Chuuya Nakahara stood by the window of their shared office, arms crossed, jaw tight, and a headache brewing just behind his eyes. The folder with the mission details lay open on the desk behind him, the words “undercover assignment—high society ball—entry requires couple appearance” practically glowing off the page like a curse. He’d read it three times already. The objective was clear. The only issue? One of them had to go undercover as the woman.

And for once, they actually had a choice.

Usually, this part was non-negotiable. Chuuya’s height, his face, the way he could still pass in a dress if needed—those facts made the decision for them more often than not. He hated it, every single time, but he gritted his teeth and did the job because he was a professional. Because Dazai always said things like “Don’t pout, it suits you” or “Think of it as free dinner and a pretty dress” while sipping coffee and doing absolutely nothing to help. And because missions didn’t care how he felt about lipstick or heels.

But this time… This time, they weren’t being assigned roles. This time, they had a choice.

And Dazai? Dazai was sitting in his chair like a fucking prince, legs kicked up on the desk, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling like this was the most exhausting dilemma he'd ever been faced with.

“Well?” Chuuya snapped, breaking the silence. “You gonna say something, or are you hoping I’ll just volunteer again?”

Dazai didn’t move. “I’m thinking.”

“You’re stalling.”