Work Text:
The bed is soft under him. Of course it would be; Chuuya spent a good amount of money on it even though he barely sleeps on it, usually stuck with the couch in his office at the Port Mafia base.
Or well, used to barely sleep on it, anyway.
Chuuya uses it a lot more now that Dazai has started frequenting his apartment as often as his shitty, flat ass could. The bastard spends his time here more than his own ADA-provided dorm, he's practically moved in. Chuuya doesn't find it as annoying as he should.
(No, he doesn't. Not now. Not anymore.)
The sun's rays warm him but it's not enough to chase away the chill that had seeped into his body because of the cold weather. Dazai is freezing next to him, tucked under a thick blanket and curled on his side with his back facing Chuuya, unmoving. It's not surprising. Chuuya's supposed to be the warm one; the personal heater, as Dazai calls him everytime he clings to Chuuya when the town transitions into it's winter climate; when it's summer, he'd shove Chuuya away and whine about him being an unwanted furnace. Asshole.
Chuuya sighs at the memory and buries his face further into Dazai's hair. It's gross, all greasy and limp that speaks of hair gone unwashed for a week. Dazai's definitely too lazy to do it himself. Chuuya'll do it for him later, get it back to the fluffy mess that feels and smells great when he rubs his cheek against it.
He doesn't mind that either.
"Your hair feels gross." Chuuya says into the strands. As usual, Dazai ignores him. His breathing remains unchanged as he sleeps on. Chuuya lets him rest, he figures getting poisoned by an apple and being stabbed was exhausting.
He stays like that, basking in the comfort and giddy elation that always comes with having Dazai in his arms. Dazai all vulnerable and soft, who's body currently feels like a fucking block of ice. Chuuya scoffs, pulls Dazai closer. He should really turn the AC down, but he can't. He's set it as high as it could go, and broke the remote a week ago.
Calling for a repair has proved fruitless. It always ends up going into the company voicemail.
The room feels like a shitty freezer now.
Silence reigns over them, broken by the growl of a stomach. Chuuya starts, and frowns. He's started dozing off again. Breathing out softly, Chuuya rises from the bed.
"I'm going to go and make us breakfast." He tucks the covers tightly around Dazai and bends down to press a kiss on his temple. "Come get your lazy ass when it's ready because you can't even drag yourself to the table." He grumbles the end and pads towards the kitchen, sock-covered feet thudding dully with the carpeted floor.
He closes the door on his way, not wanting the cold air to spill out.
God, his electricity bills are going to sky rocket. Not that it would even dent his paycheck.
Besides, it's for Dazai, anyway.
Opening the fridge, Chuuya looks through the available ingredients. There isn't much: three eggs sitting in their holder; a few vegetables that's already starting to brown; a week-old tomato and a bag of whole-wheat bread. He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping as he pulls the eggs out and reaches for the bread.
He doesn't have anymore chicken.
Humming softly, Chuuya decides on making egg sandwiches.
Something light would probably be good for Dazai, he hasn't accepted any solid food for a week; his injuries must be making him nauseous. The poison isn't helping, either.
Chuuya regrets not buying some crab, Dazai'd probably be more open to eating if he had some.
Another thing to add to his ever growing to-do list.
Once he's done plating the food, Chuuya returns to their bedroom. The blast of cold air hits him painfully and he shivers, goosebumps rising along the exposed skin of his arms. He should really change into something warmer if this was how the room is going to be; something that's not just a thin, black shirt and a pair of grey sweats.
"Dazai," Chuuya calls out as he enters the room. "Come on, get up." He shakes Dazai's shoulders, hoping that would be enough to wake him.
Dazai's been sleeping heavily for some time. He's usually a light sleeper, rousing at just the quietest noises or a slight change in the atmosphere. It makes complicated, but not unwanted, feelings bubble inside Chuuya knowing that Dazai trust him enough to be sleeping so deeply in the confines of their apartment.
He sits down beside Dazai's waist, placing the hand behind his lover and leans down to whisper into Dazai's visible ear, "Hey, Osamu, come on, wake up."
Chuuya's free hand brushes the strands of hair that had fallen over Dazai's eyes, tucking them behind his ear. Dazai's face is slack in his rest, peaceful and blank and a slightest bit distorted by the pillow under him. His parted lips are dry and they feel sort of crack-y when Chuuya presses his own, smooth ones against Dazai's in a soft, chaste kiss.
"Fine," Chuuya sighs, fondly defeated, as he pulls away. He stands, and scoops Dazai, along with the comforter, up in his arms. Dazai's head flop uselessly, finally resting against Chuuya's collar bones. His long lashes tickle Chuuya's neck as Chuuya craddles him close.
Chuuya makes his way through the halls slower than before, making sure to not hit Dazai's ridiculously long legs against any door frames or furniture.
He sets Dazai down on the coach gently when he reaches the living room. After running his fingers through Dazai's hair, Chuuya heads for the kitchen to get the sandwiches.
He reenters with two plates of fluffy egg sandwiches in each hand. Placing one on Dazai's lap, Chuuya flops down next to him and digs into his own breakfast.
Somewhere in the bedroom, his phone rings incessantly.
It's half past ten in the morning.
.
The bath is mildly cold because the water heater doesn't seem to be working.
Chuuya would rather be bathing in warmth, but it's not like he has much of a choice. He can't seem to reach for this repairmen, either.
"This is the last time I'm carrying your lazy ass to the bathroom, shitty Dazai." He doesn't wait for a reply but Dazai's voice sounds from somewhere he can't pinpoint, "But, Chuuuyaaaa," He hears Dazai whine, and proceeds to ignore him in favor of lathering Dazai's hair with the expensive, flower-scented shampoo that the bastard had bought for him as a joke. He rubs it in thoroughly with his fingers to get rid of the dirt and grime, letting Dazai lean against him as they both soak in the tub. Once he's done, Chuuya tells Dazai to bend over the edge of the tub and rinses the foam from his brown hair.
Huh, Chuuya notices, it's looks lighter, kind of red, actually.
He scoffs at the thought of Dazai with red hair, and dismisses it, attributes it to the play of the yellow light of his bathroom.
He doesn't remember installing them.
Chuuya rises from the tub after he's done washing himself. He brings Dazai along with him, sitting Dazai down on the toilet as he wraps his former partner in a towel, grabbing another one to dry Dazai's hair. He uses the same towel to dry his own body quickly, doning another pair of sweats and a maroon turtle neck.
Chuuya scoops Dazai back up in his arms and exits the bathroom. Cold air hits him again and he hastens his pace, heading in a beeline towards the bed. He unwraps Dazai from the cocoon of towels and lifts the covers from the bed, nestling Dazai among the pillows. Chuuya turns towards the closet at the far end of the room and digs for a decent pair of shirt and short, preferably one that's tan or white. He ends up with a beige, over-sized sweater he'd impulsively bought and white shorts. It'll have to do, Chuuya inhales deeply, he doesn't have much clothes left. They're all either torn or ripped from the aftermath of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Chuuya growls at the name, For the Tainted Sorrow curling around his soul like an angry dragon thirsting for blood.
Chuuya will rip Dostoyevsky to shred when he finds him.
No one is allowed to hurt Dazai but Chuuya.
Chuuya strides back towards the bed. He slips the sweater on Dazai, putting on the shorts had been troublesome because of Dazai's fucking legs but Chuuya manages. As an afterthought, he grabs a pair of socks from the cabinet next to the desk he uses for work and slip those on too.
"You're a fucking handful, you know that, mackerel?" Chuuya grouses. He circles to the other side of the bed and sidles under the covers next to Dazai, pulling him close. He tucks Dazai's head under his chin and signs contently. "Lazy-ass bastard, can't even dress himself."
There's a distant boom that Chuuya ignores in favor of snuggling Dazai.
It's his day off today, he has the right to laze around in bed. He doesn't feel like doing much, anyway. Not yet.
It's only a little past noon.
Chuuya falls asleep to the background sound of his ringing phone.
.
When Chuuya comes to, the sun has already fully risen up in the sky and his temper is proceeding to head into dangerous territories. Dazai is still dozing in his arms. Chuuya lets go of him reluctantly but his phone is starting to get very annoying. Chuuya grumbles as he snatches his phone from the nightstand and presses on the accept button roughly without checking for the caller id.
"What." He snaps.
"Chuuya-kun." Kouyou's voice sounds from the other end of the line.
"Ane-san." He greets, significantly more polite than before. Nobody pisses of Ozaki Kouyou, not if they have a dead wish and Kouyou has always been one to value politeness.
"How have you been, lad?"
"I'm fine." He answers sharply. There's a period of awkward silence before Chuuya blurts out, "What do you really want, Ane-san?" He wants the conversation to be over.
"It is about our littlest brother."
"What about Dazai?" He instinctively curls his body around Dazai's. Pressing himself against the length of Dazai's back protectively even if he knows Kouyou is miles away. Somewhere in the back of his mind he also knows Kouyou won't hurt Dazai, if only for Chuuya's sake, but he won't take that chance.
He can't.
"Hasn't it been long enough, Chuuya-kun?"
Chuuya hangs up on her and throws his phone away.
It hits the floor with a dull thump.
.
Chuuya leaves the bed again when the clock strikes three in the afternoon. He picks his phone up along the way. There's a dent on the upper-left corner, small enough to not be too noticeable.
Not that he cares.
It not like he needs it much anyway. Dazai's the one who usually bothers him with all his annoyingly long texting and complaining. He's here with Chuuya now, so there's no more need for that.
He heads towards the kitchen and mindlessly looks through the fridge. There's nothing there but browning, week-old vegetables. He's hungry, Dazai is too, probably. There's nothing he can do if he has no more ingredients. Chuuya thinks he should head out to the grocery but something in him balks at the thought of leaving Dazai alone in the apartment. For the Tainted Sorrow swirls inside of him.
There's a gaping hole where Corruption should be.
He's ready to resign himself to an empty stomach when he passes the living room and spots an uneaten sandwich on the coffee table. He changes his direction abruptly and strides to the table, snatching the plate of sandwich of off it.
Dazai hadn't eaten anything, again.
Chuuya returns to the kitchen to prepare some chicken broth.
.
"Chuuya-san," His voicemail starts. "We've been trying to call for a week now." Whoever it is, they sound shaky.
Chuuya mindlessly stirs the chicken broth. He's added the meat about fifteen minutes ago.
"Chuuya-san, please, it's been a week. The ADA told us that there are still people stuck in there. You have to come back. You have to sto-"
He slides his finger across the screen and the message stops. He can't recall who spoke. Akutagawa, maybe.
Or Gin
Higuchi.
Tachihara?
There are fifty miscalls in his recents.
Chuuya wonders why Nakajima hasn't called to check up on Dazai.
.
He leaves the egg sandwich in the fridge for later and heads back to the bedroom with a bowl.
It's four o'clock.
.
Dazai drank a quarter of the soup Chuuya made, some of them had spilled down the sides of his lips and on to the pillow. Chuuya wasn't fast enough to stop them with his ability.
They didn't leave any stains, so it doesn't matter.
He's placed the bowl in the sink. He'll wash it later. It still looks clean and white, spotless.
Chuuya leans against the head board with a book in his hands, soft-covered and old. It looks like an ordinary notebook anyone can find in bookstores or stationary shops, albeit probably not as new and in good condition. This book has seen better days. Some of the pages had been torn out. Some had different kinds of scrawls in it: wishes; pleads; prayers for things that will never come true.
Or it might, but the price to pay is too high for a single human.
Dazai's face is pressed against the side of Chuuya's thigh, long arms circled around Chuuya's waist. Chuuya strokes Dazai's clean, curly hair idly. He loves it -Dazai's hair. It's soft and fluffy and the way it falls across Dazai's face makes him look adorable.
People like to describe Dazai as handsome.
To Chuuya, Dazai isn't handsome.
He's pretty, gorgeous, cute on some occasion.
Beautiful.
Most definitely annoying.
Chuuya chuckles lightly as the thought, body shaking with suppresed laughter. He looks down at Dazai, a fond smile playing on his lips.
Pretty. Gorgeous. Cute.
Dangerous. Smart.
Annoying.
Safe.
Alive.
Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy-
He scrawls the words in the book, neat little kanji's that repeats over and over. It spans the entire length of at least three pages.
Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy-
The smile is still stuck on his face.
Dazai is smilling too. A small, almost hidden grin that flits lightly across his lip. The ones he only lets Chuuya see.
Chuuya wants to see it again.
Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy-
Alive.
Safe.
Chuuya’s.
Satisfied, he closes the book and places both it and the pencil on the nightstand before glancing at the clock.
It’s thirty minutes before six.
Something inside Chuuya stirs.
He needs to see Dazai smile again.
.
By six o’clock, his phone rings again, startling Chuuya out of his silent reverie. Dazai doesn’t seem to be as shocked, knowing him, he must have predicted the phone call.
Chuuya contemplates ignoring it, but if Dazai had predicted it, then it must be important.
“Nakahara-kun.”
It’s Mori.
Chuuya doesn’t want to talk to Mori, not with Dazai around. He’s close to hanging up but his fingers doesn’t seem to want to obey him. So, he answers, instead.
“Mori-san.” Sharp, short and fast.
“Nakahara-kun, how have you been doing?”
Chuuya’s skin bristles. How dare he ask for Chuuya’s wellbeing. It feels like a mockery of his earlier conversation with Kouyou.
“Better then you, I hope.”
“Now, now Chuuya-kun, we have no need for such unpleasantness.” Mori patronizes. Chuuya wishes he could reach through the phone and strangle him. For the Tainted Sorrow roars in him but it’s quiet, insignificant in the face of the hollow that had started to fester inside him where his anger should be.
Where Corruption should be.
That must mean No Longer Human is active, right? Dazai is pressed against him so it must be No Longer Human-
“Chuuya-kun.”
“What?” He wants the conversation to be over. Wants it to end so he can tend to Dazai again.
“Don’t you think it’s been long enough?” Mori’s sigh breaks into static.
“I haven’t found Dostoyevsky, yet, Boss.” He hisses through clenched teeth. “I won’t leave Dazai until that bastard is dead.”
“Chuuya-kun.” Mori sounds morose, regretful. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky-“
Chuuya cuts the rest of Mori’s sentence. He can’t bear to hear what it truly is. “I’ll get him. And I’ll fucking tear him to shreds.”
“Fyodor Dostoyevsky is dead. You ripped him apart the night you found Dazai-kun, Chuuya.”
The mention of his name without any attachment to it shocks him. He shakes his head and snarls adamantly, “He’s not. He’s alive and I. Will. Kill. Him.”
Mori sighs again, “It’s been a week, Chuuya-kun.”
“I know, Boss, just-“
“I’ve called to personally inform you that you are permanently dismissed from your duties as a Port Mafia executive.”
Relief doesn’t flood him. Nor does grief or anger or regret. He’s just-
There.
Empty.
Was this how Dazai had always felt like?
He hates it.
It’s no wonder Dazai wanted to die all the time.
He doesn’t answer Mori, stays silent and still like a statue, like a corpse. He inhales deeply, a thought forming in his head. It forms and breaks and forms and breaks again.
Dazai is quiet by his side.
“Thank you for all the effort and loyalty you have given to the Port Mafia, Nakahara Chuuya.”
Something wakes inside of him.
“Is that all?” He forces himself to say. To speak something just so he can get this to end.
“Ah, I suppose so.” Mori is silent for a while. “One more thing, Chuuya-kun.”
“What?”
“The book cannot bring back what is already lost.”
His phone crashes into the wall from the force of Chuuya’s throw, strong as it is because For the Tainted Sorrow rears to life, feeding on his anger as Corruption once had. It shatters into pieces.
There are no more blank pages left.
.
Once dinner comes around, Chuuya lets Dazai sleep on. The egg sandwich is soggy and cold but it’ll have to do.
He drags the curtains of his apartment open. Watches the life that only comes out at night. It’s interesting. Like a children's show that used to air in that Yokohama version of the western channel, Cartoon Net or something.
(It's gone now, like the rest of the city.)
Rubble is strewn around and it floats in random directions and places. There’s an upside down building somewhere to the left and another one that’s half torn away, dripping water and red mud. From afar, it looks like blood. Chuuya can’t quite describe the landscape.
It’s a chaotic sight.
Multiple screams echo as another building breaks apart, Chuuya ignores it.
It doesn't matter.
Nothing does but Dazai.
It's their own fault for thinking they can come close to Chuuya's apartment.
Arahabaki hisses insidiously and a single yellow eye blinks at him. It spans the whole of the window and blocks everything out suddenly. It moves and a smile slowly stretches out of its inky black face.
Chuuya grins back, all teeth and no lips.
Something moves inside his soul, slowly, languidly. Eating away at his very core.
He welcomes it wholeheartedly.
He’ll wait.
Chuuya will wait until Osamu, inevitably, wakes up.
He should go to the nearby market, get some crab.
Dazai will be hungry again soon.