Missions with Dazai were the worst. The stupid mutt teased and tormented him relentlessly, spewing words of mockery regarding Chuuya’s stature and anything else about the ram he deemed embarrassing. In response to the verbal assault, Chuuya fired back with his own petty, cruel insults, his mind sometimes conjuring unique jabs that left Dazai either speechless or tumbling into his ass in stunned, bemused laughter. Chuuya much preferred the first reaction, as seeing that bastard fur-ball choke on infectious giggles made him feel warm in the face and sick to his stomach.

The only relief Chuuya found from their constant bickering was sleep. The two of them were hunkered down in an old abandoned warehouse, riding out the sudden snow storm that had struck.

Chuuya and Dazai lay on the floor of the warehouse. Chuuya had stripped his jacket off and was lying on top of it. However, without it, he was colder than before and lay shivering on his side. Dazai wasn’t doing too much better, but his oversized coat was large enough that he could lay on it and still have some of its fabric to throw over his body for warmth.

Chuuya grumbles irritably, his muscles tense and slightly sore from constant shaking. Usually, he ran far too hot to be this affected by the cold, but Chuuya had been feeling unwell before the mission.