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Atsushi: Everyone synchronize your watches.
Akutagawa: I don't know how to do that.
Chuuya: I don't wear a watch.
Dazai: Time is a construct.
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“Okay, in order to do this, we’re gonna need to be perfectly in time with each other,” Atsushi presses against a wall as gunfire rained down on the street. A group of terrorists stood by a fountain, laughing maniacally as they gun down everything in the vicinity.
“We need to synchronise our watches,”
Akutagawa folds his arms.
“I don’t know how to do that,”
Atsushi groans, facepalming. Chuuya pipes up.
“Yeah, no, I don’t wear watches,”
Atsushi’s shoulders droop further and he turns to Dazai.
“And you?”
“Time is a social construct,” They say, shrugging
Atsushi bangs his head on the wall.
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Akutagawa: Real life should have a fucking search function or something.
Akutagawa: I need my
socks. frilly thing.
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“GIN!”
The door to Akutagawa’s room slams open and a person with long, dark, unruly hair bursts into the room. They grip their hairbrush in a fighting stance, as if ready to use it as a weapon. (And they probably could, considering they’re already a professional assassin,)
“What’s wrong!?” They yell.
“Where’s my fucking frilly thing?”
“Your fucking what?” Gin facepalms.
“I swear to god, real life needs a fucking search function or something,” Akutagawa rips open his closet doors and shuffles through the black and white clothing within.
“I need my fucking frilly thing for my shirt,” He sighs, tossing clothing left, right, and center. Gin is quiet for a moment, then they gasp in realization,
“Oh! You mean your cravat, right?”
“If that’s the frilly white thing that’s on the front of my shirt, then yes, that’s what I’m looking for,” Akutagawa narrows his eyes at his sibling.
“Ah, that should be in the tumble dryer! I washed it last night!” They grin, then they wack Akutagawa over the head with their hairbrush.
“Don’t scare me like that again, alright? I thought someone was trying to kill ya for a sec,”
Akutagawa scoffs, clutching his head.
“As if they could,”
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Dazai: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down.
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Dazai sat on the Ada communal couch, slurping some ramen as they watched something on his phone.
“Hey, Dazai! What’re you watching?” Atsushi joins Dazai on the couch with a bowl of chazuke.
“Hey, Atsushi. Nothing much, just some videos my good friend Chibi sent me of my days in the mafia,”
Atsushi deadpans at Dazai, who continued to slurp his ramen.
“You took videos of you killing people?”
“Not just that! I also took videos of me committing tax fraud, money laundering, theft, and a good favorite of mine, arson,”
“Oh,” is all Atsushi can say.
“Come, watch with me!” Dazai shuffles closer to Atsushi and raises the phone so they could both see. They press play on a video and take another slurp of his ramen.
“Today, the Mackeral and I have to interrogate some idiot for info on some stupid ass diamond that the Mafia wanted to steal,” The video displayed a much younger-looking Chuuya Nakahara, with shorter hair; his fedora looked almost brand new in the video’s frame. The camera is flipped, showing a young Dazai, leaning over a man tied to an ornate chair. In his right hand was a lighter, in their left, a can of gasoline. He wore a skirt, though that part wasn’t very unusual to Atsushi. Dazai tended to wear whatever they wanted without giving a damn about anyone’s opinion.
“I’m only gonna say this once. Where’s the diamond, or we burn your house down to the ground,” Young Dazai sneers.
“I won’t tell you till the day I die! That diamond is a family heirloom, and I shall protect it with my life!” The man yells back.
“And what are you, anyway!? A man wearing women’s clothing, or just a particularly masculine woman!?”
“Am I a boy? Or am I a girl? It doesn’t matter. I’m going to burn your house down; with you in it!” Young Dazai starts flinging the gasoline around, covering most of the room’s walls, floors, and furniture in a streak of the stuff.
“Dearest Dog, If you may,” Young Dazai chucks the now empty can over to Chuuya; the camera shuffling as he caught it. Dazai lights the lighter and turns to the man, holding it menacingly in front of him.
“Would you like that to be your last words? Or would you perhaps like to change them? I don’t think most people would like a homophobic comment to be their dying words,” The man stares up at Young Dazai, frozen in fear. He’s frozen for a moment too long though, and Dazai drops the lighter to the floor.
“Let’s go Chihuahua, before we burn ourselves,” He walks out the fancy-looking front doors, Chuuya trailing behind him.
“Why the heck did you want me to record that?” Chuuya asked.
“So that when we grow old together, we can look back on our golden years as Double Black!” Dazai smiles.
“Oh-” The video stops. Atsushi looks at Dazai, mildly terrified.
“I’m glad that I met you after you joined the Agency,” He mumbled, taking a bite of his chazuke. Dammit, it’s cold now.
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Chuuya: And now for a gay update with Akutagawa and Atsushi.
Dazai: Getting gayer.
Chuuya: Thank you, Dazai.
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“WERETIGER!” A rough voice yelled out, followed by a string of hacking coughs. Atsushi opens the window near his desk, narrowly missing a rock that was flung by his head.
“Akutagawa!?”
“DO YOU WANT TO HAVE DINNER WITH ME!?” followed by more coughing.
“What!?”
“I WANT TO TAKE YOU ON A DATE!” Akutagawa’s voice grew more and more piercing as the conversation continued.
“S-sure!” Atsushi yells back, perplexed. “When!?”
“TONIGHT, SEVEN-THIRTY SHARP! MEET ME OUTSIDE YOUR OFFICE!”
“O-OKAY!” Atsushi sat back in his chair, a flustered, befuddled, mess as Yosano, Ranpo, Kyouka, and Naomi surround him, hounding him for more details.
Dazai laughs hysterically, as Chuuya grabs his water bottle, turning it into a mock microphone.
“And now for a gay update with Akutagawa and Atsushi. Dazai?” Chuuya says, doing an impression of a newscaster.
“Getting gayer,” Dazai says
“And there you have it, folks. Thank you Dazai,”
A small, tinny laugh came from where Chuuya’s phone was propped up on the desk. Kouyou watched the romance unfold from her office in the Port Mafia headquarters; in a glorious four-hundred and eighty-pixel resolution on her phone.
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Dazai: If looking good was a crime, you’d be a law abiding citizen.
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Chuuya sipped his wine slowly. He was attempting to enjoy it, this bar had good reviews and four and a half stars, but the atmosphere was completely ruined by this chick that wouldn’t. Stop. Talking.
She wasn’t your average bubble-headed blonde bimbo, Chuuya notes. She happened to actually be attractive, her hair cascading down her back, contrasting nicely with the slinky black dress she wore. Ah, it was too bad that Chuuya was effectively about as straight as a circle. An empty shot glass slammed on the bar. On Chuuya’s right, a man clad in a beige trench coat slipped onto the barstool next to his. On Chuuya’s left, the girl sat unfazed, still talking about god-knows-what in that shrill voice of hers.
“If I may,” The man spoke, and Chuuya instantly recognized him as the bane of his existence, if the trench coat wasn’t evidence enough. Dazai Osamu leaned forward, a feral grin on their face that could easily be mistaken for a provocative smirk.
“Miss, if looking good was a crime, you’d be a law abiding citizen,” The girl looked up, expecting a compliment. What she wasn’t expecting, however, is to be insulted and promptly left the bar. Chuuya sighed in relief. He turned to Dazai, a playful grin on his features.
“That coming from a literal police officer,” Chuuya takes another sip of his wine, attempting to contain his laughter as Dazai gasped in mock offense.
“I’ll have you know that I am a Private Detective, ” They say, placing a hand on his chest indignantly.
“Still technically part of the police,” Chuuya sets his now empty wine glass on the bar. Dazai wraps their arm around Chuuya’s waist, leaning dangerously close to his face.
“Then it must be a good thing that you’re a mafioso, huh?”
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