Chapter Text
Chuuya looks rather silly when he’s concentrating this hard.
Dazai watches his blue eyes narrow, his intense gaze fixed on the target in front of him as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched. He must be feeling the pressure. After all, he only has one chance left—one last shot. He doesn’t even have gravity on his side to help him here. There’s no room for error. If he misses, it’s over.
Dazai tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as Chuuya takes a deep breath, shoots a brief glare his way, then zeroes back in on the target.
Boom.
“Fuck!”
He missed.
“Motherfucker!” Chuuya jumps out of his seat and points a finger over the machine at Dazai. “You rigged it! I don’t know how, but I know you did, you cheating piece of shit!”
Dazai is already cackling maniacally, doubled over in his seat as confetti explodes across his screen, the words YOU WIN flashing in large letters.
“Chuuya is such a sore loser,” he giggles, wiping the corner of his eye.
“And you’re a fucking cheater!”
Dazai grins up at him with a look of triumph that stems not just from winning their game, but from getting this exact reaction out of Chuuya. Chuuya is just so fun to mess with. He’s loud and expressive and absolutely incapable of hiding what he feels. Dazai relishes in pushing his buttons, little by little, until he finally explodes. It’s endlessly entertaining.
“Shh,” Dazai says cheerfully. “You’re going to get us kicked out again.”
Chuuya looks like he wants to keep shouting, but this is the only arcade left in Yokohama that hasn’t banned the two of them yet. So he shuts his mouth and stalks over to Dazai instead.
“You didn’t win,” he says through gritted teeth.
“This says otherwise," Dazai nods toward his screen. “Which means, as the winner, I get to order you to be my dog for the rest of the day.”
Chuuya groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Again with the dog shit?”
“It shouldn’t be too hard for you; you’ve already got a collar and everything. I’m honestly doing you a favor, letting you live as your authentic self.”
“Fuck off,” Chuuya growls, like the little dog he is. “It’s not a fucking collar and you don’t get to order me to do shit because you didn’t fucking win! You cheated. I don’t know how the hell you did it, but you cheated!” He keeps going, yelling at Dazai without even stopping to take a breath.
Dazai sighs and tries to tune him out. There’s no point trying to interrupt when Chuuya gets like this. Around them, heads begin to turn. A few annoyed glances are thrown their way; one kid snickers and nudges his friend, a few girls glare at the noise, and an employee looks over from across the arcade with a wary expression. They’re getting too many looks. At this rate, they’re absolutely going to get kicked out.
Dazai glances back at Chuuya and wishes he had duct tape with him. That would be an effective way to shut him up.
His train of thought is interrupted by a buzz from his pocket. Dazai fishes out his phone, glances at the screen, then wordlessly turns it toward Chuuya, whose tirade dies instantly.
Normally, a call from the boss would never put a smile on Dazai's face. This time, however, he’s got to hand it to Mori and his impeccable timing. Smirking down at Chuuya, whose lips are now zipped, Dazai answers the phone with a lazy, “Yes?”
“Dazai,” Mori says. “Where are you?”
“Arcade.”
“I’m assuming you are with Chuuya.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good. I need both of you for something. Come to my office immediately.”
The line goes dead before Dazai can complain. With a sigh, he slips his phone back into his coat pocket.
“Boss wants us,” he tells Chuuya, who’d been staring at him for the duration of the call. “Apparently we’re both needed.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue. “Great.”
As they head for the exit, Dazai says, “Don’t think I’ll let this go.”
Chuuya eyes him warily. “Let what go?”
“Our bet!” Dazai beams, hooking a finger under Chuuya’s choker and giving it a light tug. “I still need to reap the benefits of my hard earned victory.”
“Hard earned?” Chuuya scoffs, swatting his hand away. “You mean your stolen victory?”
“A win is a win.”
“It absolutely is not!” Chuuya yells, voice rising once again. Thankfully they’ve made it off the premises and therefore cannot get kicked out. “We’re having a rematch.”
“Is Chuuya that desperate to lose again?”
“I won’t fucking lose because I won’t let you cheat!”
Their bickering continues all the way to headquarters, only dying down once the elevator reaches Mori’s floor. Chuuya’s face is still flushed with rage and Dazai’s wearing the smug, satisfied smirk he always has when he’s managed to push Chuuya’s buttons.
He pushes open the office door, foregoing the dutiful bow Chuuya automatically drops into at the sight of their boss, and strolls straight toward Mori’s desk.
Mori doesn’t immediately acknowledge either of them. He sits with his head lowered, calmly writing on a slip of paper. The only sound in the room is the quiet scratch of his pen and the shuffling of their shoes.
Dazai and Chuuya wait, neither of them speaking a word.
It takes another minute before Mori places his pen down, folds the paper in half, and slips it into a thick cream-colored envelope. Only then does he look up.
“Dazai. Chuuya.”
“Boss,” Chuuya answers.
“What’d you call us here for?” Dazai asks, straight to the point.
Mori sits back, steepling his fingers. He regards them in silence for a moment before saying, “I have a job that I can only entrust to the two of you.”
Both of them straighten instinctively.
“You are to travel to Fukuoka to retrieve a package for me.”
“Okay,” Dazai says slowly. That hardly sounds like something important enough to send the two of them on. “A package of what exactly?”
“You don’t need to know.”
Dazai’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is it dangerous?”
Mori doesn’t say anything for a few long moments. “The fewer people who know its nature, the better.”
Chuuya whistles low. “That dangerous then?”
“If the package happens to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences will be… dire.”
Dazai watches Mori with narrowed eyes. It’s definitely not unusual for Mori to assign his beloved Double Black on top-secret, high-priority missions. They’ve assassinated politicians, stolen state secrets, and erased entire organizations from existence. Normally, he would summarize those jobs in less than a minute.
“Ah, Dazai, Chuuya. I need you to completely annihilate this rival organization for me. Try not to die. You may leave now.”
He’s never this weirdly cagey.
“Inside this envelope,” Mori continues, sliding the envelope on his desk towards Dazai, who picks it up, weighing it in his hand, “you’ll find further detailed instructions, along with everything else you’ll need for this mission, including your train tickets.”
“We’re traveling commercially?” Chuuya asks.
Mori nods. “For the duration of this assignment, you’ll pose as two ordinary high school students spending the weekend out of town. I need the two of you to blend in as much as possible. That means no Port Mafia vehicles, no visible weapons, and above all, no attracting unnecessary attention.”
Dazai immediately frowns. “I don’t think Chuuya can pull that off.”
Chuuya turns to him. “What?”
“Such a chibi could never pass as a high schooler. Perhaps he should be in middle school and I can act as his chaperone.”
“Middle school?!” Chuuya repeats, outraged. “I’m older than you!”
He looks ready to launch into another shouting match but holds himself back when Mori clears his throat. Mori studies the pair of them before leaning back in his seat.
“This assignment is exceptionally important. Once you retrieve the package, you will bring it directly back to me—no detours. However, if you are followed or if the mission is compromised in any way, the package takes priority.”
Dazai wants to ask, for the second time, what kind of package could possibly warrant this level of secrecy. But he keeps his mouth shut. Mori has never looked this serious over a retrieval mission. Whatever they’re bringing back from Fukuoka, it’s important enough that Mori is entrusting it to no one but them. And neither of them has any idea what they’re about to risk their lives for.
“I trust you two will handle it with the utmost care.”
They both nod.
“And Chuuya.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“No fighting unless absolutely necessary.”
Chuuya frowns. “Why are you directing that at me?”
“You are the more hotheaded of you two.”
Dazai snorts.
“I also expect you to ensure Dazai doesn’t create any unnecessary incidents.”
It’s Chuuya’s turn to snort. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. That will be all.”
Chuuya bows again and the two of them turn to the door when Mori speaks again.
“Dazai.”
Dazai halts.
“Let Chuuya take the envelope. I have one more task for you.”
He glances back.
“It’s waiting in Holding Cell Three.”
Dazai understands immediately. He smiles. “Got it.”
—
Two black eyes blink up at the ceiling.
The metal above him is dented in places, rusted through in others. Spiderwebs of cracks run along its surface.
It’s raining outside, hard enough that it sounds like a thousand bullets pelting the container all at once. Water drips down onto his futon in slow drops from a crack he never bothers to fix.
Dazai counts them, eyes following each drop’s fall, lingering on the damp patch spreading on his futon. He lays his hand over the patch, palm up to catch the water. It pools in the hollow of his hand, settling in the lines of his palm. They’re bare today. He hadn’t bothered replacing the blood-soaked bandages he’d peeled off the night before. Or maybe it was a few nights ago.
Truth be told, Dazai doesn’t really know how long he’s been lying here, on his thin futon on the floor of the shipping container he calls home. He’d finished the task given to him, interrogated someone Mori wanted information from, tortured him to the brink of insanity, then stumbled home after a job well done.
He always does his job well. Perfectly, even. Yet he seldom feels any real satisfaction from it. He hardly feels anything at all these days. He joined the Port Mafia to find a reason to live and so far, he’s found nothing.
A buzzing near his hand draws his attention to his phone. Dazai’s wet fingers twitch slightly, but he makes no move to pick it up, letting it buzz on and on until it finally stops.
There’s silence for a moment, and then it buzzes again. Still, he doesn’t move. He already knows who’s calling and why. He and Chuuya are supposed to head to Fukuoka today for the mysterious mission Mori assigned them.
Another drop of water falls into his palm. The phone goes silent. And, like clockwork, a few seconds later, it buzzes again.
This time, Dazai smiles, imagining the rage building inside his tiny partner at being ignored. He lets the phone ring out once more, watching the water spill over the edges of his palm and drip back onto the futon.
Dazai waits for a moment, but when the buzzing doesn’t start back up again, he sighs. He should probably get up and get dressed before his dog decides to come fetch him personally.
Finding something to wear proves to be a needlessly irritating ordeal. Dazai doesn’t have a whole lot of clothes, and even fewer ones that a normal teenager would realistically wear. After rifling through everything he owns, he settles for a long sleeved white t-shirt, a slightly loose pair of trousers, and of course his coat.
Just as a freshly bandaged and dressed Dazai is stuffing a change of clothes into his backpack, there’s a loud, furious pounding on the container door.
“Dazai!” Chuuya’s voice pierces through the metal walls, still loud over the pattering rain. “I know you’re in there, you asshole!”
Dazai’s ignores him. He deliberately takes his time searching for his toothbrush before tossing it into the bag while Chuuya continues rattling the door.
"Mackerel!"
Dazai's lips twitch upwards. He hates to admit it, but these days, the one thing that does bring him any semblance of satisfaction is Chuuya. Or, more specifically, annoying Chuuya.
The pounding grows even louder.
“Open the fucking door!”
Dazai lazily stretches his arms over his head, pats the side of his face to make sure his bandage is secure, and finally strolls over to his noisy dog. He unfastens the latch and swings open the door just as Chuuya draws his fist back for another hit.
A gust of wind and rain sweeps inside the container. Caught off balance, Chuuya nearly stumbles forward as well. He catches himself, straightens, then glares up at Dazai from under a bright red umbrella. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, an oversized varsity jacket over a black t-shirt, and white sneakers. Thank god he ditched his tacky hat.
“Took you long enough,” he snaps at Dazai, cheeks flushed and blue eyes blazing. “What the hell is wrong with you? I called you three fucking times!”
Dazai leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, and tilts his head. “Aw, Chuuya missed me that much?”
Chuuya gives him a flat stare before looking past him into the shipping container. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his nose wrinkles at the state of Dazai’s living conditions. Not that Dazai cares. His sad, cramped, leaky metal box suits him just fine.
“Believe me,” Chuuya says, dragging his attention back to Dazai’s face. “I’d be thrilled if I never had to see your stupid face again. But we have a job to do and if you don’t get your ass moving, we’re gonna miss our train.”
Dazai hums. “Did you bring the envelope?”
“Of course I brought the fucking envelope; how incompetent do you think I am?”
Dazai opens his mouth.
“Don’t answer that, smartass,” Chuuya says immediately. “Just hurry up and get out of this shitty metal box. I want to get this over with and so I can go back to pretending you don’t exist.”
“A dog shouldn’t order his master around,” Dazai drawls, grabbing his backpack. Before stepping out into the rain, he holds out his hand. “Give me the umbrella.”
“Get your own!”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then get wet. I don’t fucking care.”
Ignoring the objection, Dazai forces himself under Chuuya’s umbrella. The container door clangs shut behind them. “Give it here, chibi.”
“No.”
“If your tiny arms hold it, we’re both going to get soaked.”
Chuuya lets out an irritated growl, like the little dog he is, but realizes Dazai has a point and relinquishes the umbrella with obvious reluctance. Satisfied, Dazai pretends to adjust it over their heads, then tilts it to his side, exposing Chuuya to the rain. Chuuya yelps and jerks closer to get back under cover, knocking into Dazai’s side and sending them both stumbling into a puddle.
“Ugh,” Dazai groans, shaking his drenched shoes. “Chuuya’s so clumsy.”
“Asshole,” Chuuya glares at him. “It’s your fucking fault. Hold that shit properly. If you get me wet again, I’ll knock you into another puddle.”
Dazai rolls his eyes, leading the way to the train station. With the umbrella firmly in his grasp, he sets the pace just fast enough for Chuuya’s shorter legs to have to work noticeably harder to keep up. As they walk, he hears the increasingly irritated huffs beside him and it doesn’t take long for Chuuya to become fed up with him.
“You’re so annoying!” Chuuya finally snaps.
He tries to snatch back the umbrella, but Dazai simply lifts it higher, well out of his reach, exposing both of them to the rain this time.
Chuuya growls and grabs Dazai’s wrist, yanking it back down. “Give it to me!”
Dazai keeps his grip firm. “Chuuya’s too tiny to hold it properly!”
“You’re the one who can’t hold it properly!”
The rain picks up even more in the midst of their scuffle and Dazai’s getting too wet for his own liking, water seeping into his bandages. Deciding that getting soaked for the sake of annoying Chuuya isn’t worth it, he gives in a little.
“Fine, fine,” he sighs. “I’ll walk slow enough for Chuuya’s little legs to keep up.”
“If you call me little one more time, I’ll fucking drown you in a puddle.”
To stay even remotely dry, they’re forced to huddle closer together until their shoulders bump with nearly every step. It still barely helps. Rain blows in from the sides, soaking the sides of their bodies that aren't pressed together. Water splashes into their shoes and over their pant legs with every step. Dazai can feel the fresh bandages under his clothes growing wetter and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
By the time they reach the station, half of Dazai and most of Chuuya are completely drenched. They’re both cold, wet, and annoyed, but at least they’ve made it on time.
The moment they step under the roof of the building, Dazai shoves the umbrella into Chuuya’s hands.
“There. You can have it now.”
“You’re the worst.”
Shoes squelching and hair dripping, they weave through the crowd to their platform, where their train has just begun boarding. Chuuya fishes their slightly damp tickets from an inner pocket of his jacket and they file aboard the Shinkansen with the rest of the passengers.
As expected, their assigned seats are next to each other. Dazai claims the window seat before Chuuya can object. Chuuya rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother arguing, dropping into the seat next to him. He runs a hand through his rain-soaked hair before shaking his head like a dog.
Dazai snorts.
“Asshole,” Chuuya mutters. “You got me fucking drenched.”
“Not me. The rain. Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to control the weather,” Dazai laments.
“You kept moving the umbrella!”
“It was the wind.”
“Bullshit. If your weak arms couldn’t handle a little wind, you could've just let me hold it.”
“If Chuuya weren’t so small, I would’ve.”
“Stop calling me small!” Chuuya rounds on him, pointing a finger in his face. “I’ll have you know, you beanpole, that I’m still fucking growing! Don’t get so comfortable talking down to me now, because one day I’m gonna be taller than you, and then you’ll be sorry!”
Chuuya goes on and on, yelling at him. Normally, Dazai would seize an opportunity like this and keep riling him up. After all, they’re trapped together for nearly five hours with nowhere for him to escape—poking Chuuya until he burst would be an excellent way to pass the time, and a welcome distraction from the miserable feeling of cold, wet clothes sticking to his body.
But Chuuya completely lacks volume control and his yelling is already drawing curious and wary looks from several nearby passengers. At this rate, he’ll compromise their mission before it’s even properly begun. Dazai finds himself longing for duct tape yet again.
“Could you lower your voice?” he finally says, cutting off Chuuya’s ranting. “Remember what Mori said about attracting unwanted attention.”
Chuuya’s eye twitches. He swallows whatever he was about to yell, and does considerably lower his voice as he leans in and hisses, “You’re lucky we’re in public or I’d beat the shit out of you.”
Dazai just gives him a sweet smile that only serves to make Chuuya visibly angrier, before reaching into his backpack for the book he always carries with him. If he can’t pass the time annoying Chuuya more than he already has, at least he has this to keep himself entertained.
“You’re still reading that suicide book?”
Dazai hums, flipping to a random page. “I find it inspirational.”
Chuuya doesn’t seem to want to grace that with a response. He huffs and shifts as far away from Dazai as he can possibly get on his seat.
As the train steadily traverses through the city, Dazai alternates between reading and gazing out the rain streaked window, though he can see little more than grey skies and blurry buildings slipping past. Every now and then he hears Chuuya mutter under his breath at the chess game he's playing on his phone.
It sounds like he’s losing. Serves him right.
Time passes slowly and a deep chill settles in Dazai’s bones from his cold, wet clothes. His eyes glaze over the pages of his book, which is no longer serving as an effective enough distraction. The words blur together on the page as his thoughts start wandering towards dark places he’d rather not go to right now.
Looking for something, anything, to occupy himself with, Dazai glances over at Chuuya—only to find him fast asleep. His phone is held loosely in his lap, an unfinished chess game still glowing on the screen. His head is tilted to the side at an awkward angle, orange strands falling into his face. He’s definitely going to wake up with an awful crick in his neck.
Dazai watches him for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He quickly rummages through his backpack until his fingers find it—a permanent marker. Perfect.
Dazai shifts in his seat, angling himself toward Chuuya, whose head is practically falling into the aisle. Dazai reaches out and lightly grabs his chin, turning Chuuya’s face toward him. Ever the heavy sleeper, Chuuya doesn’t stir. He looks relaxed, calm.
Dazai’s seen Chuuya’s sleeping face dozens of times—whether it’s during the aftereffects of Corruption or on an overnight mission. It’s a nice face, if Dazai’s being honest. Despite Dazai constantly telling him how ugly he is, Chuuya’s far from it. Objectively speaking, he’s actually rather handsome.
Well, not for long. Dazai bites the cap off his marker and gets right to work.
—
Dazai blinks open his eye, rousing from a sleep he doesn’t remember falling into by the train slowing down. For a few hazy seconds, he doesn’t register the position he’s in, his cheek resting atop something damp yet warm. Then he realizes it’s Chuuya’s head and immediately stiffens.
The movement must wake Chuuya up, because he lifts his cheek from Dazai’s shoulder, blinks a few times, then meets Dazai’s eye.
The stare at each other, faces too close, before springing apart. Chuuya's cheeks turn bright red but Dazai, on the other hand, has no time to feel embarrassment because he gets a good look at Chuuya’s face, at the artwork he’d scribbled over it, and is unable to bite back a smile.
Chuuya—with his drawn-on cat whiskers, blush lines, a tiny game of tic-tac-toe scrawled on his forehead, and various other illegible scribbles—notices the look on Dazai’s face and goes from looking mortified to confused. He narrows his eyes.
“What—” he starts but is interrupted by the train announcing they’ve finally reached their destination.
“Now arriving at Hakata Station.”
Chuuya gives Dazai a look of suspicion before rising to his feet and stretching his tiny legs. “Let’s just fucking go.”
Still smiling, Dazai follows him and the crowd off the train. Outside, Fukuoka is gray and wet with dark clouds covering the sky, blocking out any sunlight from slipping through.
According to the directions Mori left in the envelope, their hotel is about a twenty minute walk away. Lovely.
Chuuya lets out a long, exhausted groan before opening his umbrella and wordlessly handing it to Dazai.
Dazai blinks. “You’re just giving it to me?”
“I don’t have the energy to argue with you. I just want to get to the hotel and get dry as soon as possible.”
For once, they’re in total agreement. They’re both tired from the journey, wet from the weather, hungry from not eating all day, and still have tomorrow’s mission hanging over their heads.
Dazai accepts the umbrella without any more comment and doesn’t try anything funny as they head into the rain. Still, the walk isn’t entirely miserable if only because every so often, Dazai glances over at Chuuya and gets a look of his thoroughly vandalized face, and his mood improves considerably.
When their hotel comes into view, both of them instinctively pick up the pace, eager to at last be free from the rain.
The building is small, old, and easy to miss, wedged between a laundromat and a closed ramen shop. The moment they walk into the lobby, Dazai is hit with the smell of damp carpet and sweat. He wrinkles his nose slightly as Chuuya walks straight to the front desk, where a young woman does a double take at his face.
Suppressing a laugh, Dazai wanders over to the vending machines as she giggles and asks Chuuya, “Checking in?”
Dazai can hear the confusion in Chuuya’s voice when he answers, “Uh, yeah.”
Dazai smiles to himself as he looks through the snack options.
“Room 307. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks. Come on, asshole,” Chuuya says to Dazai, walking right past him toward the stairs.
Dazai whistles pleasantly as they ascend, and it’s a testament to Chuuya’s exhaustion that he doesn’t even tell him to shut the fuck up.
The moment they step into their room Chuuya tosses his backpack onto one of the beds and grabs a rolled up towel.
“I’m showering first.”
“Be my guest.”
Dazai turns on the air conditioner that he’s frankly surprised the room even has, hoping it’ll aid in drying their soaked clothes, as the bathroom door clicks shut behind Chuuya. He’s in the middle of toeing off his wet shoes when—
“Dazai!”
The bathroom door bursts open so hard it slams against the wall. Chuuya storms into the room, his face bright red beneath layers of smeared, half-washed permanent marker.
“You drew on my fucking face?!”
Dazai takes one look at him and, after holding back for so long, completely loses it. He doubles over in laughter, clutching his stomach as tears of mirth well up in his eyes.
Chuuya grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at his head. “You let me walk around like this, you asshole!”
“It suits you, Chuuya,” Dazai manages between fits of laughter. “The girl downstairs couldn’t keep her eyes off you.”
“Weren’t we specifically told not to do anything that would make us stand out?”
Dazai wipes his eyes. He hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time. “I was simply committing to the role!”
“What role?”
“A perfectly normal teenage boy. Of course Chuuya wouldn't know, but this is something friends do to each other all the time!”
“You’re a dead man walking, Dazai Osamu. I’m gonna kill you and I’m gonna make it the most painful death possible. You can fucking kiss you dreams of a painless suicide goodbye, you absolute menace—”
Dazai’s laughter dies out but a small, amused smile lingers as Chuuya launches into his usual diatribe, his voice rising with every insult he throws at him. Once again, Dazai wishes he’d packed a roll of duct tape. Maybe he should buy one tomorrow. His gaze drifts down to Chuuya’s mouth as he imagines taping it shut.
Chuuya has nice lips. Again, strictly objectively speaking. They’re pink, and full, and moving too fast as he goes on and on without pause. An idea forms in Dazai’s head and the sound of Chuuya’s voice fades into the background.
Eyes still on Chuuya’s mouth, Dazai leans in, cutting him off mid-sentence, and presses their lips together.
It doesn’t last long; he pulls back almost immediately and blinks down at Chuuya, studying his reaction.
For the first time since Dazai has met him, Chuuya seems to be at a loss for words. He’s frozen in place, staring up at him, eyes impossibly wide, mouth hanging open. Dazai grins. Mission accomplished.
“What,” Chuuya finally manages, voice hoarse, “the fuck was that?”
Dazai hums, thoughtful. “I was just wondering what it’d be like.”
Chuuya looks at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Kind of disappointing, honestly,” Dazai adds with a shrug. “Chuuya’s not a very good kisser.”
Chuuya’s face turns red. “You caught me off guard! You can’t just fucking kiss people out of the blue like that, asshole!”
“Was that Chuuya’s first kiss?” Dazai asks, tilting his head. “Because that would explain a lot.”
“No, it wasn’t!”
“Your lack of skill must come from a lack of experience,” Dazai continues, smile widening. He knows for a fact that Chuuya has kissed people before. It’s actually Dazai who doesn’t have any experience. But the indignant fury that flashes across Chuuya’s face is amusing enough for Dazai to continue teasing him. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Must be hard finding someone willing to lock lips with such a slimy little slug.”
“I’m not inexperienced! And you just willingly kissed me!”
“It’s okay, Chuuya. There’s no shame in being repulsive to everyone around you.”
It’s such fun watching Chuuya flail about like this, sputtering and furious. He lets out a frustrated growl and grabs Dazai by the collar. Dazai braces himself, expecting more yelling, maybe a punch, perhaps even a knee to the gut—definitely some sort of violence.
What he’s not expecting is for Chuuya to yank him down and kiss him.
For a moment, Dazai just stiffly stands there, back hunched, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, and stares, a little crosseyed, at Chuuya. At the wet hair clinging to his forehead, the freckles on his closed eyelids, the wrinkles that form between his furrowed brows, the faded doodles still scribbled over his face.
Dazai has never been particularly interested in things that a normal teenage boy would froth at the mouth over. Things like kissing and sex, while he could understand the appeal in theory, never took up much space in his mind.
Now though, as his pulse involuntarily quickens and his body grows warm despite the cold clinging to his skin, as Chuuya moves his lips against his, kissing Dazai like he’s trying to prove a point—which, to be fair, he is—he gets it. And so, he finally lets his own eyes fall closed, brings his hands up to Chuuya’s back, and kisses back.
Despite his lack of experience, Dazai is nothing if not a quick learner. He mirrors the movement of Chuuya’s mouth, tilting his head slightly to slot their lips together more comfortably. His fingers dig into the wet fabric clinging to Chuuya’s skin as he pulls his body flush to his. Chuuya responds by kissing him even harder.
When they finally pull away to catch their breaths, they’re both flushed and panting.
Dazai clears his throat and straightens, adjusting his eye bandage. “Not bad for a second kiss.”
Chuuya’s expression morphs back into rage. “I told you, that wasn’t my first—”
“I know, chibi,” Dazai says lightly. “I was talking about myself.”
Chuuya blinks. “Are you—was that—? Why the fuck were you taunting me like that when you’re the one—”
As Chuuya complains, Dazai tilts his head, thoughtful. He better test out his theory one more time—just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. So again, with no warning, Dazai leans in and kisses Chuuya mid-rant.
Chuuya makes a startled noise before immediately melting into it like butter in Dazai’s hands.
When Dazai pulls back, Chuuya blinks up at him, slightly dazed, eyes unfocused like he’s momentarily forgotten where they are. Dazai smiles, slow and pleased.
“Good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “It works.”
“Wha—” Chuuya’s question is interrupted by his own stomach growling loudly. They both freeze and Chuuya’s face turns a shade redder. He clears his throat, taking a step back from Dazai. “We should get something to eat.”
“We should.” Dazai nods, amused at how with every step Chuuya takes away from him, the more awkward he seems to get. He has to stop himself from closing the distance between them again, seeing how Chuuya will react if Dazai gives him enough warning before pressing their lips together.
“I’ll, uh—I’m gonna shower first.”
Without waiting for a response, Chuuya turns around and hastily disappears back into the bathroom. A second later, the shower starts running.
Dazai blinks. For a moment, he just stares at the bathroom door, torn between amusement and disappointment as he plays back the past ten minutes in his head until a chill runs through his body, reminding him that he’s still soaking wet.
So he turns his attention back to his wet shoes. He kicks them off, hangs his coat on the back of the door, right in line with the air conditioner, strips off his soaked clothes, then begins the process of unwrapping the wet bandages sticking to his skin, starting with his eye and working his way down.
Once completely bare, he pats himself dry, then starts rewrapping himself with a fresh roll. Usually, the repetitive routine of unwrapping and rewrapping himself clears his head, but today, his mind is racing. His thoughts keep circling back to Chuuya.
One on hand, he’s glad he finally discovered an effective way to shut him up. On the other hand… he hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. Dazai frowns.
Is kissing simply more enjoyable than he’d given it credit for? Or did he like it so much because it was Chuuya specifically? He tries to imagine kissing someone else—anyone else. The thought alone makes his stomach churn. Dazai grimaces.
Well, that answers that, even if Dazai doesn't particularly like the answer.
Maybe he shouldn’t use this newfound hand he’s discovered against Chuuya, for the sake of his own sanity.
By the time Chuuya emerges from the bathroom, Dazai has changed into his pajamas, scattered the rest of his clothes out to dry, and is sitting on his bed, pretending to read. He glances up to find Chuuya in just a pair of sweatpants, a towel hanging from his bare shoulders, looking anywhere but at Dazai.
Despite the sight of a shirtless Chuuya being nothing new to Dazai's eyes, it still makes his heart rate inexplicably spike. He quickly forces it back under control and looks back down at his book as Chuuya silently moves around the room. His eyes stare blankly at the words swimming on the page, his mind swirling.
When he peeks back up again, Chuuya has thankfully pulled on an oversized t-shirt and is draping his own wet clothes on the back of every available surface.
When he finishes, Chuuya just stands there for a moment, like he doesn’t know where to go or what to do.
Dazai almost smiles. He’s never seen Chuuya this awkward before. It’s strangely reassuring. At least he’s not only one who’s been thrown off balance—though, he is much better at hiding it.
“So,” Dazai finally says, making Chuuya startle slightly.
“So,” Chuuya echoes.
“Food?”
“Yeah.”
Going back out into the rain sounds miserable, so they settle for raiding the vending machines in the lobby. The selection is depressingly limited, but it does have crab bentos which is all Dazai really needs. He grabs one and a bottle of iced tea, then steps aside for Chuuya.
Chuuya lingers in front of the machine for an absurdly long time, studying the rows with way too much concentration. He buys a cup of ramen, then some chips, then a bottle of orange juice. He stares at the machine again, buys a bento, then stares some more.
“Planning to buy the whole machine?” Dazai asks.
Chuuya shoots him a glare, then goes back to his staring.
“Can Chuuya even fit this much food inside such a tiny body?”
Before Dazai can react, Chuuya whirls around and hits him on the side of the head with the juice bottle. “Let’s go, asshole. I’m fucking starving.”
“Ow.” Dazai rubs the sore spot, smiling to himself as he follows Chuuya back upstairs. At least it doesn’t seem like things will permanently be weird between them.