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Coming home late isn’t new routine to Chuuya. It’s an unavoidable consequence of having a career that consists of hiding in the shadows and watching over the night, and she’s accepted that. She’s gotten used to it: the streetlights being lit when she leaves the office, the roads being on the emptier side as she drives, the quietness of her apartment block, the peaceful darkness of her home when she finally swings the door open.
Except, more recently, she’s been coming home to a soft light enveloping her entryway, her door only locked once instead of the usual twice-over. She knows why, of course, and she only smiles as she closes it behind her, locking it properly. Ridding herself of her coat, hat, and shoes, she neatly leaves everything in its appropriate place before moving into the living room. The light’s source—the lamp in the corner of the room—shines bright, perfectly illuminating the lanky figure currently lounging on Chuuya’s couch.
Chuuya huffs and walks over, hands on her hips as she looks down at Dazai. The other woman’s eyes are closed and she’s dressed in her usual sleepwear; nothing but underwear and a white t-shirt; but she’s certainly awake.
“What are you doin’?” Chuuya asks.
A brown eye cracks open, staring up at Chuuya. “I was sleeping,” Dazai says. Her other eye slides open, too and she smirks. “Before a certain fairy came flying in…”
Chuuya scoffs and pointedly eyes the lamp before looking back down at Dazai. She’s sure her disbelieving expression is telling enough; Dazai won’t sleep with any kind of light on, and her usual sleeping mask is nowhere in sight. Dazai just tilts her head and continues to smile.
Chuuya clicks her tongue. “Bastard. Even if you were, why on the couch?”
“Maybe it’s just more comfortable than your bed.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. Dazai stares at her, expression guileless and no cracks in the facade she’s chosen. A few beats pass before Chuuya sighs, crossing her arms. Her lip quirks up just a little. “You were waitin’ up, weren’t ya?”
Dazai scoffs and turns up her nose like the brat she is. “Nonsense.”
Chuuya’s face splits into a grin. “Uh-huh. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”
When Dazai refuses to deign her with an answer, Chuuya snickers. She reaches down to ruffle Dazai’s hair before turning away and heading for the kitchen. She begins going through the motions of making a cup of tea, filling the kettle up and switching it on. As the water boils, she calls back towards the living room. “Osamu! Tea?”
The reply comes just a moment later, “Nope!”
Humming, Chuuya takes one mug out of the cupboard and inserts a tea bag. She pours the water in as soon as it’s boiled and as she waits for it to steep, she glances around the room, looking for anything that’s changed since she left that morning. The first thing that stands out to her is the clean sink and cluttered drying rack: it’s not every day that Dazai takes it upon herself to do the dishes, but it’s always a nice surprise when it happens; the coffee machine not far over has clear marks of recent usage, and Chuuya has no doubt Dazai has had more than one cup; the tea-towels hanging from the cupboards have been replaced with fresh ones, and she can’t help but wonder what Dazai spilled; finally, the bin is overflowing a little, and Chuuya makes a mental note to take the trash out, later.
Her eyes linger on the bin, narrowing in on its visible contents.
Suddenly uncaring if her tea over-steeps, Chuuya spins on her heel and marches back into the living room. Dazai is still on the couch, hands crossed behind her head as she lounges.
“Have you had candy in the past hour?” Chuuya says.
Dazai doesn’t even open her eyes. “Hm? No.”
There’s nothing off about the reply, nothing to indicate that Dazai is lying. Perhaps, if Chuuya were anyone else, she could’ve been fooled into believing the other woman is being truthful. Unfortunately for Dazai, Chuuya is far from anyone else, and she can smell bullshit from lightyears away. She parts her lips, a lecture already forming on her tongue, when an idea sparks in her mind. Her mouth melts into a sly smile and she licks her lips, sauntering forward to stand over Dazai once again.
Dazai opens her eyes when she hears Chuuya approach. Chuuya watches with no small amount of mirth as Dazai eyes her, practically radiating suspicion. She doesn’t let Dazai say anything before she’s lithely climbing atop her girlfriend, settling herself on Dazai’s hips.
Dazai, to her credit, doesn’t have a massive reaction. She hardly bats an eye, really, only watching Chuuya’s actions with curiosity. Chuuya can tell the woman is pleased, though, with the way her hands find Chuuya’s waist, enveloping it perfectly.
Once she’s comfortable, Chuuya leans forward, close enough for their breaths to mingle. She lets a beat pass before she says, “Osamu, kiss me?”
Dazai’s pupils instantly dilate, a deep black overtaking honey-brown. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and her eyes fall to Chuuya’s own; it’s more than enough for Chuuya to begin to lean in further, eager for their mouths to meet.
Just as their lips brush Dazai leans back, her grip on Chuuya suddenly tightening. Dazai eyes Chuuya carefully, eyes narrowed in scepticism. It doesn’t surprise Chuuya much: Dazai’s scarily perceptive and a genius to boot. She’d be concerned if her girlfriend didn’t figure out that something was amiss. Still, Chuuya has a point to prove, so she might as well keep up the act at least a little longer. She folds her lips into a pout, eyebrows furrowing in faux-confusion.
“…You’re up to something,” Dazai says.
Chuuya hums. “Up to what?” She runs a finger along Dazai’s jaw and delights in the shiver it elicits. “I just want to kiss my girlfriend.”
Dazai squirms under her, but Chuuya only tightens her thighs’ grip on Dazai’s waist, firmly trapping her in place. She gives Dazai a wide grin. “What’s wrong, darlin’? You usually jump at the chance to kiss me, don’t you?”
Dazai laughs, a hint of nervousness in it. “You’re cruel, Chuuya.”
Chuuya clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “If ya weren’t such a massive liar, I wouldn’t have to be.”
Dazai doesn’t speak for a long moment, simply staring at Chuuya above her. Chuuya watches her jaw work, her teeth grind against each other as the woman thinks. Eventually, Dazai heaves a long sigh. “…Can I go brush my teeth, first?”
Chuuya quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”
Dazai mimics the expression. “I don’t want to kiss my girlfriend while my breath smells like coffee.”
“As if that’s ever stopped ya before.” Chuuya scoffs. “You’re deflecting.”
“Hmph. Maybe I just have some class, unlike…”
Dazai trails off, and suddenly Chuuya’s being shoved off, her back hitting the soft couch beneath her. The burst of movement serves as enough of a distraction for Dazai to vault over the couch’s backrest and all-but sprint into the kitchen. The whole thing leaves Chuuya momentarily dumbstruck before her face heats up. Damn Dazai and that hidden agility.
It takes her brain a few moments to catch up but as soon as it does, Chuuya’s instantly on her feet, chasing Dazai into their kitchen. As she slips through the doorway, she spots Dazai searching the fridge. “Oh, no you fuckin’ don’t!”
Dazai yelps, slamming the fridge door closed and running behind the island. “I’m being chased by a rabid dog!”
Chuuya stands on the island’s other side, slamming her hands down on the marble surface. “Stop runnin’, bastard, just admit it!”
Dazai, maturely, sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry. It has Chuuya’s blood boiling; from anger or something else entirely, she’s not sure.
And so begins a childish game of cat and mouse as Chuuya tries to catch her girlfriend, with Dazai moving left every time Chuuya tries to turn right and vice-versa. It’s one of the most humiliating experiences of Chuuya’s life, and yet she can’t stop herself from grinning like an idiot.
“I saw the wrapper in the bin, Dazai,” Chuuya says, attempting a distraction, “I’m not an idiot.”
Dazai, obviously, sees right through her and easily answers, “That’s from yesterday.”
“It wasn’t there this morning!” Chuuya gestures to the bin. When Dazai looks over, Chuuya lunges.
“You’re just blind.” Dazai swerves to dodge. She raises a teasing eyebrow. “Do I need to bring you to the optician?”
“No.” Chuuya deadpans. “Ya need to bring yourself to therapy.”
“Ah, that’s so rude!”
“Did you eat the candy?”
“Yesterday.”
“Bullshit!”
“You wanted the truth!”
“And you’re not fuckin’ telling it! Get over here, you—”
Dazai’s giggles fill the kitchen as their silly charade continues. Despite the argument, the atmosphere in the room is comfortably warm. It messes with Chuuya a little, lulling her into a false sense of security: she has something to prove, damn it, she can’t afford to let Dazai’s lively attitude distract her. Shaking her head, she levels Dazai with her best glare. “You’re such a child.”
“You’re the one chasing me like a dog, trying to slobber all over me!”
The comment has Chuuya’s impatience spiking. As capable as she is of chasing Dazai around the island until the other woman inevitably runs out of stamina, she doesn’t feel like prolonging this. Especially since the proof she wants is time-sensitive, and she’ll be damned if Dazai gets away with this so easily. Mind made up, she ceases chasing Dazai around and instead just vaults over the entire island in one fell swoop. Dazai yelps in fear and attempts to back away, but Chuuya’s faster; she pounces on her girlfriend, pushing Dazai against the kitchen wall and pinning her wrists to it on either side of her head.
Heaving, Dazai promptly turns bright red. In response, Chuuya bares her teeth in a grin and leans in.
“Osamu, kiss me?”
Dazai’s words, for once in her life, seem to fail her. She swallows, hard, then gives a curt nod.
Permission granted, Chuuya slowly eases her grip on Dazai’s wrists, sliding her hands along her forearms and to her chest, where she grabs a fistful of Dazai’s shirt collar to pull her face down. Ignoring Dazai’s gasp of surprise, she locks their lips together, tasting Dazai for the first time that evening. Despite the woman’s earlier protests, Dazai eagerly kisses back, deepening the kiss before Chuuya can.
Chuuya’s theory is proven right at the first swipe of Dazai’s tongue against her own. Dazai tastes almost sickeningly sweet: and exactly like her favourite brand of candy. Pleased with her investigation’s success, Chuuya grins into the kiss, looping her arms around Dazai’s neck and pushing her body against her girlfriend’s.
When they finally pull away, panting, Dazai looks ethereally dishevelled. Her cheeks are still red, if not redder; her lips glossy with a sheen of saliva and tinted red from Chuuya’s lipstick. It’s the most beautiful thing Chuuya’s seen and she yearns to continue, her heartbeat in her ears. Her brain takes precedence for a brief moment, though, and she lightly tugs on Dazai’s hair. Ignoring the resulting whine, she says, “No more sweets at night.”
Dazai’s nose scrunches in distaste. “If you came home earlier I’d have something else to snack on.”
Chuuya lets go of her hair, though her fingers continue to twirl some strands at her nape. She huffs. “Not my fault.”
“I don’t care. You can’t give out to me if you’re the one causing my misbehaviour.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Chuuya says, thumbs caressing the skin of Dazai’s nape. “How’s that?”
Dazai scowls. “Don’t try to win me over—”
Chuuya kisses her again, cutting the sentence short. Dazai sighs and melts into the kiss and Chuuya lets herself giggle. Their kisses continue, turning lazier and slower with every one. Eventually, Dazai’s hands slip into the back pockets of Chuuya’s slacks; the movement reminds Chuuya of the time, and she lifts her lips from Dazai’s before moving to kiss all over her face, instead. It leaves Dazai with red lipstick marks all over her face, from her cheeks to her forehead.
Dazai rubs at her cheek and grimaces upon glancing at her fingers. “Chuuya, you’re getting slobber and lipstick all over me.”
Chuuya snickers and kisses her cheek again. “I think you’ll live.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Chuuya doesn’t grace Dazai with a reply to that, opting to link their hands instead. She begins to pull Dazai towards the exit of the kitchen. “C’mon, you big baby. Wash up, then sleep.”
Dazai lets herself be dragged, though she stops them both in the doorframe. When Chuuya turns around with a questioning head tilt, Dazai says, “Chuuya, your tea.”
Chuuya blinks, craning her head to look behind Dazai at the tea left abandoned on the countertop. She stares at it for a moment, then shrugs. “Eh, it’s whatever. Probably over-steeped, anyway. I’ll make myself another one in the morning.” She begins to walk again, Dazai in tow.
Dazai sniffs as she follows. “Pretentious.”
“Nah, I just have taste, unlike you.” Chuuya swings open the door of their bathroom, letting Dazai flick the light on. She scrunches her nose as they enter. “Your taste in drinks is horrendous.”
“My preference in beverages is perfectly fine,” Dazai says, eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror. “You’re just pretentious, as I said.”
Chuuya raises a disbelieving eyebrow and scoffs. “I know the woman who just said ‘preference in beverages’ isn’t calling me pretentious. You talk like you’re from an old literature novel.”
Dazai hums as she reaches for a washcloth, dampening it and wiping at the lipstick marks on her face. “Maybe Chuuya’s vulgar vocabulary is just brutish and underdeveloped?”
Chuuya feels her eye twitch. “I’ll show you underdeveloped, you absolute—”
“Ah, ah,” Dazai says, “what would Ane-san say?”
“She’d tell me to beat you the fuck up.” Chuuya deadpans. She scowls at her girlfriend for a few more moments before taking the washcloth from her hands. “Fuck’s sake, c’mere, I’ll do it.”
Dazai smirks. “Can you reach?”
Chuuya’s expression doesn’t change as she grabs Dazai’s shoulder and shoves her down, forcing her to sit on the toilet lid. “I can.” She holds Dazai’s jaw firmly with one hand and starts running the washcloth over her face with the other. Dazai lets her. For the sake of her own sanity, Chuuya ignores the grin that stays plastered on her annoyingly pleased face.
“Chuuya,” Dazai says, muffled due to her lips being squished together by Chuuya’s grip.
“What,” Chuuya grounds out, scrubbing a particularly stubborn lipstick stain on Dazai’s forehead.
“I love you.”
Chuuya pauses her ministrations, pulling away to stare at her girlfriend. Dazai looks beautiful; even with a half-washed red face, muddled hair and her eye-bags more visible under fluorescent bathroom lights.
“Yeah,” Chuuya says, smiling. “I love you, too.”