Work Text:
On the morning of April 29th, Chuuya Nakahara did not wake up with a smile on his face or a song in his heart. He blinked, groggy from a night of fitful sleep, and winced from a stiffness in his neck — then surveyed his surroundings and remembered that he’d fallen asleep at his desk the evening before.
‘His’. It still didn’t feel right to think of it that way.
The half-empty bottle of booze, scattered documents, and full ashtray before him agreed. With a groan, Chuuya reached for his phone to check the time: 1:34 p.m. "Oh, shit-!"
[1 missed call]
[1 voicemail]
He froze.
No one ever called him.
That meant it could only be from one person; and that person and ‘coincidence’ never went together. Bastard, calling me today of all days. Of course he did.
Chuuya was tempted to put the phone down, delete the voicemail without listening to it, and go unenthusiastically explain to his subordinates that their idle afternoon had his messed-up sleep schedule to thank and that they could get to work now . . . .
Chuuya unlocked his phone and navigated to 'voicemails'. Only one, received at 12:01 a.m.
Work could wait another two minutes.
[-One year closer to gray hair, huh, Chibi~]
Damn him and his sexy sleepy voice.
[-Though I’d be surprised if you don’t have one or two already, your job is stressful as hell-]
A lighthearted chuckle followed. Chuuya didn’t think it was funny.
[-Anyways-]
A pause. When Dazai spoke again, he sounded quieter and more serious, and it put needles in Chuuya’s heart.
[-I know you’re probably just going to delete this before listening, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from you-]
[-So-]
[-Don’t bother calling back, I just figured I’d . . . -]
[-Y’know, let you know I’m still around-]
[-Guess that’s your birthday present from me-]
God, it hurt so bad.
The muffled sound of another voice in the background made Chuuya’s stomach drop — he was pretty sure it was a female voice; now he didn’t know whether he wanted to chuck the phone out a window or down the rest of that bottle as fast as he possibly could. Or both — doing both sounded good. He settled for cussing up a storm when Dazai murmured a response too soft for Chuuya to make out.
[-I gotta go-]
[-Happy birthday, Chuuya-]
Click
SMASH
Glass hit the wall, shattering on impact, staining the wallpaper as the alcohol’s remains splattered and dripped down to soak into the carpet. “Just go to hell already, you damn bastard,” Chuuya hissed at no one, “and take that bitch with you. You think you can just call me outta nowhere on my goddamn birthday after exactly NOTHING but frickin' radio silence this whole time? Think I care?” I care. “Well, I don’t.” The huge room soon filled with the thick, dusty smell of nicotine as he lit a cigarette, took a deep breath, and exhaled a cloud of pale gray smoke, still muttering. “She probably ain’t much of a looker, either, seein’ as how if she was, she’d be at the bottom of the ocean with you right now. ‘DoUBle suIcIdE’ bullshit ‘n all that . . . .”
One of the large wooden doors to the office cracked open, catching his attention. “What?” he snapped, slouched in his chair and feeling very irritable by now. “Ever heard of knockin’?”
A head of long silver hair poked into the room, the pale blue eyes set in it tentative but alert. Masumi. “Oh, it’s you,” Chuuya grumbled. “What do you want, doll?”
Her petite frame slipped quietly through the door, and as expected, was rather immediately followed by Akutagawa’s black-clad height. The slender young man coughed as soon as he stepped in the office, and Chuuya quickly put out his cigarette. “You two need something?”
Akutagawa looked at Masumi. She lifted her hands, moving them quickly and silently for about 10 seconds — “We have a gift for you,” Akutagawa translated, the normal hostility in his tone conspicuously absent.
Chuuya stared. “. . . . Huh?” Do they even know it’s my birthday? If they did, how the hell did they come by that information? Also, of everyone in the Port Mafia most likely to get Chuuya a birthday present, Akutagawa didn’t even make the list, so . . . to say Chuuya had no idea what to expect was an understatement. “Like . . . a present. For me. You got me a present.”
“Yes.” Silence. “Well, it was her idea,” Akutagawa added hastily. “I merely assisted her in, erm, acquiring it.”
Masumi nodded.
“Oh,” said Chuuya.
More silence.
Masumi’s hands moved again. “Would you like to see it?” Akutagawa asked, ever the go-between.
A sigh escaped the short redhead, and he shrugged. “Alright, may as well.”
Masumi gave an excited little clap, a rare smile flashing across her face, and she sprinted back toward the door; Akutagawa covered his mouth to hide another cough — and, Chuuya suspected, the very telling pink flush creeping faintly into his pale cheeks.
When she came back moments later, she was walking backwards at a slow pace — it looked like she was attempting to guide something closer; Chuuya squinted and stood up to try and see better. “The hell?”
Woof woof! Something small and fluffy barrelled into the room. It made a beeline for Akutagawa, whose face immediately drained of color and filled with repulsion as he scrambled away from his new assailant. “No, no, no, no- You stupid mutt, how many times must I tell you- stupid mangy beast-” The four-legged ball of golden fur, ignoring his disgusted spluttering, cheerfully jumped up with transparent intentions of licking his face — and was met with a swift shove of retaliation and an annoyed “NO!” Undeterred, the dog went for it again, leading to the need for Masumi’s intervention; she grabbed it and gently steered it away from the disgruntled Akutagawa, pointing its snout in Chuuya’s direction.
Chuuya just stood there, gaping like an idiot, as the wet nose poked and prodded at his legs. “Y-You . . . got me a dog?!”
“Mm,” Akutagawa replied sourly, brushing stray fur off the front of his black coat. “I will reiterate once again that it was not my idea.”
The little dog barked again. Chuuya picked it up in a daze, the memory of Dazai’s voicemail pushed to the back of his mind by excited yips and the warmth of a squirming, soft ball of fuzz as its tongue flicked eagerly over his cheeks. “You got me a dog,” he repeated, letting the reality sink in. “For my birthday. Uh . . . thank you."
Masumi reached over to scratch the creature’s ears; Akutagawa simply shrugged. “No need. Thank Masumi, if you must, but I did nothing worth your gratitude.”
Typical. “Ok then. Um. Thanks, doll. Say, how did you even know today is my birthday?”
The silent young woman pointed to her dark-haired companion, belying every claim he’d made so far about not being responsible for the dog’s arrival and not deserving any thanks, which made him hurry to defend himself, stammering awkwardly as a flustered expression took over his face. “W-Well, I didn’t — I merely- She- I-I mean —” He floundered helplessly for an excuse for several moments. “I remembered , and she pestered me about it-”
As Akutagawa tried to string together a plausible explanation, the redhead deposited his new pet into Masumi’s waiting arms and then pulled his friend into a hug. “Shut up, kid.”
Anyone who walked in would have thought Akutagawa had been electrocuted; he went very still when Chuuya touched him, the protests dying on his tongue but for a weakly mumbled, “I’m not a kid.”
After a moment, though, Chuuya felt long fingers clench in the back of his shirt — Akutagawa’s bony frame carried the reek of stale blood and sick the way the scent of nicotine and alcohol clung to Chuuya, but he could ignore it for the sake of this rare moment of affection; the Rabid Dog still had not learned that he didn’t need to put all of his strength into a hug, but what was oxygen compared to the privilege of being held so tightly for a friend’s fear of you suddenly magically disappearing right out from under them? And it was only a matter of seconds before a third figure cozied up to the two, Masumi’s smaller arms wrapping around both her boss and her lover as the dog scampered happily around their legs. “Thank you, guys,” Chuuya found himself blurting, “this is way better than stupid Dazai’s shitty voicemail.”
Akutagawa scoffed, grip tightening just a bit at the mention of Dazai. “Has he no shame?” he muttered. “I’ll kill him.” Masumi gave him a comforting squeeze, which seemed to calm him enough that he let go of Chuuya, stepping back and crossing his arms; he aimed a scowl at the dog when it yipped at him.
“You and me both. Believe me, I’d like to punch his goddamn teeth in.”
Masumi’s face darkened, her hands signing out a curt message about the former executive that needed little translation to decipher. A chuckle escaped Chuuya’s lips, and he gently ruffled her hair. “Atta girl, doll. That bastard ain’t our problem anymore; he can suck it.” Him and his new girl.
In a brief, uncharacteristic display of softness, Akutagawa leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her forehead — Chuuya couldn’t hide a grin, scooping up the dog with no complaint to the way the animal immediately slobbered all over him in its excitement. “C’mon, you two. We got work to do.”