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Mori had moved on from the official port mafia business to the corporate retreat organization about twenty minutes ago but had sincerely expected his subordinates to maintain the same resolute focus. Dazai stopped humoring Mori about two years ago, but the rest usually exhibited an extreme level of professionalism during meetings. Slug first and foremost, with his eyes trained on Mori as if the old man was spouting brilliant strategies left and right, forgetting to spare Dazai the same look. Even though it was Dazai’s schemes that worked out almost a hundred percent of the time.
Nonetheless, today even Chuuya had forgone the established look of awe, staring at the notebook in front of him with the same passionate anger, Dazai naively believed was reserved only for him. To the rest of the mafia employees, it must have been an intimidating image of an executive, unhappy with the numbers laid out in front of him. But Dazai wasn’t as easily tricked. The numbers on the sheet in front of Chuuya were a horizontal sequence from one to ten, joined by a vertical sequence from A to J, accompanied by boxes of varied lengths. Chuuya was in the middle of the battleship round with Kouyou and having his ass gently handed to him. He audibly gritted his teeth but diligently tried one attack after another completely unaware of Kouyou moving her ships around.
Dazai snickered to himself, enjoying the image of Chuuya’s eyes sparkling with murderous intent towards a piece of paper, feeling only slightly jealous of this undivided attention.
“... and because of that, we would have to book an entire motel so that every single member would have their own room,” Mori’s whining voice brought Dazai out of his daydreaming.
What did Mori just say? Each member in their own room?
“Aww, but isn’t bonding the entire point of retreat? Shared rooms are the best part,” Tachihara complained, throwing not-to-subtle glances at Chuuya.
Dazai mentally praised the boy for voicing the things Dazai was virtually incapable of addressing without outing that he cared, but simultaneously added another mental notch to the list of Tachihara’s annoyance. The boy had to start thanking gods, that he constantly came out to zero on Dazai’s inner scale of his usefulness.
“We can’t use it as tax right-off if we don’t guarantee personal space for each of employees,” Mori sighed tragically.
“Mori-san, we are mafia. What taxes?” Dazai reminded him gently.
“Dazai-kun, we are mafia, not monsters. Yokohama requires funds for rebuilding all the properties Double Black destroys.”
Chuuya had also seemed to be displeased by the news but being part of the Double Black de jure responsible for most of the damage, didn’t have it in him to protest. Dazai, on the other hand, being de facto responsible by planning Double Black’s offensive, had no such reservations. However, he could not just demand to be placed in the same hotel room as Chuuya. So, he did the only reasonable thing.
He put his feet up on the table, almost knocking off Mori’s pot of tea, and reclined in his chair, pushing out the most obnoxious smile.
“Finally, I don’t have to suffer slug’s stinky presence. A retreat, indeed.”
A desperate gamble. Judging by the foam at the ends of Chuuya’s mouth, it was a believable performance. Mori wouldn’t be able to resist punishing Dazai.
“Chuuya and you did a commendable job of leading the Port Mafia this year. You both deserve some peace,” Mori replied. Kouyou nodded.
Utter failure.
Dazai strained to keep a smile in place, feeling an urge to shove Mori’s tiny blade into his eyeball overwhelming the baseline desire to shove that said blade into Dazai’s own neck.
Six months of preparations down the drain. Betrayal of sorts Port Mafia had never experienced. Disappointment comparable only to the fact that the 2012 apocalypse turned out to be a hoax.
And no, Dazai was not overly dramatic.
It all started two years ago when Mori had decided that camping was the way to force an unbreakable bond between his two favorite protégés. At least that’s how it was sold to them, but Dazai still believed that it was an elaborate form of punishment concocted by Mori’s dark mind.
Dazai had taken no pleasure in nature but that evening his colleagues had to tear him away from hugging a tree and lock him in a tent with Chuuya under the guard of Kouyou’s Golden Demon. Dazai noticed that Chuuya’s hands were tied behind his back after an attempt to use corruption to escape his fate. But they ended up stuck in the tiniest tent, probably specially ordered by Mori.
An obligatory contest in conveying displeasure from the unwelcome proximity of each other took way shorter than Dazai anticipated. The chibi burned through the peasant insults quickly and ended up dozing off in the corner of the tent, ignoring the witty and elegant mocking Dazai offered in return. Dazai contemplated choking himself or chibi with the piece of rope that he tore off his wrists, but the remnants were too short even for chibi’s graceful neck.
Dazai was prepared to spend the night staring at the fire shadows on the fabric of the tent, but Chuuya’s snoring deviously lulled him into sleep. That wasn’t the end of Chuuya’s shenanigans. Dazai woke up from the crushing weight of the little miscreant’s arm around his waist. Dazai wasn’t a stranger to murder attempts, both from other people and himself, but this one seemed wildly inefficient. In months to come Dazai insisted to himself that he was about to move away when Chuuya pressed his face into his back and placed a kiss to Dazai’s shoulder blade, rendering his victim essentially paralyzed. How could Dazai move away when he could collect so much material for future teasing? He was unable to fall asleep afterward, hungrily collecting every exhale against his skin. He could track every phase of Chuuya’s sleep, from the steady deep state to his favorite part, when Chuuya dreamed something that made him nuzzle Dazai back and sent his heart into a frenzy.
Funnily enough, Dazai did not mention any of it to Chuuya not even once over the last two years. The opportunity just hadn’t presented itself. After all, they only spent together about ten hours every six to seven days a week.
The next retreat was six months after, when Mori rented tiny huts in a forest completely covered with snow. They had a fireplace that was supposed to keep the room warm, but the Double Black apparently did not deserve a functioning one. Dazai whined about a merciless death that awaited them, and Chuuya had simply gotten under the covers together with him, telling Dazai to shut the hell up. It must have seemed to the slug that Dazai listened to him, but in reality, Dazai had forgotten how to breathe when Chuuya had embraced him in a fully awakened state. Dazai was fully set on exploiting Chuuya’s cuddly sleeping nature, but he didn’t know that Chuuya could just do such things out of his own volition. There was no sleeping that night in store for Dazai, only listening to Chuuya’s soft noises and trying to keep the army of goosebumps at bay. But there was little he could do when Chuuya’s breathing was tickling his neck in the most enjoyable way possible.
Despite what others believed, Dazai was more than capable of admitting defeat. When it suited him and would definitely lead to greater victory down the path. That’s why it took him a ridiculously short amount of time to admit that he took some enjoyment from Chuuya’s touch – not more than two years after meeting him. That is why when Mori had slipped into the conversation that he was rather proud of Double Black’s teamwork and that they didn’t seem to require further encouragement, Dazai made sure to plan an elaborate fiasco on the next mission by aggravating Chuuya. It had required a small price of seventeen port mafia members’ lives and a huge price of Chuuya ignoring him for a month, but Mori had continued with his teaching routine of locking Double Black in the same room for corporate retreat.
They lay on the single bed together, when Dazai had apologized to Chuuya for the mishap and insinuated that he felt bad for not being able to control the situation. He counted on Chuuya’s entirely too-big heart to trick him into sympathy and pity, but he hadn’t expected it to backfire so spectacularly. Chuuya stopped staring at the ceiling and turned to him with those boundless blue eyes of his and dared to take Dazai’s hands into his and tell him that he knew. That he didn’t blame Dazai. That it was okay for Dazai to not be in control once in a while. That Chuuya still thought that he was strong.
Dazai swallowed down something that could be tears from the point of view of some random idiot that nobody asked for an opinion, and concentrated on the soft strokes of Chuuya’s fingers on his hands. Their foreheads were touching and Dazai cast his eyes down to catch a tender smile on Chuuya’s lips.
His slug had fallen asleep not even minutes later as if he was not in the process of imploding Dazai’s world. It was the first night that Dazai slept through, his mind crashing from the sudden levity gifted by Chuuya’s words. It was also the night he desperately wished he stayed awake because he woke up to their limbs intertwined and their lips hovering so close to each other that Dazai could almost taste him already. Chuuya moved away in his sleep and did not give any indication the next day that their dynamic had shifted at all.
That was six months ago, their summer retreat. Tomorrow would be the annual winter one and Dazai had plans.
He was going to make Chuuya kiss him and then tell him all those nice things again, hold Dazai close and never let go.
Why couldn’t Dazai kiss him first?
Basic math.
He was 99.9 percent convinced that Chuuya wanted to kiss him back. Which would mean a million points of happiness for Dazai. However, on the off 0.1 percent chance that Dazai had widely misinterpreted the signals, it would mean infinite humiliation for Dazai. The expected value for that situation was 99.9%*1 000 000 million happy points – 0.1%*infinite humiliation, which resulted in infinite humiliation.
Ergo, Chuuya had to kiss him first.
They were going to struggle against being in the same room again, but seeing as there was only one bed and no other options, they would just have to sleep together, and Dazai would just happen to look vulnerable and gorgeous, with his mental scars and undeniably attractive hair, and Chuuya would not be able to resist it. Dazai was not above throwing in some seductive lip-licking and languid looks.
That is why Mori’s news was the worst thing that had happened to anyone ever.
But this was not the defeat Dazai was going to accept.
Chuuya and he were going to end up in the same bed even if he had to burn all the other rooms in the hotel down.
After all, he had a plan.
***
Chuuya also had a plan.
He was going to make mackerel take some fucking initiative and finally kiss him.
No separate rooms were going to stop him.
He had already packed the strawberry lip balm with him, so it’s not like he could back out now.
***
They had arrived at a sweet family-owned hotel. The concierge turned out to be an older gentleman too eager to share the hotel’s history. Every single person performed a dance of backward walking to entangle them from the conversation and hide, leaving Chuuya behind to take on the burden. The slug didn’t seem too interested, but he endured it all too well, being extremely considerate to host’s feelings. How did this innocent flower end up in the mafia again? Ah right, Dazai tricked him into joining by revealing the rotting nature of humanity to him. Also, some blackmail. Isn’t Dazai just the best?
The night was fast approaching so Dazai had to make sure that his room was uninhabitable rather quickly. He went up to his room and set out to explore what he could mess with so that it couldn’t be fixed right away.
He could potentially make some holes in the walls, cover them with paintings, and then complain about the cold temperature, but the room actually looked extremely cozy and loved. Nut brown walls adorned with ornaments light coming from candles, softest looking blankets, traditional paintings, and majestic view out of the window into a deep snowy forest. Dazai could absolutely see taking Chuuya back here for their anniversary and teasing him for stealing the kiss from him.
So, that excluded extensive wall damage.
Dazai sighed in frustration and took out a triple wrapped plastic box with the smelliest fish he could find on such short notice. Chuuya could never ever learn about it.
He hid the fish in one of the floorboards and waited for about five minutes before the smell spread out enough to complain about it. He would sneak in and remove it later, no harm done. ‘Dazai’ was just another word for genius.
Dazai headed downstairs, working hard to conceal his smile. What kind of maniac would be grinning if their room stank like that?
Most of the port mafia were lounging with their drinks in the living room, while Chuuya was still in the wraps of the concierge. Perfect timing. He would be hard-pressed not to take pity on poor roomless Dazai.
“Excuse me, sir, it pains me to trouble you like that, but my room has this smell that I can’t really get out,” Dazai lowered his voice, speaking conspiratorially.
“You could try showering, mackerel,” Chuuya offered with a friendly scowl.
Dazai’s patience was tested, as it seemed, but he bravely endured.
“I apologize, sir,” the concierge looked heartbroken, so Chuuya predictably hurried to his rescue.
“He can stay in my room. I have learned to deal with the annoying presence,” Chuuya let out the saddest exhale known to humanity.
“Dazai-san can stay in my room. It would be my honor to give him my bed,” Akutagawa appeared out of thin air. “The executives shouldn’t endure subpar conditions.”
That sounded extremely reasonable. That’s why when Dazai slowly turned to look at Akutagawa, his expression conveyed nothing but deep irritation. Akutagawa gulped, searching for a gun in Dazai’s hands and only his well-trained control stopped overprotective Rashomon from trying to take Dazai’s eye out.
“Such a sweet suggestion, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai sing-songed, giving Akutagawa nightmares for the weeks to come.
“Very considerate of you,” at least Chuuya sounded genuine.
Dazai started panicking. There was no way Akutagawa would retract his offer, his mind was already scrambled by fear to notice the morse code Dazai was giving him with his eyebrow twitching. Chuuya had no reason to insist and Dazai had even less. Other than he would come out and say directly that he wanted to spend the night with him. It wasn’t improbable. Came on the list right after hell freezing and Dazai cuddling Mori.
“No need for any of you to give up your privacy,” Mori, as any devil, was summoned quickly. “Ace couldn’t make it, so Dazai-kun could simply take his room.”
Dazai blacked out of anger afterward only to find himself in a new room. Another obstacle.
That’s okay, Dazai can learn from his mistakes.
This time he made sure that everyone left the lobby, and no saint soul of the murderers would be there to alleviate his troubles. The walls ended up suffering some of Dazai’s pent-up rage.
He wrapped himself into a blanket and waited for the temperature in the room to drop below liveable degrees. After some time, he heard a loud crack from a room to his left, but his curiosity would have to wait.
When his teeth started chattering, he went back to the concierge.
He would just ask for Chuuya’s room number and show up like the human icicle that he was, and Chuuya would have no choice but to warm him up. Even a better plan than before.
To his surprise, the concierge wasn’t by himself. Chuuya was right there in his pyjamas looking all cute and dainty.
“Is Chuuya sleepwalking?” Dazai cocked his head to the side, his eyes automatically zeroing in on the exposed line of Chuuya’s waist.
“My bed broke, could you believe it?” Chuuya shrugged nonchalantly. “What are you doing here?”
Well, fuck Dazai. That was the best present the universe could have given him. He could be Chuuya’s reluctant knight in shining armor. If only his wall didn’t have massive holes barely hidden by a painting. Universe’s timing stopped working after gifting him Chuuya when his suicide intentions flared up significantly. Though, just for that, Dazai would have to forgive the universe.
“My room is too cold for me to stay in,” Dazai smiled sheepishly, and Chuuya just blankly stared at him.
He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
Technically, Dazai still could achieve his goal. They could sleep on the couch in the lobby. The concierge didn’t seem like a voyeuristic type.
“I apologize for all the trouble, young gentlemen” the concierge spoke up. “No need to worry, we have the last room still available on the second floor...”
There, the stars aligned, the gods smiled, Dazai’s brain won yet again.
“... and another twenty in the west wing of the building. So, you can rest comfortably.”
Dazai’s left eye started twitching uncontrollably.
Through the haze of anger and utter confusion from yet another defeat, he barely noticed how the concierge took him and Chuuya to their new rooms.
Dazai was now residing in the newly built wing of the hotel with an even more beautiful interim. The concierge couldn’t stop talking about how exciting it was to host their first guest there.
That was charming and all, but the second wing had to go.
Dazai turned the problem in his head this way and that way, but there was only one obvious solution.
He always kept matches on him, but he still had to go outside to find a shed and something that resembled gasoline.
While he was dragging the canister across the open space, he contemplated why people kept such dangerous things in a barely locked tiny building not a hundred meters away from potential sociopaths. And yes, one should always expect sociopaths when hosting corporate retreats.
Dazai was almost at the wall of the building when a familiar voice startled him.
“What are you doing, mackerel?” Chuuya looked at him with an obvious accusation in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Dazai pointed at him. Offense is the best defense.
“Not arson.”
Dazai sat down on the canister and crossed his arms on the chest.
“Chibi is too presumptuous. I could be on my way to refuel Mori’s car and take it on a joy ride.”
Chuuya’s eyebrow arched so high that it should have broken several of his facial muscles.
“If you can show me where the fuel cap is, I’ll believe you.”
Dazai gritted his teeth. At this point, Chuuya was just beginning to see his car set on fire.
“What is Chuuya doing outside?” Dazai’s brain picked up its speed trying to find a way to embarrass the slug before he would dare assume that he got an upper hand.
“Looking for you,” he replied simply, frying Dazai’s brain on the spot.
“You are?”
“Well, it feels wrong, doing the trip without you in the same room,” he said without hesitation, looking at Dazai earnestly. “But now that I have learned that you are trying to burn Kobayashi’s place down, I have no choice but to report you,” Chuuya smirked at him.
“Kobayashi? Are you best friends already?”
“Yes, I am already considering leaving Port Mafia and joining his staff.”
Dazai suddenly lost the ability to hear, the noise of the blood drowning out everything else. He didn’t even realize that a fraction of the irrational panic reflected on his face.
Chuuya immediately got close to him, gently cupping Dazai’s face and forcing him to endure the soft look in those stunning blue eyes.
“I’m just joking, you idiot. How could I leave you to run the organization into the ground?”
Dazai snorted, ignoring the butterflies that were hula hooping in his stomach to Chuuya’s promise to stay with him.
“My Chuuya is getting delirious from the cold, I should take him back to my room.”
“That’s awfully forward of you,” Chuuya smiled cheekily at him. “There would be rumors, you know. What would I get in return for injuring my reputation like that?”
Dazai got up from his place on the gasoline canister and brought his hands up to bury them in Chuuya’s hair. The math flashed neon red in his mind, reminding him of infinite humiliation, but Chuuya’s lips were so pink and inviting and smelled like strawberries. So Dazai accepted another defeat.
He leaned in and captured Chuuya’s surprised exhale with his lips. The kiss was Chuuya-like in all the best ways. Extremely tender in one moment and fierce in another.
When they separated, Chuuya did not laugh at him, only mumbled something akin to “fucking finally”, grabbed Dazai’s hand, and yanked him towards the building.
“While I appreciate your romantic efforts, mackerel, could your next attempt to woo me include fewer burning buildings and dead mafia members?” He threw an angry look over the shoulder.
Dazai only smiled. He couldn’t promise anything. While they may have conquered the evil conspiracy of many beds, Dazai would always be ready to sacrifice a city or few. As long as it got him to cuddle Chuuya.