Say Yes to the Mess!

by c4tkid

Summary:

As Atsushi cleaned their shared apartment, dusting the living room furniture, he came across their wedding photo framed in silver. In the picture, he was smiling and waving, while Akutagawa stood still with a blank face. Atsushi sighs. It's been two years, a shared cat, a secret cabin in the woods under his name, a movie starring his husband with another man...

Living with his husband isn't always easy, but Atsushi knew that from the very start, on the day Akutagawa proposed.

(Camera Room)
A thin man dressed in black sits in an armchair, looking annoyed at the camera.
“After our wedding, every cross-organizational wedding was labeled as Civil Unrest and required improved security measures by the government.”

This work is part of a Series, if you like this one, please go read the rest of my works at Mafia TV!

Notes:

This one it's a little bit longer than the others works, I had it brewing for a few days to carry on with the nonsense, thank you for reading!

Comments make this author very very happy

Chapter 1

 

Say Yes to the Mess!

 

 

 

 

As Atsushi cleaned their shared apartment, dusting the living room furniture, he came across their wedding photo framed in silver. In the picture, he was smiling and waving, while Akutagawa stood still with a blank face.

 

 

---

 

(Camera Room)

Atsushi sits nervously on a stool, looking into the camera.

“Our wedding was really… something.”

 

(Second Camera Room)

A thin man dressed in black sits in an armchair, looking annoyed at the camera.

“After our wedding, every cross-organizational wedding was labeled as Civil Unrest and required improved security measures by the government.”

 

---

 

Atsushi sighs. It's been two years, a shared cat, a secret cabin in the woods under his name, a movie starring his husband with another man... Living with his husband isn't always easy, but Atsushi knew that from the very start, on the day Akutagawa proposed.

 

 

 

Two Years earlier

 

 

It was yet another cold, quiet rooftop overlooking Yokohama’s skyline.

The sky was bruised with twilight, covering the city sprawling below in flickering lights. After a joint mission between the Port Mafia and the ADA, blood streaked down Atsushi’s torn white sleeve.

Akutagawa’s coat was open, ripped at the shoulder, blood soaking through his white shirt. Both of them panting, trying to catch their breath as the last enemy lay at the bottom of the building.

 

“Next time, it’d be nice if we didn’t get ambushed after finishing the job” Atsushi panted exhausted.

“You’re not even done with this one, and you’re already stuttering about a next time?” Akutagawa retorted, then lashed out, striking down the final enemy who jumped at Atsushi’s back.

Atsushi squeaked and spun, just in time to see the attacker tossed off the rooftop like a discarded pamphlet.

Akutagawa huffed, annoyed at the weretiger’s obliviousness.

As Atsushi turned back to face him, a small box bounced off his forehead and landed in his hands.

“Ouch!” Atsushi winced, rubbing his now-reddened forehead. “Wh– Where did this come from?”

Akutagawa stared at him.

“Open it.” He ordered with his usual unreadable face.

“A-Akutagawa…” Atsushi muttered, confused. “What is this?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Akutagawa responded annoyed.

Atsushi opened the box, half-expecting a trap. Inside was... a ring? sleek, simple, smoothly crafted white gold, with tiger stripes engraved inside.

 

“…Marry me.”

 

Atsushi’s brain decided to reboot, had he heard correctly? What else could sound similar to 'marry me'? ...curry me? That didn't make sense at all.

 

“Jinko!” Akutagawa shouted.

 

“A-Akutaga-” Atsushi slowly looked from the box back to Akutagawa, not sure of what was going on, then he looked back to the tiny box and the white gold ring.

 

And it sinked.

 

“W– Y– YOU! …W–WHAT?!” Atsushi tossed the box like it was radioactive.

 

Akutagawa sighed and grabbed the box from the floor. “Should I kneel?... I’ll kneel.”

 

“DON’T-!”

 

But Akutagawa, bleeding and clutching his broken ribs, dropped to one knee in front of the bruised, stunned weretiger as he held out the handmade ring with slightly trembling hands.

 

“Weretiger-

 

-would you marry me?” 

 

Atsushi’s face was unreadable, somewhere between blushing, panicking, and extreme confusion, Akutagawa eyes were piercing trough his gaze, he was serious about this.

 

"Akutagawa..." Atsushi muttered, while letting the entire situation sink in for a moment, Akutagawa was knealing in front of him, asking him to marry ...him.

 

“AKUTAGAWA, THIS IS THE WORST PROPOSAL IN HISTORY!”

 

“Is that a no?” Akutagawa diverted his gaze. 

 

Atsushi gulped.

 

He was furious, flustered, and… blushing.

 

“…I hate you.”

Then he slipped the ring from the box onto his finger, Akutagawa smirked.

 

“Good. I won’t have to drag you to the registry after all.” As he regained back onto his feets.

“Eh-?” Atsushi sputtered like a deflating balloon, still too stunned to process.

 

Akutagawa simply stood up and looked out at the city they had just saved. Yokohama’s bruised skyline stretched endlessly behind them, the flickering lights now silent witnesses to the absurdity unfolding on the rooftop.

Atsushi’s heart hammered, partly from the fight, mostly from the sheer, incomprehensible whiplash of the last thirty seconds.

 

The ring fit.

Of course it fit.

 

Akutagawa, ever the bastard, probably measured his finger in his sleep or did something equally deranged.

Atsushi opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Akutagawa finally glanced at him, face deadpan as ever, but still managing to read into him.

“I’ts because I refuse to let anyone else put up with you.”

Atsushi’s face burned. “THAT’S YOUR REASON?”

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re impossible!” Atsushi scowled. 

 

“Weretiger,” Akutagawa said, turning fully now, cheeks faintly pink, torn black coat fluttering in the wind, “You said yes.”

 

Atsushi's breath caught.

 

Because… he did.

 

He put the ring on his damned finger.

 

 

---

 

(Camera Room)

Akutagawa smirks satisfied.

“I had arranged seven different scenarios for our proposal. One involved a fake kidnapping, another involved getting a life sentence and proposing in front of the jury, other included using counterfeit money to play Monopoly and hiring a double… but this, this seemed perfect for the weretiger and myself.”

 

---

 

 

 

Just a few days after their unusual proposal, Atsushi grinned as the two of them flipped through far too many wedding magazines at his desk in the Armed Detective Agency.

"Why aren’t we getting yelled at by the blonde one with glasses?" Akutagawa asked, wearing his 'urban civilian disguise' -the same black coat and sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors to this day-.

"Kunikida had a meeting with the government," Dazai answered from his desk with a grin, watching the two of his students in awe.

"My little lovebirds~! I knew this would happen. There’s always that dangerous point after trying to murder your rival where you think, ‘Well… I might as well marry the idiot.’"  He leaned over to hug both of them. "And you did~!"

Akutagawa shoved both of them away.

"Dazai-san. This changes nothing. Just because I’ll stop aiming for the weretiger’s vital organs doesn’t mean I’m going to stop pursui-"

"TO THINK I BROUGHT THESE TWO TOGETHER!" Dazai carried on sobbing dramatically and cutting him off. "Without me, they’d be lonely, and angry, and covered in significantly more blood…"

He paused.

"I am the Cupid of mad love~!"

He pinched both of their cheeks.

"You manipulated us into missions that almost got us killed..." Atsushi said, deadpan.

 

"I was," Akutagawa muttered flatly, "killed."

 

Everyone in the room froze.

There was an unspoken agreement that no one would ever mention Akutagawa’s twilight era. Ever. Not even once.

 

"BUT LOOK AT YOU NOW!" Dazai yelled. "HAPPY! IN LOVE!" He paused, then beamed. "STILL TRAUMATIZED!"

Atsushi sighed and turned back to the magazines. "How about full white?" he asked, showing a spread with a white tuxedo.

"All black." Akutagawa said immediately.

"That’s a funeral," Atsushi muttered.

"Maybe it is a funeral…" Dazai chimed in dramatically. "A funeral for your single lives, as you walk hand-in-hand into the oppression of monogamy!"

Atsushi side-eyed Akutagawa. "Are you worried?"

"I’m more worried about having to go through all of this a second time."

Atsushi nodded solemnly in agreement.

"I’d really like a nice venue," Atsushi said, perking up. "Like an open garden, or the beach… with a sunset."

Kyouka, quietly nearby, nodded in agreement.

"That's ridiculous. It's too much sand." Akutagawa answered immediately, arms crossed. "What about the Port Mafia’s imprisonment room? It’s very spacious. I might even get an employee discount."

"Akutagawa…" Atsushi sighed, exasperated.

Dazai giggled ominously from above. "This is going to be amazing~"

 

 

 

On the wedding day, Atsushi decided to get ready at his shared ADA apartment where he lived with Kyouka.

"Okay, okay… deep breaths! I can do this." Atsushi tried to calm himself in front of the mirror, while Kyouka nodded in agreement behind him.

"Right? I-I fought international terrorists. I survive Dazai on a daily basis. I kissed Akutagawa by mistake. I can survive getting married, right?"

"You kissed him by mistake?" Kyouka asked, a little concerned.

"I-I…" Atsushi’s face flushed. "I wanted to punch him, but I tripped… and then he used Rashoumon to kidnap me for dinner, kind of… a-and now… AND NOW I’M MARRYING HIM!" Atsushi squeaked frantically.

Kyouka chose not to comment on the matter of their -not really- heartwarming love story and began fanning him with an old newspaper to give him some air.

 

Meanwhile, at the Port Mafia headquarters, the wedding of the Urban Guerrilla leader was the organizational task of the day.

In the corridors, everyone was getting ready for the event of the year. Out the main door streamed a parade of fancy-looking outfits, expensive gifts, gourmet food and many armed caterers.

Akutagawa stood in front of a mirror in his main office on the second floor. His sister Gin helped him with a lint roller, Higuchi was crying by the door next to Hirotsu, who was refilling her tissue box.

Chuuya stood nearby, observing the outfit’s final try.

"It had bloodstains, Akutagawa…" Chuuya snarled. "I had to put real pressure on my laundry folks to get that done on time!"

"I refuse to wear beige," Akutagawa responded flatly, opening his arms so Gin could continue with her lint roller duties.

"Tsk." Chuuya sighed. "Why are we not leaving yet?"

"You must remember your missions for today," Akutagawa began. "Hirotsu is in charge of the armed caterers. Gin is on taser duty for possible inconveniences. And Chuuya-san, you’re in charge of the hardest mission…"

Chuuya gulped.

"Don’t tell me…"

"I won’t let him ruin my wedding," Akutagawa said with an annoyed sigh. "I trust you… with Dazai-san duties."

Chuuya had already activated his ability, lifting the furniture by reflex, when Tachihara arrived to announce that the venue was ready for arrivals at the selected location, and transport was waiting outside.

 

 

The venue stood in a beautiful mountainside open garden. Atsushi begged for a garden, Akutagawa wanted isolation.

It was decorated with traditional Japanese ornaments, freshly cut flowers, and guarded by thirteen Port Mafia snipers disguised as groomsmen. Not far from them, the best armed catering service in Yokohama -a gift from the Port Mafia Executives Office- was setting up.

There were exactly forty-nine white chairs, even though fifty guests were confirmed, and Kunikida was pacing near the seating chart, muttering about "logistical betrayal."

Yosano gleefully sharpened a pair of gold scissors labeled "Ribbon Duties," while Kyouka was deeply invested in flower-cutting responsibilities with Yasha Shirayuki. Somewhere behind it all, someone was screaming about the cake.

 

Inside the preparation tent, Atsushi stared at himself in the mirror. All-white suit. Gold detailing. Hair brushed. Ring snug on his finger. He looked like someone about to make the most insane, reckless, romantic decision of his life.

"Do I look okay?" he whispered to Kyouka, his Maid of Dishonor.

"You look like prey," she answered honestly. "...A very stylish prey."

Yosano peeked in. "They’re starting to seat people! Don’t throw up, I saved those medications for later."

 

Elsewhere, Akutagawa was silent as Higuchi tied a black ribbon around his sleeve while crying profusely. His coat had been swapped for a fitted black formal jacket with delicate silver embroidery. Beneath it, a perfectly tailored dark gray vest, a white shirt, and a black bonnet.

"Any last words?" Chuuya muttered from the corner, flipping through the wedding program. " 12:45 - ‘Dazai-san’s speech’? Are you sure about that?"

"If it gets wrecked," Akutagawa said while adjusting his collar, "you may kill him."

"I like this mission," Chuuya smiled satisfied as he exited the tent.

 

The Agency sat in the front left row, most looking slightly nervous. The Port Mafia occupied the front right row, many dressed in elegant black attire. The Guild was seated awkwardly in the back, watching everything like it’s a wild nature documentary.

As the string quartet, starring a famous postwar musician: Dyodor Fostoievsky, began to play, Atsushi walked in from one side while Akutagawa entered from the opposite.

Half the guests instinctively flinch nervously when both of them meet in the middle. Not many months ago, this kind of face to face would start a never ending battle, but for everyone's sake, they both grabbed their hands and walked together toward the altar until standing awkwardly in front of it.

The wedding was officiated by both Fukuzawa, calm and poised, and Mori, gleeful and terrifying as ever.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate a union born of conflict, healed through chaos, and cemented through mutual care," Fukuzawa began.

"A tale born from Yokohama’s underground," Mori added sweetly and menacingly.

 

"Why is he looking at us like that?" Atsushi whispered nervously, referring to Mori.

"Avoid eye contact…" Akutagawa suggested.

 

Fukuzawa continued. "Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, do you take Nakajima Atsushi-"

Mori chimed in. "-To be your legally emotional anchor and occasional moral compass?"

Akutagawa coughed, then locked eyes with Atsushi. "I do."

Fukuzawa nodded solemnly. "Nakajima Atsushi, do you take Akutagawa Ryuunosuke-"

Mori grinned terrifyingly. "-To be your occasionally homicidal and tragically well-dressed husband?"

"I-uh…" Atsushi glanced to the side, meeting Akutagawa’s unwavering gaze. "I… do?"

 

"This is so romantic!" Dazai loudly whispered to Chuuya, who’s seated across the aisle.

"Shut up, shitty Mackerel!" Chuuya whispered back, annoyed.

 

Fukuzawa chose to ignore his chaotic subordinate. "Do you have your vows?"

Atsushi cleared his throat, voice trembling but sincere.

"I never thought I’d end up here to begin with. You hated me and I was scared of you. We fought like fire and steel, but I kept seeing you. The real you. And somehow… I didn’t want to stop. I’m not good at love, but… I think I want to spend the rest of my life getting better at it with you."

Half the guests were crying. Akutagawa looked away sharply.

Mori wiped a single tear. "Akutagawa-kun, your turn."

Akutagawa slowly opened a sealed envelope and removed a tiny slip of paper, and read: "You irritate me less than everyone else, if you manage to survive, I want to keep you for myself, if anyone dares to change that, I'll kill them."

Atsushi choked. "Eh?!"

Akutagawa interrupted. "I meant every word."

But before Atsushi could say anything, Kyouka approached to hand over the rings and stared Akutagawa in the eye for a beat too long.

"I expect you not to hurt him."

Akutagawa hummed in agreement, and Kyouka handed over the rings. Atsushi slipped the tiger-striped band onto Akutagawa’s finger, and Akutagawa returned the favor, placing a dragon-carved ring on Atsushi’s, muttering a warning: "You’re mine now." Atsushi felt his entire body shivering in many confusing emotions at once.

Mori began clapping. "By the limited powers vested in me by... me, and whatever questionable legal documents I forged this morning-"

Fukuzawa continued, unfazed by Mori’s antics. "-I now pronounce you husbands."

Mori smirked. "You may now attempt to kiss each other with moderate success."

 

And they do.

 

Akutagawa grabbed Atsushi by the tie and gave him a briefly aggressive kiss. The crowd clapped in awe. Kyouka teared up a single tear silently. Tanizaki filmed it sideways. Dazai throwed rose petals at Chuuya’s hat. Akutagawa and Atsushi stood too embarrassed to speak for several seconds.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

As the reception began, Atsushi was practically glowing. Akutagawa had removed his jacket and looked devastatingly sharp in his vest. Kyouka and Chuuya were figuring out the seating arrangements. Dazai was already drunk and was giving a speech with zero approval.

"Ahhh~ my babies! One nearly killed the other, like, fifteen times! And the other adopted him like a traumatized cat … But look at them now!"

 

When the first dance began, they both faced each other awkwardly. They had rehearsed the dance before, but Akutagawa had made sure all witnesses were silent and this was the first time with an open audience.

The song was soft, the wind was gentle, and all the guests fell quiet.

Atsushi reached for Akutagawa’s hand. "Ready?"

"…Only if you don’t step on my foot."

They swayed awkwardly at first, then better, then closer… then too close for the comfort of the more sensitive guests.

"We’re really married, huh?" Atsushi smiled awkwardly.

"I’ll kill you if you leave."

Atsushi laughed wholeheartedly.

The rest of the crowd clapped cheerfully and joined them on the dance floor.

 

 

As dinner and the open bar left the guests more than a little tipsy, some jokes were exchanged, and soon came the second most feared part of the wedding: the wedding speeches.

Dazai was the first to stand, clinking his glass of champagne and gathering everyone’s attention.

 

"Ehem… Hello everyone, I’m the happiest to stand here tonight as the architect behind this beautiful cursed union. Anyways, you know what’s beautiful? Love." Everyone awed in unison.

"And you know what’s terrifying? …Monogamy!" Akutagawa glanced at Chuuya, who was far too invested in his glass of wine, then to Gin, who nodded back at him solemnly while lifting the taser.

"...But you two managed to make it look like the emotional equivalent of setting yourselves on fire in a dignified way." Gin lowered the taser as Dazai took a big sip from a drink that was definitely not his first and probably not his glass.

"Also!” Dazai chirped. “I would now like to propose a toast to the concept of forbidden romance, murder husbands, and kissing your sworn rival! And if any of you single guests out there want a taste of complicated, emotionally unavailable, yet wildly charming-"

But Chuuya stormed the stage. "Absolutely not!" He shoved Dazai aside, still holding his half-drunk glass of wine, as Gin primed the taser.

 

Chuuya grabbed the mic. "This man-, this insufferable disaster of a best man, tried to flirt with everything at this wedding. Including the cake, including me. Which was not new, but it was deeply unwelcome…"

Dazai stood at the edge of the podium and winked while muttering the words: "You’re welcome!"

Chuuya ignored him and carried on. "Anyway. Akutagawa, you are terrifying. Atsushi, you are dumb as rocks but somehow perfect for him. I still don’t understand how we got here, but you two didn’t kill each other, and that is impressive.” He pointed dramatically at both of them. “So… cheers!"

Then he looked at the tall menace grinning from the floor. “And Dazai, if you even think about trying to ‘help’ this marriage, I would personally feed you to the fish pond.”

He smirked, then raised his glass. “To the dumbest, most dangerous couple I know. May your fights be as epic as your love… or at least as loud as your yelling.”

He downed his wine, yanked Dazai’s tie on his way past, and hissed something into his ear. Whatever he said, it made Dazai break into a sweat as he was dragged away.

 

Next on the list and peer pressured by Black Lizard members, Hirotsu stood. He approached the podium with grace and the room settled immediately, and everyone in the Mafia besides the executives straightened their posture, while ADA members instinctively quieted, and the waiting snipers adjusted their ties.

"Good afternoon."

A pause.

"I'm Hirotsu Ryuurou, senior officer of the Port Mafia. It had been my… enduring duty to serve under many leaders, and to witness many stories unfold beneath the surface of this city. But this day… I speak not as Black Lizard commander, but as someone who had the honor of witnessing a young man grow into his own future."

Akutagawa looked up, slightly startled. Higuchi started crying… again.

"I remembered the boy who entered our ranks with blood on his clothes and silence in his eyes. Who stood too stiffly. Who never spoke unless spoken to and wielded power like it was punishment."

The guests grew hushed. Even Mori tilted his head slightly, listening.

"I watched him fall. I watched him rise again. I watched him chase a shadow that would never acknowledge him the way he needed. And I feared, for a time, that this boy would become a man who knew only violence, and never kindness."

Akutagawa froze, his hands tightly clasped with whitened knuckles.

"But then, a strange thing happened." Hirotsu allowed himself the faintest smile. "A tiger entered his life. A boy who refused to die and refused to leave. And slowly, very slowly , Akutagawa-san changed. He did not soften, he sharpened and became someone who fought for things, not just against them."

Atsushi started blinking rapidly while Akutagawa refused to meet anyone's eyes.

"On this day, that murderous boy stands here as a man. A husband. A partner. And I, who joined him in many battlefields, stand here to offer my blessings." He lifted a glass of sake, perfectly leveled.

"To Akutagawa Ryunosuke and Nakajima Atsushi. To the future -however messy it may look."

He stepped back with a simple bow and the room burst into applause. Mori dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, Fukuzawa offered a quiet nod of respect, and Gin clapped enthusiastically as she looked over her brother, who still wouldn’t look up.

 

Then Kyouka stepped forward, calm with a quiet smirk. "I'm Izumi Kyouka. Akutagawa-san is… difficult. Like a wild storm that breaks furniture."

Guests chuckled. Atsushi snorted. "And Atsushi-san is the fire that calms him. Or stops the house from burning." More laughter.

Then her gaze pierced through Akutagawa menacely, "But if you hurt him, I’ll be there."

The crowd fell silent. Akutagawa nodded in respect of a properly forwarded threat.

"Congratulations. And good luck to anyone foolish enough to cross them." She bowed her way out and sat next to Kenji.

"I don’t know what marriage is, but if it involves sharing vegetables and getting in fights together, then I thought they’d do great!" Kenji said, and Kyouka nodded in agreement.

 

 Next, like a drunken storm, Higuchi Ichiyo took the microphone, unauthorized. Hirotsu retreated into the background mouthing “no” while attempting to intervene, and Gin struggled to turn up the taser.

"HELLLOOOOOO EVERYONE!" The mic screeched. "I- hic -I just wanted to say... I’m… so proud to be there that day, as a loyal subordinate, a professional woman, and a woman who had cried seventeen times since 10:00 AM!!"

Akutagawa audibly groaned. Atsushi tried to hand her a glass of water, but she slapped it away.

"Aku- Akutagawa-senpai is the most noble, most powerful, most fashion-forward person I have ever met in my entire life!" She wiped her nose on Chuuya’s napkin, who screamed when realized.

"He used to yell at me for everything. EVERYTHING. Once he said ‘don’t breathe so loudly’ and I-I took it as motivation to become better! Stronger! Quieter!"

Gin nodded approvingly while Dazai started filming.

"And now-now- he is MARRIED!! To a literal sunshine with trauma and abs!!"

Atsushi nearly died. Akutagawa spilled his drink.

"You’re-you're both compatible disasters! Like bleach and ammonia! Like tigers and illegal hunters! Like… like a knife and another knife, taped together!!!

Kunikida made a concerned note while Ranpo handed her more wine.

"I used to think love was something that got in the way of duty! But seeing you two trying not to murder each other during dance rehearsals was… so moving… so…" She bursted into tears. "I'm just so proud!!!"

She then tried to hug Akutagawa, but Gin intercepted, while Akutagawa just looked unfazed.

"One more thing!! Atsushi-kun!!! If you EVER make Akutagawa-sama cry I will UNLEASH HELL AND-" The mic was cut and Tachihara carried her away like a drunken sack of potatoes. Atsushi just suppressed a laugh.

 

Ranpo wandered up to the podium with a cookie in his hand and frosting on his face.

"Hi. There were cookies and chaos, so here I am." The audience chuckled. "I solved this ages ago. Atsushi made the 'I'm-feeling-emotions' face, and Akutagawa tried to kill him less. It was obvious."

Atsushi groaned. Akutagawa muttered.

"I’m no romance expert. I mean, I have hobbies. But if two people glare at each other that intensely, they’ll either kill each other or kiss. Maybe both."

Dazai cackled.

"This is good. Hilarious, but good. They’re disasters. They deserve each other." He raised his soda. "To Akutagawa and Atsushi!"

Applause. Ranpo jumped off the podium and shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

Meanwhile at the back of the tent Dazai stood in front of a very angry redhead.

“Chuuya~ you didn’t have to threaten me in front of everyone out there~! You’ll make them think you don’t like me.”

“I don’t” Chuuya answered annoyed.

“Aw, Chibi is lying~!” Dazai teased.

“You shitty Dazai!” Chuuya responds flustered, “you’re going into the fish pond!”

Weirdly enough, Tachihara approached the mic with the cautious energy of someone still unsure if this was a trap.

Akutagawa leaned toward Atsushi. "These speeches are getting a bit random…"

Atsushi nodded. He hadn't spoken to Tachihara even once, yet somehow, the man had been chosen to fill in for a mysteriously absent mafia executive next on the list.

"Uhh... hey. Tachihara here. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but then Chuuya-san shoved a glass of whiskey in my hand and told me it was 'my turn,' so... here I am."

He cleared his throat and looked nervously between the ADA and Port Mafia tables.

"First of all, congrats to the happy couple. Akutagawa, boss... you look horrifyingly elegant today. And Atsushi, man, you look like a literal cupcake. But like, a good kind. A protein cupcake. With trauma frosting."

Atsushi blinked. Akutagawa looked both confused and offended. Chuuya gave a thumbs-up from the sidelines.

"Most of us aren’t emotional types. We’re more the 'stab a guy and never talk about it' type. But this wedding? It’s weirdly emotional while terrifying, and also kind of beautiful… Like watching a knife marry a safety pamphlet."

Kenji clapped, Yosano nodded with a proud, morbid smile. Mori beamed and Fukuzawa most certainly did not. Akutagawa adjusted his collar while frowning and Atsushi hid behind his champagne glass.

"Anyway... love is weird. People change. And sometimes, you find the one person who makes all the trauma worth tolerating. So, uh... cheers!"

He raised his glass, realized too late it was empty, drank anyway, made a face, and walked off. After that, it was officially decided: no more speeches for the rest of the night.

 

By now, the wedding reception had dissolved into beautiful anarchy. The DJ had started with something that vaguely resembled a tango before it mutated into a chaotic techno remix. Yosano was performing knife tricks dangerously close to the cake table. Kenji had mounted a chair and was riding it like a cowboy, complete with whoops of joy. Ranpo had declared the gift table his personal throne and was lounging across it with frosting smeared on his cheek.

Atsushi, flushed pink from champagne, was trying to hold Akutagawa back from challenging the Guild table to what he was now loudly calling an: open dance-off combat.

"I was promised a battle," Akutagawa muttered with a glare.

"You're not dueling Nathaniel Hawthorne to Daft Punk!" Atsushi hissed, gripping his wrist.

Suddenly, the lights shifted. The music cut off. A dramatic hush fell over the crowd as the reception tent's entrance flared open, and in strolled Karl the raccoon, wearing a perfectly tailored tiny bowtie.

Everyone froze when Karl began to dance.

 

It was hypnotic. Effortless. Transcendent.

 

Chuuya, double-fisting two drinks, stared slack-jawed. "That raccoon is an absolute legend."

Kyouka, wide-eyed, whispered as if witnessing a miracle. "...He's doing the worm."

 

The DJ, in full emotional surrender, switched the music to an upbeat Latin-inspired track and Karl started a conga line.

Chuuya joined first, as if summoned by an ancient rhythm. Atsushi followed, laughing breathlessly. Yosano bounded in next and seized a mildly protesting Fukuzawa by the arm. Tachihara and Kenji joined in, executing surprisingly synchronized spins. Even Akutagawa eventually joined, dragged by Atsushi, grumbling threats the whole way.

 

Meanwhile, Mori observed the scene from the shadows, eyes glittering.

"That... that is a leader. A creature of cunning and precision," he breathed.

He leaned toward Elise, who was stealing shrimp off someone else's plate.

"Elise. I'm recruiting that raccoon."

"Rintarou, you said that about the wedding florist," Elise deadpanned, munching slowly.

"Yes. But this raccoon has potential. Imagine him in a suit. Imagine him-! … with knives ."

Determined, Mori knelt by the conga line and slipped a tiny Port Mafia pamphlet into Karl's paw.

"There's a desk waiting for you in espionage, -or assassination. Your choice."

Karl squeaked in fear.

 

---

 

(Camera room) 

Mori sat primly in a white wedding chair.

"A good leader sees potential where others see pest control," Mori smirked, while sipping a cup of tea.

 

---

 

Back on the dance floor, Mori swirled wine in his glass and gave sharp orders to Hirotsu and Gin.

"Prepare the onboarding paperwork. Include the tiny katana set. And a nameplate."

Just as Hirotsu began scribbling down "Karl the Silent (Probationary)," Ranpo suddenly appeared, sliding dramatically across a table like an action hero.

He landed squarely in front of Karl, scooped him up with a flourish, and turned with a triumphant grin.

"Sorry, Mori-san! This raccoon’s already spoken for."

Mori blinked, stunned. "What?"

"He’s Poe-kun’s raccoon. And unlike some people here, I respect narrative continuity."

From his hat, Ranpo produced a crumpled, crayon-written note: "if you see karl pls bring back – edgar :3"

Mori sighed with quiet devastation. "So young. So full of talent. What a waste."

Karl gave a solemn wave as Ranpo carried him off like a fuzzy prince being whisked away to safety.

 

Then came the screech. A shrill, painful screech from the subwoofers.

"HELLO AGAIN~!"

Groans rippled across the tent.

Dazai had somehow acquired a microphone. He was barefoot and wet. No one knew when or why this had happened.

"WHY IS HE WET?!" Ranpo screamed from the dessert table.

No one answered. Chuuya visibly tried to flee. Akutagawa made a low, threatening growl. Fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace. Mori, completely unfazed, continued to eat cake with a fork far too small for someone with that much menace.

Dazai, drenched and glowing with unearned confidence, raised the mic.

 

"You thought I was done. But love... love never ends. Love is the bullet you don’t see coming. The grenade disguised as emotional vulnerability. The rusty knife in the back that whispers, ‘I do.’"

He sipped something from a glass that very clearly said "Kunikida."

Across the room, Kunikida stood trembling with rage.

"I've been called many things. Genius. Troublemaker. The reason HR has an emergency line. But today... I'm a proud father ."

 

Everyone blinked in confusion. Atsushi looked horrified while Akutagawa looked like he was seriously considering walking him into the ocean.

 

"Because look at these two! The feral porcupine and the trauma tiger… The homicide husbands! The angst duet with matching rings!"

Akutagawa opened his mouth to object. Dazai raised a finger.

"No. Shhh. Let me finish."

 

He climbed onto a chair and raised yet another glass. Someone in the crowd screamed, "WHERE IS HE GETTING THESE??"

"This -THIS- is true love!"

 

And then Chuuya stormed in, ripped the mic from Dazai's hands, and crushed it in one motion.

Speeches were officially, finally, and permanently over.

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The DJ cued a playful fanfare of trumpets as Kunikida hoisted the bridal bouquet high above his head. The guests formed a semi-circle behind the bride’s chair where Atsuhi stood up, eyes bright with mischievous anticipation. Akutagawa stepped back to give everyone room, thankful it wasn’t him over that chair.

 

"Alright, everyone! Single members of both organizations: get ready!"

 

Atsushi stood backwards holding the bouquet and flung it with a little too much tiger force. The flowers arced through the air, petals fluttering like confetti.

 

Dazai, perched suspiciously close to the sound equipment, sprang into action, cartwheeled forward with the grace of a drunken gymnast, arms extended,  two meters over the air and snagged the bouquet in mid-fall. He landed on one knee, bouquet triumphant, then flipped upright with a grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

The crowd burst into laughter and applause. Dazai raised the bouquet overhead as if it were a victor’s laurel crown. Then, with a dramatic bow, he brandished an imaginary ring finger toward Chuuya, who was watching with an exasperated scowl.

 

He knelt toward Chuuya, flourishing the bouquet. “Chuuya~! Will you-” He paused, clearly savoring the chaos. “-accept my humble proposal and marry me?”

Chuuya froze. For one second he looked like he might throw the wine glass in his hand, but then, a wicked smirk curled on his face. Arms crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief, he tilted his chin and declared: “...Yes.”

 

The entire room exploded.

 

Dazai was still kneeling, bouquet in hand, frozen in place as if someone had unplugged him. Kunikida dropped his clipboard with a gasp. Atsushi faceplanted into his slice of wedding cake. Gin silently filmed the entire scene with terrifying precision. Akutagawa looked, for once in his life, actually entertained. 

 

Someone in the back screamed “CONGRATULATIONS!!” as if it were legally binding. Akutagawa muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: “Our proposal was better.”

Dazai rose slowly to his feet while his smile twitched. “Wait, no no no. I was kidding. This was ironic! I don’t do commitment-! I only commit to suicide!”

Chuuya walked up to him slowly, dangerously pleased. “Aw, what’s wrong? You scared? I thought you wanted this. You did leap two meters in the air for the bouquet...”

 

Mori appeared like a phantom from behind the dessert table, already holding a manila folder with paperwork. “I had myself prepared for a situation like this one.”

Dazai’s voice cracked. “WAIT- Mori-san! Let’s think about this rationally!”

Mori’s pleasant tone never faltered. “Oh, Dazai-kun. Rationality is for people who don’t leap two meters in the air for a bouquet.”

Chuuya folded his arms and grinned. “You heard him, bastard. Too late to back out now.”

Dazai sputtered. “Chibi- wait, no. Chuuya … please, this was supposed to be funny~”

 

Mori began reading aloud. “By the authority vested in me by… well, myself, the Port Mafia, and a questionable loophole in Yokohama’s civil code-”

Akutagawa beamed. “This is the best wedding I’ve ever attended.”

“-I hereby pronounce you husband and husband. Legally. Irrevocably. Congratulations.”

Mori stamped the paperwork with a dramatic thunk. The sound echoed like a death toll through the stunned reception hall.

 

The audience gasped. Then erupted. Higuchi burst into fresh sobs, again. Atsushi choked on his champagne. 

Akutagawa smirked. “This could’ve happened in the Port Mafia imprisonment room…”

Dazai let out a scream of pure betrayal and dropped the bouquet as though it had cursed him. “I demand a divorce!”

Chuuya laughed so hard he bent double. “You absolute idiot.”

Mori smiled serenely. “You may file divorce… in six to eight months. Until then -enjoy your bliss.”

 

---

 

(Camera Room)

Mori sat comfortably in a white wedding chair, sipping wine.

“Dazai-kun kept rejecting my offer to return to the Port Mafia,” a smirk. “So I handcuffed him into the Port Mafia extended family. …Congratulations!”

 

---

 

 

Back in the tent, Dazai slumped over a table, head in his hands, staring at the marriage certificate like it might explode.

Chuuya was already parading around the venue like a newly crowned king. He held a second wine glass aloft and called out, “Have you seen my husband? I need him to hold this bouquet for me.”

He passed a security guard, speaking loudly. “Sorry, I must find my husband. He’s tall, obnoxious, and probably weeping.” Then to no one in particular: “Has anyone seen my husband? He keeps trying to escape our marriage!”

Dazai bolted toward him. “Chuuya! Stop! People will get the wrong idea!”

Chuuya smirked. “There’s no wrong idea, shitty Dazai. We’re married. You are my husband.”

Dazai shoved him aside like he might catch feelings by osmosis.

Chuuya turned to a passing waitress with a pleasant smile. “Have you met my husband? He’s this shitty piece of fish right here.”

The waitress giggled while Dazai groaned.

 

On the far end of the tent, Akutagawa leaned toward Atsushi and muttered while pointing toward the new newlyweds.

“Marriage changes people…”

Atsushi sighed. “Usually not within ten minutes, though…”

 

Mori raised his glass toward Chuuya, entirely pleased, Fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose, resigned to the absurdity and dwelled into Dazai facing the consequences for once. 

Dazai knelt beside Mori. “Mori-san, undo this!”

Mori, unmoved, sipped his wine. “Undo true love? Impossible. Cheers, Dazai-kun.”

As the sun began to rise the music faded into mellow jazz. Fukuzawa stood near the altar, hands behind his back. 

“It’s time to wrap this up. Everyone, please… leave the premises while still being capable of walking.”

Mori sighed, satisfied. “Fine. I suppose two weddings, one raccoon defection, and a possible international incident is a full day.” He raised his glass. “This wedding is concluded. Go home before I start performing emergency surgeries.”

At the entrance, Atsushi was supporting Akutagawa, who had fallen asleep mid-snark and was muttering, “Rashomon... demonic confetti...”

Chuuya was dragging Dazai, who was “too emotionally broken” to walk.

“You’re faking it,” Chuuya grumbled.

“I’ve lost everything... my freedom... my singlehood... that raccoon...” Dazai wept dramatically.

Tachihara and Kenji were being wheeled out in a wheelbarrow while singing a dramatic duet.

Gin and Kyōka were calmly packing leftover wine and suspiciously labeled fireworks into a trunk marked “Celebration Kit.”

And a final shot is taken. A blurry, half-crooked group photo taken by Karl.
Some people were upside down. Mori was holding a Port Mafia tiny flag. Chuuya and Dazai were mid-argument, Akutagawa looked deadpan into the camera, Atsushi was glowing with joy. Gin holded Higuchi’s drunk corpse, Tachihara made bunny ears over Hirotsu’s head, Fukuzawa was leaving, Yosano was holding scissors and Ranpo was already eating someone else’s cake.

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Atsushi’s hair was damp with steam, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he slouched lower into the onsen. Snow fell like powdered sugar over the steaming surface, disappearing the moment it touched the water. The view was breathtaking. The mountains, the pine trees, the peacefulness of not being chased by assassins or wedding planners.

 

“I can’t believe you packed your battle coat,” Atsushi mumbled, squinting at the black fabric coiled like a sleeping snake on a nearby bench. “We’re on a honeymoon. Who are you going to fight? The raccoons?”

“I don’t trust secluded mountain lodges,” Akutagawa replied, seated perfectly upright like he was still at a mission briefing. His hair was pinned back with a plain black clip, a towel folded neatly over his head. “And a raccoon was a total menace at the wedding.”

“You mean Edgar’s raccoon? He led a conga line, Ryuu. That’s not a crime...”

“It could have been.”

 

Atsushi stifled a laugh and lazily splashed water in his direction.

Akutagawa scowled, flinching like he’d been personally insulted. “You dare initiate combat during our union retreat?”

“Union retreat?! Oh my god.” Atsushi leaned back with a groan. “You can call it a honeymoon, you know?”

Akutagawa looked away, ears pink. “…Honeymoon sounds indecent.”

Atsushi giggled amused by the look of his husband flustering over the word.

 

“Well, you literally tackled me into the snow two hours ago because you thought I looked ‘kidnapable.’”

“…You looked very kidnapable.”

“You carried me across the path like I was a stolen briefcase!”

“I was proving a point. And also… you weren’t wearing proper footwear.”

 

A beat.

 

“I was wearing boots!”

“Slippery boots.”

 

They lapsed into silence again, the steam curling around them. Akutagawa’s expression softened just slightly as he watched snow gather on Atsushi’s shoulder.

“You’re steaming,” Akutagawa muttered.

“We’re in a hot spring, Ryuu...” Atsushi's cheeks were blushing over the heat.

“…And also emotionally,” he added, lips twitching.

 

Atsushi tossed a towel at his face.

Akutagawa peeled it off slowly, dramatically, like a betrayed ghost. “Assault! On our honeymoon!”

“You’ll live.” Atsushi responded, laughing.

 

There was a moment where they just sat together with their legs brushing under the water, the tension melting into the warmth and ridiculousness of it all. Then Atsushi grinned.

“Hey, Ryuu?”

“…What?”

“You can smile, you know. No one’s going to report you for it.”

Akutagawa’s expression twitched again. A flicker of something dangerous. He inched closer.

“You smile first.”

Atsushi sighed. “I did! Three times already!”

“…One was a smirk. The other was you laughing at me.” Akutagawa growled.

“Oh my god,” Atsushi muttered again, face red with steam and amusement. “We’re going to survive the Mafia, the Guild, and a wedding, but die arguing about smiles in a hot tub.”

Akutagawa raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve died in weirder ways.”

Atsushi laughed, loud and bright, Akutagawa was finally making jokes about those times. And he was now sharing this intimate retreat with him. About a week ago he would still had to beg him for a shower, and now there he was, beside him, with very, very little amount of fabric over him, just relaxing.

They clinked their teacups together. And for once, there was no war, no chaos, just warmth, teasing, and the ridiculous joy of learning how to be alone together.

 

Later that evening, the steam long behind them, the two found themselves wrapped in oversized yukata robes and tucked under a massive heated futon beside a sliding door that opened onto the snow-covered balcony. Outside, the moonlight caught in the untouched drifts of snow like silver ink, the world silent and soft. 

Inside: not so silent.

 

“You stole the warmer blanket,” Akutagawa accused flatly, arms crossed over his chest. He was sitting stiffly against the futon like a displeased spirit haunting a too-modern hotel.

Atsushi, buried in said blanket, blinked. “You said you don’t get cold.”

“I don’t.” 

Atsushi accused him lifting an eyebrow. “Then why do you want the blanket?” 

“That’s irrelevant.” Akutagawa growled.

 

A pause.

 

“…Do you want to share it?” Atsushi offered opening a spot under the blankets.

“No.”

“Then-” Atsushi got more comfortable and wrapped himself with them.

“…Yes.” Akutagawa adminted blushing faintly.

Atsushi huffed out a laugh and flipped the edge open. “Come on. Before you die of pride exposure.”

 

Akutagawa scowled at him, hesitated a second longer, then crawled under the blanket with the speed and dignity of a sulking cat. His feet were ice-cold and Atsushi yelled.

 

“Are you a corpse? What is wrong with your toes?!”

“I was surveying our surroundings.”

“In sandals?”

“It builds character.”

Atsushi sighed. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

Akutagawa froze.

“…You said that casually.”

“Should I take it back?”

 

Akutagawa’s face was unreadable in the low light. Then, finally, he leaned in, still not quite touching, but close enough that Atsushi could feel the press of his sleeve and the tentative weight of him against his shoulder.

 

“Keep it,” he said softly, diverting his gaze.

Atsushi turned his face just enough to bury his smile in Akutagawa’s hair.

“You’re terrible at this,” he mumbled.

“And yet you proposed to me,” Akutagawa countered.

Atsushi snapped. “I did not-! You hit me with the ring, Ryuu. You proposed.”

“Yet you said yes.” Akutgawa gave him a very slight smirk.

“You’re lucky I was concussed.” Atsushi scowled.

 

Silence again, but this one warm and easy. The blanket was toasty now, snow still falling outside. Akutagawa gradually leaned closer, until his head rested against Atsushi’s shoulder, one of his hands buried in Atsushi’s sleeve like it got there on accident and no one should comment on it.

 

After a few minutes, Atsushi yawned.

“You’re not cold anymore?”

Akutagawa’s voice was barely a murmur. “No. You’re warm.”

“Still want to fight about the blanket?”

“…Shut up.”

Atsushi laughed and kissed the crown of his head.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, beneath the soft glow of the lantern and layers of shared warmth, they finally slept.

 

Together.

 

The snow had slowed outside the window, coating the trees in delicate frost. Morning sunlight slanted into the private onsen suite, golden and quiet. The futon was warm, the air crisp, and the room smelled faintly of cedar, hot springs, and something… delicious.

Akutagawa blinked awake.

There was no Atsushi.

There was, however, a very obvious cold spot in the futon where Atsushi had once been, and all of the blankets had been hoarded to Akutagawa’s side like a dragon’s treasure.

He sat up slowly, groggy and vaguely triumphant.

"Victory…" he thought. "The blankets are mine."

That was when the door slid open.

Atsushi stepped in, hair tousled, wearing a loose yukata and carrying a small breakfast tray. On it were perfectly shaped onigiri, miso soup, pickled daikon, and sweet tamagoyaki.

His expression was a bit too calm. “You stole all the blankets.”

Akutagawa blinked at him like a guiltless feral raccoon. “You didn’t say it was a contested item.”

“That’s not how marriage works.” Atsushi warned,

Akutagawa cross his arms triumphally. “I slept better than I have in years.”

“Oh, did you?” A shadow casted over Atsushi's eyes, he calmly set the tray down.

 

Then,

without warning,

lunged.

 

“Wha-? Jinko-?!” Akutagawa yelped as Atsushi tackled him back down onto the futon, one knee pinning him in place while skilled fingers found a spot just under his ribs.

Akutagawa jerked violently. “Atsushi-!”

“You know what this is?” Atsushi said sweetly, still tickling mercilessly.

“NoO! Stop it-!”

“This is called justice.” Atsushi grinned totally drunk on power.

“I’ll destroy you,” Akutagawa snarled, but it came out as a hiccup-laced wheeze between helpless laughs. “T-th-This is beneath you-!”

“You’re the one who declared blanket war at 2 a.m.!”

“I conquered!”

Atsushi tickled harder.

Akutagawa let out a very undignified squeak.

 

Eventually, mercy was granted, but only after the futon was a tangled battlefield and Akutagawa was pink-faced, breathless, and trying to hide his smile in Atsushi’s shoulder.

They laid there for a moment, limbs tangled, Atsushi smug and victorious.

Akutagawa mumbled, “This was unnecessary. I would’ve accepted a diplomatic pillow.”

“Oh no. You declared war,” Atsushi grinned. “You got war.”

 

---

 

(First Camera Room)

Akutagawa sits with his arms crossed, hood up trying to hide his face.

“It was a strategic acquisition. I am not to be blamed for securing thermal dominance over the weretiger.”

 

(Second Camera room)

Atsushi grinned with a forced offended face.

“He looked so pleased with himself when I woke up freezing. It was either tickle him or stuff snow down his yukata.”

 

---

 

Outside, the snowfall had picked up again. Slow, delicate flakes drifting like feathers across the forest and the private open air onsen was quiet, framed by rocks and trees glazed with white. Steam rose from the mineral water in soft plumes, curling into the cold air like sighs.

Atsushi leaned back in the hot spring with a satisfied breath, arms stretched out, silver hair damp and cheeks flushed. Across from him, Akutagawa sat with his arms resting on the stones at his sides, sleeves rolled up, the faint pink still clinging to his face from earlier tickle-related humiliation.

 

He looked like he was trying very hard to not look content.

 

“You’re still sulking,” Atsushi said, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“I am recovering,” Akutagawa muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Tickling is a dishonorable act.”

“You hoarded all the blankets.” Atsushi scowled.

Akutagawa remained with deadpan expression. “I’m being blamed.”

“It was cold, Ryuu.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, snow whispering down around them. Steam curled around their shoulders. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped once, then fell silent again.

 

"…Thank you for breakfast,” Akutagawa said, quietly. “The onigiri’s were… soft.”

Atsushi blinked, then gave a soft, bashful laugh. “That’s the first time you’ve complimented my cooking without making a comment about poison.”

Akutagawa's cheek turned faintly pink. “I assumed it would be safe this time. We’re legally bound now.”

Atsushi choked back another laugh and pushed off the stone wall, slowly wading closer through the water until he stopped in front of Akutagawa. His smile softened.

“Seriously though… this is nice.”

Akutagawa looked up at him, eyes catching snowflakes on the lashes. His voice dropped to a hush.

 

"…You’re nice.”

 

That stunned Atsushi for a moment.

Then,

 

“Well, if you’re going to be that honest-” he slid into Akutagawa’s side, water rippling, “-I guess I’ll forgive your crimes against blanket law.”

“Your forgiveness is noted,” Akutagawa muttered, allowing Atsushi's body to lean over his own.

His hand ghosted under the water until it found Atsushi’s.

 

They sat like that for a while, side by side, steam curling around them and snow dusting the stone edges. It was peaceful. Strangely quiet, strangely theirs.

 

Eventually, Akutagawa tilted his head and murmured, "…You have a snowflake on your nose.”

Atsushi blinked. “I do?”

Before he could wipe it away, Akutagawa leaned in, barely, just enough, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

The snowflake melted instantly.

Atsushi turned approximately fourteen shades of pink.

 

---

 

(First Camera Room)

Atsushi glows, flustered in the wooden chair, moving nervously side to side

“He kissed my nose. What was I supposed to do, explode?”

 

(Second camera room)

Akutagawa sints calmly, unfazed.

“It was an effective move. The snowflake is no longer a threat.”

 

---

 

The snow hadn’t stopped, but now it clung like icing to the trees. The air inside the small mountain inn was warm and quiet, filled with the faint scent of tatami, cedar, and roasted barley.

Atsushi emerged first, hair still damp from the onsen, wrapped in a soft beige yukata with tiny embroidered tigers on the sleeves. He blinked in the golden light of the room, then began setting out the tea with careful hands, practiced movements.

Akutagawa followed soon after. His black yukata was plain, but perfectly folded. He paused by the door, watching Atsushi for a moment.

 

“You move like you’ve lived here forever,” Akutagawa said, sitting opposite him.

Atsushi handed him a cup. “Guess I just like quiet places.”

 

A pause.

 

Akutagawa accepted the tea with both hands, not meeting his eyes. “We should get one. A quiet place.”

Atsushi froze mid-sip, eyebrows lifting. “You mean, like a vacation?”

“I meant to live in-” Akutagawa sipped his tea.

 

A beat.

 

“-Not permanently. But… when the city becomes too loud.”

Atsushi looked down at his tea, steam rising, cheeks warming for a reason that had nothing to do with temperature.

“I’d like that,” he said softly. “Maybe somewhere by the mountains.”

Akutagawa didn’t answer right away, but he nodded once. A promise sealed with steam and silence.

 

They drank in companionable quiet. The fire crackled and for now, they were completely alone. No missions. No agencies. No mafia.

 

Just them.

 

Atsushi finally broke the silence. “Ryuu.”

“Hm?”

“I like being married to you.”

Akutagawa’s ears went red.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I am… also tolerating it well.”

Atsushi snorted.

The firelight flickered across their joined shadows.

 

Later, as snow continued falling outside, they’d fall asleep pressed together under thick futon, sharing one pillow, their hands tangled beneath the blanket.

 

And maybe -just maybe- Atsushi would whisper, half-asleep:

 

“Let’s build a quiet life.”

 

 

Notes:

I'm sorry if it's not as chaotic as the later ones, but I'm actually really proud of this fluff pause

Chapter 5

 

It was 9 am on a monday, and for the first time in years, Dazai Osamu was fully awake carrying a bunch of paperwork under his right arm. 

He stormed into city hall like a man on a mission, or more accurately, like a man trying to escape the consequences of his own decisions. 

With his coat covering his head and the face expression of a glamorous fugitive, Dazai slammed a stack of crumpled papers onto the Civil Official desk. 

“I demand an immediate annulment of my extremely unauthorized marriage to a disgusting slug.”

The Civil Official didn’t even look up from his coffee, and just took a quick glace over the paperwork in fron of him.

“Ah, you’re one from the Nakahara-Dazai couple. Congratulations.” He sipped his coffee entirely unamused.

“DON’T CONGRATULATE ME!” Dazai screeched. “UNDO ME!”

Still unfazed, the Civil Official raised an eyebrow. “That was the ‘Disaster Wedding,’ right? It’s been declared a cultural heritage event. You’ll need mayoral approval for an annulment.”

Dazai blinked. “Cultural herit- WHAT?! That was a hostage situation, not culture!”

The Civil Official shrugged. “That sounds like Yokohama’s local culture to me.”

One hour later, Dazai barged into the mayor’s office, waving papers like a mad preacher. 

“Mayor-san! this legal nightmare must come to an end!”

The mayor turned around slowly in his chair, fingers steepled, but in front of him was Ougai Mori, seated on the Mayor’s Desk.

Dazai’s blood drained from his face. “Of course- ”

Mori gave a gracious smile. “The first to move is the first to win. Congratulations again, Dazai-kun.”

 

Dazai slumped on the Mayor office’s steps like a drowned rat, existentially defeated. Chuuya sat down beside him, all smug warmth and casual cruelty.

“Ready to admit defeat?”

Dazai exhaled through gritted teeth.

 

 

---

 

(Camera Room)

Dazai looked ten years older, wrapped in his coat using it as a scarf.

“Never joke-propose at a Mafia wedding.”

 

 

---

 

On Tuesday morning, a street banner was unfurled across downtown Yokohama, stretching over several lanes of traffic. It read, in large, cheerful print:

“CONGRATULATIONS TO DAZAI & CHUUYA – YOKOHAMA’S FAVORITE CULTURAL LANDMARK!”

Dazai stared up at it, dead-eyed, as if the banner itself had betrayed him.

 

But the real blow came three days later, on Wednesday, when Dazai sat at a quiet outdoor café, sipping coffee with the air of a man reclaiming his freedom. The sun was out, the cappuccino was perfect and a cute waitress approached him.

His eyes sparkled as a fox recognizing a wandering pray, then smiled charmingly. “Ah, hello~ You know, your smile is exactly what my lonely afternoon needed.”

The waitress smiled back, then tilted her head. “Wait a second… Aren’t you…?”

Dazai leaned forward, prepared to grab her hands. “A secret admirer? or perhaps... your future soulmate?”

Her eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh my god! You’re from the Wedding! The ‘Cultural Heritage Couple,’ right?!”

Dazai’s entire body froze.

“What?”

The waitress eagerly pulled out her phone. “Yokohama’s official socialmedia account posted about you!”

“I’m not married, this is just a collective hallucination.”

She looked at him  disgusted. “Anyway, I don’t flirt with married men.”

She hummed a happy tune as she walked away.

Dazai collapsed face-down onto the table.

By Thursday, Dazai was faced with realization. It was something he hadn’t considered before, but as one of his many marriage related paperworks stated, he was granted one -very- interesting advantage. 

At 4 pm Dazai kicked open the front door of Chuuya’s penthouse with the swagger of a man who had read the marriage laws of Yokohama and realized something horrifying: he had rights now.

“Home sweet home~!” he sang, wheeling in a suitcase plastered with heart-shaped ‘Just Married’ stickers he had not put there himself.

The security system chirped. And Chuuya, unfortunately, wasn’t home.

Which meant the coast was clear.

Within the first half hour, Dazai had reorganized the wine cellar adding cheap wine, stocked the bathroom with three industrial crates of medical-grade bandages and installed eight framed photos of himself in the hallway.

“Chuuya said I never smile, this proves otherwise.”

The sink cabinet wouldn’t close properly anymore, not with all the gauze stuffed inside.

By 6 pm, he was lounging dramatically across Chuuya’s leather couch, eating the last of the imported cheese and drinking Chuuya’s wine directly from the bottle.

A small placard had been duct-taped to the front door: Nakahara-Dazai Family

When Chuuya opened the door of his own apartment around 7:30 pm, took one look around and stopped dead. The door mat was changed and the new one read: Love lives here.

Framed Dazai photos lined the wall, and there was a really annoying humming his ear wished wasn't there. The air smelled like red wine, his red wine.

The humming came from the kitchen, and as soon he put a foot inside, he saw something really close to sleep parallysis hallucinations: Dazai was wearing one of Chuuya’s silk robes and eating strawberries from a crystal bowl humming the Wedding March.

“You don’t live here,” Chuuya said menancely, one word from snapping.

“Oh, but legally…” Dazai stood and twirled, arms outstretched. “I do.”

“No, you don’t-” Chuuya growled, careful not to let the rage he felt in the moment to tear his own apartment to the ground.

“Section 38B of the Yokohama Emergency Cultural Protection Act states that all recognized cultural unions are entitled to shared residence privileges, tax advantages, and joint access to the mini-fridge.”

“There is no 38B-” Chuuya marched into the kitchen, opened the fridge with fear, only to find it filled with crab cans and post-it notes that said Dazai’s: Do Not Touch.

“Wanna see what I did to your bathroom?” Dazai asked brightly.

Chuuya visibly aged ten years in two seconds.

 

“You filled the towel cabinet with bandages?!” Chuuya shrieked, panicked.

“I need options, Chuuya~”

Chuuya began gasping deeply for more air. “There are four shelves of nothing but gauze!”

“Different textures,” Dazai replied calmly. “For different moods.”

“There’s a photo of you taped to the mirror!”

“So you’ll never miss your pretty husband~”

Chuuya turned slowly. “You realize this is grounds for murder.”

“Ah-ah!” Dazai held up a laminated pamphlet titled ‘Marriage Rights in the Time of Bureaucratic Collapse’ and grinned. “Domestic homicide voids your pension.”

Chuuya took a very long breath through his nose, then exhaled. “You want a war, Dazai?”

“I thought you might be comically upset, but this is such a big place for a tiny little slug!”

Chuuya knocked him to the bathroom tiles.

 

Friday wasn’t easy either, it began with a sock. Not just any sock, but a really nice black one, clearly not Dazai’s, that had been lovingly folded and left in the center of Chuuya’s pillow with a note that read:

“Your taste is exquisite. I wore it on my hand like a puppet.” – Your Husband

There was no air left in Chuuya’s lungs. Only rage.

He stormed down the hallway barefoot, his robe billowing like a battle flag, and found Dazai in the living room sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, deep in conversation with one of the framed photos of himself.

“You have to admit,” Dazai was saying, “our lighting really brings out my eyes.”

“OUT,” Chuuya snapped.

Dazai blinked. “Of the conversation?”

“OF THE BEDROOM. OF THE HOUSE. OF THE PLANET.”

“Oh, my darling little slug...” Dazai stood, clutching his heart with a dramatic stagger. “We’re married. Kicking me out would be spousal abandonment. Think of the optics!”

“Optics?” Chuuya hissed. “There’s a photo of you in the fridge, Dazai. Why is there a photo of you in the fridge?!”

“For when I get lonely eating your food.”

Chuuya’s jaw twitched. “You’re going to the laundry room.”

“The what now?”

“You heard me. You want shared residence? You get shared residence. But not the bedroom. Not the couch. Not my wine. You can sleep in the laundry room, that’s your room, that’s the Dazai area.”

There was a pause.

“…Do I at least get the good detergent?”

“No. You get the off-brand one that smells like your old dorm”

 

Dazai lay sprawled on a folded towel beside the washing machine, cocooned in a pile of stolen bandages and passive-aggressively humming the wedding march once more. From across the penthouse, he could still hear Chuuya slamming every single cabinet door on purpose.

Still.

 

He smirked.

 

Because even banished and surrounded by dryer sheets, he was still legally married.

 

And tomorrow morning?

 

For saturday, he was going to install another framed photo in Chuuya’s closet.

 

Just to keep things fresh scented.

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading "Say Yes to the Mess" !
This is the final chapter for this work, but if you liked this, please go and read the rest of the works on my series "Mafia TV" and this deranged AU
aaand thank you again for laughing with me <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Mafia TV