"Remind me again why I shouldn't strangle you right now?" Chuuya hissed to Dazai, who said nothing in return.
The two of them sat in the front seats of Chuuya's car as they carefully drove through the crowded streets of Yokohama's center. Chuuya was behind the steering wheel, which he gripped tightly.
"I swear, I'm going to kill you the second this party ends."
Beside him, Dazai rolled his eyes. "We made a deal, didn't we? And besides, I really don't see any reason for being upset." He turned to Chuuya and flashed him a smug smile. "I think you look rather stunning in that dress."
Chuuya slammed on the brakes and was mildly satisfied to see Dazai's head lurch forward. It didn't, however, diminish his urge to scream aloud in frustration; he bit his lip to suppress the compulsion.
"How about this one?" Dazai held up a strapless blue bodycon dress and cocked his head toward Chuuya.
The two of them were in the formal section of a crowded second-hand store. Around them, middle-aged women and bored teenagers poked halfheartedly through the racks and shelves. Mannequins frozen in stiffly graceful positions added to the sense of oppressive crowdedness in the store. The two teenage boys received some curious–and some disdainful–looks, but they were left alone for the most part.
Chuuya pushed his hat further down his face. He wanted the ground to swallow him up–except that it would have made for much more of a spectacle.
"No," he answered Dazai through gritted teeth.
Dazai shrugged and placed it back on the rack. He hummed as he slid hangers down the rack, clearly enjoying his task.
He gasped and plunged his hand into the bundles of cloth, yanking out a glitzy silver mini dress.
"No," Chuuya barked before the brunette could even say anything. Dazai pouted as he put it back.
Chuuya sighed in frustration. "Can't you find anything more…conservative?" he asked wearily, pinching the bride of his nose.
Dazai scrunched his nose as he passed dress after dress. He picked his way through the entire rack, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
His eyes suddenly lit up. He carefully pulled out a long, backless burgundy dress. The top was studded with sequins; it sparkled under the store's fluorescent lights. The dress's satin skirt flared from the waist, and, as Dazai held the dress up to Chuuya, its hem just brushed the floor.
Chuuya carefully scrutinized the dress, and finally gave a resigned nod. Dazai thrust it in his arms with a gleeful smile.
"And," he cried, pointing towards a male mannequin wearing a suit of a similar shade, "we'll be matching!"
Chuuya impatiently tapped the toe of his high-heeled shoe on the floor of the car. They were stuck at a red light behind several other cars. He glanced at the digital clock displayed on his car's radio and let out a sigh.
Dazai glanced over to him.
"Don't worry about it," he said soothingly. "We'll get there in time."
Chuuya shot a glare at him. "Who said I was worried?" he snapped.
Dazai raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.
"With that attitude, you're going to get found out in no time."
He leaned forward suddenly, a smile suddenly curving his lips.
"Hey, how about you do your rich girl impression again-"
Chuuya reached over and flicked Dazai's forehead as hard as he could. The brunette jerked back, holding his fingertips over the reddening spot.
"You've got to stop doing that," he whined.
Chuuya ignored him and pressed a button on the radio. Loud rock music suddenly filled the car, drowning out any possibility of further conversation. He glared sullenly out the windshield as the song's bass thrummed in his ears.
"Your name…will be Himiko," Dazai declared.
Chuuya glared back at him. The two were back in Dazai's office at the Port Mafia headquarters. He was wearing the burgundy dress, as well as a pair of shoes that Dazai had grabbed off of the shelves of the second-hand store. He rather liked the extra height that the high heels gave him, but he would rather die than admit that to his partner's face.
"Don't I even get to choose my own name?" he grumbled.
"Himiko Kuroi," Dazai continued, his face taking on a faux dreamy expression as he planted his hands on his cheeks. "It has such a lovely ring to it, don't you think?"
Chuuya rolled his eyes in disgust and turned toward the floor mirror that Dazai had procured, examining his reflection distastefully.
The dress, surprisingly, fit him quite well–the chest area was already padded, which saved him the humiliation of needing to wear a bra. The edge of the skirt hung about an inch off of the ground, hiding his black heels. He had removed his hat, but left his choker and gloves on. His hair, free of the usual ponytail, just reached his shoulders. He tucked his chin-length bangs behind his ear, barely resisting the urge to smash his gloved hand through the mirror.
"I still look like a guy," Chuuya said bitterly as he picked at the sequins on the dress' neckline.
Dazai paused his reveling to grin mysteriously at the redhead. "We can fix that."
He was out the door in a second. Chuuya dreaded his return.
But return he did, dragging with him a clearly irritated Kouyou.
Chuuya stared at her in shock, and Kouyou regarded him with a similar expression. The redheaded teenager almost blushed with embarrassment when he suddenly remembered that he was wearing a dress.
"A-ane-san," Chuuya stammered. "What are you-"
Dazai clapped his hands. "Kouyou-san is going to be helping you prepare for your big debut at the party tonight!" he sang gleefully.
Chuuya and Kouyou both sent him confused glares. However, Kouyou's face gradually softened in understanding as she turned back to Chuuya. She suddenly smiled, her expression halfway between amusement and mockery.
"Wow, Chuuya. I didn't know you were into drag," she teased, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her kimono.
Chuuya's face reddened as Dazai howled with laughter.
Chuuya smoothly guided his car into an open space in the huge parking garage next to the designated hotel building. He turned the key, shutting off the engine. He then flipped down the visor above him and inspected himself in the small mirror.
His blue eyes stared back at him, set off by red winged eyeliner. His lips–tinted with Kouyou's lipstick–were pressed in a thin line. He gingerly touched his face, which he felt was completely coated in various creams and powders. Nevertheless, despite his discomfort, he grudgingly admired his superior's handiwork; the face that stared at him from the mirror looked to be that of a young woman.
He glanced to the side and noticed Dazai staring at him.
"What do you want?" he snapped, though his annoyance was halfhearted. He was dreading entering the party, and his stomach already felt like it was filled with lead pellets.
"You're going to draw more attention if you're scowling like that," Dazai quipped, an eyebrow raised.
Chuuya scoffed, his stomach lurching slightly. "Says the person with a bandage wrapped around his head. Between the two of us, you're definitely more likely to be found out."
Dazai sighed, leaning back slightly. "Listen, Chuuya-chan. You have to smile, even if you feel like you can't. Put on a show to distract people from figuring you out. Don't let anyone guess how you're feeling or what you're thinking on the inside. It'll be hard, but you have to do it. Because this ultimately isn't about you at all. The only thing of importance is your performance. Suffer through it, because the better you do your job, the faster you will be done."
Chuuya felt like Dazai's voice was becoming more and more hollow as he talked. The way that the brunette said "done" had a certain peculiar finality in it. Chuuya's gut twisted as he realized that he wasn't sure which of the two of them Dazai was talking about.
Dazai must have noticed how Chuuya was biting his lip in distress, since he suddenly sat up.
"Well, the time has come, I suppose!" he said cheerily. "Let's go."
Chuuya unbuckled his seatbelt and had his hand on the door knob when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back around and found that he was suddenly inches away from Dazai's face. He froze in surprise as the latter carefully scrutinized his face.
After a few moments, Dazai reached into his pocket and withdrew a tube of lipstick. He popped the cap off and twisted the bottom. Taking Chuuya's jaw in one cool hand, he very gently dabbed the lipstick onto the redhead's bottom lip, his eyebrows drawn in concentration. There was a focus, an intensity in his gaze that made Chuuya's chest constrict. Once he finished, he withdrew, nodding in satisfaction, and snapped the cap back on the tube.
Chuuya quickly opened his door and stepped out of the car, the weight in his stomach suddenly feeling ten times heavier for a reason he couldn't explain.
***Poor Chuuya. But honestly, who has it worse? Him, or Dazai, who has to listen to him complaining all evening? I'm kidding. Definitely Chuuya.
Sorry for the short chapter! The next couple of chapters will be longer. :D