★彡[ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ]彡★

Enter Dazai

"Alrighty then ," Osamu Dazai said, using his fingers to part and peer through the window shutters, "let me get this straight."

The two of them were in a small kitchen, the lights turned off and shutters closed tightly. The only illumination was from the barest traces of sunlight that made it through the cracks. And even with that, it was still hard to see.

Dazai turned to face the miniature seating area where Chuuya was sitting head in hands and hat face-up on the table.

"Yesterday, you returned from an assignment in the States, only to discover that everyone in Yokohama -- for some inexplicable reason-- has become obsessed with you. "

Chuuya groaned, not bothering to look up. "Yeah, that's about right. At first I thought it was only the mafia but then that whole thing with your agency happened. Honestly, this is starting to all feel like some sort of vapid fever dream..."

"Aw," the detective said, "So does that mean I often appear in your dreams, Chuy-ya-kun?"

Chuuya shot him a frustrated look which, if you asked Dazai, he didn't think he deserved. No less than five minutes had passed between them and he had managed to refrain from making a single short-joke. Honestly, if anything, Chuuya should be praising him. 

But that was besides the point.

If Dazai knew one thing, it was that he was a strange man who lived in a strange city where strange things had a habit of happening all the time.

However, what his little Chuuya was telling him was not only strange. It was downright bizarre. Dazai considered himself very good at telling whether or not a person was lying, but even he had been at a loss for what to think when the temperamental ginger told him what was going on.

He wasn't all too sure of what exactly made him believe the guy in the end. Perhaps the fact that after he ran into Chuuya, a small crowd that was very obviously looking for someone turned the corner into that very street. 

Or the fact that Chuuya -- the man who despised him more than anyone else in the world -- had hugged him with such obvious and unadulterated relief.

Yeah, he was still feeling kind of weird about that.

No matter. Dazai had wasted no time hustling his ex-partner out a view and into a small house further down the street.

 Emphasis on a house. Not his house. This was not Dazai's house. He had just smashed the glass of the nearest door and turned the lock, no questions asked. 

I wonder if Chuuya realizes that, Dazai thought, He didn't really seem to be paying attention...

He sighed, heading over to join the mafia executive at the table. He threw his curry-colored overcoat over the head of a chair and collapsed into the seat, steepling his hands in front of him. 

"I know this isn't your strong suit, but I'm going to have to ask you to really think here." he said, "has anything, and I mean anything at all happened recently that would account for all this hullaballoo?"

"No," came Chuuya's muffled reply. "I swear. Even back at the States, everything was going smoothly until I got back home. You should have seen it, Dazai. Everyone seems to just....well, with the way they've been acting, they all seem like they love me."

 Dazai's response was automatic, "I don't love you."

Chuuya shifted, those small gloved hands of his falling away from his face. Dazai had been half expecting his comment to be met with an annoyed glare. So it was almost unsettling when instead, Chuuya's eyes were rounded with weary relief.