Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was plenty to complain about when it came to Dazai Osamu . Chuuya hated the asshole the minute he waltzed into Suribachi City. It was so obvious he was constantly scheming, and yet people rarely spoke up about it. Everyone had to have known, had to have seen it. But…well, he played Shirase and Yuan well enough, and…

Ugh. Asshole.

Well, Chuuya would admit, it was nice to not be on the receiving end of his scheming- was usually quite funny, actually. Seeing the realisation in enemy eyes when they clocked they had been outsmarted. There was nothing more insulting than the skinny brunet being the one to grin so wickedly, Chuuya knew exactly the kind of hatred those people must’ve felt in those moments. He almost empathised…but he didn’t care for them too much, so whatever.

Enemies were enemies. They were Mori’s enemies, enemies of the organisation, therefore they needed to be stamped out. The quicker it happened, the quicker Mori would raise the Mafia from the shit it’d been plunged into during the last boss’s crusade against anything that moved . Dazai described him like an over-excitable cat, as if a blood-hungry man with a deadly organisation at his disposal ( if run correctly ) was nothing more short of normal. 

Sure, Mori was off-putting. Had he earned Chuuya’s respect? Mostly. He didn’t keep himself from talking back, the born-rite of a teenager, and he was continuously warned against it. He could take care of himself, though. It’s not like he had to fight to survive or anything. The difference now was the disposable income.

Unfortunately, to keep that disposable income, he had to do some shit he didn’t like. Today, that included being called to Mori’s office and essentially being put on babysitting duty because of a recent attempt. 

Was that what he told Dazai when he saw him? Saw being a generous word in this context. The brunet didn’t look up at all from his place laying face first on the couch.

No.

“This place fucking stinks like fish, mackerel. You can smell it in the corridor.” That’ll do.

“Are you sure it isn’t rat that you're smelling?” was the muffled reply that sent Chuuya’s temperature skyrocketing. “I was sure you’d be used to bad smells given how often you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to wash.”

“I had plenty of fucking opportunity, and I took it , unlike you, fucking ungrateful cretin.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Die.”

Dazai whined. “I’m trying, but chibi is interrupting me!”

“Wasting away on the couch isn’t exactly painless,” he mumbled, checking the cupboards for anything edible. Nothing. And the fridge was a fucking hazard zone, he wasn’t fucking touching that. Something might crawl out and bite him. “Kinda counterproductive, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going to be lectured on the art of suicide by a chibi hatrack.”

That earned him a smack square on the back, which made him arch and flop down with an even louder whine than earlier. Chuuya was tempted to hold a pillow over his face until he passed out. At least he’d be able to search the apartment for Dazai’s razors and knives and shit without the running commentary. 

On top of that, he was notorious for shitty self-care skills.

“Brute.”

“I wasn’t kidding, this place stinks. Open a fucking window, would ya?” He stared at an empty table, fantasising about putting an air freshener on it. The place smelled of stale air and iron. It was also disturbingly empty.

This kid is such a freak.

“Go shower, disgusting brat.”

“But I’ll get cold so quickly! And my hair is a pain to dry and-!”

“You have the means to take care of yourself, you just don't,” he signalled towards the bathroom. “You’re a lazy bastard. Brush your teeth, at least.”

He didn’t move. It was really starting to annoy him.

“Suit yourself,” he hissed, stomping out and slamming the door behind him. He wasn’t about to be late to see Kouyou-san for that idiot. She’d probably get it, but he wasn’t risking getting on her bad side.

Turns out, it didn’t matter. In his defence, he had been a little on edge since Dazai’s last attempt. They were meant to have a mission, everything was planned and ready, then the day of, Dazai didn’t show and Chuuya was the one who wrestled him down from the chair. He’d been with Mori for hours after it, returning with this dead look in his eye that Chuuya had stifled a shiver at.

It looked so wrong. How was a human capable of making a face like that? Of pulling something so disturbing from within themselves? Boss, maybe , he had some pretty creepy expressions. But he hadn’t even caught sight of the dead mackerel eye earlier with the brat’s head buried in the pillow. Maybe something really was wrong.

It sat in his gut for hours. Kouyou-san had no problem scolding him for his lack of focus- each time, all he could say was sorry, and continued the task at hand. Dazai was meant to pop in, was meant to make fun of his writing, then dodge around the edge of the door when Chuuya sent something flying in his direction. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Dazai masked all his weird shit with a cheery persona. Chuuya wasn’t completely heartless. The younger was a certified Pain In The Ass, and he made sure everyone knew, and it made it everyone’s problem when he felt like it. He wondered if it was some weird cry for help, but Dazai responded kinda weirdly to anything you could perceive as nice, so maybe he was just an awkward, gangly teenager.

Yeah, as if. The Demon Prodigy, that dumb moniker he’d heard Mori use in private a few times, an awkward teenager? No way. He manipulated everyone around him. 

Though…Chuuya, decidedly not heartless. There were lots of times where he held no sympathy for the guy, more than happy to drag him around and piss him off the same way he did others. Sometimes the inconvenience of having to deal with him was bearable knowing that he felt just as shitty and inconvenienced when dragged from whatever hole he was in.

Other times, seeing the mackerel laying down, or sitting down, or standing up, with that blank look on his face, it made him look unbelievably tired. It made Chuuya want to bat away any hands that came near them or wave away any command or any voice that carried to their ears, just so he could drag him away to get some rest. But Dazai just didn’t sleep , and he couldn’t exactly force him.

When he looks like that, he’s quiet, he looks smaller than he is. Chuuya hates it as much as he hates Dazai’s rotten personality.

And his whinging. Was there actually anything to worry about?

“Don’t wanna,” he whinged.

“Don’t want to? Or can’t?” 

No response.

“Sit up,” he grumbled.

“Mori’s already handled it.”

Not well enough if he has to get me involved. “Obviously not.”

“I don’t need you to brush my teeth for me,” he spelled out, huffing and keeping his back turned as he sat up and hopped off the couch.

“Then do it. ”

“I already have!” He kicked the side of his couch and the action sent waves of frustration through the redhead.

“For someone who insists he’s never been a kid, you sure fucking act like one.”

“I’m sorry, have I missed something?” He harped on, the words enough to grab Chuuya’s attention, ignoring the sarcasm for a second in favour of reeling back at hearing those words come out of his mouth, even if they were passive aggressive. “Do normal fifteen year olds have hands dripping with blood? Do they clear away dead bodies? Do they even know what a corpse smells like? ”

“If they met you, they fucking would,” he shot back, ignoring the grunt that turned to a yell from the brunet, looking as though he was on the brink of pulling his hair out. “It’s never fucking bothered you before, not being like a normal fifteen year old. You get off on people fearing you, the fuck do you think you’re missing?”

“You don’t get it, ” Dazai started, but Chuuya had heard enough at this point. He’d spent almost the entirety of his day wasted on worrying when he was essentially fine-

( Was he? )

“I don't care! I don’t fucking care, Dazai! I don’t care how hard it is for you to take care of yourself, or to practise basic hygiene, or how much of a fucking inconvenience you think taking a break from your wallowing is to do something to keep yourself alive. I’m your fucking partner, I was literally put in charge of stopping you from killing yourself so the boss didn’t have to fucking deal with you all the time. You think I want to fucking deal with all of this? The only reason I’m doing it is to get Mori off my ass!”

The brunet opened his mouth but Chuuya held his hand up, and miraculously, Dazai did not interrupt as he continued. 

Here’s to all the shit I swore I wouldn’t say out loud. “You might not value your life, but I value mine! And the only way to keep myself in any kind of position here is to deal with your stubborn ass. You parade around the fact that you won’t get killed here because you’re too valuable, and I am fully aware that you don’t give a fuck about anyone else trying to keep their life, but the least you can fucking do is go inflict yourself on someone else! Give me a fucking break!”

His chest was heaving at this point, and he barely regretted it. The single brown eye staring back at him was blown wide, and the open shock was enough to spur Chuuya on.

“If you’ve been waiting for some kind of confirmation that I hate your fucking guts, you’ve got it, you fucking asshole, as if everything else wasn’t enough,” he took a heavy breath in, only now realising how hard it was to breathe. “We’re only partners for missions, I don’t need to fucking ‘babysit you’ as you put it. Now you know- you’re using me? I don’t have a choice but to use you right back, and that doesn’t mean anything to a fucking husk like you because you have no comprehension of the meaning of a life, but you are only good to me for as long as I mean jackshit to the mafia. The minute I’m up there? You will never see me again, mark my fucking words.”

It took a minute, but the bandaged brunet left the room. His own room, mind you, but Chuuya was beyond caring. He barely caught himself before leaving the room, realising that he’d have to turn the place upside down for things the brunet could hurt himself with.

Now, he hadn’t thought about it when he returned to meet with the Flags until later in the evening. He’d adequately complained, as much as he could around reasonable new people in his life, but when he checked Dazai’s dorm and he was nowhere to be found, only thrown open cupboards in the bathroom and no bandages-

He kept bandages stocked in his own dorm for this exact reason. Not that he’d needed them before, but he was almost thankful-

He smashed the door.

“Oi! Stop fucking ignoring me!”

He rammed the door and it swung open, hitting the wall loudly.

“ GET THE FUCK OUT!”

His hands, his arms , were dripping with blood. He launched at his partner, cold terror gripping him as he fought to wrestle the razor out of his hand. He slammed the boy’s back into the vanity and wrapped his arms around his torso, pinning the boy’s red arms to his side. The hands grabbed at any part of him and tried to scratch him, but there wasn’t much he could do with bitten nails. Spindly fingers prodded, poked and squeezed at any part of Chuuya’s skin he could reach, and it still wasn’t enough.

The redhead wouldn’t let go, his expression set and regardless of how much jostling there was, he was dead set on keeping him still. When the brunet pushed them both towards the wall, the towel rack digging into Chuuya’s back, surprising him enough for his grip to loosen, he sprang and tried to run.

Chuuya was quicker, though. Figures , Dazai did what he needed to, trained hard enough, but Chuuya lived and breathed combat and brawn, unlike his admittedly strategic partner. His arms were tight around the struggling teenager and he squeezed as hard as he could. It only made him struggle more, but what the hell was he supposed to do?

Eventually they both calmed down, and were left sitting amongst the mess on the floor. Chuuya’s eyes zeroed in on the flecks of red, the streams, anywhere the red was, he was staring at it. He looked down at himself, or rather where his arms sat on Dazai’s back, all skin and bones, his chin tucked tightly over the brunet’s shoulder. His own arms tan against a white dress shirt that looked very different from the front. The body in his arms felt so… small. And it was shivering slightly.

In the quiet, Chuuya could only morbidly think, I didn’t check hard enough.

He was brought out of his thoughts by wobbly air pushed from wheezing lungs. Words probably. He grunted in confusion. Dazai raised his voice from inaudible to barely a whisper, but with their proximity, it was enough. “You did your job.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, not bothering to curb the edge in his voice or the volume. “My job is never fucking done.”

“Why not go?”

“Mori,” he said simply. Am I lying?

They sat there a little longer, Chuuya realising he was slowly rocking them both back and forth. It was an embarrassing enough motion to be teased for, but there was no more communication from his partner.

Partner.

He made up his mind on what he was doing. He had no idea how bad the cuts were under the blood, but with that amount, it couldn’t be good. They needed to be taken care of. Dazai’s self care was dogshit…that’s what he was there for…wasn’t it?

“What…are you…?” His voice faded in and out, still limp in the corner like a puppet with its strings cut when Chuuya pulled away gently, still sitting very close, as if afraid to leave the little bubble that’d somehow formed around them.

He sighed loudly, frowning and reaching for the towel, at least there was a fucking towel in there. It was prickly and rough, and not at all suitable for delicate skin. He was buying new ones, he’d even asked Kouyou what brand was nice, he hated most of the shit in the mafia dorms. But you couldn’t be choosy when someone could bleed out in front of you.

“No,” he whispered, something very unlike Dazai coming out in his tone. Chuuya balanced the towel in his hands. It felt terrible.

“It needs to be cleaned, bastard,” he muttered, but didn’t reach out to pry his arms away from him. Dazai would fall and hit his head if he tried to stand, surely.

“I’ll do it. I will.”

He didn’t think he could frown any harder. Why does it sound like you’re convincing yourself of that? His eyes widened as he realised what he was picking up on. Desperation. 

Fear.

Fear. Afraid. Of him.

“It’s not a punishment,” he tried slowly, leaning closer. Dazai only stared. “I’m…” what? Trying to help? After I went off on him?

Is this my fault?

He looked his partner over again. His partner.

This is my fucking fault.

“I’m not a cornered animal.” The voice sounded unimpressed enough that it could’ve been said when they hadn't been tangled in each other minutes prior, and instead while they were bickering in front of the Boss, but it was still a notch lower in volume than usual.

“Let me clean it.” 

“Why?”

“I was…fucking mad, okay?” He felt his body sag in defeat. Sure, he’d thought those things, what he’d said before, but not all of it was true. Not always. “But we aren’t the same. I... do care that things are hard for you. It…” feels like it’s my fault. So he said that.

Dazai’s expression finally left indifference, morphed to confusion. “How?”

“I don’t know, I don’t,” he rubbed his face with the part of his hand without blood on it. It’s true, they were kinda past blood bothering them at this point, but this was different to that. “I just-” why isn’t someone trying to help enough to make you want to try? “I’m not doing this just because of Mori. I don’t- I didn’t mean the…the, uh, conditional partners thing.”

Dazai cocked his head further. Usually the movement would be annoying, but it seemed to be how he was showing he was engaged in what was going on. Chuuya was begrudgingly thankful for it.

“So…I’ll clean it,” he finished lamely, sighing. “But…not in here, I have paper towels, we’ll just-”

“Mori goes through the trash.”

“Huh?” 

The younger boy shook his head. 

“Why would a mafia boss want to go through trash?” I knew the answer the second he finished asking, but Dazai didn’t even tease him for it, and there was no mocking when he responded.

“To make sure I haven’t been, y’know,” he tsked, sounding slightly more like himself. The stark differences, the casual air while they sat on the floor speckled red, it would usually make Chuuya dizzy. It didn’t this time, and he mourned it, in a way.

“I’ll just take the trash out with me or something,” he shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”

The brunet hummed quietly, hopefully he would feel a little… lighter. Chuuya was thankful for some calm, and yet…

“I should probably have a shower.” 

His mind raced. Good , that was an effort to try and take care of himself- but damnit, it could be a ploy to be alone and try again. He nodded slowly.

The eye rolling that’d usually earn him a slap or a punch was simply left to pass. “You took my razor.”

Admit that I breached his privacy while searching his dorm? “Still,” he said slowly. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, huh…?”

“That desperate to see me naked?” 

The whiplash had Chuuya’s wide eyes pinned on a smug face with that twinkle in his eye when he was being a little prick. He should really be thankful for the normalcy. “Eh?! Fucking creeper!”

“Ah, but Chuuya is the creeper! Wanting to watch me bathe, how disgraceful~!”

“Dumbass!” He groaned. Watching means no bandages, means- “That’s such a breach of privacy.” Says you. Hypocrite.

“Relax, chibi. I know you looked through my dorm for things I could hurt myself with,” he waved his hand. Chuuya’s ears went pink. “You took all my utensils, idiot.”

“Well-!” He really couldn’t say anything to that.

“I’m used to that kind of thing, it doesn’t bother me too much.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean you’re used to it?”

“Mori,” he said simply, and it was enough to make Chuuya’s face crinkle in disgust. He didn’t want to know , but the nonchalance was a bit difficult to ignore. Obviously he’d noticed, because Dazai started teasing again. “Not doubting dear ol’ boss, are we, doggy?”

“ Ugh . Just shower.”

“Are you successfully convinced? You sure you don’t want to see what’s under the-?” He was cut off by a shirt pelted at his face. He brought it down, pouting, watching Chuuya’s retreating figure. “That was mean.”

“ Go. ”

“Fine, fine,” he sulked. “The cuts aren’t even deep, just FYI. I’m not going to faint because of the heat or fall over from blood loss. Chibi is so~ dramatic!”

Chuuya was on high alert the minute the water turned on, and pretty much until he and Dazai were settled on the dorm couch with gameboys in their hands. Inviting me to tease me. Inviting me…because he trusts me?  

Dazai blinked at the plastic bags, Chuuya smiling triumphantly, and it was obvious he was seconds away from tipping Dazai’s world on its head again. Whatever was in those bags, little Chuuya bought for one purpose only, to encourage self-care. It was kind of…cute- no. Ew, no, it wasn’t. Wasn’t endearing at all, the silly puppy thinking he was…eh, doggies did take care of their owners, huh?

Chapter Text

Chuuya had allergies.

They weren’t terrible. Chuuya thought they were for a long time. Even worse since joining the mafia, since now instead of Yuan’s giggles or Shirase’s sniggers and pats on the back , he had Dazai Osamu , the most annoying, irritating, piece of shit to ever walk the planet. The bastard was sown together with shitty thread that could snap with the slightest pressure- 

(Chuuya wasn’t so sure, Dazai didn’t seem to let many things genuinely bother him, unless those things were falling outside his predictions, or Chuuya, which really should be an insult, but he kinda liked the idea of the little prick getting some back, even if he was the sacrificial lamb sometimes.

Most of the time. Some things don’t change . )

-had a shit-eating grin that made Chuuya want to break all his teeth and force-feed them to him ( Kouyou had looked at him disapprovingly when he said that one, but the small smile when they left the meeting with Mori and his… ugh …partner, said otherwise ), and beady fucking eyes that stared through his soul ( but looked kinda nice in the right light, not that he’d ever admit that ).

Right. Pollen. What a pain in the ass. The hint of a red nose had Dazai smirking, usually not saying anything at this point, though sometimes he’d point it out on the sly (Chuuya had become Dazai bullshit detector, Mori delighted in this fact) just to get under his skin. If he itched his eyes, the brunet would start including Mori, ask him for medicine for conjunctivitis and start listing off home remedies he swore by, such as lemon juice in the eyes- you won’t be focused on the itching, he’d insisted. Chuuya smacked him so hard in the stomach that he barfed.

Served him right.

He didn’t want to talk about sneezing or fatigue or the misery that came with it. Chuuya thought he had it bad. That was before he saw fucking Dazai .

He snorted and laughed so hard he nearly busted a lung when the black-coated terror dragged himself into the office, nose as red as a fucking stop sign, face puffed up so much that his tighter features, the ones the made him almost look his age, made him look like a chubby baby , all bloated and shit. His hair was definitely more oily than usual and he absolutely could not wait to fuck with him about it. He looked rough- a nyone would think he was actually fucking dying. Hilarious!

His dishevelled appearance garnered no sympathy from Chuuya, busy wiping and rubbing his eyes raw, unable to tear the grin off his face, and not wanting to. Mori seemed to be letting it go ahead, so whatever they’d been called for wasn’t strictly important, or they had time to spare.

The mission was simple enough, he found. Chuuya had been excused from Kouyou lessons for the day to help Dazai iron some things out with some new rival groups. Normally Hirotsu would accompany them, but Mori must’ve seen fit to only have the two of them this time around for whatever reason.

First though, paperwork needed to be finished. Documents needed to be updated. The redhead would’ve been inclined to comment on how smarmy it was to update paperwork for things that hadn’t happened yet, but Mori liked to show off his and Dazai’s predictive abilities, and this was, albeit a risky one, one of many ways they’d show it off . He could only assume this was one of those times.

“And Dazai-kun? Take the antihistamines I gave you,” Mori concluded their meeting. Chuuya bowed, hitting Dazai and hopefully winding him- it was enough to have him keel over. The complaining renewed as they left the office, whining about his stomach. 

“You’re a brute.”

“You seem to be the only one who has a problem with me,” he hummed smugly.

“That’s because you don’t hit anyone else.”

“I do, during training.” 

“Yeah, but you’re meant to . You just hit me for the sake of it. Hasn’t the novelty worn off yet?” He mumbled, pulling his coat straight.

Chuuya smirked, choosing this moment to stop them. Walking side-by-side was mindless at this point, to Chuuya’s dismay, but it also meant that the stinky fish who walked with him would stop if he did. The brunet looked over at him with a flat expression, which changed slightly when Chuuya leaned right into his space. 

He felt his smirk grow at the slight movement backwards. 

“I will never get tired of beating you up.”

“That sounds like a life sentence.”

“Damn right.”

The brunet’s eyes flickered over him, up and down, so he braced himself for a height joke that actually never came. “Should I be flattered by your proposal?”

That gave him pause. Should he? Well, Chuuya probably shouldn’t be proud of admitting he’d always find joy in hitting Dazai, because that implied that he’d likely miss it if he didn’t have the chance to.

“If I’m so special, maybe you should seal the deal.” He leaned over and Chuuya fought against the lump in his throat.

He forced a scowl, feeling his face get warm in anger. Regrettably, a memory from a mission weeks prior popped into his head, where their target had made some very questionable comments towards him. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what he was implying, it made him feel small - if you wanted your ‘ring’ pounded so bad- “You’re disgusting.”

“Ah. but that face is the face you pull when you’re disgusted with yourself ,” and now his partner was the one smirking, though there was a certain darkness about them. “Get your head out of the gutter, Chuuya. What horrible things did you just think about?”

He pushed past him, ignoring the fact that they would end up in the same office within minutes. Worse still, Dazai was the one holding the paperwork. “I’m going the long way, don’t follow me!”

“You could just say you need a bathroom break to clean yourself up-”

“Fuck off, freak!”

– 

The blissful silence ( silence ) lasted an hour longer than Chuuya expected.

An hour in, ugh- “This is a nightmare,” Dazai sniffled. He sounded congested as all hell, and the redhead was willing to bet the asshole’s eyes would be glassy too. 

“You heard Boss,” Chuuya shrugged, not looking up from the word he’d been sounding out in his head. Too long , too many letters. Just say it like it is . “Take your meds.”

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to take them. There’s no tablets to help you grow taller .”

He pushed the air out his nose, four in, four out- “They’re just antihistamines, what are they gonna do?”

Chuuya was expecting a They won’t kill me! or something similar, but a short pause stretched on. He looked over at Dazai to see him staring off somewhere else, eyes predictably bugged from having palms digging into them without break. Before Chuuya could whip him into shape, Dazai burst to life again.

“They’re the drowsy kind, it’s so annoying,” he whined. “How does he expect me to do paperwork when I’m all sleepy?”

It’s not like you need them, zoning out like that. “Poor baby,” the redhead mumbled. “Take your meds. If you sneeze on me, I’ll make sure you fucking implode, I don’t care if you’ve got a nullifying ability .”

“Now that is something I’d like to see. We’d probably destroy ourselves, y’know?” He then paled. Double suicide…with….?!

Thankfully, the former King of the Sheep was not privy to his thoughts, actively went out of his way to fucking ignore them. “Suicidal bastard. Just do the damn paperwork.”

He grumbled, but resumed his own work, putting pen to paper.

As he’d recently discovered, another odd side-effect of a sick Dazai seemed to be selective compliance ( he’d say he was extra annoying when he was sick, but that would imply it was in any way odd, which it absolutely wasn’t .) For instance, sitting down and shutting up, actually doing his paperwork when asked. 

Chuuya didn’t get sick often- Dazai had said it’d been something about being on the streets for so long, eating shit off the floor built up his immune system. He did not eat shit off the floor ( when he could help it ), so he called bullshit and the brunet had acquiesced and muttered that it could be something to do with Arahabaki. Seemed more likely.

He didn’t get so seedy that it stopped him from functioning, and though Dazai was pushing through well enough, he looked like death warmed up, which was definitely not ideal 

Now, he wasn’t complaining. He really wasn’t. Silence in Dazai’s presence was reserved for missions, and even then he wasn’t that lucky. Silent and working? A rarity. But this was weird

Dazai seemed adamant about staying awake. It was almost…disturbing. And he could guarantee that when the brunet left, he would do nothing to take care of himself, would he even sleep ? Chuuya grimaced at the thought. Even though things always seemed to turn out , they didn’t need to turn out the way they did, okay? The redhead was sick of it.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Go to sleep.”

Dazai raised his eyebrow.

“It’s not like your paperwork is gonna be worth shit anyway. You’re practically drooling on it.” 

He rolled his eyes. “At least mine is legible.”

Chuuya’s anger flared, tensing so much it hurt. Kouyou said Dazai lived to piss people off, as he needed someone to tell him that, but something she’d also been kind enough to mention that the little bastard would poke and prod at any insecurity he found. Chuuya didn’t have a ‘why’ yet, allowing himself to assume it was just because he was a jackass, but somehow it didn’t feel right. Not that he’d say anything. 

“You’re a bitch when you’re tired. Makes sense that you’re always fucking insufferable.”

Dazai sniffled quietly, and Chuuya almost grinned at the effort to keep it quiet. Fucking loser. “Tired of living, chibi. If I were your size, I’d have killed myself by now.”

Ignore the jab. “What’s stopping you?”

“…paperwork,” he grumbled.

“Whatever,” he finished the last line of kanji and leaned back. It was getting…neater. Mori was kind of encouraging, which was weird, but maybe it was just because Dazai badgered him about his writing so much, anything that wasn’t a direct insult was fine, really. He wouldn’t forget when Kouyou stood up for him, telling Dazai that “ At least he’s trying to apply himself to something. You’re as stuck in your ways at fifteen as an 80-year-old woman is. ”

That felt nice.

“Just take a few minutes. Nodding off isn’t going to kill you.”

“Maybe it will-“

“All the more reason to do it,” he finished for him, and tapped his pen on the desk to get the burnet’s attention. He resisted the urge to smirk, finding that the satisfaction in seeing Dazai’s hindered processing and coordination skills was short-lived; it wasn’t hard to stave off after a second or two. “So shut up and sleep.”

Another half an hour passes in a blur of tiny letters and carefully spelled words.

Quiet. It was too quiet.

He opened his mouth to speak, raising his eyes and almost slapping his own hand over his mouth to make sure no sound came out. He plastered his lips together, eyeing the other boy wearily.

The other boy, whose head was laid in his arms, slumped in his chair. The bandaged side of Dazai’s face peeked from his crossed arms. Only his fingertips could be seen from beneath his black coat. Usually he’d make fun of him and his oversized coat ( it’d been a little harder to actively think about since realising he hardly saw the mackerel eat, he only fell back on it out of instinct ), but right now, it looked kinda-

No.  

Now, Chuuya was raised to sleep with one eye open. He didn’t imagine the mafia was much better in that regard. He knew so, the old boss’ end assured him of that, therefore it was… surprising , to say the least, that his good eye was the one obscured. 

He scrunched up his face when he realised he was staring, turning his attention back to the paper in front of him. He’d made a habit of putting little dots next to words, that way when the control freak checked before they were submitted ( he was a lazy asshole, but anything to get him to do some work of his own, Chuuya would sometimes feign ignorance on a few words or phrases, forcing the other to fill it out ), he could complete it.

There were a few dots, and he was sure if he tried hard enough, he could figure them out himself. Rather, he placed them to the side and stretched to reach for the next few papers, his gaze inadvertently landing on the brunet again, whose papers were half poking out from beneath his arms. He was thankful to see some writing at least. Selective compliance.

( Dazai’s words. Chuuya summed it up a lot better, he thought- he did what he wanted when he wanted. Proceeded to make it everyone else’s problem. That was the fine print. )

“What a dick,” he mumbled to the walls, fully aware he was contradicting himself from earlier. As much as he hated admitting it, Dazai was handy when it came to paperwork. He understood everything, could fucking read whatever he wanted to . The help was worth the few times the brunet would fuck around and tell him things that weren’t true.

His attention drifted back to the boy across from him. He rationalised it, he probably wouldn’t get the chance again, there’s no way this wasn’t a one off deal. Dazai felt like sleeping, so he did. Simple as that. 

Dazai…was asleep at the desk. Essentially surrendering himself in Chuuya’s presence. He could do anything- he could finally get the asshole for drawing on his face!

.

.

.

Though, this new partnership of theirs was about give and take. Chuuya had never seen Dazai in any form of rest or recovery, and the self-care debate, he could feel, would be a raging, unending war. Dazai took all of Chuuya’s patience, but this…was enough to give back. The knowledge that he trusted his partner enough to lower his guard a bit in his presence.

All of a sudden, the mackerel getting some sleep felt like a lot more than that. 

He got back to work.

–

It started small. The redhead looked up when he sensed movement, and caught the tail end of a full body twitch. He didn’t think much of it.

What caught his attention next was his breathing. Almost silent before, now it was a bit louder, stuttering, along with shudders. It got more prominent as time went on, and it wasn’t exactly music to the ears while the redhead was finishing off what he could.

It was distracting. It sounded bad, nothing like soft breaths in his ear, gentle puffs of air that span into wisps in the cold. Nothing calm. Nothing like how sleeping should be.

The kicker was a tiny hum, only heard because of the silence and acoustics in their shared office.

He hesitated through every moment- getting up, edging over, sitting on the desk. Especially when his bare hand was flat on the side of his head. The combination of his hair and the bandages was a different texture, one he would deny he’d thought about before. 

He wasn’t thinking, he told himself. It just happened. He didn’t have the energy to feel super disgusted.

He should. He was sick. Allergies, but still.

No Longer Human buzzed through his fingertips, it was almost pleasant. He carded his fingers through slowly, lazily. He couldn’t see any wrinkles due to his angle and obviously the bandages, but he was shifting a little now. Maybe it was a nightmare, maybe he was just restless, uncomfortable. Probably from falling asleep in the seat.

“Hey,” he whispered, trying to figure out what he was meant to say, if he wanted him to wake up. Thinking too hard would make it less genuine-

Why did he care about something like that?

His hand stilled, and he simply stared at it, noting how small brown tufts stuck up slightly around it. Another jolt shook him out of it and he resumed lightly scratching. He tried to imagine how it would feel on himself, whether he’d like it ( he didn’t bring his other hand up to his own hair to test it, he didn’t ) if someone did this to him.

To him? For him?

This seemed pretty tame, for the time being. When Mori mentioned offhandedly that he had new pills for Dazai to sleep throughout the night, he’d latched onto the information quicker than he’d liked. He didn’t know it was that bad, didn’t think to ask before. He hadn’t really cared, hadn’t paid attention to the fact that he hadn’t seen him actually sleep . After that, though, he noticed and couldn’t stop noticing how tired he looked sometimes.

Another small hum, but it sounded stressed. He moved his hand from his head to his upper back, running his hand along his shoulder blades a few times before tracing a small portion of his upper spine with his finger. Dazai had told him what the vertebrae there were called, so he tried to remember in the meantime.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, feeling his body relax into a sigh. The fabric under his hands didn’t feel so bad. His hands felt fuzzy now, it was kinda cool. Dazai followed suit a few moments after. “That’s it.”

This was…nice. The small part of his partner’s face he could see if he leaned one way was peaceful. Chuuya couldn’t help but think about how much easier this was compared to the last fiasco they’d had. Dazai…well, this probably couldn’t be counted as being allowed , but he wasn’t waking up like Chuuya was smashing the hell out of him. Accepting a little bit of comfort.

The redhead wondered errantly if Dazai had a taste of actual comfort, whether he’d lean into it or seek it out. Likely answer being no , but they had…whatever a mafia lifetime was ahead of them. They couldn’t stay like this, being so resistant to each other. They could hate each other and still take care of each other. 

It would make sense. It would . They had to live.

Dazai had to-

The knocks on the door disturbed the calm like a boulder dropped from a height, and if looks could kill, whoever was behind the door would be dead. If Dazai woke up, he’d fucking-

Fucking what? What would he do?

“Gramps,” he greeted lowly, nodding his head, trying to remove the frustration from his expression. It probably didn’t work. 

If he noticed, he didn’t mention it. Figures, so professional. “I apologise for disturbing you both. Mori-sensei asked me to drop off the last of the paperwork for tomorrow’s outing.”

He nodded, shifting on his feet slightly and taking the file handed to him. He did a cursory flip-through, latching onto familiar words. He’d make Dazai do all of that when he woke up. Serves him right.

He raised his head in time to watch the old man’s eyes drift past him for a second, obviously falling on a sleeping Dazai. Chuuya was gripped by uncharacteristic panic. “Don’t–” he stopped, recognising there’s no way he had seniority over him, will he listen to me? “I mean, uh-” goddamnit, Dazai! Putting me in such uncomfortable positions! “Don’t tell Boss, yeah-? Uh, please?” I’ve fucked this so bad. “He hasn’t been sleeping, so…” he let go of a breath he was holding when the seasoned mafioso’s eyes gleamed.

“Seems he needs it,” was the calm response.

Oh, he’s…happy? Amused? Is that the right word? “Yeah. I’m…” I can do this , “-more relieved for the fuckin- for the quiet, if I’m honest.” Seniority, dipshit.

“I suppose being around each other so often takes its toll. I take it Kouyou’s lessons are a welcome break?”

He nodded. They were hard sometimes, but it was preferable to Dazai when he was in a mood, aka ninety percent of the time.

He accidently dropped a paper from the file, cursing and bending to get it. He hadn’t seen it on his initial check, identifying it as…

“There’s extra…from-?” Is that a death certificate?

“The mission you both accompanied Kouyou on a few weeks ago, yes. It seems Mori is sending Dazai-kun a message.”

“About what? He was a sleazy prick.” He wasn’t in the room for the conclusion of that mission. He knew the guy died, Kouyou hadn’t seemed too fazed as she practically glided out of the private room; Chuuya wasn’t, not after all the comments he’d been making, it was just downright uncomfortable in the room. He was glad he’d been relegated to keeping watch at the door. Thank god for the shooting down the street, huh?

“It appears Mori wanted him alive.”

Oh. “Huh.” He kept his mouth shut about Kouyou. Didn’t say anything about being glad that the creepy geezer was dead, though he knew Hirotsu wasn’t stupid. As much as he hated to admit it, the only person he’d accept calling him a fairy was Dazai, because he was a dick, not a pedophile.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah-” oh, wait, “and, uh, maybe don’t mention I said anything about…y’know, his sleeping habits. Or this, god knows he’ll find out eventually, I just want a break from his bitching.”

“I can keep a secret,” he bowed and bid farewell with a friendly smile. 

When the door closed, he breathed a sigh of relief, the voice in his head calling him an embarrassment, sounding way too much like his sleeping partner. He hesitated, but not for long, slipping between the gap in their desks, dropping the new file on his own and sitting on Dazai’s again.

Still so peaceful. Calm. He looked…

“Look what you did,” he sighed, returning his hand lightly. 

“...hm?”

Shit, he’s awake! Damnit, what should I-?

“...Chuuya chased more work away?”

How much did he hear? “Not exactly,” he said quietly, not daring to move his hand. No doubt a message from Mori meant another night where he’d be straining his ears and prying his eyes open to make sure Dazai returned to his dorm sometime during the night. Meant a private meeting with Mori.

…that could wait. They had a day for the paperwork, then the next for the actual mission.

Should I keep-

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Shut up you-  

He resumed scratching his head, hoping it’d be enough for him to drift off again. His thoughts got really loud, but he almost appreciated it when Dazai pointed it out, given that it usually meant he was being predictable or obvious, and those weren’t great traits to have in a cutthroat Underground.

His partner’s next words were so quiet he nearly missed them.

“Good doggy,” he whispered, drifting off again. “Protecting your master.”

.

.

.

He really should deny it.

If the mackerel asked, he fell asleep before his reply.

( Now we’re even. )

Chapter Text

“Chuuya-kun, you may leave. Dazai will join you later for training. I have a few things I’d like to discuss with him privately.”

“Don’t bother sending him,” he scoffed. “He landed on his ass walking here. As if he could last a round with me.”

Mori raised an eyebrow, and the air seemed to drain from the room. Chuuya bowed his head, recognising something had changed, listening to his survival instinct and getting the fuck out. He caught sight of the other boy’s face and noted it was holding a layer of emotion that Chuuya barely recognised. 

…did he just get Dazai in trouble?

They did it all the time, getting each other in trouble, but that wasn’t a face he was used to. On top of that, it was obvious the two were doing their weird pseudo-communication thing through glances, having a conversation in Chuuya’s presence that he wasn’t privy to. It was disconcerting, but annoying more than anything. It was usually lorded over him by one asshole mackerel, leaving him seething and feeling stupid.

“Is that so, Dazai-kun? You didn’t tell me you were sick,” came a smooth voice that sounded like danger. 

Shit. Is he? Chuuya stopped halfway between his place beside Dazai in front of the desk and the door, turning around to watch them.

The brunet scoffed. “I tripped because the chibi prick stopped right in front of me on the way here. I’d love to miss training with him, you really are too kind Mori-san.”

Forget it, fuck you. “Shouldn’t be so hard to trip if I’m so small, jackass! Wouldn’t you just step over me, huh? Not so aware of your surroundings, are you?”

“Mori-san, have you ever stepped on a lego?” Dazai asked, ignoring him completely, and Chuuya could only furrow his brows. He’d heard of legos. The building blocks, right? “Surely you’ve bought Elise-chan some, or Q? They’re a nightmare to step on, Chuuya is just as painful, I assure you. I could-”

Mori sighed. “I’m not giving you morphine because you accidentally tripped.”

Chuuya cocked his head. Morphine? Painkiller. What did he-? 

“But Chuuya is so mean! And-!”

“Chuuya-kun, is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

He shook his head. “No, sir,” and he bolted, vaguely noting the scoff from Dazai.

“ Sir? ”

He didn’t see him for another few hours- he had time with Kouyou in the meantime, practised some writing too. He still maintained his decision earlier that morning. The last thing he needed was to get involved with whatever was about to happen. He was already on Mori’s radar- his partnership with Dazai and with loyalty pledged, there was no getting away from it. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t keep a low profile when possible. Chuuya didn’t like the idea of blind obedience, despite the mocking he was starting to get from Dazai. Mori was a dangerous man and a good leader, a terrible combination for his enemies.

Enemies could hide in every corner, and plain sight. 

Shirase. The mafia would be no different . 

Dazai would be a good shield from it, a middle ground, if possible. They spoke each other’s language, so as long as they were busy with each other, no need for Chuuya to intervene and draw more attention than necessary, right?

Subtlety was not his strong suit, but it was worth a try.

The voice in his head told him it was pointless and that he should give up. It wasn’t his voice and he knew it.

I’ll be damned if I listen to him-

It was becoming a frequent occurrence, and it wholeheartedly upset him that he couldn’t un-hear the lilts and tilts and intricacies that made up the most annoying, smarmy, uptight, stupid voice he’d ever heard. What right did his mind have for picking up and replicating his exact tone?

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

He felt the presence of someone behind him. 

Cold hands snaked under his collar. A chill spread over him. You-!

He launched the asshole over his head, but he landed well, having spun in the air, and stood up without a scratch. 

“The fuck was that for?!”

“ Sir? You’re such a suck-up Chuuya, it’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for you, and that’s saying something,” he prattled off, waving his hand about. He was actually wearing his coat, as opposed to having it slung on his shoulders, and there was something minutely entertaining about the sleeves being too long for his arms. 

Such a hypocrite, calling him short when everything was so big on him. “Well, I didn’t have my ass tanned, so who’s winning, prick?”

“Who says that happened? What if Elise-chan invited me for a tea party and Mori was merely passing on the invitation?”

Chuuya spit on the ground. “Keep your weird tea parties to yourself.”

“Gross, Chuuya,” the other mumbled, taking a step back as if the spit was about to gravitate towards him. “You’re just jealous. Elise-chan spoils me.”

Dazai was Mori’s favourite, obviously, so that could be true, considering Elise was his ability and- ugh. Ew! Mori was just disgraceful. What the fuck was he doing here? Why did such a good leader have to be so weird?

“As if I’d be jealous,” he scoffed. “What’d Boss want to talk about, anyway?”

“Private means private, chu-huahua,” Dazai hummed, spinning out Chuuya’s reach when he went to hit him. “Boss graciously asked me to keep it between us,” and the redhead zoned out, watching the brunet’s direction sway a little before correcting to a straight line.

He…could be dizzy. Or high. Apparently the brunet had gotten high before, Mori told him it was an aftermath of one of his attempts. It fulfilled the older’s morbid curiosity about Dazai’s life before he recruited Chuuya for all of five seconds, but he wasn’t about to ask for more.

Dazai wouldn’t tell him.

“I’m starving,” he announced. “Coming?”

“Of course you are,” the other tutted. 

Alright. That was worth the hit in the stomach.

Maybe.

Chuuya almost felt bad.

The coughing continued.

Okay.

Chuuya felt really bad.

He stepped to him and placed his hand between the brunet’s shoulder blades. The cough wasn’t chesty , but it wasn’t nice at all. The body shaking irregularly beneath his hand was warm, a stark difference from his usual cold temperature, something Dazai’s body complained about without needing his voice, painful cracking joints and frozen extremities. He fights against his body to be as quick as he is, as precise as he is.

“ Yucky- slug germs ,” came the pathetic attempt at speaking. 

Chuuya rolled his eyes on instinct. “You’re the one hacking up your lungs and spreading your disgusting shit everywhere.”

“Covering my- mouth ,” he forced out, clearing his throat so harshly Chuuya knew it’d get sore.

“Oi, stop that.”

Dazai looked incredulous for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “Choke on phlegm? Not exactly pain-free, dumbass.”

“When the time comes, I’ll make sure it’s slow and painful,” he promised. “For the time being, don’t fucking die before the next mission, yeah?”

A blind person could tell Chuuya wanted some fieldwork. Dazai would argue that he got plenty of experience with the ragtag group he’d been indoctrinated into, considering the increasing amount of time he was spending with them ( negligible in the face of how much time he spent with Kouyou and, unfortunately, himself, but enough for him to start experimenting with his “style” ), but there was, to his dismay, something oddly satisfying about missions with Chuuya.

If anyone asked, it was just funny to watch his dog chase his tail. It was quite the spectacle, watching Chuuya dominate in combat. How could one play fair with such an extraordinary ability?

However, the way he’s said it…almost sounded like concern . It was proof not needed that Chuuya tried to hide his true intentions sometimes, he was just wildly unsuccessful at it. Something to do with big eyes and a shitty attitude.

(Eyes, the windows to the soul, something Chuuya expressed discomfort with when mentioned. Such obvious reactions, emotions painted on his face, in his body language. It was refreshing and predictable, though sometimes, not as predictably, the redhead’s insight or reactions provided food for thought. 

They were interesting. Chuuya was interesting. He hadn’t had any issue telling Chuuya that. Once he’d said it, though, he wondered if Chuuya would want to hear it again. He was a kid with abandonment issues, after all. He’d deny any care about Dazai’s feelings about him, but those bright blue eyes would say otherwise. Curious and defiant.

And underneath it all, a desperation for someone to know him, possibly better than he knew himself.

A large chance of dipping into codependency. Likely one of Mori’s plans to keep the two of them pliant.)

A flick to his forehead brought him out of his thoughts. Chuuya was staring at him with a strange look on his face. It bordered on something he’d seen when Chuuya heard about injuries or deaths- a muted kind of grief that coloured his features greyer and removed the saturation, and yet somehow his eyes remained just as bright, only sadder. 

Dazai decided that concern was buttfucking ugly on Chuuya. So he said so.

“You’re ugly.”

“... hah?! ”

Despite that fucking- whatever that was , Chuuya ended up asking Kouyou about cold remedies. Not because he cared , per se, but because the mackerel would complain loudly and make the problem Chuuya’s. This was damage control, preventative measures, if you will. Preventing it from getting worse, preventing any more complaining.

That’s it.

—

“Such a mother hen,” he cooed, ruffling red hair and ignoring the swatting hands. “It’s just a cold.”

Chuuya had taken care of lots of kids when they had colds. They usually just called it being sick, a light cold or a bad cold. Some of the kids had families to go to, they’d predictably get better quicker than those less fortunate. One time, one of the kids managed to sneak a bottle to them, three quarters full of cough syrup. It went quickly, they used less than suggested, made it last a little longer, reach a few more people, it was one of the more expensive brands that they couldn’t get their hands on unless they wanted to hold up a pharmacy (wouldn’t go well)- a chill was settling over Suribachi City, but they did their best.

That wasn’t a great winter, at all. The members with families were nowhere to be seen, and some didn’t come back when the weather got warmer. A few kids still waited for them, Chuuya included. He was something of a leader even back then. Some of the older kids were wary due to his power, even though they benefited directly, but to the little ones, it was magical. Sparkles in their eyes when they asked him to make them float.

It was the same winter that Chuuya realised just how small some of the kids were, how many tiny hands could fit in his palms.

It was a bad winter.

And there was no such thing as just a cold.

“Look, bastard, just take the damn drink, okay? A bit of citrus isn’t going to kill you.”

Now he knew a lot more different ways people could die. Just how important maintaining body temperature was. So yeah, maybe he was being a bit pedantic, and Kouyou would tut at him for bothering and indulging in the brunet’s antics, but they were stuck together, right?

Dazai annoyed him enough in a day to last a lifetime, but he was also his partner. Mori had saddled him with the responsibility of looking out for Dazai, as Dazai was for him, he was big enough to admit ( no fucking jokes ), but he wondered if Mori knew.

Knew a secret kept close to his chest. Maybe he wasn’t just doing it out of obligation.

Back with the Sheep, the group’s main focus was survival. There was no opportunity to indulge like in the mafia. No partnerships, no permanent shelter, nothing disposable. Chuuya was almost guilty ( was guilty) that he’d acclimatised to the mafia reasonably quickly. One of the biggest differences being that he could eat his fill every time.

No worrying about someone else’s mouth. Well, at least there was enough to go around. Maybe there was another mouth he needed to worry about. And while Dazai loved to tease him for his appetite, he never once told him to stop.

(Little things.)

The Sheep taught him, at least he thought they did, that protecting those you cared for, being needed by someone, was as good a life’s purpose as any. Some would call it being locked in servitude, and sure, it could happen, but a golden cage is easier to live in than a dumpster.

He was still angry, seeing the looks on their face, remembering them before, and before- 

“I bet you didn’t even sweeten it. You just want me to drink sour water!” 

“Smell it, then.”

“Huh? Is it going to poison me?”

“You wish.”

“ Disgusting ,” he scrunched up his nose. “I don’t want your icky-“

“Dazai,” he groaned, “you’ll be able to smell the honey. I knew you were going to bitch about it, I put in so much you probably won’t even taste the lemon, but it should feel good, so.” So I’ve been told. 

“You promise?” 

“Goddamnit, yes,” he grunted, grabbing the brunet’s wrist, textured with bandages, and shoving the pink thermos into his hand, a hand that grabbed it on instinct. “And don’t, I could hear you the minute I fucking poured it, I don’t want to hear it.”

There was a grin growing on the younger’s face. “Borrowed from dear Kouyou-san, I assume?”

“Yeah-! Well, I didn’t have one of my own, I didn’t really think to buy one, and I had a lesson with her, she gave it to me so I killed two birds with one stone, you better give it back to her and pull flowers out of your ass because I’m pretty sure she knows it’s you,” he finished, and in that time, the mackerel’s face had morphed into a different expression, less shit-eating and closer to- god he didn’t care. “Stop looking at me like that, your face is fucking ugly.”

.

.

.

“Say something, damnit!”

“... you’re ug-”

“Not fucking that!”

Somehow they both ended up in Dazai’s dorm, which was a half-miracle for Dazai considering every time he left he never wanted to go back ( and every time he was there, he didn’t want to leave ), and also because he hit a few walls on the way, blaming blocked ears for the compromised balance.

The first time was funny, because it was in front of people and very few things brought him more joy than seeing Dazai embarrass himself ( it didn’t happen often enough for his liking- he thought it was embarrassing to wear an oversized coat and walk around with a sanctimonious attitude, but apparently to other people that was “intimidating” ), but afterwards it lost its charm, and the reaction was simply silence amongst the brunet’s childish muttering.

He really was a damn kid.

Chuuya had hoped reaching his dorm would improve his attitude. He wasn’t better. He was worse. At least he didn’t have to wrestle the dumbass onto the couch. He migrated there on his own to the redhead’s relief, but resisted being any help to himself, which didn’t surprise him, but that didn’t mean it wasn't still pissing him off.

“So much for a phenomenal immune system, shitty Dazai.”

“Short slug.”

“Just shut the fuck up and take the blankets.”

“I’m sweating. ”

“No shit, you fucking stink,” he crinkled his nose for effect. Maybe if he acted offended enough, the brunet might take pity on his singeing nose-hairs. Who was he kidding? “Wait until you’re better, then clean this joint.”

He groaned and stared at the blankets, as though willing them to disintegrate. “I’m so tired , chibi. I barely have the energy to lift my head!”

While his own head really needed to shut up, there was a part of him acknowledging the slight, somewhat grating concern. It was only a cold, did it really have the capacity to put Dazai out of action? Was this because of his shitty immune system? “ What immune system?” a part of him asked against his will. Or was he just being insufferable as usual?

“So sleep. And take another sip.”

“I can’t,” he whinged more, wriggling around and shaking his head. Chuuya would dismiss it as a normal Dazai occurrence if it wasn’t for the fact that he caught his face squeezed into an awfully honest expression for a few seconds at a time. Chuuya hadn’t known him for a long time, but for him, it wasn’t difficult to spot this kind of thing. Dazai was clearly uncomfortable. Clearly on edge about not being at optimal function.

Chuuya would deign to say that a decent night’s sleep, proper hydration and a sustainable diet would constitute “optimal function”, but what would he know?

“Dazai, sleep.”

“I just told you, dumb slug,” he pushed himself so far into his couch he looked as though he was attempting to be one with it, a second from folding at the waist like a flip-phone. “I can’t.”

“And if I’m here?”

A flat voice to match the expression. “Even worse.”

He prodded a finger in his direction. “Just forgetting about what happened in the office, huh?”

He crossed his arms and looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Despite catching sight of slightly flushed cheeks and a light red nose, he didn’t catch himself stopping the conversation the way Dazai wanted it to. “Of course you don’t,” he scoffed. “You just fall asleep in anyone’s presence, right? Fucking jackass.”

“Chibi,” he dragged out.

“Fuckin’ what? ”

“Talk to me nicer,” he shook himself again. “I’m human too, you know?”

“Changing your tune to whatever suits you is so-!” Frustrating? Annoying? It makes me murderous? “Just lay your dainty fucking head down and sleep, you damn princess.”

He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but the way Dazai’s eyes lightened from the sickly haze told him it was going to become a thing . “But what about a pillow? And a lullaby? And a-”

He stormed out of the room, yelling “ Don’t finish that sentence! ”

Chapter Text

Dazai was smart. Really smart. Supposedly wrote-out-a-ten-year-plan-for-the-mafia-at-fourteen smart . When Chuuya asked about it, he said he was bored and didn’t want to listen to Mori fussing over Elise. Chuuya got it. It was a bit weird- the little girl was alright on her own, but the doting was a little-

Mm. There are rumours going around saying Mori can read minds. Impossible.

Best to be safe, though.

That’s why he was trying to act nonchalant as he stood in Mori’s office alone. It wasn’t a regular occurance, nor something he particularly wanted to make a habit of. He was first brought before the mafia at least with a dumb mackerel in the room. Since they’d been forced together, silence became suspicious. If there wasn’t a crash or a bang or a very quiet something to listen for, it set him almost on as much edge as obvious danger did.

At least he could predict something. Silent danger was more difficult. He could sense impending attacks and counter quickly, but there was room for error. Dazai had this… sense , Chuuya wouldn’t call it smarts , but maybe it was better described as observational skill. His level of prediction was, admittedly, the most frightening thing about him. His ability to see through anyone, paired with a dark, dead eye that seemed more like it was looking through you than at you, he wasn’t surprised their enemies were shitting bricks when he was involved.

Dazai had been late to the dorm that night. He’d left before Chuuya got back later in the evening after a demonstration-turned-hangout with the Flags. He didn’t know if he slept, but he’d at least been laying down when Chuuya left, probably as relaxed as he could get. His face didn’t portray much, well, nothing, actually , but there was an air about him. The redhead figured it was what people sensed when in his presence, that was the thing that unnerved them.

Chuuya…did not enjoy going to Dazai’s quarters. He’d caught him actively attempting multiple times now, and Chuuya wasn’t living in fear , per se, just…waiting for the day to come where he walked into something messier. Something worse. Something he couldn’t bandaid, bandage or crudely stitch. Something where it’d be his responsibility to go to Mori with a problem he couldn’t fix on his own, and something in his gut told him that would not be easily forgiven.

As if he cared about “earning” something like that.

( He wondered about the bandages. After the first time, he had a feeling he knew what was under the ones on his neck. )

He smashed on the door, hoping it would be enough. He really didn’t want to walk in on an attempt. He… did that make him a bad person? To not want to be confronted with that?

Well, it’s not like that mattered, he was in the fucking mafia. He could be forgiven for that much, surely. 

Forgiven. What a weird notion. What the fuck did he need to be forgiven for? He survived, he was- he didn’t need to prove that to anyone , 

Ugh, screw the weird people around him getting so philosophical about death. Death was death, there was nothing more to it.

The door was locked, but Mori had provided an extra key to the room in case there was ever a suspected attempt and the brunet had locked himself away, but as Chuuya had heard, there wasn’t always a reason to suspect. Sometimes Dazai just… did it. He’d play it off most of the time, make a joke of it, but it was still just…

There weren't words for it.

He used the key, breathing deep to not knock the door off its hinges. He hadn’t thought too hard about the notion of Dazai being asleep. There’d been a mission brief, and while Mori deemed it fine to tell only Chuuya in this case so he could pass on the message and later, the file (provided the brunet was being difficult), he could sense a little bit of tension.

Dazai was back around the same time he always was. 

Chuuya wasn’t completely convinced he’d heard, but the small sniffle he heard sounded different to how it had earlier in the day. It was worse after rest instead of better, and whatever had happened with Mori? He didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t good.

He registered the lump on the mattress when he entered the bedroom. When he’d see Dazai relaxing, he’d usually be sprawled out, taking up as much room as possible, even laying on top of him sometimes just to piss him off. This time, however, it was a ball, a small one, like he’d bent his spindly cricket limbs in to make himself as small as possible.

And it was only a light sheet, there’s no way it was warm. The heater in the dorms was also pretty shit, Chuuya was used to it, and it helped that he was usually warm anyway, but Dazai decidedly wasn’t like that, and with his immune system- well, if the mackerel had cold feet, the building would hear him sneezing.

Mori’s voice rang in the back of his head, the silent threat heard loud and clear. But…damn, did Dazai look pitiful right now, or at least the tiny lump under the covers did.

“Shitty mackerel,” he whispered, edging a little closer and kneeling on the bed. “Mission brief was twenty minutes ago.” If he took his time to check on him, if it had been an attempt, he wouldn’t be there and he wasn’t relieved to see the lump, to see the sheet the colour it was meant to be and not stained-

A wriggle and groan, and then nothing. He rolled his eyes. If he was moving, he could haul ass to Mori’s office.

“Fucking child,” he grumbled, jumping off the bed and grabbing the edge of the sheets. He pulled them off to reveal…

Woah. 

Any doubt in his mind was almost instantaneously cleared, like a fog lifting at supernatural speeds.

He… really should see Mori about this.

Chuuya was right. His legs were folded up to his chest as close as they could go. You wouldn’t expect someone with long legs to touch the ground and twist as easily as Dazai seemed to do, even with the cracks and crunches and complaining, but even so, his knees were almost touching his chest curled into himself, a movement Chuuya knew wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but he was so small.

His white shirt was probably see-through from sweat at some point, but at that moment, Dazai’s body was racked by a shiver, making him curl a little more. His bandaged eye was smashed into the mattress, the fabric loose but still holding. Bare feet, you’re such an idiot.

The biggest indicator being the slight smell of sick permeating the air in the enclosed space. 

Mori had sent people for Dazai before- once, it looked like they dragged him straight out of bed, his hair sticking everywhere (unlike its oily appearance now), crumpled dress shirt spotted with dots on the inside of the arm. The eyebags may as well have stretched down his face the same way tears would- it would probably be the closest thing he could manage.  

Right now…

He didn’t feel bad, no.

( He totally did. )

“You look…” like shit.

He sounded completely dazed when he responded with a “ huh? ” that anyone could hear was a struggle to push out. His throat was probably scratchy and raw, stuck that way unless Dazai over-cleared his throat as he always did and ripped phlegm from wherever it’d settled. 

It really isn’t your month, huh, shitty Dazai?

His was slightly wild, if Chuuya needed a word to describe it. Like…something unexpected, and it was definitely unexpected because due to Dazai’s carefully curated mask, knee-jerk reactions like shock weren’t seen often. It was the same wildness as an unexpected bump during a mission, something he used to pin as offence that something dared fall outside his expectations, and that thought led him to wonder when exactly he’d stopped seeing Dazai as just this other guy , and as someone he watched and read.

He wasn’t so hard all the time. He was just a kid, after all, something that he’d only use to get his way. Otherwise, he ignored the notion of being a “child” completely. Illness definitely made him look like one.

He thought back to when Dazai had zoned out the day before, just staring at him after he told him he’d kill him but not to die before their next mission. His eyes were slightly glazed over, and he’d pushed down the not concern- the confusion ( that’s it .) and ignored it.

Bad call.

Dazai jolted at the contact, his single visible eye trying to focus. “Huh…?” 

He just sighed, not from exertion. It was hardly an effort to pick him up, and funnily enough, the mackerel wasn’t struggling to get away. This kid was way too light. 

The lack of struggle could’ve been suspicious if he hadn’t seen the hazy look in his partner’s eye, but he wasn’t going to complain about something being easy. He could’ve sworn he felt the boy relax when they stopped outside his own dorm door. He probably thought they were going to Mori. And not complaining about it?

“My hands are full,” he jostled his partner ( god ) a little bit. “You gotta open the door.”

“Mm, no,” he teased, but his voice had a different edge to it. It was flat, definitely chesty. Didn’t sound right. It was an attempt, maybe a lousy one, he might be inclined to believe that if he didn’t know how much value Dazai put in keeping his mask up.

Maybe that was pissing Chuuya off too, the unexpected. Dazai was basically untouchable in every way, so to see him like this? This wasn’t the so-called Demon Prodigy , it couldn’t be.  “You want someone to see us like this?” He hissed.

“Aw, is little Chuu embarrassed? What scandalous plans do you have for me?”

“Embarrassed? You should be embarrassed! You’re the one acting like a damn damsel!”

When they eventually got inside, Dazai was dumped on his bed with a huff. The boy stared around as owlishly as a half-closed eye could, taking in the room like he’d never been in there before. He’d lingered at the door, jumped on Chuuya once before getting kicked to the floor ( complained about bruises for days despite threats of more ), but he hadn’t stayed in the room, really.

The redhead had kept him out. Kept the door purposefully shut, not exactly something he’d expected to be respected, but he wasn’t complaining. Dazai would’ve definitely figured out by now that Chuuya was trying to maintain a single space purely for himself. So much for that , he thought, not as bitterly as he might’ve been if his partner didn’t look so pathetic. Maybe that was why the mackerel was looking around the room, taking his time about it, openly curious, in awe , even?

No-one else to bear witness to his curiosity, and while Chuuya could certainly bully him right now, he was more intrigued by the sight of Dazai on his bed, in his space, the smallest bit he kept for himself in this new gilded cage, and it didn’t feel wrong. Dazai in his space felt…normal.

Felt…right? Like…no, he didn’t belong there, but…who else would there be? Who else was there? Dazai…did belong there. In his space. He belonged- they…

“This is why I said to take care of yourself,” he muttered. Where the hell was he meant to get medicine? He couldn’t exactly go to Mori. He had no idea how badly Dazai had been chewed out last night about that mission with the sleazeball, but he didn’t want to take the chance if Mori was still feeling touchy about it.

Why not? He’s an ass, and-

A small squeak escaped Dazai as he tried to suppress a yawn. Chuuya’s eyes widened. He wondered if anyone had ever seen him like this before.

I could ask Kouyou. Or him. 

“Hey jackass,” he asked quietly, waiting for fevered eyes to land on him. “Where do I get medicine for this? This is more than a cold, yeah?”

Dazai only stared at him. But not like he was an idiot. This looked different, almost…expecting Chuuya to understand what he was putting across? Why can’t he just say what he means?!

“I’ll ask Kouyou, then,” he scoffed, stalking out of the room, heading for the couch where he threw his phone. “She’ll probably have something in her place.”

“No- wait,” a scratchy voice called to his turned back. 

He stopped, eyeing a mackerel who looked frustrated, but curiously enough, not angry. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly and his lips were in a slight pout, eyes darting to the side of his head, looking past Chuuya. He turned to look, surely enough there was nothing there. So he must be thinking pretty hard. What’s he trying to get across?

I understood being frustrated with being sick. But he was being quite open, open for Dazai , at least. He’d seen him complain about it around everyone else but not once had the mask slipped. But here he was, in Chuuya’s bedroom, openly frustrated and unable to-

That must be it! He’s not able to articulate what he’s thinking. Being sick is making him slower, and frustrating him. The only way to fix that is to get him better. He’d probably punch him, or attempt to, if he involved Mori. The boss would probably ignore it anyway. Kouyou…it  would get back to Mori through Kouyou either way. But if brunet didn’t answer, how the hell was he meant to help-?

Oh . Oh .

He didn’t want him to leave.

He should’ve… known, actually. Dazai didn’t sleep until he was absolutely sure nothing could surprise him, and he’d done that in Chuuya’s presence, of all people.

He felt strangely warm at the realisation. Was he feeling pride over this?

So his…presence helped.

God, they were starting to sound like real partners.

The frustration wasn’t helping anything, so he needed to change that, redirect it, or something like that. Dazai likes…set boundaries, clear boundaries, likes productivity? No, appreciated the routine it sets.

Easy. “Look, there’ll probably be stuff I don’t understand or can’t read properly or whatever,” he sighed, remembering that he needed to go back and get the revised file Mori prepared. He could wish on a star that he was “revising” it so that Chuuya could understand all of it himself, but it would likely be for naught. The look Dazai shot him said he understood that well, too.

He then shrugged and turned his attention to staring at the ceiling. “Just bring it here. I’ll be back in the office soon anyway, no point in deliberating,” he spoke into the void.

Chuuya heard. Chuuya…Chuuya hurt.

“- have no comprehension of the meaning of a life, but you are only good to me for as long as I mean jackshit to the mafia. The minute I’m up there? You will never see me again, mark my fucking words- ”

You’re only good for my reputation.

I’ll only use you for what I can get.

I’m only helping because I get something out of it in the long run.

Would that not make him everything he hated about Dazai himself? Ignorant, ruthless and cold? Apathetic?

He fucking walked right into this, didn’t he?

His voice was pretty screwed. Not pitiful, Chuuya didn’t pity this. He… is being an asshole back actually fixing the problem?

He leaned into the room more and ended up walking to the foot of the bed. Dazai was trying to look unbothered, was successful too, but it was that air again. Not panicked or frantic, but it demanded attention, even if Dazai didn’t want it.

Chuuya didn’t mince words. He wasn’t about to start.

“Stop trying to push me away. It’s getting annoying.”

“Why would you want to be close?”

Chuuya stared, and he could’ve laughed at the expression on Dazai’s face, likely identical to his own, seemingly also surprised at something so honest leaving his lips. Not his image at all, this gaping mouth and wide eyes.

He’s- fuck, what was that?

“You’ll get sick, you idiot,” he backtracked, sitting up and motioning to Chuuya, obviously referring to being in each other’s vicinity. The questions were still heard loud and clear. Why would you want to be around someone who is sick? Why would you take care of me? Why bother?

That time, he did end up huffing a laugh, and after staring at Chuuya for a few further moments, his expression morphed to offence and his voice went up half an octave.

“What are you even laughing at? Do chibis laugh at facts because they’re so stupid?”

“That is so weak,” he chuckled again, hanging his head and shaking it a little. “That wasn’t the nice save you thought it was, dumbass.”

“Dumbass isn’t even a good go-to insult, I don’t know why you think you have any room to talk.”

His gaze fell back to his partner, whose head was turned and looking at his cupboard, no doubt eyeing it up to see if there was anything he could take, or any prank he could set up to get him back. There was a little more colour in his cheeks, and Chuuya bargained to say that it was from a different kind of flush than the one illness provided. 

He sighed. He did care. He cared a lot.

(They ended up playing videogames for most of the day, bar for when Chuuya went hunting for food. He figured he’d need a proper meal, but Dazai only ate half of the takeout. Maybe it wasn’t completely healthy, but it was the first thing the brunet’s eyes lit up at and that was enough.

Later in the evening, Dazai fell asleep while Chuuya worked on some logistics for the mission. The brunet would no doubt change things in the morning, but at least it was something to do with his time.

At least he’d fallen asleep, but the illness would still be there in the morning. He’d message Doc, maybe they weren’t so close yet but he’d surely know what to do. Why he hadn’t considered it earlier escaped him.

Dazai was laid back on his bed, and Chuuya would probably join him later. He’d probably get sick, no doubt piss Mori off and Kouyou could probably get him off a mission or two- the couch was too far away and he really couldn’t be bothered. 

He was getting tired himself, caught himself staring at his partner again.

Chuuya wondered how it would feel to kiss his hair. Wondered what it would feel like for something to press a kiss to the side of his head. That’s what parents did to their kids, right? That’s something they did to show they cared.

Had Dazai’s parents ever kissed him on his forehead or his hair? Had they ever hugged him or cradled him to their chests when he was small? 

Dazai was human, he had to come from someone. Where were his parents? What happened? Why was their son the way he was? 

Chuuya shifted a little closer. This…this wasn’t an invasion of privacy or anything, was it? It didn’t mean anything, he didn’t mean anything by it. It was…meant to be comforting, though that probably meant something, huh?  He was trying to be decent, no other reason.

It felt…nice.)

Chapter Text

Carrying one’s partner was a normal thing. Became a normal thing, a frequent thing. 

Dazai would say frequent, not normal. He didn’t care much for normal or the definition that came with it, at least that’s what he liked to believe. Using frequent as the descriptor attached no extra meaning, meant nothing other than what it was desired to mean.

Often. 

It was a frequent occurrence. An identified trend. Something that could be analysed alongside other variables, something that could, to a certain extent, be predicted and planned for.

Chuuya was good at not getting himself wounded, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get hit. Missions got harder, they did more on their own without direct supervision, and the redhead’s pride took a beating more and more often (not to say that the missions weren’t completed effectively and quickly, but sometimes they didn’t listen to each other and- ugh ). Back with the Sheep, it could be safely and correctly assumed that Chuuya’s intimidation kept conflict at bay for the most part, his ability being his greatest asset and his enemies’ greatest deterrent. It was the same for the Mafia.

Not for Dazai. As a member of the mafia, his loyalty should lie immediately with the organisation. His goals were the Mafia’s goals. His intentions aligned with the wishes of his boss. This was not entirely the case, and there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. Dazai included.

( Not that he’d admit that to anyone. )

Dazai’s curiosity about Chuuya was his own. On paper, just another little punk off the streets. In reality, though, Chuuya was intriguing. Even his appearance was just different. Mori wanted a weapon, and he’d certainly gotten one, yet there was something more. Arahabaki was the tip of the ice-burg. Untapped potential abound, his ability would surely him as a strong, if not the strongest ability user alive-

.

.

.

Anyway.

With his ego thoroughly purpling and bruised, Chuuya had surged forward in an effort to save the remaining grunts placed on the mission with them, zero planning and no time to initiate any preventative measures to stop the idiot from killing himself, that was Dazai’s thing- charging in with the same fire he approached everything with, determined and defiant.

That was a good word. Defiant. Chuuya played the cards he was dealt, and by playing, he threw them to the ground or ripped them up or something equally violent, and marched on his way. Chuuya didn’t let something paraded as fate have any say in his actions.

Likely to do with Arahabaki. Fascinating. What made him that way?

Everything had gone wrong. He was creating plans on the fly for variables that weren’t even considered in the first place. The more Dazai thought about it, the more convinced he was that this had been set up by Mori as a way to test them. 

The way the redhead had charged in could easily be viewed as valiant, but there were no points for being a saint in the Mafia. The looks on the ground-mens’ faces, awed, thankful, would’ve been enough for him. What a noble prince, hm?

Chuuya had been incredible. Dazai didn’t like to admit it, but he was quite taken with watching the chibi kick ass. Pride wasn’t often something he attributed closely to himself, he didn’t care about most things enough for that, but their new partnership had yielded some unexpected results- being a rare occurrence but one nonetheless, Chuuya got the battlefield completely to himself, and a curious brown eye couldn’t help but follow his darting figure around the landscape, all dramatic and boasting of his ability. 

But Dazai could identify and acknowledge the arrow-sharp precision it would actually take for Chuuya to move the way he did, to execute his movements so flawlessly. It would’ve taken years of practise, of honing a destructive power that could easily hurt him more than his enemies-

Ugh. That’s enough of that.

Dazai stared at the redhead, still and pale and wrong. Chuuya wasn’t Chuuya when he wasn’t loud or bossy. The bird’s nest he called hair that sat atop his head was meant to be sticking out at ugly angles, not splayed out against a white pillowcase. There were no frown lines or creases accentuating his most ugly features. No bared teeth, no low growl, nothing.

Someone had taken his collar off too, which was just rude. That was an owner’s job, not some stuffy vet who didn’t know him at all. How else would they know Chuuya was his dog? The unintelligible barking could only do so much, he required a translator.

His lips were parted, but he wasn't even snoring. It was like it wasn’t even Chuuya at all. It was an imposter that had him almost down to a ‘T’, but it wasn’t enough to fool Dazai. No. He knew better. The little pipsqueak was easy to read.

And while it pissed him off to no end that there was someone else who could so easily read him in return, at least they weren’t in charge of him. The two were expected to operate on an even keel, and an even keel for Dazai would require someone with Mori’s intellect, so he did have that on Chuuya. If anyone was going to be in charge, it would be him.

He had tactics and strategy where Chuuya had brute strength. They did make quite a team, and it was that neutral fact that Dazai had to remind himself of increasingly often. The redhead was, as expected, argumentative and brash, leading to many things leaving his mouth that he didn’t necessarily mean. It was as though the filter everyone else operated with was severely lacking or missing altogether, setting him apart, for the most part, for the wrong reasons.

For someone that tried to fade into the background at times, he certainly wasn’t going about it the right way. The inconsistency stuck out like a sore thumb even if one wasn’t searching for it at all.

Being a formidable team hinged on how well they could apply each other’s skills. Chuuya was useless in a puzzle room, though Dazai would make sure that wasn’t the case now that he had some say ( had motivation to ), and Dazai would only be able to hold his own for so long in hand-to-hand combat. He was nimble and quick, but nothing like Chuuya, a teenager mastering gravity , able to control the amount of force behind a punch, and move through the air like a dart. 

He could punch right through a person without blinking- the same way Dazai could systematically tear someone down with his silver tongue. Both were lethally used correctly. It was simply a handy thing to be able to read each other so well, know the other’s angle and strike hard enough to keep their enemies on the ground. 

Underneath that, though, it was just a slug and a mackerel. A man and his dog. Two isolated souls, one drifting away while the other desperately tried to find belonging. 

That did partially explain Chuuya’s…touchiness. He was very obviously a rough-and-tumble street rat, lacking manners and tact and a fashion sense, all things that, in Chuuya’s case, would unfortunately remain chronic ailments he’d have to deal with for life. He was boyish and stubborn, and stupid , because he thought Dazai wouldn’t notice.

Hidden behind punches were unnecessary follow-throughs, skin against skin, because apparently it was a gloves-off affair. When Dazai needed to lean against him, it always felt like Chuuya was the one pushing into him.  

Now, there were multiple predictions, varying likelihoods. High on the list was poor little repressed Chuuya - thrown out by his so-called family the minute he was perceived as more of a threat than an asset. 

Perhaps his tough-guy attitude prevented him from engaging in any form of physical touch, perceiving it as a weakness to indulge. Dazai wouldn’t know, he didn’t require touch, simply tolerated it when needed. Perhaps, as a combination with the above, he was heavily saddened by the loss of trust from the Sheep. It wasn’t news that the redhead was grappling with finding any meaning to being in the Mafia.

What did climbing up a corporate ladder mean to a kid who lived on the streets his entire life? Well, most of it from memory . He seemed to grasp the importance for survival’s sake, but even with his newfound wealth, the chibi didn’t know what to do with it. Kouyou had been directing him on where to invest it, clothes, furniture, stocks, whatever , but outside of any adult’s direction, the street rat spent most of his money at the arcade.

Kouyou and Mori certainly wouldn’t approve of the prizes he’d adorned his dorm with. Maybe he’d throw them out when he got an apartment, he wanted to at sixteen, berated the brunet for not getting one already.

That was another thing about Chuuya. He seemed to forget that they were both technically “children”, not that either one of them knew what that meant. Chuuya treated it like something to strive for while he could, whilst Dazai viewed most things not as beneath him, per se, but simply not worth indulging in.

The redhead called him a coward. He called it being frugal with his time. And he was called stingy for not using his salary to make any kind of move towards independent living.

That’s not what Osamu was there for. He wasn’t there for the approval of the monster wearing a man’s skin or from the woman Chuuya had begun referring to as Ane-san, what a privilege- he was there simply to see what this life had to offer.

Apparently, the universe offered Chuuya .

Well. The universe would know just how he felt about that. 

.

.

.

After Chuuya woke up. He didn’t need another strange look from Hirotsu. In retaliation, he’d just write about it in his hate journal. Chuuya filled several. For good reason.

-

They didn’t need to speak out loud, it made them effective partners. 

It also made both of them so frustrated that they wanted to rip the other’s head off.

“Dumb slug, charging in like a bull. You should try and stay closer to your natural chibi slug speed.” The grunts couldn’t keep up.

“At least I moved,” came the bitter response. “We could’ve lost all the men on that mission.” It was spoken like an accusation, but surely the chibi knew better than to expect him to grovel by now. 

“Want a medal?”

“Get fucked, leave me alone.”

He sighed, shaking his head forlornly. It was almost impressive how quickly Chuuya had taken to protecting the mafia’s assets, though for him, it meant something different. It wasn’t just loyalty and keeping resources for the cause , it was to go home to your family at the end of the day not in a body bag.  

“I would, this is hardly where I want to be where there’s a beautiful sunset to watch from the top of the building or near the river, but alas, Mori-san sent me to check on your recovery. He was very insistent.”

Can’t have a defective weapon, can we?

“You’ve checked. Just leave .”

Dazai sat on the bottom of the bed, whacking away the blanketed legs that threatened to hit him where it hurt. “You know Boss. He’s all details and devils. Make this quick and painless, would you?”

“Just ask the nurse.”

“Has she even come near you today? She was loitering in the hallway when I arrived,” he threw an innocent look over at the door. Chuuya seemed to react somewhat positively to his childish behaviour, not the usual stuff, but the wide eyes and shyness had their time and places. This was a bit mean, though. “She looked in desperate need of a smoke. You must’ve done something.”

“I did nothing!”  He squirmed to the top of the bed, glaring through loose red strands. It was getting a little bit longer. Just a little bit. He hadn’t been watching.

He wasn’t lying. The nurse was definitely in need of a break from whatever was stressing her. Apparently it was Chuuya, and the defensiveness in his tone said all he needed to know. He had graciously left out the part where she looked scared shitless of walking into the room. He didn’t need to say it. There were multiple reasons for her to be concerned- it could’ve been to do with the chibi and all the rumours about the street rat’s battle prowess, or it could’ve been the fact that he was now affiliated with Dazai, Mori’s successor; could’ve been the impending visit from said boy, so many possibilities.

Either which way, he was right. His strength was also his weakness, just like he’d pointed out in the arcade that day. Chuuya’s ability was his asset and something he looked to be proud of, and still, what others thought of his ability seemed to bother him.

“Chuuya’s being stupid. It’s not like those men were in our charge. They were Mori’s to puppeteer.”

It didn’t do anything to cheer the redhead up. “You really feel nothing that they died?”

Sometimes Chuuya surprised him with questions like this. It was…odd, to say the least, but he would take it in stride. As if Chuuya would be the one to set him off-kilter. 

“We’re alive,” he shrugged. “There’s nothing else to it. I could bore you with the average lifespan of each different level member in the Mafia, but that miserable face is already putting me off my lunch.” He tapped his jacket pocket, where the packaging on the muesli bar that the redhead had slipped in crinkled noisily, done when he presumably thought the brunet wasn’t aware.

It wasn’t sweet or endearing. His dog was just showing some gratitude, is all.

“Who’s gonna talk to their families?” He asked with the determination of a boy that was not a powerful ability user, not responsible for blowing a hole in a city, but a normal kid, trying to fix a bullet hole with a band-aid.

“Does it matter? It won’t bring them back.”

The redhead scowled and Dazai wouldn’t put it past the little brat in the bed to launch himself out of it just to wrap his fingers around a bandaged neck.

Silly chibi. That wouldn’t kill him either. It was as if Chuuya thought he hadn’t been on the receiving end of an attempt to choke him to death before. 

“I had it handled.”

“Looked like it,” he said flatly.

It was clear by his expression that his concern had shifted to their punishment. “We’re gonna get seriously chewed out.”

“No, no. Mori got what he wanted.” Whatever it was. Taking you down a peg, testing my resolve

“We failed ,” the boy looked horrified, though it manifested a lot closer to concern, his next words all but confirming it. “What is he-? He’s gonna punish us bad, then!”

Dazai chuckled. “While Mori does like punishment, he prefers to keep his hands clean. As long as his gloves aren’t on when we see him, there’s nothing to worry about.” Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie.   

Unfortunate thing about being able to read each other, huh.

“I don’t need a shield from Boss,” the shorter mafioso muttered. Maybe he didn’t need one, but he wanted one, that much was obvious. If the redhead didn’t take up a disgusting and frankly embarrassing amount of his attention, among two intellectuals, Chuuya would fade into the background as he intended. 

“Prove that you don’t.”

“…huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “Show me that you can hold your own. Despite indulging in whims, you still hold out like you’re on the street. Rise to the challenge and privilege you feel so guilty about having. Give yourself something to feel guilty about at least, it’s such a headache seeing you hold out.”

Because you’re so much more than some street rat. More than petty theft and murder for survival. 

With a gift like his, he deserved to have fun. 

Chuuya’s expression was painfully open, it was so obvious that he wasn’t expecting Dazai to say anything like that . Dazai couldn’t say he planned it, either, but his point still stood. Seeing Chuuya hold back was a headache. Mori speaking so much about Chuuya and his potential and how beneficial his ability was in such a low, suggestive tone- it was irritating, not because he was jealous of the attention, nothing like that, it was-

“You…you don’t use your paycheck either,” he said weakly, voice wavering as though he didn’t believe himself.

“Because I don’t appreciate the value in it. You do, so enjoy it for all of the people who can’t. And Mori tracks our accounts, so you won’t be able to donate, and he’ll wait until you let your guard down to bring up any weird transactions.”

He turned to leave. The decision is yours.

.

.

.

“You didn’t need to tell me all this.” There was less suspicion in his face and more awe. The brunet was not warm, he wasn’t. That would be stupid. 

“Someone needs to do the paperwork. It’d be an inconvenience if you weren’t here,” he sniffed. “What’s the point in trying to stop something that’s already going to happen? As long as you have an excuse prepared-” he sighed, what a troublesome little doggy, “-just make sure I’m in the room.”

He caught a small smile directed at his legs as he closed the door. The nurse was gone. He was alone in the corridor.

Look what you did to me Chuuya.

Chapter Text

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do this mission hungover.

And maybe they should’ve waited until after the mission to start arguing. 

They didn’t, though. Ane-san would scold Chuuya for being so unruly, Hirotsu was too much of a pushover when it came to the two of them that he’d just quietly suggest alternatives to whatever they were arguing about, acting as a mediator and a tired uncle at the same time.

Chuuya would argue that him being hungover had nothing to do with why the mission was terrible. That was because of Dazai, when wasn’t it? It was, objectively, entirely on Dazai and the fact that he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

Or shipping container, that he’d decided to move into for fuck knows reason.

Or he hadn’t slept at all , which was as likely as the above. It was rare that the brunet allowed any kind of fatigue to compromise a mission, which is why when Chuuya noticed him nodding off on the way, he elected to slap him to wake him up.

Serves him right for waking him up with a fucking downpour from a watering can earlier that week. A slap was nothing. A little sting to keep him awake. He’d said as much, and Dazai proceeded to vent on about the car being so boring, his dog wasn’t entertaining enough-

“I’ll show you entertaining-!”

“Boys, please.”

He only settled out of respect for the old man. If it were anyone else (perhaps bar Ane-san or Mori), he’d tell them to shut the fuck up and continue as he pleased. As it stood, he didn’t, and the two traded insults with their eyes and some creative hand gestures.

Just a normal day for Soukoku, really.

What wasn’t so much a normal occurrence with Soukoku was Dazai getting hit.

Chuuya wasn’t a sitter. But…arguably, it was also his job to watch his partner’s back, and he did a damn good job of it. That bastard would’ve been dead a million times over if it wasn’t for him, mission stunts and suicide attempts included. But every now and then, not often, Dazai might move a little too fast or slow for him, Chuuya might be just that little too far away, and Dazai would get nicked.

That wasn’t the case today. The case was that Dazai threw a tantrum halfway through the mission and stalked off on his own. The redhead was left to guess what the rest of the plan was, trying to ignore the odd sting when his partner sneered down at him, one that made an appearance a little more often these days alongside his frustration. 

Sometimes it felt like there could never be enough suicide attempts to patch him up from, never enough missions to work together on- never enough opportunity to really see Dazai. 

If he had to guess why he was in a mood, well, he wouldn’t be able to. Dazai was a loose cannon in that sense. He could get fussy at the smallest things, but they likely weren’t really small, and it was probably due to a chronic habit of bottling everything in until it seeped out of the sides. Chuuya didn’t usually have that problem, content to let everyone know exactly what the issue was, but it was handy knowledge to have.

A reason, not an excuse.

As planned ( presumably ),  Chuuya entered the fray with the grace of a wrecking ball. His partner managed to get himself surrounded, and of course he didn’t call. No, a few seconds longer and he’d likely have walked out to turn himself into swiss cheese. Funnily enough, the men surrounding him became a lot more focused on the teenager who’d just blown their precious locked metal doors off their hinges, taking out a considerable amount of people in the process. 

Dazai was the lock-picker. Chuuya was…

Ugh, he could hear Dazai’s snide comments in his head. No thanks. The mere thought was enough to piss him off.

By the time the redhead zoned back onto his partner, Dazai was clutching his side, bent at the waist, and his attacker was already gearing up for another charge in his direction. Chuuya almost got himself stabbed checking on him, but sent the approaching threat flying backwards into a horde of men that fell like bowling pins. It was satisfying, but the feeling was dampened considerably when he turned back to see Dazai barely dodging a man’s punches.

Chuuya was quick, Dazai was nimble. He could move his lanky limbs quicker than you’d give him credit for, especially with the amount of complaining he did about training. It was worrying that whatever injury he sustained was genuinely enough to slow him down. Dazai didn’t let much get in the way.

Time slowed for a second. The redhead could feel the lines on his face growing deeper.

It wasn’t like Dazai couldn’t take care of himself, and he’d started getting really cold and pissy whenever Chuuya tried backing him up. At first, he figured it was because they were prone to massive fights recently, but he was still acting like that whether they were working together reasonably well or not. This was a Dazai-ism.  

What could Chuuya honestly expect from someone so hot and cold? Nothing, so he tried to keep them to a minimum. It was a pain in the ass when it was your partner making it so difficult. He wasn’t about to feel bad about being shitty when he had damn good reason to be, but the brunet was just a fucking nuisance. If he wanted empathy, he’d have to fucking work for it.

… ugh.

The brunet didn’t usually blink at injuries, but he’d gone as far as to clutch at the wound and bend over himself. It could’ve been a ploy to get his attacker to move closer, but considering the guy didn’t seem to bothered about throwing his weight around, that wouldn’t even be an issue.

Maybe the jackass did get stabbed. Properly, too. At least these guys didn’t seem the type to add rat poison to the mix.

“Is that the last of them?” He yelled over, wiping the bottom of his shoe on a dead man’s clothes. When there was no response, he huffed and spun on his heel, stalking in the direction of the brunet. He was bracing himself against a support beam, face hidden from view at the angle.

He raised his hand to punch at his shoulder, until he heard it. He stood back in shock, ears filling with coughs that sounded like barks tearing out of a raw throat.

Stab wounds wouldn’t cause that .

He edged closer, hand raising again on instinct to turn him around, but his hand was smacked out the way, leaving him cross-eyed as cold metal settled between his eyes. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but the balls on this guy-

He glared, nostrils flaring. “Get that shit out of my face.”

It didn’t move for a second, then it lowered with a quiet, “You were too close.”

He caught himself saying fair enough. It reverberated around his skull, but he had no idea if he said it out loud or not. In any case, that wasn’t the only thing bouncing around in his ears. 

“You sound like shit,” he mumbled, sighing and taking out his phone. Looked like he would be the one organising clean-up. The brunet was usually on it by now, rather right now his back was against the beam and his knees were locked straight to keep himself upright. 

Whatever the response was going to be caught on another round of coughing. Chuuya had half a mind to tease and call him the dog, and he would’ve, if the exhale hadn’t sounded so painful. It sounded forced, and the closest thing to a whimper escaped him involuntarily. 

Involuntarily, because even Dazai’s eyes widened slightly at the noise, as if he couldn’t believe he’d made it.

It wasn’t meant to be mocking. “Trouble breathing, mackerel?”

Dazai clearing his throat was an ugly sound, answer enough. Chuuya didn’t hesitate to move back into his space.

“Let me look,” he grasped his forearm but didn’t move it, eyes boring up into the other’s. His eyes were so dark in the low light, like there was nothing there. But there was. 

The boy made a vague gesture with his head, and dug his fingers into the fabric of his coat, knuckles white, before pulling it to the side. That should’ve been a clue anyway. Since when did Dazai listen to what he was told?

He felt his breath catch. The entire right side of his white shirt was red, torn slightly further up, presumably from being slashed at, which had to have been when they were separated because it would’ve cut his coat instead, so Dazai had taken it off, but why-?

His eyes travelled to the glint of silver, the handle of a blade still embedded in his side.

Shit.

“Can you stay awake until clean-up?” He murmured, stilling once he realised he’d hidden a hand under brown strands. It felt like a habit now, he didn’t know where it came from.

…okay, he did. He spent a lot of time with the Flags, and those assholes didn’t know how to keep their hands to themselves, so what about it? So what if the hand in Dazai’s hair was more gentle than usual, despite the only times Chuuya had otherwise willingly touched that greasy mop of hair was when he was pulling the fish up by it? Dazai was the one who got weird about touch, insisting he didn’t need it but rarely making the effort to move away, even when that touch was associated with pain, even when the situation was overwhelmingly negative. Oily hair, leaning into my hand, he’s really done it this time.

“I’m not so delicate, puppy,” he hummed, strain still evident in his voice. The difference between other subordinates and Chuuya was that the redhead would needle him about it, whilst others kept silent for fear of punishment. Dazai’s neuroticism was too unpredictable to risk pissing him off over even the smallest thing.

Chuuya didn’t have a reason to fear Dazai. Not right now, anyway.

He grunted to himself about the puppy comment, figuring out which side to support so they could walk out of the building. Dazai’s eyes were blank. “Oi… Dazai?”

The brunet shifted slightly, a sharp hiss through his teeth when he twisted one way too far. 

“It’s only me,” he murmured, trying to placate further struggle. “You’re gonna need to trust me, mackerel.”

He could lie and say he didn’t like it any better, but there were times where he wanted a more little trust. They trusted each other in the field, they had to — but behind closed doors, they didn’t have much reason to trust each other. They weren’t required to. Chuuya was busy at the Old World bar anyway, he didn’t really think about where Dazai was until there was a mission. They spent more time than anyone could want together on those.

Some trust outside would still be nice, though.

He knew Dazai would likely tease him if he knew that he wanted his trust. He’d be cruel, and honestly? Their meeting was kinda fucked, and it’d taken them a year to get this far. The bickering was familiar, their coordination and cooperation was becoming more and more precise, and gradually the Mafia felt less like a gilded cage and a little more like a home. 

Chuuya was more comfortable now. He wasn’t the same kid he was a year ago, regrettably Dazai had something to do with some of it; and Dazai wasn’t the same kid he told that he didn’t care about in a fit of frustration.

He cringed at the memory now, wondering if things could’ve been a little smoother between them quicker. He maintained that his reputation was important, but seeing little parts of a teenage boy poke through amongst the name-calling and fear-mongering made a few delayed brownie points worth it. Now he knew, at least, that their partnership kept him safer than ever.

Chuuya knew that the brunet found him interesting. He wondered if Dazai knew how much he fascinated Chuuya. Not that he’d ever admit to that, of course. It wasn’t his apathy that intrigued him, though how he came to be like that was definitely something on his mind. It was more the blatant refusal to consider himself human.

What made a human, human?

Dazai was definitely human. It wasn’t a disregard for human life in question, but the fact that his belief in that stemmed from a feeling. Feelings of inadequacy, a lack of belonging, a fear of the world around him.

Dazai was so incredibly human it hurt. It made Chuuya angry, his insistence otherwise. He couldn’t have known the first thing about not being human. Ignorant bastard.

He lowered him against the wall once they got outside, inspecting the injury. Bleary eyes struggled to focus on him, but bleeding out didn’t curb his ability to speak this time. 

“Is the slug having trouble contacting clean-up?” He mustered up around a rugged cough. He was half-expecting a joke about his reading ability, but that hadn’t happened in awhile. Not since he’d turned sixteen. 

“Clean-up isn’t an issue. Hirotsu’s coming.”

His eyes gained a little more lucidity. “Hm? I thought Suugi was on call?”

“Intercepted,” he hummed, settling down next to his partner, knees cracking in the process. “Gramps was free and offered.”

Dazai’s breath “ah” fanned close to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “Will chibi stay close?”

The redhead scooted away for good measure. “Not when you’re sick. Don’t spread your shit to me.”

The pause was enough for Chuuya to check if he’d passed out, but it seemed he had merely not responded. His eyes were open, they were staring at the sky. He didn’t look any more miserable than usual with his familiar heaviness setting in, but Dazai and illness was a gamble. Chuuya had learned that everything worth knowing about him was what you couldn’t see. Dazai made sure of that.

It also meant that everything needed to be figured out like a puzzle, because getting anything directly wasn’t Dazai’s style at all.

“So mean,” the pain in the ass mumbled after a little bit.

He huffed. “Because I’m letting you bleed after you run into a blade?”

“I didn’t just run into it,” he whined quietly, shifting with equally quiet groans. Anyone else and he might’ve felt sorry for them, but the jackass made the decision to go off on his own. 

“You’re telling me to feel sorry for you because you made a mistake?” He chuckled to himself, leaning his head slightly in Dazai’s direction and trying to figure out where in the sky he was looking. “There’s other subordinates to lick your wounds, go ask them.”

“But they’re not my dog.”

“Count yourself lucky I don’t like kicking people while they’re down.”

Dazai scoffed, and the light sneer from earlier returned. “Didn’t seem that way earlier.”

“Cry me a river, you started it. If you can’t finish it, don’t bother.” It was just the way it was between them. Blaming the other was blaming yourself, or at least that’s how Chuuya saw it. They were both right and wrong, there was no use taking it personally. Or so he thought. “You’re the one who ran off.”

“Stupid chibi,” he muttered, edging away an inch. Chuuya spied the movement and frowned.

“What’s that meant to mean?” He pushed. “Did I miss something in your little tantrum? Because if I recall, you started that with your own shitty attitude. Don’t go blaming that shit on me.”

“It must be difficult to have such a small brain and shit comprehension skills,” the brunet continued, voice taking a flat, almost dead tone, taking him far away from Chuuya.

“Then explain yourself, dickhead. You can’t expect me to read your mind all the damn time.”

“So you can do it when it’s wildly inconvenient but not when I need to save some fucking energy?” His voice took the venomous edge from earlier. “I can’t deal with you all the time, you’re exhausting.”

Anger welled up, and the wall behind him cracked. He could hear the eye roll next to him, ignored the “real mature, Chuuya,” in favour of stewing in silence.

I’m such an inconvenience, am I? Fine. “I should’ve just let you die.”

“You should’ve,” Dazai spat.

Chuuya rubbed his palms into his eyes, wishing it would blind him, deafen him, something so he didn’t have to face whatever this was. “You’re just sick, get over yourself.”

“I’m going to bleed out.”

“Don’t you want to die anyway?” He growled. “Just fucking stay here when Hirotsu arrives. He’ll be thankful for the fucking peace and quiet in the car without your mithering and carrying on.”

“I’m so glad my pain is inconvenient for you as well. Perhaps you should just kill me and get it over with, hm?”

“God, can you shut up?” He hissed. The hangover headache was beating behind his eyes now without break. “You never fucking stop, do you?”

No response, and it took all of four seconds longer once he realised he wasn’t getting one to cotton on to what Dazai was about to do. He shot over into his space and yanked the arm closest to him away from the blade’s handle. The brunet’s right hand instantly replaced it, which was when Chuuya hauled himself onto his outstretched legs and ripped the arm back.

Dazai’s head hit against the concrete as he gasped, visible eye widening, pupil a pinprick before it was squeezed shut with his pale face contorting in pain. The genuine shock in his voice was like being dunked in cold water. “Chuuya-! ”

“That’s what you get for being a fucking idiot,” he breathed, holding his hands to the side. He knew exactly what the problem was. While trying to get control, he’d inadvertently pushed the blade deeper. How deep, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of such an accident, but it really was an immediate priority. Gramps needed to hurry before they killed each other.

The eye squinting back at him was glassy, so it appeared he couldn’t hide his body’s natural reaction this time. It looked… don’t look at me like that. Don’t. Don’t look at me like you’re afraid of me.

“Just… settle. ”

Just as he managed to heave a stable breath, he delved into another coughing fit that Chuuya felt as much as he heard. They were violent jerks, and upon closer inspection, the brunet’s inner lips were a lot more red than moments before. The redhead took a hold of his shoulders. “Bastard, don’t breathe too deeply.” Shit. Shit. He’ll be good. There’s time. “Gramps will be here in no time.”

There was a quiet groan pushing from the back of his throat before a hack, his head whipping to the side. Watching the blood, he almost missed it. Almost missed that Dazai had avoided coughing directly on him. “Stupid chibi,” he mouthed, sound barely reaching Chuuya’s ears.

The laboured breaths, the effort it was taking to keep them so quiet made the older’s stomach turn. He went on his own. It’s on his blindside. I was meant to protect his blindside.

He went on his own, I wasn’t there. I had to get the last receipt for the cargo.

I was getting the receipt. Dazai wasn’t there. Their target had back up.

He kept them away from Chuuya.

His gut coiled again. An apology sat on the tip of his tongue, refusing to pass his lips as he watched consciousness begin to slip. He knew he should be stopping him. He should be, but he didn’t like pain, and Chuuya was confident… half-confident that he could watch for any changes without Dazai needing to be present for it.

He was an ass, but he was also shaking beneath him, limp in Chuuya’s grip apart from that and it was just a pathetic sight to see.

“Enjoy some peace,” he muttered, squeezing his shoulders once. Now to handle Mori.

Chapter Text

Chuuya can admit it. Sometimes he just needs to shut the fuck up. He’s long known that he gets himself into trouble when it’s easily avoidable. The Flags were on his case about it as much as Ane-san. Lippmann and Iceman at least.

The problem with this is that Chuuya had a very hard time admitting it out loud. Ane-san could flare it into him, Mori simply expected it, Lippman and Iceman felt more forgiving at least.

At least. Two words to denote mercy- mercy from what?

Something else he wasn’t completely good at was saying what he actually meant. He figured it would be kinda fine considering Dazai wasn’t exactly the poster boy for effective communication either ( how rare ), but no. It wasn’t like that at all, and Chuuya told himself sincerely that the reason he was trying to fix it was to be better than Dazai at something- to get ahead at rub something in that bastard’s face for once.

Was that the real reason? Well, yes , but Chuuya was somewhat of a liar himself . Nit often directly, by omission, which is why this plan of his was going to be a shit show. But it was this, or a sleepless night wondering just where Dazai was, and if he was going to see him in the morning, or the afternoon, or the day after the next.

Dazai liked space, or at least made out to, despite leaning into touch like the wet cat he was, starving for physical touch that he’d never ask for- but it rubbed Chuuya the wrong way, regardless of how annoying his partner was or how miserable his presence made him, for him to be out and alone, sick and injured.

Made him bristle at the thought that the only person who would be a regular visitor to wherever he was recovering at the current moment was Mori , only because he hadn’t been told where he was . He could tell that whatever this was, it was big, bigger than this single mission. Chuuya used to think it was completely by choice, Dazai’s aversion to genuine contact with people, but these days, he was more inclined to blame it on conditioning. 

Could Dazai have contacted him to tell him where he was? Had he simply chosen not to? Why?

Did he truly want space?

Was Chuuya too loud as he always complained that he was?

Was he actually resting?

Too many variables. The redhead hated that Dazai could keep track of things like this so well- could predict it so well. Well , Chuuya could do some predicting of his own.

One: Dazai should not be alone with Mori while he was sick. He didn’t have too much evidence supporting this one, and maybe it was just Chuuya and something innately wrong with him for wanting to know everything about his partner while he was vulnerable, but it took months for the bastard to merely sleep in his presence. Whatever ‘partners’ was meant to mean, he was pretty sure it was along the lines of trusting each other, and no , no-one should trust someone else straight away, but Dazai was just this weird puzzle piece that fit into his way of thinking, despite them being so different. 

He trusted Dazai. For once, he was not the issue here. The older’s gut churned slightly at the thought of not being there. Or maybe it was just guilt.

Two: Dazai would be pissed off regardless of Chuuya’s presence. Illness was synonymous with ‘lack of control’. The brunet didn’t handle those kinds of things all too well. It tied into the first prediction, really. Dazai could play his pseudo-mindgames with Mori on a good day, but sick and injured Dazai would lead to frustration, and he’d take it out of the redhead the next time they saw each other. That’s the only reason he cared to avoid it, so he didn’t have to deal with it, obviously.

Two-point-five : Dazai would be superiorly annoyed that Chuuya span his own version of events to Mori. On account of the single fact that the redhead did know, and could only hope was true, that Dazai was asleep, the drugs and sickness taking its toll, he could give the Boss a version of the events which would lead to a nice night’s sleep, thank you very much.

In reality, it’d been something else on his mind, driving these thoughts, not just the guilt picking away at him quietly behind closed doors, because he’d be damned if he felt truly sorry for him.

He’d thought about the cold metal to his head. The fact that Dazai hadn’t shot immediately as he usually would’ve. He could blame it on slow reflexes, on illness, but even sick, the demon prodigy would spare no mercy

Yet he hadn’t shot Chuuya.

Chuuya trusted him not to, in any case, so Dazai would have to trust him this time, even if it only saved him from a single trip to the Boss’ office. It had to count for something- as partners who watched out for each other. Begrudgingly overpowered partners, for how inexperienced they were, and for how much they despised each other.

Chuuya could’ve gone on a damn rampage after joining the Mafia, but for some reason, the Flags decided to adopt him in, and some days it felt like it was the only thing stopping him from tearing the building down brick by brick. Just a little bit of connection.

And Dazai. Dazai was there too, weirdly enough, between being unable to take care of himself and being an absolute menace to the world. Maybe Chuuya was Dazai’s ‘little bit of connection’ to stop him going mad.

There was a chance.

“It was my fault.”

Mori encouraged him to continue with…no verbal or body language cues, Chuuya just knew.

“I was preoccupied and didn’t warn Dazai in time.”

Lying to Mori was a stupid fucking decision. Dazai was likely the only one who could get away with it, not Chuuya . Any out-of-the-blue questions and he wouldn’t be able to answer, to actively lie. Mori would know.

“I could argue that Dazai should’ve been more attentive.”

“We were mobbed. I got frustrated, he told me to stick to the plan and got hit in the process.”

Just a dog. Just the fucking once, bastard.

Mori hummed, finishing whatever sentence he was writing and placing his pen down, looking up at Chuuya.

“I appreciate your verbal report. Seeing as Dazai-kun is quite out of it right now, likely incapable of turning in half-decent paperwork, I’ll accept it as the official mission report,” he sent him a smile, and Chuuya bowed his head. Dazai could totally manage, they both knew it, but whatever was turned in would probably be shit purely out of spite. Best not to chance it.

He hadn’t done one of these alone for…a while, partnered missions had been more common in the passing weeks. The absence beside him was enough to have his hands clutching each other behind his back, gripping with force that’d draw blood without his gloves on. Mori has to know.

“It wouldn’t be very good for Dazai-kun’s reputation to be marred due to a simple cold and resulting injury,” he held out a small card for Chuuya to take. Approaching the desk was like prey knowingly approaching a predator. He absolutely did not wish that Dazai was there. “This is the clinic. Keep in mind that you have your lessons with Kouyou which will take up the rest of the day, but should she decide, you may visit in person within the office hours.”

Is this…Mori’s private clinic? For a damn cold? The wound couldn’t have been that bad, surely.

Waves of anger billowed off of him as his third call rang out along his journey through headquarters. A slightly groggy voice answered on the first ring of the next call, joyful enough, but not enough to fool Chuuya.

He must’ve been resting. With the redhead’s heart slowing finally , he couldn’t bring himself to feel terrible about it. If he had the energy to attempt to mask, he was fine.

He took a moment to answer the brunet’s question as to why his little puppy was calling, that he should be with Kouyou at that moment. Passing some obvious new hires, the redhead began to click his tongue. Morse code was too predictable, so they made their own language. This wasn;t something he wanted people listening into, after all.

I covered your ass with Mori.

His partner coughed, an ugly chesty thing, and his inhale was a fraction too sharp for it not to be out of pain. He continued nonetheless. “ I didn’t ask you to lie. ”

“You didn’t have to,” he huffed. With Dazai already knee-deep in Mori’s proximity given his bed at Mori’s actual clinic, it seemed kind of pointless now.

The brunet’s scoff was enough to know he’d rolled his eyes. “ I don’t need a little dog yapping my defence. It would’ve been fine. ”

Chuuya’s mind yelled I couldn’t know that , but he kept that to himself. “I’m coming by later,” he announced.

“ Ah, I don’t think Ane-san would be very pleased for you to skip out for me, especially if you made me out to be a fool who can’t take care of himself .”

“You are a fool who can’t take care of himself,” he hissed. Dazai would refrain from telling him just how he got hurt to push his buttons. “In fact,” stop stop stop stop stop- “-I’m willing to bet it’s entirely the fact that you’re sick that got you hurt.” Even if someone was listening, Chuuya could only be referring to Dazai’s reaction time, not how exactly he got hurt.

“ Why would I do that when I have my dog to do everything for me? ”

“You do know dogs bite , yeah?” He sneered, ignoring the tense silence from the other end of the phone, only feeling himself getting lost in his frustration. “What if one day, this dog decides to tear your fucking throat out, huh?”

“ I expect it ,” he replied breezily. “ You’re a rude slug, and the biggest bother you could be to me is to be the one to kill me. It’s right up your alley .”

“I should’ve just let you die, it’d be easier for everyone,” he spat, skimming through messy kanji from a hand he knew would be shaking but at that moment, he didn’t care.

“ I did say so, ” he recalled as though he wasn’t stabbing Chuuya where it hurt , “-but Mori would have something to say, no? If his strategist died, you’d be the one answering for it .”

“I’m not your damn babysitter! Die in your own time!” Take care of yourself, damnit!

The shifting on the other end filled him with the smallest bit of confidence. The wound couldn’t have been completely terrible. “ Well, I try that too, but there’s always a very loud dog getting in the way of my plans .”

“Don’t die until I get there,” he threatened, spying Kouyou’s towering figure down the hall. She knew he was with Mori, but probably wouldn’t take kindly to prolonging his absence to speak with his pain in the ass partner.

Dazai sang his reply down the line. “ No promises! ” 

“I’m serious. Call me if something happens. 

“ What a strange request. Feeling guilty, hm? ”

He groaned and told him to fuck off before hanging up.

-

“You wanna be alone so bad? I could be with the Flags right now, but I’m here with your ungrateful ass.”

He could’ve been. They were expecting him later anyway. They were expecting him regardless, but if Chuuya was there, maybe Mori would stay off his back for a little bit longer.

“Why are you still here then?” Dazai had shot back in a tone that told his partner he didn’t actually care what the answer was, only that acting contraire would piss Chuuya off.

Now, Chuuya was sure he was getting the hang of this. On the surface, it was just a douchebag trying to piss him off, but under the surface, it was the partner that wanted him to stay when he was vulnerable. Wanted him to be the buffer, Chuuya was the one to answer the door and face whatever and whoever was outside first .

That’s why he lied. Nevermind the fact that Dazai didn’t know how to ask for these things properly, if Chuuya was there, he wouldn’t have to. There wasn’t anything to explain. 

Something happened to that kid. Something that the redhead knew he’d never truly learn about. He’d never learn what bored Dazai about humanity, nor what made him so apparently interesting on the flipside to explicitly state he’d give life a shot, no doubt already knowing Mori’s true plans for them at that stage, regardless of denial.

Why are you still here? Why don’t you leave?

Alternatively- Why don’t you leave? Why do you stay?

And Chuuya doesn’t know how to answer that question correctly. On one hand, finding a way to shock the bastard would be fun, but only added fuel to a fire that grew every time they argued, which was all the damn time.

It was true that Dazai would make things difficult for those around him, but was it because he wanted to? Or because he was treated like a nuisance by everyone around him?

“Because my partner is hurt,” he turned his face away. The reaction wasn’t what he wanted today. He just didn’t want this today. The brunet had already wormed his way into his life and it felt like a permanent arrangement. He couldn’t keep thinking about the mackerel so damn much.

The next time he opened his mouth, it was with the one thing he’d had in mind since he’d arrived.

“You didn’t tell Mori.”

He shrugged as though a fiery-headed, fiery- tempered gravity manipulator ( dangerous ) wasn’t glaring him down with murder in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell him?

Nothing.

“Don’t act like that’s not a big fucking deal. That was the perfect time to fuck me over, with real consequences. That’s not some shit you’d just let slide.” Their reports didn’t always line up, the Boss was surely used to it by now. This hadn’t needed to be different. In any case, Mori would likely take Chuuya’s version this time, but he didn’t even have to choose this time.

“It’s not like I can do anything in a hospital bed,” he said as if making perfect sense. “You want me to reveal you were lying? What good would that do?”

“ Bullshit, ” he ignored the latter half of his statement . “You’d bring the world to its knees if you tried hard enough regardless of where you were.”

“While I’m flattered, I’m really not interested in dog-sitting right now. Go do what dogs do.”

He could feel the insult, feel it , and the dismissive wave had his fists balled by his side . “And what would that be, asshole?”

“Go sniff around someone else’s ass. Lick yourself, piss up a tree, I don’t know , Chuuya. I don’t care what you do in your free time as long as it doesn’t involve me.”

He bristled. He knew he’d be pissy. Fine bastard. No more arcade. No more movie nights. No more games.

( Punishment enough? )

“At least I have hobbies.” He did, he truly did. And if he wanted to hang out with someone he cared about, he had the Flags. He had his sparring partners. He had people, he wasn’t alone. Dazai certainly couldn’t say the same.

“Who are you trying to impress?” The brunet tutted. “Just because you aren’t aware of what I do in my free time doesn’t mean I don’t have hobbies , you stupid mutt. I simply don’t share them with you.”

Who else do you have? “And who do you share them with?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He replied petulantly, sending him a glare.

“Wouldn’t have fucking asked ,” he spat. Most people would think it was an asshole move to argue with an injured patient, but this was entirely different, because he was arguing with an overgrown prick in a bed. “If I’d known there was someone else on the table, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with you.”

Now, Chuuya couldn’t tell if Dazai had jolted because he’d moved wrong, or if the look on his face was some form of betrayal, but regardless, he was still paler than usual, and his voice was still scratchy, even if he used it to be as annoying as usual.

He was still sick. Like the environment that was meant to be healing him was harming him further. No shit.

His eye bags were deeper. He looked miserable. He probably hadn’t even slept. It was probably a damn lie. 

He probably laid awake with no painkillers.

He probably tore his stitches multiple times.

He probably had no distraction until-

“I didn’t mean to,” he gritted out. He hadn’t. He didn’t make a habit of seriously hurting people he cared about did he? 

“It never seems to matter with you whether you meant to or not,” Dazai picked at his nails, ignoring the fact that his partner froze in place, rooted to the spot, expression stuck where it was.

He didn’t mean to have the Sheep lose faith in him.

He didn’t mean to put them in the firing line of the Port Mafia.

He didn’t mean to hurt Dazai, he wanted to stop him from hurting himself , that had to fucking count for something.

“The Sheep didn’t need you, why the hell do you think I do?”

“…you’re a jerk when you’re sick.”

He’s right.

He’s right.

He’s right.

He’s right. He’s right, He’s righthe’srighthe’sright-

In that moment, he was falling, rooted to the spot with the world spinning around him, bile in his throat. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d lose every person he ever cared minutely about.

I don’t care about Dazai, not like that.

I don’t.

This is dramatic. There’s nothing here to lose.

I deserve this.

Chapter Text

“Can anyone tell me where my bitch of a partner is?” He grunted to no-one in particular, voice getting louder in volume as he stalked through the bottom level of HQ. 

He could feel the grime from the air, the stench of the shipping yard was stuck in his nose regardless of how often he raised his wrist to his nose or shook his lapels. It was simply expensive cologne covering the smell of shit , as opposed to the pleasant scent the cologne actually had.

God, he was gonna kill him. For real this time.

“Nakahara-san! I was looking for you-!”

His nostrils flared and he pushed the remaining air in his lungs out of his nose to try and offset the barrage of abuse he was ready to direct at whoever was stopping his stampede towards Mori’s office.

Won’t answer calls. Turned off location against ground rules. Not at any of his usual places, not by the river or in the dingy fucking metal box, and no-one has seen him since Tuesday.

He turned and tried to dial down the frustration that was making him feel genuinely murderous. “Chuuya is fine,” he gritted out, trying to relax the lines on his face. “What is it?”

The woman was dressed far too prim and proper to be a seasoned employee. There was far too much light in her eyes.

Get out, he wanted to scream at her. He wanted to tower over her and tear the ground around where she stood apart, if it only meant she’d fucking leave.

Go, while you still fucking can , he’d tell her. Get the fuck out of here and go spend some time with your damn family. While the mortality rate for admin staff wasn’t particularly terrible, she looked like a damn journalist , Mori had to be taking the piss hiring her. She seemed to type just from looking to stick her nose where it didn’t belong and get it chopped off for her trouble.

It’d be a shame to marr such a nice face. She was quite pretty, something Chuuya clung to in an effort to remind himself not to go spare on a woman who didn’t deserve his anger, anger that wasn’t really directed at her.

God, where is that fucking bastard?

“Mori-sama asked me to deliver this to you. He did say you’d be a little difficult to find today, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

He blinked at the manila folder. Admin staff…on errands? Where did he find this chick? What was he thinking? He could get to his office. The woman swayed her head slightly, smiling a little which brought Chuuya back to awareness. He probably just spent unnecessary seconds holding her up from her work.

Taking the folder and studying her one last time in the process, he nodded. “Thanks. I- uh, did Boss happen to mention what this is about?”

Her fringe bounced as she shook her head. He watched the movement for a moment, eyes roaming over her stature. Very polite, if not a tad submissive. Maybe it was a front for a- 

“Did I?”

“Hm?”

“Interrupt something important?”

.

.

.

No-one has seen him since Tuesday.

Can’t be found at any of his normal spots.

He hadn’t even messaged his partner.

No location to track.

Nothing.

A fat load of shit.

Nothing.

“No…” he decided on with a long exhale, staring at the manila folder. It would be bad form to check it out in the corridor if there was a chance that what Mori had handed him was confidential information.

Oh. If there’s a leak, we know who it came from. Makes sense.

“Thanks again,” he beelined for his shared office. You wouldn’t have guessed it was, considering it was usually loud, with squeaky chairs that the mackerel fucked with for fun, or pens missing lids, small inconveniences. 

He observed the empty desk. There was a small pile of paperwork that obviously needed to be done, he knew that because he was the one to place them there, but nothing in the outgoing tray Chuuya had forced onto the almost bare desk. It was likely then that the brunet submitted the work before disappearing who knows where.

That pulled the corners of his mouth towards the ground. Furthering that was the lack of sticky notes, the lack of any evidence of fuckery with any of his things. The balled up piece of paper he’d ditched at his partner the last time they’d used the office together was still on the ground in front of the desk.

Six days since they’d pushed the desks together. Six days since they only ended up using one, spreading the maps and mission briefs out, Dazai sat respectfully in his chair, Chuuya sorely disagreeing because the way he was sitting was fucking stupid , and Dazai shot back something about something something Chuuya laying on the table, which was where the scrunched up paper came from.

Six days since they’d ended up practically sitting on each other while bickering, six days since Dazai kept his mouth shut for three seconds while listening to Chuuya’s interpretation of the information they’d been given-

Six days since he’d watched a very peculiar smile on his partner’s face. It was soft, and the noise and bickering died away as he watched, the only noise being frantic pencil scratchings, a smile not directed towards Chuuya himself, angled at the page he was writing on. 

It looked like something very private. Something Dazai wouldn’t usually share, no fake joy of glee that he’d show subordinates.

Collapsing into his chair, he opened the folder. All of Dazai’s plans fell out.

They had three days.

Chuuya leaned back and placed his hat on the table before bringing his hands to his face, groaning into his hands and slouching. Dazai had missed missions before. They’d been covered. 

This was a step up. He couldn’t just ask Hirostu to help. Golden Demon could only do so much. They both knew what the intention was for this mission. It was essentially a testing ground for Chuuya’s newfound power, and yet they’d both left the Boss’ office carrying dreariness and fatigue before they’d even started planning.

Chuuya didn’t want to do it. He wanted desperately for Dazai to tell him then and there that they could plan around it. He wanted two damn minutes-

But when he looked at his partner, he seemed similarly miserable. Miserable in a curtained fashion, sitting beneath his usual neutral expression, poking through the cracks of a mask only immense fatigue could bore into. This wasn’t physical fatigue. 

He could hear Ane-san scolding him for rubbing his face, wrinkles and what not, but what did it really fucking matter if Chuuya was destined for an early death anyway?

His next exhale came out shaky. Closing his eyes hadn’t been a pleasant experience for awhile now. He could feel his clothes being pulled, weight disappearing to nothing, a phantom hand wrapped around his neck.

Hands fell slowly from his face, head tilted towards a boring ceiling, fingers curling under his choker. Colours swam in his vision, unfocused eyes unmoving. He wanted to stay there, for an undetermined amount of time. He wanted it to stop.

But life wasn’t like that.

Show me that you can hold your own. 

It was always the voice he least wanted to hear that echoed the loudest in the silence.

Rise to the challenge and privilege you feel so guilty about having. 

He couldn’t just sit there. There was work to be done, rest to be earned.

Give yourself something to feel guilty about at least, it’s such a headache seeing you hold out.

“I’ll show you a fucking headache,” he whispered to no-one, sitting up and grabbing his hat. He’d spied a few unfamiliar addresses on a small piece of paper that could’ve been easily missed. They weren’t.

-

The last address was an apartment Chuuya had actually scoped out. It was lowkey, not too far from the penthouse he’d ended up choosing. He may have gotten it if someone else hadn’t first.

So. Dazai had been the one to buy it. To his knowledge, he hadn’t actually bought anywhere, but maybe he missed a jab or two. Maybe he missed the fact that Dazai was getting around without him.

He wasn’t very fun when he was mourning. Dazai probably found a new muse or two elsewhere. You know, instead of comforting his partner- fuck that , Chuuya didn’t need that. He didn’t need it from Dazai at all, it was just easier to predict. He’d complain, jab at him, he wouldn’t pity Chuuya. That was the only upside.

Upon entering, he was confronted with…fresh air. That…couldn’t be right. No way Dazai was living here.

The radio was on, some weird song playing. He frowned. Dazai didn’t listen to the radio.

There was a vague smell of… was that curry?  

He slammed the door. “ Dazai?”

He listened out for a moment, his stomach dropping at the thought of having barged into some random person’s apartment, but it quelled with the clearing of a throat. Infuriating.

The radio looked new, simple enough design, it wasn’t really anything special. “That’s a shit station,” he directed his head towards the couch, eyeing the changing numbers as he messed with the radio frequency.

“Had guests,” was spoken through a yawn. Chuuya couldn’t think of much except:

This bitch.

Six fucking days.

“Couldn’t have fucking told anyone where you were, huh?” He wondered into the kitchen, not sparing a look towards the couch where the voice had drifted from. “Dumbass.”

There was literally no way in hell Dazai had kept this kitchen clean. There was food in the fridge, the filter worked, the lights were on. The money must’ve been automatically taken out, no way Dazai would remember bills when he had the ins and outs of criminal organisations stored behind his eyes. Something so mundane was of no interest to him.

What guests? Who?

Was Dazai one for the simple things? He…well, in the Mafia, the simple things were a luxury. It was like getting a retail job for fun, not because you needed the money. That did sound like something the eccentric jackass might do, come to think of it .

He inspected the entire apartment, noted specifically that were wasn’t a fucking razor in sight. Did Mori hire some chump for suicide watch? Or did this elusive person know Dazai well enough to know it wasn’t a joke?

Only one knife. Blinds to pull down rather than with strings to adjust them. The question sat on his tongue, and there was one way to get his answer. Rounding the couch, Chuuya sucked in a large breath to go mental, he’d been waiting to, but-

Oh.

Fuck , last time he’d looked like that was…almost a year ago now? Did he get sick at the same time of year every year? He looked bad. There was no way they’d be able to do the mission. Not the way Mori intended, anyway.

He talked so much shit about Dazai not being worth being looked after over the time they'd known each other, and this was the result. 

No-one knowing- correction, Chuuya not knowing, and Dazai turning his back on him, at a time where it was exceedingly obvious that he needed Chuuya around. This wasn’t just a case of not being able to take care of himself, nor a simple act of imposing himself on others to fuck with their schedules.

He had been gone. He’d taken himself away like a dying animal to sit in his own misery.

And Chuuya hadn’t been there to mitigate. 

Something else tugged at him, something he couldn’t ignore as his head began to hurt from squinting. The wrapped up blanket, the cup on the table with a coaster beneath it, the low volume on the radio, the temperature was likely perfect for Dazai even if it was a bit warm for Chuuya.

Chuuya hadn't been there. Someone else had.

He drew his hand away, not having realised he’d reached out to begin with. His partner’s forehead was burning .

“Shit, mackerel…” he breathed. Why is he so hot? Who hadn’t finished taking care of him?

Something flared in his chest. Who left him there? 

Me . Dazai must’ve sent them on their way. Or maybe they were coming back. He should ask. He should. But now that he thought about it, a cleared throat and a yawn to hide whatever his voice actually sounded like.

He’d been prepared to give his partner the whole rundown based on his glassy eyes and porcelain appearance- where he was, who Chuuya was, potentially who Dazai was, god damnit he looked like shit. He had been, but he was cut off before he could even open his mouth but something so weak, it brought on the familiar burn protectiveness in his chest so quickly and intensely it hurt.

“ Chuu …”

His knee dug into the couch, coming to lean over the brunet and brushing his hair away from his eyes. All previous reservations were forgotten as he stared into clouded eyes. 

“You okay?”

The only reply was a quiet groan. “... hurts. ”

I hate pain.  

Chuuya felt a bit sick too.

The red on his partner’s cheeks were blotchy. It was a familiar sight for Chuuya recently, though it’d been his own cheeks, and was often accompanied with active or drying tear tracks. 

He could do something here. He could make a difference. He had some kind of control over how he reacted to this.

What did Doc used to say about…damn. Damnit.

He covered his mouth, pinching his nose in the process, continuing to stare at Dazai, whose eyes had closed. The prickly feeling in his nose had started, he couldn’t afford that right now.

Focus. What’s going on right now?

Clammy hands. His hand came back a little slicker than he was sure it’d approached. His hairline was sweaty, sweating it out, could be a cold or fever . His bandages would be drenched with sweat. He wrinkled his nose. The mackerel needed to change at some point, he needed a shower, he could’ve had one this morning and no-one could tell.

Pull it together. The fresh air might be too cold, he might catch a chill, it might spark a coughing fit. A humidifier would amplify the smell of sick, though. Nothing is worse than gagging on that damn smell.

“Open your eyes for me if you’ve eaten,” he muttered, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders, hands lingering when he made eye contact. He held it for a moment, gauging lucidity. Decent . “Blink if you’ve had a shower in the last 4 days.”

Blink.  

“The last two?”

… alright.

“Can you move?”

Dazai breathed in, tiers between each sniff, and spoke quite loudly. Ears are blocked, Congested. “I’m not bedridden, chibi. I can get up.”

“Excuse me for trying to be considerate,” he hummed, working at the top three buttons of Dazai’s dress shirt. He knew there were bandages there already, Dazai wouldn’t- shouldn't have had an adverse reaction. And he didn’t. “You need a shower.”

“I smell like roses, thank you very much,” he sniffled. Chuuya huffed a laugh, lips upturning involuntarily.

“Yeah, right. Good joke, dumbass. Can I take it off?” 

The brunet shuffled, and Chuuya hovered awkwardly nearby, standing to give the mackerel room. Shaky hands lifted up to do it himself, fumbling a little. Chuuya fought back the urge to do it for him. Nothing worse than being vulnerable and feeling babied, treated like you can’t do anything yourself .

…to be fair, Dazai seemed to be at his limit when it came to movement.

Two eyes sluggishly followed him as he teased the button his partner was stuck on out of his hands, stopping and checking in before hesitantly pulling the tucked in shirt out and undoing the last buttons. Chuuya wasn’t sure if Dazai meant for him to hear the hum he let out, somewhere hoped it was relief.

“I’ll run a bath, stay there.”

The resulting whine stirred a nip of irritation, and Chuuya let out a relieved hum of his own as he moved towards where he'd found the bathroom. At least the bastard was still awake enough to be annoying.

“What, bastard?”

The brunet’s gaze fell to the floor as he sat up slowly. He stretched a little, bringing his hand up to his chest, rubbing up and down. It was the closest he’d gotten to looking terribly pathetic. “It hurts.”

He narrowed his eyes. Avoiding him? It…his chest? 

“A bath will loosen all the gunk,” he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “You want to stay sick?”

“No,” he coughed, bringing the hand from his chest to his mouth. It took him a few moments to recover, moving his palm to his ribs. “But it hurts, Chuuya. My chest hurts.”

The little ones from the Sheep used to complain similarly when they had a cough. He felt himself jolt for a moment, having seen Shirase must’ve brought more to the surface than he wanted to admit.

“I’ll have a shower-”

“Can you even stand?”

“ Yes ,” he pushed himself up, stretching like… a cat. Is that what he looked like? “And I won’t fall over.”

Privacy. He wants privacy.

“You’re such a mother, chibbiko,” he hummed, and Chuuya blinked at how close his partner had gotten. The offending sore chest was in his eyeline now. When he was with the kids…

Had it helped? They looked a little calmer. He’d never asked…

He didn’t check to see Dazai’s reaction when he raised a hand to his sternum and placed it there solidly. He rubbed it up and down, eyes purposefully not meeting Dazai’s. There was a jump or two under his hands. Not flinches, just, just beneath his hand. His heart.

It was beating quite hard. Chuuya decided just this once, he’d keep his mouth shut about it. He had a feeling his voice wouldn’t be nearly as strong as he wanted it to be if he opened it to tease. And Dazai hadn’t said a word.

How…peaceful.

“...there’s some movies to choose from on the table.”

Chuuya had seen them. Instead of getting mad, he focused on the…uncharacteristic softness in Dazai’s voice, the rumble beneath his palm. Being sick was really taking a toll. “They’re kids movies.”

“The best kind for Chuuya, hm?”

Just who did you have over? He sighed. “Don’t die in the shower, I’ll kill you.”

“Choose a good movie or I’ll wring my wet hair all over you.”

He tapped his chest, hand feeling strangely bare when he removed it despite his gloves.

-

The animation was nice. It was definitely for kids, but Chuuya would happily sit down and watch it. He should've been watching but remained entranced by the proximity to his partner. This wasn’t like a mission where they were required to be in each other’s presence. Chuuya could’ve just left him.

Could he have?

He’d need to eat something again soon, but they were both a little preoccupied. Dazai was curled into him, Chuuya garnering a strange amount of comfort from having the weight pressed against his side and into the crook of his neck. 

He… hated it. This guy…was responsible for the Flags, he-

He let go of a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Everything the apathetic asshole had done, an unfeeling criminal, and he was here, tucked into Chuuya’s side, completely surrendered and terribly, horribly, human.

Shirase was only a kid. Yuan was only a kid- the Sheep was just a ragtag group of misfits with little other place to go or belong to. In the same way, Dazai was just a kid, though Chuuya could see it clear as day, as clear as it was to himself in his own circumstances- his partner never got the chance to be one.

It was weird. They kicked and screeched and bitched, but they were also the only teenagers in the organisation. Kouyou didn’t count- she was nineteen, or twenty ? But definitely not in their league. She was a step above. Chuuya couldn’t see himself ever becoming so elegant, but Dazai could definitely get there, all silver tongue and flirtatious looks. 

Being sophisticated? Maybe he could lean into it a little, but he reserved a bit of pride for being rough around the edges. Gave him some character, something to set him apart from the snobby assholes who thought their manipulation and bargains could match up against Dazai fucking Osamu .

They shouldn’t stay on the couch. They’d both wake up with pains in their necks and backs, the last thing he needed was Dazai coming to in the morning, complaining about that as well. 

( No other reason. )

He could put him in his bed, but… damn….stop reminding me, mind!

There was no denying Dazai had relaxed into him after coming out of the shower. He was pleasantly warm, skin pink in places, and likely on the mend already. Chuuya ignored the long inhales and exhales that tickled the hair on his neck in favour of figuring out what to watch, rationalising it to be an attempt to breathe through the pain.

But…it could be a comfort thing too, without taking away from the fact he was breathing through clogged lungs.

His partner was a ragdoll when he shuffled his hand under his back and shifted to the side to scoop him up from under his knees. It was 100% for show, Dazai was awake, but he made no effort to struggle as Chuuya carried him over, was silent as Chuuya would sidestep through doorways without hitting him on anything.

He was still light. It wasn’t just that Chuuya was strong. He’d definitely force food down his throat when he woke up properly.

He remained reasonably pliant until he was tucked in, clearing his throat again ( it sounded a little bit better ), where he started to shift, his expression screwing up far too genuinely.

“Calm down, mackerel. I’m not going anywhere,” he hushed him, placing a hand where his shoulders were wriggling under the covers. The weak wheeze of “ Dog protects master, ” left him rolling his eyes. “I’m not curling up at the bottom of the bed, either. And not on the damn floor. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

.

.

.

“What was that?”

“... hurts. ”

He panicked for a moment. “Where-? Oh.” He slipped his hands under the cover and placed his hand where it had been without really thinking.

Dazai stiffened.

… no bandages under his clothes. Shit.

He removed his hand straight away. “ Sorry …sorry.”

… he finally said it without finding it…hard.

“I should’ve thought- you must have a hot water bottle somewhere, right?” He said quietly, standing up. 

“Chuuya.”

“...yeah?”

The silence was deafening. “Please.”

The redhead’s mind reeled back to a year ago, around then, where he wondered if Dazai would take comfort in a peck on his hair. Placing his hand back and circling slowly, feeling the rising and falling chest rhythmically under his hand, he knew he had an answer.

…when he drifted off.

Chapter Text

Buzzing from his phone drew Chuuya from Dazai long after the latter had fallen asleep. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the peace so rarely shown on his partner’s face. The thought that he’d been a part of bringing it, even a little bit, made his chest warm.

He’d been reluctant to draw his hand back. Having taken his gloves off a little bit ago, his hand had gotten used to the texture beneath them, and was once again left feeling empty when he left.

A quick call with the boss confirmed a few things- namely that he knew where Dazai was the entire time. It would’ve been nice information to know, but fuck him, right? He hadn’t been subtle in needling as to who had apparently called in, or at least passed the message along, that Dazai needed time off.

Just an average phone call at 2am. Make sure he’s better in no uncertain terms. It didn’t feel like he’d come down from the indirect scolding before he heard the blankets move, a thump and-

Whining?

What the fuck?

He wouldn’t be able to tell if he’d darted back to the room with his ability or not, set on figuring out what the fuck was happening in the literal five minutes he’d been out of the room. He was met with the sight of his partner backed to the wall. He turned the light on and cringed at the obvious panic as heavy breathing bounced off the walls.

And then there was nothing. The breathing ceased, Dazai remained stock still for a moment. He got closer, holding his hands out, but Dazai began thrashing . He had no idea what to do.  

“Oi! Mackerel, hey!” He stepped closer again, and Dazai winced, backing into the corner further. “What is it?” He was at a loss. What was going on in his head?

There was something else just off . 

Two eyes staring back at him. Two.

Chuuya wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The bandages…had he ripped them off? Could he take his eyes off Dazai for even a second to check? He knew there was probably…how had he not seen in over a year? No matter, it wasn’t a dark chasm in his face. The other eye was just as alluring as the one in sight. 

Would the other eye be weaker?

In the silence of an apartment they knew deep down was better shared:

“...Chuuya?”

The redhead nodded, opting not to speak for the moment. Whatever was going on, Chuuya never wanted to see it again. Never wanted to see fear and anxiety grip his partner so ruthlessly again. It was all kinds and shades of wrong.

The universe had very cruel timing, as if Chuuya needed to be reminded of it. It was then, studying Dazai’s very… human response to… him ? No, not him, something else. Whatever it was, Dazai was afraid of it, was having one of the expected responses to fear, something the redhead could’ve been sure was beaten out of him, or at least pushed so far down that little to no sense of self-preservation remained, and all Dazai could do when his body was meant to feel fear, was march towards it.

The only time Dazai’s true instinct to survive seemed to kick in was… during attempts. Maybe once or twice on some missions, but still.

Right now, Chuuya could see only vague recognition in cloudy eyes. It was confusing enough seeing both of them staring back at him, but nothing of what usually sat behind them was there. 

What was missing? How did Dazai look at Chuuya for him to notice its absence so obviously when it wasn’t there?

His stuttered inhale was enough for something in Chuuya’s chest to lurch. It… almost sounded like crying. But Dazai…?

“Chuuya…?” He tried again, just as quiet, just as heartbreaking.

“...yeah, m’here, mackerel. You’re not…” What could he say? Where had his mind stolen him to? Why was it trying to torture him? “You’re not…there.”

His voice had been hoarse, scratchy in his throat as he forced it out. His admittedly rough voice wasn’t meant for…calming people, he didn’t think. The redhead stood awkwardly a few metres away, not knowing what to do with his hands, not knowing how his partner would react to sudden movements. He couldn’t chance it. He couldn’t even spare a look at the bathroom door to see if it was open. 

(Dazai had booked it and hidden in there several times since the apartment had been christened (the irony was not lost on them), Chuuya in tow and desperate to open the door. The brunet was never in a good space when he did it, and if he found nothing to harm himself with, he’d smack his head against the wall. Chuuya didn’t like the tiles.

Everyone saw the calm and collected Demon Prodigy. Chuuya saw a desperate and lonely teenage boy.)

If he looked, it might give the other some ideas. He hoped that…well, hoped that he was distracted enough. It felt like wishing for hurt , which is not at all what he meant or wanted, but this was just… god.

Still shaking like a leaf, the brunet straightened a little. “You’re…”

.

.

.

“I’m…?”

Chuuya moved to sit cross-legged in front of him, making sure his movements stayed slow. Any movement before while Dazai was in that state set off more reactions, raised more questions , so best to keep it slow. Like a cornered animal.

That was it, right? Like normal. Dazai would lash out with something terribly hurtful.

“It’s just you and me here,” he said quietly, scared that slow breathing from his own mouth would trigger a hurricane across from him. “You’re in your apartment.”

He had no idea what he was doing, but distracting seemed like a good start. Well, it could end horribly, with the brunet lashing out, cold and malicious, but he hadn’t seen Dazai like this before, and he’d seen a lot ( Dazai had seen a lot of him too ) so there was no guide or rulebook for it. 

Or maybe he should say something about…

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me in here.” Was he panicking because no-one was around? What kind of nightmare had he actually had? “I stepped out for a few minutes…” Do I tell him I wanted to come straight back? That I would’ve much rather stayed in the room than deal with the boss?

He could feel his own hands shaking on his knees. If Dazai looked hard enough, he’d definitely be able to see. He wasn’t the one who flattened themself in a corner, he didn’t understand why he was shaking so much.

He also wasn’t the only one who felt vulnerable and exposed, though did he have any right to be-?

He was scared. As well. He’d never seen Dazai like this. But he couldn’t show Dazai that, he couldn't show him that he was afraid of this. Regular Dazai would tease him, would prod at him, but this Dazai was different. This Dazai before him was still, like Chuuya was the enemy.

This Dazai needed someone around him to be the stronger one.

His gut twisted, he swallowed hard. Chuuya wasn’t the enemy. Chuuya was his partner . They threatened each other all the time, but Chuuya was long done being serious. He’d have made true to those promises by now if he’d actually meant any of it.

But this Dazai…probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. This Dazai didn’t know where he was, and from the looks of it, didn’t understand what Chuuya was doing there.

He…knows it’s me, right?

Was it his mackerel staring through those eyes? Or someone else?

What am I saying? Of course it’s him. It’s…just Dazai. Just Dazai.

“I… you know who I am?” Really? Do you really? Or are you just saying a name you remember?

The brunette shifted minutely, staring with void-like eyes. Chuuya was about to wilt under them when a quiet voice sounded to spur him on again. “...chibi.”

He sighed at the nickname, anything is better than whatever the fuck that was. “Uh…huh. Sure, mackerel.” He held his breath, trying to figure out what the fell he was meant to do now. “Do you…” he cursed his hesitance. He was usually brash, quick to jump the gun , Dazai always reminded him of that fact, but right now? “Do you want to go sit on the couch instead?”

It seemed like it took a moment to process, but there wasn’t much consideration of the proposition before he was shaking his head.

Wouldn’t that make him feel better? Doesn’t this room feel small now?

Chuuya swallowed. It did for him, at least. He’d usually found comfort in this room, it was his. Dazai had his own bed in his room, elsewhere in another building, Mori had said. He’d be in that new apartment in a few months if Chuuya could help it. Somewhere close by . 

His bedroom felt small now. Felt…not enough. Damn, whatever that was…it’s throwing me off bad.

“You sure?”

A nod. That seemed a bit more certain, a bit more sure, a bit more like Dazai, but the haze hadn’t disappeared. So… he’s conscious enough to be trying to lead me away from the problem. Problem being?

His room…was messy? Had he been in there for too long, was it getting stuffy? Chuuya found the four walls suffocating right now just being confronted with whatever just happened, he couldn’t imagine, now seeing this kind of reaction from the boy, that Dazai wasn’t feeling that in some capacity.

God…they were only kids. What did they do to deserve this kinda shit?

…what was he-? Right. Messiness. Dazai’s room was messy. Maybe the mess was stimulating somehow? Maybe the four walls were acting like some kind of panic box.

Surveying the room, he spied multiple empty water bottles. Dazai wouldn’t be able to avoid the bathroom having drunk that much. He was still sick, he was still compromised. There was no way Dazai was safe being left alone, no way he’d feel safe alone . It wouldn’t go over well, Chuuya hanging around like a moth to flame, Chuuya didn’t like being hovered over either, but…

Less than a minute? What would he do? “I’m gonna grab you another bottle…okay?” He paused for a moment, knowing this was unfair, but he couldn’t take the chance that he’d return to blood on the corner of his kitchen counter, and wouldn't be able to fare with a barely moving mackerel again. Not again. “And Dazai?”

Dazai just stared back.

I… “I…you know that movie we started watching?” That could’ve been a lie, he had no idea, it could’ve been days, how had he not seen the jackass in days , holy shit-? “What is it called?”

Usually it was give an inch, take a mile with Dazai, but there was no teasing. He wasn’t sure if the mackerel would have the energy to. Maybe he was too tired to talk. Somehow, that didn’t seem so far out of reach. Sometimes Dazai would go vacant in front of Mori. Maybe that’s how he was feeling now.

But Chuuya wasn’t Mori. Dazai shouldn't feel the same about his partner as his boss.

“I…the animation…” he’s gonna know I’m playing it up. It’s not all untrue though… “I liked it, and we didn’t really finish it- well, you have, I guess…I just, uh ,” he stammered. Why is this so hard to say?

Dazai muttered, and he cursed that he hadn’t heard it the first time.

“What was that?”

“Ghibli. It’s Studio Ghibli.” He took a deep breath, which undid a knot in the redhead’s gut. “Which one?”

Shit. “Um, I think it was the…later one?”

“Howl’s?”

“I…hope so?”

Dazai just stared at him again. Chuuya could leave now, but if anything, the conversation sobered him, and that-

“I won’t go in the bathroom.”

Chuuya blinked as Dazai raised himself from the floor and moved towards the bed. Damn, was I that obvious?  

“If you mean the one that came out in 2004, it was Howl’s,” he said, adjusting the sheets instead of planting himself on them, avoiding eye contact. Chuuya’s body was frozen, stuck between wanting to hold his arms out in case Dazai needed to settle down.

Chuuya recalled some of the random facts Dazai had prattled off about the animation studio. Was it a comfort movie? Then maybe he should…could he stream it somehow? Then they could stay in this room. But Dazai was probably getting tired of him hanging around, wanted some space, said that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, but, well, this was Dazai, and-

Dazai coughed with force that rattled his whole body, hiding his face in his arm and regaining his breath. He was paler than earlier, and the redhead cursed the fact that sleep hadn’t made a difference yet. The night was still reasonably young, there was time to go back to sleep. Not that it mattered, the brunet was not going in anyway.

“I’ll go grab you something…” he’d keep medication in the bathroom, but that’s that kind of medication. What about cold and flu? What about fever? Did he care enough to stock up on that kind of thing?

Tea. Kouyou makes tea. She also makes those other drinks, they used to work for the mackerel. Doc would say sweat it out, intensive, stay clean, rest.

Sleep. Ha! As if. What kind of damn nightmare woke him up anyway?

Didn’t I see tea earlier? I didn’t check his cup when he was on the couch, maybe he’s had some.

…maybe he’ll like it.

Similar thoughts buzzed around his head as he set about the kitchen. He found himself quite restless, like he… wanted Dazai to feel better because of some tea. Tea he made…which was fucking stupid, because seriously? Getting giddy over helping that mackerel bastard-?

Nope. Giddy? What am I? A fucking schoolgirl?

He shook his head a few times, trying to ignore the pit that formed in his stomach when he realised he kind of ( kind of, it wasn’t that serious, at all ) liked the idea of taking care of Dazai, and things being a little slower, as opposed to competitive video-games and life-threatening missions. 

It felt…a little like a bandaid. It felt like a bandaid over a bullet wound, however cliche. And it didn’t even fit right, because they were the ones who looked after Chuuya, not the other way round. They’re the ones who paid the price, they were the ones that suffered for- for what fucking reason?

And yet the feeling of anger that rose above simply blaming Dazai. The brunet had brought time, that was his goal, and he was successful, and what a shitty way to measure success. The Flags would still be there if it hadn’t been for him.

They died for what? For who? A fucking kid who was taking care of the one who got them killed?

.

.

.

Dazai did not control Verlaine. Dazai is not Verlaine, and not all of the anger was at Dazai, not at all. 

He was in the midst of his mental conflict, aiming his frustration at flicking the kettle off before it whistled and inevitably found itself embedded in the wall, figuring out what kind of balance was taking care of Dazai while-

A slam of a door. A slight echo.

He was in the bathroom.

Fuck.

A new wave of panic hit him, then an entirely different one when he was hit with the unmistakable smell of sick. No doubt somewhere in the room, but Chuuya wasn’t thinking about that when he rushed to the bathroom.

Fuck!

Dazai was hunched over the bowl; shivering slightly as a presumed wave of nausea hit him. It was a sorry sight, setting a pit in his stomach despite not having forced his partner to throw up pills in this particular bathroom yet.  

… fuck.

He caught himself feeling the slightest bit sorry immediately, and the anger washed away only for guilt to blossom in its wake. It wasn’t his fault that he was sick. But maybe it was his fault that he hadn’t known to begin with.

Chuuya…didn’t owe anyone shit. He could've told Mori to look after him. He wouldn't...though. Dazai shared his aversion of medical professionals.

He lingered at the door, eyeing the hand waving him away. What a spectacle. The Demon Prodigy- 

Not the time.

“You can wave your hand at me as much as you want, I’m not some maid you beckon to come and go.”

“Chuuya would-” he suddenly went very quiet, and even a master at keeping emotions off his face couldn’t prevent the “... am I about to throw up? ” showing clear as day. He couldn’t help the tinge of amusement at the open look, he looked so much more like a teenager. 

His partner recovered reasonably quickly, finishing with a comment about a tiny child and a maid dress, to which Chuuya implored that he choke. The bastard was interrupted again by a burp which prompted a hurried lean back to the bowl, and the redhead snorted, thanking the karmic forces of the universe just this once .

Which, of course, immediately bit him in the ass, because in the next few minutes, he arrived at the scene of Dazai trying to discreetly change his sheets, and there was no way the sweat excuse was going to work because the smell of sick was still permeating the vicinity. Once again, he looked like a deer in headlights, and Chuuya did not want it.

There was no way. Dazai was…trying not to bother him?

They always told each other they were annoying, that was their whole thing! They hated each other. They bagged on each other all the time. That was…!

He’d spewed all that…bullshit over the past year, and this? This… this, was the consequence.

“Mackerel, you’re not bothering me.”

Dazai stared at him, looked in the direction of the soiled blanket, and watching Chuuya begin to bundle it up. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

He bristled. “For fucking looking out for you?”

“Yes!” And the volume surprised Chuuya, an uncharacteristic display of frustration and confusion. “I have been exclusively bothering you, you stupid slug. It’s what I do. ”

Chuuya held his hand up and shook his head, because whatever that was needed to be unpacked…someday. “You’re kidding , right?” He took Dazai’s silence as permission to continue, as if he needed it anyway. “Drawing on my face when I’m asleep is bothering me. Tripping me up is bothering me. Replacing all my shit, trashing my room? That shit bothers me. This,” he held up the offending blanket, “-does not bother me. This is my fucking job.”

Dazai was staring at him in what the redhead could only assume was what genuine shock looked like on that face- both eyes , and Chuuya wanted to keep staring back, wanted to peel back the layers, but this would have to do for now. Two eyes, actually seeing each other, a sliver of understanding between them.

This is a partnership.

“And before that stupid head of yours pollutes my words, I’m doing this because I want to, not because I’ve been asked or ordered. I’d be here even if you didn’t want me to be. We’ll suffer each other’s existence. You, mine,” he pointed accordingly, “-and I, yours.” It’s the only job you don’t have to ask me to do.

His partner’s expression was still blank enough to stir discomfort in Chuuya’s gut. He found himself wishing it was still 1:30am, when Dazai had been contently resting under his hand, and where Chuuya was slowly being pulled to sleep, the spot beside Dazai looking more and more comfortable as the minutes passed, the prospect of getting sick not affecting him in the slightest. And it should’ve, because of that damn mission, but in that dark room, those walls felt like safety, and the rising chest under his hand was enough.

But it wasn’t 1:30am anymore. It was closer to 2:15am, and Dazai was staring at him like he had four heads. I'm not something to watch, damnit…

“What’s so confusing to you?” he asked, finding himself so genuinely curious, it felt like that boulder in his stomach. What didn’t he understand? What didn’t Chuuya understand about Dazai at that moment?

“Why are you like this…?”

Chuuya’s breath caught in his throat, everything and anything rushing to him in an instant, and-

“A street rat has the most courtesy of anyone I’ve met.”

The redhead blinked at him. “Not exactly a compliment coming from someone in the Mafia,” he said quietly.

There was rustling, his partner obviously moving to see him. “You know I don’t care about things like this.”

Chuuya frowned, dragging his gaze to Dazai and saying “ So what’s the point of-? ” before realising.

I don’t care. And I’m asking. “I don’t usually care about whether the respect I’m shown is real or fake,” he doubled down in that strange way he did, where it felt like Chuuya knew him just a little bit better. Where he felt whatever Dazai’s version of appreciation was saturating the air around him.

It was…far too intense sometimes. Dazai was just an annoying mackerel, there was no reason for Chuuya’s heart to beat so damn hard at the prospect of being appreciated by someone like him. He knew better 

He knew better. But he also-

-wanted Dazai.

Holy shit.

“Just get better,” he said out of seemingly nowhere. Not for Dazai though, who was no doubt reading his damn mind, or who may have already realised Chuuya’s pension to please and care for in order to belong, but he didn’t try to make himself likeable for Dazai, and Dazai still appreciated it.

“Chuuya really does care,” he whispered, as if it was a truth that would change the course of history, as if it was a secret that should never be told.

They didn’t need to tell each other. Chuuya found himself hoping Dazai could feel it the same way he felt his appreciation. He really shouldn’t have been surprised- with someone so closed off and frugal with what they showed, of course anything more than that would feel like a tsunami as opposed to a wave. 

Their actions spoke just as loud, if not louder, than their words. In loud betrayals and quieter apologies, if they could be called that.

He approached from behind, the brunet having made himself look preoccupied with something else, which Chuuya just knew was an excuse to look away, to perhaps withdraw after exposing something so close to himself. Damn, you’re a dumbass.

…I’m a dumbass. Shit.

He drew his arms around Dazai, arms encircling a thin frame as much as possible, and palms flattening over his clothed figure, fingers splayed to cover as much as he could. The body stiffened beneath him, and he detected a minute shaking that he knew he wouldn’t bring up. Maybe he was cold.

He squeezed a little tighter, leaning his cheek against his partner’s back. He could feel that heartbeat under him again, the light push against his hold, the quiet breathing no doubt trained into Dazai, but here, this close, it was loud and comforting .

With his cheek pushed against his back, Chuuya felt his own body sigh, something he was sure he’d be embarrassed about had he not been hit with a wave of fatigue. He was tired. But that was alright. “You’re stupid for a genius,” he mumbled into the silence. “Get with the program.”

Chapter Text

“Nope.”

“Unhand me, cretin!”

“Nope.”

“Help! Someone help!”

“Ignore him.”

“A villainous chibi is kidnapping me-!”

An elegant voice saying “ Get kidnapped quieter ,” made Chuuya snort, and Dazai shifted slightly from his place on his partner’s shoulder to send a petulant glare towards Kouyou, who simply swept past them on the way to Mori’s office.

For context, Chuuya walked in a minute late due to an argument with the new men stationed outside Mori’s door. Eventually the boss had called for them to wave him through, and Chuuya strode in to take his ( unfortunate ) place beside his partner. He spared the asshole a single glance and his entire demeanour deflated. He shared a look with Mori, who seemed equal amounts exasperated and amused at his reaction. There was no resistance when Chuuya swept Dazai over his shoulder and walked out. 

Dazai certainly made sure the whole building knew about it.

“This is unbelievable.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” The redhead huffed. “You’re being so loud. How old are you?”

 “Aren’t you? ” He shot back, ignoring Chuuya’s quiet “ Weak, ” in response to him. “Carrying me around so shamelessly. Anyone would think you were going to have your way with me.”

“How many times are we going to have the same conversation?” He grumbled.

“As many times as it takes for it to get through your thick skull, or are you like a jellyfish with no brain?”

Since learning that jellyfish didn’t actually have brains at the ripe age of fucking seventeen , Chuuya had considered them a scientific wonder. Dazai, on the other hand, immediately began to use the term as an insult. His predictability didn’t mean it wasn’t still annoying as all hell. 

( Chuuya got his own back, bullying him for being a genius yet apparently not knowing this seemingly well-known fact about jellyfish. He had an excuse. )

“I can’t even stand being near a slimy slug like you. I’m far better suited with a gorgeous lady-”

“As if anyone would touch you willingly, you fishy asshole.”

“There’s a line,” he sniffled, nursing his pride.

Chuuya stood to the side, waiting for confused mid-level agents to get out before stepping into the elevator. “I don’t see them,” he played along for a moment despite knowing that the mackerel was indeed correct, bleugh , “-guess they all died because they contracted something from you. Disgusting bitch,” he added for good measure.

“Do you really find me so appalling?”

Dazai would never admit to the insecure undertone in that statement, never ever, but Chuuya knew it for what it was. He sighed. Being sick made the jackass so pitiful ( a bit more honest ), and somehow the redhead played into it every time. “You’re a fucking handful when you’re ill, you know that?”

“You’re a terrible person, Chuuya.”

“And I sleep fucking great.” They arrived on their floor, and the brunet continued bouncing slightly with every step. Surprisingly enough, the pain in the ass had ceased wiggling, so he didn’t need to be adjusted. Not yet, anyway. “Do you think I’d be carrying you if I thought any of that?”

It served as the answer to both of his partner’s questions, and it wasn’t granted a response. Maybe the brunet finally cottoned-on to the fact that he could start letting his guard down. A loud Dazai was usually a masking Dazai. This was a good sign, even if it could be slightly unnerving if you weren’t used to it.

The brunet didn’t even ask him where they were going. Well…it would be a stupid thing to lose trust over, so Dazai would have to suck it. Dazai was pliant enough when they got in the car, their usual bickering ensuing. He did snort to himself when the chauffeur drove past the redhead’s apartment, Dazai watching with an oddly honest, very clearly confused, a touch upset , look, following the apartment into the distance.

He figured he should put the bastard out of his misery. Chuuya was going to be the one truly suffering, after all. Shopping with Dazai was a nightmare. Did he?

No.

“Mori was right there ,” he hit his back and rag-dolled, making Chuuya jostle to adjust his hold. He’d refused to get out of the car, and it wasn’t like Chuuya wasn’t used to dragging his deadweight around.

Yeah, he was, Chuuya thought to himself,  but if you get weird when you’re sick and Mori is the only doctor around- hah! Even I can put two and two together. They were outside a pharmacy they’d passed after a mission. The brunet’s gaze had lingered on the cafe, but when it was pointed out, he stuck his nose in the air, denied it and insisted they report to Mori straight away.

The older was getting far too soft for this bastard, but in post-mission haze, coming down from an adrenaline high, regardless of whether he was ecstatic at a fun mission or reeling from a terrible one, Chuuya couldn’t help but notice small things about his partner.

Sometimes he didn’t mean to, but other times he supposed it was a way to ground himself after everything went to shit. It was just a part of who he was. He didn’t care if asked, he was just doing his job. Good partners knew most things about the other, after all.

It was almost…exciting wasn’t the right word. It was more calm than that. Intriguing wasn’t exactly it either, it wasn’t always what Chuuya noticed and hung onto that caused this feeling, because that had its own feeling too. It was more that knowing Dazai was…an act of constant discovery.

When reminded of this, Chuuya really didn’t understand how Dazai could see himself as anything but human. He was so ridiculously human, and drowned amongst all the angst and bitterness was a fondness of Dazai that he couldn’t escape. 

Chuuya liked humans. He loved humanity. He loved watching people doing all their little things whilst going about their lives. It was a luxury people like himself and Dazai could rarely afford themselves, if ever, so while it could turn into something very bitter, the redhead enjoyed the moments where he could just sit and watch.

His younger counterpart always made it dirty , but that was just par for the course with a mackerel bastard like him. 

“I can take care of myself.”

He nodded towards the cafe. “If you keep your trap shut and behave, I’ll get you something.”

Code: I already know you’ll annoy me enough and I’ll get you something anyway, so just come on.

The childish pout made him look so young ( whatever, they were only seventeen ) and Chuuya didn’t know quite how to handle it, so he just listened to the whinging boy as he positioned himself back over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t looked at any cafes-”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Ah, but Chuuya~”

“You’re hungry, don’t even try to lie.”

“I don’t have a slug’s appetite,” he bemoaned, and Chuuya would give him that. He certainly ate more out of the two of them, but he still hadn’t mastered Dazai’s appetite. He still couldn’t always tell if he didn’t eat in the morning because he genuinely didn’t want to, or if he simply forgot, whether he deemed it a waste of time- it didn’t matter, did it?

Even shitty mackerels needed to eat. He said as much, and ignored the resulting whine, knocking the prick’s legs against the doors of the pharmacy as he walked through.

Once out of the main doorway, he slid the mackerel off his shoulder. Dazai had stayed limp and been dropped to the floor enough times by now to know to catch himself. Last thing he needed was a fucking puddle on the ground. Dazai knew Chuuya would simply walk through him if he was a puddle, and the bottom of those boots weren’t a joke.

Long story short, lesson learned.

“ Behave ,” he said sternly, raising a finger and leaning into his space. Dazai held his hands up in response, but the glint in his eye was an obvious replacement for the shit-eating grin, and Chuuya was having none of it. “If we have to book it like we did last week because you got caught pocketing something, I’m going to spin you upside down from the fucking ceiling fan. Know it. ”

Dazai shivered comically. “That’s not fair, their security was elite-!”

Chuuya levelled him with a look. “Shut the fuck up.”

It was not elite, the brunet had been complaining before they’d stepped in the door ( like today ), and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened there. If Dazai wanted something, a fucking camera or a few employees weren’t going to stop him from taking it.

“Don’t follow me, I don’t want to hear your bitching from anywhere in the store. Don’t flirt with the shop assistants, or the cashier, or any random person you come across . Don’t steal anything and get caught, I’m not dealing with it,” he listed off before walking towards one end of the store without looking back.

One of two things would greet him- the shit-eating grin or the kicked puppy. He didn’t want to see either.

The redhead got distracted. He often did in pharmacies- those combinations ones like this one where they had every skincare brand to date as well as the medicines. They were drug store, nothing elaborate like Kouyou had introduced him to, nothing like what he usually used, but browsing was fun enough , and Dazai, despite clearly being on the tipping point that decided whether he’d get sick or not, wasn’t actively dying, much to both of their chagrin.

He could afford a look around before he went to the medicine section, he’d work his way down. It was Dazai’s punishment for not calling in, for not taking care of himself. Chuuya paused for a second, realising first not that withholding food wasn’t going to work as Dazai was just Dazai, but that he didn’t want to deprive Dazai of it in the first place.

Damn you.

…he’d have a small look through each aisle. It wouldn’t take too long.

He physically cringed when he got to the hair aisle. The oil section was the most acceptable out of all of it, but the hair-brushes were a crime against humanity, and he didn’t even want to look at the shampoo and conditioner. The hair accessory area was likely full of plastic shit. Plastic, childish shit. Which he wasn’t.

Walking down the aisle was a test of strength, but he persevered, the rows of dye catching his eye. He’d never…Ane-san would literally kill him, and it’d probably look like shit.

I know what colours suit me-

“Chuuya would look so bad.”

“Hah! I bet I’d look better than you!”

“You have red hair , statistically you’re in the minority when it comes to people who change their natural hair colour. And even if that completely incorrect fact was true,” he waved his hand, “-you’re less likely to touch that dye than you are any other product in this aisle. You’d sooner go bald.”

The redhead… wasn’t about to admit he was right-

“Chuuya just shouldn’t dye his hair,” and no-one was going to tell Chuuya what to do, especially when it came to his hair.

He was ready for war. “Yeah, and why’s that?”

“I like your hair.”

.

.

.

The redhead faltered, and Dazai kept humming to himself, moving his attention from the dyes he’d caught Chuuya eyeing to the shitty hair accessories. 

The redhead was reeling for another few seconds, his hands having risen to his hair. …it’s pretty. He didn’t need Dazai to tell him that. He eyed the beanpole down the aisle.

Game plan. That’s how he’d get him back. He’d force him to wear some ridiculous accessories-

“How do I look?”

Chuuya zoned back and walked closer automatically, Dazai wearing an absolutely appalling headband, far too many fake flowers adorning it, none of them matched. His hand was already reaching higher than Chuuya ever could, attention elsewhere, picking off- what the fuck is that?

“-ibi?”

“Eh?”

“I asked if you thought these would look good?” 

Turns out keeping his attention on Dazai’s hand had been the right call, but it was still an offence worth jail time to have cat ears shoved in his face- shitty, easily bendable metal and fake pearls.

The older managed to recover quick enough to get a response out in a timely fashion, once again it was the brunet’s eyes shining with glee, rather than any other indication on his face. He was not gracing this with an answer, be fucking for real.  

“Since when do you care what I think, bastard?”

The brunet considered this, giving Chuuya’s face a once over before breaking out into a grin. “It’s not often, puppy, but you’re right!” 

As Chuuya processed just what Dazai was doing, the brunet was picking out every different clip or accessory one at a time. Who was he to stop him? If it meant Chuuya could shop in peace, the mackerel could stay there all fucking day.

His eyes drifted to the racks anyway. 

Bows? 

Chuuya squinted at them. No.

He eyed two hair clips covered in fake pearls, the same type as the ones on the car ears. They…might work. Two tiny claw clips? They’re…cute. Too cute for Dazai, but maybe they’d look so bad…

He stared over the fake braids neutrally.

Dazai didn’t have enough hair for any kind of updo, so the bigger claw clips wouldn’t do anything. There were a few flowers, which were nice enough, then some decorated hair sticks, but once again, not enough hair.

Huh. There wasn’t much to do. Well, Chuuya did know that. They’d had to go undercover enough to know that it was always him as the distraction, looks-wise anyway. Dazai was the charming gentleman with a silver tongue (what a statement to make), and Chuuya was the exotic…ugh, whatever. Too much thinking.

He didn’t mind the eyes. He did mind the touching.

Seeing as the asshole liked those stupid cat ears, the only other option was to disgust him with cuteness. He didn’t want to trigger any kind of identity… anything , but surely, surely , little hair clips wouldn’t…?

Without thinking much more about it, he unhooked the pair of pearl hairclips he kept looking back to ( nothing can be normal in this fucking store, huh? ) and held them out.

…and they didn’t get taken.

When he turned to look, Dazai was watching him strangely, and Chuuya expected to see it covered up as quickly as usual, but they simply held eye contact.

.

.

.

“Just- fucking take it, you insufferable shit,” he muttered, shoving it into his chest. Dazai brought his hand up to catch the small card and the redhead was off, stalking down the aisle. “Stay there and don’t move!” Because if it kept his partner’s attention, kept him busy and seemingly happy , Chuuya wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Last thing he needed was complaining about the various products he was going to walk out with. 

-

“What’s the most expensive thing you h- ow! Chuuya! Bad dog! ”

Chuuya withdrew his hand after punching him in the arm with enough force to bruise. “Call me a dog again and your other arm will match.”

“I’m trying to ascertain quality. Quality control if you will. I don’t need your barbaric methods,” he coughed. 

“Like asking for recommendations? And don’t cough on the food, dumbass. It's disgusting.”

“There’s glass , fuckhead.”

Chuuya raised his eyebrow at the language. “Someone’s cranky. What was that about my barbaric methods? ”

“Your brain is so small,” Dazai said under his breath, turning his attention back to the slightly awkward teenager behind the counter. They obviously didn’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit. The smile was appreciated, but definitely more effort than Chuuya would put in.

“Fine, if you’re gonna be so pissy, buy it yourself.” He didn’t watch to see if Dazai stared back, but he didn’t hear any complaint about using Chuuya’s card, so he didn’t bother turning and checking.

The bag full of goods wasn't heavy, but Chuuya felt like he already had someone pushing him into the ground by the shoulders. Floating them didn’t make a difference. Lightening his own gravity didn’t, either. That mission…

For once, the anger wasn’t really directed at his partner. These kinds of moments were few and far between, on account of Dazai being an asshole , but they happened, and it was happening right now.

The mission hadn’t been a bust. It was a success. Objectively. But Chuuya couldn’t feel like anything but a failure.

They were only kids. They didn’t know what was going on.

They didn’t deserve it at all.

And Mori knew it. Chuuya had been practically skipping out of that fucking office with the first excuse he got. If it wasn’t so engrained to be on time, Chuuya would’ve stopped when the guards outside Mori’s office refused to let him through. Dazai would’ve.

Dazai got it. He knew.   

And maybe he still would’ve beelined out of that office seeing his partner so close to illness, but maybe this time…it was a little more disingenuous than if Chuuya hadn’t been on a mission that cost lives where it could’ve been avoided. Specifically…

What caught his attention next left him with no attention to spare to any other thought. Dazai’s arm, his Dazai, was looped with a elderly lady’s, helping her to the other side of the road. If he hadn’t shown up, the poor woman would’ve likely sat there all day due to the uneven flow of traffic and her own movement restrictions.

Chuuya watched the…oddly nice act from afar, something Dazai- would he? Was he actually the type to help old ladies cross the road? Was he only an absolute bastard when it came to romantic or sexual entanglements-?  

He waited until his partner returned to him.

The paper bags crinkled in his hands, one in each. “What?”

“That was nice of you,” he commented, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

“Don’t ever say that again,” was the grunt as the black coat swished past him. Chuuya let him walk for a few moments, allowing himself a small smile before following.

What did I tell you, mackerel? Human.

-

No decorum. How embarrassing. “Don’t eat in the car, jackass, you’ll get shit everywhere.”

“You literally drink wine-”

He scoffed. “It’s not the same. I have a practical understanding of physics, not your textbook shit. I know how far I need to tilt and even if it spilled, I could pay to clean it.”

“The difference is? ”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Forget I said anything.”

The brunet had finished a few bites before he perked up again. Idiot, you need to eat more. “You’re not going to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“But-”

He groaned, snatching up the small bag next to him and peering inside it.

The cupcake had decorations making it look like a dog.

… whatever.

-

Chuuya couldn’t help but feel slightly proud as he unloaded his haul.

Dazai’s eyes were owlish. “That’s a lot.”

“It’s nothing,” the redhead waved off. 

“You trust me around that many pills?”

Chuuya’s stomach dropped, but he’d prepared for this. “That’s why I’m keeping them with me.” He answered Dazai’s silent “ you know I’m not going to tell you if I need them, you dumb slug,” with his own retort. “You spend more time here than that trash container or your own apartment anyway, and I know you better than anyone else.” It’ll give you incentive to come back, right?

“Patting yourself on the back a bit too hard, eh, chibi?”

Chuuya smirked. “You tell me.”

It did take a second, but the brunet superseded and picked up a pack of throat soothers. “I don’t need any of this right now, you know. I’m not actually sick.”

“Even you can’t fake cheeks as red as those. There’s a certain look to them.”

“No-one else can see,” he muttered.

“There is no-one else like me,” he reminded, flattening the bag and slapping the hand away that was creeping to grab a box of tablets. “It’s there to prevent you from getting worse before you do, because you still haven’t learned.”

The brunet leaned forward on his forearms, tilted his head with a small smile. His face was too relaxed to be the shit-stirrer he’d been in the shop with earlier. “Maybe I have. Maybe I just don’t because I have a little doggy to take care of me, hm?”

“...whatever. Bastard.”

He was saying ‘whatever’ a lot these days. Things were just the way they were.

“I got something for you, too!”

Chuuya stopped thinking for a moment, staring at his face for signs of deception, then sighed. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act like you care about breaking the law, Chuuya. You only said I shouldn’t get caught,” he remarked flatly, flapping his coat. “I’ll keep it if you don’t want it.”

The card with the hair slides clipped on was the counter, staring them in the face.

“Ah…I mustn't be rewarding you enough if you're this hesitant.” He looked thoughtful, but there was a tinge of dissatisfaction there too, like he was genuinely upset, and revealed a clip he… hadn’t seen . It was the same style as the single flower clips he’d seen, except this one faded from red to white.

Childish…wasn’t so bad. Why couldn’t he like something harmless like that?

Dazai hadn’t hesitated to step forward and swipe the hat off his head, playing the different strands to figure out how he wanted to pin his hair.

“Of course, Ane-san would have you wearing elaborate jewellery and the like,” Dazai remarked, fixing the clip with an odd amount of concentration for the task. “But Chuuya should return to his roots every now and then, hm?”

Chuuya could’ve pointed out that it didn’t make any sense- roots? He didn’t steal hairclips from fucking stores. He stole food, the dumbass, he knew that. He didn’t though. He just shrugged a little.

Chuuya felt himself heat up under the attention as Dazai took a step back to admire his handy work.

“Just as I thought. Ugly as all hell.”

“I thought you liked my hair.”

“I do.”

“You call me carrot-top and insult my appearance on a regular basis. You just did.”

“Semantics.”

Chuuya reached for the other clips and pulled his partner down by his tie.

It was quiet. It was nice. And Dazai, with those clips in his hair?

…he looked very pretty.

Chapter Text

Dazai wanted the day off.

Everyone could have something to say about that. Mori would expect a reason, as would Kouyou. Hirotsu would likely try to ensure relevant work was completed before he let them run amuck. More accurately, Hirotsu knew better than anyone that when Soukoku set their minds to something, it wouldn’t leave their minds easily. Or at all, in most cases- it would simply linger in the background until one or both of them brought it back to the forefront.

Grandpa had a soft spot for them. It was obvious.

They were also seventeen years old, meaning that there wasn’t much at all that could control them anyway, so within reason ( debatable ), they did what they wanted. 

Dazai wanted the day off.

If asked, he’d say that he’d finished his paperwork. Chuuya finished it, but details. If asked, Dazai simply had better things to do, ie. plan to wreck Chuuya’s apartment in his absence. If asked, Dazai was merely bored, looking for a muse, and the Port Mafia just wasn’t doing it for him right now.

The problem with this was that, begrudgingly, he couldn’t really see himself doing much on a glorious day off that didn’t involve Chuuya.

In Dazai’s defence, he had a few reasons for this terrible transgression, the first of which being that it was Spring , and he hadn’t yet tired of seeing Chuuya’s nose go redder than his hair, nor had he studied the exact mechanics of how Chuuya’s bloodshot eyes made the blue stand out as if it didn’t already draw the attention of anyone in the vicinity. It was still quite the spectacle some two years later. Dazai thought that was reasonable. 

Another reason being that they had been swamped with work for the week, and it showed no signs of letting up for at least the next two. With very little freedom on the horizon, if he could even make that joke- because freedom? - sure, whatever, it didn’t exist , and the idea of only work was driving him crazy before they’d even hit the worst of it.

It was hard enough to get out of bed as it was.

He didn’t need a reason. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. He wanted a day off, so he’d take a day off. Simple.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince Chuuya to partake at all . The brunet could still see dejection in the way his partner slumped when he thought no-one was watching. The first year anniversary of the deaths of the Flags was fast approaching, and he supposed the second next year would arrive just as quickly as the first had come to pass. Obviously Chuuya was in silent agreement, because he held himself like they’d only passed the day before, while simultaneously carrying the grief as though it’d been there for a decade.

Chuuya had…never quite been the same since they passed. Something flickered out and its absence was visible, like a quiet mellowing, though how could one tell with Nakahara Chuuya? He was so loud anyway, a loud, yapping dog.

Dog…ha! Still just a puppy, really.

Despite this, for as far away as Chuuya had always felt, it seemed like it was the closest they’d ever been.

Ugh. He did not just think something as revolting as that. He needed to jump off a bridge.

All of that being said, Dazai was merely impartial to the idea of spending the day with his partner.

Chuuya wasn’t quite as amenable. 

-

“If I have to go into work today, I’ll kill myself.”

“What a great idea,” Chuuya muttered, not lifting his eyes from the report he was writing. “Go complain somewhere else, this is my only day off for the next two weeks.”

The brunet blinked. Why was Mori loading so much on him? To prevent him getting distracted by…? “You already have today off?”

Chuuya finished typing something and arched his back in a stretch, digging his palms into his eyes. “No…” he was interrupted by a yawn, “-but it’s the only day I can work from home. For the next…” he grimaced, an ugly thing on an ugly mutt, “-hour…or so.”

Home. Funny concept. “We should take the day off. Fake sick?” He suggested in a tone that was very much not suggesting and saying ‘do it.’ He thought it was perfectly considerate, but apparently Chuuya didn’t appreciate it at all. He scoffed, and Dazai pouted like a toddler. Rude.

“As if we could fool Mori in the first place. He’d know instantly we were lying. I’m at home anyway, go take your stinky fish ass to HQ.”

He gaped, downright offended, hand over his heart. “ Chuuya-! ”

With the grace of a large cat, Chuuya leaned forward, leaning on his palm. “Why don’t you want to go in, anyway? You’re always complaining about me going with you.” 

The expression worn was unimpressed, if not a little… what is that? “But doesn’t Chuuya want me to keep him company?”

“No.”

“Liar,” he shot back. “Take the day off!”

Blue eyes searched for any sign of jest, to no avail. He shook his head, frowning. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Dazai ignored his quiet “...what am I talking about? Today?” and opted to push harder, repeat himself. Simple words for a simple boy. He can’t possibly misconstrue this. “Calling in sick chibi, so we can do what we want?”

“We wouldn’t be able to go outside, jackass. What would we even do?”

Now…that wasn’t what he expected. And Chuuya was still looking at him like he was saying something ridiculous. What was there to do?

Amidst his crisis, seemingly unaware, Chuuya continued. “The next few weeks suck , mackerel. I can’t fall behind on this shit.”

“Do it from home?” He said weakly. 

His partner gestured with his hands as if to say “what the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

Nevermind that , Dazai was still caught up on “What would we do?” What the hell was that meant to mean? Videogames! Takeout! Arguing over reports and work when Chuuya’s workaholic tendencies inevitably kicked in! 

Apparently the chibi had still been talking, and he was brought back to a loud smack on the table. For a moment he assumed it was just normal agitation that caused it, but looking at the face across from him made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t the case. 

“Oi, don’t zone out on me.”

His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes concerned, all hidden under a very thin, paper thin , film of nonchalance. Dazai silently noted to himself that Chuuya wasn’t very good at that. They’d both long known it. 

“ Mackerel. ”

He knew that tone, and was quick to wave him down. “I’m bored, chibi.”

Being the sole focus of eyes like Chuuya’s would have most people hypnotised, but Dazai knew better than to fall for them. The redhead didn’t believe him at all. “Bad day?”

With a loud whine, he crossed his arms on the table and hid his head in them. “Bored! Are you stupid? Bored. ”

“Bored as in fuck paperwork, or bored as in I’ll throw myself off the top of HQ if I go in? ”

“Too bad if that was my plan,” the brunet grumbled. “Have some tact, chibi.”

“All because you don’t fucking communicate,” but the concern was still there.

It was… look , Dazai wasn’t an upstanding citizen. The word “stay” was a cruel tool against his partner, and yet… shit, he really wanted the day off with Chuuya. To spend with Chuuya. What was happening to him?

“Shitty Dazai?”

He hadn’t been feeling great recently. Chuuya knew it. He’d been the one who had to force him into the shower. In the early hours of the morning when Dazai sat on the couch, staring at nothing, through the silent TV or the ceiling above, footsteps would approach until the couch he was sitting on dipped extra on one side.

Sometimes there was an extra blanket. Sometimes there was a pillow. Sometimes it was a yawn and a few unintelligible mumbles and the footsteps would retreat again, padding around the kitchen until a warm drink was either placed on a coaster on the table, or placed in his hands.

A hand capable of such destruction reached out, pried his hand from its place plastered in his lap. Encouraged him to lift the other, made sure both hands were holding it and that it was stable in Dazai’s lap, but his hands always stayed for a moment. Bare hands, covered more often than not, closed around his, gentle. 

Grounding.

The apartment Dazai had rented out to spite the chibi whilst he was browsing a residence for himself was waiting, paid for but not clearly lived in. Dazai didn’t go back there when he left work. He came to Chuuya’s. Wasn’t that enough?

Why did he have to say it out loud? Why did he have to say anything at all when it bounced around his skull unbearably every hour of the day? What difference would saying it out loud make?

Dazai had been feeling like shit lately, but that wasn’t why he wanted the day off. 

The light nudge felt as gentle as the hands that held his around a warm mug. Perhaps he was worse than he thought, if he was zoning out so easily.

Brown stared up at blue, stared at each other. Blue looked for confirmation. Brown took a little while to respond, but the answer was respected, and Chuuya returned to his side of the table.

Only a short time later, the sound muffled by Osamu’s head back in his arms, the redhead finally responded.

“It’s gotta be believable,” he frowned at the table in front of him, 

Ever the planner . At least something was rubbing off on his dog. “You never heard of using oats and food colouring for fake vomit?” He chirped at him, raising his head and foregoing his previous position.

He rolled his eyes, not seeming surprised in the slightest, having heard the silent stay , a silent plea Dazai would never admit to. “Ever heard of just calling in and faking a cough? ”

“This is Mori we’re trying to fool, he doesn’t care about a small cough.”

He knew full well. He didn’t care about half-dead and walking. Chuuya most definitely knew that. “I don’t know, hack up your lungs or something,” he waved his hand. “I’ll happily belt you in the stomach if you actually want to vomit and make it believable.”

“Ah, but it isn’t me who’s going to call!”

The redhead groaned, the end of it turning into something harsh and closer to a yell. “Do this shit yourself! It was your idea!”

“You think I’m the believable choice here?” He pointed out. “You’re the one who pampers me when I’m sick. He’s far more likely to believe you.”

“Then I’m sick too! And now you have to pull your weight, how sad for you, just do it yourself!” He smacked the counter a few times for emphasis. 

He really didn’t want to deal with Mori right now. His last solo mission had him over the toilet bowl intermittently for hours. He hadn’t told Dazai yet, but just thinking about it made him bilious. 

Of course, Dazai never seemed to stop ( sometimes he did ) when the redhead needed to process something. Nonsense continued to spew from chapped lips. 

“Hmm. Me and Chuuya, sick at the same time,” he tapped his chin. “Maybe we have mono.”

“The fuck is that?” He asked, and narrowed his eyes at the widening grin on his partner’s face. He began to stalk over, Dazai predictably jumping up from his seat and getting ready to dance out of reach. “Bastard-!”

“I knew Chuuya’s brain was small, but this is truly impressive!” 

Chuuya managed to jump on top of him not long after, hands settling around his neck in a familiar fashion.

Dazai was only smirking beneath him, infuriating as per usual. “My, my, imagine if I did have mono, Chuuya. Are you looking to catch it?”

Only then did Chuuya realise how close his face had gotten to Dazai’s. And remembered something he really should’ve remembered, considering his Ane-san ran a brothel . These last few days had really taken a toll, and Dazai, not that anyone could tell seeing that glint in his eye right now, had been really, really weird as of late. For weeks now, maybe. 

But this? Oh no. This was the icing on the fucking cake.

Nice one, Chuuya. Real nice.

“It’s known as the Kissing Disease , don’t you know?”

Chuuya felt his lips tremble, felt himself shake with rage. His face was burning, and he ached to make it the case for the teenager below him by choking him out and letting his face turn purple. But he couldn’t , because all he could imagine in that moment was the prospect of dragging a wet deadweight, a pale face and blue, barely trembling lips. “You-!”

“Do you think Mori-san would find it convincing?” He continued, twisting his head in Chuuya’s grip as if he was nestling into it. This guy! “You could always blame it on one of Kouyou’s girls, but both of us being sick would really incriminate us, huh?”

“How thick is your face?!” He hissed, tightening his grip slightly. It was hardly a punishment, given how bright the other’s eyes looked right now, no red, only amber. It was the most alive he’d seen him in… how long?

.

.

.

In a moment of who fucking knows , Chuuya kept his hands tight around his partner’s neck and captured smirking lips with his own. He heard the quick inhale as clear as day thanks to their new proximity, and Chuuya was quick to take advantage of the confusion. Dazai was right about one thing, he could “blame” at least something on Kouyou’s girls. They’d been the ones to lecture and teach Chuuya how to seduce people.

That’s not what was happening, no , but the kissing practice helped. 

The intention, he’d decided as he was in the process of leaning closer, was to press so hard that the bastard had to swallow his words. Just one. Just long enough to shock him speechless. 

…that changed.

He pulled away slightly, but he realised he couldn’t see a thing, his eyes were closed, when did he do that? He went to pull back further, their lips were still ghosting each other, but chapped lips trembled and he felt it and there was still warm air hitting his lips and fuck it-

It wasn’t very long at all before the other’s lips were trying to find his rhythm to match, and a hand latched onto the back of his head, bunching his hair up in a tight grip. One of Chuuya’s hands left Dazai’s throat and landed beside his head instead as a way to balance himself.

It was… addicting . Dazai was so quick to respond, eager even. Then what did that make Chuuya? Having initiated something so…so…?

So what? What was he even doing-?

Holy shit. If Ane-san found out about this…! Dazai…the vindictive bastard, he’ll probably find a way to use this against me-! I best just finish this before anything else happens.

He pulled back, no-one would know just how reluctantly, but it had to be quick , breathing through his nose slowly as a method to slow his breath, to show the man he was now straddling, looking down at, damnit, that he was unaffected. A fucking lie, but-

He made the mistake of peering down down at the brunet at the wrong fucking time , his visible eye wide, pupil blown, the brown that used to take up most of his eyes was reduced to a golden rim around it. His lips were still parted, still puffing short bursts of air from them, and his entire face was pink.

Chuuya got up. He didn’t watch Dazai sit up, didn’t watch his reactions at all. His throat was closed for business , no way was he about to speak after that. He grabbed the cup he’d filled while doing paperwork, still half-full with water, and dumped the rest of it directly over Dazai, unceremoniously dropping the cup, not paying attention to where it rolled-

-and fucking left.

Dazai sat there, half-drenched. Droplets fell from hair that was mostly dry, hair he could see in his one-eyed vision. His head bandage was wet. His dress shirt was sticking to his torso, a sensation that usually prompted the removal of the clothing as soon as was appropriate. 

Chuuya didn’t stick around. So he didn’t see the brunet, dazed, bringing a hand up to his lips, pressing them lightly, swallowing hard and blinking dry eyes.

His face burned.

Chapter Text

“It’s going to work, slug.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

“You should not be asking me that question,” Chuuya hisses from his spot, crowded beneath Dazai. He couldn’t even activate his ability, so god forbid they got caught. Not that Dazai wouldn’t shoot them between the eyes, but his hands were currently occupied with scouring through their enemy’s data bank, and Chuuya’s hands were full of Dazai.

His face cracked like it’d never smiled before when he realised that Dazai, beanpole bastard-in-chief , needed upsies. The brunet didn’t look particularly thrilled about it, to which Chuuya was nearly vibrating with glee. Dazai said as much with a sneer and a sniffle, but Chuuya could not have cared less.

Now. That was before Dazai started making it awkward. Making it something it wasn’t .

Chuuya knew the lanky bastard wasn’t the most tactile person in existence. Whilst Chuuya at least tried to balance out the violence his hands were capable of with softer activities, Dazai didn’t bother. It didn’t mean the same thing to him as Chuuya, and he’d long accepted that was a fact that wasn’t going to change.

Besides, they were in the Mafia. And they were both their own people , despite how Mori liked to sell them. Dazai was always going to be a creepy bastard, and whenever Chuuya felt like he was on even footing, he’d do something to sweep the rug from beneath him. Whether it was something Chuuya punched him for or if it left him simply in awe of the lack of humanity, of cruelty, or whatever, it was something that didn’t change, that the redhead could only learn to accept.

At odd times, it did bother Chuuya that it hadn’t changed. That when it came to Dazai, he still felt like the fifteen year old that was prying razors out of his hands ( back then, Dazai hands were smaller and they were the closest in height they’d likely ever be, ugh ), and that his love for suicide hadn’t waned. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that something so ingrained could simply disappear. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he made the difference. It still weighed on him, but he never knew what exactly to do with those kinds of feelings. If the mackerel got one thing right, ignoring feelings seemed the most appealing to agree with.

It would no doubt bite him in the ass- it did , everytime Osamu drew the rug from beneath him, but he still did it. “Cutting one’s nose off despite their face” is how Ane-san phrased it.

Those moments, the ones where amber eyes were truly red, reminded Chuuya of just who he could become. He didn’t want to be that. It’s why his anger got the better of him when he denied Dazai’s humanity. It’s why he still refused some missions from Mori. It’d taken…Dazai, regrettably, to help him build up the courage, but the brat said no all the time and it was reasonably fine. A give and take, a constant dance, Dazai said. The only real thing to look out for, he said, was when Mori would definitely say no.

Easier said than done, but Dazai had warned him. In fact Dazai did a lot of things that he said he wouldn’t. It’s why he still thought of those two minutes sometimes. Chuuya would be a hypocrite if he claimed he wasn’t the same.

For example, they weren’t talking about it . Chuuya was proving a point, and Dazai never liked dwelling on his losses. But he was still sulking , and that was a problem. Chuuya knew this because normally, Dazai would tip himself around, causing Chuuya to dart around trying to keep balance between both of them. This time, regardless of how serious this mission was, Dazai zipped his fishy lips and stayed on task, not once pissing the redhead off.

Not once shifting in a way that the shorter would find annoying or painful. And he wasn’t even that focused.

No, he seemed more annoyed than anything. Thank fuck Dazai had checked the flashdrive at the last minute before he finished riffling through their records, because the one they’d found, the one they’d been flaunting, the one the entire Underground was currently after?

A dud.

So they were hiding amongst wires and circuit boards in the only spot where they couldn’t break anything, the footsteps of enemy personnel scuffling past their hiding spot, coming and going at uneven intervals. It was a small, cramped space, which would be fine for a single Nakahara Chuuya, but not a stinking mackerel too.

If personal space had been an issue before, Dazai was getting insufferable.

“Chuuya’s breath stinks…” he mumbled.

Chuuya went red out of anger , not anything else. “Hah?!”

Dazai wasn’t being any more helpful than usual, which was to say, Chuuya would be left to figure out what the fuck was going on in his mind. “Too close.”

In all honesty, he would’ve preferred a barrel to his head. “My breath is fine , you stupid bastard. You’re the one with hygiene issues.” Low fucking blow. Why did I even- ugh!

“You need a mint. You eat garlic earlier?”

“At least I don’t perpetually smell of fish and- shut ,” he growled before Dazai could run with the double meaning. “I brush my damn teeth.”

“Thought about addressing your gut health?”

A bitchy partner was the last thing he wanted to be dealing with. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“You know better than to ask me that.”

“Forget it,” he agreed. 

So they needed to get out of their spot, Dazai needed to be hoisted back onto Chuuya’s shoulders, and needed to use their backup drive to download the data. God knows how long that was going to take, and their window for movement was unpredictable now. They knew someone had broken in, and there was only a matter of time before Soukoku’s attempts at retrieving said data was interrupted.

The minute the automatic door closed, they slid from their spot and resumed their previous position within seconds.

The Demon Prodigy could obviously sense the tension everytime footsteps and yells sounded beyond the door. It was metal, but it felt like glass , and every yell sounded like “ intruder! ” and they weren’t amateurs by any means, but Mori had been so set on this going smoothly, and-

“Down, doggy,” he muttered just loud enough to be heard.

The redhead would’ve bitten back had the footsteps not gotten close enough to have Chuuya’s hands grasping tighter around his partner’s ankles, eyes not leaving the door. They retreated quickly, but apparently his warning to Dazai was heard. A tap from the shoe pressed further into his shoulder for a second, and without a second thought, Chuuya slipped the knife from Dazai’s sock and pelted it towards the door.

That man was dead before he hit the floor, a knife lodged between his eyes. The throat would be too much blood, anything but instant death would be too loud, and the thump of the body hitting the ground would be enough to give away their position. Dazai wasn’t happy.

Dazai’s feet left his shoulders, and Chuuya’s hands were out, skimming the side of his body as he landed in front of him. The brunet probably didn’t need steadying, but whatever . It wasn’t something Chuuya thought about.

He wouldn’t have thought more of it if he didn’t feel Dazai’s ribcage expand under his hands before his partner was drawing his gun, eye set laser-focused on the door, closed on the dead man’s feet. “Mori’s going to be pissed,” the brunet muttered, voice detached and oddly strained.

“He’ll fucking get over it.”

“We have a reputation to keep,” and by we , he currently meant the Mafia, and yes , Chuuya was loyal but he was getting pissed off.

“Asshole, snap out of it,” he grunted. “Tell your head to shut the fuck up for a minute and focus.”

“It’s the same mind that’s finding us a way out, mutt.”

“So get on it- wait, did you leave the flashdrive there?”

“Shut up a minute.”

Oh, how Chuuya wanted to rip his tongue out , but he thinned his lips and walked over to drag the man into the room with them. There was no use arguing. And Chuuya was simply waiting for Dazai to decide that he was right. Dazai was clever, a real strategist, a deadly one, and yet now was the time he chose to deliberate and try to reduce casualties-

For Mori.

Right .

-which was plain annoying. Yes , Mori wanted this quick, but you’d have to be an idiot to think this would go smoothly, even for the best in the business. Multiple groups converging at the same time, not a single ally in sight, and Dazai’s tongue would quicker be cut off by any of these groups, far faster than his partner could wrap them around his finger.

Everyone had their limits. Even the Demon Prodigy.

There was no way out of this that didn’t involve brute force. Chuuya would do it , but Mori always looked to Dazai for their plans, for the long explanations, simplified between two geniuses. Chuuya couldn’t make this decision on his own, he needed Dazai to call it.

Usually he’d get over himself and deal with it, get on with it. Today, Dazai was taking far too long. 

Which was a pain, because Chuuya didn’t want Dazai in Mori’s office alone either, but Mori punished Chuuya by hurting other people, whereas with Dazai, he could only ever hurt him himself.

“I’ll buy fifteen minutes,” the redhead started towards the door. Miraculously, he wasn’t stopped, so he looked back and saw the brown eye he knew so well staring back at him. No move was made to stop him. In fact, as the seconds passed, Chuuya came to the realisation that Dazai wanted him to make the decision for him this time.

His stomach dropped, not because of the impending battle during the next fifteen minutes, not because he didn’t think they’d both make it out fine, but because of the damn doubt in the expression greeting him. 

A new kind of determination gripped him. “It’ll be done by then, and we’ll blow this place sky-high. Fuck Mori. He always goes on about showing power, right? Fuck subtlety. No-one is going to fuck with Soukoku. ”

A flicker of recognition was all Chuuya needed to know that at least something of what he’d said got through. It’s all he needed to plaster a smirk and turn towards the doors.

Fifteen minutes and counting.

Starting…

Now.

-

“You really took it to heart, huh?”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you from down there.”

That’s it.

Given that Osamu wasn’t exactly thrilled about their proximity during the mission, perhaps getting in his space wasn’t the grandest idea Chuuya had, but that’s why he trusted Dazai with the idea stuff.

And his plan worked. It was fine. Chuuya knew it would be.

Although…Dazai seemed to leave the feelings talk to Chuuya quite frequently, but it never…really worked, because, well, there was no talking apathy out of a mackerel.

…but he wants me to try.

Dazai actually leaned back in his chair when the redhead leaned closer, which was as close to the barrel against his head as he’d get whilst the gun was sitting on the other side of the room. He didn’t need it in Chuuya’s apartment. 

“Why’re you letting them get to you, huh?” He accused.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re getting all shitty over a flashdrive. Who cares?”

The shift in his expression was obvious enough to catch. One step forward.  

“We’ve had missions back to back for weeks now. Everyone makes-”

“ I don’t. ”

…bingo.

Dazai never looked at Chuuya like he wanted to kill him, but the redhead figured this was as close as it got.

They’d had a few confrontations on the way out, predictably. Dazai’s competency had been put into question, and Chuuya hadn’t felt at all bad about the soft flesh giving under his feet after he walked across the corpse. He could’ve danced, but the brunet was sweeping away quickly, and the redhead could only hope the fireball he was about to turn this building into would be enough to return something back to Dazai’s eyes.

Seeing the flames reflect in them was unfortunately not what he’d hoped- he hoped for something…metaphorical rather than literal, but a small amount of tension eased in his partner’s shoulders, and it would have to be enough.

The tension that remained wouldn’t leave until after Dazai left Mori’s office within the next few hours. It’d take time after that.

“There’s no way you’re getting wrapped up in a comment from a guy that doesn’t have enough particles left to be called an object. ”

“Of course not.”

“There wasn’t a mistake there, you idiot. Mori was the one who sent us in.”

Dazai was usually the one ascertaining if Mori was lying, and sometimes Chuuya got a gut feeling for that kind of thing, but neither of them had graced the boss with their presence yet. It was requested a few hours after they got back, with an amiable message about recovery and time stamps and blah blah blah.

They could worry about that later.

There was a mackerel in need of a beating. A beating of sense into him.

“Don’t be so worried about being compared to the rest of us,” the redhead hummed, understanding why Dazai liked reading him so much now. It was pretty satisfying.

It wasn’t so much the words themselves but the implications. That Dazai, the Demon Prodigy , was just like everyone else. Fooled like everyone else. Nothing special.

In Dazai’s mind, well, he was complicated, and Chuuya also knew better , because Dazai was also a teenager, and while the act of that was few and far between, he still was seventeen, just like Chuuya.

Had doubts, just like Chuuya. Just like everyone else.

Being Mori’s right hand was what Dazai had. He wasn’t there for no reason, and Dazai had found a semblance of identity in being a puppet, regardless of how much he hated it. For that to be questioned?

You fascinate me, Dazai. Don't sell yourself so short. You’re not so simple.

The brunet heard it in the silence, as Chuuya expected him to. There wasn’t so much fanfare to Dazai’s reactions, that was saved for the fake stuff, the over exaggeration. Subtle changes were so much more satisfying. 

Sure, a gaping mouth was cool, funny even. But his eye widening slightly, a slight hesitation while writing, an easily missed pause whilst he was typing?

That kind of quiet shock was nice. A gentle action against blood-soaked hands.

“You’re terrible at this, chibi.”

He shrugged. “I’m not trying to make you feel better.” Liar.

Dazai’s quick glance seemed to signal he thought the same thing. Silence settled between them for long enough that in boredom, Chuuya rose and started wandering around his kitchen. He felt like takeout, didn’t feel like cooking. This is pointless. The action of getting up and checking the kitchen was pointless, he didn’t need to do it, he-

“There is something that’ll make me feel better.” Now that was different. Not bad. Different. Dazai saying that without a hint of teasing. Huh. “It’s a home remedy Odasaku told me about.”

“Yeah?”

Dazai continued typing, typical that he’d only work to avoid something else. Mori’s office, probably. “It doesn’t apply to people like us, though.”

“How so?”

He sighed. “Odasaku has orphans.”

“I know.” 

How strange. Not that Chuuya was judging. He was a fucking lab experiment , his partner was constantly on one knee with a desperation to marry Death, and his older sister (not by blood, of course) ran a fucking brothel. He was not in a position to judge anyone’s life.

In fact, Dazai seemed to despise just how okay he was with not judging people like that. The brunet had in the past , anyway, but didn’t comment on it so much anymore. It always came up when they were talking about Chuuya’s subordinates. Dazai knew why Chuuya did what he did, he knew the logical reasons why people hang out and drink together, he did so himself.

But before he had Odasaku, he simply pestered Chuuya about it. After a while, the redhead suspected that his partner was merely chasing a feeling to make up for his lack of true understanding. He didn’t feel the way Chuuya did about his own subordinates- it was like a cat rubbing up against the leg of his owner as a way of asking for something, except Dazai pressed his buttons and drew shitty reactions from him, and hissed back when Chuuya hit the nail on the goddamn head.

Oh, and Dazai was the owner, how could he forget-?

In a way, Chuuya was glad Odasaku was there to take him off his hands, though it was still unnerving not knowing where Dazai was, same as always. He still called and got no answer, he still worried and got mad about no communication, but the difference now was that he was with Oda , and sometimes he would be the one to answer Dazai’s phone.

It was weird. His voice was kind. His face gave nothing away. And he had orphans.

Every subordinate had a family, or if they didn’t, they made one in the Mafia. Dazai was the only openly suicidal employee in the Port Mafia, though one could argue that anyone who joined had a death wish- they’d die a Mafia death, they’d all say.

Oda was no different, but he was, because Dazai cared about him. And he had orphans.

Once upon a time, Chuuya had been wholly convinced that teenagedom had caught up with his partner, and that there was some pseudo-attraction thing going on, and it wasn’t his fucking business as long as it didn’t get in the way, but boy it fucking rubbed him the wrong way when he thought about it.

Ane-san’s influence, no doubt. A job was a job, but still . Not judging, never the younger ones .

But he’d met Oda since, he’d seen Dazai afterwards, and now he got it.

Oda had orphans. 

Oda. Had. Orphans.

No matter how much everything else about Oda intrigued Dazai, because damn he wouldn’t shut up if started ( sometimes he didn’t say a word though, like he thought Chuuya would take it away if he said anything, and…Chuuya felt angry about that, but also sorry. And…a bit of pity sprinkled in too ), the fact that he was also a man who willingly took in multiple children with no homes, provided for them and cared for them in an alien way to someone like Dazai, that was a big deal.

Chuuya supposed they were different in that way. Chuuya knew his family was out there, even if he never planned to speak to them. He knew they existed, even if he didn’t know what kind of parents they were. That brought its own brand of pain. Dazai made it explicitly obvious there was no-one out there for him. Even if that family was still alive, the brunet spoke of no kinship, no connection, no anything , and-

-it explained a lot.

Chuuya wasn’t going to deny that it was a nice thought. For someone like Osamu , who couldn’t escape his own head, to have something so… kind , pristine, the brunet no doubt worried about ruining that, his mind wasn’t a kind place- Dazai still trusted him to take the reins when needed on that front, and it made him feel a little better.

Chuuya wouldn’t be the one to question this, not when Odasaku was, genuinely, Dazai’s best friend , whether he knew it yet or not.

“Does that make a difference?” He asked, knowing full-well the answer.

“Those children have a guardian.”

“Not something you can ask Boss for, I take it.”

The laugh was more like a bark from a throat that was used to sharing much smoother words. It was unrefined, and good , because at least he wasn’t shying away from Chuuya this time. “Mori could never be a parent.”

No kinship, no connection, no anything, and it still hurt the untouchable Demon Prodigy.

“Mori could never be a guardian.”

He was yours.

.

.

.

No. No, he wasn’t. Ane-san was mine, but Mori was never yours.

You’ve never expressed the desire to be cared for in such a way before. “So Ane-san could help?”

Even if it was only for a few moments, the brunet considered it. “Kouyou-san doesn’t see me so fondly.”

“So…it’s personal, then…”

Brown eyes were still on the screen in front of him, but they were less focused. His mind was taking him away, but Chuuya wasn’t completely sure what direction yet. He did have a good idea, though. 

Can’t miss what you never had.

Seeing it, though…

“...she is fond of you, it’s just...different,” he tried.

“Your attempts are heart-warming, but this isn’t something you can ask for.” There was a hint of teasing, but Chuuya could tell, he knew Dazai better than anyone after all, something about what Chuuya said, he appreciated.

Nothing like fishing for crumbs.

Not something you can ask for, huh?

“You don’t ask for people to care about you. It just happens.”

Dazai then smiled, and it wasn’t as empty as the redhead predicted, but it was heavy with something else in any case. “You can’t ask for a mother’s love, Chuuya, unless you have one.”

… Chuuya believed he wasn’t worthy of anything, once, because he’d been thoroughly convinced he didn’t have a heart. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t human. He was 2383 lines of code. Nothing more.

Until Dazai told him otherwise. And kept telling him.

“And you can’t miss something you’ve never had.”

“Fuck that.”

The brunet snorted.

“Seriously, fuck that, Osamu. What could a mother do that Oda couldn’t?”

Now that got a reaction. Dazai stared, wide-eyed, head raised, blinking back at Chuuya, eyebrows slightly furrowed, curious, confused.

“That’s what you’re feeling, right? You see Oda taking care of his kids and you want that. It isn’t something to be afraid of-”

“I’m not asking Oda to-”

Chuuya interrupted without grace. “I know you’re embarrassed, but shut the fuck up for a minute, will ya?”

…can’t believe that worked.

“I don’t know what he does with them, and I’m not saying to ask for that- hell , I can’t imagine him turning you down, even if it was weird,” he ran his hand through his hair, Oda’s kids were definitely young, “-but what you have is good. He probably knows anyway, you don’t need to say it out loud, you know?”

“No-one can read my mind, chibbiko.”

Chuuya smirked. He’d say he felt bad, but he didn’t. He really didn’t. Did. Not. Oh, I have so got you cornered, you fucker. “Yeah? Mother’s love is oddly specific, mackerel.”

If possible for a man who wasn’t even moving, he froze. Didn’t move even as the redhead walked closer, when he stopped beside him, and only moved to look up at his partner. The proximity was okay this time, he could tell.

Chuuya would be lying if he said he hadn’t agonised over the idea of a family. Dazai made himself so untouchable, but he was Chuuya’s partner .

He didn’t need to know all his secrets, but he could be trusted with the ones Dazai granted him.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“...such a mother hen, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Chuuya bought a weighted blanket.

He felt like it. Didn’t need to explain it. Had nothing to do with overhearing some subordinates talking secretively about their families. About a daughter who just started new medication, and about a mother devastated that she’d passed her own struggle onwards.

Dazai was blissfully quiet, as though he was listening too. In fact, he was , but he was being awfully obvious about it, unlike usual where there was no outward evidence, just a feeling in the redhead’s gut that his asshole partner had already gleaned everything from whoever was talking via some weird fucking osmosis and his single visible eye .

A lot of her problems sounded an awful lot like Dazai’s, minus one or two things, something he knew the brunet would vehemently deny. Dazai’s reaction to the blanket had been a glare and a sulk, going as far as to leave Chuuya’s apartment. He was back quickly enough, sitting as far away from the redhead and the blanket as possible.

For once, Chuuya didn’t comment when he slowly made his way closer. It wasn’t subtle in the slightest, and he almost thanked the fact that he’d dealt with the mackerel for so damn long. He knew he could have the patience of a saint when required, even if his ledger dripping with red didn’t match.

Patience like a saint is what he reminded himself of when he unsuccessfully swaddled his partner in the blanket, who then migrated to the table, sitting in the chair like no normal person and spitting weak insults like a kitten learning to hiss.

It would’ve been almost endearing if he hadn’t made him late to a mission briefing.

–

“I can’t kiss her, Dazai.”

The brunet snorted. “I thought you were happy to be the hero of the mission.”

“That was before I knew what it was . You could’ve told me you set me up for the shittiest mission ever,” he groaned.

“Shittiest mission ever?” was parroted back with a note of surprise. “Chuuya is lacking in the women’s department, I figured I would graciously give you a hand.”

The redhead deadpanned. “There is truly no end to your kindness.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

While it was usually Dazai’s job to flirt around and get the bulk of the information, Chuuya found himself complaining one too many times. Sometimes he was just pissy that he was always the distraction, but it was a whole lot easier to disguise someone like Dazai- someone without striking features, to do the heavy lifting.

The brunet did sulk at times, never elaborating on why Chuuya finally having some fun on a mission, talking up a storm around him in character, bothered him so much.

Dick.

“You’re basically going to turn out as the distraction anyway ,” he pointed out.

It did not help in the slightest. “That’s the issue!”

“Such an attention seeker .”

“I don’t want people seeing me do- do that! I have a reputation, damnit!”

“For being a little fairy?”

The resulting growl was answer enough. “That shit’s private.”

“For someone whose Ane-san runs a brothel, you certainly have an issue with PDA.”

“Well fuck me for wanting to keep things sacred, shitty Dazai.”

That comment gave the brunet pause. Enough time passed for Chuuya to have moved on with his muttering and preparation for the mission, so it was a bit late to come back with something clever, but nevertheless, he wondered just what face his partner would make if he reminded him of a few months prior.

“Seriously, you couldn’t have traded last mission, huh? You got all the action, all the fun shit.”

“One could argue you are getting some action-”

“Wrong kind!” He yelled, pulling his hair this way and that, it wasn’t cooperating, and unfortunately it wasn’t as funny as usual, because Chuuya seemed genuinely upset at the arrangement, which made little sense as Kouyou was the one to organise it.

Mori did have a wicked grin on his face when briefing and referring them to Ozaki, so it was obvious he’d had a laugh of his own when he approved it. That was worrying enough, but executives must be seen to be feared.

Soukoku was an obvious exception, but Mori didn’t decline every chance to show them off.

“Quit whining, you showpony,” he slumped over the table. “All you’re doing is sitting at a bar and flirting with someone. That’s all you have to do. She’ll end up telling you shit without meaning to.”

He grunted. “I’m not you . I don’t get off on getting girls drunk and leading them on. There’s gotta be someone else we can get the info from.”

If Chuuya noticed Dazai’s lips pulling to a deeper frown, he didn’t mention it. “Neither do I.”

“Yeah, sure. ”

How did one say that they weren't ready to replace the feeling on their own lips without revealing themselves? Nevermind how he’d managed to plant the idea in Kouyou’s head. 

Simple. They didn’t.

“You don’t have to kiss her, you dramatic slug. It’s not leading her on if you have no intention.”

Blue eyes zeroed in on his, disapproving. “That’s what you do.”

And it works, went unsaid, but Dazai knew Chuuya’s reaction with his eyes closed. He wouldn’t have had to hear anything either, because the wind changed. The redhead usually stayed out of this in particular, the mechanics of seduction, though Kouyou hadn’t skimped on training him, that much was obvious.

It just wasn’t Chuuya, apparently. Whilst Dazai didn’t have any issue with it, it's not as though he’d see these women again, and it was good practise for everyone involved, the redhead didn’t see it that way.

“You don’t have to do it like me,” he shrugged. “Just talk. It’s the same mission as always, except you get to be the one to feed me the information.”

“Talking doesn’t keep people interested.”

He bit back the retort- so oblivious, holy shit Chuuya - and opted for something safer. “I seduce them because it’s easier for me. Chibi has action stories and cool scars he doesn’t mind sharing.”

Something softened Chuuya’s features. Maybe he unclenched his jaw. Stopped frowning so harshly, Dazai looked away so he wouldn’t need to bother with it. 

“ I have a reputation. Kissing is easier than excusing the bandages,” he didn’t mention the lies came far too easily, his partner knew that, but he just didn’t feel like it for this mission . “-Chuuya has the opposite problem. Use your strengths, stupid slug.” 

It did take a moment for the redhead to find something to shoot back that he was happy with. Dazai didn’t mention just how long, though it would’ve been easy to. “Haven’t you said all the tasteless women you flirt with like your bandages?”

‘Weak.”

“ Shut up ,” he muttered, giving up on his hair and rummaging around to find a brush.

Dazai grinned to himself. He had the perfect revenge for being left in wet bandages, of being made out to be a fool , because he so wasn’t, and it really was on Chuuya and his lack of intelligence if he hadn’t figured out that, as the redhead always said and always accused, Dazai had this under control.

Basically- what Dazai wants , Dazai gets , and he’d been waiting for a suitable revenge for months now. 

“I can’t blame you for being nervous, though, just this once,” he hummed as Chuuya returned, battling with his hair. “You are a terrible kisser.”

Chuuya short-circuited, every insult under the sun sitting on his tongue, coming out in unintelligible spluttering. “It was once ,” is what eventually left his mouth, but it was obvious by that time that the conversation was over, even if the chibi was demanding his attention by standing so close.

Dazai’s hand found the small of his back and patted placatingly. “And now you get some practice. You’re welcome, slug. Don’t embarrass yourself too much, hm?”

( Dazai had done it plenty of times by now, but there was no getting tired of placing his hand on his partner’s back. He could feel muscles flex and relax- tame under his hand but deadly to most others. Chuuya’s warmth radiated off him, felt through his shirt and jacket

Even when Chuuya swatted him away most of the time, insisting he only dealt with it post-Corruption because he couldn’t fight back, there was no denying it was a comfort. Carrying a tired body to safety, rubbing it as the other hacked up his insides, be it from Corruption or his new habit. The hand meant I’m here, and Chuuya knew that.

He figured the chibi hated him for that, the fact that he was, while feeling conflicted because of his (super)natural compassion. Someone like Chuuya didn’t need to be comforted, he was strong and brash and well capable of taking care of himself.

Chuuya once said that he enjoyed taking care of people. A tall claim for a short man.

Perhaps Dazai had also found himself partial to it, in some capacity- )

“Something always goes wrong,” the freshly groomed and primed redhead collapsed next to him on the couch. Worryingly enough, he’d usually be preening in such an outfit, he always took his time getting ready, but his shoulders were rounded and his pout was bordering on genuine misery. 

What an odd reaction. “You’re worrying too much. You’ll have her attention.” Easily, might I add.

That’s not such a good thing and you know it , his long sigh spoke for him. Dazai always teased him for his lack of subtlety, but didn’t think it would actually stick . It was a gimmick, based in reality, sure, but Chuuya wasn’t so reckless these days. Age changed him. Grief mellowed him out.

He never was the same after Verlaine, as odd as it might sound to an onlooker. How could Dazai possibly know Chuuya inside and out within a year of knowing him? 

Their opinions on Soukoku didn’t matter anyway.

“Mm, no use living a future that hasn’t happened yet,” he edged away from the damn blanket the chibi was messing with. Fabric flowed through his fingers in an absentminded movement.

“You? Campaigning to live in the moment? Who even are you?”

The brunet chuckled, amusement glinted in an amber eye. “I’m as surprised as you are-”

(Something warm was fighting something ugly inside Chuuya. Those friends of yours are doing good for you. )

Chuuya interrupted whatever the mackerel had been saying, ignoring the snap of his jaw shut. 

“Where’s your waiter shit?”

Dazai held up a bow from fuck knows where. To be fair, his dress pants and shirt were good enough. “Was it worth interrupting me, you rude slug?”

“Anything to shut you up,” he hummed back with no feeling.

Dissatisfied with the lack of reaction, Dazai brought his legs up and started kicking. This proved to be a mistake. Being swaddled with that heavy blanket was not his plan in the slightest, nor was being unable to escape. And so easily too, it was downright disgraceful. The redhead was obviously getting too comfortable throwing his weight around.

With the tightness of the blanket wrapped around him, paired with the tightness in his chest, this position was surely more dangerous than that snake that squeezes its prey to death.

If anyone asked, Dazai would vehemently deny, but he felt a whole lot like prey under Chuuya’s gaze. It was almost animalistic, but it was far too smug. It was a different kind of satisfaction, rather than going in for the kill. It felt that way to Dazai, though.

You couldn’t waterboard this out of me, vaguely crossed his mind as, in true soukoku fashion, Chuuya forgot all semblance of the concept of personal space ( apparently forgetting the- ) and leaned right in his face. Huffed air warmed his face, the air shared, and the redhead seemed wholly unaffected. The heat that was gathering under the brunet’s colour made no appearance on his partner. His ears weren’t red from embarrassment or anger, either.

He wondered, for one small moment, if this was what being a teenager felt like. Awkward, like a lamb learning to walk. Dazai didn’t make mistakes, but he was pretty sure the glance at Chuuya’s lips definitely counted as one.

If the action was noticed, it wasn’t commented on. Oh no. It was something worse. “I like you a whole lot more when you’re quiet.”

The tone soothed something in him and Dazai blinked with the desire to be…somewhat compliant with his request, though it appeared Chuuya wasn’t expecting the silence.

A few more moments passed before the rough voice spoke again, the smirk far too close. “Huh. The blanket really works. No wonder you were trying to keep this away from me.” 

Despite knowing that he was referring to keeping his quirks to himself, he was far too busy suppressing the urge to wipe the grin off his face in an entirely different ( somehow more…ugh, appealing way ) to shoot back any decent insult.

“The Demon Prodigy, reduced to mush over a blanket,” he chuckled fondly. “Oh, I am so telling Ane-san about this.”

That worked. “I’ll record this entire mission so she can listen to you stumble over your words trying to talk to a woman.”

“Eat shit and die,” he leaned even closer.

His stomach did a flip, a flip, and why now when I can’t fucking move, hands pinned to my sides by his legs and-? “Never felt the loving touch of a woman?”

“I can assure you none of those touches you’ve had had any loving intention behind them.”

.

.

.

“-oi?”

Oh. That’s right.

“-mackerel?”

Why did the chibi’s concern feel more…intimate than any suggestive touch he’d felt?

–

“ Experience , my ass ,” he scoffed, swinging into the car and removing the wig. He removed the hair cover, allowed his hair to fall freely, and it was-

Suspiciously quiet.

“What’s up with you, huh?”

“Ah, I already told you. I got sick of your complaining. If I’d have known you’d complain more , I wouldn’t have bothered.”

He poked his cheek, earning a drawn out whine, but nothing more. “You’re an asshole for leaving me like that. Just make sure the report is done, jackass. I’m too tired.”

“My hand hurts…”

“Don’t care,” he settled back in the seat, not bothering to stifle his yawn. Faking was exhausting, no wonder the bastard next to him was constantly tired, or alternatively, wired on something he shouldn’t be.

“A blackhole would be jealous,” was muttered beside him.

Chuuya slapped him on the arm without looking his way or opening his eyes, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

It was a satisfying night. A successful mission, a job well done, a satisfactory amount of alcohol in his system, and while Dazai had left him to his own devices eventually, it felt oddly good to be trusted. He’d hovered for a decent amount of time, but he guessed the kiss he shared with their target was enough to get him off his back.

It felt good to put Kouyou’s teachings into action in some capacity, yet it felt clinical. Blunt. Boring , almost, listing off instructions in his head with no time to enjoy the feigned natural progression of the conversation. Her smiles didn’t stoke any fire in his gut, her light touches didn’t elicit any sparks, and the fireworks kissing was meant to bring? The flipping gut, the light feeling, the shivers goosebumps-

Nothing.

He tried to get himself further into it. Tried to settle comfortably. One of Kouyou’s new girls told him she had a trick for this kind of thing. It seemed borderline unhealthy, and she said Ane-san would have her head if she heard her giving out such advice, which, once he knew what it was, he could confirm yes, definitely, but this was the Mafia- Kouyou ran a brothel , Kouyou had ample reason to be so cynical over love and connection, too.

She turned it into a tool for herself to gain control, yet young Himari’s advice seemed to… stick a little more.

The sheepish look was difficult to keep off his face just thinking about it. She’d tear him down with a single disappointed stare, and yet-

And yet.

“ I try not to think so hard, once we get to the touchy stage.”

“Uh huh.”

She set down the teapot and let her eyes flicker around. The two of them were both well aware of Kouyou’s ability to appear out of thin air. Once she deemed it safe (ha!), she leaned closer. “I have a trick I use,” she said, just above a whisper.

He nodded for her to continue.

“I always try to imagine…a beloved holding my hand, you know?”

“And if you don’t have one of those?” He scoffed quietly, equal parts miserable and resigned.

She looked thoughtful. “Surely there’s someone you’d prefer over a complete stranger. Someone that calms you? Makes you feel a bit safer?”

He frowned, racking his brain. It didn’t really count as calming , it couldn’t- not when it was overshadowed massively by the likelihood of early hypertension from pure annoyance. Though…if he had to say calming, No Longer Human was utterly unrivalled in that respect.

Especially in those moments right before he passed out. The moment right before, after the waves of pain hit him, when he came back to awareness for just that short amount of time, where he could appreciate the quiet without being distracted by the residual ringing in his ears. That very moment.

Calm.

…safe.

That’s…

“I’m not sure what to suggest otherwise, I’m sorry, Chuuya-san.” She bowed her head. “If the mission wasn’t stepping into something closer to a romantic nature, I’m sure picturing anyone would work.”

Anyone? Anyone just touching him? “I don’t know,” he shrugged, giving her a low nod. “Thanks anyway.”

She was silent for a few seconds, studying his face, and he thought he’d said something wrong for a moment before she spoke, still quiet, as though Kouyou was still close by. “Not just anyone works for you.”

“‘Fraid not.”

“...does Kouyou-sama know?”

“Know what?”

“How…sentimental you are.”

He chuckled, sighing. “Yeah, she does. She’s well aware.”

It wasn’t that. Not all that. Unsolicited touches were…felt like…brought him back to darkness and cold…and he never wanted it or asked for-

How ungrateful.

It didn’t…work completely. It did keep him fluid enough, though, stiff shoulders relaxing a little, his facial muscles a little more lax under an unfamiliar gaze. He didn’t really need to pretend her gaze was his, because he already knew Dazai was somewhere. He couldn’t focus enough to pick the direction it was coming from, he was focusing heavily on his job after all, but he could still feel it, and he could’ve definitely figured it out given a few extra seconds of free thinking time.

When their lips finally locked, Chuuya knew the mission was a success. Himari’s advice rang in the back of his head, he felt the burning gaze on his back disappear- the mission was going smoothly, he could redirect his attention elsewhere now that he’d ascertained Chuuya was doing his job ( control freak ).

Yet, the lips moving against his…no butterflies, no dizziness, no urgency or nervousness…

It wasn’t Dazai.

Fuck.

He was never thinking about this again.

Chapter Text

What’s the point?

Red swelled, dotting thin lines that lay raw under the blade. He’d only just started, so nothing ran yet. Nothing stained the white tiles yet, though they were already tinged pink in some places.

He didn’t remember unwrapping the bandages, though he often didn’t unless he was utterly drowning. Dazai didn’t cry so much as he fell apart. He existed until the seams popped out or tore, by either his hand or someone else’s, and his stuffing would fall out. The thing that filled him, made up the inside of him, drained out by his own hand.

The control would probably feel exhilarating if he could feel anything. Someone like himself should be elated to be able to hurt, it’s what he wanted , after all. But he hated pain. He didn’t like it, but he deserved it, but who was he to say he did? Did he believe it? Did he just listen to everyone else?

No. Dazai knew there was something fundamentally wrong with him. He wondered if he had it in himself to hate humanity, but he kind of liked some people, so maybe he didn’t hate humanity and the world around him as much as he despised himself.

There is a lot of narcissism in self-hatred. It’s been preached to him in various ways over the years, in many words, in less than that. By people who knew some things about him and by people who knew nothing. At this point it could only be said to make themselves feel better, to give themselves some kind of upper hand or satisfaction in speaking something that he already actioned, like they knew him.

It meant nothing to Dazai. 

There were too many words that meant hate in his head. Too many thoughts then too little anything, swapping between overstimulated and understimulated at the rate of an uneven pendulum.

Purgative. Cathartic.

Line. After line. Over day old wounds, over white ones. He caught sight of a sun spot on his hand, held out his arm in front of him, dripping slightly, would his arm be covered too if he dressed as scantily as Chuuya?

His nails were longer than they’d been in awhile. Kouyou had stared with disdain when he drummed his fingers on the table during their last meeting. If the movement was enough to annoy her, he could only imagine how pissed off she’d get if it was the click and clack of nails against wood instead.

A nice incentive to stop picking or biting them. They didn’t need to look good. They just needed to serve a purpose, and right now, it was getting longer so he could ruin a small part of the woman’s day.

Yesterday, they scratched at bandages, the fabric acting as a softener, satisfying the itch and destroying scabs via friction rather than any picking being required. 

Tomorrow, who knew?

An incentive, maybe. Something to work towards. Odasaku said something about that while Ango sipped his drink, likely listing off all the reasons why Dazai wouldn’t listen in his head.

He liked Ango. Ango was smart.

He liked Odasaku. Odasaku was kind.