Soukoku Oneshots

One way forward (1)

By: setosdarkness

Chuuya smells wrong.

Different from the usual wet puppy scent he exudes whenever he finishes a mission, with his soles licked by blood and crushed guts. Different from the pervasive trace of gunpowder on leather gloves, whenever he swirls amber liquid in a glass that couldn’t bear anything more than two sips before it knocks out the tiny man. Different from his preferred sandalwood fragrance, spritzed to the spot under his choker, yet somehow traveling down to the dip of his clavicles, apparent whenever he pulls his dog close.

Compared to all of that, today’s Chuuya smells incredibly wrong. Not just today. The wrongness has been building up over the past twenty-seven days, but his dog has not done the right thing and admitted to his wrongdoings.

“You’re five minutes late.” He drums his fingers over his desk, his chin resting over an upturned palm. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that your job is to do my bidding, no?”

“My job is to serve as Port Mafia’s sword and shield.” Chuuya’s posture is relaxed. His usual disposition has never been on the melancholic spectrum, but sunshine cheer hasn’t bloomed from him in nearly four years. It’s a little odd, a little uncomfortable, to see him smiling as he refutes, “And I’m not late at all. You should check your clocks instead.”

“Your salary allows you to buy too many tacky hats. You should at least be checking that for me.”

“Leave my hats out of this. And I have checked. It’s your eyes that are faulty.”

The smile stays. Nothing has happened in the city that should inspire this kind of good mood from his dog. This means that something has happened outside of his purview, and that something is big enough to affect the mood of his best weapon, which could introduce a chink in his plans.

He clicks his tongue and opts for a different line of attack. “You look uglier and sloppier than usual today.”

At those words, Chuuya’s eyes immediately sweep down to his gloves, knees, shoes. “For someone with just one eye, you sure are sharp.” He brushes off a spot of dust over his left knee. “I was out on a drive before getting here.”

It’s a statement of fact, with no guilt or defensiveness. No reverence or submission either.

“Indulging in your hobbies while I’m stuck here, working hard?” He shakes his head as he swallows down a bellyful of anger that surges out of nowher.

“Perhaps if you actually did your paperwork instead of being lazy and an annoyance, you wouldn’t have to cram doing them before the deadline.” Unfazed, Chuuya raises an eyebrow at him. “So? Is that why you’ve called me here? To foist off the paperwork for the takeover of Asahi Logistics?”

He leans back on his chair, spreading his legs. “Come here.”

An odd look flickers through Chuuya’s face, but he approaches anyway. A sigh, before he drops to his knees, like he’s already mentally planning ten stabs to his back in exchange. A standard position for swearing fealty, with one hand clasped over his heart. Chuuya usually protests more whenever he asks him to do things like this, but his good mood apparently does well in blunting his belligerence.

It’s quite vexing.

Dazai reaches out so he could trace Chuuya’s jawline using his fingertip. Cracking one’s jaw over the pavement, three shots to the back of a traitor’s head.

Chuuya would never betray him, the mafia, anyone, no matter what. His unwavering loyalty is his most useful, most annoying trait.

“You’re here so you’d remember your place,” he says after getting his fill of drawing imaginary lines over his dog’s face. “Never forget, Chuuya. You’re my Executive and I’m your Boss.”