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A wedding is a ceremony where two people are united in marriage. Wedding traditions and customs vary greatly between cultures, ethnic groups, religions, countries, and social classes.
Even accounting for the differences in traditions, Chuuya’s pretty sure that all weddings usually involve two people. But here he is, in front of the customer service representative from the wedding organizer company, trying to explain such a basic concept.
Trying.
Through gritted teeth, “My wedding has been cancelled so I just want to process the cancellation of your company’s services.”
The customer service representative has a nameplate right in front of him. Dazai Osamu. It’s very considerate of the company, to give him a name to curse to oblivion.
He’d normally reserve such vitriol for other matters, but it’s so excruciating dealing with this smirky bastard that he doesn’t even have the capacity to feel depressed over getting jilted on his wedding day.
Granted, it’s not like he has especially deep feelings for Yasuko. She’s a business-arrangement match set up by his family, in an effort to bolster power and influence. There are threats arising everywhere, after all. He didn’t have any reason to reject it.
…Still, it kind of stings.
Not as much as dealing with this asshole though.
“We have a no-cancellation policy,” Dazai tells him for the sixth time. The smirk on his face grows with each repetition. Chuuya thinks that it’d probably end up swallowing the bastard’s face whole, that would teach him to be such a smug motherfucker.
How can someone like this be fit to work in customer service? Isn’t this just a gold-embossed invitation to punch him ten times?
With as much patience he can muster, he re-explains: “My bride literally ran off with another man, how the fuck do you expect me to have a wedding?!”
“That’s a problem that’s very simple to solve.” A self-satisfied nod. Fingers drum against the desk, empty if one ignored the pile of paperwork imitating the Yokohama Marine Tower to one side. “We just have to get someone else to marry you.”
The smugness doesn’t completely fade, but it’s layered over by such a believable earnestness that Chuuya feels himself getting swayed, just a bit.
Or maybe that’s just because he’s been woken up at ass o’clock earlier today, by a text message that states ‘I’m sorry Chuuya-san, you’re a wonderful guy, but my heart belongs to another. I’m sure you’ll find happiness somewhere else. Please don’t follow us.’ He did not find happiness in getting woken up unceremoniously. Nor did he find happiness in having to skip breakfast so he can make the arrangements to cancel this wedding.
Dubiously, “…Your company is offering help for me to track her down?”
“She already ran off with another man and you still want to win her back?” The look Dazai gives him is full of snooty condescension. “Honestly, how can someone be so stupid?”
Chuuya thinks that he’s already done his very best to not actually strangle this person in front of him. He’s rather proud of his self-restraint. With his best shot at civility: “Then what the fuck do you propose I do, genius?”
“As I said, it’s very simple. You can just marry me instead.”
Chuuya’s never flinched against anyone or anything, but here he finds himself recoiling on instinct. The smile on Dazai’s face is as mild as a venomous snakebite. He might even be considered handsome, if someone is completely blind, drunk and out of his wits. Or into some funky fashion, because goddamn those bandages look weird.
He stares, thinking hard as to the sequence of this morning’s events. Is it possible that he fell off the bed and cracked his head open against the floor? Is he just hallucinating this?
Dazai smiles wider. “I moved you that much, huh? I completely understand your speechlessness, I’m a great catch, after all.”
No, he’s not the type to inflict such punishment upon himself. It’s impossible for him to hallucinate someone this unbelievably annoying.
“Pfft, you look like someone who’s been caught by a blender full of bandages, what the fuck are you even talking about?”
“You don’t think I’m a great catch?” Eyes go wide out of bafflement.
“The closest thing to a catch you are is the fact that you’re as slimy as a stinking fish.”
Dazai leans forward, hands on his desk, looking as though he’s looming right over him when it’s Chuuya who forewent seating since the beginning of their interaction.
“What a coincidence. My hometown is known for premium silver mackerel.” At his pointedly unimpressed look, Dazai continues, “Its fat levels are comparable to the more expensive ootoro. It’s very delicious.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, deflating a bit. He sinks into the seat offered for customers, making himself comfortable as he rests one elbow just beside the pile of paperwork. “Congratulations, you sound like some shady advertiser.”
“Of course. However did you think we’re able to manage to get some customers?”
“…Your company should just shut down immediately.”
“Even if we do shut down, we will still uphold that no-cancellation policy.”
Chuuya can’t help but wonder aloud, “Has anyone ever told you how you’re such an annoying piece of shit?”
“I find it even more surprising that you’re turning down such a luxurious offer.”
“You mean aside from the fact that your suggested course of action is for me to marry a complete stranger?!”
“How can you consider me a complete stranger? You already know my name, my workplace and that I’m very delicious.”
Despite himself, he ends up snorting in humor. “So you’re calling yourself a shitty mackerel?”
“While it was your fiancée that handled hiring us to be your wedding planner, we did get relevant information on you, chibi. So you’re also not a stranger in my eyes.”
He should probably be more concerned that a shady fucker said this so shadily, but he has a more pressing matter to attend to. “Hold the fuck up, did you just call me a chibi?!”
“Oh, good. Your hearing is functional.”
“Your will to live clearly isn’t! You already have my information and you call me chibi!”
“Mm, good point.” A blink. “Chibi doesn’t encompass how small you truly are. Chibikko should fit better.”
He heaves a sigh, looks up heavenward in a bid for strength. Sadly, because he’s indoors, his appeal to the heavens is thwarted by a ceiling that is somehow—through some force that’s truly vile and foul—covered in bandages. How he missed it when he came in earlier, he’s not sure. Now that he’s seen it, it feels like he’s been barreled over by a gigantic hundred-wheeler truck. And now he’s imagining a centipede truck. And that’s how he knows: that his brains have well and truly been fried just by breathing the same air as this shitty mackerel. What the fuck.
“Oh fucking hell, I’m in fucking hell.”
“Once you marry me, you’ll get to know what it means to reach heaven.”
Another sigh as he considers just why exactly is he tolerating this kind of shit. He really should have demanded to see the manager from the moment he’s set foot here. Or threaten this bastard at gunpoint, and be back on his merry single way. Or maybe not—this shitty Dazai does look like someone who’d find that exciting.
And yet what he does is stay planted on the seat as he scoffs, “You think you’re so slick, but all it sounds is that you’re giving me a death threat.”
“Don’t worry, since you’re too short to reach it, I can hoist you up my shoulders.”
“I’m not that short!” A critical gaze. “Plus, you look super weak, you’ll probably just crumble like some drowned papier-mâché.” His eyes slide to where the tower of paperwork is stashed. “Or like this sorry excuse of workload management.”
“Mm, that kind of work is boring.”
“Are you sure you should be working at this company?”
Unperturbed, “I’m the sort to focus on the more hands-on parts.”
“You literally have to use your hands to do these paperwork!”
“Details, details,” Dazai then stands up, circles to where he’s seated, and starts gesturing for him to stand up like one would a dog. “Now, we can’t dawdle here, we have to get to our marriage venue!”
Chuuya karate-chops the other’s wrist to stop it from making that stupid hand-gesture. “I didn’t agree to marry you?! What the hell?!”
He follows despite his protests, because Dazai is merrily making his way out of his office and into the streets. As though confident that he’ll end up hurrying after him anyway.
Once he catches up to the other, it’s with Dazai standing in front of a stall that sells some onigiri. “Here,” and one riceball is stuffed to his gloved hands. “Chibikkos shrink if they don’t eat breakfast.”
He stares hard at the other man, in disbelief even though he does end up unwrapping the riceball anyway. He is hungry, after all. “…You’re so full of shit.”
Dazai swoops down and transforms into someone whose mouth is full of rice. “And now I’m full of food,” is crowed at him. Or something like it. Chuuya makes a disgruntled, disgusted face at the other for this barbaric act of speaking with his mouth full.
He then looks down at the bitten part of the riceball. Then decides that insanity is probably not transferable via saliva. So he bites down on the remainder of the food. Nearly spits it out in laughter as he realizes that it has a mackerel-filling.
Dazai keeps on plying his hands with onigiri, adding one at a time and biting off half of it each time. That’s how they end up walking to where the wedding is supposed to be held in a couple of hours.
His stomach is full by the time they reach the venue. His head is also full of exasperation, because he’s just spent the past twenty minutes bickering with a mackerel. A mackerel whose idea of a proper conversation is to piss him so much and then suddenly catch him off-guard with some thoughtful or witty comeback, before pissing him off all over again. He’s never really met someone in the same age group as him, at least not someone who treats him… like this. Nobody else would dare to even risk pissing him off, after all.
Thankfully, the venue has been booked for the whole day just for his wedding. And that everyone in his guest list isn’t the sort to arrive early at all. There isn’t a lot of people in the venue, aside from some staff nearly done with setting up the tables.
The ceremony and the reception are set to take place in the same place, a mix-and-match between a Western-style and a Shinto-style wedding. Oh, and a mafia-style efficiency too, he supposes.
It’s in one spacious hall that regularly hosts closed-door opera performances during winter and seasonal invite-only art showcases. A tall domed ceiling makes for good acoustics; a skylight above adds a splash of brightness. Only one main entrance; left-side entrance is for staff, while right-side doors lead to some internal rooms for the guests. There’s a room there that’s reserved for today’s bride and groom, where their attire is waiting.
Color scheme is white and blue, presumably to deter people from causing bloodshed and therefore making a terrible time for the cleaners. With his bride gone to elope with someone from an enemy faction, it seems that some amount of trouble is unavoidable.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Dazai says from beside him as they end up walking along the tables. “I’ve made sure to order tablecloths that are stain-resistant, so bleaching them free of stains shouldn’t be a problem.”
As he’s thought, a company who would agree to plan a mafioso’s wedding really isn’t so simple. But then, he remembers the bandaged ceiling and ow, his brain hurts. “If only your company is so diligent in helping me with canceling the arrangements.”
Airily, “Wouldn’t it deal quite the blow to the reputation of Port Mafia if their heir isn’t able to land himself a bride?”
He raises an eyebrow. Just as lightly, lets his stare traipse down to the very flat chest, then downwards to the… He drags his eyes hurriedly upwards. What the fuck. He feels his cheeks burning as he squeaks out a, “…Marrying you doesn’t solve the bride problem at all!”
“You’re embarrassed? How cute.” Dazai then pats the bulge in his pants. “No need to look so adorably flustered. It’s just a gun inside my pants.”
“…” There are so many things he wants to yell about. About the obviously improper way of stashing a gun. About how someone could be so blasé in admitting that it’s a gun, right here in a mafia-owned territory. So many other things. But all he can really say is, “You are most definitely the strangest person I’ve ever met in my life.”
With the same hand that he’s just used to pat his pants, Dazai quickly reaches up and pats his still-red cheek. “Don’t you worry, my cock is so much bigger than that.”
“I, I didn’t ask!” The staff is apparently very discreet and respectful of their client’s privacy, because nobody even turns their head towards the direction of his shriek. And its accompaniment, “Also, I’m not w-worried about it!”
Sure, he’s worried, but more about the state of this world. It’s unbelievable that someone as shameless as this shitty bastard is able to exist so smarmily, without care for the sanity of the people around him.
“Oh?” Instead of patting his cheek, the hand shifts so that it cradles the curve of his face. “So you’re saying you’ll be able to handle me?”
He reaches up and tries to break the other’s wrist for touching him so familiarly. But something about the other man’s gaze dulls his movements, so he ends up with simply holding the other hand in place.
How very strange.
There’s no shortage of people who’ve tried to get close to him. Most of the time, it’s because they want to plant themselves within the periphery of his power. Most of the time, it’s alright with him, knowing that it’s his responsibility as someone with power to take care of those who are weaker.
But he’s never allowed them to be this close.
And of course, that’s not even counting those that want to sidle up to his side so they can stab him in the back. Sometimes even in the front.
Dazai Osamu. Even though he isn’t the one who dealt with contacting the other’s company, it’s not like they made zero efforts at a background check. This man should have no connections to the underworld. His company too. So, he has no reason to be this familiar with him.
“…I don’t get it,” he eventually says, hushed.
“You don’t?” A hint of disbelief. “I meant that you’re saying that you can take my big coc—”
“Not that, damn it!” He squeezes hard on the other’s wrist. “Were you sent by some group that’s after the Port Mafia? Are you part of the Rats?”
Dazai pouts at that. “Do I look like someone who belongs in that group?”
“Yeah, you do look a bit like their leader, now that you mention it.”
A bigger pout. “I look so much better than him!”
“So you do know the leader of the Rats?” What are the chances that a civilian—or at least, someone who’s perfectly disguised as a civilian—knows about a leader of a foreign mafia?
“Nope.” Boyish grin. “But I’m sure I look so much better than him, whoever he is.”
Laughter ends up getting punched out of his gut. “Shameless, is what you are.”
“If they’re that good-looking, they’d come here themselves to seduce someone as beautiful as you.” Completely brazen, without care for Chuuya suddenly losing his breath at this obviously fake words. Damn it, he’s not going to fall for such bait so easily. “No need to send someone else to do it on their behalf, right?”
“I’m seriously asking!”
Dazai pauses.
Most of the arrangements around them have already been done. All it needs is a bit more time and the guests would come in, ready to see Chuuya seal an alliance with another group. But thoughts about getting passed over for another man, thoughts about how the alliance has fallen apart—they’ve all been swept to the wayside.
“…And you think I’ll honestly answer?”
He meets the other’s gaze head-on. Considers. “Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Otherwise, I’d just break your arms and legs.”
“Pfft, a violent chibi.” Dazai shakes his head slightly. “The truth, hmm? It’s a shame for someone with your caliber and bank account to remain single. If I marry you, then I’ll get to live a lazy life full of pampering.”
“………”
“You wanted honesty!” And then, something dark and savage flits over Dazai’s face. “Oh, and I suppose that life is too boring, so it’d be quite fun to try and be a strategist and right-hand man of the future boss of Port Mafia?”
…Oh. This one fits him too. The carefree, lazy perversion too. Seeing this side suddenly makes so much sense. Something like relief swells in him, something that says, “oh, this person can stay with me for a long time and thrive that way.” A feeling that he’s met his match. His breath catches, and it takes him a few moments before he can reply.
“…so you mean to say, that this is your version of a job interview?”
“You’re so silly.” A pinch to his cheek. “I already told you, right? This is our wedding day.”
It makes absolutely no sense. There’s no reason for him to agree to this batshit crazy idea. But what he ends up saying is, “How much time do we have?”
“Forever,” comes as a quick reply.
He rolls his eyes, in a bid to hide the fluster suddenly sweeps him. “I meant, how long until the ceremony starts, shitty mackerel.”
Dazai’s eyes shine. He ends up dragging him by the hand towards the changing rooms reserved for the bride and groom.
For a brief moment, he wonders if they look like a pair of lovers eager to be alone, clutching at each other’s hands as they make a beeline for a private room. Instead of what they truly are: a pair of stars that have somehow found their way to each other amidst a vast cosmos.
His introspection is very brief, because Dazai’s eagerness gets them to their destination in record time. On top of that, Dazai casually drops a bombshell of, “While I’m certain that I would look nice in a dress, I think you should be the one to wear it this time.”
“This time?!” And then, “Why me, damn it?! My suit works just fine!”
“I’m too tall for it, it will just expose my ankles. It will look very tacky.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Chuuya wants to say that he’s regretting everything—and he is, really!—but his lips are too busy struggling to hold the laughter in. “You really do nothing but spew shit, huh?”
Dazai locks the door as soon as they both enter the spacious changing rooms.
It has a divider for privacy, but the two sets of wedding attire are there in the middle of the room. A resplendent white dress with blue tips, giving off the impression that the blue is bleeding out of the gown. A white suit with accents in varying shades of blue, necktie the color of sapphire. Actual sapphire cufflinks, to match with the bride’s sapphire tiara, necklace, earrings.
The veil is one big misty affair, enough to enshroud possibly an entire city underneath it. Dazai picks it up, along with the jewelry, and starts stuffing them into Chuuya.
Before this could go further, he sets up his rule, “I’m not gonna go out there in this dress!”
“Yeah, this one is too long for you, you’d just trip over the hem.”
He gives the other a punch on the stomach. “I’m not that short, oi!”
“Mm, this veil should work just fine.” Dazai then busies himself with setting up the veil on top of Chuuya’s head, pinning it in place using the tiara.
Seeing the look of concentration on the other’s face burns Chuuya’s mouth dry. It also burns his face, his neck. It’s strange to have someone fuss over him, even if it’s for something as ridiculous as wearing his runaway bride’s accessories. The closest he remembers is Ane-san, but that’s years ago, and she definitely did not look at him like this, like he’s so much more brilliant than all of these gemstones surrounding them. Dazai also doesn’t strike him as someone this gentle, but the way his fingers move all over his scalp works better than a lullaby’s.
Maybe it’s the rare quiet, as the guests haven’t arrived yet and the staff are very discreet. Maybe it’s the scent of potpourri inside the room. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s woken up too early. Maybe it’s the feeling of standing inside the other’s half embrace, propped up against a chest that’s surprisingly solid despite the other’s beanpole-ness. Maybe it’s the way that those fingers comb over his hair every so often.
His eyes fall shut as he finds himself falling, falling forward even more, until his entire weight is leaning against the other man.
An entire age must have passed. He’s filled with a jolt of energy when he hears, “It’s time, Chuuya,” whispered over the silk tulle fabric against his ear.
Dazai hasn’t changed his outfit or anything, save for combing his hair slightly differently, tucking the longer hair strands behind his left ear. More than that stylistic change, it’s the way that his gaze looks at him, fondness made even softer by the fact that there’s the veil between them.
There’s an arm around his waist. The necklace is heavy over his neck, and the earrings are clipped against the meat of his earlobe. But what really keeps him in place is the sudden swell of affection he feels.
How is it even possible? He’s only known this bastard for a few hours and yet he already feels that the two of them would be invincible together.
One hand caresses the teardrop sapphire on the earring. Tugs it slightly higher as though to compare it against his eyes. “Mm, if I’d known I’d have suggested against the sapphire.”
“Huh?”
“It just pales in comparison to the beauty of your eyes,” Dazai continues, utterly shameless.
There’s a heavy blush on his face. Even if they’ve only known each other for hours, Chuuya’s pretty sure that this kind of honeyed nonsense has an ulterior motive. “What jewel would you have suggested then?”
“Nothing. And then I can pocket the money saved in buying these stones.”
An eyeroll. “Figures. You really are such a shitty bastard.”
“But you prefer it this way, right, Chuuya?”
“Huh? Hell no, who the fuck would prefer having an irritating bastard instead of someone that doesn’t give a headache?”
“Is this a quiz? The answer is a ‘Chuuya’, of course?”
“So annoying.” But he, strangely enough, doesn’t deny it.
As though reading his mind, “And yet you don’t deny it.”
“S-Shut up!”
A snicker, before that arm around his waist squeezes him close, trapping him against the other’s body even further. And then, in the middle of this room with only the two of them as witnesses—
“I, Dazai Osamu, man so sexy I make bandages fashionable, take thee, Nakahara ‘Chibikko’ Chuuya to be my wedded—”
“—say one more word and I’m going to gut you on the spot.”
“Ahem. I take thee, Nakahara Chuuya, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse.” A pause. “Even though with my skills, it will definitely not be worse.”
Chuuya pinches the other man’s waist.
“For richer, never poorer, I’m marrying for money, after all… in sickness and in health… Hey, if I get sick, you have to pamper me lots, okay?”
Exasperated laughter spills out of him. “Are you sure you should be working as a wedding planner with this improper knowledge of wedding vows?”
“I just want to make sure that we set proper expectations before we go into our married life,” comes the justification for all these nonsense. “It’s part of being a proper husband, after all.”
“Now you want to do it properly?!”
“Life is too boring.” The happy-go-lucky attitude flickers, as though to reveal a dark mass underneath. It’s useless though—the moment Chuuya’s seen him, he’s already sensed the other’s strangeness. He could see the other’s shittiness, as though whatever defenses he has on are even thinner than a veil. Savage grace is the only way to describe the way he says the next set of words, “So if you, the most interesting spark I’ve met, dare to leave me behind…”
Chuuya rolls his eyes at this threat. Reaches up to flick the other’s nose. “What, you’re gonna threaten to destroy the world or something? So stupid.”
Dazai blinks, and the darkness recedes, pushed away by Chuuya’s unspoken acceptance. And it leaves behind the bratty side, the one that goes on to shamelessly say, “…If you dare leave me behind, I’ll cry.”
A beat.
“Very loudly. I will hound you the entire time. Your ringtones will be permanently set to my crying. It will be so annoying, you’ll have no choice but to never leave me behind. And then buy me lots of my favorite games to pacify me.”
“…Sounds very irritating.” He feels his lips twitch. “Sounds like I’ll have no other choice but to be stuck with you, huh? What a very shitty deal.”
“Mm, but I promise to make sure that nobody else can ever look at you ever again.”
“I can do without that part, no thanks.”
Pouting, “…Hmm, I’m a genius, so I can make plans that will ensure that you always win.”
“Somehow, I think I should demand proof of this ‘genius’ you speak of.”
“Of course, I’m a genius? I managed to get someone as perfect as you as my husband in three hours?”
“T, T, T, That—! That doesn’t have to do with me agreeing—?! I, I—”
Damn it, he knows it’s just a stupid line, but he still feels—!!! He hides his face against the other’s shirt buttons and starts pounding his fists against the other’s back.
Above him, over the veil, “Pfft, you are so cute like this.”
“S-S-Shut up already!”
“Okay, now that I’ve complimented you two times, it’s your turn to say twenty nice things about me!”
He keeps his flushed cheeks hidden as he drums the other’s back harder. “Why is it such an unfair tradeoff?!”
“As the future Boss of the Port Mafia, you should be more generous, you know?”
Teased to this point, Chuuya tries hard to fight back, at least make the mackerel flounder as well. “As my h-husband, you should be less irritating, damn it!”
“Alright.”
The speed of the other’s answer makes him stumble a bit. Which is fucking rich, considering that he’s already leaning his full weight against the other man. “…R-Really?”
“Of course, I’m joking.”
“You—!!!”
In the midst of his attempts to strangle the other man for being so annoying, Dazai dodges his hands and lifts the mist between them. More accurately, he lifts the veil and drapes it over his own head, so that both of them are inside its cover.
“It should be an interesting few hours the moment we step out. They’d be looking at us the entire time, trying and failing to find a chink in our relationship.” A pause, before the next whisper is pressed right in front of his lips, a hair’s breadth away. “To love, and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Chuuya is rooted into place, anchored by something as inescapable, possibly even more powerful, as gravity.
“…If you betray me, I really am going to break your arms and legs. And make you suffer a very painful, torturous death.”
Breathlessly, “Sounds perfect.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” Chuuya says, and unites their lives together with a kiss.
-
(And so starts the tale of the most powerful couple in Yokohama’s underground history.)