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Watching Chuuya obliterate the enemy has always been an interesting sight to behold. The feeling of having a front-row seat to the unfolding of a grand catastrophe, being so tantalizingly close to such a powerful force while also having the reassuring security to not worry about getting inflicted with pain… it is such an exceptional sensation that he never wants to miss.
Like all plans do, it has its mix of pros and cons. He’s weighed it, matters of life and death, ticktock scales of Anubis inside his mind. Chuuya’s inherent nature of wanting to use that monstrous strength of his to protect instead of to destroy. The fact that he shines so brilliantly like scattered diamond dust, even when cradled by a box filth and darkness. The way that he cherishes violent fights in the same vein that he enjoys peaceful drives, mundane chores.
He’s surprised to discover that he wants this enough, that he actually wants something for another person’s sake so strongly, that he actually wants something for himself that isn’t related to death or an escape from the unyielding cycles of boredom.
He probably surprises Fukuzawa-san too. The President’s eyes widen for a moment, as soon as he reads through the paperwork you’ve so diligently filled out and submitted for his perusal. A proposal to have a much-needed firepower for the Agency, someone who can both be a terrifying offense and an immoveable defense. Someone who can be a mentor for the newer members during peacetime; someone who has enough resources and clout that any investigation they’d do can be smoothened. Someone whose absence from the mafia or from any other underground organization means that it’s one less trouble for the Agency to worry about. Someone who has a heart so big and so pure, it’s a wonder that it fits inside that tiny, tiny body.
He relays this and so much more, throat growing dry from the long-winded speech that he’s prepared to convince the President of his plan.
“…And so, I believe that it would be the best move for the Agency to have that chibi hatrack… I mean, Nakahara Chuuya, on our ranks.” Dazai’s lips twitch slightly, and he suppresses his urge to mock-gag upon saying the other’s complete name. Come to think, he’s probably only ever called that sheepdog with his complete name once? He shakes his head slightly to clear it of lingering nostalgia. He clears his throat as well. “We do have the perfect opportunity for his entrance exam as well.”
A final banquet arranged by Dostoevsky, to host the supposedly final clash between his desire to rid the world of Ability Users, and everyone else who’s decided to band together to oppose his machinations.
Corruption is a trump card that has certain death as a fixed consequence for its use. To willingly use it, knowing that it’s going to be an exchange of one life for the protection of many—not many can do it. Using Corruption past the limits of Chuuya’s physical body means that they can defeat Dostoevsky, but it also bequeaths them with Chuuya’s corpse afterward. Worst case scenario: Arahabaki rises up from its vessel’s fallen body and unleashes a catastrophic destruction upon the land that has dared to call upon a god.
It’s a calculated risk—Chuuya passing the Agency’s test, and therefore, being placed under the jurisdiction of ‘All Men are Equal’ should save him from the nastier after-effects. Yosano-sensei’s Ability can handle the rest.
The President’s eyes probe at him, before doling out his acquiescence.
“…Oh.” He’s been prepared with another set of arguments and counter-arguments to push his proposal. A quick acceptance is always in the cards, but he’s pegged it at 12% probability at best. He’s been expecting Ranpo-san to be called in to re-assess his proposal.
His confusion must be so palpable, because the usually-taciturn President tells him, “I could sense that this is an important matter to you, Dazai-kun. I can handle Mori-sensei’s opposition should it come.”
He makes a move to deny it—a near-instinctive one, because there’s no way that he cares that much about whether a certain chibi can spend time in a place that would allow him to branch out further—but then he ends up biting his lip, and thanking the older man instead.
Something like relief and happiness curls in his gut.
It’s still an unfamiliar feeling, but it isn’t unpleasant at all.
-
The point of the entrance exam is to not let the other party know about the fact that they’re being tested.
So, on the day it happens, all Dazai says is, “Chuuya… I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
Chuuya gives him one punch to the chest as he clicks his tongue. “I trust that you’ll stop me on time, got it, shitty Dazai?”
“…Fufufu. Got it, partner.”
Chuuya doesn’t bother with a reply, busy as he is with removing his gloves and chanting the wake-up call for Corruption.
-
The moment Chuuya appears as the sole figure in the middle of a field of destruction, silver light emanates from Fukuzawa’s sword and links itself to Chuuya’s chest, expanding past the single line, until it’s wrapping around Chuuya’s body like a misty veil.
‘All Men are Equal’ curl all around Chuuya and intends to halve his Ability to better control it. The effect is instantly obvious—the black holes that Chuuya’s corrupted form is fond of throwing about are fewer and smaller this time. It’s easier to sidestep them so he can wrap a hand around Chuuya’s neck to cancel Corruption entirely.
Chuuya sags against his chest almost immediately.
Something like relief fills him.
Until he notices that Chuuya doesn’t have a heartbeat.
He must have screamed, because his throat hurts by the time he regains rationality. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, but all he can focus is on the feeble one-two beat that starts to ring inside Chuuya’s ribs. It’s slow, too slow, a mere hair’s breadth away from being a corpse.
But there’s one beat there at least.
That’s good, because that’s an improvement, but somehow his mind is still filled with static.
-
“—Dazai-san?”
Startled by the hesitant voice calling his name, he blinks back to himself. Both of his hands are tightly gripping one chibikko’s hand, practically dwarfing it. It’s a thought that should bring laughter to him. He only ends up holding it tighter.
Chuuya’s heartbeat has slowly returned from its too-sluggish pace from earlier. It’s still way below the normal threshold and the low circulation brings an uncomfortable chill to his skin. It’s so unlike Chuuya, who’s always functioned as a walking mini-furnace during their partnership, unaffected as he is by things such as environmental temperatures.
…He really is like a dog that way, harboring a body temperature slightly higher than humans.
He rubs Chuuya’s hand using his own, as though to warm it up using friction. It doesn’t work, so he brings the cool hand against the curve of his neck, pinning it there.
It’s only then that he turns slightly to address the person who’s called out his name earlier. “What is it, Atsushi-kun?”
“Um…” A pause, as those eyes avoid looking at the too-white bed where Chuuya’s laid on. “I can watch over him for a bit. While you take some rest…?”
Dazai’s shaking his head before his protégé can even finish his words. “It’s fine, Atsushi-kun. I’ll stay here.”
It’s obvious that he’s been sent here by someone else—Ranpo-san, most likely. He’s not about to yield this though. It’s his plan that has had its mistakes, it’s his fault for not being able to predict the outcome better. It’s him who should be here, by Chuuya’s bedside.
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Prying him off his bedside vigil takes a combined threat of Yosano-sensei with a syringe full of tranquilizers and Kouyou-san with a smile full of knives.
Even then, he takes the least possible amount of time.
Opening up his shower before he’s even done undressing, one hand out of the shower stall so he can type out messages to arrange his affairs. Thankfully, Kenji hasn’t eaten yet, so he helps out in moving a couple of Dazai’s things, including his futon towards the hospital suite where Chuuya’s been ensconced in. A neutral territory, though to consider the Special Abilities Division ‘neutral’ is perhaps a bit too much.
…Especially since he still harbors doubts about Ango’s intentions in offering to foot all costs of the hospitalization in the name of his division…
“You’ve always been good at attracting people to you, huh,” Dazai muses, as he makes himself comfortable on his newly-transported bedding. Still by Chuuya’s bedside, though he now gives off an impression that he’s moved into the hospital room, given all the décor upgrades he’s made. Dazai trails a hand all over the orange-red locks, before humming as he curls them over his fingers. “And then they end up following you like goldfish shit.”
And then, Dazai bites his lip and retrieves his hand, because the fish-related comparison reminds him of one of Chuuya’s favorite insults for him.
…He’s not one of those idiots who hang on to Chuuya’s every word or action, they probably have formed a fan club already.
Unaware of the wealth of disgusted expressions that cross Dazai’s face at the thought of a ‘Nakahara Chuuya Fan Club’ existing in this world, Chuuya sleeps on.
-
Further proving his ‘fan club’ suspicion, the following day sees a myriad of people eager to make themselves useful in helping investigate Chuuya’s attempt at becoming ‘Sleeping Beauty’.
It’s almost surreal.
Even the fight against Dostoevsky did not manage to get people from different factions be this cooperative with one another. But now there’s even Ranpo-san volunteering his assistance without needing needling from the President, there’s Kunikida-kun shifting his rigid schedule so he can dedicate time to helping out. There’s Ango and one of his assistants—Tsujimura-kun?—apparently having requested access clearance for some of the details of the Arahabaki Experiments, in the high chance that this prolonged slumber is related to the god inside Chuuya. There’s Tachihara in his Hunting Dogs uniform, flanked by the Akutagawa siblings on each side. The two factions of The Guild have sent Lovecraft and Steinbeck, though this time is not for some ambush.
They make plans and assign each other to their tasks so they can complete the investigation in an expedited manner.
They—by some unspoken agreement—all tacitly avoid assigning anything to Dazai that will bring him away from the hospital room.
“…You are loved this much,” Dazai murmurs as he takes over sponge-bath duty. At first, he’s only volunteered for such a task because he wanted to see if Chuuya would wake up after being splashed water unceremoniously in the face. As with a lot of things that he’s done relating to this sheepdog, it’s somehow morphed into something else quickly. Now, it’s with cautious gentleness that he dabs that wet cloth all over Chuuya’s skin, as he asks, “Don’t you think it’s rude to keep on sleeping in the face of all that?”
As though mocking Dazai’s old practice of scheduling his naps right before important missions or meetings, Chuuya slumbers on.
-
There’s no progress in their investigations.
It should be intolerable, it should be worrying. The people working on this case are the best and brightest amongst the people he’s ever known. If none of them are able to solve this mystery, then who could?
And yet, there’s no crushing sense of devastation, of desperation, of desolation.
Chuuya’s last words to him, that day: “I trust that you’ll stop me on time, got it, shitty Dazai?”
Just as much as Chuuya’s trusted him with his life—
“I trust that you’ll make a sufficiently flashy return, as always.”
-
Time passes by like that, with him solidifying into a permanent fixture to Chuuya’s hospital room.
None of the lovely nurses believe his sweet-talk anymore, so he’s barely bothered with flirting with them. Ane-san and Yosano-sensei have stopped their attempts in trying to get him to take a shower at his own place. Even Tachihara has stopped requesting for him to at least not sit on Chuuya’s bed like a dark specter (or a second IV stand) during his visits.
As someone who gets bored easily, he surprisingly doesn’t feel the chafe of the four walls closing in on him.
Even though he already knows every single thing about Chuuya, he’s still learning new things every day.
A cloud-shaped birthmark on the inside of his elbow; the certain section of his hair that frizzes up more stubbornly than the rest; the slight uneven bow of his bottom lip. The way his right toe curls slightly when it’s exposed to colder air; the way that he has less gooseflesh on his left calf compared to the right; the way that his skin is so enviably elastic that sleep-lines only last three minutes on his cheek.
The fact that he’s named Dazai as his emergency contact and next-of-kin should something happen him. The fact that he has a Last Will drawn up and unchanged since more than four years ago, leaving Dazai to be his executor and in custody of his hat, with express instructions that he’ll haunt him should he make an attempt to burn it instead of burying it in Randou-san’s grave. The fact that even though they’ve never been on the best of terms even when they were in the same organization, much less separated by a betrayal even just by name—that Chuuya still regards their connection with enough importance to make him dizzy with its implications.
These are just some of the things that he’s continuing to learn every day.
He holds Chuuya’s hand, like always, when he says, “…Despite it all, you’re still able to love this much.”
He feels the other’s finger tremble slightly, but he otherwise does not wake up.
-
Dazai’s never been the type to get drunk, especially not with just one glass of wine. But the one time he’s tried to drink while inside the room, his threat of “Look, chibikko, if you keep on sleeping, I’m just going to drink all of your wines in your cellar” has ended up with him nearly succumbing to the urge to share the wine in his mouth to the other. And so he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since then.
And yet, right now, a hundred days after Chuuya has entered this unexplainable stasis, he looks at his sleeping form and feels quite drunk.
He feels feverish with a strange sort of intoxication as he traces with his eyes, then with his fingers, the curl of those locks, as though they’re rose petals framing Chuuya’s face that’s been clipped of his usual thorns against him. A Chuuya without bite, without thorns, is still beautiful, but—
“A dog who doesn’t bite… A deadly idiot who can’t threaten to kill me…” His mouth goes dry as he leans in closer, closer, stopping just-before he ends up kissing Chuuya. “…I know I’ve mentioned that it would be interesting if you got hit by a lightning and died, but…”
Right now, the only thing he wants to think about is to have a noisy, ridiculous chibi back.
“…I love you more when you’re actually alive, you know.”
He then gives in to the gravity between them, and brushes their lips together. He pulls back after a few seconds, straightening up and moving back to his usual spot on the other’s bedside.
He doesn’t manage to take more than one half-step back before he finds his neck getting strangled by his bolo tie. He also doesn’t manage to react beyond a startled gasp, mostly due to the fact that his airways are forcefully cut-off.
But it’s more than fine, because—
“That’s it?! You give me a shitty confession, and then what’s up with that cold-fish kiss, huh?!” Chuuya’s eyes are burning brightly. He’s alive, he’s awake, he’s angry—and he’s all that Dazai wants. “You brag about being some Casanova flirt and that’s the best you can do?!”
There are so many things he can say.
An analysis about how this must be all Arahabaki’s doing in the end, possibly a god throwing a tantrum because some human tried to restrain the power of his vessel. A joke about how Chuuya waking up now after getting a kiss must mean that he’s copying him in having fairytale princess motifs. A trick for the other to confess back because to be the only one vulnerable here is rather unfair. A demand for the other to swear to join him in the side of light and never leave him ever.
And yet, all he actually does say is—
“Hmph, you think you can do better, huh? Why don’t you go ahead and prove it—”
Chuuya snarls his acceptance of his challenge, drags him down by his tie, punches him in the chest with one hand, and punches his breath away with a kiss of his own.
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the tale of a sleeping prince: ends with a happy ever after