Chapter Text
The next two weeks pass by with a lot of progress regarding his too-full repository on information regarding ‘Nakahara Chuuya’.
He’s even had to buy another hard disk drive dedicated entirely to housing the plethora of HD photos of the other man while he’s spending the rest of his days in a peaceful routine. An entire folder is reserved for the different meals that Chuuya cooks for him. Recipes, pictures of the end product, videos of the cooking process. Another folder for the flower displays. He passes it off as a cinematography study project.
Chuuya’s only all-too amused, and gamely agrees to his sticky stalking.
Are all chibis this clueless? It’s almost pitiable how easy it is to mark off a hundred escape routes and two hundred possible assassination methods. It’s so easy that he’s been able to do those mental calculations within a couple of days. It leaves the rest of his one-month countdown free for him to slack off and not do anything.
…At least, that’s how it should go.
In the same way that his hard disk drives are filled with Chuuya’s photos—
In the same way that his mental notes are filled with trivial details about Chuuya—
His schedule is filled to the brim with Chuuya-related things too.
He’s somehow simultaneously busier and more relaxed compared to his most hectic mission yet, having to assassinate three world leaders while pinning the blame on each other.
Mornings are spent waking up earlier than he would’ve liked, so he can observe Chuuya from the coffee shop on the other side of the street. Lunch is getting fed with too many vegetables than he’s willing to consume, so he can satisfy Chuuya’s need to fatten him up. Post-lunch is getting roped to helping water the plants, as payment for the sumptuous meal that he receives.
Afternoon is him pretending to be eager for naptime, which results in him occupying the bed upstairs while Chuuya writes poetry beside him. Late afternoon is helping Chuuya close shop after relieving his white-haired assistant from his shop-tending duties during the time the two of them are upstairs. Before sunset is going to the supermarket to help restock Chuuya’s fridge that’s now feeding an extra mouth, following a detour to the coffee shop so he can flaunt taking hold of Chuuya’s wallet in front of that red-haired barista.
Dinner is yet another exercise in bearing with a healthy and hearty home-cooked meal. Post-dinner is staying for a couple of hours while playing video games and ensuring that the surveillance equipment he’s left behind hasn’t been moved or tampered with. Evening means going back to his rented apartment, and going over the surveillance tapes, thinking about the pros and cons between different poisons to achieve his goal.
…Lately, he’s been researching a lot on the most painless ways to die.
He’s had his own research based on his own inclinations—the world has been painfully boring and hollow for as long as he could remember—but it always feels like he’s missed something else. Something that would preserve the suppleness of the other’s smile. Something that would keep the light in the other’s eyes. Something that would be just like breathing, natural and normal.
It really is such a strange feeling.
Save for the surveillance work he does and the planning for several assassination routes, everything else that he’s been doing recently are… very mundane. It should feel boring, this repetitions of things that do not involve danger or death. Nothing that demands his brain to come up with meticulous predictions. The most exciting thing that has happened so far is when a butterfly suddenly flew in and landed on Chuuya’s nose while he’s busy chopping up onions, causing him to sneeze. Dazai’s heart raced then, at the possibility of Chuuya dropping the knife and injuring himself, but all of his predictions were silenced quickly.
Lately, the world is slightly less boring, slightly more brilliant.
A part of him can’t help feeling something’s off though.
This kind of normal, mundane existence is fine for now, sure. But what happens a month from now, two months later? He will eventually get bored by this kind of ordinary life. He will eventually remember that there is hollowness inside him.
…And it doesn’t matter anyway.
Because today’s the deadline for killing Chuuya.
For a brief moment, he considers asking Mori for an extension. Considers hunting down the person who placed the hit on his target. But he doesn’t go through with it. This kind of muted life isn’t for someone like him. This kind of fragile, fleeting happiness is something that would eventually be lost.
It’s better to hold on to the tangible things. He doesn’t care much for achievements, but he quite likes his 100% completion rate. There’s only one other entity who’s achieved that, a legendary godly assassin that’s rumored to have retired before Dazai can challenge him. He doesn’t care much for competition either, but it’s something more in-line with his existence. It’s not something that he has to be careful with, it’s not something that he can’t bear to ruin.
And so, he prepares the best poison mix he can, one that kills within fifteen seconds, so there won’t be time for Chuuya to feel any sort of suffering.
He settles the plan inside his mind.
The same as usual, and he’ll sneak in the poison on their dinner. If for some reason, the poison takes longer than expected, then he will swiftly cut off Chuuya’s carotid to kill him quickly.
By sunset later, the temporary sun will disappear.
That’s the plan that he has, and Dazai Osamu’s plans are never wrong.
— — — — —
side: chuuya
…
…
…
“Haaaa? Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Chuuya’s been trying hard, he really is. It’s immensely hard work, keeping his temper down these days.
The number of times he’s wanted to throttle Dazai for waging a one-man war against vegetables? The number of times he’s had to clench his fists and not pummel Dazai for complaining so much about watering the plants and washing the dishes? The number of times he’s wanted to kick and break Dazai’s shins for lording his height over him? The number of times he’s had to mentally count from one to one hundred so he wouldn’t make Dazai choke on the controller each time he cheats on their video games? The amount of times he’s wanted to dunk Dazai’s head into the boiling hotpot for always stealing off the best meat and leaving none for him?
He’s been trying so, so hard.
He’s actually kind of amazed himself, that he’s managed to maintain his pleasant demeanor all throughout. Atsushi’s been terrified of him smiling and not burying the goddamn beanpole six feet under. Tachihara too, has been rather confused by his change in temperament. Ane-san’s the only one who’s been mildly supportive of his attempt at reigning in his urges to snap someone into two. She’s mentioned wanting to meet ‘the one who’s made your temper better, lad’ in case Dazai actually survives.
See, he’s been restraining himself because he wanted to see what kind of attack Dazai will end up hitting him with.
Since he’s not in the frontlines anymore—his organization sent him to this ‘forced semi-retirement’ because all of his missions end up with way too much property damage as he always tends to get carried away with fighting—he’s been… to put it bluntly, bored.
Caring for flowers and learning how to control his strength so he doesn’t strangle their roots? Kinda okay. Learning how to cook without slicing through even the chopping board? Kinda interesting. Handwriting poetry so he doesn’t end up tearing through the papers when he’s thinking too deeply with the next lines? Kinda cool.
Smiling at a bandaged annoyance and watching him stick to him like a giant leech?
…Kinda interesting.
But he still rather misses actual fighting with his fists…
And so, he’s been hoping for a chance to get his blood bumping, to beat someone up.
But this development—
This shitty Dazai used poison on him!
Isn’t this the least exciting way of trying to kill someone!
He’s endured for a full month and what he gets is something like this!
Today has been Dazai coming in to the flower shop with an expression like he’s already five feet under a grave. Very somber and very much like a child who’s one breath away from crying. So Chuuya’s been expecting that today is the day. Finally, all those surveillance cameras can be removed from his bedroom and he can start watching that touching dog movie again without fearing that his tastes will be judged.
But this development is really too much—!!!
To make matters worse, the poison made the food taste so weird! All of his hard work!! He’s quite proud of today’s dinner, he’s even done amazing knifework in making those flower carrots, damn it!!!
The funeral-ready expression on Dazai’s face twitches slightly, and with a very heavy look on his face, he then lunges forward over the low table where they’re seated around for dinner, one hand arching towards him.
And that’s when Chuuya repeats his indignation from earlier: “Haaaa? Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Chuuya parries the blow—oh, just a regular dagger—going for his jugular. Dazai’s surprise is quite delicious to behold, but he is still too annoyed to savor that sight. He ends up rapid-firing his questions, all while avoiding the automatic movements of Dazai’s hand, his body’s instincts quick on the uptake even if he still looks disbelieving that Chuuya’s easily matching him blow-for-blow. One for every syllable he spits out. “You’re doing this right now?! Can’t you wait until after eating?! What if the food ends up spilling on the rug?!”
And then, to finish it off, he punches the blade off by the handle, and insists, “It’s a gift from Ane-san, it can’t be dirtied!”
The dagger flies off and bounces off, handle-first, the doorknob to this room. It lands with a quiet thunk on the floor, but both of them aren’t looking at where it went.
Dazai’s eyes are wide and so is the curve of his mouth, the most alive he’s looked over the past month they’ve been dancing around each other. His cheeks are a soft pink like the steamed lobster that’s laid out on the table. The sheen on his eyes glistens like melting butter, and it beckons to him, sweet and enticing.
Only the sounds of their breathing for the next few minutes, as they stare each other down. As they’re both more-or-less half-seated on the cushions on the floor, their height difference isn’t so big. It’s easy to maintain eye contact without a crimp on his neck.
Outside the window, the sun is setting, and there’s the bustling of people going back to their residences.
“So that’s how it is,” Dazai says softly, his eyelids falling into a half-mast. Like a lazy, indolent cat. Also much like a cat, a predatory edge surfaces on his face, a smirk slicing into his expression. Brown eyes gain an almost-unholy light, as he says, “Fufufu, for the first time… I’m rather happy.” His happiness is a good look on him, all promise of sharp, deadly things. “I’m going to kill you, chibikko.”
“That should be my fucking line, you mackerel bastard!”
In the next split-second, both of them are already lunging towards each other, Chuuya’s left leg swiping sideways so he ends up kicking Dazai away from the table. And Ane-san’s gifted sheepskin rug. Dazai dodges and gets to keep his shins intact for the moment, palms on the floor to help him brace for impact as he also attempts to kick Chuuya off. He dodges in kind, reading the other’s movements.
It ends up with them on the other side of the room, away from the windows and closer to the door. No blows have landed, the two of them reading each other too well.
Chuuya grins, knowing that he must look like a bloodthirsty fiend right now. The one that’s been dubbed ‘god of catastrophe’ in their circles. Codenamed ‘Arahabaki’, a relatively obscure but olden powerful god. The feral ‘level 10’ smile that Ane-san had said is guaranteed to make anyone collapse to their knees.
And Dazai, despite his weakness for the lower-level smiles, actually grins back at him, equally vicious.
Oh.
That’s quite nice.
He raises his left hand and presses the heel of it against his ribs. His heart lets out rabbiting thumps inside his ribcage. He is filled with the urge to punch off that grin and replace it with other interesting expressions.
Oh.
He must like this bastard, after all.
“…Heh. If you can leave this room alive,” Chuuya proposes, excitement boiling inside him, “I’ll introduce you to Ane-san and the rest of my family.”
Dazai trembles slightly, but he nods through the thread of understanding there. “That should be my line, shrimp. If you can leave this room alive… ah, perhaps I should tie you up and never allow you to leave.”
Chuuya scoffs at that thrilling premise, and then starts attacking Dazai again.
Low grunts of exertion fill their ears, but their blows don’t land with the intended force. Dozens of light grazes, as they’re both too attuned to each other’s movements. Dazai is slippery and quick, despite the lesser amount of strength. The first attack that solidly hits comes from Dazai, his fist managing to bury itself in Chuuya’s torso. It tickles, a bit, and not much else.
“The fuck is up with this punch?!” He pulls Dazai closer by the forearm, and knees him in the liver in retaliation. He would have kicked him clean off, but he has a feeling that the other will end up getting kicked through the walls, and through the next building. And wouldn’t that be ‘leaving the room alive’? He’s not about to help the bastard win like this!
Dazai’s right arm quickly slips downwards to help guard against his knee. It’s still a solid hit, and the air is cleanly kicked through his torso. He folds in half over Chuuya’s body, mouth exhaling directly against his earlobe. They fall down to the floor, their legs tangling. Despite his much taller stature, Dazai’s weight doesn’t even manage to feel burdensome over his lap.
Quite a suggestive position, all in all. Dazai even squirms on top of him, the tip of his tongue hot against his skin even as his bony elbows dig at his abdomen. Chuuya doesn’t let off either, one hand sliding downward to snap up the second blade that Dazai has hidden in his back pocket. His other hand remains pressed over the other’s tailbone, keeping him in place on top of him.
“Molesting me already? How forward of you,” Dazai murmurs against Chuuya’s ears, the buttery tone of his voice managing to disguise the rustling of his movements.
Not that further disguise is needed, when their intentions are very clear.
The blade that Chuuya’s taken from the other’s pants. The blade that Dazai has picked back up from the floor. In complete synchrony, both find their mark, stabbing through each other.
Chuuya stabs over Dazai’s thigh, avoiding the great vein there. It must still hurt a lot, despite the willful avoidance of anything too life-threatening. Dazai for his part stabs Chuuya near his stomach, but also avoids perforating his stomach lining. It stings, but it’s also a rather novel feeling. Very rarely do serious attacks manage to reach him. The last time he’s been stabbed, the group attacking him made sure to coat the blade with top-level poison, foregoing hope they can kill him in one hit, and aiming to dull his reaction time instead.
A rather straightforward attack, this time. Coming from a man who doesn’t seem straightforward at all.
“It’s the first time someone’s actually managed to land such a blow,” Dazai murmurs, sounding entranced. “I should have known that you really are quite different.”
“I held back, obviously,” he retorts with a roll of his eyes, as he adjusts Dazai over his lap so he doesn’t end up putting his weight over their wounds. “If I was serious I would have cut off your legs already.”
“Is that so? What a scary chibi you are.” There isn’t a trace of terror whatsoever. In fact, he sounds very pleased.
“You’re paying for the clean-up,” Chuuya reminds him, because he has a feeling that this bastard is the type to shirk off responsibilities. “Since you’re the one who insisted on duking it out here.”
Bloodstains are troublesome to scrub out, after all.
“…Sure,” is said with such casual insincerity that Chuuya is the one who’s scared for his wallet and his future stress levels. And then, he starts fearing for his own sanity, because when Dazai murmurs “oh, I’m hungry” into his mouth, something like contented happiness blooms inside his chest.
— — — — —
omake
Over the clear video connection, Atsushi bears the look of someone rapidly losing the will to live. As someone who’s the protégé, assistant, and overall clean-up guy of ‘Arahabaki’, he’s someone who has seen his fair share of destruction and a great number of unbelievable things. Right now, he’s back to looking like the newbie that Chuuya’s picked up like a wet kitten all those years ago.
“Out with it, boy.”
At Kouyou’s words, Atsushi swallows hard, looking a little green around the edges.
“Um… they’re very erm… sturdy? And very good at bandaging?” He looks like he’s grasping at straws for something positive to say about the situation. From somewhere above him, there’s a crashing sound, the sort of sound that two people who are very enthusiastically wrestling makes. “And they umm, have a very creative uh, romantic inclinations? I never thought ‘bed of roses’ can be taken so literally? All those flowers too, umm… Kouyou-san, I kind of never want to return to this flower shop ever again?”
As the organization’s boss, Kouyou has to take care of her subordinates. So she dismisses him with a sigh and several instructions to help cordon off the flower shop that’s now the site of two… very unique individuals finding each other uniquely interesting. For lack of a better euphemism for it.
It’s been a gamble, one that seems to have paid off more than expected too. With another sigh, she prepares the full payment to Mori, for helping her rejuvenate her ward. And then, she remembers the ‘bed of roses’ remark, and decides to halve the payment instead.
She’s anticipating a lot of future expenses with dealing with the two’s antics, after all.
— — — — —
end