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Southern inns are widely known for discretion, and so reassures Dazai repeatedly as he drags Odasaku inside “Golden Demon” – a building modest in size, looking lively on the inside and whose name signal is way too elegant for a tavern. Which makes it a place the king’s guard won’t bother revising. No patron will recognize Dazai indoors, even if there must be rumors of his unrivaled beauty preceding him. Those, or the royal announcement of the second heir to the throne running away from the castle three months ago, and yet to return. Trivialities.
“It’s just for tonight,” Dazai assures as he pays for the room and a night’s dinner, Odasaku all disapproving looks behind him.
Dazai winks at the young lady leading them towards a simple wooden table near the back of the establishment. The same girl arrives with bowls of steaming stew for them surprisingly soon, Odasaku nodding at her before Dazai has the chance to bribe the woman into a double suicide.
“We should’ve spent the night in the woods,” Oda says, yet beams at the warm food in front of him the same. “We’re too close to the border, your highness.”
“If you keep addressing me like that people are bound to find out, Odasaku,” Dazai comments, staring over his shoulder before looking back at his guard, “Drop the act though, we’re friends.”
“Someone has to remind you you’re the son of a king.”
Dazai chuckles. “He’s got another two, and I’m a bastard actually,” He takes a sip of his drink and grimaces. He despises beer, but the southward coast is not the best place to ask for sake. “You don’t believe I can hide myself forever?”
Oda’s response comes as a noncommittal hum, occupied as he is at engulfing the meat. Dazai takes in his surroundings, patrons taking up all the tables and seats in the counter, some ladies walking over the place refilling beers and serving meals –it looks zestful, men clashing their jars together with laughter strident but not displeasing.
“Isn’t this great? Life in the south is so much more entertaining.” Dazai leans his cheek against his knuckles, “I can’t wait to hear more exaggerated tales of foreign kings and ancient deities.”
Odasaku nods in agreement, lost in thought about southern black beer while looking for some gambling with easy drunk men. He finds the perfect group of old wannabe soldiers, yet Dazai’s expression is slowly shifting to one that screams trouble –sneer, lopsided smirk, eyes crinkled, index finger tapping his right cheek–, thus Oda decides to wait.
“Now, now,” Dazai’s tone is low and honeyed, and Oda sighs at the incoming disaster. Things never end up well with that tone. “What do we have here?”
“Huh?”
Dazai signals the bar with his finger, “The new bartender, redheaded, wasn’t there a minute ago.”
Odasaku follows his digit, coming upon said red haired man. He frowns. The too handsome features, skin so marred it’s visible from even their spot… Oda can almost grab it, the sense of recognition lingering in his mind.
“You look like you know something about him.” Dazai wonders, briefly taking his eyes off the man.
“If I recall correctly, there’s this rumor…” Oda doesn’t even finish as Dazai stands abruptly, making his way to the counter –beer in hand, food untouched.
The light inside the tavern is dim, kind of yellowish, and in the short way to the bartender Dazai catches more than the fiery red hair, –more orange-ish, actually, than it looks from afar. Dazai notices the cold blue eyes, not quite like the icelands in the North, not quite like the deep waters all to the East. The man is also short, a good head shorter than him, and the skin showing at his forearms and neck is scarred. Dazai wonders if the rest of him is marked as well.
He is handsome, the most handsome man he has ever seen. But most importantly, and judging by the tension in the customers’ shoulders and gazes, very feared. Not because he’s outwardly dangerous, but because mankind fears what’s different, and this man’s bright colors scream of foreign, fantasy creatures only portrayed in myth.
Soon, Dazai learns about his voice as well.
“I see that you’re served, so I can only wonder what business you might have staring at me like that.”
Dazai knows the words are directed at him even though the redhead hasn’t moved his eyes from the clean jars he is shelving under the counter. He snaps out of his dissociation to find himself awkwardly standing one step away from the bar, beer in hand and gaze boldly examining the man. Dazai manages to retrieve his snarky smile, stepping forward to finally take a seat in front of the bartender.
“I’m only enjoying what the village kindly offers.” Dazai displays another grin for a man who has yet to look directly at him.
Taking a sip, he tries not to wince at a beverage that is even worse when warm.
“Then, I’m very afraid you’re in the wrong spot, sir.” The redhead says, filling a cup with another drink, his back to Dazai.
He doesn’t want him to stop talking, at all.
“I don’t think so,” Dazai responds quickly, words lowering in volume when he sees the man change his beer for the reddish drink in the cup. Wine, homemade most likely, that doesn’t taste so bad. “What’s your name, thoughtful innkeeper?”
The man stares straight into his eyes for the first time. Dazai feels like drowning.
“‘m no keeper, just a bartender,” Is all he says, yet Dazai’s silent expression doesn’t falter until the redhead gives in with a sigh. “Chuuya.”
Dazai smiles wide. “I’m Dazai,” he adds, the surname of his biological mother considerably less known than the royal family one.
Chuuya –Dazai tastes the name in his mind, on his tongue, serves another cup of the same red wine for himself. “What brings you here, then, Dazai?”
Dazai fails to cover the pleasing astonishment that unfolds on his face, radiating at the sight of Chuuya showing interest in him. Be it faked, or just customary for clients, it brings a kind of satisfying warmth to his skin.
“Oh, I’m a traveler,” he says, not that far from the reality he has been living in for the past three months. “I collect stories, think you have one I might be interested in?”
“I don’t think so.” Chuuya’s response comes fast, before drinking in half of his cup. He holds back a laugh.
“Bummer, I was hoping-”
“There seems to be a man looking for you back there.” Chuuya’s words cut over his, and Dazai sneaks a peek over his shoulder. It’s Odasaku.
Raising from his seat, shoulders shrunk and all, Dazai nods at Chuuya beholden for the drink.
“Looks like our little talk is over,” Dazai waves with a smile. The bartender nods back, “Goodnight, Chuuya.
Dazai throws himself on top of his bed, barely discarding his shoes and cape in the process.
“Had your fun with the bartender?” Odasaku asks, taking all the space on his own mattress. Dazai yawns.
“He’s secretive,” The smile that accompanies his words purely unintentional, and Dazai rolls over his side. “You said you knew something about him?”
“I think it’s him,” Oda emphasizes. “There are rumors about a man so cruel he cannot be human. He’s said to have killed the fiercest emperors, richest kings and most skilled warlords alike. But it’s his looks, so out of the ordinary people say he’s not from this lifetime, but the descendant of the ancient god of calamity and despair.” Odasaku scratches his stub, not sounding convinced himself. “His hair wouldn’t shine like fire otherwise.”
Dazai laughs after the words, biting down his lower lip to calm down. “That sounds hot,” he says, “but people are just plain stupid.”
“Dazai, he’s an assassin.”
He stares at the ceiling, hands crossed beneath his head. “Great, I’ve always wanted to die.”
Rain clashes against the humble window in the room, lightnings reflecting their shine in the horizon. Dazai can’t stop staring. He had never seen the southern waters before, so clear even under the most powerful thunderstorm –when calm, astonishing; but when enraged, moved by the sheer force of the storm and the pull of the sea, breathtaking. There are few shades of blue more outstanding than the ocean.
He wonders if Chuuya’s eyes change color with the tide. Oh, Chuuya.
Odasaku comes back inside their room and interrupts Dazai from divagating further. He steps away from the window, the brightness of a roaring lightning illuminating the room in white for a second.
Oda allows a deep breath out. “I don’t think it’s advisable to resume our journey tonight as planned.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I already paid for the additional night. If we’re lucky, we may be able to leave with the sunrise.”
Dazai sulks a bit on the shoulders and hums. He doesn’t want to leave the town, because there are still stories he wants to hear, ships he aims to see part with merchants that may not come back again, places to discover so different from the ones in the North, in the capital. Dazai is tired of running away, even if he doesn’t –can’t, won’t show it.
“It’s a shame, don’t you think?” Is the only thing he says to Odasaku, “I really like it here.”
“I thought the plan was to travel all around the kingdom, Dazai.”
Oda’s words come out evenly, not meaning a threat but falling over Dazai’s shoulders burning like ice. As if traveling for the sake of it was the main objective of his escapade. Dazai knows he needs the reminder, the fragment of reality, yet nothing is farther from the truth.
Dazai left the royal palace three months ago, Odasaku being his personal guard for years decided to follow. For ninety days they have been traveling with no exact destination in mind, and each stop made shorter than the former –because Dazai can’t afford to be caught, to be drawn back to the palace, to his father, to his older brother. People he never came to trust.
He fled away from the castle looking for freedom, for the possibility to taste what is like to take one step without artfully calculating its hundreds outcomings, for the pleasure of speaking his mind without wondering if the words will be used against him.
Going from town to town not being able to appreciate the place is encaging Dazai as much as he was trapped back in the palace. He had sought freedom when he left, to discover if with liberty came the purpose of living. Thousands of miles away from his father and he hasn’t gotten the chance to taste it yet.
“Well, yes.” He admits, “Although we don’t get to see much of the places we visit with all the running out, do we?”
Dazai notices Odasaku’s worried look on his back, so he omits the ‘I can never go back there again’ part.
“It’s warm here,” Dazai murmurs instead, “full of people who come and go, never knowing if you will see them once more. It feels… feels like adventure.”
Dazai calls for a reassuring smile he deep down knows his friend won’t buy as he drags his own cape over his shoulders, tying the lace.
“Dazai, I firmly believe you have to listen to your heart, that’s why I’m here,” Odasaku says, ever so steadily, “However,”
The prince raises his hand to interrupt, the smile adorning his features composed to lighten up the mood of the conversation.
“I know I’m not meant to be here, enjoying all this.” Dazai walks towards the door with airy steps, body language now reeking of his usual faked persona. “But ruling feels pointless if you miss it.”
Bowing slightly, Dazai steps out of the room leaving an ‘I’m going down to the tavern’ behind.
The inn is eerily silent so late in the night, the few patrons remaining looking not for fun but console. Chuuya is serving a beer to the only man left seated on a stool when Dazai catches sight of his red hair. The man nods thankfully yet doesn’t raise his eyes to look at him, downing the entirety of the jar in own gulp instead. He sways past Dazai when he stumbles out of the establishment, muttering something about demons and calamities, and Dazai catches Chuuya smiling slightly, counting some coins.
He is left as the only man seating at the bar.
“Looks like we’re stuck here for the overnight.” Dazai says once Chuuya steps closer to him, a bottle of some weird liquor in hand.
“If you don’t like the weather in the south, wait an hour.” The redhead says, serving some of the brownish liquid in two goblets. It comes out clear as the sand, creamy enough to pass for milk.
Dazai frowns when Chuuya swallows his own in one shot.
“So you’re also a weather sorcerer?” Dazai hesitatingly stares at his drink before imitating Chuuya. The burning sensation he is expecting doesn’t come, and the taste leaves a pleasant sweet warmness in his throat.
Dazai smiles directly at him, giving a thumbs up.
“No, but I once was a sailor.”
He leans forward at the words, elbows supporting his weight on the counter and interest creeping up Dazai’s spine.
“Oh, so there is a story.”
Chuuya doesn’t raise to the mockery in his voice, barely giving him a second look. Dazai pouts, feeling unattended, for his intention was to stare at Chuuya’s enigmatic eyes all night, and the redhead is just making it difficult.
He wonders if by looking deep into Chuuya’s blues he will get to decipher the equally fearsome and respected aura the bartender carries around. Dazai craves the stories he cannot live as a prince, the most fantastical ones, the ones that prove life is worth living.
Chuuya screams of adventure, and Dazai desires the feelings of danger that come with trying to get words from him.
“One night our ship went through a storm so bad the mast split and the crew were drowning in the sea. You could only hear thunder and screams of sailors who thought they were going to die.” Chuuya tells the tale leaning against the wall, his voice managing to lure him in so deeply Dazai can’t even breathe. “Then we all woke up spitting salt water and sand, ship wrecked on the seaside. Everyone alive.”
Dazai lets the anecdote sink in, blinking repeatedly. “You were saved… by mermaids?”
Chuuya smirks at him, and Dazai swallows hard, flustered.
“That’s what my mates thought, too.” Chuuya chortles, “Most likely, we were close enough to the beach for the current to drag us in.”
Dazai recovers from Chuuya’s expression fascinated by how a man can look so beautiful and feel so dangerously safe at the same time.
“So you don’t believe in fairytales.” He says, “Weird, for a man with your looks.”
Chuuya steps closer, head tilting forwards invitingly.
“You’d be surprised.” He winks, and Dazai feels a little less like dying.
“We’re staying another night.” Dazai says to Oda’s back once they set foot back in their room, the latter man busy as he is turning the oil lamps on. Dazai notices it’s easier to trick one’s friend when they aren’t disappointingly staring at you for making the wrong decisions.
Odasaku is visibly disapproving of the idea, but he doesn’t turn around to face the prince until he is done. Dazai is already plopped down on his mattress, the pockets of his cape empty of all the tokens he has bargained for at the port, now scattered over the sheets. He ignores Oda’s pointed look as he scans a seashell uniquely and ultimately picked from a very faraway land, said to sing the Sea’s song to its rightful owner. There is also a gold coin from the greatest pirate treasure discovered that he flings to Odasaku –the guard catching it midair; and a wristband that earns a place around Dazai’s arm that very moment. Made of rope so blue it strikes as sapphire, believed to have belonged to an oriental princess –and totally not reminding Dazai of a pair of eyes he cannot stop thinking about.
“You said we’d leave after the setting sun, Dazai.” Odasaku remarks, eyebrow raised skeptically.
While it’s true, –Dazai deciding he craved to take a stroll along the port after visiting the market place, and the stands of the various foreign merchants, thoroughly assuring Oda they would leave thereafter–, it was nothing but a plan for staying at the town a bit longer.
Dazai smiles blindly at his guard, aiming for his friend’s good nature.
Oda sighs, “I don’t think it’s wise.” Yet the prince only stares at him lips pouting, eyes shining and palms joined in that expression of his that screams of “We’re going along with my plans” that Odasaku is sadly too familiar with.
“Very well,” Oda complies, “I’m going out to see what I can fetch about the guard’s last whereabouts. Please don’t leave the inn and do anything stupid.”
Dazai chuckles at the last warning, “Worry not, my dear friend. All I’m interested in is here, after all.”
There is only one full table when Dazai takes a seat on his usual spot at the bar, all the other stools empty of patrons. The inn is lively, nosy almost, from the drunk customers, and it smells of strong beer and brine. Dazai is getting used to it.
He spots Chuuya speaking with one of the service girls at the other end of the counter, so he waves once the bartender notices his presence. The redhead leaves the girl with a pat on the back and treads towards Dazai, finding a tiny round bottle with a goblet in the way.
“A night turner, huh?” Dazai smiles as Chuuya fills the glass with no more than two fingers of the dark brown liquid.
“I like it quiet.” Chuuya scrunches his nose at the loud group of merchants about to leave the tavern. “Not that many customers to scare.”
Dazai giggles, raising the new drink to his lips, though just the smell is enough to turn the amusement into a scowl. When the first drop touches his tongue, Dazai lowers the goblet immediately, shaking his head.
“No,” he slurs, making Chuuya laugh and down the drink himself. The redhead serves Dazai the same liquor of the previous night instead. “So, the rumors say you’re the descendant of a god, turned despicable assassin, turned fearsome bartender.” Dazai comments, eyeing Chuuya cautiously. “Dare say, is it all true?”
There is a tinge of mockery in Dazai’s tone that should be enough to get him out of trouble if needed, and yet when Chuuya leans closer to him without warning, Dazai loses all power over his own mind.
“You should know better than to pry into someone else’s secrets, princeling.” Chuuya mutters, breath warm against Dazai’s cheek.
The prince can’t deter his eyes from widening even if it’s only for a second, composure regained quickly.
“I wonder what sold me out,” Dazai artfully smiles. “The guard, the accent, my handsomeness?”
Chuuya stands back, proximity Dazai quite misses. “Your way with words, actually. You stand like you’ve got nothing to lose, and believe me dainty travelers don’t speak as if they could strip you of your soul only by looking at you.”
Dazai gapes slightly as the words overflow his mind, along with a kind wave spreading up his neck to linger on his cheeks. He should probably rush to deny it, but still.
“Does this mean I can order you around now?” He asks instead, earning a look from Chuuya that conveys how easily it would be for the redhead to end all his remaining lives by just batting an eyelash.
Dazai has never been stared at like that before, so intoxicating.
“You can try.”
Chuuya steps away from Dazai’s spot, the puzzling matter now erased from his face. Dazai pouts at the lost attention.
“Chuuya!” He whines, unpleased, “Tell me another story of your adventures!"
The redhead comes upon Dazai practically leaping over the counter from how much he is leaned on it, and groans in confusion, deciding to better indulge him than have the needy prince making a fuss so late in the night.
“I used to live as an artist in the streets for some time, drawing portraits for rich noblewomen and curious kids.” Chuuya says, aiming to refill Dazai’s drink again. “One day, an itinerant troupe arrived in town, amazed the townspeople with their performance and got ready to disappear forever, most likely. They never set foot on the same place twice.”
Whereas Dazai doesn’t fancy to interrupt Chuuya’s stories, he says this time, beyond amusement, “You joined them.”
Chuuya hesitates.
“I joined them,” he admits, then reluctantly. “I knew nothing of performance but did know how to throw a knife. I spent four years visiting places I had never seen and throwing knives blindfolded to random people who volunteered.”
Dazai beams at the memories even when they don’t belong to him, the image of the fiery bartender in front of him dressed in full colors and throwing knives stirring a pleasant sensation up in him.
“You really are something else.” Dazai blurts out, to which Chuuya chortles surprisingly.
Dazai can’t help but stare then, avidly wondering how such a casual bartender can be the source of limitless adventures. Who could have imagined this was the kind of life one could get outside of the castle’s walls? A kind of life that seems interesting enough to endure a bit longer, at least.
He stares dreamily at Chuuya’s back, and every luxury he has ever had the access to, diming in comparison.
“Draw me.” Dazai calls, unexpectedly even for himself.
“What?”
Chuuya turns around to find the prince leaning in, lower lip bitten, eyelashes fluttering obscenely. Dazai leers, “Naked.”
And Chuuya grunts annoyed.
“Go the fuck to sleep.”
Odasaku stands weary in the midst of Golden Demon’s nocturnal fuss, the few belongings they carry in their journey in hand. He is ready to leave, though sadly, Dazai is evidently not planning to tonight either.
“Dazai…”
“The last one, pretty please, I promise.” Dazai faintly pleads, eyes shifting from Oda to Chuuya and back.
“Look, I know you like him, and you’re struck with his beauty, but, Dazai, it’s your life we’re talking about.” Oda attempts some reasoning, hoping to retain the prince’s attention long enough to get some sense in his head. He loses the battle against the bartender’s unrivalled beauty.
“I’m gonna go make some… bad decisions?” Dazai says, eyes meeting Chuuya’s from across the inn. Odasaku sighs in resignation.
“Whatever, your highness.” He picks up their luggage again, “I’ll wait back in the room.”
Dazai doesn’t waste a second before merrily walking to his usual spot, the counter only shared with a pair of farmers seated at the opposite end. Chuuya is already standing in front of his stool, drying a glass for Dazai’s drink. Surprisingly, the bartender speaks first.
“I pity him, kind of.” Chuuya says, serving another sweet liquor for him.
“I’m not that hard to stand!” Dazai beams at the redhead, relishing in the scent of the drink and rejoicing in the chances he’s had to try a lot of flavors since meeting the talented bartender. “Don’t tell me you have an anecdote about being a bodyguard, my dear Chuuya.”
Chuuya hesitates, the tiniest smile threatening to rise on his lips. “I… Once escorted an ambassador to another continent, yes.”
Dazai laughs, then, intoxicated with the warmth from the drink and the crowded tavern. “Before or after joining the traveling troupe?”
“After.” The bartender’s response to his mockery is so nonchalant Dazai can only wonder to which extent his adventures must reach –the man himself not looking older than the prince.
“How old are you even?” Dazai leans forward to rest over his forearms. Chuuya raises an eyebrow then, stepping closer.
“Twenty-eight.”
The prince moans in frustration. “Like me, and all I’ve ever been is a bastard prince.”
Chuuya frowns slightly at Dazai’s sad expression, leaning over the counter so as to mimic his posture. Blue eyes right in front of brown ones, making Dazai swallow hard.
“Well, being a bastard has its appeals all the same.”
Dazai knows, or wants to believe Chuuya means it as a joke, yet with the way the words come out of his lips, Dazai can only gape face flushed deep red. Chuuya’s powerful blue eyes are pinned on him so intensely the prince squirms under the gaze, his heart beating furiously fast against his chest.
Dazai’s going to die, there’s no way he can survive Chuuya looking at him like that.
He is saved by a patron asking for Chuuya to refill his beer, and Dazai discovers he doesn’t want to leave the inn at all.
Dazai takes his usual spot at the bar sighing, Odasaku standing right behind him. His shoulders shrink, and the gesture is enough to drag Chuuya’s attention.
“Last night here,” Dazai comments. “We leave with the sunrise.”
The redhead nods then, placing two glasses in front of the prince’s deflated stance he fills with home-distilled rum –all under the attentive stare of Dazai’s guard.
“It’s on the house.” Chuuya offers, sliding the dinks closer.
Dazai beams slightly at the gesture. Odasaku nods pleased, downing his own drink in a gulp before turning to look for a dice game to join, leaving with a light pat to the prince’s back.
The night is too quiet, and Dazai can’t quite find the words to say. He swirls the rich liquid, entranced.
“Why don’t you tell me a story tonight?” Chuuya’s deep voice startles him even when his attention remains with the jars he’s cleaning.
Dazai frowns. “What would I have to offer bewitching for a man like you?”
“Why did you run away?”
Dazai gapes at the bartender even though he’s not looking directly at him, the open demonstration of interest in his real persona unexpected.
“As the second son, I’m expected to become a warlord and bring my father conquests,” Dazai mutters. “Not my thing, as you can see.”
Chuuya halts right across from him, chest resting against the counter.
“I can see you’re too clever for your own good,” he smiles. “Not that sure on the fighting part, though.”
Dazai feels his cheeks flush red hot under Chuuya’s attentive stare. He bites his inner cheek impulsively.
“I bet you can teach me the ways of the assassins.”
Dazai would have liked to wink and look in control of his own actions, but then again, he is too close to Chuuya for pretending.
“You don’t look like the type interested in swordsmanship.”
“You’re right, I’m not.” The prince wets his lips out of nervousness, Chuuya’s hot breath fluttering upon his face. He panics.
“Why did you leave your first job?”
The bartender blinks repeatedly, startlement turning into a grin thereafter.
“I avenged someone.”
Dazai holds a breath in, tending towards the redhead. “You don’t look like the type to seek revenge.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
Chuuya’s response comes almost upon his lips, barely a touch but enough for Dazai to yearn for it. He tilts his head closer aiming for a mouth he needs to taste so bad he might die, but before he can relish in Chuuya’s full lips Dazai is shoved forwards over the bar –ass landing under the counter and air forced out of his lungs.
Three guards barge in the inn then, chancing upon Chuuya cleaning the counter as if Dazai had never been there, Odasaku gone from his seat at the back of the establishment.
“We’re the king’s guard!” The captain announces to the two patrons left. “You, the bartender,” Chuuya glances at him then, the soldier’s eyes widening in something akin to recognition his next stuttered words asses. “We’re looking for the prince. It has come to the King’s knowledge that he is staying at this inn.”
“Then your king is wrong.”
A young soldier raises to the nonchalance in the bartender’s words. “How dare you!” Though the captain detains him before he signs his own demise in a draw.
“Look in every room, find the prince.” The man orders.
“I advise against it,” Chuuya says, “sir. He’s not here.”
The captain hardly takes a step closer, amusing Chuuya.
“Do you have something to hide?” He barks.
“No.”
Yet this time the response doesn’t come from Chuuya but Kouyou, the owner. All eyes fall upon the fearsome beauty, her appearance so out of the ordinary it’s unsettling.
The guard falters, and says after a swallow, “Then you wouldn’t mind if we take a look, would ya?”
“You are free to do as you please.” Kouyou’s words ring as a warning more than as permission. The elegance with which she shows the katana hanging on her hips at the soldiers is terrifyingly suggestive as well. “Although, I fear you will leave the establishment with nothing but an inconvenient enemy.”
The two younger soldiers aim for their swords, waiting for orders from a commander too intimidated to respond. Chuuya’s cold murdering eyes fall upon his shoulders, and Kouyou’s next words deliver the killing blow.
“You would do well leaving now before it is too dark outside. The path may be troublesome at night.”
Under the incredulous gaze of the two recruits, the captain bows reluctantly. “Very well, ma’am.” And then turns to leave, the subordinates trailing silently behind.
Chuuya chortles soon after, “Ane-san, you shouldn’t have bothered.”
“What kind of a host would I be if I let outsiders pry into our valuable patrons’ privacy?” She smiles caringly, yet her brown eyes shine mischievously. Chuuya frowns. “Though, I would like to have a chat with that prince of yours. Send him to my chambers if you don’t mind me stealing a bit of his time.”
The redhead stands astounded at Kouyou’s devious smile, her eyes conveying that ‘I know everything that happens in between these four walls’ expression of hers. Chuuya feels his cheeks warming after a very long time under her stare, even after she leaves to her chambers. He forces the foolish cast out of his face before signaling Dazai to rise.
The prince standing up disheveled only worsens the situation.
“Looks like I am indebted to you.” Dazai breathes out, but Chuuya only shakes his head, attention divided between the soldiers, who are probably coming back numerously, and Dazai. The prince pouts. “You’re shorter than it seemed now I’m standing next to you.”
The bribe manages to get Chuuya’s blue eyes back on him.
“What’s your point?” The redhead raises an eyebrow.
Dazai encages Chuuya between the wall and his chest, completely aware it is a position not many have lived to tell. He smirks even when his heart is about to leave his ribs.
“You don’t look that scary from up here, my dearest assassin.”
Chuuya smiles and Dazai thanks the ancient gods for the sight.
“You don’t wanna do this, your highness.”
Before Dazai can do anything else than getting turned on by the title and the smirk, Chuuya turns the tables so he is the one trapping him –hand on his nape keeping him close, knee sliding in between Dazai’s long legs. Far too near. His grip is steady, comforting. Dazai can’t take his eyes off Chuuya’s lips.
“Because you’d have been dead by now.”
The whisper sends chills up Dazai’s spine and he bites his lower lip, movement Chuuya trails as his eyes take in every inch of the prince’s face. Dazai is so fucked.
“I am.” He admits, “If you keep looking at me like that I am a dead man.”
Dazai leans down to meet Chuuya’s reddish lips then, the redhead closing his eyes at the gesture. A grin finding its place at the corner of his mouth.
There is an intentional cough behind them that forces Dazai to stop, the last thing he takes in is Chuuya biting his lip disappointed. And doesn’t Dazai want to go in for the kiss again.
It’s Odasaku’s uncomfortable position at the other side of the counter what stops him. The redhead steps back, too.
“I think we should get going,” Oda says. “They’re gonna be back in no time.”
Dazai’s shoulders shrink. “Yes, yes.” He walks past Chuuya not daring to look at him in the eyes but brushing his fingertips against his knuckles.
“But first, I have to go see the keeper.”
Dazai finds Chuuya again on a tiny balcony in the second floor, silently staring at the horizon. The redhead’s stretched back is on display and Dazai can’t help but admire delightfully before stepping in.
“So Ozaki Kouyou knows everything about you.” He says in an attempt not to startle Chuuya, although the bartender has probably been aware of his presence all along.
Chuuya turns around, back against the wooden railing. “What did she tell you?”
“Less than I’d like to know, actually.” Dazai exposes an enigmatic smile that inowhere close to being enough of an answer.
“What did you talk about?” The redhead presses albeit he knows he’s not getting anything out of Dazai.
“You know, business. And some threats here and there.”
Chuuya groans, displeased.
“When are you leaving?” He asks offhandedly, but his eyes are deeply fixated on Dazai’s reaction. The prince smiles.
“When I get tired of the seaside, I guess.”
“What?” The disbelief in Chuuya’s voice leaves Dazai beaming satisfied.
“Did you know this inn is under the direct protection of the King?” He asks, receiving a shake of head as a response. “Me neither. It looks like he owes Kouyou quite a bit.”
Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, unaffected. “So?”
The prince chuckles. “So she's written my father a letter and advised him I'd be of great use here, collecting intel for him.”
“Intel?”
Dazai needs to let out a sigh. “It's just a lie, Chuuya, we sold my father I'd be sending him information of strategic value, but sadly I have to reside out of the castle for it.” He explains, “I think he will buy it, deep down he knows I'm not fit for war.”
Dazai pronounces the words so Chuuya can get the underlying message, yet he does nothing but stare at him unaffected. Dazai wants to poke his face. He has great survival instincts so he doesn’t.
“So… For now.” The redhead says, and Dazai nods.
“For now.”
Chuuya shakes his head, “All that for staying at this town? Why?”
The prince can only gape in incredulity, really.
“Oh my god you're stupidly dense.”
It takes Dazai one short step and all of that survival instincts of his to go to waste, but his mouth falls upon Chuuya’s next –the soft, full lips he has desired oh so much feeling amazing against his before they split. In a smirk. Chuuya is grinning right into the kiss.
Dazai giggles, parting barely an inch lest he loses the chance to kiss the redhead again.
“You were playing dumb with me,” The prince fakely whines.
Chuuya drags his tongue over Dazai’s lower lip before biting it down, hard.
“Pardon my behavior, your highness.”
Dazai doesn’t have time to pout from Chuuya’s mockery as the redhead decides to card his fingers through the prince’s hair, yanking him down moaning into the new kiss. Dazai knows his cheeks are deeply blushed, more even as his trembling hand wanders to cup Chuuya’s face. The redhead receives Dazai’s tongue in his mouth kindly, hand traveling down to grab at his hips unrelentingly, shoving him closer –driving Dazai’s heart to beat frenetic. The newfangled warmness inside his chest more alluring than any life of luxury he could have had.
He has never come to understand freedom, but now, after managing to get a taste of it, he doesn’t think he can ever let go.