Work Text:
Chuuya stifles a yawn with one hand, the other loosely tucked into his pockets. He walks around the newly-opened mall slowly, enjoying the bush-lined stone paths that connect one pavilion to another.
It’s rare that he willingly asks for a day-off, even if it’s technically his birthday, given that he actually enjoys his job a lot. Honestly, sometimes he feels like he should be paying back his employer for letting him have such an enjoyable work. Or at least do some things pro-bono. But he also knows that it sets up a troublesome precedent for other employees, so he doesn’t push it.
When one enjoys the job as much as he does, work efficiency rises along without any problems. He’s easily the top employee in the entire company, across all branches. It has its perks, which include hefty bonuses that could be used to buy his custom-made hats. It also means that he has a lot of sway when it comes to foisting off work that he doesn’t feel like doing.
He’s enjoying such a perk now. There’s a particular assignment that he’s not keen on taking—it really isn’t his style—so he instead asks for a rare day-off.
…Still, because of his busy schedule, he can’t quite remember the last time he’s physically been to a mall. Most of his shopping have been taken care of by online platforms. It feels almost strange, like he’s simply play-acting, as he wanders idly like the other shoppers.
Newly-opened malls possess a particular shine. Too glossy, everything sparkling with cleanliness. This is part of the ‘green mall’ series that’s popular lately—eco-friendly and teeming with greenery. As it’s the first week of its opening, there’s a bunch of promotions going on, too-many smiling salesladies standing in front of their respective stores, cajoling prospective customers indoors.
With his relaxed posture, he avoids all of these promotions, keeping to window-shopping and enjoying the park-like atmosphere.
He’s genuinely surprised when someone barrels into him out of nowhere, nearly shoving him back-first towards a fountain. He stumbles, more out of the shock rather than the other’s actual weight. Before he could sway towards the water, the other man—too-flat chest, too-unique but also rather-enticing scent—wraps twig-like arms around his waist and lower back.
This wedges their bodies tight together, squishing his cheek against the other’s chest.
Damn it, this person’s too tall, urgh.
Thankfully, he’s not wearing his hat today, for it would have surely ended up floating off to the fountain. Instead, this collision simply slides off the top of his hoodie from his head. It’s rare that he shows his face in public. Fortunately, they’re at an open area where the number of trees offering shade is inversely proportional to the number of people present.
“Sorry,” he mumbles eventually, polite courtesy kicking in. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” A little white lie, because it’s the other man who unceremoniously crashed into him, but he’s not looking for a fight right now. He’s mostly interested in shoving the other’s embrace off. Really, how long is he going to keep on holding on, damn it.
“I was looking where I was going,” the other man admits, casually confident. “But you were so tiny so I couldn’t have seen you at all, unless I brought a microscope.”
He’s usually quicker on the uptake, but his sheer disbelief at the other’s… audacity, stalls his brain. Did this guy really just say all of that shit?!
Beanpole peers down at him, dark eyes flickering as they scan his face. “Ah. Did I use such big words that you couldn’t understand?” An exaggerated moue of pity. “A microscope is a device where—”
“—I know what a goddamn microscope is, bastard!” He interrupts before he could suffer through an untimely aneurysm.
“Oh. Good for you,” is said so dishonestly, he’s getting hives just from being in its vicinity.
His urge to puke directly into the other’s clothes—all these bandages and yet he doesn’t smell any hint of medicine, why the fuck is someone wearing bandages for the hell of it?!—intensifies further once the other speaks more.
“Mm, I understand.” A solemn nod. “You were staring at me because you fell for me at first sight, huh?” Another nod, as if to complete his one-man show of insanity. “I won’t blame you—I really do look eye-catching.”
Getting baited should be far beneath him. Still, there’s something about the other that bypasses his usual brain circuits. “What the fuck are you talking about?!” He wrenches himself away from the other’s grip, keeping his feet planted on the ground so he doesn’t end up falling backwards. “You look like a goddamn alien, wearing an idiotic mummy cosplay!”
“I’m nursing a full-body injury though?”
“Huh? You are?” He frowns. “I didn’t smell any—”
“—mm, I’m joking.”
He twitches. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, oi.”
“Regardless of the reason for your staring—”
“—it’s very important, don’t just conveniently ignore reality!”
“—the fact is that you still ended up staring at my face,” the mummy-wannabe bulldozes past his objections. “In return for that, you must do me a favor.”
Chuuya raises his fist to level with the other’s mouth. The threat being, one wrong word, and he’s punching off the other’s teeth. “Think very carefully before you answer,” he generously prefaces. “Why the fuck do I need to pay for looking at your ugly mug?”
“You do know what a museum is, right?” Without waiting for his agreement, “An entrance fee is collected when viewing priceless, beautiful treasures, right? It’s the same logic here, chibi.”
“You do know that displays in the museum are inanimate objects or dead bodies, right,” he says flatly, shaking his fist menacingly. “Want me to make you ‘museum-worthy’, then?”
“That could be our second date,” the man suddenly drops this non-sequitor. “But for our first date, a fancy dinner while I introduce you to the Family Head should suffice.”
Chuuya blinks twice, hard. His head hurts. He usually keeps his hands tucked into his pockets whenever he goes out, but his temples are so pained he needs to massage them. Half-dreading the answer, “What the fuck are you talking about now?”
“As it stands, I am in need of someone to act as my fake boyfriend for the day.” Perhaps as expected of someone who walks around looking like a cheap mummy, this bastard has no shame whatsoever at spewing out bullshit. “I’m generously giving you the chance to act it out, chibikko.” Two hands pat his shoulders, as the other squats in front of him, so that the other’s bird’s nest of a hair is level with his stomach. “See, I could be a very considerate fake boyfriend~”
He considerately doesn’t murder him outright, and instead makes do with kicking his legs. He does it with enough force to break the other’s kneecaps, but it seems that being an asshole has given this bastard a lot of practice with evasion. Slimy bastard swims away, chuckling merrily as though he’s delighted by this.
A raised eyebrow as he assesses the other man. “Tch. You’re so annoying that you can’t find a real boyfriend, huh.”
“Fufufu, on the contrary,” is said with a singsong, the upturn on the other’s lips a mixture of dark and light. “It’s because I’m such a catch that I have to fend off so many men and women who wish to be intimate with me.”
His eyebrow raises further. “Go ahead and ask these imaginary idiots to be your fake boyfriend then and leave me the fuck alone.”
The other’s smirk widens. “Oho? Are you jealous?” A tilt to his head as though to consider this delusional take. “That’s very promising.”
“I’m promising you a painful death if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Ah. That’s the dynamic you like? I can do that.”
This person looks like the type who absolutely cannot keep quiet for more than five minutes. Sure enough, after less than a minute of walking together, the fishy bastard pipes up with a, “Ah, would you like to know my name? Unless you’re fine with calling me ‘darling’ the entire time?”
“I’m fine with calling you ‘trash’, you know.” Mildly, as they continue strolling. This mall has a lot of stone paths that would make for a lovely backdrop for a zen garden, but there’s no such feeling of peace whatsoever right now. “Plus, I haven’t agreed to your shitty proposal!”
“Fufufu, moving a little too fast, aren’t you? I only asked you to be a fake boyfriend, not a fake husband.”
“Maybe we should go back to that fountain—your ears need a lot of cleaning.” Actually, Chuuya is starting to feel like he’s the one in need of dire cleaning. Just breathing the same air as him seems to be giving him a layer of dirt.
“You see, the Family Head wants me to succeed as the heir, but that sounds too troublesome.” Airy and casual, sharing a backstory without any prompting whatsoever. Something tells Chuuya that despite this seeming oversharing, the other’s more tightly locked up than the bandages around him.
Equally lightly, “You do sound like someone who’d consider a lot of things troublesome.”
“Mm. Living is rather troublesome.” A small chuckle. “So, dear fake boyfriend, please be very sweet to me.”
“I haven’t agreed, damn it.”
Their footsteps are in sync.
The two of them follow the path instead of veering into the next building. The entire plot of land is arranged in a circle, with the buildings embraced by the stone path outside. There’s another garden inside the architectural donut hole, a lush forest recreated in the city center.
“I didn’t think you’d be such a shy person.”
He ends up laughing despite himself. “Shyness has absolutely nothing to do with me refusing to deal with you more than necessary.”
“No? Then, you agree to being my fake boyfriend for the day?”
So persistent. “You’re that set on having me as your fake boyfriend?”
“I’m that set on collecting the fee for staring at me so passionately,” comes the correction.
Another laugh escapes him. “Shouldn’t you be used at being stared at?” For a number of reasons, his bandages just one of them. “You ask everyone to be your fake boyfriend?”
“Fufufu. There’s no need to be jealous.” The other man finally places a hand to hook him by the elbow, steering him towards the next entrance. It’s to an expensive restaurant, something that supposedly has a wine collection that isn’t too much underneath his own. “I’m letting you take me out to a nice restaurant and I’m letting you know my name.”
“Pfft, ‘letting’ me, huh?” He’s more than a little bit curious though, so he allows himself to be directed that way. “You don’t strike me as someone who can afford being here.”
A pout. “You’re dating me and you won’t even treat me to an expensive lunch?”
“You’re the one who insisted on this,” he reminds. “Otherwise, I have plenty of other things I’d rather do.” Dealing with this guy isn’t relaxing in the slightest, after all.
A bigger pout and a more claw-like grip on his elbow. They arrive at the entrance, to which this fishy bastard sweetly says to the server, “A table for two.”
It’s the kind of sweetness that has the other man shuddering. “…Uh. Right this way.”
A triumphant smile is lobbied his way, as if to ask for praise at managing to get the server to do his job. Chuuya rolls his eyes and walks towards the seat furthest away from everyone else without being inside a private room.
It’s as if the gardens from outside have crawled into this restaurant’s interiors, a green canopy wound over the exposed ceiling beams. Floor lamps have been married with potted ferns. One is right beside their table, carrying a crisp scent with it.
The other man gamely pulls out the chair for him. The server shudders again and nearly throws the menu to their faces, as if to slap them for doing something like this. There aren’t a lot of other customers, but Chuuya rolls his eyes again anyway, feeling secondhand embarrassment for the bandaged beanpole.
Irritation too, because this shitty mummy moves the chair so that its legs catch Chuuya’s ankles, the moment he’s about to sit down.
Fortunately, his instincts are top-notch. Moreover, he has never thought that this guy can do something chivalrous without there being a catch, a literal one in this case. He touches the rim of the glass in front of him using his gloved finger. “Don’t think that I’d hesitate to crack your stupid face on this,” he says, teeth bared.
A snicker. “And here I was, giving you a chance to fall for me all over again.”
“I’d rather make you fall all the way to six hundred feet underground.”
“Falling so deeply on the first date?” Another snicker.
He huffs, annoyed but unsurprised by the other’s thick face that’s impenetrable by any threats. He settles down on his seat and peruses the leather-bound menu, no actual prices listed as is the norm for the truly expensive ones. “Such an expensive meal just to introduce a fake boyfriend to the Family Head?”
“How can I convince him that I’m serious if I’m going to be stingy?”
He clicks his tongue, but lets that go. He closes the menu and slides it on top of the other’s. “Go and order what I want.”
A challenge that the other accepts with a flourish. Bandaged fingers caress the menu’s page, as if to trace the path that Chuuya’s eyes have taken, lingering where his gaze has lingered. A smug smile on his face as he flicks a hand to summon the server back to their table.
The fishy bastard managed to order everything that he wants to eat—and then some. A couple of items that weren’t even printed on the menu appear on their table, a few minutes later. It’s extremely fast service, unbelievably so.
His eyes watch the line of the other’s jaw as he says, “Ah, the food came too early but the Family Head isn’t here yet. Why don’t we eat first?”
Chuuya slowly plucks the first appetizer—seafood tapas—and brings it up to his mouth. His acquiescence implied.
Despite the strange circumstances, their late lunch goes well. Once the last food has been eaten, the server returns to give them drinks. There’s no wine—instead, there’s an apple-raspberry concoction with the color of blood served at the end of their meal. A fruity, metallic tang that cleanses the palate.
Long brown eyelashes flutter at him. “See? I’m such a good date, aren’t I?”
His gaze flicks around their surroundings. It’s emptier compared to when they came in. He considers the glass in his hand, still half-full with the poisoned juice. “No wonder everyone wants to take you out,” he ends up saying with a shrug, before he downs the rest of the contents.
Unfortunately, the tingling sensation on his fingertips, on his tailbone, seem to be entirely unrelated to the poison’s side effects. No, that electricity seems to be completely due to the fact that the person in front of him finally shows his most earnest smile. Light and dark at play—a brilliant grin that could only be called hideous by anyone else, with how much bloodthirst it exudes.
“Right? So many people want to take me out… but you’re the only one I want, Chuuya.”
“I haven’t introduced myself to you yet,” he points out as he twirls the now-empty glass. “Also, first-name basis already?”
Low laughter. “Do you really think you need an introduction, King of Assassins?”
“Bandaged trash,” he addresses the other with so much warmth, it could cauterize a lesser man on the spot. “Will you stop sending assassination requests to our agency? It’s really getting annoying.”
The job that Chuuya doesn’t want to do. After all, what kind of insane person spam several agencies with offers of huge bounties for someone to kill him? Worse, he even insists on getting killed by the most skilled employees only: “low-level ones need not apply” is included as a footnote on his assassination requests.
“Mm, but living is rather troublesome.” A repeat from earlier. “So, please be very sweet to me and give me a wonderful show?”
“I can kill you at least five hundred different ways,” he responds, not gloating in any way. “Do you want to pick one, annoying bastard?”
“Oh, but I’m rather enjoying all the lovely endearments that you keep on giving me. I’m rather interested to live a bit more so I can hear more.” That bloodthirsty grin widens even more. It should make his face look quite grotesque, but in Chuuya’s eyes, he just looks quite beautiful. Such a shame that he has such a shitty personality paired with that kind of beauty, with that kind of unique scent of having been dipped in just-enough blood to be interesting.
It’s the other’s way of goading him, definitely. His lips twitch. “Maybe if you aren’t so annoying, you’d find a real boyfriend to call you nice things, shitty Dazai.”
Dazai Osamu—the youngest Boss in Port Mafia history—lets out a shuddering sigh, limbs turning liquid as he arches his back against his chair. Half-lidded eyes that doesn’t manage to disguise the almost-glowing intensity in them as they lock gazes.
This demon prodigy supposedly has taken over the business once the previous head has ‘died’ under unclear circumstances. There are rumors, but Chuuya doesn’t think that this one can be considered as a mere rumor.
Smothering a laugh, he says, “So the previous Boss made things troublesome for you by wanting you to take over Port Mafia… so you kill him and take over anyway.” He sets the glass down. “What a strange man you are.”
A shrug as his façade has been torn clearly. “Doing what the Family Head says is quite annoying.” A slight pause.
Chuuya continues it. “So you wanted to take over the mafia to paint a target on your back, and hopefully die so much quicker.” He doesn’t say anything like, “if you really wanted to die, you could stop killing your assassins, idiot”, but it’s implied in his derisive snort.
“Mm, but a beautiful death is a requirement.” A hitch in his breath. “To perish under the hands of a beautiful warrior… sounds so lovely it could make one cry, right?”
“Go ahead and cry then.”
“But now, I’d rather be taken out by you, Chuuya.”
“In a date way or in an assassin way?”
“Both,” is the swift response.
“Greedy bastard,” is his equally-swift repartee.
Dazai shrugs, not denying it. A thoughtful hum, before, “Since when have you known?”
“That you were an asshole? From the very beginning.”
Shoulders shake in laughter. If everyone inside the restaurant hasn’t been terrified out of their wits before, during their very amenable lunch, then they’d probably run for the hills now. Dazai’s laughter is probably considered as one of the signs of apocalypse by those who know of his identity.
“Is that so?”
This new mall sits at such a perfect spot in Yokohama. Near the docks and the train station. A lot of greenery, which could come in handy as a mass burial spot right under the public eye. Lots of potted plants too, making them easy drops for exchanges.
Mori Corporation has flawless papers, even if they’re such an odd choice to win the bid of who gets to build this new mall. Too perfect, that there could only be shenanigans involved. There are rumors, of course, but Chuuya’s fairly certain that Mori Corporation is just the shell company for Port Mafia.
A mafia group that’s considered to be the strongest in the city, but its strength lies in its wide network, without having an exposed central core. Nobody remains alive after seeing the Boss in the flesh—that’s the kind of reputation that the group possesses.
The only thing that has been spread out: Dazai Osamu is the new Boss, the youngest Boss in Port Mafia history, a demon prodigy, an expert torture technician, incredibly private and defensive that nobody has seen his face and lived.
“You smelled like so much bullshit,” he gives this non-explanation that explains everything.
In any case, Dazai’s eyes glint as he nods, accepting it. He reaches out, spindly fingers rubbing against the rim of Chuuya’s glass. Rubs hard at the spot where he’s taken a sip of the poison, until his skin breaks against the glass, droplets of red sliding down.
Chuuya watches the crimson haze for a moment, contemplating. He likes his job, he truly does. He could easily kill someone in his sleep. He does everything with such ease that things could even be considered boring. The person in front of him is definitely the most hateful, annoying, headache-inducing bastard in the whole world.
With a sigh, he slowly slips off the glove from his left hand. Dazai reaches out with his wounded hand, presses the bloody fingertip against his wrist, drawing a ring of red over his skin. Marking him. A tug to his hand as Dazai curls forward over the table, until the other’s tongue meets his wristbone. Gives him a lick, before teeth catch over the edge of his glove.
Their eye-contact remains unbroken, as Dazai pulls off his glove using his mouth.
“You are so dramatic,” he complains, but his breathing is unsteady when the other licks his fingertip before drawing away.
With his ring finger wet with the other’s spit, he splits his skin open on the same spot on the glass where Dazai’s blood is. Mixing their blood, so dark it’s almost black under the lights.
“This serves as our wedding wine,” Dazai says with that same smile from earlier, eyes shining.
His lips twitch. “Whatever happened to the fake boyfriend part?”
“You’re the one who mentioned a proposal first, chibi.”
“A wedding proposal isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”
“Mm, but now, you do know what this means, ne, Chuuya?”
It should be absolutely insane. They know nothing—and yet it feels like they’ve long known everything—about each other. They haven’t actually met outside of today’s encounter, even if they’ve definitely done their research, as fellow shining dark stars in the city’s underbelly.
“…You are completely ridiculous,” he concludes, as he raises the glass for three sips.
Their restaurant order has been prepared too quickly, which means that Dazai has planned for them to end up here beforehand. No, not just that. This has the markings of something that’s been planned for a very long time.
Dazai picks up the glass and curves his lips over the same spot, an indirect kiss, a direct way of claiming. “Mm, but you agreed to marry me anyway.”
There is no wine, but they have their blood, more intoxicating than any other drink. In this city that is built with the future in mind—they have followed tradition in their own way.
San-san-kudo, the traditional sake-sharing ceremony that happens in Japanese weddings. A pledge to bond their lives with one another. It usually involves drinking of family members to unite a couple’s families, but both of them don’t possess anything like that anymore.
Weddings usually involve rings too, but the ring of blood on his wrist feels so much truer. The concentric circles surrounding this place, the stone paths, the surrounding nature—they’re all rings that bind him to a place where he can show his true nature. Probably. Hopefully.
“I never agreed to anything,” he claims, but he chases the taste of blood off the other’s lips, the moment Dazai sets down his glass. He climbs on the table and then falls hard, sinking his teeth against that mouth that has spouted off so much bullshit.
“What a dishonest man,” Dazai breathes into their savage kiss, and drags him in further, deeper.
—a once-in-a-lifetime meeting.
-
end