Work Text:
Man, Queen's Square sure was crowded today, wasn't it?
I chose to have lunch early at my usual hole-in-the-wall place by the port today to avoid the noon rush. I get my daily dose of legwork, I have an excuse for clocking back in late, and they serve fresh crabs. What's not to like?
In any case, it's the reason why I have no idea what the fuss there was all about.
I get back to the office at two in the afternoon, and am instantly greeted by a mountain of paper bags from UNIQLO at the doorstep. Inside, Yosano is talking about her latest haul to Ranpo and Kenji, who seem mildly interested, at least.
Oh, no wonder. That generic-as-hell clothing chain does come out with good designs once in a while. Some of them make for very good jokes, in fact. I had thought of gifting Chuuya one of those chihuahua-themed ones in baby-size way back when, but I didn't have the money yet. Still don't, for that matter. Shame.
No sooner had I managed to tiptoe my way out of the rough tumble of bags and brightly-colored fabrics than I felt a subtle chill down my spine, before a soft thing suddenly hits my back. I turn to Kunikida, who immediately withdraws his hand from its raised position in the air and continues typing away with both hands once more.
I immediately pick up the paper bag that had landed right at my heel and unwrap it with mild interest. Inside is a salmon-pink shirt wrapped in clear plastic, again with the UNIQLO tag on the collar. The price tag is still attached to it; I suspect it's something Kunikida had intended for this purchase, given his usual tendencies on proper social conduct, among many other things.
The front of the shirt contains a simple statement written in English: "Casually Avoiding Responsibilities," written in all-caps, on a caricature of a mahogany board. Below it is a chibi crab drawn in the same caricature style as the board, shrugging and rolling its eyes at whoever is reading it.
I purse my lips, looking back at Kunikida. He raises an eyebrow at me as if in expectation, so I turn the shirt over. The same crab is there at the bottom left corner, eyes downcast this time, as if it were regretting its decision to shirk its job. The words "Uh-oh" are written beside it, in the same English typeface.
How cute. And how thoughtful of you, Kunikida, all things considered.
I decide there and then not to give in to whatever it is Kunikida had planned to say by giving me this shirt. I hug it tightly, inhaling the fumes that remained from whatever factory it had come from. "Awwww! To think I'd never see the day my one-and-only partner will give me something special— I was wrong about you!"
I skip over to Kunikida's desk and give him a crushing tight hug for added measure, rubbing the shirt over the skin of his cheek as he tries to push me away. "Get the hell away from me! You're totally missing the point!"
I step behind him just in time to evade the karate chop maneuver he unleashed, and laugh as his hand firmly hits the desk instead. "OW, dammit! You'll pay for this!"
"Nah, I won't," I dismiss the conversation at once, heading for the door. "You love me, after all."
The tail end of Kunikida's angry outbursts is music to my ears, and I am loving every second of it.
-
In the end, I never got to take another look at the shirt until I got home late that evening. No sooner had I gotten back from my “unnecessary coffee break just after an unnecessary detour for lunch” than Kunikida had unceremoniously dropped three stacks of paperwork on my desk: “these require your signature” for the first, “these need to be corrected” for the second, and “these are all blank” for the third.
I’m more than willing to bet it was totally payback for earlier, but I shut up and did as told, lest he chucks another one of those call-out shirts at me again, as much as I love the unexpected attention from him, of all people.
I managed to get through today, at least, so that’s another win, too.
I open the door to my dorm apartment with a satisfied smirk, which immediately turns into a grumpy grimace as I realize my day is still far from over, after all.
Chuuya immediately stands up from his Indian-sit at my entryway, patting away the dust from his behind before boldly crossing his arms. His right hand is clutching a suspiciously-familiar paper bag which I totally know from where it has come, despite his best efforts to hide the label from my view.
I immediately smother his nasal declarations of “I have something for you” with a bandaged hand over his mouth and drag him inside, kicking off my shoes with a flourish after I had kicked the door shut with my foot. “Yeah, yeah I get it, you silly slug,” I placate the grumbles that follow as I seat him across me and make us both weak green tea.
“So,” I prompt him later once we are both settled, with two steaming mugs and the paper bag in question on the low table. I give an exaggerated glance at the crumpled UNIQLO packaging for a few seconds, before returning my eyes on Chuuya’s sulking form.
I raise an eyebrow at him, as if to say, “Go on.” He gets it— he hates that he gets it, but he does.
I relish every amusing second as he slowly unwraps the package himself, revealing the very same shirt that is currently tucked away in the inside compartment of my satchel; I’m only too relieved I had opted to bring one to work today, for whatever reason that ended up not happening.
Chuuya was definitely planning to make fun of me, given that all-too-confident pose only a chibi like him can pull off, but I definitely prefer my Chuuyas squirming and blushing like rich schoolgirls, thank you very much.
I pretend to not have seen the design before, “oooh”-ing and “ahhh”-ing at the very same words and the very same drawings on the shirt that came in the very same size as what Kunikida had given me this afternoon. They’re both off by the same two sizes; I like my house T-shirts in size “L”— that is, “L” for loose.
Those two really are birds of a feather, despite being so different. I guess I do attract certain types of persons to myself, all things considered. I wonder what would happen if those two ever meet.
I’d certainly never hear the end of it, that’s for sure.
After spending some time “admiring” the shirt, as it were, I immediately scoot over to Chuuya’s side and plant sloppy kisses on his cheek as he tries hard to push me away. “Awwww! To think my partner has actually missed me so much to give me such a special gift— I was wrong about you!"
Chuuya struggles to get away from beneath me, but in vain. “Ugh, stop— get the hell away from me, damn it!”
I eventually relent to this, backing away and holding the shirt close to my chest, making a show of sniffing at the very same factory fumes also permeating from it. I’d definitely have to soak both of these with an extra-strength fabric conditioner when I do my laundry, but this is fine for now.
It makes Chuuya facepalm in resignation, as if he’d had more than enough already. I hide my smirk behind the crumpled shirt in my hands; I win again.
“Hope you like it,” he mumbles as if in a drunken slur, cheeks heavily flushed beneath the dim incandescent lighting bathing the rest of my excuse of a living space. He tucks in his knees, too, burying his head between them.
I let him fall asleep like that, taking off his hat and setting it on the rack I had prepared especially for times like these. A thin extra blanket, too, goes over his huddled form, and I smile contentedly as he snores peacefully, the low buzzing sounds he makes absolute music to my ears.
And I am loving every second of it.