019

The mission turned out to be more bark than bite.

Annoying, sure.

Tedious, definitely.

Dangerous? Barely.

The rival organization you and Chuuya were sent to “deal with” had been all bluff and posturing.

Smuggling weapons, getting involved in low-tier politics, trying to push their weight around a region they clearly didn’t have the muscle for.

Not even a single gifted in their inner circle. It was almost laughable.

Almost.

Because what wasn’t funny was how long it dragged on.

Weeks of surveillance, collecting evidence, slowly applying pressure to dismantle their network without drawing international attention.

Weeks of sitting through dry conversations, coded meetings, and false leads.

You took the lead most of the time. Calculating, quiet, unflinching, and Chuuya followed through, equally precise but with a little more flare. The good cop to your own cop.

By the time the last loose end was cleaned up and the final warehouse burned to ash behind you, the sky was smeared with smoke and gold from a setting sun.

You and Chuuya stood side by side, watching flames lick up the edges of the abandoned building.

Seeing the flames disturbed you.

You always had a dislike for fire, for whatever reasons. Sometimes, even scared, an emotion foreign to you unless you were met with flames.

You don't know why. You don't want to know why either, because each time you try to think of the reason, you'd have a headache.

Chuuya cracked his neck.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.”

You didn’t reply.

Chuuya glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “…You think Mori knew?”

You gave the faintest tilt of your head.

“That it’d be easy. That this whole thing was just to get you out of the way for a while.”

You watched the flames a moment longer. “Maybe.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he muttered, then sighed. “Let’s get outta here.”

The two of you ended up at a small café near the harbor.

One of those cozy holes-in-the-wall, where the air smelled of roasted beans and buttered toast, and the old barista greeted everyone like they were family.

You sat at the corner table by the window, steam curling up from the cups placed between you.

Chuuya had ordered for both of you. Something hot, strong, and bitter for you, and something sweeter for himself.

He watched as you took a sip, unreadable as always. You didn’t complain.

“You’re too easy to please,” he muttered.

You blinked slowly. “No. I simply don’t dislike any type of coffee.”

“That’s the same thing.”

You said nothing, but the faintest twitch of your brow suggested otherwise.

He chuckled under his breath and leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Just the occasional clink of ceramic against wood, the hum of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of a local radio.

Then, as you stood and tucked your coat properly, Chuuya blinked. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a shop across the street,” you said. “Keychains.”

Chuuya raised a brow. “That’s… specific.”

You turned, coat rustling, and calmly exited without elaborating.

Chuuya stared after you, then scoffed lightly with a smile, tossing a few bills onto the table and jogging to catch up.

The shop looked like it hadn’t changed in thirty years.

Wood-paneled walls, shelves crammed with trinkets, the air filled with the faint scent of cedar and something vaguely nostalgic.

A bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside.

Chuuya blinked. “This place is kinda cute.”

You were already scanning the shelves, fingers hovering over small racks of charms and pendants.

Every row had its theme. Animals, food, miniature weapons, zodiac signs. And you moved like you had a mental checklist.

One by one, you picked them out:

A sleek silver fox for Mori. Cunning, composed. 

Two antique-style porcelain dolls keychain, one with curled blonde hair, the other with stitched lips. Elise and Q. 

A black cat with sharp yellow eyes for Dazai. Naturally. 

A white swan, delicate and regal. Kouyou. 

A tiny hedgehog keychain, all spikes and solemn eyes. Akutagawa. 

An owl with glasses on. Sada.

And finally… a dog.

Chuuya looked over your shoulder just as your fingers curled around the tiny thing.

It had caramel-colored fur and a little felt hat, its stitched mouth tugged in a small smile.

He stared.

“…A dog?”

You didn’t look at him. “It reminds me of you.”

He blinked, once. “How?”

“Loyal. Fierce. Loud when necessary.” A pause. “Protective.”

Chuuya flushed, pulling his hat lower to cover the way his ears turned red. “Could’ve just said I’m short and barky…”

You glanced at him finally, expression unreadable. “That wasn’t my intention.”

He looked away. “Tch. Whatever.”

But he didn’t stop you from adding it to the little basket of trinkets. Nor did he comment when you paid for all of them with quick efficiency, asking for each to be wrapped in separate colored paper.

As you walked toward the exit, Chuuya glanced back at the shelves.

“Wait.”

You paused.

He stepped toward one of the lower racks, brows furrowed in thought.

After a few seconds, he plucked something out. A small, happy-looking dog keychain with bright eyes and its tongue sticking out.

“This one…” He hesitated, then handed it to you. “Don't question it and take it.”

You stared at it. Then him.

“It looks nothing like me.”

“I never said it looks like you.”

You blinked slowly. Then, after a moment, nodded and accepted it.

Chuuya cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, looking away. “This is only because you picked one out for me. I'm returning the favor.”

“Understood,” you replied flatly.

But you still held onto it.

Later that night, back in the hotel, you sorted the keychains into a neat row on the bedside table.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow from the other bed. “You gonna give those out one by one?”

“When we return.”

“And mine?”

You set the dog keychain on your side of the table. “You’ll get it when the mission is officially over.”

He groaned. “So formal…”

“It’s a souvenir,” you said, tilting your head. “Its purpose is to commemorate the completion of a task.”

“And here I thought it meant something else.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

Chuuya stared for a second. Then scoffed, dragging the blanket up over his head. “Forget it.”

You stared at the lump under the covers, then turned your gaze back to the neat row of keychains. You examined the one he picked for you.

Happy, harmless, smiling.

Your brow furrowed slightly.

Why that one?

The next morning, you left the hotel together with your respective keychains tucked away.

The mission was done. Reports would be sent. A return trip arranged.

But as you walked beside Chuuya through the mist laced streets, you noticed something.

His keychain, the caramel dog, was clipped to the strap of his satchel.

He didn’t mention it. Just walked with that same confident gait, red hair dancing in the breeze, hat pulled low.

You didn’t say anything either.

But your fingers slipped into your coat pocket, brushing the tiny smiling dog he’d picked out.

A part of you wondered—why that expression? Why happy?

You never smiled like that.

Maybe that’s why he chose it.

Something you weren’t, but could be.

Maybe.

One day.

Back in the plane, flying over the sea, Chuuya sat with arms folded, boots propped up lazily.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“…So what’re you gonna tell Mori?”

“The truth,” you said plainly. “Mission accomplished. No real threat.”

“And the part where this whole thing felt like a setup?”

You were silent for a while.

Then, softly. “I’ll leave that part out.”

Chuuya glanced sideways.

“You really don’t care that he might’ve lied?”

You shook your head once. “He’s the boss. My only role is to obey.”

“…Even if it gets you killed?”

“If that’s what he wants.”

Chuuya stared at you, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, without another word, he turned his gaze back to the clouds.

“…You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath.

It came from someone loyal. That's saying something.

You didn’t argue.

But for the first time, your hand rested in your pocket. Not out of habit, but to feel the smiling keychain tucked safely inside.