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The kitchen of Chuuya’s high-rise penthouse was entirely too quiet for five o’clock on a rainy Tuesday morning, save for the rhythmic, low hum of the refrigerator and the gentle bubbling of miso soup on the stove. Outside, the sky was a bruised, heavy indigo, weeping a steady drizzle over the Yokohama skyline. Inside, the air smelled faintly of toasted seaweed, dashi, and the rich, comforting scent of expensive sandalwood soap.
Nakahara Chuuya stood at the counter, completely stripped of the terrifying aura that usually made lower-ranking Port Mafia members tremble in their boots. His signature black fedora was resting on the coat rack by the door, and his heavy leather coat had been replaced by a soft, wildly oversized cream sweater that swallowed his hands past his wrists. Wearing nothing but that sweater and a pair of faded grey sweatpants, his copper hair was loosely tied back in a messy, low ponytail, a few stray strands framing his face as he carefully sliced green onions on a wooden board.
Right by his bare feet, a small, fuzzy brown blur was aggressively batting at the hem of his sweatpants.
"Good morning to you too, brat," Chuuya murmured, his voice thick with sleep but laced with an undeniable, soft fondness.
The kitten, aptly named Osamu Jr., looked up with his single, bright amber eye. He was a tiny thing, rescued from a damp alleyway behind one of Chuuya’s safehouses a month prior. His other eye was permanently missing from a rough kittenhood, currently covered by a tiny, custom-made strip of white gauze wrapped perfectly around his little head. He let out a sharp, demanding meow, dropping his favorite toy right onto Chuuya’s bare foot—a small, slightly frayed plush crab with cross-eyed stitched features.
Chuuya let out a quiet huff of laughter, nudging the plush crab with his toe. "I'm cooking, Junior. You have to wait."
Before Chuuya could even bend down to pick up the kitten, the floorboards behind him didn't even creak. They never did. But Chuuya knew the exact displacement of air, the specific, comforting warmth that always preceded a certain nuisance.
A pair of long, bandage-wrapped arms suddenly snaked around his waist from behind.
Chuuya didn’t flinch. He didn’t drop the knife. He simply leaned back into the broad chest pressing against his shoulder blades, letting out a soft, sleepy hum as he allowed his eyes to close for a brief second.
"You’re up early," Chuuya murmured.
"The bed is freezing without my chibi," Dazai complained, burying his face directly into the crook of Chuuya’s neck. His voice was a deep, gravelly purr, completely stripped of the theatrical, mocking cadence he used for the rest of the world. "It’s a crime against humanity. An absolute tragedy. I should sue the furniture manufacturing company."
Dazai tightened his grip, interlocking his fingers right over Chuuya’s stomach. Underneath his own soft sleep shirt, resting right against his skin, Dazai’s wedding ring hung securely from a silver chain. He kept it tucked safely over his heart, a heavy platinum weight hidden beneath the thick layers of bandages he wore to work at the Armed Detective Agency every single day.
Chuuya’s matching platinum band, however, was currently glinting openly on his left ring finger, completely exposed to the warm light of the kitchen. Outside these walls, it was hidden beneath his tight, black leather gloves—a secret kept fiercely guarded from the ruthless gaze of the Port Mafia.
Down below, Osamu Jr. took one look at Dazai hugging Chuuya and decided this was an egregious act of war.
With a fierce little chirp, the kitten digs his tiny, needle-sharp claws into Chuuya’s sweatpants, scaling his leg like a tree trunk. He scrambled up Chuuya’s hip with terrifying agility, shoving his tiny brown head directly into the narrow gap between Chuuya and Dazai’s chests. He glared up at Dazai with his one good eye, pinned his ears back, and let out a pint-sized, pathetic attempt at a hiss.
"Hey, careful, tiny menace," Chuuya laughed, immediately releasing the soup spoon to scoop the kitten safely into his arms. He cradled Osamu Jr. against his chest like a baby, booping the kitten's nose with his index finger. "Did the mean man steal your attention? Did he?"
Osamu Jr. immediately melted, purring like a tiny chainsaw and proudly turning his back on Dazai to nuzzle Chuuya’s chin, leaving a smudge of kitten drool on Chuuya's jawline.
Dazai pouted, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the counter. "This is blatant, calculated sabotage. He looks exactly like me, Chuuya! Why does he hate me so much? It’s identity theft and psychological warfare."
"Because he has actual taste," Chuuya teased, leaning back against the counter and looking up at his husband. He held the kitten securely with one hand, while his other hand—bearing the silver ring—gently stroked the kitten's soft brown fur right behind his tiny, bandaged ear. "And he knows who actually wakes up to feed him, instead of playing dead until noon."
The genius strategist of the Armed Detective Agency, a man whose name made international syndicates shiver, was currently engaged in an intense staring contest with a three-pound kitten. But as Chuuya laughed—a clear, beautiful, unfiltered sound that echoed through the quiet, safe haven of their penthouse—Dazai’s expression softened completely.
The childish pout melted off his face, replaced by a gaze so incredibly warm, bright, and utterly defenseless that it bordered on reverence. He looked at Chuuya the way someone might look at a miracle they still couldn't quite believe they were allowed to keep. He was completely, hopelessly, dangerously whipped.
"Fine," Dazai murmured softly, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer, eliminating the small distance the kitten had tried to create. He reached out, his bandaged thumb gently tracing Chuuya’s sharp cheekbone, before sliding down to brush against the corner of Chuuya's lips. "The cat wins the morning. But I win the evening."
"Shut up and go sit down," Chuuya muttered, though a bright, burning blush crept up his neck, contrasting beautifully with his red hair. He turned around, setting the kitten gently on the kitchen island. "Breakfast is ready."
Osamu Jr. immediately hopped onto the island, dragging his plush crab along by the leg, proudly sitting right next to Chuuya's designated bowl like a tiny guard dog. Dazai slid into the barstool beside them, resting his chin in his palms, completely transfixed by the domestic sight of his husband pouring soup.
"Feed me too?" Dazai asked, giving him a brilliant, dimpled smile that he saved exclusively for this kitchen.
Chuuya rolled his eyes, setting the hot bowl down, but his hand slipped up to cup Dazai’s face anyway, his thumb rubbing over the smooth skin of Dazai's cheek. He leaned down, pressing a slow, sweet, lingering kiss to Dazai’s lips. Osamu Jr. batted aggressively at Dazai’s sleeve in protest, but for a few quiet moments, the rest of Yokohama simply ceased to exist.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, the heavy rain had slowed to a light, rhythmic tapping against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the penthouse.
Every single night, Dazai would use his terrifying intellect and unmatched stealth to slip past the high-tech security grids and mafia guards surrounding Chuuya’s building. He would bypass the locks, slip through the window like a ghost, and melt into Chuuya's bed just to hold him until dawn.
But their domestic paradise always had a strict deadline.
Chuuya stood by the entryway of the penthouse, fully dressed in his pristine Mafia executive attire. The cream sweater was gone, replaced by his tailored vest, dark coat, and the heavy leather harness across his chest. He was currently pulling his tight black leather gloves over his fingers, carefully tucking the glowing platinum wedding band out of sight.
Beside him, Dazai was leaning against the wall, his beige trench coat slung over one arm. He reached up, sliding a hand beneath his loose shirt to adjust the thin silver chain around his neck, ensuring his own matching ring was safely resting flat against his chest, right over his beating heart.
"It's 3:30," Chuuya said, checking his expensive wristwatch. He looked up, his blue eyes softening as he looked at Dazai. "If you don't leave now, you won't make it back to the Agency dorms by 4:00 PM. Kunikida is going to lose his mind if he catches you slipping into your room late again."
"Let him lose it," Dazai grumbled, stepping forward to loop his arms loosely around Chuuya's neck. "Kunikida's anger is a natural phenomenon, like rain or earthquakes. We shouldn't disrupt nature's balance."
"Get out of here, you lazy bastard," Chuuya laughed softly, though he didn't push Dazai away. Instead, he wrapped his gloved hands around Dazai's waist, pulling him in for one last, deep kiss to tie him over until the night.
Down by their feet, a tiny brown blur suddenly disrupted the romance.
Osamu Jr., holding his cross-eyed plush crab tightly in his jaws, trotted over and dropped the toy directly onto the toe of Dazai’s polished shoe. He let out a sharp meow, then sat back and looked up at Dazai with his single, bandage-framed amber eye.
Dazai blinked down at the kitten, a dramatic gasp escaping his lips. "Chuuya! Look! The little demon is giving me a parting gift! He finally accepts me as his co-parent!"
Chuuya looked down, squinting at the kitten's smug expression. "Dazai, he isn't giving you a gift. Look at his ears."
Before Dazai could process the warning, Osamu Jr. reared back, batted aggressively at Dazai's shoelaces with both paws, and then proudly sat directly on top of Chuuya's left boot. He wrapped his fluffy tail neatly around his tiny paws and glared up at Dazai, making it abundantly clear that Chuuya belonged to him now.
"He's evicting you," Chuuya wheezed, clutching his stomach as a brilliant, boisterous laugh tore from his throat. "He's literally handing you your toy and telling you to get out of our house."
Dazai stared at the three-pound kitten, completely defeated by his own miniature, furry lookalike. He let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, but the fond, helpless smile tagging at the corners of his lips gave him away completely.
"Unbelievable," Dazai muttered, leaning down to press a swift, sweet kiss to Chuuya's cheek before grabbing his coat. He opened the penthouse door, slipping out into the hallway with the practiced grace of a shadow. "Enjoy your victory for now, Junior! I'll be back at midnight to reclaim my spot!"
As the door clicked shut, Chuuya shook his head, a warmth blooming in his chest that no amount of rain or Mafia business could ever extinguish. He bent down, scooping Osamu Jr. and his plush crab into his arms.
"Come on, brat," Chuuya murmured softly, walking back into the living room. "Let's go wait for him."