible status as “laying low”.
Exhausted from all the tourism and city sprinting, they laid beside each other in bed.
“Ready to kick some ass tomorrow?” Dazai didn’t need to turn over to see Chuuya’s burning gaze, his hair spread over the pillow, the fact Soukoku shared a bed at all. God, his peripheral vision almost couldn’t take it.
“You bet, shortstack.”
“For fuck’s sake, you really are an asshole.”
“And you love it, ne?”
“Hah? Throwing things around when you were the one desperate for my lips, hah?”
“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again?”
“When did I agree to that?”
“When you stopped trying to interrogate me and we went for ramen?”
“That was a tactical maneuver, you bastard, not a permanent fuckin’ moratorium on the topic.”
“Fancy words, eh—hey, don’t kick me!” Dazai flicked the light back on, and he rolled over. “Let me ask you this, then.” He swallowed. “Would you ever do that again?”
“Why the fuck not?” In the seconds following his proclamation, Chuuya’s face got progressively redder. “But yeah, on second thought, we don’t really need to talk about it.”
“Deal.” Chuuya was so pretty that it threatened Dazai’s already tremulous sanity. Who needed words for such a feeling, when actions existed?
And thus began the era of Soukoku as emotionally repressed friends with benefits.
Though their expertise hardly extended to this realm, on some level they understood what was happening. A “crush”, you might say? If they didn’t kill you, either partner would refute it with bluster. But soulmates could surely hate each other, or save each other’s lives, or kiss about it, and the Port Mafia sure couldn’t stop them.
Chuuya and Dazai would need all the help they could get in the storms ahead.
Maybe, together, it would be enough.