[ it's disconcerting, how easily this sort of antagonism comes to the both of them; Dazai could say how this unsavory encounter makes his stomach churn, how loathsome and annoying and how much effort it all takes to deal with the vitriol from his ex-partner. But the truth is there's barely any effort in finding words to spit back. It should bother him more than it does. How aggravating. ] You say it's my humour, yet you're the one who keeps making these jokes.
[ It'll always be this way. Who'll have the last word and leave the other bleeding, proverbially or not, at the very end.
But Chuuya's grip is unrelenting, convincing enough for him to be tethered to it and by it. Rivalry was perhaps the heaviest thread the Mafia had sewn into their sinews, even if it manifested in them both in opposite ways - Chuuya's loudmouthed abrasiveness to Dazai's infuriating self-assurance.
They proceed forward - push and pull and it's all on the brunt of his injury and he's actually impossibly glad it's going numb, pinpricks in his fingertips every time he moves them.
His prior grip on the other's wrist had fallen away because Chuuya's already touching him anyway (ew gross cooties) and because moving with the bastard in that position would have been more effort than he cares to put in. ]
Ah, I see.
[ They step into the railcar and Dazai's eyes dart to as much as the flashlight's beam reaches, all high contrast shadows; so they were setting up a new route and the fact that Chuuya was where he was when he was must mean that he -
- the train of thought is momentarily cut as he's forced into the chair by a grip that's either stronger than he remembered or is just a sign that he's doing a bit worse than he thought and the chair scrapes against the flooring (newly put it, no doubt), and it all culminates in another huff of strained laughter.] Don't make that sound like a challenge, now.
[ i won't make a single sound for you and that sounds like Dazai can spin it six ways to Sunday in interpretation. But right now, he's getting enough to hang over Chuuya's head; he's done the mafioso enough of a favour by pointing out the risk they're both intimately aware of with him being here.
Perhaps one of the most frustrating things about Dazai is his ability to appear unruffled in most situations; masks carefully worn, constructed and when Chuuya reverts back to his jibe (of course, of course he would), he still holds on to his feline satisfaction because he knows it's more likely to piss the other off than any other reaction.
Sitting down feels miles better than standing, than walking, but he knew it would. Chuuya's circular press of his thumb is still sending jolts through frayed nerves and it's all Dazai can do to take a slow, even inhale and sink more comfortably into the chair.
Looks like it'll be a long wait.
But Yet, the ex-mafia's smirk turns as saccharine as his words, ever pushing. ] Nothing would, Hat-Store. You're utterly predictable.
[ (not entirely true but true all at once); He makes no sign of being at all perturbed by his ex-partner's knee suddenly sliding between his legs, or his fingers carding roughly up into his hair and forcing him to turn his head at the motion. ] Mm, I just find it funny, how one small comment can set you right off.
[ So many promises, and he should feel at a disadvantage. His grin is far too smug and he's leaning forward even against the grip, genuinely curious at the other's reaction. One hand flicks back out to Chuuya's wrist. How many openings has the other given him just now alone? ] And we both know I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.
[ His other arm - unsteady, numb, tingly - is flicking out towards the table quickly enough to grip the flashlight and maybe, maybe in his slower state he'll still have enough surprise to twist it right into Chuuya's eyes, even if he wouldn't be able to hold on to the beam if the other tried to take it away. Eye for eye, asshole! ]
♥!!
[ It'll always be this way. Who'll have the last word and leave the other bleeding, proverbially or not, at the very end.
But Chuuya's grip is unrelenting, convincing enough for him to be tethered to it and by it. Rivalry was perhaps the heaviest thread the Mafia had sewn into their sinews, even if it manifested in them both in opposite ways - Chuuya's loudmouthed abrasiveness to Dazai's infuriating self-assurance.
They proceed forward - push and pull and it's all on the brunt of his injury and he's actually impossibly glad it's going numb, pinpricks in his fingertips every time he moves them.
His prior grip on the other's wrist had fallen away because Chuuya's already touching him anyway (ew gross cooties) and because moving with the bastard in that position would have been more effort than he cares to put in. ]
Ah, I see.
[ They step into the railcar and Dazai's eyes dart to as much as the flashlight's beam reaches, all high contrast shadows; so they were setting up a new route and the fact that Chuuya was where he was when he was must mean that he -
- the train of thought is momentarily cut as he's forced into the chair by a grip that's either stronger than he remembered or is just a sign that he's doing a bit worse than he thought and the chair scrapes against the flooring (newly put it, no doubt), and it all culminates in another huff of strained laughter.] Don't make that sound like a challenge, now.
[ i won't make a single sound for you and that sounds like Dazai can spin it six ways to Sunday in interpretation. But right now, he's getting enough to hang over Chuuya's head; he's done the mafioso enough of a favour by pointing out the risk they're both intimately aware of with him being here.
Perhaps one of the most frustrating things about Dazai is his ability to appear unruffled in most situations; masks carefully worn, constructed and when Chuuya reverts back to his jibe (of course, of course he would), he still holds on to his feline satisfaction because he knows it's more likely to piss the other off than any other reaction.
Sitting down feels miles better than standing, than walking, but he knew it would. Chuuya's circular press of his thumb is still sending jolts through frayed nerves and it's all Dazai can do to take a slow, even inhale and sink more comfortably into the chair.
Looks like it'll be a long wait.
But Yet, the ex-mafia's smirk turns as saccharine as his words, ever pushing. ] Nothing would, Hat-Store. You're utterly predictable.
[ (not entirely true but true all at once); He makes no sign of being at all perturbed by his ex-partner's knee suddenly sliding between his legs, or his fingers carding roughly up into his hair and forcing him to turn his head at the motion. ] Mm, I just find it funny, how one small comment can set you right off.
[ So many promises, and he should feel at a disadvantage. His grin is far too smug and he's leaning forward even against the grip, genuinely curious at the other's reaction. One hand flicks back out to Chuuya's wrist. How many openings has the other given him just now alone? ] And we both know I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.
[ His other arm - unsteady, numb, tingly - is flicking out towards the table quickly enough to grip the flashlight and maybe, maybe in his slower state he'll still have enough surprise to twist it right into Chuuya's eyes, even if he wouldn't be able to hold on to the beam if the other tried to take it away. Eye for eye, asshole! ]