Chapter Text
The 28th would be an ordinary day on any other month aside from April. In Chuuya’s mind, it should be treated as another ordinary day too, but his friends and colleagues beg to differ. Adulthood means that it’s statistically more likely to have a better attendance for gatherings held at night.
Tonight’s gathering has Albatross booking two tables haphazardly fused together to make room for twenty-some people practically elbowing each other at each breath. The izakaya is lively but not overwhelmingly rowdy. They serve the best skewers that Chuuya’s had in recent memory, and the atmosphere is that of general cheer. Chuuya would like to say that he couldn’t ask for a better birthday celebration, but—
“—Why the hell is that shitty mackerel here,” he hisses to the person beside him for possibly the thirteenth time in the past thirty minutes. “His fishiness is wafting all the way here!”
‘Shitty mackerel’ also known as Dazai Osamu, is, without any exaggeration, his lifelong nemesis. Never mind the fact that they’ve only been coworkers for four years. The moment that Chuuya has crossed paths with the bandaged bastard, he’s known that they’d never, ever get along. Of course, that could be attributed to the fact that Dazai’s first words to him were to ask if he’s a lost kid straying away from a preschool, and if he’d need ‘his daddy’ to walk him back to safety. Of course, that meant that Chuuya had yelled and attempted to kick the other’s spleen.
In any case, Chuuya believes that a coworkers should be comrades who work together to bring the company to great heights. With Dazai though, he just wants to make sure to shut his stupid mouth who knows nothing but to insult him. It’s come to the point that they’re always competing with each other for the monthly ‘Top Employee’ awards, and they’re always one-upping each other on their sales numbers. Chuuya could absolutely stomach working even with an actual turd, but not a shitty mackerel who always has a smirk on his face, a song about double suicides on his lips, and a flirtatious line for every woman out there.
“Don’t sweat it,” Albatross tells him, patting him in the shoulder. “Dazai-san isn’t here for this party. He’s out there for a separate gathering.”
He gnashes the syllables between his teeth like he’d like to tear a fish apart, “And it just so happened that they’re on a neighboring table.”
“Coincidences do happen,” Lippman adds. “Otherwise, that would mean that Dazai-san is aware of your birthday and your plans.”
Chuuya shivers in disgust at the possibility. “Urgh. Don’t say such terrible things, you’re going to spoil the food.”
A part of him does suspect that Dazai knows about his schedule. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard, who’s always out to disgust him one way or another. It wouldn’t be that strange if Dazai looks up his schedule, just so he could prance around and cause him food poisoning just by breathing near him.
In fact, Chuuya’s stomach already starts churning: a sure sign that one Dazai Osamu is about to arrive within a ten-meter radius.
Sure enough, the crowd swells around their table. Albatross yells something about starting a countdown. People clap and begin singing. It’s all too loud, and Chuuya’s stomach twists. He could sense a fishy presence swimming towards him—Dazai’s about to sit down on a different spot on his own table, but this isn’t a particularly big izakaya, so with the whole commotion, there’s not much space.
4—!
3—!
2—!
1—!
Chuuya leans back a bit in an attempt to ease the discomfort in his gut. He could smell the other’s fishiness over the scent of food and beer (which he’s been banned from touching).
An elbow bumps into his back. The noise swells.
“Happy birthday, Chuuya—!”
“How dare he let some worm touch his shoulder just like that, isn’t he too defenseless, if he’s this open to being touched by other men, then isn’t it easy to take advantage of him, how can he be so careless, but when it comes to me, he’s always flared up like some cat whose tail has been stepped on, but he’s surely the kind of hellcat who would scratch me, but then secretly get worried about hurting me, and he’d be such a tsundere that way too, and he’d look up at me with kissable lips and then I’d—”
…Huh, what the fuck did he just hear?!
He wants to whirl around to try and find the weirdo who just said such an outrageous monologue aloud, but then Albatross is bringing him forward so he could blow the candles on a cake, and he ends up forgetting all about that weirdo who had a weirdly familiar voice.
-
Staying up late on a workday and then going to work the next day: it’s a challenge that Chuuya takes on without complaint.
It may be the Golden Week, but holidays don’t mean much in their line of business. If he wants to secure the top spot for the month, he needs to come in and get some leads to improve his team’s profits. Hard work and persistence are the only sure methods to obtain results, and Chuuya’s never been the type to back down on diligence.
Staying up late the night before—and catching a whiff of beer—is enough to make him oversleep slightly. Thankfully, he keeps up with his cardio and is able to jog the distance covered by the bus he just missed.
When he hears the familiar ding of the elevator doors opening, he amps his running speed, practically a red laser dashing through from the front doors.
“Wait, I’m also coming up—!”
Chuuya manages to squeeze into the sole available spot in the cramped elevator. As expected of a top-tier company, there are lots of like-minded people. Everyone wants to put in extra work during the holiday. It’s gratifying, but it also means that there’s barely any breathing room in the space enclosed by four metal walls. And he’s all the way to the 35th floor—
“Oh, is that a little chibikko I spot?” An unfortunately familiar voice floats to his ear. “Coming in to work even though you’ve been granted leave for today’s holiday? As expected from a little chibikko who only knows about brute force instead of working smarter, pfft.”
He scoffs, “Working lazier, you mean.”
The two of them are now Executives, leading their own teams. Dazai is infamous for being an effortless genius, one that’s rumored to be personally scouted by the Boss. Dazai also likes to sweet-talk clients and use verbal warfare in order to secure deals and sales, a manipulative tactic that Chuuya’s never really approved of. Dazai is also fond of swooping in at the last-minute by manipulating the playing field, securing the maximum returns for the least amount of effort. It’s cunning in one perspective, and abhorrently lazy in another.
“Once you’re an adult, you’d understand.” It’s said in an utterly patronizing tone, typical of Dazai. “But you’re just a tiny, little man, so it’s understandable that you don’t understand it.”
“I’m thirty already, damn it!”
“Oh, is that so? You look like three.” A snicker. “Little kid, are you lost? Stick close to me and I’ll protect you in this tall, adult world.”
With those words, Dazai moves a bit closer, like he’s trying to corner Chuuya against the wall. In one perspective, it could even be interpreted as someone shielding another person from being suffocated in a cramped environment. But Dazai doesn’t have a single nice bone in his body, and they hate each other so much, so there’s absolutely no way that this isn’t just pure mockery.
There really isn’t much space, definitely not enough for him to turn around and strangle the other man by the necktie, possible police charge be damned. But there’s at least enough space for him to lean to the left, stomp his foot towards where he knows Dazai’s shoe should be, and smack his hand oh-so-accidentally over the other’s chest.
Instead of hitting the other’s clothes, he ends up hitting the other’s raised hand.
And then—
“—I knew coming in to work today is the right call. This idiot is so in love with his work, it’s sickening. But at least I got to see him, instead of having to wait for the holiday to be over. More importantly, how dare he look so good and fresh even when he’s all sweating? Did he run here all the way from his home? Did he oversleep and end up running instead of waiting for the next bus, or book a taxi? Is he an idiot? Damn it, he smells so good—is it true that a dog’s sweat contains pheromones? Is that why I want to lick it off his collarbones?”
“—Huh?” Chuuya’s flabbergasted. The voice sounds exactly like Dazai, but the adoring tone is decidedly… not. “What did you just say, shitty Dazai?”
“Oya? Can’t you hear me from all the way in the ground?” The tone and voice are completely Dazai this time. It drips with sarcasm and something annoying. “I told you to stick close to me so I can protect you in this tall, adult world, Chuuya.”
At the same time, Chuuya hears the Dazai-ish voice echo inside his head again: “Sometimes I really want to burn all his hats, because why must he like fedoras so much when the rim could block his face? On another hand, I really want to take all those hats and sniff them, because his hair always looks so beautiful and smells so nice. Is this the power of a little fairy? He must be one. I can’t believe that he’s bewitched me for so long, and yet he always looks so oblivious. I thought I hated stupid people, but he’s just so—”
“—SHUT THE HELL UP,” Chuuya yells, and the first time the elevator doors slide open, he bolts out, without heeding that it’s not yet his floor.
First things first. He needs to have an executive check-up at the nearest hospital, because he’s pretty sure that his food from last night has been poisoned, to the point that he’s having auditory hallucinations that unfortunately sound too much like his most hated enemy.
-
to be continued;