Chapter Text
☆ ☆ ☆
Thing is… Chuuya knows he’s good. He knows he’s dateable, he’s excellent boyfriend-material, he’s a well-adjusted human being able to adjust to the world that now doesn’t have any Abilities whatsoever.
He’s good.
He’s got a great body – well-maintained despite having had the power to literally bend gravity and not have to lift a finger to do anything, because even during the time when For The Tainted Sorrow answers his call in less than half-a-second, he’s distinguished himself in the ranks of the Port Mafia as the best martial artist in the region… and that’s not something that’s achieved with a happy-go-lucky strength training and a half-assed cardio regimen.
He’s got a well-cushioned bank account – he knows how to handle investments and he has excellent budgeting skills, able to afford glass-window lofts that scream wealthy bachelor more often than not, able to import customized Bentleys and Lamborghinis with hardly a flicker of his hands signing on his checkbook, able to splurge on airflown crates of Romanee-Conti and sometimes showing some local support with 35-year old Nikka Taketsuru Malt Whiskies.
He has excellent insurance coverage – especially on his car, he won’t make the same mistake again – and he knows how to stride into a roomful of extravagance with the confidence of a model, the tailor-fitted suit of a socialite, the fashionable hat of an artistic billionaire.
He never misses the opening night of Salome – if there’s a mission, it doesn’t matter because he possesses great time management skills too – and he’s a patron of the Tokyo Opera City Concert Hall. He can discuss La Damnation de Faust and Le Nozze di Figaro without losing steam.
He’s able to play the Violin Sonata in G minor, B.g5 with considerable proficiency, despite a certain someone’s commentary about him faltering during the last 13th to 15th minutes, therefore not really allowing him to showcase the trill about this Devil’s Trill. (He tells that certain someone to fuck off, because even with the help of the stolen Stradivarius, he’s only able to replicate the first two movements, which is way less than what Chuuya can accomplish.)
He’s working on Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto and that certain dumbass can suck it if he’s able to do so. He’s also steadily approaching completion of performing all of Mozart’s known compositions, a choice that definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Beethoven is that guy’s choice of poison.
His weekends are spent attending invite-only wine-and-cheese samplings, director’s club showings of black-and-white movies, short road trips while burning through two sticks of gifted cigars, culinary adventures in lobster thermidors and flambéed beef steaks.
He publishes poems – under a pseudonym, because there’s a lot of fuckers who will make trouble for his sanity if they heard of this – every month, subscribes to three literary magazines, submits reviews – in French, he’s not stupid enough to do so in Japanese and draw eyes to himself – about world politics to various circles.
He’s good.
Fucking awesome, even.
So here he is, in a bespoke suit that single-handedly caused Higuchi’s fainting spell earlier (though it’s more likely to be because of the cost rather than how it looks like it’s framing his ass), fedora against his chest and a bouquet of Holland tulips in his hand, and wondering what the fuck went wrong.
“It’s, you’re…” The youngest daughter of the previous MEXT Minister fiddles with her hands, tomato-red blush high on her cheeks. She looks like Chuuya’s her dream come true, but she also looks like she’s downed too much champagne. “You’re too good for me, Nakahara-san.”
What the fuck.
☆ ☆ ☆
It’s not a dating spree.
It’s not that he’s running away from problems.
It’s not, god forbid, running away from things such as feelings.
“Why are you on a dating spree, Chuuya?”
He freezes, like the cartoons with children wrist-deep in cookie jars. He’s here to check up on things, primarily because nobody wants to tiptoe into (the remains of) Motojirou’s laboratory to ensure that there’s nothing too explosive there. He’s honestly not expecting to run into anyone else, given the unholy hour (after driving all over town to shake off the bewilderment over his date’s ending).
“…I’m…not… Ane-san.”
Damn it.
☆ ☆ ☆
It’s not a dating spree, but he’s twenty-five now.
It’s been three years since Fyodor’s ass has been thoroughly kicked to some Siberian underground prison or the other (Dazai has contacts there, why is he not surprised that he’s even more terrifying than the KGB?). It’s been three years since Ability users have been demoted to ‘normal’, if normal means having blood on your hands since birth and suddenly having their extra edge against the criminals who continue to roam the world removed. It’s been three years since the Special Ability Department has been refurbished to something just-as-secretive, because there’s nothing to monitor with regards to Ability-users in Yokohama anymore.
It’s been three years since Mori-san has expressed his desire to retire and leave the Port Mafia in the hands of the next-in-line, which Chuuya thinks to mean is him, if only the actual first choice is a massive asshole. (It’s been three years since Chuuya’s accepted that Mori-san is a lying liar who lies, but isn’t everyone?)
Thing is, he’s lived for twenty-five years without the teenage experience of fumbling like a hormonal idiot, without the supposedly-normal montage of frolicking across the park with crepes on one hand and a significant other on another. He’s been really good these past few years, hasn’t he?
He does deserves some peace and quiet and normality and a fucking life, doesn’t he?
(“No you don’t, petit mafia!”, he can almost hear Dazai yell against his ear, that fucker.)
☆ ☆ ☆
“Why not get someone from a pool of people you already know?”
“That won’t—”
…work.
Damn it, he hates it when Dazai makes logical suggestions.
Chuuya glares at him suspiciously – and there’s a lot of suspicious things about Dazai right now – starting with the fact that he’s successfully broken into his penthouse suite yet again without tripping his supposedly-state-of-the-art security alarm.
Handling wild animals is dangerous, but Chuuya doesn’t dislike danger, with or without his Ability. Nevertheless, he crosses the foyer and approaches his living room couch with skittish carefulness.
Dazai’s hair is wild, almost as though he went here right after waking up and rolling all over his stupid lumpy futon (it’s not like he has no money – even if he spends an unhealthy amount of it hiring assassins to take him out of this world – so why not buy a new, thicker one?). Despite the sort-of homeless look, those brown eyes are sharp and assessing when they meet his.
“Now, where’s my consultation fee?”
Chuuya slaps Dazai’s grabby hands away, seconds from them reaching into his pants to take his wallet.
“Consultation fee?!”
Dazai has the nerve to tilt his head at him innocently. “I just gave you the answer to your life’s puny questions!”
“You broke my security alarm system.” Chuuya eyes the half-empty wine bar in his living room, as well as the broken glass window just a few steps away. “And my bulletproof window.”
“I was gonna jump off your building—”
“—and cause a goddamn scene in my apartment—”
“—but I saw you had a Le Pin as I was falling so I crashed here instead.”
“What the goddamn fuck.” Chuuya exhales loudly and deeply and wonders why the fuck is this happening to his life.
Aren’t things supposed to be over?
Aren’t things supposed to be normal?
Aren’t things supposed to settle down so he can get a break from all this?
Stupid fucking Dazai giving him a headache.
“…So?”
“So?” Dazai parrots him and waves his wallet at him. Because of course he still manages to pickpocket him. Chuuya slumps on his couch and brings his legs up and kicks at Dazai’s stomach, shoes and all.
“I’m sure you already have a suggestion of who I should date next.”
For a moment, there’s an almost surprised look in Dazai’s eyes, like he’s sincerely not expecting Chuuya to figure out that he’s a meddling piece of shit who has nothing else to do but think of disastrous recipes for an ex-partner’s love life, like he’s genuinely out of his depth in predicting the fact that Chuuya knows how to play this game well enough to get the worst out of the way first.
It only lasts a moment though, a particularly evil smirk crossing Dazai’s face.
“I don’t have a suggestion,” Dazai says slowly as he takes hold of Chuuya’s right heel. “What do you take me for?”
“A meddling asshole bored out of his mind who’d like to make my life hell.”
Chuuya’s nothing if not honest.
Dazai’s smirk grows even as his eyes shutter emotions out. “I have a list.”
☆ ☆ ☆
“No offense, kid, but I’m not really into blushing virgin schoolboys.”
Chuuya’s honest and it’s best to get things like that out of the way before they spend more time in each other’s orbits.
Nakajima Atsushi, to his credit, blushes but doesn’t yelp like a wet, offended cat. He doesn’t protest either when Chuuya takes his seat out for him, drapes his jacket over the back of his seat for him.
Dutifully, like it’s a line he’s been harassed into saying: “Dazai-san says that you’re a blushing virgin yourself, so we’ll match.”
“HE DOESN’T KNOW THAT!”
“So it’s not true?” Nakajima looks honestly intrigued, his multi-colored eyes practically sparkling at him, like Chuuya’s an interesting mouse. Abilities no longer exist in this world but it’s still mildly unnerving, knowing that this is the man-tiger.
Chuuya bites his lip as he reins in his composure. They’re on a cozy bakeshop, granted it’s fancier than most, but still pretty public. “It’s true, but—”
“So there’s no problem!”
“There’s a lot of problems.”
Chuuya sinks to his chair in dismay, because Akutagawa’s going to be insufferable after this, and if he’s in a prissier mood than usual: (1) Higuchi’s voice will be pitched higher than a songbird being cooked alive; (2) then Gin’s going to be more trigger-happy when it comes to waving her knives around; (3) then Hirotsu-san’s going to be ten times more imposing with his disappointed-grandpa look; (4) then Elise will not have a chaperone to buy her sweets; (5) then Mori-san will slink out of whatever his retirement bucket list item of the day is and attempt to outdo Akutagawa’s insufferability; (6) which ultimately means that Ane-san will order him to fix whatever it is or else he’ll need to entertain her to relieve her stress and he’s not quite ready to part with either his most expensive bottle or his dignity once she forces him to help out at the courtesan house.
Nakajima doesn’t look like he quite believes him, so Chuuya gestures for him to slink closer so he can draw an annotated flowchart on the napkins in their table.
Minutes later: “Do you get it now?”
“Akutagawa’s going to be pissed if he finds out about this date?”
“When he finds out,” Chuuya rubs at his temples. “And that’s what you’re focused on?”
“So does he like you or m-me?”
“For shit’s sake,” Chuuya exhales and waves at the waitress for more napkins, three cups of coffee (all for him) and three slices of cake (all for Nakajima, because he looks like someone with an insatiable sweet tooth, just like the mentor he’s been unfortunately saddled with).
Once the orders arrive – an excited “Thanks, Chuuya-san!” before the man-tiger polishes the first plate in record-time – he draws a mini-Nakajima, adding a fluffy tail and some furry ears just so the guy can’t mistake it. He taps at his drawing and resumes once he gets Nakajima’s attention. On another napkin, he then draws a darkly-shaded lump of emotional constipation and gloominess, but takes care to draw hearts for eyes. With the subtlety of a bombed building, he then crashes the two napkins, mushing the chibi faces together.
“Akutagawa looks at m-me with h-heart-eyes?!”
“Stranger things have happened,” Chuuya responds with the air of a man who’s suffered for a hundred years. Honestly, Akutagawa’s crush is hilariously obvious and terrifyingly adorable, if only because he’s never seen the guy trip over thin air so much while supposedly going through his daily life (read: stalkerishly appearing at places where Nakajima is).
It’s nothing (it’s even downright cute) compared to the other things that he has witnessed. To name a few: (1) Hirotsu-san being coerced by Kouyou-anesan into kimonos so he can assist in the courtesan house; (2) Elise and the newly-released Q fighting over the last piece of apple pie; (3) Mori-san carrying sardines and catnip in his pockets and strategically popping out of cat shelters in a very stalkerish and highly creepy way of courting.
Long story short, Akutagawa’s (sometimes literally) head over heels for his date for the day.
And Chuuya has an inkling that this date is for Nakajima to talk to someone who knows what’s going on, but can’t see daily (and therefore lower the possibility of embarrassment) about his feelings for Akutagawa. Normally, he’d be pissed off like hell for being manipulated into something like this, but Akutagawa’s a good kid. Stereotypically emo teenager despite being twenty-one already, but a good kid nevertheless. And this slightly airheaded, naïve man in front of him seems like the perfect match to him.
He hasn’t received any texts or messages from Dazai, so he figures that he’ll just proceed as normal?
“Would you like to get more pastries?” He rather hopes not, but he’s always game for doing whatever his date wants. Matchmaking aside, there’s no reason to not treat Nakajima nicely. “Or do you want to go somewhere else?”
“I’m thinking I’d like to bring souvenirs back to the Agency…” Nakajima’s eyes bulge as he surveys the prices though.
“Get whatever you want.” Chuuya helps him stand up towards the display of cakes near the storefront. “Don’t worry about paying me back.”
“C-C-Chuuya-san! I’m going to buy everything!”
Chuuya laughs as he requests for the waitress to help pack whatever Nakajima chooses so it can be delivered to the Agency. He’s not opposed to buying the whole supply for the day, but he can’t carry all of them, especially not if they still have to go somewhere else. “Is that supposed to deter me?”
Awestruck, Nakajima stares at him with stars in his eyes. “…You’re really gentleman bocchan.”
“I’m not a bocchan, goddamnit.”
☆ ☆ ☆
“Why are you being so nice?”
Chuuya falters for a moment as he steps into his apartment. His eyes immediately go to his window, but nothing seems to be broken. Does he even want to know how Dazai broke into his place again? Not really, because he loves his sanity too much to let it go.
“…you’ll have to be more specific than that. I’m always nice.”
“You’re not nice to me!”
“Well yeah.” Chuuya hangs his overcoat near the doorway, before he sits beside Dazai, his legs reaching over the other’s lap so he can kick the other’s chest. He’d rather swallow his tongue than sit willingly beside the other, but it’s his expensive couch and he’s going to use it even if there’s vermin on it. “You’re not worth being nice to.”
“Hey!” Dazai chucks Chuuya’s leather shoes to the vague direction of the kitchenette. “I’m someone who you should be nice to!”
“How about no.”
“…You’re distracting me.” Dazai’s not the type to be distracted by a nuclear weapon exploding in front of his face, the damn liar. “Why are you being so nice?!”
“I assume you mean regarding Atsushi-kun.”
“You’re on first-name basis?!”
“He calls me Chuuya-san already. Since three years ago?”
“But you’re—you’re—you call him Atsushi-kun?!”
“You call him Atsushi. Everyone calls him Atsushi. What the fuck is the problem?”
“Akutagawa doesn’t call him Atsushi!”
“That’s his problem, not mine?” Chuuya lifts his left foot so his toe can plug Dazai’s nose and kill him before he can say something more. It doesn’t work – Dazai only wraps a hand around his ankle and drags his foot so it’s against one slimy mouth. “He’d probably combust if he tries to call him ‘Atsushi’, the dummy.”
“You paid for the truckload of cakes for the Agency.” Dazai’s whiny words tickles against his foot. He twitches and attempts to kick the other’s nose again. It fails, again. “You even bought him a kitten! A kitten!”
“It’s a purebred Persian.”
“Fukuzawa-san was so jealous, he wanted to go on a date with you!”
Fear washes over him.
“…does Mori-san know?”
“Silly Chuuya – do you even have to ask? Mori-san was there for his visit!”
“I’m…” Faintly, Chuuya reaches for his phone and thinks whether the Caribbean is far enough from Mori-san’s jealous wrath. “Is Mori-san going to kill me in my sleep?”
“He’d want you awake for torture first,” Dazai supplies helpfully.
“Goodbye.” Chuuya attempts to move to his bedroom so he can pack a luggage for a year-long vacation to save his life, but Dazai’s grip on his foot is unyielding.
“I won’t let Mori-san torture you, idiot.”
Chuuya, because he’s a stupid idiot who doesn’t learn, actually believes Dazai.
“This is all your fault, you know.”
“Mmm.”
Chuuya’s foot is back against Dazai’s lips. He wriggles his toes to lessen the ticklish feeling.
“I didn’t sign up for this matchmaking thing with those two dense idiots.”
“Hmm.”
“I mean it.”
“Mm.”
“The date was nice.”
“…it was?!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes at Dazai’s exaggerated disbelief. “Atsushi-kun’s a good kid. It was nice spending time with someone like him.”
“So… you’re into blushing virgin schoolboys?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You are?!”
“I’M NOT, YOU STUPID FUCK.”
“Hm, that’s a lot of denial right there…”
“Because it’s not true, asshole.” Chuuya shoves his toe against Dazai’s nose again, because he’s not a quitter. “And we have another date tomorrow.”
“See, I’m getting mixed signals here, Chuuya.”
“Does it matter?” Chuuya raises an eyebrow at Dazai literally inhaling his foot. It says so much about his life that it’s not even weird – more accurately, it’s weird, but it’s practically normal compared to all the other shit he’s seen… “Atsushi-kun’s the one I’m going on a date with.”
“Do you actually hate Akutagawa and secretly want to punish him?” Dazai’s words should be muffled, but they still sound crystal clear even when he’s speaking against his soles. “Do you want to sink my ship?”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “He needs to talk to someone who can give him sane advice about Akutagawa, someone that’s not you, dipshit.”
“You make it sound as though I give insane advice!”
“You told him to surprise Akutagawa by appearing naked in his house…”
“That’s fun!”
“…as part of their first date.”
“They’ve pined for too long already, stop being a prude!”
“Rashomon’s gone, but Akutagawa still has a gun. Their first date will end in murder.”
“Atsushi’s tough – he can last a bullet wound or three.”
“…this is why we need at least three more dates.”
“Is Chuuya falling in love with Atsushi-kun?!”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“I’m Dazai, but continue.”
Chuuya lets his unrepentant kick to the other’s forehead be his reply.
☆ ☆ ☆
Chuuya’s just finished sending Atsushi off after their date, the man-tiger’s arms filled with bags of pet food and more souvenirs for the folks at the Agency. His offer to walk the other to the Agency’s building has been turned down, because he’s apparently being protected from Edogawa-san’s grabby hands and loud tantrums about wanting to go on a date with him too (he’s made to understand that the term ‘sugar daddy’ has been thrown around).
Though, given the sight in front of him now, Chuuya figures he should have insisted on walking Atsushi home.
“NO.” He considers stomping on the ground, if it can bring his point across. “JUST… NO.”
He’s not even sure if this is because his route is that predictable, if he just has shitty luck, or if Dazai’s making money off this.
“Don’t leave, Nakahara Chuuya.”
Good god, he’s not prepared to die! He’s going on multiple dates with Atsushi, yes, but he doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend yet! He refuses to die a virgin!
Fukuzawa Yukichi looks imposing most of the time, though it’s hard to take someone like him seriously when there’s an overflow of shopping bags field with sardines and cat food by his feet. “…Don’t leave… before you buy me a kitten.”
How does the Agency even operate, do they not know about salaries?! Can’t their President buy kittens on his own?!
The deep scratches on the other’s right cheek and left arm tell him a story, but still!
“…Can’t… Mori-san buy you crates of them?”
Oh god, he feels his stomach flipping. He drinks a lot of wine, but it’s hardly a cause for ulcer! Yet, he feels like there’s a hole there, acid gnawing at his insides.
“Mori…?” Fukuzawa blinks like he’s trying to place the name. Chuuya feels almost hysterical – he kind of wants to call Dazai so he has someone with him when he loses his mind – at the fact that Fukuzawa apparently doesn’t even know the Boss’ name. Then again, that’s better than the truth. “…Oh. You mean, Rintarou.”
Chuuya considers just throwing his wallet at the other, so he can use it to buy off all the pet stores in Yokohama, bribe the store personnel so they’ll still sell him kittens even if it’s obvious that kittens despise him.
Because, of course. Of course.
“…you call him… Rintarou…”
Of fucking course.
Because three years has passed already and old grudges are all forgiven and first-names are for losers, because it’s all about former names now. He knows Mori-san’s old name because he’s an Executive, but he’s never dared to use it. But then again, there’s nothing normal about Fukuzawa Yukichi, is there?
Or rather, things have slipped into domestic normality without any bloodshed for those two.
Fukuzawa is looking at him like he’s a particularly interesting specimen and it’s so much like Mori-san’s dissecting gaze and he’s just—over this, okay?! He’s not looking forward to being skewered by Mori-san’s jealousy-driven scalpels and he’s not going to waste time being messed up by the Agency President’s weirdness.
“…let’s just go, Fukuzawa-san?” Maybe this is a sign that he should drink his newest wine acquisition. He deserves a treat after this day. “Do you have a breed in mind?”
☆ ☆ ☆
“Oh. You’re alive.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes as he strips everything but his undershirt and boxers, piles of clothes ending up in the genkan of his apartment that hardly anyone visits. “Don’t sound so happy, asshole.”
“I’m not happy,” Dazai quips as he grins, one hand waving a remote and—is that a new TV set installed in the wall?!—pats at the spot beside him. “That striptease is too bland, I’d rate it 4 out of 10.”
“Since you’re the expert on stripteases.” Chuuya rolls his eyes again as he makes his way to the living room that’s slowly but surely being filled by random shit that Dazai’s buying using his credit card, financial restraint an unknown concept. “Also, I’d kill you before I give you a striptease, bandage bastard.”
Dazai’s grin widens. “Please do kill me—make it interesting!”
“I’d unwind those bandages and let you choke on them.”
“Mm, so it does involve stripping, in a sense.”
“Never mind, I’d just push you off the building.”
“Not very original,” Dazai pats on him on his forehead with the edge of the remote, as soon as he’s within patting distance. “I’d probably survive.”
“You’d survive falling to a vat of acid.”
“See, I’m touched by your faith in me,” using his left hand, Dazai pulls his legs to rest on his lap, even though Chuuya’s placed a respectable distance between them considering it’s a two-person couch. “But I’m getting mixed signals here—do you really want to help kill me?”
Chuuya wriggles a bit so he’s comfortable, one eye closed and another trained on the luminous display of the new TV he can already feel he’s going to regret. He hardly watches the television and now he has the state-of-the-art TV in his living room, stupid Dazai messing up his monthly budget. “I’d rather not help you do anything.”
Dazai shoots him an unreadable look—okay fine, it’s not exactly unreadable, but it’s been years since he’s last seen that, crossing the threshold of getting a new partner in the Agency, OdaSaku’s death, their last mission together as partners. It’s the ‘I know you’d do anything for me, Chuuya’ look that he’s hated for a very long time, because of how true it rings.
Because Dazai’s not a complete bastard—just, 99.99%—he hasn’t launched that look Chuuya’s way since he left the Port Mafia.
Now it’s just annoying because Chuuya’s not Dazai’s lackey, not anymore. He won’t do anything for the bastard. Maybe some things, but not just anything. Definitely not everything.
“You know you’re lying, don’t you.”
“Urgh, shut up and pick a channel already.”
☆ ☆ ☆
“Of course it’s you who’s next.”
Chuuya considers the younger man struggling not to fidget in front of him. Trust Dazai to set him up on yet another matchmaking date that doesn’t end up with his own lovelife improving.
“…Good evening, Chuuya-san.”
“Right. Good evening to you too, Akutagawa.” He considers his vague dating plans for the evening. “Would you rather we go to the art museum three streets over?”
Akutagawa coughs into his hand, Chuuya's instincts immediately placing him to the other’s side to help rub circles on the other’s back.
(“You’re such a mother hen, hat rack!”, he can almost hear Dazai crow against his ear.)
“I’m… fine.” Akutagawa’s pinched expression tells Chuuya just how much he would prefer to be coughing his lungs out than to be cared for by a work colleague. “The art museum… sounds fine. I believe in your itinerary.”
Chuuya takes a half-step away from the stubborn man, sliding his hand down to take hold of one tense elbow. He hears some bush rattle noisily and he hopes that Higuchi’s not about to get herself arrested for suspicious loitering. “You didn’t have to sound so constipated saying that.”
“…my apologies.”
“You don’t need to say sorry for every single thing too.” Chuuya wonders if Dazai force-fed Akutagawa with these flimsy manners. “Especially if you don’t mean them.”
“I see.” Akutagawa does not look like he understands, but he does look like someone who knows how to capitulate when needed. “So where shall we proceed?”
“The museum is better.” Chuuya knows that there’s hardly a lot of people there at this time; Yokohama citizens aren’t the type to huddle around art especially when it’s not even an exhibition night. “We can talk more there.”
Akutagawa’s face flushes – in embarrassment or rage or both – at that, but he doesn’t deny it. Chuuya suppresses a sigh at doing the legwork in calming down two dense idiots in love so they won’t be as anxious when approaching each other.
“Atsushi-kun loves animals. Kittens in particular,” Chuuya says as nonchalantly as he can, the moment they cross the threshold to the museum.
To his credit, Akutagawa doesn’t trip over thin air. He trips on the carpet instead.
“…I don’t.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes as he helps the man up, despite the other’s glare. “Suck it up.”
“Relationships should be about compromise.”
It’d be a wonderful, believable line, if Akutagawa’s not glaring at the wall and looking like he’s been suckerpunched.
“Right. Advice from Higuchi’s magazines aside—”
“—they’re Gin’s.”
“…Okay. Advice from Gin’s magazines aside, give me those lines about relationships and compromise once you actually manage to start one.”
“Dazai-san said—”
“A lot of shit stuff, probably, but no, your current status of stalking Atsushi-kun and passive-aggressively waiting for him to notice you does NOT count as a relationship – not in the way you want it to mean, at least.”
“—he said you’re gonna tell me that.”
“That fucker, predicting my lines.” Chuuya keeps them moving about the museum, pausing for five minutes at every painting, one hand still latched to his elbow to keep him from running away from their Talk. “So you have to build a healthy foundation first. And you can start that by being nice to Atsushi-kun’s kitten.”
“I could be allergic.”
“You could see Atsushi-kun eventually succumb to the adoration of Kyouka-chan and Lucy-chan.”
“I’m not allergic to cats.”
“Thought so.”
There’s at least ten minutes before Akutagawa speaks up, sounding lost and confused and mildly terrified about the prospect of working at not being completely miserable for once. “…And after that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Chuuya almost laughs at the scandalized expression on the other’s face, betrayed by someone he’s been led to believe to help him capture the love of his life. “Akutagawa, your tenuous… relationship with Atsushi-kun started without any of my meddling. Without anyone else’s meddling – wait, aside from Dazai pulling strings so you’d encounter each other.”
“But—”
“It will come naturally.” Chuuya lets Akutagawa’s elbow go, sensing the other’s need to pace away. Akutagawa does take a few steps forward, but doesn’t stray too far. Huh. He really is a good subordinate. “You could help him take care of the cat. Help him shop for pet food, then grab dinner afterwards. Go to the park and meet other pet owners. Read pet grooming books at the public library. Ask Higuchi for a big favor so she’d pet-sit while you two watch a movie. There are endless possibilities. Just choose one that you can see the two of you doing without bloodshed.”
“That’s…” Akutagawa looks halfway to dismissing his words, but he swallows it down, acceptance flitting over his expression instead. “Thank you for the thoughtful advice, Chuuya-san.”
“…Why does that sound like something that bastard Dazai told you to say.”
Akutagawa’s not quite smiling, but it’s near that. Chuuya feels warmth blossom in his chest, because it’s time for people to move to the normality that normal folks monopolized for a long time. A lot of people deserve happiness – Akutagawa’s one of them and he’s in the verge of accepting that without kicking and screaming. It’s good. Nice, even.
“He told me that you’d surely give thoughtful advice.” Akutagawa tilts his head a little to the right, a motion that’s so Dazai, it almost freaks him out. Like mentor, like student. “And he warned me about making sure to treat you right.”
“That asshole.”
“Where should we proceed to next?” Akutagawa asks after a few more moments, the guards for the museum starting to make their rounds to advice the few visitors about the closing time.
“Anywhere you’d like to go,” Chuuya replies easily, shrugging as the two of them begin walking out into the cool evening breeze.
“We can go to a bar.”
Chuuya laughs outright at that. “You look like you swallowed one of Motojirou’s lemons.”
“You’d prefer wine.”
“I’m fine with anywhere.” Chuuya’s not sure, but he’s probably visited every establishment in Yokohama already. There’s nothing surprising here anymore, not after living here practically his entire life, doing sweeps to expand Port Mafia territory, misguided desire to expand his world by visiting each and every shop he could. “Let’s go somewhere you’d enjoy.”
Akutagawa doesn’t say anything, but his eyes sparkle with something that he’s not able to hide quickly enough.
“Somewhere that’s not the Agency – we’re not stalking Atsushi-kun at night.”
“…I was not about to say that.”
“You were thinking it.” Chuuya sighs as Akutagawa lets out a helpless sigh. Dense idiots. “Let’s grab coffee – I’ll tell you all about the desserts Atsushi-kun likes.”
“He likes all sweet things. Just like Dazai-san.”
“There are things he likes more than others.”
“Just like Dazai-san.”
“Maybe you should cut down the Dazai talk when you’re with Atsushi-kun.” Chuuya doesn’t think he’s being biased when he says that. “Atsushi-kun doesn’t seem the type to enjoy talking about annoying idiots on his dates.”
“You talk about Dazai-san a lot when you go drinking with Tachihara. Or Hirotsu-san.”
“…Didn’t peg you as a gossip.”
“Higuchi tells me these… things.”
“Right.” Chuuya considers that as they approach a 24/7 coffeeshop two blocks away. “And those aren’t dates.”
“Even the ones with Tachihara?”
Absentmindedly, because Chuuya’s busy ordering drip coffee for the two of them: “Of course they’re not dates.”
Akutagawa mumbles something that sounds like ‘dense idiot’, but Chuuya doesn’t push him on that further.
☆ ☆ ☆
“Welcome home, honey~♪”
For one terrifying moment, Chuuya thinks that he’s gone insane.
There’s no waste of bandage soiling his living room couch, but he can still hear that godforsaken voice.
It’s only for a moment though – Chuuya slowly pats his thigh for his dagger as he tiptoes with an arm on the wall, approaching his kitchen. He relaxes as soon as he sees the firm line of shoulders and the familiar back – and that’s when Chuuya decides that he’s gone insane.
“Should I call the fire department?”
“I know how to cook katsudon, have some faith, Chuuya.”
Chuuya sniffs at the air and draws a blank. “…you’re cooking katsudon?”
“That’s too much faith,” Dazai says dryly, flipping something in the pan. “I’m cooking omelet now.”
“For a midnight snack?”
“Well, if you’re gonna criticize my menu, I won’t give you any.”
“I didn’t ask for one.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he dumps the bag containing slices of blueberry cheesecake and apple pie on his dining table. He sinks to a chair after, his eyes on Dazai’s back as the other whirls around in his kitchen like he owns it. “Given that you’re using my kitchen without my permission though…”
“You get first dibs?”
“I’d rather not. I want to see you eat it first.”
“You want to watch me eat?”
“I want to make sure I’m not gonna end up with food poisoning.”
“I told you to have some faith, Chuuya.”
Chuuya laughs, derision in his tone instead of fondness. He’s sure of that. “I don’t think so.”
“Aren’t you having fun on your dates?”
“I wasn’t expecting that I’d be… playing matchmaker when you suggested I date people I already know.”
“You weren’t expecting an ulterior motive from me?” Dazai flips the omelet again. “That’s stupid of you, Chuuya.”
“I was expecting an ulterior motive,” Chuuya corrects him, because this is Dazai. He’s not entirely idiotic. “Just… not about smushing Akutagawa and Atsushi-kun together. Or even using my corpse to bridge our bosses together.”
“Oh?” Dazai serves the food, with too much grace and fuss about plating, given that it’s a midnight snack. “What did you expect?”
“Making me a gofer. Getting blackmail information from our mutual acquaintances. Something along those lines.”
When Dazai sinks to his own chair, he does it with a long-suffering air that’s just not warranted. “You really are stupid.”
“I’m not, you jerk.”
“Hat rack.”
“Bandage bastard.”
“Petit mafia.”
“Stupid asshole.”
“Chuuya.”
“Why the fuck are you using my name as an insult?!”
“…Eat your food.”
“Hmph.”
☆ ☆ ☆
“I’m… not expecting you.”
“It was surprising to me too, Nakahara-san.”
“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Chuuya backtracks a bit, because he’s honestly – pleasantly – surprised. “I wasn’t expecting Dazai to send me to meet someone decent.”
“Are you calling Atsushi-kun indecent?”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow, lips quirking at the other man’s words. “It’s hardly decent to date someone days away from dating someone else.”
Kunikida Doppo isn’t someone who’d usually collide against Chuuya’s orbit, but it’s good. Nice, even. They’ve only ever interacted in terse confrontations – right-hand men of two opposing organizations that had to tenuously work together in a war that had hostaged the entire world – so it’s surprising to have to deal with each other in peacetime.
It seems like the wonderful sort of challenge though – one that doesn’t end in piles of dead bodies and autopsy reports.
This guy is the right-hand man to Fukuzawa Yukichi. More importantly, this guy is the one currently suffering the brunt of the misfortune of being Dazai’s partner. He already feels an immense connection.
“I like organized things and I dislike annoying bastards like Dazai.”
“I like many things and I greatly dislike everything about Dazai.” Chuuya laughs at the sight of Kunikida’s answering grin, thrilled and carefree, as he stretches his hand over the table between them. “I’m sure we’ll get along well, Kunikida-san.”
☆ ☆ ☆
They do get along well.
Too well even.
Kunikida takes him fishing – they drive out one Saturday on Chuuya’s convertible and they spend sunrise until noontime knee-deep in water, buckets filling with freshly-caught fish. Chuuya grills their catch over a portable grill that he suddenly (oh-so-mysteriously, if only he doesn’t smell that bastard’s rare indulgence of tobacco on the grill’s box) finds on his living room an hour before the drive – because Kunikida’s handwritten recipe has a smudge on one edge and it asks for some herbs that aren’t available in the wild.
On Wednesdays and Fridays, they alternate between attending art exhibits and watching the currently-showing movies in alphabetical order. Each Sunday, they go for lunch on Chuuya’s favorite restaurants; Saturdays are dinners of Kunikida’s choice – mostly seafood places.
Most weekday nights they go for dinner, joined sometimes by some folks from the Port Mafia, sometimes by some members of the Armed Detective Agency, oftentimes joined by the other Mafia-Agency couple in a double-date, Dazai a permanent absence during these meals.
It’s all so normal and unobtrusive, both of them orphans and have no families aside from their respective affiliations. There’s no curfew or meet-the-parents that he needs to be nervous for. Given that the world has calmed down considerably, all of their plans go through without a hitch, their dates lined up weeks in advance on Kunikida’s notebook.
It’s all going along so well.
Too well even.
“—so you can’t bring yourself to kiss Kunikida-kun?!”
“Don’t yell, you shitty fuck,” Chuuya whines as he presses his face against his bed, headache pounding like a particularly wild drum.
He probably shouldn’t have opened his new bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, not tonight when he’s feeling… confused about himself, but it’s rare that he approves of an American wine and…
Urgh.
He’s not drunk though – not drunk enough to miss the fact that Dazai’s half-yelling at him, that Dazai’s on his bed, fully-clothed and completely annoying.
“I mean, I know you’re a virgin, but.”
“Argh, shut the hell up.”
“You called me here, slug.”
“Urgh. Don’t remind me.”
He’s fairly sure that he only drunk-dialed Dazai. He’s not drunk enough to actually beg the other to come here and listen to his problems… is he? Fuck, he can’t remember. Shit. Urgh.
“So you called me to tell me… that your lips remain untouched?”
“It’s not like I could call anyone else,” Chuuya grits out over his pre-emptive hangover migraine.
Everyone who knows about him dating Kunikida (and there’s a LOT) approves of their match-up wholeheartedly – even Kouyou-anesan, and she has standards as high as the heavens – and Chuuya’s not in the mood to be scolded for not wanting to put out, or something. He’s probably never going to be in the mood for such a confrontation.
And Kunikida’s—nice, very nice. It almost feels wrong to not want to take things further with him.
Almost.
It’s not something anyone could simply agree with.
Dazai – who always begs out of going to dinners with them, supposedly because he’d gag over seeing his partner and ex-partner make cow eyes at each other (Chuuya has this distinct feeling that it’s more because that despite this match-up being Dazai’s idea, Dazai’s not so kosher with the idea of the two people who know how insufferable he is to band together against him) – is the only one who could probably understand.
“So he’s normal, but too normal for you?”
“Something like that?”
“I always knew he was boring but nobody believed me!”
“He’s not boring.”
“He was a Math teacher, Chuuya.”
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“Argh – he’s not boring. He’s not. Just. Too normal?”
“…you think he’s too good for you?!”
“You’re shrieking, damn it.” Chuuya throws a pillow at Dazai’s direction, but it’s futile effort. The pillow just gets smashed over his head in return. “Don’t raise your voice at me, argh.”
“You think he’s too good for you,” Dazai then repeats with a modicum of restraint.
“Sort of?”
“You’re the stupidest fucking idiot in the world.”
“Shut up, I have a hangover.”
“You just drank one glass an hour ago, you lightweight.”
But there’s none of the shrieking in Dazai’s voice anymore. Chuuya feels the pillow leave the top of his head – just as he adjusts so that his cheek is flat against his silk sheets, fingers comb through his hair, smoothing out his curls.
“Urgh.”
He tries to vocalize a protest, swat Dazai’s hands away from his hair.
He attempts to make this strange calming camaraderie stop.
He ends up sleeping soundly within the next minute.
☆ ☆ ☆
“Well, this is… awkward.”
It’s supposedly a Sunday lunch date with Kunikida – but the other man’s not here.
Chuuya rubs at his eyes as discreetly as he can, because despite the aspirin and bottles of water by his bedside when he woke up two hours ago to the annoyingly loud ringtone of the goddamn mackerel calling him to haul his ass out of bed – he’s still fairly exhausted, sleepy and suffering from a hangover.
There’s Atsushi-kun’s naïve excitement and there’s Dazai when he sees a bridge to jump on – and then there’s this.
“Good afternoon, Nakahara-san!!!”
“…good afternoon to you too.” Blond kid with superstrength isn’t a good thing to call his date for the day. Or is this guy just early in joining him and Kunikida for lunch?
…is he still dating Kunikida?
Fuck, he should have asked Dazai before he dozed off last night.
…goddamn it, it’s his lovelife, he doesn’t need to consult that bastard on this. The guy sustained himself on the tears of his heartbroken conquests, back in the day. He’s hardly the best person to help when it comes to matters of the heart that doesn’t involve death and/or stabbing.
“Yosano-san told me to order all the expensive foods twice and bring leftovers to her!” Blond kid shares the plan to drain his wallet rather enthusiastically. “She told me that you probably wouldn’t want to date me again after this, so I have to take advantage!”
“…that sounds pretty mercenary.” Chuuya doesn’t mind though. He’s warier about the fact that this guy can unleash a constant smile brighter than the sun – it’s pretty bad for his eyes. “Order whichever you want.”
Seconds after their impressive orders have arrived, blond kid seems to remember one more thing he’s been asked to relay to him.
“Oh, and Dazai-san said that he already broke up with Kunikida-san for you, Nakahara-san!”
☆ ☆ ☆
“—you—!!!”
“…me?”
“What the fuck did you think you were doing, breaking up on my behalf?! Did you just break my window again?! Why are there strawberry waffles on the kitchen, you know how much I hate that flavor! Also—remove your socks if you’re going to just! Laze around my bed. God, please stop breaking my windows—the building manager’s going crazy over the constant repairs, and she’s driving me nuts in turn, can’t you just take my goddamn key?!”
Dazai looks halfway between cackling in evil glee and keeping up his exaggeratedly innocent gaping. “…which one did you need answers to?”
“EVERYTHING.”
Chuuya makes a point of removing his socks before he launches himself to his bed, utterly drained from lunch and afternoon shopping spree with Miyazawa Kenji. He’s a pretty energetic man, if he says so himself, but even his no-hangover self is no match to the other’s sheer enthusiasm and brightness. He’s still wondering if there’s a remote to the kid so he can adjust the contrast and brightness, not unlike the not-that-new-anymore TV in his living room.
Slowly, deliberately, Dazai refocuses his attention back to his video game, his legs crossed as he leans against the headboard.
Chuuya throws his socks to the other’s face, ignoring the sputtered complaints about smelly feet (lies).
“I DEMAND ANSWERS.”
“After my game, Chuuya, don’t be rude.”
“You fucking broke into my apartment for the thirtieth time, don’t argue with me about rudeness.”
“You also clearly don’t know how to count.” Dazai laughs at his indignation. “Kunikida-kun’s not that great of a math teacher then, that’s probably why he quit?”
“I don’t care to count your transgressions, I’d run out of numbers.”
“Hm, do you think it’s possible to run out of numbers? You can just substitute it for ‘infinity’? Or is that too difficult for you?”
“Don’t distract me,” Chuuya drags the video game console out of the other’s hands. The grip isn’t too tight, so Dazai’s probably expecting it. Also, it appears to be his console, so Dazai doesn’t look too concerned that he hurled it to the floor. Feh, whatever, it’s carpeted, it’ll live. “I demand answers.”
“I’ll think about supplying them.”
“You—!”
“—me?”
“—are fucking insufferable.”
“Technically a compliment, because you don’t suffer when you’re with me.”
“Answer my—”
“I got strawberry flavor because I felt like it.”
“…huh?”
“Your question about the waffles.”
“I don’t care—and two, I know you got them because you know I hate them.”
“So presumptuous – I don’t do things in relation to you, you know?”
“So that’s why you keep on breaking into my suite then?”
“You have the best appliances and the most expensive TV.”
“Because you keep on doing credit card fraud!”
“It’s not like you’re using your credit cards for anything other than your wine and whatever culture obsession of the moment you have?”
“That doesn’t mean you get to use them!”
“It’s for the greater good.”
“You just wanted a UHD screen.”
“As I said – the greater good.” Dazai’s looking at him like he’s expecting something else though – and oh. Throughout their conversation – it’s absolutely shitty conversation, but a conversation nevertheless – Chuuya’s ended up kneeling over Dazai, his legs caging Dazai’s, his hands still gripping Dazai’s.
He drops Dazai’s hands.
(His only consolation is that he still keeps on wearing his gloves, because Abilities may be gone, but the scars left remain. He’d rather not broadcast to the world the mark Corruption has tainted him with.)
“Why the hell did you break up with Kunikida – ‘on my behalf’?”
“I’m all about the greater good.”
“Bullshit.” Chuuya’s knees are frozen, so instead of sliding off Dazai’s legs, he settles in, because he’s nothing if not resourceful. This close, he can punch Dazai right on the face if he says something too annoying. “Tell me.”
Dazai sighs and looks at him like he’s a particularly dimwitted brat.
Something must be on his face, because Dazai actually relents after a moment.
“…you’ve gone on dates with him, every single day, for the past three months. That’s eighty-eight dates. And you didn’t even want to kiss him or take things further.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to break up with him!” Chuuya really doesn’t think so. Love and normality shouldn’t depend on kissing – there’s too much blood spilled and too high of a body-count in this city for things like kissing to matter so much. “And even if I wanted to, why do you have to do it for me?!”
“…so your actual issue is me doing the ‘break up’ for you.”
“NO—I mean, yes, it’s an issue, but it’s not the only one!”
“Is there a point in continuing to date others?”
“I wouldn’t even be thinking, right now, of dating others, if you didn’t break up with Kunikida on my behalf.”
“…so you’ll continue this… ‘dating spree’?”
“It’s not a dating spree, stop talking to Ane-san.”
“Someone has to, you’re hiding from her.”
“I’m not, I’m just avoiding the courtesan house.”
“Afraid to see beautiful ladies there rocking kimonos better than you?”
“Not about that!”
“Mm, so you’re confident in your ability to still be the best courtesan.”
Chuuya moves to slap Dazai to stop him from speaking nonsense, but it only brings him closer, his hand caught. “Not that either!”
Dazai hums as he sticks Chuuya’s right hand against his cheek, his fingers cradling the other’s jaw. His fingers twitch with the urge to attempt to slap the other again.
“Where’s my key, Chuuya?”
“I didn’t make one for you!”
“You’re the one who told me to take a key.” Dazai huffs, reminiscent of how he passive-aggressively complains about not getting his way when they were much younger, when Dazai hadn’t fully mastered his manipulative bastard qualities. “Aren’t you becoming senile already, baldie?”
“I’m not bald!” Chuuya squirms as he tries to get his hand free, to no avail. “And I’m not senile either!”
“So I’ll have to spend money to make a key copy?”
“Don’t sound so put-out!” It’s not like Dazai’s spending money on anything but his abhorrent preserved crab and sake. He hasn’t been spending money on buying useless souvenirs and senseless gifts for women, or else Chuuya would have been called to deal with damage control already. It’s just a couple of yen – and. “It’s not like you have to make a copy, goddamnit.”
“I’m going to, you can’t take it back.”
“Stupid mackerel.”
“Slimy slug.”
“I’m not slimy.”
“You’re slimy, getting Kunikida-kun’s hopes up…”
“I did not.”
“So you admit you feel nothing for him?”
“He’s… he’s nice, okay?” And Chuuya’s very dateable, very secure in his life, very well-adjusted to a world that’s suddenly different from everything he’s fought for. But he’s not nearly as nice or as normal as Kunikida. It’s not even about the amount of blood on his hands, not even about the fact that he’s raised as a child soldier. Kunikida doesn’t have the same dark whispers about raging on until nothing remains, whispers that he hears despite the fact that Corruption shouldn’t be here anymore. And if it’s not Corruption, then it must be his own voice, right?
“…so you want, what, a bad boy character?”
Chuuya sighs, the fight and annoyance leaving him in puff of air. It’s exhausting to deal with this bastard, because his words say one thing, but his gaze sees through him anyway.
“…Just shut up.”
He slumps forward then sideways, rolling into his unofficial side of the bed. He thinks about pushing to chew Dazai out for being so… presumptuous in breaking up with people on Chuuya’s behalf.
It’s probably a lost cause anyway, so Chuuya just closes his eyes and thinks about how unfairly difficult it is to live like a normal human being.
☆ ☆ ☆
“You’re… Nakazawa from the Port Mafia?”
“It’s Nakahara.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow at The Guild’s leader – or wait, is he the leader now or did they have yet another civil strife? does it even matter? – as he sips at his champagne delicately. He takes a half-step closer to the American when one of the patrons nearly bump to his back.
“You’re wearing William Fioravanti.”
Chuuya’s eyebrow lifts higher – aside from Dazai, nobody else is able to identify his bespoke suits on sight (though that’s probably because he rarely sees his colleagues on black-tie events).
“And yours… is by Brooks Brothers.” He’s not entirely sure – he’s not one for American brands when it comes to clothing, but given that Fitzgerald is most likely back in Japan to help promote his country since his current business venture is based there…
“Excellent eye, Nakahata.”
“It’s Nakahara,” he repeats with an eyeroll, furnishing a copy of tonight’s program from his pocket and flashing it to the other. His name as one of the sponsors is on flowing script at the first page, in romaji so the foreigner can easily read it.
“I’d like to call you ‘mine’, instead, if you’d allow it.”
Unwittingly, a snort leaves him – cheesy pick-up line aside, he didn’t think Fitzgerald is the type to ‘allow’ people to do things. It’s not in his personality – though the war changed a lot of things.
“Just for tonight,” Chuuya demurs instead, letting the other stir him into conversation about Japanese tailors.
☆ ☆ ☆
“I didn’t think you were serious about the bad boy preference!”
“Good morning to you too, dumbass,” Chuuya replies dryly as he squints at the sunlight streaming to his room. He’s not quite sure what time he managed to crawl into bed, flutes of champagne nearly floating him higher than his penthouse suite. He remembers promising himself not to drink a lot because he actually enjoys opera, but Fitzgerald’s had talked about too many expensive topics and it felt apt to drown himself in alcohol to deal with him.
“Society pages have such poor taste,” Dazai bemoans this as he eagerly flips through his tablet (bought, unsurprisingly, using Chuuya’s credit card) for more pictures from last night’s opera.
“I gave you an invitation – it’s your fault you didn’t get your picture splashed all over the news.”
“I hate it when you make sense,” Dazai complains even as he’s making himself comfortable at the foot of Chuuya’s bed, spreading crumbs everywhere since he’s speaking as he’s biting onto his breakfast (or brunch?, what time is it?). “But since it pretty much never happens…”
“Get the fuck out of my room.”
“Before or after I hand over your breakfast?”
It’s not even a choice. “Give me coffee first.”
“They have some great Guatemalan beans today.”
“Huh. You actually bought great coffee today.”
“Just wait until the food poisoning kicks in after an hour.”
“Poison cannot taint great coffee.”
“Oh-so-wise words coming from a coffee addict.”
“I thought I was a wine addict?”
“One can have more than one addiction.”
“Pfft – quit the solemn act, you look stupider than usual.”
“Your hair’s sticking out in all directions.”
Chuuya’s cup is halfway empty, his belly warmed and his blood caffeinated nicely. “I look wonderful despite it, shut up.”
“Hm.” Dazai stares at him for a brief moment, before handing him a paper bag of bagels. He then flops on the part of the bed where Chuuya haphazardly threw parts of his suit before he crashed last night. It’s a testament as to how fucked-up his life is that he doesn’t even screech about his suit getting wrinkled – it’s old news at this point. “Fitzgerald didn’t bitch about your suit being more expensive than his?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you even listen to him during your date?”
“Is that counted as a date?” Chuuya’s all for dating if he can hopefully, finally, find someone who’ll give him a place to feel normal about.
“Uh, he said that you were his for the evening?”
“Stop stalking me.”
“It’s on the papers, idiot.”
“He gave an interview?” Chuuya remembers being stopped for pictures, but that always happens recently.
“You agreed to his statement, dumbass.”
Maybe he did? “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t look debauched though, so your virgin lips are still safe?”
“GET OUT.”