Name: Tanya Nicknames:none Zodiac sign: pisces Height: 178cm Orientation: straight Ethnicity: russian Favourite fruit: apricot, grapefruit
Favourite season: summer Favourite book:
pride and prejudice by jane austen
roses bc i’m cliche af
vanilla, coffee, smell after the rain
Favourite animal: cats and dogs Coffee, tea, or hot cocoa: latte Average sleep hours: idk like 6 hours? 6-7 Cat or dog person: both Favourite fictional character: i have so many, could be sansa stark Number of blankets you sleep with: one really big one Dream trip: iceland Blog created: idk, 2014 or 2015 Number of followers:
enough to be thankful :)
So when I messaged you on anon back then to assure you that I was working on this, I was actually planning ahead to write with a Christmas event I’d be going to in Japan! I’ve just come back from Tokyo (I literally finished this on the plane lol) and of course I visited Yokohama, so rest assured that the following events are as accurate as it gets to the real thing. Everything in the setting of the story is real - the stalls, the lights, the food and drink, even the bells towards the end, all currently exist in the Red Brick Warehouses at Yokohama.
Pictures taken by my sister when we visited Yokohama yesterday ^-^
Without further ado, enjoy! And I apologise if it’s too long haha AND AGAIN, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
The Christmas Market at Yokohama Red Brick Warehouses was not a large affair in comparison to other countries’ celebrations, like in Berlin or whatnot, but it was a festival for couples, families, and friends to enjoy nevertheless.
There were German-style stalls that sold all kinds of snacks and treats, like baumkuchen cake and churros and hot drinks ranging from cocoa to lattes; and some that sold mugs with Santa and his reindeer dancing across the translucent surface, wooden snowmen that could be hung on Christmas trees, baubles dotted with snowflakes.
Strings of lights and silver orbs looped and spun around pine trees set up between the stalls, and a wooden podium sat at the end of the Market with a pair of bronze bells atop the stage with ropes dangling from them, and the air was filled with Christmas music and laughter and the sound of bells.
And this was where the story began, with Chuuya running into Dazai by complete coincidence - although with every minute that passed, Chuuya was becoming more and more convinced that it wasn’t coincidence after all.
“Can you please quit fucking following me around?”
Dazai stuck his bottom lip out, as close to a pouting expression as he would ever get. “I’m not…I’m simply enjoying myself!”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. Kouyou had sent him here on the pretence of a mission to patrol the area, but everyone knew her plan was just to let him wind down a bit. No one would object to the orders from one Port Mafia executive to another, and so Chuuya gratefully took the opportunity to come and check out the Christmas Market.
But now he was seriously considering heading back, if it meant possibly getting caught spending time with a traitor of the Port Mafia. One who clearly could still predict Chuuya’s scheduling and mannerisms.
“You do realise you being here is going to get us both in trouble?” Chuuya snapped.
Dazai looked sulky. “We haven’t had a Christmas together since I left the Mafia. Can’t we hang out just for a while?”
Chuuya hesitated for a moment. He was right, of course, and despite his brain telling him to refuse and leave, his heart missed the times when he and Dazai weren’t sworn enemies. Perhaps Dazai did too.
He glanced to the left, and then to the right. And at last, he sighed.
“Just a while,” he said.
They stayed together for close to two, maybe even three, hours, at the Market. Dazai darted to every other stall in excitement like a hyperactive child, and Chuuya followed more slowly, careful not to draw attention to himself.
He still watched Dazai, feeling almost jealous of his carefree nature and easygoing happiness. By the time it was almost dark, Chuuya found himself sitting across from Dazai at one of the tables set out for festival-goers, a large array of treats ranging from fries and nuggets to cake to German sausage in front of the brown-haired man, and a single warm cup of mulled wine in front of Chuuya, who had turned down Dazai’s offers to share the food and simply wanted something to warm his hands with.
Chuuya wished he could be anything like him, to have barely a care in the world and enjoy himself to the fullest. He was glad that Dazai was too busy stuffing his face with food to notice that he had been staring at him a little too wistfully, a little too longingly; and honestly he knew he’d never hear the end of it if Dazai had met his gaze then.
Dazai pushed aside an empty plate littered with crumbs, let out an unsightly burp, and asked, “You sure you don’t want anything?”
Chuuya shook his head.
Dazai shrugged and pulled another plate, this time of sliced steak heaped with barbecue sauce, towards himself. “If you say so.”
Okay, maybe watching Dazai devour his food like a monster was making Chuuya a little bit hungry. The food must be good if Dazai was eating it nonstop.
He was about to open his mouth to ask for some of the food when Dazai piped up, “Man, this takes amazing - Chuuya, you should totally try it!” and thrust the plate of meat towards him, and in the process knocking over Chuuya’s cup, still full of wine.
The hot liquid spilled onto the table and splashed over Chuuya’s chest and lap, making him yelp as the drink scalded him. He stood up abruptly, backing away from the table and its dripping contents, swearing. “Jesus Christ, Dazai, what the fuck!”
“Ahhh I’m so sorry Chuuya!” Was it possible for Dazai to sound anything but apologetic? Yes, yes it was. “I didn’t mean to, it was an accident! Here, I’ve got tissue…I’m really sorry for ruining your outfit!”
“Fucking hell, man,” Chuuya grumbled, shrugging off his jacket - God, it was going to smell like this for the rest of the goddamn day. “Can you please be more careful for once in your life? Ugh, this feels disgusting—”
Angrily Chuuya flipped out his jacket, and removed the vest he wore, leaving just the white dress shirt on, and he undid the top button to let himself breathe easier, until he realised that Dazai was staring at him, a grin playing around his lips as he took in Chuuya’s exposed throat and collarbone, his rolled-up sleeves and the soaked state of his shirt that was just a little too see-through. “Aw, Chuuya, if you wanted to take off your clothes for me, you could have waited until we got back to my place.”
“I’m literally going to fucking beat you up.”
After kicking Dazai in the shins so hard that he would surely not be able to follow him to the bathroom for any malicious reasons, Chuuya made his way inside the Warehouse area to dry his clothes off.
He was almost sure that Dazai had done that on purpose, and his end goal had just been to see Chuuya shirtless - or something along the lines of that. Not that there was much to show, considering the number of scars on his body that remained of all the times he had used Corruption. Dazai knew that.
Hanging out with Dazai so casually after all that had happened between them was surreal, even absurd. It seemed like after the events of the Mafia and the Agency’s alliance against the Guild, where he and Dazai fought against that Lovecraft guy, they’d somehow come to a resolution of sorts. Perhaps what the Agency’s president said was true - despite their differences, both the Mafia and the Agency loved Yokohama. And to that end, they both needed to exist to protect the city.
Plus, that fight proved that Chuuya still trusted Dazai, when things turned for the worst. He proved to himself that he still trusted him.
Chuuya returned outside to find Dazai once his clothes had dried - still smelling slightly of wine, and his white shirt had reddish splotches on it, but it couldn’t be helped - and realised that it was already dark and the Christmas lights were on. Dazai was not at the table and the food and spilled wine had been cleared away, and Chuuya felt something like a stab of disappointment that he’d been left behind, again.
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said out loud to himself, almost slowly, and was about to turn and leave when he heard someone yelling, “Chuuya! CHUUYA! OVER HERE!!”
He felt his heart skip a beat - he spun around and saw Dazai standing atop the podium where the pair of bronze bells were, waving madly at him. “CHUUYA! I’M HERE! GET OVER HERE!”
Chuuya suppressed a laugh, too aware of how people at the Market were staring at him and at the eccentric-looking man leaping up and down on the wooden stage. Hurriedly he lowered his hat to cover his face as he made his way towards Dazai, hissing, “What are you doing? Stop that, you’re making a fool of yourself.”
Dazai pouted, again. It was kind of cute, actually. “You were taking too long, so I went exploring. I hope you’ve finished with your manly business, whatever it was—” Chuuya almost choked on his own spit at the implication that Dazai was making. “—but look! Two bells! I’d look stupid ringing both by myself, so I waited for you!”
“And that’s why you’ve been holding up the bells for so long instead of letting other people go first?” Chuuya saw a couple out of the corner of his eye, the woman looking appropriately pissed off and gesturing irritably to her hapless boyfriend.
“We’ll make it quick, come on.” Dazai’s eyes shone. “You take the other bell, and we’ll pull them together, ‘kay?”
Just like a kid, Chuuya thought, and sighed, although he was smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”
Both of them took ahold of one rope each, and Dazai counted, “One, two…three!” And together they pulled, and the bells jerked and the resounding clangs boomed through the night Market, making Chuuya’s ears ring as he let go of the rope, and yet Dazai was still pulling on his bell, laughing as the sound grew louder and louder, until Chuuya was sure that the whole of Yokohama would hear it.
That night, when the Market emptied and Chuuya had gone back home to the Mafia, Dazai returned to the Warehouses, walking slowly up the steps to the wooden podium, shining his phone’s light on the engraving between the two bells on the stage, smiling at the kanji written there that Chuuya had completely overlooked, the one sign that would definitely have driven Chuuya away from the bells out of embarrassment.
“Lovers, huh?” Dazai murmured. “How I wish it was so.”
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Starbucks
Not a creature was stirring or causing a ruckus;
The CDs were placed on the counter with care,
In hopes that Clement Moore soon would be there;
The baristas were busy arranging the breads;
While visions of steaming milk danced in their heads;
And the barista in her apron, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s chat,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the counter I flew like a flash,
Tore open the pastry case, knocked over the trash.
The moon on the crest of the sidewalks and lights,
Put espresso and lattes and scones in my sights,
When what did my eyes see out the front door,
But a miniature sleigh where there sat Clement Moore!
Clement C. Moore went up to the counter,
And he spoke in a voice that grew so much louder.
More rapid than eagles his orders they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Lattes! now, Espresso! now, Teavana Iced Teas!
On, Frappes! on, Cocoa! on, Eggnog lattes!
To the end of the counter! to the seats by the wall!
Now ventis! now grandes! now coffee for all!”
As leaves that before the espresso machine fly,
When they meet with soy milk, and mount to the sky;
So up to the blenders the baristas they flew
With cups full of coffee, and Clement Moore, too-
And then, in a twinkling, I saw in a flash
The drinks were all done with naught but a crash.
As I drew in my head, and was just sitting down,
Clement Moore walked up with a leap and a bound.
He was dressed all in wool, from his feet to his vest,
And he had Starbucks’ logo displayed on his chest,
A bundle of drinks he held on a tray,
And he looked like a barista just starting his day.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His drinks filled our noses, his scone had a cherry!
His box full of muffins was drawn up with a bow,
And the whipped cream on his drink was as white as the snow;
The stump of a straw he held tight in his teeth,
And the juice had now covered the whole floor beneath;
He had a latte and a mug of cappuccino
That shook when he laughed, like the coast with El Niño.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old poet,
And I laughed when I saw him, though I was eating a donut;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And bought all the CDs; then turned with a jerk,
And slurping the last of his huge cup of joe,
And giving a nod, out the door he did go;
He sprang to the sidewalk, to the barista he waved,
And about the great service he continued to rave.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of view—
“Happy Christmas to all, I bought coffee for you!”