The night was unusually quiet as Dazai and Chuuya walked through Yokohama’s dimly lit streets. Chuuya, as always, kept his sharp gaze on their surroundings, his hand resting casually in his pocket. Beside him, Dazai strolled with a relaxed air, hands clasped behind his head, his signature grin dancing on his lips.

“You know,” Dazai began, breaking the silence, “you’re surprisingly cute when you’re not yelling at me.”

Chuuya’s head snapped toward him, his glare as sharp as ever. “Tch. Is that your idea of a compliment, you damn suicidal maniac?”

Dazai chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Of course. Who else could appreciate your fiery temper like I do?”

Chuuya groaned, but there was no real malice behind it. They’d been through too much together—partners, enemies, allies, and now… this. He wasn’t even sure what to call it, but it felt natural in a way nothing else ever had.

“Shut up, Dazai,” Chuuya muttered, though his lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile.

“Anything for you, my dear Chuuya,” Dazai replied, his tone teasing but softer than usual.

Chuuya didn’t respond, but his hand brushed against Dazai’s for a brief moment. It was fleeting, almost unnoticeable, but Dazai caught it, and his grin softened into something genuine.

The night remained quiet, but for once, neither of them minded.