Chapter Text
The marble floor of the Port Mafia boss’s office reflected everything too clearly, including the fact that Dazai was sitting in Moris chair. He was spinning slowly like authority was optional. Chuuya stopped in the doorway and immediately regretted being in the same building.
“Why is he here.”
Dazai tilted his head back over the chair. “Good morning, Chuuya. You look shorter than usual today.”
“I will break your legs.”
“Then I’ll finally match your height.” Mori didn’t react. He simply observed them with calm interest, fingers steepled.
“Chuuya. Sit.”
“I’d rather die.”
“I’m available for that later,” Dazai offered.
Chuuya pointed at him sharply. “Stop talking.”
Mori finally opened a file. “There is an information dealer operating out of the Yokohama Royal Hotel.” chuuya crossed his arms. “Send someone else.”
“I did consider that.”
Dazai raised a hand. “I volunteer someone else.” Mori continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “He only meets high-society married couples.”
Chuuya slowly turned. “…Excuse me.”
Dazai perked up immediately. “Oh. That is interesting.”
Absolutely not," Chuuya said, his voice echoing off the polished walls of the Port Mafia bosses office.
"I will literally swallow an active grenade before I agree to this garbage."
Mori merely smiled, his fingers steepled over his desk with that terrifyingly placid expression he always wore when he was about to make Chuuya’s life a living hell.
"Now, now, Chuuya. It is a matter of utmost delicacy. The target is an underground information dealer operating out of the grand gala at the Yokohama Royal Hotel. He only interacts with high-society couples. Unmarried pairs or solo guests are thoroughly vetted, background-checked, and watched by armed security. We cannot risk a cover identity blowing before the transaction occurs."
"So send someone else!" Chuuya snapped, gesturing wildly with his gloved hand.
"Send Higuchi and Akutagawa! Send literally anyone who hasn't spent the last seven years trying to poison my coffee or blow up my car!"
"But Chuuya, Akutagawa would just cough on the food, and Higuchi would pass out from excitement the second he looked at her. Besides, think of the tragic romance! A beautiful, high-society couple... and one of them is painfully, tragically short. It gives us a back-story! People will think I married you out of pure charity."
Mori slid a velvet box onto the desk, The sound was soft, but deliberate. Chuuya did not like it. at all. Inside were two silver rings. Dazai’s expression changed for half a secon, so brief most people would have missed it. Chuuya caught it anyway, and it irritated him that he did.
“These were prepared in advance,” Chuuya said slowly.
“Yes,” Mori replied.
“So this wasn’t a last minute decision.”
“No.”
Dazai hummed faintly. “I feel very cherished.”
Chuuya shut the box. “I refuse.”
“It is an order,” Mori said. A pause settled in the room. Then Chuuya exhaled sharply. “I hate both of you.” Dazai stood. “I accept under protest.”
“You weren’t asked.”
“I’m emotionally involved.”
Chuuya grabbed the box again. “Forty eight hours. That’s it.” Dazai smiled slightly. “That sounds like a honeymoon.” Chuuya turned and walked out faster than necessary and Dazai followed. They didn’t speak until the hallway. Then Dazai said, casually, “We should discuss how we met.”
“No.”
“We need a story.”
“You’re not in it.”
“I think I should be in it.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue. “You hit me with a motorcycle.”
“That’s memorable,” Dazai said.
“That’s not believable.”
Dazai considered it. “You spilled wine on my shoes.” Chuuya paused “…Petrus.” Dazai smiled. “I love our marriage.”
“I don’t.”
Dazai trotted along behind him, humming a jaunty tune, already looking entirely too comfortable with the prospect of psychological torture.