When Atsushi had brought a wild beast of a stray cat into the ADA, Dazai had expected many things to happen: for instance, getting his clothes clawed to shreds or suddenly being gifted with a flea infestation. But he hadn't foreseen seizing the cat around the middle, having it miraculously transform into a (spitting mad) Chuuya Nakahara--
"Get off me, asshole," Chuuya growled, tearing Dazai out of his thoughts.
He blinked down at Chuuya, who was currently pinned to the table underneath him, furiously staring everywhere except Dazai. He wore all his regular clothes (thank goodness, Dazai thought to himself, things would have gotten quite messy otherwise) and an angry scowl, his hat tipped over his eyes to hide that familiar shade of blue.
Dazai had both hands around Chuuya's waist.
Before he could properly process this information, he felt a pair of warm hands seize him around his wrists. Apparently tired of waiting for Dazai to move, Chuuya shoved him to the side and slipped around him so he wasn't pinned to the table anymore.
Dazai turned, continuing to stare in bewilderment at Chuuya. "Hold on. How'd you get to be a cat, Chuuya? I thought you would've been a dog for su--"
He was cut off as a fist connected with the side of his face, sparks of pain shooting through his head. For a moment, he saw stars, then, as he stumbled back, the world's previously-fuzzy borders slowly started coming back into view.
Collecting himself, he gingerly cupped the soon-to-be bruise and scowled at Chuuya. "Goodness, what was that for?"
"That was for you being an ass," Chuuya spat. He flipped his hat up with a flick of his hand and spun around, coat flapping at the sharp, sudden movement. Upon seeing the rest of the ADA staring open-mouthed at him, he shot them a glare, lifting a hand to gesture rudely in their direction. "What are you bundle of idiots looking at?"
"Nakahara-san . . .?" Atsushi stammered out. Dazai glanced over at him and had to stifle a laugh-- the poor kid looked as though he were about to pass out, his face chalk-white, his hands shaking so badly he was having trouble holding onto the table he was leaning against. And honestly, Dazai didn't blame him. "Y-you were the cat?"
"Good job figuring it out, kid." Chuuya rolled his eyes. "You sure are a genius, ain'tcha? Anyway, I just came here to get that ridiculous ability off me. Thanks, I guess, but you know, places to be, people to pummel. In fact," he muttered, curling his hand into a fist, "one person in particular to--"
--mrow!
All of a sudden, the entirety of the ADA was staring-- not at Chuuya Nakahara, but at a small, ginger tabby standing on the floor, who looked just as shocked as Dazai felt.
Everyone was silent for another moment-- a long moment, seemingly going on forever, and yet nobody moved so much as an inch. Holding his breath, Dazai counted as the seconds ticked by on the clock. Tick-tock one, tick-tock two, and--
". . . so he turns back into a cat if Dazai's not touching him?" The first one to recover, Kunikida sighed, placing a hand on his hip. "That's . . . inconvenient."
"My ability does have its shortcomings," Dazai admitted, shrugging airily. "I suppose I'll need to touch the ability user to fully deactivate it. Boo, what a chore."
Though his words were calm and even, carefully crafted to be so, his thoughts had very quickly grown out of control. He could feel his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears, blood rushing hotly through his veins as winding trails of curiosity-- and, admittedly, just a little bit of excitement-- started to bloom inside of his head.
My, my, what a curious mystery. I do wonder who could have done this-- to Chuuya, of all people, as well! Bravo, it must not have been easy . . .
He watched in keen delight as the cat-- no, Chuuya, he reminded himself-- let out an unhappy, positively woeful meow and slunk underneath a desk, ears flat against his head. Does he remember who did it? Is the ability user targeting the Mafia, or was Chuuya simply an unlucky target? No, that doesn't seem likely at all.
And in the back of his mind, a small, disloyal part of his brain whispered to itself, I think we should help him.
"No," he muttered out loud, just quiet enough for nobody except himself to hear. "No, I . . ."
"We're going to need to have a meeting about this, aren't we?" Ranpo asked, tearing Dazai out of his conflicted thoughts. He had straightened up and had begun leaning over his desk to grin at all the fuss, letting out a low, amused whistle. "I'll call the president."
Bending over the desk to get a better look at the exasperated look on Chuuya's kitty-cat face, Dazai let out a laugh. He couldn't help it. The situation was just too ridiculous for him to deny himself a good laugh.
"Why the sad face? Come now, it's not that bad! All you have to do is follow me around everywhere, latching onto me like a loyal pet." He paused for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought, then added, "shouldn't be too hard. After all, you're already pretty used to that, aren't you?"
Chuuya hissed, ears flat against his head, and swatted a paw in Dazai's direction. Dazai took the opportunity to look more closely at what kind of cat Chuuya was exactly. Some kind of tabby with striking ginger fur, small for a fully grown cat-- though that wasn't surprising in the least.
His eyes were large as a cat, pupils swallowed by a great expanse of blue, practically glowing even in the low light of the office. Dazai could see streaks of white down his muzzle and chest, winding all the way down his legs to stripe along his paws. His tail twitched angrily as he watched Dazai with narrowed, wary eyes.
"Should we leave him alone for now?" Kenji offered gently. "If I got turned into a cat, I'd want some time to myself."
"To adjust? Yeah, I get that," Atsushi added, nodding in agreement.
Kenji glanced over at Atsushi, smiling as though the were-tiger had told a hilarious joke. "To adjust? No, silly; to take a nap! Can you imagine how warm it would be to nap as a cat? What a treat it would be!"
Atsushi blinked once, twice. "What? O-oh. Ummm . . . maybe that, too?"
"Hmm . . ." Dazai straightened up again, smiling cheerfully at the rest of the Agency. "You know . . . I rather like Chuuya like this. What if, instead of helping him, we kept him here as a pet so he can stay this way forev-- augh!"
He cut himself off with a shout as tiny claws dug into his skin: Chuuya had, somehow, lunged off the floor all the way onto his shirt, dragging painfully sharp claws through the fabric of his tunic and down his chest. He flailed for a moment, almost tripping backwards over a chair, but managed to straighten himself back up just in time for--
He squeezed his eyes shut as the full (well, maybe not full) weight of a person dropped right onto him. Warmth instantly flooded through him, sweeping like the echo of a heartbeat from his fingertips all the way to the roots of his hair. He let out an unhurried sigh, cautiously opening his eyes.
"Chuu-ya, even an idiot could have seen how that would end," he complained, grinning down at the man now clasped against his chest, enjoying the way his orange curls tumbled over his flushed cheeks. "And you're heavy."
Chuuya's face was tilted upwards, towards Dazai's, so that he could suddenly feel warm breath against his neck and smell the scent of his shampoo. His hat had fallen off, leaving his hair exposed and shining in the buzzing office lights. Gloved hands were buried in Dazai's shirtfront, curled into fists, and though Chuuya was standing on his tip-toes, he was still leaning into Dazai (probably a result of having literally leapt on top of him), close enough that he could feel the redhead's heartbeat echo through his own chest.
A long (very long) pause, and then . . .
". . . you're much more pleasant to hold when you're a cat," Dazai sighed.
"Fuck you," Chuuya muttered, the words sharp and annoyed. He shoved himself off of Dazai and spun towards the door. "If this is the help I'm going to get, then I'll just say good-fucking-bye, mackerel. I think I'll just start heading home n--"
"Hold on there, kitty-cat." Dazai stepped forward, grabbing hold of Chuuya's wrist and stopping him in his tracks. Chuuya whirled around, wearing a scowl positively dripping with fury.
"What? What is it, you fucker?"
"Do you want to stay as a cat, Chuuya?" Dazai asked pointedly. "If I'm not right next to you, you'll just keep turning back after . . . um . . ." He tried to think back to when Chuuya had previously turned back into a cat. How long had it been, exactly? A couple of seconds, perhaps?
Drat, he couldn't quite remember. He frowned. "After . . . an unspecified amount of time."
Chuuya let out a dry, harsh laugh. "So what, I have to follow you around-- for how long, again? Until I find whoever did this?" He glared at their clasped hands, tugging his hand closer to his chest in a fruitless effort to make Dazai's grip loosen. "Yeah, as if. I think I'd rather die."
"Um . . . I don't mean to interrupt, but . . . if you don't stick with Dazai, what are you going to do about the whole, y'know, cat thing?" Atsushi asked tentatively. He flinched as Chuuya swung his gaze over to him, scanning him up and down with a single flick of his eyes. Dazai quickly took the opportunity to shuck Chuuya's gloves off his hands and tuck them in his pocket (hey, it would be extremely awkward if they had been holding hands only for Chuuya to suddenly turn back into a cat because of his gloves, okay? They weren't even nice-looking gloves! It was not worth the risk of wearing them).
Chuuya turned around to shoot him a glare, but he must have had the same thought as Dazai, so he just turned back with a shrug. "Atsushi. You're the kid who found me, huh?"
"Don't even think about hurting him," Kunikida growled, slowly getting to his feet, but Chuuya dismissed him with a low scoff.
"Relax, I wasn't planning on it. You. You're the were-tiger, yeah?"
Atsushi nodded shakily, and Chuuya looked him up and down once more before tearing his gaze away to roll his eyes. "Sure, I'll answer your question. You see, there's nothing to consider about the stupid 'cat-thing'. I'll just kill the fucker."
Atsushi's mouth opened, presumably to ask another question, but Chuuya instantly cut him off by raising a hand. "Yeah. Even as a cat. You think a cat can't kill someone?"
"Now, now, I'm sure it won't come to that," Dazai purred, stepping closer, tightening his grip on Chuuya's wrist-- just a little. He liked the way Chuuya's pulse jumped at the gentle squeeze, the way even his hands began to flush warm and pink. "After all . . ." He bent down so that he was whispering directly into Chuuya's ear. "You'll have me right by your side, won't you now?"
He could feel the shiver as it travelled down Chuuya's spine. The redhead whirled around, his face now inches away from Dazai's, and tried to wrench his hand out of the tight grip, cheeks as red as an apple. "What the hell do you think you're--"
"What is a Mafia executive doing in my office?"
The low, smooth voice cut through everything else, so commanding that everyone who heard it froze instantly.
Falling silent, Chuuya turned around to look at the president, who was standing with his arms folded, framed by the doorway. Immaculately dressed as always, his hair spilled down his shoulders, surrounding his stony expression with strokes of warm grey. He was so tall his head brushed the top of the doorframe, his face impassive as he stared out at the scene.
His gaze leisurely travelled across the room, becoming more and more . . . wait, was that an expression of confusion, or of exasperation? It was hard to tell with Fukuzawa.
Okay, just to recap: Atsushi was so pale it was a wonder he wasn't passed out on the floor. Ranpo's face was covered in chocolate, a thick stack of papers (mostly likely a new manuscript from that boyfriend of his, Dazai thought to himself, and made a mental note to tease him about it later) weighing down his desk. Kunikida was halfway standing, a paper reading 'pistol' just about torn out of his notebook. Kenji was comforting a silently sobbing Kyouka (she was just disappointed that she didn't have a cat), and . . .
Oh, yeah.
Dazai held Chuuya, yes, a Mafia executive, by the hand, their faces not nearly an inch from each other. Dazai took the opportunity to slip away, clearing his throat to try and rid his face of the strange warmth that had arisen at that realisation.
"President, we have a . . . situation," Ranpo explained, tossing a hand in the direction of Dazai and Chuuya.
Dazai smiled brightly at Fukuzawa, lifting a hand to wave cheerily at the president. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Ranpo's phone was out and on the desk in front of him, opened slightly to display a glowing screen filled with contacts.
He let out a small groan. Did he really HAVE to have called him? Come on . . .
"Greetings, Mr. President!" Dazai exclaimed, quickly fixing his expression. He grinned cheerily at the president, gesturing at Chuuya, who was beginning to look more and more as though he wanted to lay down, sleep, and pretend everything had been a very bad nightmare.
"This is Chuuya Nakahara," Dazai explained, as Chuuya probably wasn't going to do anything except glare sullenly at the Agency president. "He was mysteriously and unfortunately turned into a cat."
Fukuzawa looked him up and down, slowly (and, somehow, gracefully) raising an eyebrow at the defiance radiating off of the short man. "Ah. I . . . see. Somehow, he doesn't seem exactly . . . catlike."
"Of course not! All thanks to me," Dazai boasted, presenting everyone in the room with a rakish, dazzling grin. He spun on his heel to face Chuuya again, pulling the redhead's hand closer to his chest. "Chuuya is ever so thankful, aren't you?"
"As if," he spat, finally succeeding in yanking his hand out of Dazai's grip, "as if I would ever be thankful to someone like you! Get lost, asshole!"
"Only if you want to sprout a tail again, slug." Dazai smirked down at him, enjoying the annoyed expression on his face.
To his credit, Fukuzawa looked only slightly confused at the situation. He pressed a hand against his forehead as though he were feeling rather faint, and shook his head, giving everyone in the room the same, exhausted look.
". . . well, no matter," he muttered, then straightened up, his eyes shining with sudden determination. "The situation may be unique, but our response shall be less so. We'll have a meeting to discuss . . . er . . . whether to help or to . . . ignore, I suppose . . ."
"Are we going to help Nakahara with his predicament?" asked Kunikida, who had straightened up the moment the president had entered the room, eyes suddenly steely. "He is a member of the Mafia, but if requested, I can prepare what we would need in order to proceed with this new mission."
Fukuzawa raised his hand. "Now, I do appreciate the thought, Kunikida. I'm afraid, however, that that will not be necessary. After all, we already have a mission we're working on, and as of right now, I do believe it's more important than actively helping one of our enemies."
"So we're leaving Nakahara-san to deal with this by himself?" Atsushi cried. "But that doesn't sound--"
"It's true that if Nakahara was unable to fight, the Agency would be in a much better position to deal with the Port Mafia," Kunikida said thoughtfully. Something gnarled and tangled hissed to life inside of Dazai, a faint ringing capturing his ears. Chuuya was not some sort of war strategy, he was-- he was--
"Why is nobody asking me what the fuck I think?" Chuuya growled. Dazai nearly jumped three feet into the air as he felt a warm hand seize hold of his own, squeezing it so tightly his bones began to creak in protest. Chuuya had grabbed Dazai's hand back. "Know what, I just had an idea of my own. I think that I'll throw this bastard over my shoulder and carry him out of here myself if I have to."
"So you do want my help!" Dazai cheered under his breath, eyeing Chuuya teasingly. "There simply isn't anyone else to turn to, is there?"
Kunikida stiffened, glasses glinting in the light of the sunset as his eyes narrowed into a glare. His hand twitched towards his notebook-- just barely, but enough that Dazai's eye caught the movement almost immediately. "I don't think we can let you do that."
Chuuya let out a dry bark of laughter, the sound rippling through his entire body. His nails were now digging painfully into Dazai's palm. "You really think you can stop me?"
"He's really strong. He punched me into a wall," Kenji interjected helpfully.
"Kicked," Chuuya corrected under his breath. "If I had punched you, you'd have gone through the wall, not into it."
"It's true that Chuuya's not an executive for nothing," Dazai added, taking Chuuya by the shoulder and dragging the redhead closer to him. "I would know all about that, of course, having been cruelly beaten by him for years."
Chuuya snarled out a curse at him, trying to get him off, but Dazai refused to let go. Of course, if Chuuya had really wanted to get Dazai off him, he would be able to do so in an instant-- perhaps even faster-- but he had probably already seen the glint in Dazai's eye, already guessed that he had a plan.
He smiled lightly, sharing his grin with Chuuya first, then turning to the president to address him directly. "But I'm afraid, Mr. President . . . he won't need to kidnap me to get me to go with him."
"What?!" Kunikida whirled to stare at Dazai, whose face, in a blatant act of betrayal, had started to shine with undisguised delight. "You're going to go with him willingly?"
"I'm afraid we can't let you do that, Dazai," Fukuzawa began, "no matter how attached to this Mafioso you may be, your services have been specifically requested for this mission . . ."
Dazai pressed three fingers to Chuuya's palm, his grin growing more and more excited. "On three, butterfly," he whispered, drawing one finger back. "One . . ."
"What are you plotting, Dazai?" Ranpo asked sharply, shoving himself up from his chair.
"Why, I'm the one trying to untangle the plot," Dazai replied simply, curling another finger up, the motion hidden from everyone by the cupping of his own hand.
. . . two . . .
He smiled pleasantly at Ranpo, the last finger retreating back, his thumb tapping out a single word onto the palm of Chuuya's hand. "Bye-bye."
Go!
As soon as the three seconds elapsed, he could feel Chuuya grab hold of his hand, his grip so tight that pain began to splinter through his wrist. Chuuya's voice came, soft enough so that just he could hear: "You'd better be sure about this, you bastard."
Then he was shoved-- well, thrown, really-- forward, past Kunikida, past Kyouka, right into the window, which shattered in spectacular fashion. He squeezed his eyes shut, shards of glass slicing through his cheeks, hot blood welling up almost immediately in the gashes the glass left in their wake. He could hear shouts behind him, could hear as Chuuya leapt to join him, carried by gravity-- the thing he knew best-- down towards the sidewalk.
Thankfully, Dazai thought as he stared down at the cold, grey concrete, there was nobody around for them to squish.
The wind kissed his face, whipping through his hair, his overcoat billowing like a cloak behind him. The window was three floors up, but the fall felt longer; the wind rushed through his ears to block out every other noise around him.
He couldn't help tensing ever so slightly as the concrete rushed up to greet him, even as he could feel Chuuya beside him, twisting in the air, a sudden blaze of power rippling through him. The floor looked hard and painful; although the thought of death made his heart beat faster in excitement, he knew that being squished into a puddle on the sidewalk was not a painless way to go.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar red glow burst into life, a blur of scarlet shooting down towards the ground, dizzyingly fast. He could hear the low, sickening crack of concrete splintering, dust and dirt and pieces of rubble exploding through the air in bursts of grey and brown.
Dazai shut his eyes as tightly as he could, his breath freezing in his chest, all the ways this could go wrong flashing through his mind.
Most people would break a bone, falling out of a three-story window.
But luckily for him, most people also didn't have a short, redheaded Mafioso on the ground waiting to catch them.
He landed-- not with the grotesque crunch that so often accompanied bones shattering-- but with a soft yelp escaping from his mouth, the sound of an uttered curse coming right by his ear, in arms that were much warmer than the surrounding air.
He opened his eyes a crack, grinning up at Chuuya's frown. He could feel the sweat and blood as it dripped from his face, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. He was panting, his hot breath blown away in puffs of white fog.
". . . nice catch."
Chuuya swept him up and down with an amused gaze, and then he crooked an eyebrow. "No, you're not."
Then he turned his gaze up towards the Agency, where a fair number of the people inside had gathered around the shattered remains of their window to stare down at them. Some of their grumpy expressions were so profound that they could be spotted from the ground.
Dazai grinned brightly as Chuuya deposited him on the ground, raising his hand to wave up at them. He cupped his other hand around his mouth and called out to them. "Sorry . . . well, not really! But still. Sorry.
"Anyway, we should probably get out of here," he continued in a quieter voice, turning to face Chuuya, who was brushing dust off of his clothes with a disgusted expression. "I think I can hear Kunikida charging down the stairs as we speak."
"What, he's not going to jump out after us?" Chuuya asked. He was obviously unimpressed, but he started down the street nonetheless, glaring down everyone who was staring at the two of them. As they walked, they left behind the still-smoking crater, cracked concrete shooting sharply into the air, grit and gravel still raining down from the puff of dust that Chuuya's impact had thrown into the air. Encompassing them from left to right, their city rose into the sky above them in jagged splinters, stabbing the setting sun so that it spilled, hot and yellow, into the bloody red horizon.
Dazai shrugged his shoulders. "No, but Atsushi just might, so let's be sure to go quickly." He clasped Chuuya's hand with his own, shooting a lazy grin in his direction.
He could see the sky stretched out behind Chuuya, where, despite the glowing sunset, the moon was already just overhead, blossoming stars appearing like pinpricks from the golden maw of the sun. Chuuya glanced back up at him, his long eyelashes catching what little starlight they were offered like a glimmering spider's web. His hat was tilted over his hair, painting his face in strokes of shadows, eyes still shining stubbornly even underneath the hat's brim.
He's so . . .
Dazai froze ever so slightly, right in the middle of a step, so that he stumbled a little and almost fell forward. He could feel his face beginning to flush, could feel his heart beating just a little bit faster than he would have liked it to. He looked away quickly, covering his mouth with his hand.
He's so . . . what? What IS he?
"This again?" Chuuya let out an aggrieved sigh, glancing down at their intertwined hands. "This is ridiculous."
Dazai eyed Chuuya, amused. "Poor baby, did you think you were getting out of it that easily?"
". . . I was hoping that I wouldn't have to hold hands with you the whole damn time," Chuuya grumbled. "And don't call me that, you fucker. I'll punt you into a goddamn building."
"Well, holding hands is the best option. After all, I can't think of a better way to keep you from turning back," Dazai laughed, then bent closer to Chuuya, bumping their shoulders together, "unless you'd like me to carry you everywhere, chibikko?"
Chuuya's face of disgust was one that Dazai would very much have liked to take a photo of, frame, and hold on display in his apartment for the rest of his life. Chuuya lifted his free hand towards Dazai and gestured at him in a way that prompted a woman across the street to gasp and shield the eyes of her children. "Fuck off, asshole."
"If Chuuya insists," Dazai sighed, though he couldn't hold back a slight, affectionate grin. He squeezed Chuuya's hand and broke out into a run, pulling the redhead along behind him. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"
"Butterfly is one of the worst plans you've ever come up with," Chuuya complained, stripping his jacket off and tossing it and his hat onto the rusty metal of a nearby fire escape.
Dewdrops ran down the red-metal surface, dripping into muddy puddles down on the dark soil, small patches of green grass unfurling around the feet of the escape. They stuck out from the ground, the metal so rusted that it had turned the surrounding mud a darkish red colour that had also, pleasantly (not), infected the water.
Chuuya's hand was firmly clasped in Dazai's as he ran a hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder at the brunette, his own orange curls tumbling down around his grumpy expression. Apparently, he didn't find falling out of a building as fun as Dazai did. "I mean, who the fuck says 'yeah, throw me out of a window and then catch me' and is serious about it?"
"You're looking right at me," Dazai said cheerily. "And it's a great plan, by the way. It worked, didn't it?"
They had taken refuge in a tall-walled alleyway, the walls and cracked concrete floor already slick with damp dew and muddy puddles. Jagged, rough-red brick buildings rose into the dark sky above them, the walls choked with moss and dark, clambering vines.
Meanwhile, Chuuya was soaked in ten different kinds of shadow. His hair was painted dark brown, eyes turned slate grey instead of the sharp, electric blue that Dazai was so used to.
Either ignoring or ignorant of the sudden attention Dazai was lavishing upon him, Chuuya made a face and tossed his hair over his shoulder. "Just because it worked doesn't mean it's a good plan. I could have turned back. You could have died." With each sentence, he levelled an accusatory finger at each of them in turn. "And then what would I do? Be a cat forever?"
"My, my, would the great Chuuya Nakahara really be so upset if I perished?" Dazai plopped down on the curb, pulling Chuuya down to sit with him. He leaned even closer, pressing their sides together so that his chin was almost propped on Chuuya's shoulder. "How sweet of him!"
In thanks for this charming piece of dialogue, he was rewarded with an attempted smack right at his nose. He easily ducked underneath, grinning as Chuuya just managed to stop short of shoving his hand into the nearby wall. "Easy, easy."
Though Chuuya was looking away from Dazai, his scowl was still visible. "Stop taking what I say out of context, Dazai. And shut up. I can still smell blood on your breath."
With a sigh, Dazai leaned back against the wall. Though the alley was cut off from most light, a few dandelions still sprouted from cracks in the sidewalk, brandishing stubbornly cheerful petals toward the sky.
"You're just lucky I stayed human for a few extra seconds," Chuuya sighed, and Dazai flinched as he felt the redhead suddenly lean against him. His head dropped onto Dazai's shoulder, the folds of his shirt crumpling between the two of them. "You would've been mush on the sidewalk if I hadn't moved fast."
". . . you tired, chibi?" Dazai asked lightly. He ran his thumb gently over Chuuya's hand, the skin so much softer than his.
Chuuya hummed quietly. "I haven't gotten any sleep since I was turned into a cat. That makes it . . . a couple of days, at least. Fuck, I'm tired."
Dazai turned to look at him, surprised. "You don't remember how long it's been?"
"Didn't Atsushi say? He found me during the weekend, so it was a couple of days before I even made it inside your stupid office building. Anyway, time was weird when I was a cat." Chuuya yawned widely, his words blurring sleepily together. "I could feel myself . . . slipping. Like I didn't know what I was . . . like I couldn't remember who I was. It was trippy."
"I was wondering why you hadn't just charged straight into me," Dazai admitted, a faint, fond chuckle bubbling up in his chest. Normally, Chuuya would have simply attacked him as soon as possible. "Do you remember what happened to you?"
Chuuya paused for a second, then, after a moment of quiet thinking, shook his head. "Do I remember . . . ? No, I don't think . . . so. I mean, Boss asked me to take care of some rabble plaguing our shipment lines."
"Smugglers?" Dazai asked with a sigh. Smugglers were always trying to get at the Port Mafia, for reasons that Dazai could never figure out. Of course, the Mafia was home to some very valuable items, but he would have thought that the punishment for getting caught-- and they would definitely get caught-- far outweighed any possible reward. Like, yes, you might possibly get a ten-thousand-dollar ruby-encrusted mirror, but on the other hand, in about a week, you would be caught, sent for, and crushed into an unseemly, bloody pulp on the floor of the warehouse you worked at.
Chuuya sighed. "Smugglers."
"You'd think they'd learn, though."
"Apparently not. I was sent to go shut them down, but the streets were awful fuckin' complicated. I got lost, and--" He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. His grip on Dazai's hand suddenly tightened, his body stiffening as tension rippled through him. "I-I don't-- I can't--"
"You don't have to remember all at once," Dazai soothed, his heart jumping in his chest. He let Chuuya lean into him, their warmth passing back and forth between each other. Sappy, sure, but he knew Chuuya. Physical contact was one of the things he relied upon most of all.
He watched as Chuuya's expression relaxed slightly, his eyes slowly opening to stare back at him.
Seeing Chuuya so-- well, not helpless, exactly (case in point: he was certainly not any less strong, and Dazai was definitely going to have bruises on his hand by tomorrow), but . . . vulnerable . . . was surprisingly unnerving. Dazai had thought he would have been delighted to see Chuuya taken down a notch, especially in such a fun and hilarious way, but this . . .
He wasn't sure what he thought about this.
All he knew was that he really, really hated it.
"Fuck, ow!"
Dazai blinked back to reality at the sharp words, glancing down at Chuuya, who had pulled his hand away. His eyes were wide and startled, one hand clasped protectively by the other. A few drops of blood started to drip from the gaps in between his fingers, and Dazai realised with a stab of guilt that he'd dug his nails into Chuuya's hand.
Recovering from his surprise, Chuuya glared at him, smearing away the blood from the back of his hand. "Fuck was that for, asshole?"
It wasn't a deep wound by any means, and Dazai was pretty sure that it hadn't hurt all that much-- the words were probably just a startled reaction-- but for some strange, inexplicable reason, he couldn't seem to get any words out. His throat seemed to be closed off, stuck together, like there was something seizing hold of his windpipe so he couldn't even breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth, trying to force the words out. ". . . sorry," he finally managed, though sorry didn't even manage to cover half of it. "I was . . . lost in thought."
"Yeah, I can see that. Jesus. I thought you were going to help me, not stab me," Chuuya grumbled, the grumpy words coming out in a huff.
Dazai frowned, reaching for Chuuya's hand again. He cradled it between his own, brushing the fat drops of blood away with his thumb as they welled up. "I said I was sorry."
"You'd better be." Warmth bled more closely through Dazai as the redhead curled further into his side, visible goosebumps flecking over his bare wrists. Dazai flinched at the contact, a thousand thoughts running through his head, tension crawling up his spine, but for some strange reason that he couldn't quite put into words, he didn't dare move.
Chuuya sighed, cupping a hand around his mouth and blowing warm air over his chilled fingers. ". . . fuck, it's cold out here. You know, you've gotta be some good goddam help to make up for everything you've fucked up so far. Jumping out a window, carving my hand into a bloody mess . . ."
Dazai watched as the tendrils of white faded away into nothing, then turned to smile softly down at Chuuya, who was so tired that his eyelids had started to droop, sleep glazing over his eyes. "I am going to help you, slug. However, I plan on helping you and annoying you in equal measure."
Chuuya's voice grew even quieter. "You know, you could start . . ." his nose wrinkled as he cut himself off with a yawn, his eyes fluttering shut. ". . . by telling me who could have done something like this. Don't you know everything about everyone?"
"Unfortunately, I know nothing about this someone," he admitted, voice gentle as a winter breeze. In the distance, a train blew its whistle, shooting white-hot steam into the dark night sky. The clatter of wheels against a slick iron track was muffled by the brick buildings, the sound still managing to be loud enough to echo off the shadow-sticky walls.
He curled his arm around Chuuya's side, tracing lazy circles on the redhead's shoulder. "But perhaps we could start by finding a place to sleep? You look exhausted."
"I feel exhausted," Chuuya mumbled. ". . . you know what? Finding somewhere to sleep sounds like a good idea."
"Perfect," Dazai grinned. "I know just the place."
---
Dazai glanced down at the hotel room bed, then back at Chuuya, then back down at the bed.
It was a nice bed, all things considered.
It was enough for two or three people to sleep on, if they were small enough, and was covered by a thick, fluffy comforter that spilt over the sides far enough to pool on the hardwood floor. A mint lay primly on each of the three pillows, all wrapped in crinkly, reflective plastic that shone with the light of the unhappily buzzing ceiling lamp. The room smelled of lavender fabric softener, clean sheets, and hard bar soap.
"Um . . ." Dazai started, then stopped uncertainly. "As far as I can see, there are two ways we can do this. Is staying human . . . a necessity . . . for you to sleep?"
Chuuya spat out a curse and dragged a hand down his face, and when Dazai tried to catch his eye, attempting to decipher the strange expression on his face, he stubbornly avoided meeting Dazai's gaze. "Fuck it all, I can't believe I didn't even think about something like this. Fuck!"
"It's called considering the logistics, Chuuya," Dazai explained, a small smile creeping up onto his face. Chuuya spun around to shoot him with a venomous glare, and Dazai only laughed, holding up his free hand in defence. "Hey, don't blame me! Blame the ability user who turned you into a cat, yeah?"
Chuuya sucked in a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut, apparently trying to will himself not to break something. ". . . I'm going to throw you and then myself out the window. And this time, I won't bother to catch you."
Dazai grinned. Angry red blotches had arisen in Chuuya's cheeks, looking strangely similar to a flustered-- or possibly frustrated-- blush. Whatever it was, it was adorable. "Come now, don't look so grumpy. It's not like I'm looking forward to this any more than you are."
Chuuya sat heavily down on the foot of the bed, squeezing a fistful of the sheets in between his curled fingers. His hand stretched out in front of him, warm fingers intertwined with Dazai's, the only link between the two.
His eyebrows jumped as he seemingly arrived at a decision, snapping his head up to meet Dazai's gaze. He pulled the other closer, his grip tightening until it practically hurt. "Alright, I've got it. You are staying awake all night."
"Wha-- no! No, I'm not!" Dazai sputtered in surprise. "Why would I do that?"
"I don't want you fucking drooling all over me!" Chuuya shouted, gesturing wildly at the bed.
"Is that really the only problem with this situation?" Dazai cried back. "Also, I'm not staying awake all night! Are you kidding? Do you know how boring that would be?"
"Oh, shut up. I don't care if you're bored. I need to sleep." Chuuya rolled his eyes, his grip on Dazai's hand tightening yet again (ow). "Yes, as a person. Not. A. Cat." He dug his nails into the back of Dazai's hand, yanking him closer. With a sigh, Dazai sat down on the bed, scuffing his heel petulantly against the carpet.
"You're so needy."
"Yeah, whatever," Chuuya scoffed. Lifting his head, he met Dazai's gaze, and a strange expression suddenly crossed his face. His eyes, lidded by soft orange lashes, flicked back and forth between the floor and Dazai, as though he wasn't sure where to look. "I . . . look, I, uh . . ."
His voice was low in the darkness of the hotel room. The ceiling light wasn't on, so the room was lit only by the soft shine of his eyes and the flickering, yellow lamp, casting a golden glow against the slant of his face. ". . . I actually have something to ask . . ."
Dazai flushed, warmth spreading from his cheeks to the tip of his nose. He wanted desperately to look away, to not think about how close he and Chuuya were to each other, the way his soft (soft? SOFT?!) lips opened and as he formed his words. His fingers twitched, his heart pounding in his chest.
All of a sudden, Chuuya squeezed his hand, just slightly. Just tightly enough.
A sudden jolt, like painfully strong electricity, flashed through him. He tried to look away, to tear his gaze off of Chuuya's face, but he couldn't, so he instead squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. A headache quickly began to bloom in the front of his skull. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't even THINK about it. Fuck. What's happening to me?
I haven't felt this way since . . .
Since . . .
". . . zai. Dazai? Hey, you bastard. Are you even listening?"
Dazai opened his eyes, then flinched back with a yelp as he saw how close their faces were, noses barely an inch apart. Chuuya had been peering at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but now he shook his head, rolling his eyes. "What's going on with you today?"
"Oh, I'm . . ." Dazai stopped for a second, dizzily shaking his head. He pushed himself as far away from Chuuya as he could, so far, in fact, that he almost fell off the side of the bed. "I . . . don't worry about it."
"I wasn't planning on it." With a sigh, Chuuya let his eyes drift to the carpet. ". . . you weren't listening, huh."
He flopped onto his back, the mattress sinking underneath his weight. He lifted his free arm to press the back of his hand against his eyes, obviously exhausted. Dazai, meanwhile, carefully settled down on his back, gaze trained towards the ceiling, trying not to think about how fucking close they were and why does this even matter in the first place anyway holy fucking shit get it together--
Turning towards Dazai, Chuuya pulled his hand against his chest, placing it right over his heart, fingers laced tightly together. The expression on his face was hard to describe, yet so painful that it almost hurt to look at.
Chuuya looked away, swallowing hard. ". . . just . . . don't leave, alright?"
The words were so quiet, they barely registered.
Dazai turned his head to the side, gazing as Chuuya slowly drifted off to sleep, crystalline blue eyes drooping until they were shut. His chest rose and fell, his heart eventually beating a steady rhythm that Dazai could feel, fingers pressed carefully against the smaller man's wrist.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours. It was hard to tell, what with Dazai's back turned to the window. He found he could barely breathe, barely even move, barely even wanted to.
Leave?
Why would he think . . .
Oh.
He let out a small sigh, letting himself relax an infinitesimal amount, sinking deeper into the covers. Chuuya's breathing had evened out, lips opened the slightest amount. It felt weirdly intimate to lie next to each other, even if it was a necessity-- and wasn't it?
Dazai closed his eyes.
When Chuuya had yelled at him about drooling . . . that really wasn't the only problem with this scenario, was it? Was Dazai really so far out of the picture that Chuuya couldn't even imagine--
He opened his eyes, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.
What? Imagine WHAT?
There's nothing TO imagine, you idiot. So stop thinking so hard about it all.
He frowned, a messy knot of emotions tangled up in his chest. He was too tired to untangle them tonight, and though he knew they would most likely be forgotten in the morning, he was fairly sure he didn't even want to remember them. They felt clumped together, thorny and impenetrable, and he just wanted to sleep.
The bed was soft and warm, and he really, really wanted to just drift off to sleep . . . and then he remembered that if he didn't make sure to tuck the covers in around them, he was sure that, with whatever bad luck was following them around, they'd both catch a cold. Looking after Chuuya while he would turn into a cat was one thing, but add the layer of being sick over all that, and you had a situation Dazai wholly did not want to deal with.
Grumbling to himself, he extracted himself from the sinfully comfortable bed and leaned over Chuuya, who was now completely asleep and letting out soft snores. He slipped his arms underneath Chuuya's back and legs and gently lifted him into the air, making sure not to disturb him enough that he'd awaken.
He bent lower over Chuuya's face, blowing away a few strands of hair. He mumbled out a complaint, curling in closer to Dazai's chest, and Dazai hesitated to move, trying not to think about the almost overpowering scent of his shampoo, or the way his lips were slightly parted, or . . .
Come on, you dolt. Get it together.
He squeezed Chuuya a little tighter, dropping his head to press their foreheads together. "Sorry, shortie," he whispered, setting him down in a nearby, cushioned chair. "This will just take a moment. Wait here, okay?"
Dazai ducked back over to the bed, peeling the covers back to reveal a fluffy, white mess of sheets, wrinkled at the edges where they were tucked underneath the mattress. He pressed a hand to the mattress, enjoying the way it gave underneath his curled fist, letting it sink almost a full inch into its softness.
Once he was satisfied, he turned back around and scooped Chuuya back into his arms, thanking his lucky stars that the mafioso hadn't turned back into a cat during the short time he'd made the bed. Chuuya grasped at his chest, clawing sleepily at his shirtfront, and even let out a small yawn as he curled closer to Dazai's chest.
"Let's get to bed, sleepyhead," Dazai laughed, setting Chuuya carefully down on the bed. Chuuya let out a mumbled complaint at the sudden lack of contact, reaching out a hand as though to pull Dazai back to him, but Dazai ducked around him and slipped onto the bed, curling gratefully into the warm sheets, pulling the heavy blankets over the two of them.
He shuffled closer to Chuuya, grasping the redhead's hands in his own and pulling them to his chest. Chuuya's hands were soft, obviously well taken care of, his fingers slim and pale. His lips were parted as he let out slow, soft breaths, his cheeks flushed a perfect pink, sleepy and warm.
Dazai stretched out his arm to pull Chuuya closer (they both moved around a lot in his sleep, and it would be rather . . . unfortunate, to say the least, if Chuuya were to turn back into a cat in the middle of the night), trying to ignore how his heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.
It's not like I want to sleep next to him.
It's not like I want to make him comfortable.
I just . . . need him to be fully rested . . . and prepared . . . for the day tomorrow.
Yup. Totally.
Trying to calm himself down, Dazai breathed deeply in, then out, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent room. He reached over to the table with the lamp and flicked the light off, plunging the two of them into a soft, dizzying, comfortable darkness.
His eyes stared blankly into the darkness before they adjusted, the room lighting up in shades of dark greys, like an old photograph. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the prickles of-- of discomfort, he reminded himself-- as they arose like goosebumps on his arms.
"Don't worry," he whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse, "I won't leave this time."