@guyfierimpreg here’s ur damn fic!! agency soukoku, as promised.
“Are we really doing this?” Chuuya asked nervously. “I thought you were kidding.” The door didn’t look imposing in the least, but appearances could be deceptive. Chuuya knew this better than most people.
Dazai looked a little white too, but he shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Coward,” he sniped. “Side that saves people and all that.”
He knocked before Chuuya could stop him, and Chuuya bit the inside of his mouth and followed Dazai inside. The President was sitting behind a desk - old wood, laden with files and knick-knacks and a mug in the shape of a curled up cat. It was disgustingly cute but Chuuya wasn’t fooled. He let his eyes wander around the room while Dazai did the talking; knew he should be paying more attention but couldn’t focus on his future when there was a photo frame on the wall of the President and a small, black-haired boy with green eyes. They looked happy in that photo.
It made something hurt and bitter twist in Chuuya’s chest. They didn’t have a single photo of each other in the two years since they left. Had never even considered taking one together. Too much liability, too much chance one of them might leave it behind. There was only that worn, sepia-toned photo of Dazai’s old friend.
(That one they’d nearly burnt one night, when it was so cold Dazai’s eyes went eerily dead. Chuuya had found him standing on the balcony with Chuuya’s lighter in his hand and had dragged him back inside and forced him to his knees just so he wouldn’t do anything that stupid.
Because summers were full of running but winters turned Dazai’s head and withered him inside. And winters made Chuuya remember streets and faces he’d rather have left behind.
At least they had each other, for whatever that was worth.)
He tuned back in time to hear the President say, “Now that you’re here, I can give you a case immediately. There’s a warehouse down by the docks—”
“Hang on a second,” Chuuya interrupted loudly. “Together?”
“Well,” the President said. “Of course, one of our employees will be accompanying you because you’re new here.”
“No, I mean,” Chuuya said. “I mean. Together?” He gestured between himself and Dazai. “Because I am not working with this asshole ever again. Ever. Again. Okay?” It occurred to him too late that he was being overly harsh with the President, but the man’s lips twitched.
“I can assign you separately, if you’re prefer,” he suggested.
“Please,” Dazai and Chuuya said together.
