[That's it. With a smooth movement Chuuya tosses his coffee cup up and behind him, where it lands with a surprisingly loud clang in the sink. Completely frozen by now.
Chuuya doesn't care. He has already spun around on the floor, hand closing around Dazai's throat and shoving him back against the cupboards. His fingers are also ice cold, stiff. He ignores it. His violent shivering won't take away from the fact that he's had enough.]
Tell me, how is it that your toy agency is even willing to put up with you.
[He tightens his grip, fingers close to Dazai's pulse point.]
[This was going to be a repeat issue, and Chuuya tended to return to circle around sore points and ignored his blind spots. If they were stuck together for the foreseeable future, might as well get it over with and rip out the tape in one go.
(Would this even solve anything in the end, when all was said and done and memories crumbled to dust that could not cross the fabric between worlds?)
And so, having already predicted he'd be attacked, Dazai let him, his body relaxed with only a loose grip on the other's wrist.
Chuuya always did like going for the throat when it came to him, a painless gesture threatening silence and asphyxiation that also served to keep them at eye level. The cold was a new sensation though, seeping the warmth away from his neck.]
Is calling me a coward your response to everything?
[His fingers are starting to hurt, they're so cold. The air around them is chilling, too, and at this point, Chuuya's lips are turning blue at the edges. He doesn't know how to stop this, or control it, so he only hopes it hurts Dazai as well.
He presses forward, using his weight instead to put more strength into his grip.]
Yeah. It's always the same problem with you. Even after four years.
[Speaking of eye-level, he's leaning pretty close as well.]
Dazai's eyes narrowed, and he traced the line of Chuuya's wrist with his thumb.]
It's warranted right now with how you're mishearing things. [His tone was cool and distant.] Do go on, and I might have to break out later with a makeshift ice pick.
[If Chuuya wasn't already so cold, that touch would make him shiver. He looks down at Dazai's hand holding his wrist, and lets out a breath. Fine. He'll play along.]
So be clearer.
[He's not always in the mood to waste energy analyzing Dazai's words.]
Dazai's grip on Chuuya's wrist loosened, and he let his hand fall on his lap.]
Not as much as before. [The tips of his fingers itched.] What happened earlier... [His gaze fell to the zipper of Chuuya's hoodie, close to his throat. ] It's like remembering. That's all there is.
[A weak finish. Hollowness. Not as self-assured as he usually was.
He's not at all used to seeing Dazai like that. He feels bad for asking, for pushing, when it's such an uncomfortable topic. But if Dazai's still thinking about it, he wants to be prepared so he can stop him, that's all.
Since Dazai isn't holding his wrist anymore, he rubs at the back of his neck instead.]
Yeah, you've changed. I'd say it's for the better, but you're still a traitor.
[That's... Sort of a compliment? Sort of an apology. A sort of gratitude.]
[The easiest Dazai could effect was a quiet stillness. He kept his head level, his expression reflecting a tranquility that he only possessed on the surface.
How rare, for Chuuya to admit at all he thought Dazai's changed.
With a shrug, Dazai reached up to the countertop above his head, inching his hand slowly on the surface. He'd find the second cup of coffee shortly.]
[Chuuya watched Dazai's movement for only a second before reaching up himself, grabbing the coffee for him. If only so that Dazai wouldn't accidentally overturn it and spill all over them both.
He hands it over.]
Didn't think you were capable of change at all. But I guess a lot can happen in four years.
[No, not even Dazai himself thought he'd change, much less leave the Mafia. Then the mess with Odasaku, Mori, and Ango happened.
This wasn't about redemption or forgetfulness. Never was, nor did he feel obligated to follow some narrow righteous path when the world wasn't simplistic enough to fit in neat, quaint little boxes.
Still.
I'd say it's for the better, Chuuya said earlier. Of course his ex-partner would notice something when he wasn't distracted by the festering pain of betrayal. Just as he'd indirectly admitted to being aware on some level that Dazai's old jokes on death ran deep.
Dazai accepted the cup, and its weight felt strange in his hands.]
Not enough to make you that unpredictable. [He took a sip with a faint, wry smile. An unsweetened cup for this kind of day.] You still favor opening with a punch.
[The mood really felt too serious. He definitely felt bad now. Chuuya was painfully aware of how much Dazai hated talking about himself, remembered how much of a struggle it had been to get close to him when they were partners. He'd never really succeeded either, in the end.
He turns to sit next to him on the floor again, back to the cupboards, and grabs the bag of pastries. He'd hidden his pain au chocolate at the bottom, for security purposes.]
And you still can't even throw a punch. [He pulls out his pastry to take a bite.] Put your hips into it next time.
[Dazai waved him off and reached up to the counter again with his free hand, this time to search for the sugar and creamer packets. Chuuya was correct, but Dazai didn't need to acknowledge that more than necessary.]
You're fishing out the soggy cup from the sink later.
[This time, Chuuya lets him fumble around without any help. If Dazai wants to hit himself in the head with falling creamers, that’s his choice. He leans a bit to the side, though, to avoid anything falling on him as well. ]
Yeah, whatever. [He always cleans up his own messes.] But next time, you’re getting the coffee.
[The items were out of immediate reach, and Dazai pushed his back up against the cabinet with his legs to rummage farther back. He found the packets with a little more rummaging, and he let himself slide down on the floor.
One, two more sips of bitter, ground acidity before he opened the lid and added his usual mix. Stirred slowly, and let the smell guide him back to normalcy.
If Chuuya got jealous of having to smell coffee without the benefit of tasting it, so much the better.]
Instant it is.
[He wouldn't if he had a choice, and Chuuya knew that. Brewed was still better.]
He'd bough the coffee for himself, to warm himself up after his run had turned freezing, but his was now melting in the sink. He just sighed, though, and only briefly considered trying to steal Dazai's cup for a sip.]
I'm kicking you out.
[No, he's not, but no instant coffee will be allowed over the threshold.]
[Dazai heard that sigh and smiled to himself as he tasted the blend.]
Put it on your head if you need it that much, broiler-kun.
[Inaccurate term when the steam Chuuya's been able to make wasn't the right temperature. Nothing the equivalent of an open fire or direct heat, either. Still, it might work if Chuuya scrunched his eyebrows really hard. The coffee might spill down Chuuya's head, a natural side effect.
Dazai added a little more sugar to his own cup.]
And that's too bad. [Dazai's eyes glittered with mischief. Chuuya wouldn't, but the hypothetical scenario was something to make fun of.] I'll just sit on the doorstep smelling like a fresh pot of brew. No way for you to escape what you spilled after I walked all the way to the Market and back for it. The grass, at least, would appreciate it.
[Although he doesn't think it's some emotional effect anymore, just the result of going for a run in the cold without proper clothing. He's still shivering, though. He should probably shower soon.
He takes another bite out of his pastry.]
Maybe I'll build a dog house for you out there. Which color should I paint it?
[Yep, ignoring everything Dazai just said and focusing on his own fantasy.]
[Dazai didn't bother dodging the elbow and lifted his arm instead to avoid upsetting his cup.]
Work for your drink, Chuuya. [He sipped his drink.] Glare hard enough and it might. Try to make laser beams. We're in a world with that kind of possibility.
Make it red for yourself. [He sniffed. Dog house.] Aren't you more suited for it with how you bark orders all day, Mr. Leather Choker?
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Chuuya doesn't care. He has already spun around on the floor, hand closing around Dazai's throat and shoving him back against the cupboards. His fingers are also ice cold, stiff. He ignores it. His violent shivering won't take away from the fact that he's had enough.]
Tell me, how is it that your toy agency is even willing to put up with you.
[He tightens his grip, fingers close to Dazai's pulse point.]
You're a damn coward.
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(Would this even solve anything in the end, when all was said and done and memories crumbled to dust that could not cross the fabric between worlds?)
And so, having already predicted he'd be attacked, Dazai let him, his body relaxed with only a loose grip on the other's wrist.
Chuuya always did like going for the throat when it came to him, a painless gesture threatening silence and asphyxiation that also served to keep them at eye level. The cold was a new sensation though, seeping the warmth away from his neck.]
Is calling me a coward your response to everything?
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He presses forward, using his weight instead to put more strength into his grip.]
Yeah. It's always the same problem with you. Even after four years.
[Speaking of eye-level, he's leaning pretty close as well.]
Is insulting me your solution to every problem?
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Hypothermia?
Dazai's eyes narrowed, and he traced the line of Chuuya's wrist with his thumb.]
It's warranted right now with how you're mishearing things. [His tone was cool and distant.] Do go on, and I might have to break out later with a makeshift ice pick.
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So be clearer.
[He's not always in the mood to waste energy analyzing Dazai's words.]
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You aren't obliged to report what you don't remember. Neither is there proof that any of our actions affect what's going on in Yokohama.
Your loyalty is not in question, Chuuya.
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Yeah. Our deal is just sensible.
[Still, though.]
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Practical. [He cocked his head, observing the color of Chuuya's lips and face.] Nothing to freeze over about.
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Yeah, sure. Assuming you don't break our deal and kill yourself.
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A deal's a deal.
[For all his laziness in other things, Dazai rarely initiated breaking an agreement.]
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[He knows Dazai means it. He knows Dazai doesn't like to break deals. Aside from that time he abandoned his post and disappeared for four years.
There's a moment of hesitation, because he's not sure he should bring it up.]
You're still thinking about that?
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Dazai's grip on Chuuya's wrist loosened, and he let his hand fall on his lap.]
Not as much as before. [The tips of his fingers itched.] What happened earlier... [His gaze fell to the zipper of Chuuya's hoodie, close to his throat. ] It's like remembering. That's all there is.
[A weak finish. Hollowness. Not as self-assured as he usually was.
This sucked.]
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He's not at all used to seeing Dazai like that. He feels bad for asking, for pushing, when it's such an uncomfortable topic. But if Dazai's still thinking about it, he wants to be prepared so he can stop him, that's all.
Since Dazai isn't holding his wrist anymore, he rubs at the back of his neck instead.]
Yeah, you've changed. I'd say it's for the better, but you're still a traitor.
[That's... Sort of a compliment? Sort of an apology. A sort of gratitude.]
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How rare, for Chuuya to admit at all he thought Dazai's changed.
With a shrug, Dazai reached up to the countertop above his head, inching his hand slowly on the surface. He'd find the second cup of coffee shortly.]
Imagining I'd do worse?
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He hands it over.]
Didn't think you were capable of change at all. But I guess a lot can happen in four years.
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This wasn't about redemption or forgetfulness. Never was, nor did he feel obligated to follow some narrow righteous path when the world wasn't simplistic enough to fit in neat, quaint little boxes.
Still.
I'd say it's for the better, Chuuya said earlier. Of course his ex-partner would notice something when he wasn't distracted by the festering pain of betrayal. Just as he'd indirectly admitted to being aware on some level that Dazai's old jokes on death ran deep.
Dazai accepted the cup, and its weight felt strange in his hands.]
Not enough to make you that unpredictable. [He took a sip with a faint, wry smile. An unsweetened cup for this kind of day.] You still favor opening with a punch.
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He turns to sit next to him on the floor again, back to the cupboards, and grabs the bag of pastries. He'd hidden his pain au chocolate at the bottom, for security purposes.]
And you still can't even throw a punch. [He pulls out his pastry to take a bite.] Put your hips into it next time.
[At least he was starting to thaw.]
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[Dazai waved him off and reached up to the counter again with his free hand, this time to search for the sugar and creamer packets. Chuuya was correct, but Dazai didn't need to acknowledge that more than necessary.]
You're fishing out the soggy cup from the sink later.
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Yeah, whatever. [He always cleans up his own messes.] But next time, you’re getting the coffee.
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One, two more sips of bitter, ground acidity before he opened the lid and added his usual mix. Stirred slowly, and let the smell guide him back to normalcy.
If Chuuya got jealous of having to smell coffee without the benefit of tasting it, so much the better.]
Instant it is.
[He wouldn't if he had a choice, and Chuuya knew that. Brewed was still better.]
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He'd bough the coffee for himself, to warm himself up after his run had turned freezing, but his was now melting in the sink. He just sighed, though, and only briefly considered trying to steal Dazai's cup for a sip.]
I'm kicking you out.
[No, he's not, but no instant coffee will be allowed over the threshold.]
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Put it on your head if you need it that much, broiler-kun.
[Inaccurate term when the steam Chuuya's been able to make wasn't the right temperature. Nothing the equivalent of an open fire or direct heat, either. Still, it might work if Chuuya scrunched his eyebrows really hard. The coffee might spill down Chuuya's head, a natural side effect.
Dazai added a little more sugar to his own cup.]
And that's too bad. [Dazai's eyes glittered with mischief. Chuuya wouldn't, but the hypothetical scenario was something to make fun of.] I'll just sit on the doorstep smelling like a fresh pot of brew. No way for you to escape what you spilled after I walked all the way to the Market and back for it. The grass, at least, would appreciate it.
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I'm cold right now. It wouldn't work.
[Although he doesn't think it's some emotional effect anymore, just the result of going for a run in the cold without proper clothing. He's still shivering, though. He should probably shower soon.
He takes another bite out of his pastry.]
Maybe I'll build a dog house for you out there. Which color should I paint it?
[Yep, ignoring everything Dazai just said and focusing on his own fantasy.]
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Work for your drink, Chuuya. [He sipped his drink.] Glare hard enough and it might. Try to make laser beams. We're in a world with that kind of possibility.
Make it red for yourself. [He sniffed. Dog house.] Aren't you more suited for it with how you bark orders all day, Mr. Leather Choker?
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[Also, that's it. He reaches over to grab Dazai's wrist, so he can use his other hand to steal his coffee.
He needs coffee.]
The dog is the one taking orders, idiot.
[He's definitely not starting to blush.]
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