Title: Dr. Love
Summary: Saitou's having a psychotic episode. He hopes, anyway.
Word Count: 982
A/N: A warning or two for language and content. Because it's Saitou and Okita—'nuff said. XD Also, if you haven't read Captain Miserable, this one contains spoilers for Saitou and Okita's pasts…so read Captain Miserable first. : )
"You need a woman."
Saitou slowly turned his head and sent his friend an incredulous look.
"What?" he asked finally.
"I said, you need a woman," Okita repeated.
Saitou stared at him some more, wondering if this was some horribly fucked up dream. Because in all their years of friendship, they'd never once given each other unsolicited advice, at least seriously. On anything. And even if they had, it would not have been on their respective love lives, because that was pansy shit, as far as Saitou was concerned.
To make sure this was not actually happening, he pinched himself as hard as he could, and then frowned and rubbed the abused area.
Fuck. It wasn't some sick dream.
His eyes narrowed as another thought occurred: psychotic episode? That had some definite possibilities. There was no denying that Saitou was as likely as anyone to flip out and lose his mind. Hell, he was more likely; most people hadn't once killed other people for a living.
Saitou nodded and decided this was simply his first psychotic episode (not that he knew if this had happened before or not, he was just assuming…were you supposed to remember it when you flipped out and went bat-shit?); he and Okita weren't really sitting in the living room of Saitou's apartment, drinking beer with their feet propped up on the table, watching the Tokyo-Osaka game and talking about Saitou's love life. Saitou didn't know where he could be, but he was sure that it wasn't really where he seemed to be at this particular moment.
That cleared up, he decided to ride the episode out, and hope that no one he knew was anywhere around him.
"Is that right?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," the Okita-who-wasn't-Okita replied importantly. "Last time I saw you with a chick was a year ago."
"Just because the last time you saw me with a woman was last year doesn't mean I haven't been with a woman since then, ahou," Saitou dryly remarked.
Okita-who-wasn't-Okita had the gall to snort.
"Whatever dude," he said good-naturedly, like he was humoring Saitou, and Saitou narrowed his eyes and glared at the other man, wondering if it was possible to murder someone who wasn't actually there with you.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're a fuckin' hermit, Haji," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita replied, still grinning that obnoxious grin that was making Saitou very seriously consider hitting him. Hard. "You don't date."
"That's right, I don't date, I fuck," Saitou snapped. "So what?"
"Are you telling me you just pick women up, have sex with them and that's it?" Okita-who-wasn't-Okita asked, incredulous.
Saitou sent him a "Yeah-dumb-ass-what'd-you-think-I-did?" look. It was quiet for a minute, and then Okita-who-wasn't-Okita burst out,
"How the fuck do you do that?!"
Saitou rolled his eyes and went back to watching the game.
"I'm serious! Tell me! You're the crankiest, rudest asshole I know, but somehow you manage to—"
Saitou tuned out Okita-who-wasn't-Okita.
Huh, he thought, taking a swig of his beer, eyes on the TV screen, Osaka's beating the ever-loving shit out of Tokyo. If this keeps up, I'll owe Souji money. Then again, since this isn't really happening, maybe I won't. You don't have to settle bets with figments of your imagination, right?
A sharp crack to the head with the remote brought his attention back to Okita-who-wasn't-Okita-but-apparently-shared-Okita's-death-wish.
"What the fuck, asshole?!" Saitou demanded, holding the back of his head and glaring at his violence-inclined apparition.
"I'm talkin' to you, dick," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita snapped.
"So?"
"So it's rude not to pay attention when someone's talkin' to you!"
"And I give a shit why?"
"See, that's what I'm talkin' about!" Okita-who-wasn't-Okita announced. "How the fuck do you convince women to sleep with you? The second you open your mouth, they should want to run away in the other direction!"
"Well they don't," Saitou snapped. "And just because I act like a dick with you doesn't mean I'm like that all the time, retard."
Okita-who-wasn't-Okita sent him a suspicious look.
"What? You're sayin' you can act human once in a while?"
"Fuck you Souji," Saitou muttered.
"I don't believe you," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita said. "I think they just sleep with you because they're drunk—that's it, isn't it? It's not that you can be charming if you want to, it's that they're too drunk to tell that you're bein' an asshole."
Saitou's reply was to punch Okita-who-wasn't-Okita in the side of the head.
Later, once the fight had ended and ice had been applied as needed, Saitou reflected on what Okita (who it turned out had not been a figment of his imagination) had said. A lot of the time, he tended to ignore his friend, because Okita talked a lot of shit, but he supposed this time the other man had a point—perhaps Saitou might benefit from actually attempting a relationship. He'd been divorced for a while now, and as nice as it was not to have to deal with someone else's shit, this whole "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am" business was getting old.
This naturally led to thoughts of Tokio, and he grinned a little. Yeah, Chiisai was definitely his first choice. Something about the petite executive with a penchant for cuteness drew him. Possibly, it was the niggling suspicion that she liked him a lot more than she let on, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he was smitten with her, and had been pretty much since day one.
"What's so funny?" Okita asked, his beer halfway to his mouth, bag of ice against the side of his head.
"None of your fuckin' business," Saitou snarled.
So maybe Okita had a point—but Saitou wasn't going to say so out loud.
And he definitely wasn't going to tell the prick about Tokio.
There weren't any legal repercussions for killing people that only existed in your head, but real people were a different story.