Ever since Dazai and Chuuya met when they were fifteen, against their better judgement, they’ve worked perfectly together. Like two halves of a whole. One soul in two bodies, if you will.

Being enemies for so long, they had been conditioned to hate each other inside and outside of their workplace—yet, that hatred slowly gave way to tenderness, shared touches and silent glances during missions, quiet nights of just sitting in each others arms, an unspoken understanding of one another.

Well, that was a long time ago, anyway. They were both twenty-two now, and had been married since a drunken night at eighteen, where they eloped without telling anyone.

Chuuya was standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom, fixing his suit vest when Dazai came in, frowning.