He was late. And knowing that his umbrella was leaning against the wall next to his apartment's front door, Nakahara Chuuya was beyond pissed off. And not to mention, wet.
Caught beneath the sudden, albeit predicted, Monday morning rain shower, a fedora-clad Chuuya ducked his head and sped down the sidewalk toward the bookstore. He weaved amongst the crowd, dodging small puddles as he barreled past fellow passersby; a slew of barely audible apologies fell from his lips each time he bumped into an unsuspecting commuter. Yet, in spite of the frequent collisions, the redhead continued onward at a rapid pace.
Once he traveled along numerous street blocks—which were crowded with those who appeared to have nothing else better to do than to get in his way—Chuuya chanced a peek from beneath the brim of his hat. The side of his mouth twitched upward; one corner and two blocks left to go. He was mere footsteps away from turning onto a new street when his slender shoulder firmly smacked against another body. The powerful impact sent him swiveling on his heel. Nakahara toppled over, landing on the cold pavement with a hard thud.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, slapping his black-gloved palms on the slick cement. After taking a moment to collect himself, the redhead pushed himself up from the sidewalk. He leaned down and began to wipe one hand against his pants while the other held his fedora in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of dark, brown shoes shift into his peripheral vision.
"I'm sorry," came, in what Chuuya believed to be, an eerily chipper voice. "I didn't see you there."
The young man's head snapped up as the person standing in front of him simultaneously bent downward—thereby, dealing his ego a severe blow—until they stood eye-to-eye. His own blue ones were seething when they connected with warm browns that were glimmering with delight. They blinked innocently beneath the man's damp, dark hair. Chuuya watched as a Cheshire Cat-like grin lit up the other's already cheerful expression.
"You really should watch where you're going," he admonished Chuuya with a 'tsk' and a slow shake of his head. "You could hurt yourself."
Then, without warning, he playfully tapped his finger against the redhead's nose; the action was followed by a 'boop' sound popping from his lips.
"But I'll forgive you," he offered with a dazzling smile. "Because you're so small and too cute!~"
Chuuya's jaw dropped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he scoffed, fisting his hands at his sides. A fierce scowl etched itself between his furrowed brows, his stare burning beneath his red tresses. "You're the one who pushed me over!"
"My, my, my!" the brunet gasped, his gaze widening with admiration. Nakahara could practically see stars and sparkles bursting behind the other's eyes. "You're even more adorable when you're mad!" he cooed.
Searing steam hissed from Chuuya's pink-tinged ears. "N-no, I'm not!" he stuttered.
"Oh, yes you are~"
Snarling, the shorter of the two grinded his teeth together. He clenched his already white-knuckled fists—he was going to knock the jerk's lights out. And when another happy-go-lucky smirk flashed before his eyes, Chuuya decided a roundhouse kick to face sounded like a good idea, too.
However, before he even had the chance to move a muscle, the brunet took a small step back. Chuuya observed as he lifted a closed umbrella from behind his back and pressed the metal button, thus releasing the clear, plastic shield above their heads. The rain melodically pelted against the covering.
"That's better, hmm?" hummed the taller man.
Chuuya cocked an eyebrow. "Why weren't you using it to begin with?"
The other shrugged. Placing his chin between his thumb and outstretched forefinger, he began to rub it in a calculating manner, all the while leering up and down Chuuya's petite frame. He made a thoughtful noise.
Fidgeting, Chuuya squirmed beneath the appreciation dancing in the brunet's eyes. A bright blush blossomed on his skin, cascading from one cheek and over the bridge of his nose to the other. It pissed him off.
"What?" he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. He furiously tapped his foot.
"Nothing," the man responded.
The tooth-rottingly sweet smile directed his way told Chuuya that the man was up to no good. It was time to go before he did, indeed, start throwing punches; he wasn't in the mood for jail at this time in the morning.
"I'm outta here," he muttered, dropping his arms.
"Hello, 'outta here'. I'm Dazai Osamu."
Chuuya huffed. "You're such an ass." Without another word, he ambled out from under the umbrella's protection. Thankfully, the rain had eased up. He strolled toward the intersection, then turned onto a new street before proceeding down the block.
"Aw, don't be like that!" came the exceedingly loud, pathetic whine amidst the sounds of traffic splashing through puddles and pedestrian chatter.
The redhead glanced over his shoulder to find Dazai merrily (and too close for comfort) skipping after him, twirling the umbrella above his head; droplets of cool water spun from its edges.
Grumbling, Chuuya opened his mouth to call out a "fuck you," but it was interrupted when someone, who was apparently in too much of a hurry to care, slammed into him; he tipped backward. He didn't hit the chilled pavement, though. Instead, he fell against another body that quickly curled its arm around his waist. He looked down at the limb wrapped in white bandages before staring up at the smirking face above him. Chuuya desired nothing more than to die at that moment.
"Already falling into my arms, are we? How forward of you, chibi!" remarked Dazai. "I'm flattered that someone as cute as you would do such a thing."
Chuuya's cheeks scorched to a fiery red; the color flooded its way down his neck. "W-what are you t-talking about?!" he sputtered.
Dazai tilted his head to the side, his brown hair falling across his forehead. He grinned. "I think I've found something to live another day for, that's what."
Practically at death's door, Nakahara struggled out of the other's grasp. After straightening his clothes, he twisted around and glared up at the taller man. "Has anyone ever told you you're a crazy bastard?"
Dazai Osamu tapped his chin. "Kunikida-kun calls me a maniac. And lazy."
"He's right."
"So cruel," pouted Dazai, placing a hand over his broken heart. "But still so cute~"
"If you don't go away, I'll kill you myself."
"I didn't know you were such a good person!"
Chuuya sneered. "I'm late for work."
Instantaneously, Dazai was mere inches from his face; the motion caught the redhead off guard. A victorious and confident smile appeared, and Chuuya knew his face was sizzling; he briefly wondered if the heat was singeing his wavy hair. Unsurprisingly, the situation resulted in him bristling and gnashing his teeth. He wouldn't be surprised if he were frothing at the mouth, too.
Twirling the umbrella in one hand, Dazai lifted the other's index finger and tapped Nakahara on his upturned nose. "Boop," he said, emphasizing the 'p' with a pop of his lips.
He needed to leave before he clocked the waste of bandages upside the head and put him in a coma upon impact. "Bye," announced Chuuya. He put his back to Dazai, then up a light pace toward the bookstore.
"I'll see you later, chibi."
Over his petite shoulder, he waved Dazai's words away with a backward swish of his hand. "I doubt it."
"So mean!"
"Keel over!"
"Yet, so wonderful~" marveled the brunet in a sing-song voice.
Chuuya hurried down the sidewalk, leaving behind a laugh bubbling with evil and awe. Betrayed, he unwillingly flushed at the sound. He hated himself for it.
The day had barely started, and he already wanted to crawl into bed with a glass of wine. And if he were lucky, die.
Regardless, he continued onward to the shop. His journey was delayed, yet again, when he made it to a crosswalk. Chuuya peered up at the pole; the little man in the box was red. He huffed.
With no choice but to wait, he dug into the pocket of his black trousers and pulled out his phone. He looked at the time—it was 9:20 A.M.
"Tch, bastard."
Using one hand, he typed in his passcode and unlocked it. With the other, he retrieved a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket; scribbled on it was Akutagawa Ryuunosuke's new cell phone number. Thanks to a certain blonde (Higuchi Ichiyou), Chuuya was typing in digits that were unusually neat, seeing as he could barely read his co-worker's handwriting the majority of the time. He fleetingly wondered how that managed to occur. Akutagawa was obsessed with calligraphy, after all. Nonetheless, he paid the oddity no mind. The kid may have, for once, been in a good mood when he wrote it down. That was a rarity in and of itself.
[9:24 A.M] Akutagawa, it's Chuuya. I'm gonna be late. Some asshole ran into me and wouldn't leave me alone.
He paused, then added another quick note.
[9:24 A.M] Save my number this time, eh?
He hit 'send'.
Carrying a white paper bag full of honey fig scones, a dryer Chuuya strolled toward Port Mori's Bookstore. He stepped up to its entrance and opened the door; the bell hanging above it chimed.
Akutagawa, who was sitting at his spot behind the counter, half-heartedly flipped through the book sitting before him, his chin cradled in the palm of his hand as he scowled at nothing in particular. Chuuya could already tell that the kid was in an exceedingly bad mood. Great.
"You're late," he commented, not bothering to look up at the redhead approaching him.
Chuuya tossed the packaged breakfast cakes onto the counter as he rounded its corner. "Your favorite scones," he spoke. He went to the coat rack and shrugged off his coat. "And I sent you a text saying I'd be late."
Akutagawa tilted his head and reached for his phone. He tapped on the screen. "You must've texted the wrong number," he stated with a disinterested shrug of his shoulder. Pushing his book aside, he replaced it with the bakery bag and opened it. Along with the napkins tucked inside of it, he pulled out a fruit-infused scone.
"That annoying, little delivery boy called before you got here."
Chuuya paused and put a hand on his hip. "Atsushi-kun?"
"Yes, him. He said he'll be here Wednesday instead of Thursday." Akutagawa swiveled in this chair. He regarded Chuuya with an almost bored expression. "Did you lose your hat?"
Frowning, Chuuya blindly reached for his fedora; his palm was met by silky red tresses. His confused demeanor was abruptly transformed into a pissed off clench-of-the-teeth when it dawned on him.
That bastard!
Yawning, Chuuya ambled into his modest apartment with a small bottle of moscato in hand. He gently kicked the door closed and set his purchase on the small table next to the entrance. He secured the lock with a click, and tossed his keys into the small dish settled on top of the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuuya saw his dreaded umbrella. The item had managed to maintain its original place: propped up against the wall next to the door—right where he had left it. He glowered and nearly hissed at the umbrella, shamelessly flipping it the bird. The thing deserved it.
Chuuya took off his black coat and swung it over the knob to the left of the entryway, allowing it to hang freely. He reached for his fedora, but remembered the waste of bandages who had bashed into him (and sent him tumbling to the ground) earlier in the day had stolen his prized possession. Nakahara made a mental note to track Dazai down and throw him in a river. After he rescued his hat, of course.
With a sigh, he kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. He set the bottle of wine down on the small round table, then retrieved a stemless glass. After taking a few sips and thus, having to refill it, Chuuya took the alcohol into his bedroom. He walked over to his nightstand and turned on the lamp, then set the glass on its surface. Stretching, he unceremoniously flopped backward onto the plush mattress; its springs bounced back in rebellion. The young man ran a hand across his forehead. He yawned.
Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated against his slender leg. Chuuya sat up, and tilting to the side, he scooped it out of his pants pocket. He reached for his wine and just as he was taking a sip, he looked at the bright screen. The poor soul nearly spit out his drink; he choked on it instead.
[8:13 P.M #] I'm clueless as to who this Akutagawa is, but something tells me I should be jealous.
Hacking away, Chuuya let his arm drop against his thigh; the phone toggled in his loose grip. He covered his mouth with his other hand. Once his throat was alcohol-free, he cleared it. The redhead inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it through the corner of his mouth; the rush of air blew his hair from his eyes.
[8:18 P.M] I thought I was texting a friend. Sorry for bothering you.
At least he managed to politely apologize, considering the overall mood the day had put him in—which he was still enduring, if his short-tempered scowl had any say in the matter.
Chuuya darkened the screen and tossed the phone onto his pillow. He made a move to push himself off the bed, but the soft sound of his phone buzzing caught his ear. Nakahara picked it up.
[8:25 P.M #] It's alright. I looove late night messages from mysterious people!
[8:26 P.M] Go away.
[8:26 P.M #] Awww.
[8:27 P.M #] But Chuuya texted me first!
What little was left of his short fuse ignited. The corner of his lips curled in annoyance.
[8:29 P.M] I've had a long day and you're pissing me off even more than I already am. Forget this number.
[8:30 P.M #] (╥_╥) You told me to save your number.
Chuuya clicked his teeth.
[8:33 P.M] Has anyone told you not to talk to strangers?
[8:33 P.M #] Then why is Chuuya replying?
Seeing as he had nothing better to say, he typed a simple:
[8:34 P.M] Fuck you.
The reply was swift.
[8:34 P.M #] You'd like that wouldn't you? (⌒.−)
Chuuya clutched his phone, his knuckles cracking beneath the pressure. He was tempted to throw it against the wall out of pure exhaustion and frustration. But he refrained from doing so; he preferred to spend money on wine and hats versus a new phone.
[8:36 P.M] You're creepy and gross. I'm blocking your ass.
[8:36 P.M #] Something tells me you won't. Even if you do, you'll text me eventually.
[8:37 P.M] And why the hell would I wanna talk to you?
[8:39 P.M #] Easy. You'll miss me too much.
Apparently, today was the day for assholes—first Dazai, and now this jerk.
The redhead sighed. He exchanged his phone for the nearly empty glass of moscato. Chuuya drained the last of it, then made his way into the kitchen to put it by the sink. He'd wash it in the morning.
After a long, hot shower, Nakahara finally crawled into bed. He laid on his side and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. Much to his drowsy dismay, his phone vibrated against the wooden surface of the nightstand.
[10:11 P.M #] Sweet dreams, Chuuya.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. He yanked the comforter as far up as it would go and ducked his head beneath it.
Before he fell asleep, Chuuya mentally crossed his fingers, praying that the day had simply been a case of bad luck and it would end there.
He was wrong.