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Sometimes, the universe created enemies. Forces opposing in every way, incapable of even the smallest form of understanding beyond their mutual withering hatred. They clashed again and again and again their whole lives, destroying themselves and everything around them in the process until all was reduced to dust.
A perfect example of two such forces would be Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu.
1.
Kunikida, as he so often was these days, was in desperate need of an aspirin.
It hadn’t even been three hours into the workday and he’d already had to revise his schedule eight times. Ranpo and Yosano had been out shopping for snacks for the past hour and a half, and Kenji, Atsushi, and Kyouka were playing some kind of game over at one of the coffee tables. Tanizaki and his sister were doing god-knows-what at Tanizaki’s desk and Dazai, who had only arrived at the office fifteen minutes ago, was lying on the agency couch taking a nap.
Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and letting out a long-suffering sigh. He should ask the President for a raise when he found time.
“Dazai.”
No response.
“Hey, Dazai.”
Silence.
“Dazai!”
“Oh, did you say something, Kunikida?” he blinked, brushing the hair from his eyes and looking just as innocent as a child.
It was bullshit.
“I said,” Kunikida hissed, “that you need to get off the damn couch and do your work!”
Dazai only continued to look confused. “Why on Earth would I do that?”
Kunikida reminded himself multiple times that murder was both beneath him and illegal before he let out a short sigh and clenched his notebook to keep himself from beating Dazai’s face into the ground. “Because this is an office. And you work here.”
Dazai waved a lazy hand, shutting his eyes again. “Of course not, Kunikida. You work here. I nap here!”
The familiar sound of a snapping pen could be heard throughout the entire office, and it was only because the door was suddenly kicked open that Kunikida restrained himself from smacking Dazai across the face with his notebook.
He straightened immediately, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Ah. Nakahara.”
Chuuya stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets and a sleek manila folder tucked under one arm. He made his way in slowly, as if to be sure no booby traps were waiting to seize him. “We’ve got some new intel on the Guild. Boss thinks it’d be useful to you,” he said by way of greeting and held out the folder, which Kunikida took and leafed through its contents with narrowed eyes. Chuuya watched him warily.
Kunikida made to thank him, but a voice from the couch cut him off.
“Kunikida! Why would you let a slug into our office?”
Chuuya’s face immediately morphed into a scowl. “Say that again, mackerel bastard. I’ll bash your face in.”
Dazai clicked his tongue, hopping up from the couch and moving to stand by Kunikida with a disapproving frown. “Now, now, Chuuya, don’t go saying such violent things. There are children present,” he tutted, gesturing to the table Kyouka, Kenji, and Atsushi were still sitting at. All three of them were staring with varying expressions of confusion, curiosity, and offense.
Chuuya’s hand snapped forward—so fast that Kunikida couldn’t even react—and gripped Dazai’s collar, dragging him closer until they were but centimeters apart. “Fuck you,” he hissed.
Dazai didn’t look nearly as phased as he should have. “You know I—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll jam my foot into your eye socket.”
Dazai’s chuckle was as lighthearted as ever. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Try me, bastard.”
“I may take you up on that.”
“Then prepare to be decimated.”
Dazai’s eyes widened. “That’s such a big word, chibi! Are you sure you know what it means?”
“If you—”
“Nakahara,” Kunikida butted in, taking a step toward the pair with wary eyes. “Thank you for the information. Please send Mori our gratitude.” The words tasted thick and foreign on his tongue, but he couldn’t exactly attack an ally.
Chuuya studied him, and it only took a few moments before Kunikida began to feel very uncomfortable. Being at the mercy of such a bright, piercing stare was not a pleasant experience. But then Chuuya turned to look at Dazai, giving him a once-over before letting go of his collar and stepping away. “Apologies,” was all he offered, accompanied by a curt nod in Kunikida’s direction and a glare in Dazai’s. “Boss may have a few more files for you, so expect a representative within the next couple days. Higuchi, probably.”
Kunikida nodded. “Alright, thank you.”
Chuuya waved a hand and turned on his heel, making his way toward the office door again. Just before closing it, though, he shot Kunikida a glance he wasn’t sure how to decipher and jabbed a finger toward Dazai. “Keep that fucker in line.”
The door slammed shut and all eyes went to Dazai, who only shrugged. “That hatrack is going to be the death of me one day,” he sighed, shaking his head in forlornness. “So violent! Did you hear the terrible things he said to me?”
Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t run out of aspirin yet, had he?
2.
Cleanup was the worst part of any mission.
Thanks to his line of work and status as a ‘newer’ agency member, Atsushi was often called upon to oversee cleanup operations. Today was no exception, and considering all the collateral damage caused this time, Atsushi estimated that he’d be spending his entire day out in the hot sun, sweating and choking on dust.
However, it wasn’t fair to say that Atsushi hated cleanup. He was always grateful for an opportunity to be useful, and the knowledge that he was helping the city was more than enough of a reward (though the money that came with it didn’t hurt). What he didn’t like was that he was also going to oversee Dazai.
Normally, that would have been Kunikida’s job. Unfortunately, Kunikida was in the middle of a case, and since everyone else had made themselves scarce, it was up to Atsushi to head down and make sure everything was going well (because while Dazai was a genius, he was not the most trustworthy one.)
When Atsushi hopped out of the vehicle, he was surprised for two reasons. One was because the chunks of debris piled around the site and being hauled out of the river were much bigger than he expected—at least twice as tall as he was. The second one was because standing nose-to-nose with Dazai, arms crossed over his chest and angry as ever, was Executive Nakahara Chuuya.
Atsushi felt his stomach go sour as he approached them.
“You say that one more time and I’ll shove my fist so far down your throat you’ll—”
“Oh please, you could never reach!”
“Don’t fucking test me, asshole.”
“Try me.”
Chuuya leaned up, eyes narrowed into slits and giving Dazai a glare that had the hairs standing up on Atsushi’s arms. “You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to hell.”
“Then I suppose I’ll see you there.”
“Dazai!”
Both heads turned to Atsushi, and Dazai’s sadistic smirk was replaced by a softer, cheerier smile. “Atsushi! You finally made it. Chibi’s decided to come help us with our little operation.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Chuuya scowled before turning to Atsushi. “I’m here to deal with property stuff. I’m sure,” he shot Dazai another glare, “that you can handle yourselves just fine. Unless you can’t even lift some fucking rocks?”
Dazai grinned. “Not a problem.”
“Then hop to it, asshole. I need your shit out of here within the hour.”
Dazai was already steering Atsushi away, tossing a mocking smile and a lazy wave over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of anything less, slug.”
Atsushi was slightly dazed as they stopped in front of a large crane and looked over his shoulder to see Chuuya speaking to a man in a black suit. He vaguely thought that when he wasn’t yelling at Dazai, Chuuya was actually rather admirable.
If one could excuse murder, Atsushi supposed.
“Dazai?”
“Hm?”
“Why doesn’t Chuuya just kill you?”
The question was completely out of the blue and absolutely not something Atsushi had meant to let slip, but Dazai wasn’t ruffled at all and seemed to genuinely consider the question. “Well, we do have an alliance,” he shrugged. “And Chuuya’s a very loyal dog—he wouldn’t go against his master’s orders like that.”
“But what about before that? You two have hated each other for a long time, right? Why hasn’t he killed you yet?”
Dazai arched a brow. “Are you hoping Chuuya will kill me?”
Atsushi’s cheeks flushed bright red. “No, of course not! I was just curious since—well, it’s not—you two are just–”
“I’m just teasing, Atsushi,” Dazai chuckled, waving a hand. “I think the reason he hasn’t killed me yet is because Mori still has hopes that I’ll return to the Port Mafia.” Something in his eyes darkened and Atsushi felt the need to look away.
“Right. Of course.”
Dazai hummed, sauntering toward an especially large piece of debris, and they returned to work.
And if they returned to the agency office an hour or so later than they were supposed to, one sopping wet and the other looking pale as a ghost, no one wanted to ask.
3.
Executive Nakahara Chuuya was, as widely regarded by the entirety of the Port Mafia, a model mafioso. He completed his missions, he filled out his paperwork, and this was all done well and with proper detail. He was reliable, hardworking, and his loyalty to the Port Mafia was unrivaled.
So it would be absolutely, completely, utterly impossible for him to have forgotten a meeting.
These were the thoughts running through Higuchi’s head as she stood in front of the doors to Chuuya’s office, trying to ignore the sounds of shouting and other things she was scared to name coming from inside.
She was scheduled to meet with Chuuya at this exact time, but it sounded to her like he was very preoccupied with shouting at someone. While part of her was worrying about whether she got the date wrong, the other part was pitying whatever poor soul had incurred the wrath of Nakahara Chuuya.
Higuchi took a long, deep breath and drew herself up tall before she steeled her nerves and brought her fist to the door.
The office when silent.
“Come in.”
When Higuchi opened the doors, she expected to find the office in shambles. As much as Chuuya was known for being a fantastic Executive, he also had an infamous temper. Contrary to that fact, everything was in perfect order as she sat herself down across from Chuuya, clutching her clipboard just a little too tightly.
She supposed the fact that Dazai Osamu, former Executive and current Port Mafia traitor (regardless of any truces they had with the Armed Detective Agency) lounging on a nearby loveseat was the only real anomaly.
Chuuya cleared his throat. “Sorry about that, Higuchi. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“Oh, not at all!” she immediately assured him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.” Chuuya shot a glare in Dazai’s direction, who stuck his tongue out in response. “We were just finishing up.”
“I still have information to give you,” Dazai simpered. “I can’t leave yet. But please don’t mind me, miss Higuchi, that can wait until your meeting with the slug is over,” he added, giving her a warm smile that she awkwardly returned.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Ignore him.”
Higuchi nodded slowly, still unsure of what exactly she had just walked into, before pulling out her clipboard. Of course she didn’t like the idea of revealing anything more than necessary to a member of the ADA, but Chuuya hadn’t kicked Dazai out of the office yet and Higuchi assumed that was a sign that this was alright. “So, over the past three weeks, at least two percent of our shipments overseas have been intercepted just outside the ports. We estimate that it’s a smaller group, just trying their luck and seeing how far they can push us, but we can’t have them stealing any more shipments or our clients will start to get apprehensive, and that puts our current inventory at risk.”
“And Boss needs me to organize a team?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, I—”
“Mori wants the slug to handle this mission?” Both heads turned to look at Dazai, who was blinking back at them with a look of innocent surprise that was anything but. “But that’s ridiculous! Chuuya is too tiny—his squad would lose him on the docks and he’d get shipped away to France in a neat little box instead!”
If looks could kill, Dazai would be dead on the ground in an instant. “I’m not that short, fuckwad! Shut your trap before I do it myself.”
Dazai arched a brow. “Oh? But not in front of our guest, I hope.” Chuuya didn’t hesitate to chuck his pen at Dazai, which would have stabbed him straight in the eye had he not caught it just before it did. “So violent! You’ll never get a girlfriend if you make a habit of throwing pens at people, you know.”
Higuchi thought Chuuya’s eyes were going to roll right out of his head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
Higuchi was relieved to know she hadn’t been forgotten.
Dazai clicked his tongue, but he didn’t add anything and settled back in his chair. Chuuya stared at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, but eventually seemed to decide that he wasn’t going to try anything and turned back to Higuchi. “Sorry about the bastard. So I’ll be organizing a team to deal with the issue?” Higuchi nodded. “And I’m sure the Boss has a few people in mind?”
Fortunately, their meeting proceeded without any more interruptions. Chuuya was back to his regular amiable self, and Dazai, for the most part, was silent. Higuchi wasn’t sure why he kept eyeing Chuuya the way he was, though, with half-lidded eyes and an unreadable expression. She could only assume he was searching for any weak spots to take advantage of the moment he found a chance, so she kept a casual hand near her knife handle just in case he caught Chuuya by surprise.
“Alright, thanks, Higuchi. This has been great.”
Higuchi stood and bobbed her head, clipboard in hand. “Yes, thank you, sir. I’ll get you those files by tonight.”
Chuuya waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Send them over tomorrow if you’re busy.”
“By tonight, sir.”
He chuckled. “See you, Higuchi.”
Higuchi smiled, bowed her head, and gave Dazai a small wave. She was surprised and deeply unsettled to find him glaring daggers at her, but she ignored it and left the office with a high head.
She supposed the large thump she heard upon closing the door behind her could be cause for concern, but she decided not to pry.
4.
Most of the time, grocery shopping was supposed to be uneventful.
For many people, this was an irritating task they’d rather get over with as quickly as possible, but the Akutagawas often found the normalcy of it a reprieve from their eventful days. It was nice to come back after a long day at work and do something mundane and legal.
Gin supposed it wasn’t quite ‘normal’ to be grocery shopping at two in the morning, but work had run late that day and they needed food for the rest of the week.
“What kind of bell pepper do you want?”
Gin furrowed her brows. “Why do we need a bell pepper?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve never cooked a pepper before.”
“I hope you never do.” Akutagawa frowned. “But it’s on the list.”
“Oh, right. Higuchi needed a bell pepper.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“There are different colors.”
Gin joined her brother in front of the vegetables and frowned at the multiple colors of peppers looking back at her. “Are they different flavors?”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s get the yellow one. Higuchi likes yellow.”
Akutagawa added a yellow bell pepper to their basket.
Most of the rest of their trip proceeded similarly. They didn’t usually buy much at one time, so they only spent a brief amount of time sifting through the isles for necessities (and a few sweets). However, as Gin was searching for their favorite kind of cup ramen, she stumbled upon two of the people she’d least expected to be shopping together in a dumpy supermarket in the middle of the night.
“—short, he can’t even reach the top shelf!”
“Bastard! Keep your hands off those cans or I’ll snap them in half.”
“So violent, Chuuya. How will you ever find a beautiful lady if you talk like that? You’ll scare them all away!”
“Say one more damn thing about that and your hands won’t be the only things I snap off."
“But you…”
They were out of their work clothes. Dazai’s sweatpants bordered on pajama bottoms, and Chuuya’s shirt was at least three sizes too large—he had his hair tied up, too, which was odd. Gin had no idea how to feel about it, but something about the sight was unsettling somehow.
She was quick to grab a few packets of ramen and rejoin her brother, who was trying to figure out how to use the plastic bags near the fruits. It wasn’t out of the ordinary that Chuuya would be out at odd hours—they were all wanted criminals—but it was out of the ordinary that Dazai would be with him. Sure, Dazai had become a not infrequent visitor around the Port Mafia headquarters since their organizations had struck the alliance in hopes of defeating the Guild, but it’s not as if he and Chuuya were friends. She wondered if Dazai was planning anything malicious.
“Nakahara is here with Dazai.”
Akutagawa stilled. “Nakahara? With Dazai?”
She nodded.
“What were they doing?”
A shrug. “Grocery shopping. And fighting.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would Dazai be with Nakahara?”
She shrugged again. “They’re in the aisle with the ramen and canned things. Don’t cause any trouble,” she added with a pointed stare and he scoffed, turning his nose up and making his way toward the aisle.
Sure enough, when Akutagawa peeked his head around the corner, Chuuya and Dazai were still there, bickering and threatening each other as usual. It chilled something deep, deep down in his core to see his former mentor, feared ex-executive and ruthless killer, in loungewear.
“I’ll shoot you.”
“Oh, but that would go against the alliance, and therefore Mori’s direct orders! And Chuuya’s such a loyal dog—he would never disobey his master.”
“Fuck off, dickwad. You won’t be talking about dogs when I slice your throat.”
Akutagawa quickly rejoined Gin at the checkout counter and said nothing. They made their way out of the store with a polite goodnight to the cashier, and it was only when they were halfway home that Akutagawa mentioned it.
“That was strange,” he muttered.
“I didn’t like seeing Nakahara out of his work clothes. It felt… illegal.”
Akutagawa nodded sagely, and they didn’t mention it again.
5.
Cafe Uzumaki was, more often than not, infested with detectives. This benefitted all parties, of course, and Atsushi made sure to take full advantage of having a cafe beneath their office. He and Kyouka arrived with warm smiles, and the owner greeted them by name and whipped up their usual without having to ask.
“It’s amazing that Kenji was able to solve that case all by himself—I don’t think I could ever do that!”
“It’s amazing that Kenji is a detective in the first place,” Kyouka deadpanned.
They made their way to the booth next to the one in the corner, but Kyouka noticed something Atushi couldn’t identify, and he frowned. “What is it?”
Kyouka didn’t answer and made her way to the last booth, pausing in front of the table with her usual vacant expression. When Atsushi followed her, he paused and stared at the two people occupying the booth.
Dazai, cheery as ever, gave them a smile and a friendly wave. “Atsushi, Kyouka! Here for coffee?”
“Of course they are, dumbass,” Chuuya scowled. “This is a coffee shop.”
“Language, Chuuya! Children.” Dazai gestured vaguely to both Kyouka and Atsushi, which earned him an offended gasp from Atsushi.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “One of them’s an adult and the other one’s murdered people. They can handle cursing.”
“So insensitive,” Dazai tutted, shaking his head before turning on a very surprised Atsushi and Kyouka. “So, are you two trying to escape Kunikida’s wrath too?”
Atsushi took a moment to regain himself, but he shivered when he remembered the rampage they’d left behind in the office. “Yeah. He was about to pull all his hair out when he left.”
Dazai sighed. “It really is a shame that Kunikida is so high-strung. The meeting will be fine!”
“Well, he’s mostly stressed because you haven’t finished your paperwork.”
“Minor details, Atsushi.”
“So you’re as shitty of an employee here as you were in the mafia? I almost pity your coworkers,” Chuuya snorted.
Dazai let out an offended gasp and pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s cruel, Chuuya! I’m a fantastic employee, as always.”
“He’s late every day and has Atsushi do all of his paperwork,” Kyouka supplied.
“You’re making the kid do your paperwork? Fucking bastard, when are you gonna learn how to work?”
“I’m not a kid,” Atsushi butted in, but his comment was ignored by both of them. Kyouka gave him a quiet pat on the back, though.
“Hopefully, never.”
“Lazy fucker.”
“At least I’m not a slow, stupid slug.”
“Say that again and I’ll snap all your bones, bastard.”
Atsushi slowly inched away with Kyouka in tow. They seated themselves far away from the last booth, and the owner brought them their drinks only moments after.
“They’re like little kids.”
Atsushi chuckled nervously—if Chuuya heard them, he feared they’d be crushed into the ground. “Yeah, I guess so. They really hate each other.”
Kyouka didn’t reply.
“Hey, do you wanna go down and get crepes after this? I think there’s a stand nearby.” He didn’t have to add that Kunikida was likely still in his stress fit.
Kyouka’s smile was very small, and she nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay! I’m excited; I want to try a banana one.”
She narrowed her eyes. “The banana ones don’t taste good unless they add chocolate,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Atsushi blinked. “Oh. I hope they have chocolate.”
They spent quite a bit of time there—Kyouka wasn’t one for mindless small talk, so they mostly sat in silence. It was comforting compared to the disaster that was their office upstairs, and at least an hour went by before they took their cups up to the bar and paid for their drinks with a warm thank-you to the owner.
Atsushi wondered how long Dazai and Chuuya would continue to stay there and argue.
1
Chuuya had always enjoyed early mornings. When the sun was still low and things were quiet was when he got his best work done—no meetings, no last-minute missions, no cleaning the blood out of his expensive waistcoats. He could pour over his paperwork in peace, and the quiet helped relax his bones.
Kunikida felt the same way, which is how they found themselves sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, the only sounds penetrating the precious silence being the scratching of pens on paper.
Frankly, neither of them was pleased about the joint mission. The safe house was secluded from the rest of the town, just enough to make it a pain to drive there and back without a very good reason. None of them liked each other very much, and there was something unsettling about seeing one's enemies-turned-allies half-asleep in the late nights and early mornings.
Kunikida was a believer in diplomacy, though, and after three days of stifling stiffness, he decided to extend an olive branch.
“Do you usually wake up this early?”
Chuuya looked up from his work. “Why do you ask?”
Kunikida shrugged. “Only curious.”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes and studied him for a few moments—Kunikida never found himself properly prepared for being at the mercy of Chuuya’s stare. He always felt strangely bare before such relentlessness. Apparently, though, Chuuya found no lie in his statement and returned his gaze to his papers. “Yeah. It’s quieter. Easier to get my shit done. You?”
Kunikida nodded. “The same reason. Dazai’s lazy enough that I can get most of my work done early, and then less of it gets sacrificed when he’s awake.”
Chuuya snorted at that. “Yeah, that bastard’s great at annoying the shit out of people. I don’t miss having to file all of our mission reports when we were partners.”
Right. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Dazai was a member of the Port Mafia. More than that, it was easy to forget that he had worked so closely with Chuuya. As Dazai’s current partner, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
“He’s awful. But he’s also a genius, and I’m very grateful for his partnership.”
Kunikida looked up to find Chuuya studying him again, but he didn’t avert his gaze. He wasn’t scared of Chuuya, per se, and if they were going to work together, they should have at least some semblance of an understanding. He stayed silent.
“He is too,” was all Chuuya said before he returned his attention to his work.
Kunikida blinked. Of all the things he’d expected Chuuya to say, that certainly wasn’t one of them.
But Kunikida wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he only bobbed his head and made his way into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Yosano would be up soon, and she was a nightmare without caffeine in the mornings.
He stayed in the kitchen while the machine whirred softly, and vaguely registered the sound of feet padding down the hallway and into the dining room, accompanied by a soft hum.
When the pot filled up, Kunikida decided to stay in the kitchen and contemplate some of the new things he’d learned since they started this mission—it wouldn’t be long before everyone else woke up and he’d have to become a babysitter.
He’d learned over the past few days that when Chuuya was away from Dazai, he was a generally pleasant person. He was reasonable, timely, he did his paperwork and he didn’t complain about anything. Apart from his quick temper, he was all the things Kunikida wished Dazai would take notes on. He supposed it helped that Chuuya was pretty—with blazing hair and eyes like blue fire, and the sharp angles and planes of his face looked just right.
While Kunikida continued to wait in the kitchen, Dazai shuffled out into the dining room, letting out a long yawn and stretching his arms. Chuuya didn’t look up, and Dazai decided to flop himself over Chuuya’s shoulders, propping his chin on his shoulder.
As if on instinct, one of Chuuya’s hands wound itself into Dazai’s hair, carding through it with a gentleness he’d never shown anyone else.
“Hi, chibi,” Dazai murmured sleepily.
Chuuya’s smile was gentle. “Morning.”
Dazai pressed a few chaste kisses to the column of Chuuya’s neck, nuzzling his nose into his shoulder. Chuuya hummed and leaned his cheek onto Dazai, continuing to absentmindedly run his hands through his hair while he scratched onto his paper.
“You’re up early.”
“I can’t sleep when Chuuya vanishes in the middle of the night,” Dazai whined.
Chuuya chuckled at that. “It’s called having a job, mackerel.”
“Ridiculous. Work is saved for the middle of the day, not the first few hours of the morning.”
“It’s not my fault you’re all too damn loud for me to get anything done.”
Dazai stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “So mean.” Chuuya’s chuckle was low and deep, and it rumbled throughout Dazai’s entire body with an easy familiarity that made his chest feel warm.
After a few moments of peaceful silence, Chuuya set his pen down and stood up, stretching his arms out with a long sigh. He then turned to face Dazai, studying him for a brief moment before frowning and crossing his arms. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
Dazai clicked his tongue. “You know I don’t sleep, Chuuya.” It was a poor deflection, though, and they both knew it. Dazai sighed. “No. A few hours, maybe, around two.”
Chuuya’s lips tightened. “That’s not a lot.”
“Good observation,” Dazai chuckled, to which Chuuya rolled his eyes.
Lanky arms snaked around his waist and though Chuuya (and Dazai) knew full well that Kunikida was less than a room away, he decided not to care. “Go back to sleep, idiot. It’s still early.”
“I can’t,” Dazai whined, leaning his forehead against Chuuya’s. “Not after I’ve seen Chuuya’s beautiful face. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”
Chuuya scoffed. “That’s a pretty shitty excuse.”
“Is it an excuse if it’s true?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.” Dazai chuckled at that, hands folded at the small of Chuuya’s back. Chuuya frowned, fiddling with the hair at Dazai’s nape. “Take a nap or something, at least. We can go to bed early tonight.”
Dazai sighed. “But what about—“
“Don’t you dare.”
He sighed again, shaking his head. They stayed like that, in comfortable silence for a long time with nothing but the whirring of the coffee pot buzzing in the air. Dazai folded Chuuya into his embrace with familiar ease, and they entwined their limbs with more care than they’d ever show anyone else.
Dazai pressed a kiss to the top of Chuuya’s head. “I love you,” he murmured.
Chuuya smiled, something soft and sweet, and leaned up to capture Dazai’s lips in a slow kiss. “I love you too."
When Kunikida came back into the room, Dazai was nowhere to be seen and Chuuya was still filling out files. He'd thought he heard someone speaking, but it was just him and Chuuya at the table and he pushed that thought aside. Chuuya thanked him for the coffee, and he wondered how long he had before Double Black would shoot his hopes of productivity in the head.
He estimated about seven minutes.
***
Sometimes, the universe created lovers. Forces whose souls have been melded by stardust and blood, dragged together by fate or destiny or perhaps something far beyond that. They collide again and again and again, and sometimes it takes years or even decades before they finally decide to hold onto each other—calloused and scarred as their hands are.
A perfect example of two such forces would be Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu.