Chapter Text
It started as a joke.
Actually, no. It started as boredom. And as everyone knew, Dazai plus boredom equaled a guaranteed catastrophe.
Dazai had been lounging on the couch at the Port Mafia headquarters, watching Chuuya pace back and forth, muttering under his breath about something or another. His fiery little partner was always so tense—so reactive. Like a poorly trained dog.
And that was when the idea hit him.
He sat up straight, grinning. What if I trained chu like a dog?
“Oi, chibi,” Dazai called, stretching his arms behind his head.
“What?” Chuuya snapped, clearly already irritated.
Dazai smirked. “Sit.”
Chuuya blinked. “What?”
“I said, sit.” Dazai patted the empty space on the couch beside him.
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “I’m not your fucking dog , Dazai.”
“But you’re already short, so sitting would just make it official,” Dazai mused. “And if you do it, I might give you a treat.”
“Do I look like a damn dog to you?!” Chuuya yelled, for the tainted sorrow crackling in the air.
Dazai hummed. “Well, you do have red hair. Kind of like a Shiba Inu.”
Chuuya nearly lunged at him but took a deep breath. “Not worth it,” he muttered, turning away.
Dazai, of course, did not let it go.
Over the next few days, he started implementing “training techniques.” He’d whistle for Chuuya’s attention, toss him things with a casual “Fetch,slug !”, and worst of all—he started carrying dog treats.
(“Dazai, if you throw a biscuit at me one more time, I swear to god—”)
It was going splendidly.
But then he had an even better idea.
Mori looked up from his desk, surprised to see Dazai standing there with an unusually serious expression.
“What a rare sight,” Mori said, putting down his pen. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need your experience in grooming ,” Dazai said, placing both hands on Mori’s desk.
Mori raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“It’s about Chuuya.”
Mori instantly perked up.
Dazai leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I need to know how to groom him.”
Silence.
Mori stared at him.
Dazai stared back.
Mori slowly put his hands on the desk, fingers steepled. “…Dazai. What exactly do you mean by that?”
Dazai sighed dramatically. “You know. Grooming. Brushing, trimming, making sure he’s well-kept. I want him to look presentable.”
Mori went pale. “Dazai—”
“I mean, he’s already got good fur—err, hair,” Dazai continued. “But I feel like he could be softer. Maybe a new shampoo?”
Mori shot up from his chair, horrified. “Dazai, stop. Do you realize what you’re saying?!”
Dazai blinked. “Uh… that I want to groom Chuuya?”
Mori gawked at him, his mind spiraling into dangerous, illegal territory. “That is absolutely unacceptable! I did not raise you to be—”
“Wait, what?” Dazai tilted his head. “I just want him to look like a prize-winning show dog.”
Mori froze.
“…A what?”
“A show dog,” Dazai repeated. “You know, polished, elegant, maybe even trained to do a few tricks—”
Mori collapsed back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. “Dazai. Get out.”
Dazai pouted. “But you still haven’t given me any tips—”
“Get out.”
Dazai sighed and turned to leave, but not before mumbling, “So sensitive…”
Later that day, Dazai found himself on the receiving end of an angry, glowing red fist to the face.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE BOSS?!” Chuuya shouted, shaking Dazai by the collar. “He was white as a sheet when I saw him!”
Dazai grinned through the pain. “I just asked him how to groom you.”
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “…What.”
“You know,” Dazai said, far too cheerful. “Brushing, trimming—oh, I should really get you a collar—”
That was the moment Dazai learned that a Shiba Inu’s bite does hurt.