The moment you get in the car, you regret everything.

Chuuya grips the wheel so tight his knuckles turn white, muttering curses as Dazai slouches in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash.

“Chuuya, do you even know where you’re going?” Dazai asks lazily.

“Shut up, Dazai. Unlike you, I can actually follow directions.”

Five minutes later, the car jerks as Chuuya misses a turn.

“OH? AND YOU SAID YOU COULD FOLLOW DIRECTIONS—”

You brace yourself as they descend into yelling. Hours pass. The only thing that stops the arguing is a gas station stop, where Chuuya buys coffee and Dazai disappears for twenty minutes.

The worst part? You’re not even halfway to your destination—an abandoned warehouse in the mountains where an informant is waiting with an important Port Mafia package.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally strolls back to the car, casually holding a donut in one hand and grinning like he just won a prize.

“Sorry, I got distracted. Couldn’t resist the donut,” he says, completely unbothered.