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There are 99 problems in his life and all 100 of them are caused by Dazai. Scratch that, 100 is lowballing it too much, he’s pretty sure that there are countless transgressions that this shitty mackerel has done.
Enumerating all of them would take an entire lifetime, so he’d like to focus on his most recent and pertinent problem.
Why is he, Nakahara Chuuya—graduate from a top-tier university with high honors; with a corridor at said university dedicated entirely for the trophies that he’s acquired in various sports; with a stable and lovely family background; with a wallet that can afford most things because of his high-paying job—an all-around Great Catch™, still single???
How is it, that in his twenty-two years of life, he’s never even received a single love confession??
What the hell is wrong with this world?
He asks that, but he’s also quite sure of the answer. This is all that shitty Dazai’s fault.
That stupid fish has cursed him ever since that day they went to separate, but neighboring preschools. He could still remember it vividly, how Dazai snuck into his school during lunch break, and saw that he gave away his extra chicken karaage to his new classmates. And then declared that he should only be giving away his food to his future husband, and because he gave food away to ‘other people’…
“You definitely can’t get married, chibikko! Because nobody will be so tasteless and crazy as to marry a chibi like you!”
He doesn’t believe in curses and he definitely doesn’t believe in Dazai’s tantrums, so he’s punted that incident to the back of his mind. But nearly two decades after, he’s starting to think that maybe that fucker has really successfully cursed him? Why else would his love life be more barren than those plants that Dazai tries to keep, but never remembers to water?
He clenches his fists. He can’t let Dazai win like this, damn it! He’s not going to take this lying down! He’s definitely, definitely going to find someone to marry and rub it in that bastard’s face!
-
“Aren’t all your problems just because you’re such a chibi, chibikko?”
“Stop it with the chibi this, chibi that, asshole!” He points at the other man’s face with his middle finger. “Why are you here again? I never want to deal with you, damn it!”
Dazai has the gall to pout at him. “Don’t you keep on nagging me to go to work?”
“Because I want you to stop appearing in my office!”
“And here I was, thinking that Chuuya told me to work with good, noble intentions…”
He shudders. “It’d be even more unbelievable for me to have good intentions when it comes to someone so annoying as you, shitty Dazai.” After all, their enmity has been pretty much carved in stone, the moment they first met as kids and this idiot told him that he shouldn’t wear hats as padding for his height.
(In fact, back when they were in second grade, they even carved it into that old tree in the backyard of Chuuya’s family home. A promise to never forget their feelings of hate towards each other, fueled by yet another bento-related incident.)
“Fufufu, you’re actually admitting that you have very bad intentions towards me, chibikko?” As expected of a weirdo, he sounds rather happy about this.
“I’ve told you so many times about how I want to kill you so dead and you only realize that now?”
“Well, I don’t wish to be kicked to death by tiny feet, so I’ll have to pass on that.”
“Tsk.” He slaps his palm against the papers in front of his table. “Make sure to give a pass on this too, asshole.”
“You did nothing but insult me and now you want me to help you out?”
“We’re literally here because we’re negotiating for work,” he points out with a snide curl to his lips.
A continuation of his misfortune, really. Aside from that time when they went to different—but still neighboring, preschools—he’s been stuck in the same class as this mackerel for the rest of his time as a student. Taking up different courses didn’t seem to deter the fish from swimming all the way to his classes, skipping his own and making a nuisance wherever he is instead.
After all that, Chuuya’s been looking forward to graduating from the confines of school schedules and being annoyed by a fish that way. Unfortunately, even though he’s now working a very lucrative job, he still has to deal with this mummified beanpole.
“You should be nicer to me, you know?” Dazai pouts again, though he breezes through reading the documents, affixing his signature without really perusing them too closely. Well, far be it from Chuuya to convince him to take this more seriously—since the terms would favor his side anyway. Actually, it’s not far-fetched to expect Dazai to have read everything already in those few seconds.
“I didn’t have you gunned down the moment you entered my office.” A heavy eyeroll as he takes the signed documents back, slapping away Dazai’s fingers that try to hold his hand for some reason or the other. “That’s already me being plenty nice, okay?”
Business done, Dazai flops sideways on the couch, creasing the severe lines of his suit. Completely unlike the image that he’s perpetuated amongst the industry, he’s far from being a ‘demon prodigy’ now. Unless one counts his truly prodigious skill at being a nuisance. “Now that that’s done, go ahead and feed me already, chibikko~”
“Now that business is done, you can get the hell out of here,” he corrects him.
“Our groups are now supposedly buddy-buddy but you’re chasing me away so quickly?”
“Glad you can understand human words, fucker. Now get the hell out.”
“Nope!” Dazai then makes himself more comfortable on the couch. It shouldn’t be comfortable in the least—Chuuya has specifically asked for the couches in his office to be replaced by two-seater ones, ones that would require this stupidly-long beanpole’s legs to hang off so he can’t do shit like take a nap here. “Isn’t it supposed to be lunch time for you? I’m so hungry already, what if I starve and shrink to become a shorty like you?”
He does his best to ignore the idiot who’s removing his shoes and tucking himself in the couch like this is remotely anywhere normal. “Then I will point and laugh at you.”
“Oh, so you finally admit that you’re a shorty?”
He throws a paperweight towards the mackerel’s head. Instead of cracking his skull open, those bandaged fingers predict the trajectory well and catches it effortlessly.
“Ah, isn’t this from our trip to Kyoto last month?”
“It’s the only remaining souvenir from my trip to Kyoto last month,” he corrects testily. “The asshole who tried to get me kicked out of my hotel room doesn’t count!”
“Let’s return there soon?”
“Let’s fucking not.”
He finishes up a few more paperwork, focusing on the sound of his pen scratching against the papers. It’s almost peaceful—too peaceful, even. By the time that he lifts his head, he could see that Dazai has actually fallen asleep. That lazy sod.
He thinks about throwing more paperweights the other’s way, but figures that he doesn’t want to spread germs over his belongings. Instead, he fires up an email towards Dazai’s harried team of assistants who are probably looking for their shitty boss. Then, he kicks this bastard off his couch with a, “If I get you lunch, make sure you don’t disturb me for the rest of the day, damn it.”
Dazai blinks awake, stretching his limbs like a gigantic cat. “Your methods of asking me out to a lunch date could use some more work, but fine, I’ll accompany you. Because I’m nice like that.”
“Did you somehow scramble your brain during that short nap? What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?”
“Unromantic chibis who are too short and too tacky and too violent would have a lot of trouble getting married like this.”
Oh no, this idiot has probably really gone ahead and starved himself, if he’s already saying delusional things like this. He hates Dazai, sure, but if this person actually goes insane here and his group is suspected of being the one behind it… That’d be very troublesome.
With that thought in mind, he bodily drags this delusional mackerel by the elbow. “You’re weirder than usual, are you getting enough sleep? Or food?” A bit hopefully, “Maybe you need to get punched a few more times?”
“Well, because a certain chibikko keeps on nagging at me to work hard, I’ve been doing a lot of overtime, you know?”
He’d feel a bit more concerned about this, if not for the fact that this shithead’s assistants are filling up his email every day to use him as the relay center for their boss’s work. “And this overtime that you speak of, do they happen to be taking place in an office that’s not your own?”
“Ah. Let’s not talk about such boring things.”
He twitches and tries to shove this fucker to the ground. But, as expected of someone who’s known him for nearly two decades now, the intended blow doesn’t land. Still, Dazai is working harder than usual lately. Even if it’s only ‘harder’ because the other point of comparison is too low. “I doubt Mori-san would want to work you too hard.”
“Ane-san would also not work you too hard and yet you’re such a workaholic chibikko who doesn’t have time for me anymore!”
“I never had time for you to begin with. Ever.”
Dazai sighs, then pats his shoulder. “You’re lucky that even though you’re such a silly chibi, I am magnanimous enough to ignore all of your violent tendencies and harsh words.”
“Don’t ignore them!”
Another pat to his shoulder—on his left this time, which is the side that’s further away from the mackerel. The arm stays, even as he kicks the other’s shin.
“Don’t you worry, even though tacky tiny chibikkos like you can’t find someone to marry them, I’m here to help you out.”
Oh, this fucker is just rubbing it in, isn’t he? Just because he’s too busy to convince someone—not threaten, okay, he’s a very reasonable person—to marry him! (Not that he’s all that interested in it to begin with, but a surefire way of stoking his competitiveness is if a certain mackerel tells him that he can’t do something, damn it.)
With a scoff, “I don’t need help from an asshole who gets slapped by ladies for inviting them to double suicides.”
Dazai stares at him for a few moments, before sighing once again. “You really are such a silly chibi.”
“Keep that up and we can go straight to me beating you up.”
“Really such a silly chibi~”
“Now you’re asking for it!”
-
…So, it’s been something that’s on his lowkey priority list.
That shitty Dazai keeps on bringing it up he now has mental flashing subtitles of ‘marriage, marriage, marriage’ whenever he sees that shithead’s face. And he’s been seeing it a lot recently, with the mackerel hosting an invisible aquarium inside his office, swimming on his couch and scaring off anyone else that he has to meet and negotiate with.
(It has brought in an unexpected advantage, really, because a lot of people have heard of Dazai’s reputation and so nobody is willing to act as an asshole when there’s Top Asshole lurking around. All of the negotiations have gone through rather smoothly, something that Ane-san has praised him for, but there’s a sour taste in his mouth whenever he thinks that this is partly thanks to that bastard’s presence.)
The sour taste only intensifies because with Dazai lurking around at nearly every waking hour, how can he find someone who’d be willing to marry him in the interest of showing this mackerel his place???
Even if it just needs to happen for maybe two hours tops, just with a badass ceremony that will make the fish cry from jealousy over his excellent taste in décor! His Family has government connections so getting the marriage struck off from records afterwards is easy enough, but it needs to happen first! Then he can shut this shitty bastard up for good!
Thankfully, despite his string of misfortunes, god still hasn’t forsaken him entirely.
Dazai’s been called away for an important trip out of the city, something that would take at least a week. He’s too ecstatic about this, that he even agrees to send the mackerel off at the airport. If only to ensure that he can witness the fish go away with his own two eyes.
Before Dazai leaves, he poses a serious question, “Would you prefer a white diamond or a black one?”
“I would prefer that you stop trying to steal my wallet from my pants,” is his equally-serious response, because knifing the other for attempted theft in a public space is bound to make Ane-san shake her head. Crime should be done only if there are no witnesses and a clean getaway is possible—that’s an important lesson everyone must follow.
“You are so stingy.”
“Aren’t you supposed to have lots of money too?” After all, this guy is also an Executive like him. With how much he mooches off Chuuya’s office, it’s unthinkable that he could deplete his salary. What else is he going to spend them on aside from his infernal bandages?
Dazai looks absolutely delighted, a change from his despondent aura ever since he’s been told he has to leave Yokohama for a week. “You’re already keeping track of my finances?”
Of course, he is, he’s already planning to send a mile-long invoice to collect payment for the other’s freeloading ways. He rolls his eyes and pushes him towards the departure gates. “Just get the hell out of this city already.” And then, Chuuya can use that time to threaten—find someone to marry him!
“Why do I feel as if you’re planning something terrible, chibikko?”
“You’re just being delusional like always,” he says with the best poker face he can muster.
Dazai stares at him like he’s trying to read every single one of his thoughts off his forehead. He even curves his palm there, clearing away the wisps of hair. “Fufufu, you’ve never been able to lie to me, Chuuya.” Then, he trails that hand down and flicks the tip of his nose. “I look forward to your surprise when I return.”
“There’s no surprise, damn it!”
As expected of a mackerel though, he just waves a hand in farewell, before disappearing into the throng of people.
…Urgh, the allergic reaction flares up again. He can feel his head swelling and going red. He rubs his nose. He really needs to undo this mackerel’s curse as soon as possible—he has a feeling that it will only grow worse from this point onward.
-
Thankfully, it seems that his misfortunes are tied to Dazai’s proximity. The moment the mackerel is away, good luck starts pouring in.
Mainly, because he bumps into one of his old classmates just as he’s leaving the airport.
“It’s really nice to see you here, Chuuya-san… and Dazai-san isn’t around…”
This kind of greeting would have been nicer without a mackerel attachment included, but Chuuya can’t really blame him, pointing out the bastard’s absence is something to be celebrated. “It’s been some time,” he agrees, and thinks about how it’s been literal ages since he’s had a meal with anyone who’s not his family, his Family or that mackerel. “How about we catch up over lunch?”
Tachihara’s face goes very red. “S-S-Sure! Anything you say! I’m honored! Chuuya-san!”
He frowns a bit, thinking about whether he looks too intimidating. Has he been dealing with Dazai for too long that he ends up appearing fierce and murderous even at random times? He attempts to soften his smile. It won’t do to scare off friends, after all. “You can pick where we eat, it’s my treat.”
“N-No, I’ll be happy anywhere!”
He insists again, but Tachihara is also insistent on not picking. Since it’s already deep into the lunch rush, he calls up the best hotel they have under their group’s umbrella, and reserves a private room so they can chat in peace. When he tells Tachihara this arrangement, the other man’s face becomes even redder.
“…C-Chuuya-san, I’m… I didn’t think… I should…” A big gulp of air. “Does this mean I have a chance?”
A chance with what??? Before he can voice out this question, Tachihara takes another deep breath, before saying, “You always told us that there’s no time to run away. So, Chuuya-san! I like you!”
Chuuya blinks, before happily holding Tachihara’s hand. Finally! After twenty-two years! An actual confession! Despite that shitty Dazai’s curse on him, he actually received an actual confession!
“Is it the type of like that would make you agree to fake-marry me?” He asks to make sure. “I’ll pay for everything, you just have to show up.”
“…Um??? I don’t understand???” He looks torn between fainting from having his hand held and from the sheer confusion about what’s happening. “M-Marriage? So soon?”
“Fake marriage,” Chuuya corrects him. Then, he thinks about it for a moment. “It won’t be for too long, don’t worry. We just have to get fake-married in about a week.” He thinks about it some more and adds, “It’s going to be a very cool and badass fake-wedding.”
Tachihara outright faints.
-
Thankfully, having a lot of money means that a lot of things can be done in record time. Not to mention, he uses his money wisely in other matters too.
Towards his assistant who honestly worries him with how much he says the word ‘Dazai-san’: “Akutagawa, if you don’t stop asking me ‘is Dazai-san aware of this?’, I’m going to buy a lot of vegetables for you and insist you eat them all.”
Towards Dazai’s assistant who also worries him a lot: “…You… I’m buying you a lot of chazuke in exchange for shutting your mouth, alright.”
Towards his fake-groom and the rest of his Family: “Everyone must wear badass hats and if you need me to buy you one, just let me know.”
Because he’s used to being very hardworking on most days, he’s able to plan this very badass wedding under a time crunch. Lots of blacks and reds. Dress code implemented. A very sharp suit, complete with leather shoes with hidden heels, because he’s not going to appear that short in the photos, damn it.
He thinks about arriving at the venue while on a bike ramping off another building, but Tachihara has begged him not to. Rock music the entire time, from the entrance, to the walk towards the priest that will be holding the ceremony, all the way to the reception. Lots of excellent wine and the most exquisite of food. A seafood-heavy menu, because he’s not going to deal with complaints from a certain someone as to how his reception’s food isn’t up to par.
And that certain someone is none other than the bastard who has teased him his entire life, who has cursed him to live a life of not having a bit of romance!
He has made arrangements to reserve the best seat in the venue for said bastard. So he can have the best view to his curse being defeated! So he can suck it up and realize that not all of his predictions will come true! That Chuuya definitely can find someone to marry him, damn it!
In any case, this means that the entire front row is reserved for Dazai. The seat just in front of the altar is for him, while the rest of the row is for the lineup of Bluetooth speakers (to blast the rock music right into the mackerel’s ears) and his collection of favorite hats (that are definitely not his favorites due to how much additional height they give him, it’s purely aesthetic choices!).
A lot of red camellias, certainly not because of a certain memory of a certain shithead insisting that they etch their ‘vows of eternal hatred’ onto the camellia tree at his family’s backyard. That day, with how much they’ve been bickering and tripping each other, they ended up jostling off the tree and caused several flowers to rain down on them.
The memory of the red flowers landing on top that shitty mackerel’s bird’s nest of a hair, the petals matching the red of the other’s nose and cheeks, pouting hard when Chuuya deliberately misspelled his name in his ‘vows’—
…The main point is, his badass wedding is going to look awesome!
He ignores the strange tingling in his fingers as he remembers those things. Urgh, as expected, the allergy reaction towards that mackerel is only getting stronger. Now, it’s working even over long distances!
The faster he can get married, the faster he can end this particular curse! And hopefully after that, he can end that other curse too, the one that makes him feel all sorts of weird things, damn it—!
-
Dazai texts him his flight details. Special ringtone that he’s never figured out how to change into something more normal, since hearing the beanpole singsong, “chibiest chibikko fairy that has ever been chibi’d” is enough to rouse someone from six feet under.
It’s rather late at night. His phone has made an imprint against his cheek. Somehow, despite being tired from both work and wedding planning, he’s been finding it difficult to fall asleep recently. Perhaps it’s because of jittery excitement towards his fake-but-incredibly-badass wedding?
Then, any sleepiness evaporates quickly the moment he reads the contents of the text. What the fuck! So that shitty Dazai’s about to arrive! He immediately blows up at his phone, calling the other back. He can only be incensed that the other’s already out of coverage area.
Fuming, he stomps his way to changing his clothes and leaving his apartment, not even waiting to call anyone to chauffeur him. He drives his own car to the airport, blaming Dazai for his inability to sleep deeply.
He checks the text message several times during each red signal at each intersection. He’s been rather busy, so it’s only now that the realization hits him. The mackerel, for the first time since they’ve had the misfortune of meeting, has actually left him alone, in peace? For an entire week? No spamming his inbox? No random appearances under his bed? No surprise cannonballs into his mattress?
…Urgh, it’s really because of Dazai then. He’s been so used to being on guard for the other’s sudden pranks and general nuisance, that he couldn’t sleep properly without them! Worse, he’s probably instinctively expecting something, so the lack of anything happening just makes him feel even worse! It’s that bastard’s fault! Another curse!
Steam is practically rising out of his ears as he parks his car and goes to the arrivals, checking his phone every few seconds and nearly bumping several people in the process. It’s so irritating to receive all sorts of spam from the mackerel, but now that his phone is eerily quiet, it’s also so annoying!
He’s busily writing out a long text message demanding the bastard to respond because he’s pretty sure that the other’s plane already landed. It takes him a few moments to recognize the scent, and then the pair of shoes in front of him. By this point, he’s already crashing face-first to an unfamiliar set of clothes resting on a very familiar fish.
He blinks up at him.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh fuck no.
Oh fucking hell no, he’s ho—
“What the hell are you wearing!”
Dazai blinks down at him, gaze made shinier by all the lights in the airport, as well as the pair of rimless glasses. “Chuuya, it’s just been a week, but did your brain shrink so much?” One hand rolls the suitcase against his leg and another gestures towards the rest of his body. “These are called clothes.”
“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it, fucker!”
“Mm, rather stylish clothes, ne?” An impish grin. The collar of his shirt is a bit creased from the hours of his flight, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that the vertical black-and-white stripes make him look impossibly long. And stylish. What the fuck. How does he suddenly look so, so, so handso—urgh, he can’t even think it!
“You look super annoying,” is what he ends up saying through the sudden flaring of his allergies. At that thought he takes a step back, to put some distance between his face and the other’s chest. It’s too late though—his cheeks already feel hot and swollen.
Dazai takes his hat off and transfers it on top of his brown hair. With a smile, he then musses up his hair, saying, “You missed me a lot, huh?”
“I definitely did not!”
“That’s why you came rushing here to see me, at two in the morning.”
He draws to his full height, swatting the other’s hand away from his hair. “There was no rushing involved.”
“That’s why your shirt isn’t even buttoned properly?”
“I made sure to—!” He immediately looks down. Then back up. “Bastard, it’s all done right, what the hell are you talking about?!”
Ignoring that, Dazai asks him, “Ne, chibi, where’s my surprise?” Another pat to his head. “I heard that you’ve been busy all week.”
He makes a mental note to never buy Atsushi chazuke ever again, as well as add a week-long vegetarian diet for Akutagawa. However, it seems that they didn’t tattle completely. Chuuya forgives them a bit and takes out something from his pockets.
A black envelope with thick laminated card inside, a special invitation.
He shoves it against Dazai’s chest. “There you go, now stop harping about it already.”
A beat.
“A love letter?”
“OBVIOUSLY NOT!”
“Then why are you blushing so much when giving it to me?” Dazai holds his hand that’s still pressed over his shirt. Keeps it there. “See, you won’t even stop touching me.”
“Because you’re holding my hand—!” Just for that, he balls said hand into a fist and punches the other’s chest.
The mackerel mimes crumbling from the attack, but he does pick up the envelope. Touches it with reverence, like it’s a masterpiece worth at least a hundred billion yen. He makes to open it, but Chuuya stops him in time. This kind of special invitation needs a proper setting to be appreciated, and standing in a busy airport isn’t really it.
“Don’t read it here.” The embossed calligraphy would look nicer under less-glaring lights. “Open it later, shitty Dazai.”
“Ah.” How is it that one syllable could be infused with such a heavy weight of happiness? Eyes twinkling, “Is this a wedding invitation, Chuuya?”
Aghast, “How the hell did you know?!”
“Ah.” Heavier happiness. “So, it is a wedding invitation. That’s your surprise for me?” It’s obviously a crowded airport despite the early hour, but it feels as if they’re the only ones around. “That’s why you had to make sure to pick me up?”
His “I was planning to run you over with my car” is strangled inside his throat. Well, there’s no point in hiding it any longer. This entire thing is pretty much just to overturn Dazai’s teasing and prediction about him not being able to find someone to marry, after all.
He clears his throat and meets the other’s eyes. “Yes. You must come to the wedding.”
“Must, hmm?” Dazai removes his glasses and hangs it over his shirt. Teasing, “The wedding wouldn’t happen without me, is that it?”
“Of course, having you there is the most important part of my wedding.” Otherwise, how could he have the chance to rub it in this bastard’s face that his curse didn’t work?
Strangely enough, the mackerel’s usually-annoying face actually softens at this. Sounding incredibly touched at the possibility of being thwarted—which is, okay, kind of understandable because this idiot is probably bored at always having his plans succeed—Dazai even trips over his words, even though it’s just a simple, “…Is t-that s-so?”
So moved, that he also trips forward, clutching at his hands for leverage.
Chuuya frowns as he makes to kick the other away from him. Even through the gloves, he could feel himself having an allergic reaction from the sudden closeness. Despite Dazai’s insistence on calling him a slug, he’s stickier than one, difficult to dislodge. He would usually punch such an annoyance off, but the flare of his allergic reaction makes him dizzy, so his current action is kept into hissing, “Let go already, damn it!”
“…Are you shy?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“If you’re like this, then what would happen during the wedding?”
“You don’t have to worry about anything regarding that,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “You just have to show up.”
Dazai’s face melts even more. “…Ah. C-Chuuya, you…” His hands grow clammy. “The only important thing is that I’m there, huh.” Cheeks flushing. “I hoped, but I didn’t think that you’d actually…”
He twitches. This bastard still doesn’t think he can get married! He’ll show him! “Just show up and shut the fuck up,” he reiterates.
“Pfft, then however can I say ‘I d—”
“—no objecting to the wedding either,” he interrupts.
Dazai freezes. And then, very slowly, “…Why would I be objecting to the wedding?”
He shoots him a glare. “You’d actually behave and not cause a ruckus on my wedding with Tachihara?” He finally managed to threaten—ahem, convince—someone to fake-marry him, he doesn’t believe one whit that this mackerel would be so well-behaved.
Dazai turns into a solid block of ice. It’s probably just his imagination, but he could swear that he heard the crack of lightning just now. “You. Are. Getting. Married. With. Tachihara.”
“What’s up with this robotic way of talking?”
Brown eyes stare at him until he could feel his blood going haywire. His fight or flight instincts, for possibly the first time ever, are urging him to fly away from this situation. Of course, he doesn’t heed that. He’s never the sort to run away, especially if it’s this shitty mackerel is involved. He stands his ground and meets the other’s stare head-on.
And then, Dazai’s shoulders shake. “Fufufu, I understand.”
“…Now you sound more insane than usual,” he points out very helpfully.
Wiping some tears that have leaked out of his eyes, the fish is still in the throes of mirth as he admits, “Mm, a certain chibikko is just driving me crazy, that’s all.”
He’s not just going to accept the blame that’s been casually laid on him! “No way, you’ve been crazy ever since I’ve met you.”
“That just means you’ve driven me crazy from day one, ne?”
“We met because you jumped on me from your balcony,” he reminds this idiot. That day, amidst the flurry of cherry blossoms jumping away from their respective trees, the tiny version of Dazai had also stormed into his arms. “That’s definitely the work of a madman.”
Dazai reaches out to grasp the side of his neck, his thumb rubbing on the middle of his choker. There’s something very resolute in his eyes. “A madman, huh?”
It’s not a hold that could be compared to a strangulation, but it robs of him breath nevertheless. The words, “the wedding is tomorrow”, also stay there, and he could only ineffectually grumble out his dissent when Dazai then starts to walk them back to his car, guessing the spot where he parked without even another word.
-
As he’s expected, misfortune descends on him in droves the moment Dazai is within the same city.
He sleeps past his alarm, something that has never happened until today. He trips over his own feet as he scrambles out of his bed and into his bathroom. He nearly slams nose-first to his door. Is this considered having pre-wedding jitters? Even though it’s just a fake one?
Or, is it because his body has finally attained a solid block of sleep after spending an entire week being suspended in some strange limbo of tension?
Or, is it because after he drove Dazai home last night—or rather, much earlier this morning—Dazai leaned down and reapplied that curse over his forehead, whispering, “Such a silly, tacky, tiny chibi… Nobody in their right mind would marry you.”
…Whichever the reason, the important thing is that everything goes well today, damn it!
He shakes his head to dispel all thoughts related to the fish. He then contacts Akutagawa—since he’s the one in charge of guarding and ensuring that Tachihara doesn’t have second thoughts and run away. Upon ensuring that his fake-groom is still in one piece, he proceeds to quickly go through any outstanding matter that needs to be taken care of.
The rest of his morning is caught up in a whirlwind of activity. He barely has room to catch his breath. But it will all be over soon. He has a few minutes before he needs to go out and walk down the aisle. Despite the closed doors of the waiting room, he could hear the thrum of his carefully-curated rock music collection. He nods along with the beat, excited to see this through.
In just a few minutes, he’ll be a married man! And he’ll finally be able to rub it in that mackerel’s face! And he’ll finally stop having to listen to Dazai teasing him while repeating the word ‘marriage’ in all of its forms! Soon, he could look at that mackerel’s face without ‘marriage’ flashing in neon-colored subtitles!
Ane-san shakes her head. “As long as you’re happy, lad,” is what she fondly tells him before smoothing his hair and seeing him out of the door. Paul and Arthur can’t make it back from an important business trip, but that’s alright, because this is a fake-wedding anyway. Nevertheless, Ane-san will be holding her phone out so his fathers could bear witness to the badassery.
To ensure that he gets the best entrance possible, his walk is after Tachihara’s.
A red carpet is laid out over the aisle. He walks down in the most stylish way possible, of course. Even better, his favorite rock song accompanies him, and all of his guests are wearing nice hats as per the dress code. He’s wearing his favorite fedora, one that’s been gifted to him by his fathers. Its chain clinks slightly as he walks, hands in his pockets, his shoulders straight and his overcoat billowing behind him.
Several people are weeping—in terror? nice—as he passes by. Tachihara’s there by the altar, looking nervous while also awestruck.
Everything’s perfect.
At least, until he gets to the front row.
The only person in this entire wedding that has received the special invitation that he’s personally penned—did not fucking show up?! The gall of that mackerel to not appear when he’s received a grand invite that says, “THE Nakahara Chuuya is getting M.A.R.R.I.E.D and you're invited!”
How dare he?! After he’s gone through the effort of making sure that he has the best seat available? Complete with extra speakers surrounding his seat so he doesn’t get to miss a single note of the soundtrack?
Also, if he’s not here, then how the fuck can Chuuya rub it in his face?!
He could already envision the fish snootily claiming that his marriage is fake because he hasn’t witnessed it with his own two eyes! While it’s true that this marriage is fake, it’s… it’s not like that!
Urghhhhhhh.
His swagger takes a critical hit at this. Thankfully, he’s already just a few steps away from the altar, so his zombified way of moving doesn’t last long. He’s not quite sure how he’s managed to clear the last few steps, with his mind racing to think about the fish’s whereabouts.
Fortunately, he gets his answer soon, before he could even turn around and yell at someone to hunt that bastard down.
Unfortunately, said answer comes in the form of—
“Ahem, ahem, eyes here.”
A very familiar voice. A very familiar person, wearing extremely unfamiliar clothes. The sound of terrified weeping continues.
Dazai, appearing on the altar while wearing an outfit that should be burned without question, has his face arranged into the most bored expression possible. “Ahem, bland boring trash in some tasteless suit and ugly hat chosen by someone with no fashion sense,” he addresses Tachihara but keeps his eyes on Chuuya, “do you take this chibiest chibi bride to ever exist in the chibiest chibi body as your lawfully wedded wife?”
Chuuya blows up. “I was the one who chose the dress code! What the fuck do you mean by ‘someone with no fashion sense’! You’re a mummified mackerel cosplaying as a priest!”
“Language, chibikko.” That bored facial expression remains, but it’s now less offensive because there’s at least some light in the other’s eyes now, instead of him looking like death warmed over.
“I’ll say ‘fuck’ if I want to, damn it!”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Dazai sniggers. “But you should be calling me ‘father’ instead of ‘priest’, you see.”
“Fuck you very much!” He points at him using his middle finger. “Also! Who the hell are you calling a ‘wife’! I’m clearly a husband!”
The music reaches its crescendo, since things should have already proceeded to the completion of the vows at this point. Amidst all the noise and the rush of blood inside his ears, Chuuya’s excellent sense of hearing doesn’t allow him to miss even the tiniest hitch in Dazai’s breath.
And so, he hears it very clearly—
“Alright,” is said softly, even though the way Dazai grabs his hand has more in common with a crab using its pincers, “dear husband.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“You clearly are a shitty priest, don’t you even know how weddings are supposed to go!”
“Stop looking at me like you want to eat me, damn it!”
All three statements collide with each other and detonate inside his throat. An empathic “blerghhhhhhh” gurgles out of him instead. Before he could even decide on what to scream at this bastard’s face, Dazai tugs him closer by the hand and spreads his fishy germs on his knuckle using his mouth.
Chuuya’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his heart explodes from so much rage.
-
“A mafioso fainting at his own fake-wedding? Fufufu, Chuuya, you’re really such a silly chibikko, huh?”
With this as the first thing he hears upon waking up, he lets out a disgusted grunt, then perseveres to get back to the safer shores of unconsciousness.
Unfortunately, the mackerel has grown fat and heavy from mooching off him for years. As such, his weight is difficult to ignore, especially when he’s straddling his waist. Behind the looming bastard, there’s an unfamiliar ceiling and wallpaper.
“Where the fuck are we?”
“On a five-star hotel for our honeymoon where nobody would disturb us,” comes the prompt response.
Equally prompt, Chuuya decks him in the jaw. The angle is all wrong—not much force ends up being exerted and so it’s easy for the fish to catch his fist. Doesn’t let go.
He hisses in distaste as he tries to buck the other off. When it doesn’t work against the slippery fish, he hisses again and says, “You’re too fucking stingy for a five-star hotel, oi.”
“Mm. That’s true.” A shameless admission. “Nobody would dare disturb us here though.”
He looks around for a few more moments before it clicks. “You added a bed into your office?! Just how lazy are you?!” No wonder it looks so unfamiliar, Dazai pretty much never uses this place ever. And even with its infrequent utilization, the mackerel still finds the time to dump a bed in it for maximum laziness.
“Don’t you always tell me to go to work? Of course, I wanted to make it the best workspace possible!”
“To do actual work, instead of slacking off!”
“Whatever for?” Dazai asks him brazenly. “Once I marry you, I can just let you do all the work? And I can just stay at home, warming your bed, and wait to be fed?”
Chuuya’s vision swims. There are so many wrong things in that statement he doesn’t even know where to start. A horrified, “You… You want to merge our mafia groups?!” He thinks it over and adds, “What do you mean ‘once’, damn it!”
A blink. “We can get married many times, if you want.”
“That’s not what I meant—!”
“You’re going to refuse my proposal?” Dazai has the gall to whine at him.
He flaps his hands in wild gestures miming an explosion. “There isn’t even any to begin with?!”
“I already called you my dear husband in front of an altar and in front of all your tackily-dressed guests, and now you’re saying you didn’t agree?”
“There wasn’t even a question?!” Another light punch. “Plus, it’s a very stylish dress code, you’re just an uncultured swine!”
Clapping his hands together, “But you swooned into my arms, didn’t you?”
“I FAINTED OUT OF SHEER, UNADULTERATED RAGE.”
“Uwaaa, big words for such a tiny hatrack.” Those hands then move to squish his cheeks as if to praise him. “How about I teach you a new word?” A beat. “Next, say: I do wholeheartedly agree to be Dazai’s husband, agree to all of his words, agree to spend all of my money on him, agree to pamper him lots for the rest of my life.”
“The only word that summarizes that entire spiel is fucking ‘delusional’, bastard!”
Dazai blinks, then sighs mournfully. “Ah, I expected too much from someone whose brains are eaten by hats. You can’t even memorize such a short sentence…”
“I memorized it! I just don’t want to ruin my sanity by actually saying it!”
“You shouldn’t be this stingy, chibikko.” Another sigh. “Here I am, generously volunteering to undo your curse of never being able to get married because you’re too short and silly. But you won’t even leap to my arms?”
“Isn’t it all your fault?!”
Brown eyes looks down at the junction of their bodies. “Ah. So, you’re going to swoon into my embrace if only I wasn’t sitting on your lap?”
“Not that!” As if he’s weak enough to be completely pinned down by a useless beanpole! “I meant! That damn curse! Isn’t that your fault!” Something that he’s come to a solid realization to, over the past few days. “Haven’t you been scaring everyone away from me!”
Instead of looking ashamed at his handiwork being exposed, Dazai pouts. “Ano ne, chibikko. If their feelings for you are so shallow that they can be scared away just like that, then do they really deserve you?”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
For possibly the first time ever in their lives, Dazai flushes deeply, looking very flustered. “…Y-You have a tacky collection of hats! And very bad taste in a lot of things! You are so small too, so who knows if one day you disappear because you’ve been squashed like a tiny slug? Those are very scary things, so if they’re so easily scared away, then—”
“—Fine.” He presses his hand against the other’s mouth to stop more nonsense from spewing out. Any more and he’d probably end up making him die from secondhand embarrassment. “I’ll marry you, so shut the fuck up already, shitty Dazai.”
Dazai licks his palm, making him blanch.
Without the hand covering his mouth, a beaming Dazai then complains, “What’s up with that unenthusiastic agreement? You should sound happier, chibikko!” He brandishes a sheet of paper from his pockets. “Here, read this. I’ve listed out some romantic things full of love and praise for me that you can recite instead.”
Because of his excellent eyesight, he immediately sees the first line, which goes, “I promise to be Dazai’s dog for life”.
He lets out a scream before strangling this bastard. “You are the absolute worst!”
“Fufufu, are you that moved? If you don’t want to read them all, you can just summarize it.” Eyes twinkling as they end up rolling together in bed while elbowing and kicking each other. “Just say that you love me the most, Chuuya.”
—“You definitely can’t get married, chibikko! Because nobody will be so tasteless and crazy as to marry a chibi like you!”—
“You are the craziest bastard I have the misfortune of knowing,” Chuuya says instead, before punching his mackerel using his mouth.
Unlike all other curses, this one is sealed by a kiss.
—the craziest sort of love.
(The next day, Port Mafia is formed. It goes on to become the most formidable underground organization in the city, for its members have been tempered and battle-hardened by having such a crazy couple in their midst.)
-
end