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“So your brother's European?” Dazai asks, turning to the redhead next to him. The gentle breeze moves his hair onto his cheek as he watches his friend's reaction. “How's that work?”
“He's French and not my brother,” Chuuya states before looking at Dazai. “And your guess is as good as mine.”
A silence falls over them as they look out into the bay.
“Either way, does that mean you're French? It would explain your taste in wine.”
“I'm not French, you ass,” the redhead snaps. “I don't know why that blonde bastard insists we're brothers!”
“You look similar.” Chuuya’s head turned to the brunette, a sharp glare aimed the boy's way.
“The fuck's that supposed to mean, shitty bastard! We look nothing alike, we're not even the same nationality.” Chuuya becomes louder and more frustrated as he responds.
“Hair,” Dazai responds, tugging on the length of hair running down Chuuya’s shoulder. “It's even on the same side.”
“Fuck you.” Chuuya stands, his body tense with frustration.
“I would let you, but I don't swing for that team, my dear slug,” Dazai responds, pulling Chuuya back down. “Sit down and breathe. Your head's gonna explode if you keep this up.”
After sitting down, Chuuya puts his head in his hands and makes a frustrated noise. “The fucking jewel trade is easier than this bullshit.”
“Did I go too far?” Dazai says quietly, leaning forward to try and see what emotions Chuuya is hiding behind his hands. “You can smack me if it will make you feel better.”
Before Dazai can fully finish his sentence, he feels the familiar sensation of Chuuya hitting him, though there is no pain. Chuuya’s punch had no anger behind it and was more of a stress release.
“Slug, I'm wounded. Your punch has broken me.” Dazai dramatically clutches his chest and falls back against the concrete, a small smile on his face.
“Idiot.” The redhead watches Dazai with a small laugh. “God, you're dramatic. You've taken worse hits than that; you'll survive.”
“No, I can feel the sweet release of death.” Dazai reaches his hand to the sky before grabbing Chuuya’s arm and pulling him onto the concrete with him. “Feeling better?”
The only response he receives is a punch to his ribs. “I'll take that as a yes.”
Chuuya huffs, trying to suppress a grin, but it breaks through. He looks up at the stars beginning to twinkle in the evening sky. "Why do you always know how to push my buttons?"
"Because, my dear slug," Dazai says, his voice uncharacteristically soft for a moment, "I know you better than anyone else."
Chuuya rolls his eyes but doesn't pull away from Dazai's side. "Doesn't mean you have to exploit it every chance you get."
Dazai laughs, a genuine sound that echoes in the night air. "It's what makes our partnership so dynamic."
"Dynamic," Chuuya repeats with a scoff. "That's one way to put it."
They fall into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier melting away. The sound of the waves lapping against the shore fills the space between them.
"You know," Chuuya says after a while, "for all your bullshit, you're not the worst person to have around."
"High praise coming from you," Dazai teases, nudging Chuuya with his shoulder.
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
Chuuya shakes his head, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you tolerate me."
"Someone has to keep you in check."
Dazai grins. "And you do a damn good job of it."
They sit there, side by side, two figures against the backdrop of the vast bay, finding solace in their strange, yet unbreakable bond.