Double Black

ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows)

A/N: This is part of the 'look chuuya, i just want a divorce' and the '100 reasons trilogy' but it can be read as a stand-alone!

Frankly put, Chuuya was so fucking done.

No, listen. This was absolutely not okay. For the last three weeks or so, Chuuya has had innumerable things to do at work. Honestly, the way he's been so fucking busy, one would think he worked as the CEO of some fancy, multi-millionaire trading business or something. That, instead of being a fucking mafioso, which he was.

He understood that yes, he was in fact one of the five executives of Port Mafia. Sure, it was a highly sought-after position and job description in Yokohama's Underworld. Which only goes on further to show that not everyone is qualified for such a task of being a very intimidating, terrifying mafioso.

Chuuya was scary, alright? He didn't even need guns to fire his bullets. If that's not the epitome of flashy, cool mafia man; literally what is?

Considering his many, very important qualifications for his sketchy job profile, Chuuya could totally see why he was so busy, even if it was to the point of being absolutely ridiculous lately. But god fucking damn it, he was tired of this bullshit, and one-hundred percent over this.

He just, really wanted to go home and be able to spend daylight hours in his beautiful penthouse. Chuuya genuinely couldn't remember the last time he didn't get home when it was already way past midnight. And the situation sucked even more because he had to wake up and drag his ass to work before the sun rose the next day. Well, was it even the next day if it was just a few hours later?

Who knows. It's not like Chuuya was the timekeeper Chronos or something. 

All that aside, the point remains that Chuuya has had the shittiest last month; where he has been so busy with his job as a mafia executive, that he has had no time to go home and properly get some rest, and maybe make dinner for his very annoying husband.

Chuuya just wanted a nice dinner with his husband, right? That's all he asked for. He was such a simple guy really. Which is why it's such a shame that there were about one hundred obstacles for his realistic goal to be fulfilled.

One fine Saturday, after like fifteen meetings and five missions and two hours of training new recruits, Chuuya made it very clear to anyone and everyone he could find that he was going to be on leave, and off his cellular devices for the evening and for all of the next day. 

It was clearly the weekend, and Chuuya has had more than enough of working his ass off, stuck in his suddenly suffocating office in the Port Mafia building. So, after informing everyone about his day off and requesting (read: warning) them to not call him, no matter what; Chuuya left the office without looking back. And way earlier than usual at that.

It was all according to his very important date plans, see. He left work around six, which means he had enough time to go shopping for ingredients and get home at a normal hour for a change, and then proceed to cook for himself and his husband. All of this just so they could have a nice dinner at home, and spend time drinking and catching up on everything. They haven't had the chance to talk much lately, after all.

When Chuuya finally got home, bags of groceries floating int he air right behind him, the first thing he noticed was that shitty mackerel sprawled all over the couch, eyes trained on the pair of large windows in front of him. He wasn't really doing anything, his hands were idle, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that Dazai's mind was working overtime.

Now that Chuuya paid a little more attention, didn't Dazai actually look really fucking terrible? He hasn't had the chance to see his husband recently, but there was no doubt that he looked worse off than the last time they spoke properly. The eyebags under his eyes had darkened immensely, and he definitely looked thinner and paler.