“Chuuya is a petite fairy~♪ Who needs a microscope to be seen~♫”
Dazai hums along his newest foray into the art of musical creativity. He still uses the same tune as his double suicide song, just altering the lyrics. His head sways and nods along to the beat, imagining the volcanic eruption that is Chuuya’s temper whenever he sings this song. The corners of his lips lift. Ah, he can almost feel his eardrums getting blown out by Chuuya’s screeching protests…
Dazai’s in a fantastic mood.
It also helps that he’s not-so-secretly delighting in the fact that his coworkers are reaching for their last wills as they watch him, wide-eyed. Everyone in the Agency, except for Ranpo (and by extension, Poe), because they’re out on a mini-date (it’s just buying snacks, but the two tend to be distracted easily, so they’ll probably be gone for the better part of the day).
Maybe he should do this more often.
He pauses in his humming as he considers that.
…Eh, maybe not.
It’s rather fun to dump all these paperwork to Kunikida and then watch him age fifty years in one go. Hmm, but it’s also fun to see his coworkers frightfully speculate an incoming apocalypse…
After all, he’s actually doing paperwork.
Scratch that—he’s actually early in the office, the first one there even. He’s actually seated properly on his desk, back flat against the chair, shoes flat against the ground. He hasn’t mentioned suicides for the past couple of hours. Of course, that means that he actually stays on his desk instead of asking fair maidens to commit a romantic double suicide with him. It also means that he doesn’t sneak out to hang himself on a lovely, sturdy-looking tree branch one block away from the office His clothes are practically steaming hot from being pressed by the iron and he looks even more dashing than usual. He actually has a briefcase with him, with office supplies (there’s an an actual planner) and a packed, homemade lunch filled with all the necessary food groups to ensure proper nutrition.
He even asks for more boring paperwork once he finishes the stack he’s working on.
Haruno looks like she’s about to faint on him when he asked her. Atsushi looks torn between thanking all of his lucky stars and loudly wondering if this means that he’s possessed by a demon. Kunikida looks like he’s aged a hundred years, all shell-shocked stony surprise. Even President pauses and spends five minutes staring hard at him, as though to figure out if he’s the actual Dazai or if he’s a well-made impostor.
Tanizaki even uses an illusion on him, a test of sorts, if he can cancel the Ability.
Yosano is actually the smartest of them all, because she videos him. Dazai makes sure to tilt his head and body properly so that his best angles are the ones that are captured. He keeps a sunny smile on his face as he watches her from the corner of his eye. The good doctor then forwards the video—it’s probably titled Agency_Horror_Mystery.mp4—to the one person who can make sense of things.
An hour before the end of their business day, the Armed Detective Agency receives a visitor clad in black. Contrary to what common sense dictates be their reaction, they are actually very welcoming of Chuuya. Atsushi practically glomps the chibi as soon as he appears, dragging him inside with manic urgency.
“Chuuya-san! Dazai-san has been captured by an alien,” Atsushi reports, eyes shining with tears. “Please save us!”
“…Are you sure?” Chuuya asks with a roguish grin. “He’s actually acting like a respectable human being today, right?”
“It’s too weird,” Atsushi confides, seemingly not at all worried that his words are easily overheard by Dazai.
Chuuya’s grin widens as he approaches Dazai’s desk. “I’m sure this won’t happen too often.”
“Hello, how can I help you?” Dazai asks his visitor with a very prim and proper smile, instead of his usual flying tackle (or that one time, when he literally fell down from the ceiling because he wanted to see Chuuya drop his cup of coffee in favor of catching him in his arms). Dazai can totally rock the nice, professional etiquette. “Do you have a case for the Agency?”
“I’ve been told to investigate a particularly horrible mystery.” Chuuya grabs the top folder of the stash on Dazai’s desk. He quickly peruses it, as though to check if Dazai’s actually doing his job instead of just scribbling nonsense on the forms. “I heard that you’re one of the best detective agencies in Yokohama?”
“We’re the only detective agency in Yokohama,” Dazai says as he continues working.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Chuuya says with a snort. “Well, are you willing to take my case?”
Twinkling eyes. “Let’s discuss payment options first?”
“Oh? Very mercenary of you.”
An exaggerated flutter of eyelashes. Nobody from the Agency dares to tell Dazai that he looks like he has an eye infection. “Proper incentives make for better results.”
“So I should provide you with an incentive?” Light humming. Chuuya’s eyes are crinkled in laughter. “I wonder what a person like you… wants…”
“Mm, I’m sure you can easily think of what I want,” Dazai replies with a low voice, biting the inside of his cheek to stop from losing it.
“—Stop, stop, stop!” Atsushi yells alongside Kunikida. Both of them are flushed with secondhand embarrassment. “Please stop bullying us by, by f-f-f—”
“Flirting?” Chuuya asks with a raised eyebrow. “You can say it, you know.”
“You can’t fool us,” Atsushi insists. “Akutagawa says that you’re just pranking us!”
“And you believe him?” Incredulous. And mildly impressed. “Akutagawa? Are we talking about the same Akutagawa? The best in social graces Akutagawa? That Akutagawa?”
“Give it up, dear customer,” Dazai says with a sigh. “They would never believe us.”
“I understand if nobody believes you.” The inflection on the word makes it sound like Dazai is worse than a week-old bubblegum stuck in the groves of his designer leather shoes. Chuuya adds, “Because you’re a lying liar who lies.”
“I never lie in proper negotiations,” Dazai protests with a look of utter saintly innocence. Chuuya’s pretty sure that angels, if they exist, are crying right now. Dazai continues, with the same exaggerated flutter of his lashes, “I never lie to Chuuya!”
“You lie to me every time,” Chuuya reminds his husband. “But, I’m not like you, I’m very honest! Why won’t anyone believe me?!”
“Chuuya, you yell about hating me and wanting me dead all the time.” Dazai sounds like he’s about to swoon from the sheer romance of Chuuya’s hatred. “And yet you married me!”
A disinterested wave of hands, as though to shoo the concept away. “This and that are different matters!”
“…What I want to know,” Yosano cuts into their flirting with a scalpel-sharp voice, “is what kind of sorcery you’ve used to make Dazai-kun here very eager to do his paperwork.”
“Please tell us,” Kunikida sounds like he’s a few seconds away from begging Chuuya with a dogeza. “Please.”
Chuuya blinks as the focus of the entire Agency zeroes on him. To be fair, he’s been in the spotlight ever since he’s entered the offices, but it looks like he’s only acknowledging it now. Chuuya’s confusion is palpable. “…I didn’t do anything?”
“It’s probably sexual favors,” Naomi says in a very loud stage whisper. “Dazai-san will do his work and then Chuuya-san will reward him afterward…”
Kunikida pales upon hearing this. Yosano looks thrilled. Atsushi runs towards Kyouka with tiger-transformed paws in an effort to block her ears using furry paws as earmuffs.
“Pffft, why the hell would I do that?” Chuuya sounds even more confused, despite him also starting to look amused. “Why should I reward this bastard for doing that he’s supposed to do in the first place?”
“Incentives,” Dazai reminds him. Surprisingly, Dazai continues to work on his rapidly-dwindling work stash, instead of shifting his focus on the more interesting gossip-worthy shenanigans happening right in front of him.
“If we’ll only have sex whenever Dazai does his work…” Chuuya trails off, then tries to lower his voice upon realizing that Kenji and Kyouka are in attendance. “I’d probably die of blue balls.”
Dazai doesn’t look fazed by the uncharitable implications regarding his work ethic. Or lack thereof. He’s all shameless grins when he counters, “Fufufu, so you’re admitting that you actually want the cutest, brightest, awesomest me?”
Chuuya shoots him an exasperated look. “Would I have married you otherwise?”
Dazai’s expression makes it clear that he’s doing the genuine Dazai equivalent of swooning—agape mouth, twinkling eyes, shoulders so lax they look like they’ll detach from the rest of his body as he ascends in utter joy.
“…Ah, I’m done for the day!” Dazai is nearly manhandling Chuuya out of the office in record time. “Bye everyone, if I don’t come to work tomorrow, it means that I’m too sore from ravishing my cutest petit husband!”
“You’ll be too sore from me kicking your ass,” Chuuya retorts, but he’s tellingly allowing himself to be manhandled.
There are still two folders left. Given that Dazai usually doesn’t even work on two folders for an entire month, it’s massive progress. Nobody else moves for the next two minutes.
Naomi sighs. “…so Dazai-san’s good behavior really is in return for sex, huh.”
Despite Dazai’s complaining and teasing about Kunikida’s extensive love for schedules, he’s actually pretty good when it comes to following them. When he feels like it. In the barest bones of it.
Dazai and Chuuya have established a routine between the two of them.
- Weekends are reserved for their dates, unless (a) there’s a matter of work emergencies.
- They alternate in being responsible for thinking up itinerary for their weekend dates.
- Aside from dates, weekends are when they do most of their chores.
- That’s not to say that weekdays mean slacking off on house upkeep, because Chuuya is prone to kicking Dazai until he rolls out of the futon when his dorm room becomes too unclean.
- Weekdays must have breakfast and dinner together.
It’s not something that they’ve actually written down and signed off on, but they’re both aware of it. That’s good enough for the two of them.
Dazai asks, as soon as they finish eating dinner together, “…Will you write ‘my darling husband ♥’ on tomorrow’s omurice?”
They’re in Chuuya’s place this week, because there’s not a lot of cases being handled by the Agency at the moment. Dazai playing hooky is expected by everyone. More importantly, during the past couple of days, the Port Mafia is busy tracking down an upstart mafia group that apparently is spreading fast like mushroom spores.
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “So you want omurice tomorrow?”
“With a lovey-dovey message!”
“I’ll write it using blood,” Chuuya promises with a smile.
He then hip-checks Dazai as the two of them carry their empty plates to the double sink in the very spacious kitchen of the penthouse apartment. Despite the huge kitchen space that could probably house an entire platoon, the two of them stand very close together, Chuuya leaning against Dazai’s arm as they wash the dishes together.
There’s a very high-end dishwasher, but the two of them wash and dry the dishes manually. It’s done with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, the rhythm of Chuuya doing the actual washing and Dazai drying them after.
“Do you need to wake up early tomorrow?”
“Mm, Executive meeting at 0800 hours.” Chuuya’s bare hands are covered in suds. He leans harder against Dazai, knocks his right temple against a bony shoulder. “Once the Reconnaissance Squad confirms their main hideouts, I should be able to clean them up easily.”
“Chuuya, why are you telling me top-secret Port Mafia things?” Dazai swats at his hands using his drying cloth. “I was just asking because I need to know if I should prepare my body-pillow for when you leave me in a very cold bed!”
Chuuya flicks some suds towards Dazai’s face in response. “You’re telling me that there won’t be a very informative anonymous tip to the Recon Squad tomorrow?”
Dazai makes a considering hum. “Purely hypothetically… if this fledgling group isn’t crushed tomorrow…”
“I’ll probably have to go on a wild goose chase,” Chuuya says with a shrug. “There are some reports that they’ve gone as far as Nara, so…”
“Then! I want a lovey-dovey omurice message.”
“…you are very cheap.” This time, Chuuya pinches Dazai’s nose with a soapy hand. Dazai pouts, which makes Chuuya want to do it again and again. “Are you sure you should be bargaining your oh-so-valuable information-gathering skills in exchange for some omelet-rice breakfast?”
“I am already used to drying the dishes,” Dazai proclaims haughtily, like there ought to be parades on the streets in exchange for him doing work that could be done by a dishwasher. “If you have to go to Nara, that means I’ll have to both wash and dry the dishes! On my own!”
“Or you could just use the dishwasher,” Chuuya points out mercilessly. The dishes are all done, so he rinses his hands before he swipes the leftover bubbles off Dazai’s nose. “Or perhaps learn to do the dishes right?”
“Boo! Pass! Chuuya is bullying me!” Dazai slumps towards him, digs his chin against Chuuya’s shoulder. “Really, Mori should invest in better information agents!”
A shrug. “Maybe he will, once you stop leaving anonymous tips whenever there’s a chance that I’ll be sent out on long missions.”
Chuuya takes a too-casual breath, wiping his hands dry against the cotton shirt on Dazai’s back. “…what time are you sleeping tonight?”
For his part, Dazai simply tilts his head so that his cheek is resting against Chuuya’s shoulderblade. He blows hot air against Chuuya’s neck, as he responds, “Why? Is Chuuya afraid he can’t sleep if he’s not cuddled up to me?”
“You make a racket when you come to bed.” Chuuya pulls back, bringing Dazai with him as they navigate towards the bedroom and its en suite bathroom. “I want to know if I should expect my sleep to be disturbed.”
“Sure it’s not because you’re worried that I’ll stay up too late?”
“If you’re late to work tomorrow, I’ll be the one receiving long emails of complaints from Kunikida.”
“And this has nothing to do with Chuuya getting worried I’ll work too hard trying to gather information?”
Chuuya clicks his tongue as he all but shoves Dazai to the bath. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
Dazai hums, before asking, “How much does Chuuya love me?”
“Enough that I’ll kill you,” Chuuya replies quickly. Dazai beams at that response and makes a show of stripping out of his clothes, a show that Chuuya watches from his spot in the vanity, starting his nighttime routine.
The next day, Dazai’s breakfast and lunch-bento are omurice with a red crab sauce reduction spelling out, I’ll be the one to kill you. Then, the two of them have a candlelit dinner together in Chuuya’s penthouse’s balcony—because Chuuya didn’t have to travel out of the city due to a certain someone’s information about the upstart group’s whereabouts.
…And also because the two of them were frisky near the electric breakers and Chuuya ended up bashing a fist against the wires, so there’s no electricity in his penthouse.
At first, nobody believed Chuuya.
Not about his long-time marriage to Dazai. …Well, that too. But he’s starting to think that nobody will ever believe him on that.
No, this is about something else.
Nobody believes Chuuya when he says that Dazai’s favorite chore is vacuuming and cleaning up the house. Nobody believes him, at least until he records a video of Dazai gleefully smiling as he’s loudly humming yet another stupid, Chuuya-centric song, dancing a little as he uses the end of the vacuum cleaner as a microphone.
And even then, he’s received skeptical looks, thinking that the video is staged to prank them. Chuuya tells Kunikida and Atsushi that he has better uses for his time than think up of pranks for them. Mostly because they’re pretty gullible—and that’s coming from him. Ranpo always asks for a copy of the video, because he’s smart and he knows that these things have great blackmail value for future purposes. Chuuya never thought that he’d ever think that Ranpo is going to be his favorite member of the Agency, but there it goes. He’s the only one who ever believes him, after all.
So the videos continue to increase in number.
And now, Chuuya’s welcomed with awe and fear whenever he’s seen by Agency members. Or government lackeys. Or anyone who’s watched the videos, really.
It should be depressing, in a way. Because now, Chuuya is acknowledged by the entire city as the scariest, most badass motherfucker in the whole of Yokohama—and not solely because of Arahabaki or his exemplary work as a mafioso. It’s because he’s known to be the only one capable of making Dazai willingly volunteer to do chores. WILLINGLY, because it cannot be stressed enough.
Chuuya’s easily the first person who’d loudly proclaim to everyone who’d listen about Dazai’s lazyass tendencies, but he also thinks that they’re exaggerating a little bit too much. However, he’s not about to tell them to stop fearing him. He’s lost a lot of scary mofo aura since shacking up with Dazai, because he’s been prone to sudden fits of sappy lines and soppy smiles. Regaining it through whatever means is fine with him.
In any case, right now, Dazai is vacuuming under Chuuya’s custom-size bed.
Dazai lets out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “…Eh, why are there no porn magazines under your bed?”
“You keep asking every week,” Chuuya says with a roll of his eyes from his spot on the ceiling, changing the lightbulb. “Why the hell do I need to have porn magazines for?!”
Every week, Dazai’s eyes gleam as he says, “Chuuya is so sweet and gross! So you’re telling me that I’m way better than some gravure model!”
“Sure. You’re a much bigger dick.” Chuuya rolls his eyes again when Dazai mock-swoons. “Also with massive balls, to say these kind of shit shamelessly.”
“This is Chuuya telling me that he loves my dick,” Dazai narrates to the camera.
“Stop narrating to the camera!”
“You didn’t deny it!”
Chuuya lets out a wordless scream as he punts the broken lightbulb towards Dazai’s head. Dazai easily evades the projectile; the lightbulb floats just-above the carpet before it breaks to a thousand smithereens. Chuuya jumps down right above Dazai, makes sure that his legs are hooked over Dazai’s shoulders. Dazai stumbles a bit, but because this is pretty much routine, his upper body strength has developed enough to the point that he won’t crumple like a wet napkin from this.
“…Chuuya is so stingy.”
“If you really loved me, you’d land with your crotch on my face.”
“I can suffocate you through other means,” Chuuya says, valiantly fighting off a blush. He squeezes Dazai’s neck using his thighs, not hard enough to cause discomfort.
Dazai walks slowly, but doesn’t stop vacuuming. Chuuya starts poking at Dazai’s scalp, for lack of better things to do.
Laundry is already done; after this, the two of them will go out to buy groceries. And then, after that, they’re going on a roadtrip where they’d use a dice to decide which way they’ll turn on each intersection. It’s Dazai’s turn this week for the date idea. Chuuya’s voiced out his concerns about them ending up driving in circles, but Dazai assures him that they’d have an interesting adventure. Chuuya wonders if they’ll end up all the way to Kyushu, or if they’d end up driving all the way to Taiwan, Chuuya using gravity to compress seawater so they could be used as a bridge of sorts.
(The date idea’s been leaked to their respective colleagues somehow. Chuuya suspects Atsushi gossiping with Akutagawa once again. Boss Mori apparently changed some personnel shifts in response, making sure that Port Mafia employees are steering clear of certain areas. Kunikida sends him a five-page email pleading him to not let Dazai drive. There’s another ten-page email that follows, this time, pleading that if Dazai must drive, for him to not drive in any areas near the Agency offices, dorms or affiliated areas. Chuuya’s not quite sure what the fuss is about. Sure, Dazai’s an idiot who thinks he’s too good for driving school, but that’s what airbags and gravity control are for.)
“My shoulders are tired,” Dazai complains after a while. “Why is chibi so heavy when he’s such a shorty?”
“It’s because of my muscles,” Chuuya says smugly. “Not that you can relate, beanpole.”
“Chuuya should fly back to the ceiling like the cockroach that he is.”
Just for that comment, Chuuya kicks the back of Dazai’s head as soon as he jumps away from him, gravity manipulation coursing through his body the moment they part from each other. “I’ll remember this the next time you ask me to kill a spider for you, asswipe.”
“Should you be killing spiders? Can’t they eat cockroaches?”
“I’m not a cockroach, damn it!”
“If I find your fellow cockroaches while I vacuum, I promise to crush them very nicely.”
“Why the fuck would there be cockroaches here?” Chuuya starts checking their packed luggage: change of clothes, extra coats, some bandages, money in different currencies, portable gaming consoles, powerbanks, a box of junkfood, a cooler of wine, three tins of cookies, multiple travel packs of toiletries enough for a one-month trip, eight types of condoms (one of them glow-in-the-dark) and six different types of lube. “…you fucker, it’s because you keep on eating those biscuits in bed!”
“Calm down, hatrack, I was kidding.”
“You better hope you’re just kidding, because I’m fucking banning you from this penthouse if I find out I need to call a fucking exterminator again.”
“The rat hunting was fun though, don’t even try to deny it.” Dazai has a nostalgic smile on his face. He’s probably imagining laying out booby-traps for the rats and imagining they’re Dostoevsky each time he has to pluck them out of the traps, ready to be killed.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for using my cheese platter as bait, urgh.”
“Chuuya that was so long ago! Forgive and forget, as they say.”
Chuuya resists the urge to throw the suitcase towards Dazai. “Is that why Tachihara is still scared of breathing within a hundred meters of you?”
“He betrayed the Port Mafia and Chuuya’s trust in him, of course he deserves to suffer!”
“Really? Really?!” Chuuya’s stomach hurts from the air being punched out of him as he guffaws. “Then, come here, there’s someone who has to suffer for betraying the mafia.”
“…Also,” Dazai huffs and puffs, all chipmunk cheeks as he watches Chuuya’s laughter. “He copied my bandage fashion sense! It’s unforgivable!”
“Yes. His heaviest crime is having shitty fashion sense.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Cheekily, Dazai grins. “And you, chibikko, possess the shittiest fashion sense of them all.”
“This, coming from a mummy?”
“So,” Dazai soldiers on, “you should just quit while you’re ahead and just remain naked all the time.”
“No fashion sense if one is naked, is that it?”
“Chuuya can be smart sometimes!” Dazai cradles the handle of the vacuum cleaner close to his chest. “So even old dogs can learn new tricks~~~♫”
“Want to see a new trick, vagabond?” Chuuya grabs a lighter from his pants’ pocket and bounces it on his palm. “Peekaboo? In the next second, this will leave my hand and will be rammed up your ass.”
Dazai shoots the metal lighter a critical look. “That is way too small for my taste.”
“Urgh. Disgusting.” Despite his words, he’s smiling the entire time. “Finish your vacuuming so we can restock the pantry already.”
“Fufufu, Chuuya is excited to terrorize the local grocery staff with our PDA, I see, I see…”
“There is no PDA!” Chuuya says that every week and every week he makes a sizable donation to the grocery and something-that’s-definitely-not-a-bribe to the local precinct who always has to be called in for reports of public indecency. “Unless it’s a public death attraction, because I’ll be murdering you. In public.”
“Mm, I go to heaven each time I get to taste Chuuya’s lips~~~♫”
“Shut the fuck up, you belong in hell, mackerel bastard.”
They go to the grocery and they end up bumping to Ranpo and Poe, who are doing their weekend run for personal invitations to tooth decay in the form of a truckload of gummy bears. They then end up bumping to Atsushi and Akutagawa, who are doing a strange vegetable swordfight confrontation using leeks. Then they end bumping to Hirotsu-san and Ane-san, who are very honest and admit that they’ve heard that Dazai and Chuuya getting nearly-arrested for public indecency is a weekly ritual, and are here to witness it for themselves.
They end wrestling with each other over something silly—which is more suggestive, a cucumber or a banana?—and with wrestling means close body contact, which means rubbing against each other, which means the local police precinct’s weekend shift continues to be dreaded.
After that, Chuuya settles behind the driver’s seat as they end up somewhere in just outside Yokohama’s city limits, a sleepy mountainside town with a small, crystal-clear lake that reflects the stars very well. Chuuya ends up making looping water sculptures using gravity manipulation, the process video’d by Dazai, at least until he grows bored of staying more than a meter away from Chuuya.
Pretty much due to the nature of his job and the way he understands Dazai’s sudden bouts of flightiness, the trunk of Chuuya’s car always has foldable tents, sleeping bags and mosquito nets, so it’s easy to set up camp by the lakeside.
They set up two sleeping bags inside one large tent, but they end up curling into each other as they bicker and gossip about everything (mostly about what the hell is going on between Akutagawa and Atsushi) into the rest of the night.
Chuuya sneaks out of the tent near daybreak, the time of day when Dazai is at his sleepiest, and sits by the shore as he concentrates on making a water sculpture of Dazai’s face. It’s pretty annoying that he can do it without having to consult anything for reference.
“…you should make my lips poutier,” comes the voice from behind and it’s only years of practice that save Chuuya from jumping up, shrieking and then instinctively crushing everything around him using gravity.
Hurriedly, Chuuya lets the water collapse back to the lake. “You didn’t see anything!”
“I saw Chuuya’s great taste in picking models, fufufu~” Dazai’s bedhead is particularly messy today, sticking up in all directions like a rowdy bird’s nest. He looks so soft, like the squishy insides of a cactus. “Chuuya loves me so much that he memorized my face, fufufu~~”
To prevent himself from doing something drastic, like let out a lovestruck sigh before swooning right into bandaged arms, Chuuya crosses his own arms over his chest, pinks staining the sky from the sun waking up from its slumber. “W-What of it?!”
Dazai’s smile is brighter than the sun.
“I love that Chuuya loves me.”
Dazai’s never said ‘I love you’ directly, using those exact set of words. Chuuya doesn’t mind. He hears it on so many other ways, after all.
“You narcissistic asshole.” Chuuya’s answering grin is more beautiful than daybreak. “You so do not have poutier lips than that.”
1.5, additional paperwork.
The Armed Detective Agency looks at Chuuya like they’ve seen the face of god. Kunikida, in particular, looks like he’s about to prostrate himself by Chuuya’s feet. There are already tears behind his glasses.
“…Uh.” Chuuya’s not sure what to say. So he clears his throat and repeats his earlier words, “So we’re going to be filing some paperwork together tomorrow, so can Dazai get time-off?”
Nobody ever believes Dazai whenever he files for leave. It’s not surprising, because (1) Dazai disappears whenever he wants anyway, that disrespectful shit; and (2) his reasons for vacation requests are usually something asinine, like wanting to search for poisonous mushrooms or skulking through Port Mafia vents so he can stalk Chuuya at work. Ever since the Agency has started to believe their relationship, Dazai’s leave requests are only approved if it’s Chuuya requesting for them. A mafioso being more trustworthy in applying for leave for a detective—that’s what their world is reduced to.
In any case, Chuuya’s more than enough to do the paperwork filing on his own, but…
Dazai actually likes submitting these paperwork.
“…just to confirm,” Kunikida asks for the seventh time in the past fifteen minutes, “Dazai actually wants to help you file paperwork? Using actual government forms? And staying in the queue? And submitting them to the proper government offices? Dazai Osamu? Are we talking about the same Dazai Osamu?”
“I only married one shitty mackerel,” Chuuya says with the air of someone who’d willingly kill his husband if it means getting inheritance. Luckily for Dazai, his salary isn’t even enough to pay the taxes on Chuuya’s legal job post. The life of crime is really very lucrative. “But yes, it’s the same Dazai.”
“How,” the Agency asks as a whole. Even Edogawa Ranpo looks amazed—well, as amazed as he could be, that is.
“He likes doing this,” Chuuya says with a shrug. He glares pointedly at Dazai, who’s content on watching him field the questions. The glare isn’t very effective, given that Chuuya is seated on Dazai’s lap, but everyone is more concerned about his answer to care about the blatant PDA. Chuuya gestures to them, as though to encompass the entirety of him securely in Dazai’s arms. “As in… this.”
Aside from Ranpo, who’s already sniffed this out the moment Chuuya came to apply for the leave, it’s Yosano who gets it fastest, followed by Naomi. “…Oh. Ooooh. I see.” The two women catch each other’s eyes and smirk.
“…I don’t get it,” Atsushi whimpers. He’s on speakerphone with Akutagawa, so the moment Higuchi gets it (she’s always around Akutagawa), the Agency also hears her squealing.
Kyouka pats Atsushi’s hand. “It’s alright to be innocent.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me any happier, Kyouka-chan!”
Kunikida suddenly pales. “You… you…”
“Dazai likes terrorizing people while we’re in the queue,” Chuuya confirms with a grave look on his face. “We’re always escorted to the priority lane so bureaucracy is pretty painless.”
“…not escorted off the premises?”
“Excuse me, I am very respectable!” Chuuya huffs, clearly offended. “And my legal identity is that of a Mori Corp VP!”
“…ah, so it’s money.”
“It’s clearly because I have blackmail information on the officials,” Dazai deigns to look up from his feasting on Chuuya’s neck so he can contribute to the conversation.
“Anyway,” an aggrieved noise, “Dazai also likes to… overshare with the clerks.”
“I’m clearly just spreading the love and joy!”
“You’re a goddamn gossip, that’s what you are.” Chuuya looks very fond though, the sparkle in his gaze mirrored by Dazai as they stare at each other. They share a brief kiss—because Chuuya can be merciful. He doesn’t want to traumatize these guys forever, they’re Dazai’s new family, after all. To the Agency, Chuuya says, “So, is his time-off tomorrow good to go?”
“Can you use your powers to make him want to do his actual paperwork here, all the time?”
Chuuya snorts. “Nobody makes Dazai do anything.”
“Chuuya! Thank you for defending my honor, my dear prince!”
“Yes, I did that.” Chuuya slides out of Dazai’s hold. “Since you have no honor whatsoever.”
“Ow, my heart.” Dazai is very clearly smiling though. “You’re leaving?”
“I don’t actually work here,” Chuuya flicks his forehead gently. “Unlike you, I actually have work ethics. This is just my lunchbreak, mackerel.”
“Mm, thanks for letting me eat you.”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re unbelievable.”
Chuuya blearily opens one eye.
“Oh fuck, I’d really rather die,” he croaks out. “Please don’t make me eat your Dazai Concoctions. Not when my immune system is compromised.”
Dazai, because he’s Dazai, has filters attached to his ears. So he beams, upon making sure that his apron is tied behind his back. The apron has flowers in them!
Chuuya closes his eyes and prays for strength. Failing that, he prays for Arahabaki to have mercy on its vessel and help create a black hole inside his stomach so that whatever he’s about to eat can just… disappear.
“Is this Chuuya finally agreeing to my double suicide proposal?” Dazai looks entirely too cheerful. It physically hurts to witness, Chuuya’s face recoiling, guts seizing, heart twisting upon the sight. “This sickness is bringing out your honest side, ne?”
“What are you planning to make,” Chuuya asks, whisper-soft, because his throat feels like it’s clogged by sandpaper and thumbtacks.
“Mm, you don’t have to worry,” Dazai says softly, therefore making Chuuya even more worried. “I won’t make anything that could endanger my life.”
Cooking shouldn’t be life-threatening in the first place, is what Chuuya wants to say. But his voice is but a scratch of nails against a chalkboard, so he coughs again instead.
Dazai sits on the bedside, curling one hand over the curve of his sweat-damp forehead, while his other hand guides the straw for water to his lips.
“Stay hydrated.” Dazai copies his tone whenever he’s the one telling Dazai to drink more water to combat his fondness for sprinkling ajinomoto over his food. It’s kind of creepy.
Just get those chicken soup in a can, Chuuya suggests by tapping Morse Code against Dazai’s wrist. And then, just to show that he still has control over his faculties, he taps the next set of words in Alexandrian Cypher: you just have to follow the instructions on the can, you do know how to read, right?
Dazai’s expression clouds for only a split-second, before he’s grinning. “Don’t worry, slug! I will be careful in handling the kitchen knife and the stove~~~ so you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about me and just rest, okay?”
That is so not what I said, Chuuya protests with the force of his glare, but Dazai isn’t having it.
There’s a strange—and powerful—Ability User who’s wreaking havoc in Yokohama by spreading a plague. Dazai isn’t able to cancel it, which makes people fear it’s a very special Ability. That, or that it’s not an Ability, but something Lovecraftian instead.
Nearly the entire city is under biohazard quarantine lockdown, just like other cities scattered all over the world where the Ability User has fucked things up beforehand. The International Ability Alliance is practically having a seizure from the sheer balls of this particular Ability User.
Dazai, because he’s an idiot who insists that he wants to cook for Chuuya while he’s sick, has slipped out of the safe zone and has sneaked back inside Chuuya’s apartment. Because the bed here is nicer, is Dazai’s offered explanation when he unceremoniously ended up spider-crawling in from his bedroom window earlier. Chuuya doesn’t point out that Dazai’s spending more time kneeling by the bedside and dedicating overnight vigils over him, to be making any comments about comforts.
In sickness and in health, as the traditional vows go.
Chuuya would rather have them both be healthy though. There’s no point in infecting Dazai as well. Despite the marked improvement of his dietary choices in the past couple of years, his love for unhealthy shit isn’t helping matters with his sodium levels and his liver’s health. He’s not like Chuuya who has the luxury of constant exercise and good nutritional practices, not even counting the boost to physical endurance he gets from being the vessel for Arahabaki.
(Of course, it’s not like Chuuya is a fitness nut or something like that. He actually enjoys the times when Dazai ropes him into having cake for breakfast, or the two of them finishing off an entire tub of ice cream at two in the morning as they watch the still waters of Yokohama Bay from the literal top of the Cosmo 21 Clock past closing hours.
But Dazai has a tight monopoly on shitty life decisions, so Chuuya has to balance Dazai’s ineptitude, like the good partner that he is. So, healthy dietary choices it is.)
…in any case. Dazai cannot be sick. Especially not something this serious. He’d be downright insufferable, that Chuuya might end up wanting to use Corruption on the entire fucking continent just so he can take out the shithead Ability User who wants to make the world descend to some Black Plague Middle Ages aesthetic.
“Stop imagining me getting sick,” Dazai gently reminds him, reading his mind easily. “They’re all working hard tracking the culprit down and then one flick of my finger and this would all go away. Just a little bit more, petit mafia.”
Work hard helping track the fucker down, Chuuya nips into the flesh of Dazai’s forearm using his blunt nails, I don’t need a babysitter here.
“Are you sure? You are the same size as a baby,” Dazai teases, leaning in to take a sniff of his neck. “You even smell like an unwashed baby’s ass.”
Are you calling me a piece of shit, you piece of shit?! The anger is diluted many times over by the fact that Chuuya has to spell it out using his fingers against Dazai’s cheeks. Urgh. You’d never leave unless I eat your cooking, urgh. Just. Urgh.
“Such enthusiasm for my display of house-husband skills.”
Just go the fuck away, leave me alone.
“I’ll wake you up once I’m done,” Dazai promises, kissing the furrow between Chuuya’s eyebrows. “Go to sleep and maybe you’d grow a weensy bit taller?”
Chuuya lets out a voiceless scream.
The Ability User gets tracked down by the combined efforts of Ranpo and Poe. Dazai, because he is a piece of shit, apparently didn’t tell his coworkers that he’s playing nurse to Chuuya, so Akutagawa and Atsushi had to track him down and thankfully stop him from completing his pineapple-and-avocado-chicken-and-mushroom-and-watermelon soup concoction. The new soukoku duo then drags Dazai away to do his job properly. Chuuya is thankful for the continued existence of his stomach lining.
That said, Chuuya doesn’t think that cooking should be counted as one of Dazai’s chores done well, so:
Despite his propensity for laziness, Dazai actually has a number of chores he enjoys doing.
He likes getting into a competition with Chuuya when it comes to airing out and hitting the futon (something that Chuuya always loses, because he ends up using too much force). He likes ironing too, because he uses it as an excuse to let the iron sit for too long over Chuuya’s clothes that he dislikes, and then uses it as an excuse to have Chuuya within touching distance so he can be supervised to do the right thing and stop destroying Chuuya’s clothes. He likes cleaning the bathroom, because he uses it as a cover to switch around Chuuya’s toiletries and then mix them together, like a child experimenting with a kiddie chemistry set.
He likes helping put away the groceries, if only to lord over his superior height over him. It also helps that it gives him cover for hiding additional bars of chocolate or packets of gum or new flavor of sugar-packed energy drinks that Chuuya absolutely forbid him from buying. He likes being in charge of laundry, because he experiments with different explosions he can make using bleach. And then threatening to drink the bleach. And then mixing Chuuya’s white shirts with a myriad of colors.
Point is, Dazai actually has a number of chores he enjoys doing.
It’s near the top of the list of his personal likes. Not that Chuuya is keeping a list. There’s no way he’d keep incriminating physical evidence, not when Dazai is a bloodhound for anything that could spike Chuuya’s blood pressure.
Dazai’s the type to splurge on the weirdest things, especially since they have joint accounts. He buys a plethora of cutesy stuff, random knickknacks that have no discernible use aside from being offered to Chuuya with a handsome grin, along with the proclamation of it reminded me of you.
(One time, during a workday lunch-date on Yamashita Park, Dazai showed Chuuya a fist which opened up to an empty palm. It reminded me of you, Dazai said. Chuuya remembered seething out a, it’s fucking empty air. To which Dazai responded with a, nothing needs to remind me of you because you’re in my mind all the time. A mini-earthquake ravaged Yokohama that day. Chuuya still blushes remembering Dazai’s shit-eating grin after his heart-stopping, earth-breaking reaction.
Of course, Dazai followed it up swiftly with a, oh, but look, I think there’s a speck of dust there, tiny like you! but they both know and understand Dazai’s genuine sentiment and god fucking damn it to all hells, he’s blushing again remembering it now.)
…So, Dazai splurging on strange things. It’s gotten so bad that Chuuya’s already bought several shelves for the living room just dedicated to Dazai’s purchases. It already looks like they’ve transplanted a DAISO or a weird thrift store mashup, with how… varied and numerous the stuff are.
But if there’s one thing that Dazai enjoys more than taking Chuuya’s shopping list and offering to do shopping from him and coming back with ten bags’ worth of things with literally nothing from said list—it’s dragging Chuuya around with him as he makes the purchases.
(Higuchi once made the mistake of joining them for a shopping trip.
She thought that Chuuya’s deep wallets—and more importantly, his tendency to spoil Dazai, if only to shut up his incessant whining—would mean that they’d be remaking glamorous scenes from Shopaholic or Gossip Girl or Sex in the City or basically anything that she likes to watch when she knows her senpai isn’t around to judge her other interests aside from guns and being the best kouhai ever.
Higuchi… is very wrong.
She has sworn off shopping for the rest of her life after that.
…Well, not really, but she’d rather go into enemy camp without backup aside from her trusty machine guns, than spend any moment with Dazai and Chuuya while they’re busy being… them.)
Dazai and Chuuya shopping together.
Chuuya’s already bought the mountain and they’ve already started building their new mountain villa from scratch last weekend, after all. (Of course, Dazai did absolutely nothing to help, busy as he was with making lewd comments and jerking off out in the open as he watches Chuuya’s muscles flex as he transforms the trees to usable lumber.)
They’re planning to keep most of their current residences—Chuuya’s penthouse in the city, their respective homes in Aomori and Yamaguchi—so they’d need to get things specifically for their newest abode.
This time, they’re mostly canvassing for prices for furniture, appliances and everything else. While it’s more convenient to shop for things online or buy furniture directly from the moving company, Dazai insists that he wants to see how they look like first-hand, especially since he’s the ‘house-husband’ and therefore, would be the one to have to deal with the furniture and appliances more often.
Chuuya smacks him hard for that comment, because he has an actual day-job that he should actually go to, instead of making Chuuya the recipient of long emails from Kunikida and cute, but threatening-looking, cat pictures from their President. Boss Mori already threatened to make monthly deductions to Chuuya’s salary (that looks suspiciously similar to Dazai’s monthly salary) because the Agency’s President is threatening… something to Boss Mori. Chuuya doesn’t want to think too much about it—dealing with Dazai for a decade means that he has great self-preservation instincts.
“This ceiling fan looks nice,” Dazai hums as he inspects the metallic designs on the fan’s blades. To the store assistant sent to them, “Can we test this?”
Karizawa, as his name tag states, blinks in confusion. “…Test it, sir?”
Chuuya idly wonders if this Karizawa is a newbie being punished by the store manager. Dazai and Chuuya are regulars in this store, so the manager already knows them and… their quirks, after all.
Dazai smiles serenely. “I want to know if it’s strong enough.”
“Can it carry my weight if I hang from it?” Dazai looks very serious as he ponders it. “Or maybe we can outfit it with actual metal blades?”
“You think titanium will be enough to dice you up?” Chuuya doesn’t think something metallic would fit in the rustic aesthetic they’re going for in their newest home, though. “If you’re doing that, keep it on your study. I don’t want the metal to clash against the living room.”
“Hey, isn’t married life all about compromise?”
“It is,” Chuuya agrees. “That’s why I’m allowing you to keep it on your study, instead of divorcing your shitty ass.”
“I pour out your nasty protein shakes down the sink,” Dazai murmurs with a shake of his head, “and this is the hill you’re choosing to die on?”
“Goddamn shitty fuck, you did what to my protein shakes?!”
“Poured it down the sink,” Dazai repeats with an infuriating smirk. “I wanted to light it on fire, but I didn’t want to trigger the smoke detectors.”
“You sneaked in to my locker in the Port Mafia,” hisses Chuuya, “to wreak havoc on my training?!”
Dazai claps his hands together, “Oho, is Chuuya disappointed because I didn’t stay long enough so we could have a quickie?”
Chuuya shakes his husband by the lapels of his coat. “Those are exclusive shakes, you vagabond! The waitlist is six months long!”
“Chuuya doesn’t need more muscles,” Dazai complains with a pout. “Chibikko’s body is already perfect like this.”
Grip loosens, so that he’s not strangling Dazai with it anymore.
“I sure do.” With a leer, Dazai backs them up so that they’re near the bedroom showcase instead. “Want me to prove it?”
“Why should I believe a liar?” Chuuya asks with a raised eyebrow, trying to ignore the heat bubbling in his stomach. “You better prove it well.”
Poor Karizawa wails in despair in the background.
“There’s a lot of weeds,” Dazai says it without a hint of distaste. He actually sounds excited—but to be fair, he’s been in a really good mood all week. “We’re going to need a lot of time to deal with these.”
Chuuya follows him in a more sedate pace, breathing in the scent of spring from the surrounding greenery. Yamaguchi has fairly humid summers, so they’ve made plans to restore this place before it’s too hot for Chuuya’s tastes.
They’ve both taken two weeks off work so they can take their time—and Chuuya can’t deny the swell inside his heart upon seeing Dazai so… interested and excited in exploring the place that Chuuya doesn’t even remember, a place where he’s born, a place that he vacated before he’s been taken in for the Arahabaki Experiments.
It might seem excessive to have and maintain four properties, but…
“Hey, why aren’t you listening to me?” Dazai pouts as he stomps back towards where Chuuya is, still stuck by the French doors leading to the backyard overrun by plant outgrowth from the years of abandonment. “Is your hat rotting your ears already?”
Chuuya looks at Dazai, cutting an imposing figure amidst the vines and weeds, standing tall in the storm of Chuuya’s past. According to Sakaguchi’s findings, it’s impossible for him to regain memories of his first eight years of life. But standing here, with Dazai in front of him, it feels like every single one of his secrets is just waiting to be discovered, to be plucked out from the ground, to be understood and handled carefully despite the messy chaos they’re in.
There’s no sense of regret or loneliness, no resentment about what-ifs, no desolation about not having known his birth family. Right now, Chuuya has his own family—complete with unruly children and precocious grandchildren, even. Right now, he knows that there’s a sense of fate at work. There are alternate universes out there, as the incident with the Book has proved, but Chuuya has this feeling that, no matter what, things would always end up like this, somehow.
Till death do us part, as the traditional vows go.
Chuuya opens his mouth—to say something about transplanting ginkgo trees to line the backyard because ginkgo is supposed to be the city’s tree, to suggest hiring Kyouka and Lucy to help out when they open up Dazai’s proposal to have an orphanage in the plot of land beside this villa, to tease Dazai about the potentially back-breaking work they’d have to do to clean up the garden.
Instead, what comes out is:
“…Let’s get married.”
Dazai looks stunned. Owlishly, he blinks rapidly, shuffling close until he’s within punching distance. And then, “…Chuuya, did your hat finally eat your brain? You do know that we’ve been married for nearly ten years now?”
Chuuya knows he’s blushing, but he keeps holding Dazai’s gaze. “We haven’t had a ceremony.”
“And that’s just fine with me,” Chuuya adds hurriedly, feeling his heart buoyed by something that feels like a tsunami of emotions. “But… it’d be nice too, to get married here.”
Dazai doesn’t answer immediately—at least, not verbally. He nearly collapses forward, smothering Chuuya against his rapid heartbeat, knocking his hat off and burying his face against his hair. Chuuya faintly wonders if he’s going to end up fainting from how his heart seems to be working in overdrive, making him dizzy from the way his pulse rushes inside his head.
Last time—it was Dazai who proposed that they get married, as they witnessed the sunrise while on the summit of Mount Fuji, after Chuuya rescued Dazai from the hands of an organization that managed to hunt him down after he left the Port Mafia. Last time—they didn’t even have rings, they didn’t have plans, they weren’t even in a relationship, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Last time—it was uttered almost in instinct, like Dazai was going to say something else, an insult to Chuuya’s height, and instead blurted out a chibikko, let’s get married.
This time, it’s laughably similar.
Chuuya blurts it out as he witnesses the type of brilliance that only someone like Dazai can bring.
“…we have to hurry with cleaning up this villa then,” are Dazai’s first words. “So we can get married tomorrow.”
A laugh escapes Chuuya. “You waste of space, I’m not doing a shotgun marriage with you again!”
“Why do you want to wait?” Dazai’s pouting is hidden in Chuuya’s hair. “I am very disappointed that you don’t want to tie me down quickly!”
“We’re already married, octopus.”
“I know,” Dazai says with a sigh. “How about next week?”
“I was thinking next spring.” Chuuya drums his fingers against Dazai’s trembling back. “So Ane-san has enough time to make your life hell.”
“I’m sending Yosano-sensei and Kunikida-kun to you.”
“Good. We can have drinking parties every day.”
“Urgh, why is chibi so good at charming people.”
“Because I’m not an ass like you?” There used to be a time when Chuuya modeled his habits after Dazai—more accurately, he learned ‘how to be a functional human being’ by basically doing the opposite of whatever Dazai did. “I’m a delight to be with, after all.”
“You do have a nice ass though…” Dazai trails off wistfully, as he lets his hands trail to Chuuya’s backside. “If we’re getting married here, we need to have a ceremony in Aomori too.”
Chuuya wants to retort that it’s not supposed to work like that, but they’ve never been the most traditional of people anyway. So, he goes with, “Knowing our luck, our wedding there will be crashed by a snowstorm.”
“I’ll take care of the invitations,” Dazai volunteers, which means there’s definitely an ulterior motive. “I promise not to give the wrong address to Tachihara and Mori-san.”
Chuuya lightly kicks Dazai’s shin. “You’re not sending them to the volcano!”
The two of them remain embracing there, at least until a mosquito bites Dazai, who whines and gripes about a tiny insect sucking his blood.
They work hard to pluck out all of the weeds, trim the overgrown bushes and mow the grass to a respectable height. By sunset, the backyard is mostly clear of signs of disuse. The mansion has been aired out, but hasn’t been dusted completely, so Chuuya drags the tent and sleeping bags from his car’s trunk so they can camp out in the backyard instead.
Bird-songs and wind-whistles make for a mellifluous atmosphere, as Chuuya sits on the tent’s entrance, wraps an extra blanket around his shoulders like a cape to help ward off the cool night. Dazai has his own extra blanket curled over his own shoulders, the ends of it dragging against the newly-mowed grass as he approaches the tent.
Dazai is hiding something under his blanket, obvious in the way that he’s clearly trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Chuuya lets a questioning noise—something that dies in his throat when Dazai kneels in front of him.
Dazai reaches out to adjust the blanket over Chuuya’s shoulders, dragging them up so that even the top of his head is covered—like a makeshift veil. The realization flares inside him, and Chuuya feels—
“You have to listen to today’s botany lesson, Chuuya,” is what Dazai says, a low melody weaving into the starry spring night. “Listen very clearly, okay?”
Without waiting for Chuuya to respond, Dazai offers the bundle of green buds that he’s been hiding under his own blanket.
“These are ginkgo buds,” Dazai explains. “It’s considered a living fossil, did you know? It’s survived ever since the time of the dinosaurs.” A deep breath. “It’s really a senile old man amongst trees, ne?” Another deep breath. “Quite stubborn too. It’s the only surviving species in its group, when everyone else died off and became extinct.” A slight trembling of the corner of his mouth. “Very, very powerful—enough that it can survive an atomic bombing.”
Chuuya feels lightheaded, like he can’t even breathe, as he awaits Dazai’s next words.
“They’re very unique too. Its leaves—are very beautiful even when they fall in autumn. It’s a popular dietary supplement, can supposedly make a person more intelligent and have better memory.” Dazai’s smile is small but cotton-soft, and Chuuya is overcome with the need to feel its softness against his own. “Very delicious too.”
“Male ginkgo trees are also very allergenic.” Dazai presses the green ginkgo spring buds against Chuuya’s equally-shaky hands. “They can make me sick, but…”
There’s distant birdsong and there’s a blanket of stars above them, but all Chuuya can hear and see is Dazai.
“What I mean is…” Dazai trails off again, his gaze a brown-red abyss beckoning for Chuuya to drown in. “This city might already have a National Treasure, but…”
Chuuya wants to cover the two of them with their makeshift veil, so he can keep this moment with him forever.
Dazai’s smile curves wider to a shaky grin. “Ah, this kind of sweet-talk doesn’t fit us too well.”
“You don’t have to,” Chuuya says quietly. Because even without overt declarations of love or devotion—because even if they’re not married, even if they’re not in an actual relationship—because even if they just exist as ‘Dazai’ and ‘Chuuya’, they already know and understand the depths of each other’s feelings. And that’s more than enough. “I just might end up throwing up if you continue this.”
He’d probably end up vomiting rainbows, but he’ll throw up nevertheless.
“Mm, but if you say that, that’d just spur me on, ne?”
Eyes focused on Chuuya, Dazai takes a deep breath, before he loops the ginkgo buds into something that could resemble a small ring, before sliding the green foliage over an already-occupied ring finger:
“I love you, Chuuya.”
It’s the first time that he’s said those exact words.
Chuuya’s answer is hidden from the rest of the world, whispered only in the spaces between their kisses, but really, there’s only one answer to that.
The next day, the two of them have congested noses from spending the entire night rolling around the lawn under the cover of the stars, but that doesn’t stop Dazai from firing up dozens of emails inviting every single person they know to their spring wedding next year.