Work Text:
“Dazai, stop tugging!”
“You’re not being an obedient dog right now. You’re exaggerating about how much it actually hurts.”
“Oh, yeah? Would you like to see how much it actually hurts when I end up pummelling your skull into the wall?”
“That is, if you can reach it in the first place!”
Chuuya swung around the moment Dazai had decided to create the first snip with his scissors, and ginger locks fell to the ground in retaliation.
They both fell silent. Chuuya stared at the floor before hurriedly grabbing his mirror and attempting to check the back of his head.
The mirror shook. Dazai burst out into laughter, his eyes carefully tracing over the jagged cut in his hair.
“You have five seconds because you end up dead.”
“Wah, Chuuya’s acting like a chihuahua! Tiny, and angry!”
“Look at what you fucking did, you stupid asshole!” Chuuya bellowed, the mirror almost cracking under the sheer pressure of his grip. “Look at this.”
Dazai turned away. His eyes had decided that the bare, grey wall seemed more interesting.
“You—” Chuuya seethed. He grabbed Dazai’s cheeks—and if Dazai hadn’t cut his nails in Chuuya’s sleep, they would be digging into his skin. “ Look. At. This.”
“You look the same.” Dazai pursed his lips.
“I look the same?! My hair is now in a goddamn gradient line, all because your dumbass had just decided to go and cut my hair instead of letting me go to a barber!”
“Chuuya was moving too much. How was I supposed to control a barking dog?”
“You better book me to a fucking hairdresser right this second, mackerel. I mean it.”
“Eh? When you could just keep it? That’s too much of a hassle! Besides—” Dazai grinned, grabbing the longer part of Chuuya’s hair and holding it in his hands.
“—Now there’s a leash to walk the dog!”
Chuuya promptly punched Dazai in the face.
-
“It’s getting too long,” Chuuya said, looking over at Kouyou. “Do you think I should cut it?”
His hair had grown significantly longer since he had joined the Port Mafia. Coupled with the fact that Kouyou had forced Chuuya to maintain a hair-care routine on a daily basis, and his hair now reached just past his shoulders.
“Oh, but long hair suits you delightfully, Chuuya,” Kouyou crooned. Her eyes softened as she took in Chuuya’s hair, her hands gently stroking the strands. “It’s a healthy lot of hair, too... Are you sure you wouldn’t like to at least braid it from time to time?”
“Too much of a hassle,” Chuuya frowned. “My morning routine is already becoming long, so I don’t really want to spend an extra couple of minutes doing it each morning.”
Well, alright…” Kouyou closed her eyes solemnly. “If you are to get your haircut, you should use the best hairdressers in Yokohama—”
“—including me!” Chuuya heard it from a very, regrettably familiar voice.
“Oi, what are you doing here?” Chuuya sneered. “Does this conversation include you?”
“It does now!” Dazai beamed. He was going to be damned if his dog got a proper haircut from a proper hairdresser. They wouldn’t know how to deal with such a loud chihuahua. He was simply saving their ears from suffering more than necessary—was that so much of a crime?
“Well, it doesn’t. Get out of here.”
“Would Chuuya be able to even book a hairdresser appointment? Your hat’s probably sucked out all your brain capacity, so wouldn’t you just be knocked out by the time they make you take off your hat?”
“Hah?! I should be saying the same thing about your bandages, you bandage-wasting-bastard!”
“Oh, but if I don’t wear these, Chuuya might get too distracted by my beauty!”
“I wouldn’t notice the difference between you and a garbage can if you stood side by side.”
“...Chuuya, I didn’t know you needed glasses.”
“Fuck off!”
“Boys,” Kouyou lightly warned, though her tone was laced with a hint of danger. “Civility, please.”
“I’m sorry, Ane-san,” Chuuya apologised. “Just— this one— refuses to leave me alone.”
“I’m being a good owner by taking care of you, and this is how I’m repaid?”
“You’ve never once taken care of me.”
“I am right now, aren’t I?”
“I don’t consider this taking care of me, no.”
“Don’t undermine my strategies.”
“You're not cutting my hair, alright?!” Chuuya yelled. “You’re going to end up fucking it up somehow—”
“Boys.” Kouyou repeated with a stern voice. “Dazai, I appreciate your concern, but I’m currently unaware of any certifications that you have regarding hairdressing.”
“Oh, Ane-san…” Dazai muttered before pulling out multiple certifications in hairdressing and hospitality from out of his pocket. “Would these prove me ample?” He beamed, his gaze directed at Chuuya’s seething expression. He spread out the certificates in his hands as if they were playing cards.
You’re not getting away with this, you slippery slug!
Kouyou’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How do I know that they aren’t forged?”
“It wounds me that you would even consider that,” Dazai said, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. Chuuya rolled his eyes. Dazai smiled. “Here’s the proper certification and credits to my certificate, and the details of the person who’s approved of me!”
In reality, Dazai had been the one to set it all up himself, with many forged IDs, signatures, and even fake calls to complete the set. What people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, he concluded, and he slid over the details with a conniving smile.
“Hm…” Kouyou scrutinised the certificate with calculated eyes, carefully turning over each detail in her head. Dazai watched smugly as she did so. She may have been meticulous, but Dazai had more information and connections than she could ever fathom. It was a no brainer.
I hope you enjoy your future haircut, Chuuya.
He stole a glance at Chuuya’s face, which was brimming with rage. To the average person, it may not have seemed like much—his face showed no signs of anger—but Dazai was no ordinary person. The slightest indent in his eyebrow betrayed all signs of neutrality.
Oh, the dog wants to bark.
“These certifications may be correct, but I would like to see them for myself.”
“Whatever do you mean, Ane-san?”
“I’d like to attend a session wherein you cut another client’s hair. Chuuya’s hair is a dear asset to his looks. I don’t doubt your credibility, but I do have concerns due to your unconventional relationships.”
Dazai immediately felt his mood plummet. He didn’t want to touch another person, much less another person’s hair. Why did he have to prove his capabilities to someone? He could feel Chuuya’s smirk from besides him. That disobedient dog!
“I understand,” Dazai said, a smile still plastered on his face. Don’t let her know. Don’t reveal your inabilities. “I have a client due for Thursday. How about then?”
“Thursday…” Kouyou pondered. “I look forward to it, Dazai.”
“I’ll make sure to not disappoint you.” With a sudden turn of his heel, Dazai floundered out of the room, his mind in a manic state. Only when he was out of the room did he allow himself to frown deeply, casting a glare at the door behind him.
Goddamnit, Kouyou-san. Such an inconvenient obstacle between me and my dog...
-
“Dazai-san.” Akutagawa bowed to his superior, but the quickened rise and fall of his chest conveyed his hurried pace. “You called me.”
“Yes, so I did,” Dazai said, bored. He forced himself not to roll his eyes at him—talking to Akutagawa made him feel truly dead inside.
“You said that it was an important mission.”
“So it is,” Dazai agreed. “Akutagawa-kun, have you ever thought about cutting that hair of yours?”
Akutagawa blinked. Then he blinked again.
“No, Dazai-san. Why? Do you require me to do such a thing?”
“Well, not for you to do such a thing…” Dazai put his finger on his lip, scrutinising Akutagawa’s face. “But those bangs must be incredibly bothersome.”
“My bangs do not hinder my work." Akutagawa coughed slightly, suddenly conscious of the hair on his face. “If you request for me to cut my bangs, then I will fulfil your duty.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dazai said, throwing his hand up. He leant down, his head slightly tilted to the side. “Akutagawa-kun, how would you feel about being my client for a hairdressing session this Thursday?”
Akutagawa shifted slightly. “Is this an order?”
Dazai’s eyes dimmed. “Yes.”
Akutagawa felt his shoulders slightly stiffen.
“Then, I will do as you wish.”
-
“How did you, of all people, manage to get certifications for hairdressing?” Chuuya said, staring at Dazai incredulously. “It’s just impossible. You barely talk to anyone as is.”
“A man never reveals his secrets." Dazai grinned. “Why, don’t you trust me?”
“Not one bit,” Chuuya replied in tandem. “You’re plotting to fuck up my hair. I know you.”
“Why, I’d never!” Dazai exclaimed. “Chuuya’s just jealous that I have the certifications to cut his hair. You’re scared that you’ll like it.”
“That’s the furthest thing from the truth,” Chuuya deadpanned. “Don’t bring your twisted fantasies into this.”
“Hmm, maybe I should cut my name into your hair,” Dazai pondered, suddenly grabbing at Chuuya’s strands.
“What the fuck?!”
“‘Dazai’s Dog’… It has a nice ring to it; don’t you think so, chibi?”
“You’re revolting,” Chuuya seethed. “As if I’d ever want to belong to you.”
“Too bad,” Dazai sang, before pulling Chuuya by the choker and leaning into his face. Chuuya stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’re already my dog! What’s a little further?” He watched Chuuya slightly squirm, revelling in his pretty flush spread across his cheeks.
“You…” Chuuya started. “Shut it, mackerel.”
“Hmm… I think you’ll learn to shut it yourself when you watch me miraculously turn my client’s hair from a bird’s nest into a beautiful, styled creation! It’d rival the feeling of seeing bandages on sale.”
“Of course you’d compare a good haircut to that.”
“I feel sorry for you, Chuuya,” Dazai said, placing a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder. He promptly shrugged it off, and Dazai would be lying if he didn’t feel a pang in his heart. “You’re missing out.”
“Yeah, right,” Chuuya snorted. “So? Who’s the unlucky person?
“Haven’t you heard of surprises?” Dazai asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ll see.”
“I’ll definitely see. And I’ll have a hundred thousand yen on me afterwards to treat them for compensation.”
“Ai-ya!” Dazai tutted. “That’s too generous. They’ll be compensated with a great haircut and a gorgeous face.”
“Lying is bad for you, Dazai,” Chuuya said.
“Chuuya should’ve grown a long nose a long time ago, then, because a silly little hatrack like you won’t ever be able to accept the fact that he’ll be short for life.”
“Hah?!” Chuuya yelled, his shoulders hunched. “I’m almost seventeen, you asshole! I’m still growing!”
“You oldie,” Dazai retorted. “Oh, Chuuya’s going to the grave first... Maybe that’d give me a reason to live properly again. I’ll visit all the places you didn’t get to and laugh in your face about it!”
“Fuck you,” Chuuya said. “Don’t drag me into your suicidal ideology, you tacky bastard.”
“It’s not ideology, it’s reality,” Dazai pouted. “Why do you even want to cut your hair?”
“...Because it’s too long?”
“Ugh, you’re such a simpleton.”
“What the hell is that even meant to mean?!”
Dazai averted his gaze, hiding the slight flush that betrayed his face. “Whatever. Chuuya doesn’t need another hairdresser. He’s got me!”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Chuuya drawled. “Don't you have somewhere to be already, or are you going to stick around like the fly you are?”
“If anyone sticks to anything, it’d be you. You’re a sticky, slimy slug.”
“You avoided the question.”
“Why does Chuuya want me gone so suddenly? I'm a brilliant company, you know. People would be dying to have me by their side.”
“They’d be dying because you’d make them want to kill themselves.”
“Rude!” Dazai retorted. “Well, whatever. You’ll see my skills tomorrow. Watch and learn, Chuuya. Though I don’t know how well you’d be able to absorb it all—it’s okay, I understand. Simpletons like you need to understand things one at a time, so that your hat can store it all for you.”
“Fuck off already!” Chuuya yelled, but Dazai could tell from the slight lean into him that he was enjoying the banter, as stupid as it all seemed. Dazai smiled to himself before grinning widely and ignoring the tightening of his heart.
“Hmm… No.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too, Chuuya.”
-
Akutagawa’s bangs were officially gone.
Chuuya couldn’t help but gape at the choppy, triangular cuts in his subordinate’s hair. Dazai stood to the side, beaming. Kouyou was almost on the verge of tears, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“Akutagawa-kun here has spruced up with my finest haircut! Now those bothersome bangs aren’t so much of a hassle to deal with.”
“Dazai-san has done an exceptional job,” Akutagawa nodded. “He will treat your hair with utmost care.”
“Uh…” Chuuya trailed off. He really wanted to tell Akutagawa to go and properly look at himself in the mirror—but maybe he was too afraid, and in that case, Chuuya completely understood.
“Dazai,” Kouyou started, barely holding her composure together. “Who exactly taught you how to cut hair?”
“Oh, if you thought that was all, don’t worry!” Dazai beamed.
“There’s more—?” Chuuya exclaimed.
“Of course,” Dazai said. “What kind of hairdresser doesn’t leave a few hidden secrets here and there?”
“Any normal hairdresser would!”
“They’re all boring then,” Dazai deadpanned. “This is much more fun! Tada!” He lifted up one of Akutagawa’s tufts, revealing the word ‘cough’ embossed into his hair.
Chuuya blinked. Kouyou almost lost it right there and then. Akutagawa remained still.
“Dazai,” Kouyou said, her voice low. “Are you attempting to tarnish the reputation of the Port Mafia?”
“Why, Ane-san, I would never. What makes you so sure of that sentiment?”
Kouyou stared into Dazai’s eyes with a vehemence that Dazai had never seen before. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in fear, and he retaliated by silently gulping.
That woman was truly scary.
“Akutagawa’s haircut has been utterly tattered,” she said sweetly, but Dazai knew that the poison intertwined was anything but sweet. “Where once luscious locks grew, there is now nothing but barren wasteland.”
Chuuya’s eyebrows shot up. He quickly snuck a glance at Akutagawa, who was unmoving. If Akutagawa was secretly going mad, Chuuya wouldn’t know.
“What a cruel way to say he has a large forehead, Ane-san,” Dazai pouted. “Are you not meant to embrace your insecurities? So what if Akutagawa’s forehead is a little gargantuan? Is that not a feature he should embrace?”
Chuuya felt himself jolt slightly—definitely not from laughing, though. He would never stoop so low as Dazai ever would… but he would be lying if he didn’t chuckle a little.
Only slightly. That wasn’t as bad as Dazai, right?
Dazai looked at Kouyou directly, challenging her to insult Akutagawa further. His hand was on Akutagawa's shoulder for security measures, but Akutagawa could still throw a punch.
“I apologise, Dazai, but it seems that Chuuya will have to find another hairdresser.”
Dazai’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.
“Is that so? It’s unfortunate that he won’t be under my care, Ane-san. I would treat Chuuya’s hair with the utmost respect deserved.”
Kouyou smiled.
“I’m sure you would, Dazai. It’s truly a pity that your skills must be a little more refined before they get to that point.”
Chuuya didn’t bother to hide the smug smirk slowly taking over his face. Dazai felt pure irritation sear up his spine, and if Akutagawa stiffened a little tighter, well, that wasn’t anyone’s business to worry about.
“Well, we should be taking our leave now, Dazai,” Chuuya smirked, taking his sweet time to clamber out of the chair. Dazai kept his composure, his gaze slightly sharper on the smugness of Chuuya’s moves. “Later, mackerel.”
A dog won’t ever annoy me. Why would Chuuya ever annoy me?
Dazai racked his brain for a witty response, one that would leave Chuuya at his throat. Seeing him leave in such a good mood was unnerving. It was unlike him to be sending complacent looks, and it drove Dazai insane! He was meant to be the stubbornly happy one here! He was the one meant to be smiling, sauntering, and pissing Chuuya off!
…But the dimples that formed on his cheeks weren’t horrible to look at, he guessed. Nor were the locks that curled over his cheeks, framing him in a web of orange.
“I’ll see you later too, chibi,” Dazai cooed back, because he would, in fact, be seeing Chuuya later. He would make sure of it.
-
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at this current time. Please call back later.”
“That’s the tenth one,” Chuuya groaned. “Why the hell are they all closed?”
“It may potentially be a public holiday,” Kouyou said. “Places tend to shut down on those days.”
“I guess, but ten in a row? There’s no way they’d all be closed.”
“The only way to know is to call all of them, Chuuya.”
Ring.
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at this current time. Please call back later.”
Ring.
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at this current time. Please call back later.”
Ring.
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at this current time. Please call back later.”
Ring.
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at this current time. Please call back later.”
Ring.
“The number you are calling is unavailable to provide service at—”
“For fuck’s sake!” Chuuya gripped the phone so tightly that it almost splintered underneath his wrath. “Ane-san, there’s no point trying the rest. They’re probably all closed.”
“I suppose you may be right,” Kouyou conceded with a sigh. “Why would they all be shut down today?”
“I don't know, and I don’t really care.” Chuuya scratched his head, looking down at his overgrown hair. “Let’s just try again tomorrow.”
“Alright then, Chuuya.”
Chuuya nodded silently in response, but a gnawing feeling was eating at his chest. Somehow, he knew this all connected back to Dazai—though he didn’t know how, it was obvious that the bastard had caused them to all close. As soon as Chuuya wanted a haircut and as soon as Dazai had been rejected, this happened.
That goddamn social misfit!
Chuuya groaned inwardly, looking towards Kouyou. Even in a situation as annoying as this, she still carried herself with chivalrous grace. She was peering down at the telephone book, the phone in her other hand.
Chuuya closed his eyes solemnly.
She’s still trying…
Well, he supposed, looking down at his phone, one last call wouldn’t hurt.
He dialled the very last number on the yellow page. It was a reclusive hairdresser of sorts, one who wouldn’t typically receive phone calls. Chuuya closed his eyes, praying and hoping for the call to go through.
The call clicked.
Finally, Chuuya thought, sighing in relief.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Chuuya started. “I’d like to book—”
“We don’t cut hair.”
The call was immediately hung up. Chuuya squinted his eyes in confusion, looking at the number he had just dialled before glancing back at the yellow page. He checked again, triple-checked, and quadruple-checked to make sure he wasn’t tripping.
No, this had certainly been the right number, so why...
Chuuya gritted his teeth. This was definitely Dazai’s doing.
He slammed his phone on the book in retaliation, startling Kouyou.
“Chuuya,” she started. “What’s—”
“Ane-san, I will be back shortly. I have a visitor to attend to.” Chuuya stormed out of the room abruptly, not even stopping to close the door.
-
“I–I swear, I’ll do anything! Just please don’t let that information go public!”
Dazai stood above them menacingly, his lifeless eye piercing into the owner’s. The corners of his lips lifted slightly.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then. I’d truly hate for that sort of thing to become public information for all of your customers to gain access to,” he said. “Now, as long as you listen to what I’m about to tell you, your business won’t fall through.”
“Yes, of course,” the owner said profusely. “Anything, anything.”
“Of course, you will be compensated handsomely,” Dazai said. “After all, the Port Mafia does not leave any good deed unrewarded.”
The owner nodded, too afraid to say anything more.
“Well, then, here’s what I ask of you—”
-
“DAZAI! YOU ASSHOLE!”
Chuuya stormed into his office, where Dazai was leaning back in his chair, twirling a pen in his hands nonchalantly. He slammed his hand on the table, and it was only then that Dazai’s gaze slid from his hand up to Chuuya’s irate expression.
“You’re being too loud, Chuuya,” Dazai drawled. “What is it?”
“You know exactly what I’m here for,” Chuuya spat. “Why the fuck did you shut down every single hairdresser in Yokohama?! Do you know how much effort that takes?”
“So presumptuous of you, Chuuya,” Dazai replied. “Maybe they’ve shut down for a different reason. Now they’re not subjected to your barking.”
“More like they’re not subjected to anyone.”
“Well, will you finally accept my offer now?” Dazai leant closer, dropping his pen with a clang as he put his hands on the table. “You’re a lucky dog, Chuuya. Your owner’s so generous as to even allow you to get your hair cut. Some don’t even allow that.”
“Asking for the bare minimum is now ‘luck’?”
“Always so negative. That hat of yours has absolved you of all happiness.”
“What the hell?!” Chuuya exclaimed. “I’m not getting my hair cut by you, no matter how many times you try to force me to.”
“Then what will you do?” Dazai retorted. “All hairdressers are shut down, and I’m your only choice left.”
Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t realise that getting his hair trimmed was such a critical moment in his life! Why was Dazai being so pedantic about this?
“Fine. I just won’t cut my fucking hair. Geez, I didn’t know it was meant to be so hard.”
“That’s not allowed,” Dazai pouted. “The dog’s hair is too long, so the good thing to do as an owner is to cut it! Ai-ya, Chuuya. Look at how good of an owner I’m being.”
“My ass,” Chuuya snorted. “No one, especially you, can force me to cut my hair.”
Dazai fixed Chuuya with a smug look. “You’ll come running back in a few days’ time, slug. I guarantee it.”
Chuuya glared at him in response. “In your goddamn dreams, mackerel.”
-
This was torture.
The last thing that Chuuya had expected upon arriving at the Port Mafia headquarters was to be forcibly sat down by Elise, and his hair to be manhandled with the brute force of a child’s wrath.
“Please tend to Elise for a slight while,” Mori had said pleasantly with a smile that meant if you don’t deal with her, you will be punished.
So, logically, the only choice had been to sit down and listen to Elise babble on and on about how annoying Rintarou was and how she hated these frilly dresses and her hair, but Chuuya’s hair was as smooth as a doll’s—so now, she wanted Chuuya to become her doll.
Not even Dazai had bothered to come save Chuuya from his predicament, which meant that he could only sit there and hum along in agreement as Elise tore his hair to tatters.
Bows in every which direction, with braids sticking out from his head—it was the epitome of chaos. Or at least, as close as chaos could be replicated in the hands of a small child.
“Chuuya-nii, you look so cute!” Elise said happily—which, of course, was true to the girl’s eyes. Chuuya would digress, but he didn’t have a death wish. That was Dazai’s thing. “Ooh, let me fix up this braid. It’s not cute enough. I have this blue bow to add! I haven’t used it yet, so…”
“Of course,” Chuuya had replied, gritting his teeth. God forbid, he wished for his hair to look a little presentable—all that wistful thinking had been thrown out the window the moment that he had locked eyes with Elise. “Whatever you want, Elise.”
“Chuuya-nii, your hair is much smoother. It’s much better than Rintarou’s old, gross hair.”
“Uh, thank you, Elise.”
It felt like days had passed as he stared out of the panelled windows for what seemed to be the umpteenth time today—before Mori came bolting into the room, a wide smile on his face.
“Elise-chan!” Mori cooed, instantly reaching down to scoop her up in his arms. Elise skilfully dodged, quickly hiding behind Chuuya to avoid his hug.
“Rintarou’s back too soon,” Elise sulked. “I haven’t finished making Chuuya-nii’s hair pretty! Look, isn’t it pretty?”
Mori finally slid his gaze over to Chuuya, and Chuuya wanted nothing more than to curl up into a hole. Arahabaki could potentially swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even mind. His eyes studied each part of Chuuya’s hair, and Chuuya squirmed in his spot.
He would have rather died than endure this torturous gaze—it was too cunning, too scheming.
“It is indeed pretty, Elise-chan,” Mori finally said. Chuuya was tempted to grab all the bows, pins, and hair ties stuck in there and yank them out of his hair. “Why don’t you try my hair sometime?”
“Ew. I don’t want to touch your hair. It’s greasy!”
“Elise-chan…” Mori lamented.
“Am… I excused?” Chuuya interjected quietly, cringing at his current state.
“Hm? Oh, yes.” Mori nodded, waving him off. “Elise-chan, Chuuya has to leave. You can play with my hair though, okay?”
Elise remained silent, sulking.
Chuuya began to take the pins and bowties out of his head when Elise exclaimed, “Wait!”
“What is it, Elise?”
“Don’t… Don’t undo my hard work! Chuuya-nii has to wear it until he sleeps tonight.”
“Wha—”
“Promise me!”
“Elise, I’m—”
“Promise me! Pinky promise me!” Elise stubbornly held out her pinky finger, jabbing it at Chuuya’s chest. “Pinky promise me now!”
Chuuya blinked several times, taking the moment to wonder how he had gotten to this point in life. He looked at Elise, who was stubbornly looking at him with a hard gaze. Mori’s eyes were trained on Chuuya from behind, the looming presence of his figure ready to strike. Chuuya knew if he dared to hurt Elise, Mori would have his head.
“...Alright,” he said, resigning himself to Elise. He curled his pinky around Elise’s finger, his pinky almost enveloping her smaller one. “I… pinky promise.”
What else was he meant to do in that situation?
-
So, that was how Kouyou found Chuuya in his dishevelled state after returning from her office for a tea break. She had simply gawked at him, her red-stained lips forming a pretty ‘O’. Chuuya wanted nothing more than to take these stupid bows out, but it was barely past eight, and Chuuya wasn’t due to leave for at least three more hours.
“Chuuya…” Kouyou said quietly. “Who—”
“I promised,” he interjected, gritting his teeth. “I... I can’t take them out.”
“Well, it’s not as if she’s here right this second,” Kouyou said, shrugging her shoulders. “Would she notice if someone plucked out a singular strand?”
“I…” Chuuya was at a loss for words. Elise was merely a little girl—he would be surprised if she remembered this interaction in a day’s time. At the same time, though, Chuuya had pinky promised her—a declaration of vows that went further than vocals. He had committed himself to that deed from the moment their fingers had created contact, curling around each other in a seal of trust.
“I can’t do that to Elise,” he finally said, slumping his shoulders. “It’s fine. I’ll just be in here for another three hours.”
“Oh, Chuuya…” Kouyou smiled, her eyes crinkling. “You truly care for her, don’t you?”
“Well… It’d just be rude to break a promise, that’s all.”
Chuuya turned away from the table, facing the window. From the back of his head, Kouyou was able to take in the true damage that Elise had caused to Chuuya’s hair. She secretly hoped that these skills would improve within the next few years, lest she end up like Dazai’s own tragedy.
“Oh my…” She leant forward to gently touch Chuuya’s braids, but Chuuya jerked himself away.
“...I’m getting my hair cut.”
“Oh?” Kouyou cocked her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t mind.”
Chuuya shivered, the braids shaking as he shook his head. “Ane-san, I saw many, many things today. I may care for Elise, but I can’t make myself go through that again.”
“How do you plan on doing that? All hairdressers have been shut down for an indefinite amount of time.”
Chuuya stilled. Damn it, he really didn’t want to prove that piece of shit right…
At the same time, though, he was also acutely aware of his situation at this moment—bows were strung in complete disorder, his hair sticking out in directions that defied the physics of gravity—not from his ability but rather from the gift of a child’s craftsmanship.
He didn’t know if he could deal with another incident like this in the future.
“I’ll... ask Dazai.”
“Chuuya, you mustn't!”
“I know, Ane-san. I have a higher chance of having my hair tampered with if he’s my hairdresser—but having this problem in my hair isn’t making me feel much better, either.”
Kouyou nodded solemnly. “...How do you plan on asking him?”
Chuuya sighed, placing a hand on his head.
“How I’ve always talked to that bastard.”
Kouyou raised an eyebrow.
Chuuya straightened himself and sighed silently. “...How I’ve always talked to that guy.”
Kouyou smiled.
-
Recent events had presented Chuuya with his most difficult challenge to date: confronting Dazai despite his pride.
Scratch that, as of forever.
And Dazai— oh, he was feasting. Watching Chuuya grit his teeth, flush, and avert his gaze had brought nothing but buckets of dopamine to the other boy. As Chuuya had stumbled through those oh-so-humbling statements, Dazai had revelled in his righteousness.
Blackmailing those owners had definitely been worth it for this view. Chuuya had his head bowed, muttering to himself. The tips of his ears were dipped in red, and he had his hands tightly clasped by his sides.
If Dazai didn’t mind the fact that Chuuya was a slimy slug, he might have found it endearing. Cute, even.
“What’s that?” Dazai repeated it for what seemed to be the tenth time, despite their shared knowledge that he had perfectly heard it all.
“Fuck off, Dazai! You heard me!”
“It’s unfortunate, really. I’ve been hearing little fairies talk lately. It’s been making me wonder where Chuuya could possibly be… Oh, I hope he can tell those fairies to push him off a cliff!”
“I hope you die painfully.”
“How rude!” Dazai pouted.
“So you can hear me,” Chuuya said, jabbing a finger at him. “Can you do it, or not?!”
“Do what?” Dazai asked sweetly, smiling. His face was curled into a shit-eating grin.
Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “Cut. My. Hair.”
Dazai clapped his hands joyfully at Chuuya’s misery, the light briefly flickering in his eyes. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask! It seems that my dog has finally come to terms with his senses. Have you finally regained your consciousness?”
“Fuck off, shitty Dazai. I wouldn't be doing this if you had just let me go to a regular hairdresser—”
“—And why would you possibly want to go to one of those when you have a beautiful person who’s perfectly capable of it right here?”
“Because they don’t have the capacity to fuck up my hair on purpose.”
“I would never,” Dazai retorted. “Well, do you want me to cut it or not?”
“It’s not that I want you to cut my hair, but you've left me with no other choice, asshole,” Chuuya said, gritting his teeth and flashing him an irritated stare.
“So, then, a yes?”
Chuuya sighed.
“Yes.”
Dazai grinned widely, his cheeks almost pinchable from how big they were. Chuuya had totally not resisted the urge to reach up and poke Dazai’s cheeks at that exact moment.
“Yay!” Dazai cheered, clapping his hands. “Oh, I can’t wait to do this.” He twirled around, his black coat fluttering behind him. “When do you want me to cut your hair?”
Chuuya shrugged. “I don’t know... now, I guess?”
“Ai-ya, Chuuya, you’re so last minute! Do dogs even have a sense of time?” Dazai shook his head. “The earliest I can do it is tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow? We’re both off duty now, aren’t we?”
“Chuuya, I have a hairdresser kit! I can’t let my little dog have his hair cut off with paper scissors. Besides, Kouyou-san would have my head if I even tried to.”
“...So, where are they now?”
“Not here,” Dazai simply replied. “Come back at the same time tomorrow, and everything’ll be set up! I know hatracks can be a little impatient, but don’t worry! I have some kid’s toys you can play with to stay entertained—”
“I’m not seven!” Chuuya exclaimed. “Fine, whatever. Tomorrow, right?”
”Same time, chibi.”
“Same time.” Chuuya shook his head. “Right. Later, or whatever.”
Dazai smiled, his heart skipping a beat at Chuuya’s softened expression.
Dogs are best when they’re unaware of themselves, he thought, storing that vision in his memory for later.
-
Today was the day.
Chuuya had attempted to distract himself with piles of paperwork, his heart palpating nervously at the thought of Dazai’s hands controlling the look of his hair.
What would end up happening if Dazai did utterly fuck up his hair? Would Chuuya have to merely deal with the consequences of Dazai’s actions?
That mackerel was a lot of things, but one thing he wasn’t was predictable. Barely anyone knew what he was up to half the time—hell, even Chuuya found it difficult to tell what Dazai was going to do sometimes. Chuuya was either coming out with a decent haircut or the worst abomination that Yokohama had ever witnessed. The atrocity could potentially rival the destruction of Suribachi City.
“Chuuya, do you need some tea?” Kouyou, bless her soul, had come into Chuuya’s office for the umpteenth time today, aware of his agitated state.
“No, Ane-san,” Chuuya said, shaking his head. He was aware of her observations, and it pained him to say that she was right. He was incredibly skittish about the day’s upcoming events. He had already thought about cancelling five times, but the flashbacks of him painstakingly having to pull out bows from his hair kept him grounded in his decision. “I decided this for myself. I can’t back out now.”
“You could just not show up,” Kouyou suggested, the corner of her lips lifting faintly.
“I would never hear the end of it,” Chuuya groaned. “He’d take advantage of anything that I could do wrong.”
Kouyou quirked an eyebrow.
“Trust me, Ane-san,” Chuuya emphasised. “He would.”
“Whatever you say,” Kouyou said. “When do you have to see him?”
“In ten minutes,” Chuuya replied. “Ugh, ten minutes…”
“I could attend the session with you so he doesn’t feel inclined to pull anything.”
“I couldn’t do that to you, Ane-san,” Chuuya said, shaking his head. “Don’t waste your time on him.”
Kouyou deflated slightly. Chuuya briefly wondered if Kouyou had been secretly looking forward to the two of them meeting before quickly stomping that thought down into the gutters. Surely, she wouldn’t.
Chuuya pushed himself off of his leather seat, brushing his hair a final time before looking at himself in the mirror. He attempted to envision himself with the same hair he had at fifteen—somehow, it didn’t look right.
Perhaps a trim? Chuuya bunched his hair up in his hands and brought them up to try and see himself with a bob. For some reason, it felt wrong. He wanted to go get his haircut, but having it significantly shortened just didn’t suit his style.
“Whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll be leaving now, Ane-san,” he said, gesturing farewell as he walked out of his office.
He looked at his phone, the only indication of communication being the lone address that Dazai had sent him. Chuuya felt a vein protrude out of his forehead as he stared at the words.
Mocking.
Teasing.
In the end, Dazai was right, he thought, and the mere image made him slam his phone shut and thrust it into his pocket.
He flew his way there, not wanting to get caught walking to where Dazai would be nearby. He floated back onto the ground once he was sure that no one would see him walking into the residence, softly landing on the floor with a tap.
He warily opened the door, and the bell tinkled to signal his presence. The room inside was dark, so he assumed that Dazai had simply broken into someone else’s shop to cut Chuuya’s hair. He would have said he was surprised, but the act was so typical of Dazai’s nature that he would have been more shocked if Dazai had arranged the meeting in his own house.
“...Hello?” Chuuya started, taking the moment to look around the shop. It wasn’t very visible in the darkness enveloping its figure, but Chuuya could make out vintage chairs, which were covered with black fabric. Mirrors refracted the interior back into its glassy eyes, with a wheeled out trolley next to one of the chairs.
Suddenly, the lights flickered on—Chuuya was instantly on his guard, searching for a familiar boy clad in black.
“Is Chuuya scared?” A voice came from behind him, and Chuuya jumped out of his skin. Chuuya turned around, fury evident on his face.
“Fuck you,” Chuuya seethed. “Couldn’t even make it on time to your goddamn appointment.”
“I set it up all beforehand, though!” Dazai motioned to the chair and trolley precariously laid out for Chuuya. “Look, I even got a mirror for you. I’m such a good owner for you!”
“Can’t we just use the big ass mirrors over there…?”
Dazai stilled, his visible eye darkening.
“No.”
“What?” Chuuya exclaimed. “Why? They’re much better than that puny mirror.”
“Your haircut needs to be a surprise!” Dazai chirped. “You can look when you’re done!”
“I didn’t agree to this,” Chuuya retorted. “What the fuck? I can’t not look at my hair while it gets cut.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“No.”
“Too bad!” Dazai smiled. “You’re not facing the mirror.”
“You—” Chuuya started. “I don’t recall having you be my boss.”
“Isn’t owner a synonym for boss?”
“I’m not your dog, either!”
“That’s not what that bet we had said, Chuuya! Ai-ya, you’re forgetting too easily. Are you becoming a grandpa? You’re becoming frail and old, but you’ll never be tall.”
“What—” Chuuya narrowed his eyes before throwing his hands up. “Fine, for fuck’s sake! I’ll just sit in the chair with this tiny ass mirror. There. Happy?”
“Very,” Dazai grinned. “Okay… Hm, what first?”
Chuuya became increasingly nervous as he settled into the chair. “Do you not even know how you wanted to cut my hair?”
“Well, if I could, I would make everyone have my haircut... There’s everything to love about it! You’re too slimy and short to ever become me, though, so... there must be a couple of shortcuts.”
“Hah?!” Chuuya exclaimed. “Don’t you dare make me resemble you in the slightest. I don’t want to be reminded of your stupid face more than necessary.”
“Don’t worry,” Dazai said, shuddering. “I don’t want to ever be associated with you in the slightest.”
“Glad we agree on that.”
Dazai scrutinised his hair before noticing that it was uneven, ever so slightly! He knew from his hairdressing expertise that if he wanted to make something the same length without trimming, all he had to do was tug.
“Ow!” Chuuya yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Stay still,” Dazai pouted. “Your hair is uneven. Are you sure you haven’t cut it before?”
“Why the fuck are you tugging on it?”
Dazai ignored his question, yanking harder.
“Stop!”
“Just a little more,” Dazai muttered.
“I should have never come here,” Chuuya grimaced.
Yank. Dazai held out his scissors, ready to adjust Chuuya’s hair once more—
Yank.
“Dazai, stop tugging!”
“You’re not being an obedient dog right now. You’re exaggerating about how much it actually hurts.” Dazai rolled his eyes. Dogs could be so whiny.
“Oh, yeah? Would you like to see how much it actually hurts when I end up pummelling your skull into the wall?”
“That is, if you can reach it in the first place!”
Just as Dazai was about to make the first cut with his scissors, Chuuya spun around, sending ginger hair scattering onto the floor in a frantic manner.
Both of them went silent unanimously. Hurriedly reaching for his mirror, Chuuya quickly went to check the back of his head after staring at the floor.
The mirror rattled under Chuuya’s visceral grasp. Dazai couldn't help but burst into laughter, meticulously tracing the sharp edge of his hairstyle with his gaze.
“You have five seconds because you end up dead.”
“Wah, Chuuya’s acting like a chihuahua! Tiny, and angry!” Dazai mocked, giggling to himself.
“Look at what you fucking did, you stupid asshole!” Chuuya raged, the mirror almost splintering under the sheer pressure of his hold. “Look at this.”
Dazai looked away in retaliation. His eyes had decided that the bare, grey wall seemed more interesting.
“You—” Chuuya seethed. He grabbed Dazai’s cheeks, forcing Dazai’s gaze to land on his face. Dazai was silently drunk in the pure anger etched on his face, revelling. “ Look. At. This.”
“You look the same.” Dazai pursed his lips.
“I look the same?! My hair is now in a goddamn gradient line, all because your dumbass had just decided to go and cut my hair instead of letting me go to a barber!”
“Chuuya was moving too much. How was I supposed to control a barking dog?”
“You better book me to a fucking hairdresser right this second, mackerel. I mean it.” Chuuya’s hands dug deeper into Dazai’s skin.
“Eh? When you could just keep it? That’s too much of a hassle! Besides—” Dazai felt a wide smile spread across his face, grabbing the longer part of Chuuya’s hair and holding it in his hands.
“—Now there’s a leash to walk the dog!”
Chuuya promptly punched Dazai in the face.
Dazai stumbled back, flashing a look of surprise before quickly masking himself again—but it was too late. Chuuya had already seen his true reaction.
“Chibi broke the rules,” Dazai pouted. “What will Mori-sensei say when I come in with a bruised face?”
“What will everyone else say when they see me with this crooked ass haircut?!”
“Don’t you care about me?” Dazai said, sullen.
“Fuck your goddamn emotions,” Chuuya seethed. “Mine have been hurt for the past three weeks that you’ve been forcing me into your schemes, but you don’t hear me saying jack shit , asshole!”
“Just consider it a little!” Dazai chirped. “You’ll have a new haircut, and now I’ll save money on buying a dog leash!”
“You’re a bit too much into this dog thing.”
“Just look at it,” Dazai emphasised, pushing the mirror into Chuuya’s face. “Isn’t it nice?”
Chuuya looked at his asymmetrical haircut. From the front, it didn’t look so horrible. He might go so far as to say that he didn’t mind it all that much. Being able to pull off something as bizarre as this might have been his true goal all along. Somehow, the curls seemed to complement his fiery demeanour, tracing along his neckline in wispy puffs.
“...It could be better,” he grumbled instead, because he was going to be damned if Dazai had the last laugh.
“What if I trimmed it like this instead?” Dazai said, his eyes brightening with an idea. “I could give you layers.”
“Layers…” Chuuya muttered. Truthfully, he didn’t see how things could get any worse from here—and his hair was a little flat, so... “Fine. But don’t fuck it up, Dazai.”
“So whiny,” Dazai complained, before setting Chuuya back in his seat. “Just sit and relax!”
“That sounds ironic, coming from you.”
Dazai chose not to reply, opting to carefully snip away Chuuya’s hair. It seemed that Dazai had learned some tips over the past couple of days, such as eyeing his hair and cutting with practised precision. It was more controlled and calm.
Chuuya felt his tension melt away into the seat as he relaxed, letting Dazai take over. He snipped and prodded at his hair with blades, whittling away Chuuya’s symmetrical layers. He hummed slightly as he cut, the low sound a comforting sound to Chuuya’s ears.
It was the first time the two of them had ever been bathed in such silence; yet, it was a quiet that they found solace in. Neither of them made any effort to speak. The only noise occupying the confines of the salon was the occasional snip and the muted noise of the detangling brush.
Eventually, after having Chuuya’s hair brushed through for what seemed to be the millionth time, Dazai stepped back. “You can look now,” he whispered, leaning forward over the chair. He pointed at the mirror that was still in Chuuya’s hands, nudging him to hold it up.
Chuuya looked back at Dazai incredulously before slowly holding the mirror to his face.
What he saw… was a pleasant surprise to his eyes.
Now, he knew from the getgo that the unlayered, asymmetrical haircut had suited Chuuya’s looks—but the layering that Dazai had incorporated had enhanced the haircut to a whole new level. Chuuya couldn’t help but stare at himself, stunned.
“It’s pretty, right?”
“It’s…” Chuuya muttered, twirling the locks in his fingers. If he looked good before, he looked really good now. “Not bad.”
“It’s amazing, more like,” Dazai grinned. “Look at my little dog! He’s a little more presentable now.”
“I was always presentable, jackass.”
“That green hoodie you had said otherwise,” Dazai mused. “That was hideous.”
“That was almost two years ago! Fuck off with that.” Chuuya gritted his teeth. “I’m leaving.”
“Without my payment?” Dazai asked.
“Your payment was my torment, asshole. The only reason I came to you was because you shut down every goddamn place in existence.”
“I had to go through a lot for your hair, y’know! Ane-san was about to kill me at one point.”
“I would’ve let her.”
“She could have come and committed suicide with me instead,” Dazai said mournfully. “But I have a dog to take care of, so I can’t just abandon my duties! Unfortunately, this is still a business.”
Chuuya remained silent. “So? What’s the price?”
“The price? Hm…”
Chuuya’s brow twitched. “Did you just come up with this on the spot?!”
“Yeah, probably,” Dazai replied, a smile on his face. “Well… I really want to engrave something—”
“Goodbye,” Chuuya interrupted, walking out. “I can’t even believe I wanted to even consider your payment for a second.”
“My payments are the best; I’ll have you know!”
The room answered in silence.
Dazai was visibly deflated. He slumped onto the floor, curling himself into a tight ball as he willed for the incoming blush to dissipate. Chuuya had always been somewhat attractive, but Dazai had gone and multiplied it… tenfold.
The haircut suited him. That was the problem. It suited him way too well, and, well, Dazai was feeling his shirt and blazer conform to his body, clinging onto the perspiration of his sweat. It was getting hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe.
He had only meant to sabotage Chuuya’s hair slightly. Although the yanking was for the sake of irritating Chuuya, Dazai's only goal was for the latter to leave with an unattractive haircut. Perhaps he could flaunt it to the Port Mafia.
He had done the complete opposite. In Dazai’s defence, no one had ever told him that Chuuya was able to rock every hairstyle under the sun.
Worse enough, he had even succumbed by making it better! Who was he at this point? He wasn’t the Dazai Osamu everyone knew and feared, clearly.
He dreaded seeing him tomorrow. Dazai was going to pay for his crimes—they had completely backfired.
-
“Chuuya, your hair...” Kouyou looked at it intently. “I’m surprised. That sort of hairstyle doesn’t suit just anyone.”
Chuuya smiled, looking down at his hair. “Yeah. It turns out that that bastard can cut hair properly.”
Chuuya had spent a lot of the morning styling it meticulously, experimenting with his hair to see what worked and what didn’t. Surprisingly, there was a lot to be learned about hair.
Currently, he had curled his locks at the end, teasing them slightly with a brush to create volume in his hair. His hair hadn’t begun to fall out in chunks, so he supposed that was a positive at the very least.
“Come closer,” Kouyou said, ushering Chuuya towards her. “I want to see it up close.” Chuuya obliged and let Kouyou’s fingers skim through his strands of hair.
“What’s the verdict?”
“He hasn’t used paper scissors, at the very least,” Kouyou muttered, sighing. “It’s skillful."
“I was surprised, myself,” Chuuya said, closing his eyes. “He might have been hiding these skills this entire time.”
“Which meant…” Kouyou trailed off. Their eyes widened comically at the exact same moment, neither one daring to utter the conclusion they had both reached. Chuuya blinked. Kouyou shook her head vigorously, keeping her mouth sealed.
“On second thought, let’s not go there,” Kouyou said weakly, opting to look at the ornate china placed on the glass table. “I’m surprised that lad hasn’t entered the premises yet,” she mused, sparing a glance towards the door.
“Ane-san, do you want me to get into a foul mood?”
“Of course not, dear,” Kouyou replied. “I’m just pointing out the facts—is it not abnormal that he has not arrived?”
Chuuya gritted his teeth before heaving out a sigh. “If you want me gone, Ane-san, just say so.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, well, I’m leaving for a while anyway. That mackerel needs to see that, unlike him, I do have a sense of style.” Chuuya took a final sip of his tea before striding out of the room, a jolly tune at his side as he sauntered across the halls.
Dazai was slouched onto the table as Chuuya pushed the door wide open. He eyed him with suspicion, inching closer.
“Oi,” he said, walking closer to Dazai. In response, Dazai buried his head further into his arms. “Shitty Dazai. Mackerel.”
He inched closer. There was no reaction other than the continuous burrowing of his head.
Chuuya sighed, gingerly placing his hand on Dazai’s arm. “What’s gotten into you today? I ought to show everyone this view.”
Dazai mumbled, and for the first time, Chuuya barely heard his voice. It was shaky, on the verge of spilling over into something more humiliating. He could go so far as to say that he was feeling the sheer toll of shame plummeting onto his back.
“...Go away.”
Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Just sit up.”
As he peered closer, he noticed that the tips of Dazai’s ears were terribly red. Now, Chuuya wasn’t blind. He wasn’t privy to the secrets of others, but he couldn’t resist feasting on a morsel from time to time.
Dazai had a crush.
That was the only explanation for it. Dazai had never acted so pitifully in his life—it was so pathetic, Chuuya almost wanted to console him.
Almost.
“...No. Go away.”
Chuuya felt himself wanting to trace the shell of Dazai’s ear with his hand, but let his hand remain at his side out of obligation.
There was possibly no way that these feelings were attributed to Chuuya. His constant insults were the exact opposite of romance—Chuuya had even garnered a tier list of Dazai’s worst insults, collated in the back of his mind. Currently, naked slug sat at number one—why Dazai hadn’t simply used the word slug had baffled Chuuya beyond words, but it was his phrasing, not Chuuya’s.
“Da -zai!” Chuuya groaned. “Lift up your head already!” He slid his hands underneath Dazai’s head, which was a hard feat to do when the guy had protected his head so tightly that his arms were practically shaking. “Just—lift your head— up!”
With the sheer brute force of Chuuya’s hands, Dazai’s face finally sprung up from the pit of desolation he had created for himself.
Dazai took in the hair. Chuuya had curled it so that it framed the sharp jawline of his face.
Fuck. Well, this was bad. Dazai felt his throat closing up. How was one meant to breathe again? Currently, it seemed impossible.
Chuuya sighed before raising an eyebrow.
“Well?”
Dazai averted his gaze.
“What do you want?”
Chuuya’s eyebrow twitched, suddenly sporting an irate expression as he balled his fists. “What the fuck’s up with you?”
“None of your business.” Dazai wanted Chuuya gone, gone, gone, because that new haircut of his was giving Dazai the worst case of fever he had ever experienced in his life. His hands, clamped by his sides, were laden with sweat. His ears were searing hot, accompanied by scalding cheeks.
His heart was soaring at a million miles a minute, but he couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Chuuya any longer. He wanted to dig a hole from one side of the earth to the other, crawl into it, and be shot out into space to end up dead.
Even that wouldn't be enough to escape the hammering in his ribcage. It was almost as if, with every beat that thumped against his chest, he could feel himself physically convulsing forward.
Maybe he could land in Chuuya’s arms. Maybe feeling those gloves would soothe his silent demeanour.
He had to admit it, at least to himself—it was cute. It was somewhat cute. He could see himself toying with those locks, wrapping his fingers around Chuuya’s hair—
What am I thinking?
Silence filled the air. Chuuya continued staring at Dazai, attempting to read his expression. Attempting to calculate his own emotions. That sentiment irritated Dazai. That was his job!
The atmosphere continued growing more tense, and soon, Dazai felt himself silently squirming in his seat. What was this blasphemy? Dazai was meant to be the one who could perform well under stress; yet, Chuuya hadn’t said a word nor had he made a move of any kind, and a minute had already passed.
Dazai couldn’t take it. He had to shatter this ever-growing silence.
“Ugly. So ugly. It’s so ugly, I can barely stand to look at it. Chuuya needs to cut it.” Dazai averted Chuuya’s gaze, his cheeks flushed. He wanted to squeeze his eyes so tightly that he would render himself blind permanently. It would be better than having to see Chuuya’s haircut, which, for some reason, was tripping him up to such an extent.
Chuuya felt the rage bubble up in his chest. “Excuse me?!” Chuuya bellowed, jabbing a finger at Dazai. “For the record, you were the one who cut my hair.”
“I shouldn’t have been so generous,” Dazai muttered. “Chuuya was a charity case.”
“Yeah, says the one who shut down every single hairdresser in Yokohama,” Chuuya refuted. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Dazai simply let out a ‘hmph’, turning his face to the side. “It’s ugly. Chuuya needs to cut it, now.”
“Why are you so adamant about this all of a sudden? A week ago, you were all over needing me to get it cut. Now, you’re acting as if my haircut’s a crime against humanity—which, if anything’s a crime against humanity, it’s you.”
“It’s ugly. I don’t want to be associated with someone as ugly as you.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue, balling his hands into fists. “Yeah, well, neither do I! Fucking hell, I don’t know why I even tried to get you to see my haircut.”
“I don’t know why you tried, either. I would never want to see a slug like you willingly.”
Chuuya felt his fingers twitch with the urge to strangle Dazai. Damn Mori and his stupid rules! He wasn’t about to get utterly humiliated for the umpteenth time by challenging Dazai to a duel in the arcade, anyway; they both knew that Dazai was the better one out of the two when it came to video games, despite Chuuya’s knack for fighting.
Chuuya leant closer, grabbing Dazai’s jaw and looking him square in the face. From up close, Chuuya was able to see Dazai’s slightly agape expression. It was sort of humorous, admittedly—his lips were parted like a clueless fish, and his eyes were widened with surprise. Chuuya had to profess that Dazai’s animated expressions brought him some semblance of relief; after all, this was Dazai that was showing emotions. That in itself was rare.
“Really?” Chuuya teased, his eyes sweeping over the slight colour on Dazai’s cheeks. “Why are your cheeks warm then?”
“Your hands are sweaty,” Dazai deflected. “Your sweat is transferring to my face! You’re making me hot, yucky.”
Chuuya immediately pulled away, realising just who he was touching. He shuddered, wiping his hands on his pants. “Whatever,” he said. “Just know that this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” He then walked out of Dazai’s office, disappearing down the hallway.
Dazai felt himself slumping onto the desk once again, his heart pounding as he felt his breath come up in choked gasps. Why had this affected him so much? He couldn’t understand. Chuuya was still Chuuya. He was still a slug. He was still gross. He was still short! What was the difference?
Those fingers that had gripped his jaw with a rigid grip had, oddly, felt incredibly alluring. The butterflies were still fluttering about, causing his entire body to convulse. Oh, Dazai was sick! He was sick of it all, and it had barely been a day. It was unfair how easily Chuuya was able to carry his accidental hairstyle with ease, even curling the ends to tease Dazai’s faltering sanity. The restraint that Dazai had to carry to merely stop himself from reaching out had been torturous.
He needed to cut Chuuya’s hair, and fast, or else these emotions were going to become intimately familiar with Dazai’s body—and he wouldn’t stand for that one bit.
“Stupid slug…”
-
“What’s this?”
Kouyou merely smiled at Chuuya, wounding the ribbon around his hair and tying it off in a neat bow.
“I thought it would make for a nice addition to your hair.”
Chuuya hesitantly reached out to touch the bow before looking into the mirror. Strangely, it was a pleasant surprise. It matched the rest of his attire, and Chuuya couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the choice of colour. Trust Kouyou to have an eye for Chuuya’s tastes.
“It suits me well,” Chuuya said. “Thank you, Ane-san.”
Kouyou closed her eyes, bowing her head in approval. “That lad’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“No way will he be surprised,” Chuuya chimed in. “He wouldn't even look at me the first time I showed him my new haircut. I had to force him to look.”
Kouyou smiled knowingly, placing a sleeved hand over her mouth as she looked at Chuuya.
“We’ll see about that,” she said with a lilt, looking at him with an amused glint in her eyes.
-
Dazai had been silent. Eerily silent.
Normally, Chuuya would welcome this slither of peace—it was hard for quiet moments like this to come by when the partner paired with him in question was none other than Dazai Osamu, a child prodigy and the king of being the most infuriating person that Chuuya had known to date.
There was only up to a certain point that Chuuya could tolerate this silence—and lately, it had become unbearable.
“Spit it out already,” Chuuya seethed. “It’s not like you’re going to be saying anything nice, anyway.”
Dazai remained silent from behind him, the only indication of his presence being the clack of his heels as he strode along the path. Seriously, just how long was Chuuya going to receive this silent treatment? He hadn't even known what he had done so wrong.
He sighed exasperatedly before turning around to see Dazai blushing. Of all the things he had expected the mackerel to do, expressing genuine emotion was not one of them.
“What is it now?” Chuuya snapped. “Do you have a crush, or something?”
Dazai stared intently at his hair—something that he had been doing a lot more of recently—and narrowed his eyes in disgust.
“The ribbon,” he said, his voice wispy. “It’s ugly. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s even worse on a short slug like Chuuya.”
Chuuya stilled. He had garnered such a vigourous distaste for Chuuya’s hairstyle; yet, every time he dared to bring the topic up to Kouyou, she would simply stifle her giggles and tell him that it would all be revealed in due time. Wasn’t it due time enough, now? Chuuya never claimed to have the patience of a saint.
Suddenly, Chuuya slammed the wall behind Dazai. The latter’s back was fully pressed against the bricks and mortar. “What’s your fucking problem? You’ve been acting off ever since I’ve gotten my hair cut.”
“Because it’s ugly,” Dazai insisted. “Chuuya needs to cut it all off.”
“You’re just mad that I can rock a haircut that you made by accident,” Chuuya retorted. “Since when did I ever take orders from a bandage-wasting bastard?”
“Chuuya’s hideous,” Dazai said, shivering. “Taking you out is a public disservice to everyone who has the misfortune of seeing that.”
“I wouldn’t be talking, you brown mop.”
“I’m not the one with a permanent ponytail!”
“You probably don’t wash your hair.”
“Oh, but I do!”
“With what?”
“Your shampoo, of course!”
“Ugh!” Chuuya grimaced. “Now I have to buy a new one.”
“How wasteful,” Dazai pouted. “Just share it with me!”
“And potentially die from scalp poisoning or whatever the fuck you put in my shampoo this time? No thanks,” Chuuya said. “How’d you even find it? I locked it in a safe place…”
Dazai stared at Chuuya blankly before the latter groaned and shook his head. “Never mind. I should've never asked.”
Dazai felt his eyes roaming over Chuuya’s little black ribbon a few more times than he would have liked to admit. Truthfully, internally—Dazai was combusting. It fit Chuuya so goddamn well that Dazai had trouble thinking for himself because of how well it was taut around his hair.
He had a reputation to maintain, though, so he kept on pestering Chuuya to cut it, saying that it was dangerously hideous while simultaneously almost dying over how cute it was.
Were people meant to be this fixated on other people’s hair? It was surely a side effect of his shock—though he wouldn’t want to go to Mori to verify that statement. He might possibly see through Dazai’s lie—or worse, expose his blossoming teenage obsession to the entirety of the Port Mafia, including Chuuya.
(It was never a crush, always an obsession—Dazai could only deal with so many realisations per day.)
Not to mention that they were currently in a quite intimate position at this moment. Dazai had taken the courtesy to wall-sit to allow Chuuya his five seconds of dominance. Though it was mostly to trace the curls that were situated near his neck and to also ogle the black ribbon tied to his makeshift ponytail.
If Dazai so chose, he could very easily kiss Chuuya—his hand was close enough to loop his fingers around Chuuya’s collar and pull him into his embrace. For once, Chuuya might have let gravity pull him along rather than be in control of its effect.
He didn’t want to think about it too much, though. Chuuya was a slug—he’d probably taste slimy and gross. Dazai was not about to stoop down to a slug’s level.
“So? What are you going to do?” Chuuya asked. Dazai cursed his face for betraying his neutral expression—he felt the faintest of reds spread across his cheeks, and in retaliation, he turned to the side.
“...Do what?”
Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows, grabbing Dazai’s jaw and forcing him to look at Chuuya. “You always fucking do this,” Chuuya said. “You just look away and don’t answer me.”
“I’m trying to not bleach my eyes for the third time this week,” Dazai deadpanned.
“Don’t try lying to me, Dazai.” Chuuya retorted. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
“My dog, of course,” Dazai grinned. “What else could you be?”
“Your partner,” Chuuya hissed. “Who’s currently fucking fed up with your schemes.”
“Chuuya’s acting weird. Can I leave?”
“Leave? We’re on a mission, bastard. You aren’t leaving anything anytime soon.”
“Wah, I’ve been kidnapped!”
“Wha—”
“Miss ma’am!” Dazai called out from behind Chuuya. “I’m being mauled by a pomeranian!”
“Stop comparing me to dogs, asshole!” Chuuya bellowed.
Dazai simply laughed, and the sight made Chuuya’s composure stabilise, even if it was only for a millisecond. He would never utter that sentiment out loud, though.
He’s a bastard.
-
“He’s acting weirder than usual, Ane-san.”
“Weirder?” Kouyou took a careful sip of her tea, precariously placing it down onto the saucer. “It seems that we have to take it even further.”
“Further?”
“Of course. He’s acting off because of your new haircut, yes? By doing all of this, he can slowly learn to accept your new reality. He just needs a little… push in the right direction.”
“How so?”
Kouyou smiled, ushering Chuuya closer. The latter obliged, walking toward Kouyou obediently. “Turn around, Chuuya.”
“Ane-san… what are you planning to do with my hair?” Chuuya asked cautiously, hesitant.
“Nothing as drastic as Elise, don’t fuss,” Kouyou replied. “You do trust that, right?” The tone in her voice warned him of his future consequences if he said otherwise—Chuuya felt a sweat droplet slide down his forehead.
“Yes, of course,” he said stiffly, instantly a lot more terrified of what Kouyou’s plans were. Was she going to mutilate his hair? Was he going to be forced to live vicariously through the Karen bob hairstyle? Oh, god. He was already imagining Dazai’s incessant cackles at his demise. It would truly become a spectacle.
He sat down as instructed, feeling oddly calm as Kouyou’s fingers combed through Chuuya’s hair. He felt his hair slowly begin to coil itself in, relaxing as Kouyou braided Chuuya’s locks. She finished it off with a bow, securing the ribbon in place before backing away.
“You should take a glance in the mirror,” she said, pointing to the door-length mirror situated in the corner of her office. Chuuya slowly walked over, his breath clamping in as he peered into the mirror.
It was oddly pretty. Chuuya couldn’t help but stare at it, entranced by its sight. The braids were neat and smooth, if one were to ignore the stray hairs that were erratically sprouted out.
“Ane-san…” Chuuya whispered, breathless. “It’s…”
“Looks elegant, yes?”
Chuuya slowly nodded, mesmerised. Kouyou smiled, closing her eyes in satisfaction.
“The lad’ll be very surprised.”
“Dazai’s going to call it ugly again, like always,” Chuuya groaned. “He can’t let me live in peace.”
“Have you not noticed a pattern, Chuuya?” Kouyou asked.
“What pattern… The pattern of Dazai suddenly hating my hair?”
“Oh, Chuuya dear,” Kouyou sighed. “Haven’t you realised this yet?”
“What is there to realise, Ane-san…?”
Kouyou shook her head. “It’s been too long. I’ve tried to keep quiet and let you two figure it out, but I guess it is presumptuous of myself to assume that you two are perceptive of each other…”
“Ane-san!”
“It is true, Chuuya. You won’t believe what I’m going to say, but I am being deadly serious.”
Chuuya grimaced. “I’ve probably heard worse. Just say it.”
“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Kouyou said. She took a moment to breathe, wiping away a tear. “Well, Chuuya…”
Chuuya continued staring at Kouyou through the mirror.
“Yes, Ane-san?”
“The pattern is that, well…”
“...Ane-san, please—”
“Dazai has liked you all along.”
Chuuya blinked. The words replayed in his head. His stance stiffened, frozen in the moment.
Dazai has liked you all along.
What?
What?
What?
He wanted to throw up and sink into the floor all at once, because it made absolutely no sense at all, but it did. Chuuya hated that he could comprehend Dazai’s train of thought from start to finish.
His weird obsession—or crush? Chuuya couldn’t quite wrap that sentiment around his head—it had stemmed from Chuuya’s weird haircut. Therefore, to get rid of it, he wanted Chuuya to cut it off.
Theoretically, it was a sound plan—but Chuuya was a man of wits and souls, and not even Dazai’s odd lust was going to rid Chuuya of his newfound identity.
“Ane-san, how do you know this for sure?”
Kouyou sighed. “Chuuya, the only person who never knew was you. Dazai would have personally killed whoever dared to utter this to you. I’m immune because he’s terrified of me. But I tell you, Chuuya, that boy likes you.”
“...Are you expecting me to reciprocate or something? I don’t like that mackerel.”
“You can do whatever you please. I would advise you to not completely wreck him, though.”
“How would I possibly—?”
“You underestimate the power you hold, Chuuya.”
“Ane-san, I think you’re looking into this too deeply.”
Kouyou shook her head in response. “Chuuya, stand still for a second.”
“Yes, Ane-san,” he said, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch from the moment he had first stood in front of the mirror.
She pulled out a perfume, spritzing it onto Chuuya’s collarbone.
“What scent was that?”
“Oleander flowers.”
“His…?”
“The lad is particular to those.”
“Are you trying to attract him to me?!” Chuuya grimaced. “I’m not a bee. I don’t want him buzzing around me like one, either.”
“The hairstyle and the perfume may send him into overload,” Kouyou chuckled. “Be careful with how you treat him, dear.”
Chuuya blinked twice before sighing.
“Yes, Ane-san…”
-
This revelation had quite literally turned Chuuya upside down. He was currently glued to the ceiling, his mind turning over the current predicament that he had found himself in.
Dazai wanted to cut Chuuya’s hair → His haircut caused Dazai to develop a crush → Chuuya cuts it off → No more crush
How the hell was Arahabaki going to explode his way out of this one? No amount of Corruption formed would cause Dazai’s crush to dissipate. He definitely wasn’t under the influence of any kind of manipulation or any substance that Chuuya wasn’t used to.
He had seen Dazai high and drunk—neither of them had ever been so demanding, nor had they ever made him as pushy as he had been recently.
What was his deal? What had changed the cognitive gears in his mind the moment Chuuya stepped out with a new haircut?
Chuuya seriously couldn’t understand it, even after looking at it from a whole new angle. The crystals on the chandelier were currently tinkling from the touches that Chuuya had left previously.
The smell that Kouyou had sprayed onto him earlier still lingered with a vengeance, and he had surprisingly received many compliments whilst strolling down the hallways. He had to give it to Kouyou—she knew how to attract an audience.
Despite all his newfound attention, though, it seemed like that mackerel had weaselled his way through the Port Mafia headquarters without once bumping into Chuuya. Or, perhaps, Dazai had passed by Chuuya multiple times, and Chuuya was simply too absorbed in his mind to even register his presence.
Chuuya shook his head at the thought. He had a biologically specific radar dedicated to tracking down Dazai’s proximity to Chuuya, and it worked every time. There was definitely no way that Chuuya wouldn't notice Dazai—he was one of the most recognisable people in the Port Mafia.
He felt chills run down his back suddenly as another figure entered the room.
It’s him.
Chuuya braced himself to face him, before suddenly feeling himself hit the plush carpet floor with a thud. He groaned in pain, an eye slightly cracked open to see a blurred brown mop of hair.
“Dazai…” Chuuya groaned. “You fucking… asshole…”
“Wow, that’s a tiny slug,” Dazai replied, feigning surprise. “Are you sure you haven’t disintegrated from that fall? Carpets are scratchy.”
“Shut up, you waste of bandages,” Chuuya cursed. “What do you want now, bastard?”
Dazai narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why is Chuuya changing so much?”
Chuuya blinked. “...And how is that any of your business?”
“Every day, it’s something different. One day, it'll be a bow. Next, it’s braids. Now, it’s oleander.”
Chuuya grimaced. “So what? What I do with my hair is none of your concern.”
Dazai stepped forward, to which Chuuya hesitantly took a step back. His back hit against the wall, and the latter felt his teeth clench in frustration as he attempted not to obliterate the structure behind him. Chuuya eyed Dazai warily, his fists instinctually clenching as Dazai leant closer.
“What do you think you’re—”
Dazai leant in, closing his eyes. “It’s still there.”
Chuuya blinked. “What?”
Dazai’s eyes opened, his lidded gaze boring into Chuuya’s own. “The scent. Oleander. It’s still there.”
“...And?”
Dazai hesitated slightly, before nervously inching his hand closer to Chuuya’s arm. He shifted from side to side, barely able to hear his own thoughts as the pounding against his ribcage washed over his ears.
Chuuya watched him silently squirm in his spot, patiently waiting for Dazai’s next words. The prolonged silence was almost deafening—but Chuuya could wait.
“...No one… should see Chuuya like this.” Dazai’s hand squeezed Chuuya’s shoulder, as the latter felt Dazai shake. “Who is Chuuya trying to dress up for?”
“Hah? No one, dumbass. Am I not allowed to dress up for myself?”
“Do you not notice the stares you get in the hallways?”
“What?” Chuuya scrunched up his nose, his mind in disarray. “What stares? My colleagues are allowed to look at me, you know.”
Dazai regarded him with a deadpan look. “Chuuya.”
“What? I’m being serious, you bastard.”
“I’m being serious too, Chuuya. Of course, the tiny mafioso wouldn’t be able to decipher whether the looks he receives have any form of attraction attached to it.”
“What the hell does any of this have to do with them?!”
“I’m telling Chuuya to stop it. It’s ugly, and everyone can’t keep their eyes off of your slimy presence.”
Chuuya was silent, processing Dazai’s words. Then it all clicked. The gears swiftly turned in his head, and Chuuya almost gaffawed to himself as he realised the absurdity of the situation.
“Dazai,” Chuuya started, licking his lips tentatively. “Are you… jealous?”
Dazai immediately leapt back, as if the simple word had burned his skin off. “Me? Jealous? Of who? You?”
“Who else?” Chuuya said, Dazai’s reaction fuelling his confidence. “You keep telling me to stop. You keep telling me that what I’m doing is horrible and ugly… but in reality, you’re just jealous. All this time, it’s all that you’ve been. You’re jealous, Dazai. And you want me to stop because no one’s paid a single bit of attention to you, but—”
“Your projections are a horrible manifestation of your own thoughts, slug,” Dazai grimaced. “No, I’m not jealous.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“Are so.”
“Am not!”
“Are, so,” Chuuya grinned, feeling the butterflies return. His heart was pounding as he stepped closer to Dazai, but it was exhilarating. His hands shook, but the adrenaline rushing through his head was new, exciting. “You’re so jealous, it hurts. But not of me, right? Not me, no.”
Chuuya shook his head, brushing his hands over Dazai’s bangs.
“Not of me, but over me. Dumbass. Why did it take you so long to say something? That’s why I can’t stand you, stupid mackerel. You’re such an asshole. You expect me to instantly know? It’s a miracle that I’ve been forced to learn all of you at once. No one else could handle your goddamn brain.”
Dazai turned away, pouting. “Dogs should know what owners are thinking at all times.”
Chuuya sighed, placing his hand on Dazai’s cheek.
“Really, now? Yeah, well—maybe you should know what I think for once, Dazai.”
It rushed in as soon as the words left his mouth—he pressed his lips against Dazai’s own, the softness melting any tension left in his body away. Dazai’s figure went limp, his lanky arms wrapping around Chuuya’s waist as he reciprocated feverishly. All words left his mind as they continued to hold each other’s bodies, the world slowly fading to a dull throb in their vicinity.
They finally parted, with Chuuya’s cheeks flushed. For a moment, they stood there silently, taking in each other’s faces. Slowly, they leaned into each other’s presences, Chuuya closing his eyes to kiss him once more—
“The slug tastes slimy.”
Chuuya’s eyes snapped open. “What a way to ruin the mood, jackass.”
“Mood? My mood was ruined the moment I unfortunately met your lips.”
“Then why are you leaning in for a second one?” Chuuya’s lips curled up in a triumphant smirk. “Don’t tell me you liked it, Dazai.”
“Force of habit.”
“Sure, sure,” Chuuya said, bridging the gap. “Just, y’know… I think it’d be nice if you had the bravery to finish what you start.”
“I do—”
He was stopped with a kiss.
-
“...Ryuu, with all due respect… What the fuck happened to you?”
Akutagawa stiffly made his way to the table. If one dared to look closely, like Gin was able to see, slight tears were pricking the corners of his eyes. Though, he would never dare state otherwise.
“It was Dazai-san’s doing. I will not change it for the world.”
“Of course…” Gin muttered under her breath. “How did he even manage to cut your hair in the first place?”
“Dazai-san told me to embrace my assets.”
“...Your ability?”
Akutagawa merely pointed to his head in response.
“...Your brains?”
Akutagawa frowned. How was Gin still unable to understand his message?
“No. My forehead. I will bare it to all who meet me.”
Gin blinked once. Then twice. Then once more for good measure.
“Ryuu… He’s fucking with you.”