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“Can I get anything for you boys today? Should I start y'all off with waters?” the waitress asked, her smile pinched—fitting for the late hour. No doubt her shift had been a lengthy one.
Chuuya glanced over the menu, pretending to consider his options. In truth, while he occasionally tried a new meal, the brunet in the other booth never experimented, pickier than an elementary school kid.
“We’ll have…” The prices didn't make him frown anymore. Even though he knew his companion wasn't going to pay a yen of it, the executive status came with a salary which had them frequenting this restaurant—his favorite restaurant—more and more often as of late. Not because he liked the company. Of course not.
With their order recorded, the waitress made haste to bring back their drinks and disappear into the back kitchen, where their food likely wouldn't emerge for another half an hour. It was slow, yes, but well worth the wait.
Dazai tapped a finger against the rim of his glass with a pout. “If you ask me, they should take notes from Bar Lupin.”
“We’re not getting you whiskey on the rocks.” Chuuya sighed and reached for a straw.
Dazai snatched it up before he could have it, grinning like a cat with the cream… or whatever that saying was. “C'mon, you know I have a point.” He tore off the top inch of paper, then blew the rest of the wrapping to hit the ginger across from him — right in the face.
“We’re in public,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The reminder was applicable to both his own temper as well as his partner's childish tendencies.
Dazai stuck his tongue out.
They sipped on their waters for a moment, and Chuuya let his gaze wander to the array of frames on the wall. A painted portrait, a magazine clipping, a vintage photograph. Utensils clinked against porcelain, chatter mingled with the few patrons here so late in the evening, and gentle foreign music drifted from overhead speakers.
Busted-up joints and shady pubs had their merits, but a place such as this was nice in a “we could be normal” way.
“…it’s a date.”
“IT’S NOT A—ahem, it’s not a date!”
“Shush, chibi. I wasn't talking about us.” Dazai jabbed a thumb to the pair sitting to his right.
Their hands were clasped across the table top; their expressions were soft. The girl was cheerily speaking about something she saw online, and her boyfriend was listening intently. The sweetness from the two was sickening, he told himself.
“…unless?”
“Unless what, idiot?” Chuuya tore his gaze away from the couple.
“I mean, this pretty much looks like a date.” Dazai shrugged as if the suggestion was casual. It was, and it wasn't.
Chuuya just scowled. “Two teen guys with knives in their pockets and zero manners... Right, as if. We look hella weird in such a place.”
“Hey now, don't be so mean,” he teased, nudging Chuuya’s foot underneath the table. The latter stomped his heel down in retaliation.
Dazai grimaced, “You’re ruining the atmosphere, slug.”
“What atmosphere? Don't give me that charming BS. Save it for the random girls you try to commit with.”
“I will not be silenced!” he huffed indignantly.
“You literally never shut up.” Chuuya hated, absolutely despised, the fact that his cheeks were gradually but surely heating into an embarrassingly visible shade of red.
Dating him would be…
“Here you are.”
Their plates arrived — earlier than expected — and Dazai lost all prior charisma as he gleefully consumed the platter of crab, the same dish that he always got here.
For a fleeting moment, he looked his age.
Chuuya shook his head. The idiot.
His chopsticks remained untouched for another second before he realized he’d been watching.
Impossible.
Utterly impossible.
Chuuya didn't know why he even entertained the foolish notion.