Kimisu
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“Ok, listen. Do not. Make fun of me for this.”
“No promises,” the deer hummed, finally finding a position that wouldn’t give him back pain.
The TV overlord before him gathered himself one last time—his screen tinting a deeper shade of purple than usual—and pulled out a jewelry box from behind his back.
Alastor raised an eyebrow. That was anticlimactic.
Vox gifts Alastor a branded thigh jewelry with the VoxTek logo on it. Chaos (and smut) ensues.
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It’s a bad idea. Clinging to the flickers of love that are still burning deep inside. Ones that he promised to bury the last time he left.
It’s a bad idea. To think that maybe, if he comes back this time, it won’t turn into a disaster. That he’ll be better. He’ll listen.
...bad idea. To find comfort in the old memories that most likely were a lie in the first place. But what else is he left to do? He might as well make the most of his time.
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At first, hearing a knock on his door made Dazai mentally grunt in anger. He though he explicitly stated not to bother him without a reason!
So praying to all the gods his sudden intruder would actually be a mafia informant he requested instead of an angry Kunikida or a worried Atsushi, he quickly shouted “Open!” and got back to staring at the screen of his laptop.
“Keeping your door unlocked while still having a 8-digit bounty on your head? And I thought I was the bold one between us.” An awfully familiar voice scoffed from the corridor. The same voice then proceeded to take off his shoes and slowly approach the brunette, pacing lightly but steadily.Well, fuck him, fortune really doesn’t favor him today, does it?
(Based on a HC that Dazai spends days before every major arc planning and arranging the pieces in order for everything to 'work'. He also pushes his body limits a bit too far when doing that sometimes.)
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Catching his breath from running for so long, petite mafia raised his head, taking in the room, looking for a place to rest and-
Just what the fuck was this safe house?
It was a hardly furnished box of four blank concrete walls with only a pathetic resemblance of a kitchen, a carpet and one chair, which Dazai was somehow already occupying.
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Summary
They both laughed, loosing themselves in that tiny piece full moment, where they both could let themselves be happy. Forget the ADA and the port mafia, forget Fyodor and the rats, forget that they’re rivals and that Dazai is a traitor, forget burned bridges and bottled up emotions...Just the two of them. Not detective Dazai Osamu and port mafia executive Chuuya Nakahara.
Just Dazai and Chuuya.
Once again.
Everything else can wait.