Chapter Text
Love is supposed to be complicated.
Apparently, that is why a higher being decided it needed an entire department.
Hidden somewhere beyond ordinary human perception, the Cupid Department oversees the small, strange circumstances that bring people together. A missed train. An unexpected meeting. The courage to finally send a message. A seat left open at a crowded café.
Cupids don't make people fall in love. Not exactly.
Their job is to give love a little nudge in the right direction.
There are rules for that.
There are, in fact, thirty-seven of them.
The rules are considered very important.
Dazai Osamu has been reading them for approximately four minutes and already looks unconvinced. He stands outside the orientation room with his intern identification card hanging crookedly from his neck, the official handbook open in his hands.
Beside him, Nakahara Chuuya's own ID hangs perfectly straight, his name printed neatly beneath the department seal.
DAZAI OSAMU
CUPID DEPARTMENT — INTERN
NAKAHARA CHUUYA
CUPID DEPARTMENT — INTERN
Their partnership is already official. But neither of them seems particularly thrilled about it.
Chuuya flips another page.
RULE 1 — Cupid assistants must not reveal their existence to ordinary humans.
RULE 2 — Cupid assistants must not deliberately alter a human's memories, personality, judgment, or emotional capacity for romantic purposes.
RULE 3 — Romantic feelings must not be artificially created where no genuine emotional possibility exists.
RULE 4 — Love arrows may only be used on authorized assignments.
RULE 5 — Cupid assistants must not interfere with existing romantic relationships without authorization.
"That's quite a lot of restrictions for a job about love." Dazai tilts his head.
"It's a job about helping people," Chuuya replies, turning the page. "There's a difference."
"Sounds less romantic." Dazai looks at him.
"Because It's not supposed to be romantic." Chuuya looks back. Neither seems particularly interested in explaining why they were assigned to each other.
The next rules are no less specific.
RULE 6 — No coercion.
RULE 7 — No unauthorized use of arrows.
RULE 8 — No testing arrows on fellow Cupids.
RULE 9 — No modifying department equipment.
RULE 10 — No interference with another Cupid's assignment.
Dazai pauses at Rule Eight.
Chuuya notices. "Don't."
"But I haven't even said anything."
"You were going to."
"I was merely curious about it."
"You were going to shoot me, aren't you?" Chuuya rolls his eyes.
"I was going to consider shooting you." Dazai innocently smiles.
Chuuya takes the handbook from him before the conversation can become a disciplinary incident.
The remaining rules continue in much the same spirit: keep humans unaware, follow the assignment, don't tamper with emotions, don't misuse department property, and, above all, remember that Cupid assistants are supposed to guide love rather than control it.
Simple enough. At least on paper.
The Cupid Department itself is far less intimidating than its rulebook. The office resembles any ordinary workplace, filled with desks, paperwork, coffee cups, and overworked employees. The only difference is that everyone inside possesses the peculiar ability to move through the human world completely unseen.
To ordinary humans, a Cupid is nothing more than a passing breeze, an unexplained movement, or an object that seems to shift on its own.
To the Cupids, however, the human world is their workplace.
And today is Dazai and Chuuya's first day on the job. Neither of them knows that their supervisor is already regretting the assignment.
Across the hallway, Fukuzawa Yukichi watches them through the glass panel of the orientation room. His expression remains perfectly composed. Beside him, Mori Ougai looks considerably more entertained.
"They're getting along," Mori observes.
Fukuzawa's gaze moves toward Dazai, who is currently attempting to take the handbook back from Chuuya. "They've been arguing for twelve minutes."
"Exactly."
"They haven't even received an assignment."
Mori smiles. "Give them time, Yukichi."
Inside the hallway, Chuuya finally returns the handbook. Dazai catches it with one hand, glancing down at the cover before slipping it beneath his arm.
"Well," he says, adjusting his crooked ID, "at least we know what we're not supposed to do."
Chuuya looks at him suspiciously. "That sentence worries me."
"It shouldn't."
"It does."
And somewhere behind them, the orientation room door opens.
Their first assignment is waiting.
Neither Cupid notices the faint smile on Mori's face as they walk inside. Neither knows that the case waiting on the other side will be the beginning of a very long list of mistakes.
Or that, somehow, nearly every single one of them will end in love.
—
Chuuya learns three things within the first ten minutes of receiving their first assignment.
First, human beings are apparently very difficult to make notice one another.
Second, Dazai Osamu is incapable of treating anything like a normal person.
Third, whoever decided the two of them would make suitable partners deserves to be investigated.
Their first case is sitting inside a thin blue folder on the desk assigned to them, its pages filled with photographs, schedules, locations, and the sort of neat little observations Chuuya suspects will eventually become the bane of his existence.
CASE 0017 — INITIAL CONTACT
Target A: Takahashi Ren, twenty-six.
Target B: Sato Emi, twenty-five.
Objective: Facilitate a natural interaction between both targets.
Restrictions: No coercion. No emotional alteration. No unauthorized arrow use. Do not manufacture romantic attachment. Do not interfere with existing relationships.
That part, at least, makes sense.
The Cupid Department isn't in the business of forcing two strangers to fall hopelessly in love. That's not how it works. An arrow doesn't turn affection into obsession or transform indifference into devotion. At most, it gives someone the smallest possible push: a passing awareness, a subtle *thump* beneath the ribs, a moment when their attention catches on another person instead of moving elsewhere.
The rest belongs to the humans. Cupids simply open the door. The humans decide whether they want to walk through it.
Chuuya finds the philosophy reasonable.
Dazai apparently finds it boring.
"So," Dazai says, leaning over the folder from the opposite side of the desk, "what do you think would happen if we shot both of them at the same time?"
Chuuya doesn't look up. "The assignment says we're supposed to facilitate an interaction, not conduct an experiment."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting. Besides, we need to make sure that the person has to be looking at the other person before we shoot."
"But theoretically-"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say." The brunette whines.
"I've known you for approximately twenty minutes, and somehow I already know that whatever comes after 'theoretically' is going to get us written up."
Dazai places a hand over his chest with theatrical offense. "You wound me, Chuuya."
"Good."
"Although, for the record, I was going to suggest something completely harmless."
"Which is?"
"What if we shot one of them first and observed whether the resulting attention affected the other's behavior naturally?"
Chuuya finally looks up and he sees Dazai smile. There is something profoundly irritating about how pleased he looks with himself.
"We're not shooting anyone until we know exactly what we're doing."
Dazai's smile widens. "You're very responsible."
"And you're very annoying."
"Our individual qualities might actually complement each other~"
Chuuya stares at him for a moment before returning his attention to the file. He chooses not to dignify that with an answer.
The targets work in different buildings across the city, though their routines overlap in one particular place: a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. Ren stops there every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon after work. Emi goes there almost every day, usually around the same time, to read or work on her laptop.
Simple. It's ridiculously simple.
All Chuuya needs to do is get them there at the same time. The rest should take care of itself. At least, that's what the case file says. Reality, unfortunately, has other plans.
By 3:45 p.m, Chuuya is standing invisible beside the café's front window while Ren sits alone at a table near the back, tapping absently against his coffee cup. Across the room, Emi is exactly where the file says she should be, absorbed in a book with one hand resting against her cheek.
Perfect.
They're in the same room. They're within fifteen meters of each other. Nobody is being chased. Nothing is on fire. For a first assignment, Chuuya considers this a promising beginning.
Then Dazai whispers beside him. "Do you think he knows she's here?"
"Probably not."
"Interesting."
"Don't."
"I'm only observing."
"You say that like a scientist five minutes before destroying the laboratory."
Dazai ignores him. Instead, he watches Ren with the concentration of someone examining a particularly fascinating specimen. "He keeps looking toward the window."
"Because he's waiting for his friend." Chuuya sighs as he checks the clock. 3:52 p.m.
Emi turns a page while Ren checks his phone. The opportunity is there, but neither of them seems remotely interested in taking it.
Chuuya considers their options.
A chair moved into the right position. A dropped pen. Perhaps Ren could accidentally leave his wallet near Emi's table and-
Dazai reaches for his quiver, Chuuya catches his wrist.
"No."
Dazai looks down at their hands, then up at Chuuya. "No what?"
"We don't need to use an arrow yet."
"But they're not noticing each other, it's getting boring."
"That's why we're supposed to create an opportunity!"
"I thought you said the arrow was allowed."
"On an authorized assignment, yes. It isn't a shortcut for every problem."
Dazai tilts his head, amused. "You really did read the handbook."
"Unlike you."
"I read it."
"You read Rule One and then started drawing a cat in the margins." Chuuya closes his eyes for a second. He reminds himself that they are professionals in training. Or, at the very least, they are supposed to become professionals.
"Look," he says, lowering his voice as Emi closes her book, "we need something natural. Ren's leaving soon. Emi's probably going to stay another half hour. If we can get them to the counter at the same time, they might actually speak."
Dazai considers this. Then his eyes drift toward the table. A faint smile appears. "Oh."
"What?" Chuuya immediately distrusts that expression.
"I have an idea."
"Is it a bad one?"
"Almost certainly."
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because bad ideas are often the most memorable."
Before Chuuya can stop him, Dazai reaches across the café and flicks the corner of Ren's receipt.
The paper slides off the table until it lands beneath Emi's chair.
Chuuya's jaw drops. "Dazai."
Ren looks around while Emi notices the receipt near her foot. She bends down, picks it up, and stands. For one glorious second, Chuuya thinks Dazai might actually have done something useful. Then Ren stands at the exact same moment.
They collide.
Not dramatically., not romantically. Just enough for Emi's book to slip from her hand, Ren's coffee to wobble dangerously, and for Dazai to shoot an arrow at Ren, then at Emi. All while Chuuya is lunging forward to catch the cup before it spills across the table. Nobody notices the invisible Cupid saving the situation.
Dazai, meanwhile, looks delighted. "See?"
"See what?!" Chuuya glares at his partner.
"They interacted." He winks, proud if the outcome of his action.
"She nearly got coffee all over herself!"
"But she noticed him. That still counts. It wasn't specified that they had to enjoy the first interaction."
Chuuya opens his mouth, then closes it. Because technically, Dazai isn't wrong. Which is more irritating.
Ren apologizes, Emi laughs it off, and for a moment they stand facing each other with the awkwardness of two strangers suddenly aware that the other exists.
But then, Ren's phone rings and the moment disappears. He excuses himself and steps outside while Emi returns to her table.
Chuuya slowly turns toward Dazai and sees Dazai is already looking at him. "Don't say it."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were."
"I was going to say that your expression is very cute when you're frustrated." Dazai smiles innocently.
Chuuya stares. The words arrive so casually that his brain needs an entire second to catch up. "What did you just call me?"
"Nothing~'
"You absolutely called me something."
"I just called you cute." Dazai's smile becomes insufferably pleased.
Chuuya points at him. "Don't do that."
"Why not? I simply enjoy your attention."
Chuuya feels heat creep up his neck and immediately blames the café for being too warm. Before he can respond, Dazai's attention shifts toward the window.
Ren is standing outside, while Emi is looking down at her phone. Dazai's expression changes. Not dramatically. Just enough for Chuuya to notice.
"He came back," Dazai says and Chuuya follows his gaze.
Ren steps back through the café door, looking slightly flustered. He approaches the counter, says something to the cashier, then glances toward Emi's table. Once, twice, then away.
Chuuya watches him. "He's looking for an excuse."
"Exactly."
"And you think-"
"I think we should stop interfering."
Chuuya blinks.
Dazai gestures toward Ren with a small nod. "We already gave him the opportunity. Now let him decide." For once, there is no joke in his voice. No ridiculous theory. No teasing remark. Just an observation.
Chuuya looks back at Emi. She notices Ren watching her. Their eyes meet and there it is.
A tiny pause.
Nothing dramatic. No sudden transformation, no impossible rush of devotion. Just recognition for the quiet little thump from earlier. Emi looks away first, though the corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly.
Ren smiles to himself. Then, after another moment of hesitation, he picks up his coffee and walks toward her table.
Chuuya watches the scene unfold with a strange sense of satisfaction.
They haven't fallen in love. They haven't even begun anything resembling a relationship. But now they know the other person exists. And sometimes, Chuuya thinks, that's all the beginning needs.
Ren stops beside Emi's table and gestures toward the empty chair. She looks up. Whatever he says makes her laugh.
Chuuya exhales.
Beside him, Dazai quietly says, "Successful."
Chuuya glances at their assignment sheet. Then at the two humans now talking naturally across the table. Then at Dazai. "You know, for someone who nearly caused an unnecessary coffee disaster five minutes ago, you're looking awfully proud."
"I prefer to think of it as controlled chaos since you were fast enough to prevent it." Dazai hums thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's our specialty."
Chuuya should argue.
He should point out the rule violations, the unnecessary receipt incident, the almost-spilled coffee, and the fact that their first assignment already feels suspiciously close to becoming a disciplinary report. Instead, he looks through the café window at Ren and Emi.
They're talking now. Actually talking. No more arrow is needed, no miracle is required. Just two people given the smallest possible chance to notice each other.
Chuuya smiles despite himself. "Maybe we're not completely hopeless."
Dazai turns toward him. For a moment, Chuuya expects another ridiculous theory. Instead, Dazai's expression softens into something almost fond.
"See? I knew we'd make a good team."
Chuuya immediately regrets saying anything. "Don't push your luck."
Dazai laughs, and the sound follows them as they leave the café behind, invisible to every human passing through the street.
Their first assignment is complete.
Technically.
Their first rule violation is probably complete, too. And neither of them realizes yet that this will become a pattern. They will make mistakes. They will argue. They will derail perfectly reasonable plans with increasingly questionable ideas. They will drive each other absolutely insane.
But maybe that is what makes a Cupid good at their job: Not knowing exactly how love works. Just knowing when to give it a chance.
—
The Head Cupid's office is considerably quieter than the rest of the department, which Chuuya decides is probably intentional.
After spending most of the afternoon following Dazai around while trying to prevent him from turning a perfectly ordinary assignment into an experiment, the silence feels almost suspicious.
They're standing in front of Fukuzawa Yukichi's desk with the completed report held between both hands, the blue folder looking much more respectable than the two interns responsible for filling it out.
The report itself is undeniably successful.
It is also, unfortunately, undeniably messy.
The objective is marked COMPLETED. Takahashi Ren and Sato Emi spoke. They exchanged names, discovered that they both frequent the same bookstore, and, according to the final observation recorded in the report, agreed to meet there later in the week. No unauthorized emotional influence occurred. No memories were altered. No existing relationships were disturbed.
The assignment achieved exactly what it was supposed to achieve and the case will now move forward to the higher Cupids who are in charge of monitoring the blooming relationship.
The margin of the report, however, contains a rather less flattering list of incidents.
Unnecessary displacement of personal property, unexplainable to the human eye.
Near-spillage of beverage.
Improvised intervention not included in original plan.
Minor deviation from recommended procedure.
Chuuya doesn't need to look at Dazai to know who is responsible for most of those notes. He also doesn't need to look at Fukuzawa to know that the Head Cupid had watched the entire thing unfold.
Fukuzawa sits behind his desk with the report open in front of him, his expression so calm that it somehow makes Chuuya more nervous than anger would. There is no raised voice, no dramatic reprimand, not even the slightest indication that their first assignment had become a source of concern. He simply turns another page, eyes moving over the observations with the patience of someone reviewing a report written by two interns who apparently believe the word procedure is merely a suggestion.
Dazai, meanwhile, looks entirely comfortable.
Of course he does.
He's leaning against Chuuya's side as though he is attending a casual meeting rather than standing before the person who can decide whether the two of them are fit to continue working as Cupids.
"The important thing," Dazai says, glancing at the report, "is that it worked."
Chuuya suppresses a sigh.
He doesn't blame Dazai, at least not entirely. Their first attempt was messy because both of them are inexperienced, and because Chuuya himself let the situation get away from him more than once. If he were being honest, the report isn't a record of Dazai's failures so much as a record of two interns figuring out, in real time, what their job actually demands.
So when Fukuzawa finally looks up, Chuuya straightens.
"We'll do better next time," he says, and this time there is no argument in his voice. "I should've planned around the possibility that the targets wouldn't respond the way we expected. I got too focused on keeping the assignment orderly and didn't adapt quickly enough when things changed. Next time, I'll be more responsible."
Dazai turns his head toward him, looking almost offended by the suggestion. "Chuuya, you say that as though we failed."
"We didn't. But we nearly dumped coffee on a human being."
"But we didn't."
"Because I caught it! If any human were looking, they'd probably see the coffee miraculously arranging itself."
"Which proves you and I make an excellent team."
Chuuya gives him a look, though there isn't quite enough irritation behind it to become a proper glare. "You nearly caused the problem in the first place."
"And you solved it."
"That's not teamwork."
Dazai considers this with exaggerated seriousness. "I disagree. One creates the problem, the other fixes it. That's a very efficient division of labor."
Fukuzawa's gaze settles on them.
The silence that follows is enough to make Dazai stop while Chuuya clears his throat and looks back at the report.
"We'll work on it, sir." he says, more quietly.
Fukuzawa studies them for another moment before closing the folder. His expression remains composed, though Chuuya catches the faintest trace of exhaustion in his eyes, the look of someone already realizing that supervising these two may require considerably more patience than the department handbook recommends.
"The assignment was successful," Fukuzawa says at last. "You achieved the intended result without violating the fundamental restrictions. That matters."
Chuuya relaxes slightly.
"But success does not excuse carelessness."
His shoulders straighten again.
Fukuzawa continues, his voice steady and measured. "You are both new to this work. You will make mistakes while learning how to create opportunities without forcing them. What I expect is that you learn from those mistakes rather than repeat them. Observe your targets carefully. Adapt when necessary. Most importantly, learn to work together."
Dazai's eyes drift toward Chuuya.
Chuuya notices but he chose not to acknowledge it.
"Yes, sir," He answers.
Fukuzawa gives a small nod. "You are dismissed. Be more careful on your next assignment."
The two interns turn toward the door.
Chuuya makes it approximately three steps before Dazai leans closer and murmurs, with the satisfaction of someone who has somehow interpreted an official warning as praise, "See? He said we were successful."
Chuuya keeps walking. "I heard him."
"He also said we should work together."
"I heard that too."
"So technically, we're already improving."
Chuuya finally looks at him. "Dazai, if your definition of improvement is getting into fewer disasters than the first day, the standard is already underground."
Dazai smiles. "Then we've got nowhere to go but up."
The door closes behind them.
For several seconds, Fukuzawa remains still. Then he exhales. It is a long, quiet sigh, the kind that carries the weight of someone who had just watched two perfectly capable cupids turn a straightforward introductory assignment into a minor operational headache and somehow emerge with a successful case.
The office door opens again without a knock.
Mori Ougai steps inside, wearing the faintly amused expression of a man who has been waiting for precisely this moment.
"They're promising," Mori says.
Fukuzawa looks at him. "They nearly caused an unexplainable minor accident for humans."
"But they didn't."
"They improvised without considering the consequences."
"Which is precisely why they'll learn."
Fukuzawa looks toward the closed door.
Beyond it, the faint sound of Chuuya's irritated voice carries through the hallway, followed by Dazai's laughter. The noise fades as they move farther away, already arguing about something that presumably has nothing to do with their assignment.
Fukuzawa rubs a hand lightly across his brow.
"They need discipline."
Mori walks toward the desk, glancing down at the report with barely concealed amusement. "They need time."
"They need both."
"Of course." Mori's smile grows. "But you can't teach teamwork by giving two people a handbook and expecting them to understand each other immediately."
Fukuzawa says nothing.
Mori taps the closed report with one finger. "They're both talented. They simply haven't figured out how to use those talents together yet. Give them a few assignments, and they'll either learn to cooperate or destroy half the department trying."
Fukuzawa gives him a flat look.
Mori laughs softly. "I'm joking."
A pause.
"Mostly."
Fukuzawa sighs again, though this time there is something almost resigned beneath it. "They're going to be trouble."
Mori's eyes flick toward the door. "Perhaps," he says, smiling to himself. "But sometimes trouble is exactly what love needs."
Fukuzawa doesn't answer.
Outside, somewhere down the corridor, something falls over. There is a brief silence. Then Chuuya's unmistakable voice echoes through the department.
"Dazai!"
Mori's smile widens while Fukuzawa closes his eyes.
Their first assignment is over. Their training, apparently, is only beginning.
—
The next few days taught Chuuya that there's a particular rhythm to working as a Cupid.
It begins with a case file, and continues with observation. Then comes the difficult part, which is finding a way to place two people in the same moment without making the moment feel manufactured.
In theory, it sounds simple.
In practice, it means spending entire afternoons following strangers through the human world while trying to predict what might make them notice one another, all while working beside a partner whose definition of helpful observation apparently includes staring at pigeons for several minutes and announcing theories about their mating habits.
Their second assignment takes them to a university library.
The two targets are students who have never spoken despite visiting the same place several times a week. Chuuya studies their schedules, maps out their usual routes, and identifies a dozen possible opportunities for interaction before they even arrive.
Dazai studies the same information for less than a minute. "He's always looking for the same book."
Chuuya glances at him. "Yes."
"And she always sits beside the history section."
"Yes."
"They've probably passed each other dozens of times."
"That's why we're here."
Dazai looks thoughtful. "Do you think people notice patterns before they notice people?"
Chuuya knows better than to answer too quickly. "Are you asking because you have another theory?"
"I have several."
"Of course you do."
The targets enters the library within minutes of one another. Chuuya watches the man head toward the shelves while the woman settles into her usual seat, exactly as predicted. He considers nudging one of the chairs into the man's path, but before he can decide, Dazai points toward the shelf.
The man reaches for a book, but his fingers stop as he realize that the title he wants is missing.
Dazai looks at Chuuya and Chuuya looks at Dazai as well. Neither needs to say anything because the opportunity is obvious.
Unfortunately, Dazai's solution involved moving the book. Chuuya refused and so the argument lasted long enough for the man to ask the librarian for help, and by the time the book is located, it is sitting on a cart beside the woman's table.
The librarian apologizes for the mistake and asks the woman to move it aside.
The woman picks up the book as the man approaches. And that's where they begin talking.
It isn't dramatic. There is no sudden revelation, no supernatural certainty descending upon either of them. The woman simply mentions that she had read the same author, the man asks whether she would recommend another title, and a conversation begins where there wasn't one before.
Chuuya watches from beside a bookshelf, slowly realizing that Dazai's strange observation was right.
The man wasn't looking for her. He was looking for the thing that would eventually bring him close enough to notice her.
When they leave the library, Chuuya finally admits it.
"Your theory wasn't completely useless."
"Was that a compliment?" Dazai looks delighted.
"Don't make me regret it."
"I'll treasure it forever."
Chuuya rolls his eyes and keeps walking.
He doesn't notice the way Dazai watches him for a moment longer than necessary before following.
—
Their third assignment involves a train station.
The fourth involves a grocery shop.
The fifth involves a rainy afternoon, two umbrellas for one person, and a woman who keeps forgetting hers at home.
None of them go according to plan.
The train station case requires Chuuya to redirect a man's attention toward the correct platform, only for Dazai to become distracted by an advertisement and spend several minutes theorizing about whether people choose vacation destinations based on the colors used in travel posters.
The grocery shop case goes wrong when Chuuya accidentally knocks over a bucket of wrapping paper while trying to move a ribbon into the right person's path, forcing their target to help the florist gather everything from the floor.
The rainy afternoon should be the easiest.
It isn't.
Dazai moves an umbrella but Chuuya moves it back. Dazai moves it again and Chuuya threatens to throw him into the fountain.
Somehow, the umbrella ends up in the hands of the correct person anyway.
By the end of the week, Chuuya begins to suspect their case files are developing a personality of their own. They all carry the same strange pattern.
Successful.
Then beneath it:
Minor procedural deviation.
And beneath that:
Review recommended.
Chuuya refuses to ask what the department means by review recommended. He suspects he doesn't want to know. The worst part is that Dazai doesn't seem bothered. If anything, he seems increasingly entertained.
He treats every assignment like a puzzle with rules he understands perfectly well but chooses to approach from whatever angle happens to amuse him. He notices strange details, follows improbable connections, and occasionally makes observations so sharp that Chuuya wonders whether the rest of Dazai's brain is simply hidden underneath all the nonsense.
It is infuriating.
It is also useful.
But Chuuya doesn't like admitting that. He likes it even less when he realizes he is beginning to anticipate Dazai's thoughts.
By the end of the week, he knows when Dazai is about to abandon the plan. He knows the particular tilt of Dazai's head that means an unnecessary theory is forming. He knows that when Dazai becomes unusually quiet, he is probably watching something everyone else has overlooked. And, unfortunately, he knows that when Dazai smiles like that, trouble is coming.
Although Chuuya hasn't quite figured out why the former bothers him too much.
—
The Cupid Department cafeteria is busiest around noon, which means it is also the least peaceful place in the building.
Cupids fill the long tables with conversations about assignments, complaints about paperwork, and arguments over whose case deserves the most ridiculous incident report of the week. Chuuya sits at the end of one table with his tray in front of him, reading their latest case file while eating with one hand.
Across from him, Dazai is doing absolutely nothing useful. He's just staring at a bowl of pudding.
Chuuya eventually looks up. "What?"
"I'm wondering whether pudding tastes better when someone else steals it." The brunette sighs.
"You have your own." Chuuya stares at him.
"I know, but I think food tastes better when it's forbidden."
"That's not a theory. That's you being annoying."
Dazai smiles and reaches across the table.
Chuuya immediately pulls his pudding closer. "Don't even think about it!"
Dazai laughs, resting his chin in his hand. "You're very protective of your food."
"Because you're a thief."
"I've never stolen your food."
"You've tried many times."
"That's different because I haven't succeeded yet."
Chuuya shakes his head and returns to the case file.
Their next assignment involves two people who work in neighboring offices. Neither knows the other exists beyond occasionally holding the elevator door. Chuuya reads through the notes while Dazai leans back in his chair, looking toward the cafeteria windows.
After a while, he says, "Do you think the humans we're assigned to are more interesting than we are?"
Chuuya doesn't look up. "Almost certainly."
"That's cruel."
"It's honest."
Dazai is quiet for a moment.
Then, with the sort of casual certainty that makes Chuuya suspicious, he says, "I think you're more interesting."
Chuuya's eyes lift from the file and he sees Dazai already eating his pudding. There is no indication that he said anything unusual. So Chuuya narrows his eyes.
"You're freaking weird."
"I've been told." Daza shrugs as he take another bite.
"Frequently, I assume."
"By you, mostly."
"Because you give me reasons to cal you so."
Dazai smiles around another spoonful of pudding. Chuuya looks back down at the report. Whatever that was, he decides, isn't worth thinking about.
They're Cupids. They have assignments. And Dazai is strange.
Those three facts explain almost everything.
—
By the end of their first week, Chuuya's opinion of their partnership becomes inconveniently complicated.
Dazai is irresponsible. He is distracting. He is impossible to predict and even harder to keep on task.
Yet when a situation changes, Dazai adapts faster than anyone Chuuya had ever seen work. He notices hesitation in a target's expression, remembers details from an observation made hours earlier, and finds connections between small events that Chuuya wouldn't think to connect.
Chuuya, in turn, keeps them moving. He remembers the objective. He watches the rules. He makes sure Dazai's ideas don't become disasters whenever he can help it. They are, Chuuya reluctantly realizes, beginning to understand each other's rhythm.
Not perfectly, not even gracefully. But enough.
Their assignments still end in chaos but the difference is that the chaos is beginning to look less accidental.
And somewhere between all those little moments, love begins doing the part of the work that no Cupid can ever do for it.
Chuuya doesn't think much about that. He simply closes another completed case file and places it on the growing stack beside his desk.
Dazai appears over his shoulder. "Another success."
"Technically." Chuuya glances at the report.
"That's the important word."
"No, the important word is success. The word technically is there because you keep making our job harder."
Dazai leans closer, looking over the stack with obvious satisfaction. "You know, I think you're starting to enjoy this."
Chuuya turns his head and sees Dazai is smiling. That same irritating, impossible smile.
He scoffs and pushes the report toward him. "Don't flatter yourself. I enjoy finishing the assignments. You're merely the obstacle between me and that goal."
"That's almost affectionate."
"It's absolutely not."
"Give it time."
Chuuya snatches the next case file from the desk. "Read."
Dazai takes it. For once, he does. he drops the blue folder onto the desk between them. "Let's see our next assignment."
Chuuya pulls his chair closer as Dazai opens it, expecting another ordinary assignment involving two strangers who happen to share a café, a workplace, a train route, or some other conveniently overlapping piece of daily life. Instead, the first page catches his attention immediately.
Two photographs are clipped beneath the case number.
AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE — UNIVERSITY STUDENT
NAKAJIMA ATSUSHI — UNIVERSITY STUDENT
Chuuya studies the information beneath the photographs while Dazai leans over his shoulder, reading along.
The case is unusual from the beginning. Both are university students, but their majors have nothing to do with one another and their daily schedules have never overlaped before. Their personalities seem equally mismatched. Their social circles do not intersect. Their routines barely touch.
And yet, according to the Cupid department's compatibility assessment, the two possess an unusually high romantic compatibility.
The problem is that they have never interacted. Not once. No conversation. No accidental meeting. No exchanged glance worth recording. Nothing.
Chuuya turns the page.
Nakajima Atsushi is a sophomore and a student athlete, frequently seen around campus training facilities and university events. His file notes that he is friendly, approachable, and generally well-liked by his peers, though his attempts at romantic relationships have consistently ended in rejection. There are several brief observations attached to the record, none of which make Chuuya particularly surprised after reading the rest.
Dazai, however, becomes fascinated by the photograph. He taps one finger against it. "I think I've found the problem."
Chuuya looks at him. Dazai points directly at Atsushi's hair, specifically the unevenly chopped bangs falling across his forehead.
"The bangs."
Chuuya stares at the picture, then at Dazai, trying to determine whether he is serious. "You've diagnosed his romantic life based on his haircut?"
"Not diagnosed. Hypothesized."
"That's worse."
Dazai examines the photograph again, completely undeterred. "They're very aggressive bangs. Perhaps women find them intimidating."
"They're just bangs."
"Exactly. That's what makes them suspicious."
Chuuya snorts despite himself and continues reading.
The second file belongs to Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, whose profile could not be more different. He is a freshman and a shut-in by most ordinary standards, rarely attending social events and preferring to spend his free time alone. He speaks primarily with his sister and appears largely uninterested in forming relationships with anyone else. Several classmates have attempted to approach him over the course of the semester, only to be ignored with such consistency that the department's observers eventually stopped recording the attempts.
Most notably, Akutagawa apparently doesn't believe in love.
Chuuya reads that line twice. Then he looks at the compatibility score again. It remains absurdly high. "This doesn't make any sense."
"Which part?" Dazai glances at him.
"All of it. They're completely different. Atsushi is outgoing, athletic, and apparently keeps getting rejected because of his terrible hair." Chuuya pauses, giving Dazai a pointed look. "According to your highly scientific analysis."
"I stand by my findings."
"Of course you do." Chuuya turns another page. "And Akutagawa barely talks to anyone, doesn't believe in love, and spends most of his time alone. How exactly does the department expect us to make these two interact when they don't even exist in the same world?"
Dazai takes the file from his hands and studies the two photographs again. For once, his expression isn't particularly playful. There is curiosity there, but beneath it sits something quieter, as though the contradiction itself is enough to interest him.
"Maybe that's why the compatibility is so high."
Chuuya raises an eyebrow.
Dazai closes the folder halfway, resting his hand over the photographs. "Love works in mysterious ways, Chuuya. Sometimes it brings together people who make perfect sense. Sometimes it brings together two people who look like they shouldn't even be standing in the same room."
His gaze shifts toward Chuuya and a smile slowly appears on his face.
"Just like us."
Chuuya's fist connects with his shoulder before the sentence has properly settled.
Dazai staggers sideways with a laugh, rubbing the spot where he was hit while Chuuya closes the case file with considerably more force than necessary.
"Stop joking. Let's go."
Dazai straightens, still grinning.
And just like that, their next assignment begins.
Two strangers. Zero interactions. A compatibility score that makes no sense.
And, somewhere between a student athlete with terrible bangs and a shut-in who doesn't believe in love, the Cupid Department has decided to test whether two people who have absolutely nothing in common might somehow find their way towards each other.