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It was stupid, agreeing to this. Quid pro quo as Dazai had put it, and even then, Chuuya had been alert for ways this could go wrong.
“In exchange for helping you out the other day, you’ll owe me a teensy, tiny little favor,” Dazai had said. And it was true, Chuuya had needed his help. He wasn’t even particularly opposed to returning a favor. Really, he wasn’t the sort of guy who went back on his deals, but he was still stupid to agreeing to anything Dazai suggested without first learning what it was.
Because first he was saying a favor , and then he was saying just give me a day to prepare, and then it was I’ll pick out something nice for you to wear, and then you’ll wear it all afternoon, and then we’re even.
Of course, when he’d said that, Chuuya knew what this was, but it was too late to back out. Let it never be said he was not a man of his word.
Honestly, the outfit Dazai had selected wasn’t even that bad. He’d expected worse from such an ominous request. It’s not exactly to his tastes, but it keeps his tastes in mind. A mid-length skirt, nothing revealing but not also anything eye-catchingly modest, with a matching blouse. The colors are… fine. Dark and neutral, honestly matching the sorts of colors and shades he’d pick out for himself anyway.
“Why’re you actually really good at picking out clothes?” Chuuya asks him as Dazai helps with the buttons on the skirt.
Dazai lifts his left shoulder in half a shrug, non-committal but unbothered by the question.
“I don’t feel as ridiculous as I thought I would when I figured out you’d be having me crossdress,” he goes on, which makes Dazai snort.
“And just how long did it take you to figure it out? I wasn’t really being subtle.”
Chuuya scowls at that, but doesn’t dignify the question with a response. Instead he asks, “Do I at least get underwear with this getup?”
“No,” comes Dazai’s response as he pushes Chuuya onto the sofa to continue dressing him. Chuuya falls back with a huff and glares at him. He’s kneeling down, which would ordinarily be a good thing, but it’s only so he can slide these dainty little ankle socks onto Chuuya’s feet.
“No?”
“Skirt’s more than long enough to cover everything, and not very loose. You won’t need any.”
This should be something worth arguing over, but Chuuya’s eyes are drawn to the final piece of his—wardrobe. The shoes Dazai’s picked out are tasteful. Classy, even. If they were on someone else, Chuuya would even admire them, but there’s one little issue: they have about seven or eight centimeters worth of heel on them. Objectively, it’s not much, he knows that, but he’s never really worn heels before. His shoes are dressy, but err toward the practical side. He could probably use his skill to keep balanced, but just brushing against Dazai would send him tumbling to the ground if he tried to rely on it.
It’s too late to back down, and far too late to even object aloud. The ship for that had sailed back when this was first proposed.
Dazai’s already sliding the shoes onto his feet. And they look good, Chuuya knows it, they really tie the damn outfit together, which is the worst part of all of this, the fact that he knows all this looks good on him. Dazai was even considerate enough to get him clothes in dark colors so he could still wear his hat.
He considers foregoing the hat, just to spite that moment of courtesy and weakness from Dazai, but he doesn’t. He puts it on, finger-combs his hair, and stands up. He’s already wobbly, because not only are the heels unfamiliar but they’re also thin. They’d really look good on someone else, maybe even anyone else, but on himself he can already feel the potential for issues.
Dazai, seeming to notice, offers him an arm, which Chuuya is forced to accept. The most agitating thing, of course, is that the shoes don’t even manage to really close the height gap between them, or at least not significantly. Not that he cares.
Dazai’s eyes are slightly wide, however. Chuuya, usually good at reading Dazai’s expressions, can’t quite figure out what this one is supposed to represent, however.
“Something wrong?” he asks, as Dazai lets go of his arm and takes three steps backwards.
“Walk… walk this way,” Dazai says quickly. Chuuya feels a tension in his chest, eyes the space between them like a chasm ready to swallow him. Three steps is all it is, but it feels like an insurmountable gulf.
“Hey! Don’t back away from me, I need to hold onto you!” he snaps, stumbling forward but not falling.
Dazai’s hand flies up to cover his face, but his index finger is lifted so he can peek through the gap. With his mouth obscured, Chuuya has even more trouble trying to discern what his expression is supposed to signify. Is he laughing?
No, he’s not laughing. Chuuya frowns with obvious confusion as he stumbles forward, his hands landing on Dazai’s chest (an embarrassing act, sure, but less embarrassing than falling forward and hitting the ground). Dazai immediately steadies him, which is decent of him, but tips the situation over from merely embarrassing into truly mortifying.
“I didn’t know you can’t even walk in heels,” Dazai half-whispers, his voice weak.
Chuuya’s brows furrow. Is that what this is about? Is Dazai feeling bad about picking out the wrong shoes? Is Dazai even capable of guilt, especially over something like this? He’s about to open his mouth to say it’s not a big deal, or to snap at him and ask when he’s ever worn heels at all, when Dazai goes on.
“How am I supposed to make it out the door with you stumbling around like this? You look so good, it makes me want to take you back to bed.”
That’s what this is? Dazai is somehow turned on by Chuuya’s inability to walk? As if on cue, Dazai lets go of him suddenly and takes another few steps back. Chuuya’s eyes widen and he stumbles forward like some kind of baby deer.
“This isn’t funny. Get back here,” he complains, which only serves to make Dazai’s smile widen.
“No, it’s not funny,” Dazai agrees, eyes on Chuuya’s legs.
“Are you hard right now?” Chuuya demands, trying to sound angry and accusatory, but it just serves to makes Dazai laugh. “Okay, no, tell me what this is about. You didn’t seem that into this until you realized I can’t walk like this. Do you like that I can’t run away or something?”
“You wouldn’t run away anyway. Or you could just ditch the shoes,” Dazai points out.
“Then what is it? You’re just a pervert?”
“If that’s how you want to take it.”
“I don’t know how else to take it!”
“Then yeah, I’m a pervert,” he says, but offers his arm once again. Chuuya takes it, because it’s either that or look even more ridiculous.
“Do I at least look good in this getup?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t pick something out for you that you’d look anything less than perfect in,” Dazai says, and Chuuya rolls his eyes, because Dazai absolutely would if there was something to gain from it. Or maybe that’s what he means. Since dressing Chuuya poorly wouldn’t get him anything, there’s no reason to, therefore he can trust that he looks good.
It’s a circular, roundabout, irritating sort of logic, but making sense of Dazai is always like that. The man has more twists and turns in his head than Chuuya can dream of making sense of. Chuuya needs to change the angle he’s viewing this from, that’s all. It’s like looking through a distorted piece of glass, and Dazai only looks right from some angles.
Chuuya sighs. “Did I really need to specify ‘no crossdressing?’”
“Only if you’re trying to break my heart. You look good like that. But fine, next time I pick out an outfit for you—”
“There’ll be a next time you pick an outfit out?” Chuuya interrupts. “Even if I’m refusing to crossdress?”
“—I’m thinking a nice belt. New dress shoes. A shirt with a nice but subtle pattern,” Dazai continues on, ignoring the interruption.
“That’s better,” Chuuya agrees. “I just don’t understand how women walk in these things…”
“It’s not that hard,” Dazai muses as they walk. “It just takes practice.”
“What the fuck? If you can do it, I should be able to! I’ll just practice.”
Dazai’s eyes widen slightly. “Please don’t…?”
“You’re being a pervert again.”
Dazai just nods. “Absolutely.”
“And you’re not even ashamed?”
“Why would I be?” he retorts, and Chuuya honestly doesn’t even have a good answer for that, so he doesn’t answer, just shakes his head.
“After this, the debt’s repaid, right?”
Dazai nods. “Of course.”
This is… manageable, then. He just needs to get through the afternoon, then he’s free and clear. It’s not even in the top five worst things Dazai’s had him do when he’s had something over his head. Again, he shifts the lens with which he views this.
He voices none of those self-placating thoughts aloud, however. Instead he just digs his elbow into Dazai’s ribs. “I’ll get you back for this, you know. Next time you owe me something.”
Dazai just sighs, almost dreamily. “I’m counting on it.”