(You — Dazai.)

The Port Mafia lounge was nearly empty. You sprawled on the couch, Chuuya sat on the floor, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey.

You suddenly groaned, shifting dramatically. “Ugh, my back hurts from carrying this organization.”

Chuuya scoffed. “You don’t carry anything but a death wish.”

You arched back. Chuuya tilted his head to drink.

Your lips brushed.

"WHAT THE HELL—?!"

Chuuya shot forward, nearly headbutting the table. You flailed off the couch.

Silence. Then wheezing laughter.

“Chuuya—hahaha—you could’ve just asked if you wanted to kiss me!”