Dazai always looked like he’d just done something wrong. (more…)
“Why did I ever fall in love with you?” Misaki demanded in sheer exasperation, right in the middle of their third angry, almost shouting match in a week.
Saruhiko paused, frozen before he could trip out his next retort to the predicted insult. Misaki was usually exactly that, predictable, and should be pointing out right about now that Saruhiko had no actual high ground when it came to putting things away where the other thought they belonged.
Instead, he’d gone and said that.
“Really,” Saruhiko finally said with a small huff under his breath and a smile he couldn’t help.
“So what kind of fish are you?” Dazai asked skeptically.
Chuuya shot him a rude glare and a ruder gesture. “I’m not a fucking fish, mackerel.”
Dazai’s eyes widened. “Could you? Fuck me, that is?”
The look on Chuuya’s face was priceless, clearly torn between killing Dazai on the spot and his stated desire to never give Dazai what he wanted. “No,” he finally settled for saying.
But his face was a little red. Was he angry or— “Did I make you blush?” Dazai asked leaning in.
Chuuya pulled him into the water with a splash. “I’m not fucking you.”