ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ || ꜱᴏᴜᴋᴏᴋᴜ

• 9 •

"I'm not getting on your motorbike." Dazai stamped his foot. It was just gone three in the afternoon on the Saturday, Dazai had popped in to ask Chuuya for his phone number, as he complained that walking to the café was too harsh on his brittle body (Chuuya was quick to prove him wrong by roughly bending his pinky finger back). Hirotsu was in that morning, so Chuuya couldn't do his usual insult to dismiss him. Instead, he had grumpily snatched a grinning Dazai's phone and punched his phone number (he had recently upgraded his phone from a keypad to a touch screen) in and threw it at the brunet's head.

"Do you want to find out my next attempt or not?"

"I'd rather die than get on that."

"That's the plan dumbass." Dazai made an indistinct, mocking comment in a snarky voice and caught the heavy helmet tossed at his face. It was completely matte black, whilst Chuuya had a shiny red helmet with gold stripes. He stared at the heavy equipment in his hands as Chuuya cocked his leg over the bike. "Don't tell me you're scared."

"I am not scared! You strapped me to a firework and buried me in sand, it's normal human behaviour to be a little apprehensive around someone actively trying to kill you."

"Wah wah, all I hear is a baby whining. Get on the damn bike." Chuuya's speech muffled as he slid the helmet on. Dazai rolled his eyes and did the same, before unsteadily climbing on the bike. He gradually adjusted himself and as Chuuya turned the ignition switch, he rapidly wrapped his arms around the other's waist. Chuuya tensed at the contact, feeling the warmth of the embrace and the hardness of the helmet on his spine. He focused on arriving at the destination in one piece, he would be incredibly upset if he crashed his beloved motorcycle. As he shifted gears and zoomed down the university campus, Dazai's grip tightened and Chuuya chortled at his discomfort.

-

"Why are we at Ikea?" Dazai asked, Chuuya flicked his cigarette onto the ground.

"We're getting a cooking pot and some poison."

"That's an interesting recipe."

"Amazon was next day delivery and I'm too impatient for that."

"How are we going to fit a cooking pot on a motorcycle?" Dazai gestured to the mode of transport, and Chuuya heaved himself off the wall.

"You'll have to hold it."

"But I liked touching your teeny tiny waist."

"Shut up and follow me." Dazai did just that and walked beside Chuuya. He kept eyeing Chuuya's arm, before biting the bullet and linking arms. Chuuya shrugged him off and walked a little faster - and angrier.

When they entered the store, Chuuya didn't give Dazai time to look around, instead pulling him over to the kitchen area. There were different aesthetic kitchens and countertops. Chuuya scratched his head as he navigated the aisles, thoroughly lost. Dazai trailed behind, hands in pockets and scanning the area. He nudged Chuuya as he picked up a small cooking pot. The ginger grunted and shook his head.

"It needs to be bigger." Dazai picked up a medium sized pot. "No, bigger."

"Any bigger and I'll fall off the bike on the way home!"

"What a blessing that would be."

"Rude! Besides, how much bigger does it need to be?"

"Big enough to fit a... 5'11 man with long gangly legs inside."

"Somehow I don't think we are cooking." Chuuya chuckled at this, and Dazai perked up at the sound.

"Oh, we are." They continued to search high and low for a pot large enough for Dazai to fit in. It took a solid half an hour of scrounging around the kitchen aisles to find an incredibly large cooking pot. Dazai squatted down and lowered himself into the pot. His entire body was folded in half, and his legs spilled out but it was the best they could find. They both lifted it into the trolley Chuuya had brought along, continued their search for poison.