Chapter Text
Dazai felt horrid. His body was fluctuating between burning and freezing itself, and he knew it was caused by distance from his Hoshi No Tama. That was odd in itself, since masters usually didn’t punish him this way, it was too light in their eyes. Dazai was careful not to reveal that he feared it more than any physical beating, feared losing his ability to think far more than any damage that would inevitably heal.
“Dazai, you gotta drink something.”
Dazai bit his tongue to keep from groaning—they didn’t like when he made noise—as he turned his head to the side.
“Chibi,” he rasped, his vision warping. Right, he was free—he choked on a laugh. He had been free, for so long.
“Oi!”
Dazai winced when Chuuya touched his face, too disoriented to repress it. His stomach turned, his face twisting. He felt like he would throw up any moment, the feeling worse than actually throwing up and getting it over with.
“You thought I did not know?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, he was hallucinating, he couldn’t- he couldn’t react to anything, Chuuya would notice and ask questions.
“You are an open book to me, too easy to read. You are better than others, but I understand you.”
He shivered at the other’s feet, desperately curled into himself.
“Do not worry, I will not tell anyone else. This can be our special thing.”
The other reached down, a gentle hand on his face.
Shuuji trembled, pushing himself backwards, or, trying to. He couldn’t muster the strength to get very far.
“Dazai, you're okay, I- I’m here? It’s okay, you're not there.” Chuuya’s voice was filled with confusion, but the other’s voice held only a sharp amusement.
“Are you trying to get more pets, or get away, Shuuji?”
Dazai couldn’t get his words out, his mind warring between the relief of a cool hand and the knowledge of who’s hand it was.
“Dazai, don’t cry, I- fuck, I don’t know, but you're fine! You're safe!”
Dazai realized he had, in fact, been crying, tears and sweat mixing on his face. Chuuya's words effectively stopped the tears, and Dazai bit his lips together to stop the pathetic sounds, trying to ground himself. He was somewhere, with Chuuya. Were there other people? His heart hammered, he couldn’t be like this in front of people. It was bad enough that he was in front of Chuuya, he couldn’t be seen.
Another hand joined the first on his face, cold hands on his painfully hot cheeks, and he couldn’t help leaning into it, the urge to escape losing itself as the fingers rubbed his face gently, carefully, comfortingly.
“Oh Shuuji,” the other murmured, and Shuuji was too disoriented, lost in pain and a hunger for comfort, to notice the satisfaction in the other’s voice.
It was hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to think. Absolute exhaustion had taken over the flashes of hot and cold, his body covered in pins and needles, every movement bringing the same pain of moving a limb that had fallen asleep. He blinked sluggishly at the red hair in front of him, unable to see the face.
“Do it, Shuuji.”
He couldn’t do more than stare at ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ , then at the other kitsune.
“Please,” the boy whispered, his single tail wrapped around his body as he trembled.
Dazai choked as a blow was delivered to his stomach, holding back any sound of pain.
The read hair had shifted, and Dazai found himself staring at Chuuya.
“Dazai!” Chuuya shouted, too loud, sitting up straight. “You're awake!”
Amazing observation… Dazai couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Are you thirsty?”
Dazai apparently was silent too long, as Chuuya decided for him. Chuuya reached over him, gently helping him sit up. Chuuya frowned at Dazai's pliancy, but Dazai quite literally didn’t have the energy to resist, something that Ⅎy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ had always loved.
There were three kids now, as well as a mother. The kids hid behind her, not noticing the mother’s own trembles as she tried to block them from view with her tails. Shuuji felt sick.
“You know what to do, Shuuji. Just like you did the other boy, Kebin.”
Shuuji felt something hollow in his chest realizing this was the first time he had heard the name of the boy he had killed. At the same time, the mother’s eyes widened, before she snarled at him, her ears’ and tails’ fur on end.
“Just to save your own skin?! He was a kit!” the mother hissed, distraught.
Dazai swallowed. He wasn’t supposed to talk to them. He was only supposed to kill them.
“Dazai?”
Chuuya was holding a cup to his lips. Dazai wished he could roll his eyes, alleviate the worry in Chuuya's eyes. He was fine, he was always fine.
He had to be.
Dazai continued to drift in and out of consciousness, remembering more about Ⅎy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ than he would prefer, having mostly shoved it somewhere deep in his mind, hidden away where it was supposed to remain for eternity. It was almost amusing how good of a move it was for this to be Mori's first ‘experiment’, only because he didn’t know what it would drag up.
“You're selling me?”
Shuuji didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why the most powerful god that had ever owned him was about to sell him to a lesser god, and he didn’t understand why he felt… betrayed?
̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ had told him over and over again that he was special, trained him so that he would not need to deal with dangerous emotions, kept him at his side. He had taught him actual skills, taught him history and math and was even going to teach him how to read. After realizing that Shuuji already knew how to read, he didn’t punish him, instead giving him a reward.
̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ had also tortured him in the ways he most feared. He was punished less often than other masters, something about learning needing mistakes, but each one was worse than anything else. He used Shuuji's true name, not only to him but around others, even going so far as to have Shuuji wear a collar with the name embroidered on it. He claimed it was for training, but the sick sensation Shuuji felt whenever another read the collar or used the name never went away, instead getting stronger each time it happened.
He fed him regularly, gave him a place to sleep and let him wander every so often, if he was good—which he almost always was.
He placed methods of torture in his hands and taught him the ways to inflict pain with kitsune who “weren’t as special” as Shuuji, over and over until Shuuji felt nothing as he broke whatever creature he was told to.
̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ raised his eyebrows.
Shuuji's stomach dropped, and he immediately lowered his gaze, ears flattened. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, “for questioning you.”
He waited. Here was where ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ would decide if he wanted an explanation or not, something unique to his ownership.
“And why was that?”
The green light. “I do not understand how I failed,” he explained. He was allowed to ask questions, he was not allowed to question ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ judgement. “I'm sorry.” It did not matter that he had not meant to question, he had. Excuses were not tolerated, they were merely insults.
“You're of no use to me anymore.”
Shuuji didn’t understand why that hurt him. He didn’t feel attached to his masters, he never had, he never would. Sure, some were better than others, but it had nothing to do with Shuuji being upset that he wasn’t valued, it was just whoever caused him the least pain, and ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ certainly did not fulfil that requirement.
Through the lump in his throat, Shuuji managed, “Yes, master ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ .”
̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ smiled, as though reading Shuuji's thoughts.
Dazai coughed, almost gagging on the knot in his throat. It had been more difficult than he had expected to not blab about the hallucinations during them, so he had had to take more drastic measures. In his flashes of awareness, he taunted Chuuya. Shorty. Dog. Idiot. It really hadn’t taken much before Chuuya had screamed at him to shut up, effectively tying Dazai's tongue.
Now Chuuya was out of the room, Dazai curled on his bed. It smelled of Chuuya, that was the only comfort he currently had, as he buried his face into Chuuya's pillows, inhaling deeply as he rode out the nausea.
The door opened, Chuuya standing there with a scowl. “Mori-san knows what's wrong with you,” he stated bluntly.
Dazai blinked at him, too tired to bother rolling his eyes.
Chuuya snarled, slamming the door behind himself. “You knew?!” he snapped. “What the fuck is it then?!” He sat down beside Dazai and shuffling through the clutter on the nightstand.
Dazai tried to hide a wince. His dog was always loud; it never really bothered him before, but now the shouts bounced around in his head, slamming against his skull and rattling his brain.
“Bastard,” Chuuya grunted, scowling. “You should be all quiet more often, it’s saving me so many damn headaches.”
Dazai managed to frown a little, offended.
Chuuya pulled out a thermometer, shoving it in Dazai's mouth without warning.
Dazai made an upset grunt, glaring at Chuuya, who looked all too pleased with himself.
“What, got a problem?” he asked, grinning. Dazai swore he was going to taunt Chuuya endlessly as soon as this was over. “Too bad you can't speak, huh?” When he tried to take the thermometer out, Dazai bit down on it in spite. Unfortunately, his jaw muscles were similarly weak as the rest of him, and it barely impeded Chuuya. “Fucking idiot,” Chuuya snickered. He looked at the temperature, confusion flashing through his eyes. “How is your temperature changing so much?” he muttered, typing something on his phone.
Of course, now that Dazai was with his dog, said dog had taken over writing reports to Mori, which was just as well, as Dazai thought he was too shaky to manage to write anything, much less form cohesive sentences.
“Are you dizzy?” Chuuya asked.
Dazai thought he would never feel again, the hollowness that ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ had carved into him so all-consuming, never-ending. No matter what Dazai poured into it, it never felt any more whole. He would be stuck like this for the rest of his life.
Did he even want life anymore?
“Oi! Pay attention, shithead!”
Dazai flinched backwards with a whine, eyes squeezing shut as his mind came crashing back.
“What the fuck is up with you? You're fucking hallucinating or something. Mori-san probably wants that in the update…”
Dazai shivered, curling tighter, trying to shrug off the idea that Chuuya was only here because of Mori. It wasn’t true, and Dazai knew it; the chibi was too caring, too worried about others, unlike Dazai, who never had been able to gather true concern for others, except maybe Oda.
“My project with it is finished, so I have no need for it anymore.”
An excited gaze, hungry, dangerous. “I'm honored that you thought of me first, ̴̧̛͔͎̩̰̣͎̥̬͕̻̬͓͎̪͕̆̅̊́͑̋̒̑̑͗̍̈́͗̓͌̌̔͗͋̕͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅℲy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ -dono.”
A smile that no one believed. “Of course.”
Shuuji, for the first time, felt nothing as the new mark seared into his skin, staring at the ground without a sound. Everything was only n ̸̎͛̕ ̨̈ ̺͔͜ u ̵ ̓̀ ̇̌ ̗͚̱̑ ̦ͅ ̺̺̤͜
m ̸͒͝ ̛ ̽ ̃ ̂ ͋ ̇ ̡͚ ͅ ̪̲̝͍͖ ͅ ͕
b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ [1] b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣
b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣ b ̴ ̆ ̅ ̦ ͙̣
The next time Dazai woke up, it was night. Everything was quiet, the only sound the never-ending hum of the city. He was curled, shivering, covered in blankets and Chuuya's arm?
Dazai almost jerked away, tilting his head up to stare at his dog’s sleeping face. His mouth hung open, a bit of his hair trailing in front of his face, shadowless fire in the moonlight.
Dazai stared. Why was the slug sleeping with him?
Chuuya grunted in his sleep, his arm tightening around Dazai. His instincts purred at him, and he had to bite his tongue to stop from actually making the sound.
Safesafeearthsafeearth
Slowly, he brought his arm up, careful not to pull on the sheets too much and wake Chuuya up, thankful that the slug slept deeply. With a shaky hand, only because he was soul-sick, definitely, there was no other reason, he plucked the hair from Chuuya's face, moving it so that it fell behind him. It brushed against Chuuya's nose as it was moved, making the ginger snuffle.
Dazai froze as Chuuya shifted, adjusting, before pulling Dazai closer, arms wrapped around him protectively. Dazai waited, holding his breath, but Chuuya didn’t wake, only settling back down into soft snores.
Maybe… maybe Dazai could care about Chuuya, too, beyond finding him interesting. The thought terrified and exhilarated him. It almost felt like a huge ‘fuck you’ to Ⅎy̷̠͈̖̳̳̠̰̩͖̮͙̟̼̹͔̮͇̟̳͉̟̤̲̳̖̑͗͌͂̄̎̏́̈́̈̀͒̈́̓͐̃͂̓̈́͐̔̉̊͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅo̵̢̹̯̯̼̹̻̱̻̞̪̱̰͇͕͓̟͔̟̎̔̓̌̓͒̊͌̆̚͜͝ḑ̵̧̂̌̉̃̀͆̏͊̊̈́̽͆͌̒̐̔̀̃͐̚̕͘͘̚͠͠͝͝͝ơ̵̶̧̛̩̳̻͔͇̰͇̟̹͉̺̩͙̟͖͔̝̭͎͖̯̫͖̭͖̤̈́͋͐͂̅̅̏͒̐̇͊̈́̈́̾͌̃̓͗͛̋̽̈́̑̔̾͗̇̋͑̇̓̽͌͆͊̍͐͘͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͠͝ɹ̧̪̪̟̩͕̞̱̜̣ . He was not incapable of caring, not anymore, not for his chibi. He would protect chibi where he couldn’t protect Oda, he wouldn’t let him be stolen from him, too.
The pain oddly more bearable now, he snuck his arm and a leg over Chuuya, careful not to wake him. Satisfied, he buried his face into Chuuya's chest, stuttering on a purr that he would never admit to making. Chuuya wasn’t awake to hear it, anyway.
[1] numb