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3 am, is the time Dazai's phone showed.
3am, the exact time of 'slug :p' calling his phone.
3am, the exact time of Dazai groaning and sloppily picking it up, still more than obviously drowsy from the fact that he'd been woken up two hours too early for his annoyingly loud alarm to play.
"Chuuya? What do you want?" Dazai had a good idea, since this was the third night in a row this has happened. Always the same situation, too. He could hear the faint sound of music and people talking. However, he could most clearly hear the voice of Hirotsu.
"Dazai?" His 'old-man voice' rang out. "Can you come and pick Chuuya up? He's.. drunk."
If looks could kill through a screen; Hirotsu would most certainly be beheaded. Dazai wanted to say no. He would have, if it were to be any other three am caller. But that was how Dazai would treat anyone else. This, however, was Chuuya. Dazai doubted he'd be able to sleep properly (as if he did anyways) if he didn't pick Chuuya up once again. So, Dazai slowly got up silently and through on some clothes.
"I'll be there. I'm guessing your at the bridge night club?"
Hirotsu went to nod — forgetting its through a phone call — and spoke a simple and easy yes.
The drive there was nothing special. Dazai had everyone convinced he was a horrid driver; but he honestly doubted he was truthfully bad at anything. So, of course, he could drive just fine. It was more so fitting into the clown-like persona he carefully built up, that he couldn't drive for shit.
Anyways, Dazai's eyes glared up at the name of the club. Sighing, he already knew this would be difficult, and frankly; a bore.
This was one of those expensive bars, so the bouncer clearly had to check the ID's more efficiently. When Dazai got in, his eyes trailed around the large building. Several pretty women probably not willing to commit a double suicide filled the area, and several other frankly handsome men stared mainly at the same ladies. Dazai sometimes wondered if anyone else was thinking the same things as he did, deep in their own twisted minds
But Dazai hadn't any time to check anyone out. He could do that any other time. Right now, he was busy- looking for a familiar mop of orange messy hair, unequally cut for some reason. The brunette walked into the nightclub, ignoring the stares of hungry drunken women. It felt almost unrealistic of such a man to ignore these beautiful women throwing themselves at him.
His sharp red-brown eyes attached onto a man sitting at the bar, sipping a glass of wine calmly. Dazai hummed out lowly, spotting the familiar Hirotsu. "Where's Chuuya?" He wasted no time.
Hirotsu blinked, before taking a drag of his cigarette. "On the dance floor."
Those four words; that sentence, one he knew was coming, but were the words he really didn't want to hear. He remembers a time long ago, when he was called up by a butt dial from Chuuya. Chuuya was obviously drunk, and Dazai already knew that he'd have to come save the slugs ass when he got a sudden call at 12.
Unfortunately, Chuuya had dragged Dazai onto the dance floor, and got Dazai himself drunk. Dazai wasn't exactly.. a lightweight. But he was a normal person. Tipsy, they both ended up in Chuuya's bed sheets, and spent the night embracing eachothers body in a more sexual fashion.
The morning followed with Chuuya screaming, Dazai waking up and groaning at the bright light and headache already forming. Chuuya, cheeks red, covered his lower half with his fancy silk comforter as if Dazai hadn't already seen it both drunk and sober before.
Dazai was forced to make them both breakfast, despite his raging headache, he managed. God, this was gonna be a serious drag, wasn't it?
He'd always hated being the one to pick up a drunken Chuuya. The yelling, the bitching, the fighting,, it was all a mantra Dazai was unfortunately used to. In the same way that one is used to sickness, you don't want it, but you know it'll happen anyway. All you can do is just wait for it to pass, and this too will be with the wind soon enough anyways.
Dazai slipped closer to the electric dance floor, full of bodies on bodies. Chuuya was short, but his hair was vibrant like the sun, so he shouldn't really be that hard to mistake a someone else. That's the excuse Dazai gave himself the moment he found Chuuya, terribly fast. He'd grown past the point of actually needing excuses to explain his unusual and frankly inhuman nature whenever it came to Nakahara Chuuya, but seriously, this fast?
His feet carefully moved, hand running down Chuuya's arm to his freckled wrist. "Chibi," he mumbled under his breath. Just enough volume for Chuuya and Chuuya alone to hear.
His head swung around, eyes busted a red hue. It's like he was waking up every second, clearly more than just drunk out of his mind.
His already half lidded eyes squinted, and he stared up to determine who the fuck it was touching him. Dazai could pinpoint the exact moment Chuuya recognized him, then decided to start a scene. To others, it might only look like a single second has passed. But Dazai knows better, he mentally prepared himself. "Shitty ass Dazai? Fuck're you doin' here?"
Chuuya questioned him. The club was never Dazai's scene. Hell, it wasn't Chuuya's either. But sometimes - he just needs whatever break he can get. So when Hirotsu offered to take him out to a nightclub right after what was likely the shittiest mission in his entire career since whatever the Arahabaki one was.. Chuuya already had an answer.
His hand tugged on Chuuya's, away from the dance floor. And for once, Chuuya actually accepted being pulled away. "I'm taking you home."
The night club was already giving Dazai a pounding headache, posture stiff and overly aware of all the eyes on the pair as they walked off. The lights hurt his eyes, the flashing of it all irritating him repeatedly.
Chuuya huffed, "Says who? Did Hirotsu send you?"
Dazai didn't answer.
The drive back was relatively quiet. Dazai let Chuuya play the shitty three am radio music, only to be slump in the front seat, mouth open as he drooled and snored. Alcohol was a hit or miss with Chuuya, since it either gave him the ability to do everything all at once or put him to bed like a little kid within two or so hours, give or take.
It's why he was so pissy when Dazai picked him up, forcing him to walk on his own two legs - that conveniently exist for walking, dazai argued. Only to get a 'shut up!' after making a completely logical point - and the journey to Chuuya's apartment began. The steps, the elevator's, etc.. Dazai wishes Chuuya was sober enough to show him the faster path to get up here. But wishing isn't something anyone ever gets answered.
Dazai didn't even bother with trying to bathe this shithead, not like this. He'd tried again and again before. Have you ever bathed a cat? The scratches, blood left by tearing of thin skin all because one tried to keep them clean.. it was no different than trying to get drunk Chuuya clean and cozy. Dazai was about to tuck him in, when he patted his bed with a huff.
"Not tonight," Dazai said. He didn't even know what it referred to. No sex tonight. No cuddling tonight. No waking up to each other tomorrow. No long conversation about what we are tomorrow. None of that, hopefully ever again. A wishful thought. "I'm going home."
Chuuya didn't pout or whine, he never does. But he did turn on his back, looking up at his roof once more, huffing. "Why do you always save me like that?"
He almost wants to scream, like it's the easiest question to answer ever. Obviously, it's cause he's got an obligation to do so. but really, does he? Beyond helping one another in Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency work, what obligation does Dazai have to this man? Especially during situations like these.
But they both know Chuuya doesn't mean it like that. It's never that simple, Dazai notes.
Instead of replying, he stands up, and sits on the bed. His back faces Chuuya. A few moments of silence pass, and he feels a soft pressure on said back. Chuuya's finger, tracing a pattern in his back. Even through the t shirt Dazai wore, Chuuya remembered the placement of his back moles. He always connected them from biggest to smallest, like he was some astronomer mapping out stars. Chuuya's the one who told him he had back moles; actually. He'd no clue till then, that one day at 16 when he had Chuuya apply the bandage on a shoulder cut.
He traced the marks once, and traced them again from biggest to smallest. And he just.. kept doing it. Over the course of multiple years, till he was unable to do so. How can you trace the marks of a ghost?
He felt those blue eyes burning holes into the back of his skull. His eyes usually spoke volumes, even if the words they said were so different from the words that came out of his mouth. Instinctively, Dazai rolled his eyes as he moved over, getting over the covers with Chuuya and lying on the bed. Not tonight, he repeated in his mind. Like his brain was mocking itself with every passing moment. But for once, he wasn't so embarrassed anymore.
"Not tonight, right?" Chuuya spoke, in this soft voice that Dazai found out to be strange. It didn't sound like him, but it couldn't have came from anyone but him.
Dazai rolled over to share proper eye contact Chuuya. And this time, he did answer. "Yeah. Not tonight."
In the morning, the lights shined through the blinds of the windows. The sun felt warm on tan skin, wavy hair tangled from tossing 'n turning in his sleep. His legs sweat from the soft confines of pajama pants, he noted slightly. He sat up, and there was Chuuya's still sleeping form. He was slowly stirring to reality, just based on the way his eyes were shut.
Dazai stretched, letting out the quietest of groans as his body woke up with his brain. Before he knew it, his feet hit the floor and he was ready to stand. The door in Chuuya's room wasn't fully closed, rather slightly open. Dazai never did close it last night, which only makes it all the much easier as he stood up and snuck out of Chuuya's dark bedroom into the kitchen.
Marble counters, gray fridge with three openings.. filthy rich freak, dazai mumbled under his own breath. He got a small cup of water, spread the honey (that he recognized as the same honey brand that Dazai once poured on Mori's office chair) on crackers, and huffed when he tried one of the crackers himself, only to get honey on his top lip.
He held the things accordingly, walking back to Chuuya's room, his overly calm demeanor overwhelmed by the sudden loud screech coming from that room. He groaned, feeling the headache already.
"Morning, Chuuya," Dazai mumbled as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.
Damn, he's really gotta block Chuuya's number.