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“Dazai-kun,” Mori’s voice comes through the phone. “I’m sure the matter I am calling you about right now will be of interest to you.”
Dazai frowns, hesitating to end the call.
“It’s about Chuuya-kun.”
Glancing over his shoulder at Atsushi apologising to Kunikida, Dazai mutes the call and leaves the room before he replies. “I’m listening.”
Mori’s voice seems mildly interested when he speaks next but Dazai knows better than anyone that this doesn’t mean a thing. “It seems that last night during his assigned mission, Chuuya-kun’s been hit by some kind of Virus Ability. He has been under my care since then, but unfortunately his condition is gradually growing worse rather than better.”
Dazai stays quiet. Chuuya hit by an Ability? That seems incredibly far-fetched.
“It is indeed an unfortunate and unprecedented situation,” Mori goes on, his tone vaguely concerned. “As you are probably aware, Chuuya-kun’s current condition highly increases the risk of being influenced by Corruption. So I am calling you to request your assistance in ensuring Chuuya-kun’s safety while we work on locating the Ability User that caused this.” Mori makes a brief pause. “I have already talked this matter over with Fukuzawa-dono, and you would be temporarily exempted from work during this time.”
Dazai hesitates. It's been nearly three years since he last talked to Chuuya and he certainly doesn’t appreciate Mori going over his head and expecting him to follow. Because he chose to leave the Port Mafia all those years ago, the most logical course of action here would be to refuse, to entrust Chuuya into the care of Mori and let them handle their own problems. But–
“I’ll do it,” Dazai says, slowly exhaling through his nose. Because Chuuya has always outweighed logic for him. “Under one condition.”
“Oh?”
“I will not be coming to you. I’m going to watch him on neutral ground.”
There’s silence on the line for a moment, before Mori laughs, soft and airy. “Very well,” he says. “I'll have him sent to his current safe house.” He pauses. “I believe you know where to go.”
___
When Dazai arrives at Chuuya’s apartment, he briefly considers ringing the doorbell before deciding to pick the lock instead.
As soon as he steps over the threshold, he finds himself pushed up against the wall with an elbow pressed into his ribs and a hand wrapped around his throat.
“Hello to you, too, Chuuya-kun,” he manages to get out, trying to breathe around Chuuya’s strong grip.
“Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, looking up at him with fiery rage in his blue eyes, his nostrils flared. “What the hell are you doing here, asshole.”
Dazai makes no effort to struggle against Chuuya. “Someone told me you’ve been compromised,” he says, inhaling through his nose. “I’m supposed to make sure you don’t end up killing yourself.”
Briefly, Chuuya’s eyes widen, his lips parting, before he tightens his grip around Dazai’s throat and grits his teeth, nails digging into his skin. “I don't need a babysitter.”
Dazai raises an arm and places his hand on top of Chuuya’s, barely pulling on it. “I think the whole of Yokohama would disagree. Can’t have you reducing the entire city to ashes just because you’re being petty.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue in frustration but releases his hold anyway and steps back, glaring at Dazai. “You didn't care much about that when you betrayed the organisation.”
Dazai falls forward, massaging his throat, and hides his surprise behind a small smile. “Aw, Chibi, are you still hung-up about that?”
Chuuya just scoffs at him and turns around, coat swishing behind him like a cape.
Dazai spent the last three years checking in on Chuuya on a somewhat regular basis, as often as he could manage, soothing his bad conscience and making sure that he didn’t miss any important news. He didn't expect Chuuya to still be mad about what he did, though.
“What happened?” Dazai asks, breaking the silence between them.
Chuuya keeps his back turned. “Some asshole caught me by surprise and blinded me with a flash grenade. I ended up breathing in some kind of shit.”
“...Were you alone?”
Chuuya turns around then, staring at him with creased brows. “I’m one of the Mafia’s top five Executives,” he says. “I can handle myself just fine on solo missions.”
Dazai ducks his head and laughs, putting his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Clearly,” he mumbles as he walks past Chuuya and into the spacious kitchen area.
Leisurely, he starts to rummage around the cabinets and cupboards, looking for something drinkable.
“Oi,” Chuuya calls, snatching the bottle of wine from his hands. When their fingers brush, Dazai can’t help but notice that Chuuya’s skin is hot to the touch. “This isn't for you to drink.”
Dazai raises his hands and steps back, using that time to observe Chuuya’s face, his pale skin and the dark circles beneath his eyes, a thin sheen of tiredness in them. He clicks his tongue and turns back around, opening the drawer beneath the oven.
“What did you do with all of my whiskey?” he complains, finding only glasses and several more bottles of wine.
Secretly, he’d hoped that maybe his touch would’ve already nullified the Ability affecting Chuuya.
“Threw it out, of course,” Chuuya growls, putting the wine bottle back into the cabinet. “If you wanted to keep that disgusting shit, you should’ve taken it with you, dickhead.”
Dazai huffs and straightens back up. “Ah~ah,” he sighs. “Oh well.” He grabs two glasses and one of the cheaper-looking bottles of wine from the shelf and sits down at the bar, gesturing to the seat next to him. “Guess we'll have to make do with one of your personal selections then.”
“How about you just fuck off now so I don't have to see your hideous face all night?” Chuuya snaps, but takes a seat next to Dazai anyway.
Dazai laughs and pours them both a glass.
“I don’t think I should be drinking anyway,” Chuuya says then, and it’s evident that he doesn't like admitting that, his voice laced with reluctance. “I’m not feeling too amazing.”
Dazai simply pushes the glass towards him. “One glass won’t kill you,” he says. “I’m sure even a lightweight like you can handle that. Besides. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Chuuya narrows his eyes at him and Dazai’s smile nearly slips from his lips. He almost forgot how blazing they could be. “Yeah,” Chuuya grumbles then. “I'd rather you weren’t.”
Closing his eyes, Dazai picks up his glass and drains the entire thing in one go, the bitterness of the wine washing down the back of his throat mixing with the sting in his chest.
To Chuuya, it must have felt like he was leaving him behind back then. And Dazai honestly can’t blame him for that.
Once the clock strikes midnight, Chuuya’s condition deteriorates dramatically.
“...Fuck...” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he tosses and turns on the couch, sweating through his white shirt, his vest lying abandoned to his feet. “My head’s killing me.”
His eyes flutter open sluggishly and he starts to shiver, his lips as pale as his face, and Dazai watches with creased brows and his mouth set into a thin line, trying to determine the best course of action.
With a quiet sigh, he decides to make his way over to the couch, bending down to carefully slip his arms under Chuuya’s small form, the heat radiating off his body burning through his coat and his bandages.
“Oi,” Chuuya complains immediately, trying to push him away. But his punches are so weak that his fists just end up sliding limply down Dazai’s chest. “...Don’ touch me…”
“Yeah, yeah…” Dazai says, ignoring him as he scoops him up and carries him to the bedroom. “I know you're tiny but the couch really isn't the best place to sleep.”
“...don’t need your help…”
But by the time, Dazai lays Chuuya down on the king-sized bed, Chuuya’s already fast asleep, his breaths laboured while his chest rises and falls in short intervals.
After a moment of hesitation, Dazai leaves Chuuya’s side and quickly prepares a cold wet towel and a glass of water, placing both things on the nightstand.
Then he takes off his shoes and gets into bed next to him, lying down on top of the covers. He stares at the ceiling in silence and listens to Chuuya’s breathing for a while before turning onto his side and propping his chin up on his hand.
Chuuya never gets sick. In all the years he’s known him, Dazai hasn’t ever seen him with so much as a runny nose before. And with a slight twinge in his chest, he remembers that Chuuya wouldn’t even believe him if he told him he’s actually worried right now.
Reaching for his phone, Dazai checks the time and purses his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It’s been six hours and still no call from Mori.
His gaze returns to the sleeping form of Chuuya, pain adorning his features in a frown, and he wonders how much more he’s gonna have to suffer until they can help him.
Allowing himself to watch Chuuya a little while longer, Dazai traces familiar features with his eyes and takes his time with it. How long has it been since he had the chance to study Chuuya’s face like that? Aside from the obvious signs of an unknown sickness raging in his body, Dazai can see the changes in his face clearly, reflecting the time he wasn’t there to watch them happen– his cheeks are less full now, his jawline more pronounced, and his eyebrows thicker. There’s a sharpness to his face that wasn’t there before, and several more freckles decorating the bridge of his nose.
Dazai smiles. He wonders if Chuuya still applies multiple layers of sunscreen on them every morning.
Eventually, the sound of Chuuya’s quiet snoring makes Dazai’s heart rate slow down and his eyes droop, the warm breeze coming in through the open window tickling his face, until his head slides from his hand and he falls onto the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut as blissful sleep takes him.
When something moves beside him, Dazai jerks awake immediately, eyes flying open as he bolts upright.
Turning to his right, Dazai finds Chuuya in agony, his red curls a tangled mess and his face as pale as the walls, sweat dripping down his temples as he groans, his eyes squeezed shut and his body trembling.
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, moving closer until he can place the back of his hand on his forehead. As expected, Chuuya is burning up, his skin hot to the touch.
“Chuuya,” Dazai repeats, a little louder. He keeps his gaze fixed on Chuuya while he reaches around him for the glass of water. “Drink something.”
But Chuuya sits up abruptly then, bending over as he coughs, and knocks the glass out of Dazai’s hand, water spilling all over the sheets.
“...Nhnmh,” he groans. “I’m– gonna–”
In an instant, Dazai is on his feet, rounding the bed and grabbing Chuuya under the shoulders. “Up you go,” he says and lifts him off the bed, supporting his shaking body as he guides a nearly delirious Chuuya into the bathroom. “You'd kill me if I let you puke into your bed.”
He gives a quiet chuckle, but Chuuya doesn't seem to have heard him, instead falling to his knees the moment they reach the bathroom, clutching onto the toilet as he starts to vomit.
Dazai grimaces, as if he were the one puking his guts out right now, and crouches down next to him, his hand hovering above his back before he changes his mind and starts to gently gather red hair to one side instead, getting it out of his face.
Once the worst seems to be over, Chuuya collapses onto the tiles, wiping his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. “You–” he chokes out, his voice scratchy. “Don't you have– anything better to do.”
But the scowl he tries to give Dazai looks more like a pout, his eyes hazy and lip trembling, and, if you knew what to look for, you could easily recognise the anger in his tone as the embarrassment that he’s trying to hide with it.
So Dazai simply stands back up and gives him a close-mouthed smile, putting his hands into his pockets. “Better than watching you be miserable?” he asks, pretending to think. “Isn’t that what partners are for?”
Chuuya stills, staring up at Dazai with wide eyes and flared nostrils, the muscles in his jaw tense. “...Don’t you dare,” he hisses, wincing when the action hurts his raw throat. “We’re not partners anymore, asshole.”
“Ah~ah,” Dazai hums, still smiling, and averts his gaze. He’ll never be able to explain to him why he had to leave. And Chuuya will never be able to forgive him for that.
Suddenly, Chuuya starts to move, trying to get up and gritting his teeth in frustration when his arms tremble beneath his own weight. He curses, dragging his nails across the tiles, but a moment later, he starts to float almost unnoticeably, his body rising from the floor, before it immediately crashes back down again, crumpling in a heap, and Chuuya gasps, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Don’t,” Dazai says, one hand resting on Chuuya’s arm. “Your body is already tired enough.”
Chuuya scoffs and turns to glare at him, yanking his arm out of Dazai’s reach. “Leave me the fuck alone,” he spits, the blue of his eyes blazing with rage. “I can handle myself.”
Dazai clicks his tongue. “Listen, Chibikko,” he tuts, crouching down to pick him up. “You’re usually no match for me, but…in this state? You really are as helpless as a kitten.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya promptly protests, punching and squirming in his arms, but soon enough, his voice grows slurred and his punches get weaker, and when Dazai sets him down on the bed, his eyes slide shut almost immediately.
With his brows knit close together in concern, Dazai steps back. Chuuya’s body feels like a furnace, burning through his clothes, and his breaths come in laboured short bursts, his brows pulled into a frown of exertion, and Dazai balls his hands into fists inside his pockets, hating the feeling of uselessness spreading through him.
If he were there last night, this would never have happened. If he were with Chuuya last night, he never would’ve let him get hurt like this.
He reaches for his phone again. 02:46 AM. Still no message from Mori.
Pursing his lips, Dazai slips it back into his pocket. How long could it possibly take them to find one escaped Ability User?!
Sighing quietly, Dazai bends down to pick up the empty glass of water from earlier. “Chuuya,” he tries. ”Can I get you anything?”
At first it doesn’t seem like Chuuya heard him, but then blue eyes slowly flutter open, and Dazai feels his chest tighten. “...Painkillers,” Chuuya gasps, his voice straining around the word. “Kitchen. Top… Cabinet.”
“Got it.”
When Dazai returns, he finds Chuuya writhing in his bed, back arched and fingers tangled up in the sheets, his teeth bared as he groans in pain.
“Where does it hurt?” Dazai asks, unable to tear his eyes away.
“Everywhere.”
Dazai’s heart skips a beat. Because this is all horribly wrong. Because Chuuya is supposed to be tougher than this, cursing and kicking him, and because Dazai isn’t supposed to feel this helpless.
He isn't supposed to have to watch Chuuya suffer like this.
“Let's get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs, his voice quiet as he sits down on the bed.
Chuuya backs away immediately. “I said– I’m fine.”
Dazai cocks his head and gives him an innocent smile. “Chu~uya,” he says. “Don’t act like we haven't done this before.”
When Chuuya flushes, it sends flutters down Dazai’s stomach and he already regrets burning the image into his mind.
“You–” Chuuya sputters. “Stop making it sound weird!”
Dazai laughs then, closing his eyes, and tries not to be selfish when Chuuya lets himself be helped out of his clothes anyway.
After Chuuya tells him where to find new clothes, Dazai helps him put them on and gets him under the blanket after, tucking him in before gathering his old clothes in one spot.
Just as Dazai places another wet towel on Chuuya’s scorching forehead, making him hiss sharply at the coldness, Dazai’s phone starts to ring.
“Who’s… it…?” Chuuya asks, looking up at him with clouds in his eyes, seeming smaller than ever.
“It's Mori,” Dazai says and shakes his screen in front of Chuuya. “Be right back.”
Before answering the call, he makes sure to leave the apartment and shut the front door behind him.
“Any news?” he greets, skipping the formalities, because he never really felt anything about Mori before, but right now he’s furious that he’d let Chuuya get hurt like this, sending him on assignments on his own.
“How is he?” Mori asks, and the light tone of his voice makes Dazai grind his teeth. “Has his fever come down yet?”
“Of course not.”
“Ah.” Mori pauses. “Do you want me to come and check on him again?”
“No need,“ Dazai replies, before adding in his sweetest voice, “Instead, I'd like for you to invest your efforts into finding the Ability User responsible for this as quickly as possible.”
“Ah yes,” Mori says, and Dazai can picture him nodding as he speaks. “Akutagawa-kun is currently investigating a promising lead in that matter.”
“Let me know when you caught them,” is all Dazai says to that before he ends the call and slides his phone back into his pocket, slowly exhaling through his nose.
Hopefully Akutagawa has gotten competent enough by now to handle this swiftly.
When he opens the door to the bedroom, wanting to check on Chuuya, Dazai’s eyes widen in shock.
It looks like a hurricane swept through the room. The windows are shattered, a sea of broken pieces of furniture and glass shards on the floor. And right in the middle of it, between smashed picture frames, torn fabric and broken bottles, sits Chuuya, crouching on the floor with a wild look in his eyes and his teeth bared in a snarl, his entire body vibrating.
For a moment, Dazai’s heart stops, and the only thing he can do is stare at Chuuya in awe, mesmerised by the force that is Corruption, shackled by the nostalgia of seeing him like this, before his senses finally kick back in and he rushes over, keeping Chuuya from killing himself.
He gently cups the side of his face, brushing his fingers against marked skin, and immediately Chuuya freezes, a gasp escaping his lips as his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses into Dazai’s lap, blood seeping from his nose and the corners of his mouth.
For a few seconds, Dazai remains frozen in place, unable to move, before he grits his teeth and lowers his head, pressing his forehead against Chuuya’s burning one. “...Can’t even do that right, huh.”
Then he takes a deep breath and gets up, Chuuya’s form limp in his arms as he takes one last look at the remains that used to be his room.
Chuuya will kill him for this when he gets better.
Dazai sincerely hopes Chuuya will be able to threaten to kill him for this soon. He realises that he doesn’t really want to imagine a world where this doesn’t happen. A world without Chuuya.
Crossing the apartment, Dazai comes to a halt in front of the room that used to be his whenever he stayed over. He hesitates for the briefest of seconds before pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold.
It's been three years since he’s last been in here… and yet, it still looks the exact same. Like a picture frozen in time, a tiny space in this world untouched by life. On the nightstand is a pile of books, the one Chuuya never finished reading to him still lying on top.
Dazai swallows, against the unexpected lump in his throat, and lets his gaze drop down to Chuuya again, his dried-out lips parted and curls matted to his skin with sweat.
“Ah~ah,” he mumbles, reaching out a trembling hand to brush the hair out of his eyes. “You were supposed to let me go.”
He lays Chuuya down on the bed and wipes the blood from his face before sitting down next to him, his back leaning against the frame. He closes his eyes and sighs, reaching for the book on the nightstand, flipping it open to where Chuuya’s bookmark is still marking the end of the last chapter.
About two more chapters in, Chuuya suddenly stirs next to him, groaning quietly as he rolls onto his side, his head brushing against Dazai’s thigh.
“...Dazai?” he mumbles, blearily blinking up at him, and Dazai puts the book aside, turning towards him.
“You sure do sleep a lot,” he comments, keeping his tone amused.
Chuuya groans again, making a face, and then his gaze flickers around the room, the expression in his blue eyes hazy and distant.
“Dazai…” he repeats, his voice hoarse.
“Mhhmm,” Dazai hums. “I’m here.”
Then, all of a sudden, when his eyes meet Dazai’s again, Chuuya's face changes, his features contorting into a grimace of fear as his eyes widen in terror and his mouth gapes open, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat when Chuuya reaches out a hand, clinging onto his shirt, only to crack right down the middle when Chuuya speaks next, desperation dripping from his lips. “Dazai,” he says, his voice breaking. “Please don't go.”
And Dazai finds himself unable to speak, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
“Why’d you leave me,” Chuuya chokes, breathing laboured and gaze unfocused. There are traces of blood between his grit teeth. “I trusted you.”
Dazai squeezes his eyes shut tight and wishes he were deaf. Chuuya doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to have his memories ripped from his chest like that, leaving him wide open and bleeding. And Dazai doesn’t deserve to witness them, was never supposed to hear them.
“Do you need anything,” he asks then, desperate to stop Chuuya from talking. “I’ll get you some more–”
But Chuuya doesn’t hear him, sucking in a sharp breath as he moves closer, his knees digging into Dazai’s thighs. “Please– “ he gasps. “I can’t– Dazai–”
His cheeks are flushed, his skin sticky and hot, and his curls matted to his forehead. In the blueness of his eyes, Dazai can feel his next words before he says them.
“Don’t leave me alone.”
Clenching his jaw tight, Dazai lowers his head and takes a deep breath, cursing whoever it was that did this to his Chuuya, reducing him to a broken mess like that.
“...I’m sorry,” he mutters, resting his fingers on top of red curls, and knows that he’s the one to blame. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, the words he wanted to say ever since that night burning his mouth like acid.
His heart shakes in his chest as he raises his head, looking at Chuuya. “You were the only good thing about this,” he murmurs in his softest whisper, stripped to the very core of his vulnerability. “I wish I knew how to love.”
Chuuya starts to cry then, tears spilling down his cheeks as he curls in on his body, clutching at Dazai’s shirt.
“It hurts,” he gasps, looking up at Dazai with swimming eyes. “Help me–” he says, sobs wracking his body. “Dazai, please.”
Dazai’s eyes widen and his heart comes to a grinding halt.
“–I will,” he promises, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears. “I’ll make this right.”
When Chuuya passes out, his body growing limp in Dazai’s arms, he stares at Chuuya for the longest time, his own heartbeat echoing in his ears, before he manages to move, disentangling his long limbs and getting off the bed.
In silence, he prepares two more cold towels and fresh water, taking them back to an unconscious Chuuya, before getting out his phone and dialling Mori’s number, tired of waiting.
“Dazai-kun,” Mori greets. “Has Chuuya-kun’s condition worsened?”
“Did you find him?”
Mori lets out a huff and Dazai knows he’s smiling. “Ah,” he says. “I was just informed that Akutagawa-kun has located the Ability User and is currently escorting him here for–”
“Bring him here,” Dazai interrupts, his tone clipped and thread of patience about to tear. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Be my guest,” Mori concedes after a moment. “I will let Akutagawa-kun know.”
“Good.”
“Dazai-kun,” Mori adds. “I trust you to handle this incident with the utmost discretion and to contact me immediately with any news.”
Without another word, Dazai ends the call.
Exhaling through his nose slowly, Dazai slips the phone back into his pocket and returns to Chuuya’s side, exchanging the towel on his head for a new one.
“I know you’re going to blame yourself for this,” he mutters, gently carding his fingers through damp curls. “But it’s entirely Mori’s fault.”
They stay like this for several more minutes, the sound of Chuuya’s heavy breathing filling the silence, and Dazai watches him carefully, resting a hand on his neck. If Chuuya activates Corruption again, even for a second, there’s a good chance he might actually end up dead.
When the door opens, Dazai tenses. His eyes narrow. “Took you long enough.”
In front of him stands Akutagawa, accompanied by several of Mori’s men, a haggard man at his feet, bound by Rashoumon and barely conscious.
“Dazai-san–” Akutagawa starts, but then he closes his mouth again, his grey eyes darkening as they travel towards Chuuya in his lap. “How is he?”
Dazai gets up, keeping the tips of his fingers on Chuuya’s arm.
“He’ll be fine in a minute,” he says. Faintly, he can hear blood rushing in his ears. He turns towards one of the men to Akutagawa’s left. “Give me your gun.”
Akutagawa flinches, barely visible. “We got orders not to kill him,” he argues. “The Boss wants him alive.”
“I don’t care.”
“Please–” the man says suddenly, bending over as far as Rashoumon allows. “Please– I’ll do anything.”
Dazai takes the gun offered to him and aims.
“I’ll reverse it right away!” the man begs, tears streaming down his face. “Please– please…”
Dazai looks at him then, for the first time, and takes a step closer. He smiles. “You should’ve chosen a different victim,” he comments, and then he shoots him straight through the head, relief flooding him as soon as the lifeless body crumples to the floor.
___
Several days later, Dazai gets a call from someone whose name he thought he’d never see on screen again.
“Chu~uya,” he picks it up, singing his name like he knows riles him up. “I trust you’re no longer hugging the toilet then?”
And sure enough, Chuuya clicks his tongue in frustration on the other end and Dazai feels something in his chest flutter. “I fucking hate you.”
Veering off script, Dazai doesn't say anything to that and just waits while silence rises between them like a sea of unspoken questions.
“Is there any reason in particular you called? Or–” Dazai gasps theatrically. “Don’t tell me, Chuuya, that you missed hearing my voice that badly?”
“I read the report,” Chuuya says suddenly, the seriousness in his tone taking Dazai by surprise. “And if it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead right now. So, I guess, I just wanted to– say Thanks. For coming over.”
Dazai smiles, despite himself, and turns away from the windows. He still remembers Chuuya clinging to him as if his life depended on it, tears streaming down his cheeks as he begged Dazai to stay. His chest fills with the kind of warmth that threatens to spill out of your mouth if you’re not careful, bubbling in your throat, and his fingers start to tingle, numbness spreading to his hands. He opens his mouth and says, “Well, there’d be no one left for me to annoy if you were gone.”
Chuuya growls, threatening to come over right away and kick him in the throat, and Dazai laughs, glad to hear that he seems to have completely recovered by now.
There’s the sound of sheets rustling, and then Chuuya’s voice, closer than before. “Did I… say anything?” he asks, his words hesitant. “Anything… weird?”
Please– I can’t– Dazai– Don’t leave me alone.
“You always say weird things.”
“I hate you,” Chuuya growls, letting out a shallow breath.
“I hate you, too, Chibi,” Dazai says, and wonders whether Chuuya can hear how much he doesn’t mean it. After a moment he smirks, and adds, “So… you kept the room, I see? How–”
“I also found your note,” Chuuya cuts him off, sounding impatient.
Dazai’s smirk slips from his lips. “And?”
“And I’m not gonna forgive you just because you beg for it.”
Dazai bristles, holding the phone away from him so he can quietly yell into the mic. “I don’t beg.”
Chuuya simply gives him a scoff in return. “But… maybe you can make up for it. With time.”
“Okay,” Dazai breathes immediately, too desperate to keep him in suspense, too overwhelmed by the realisation that Chuuya is actually willing to give this to him. A second chance. An opportunity to make up for all of it.
Chuuya opens his mouth again and Dazai immediately wants to reconsider all his life decisions. “And you can start by replacing the broken furniture and all the booze you stole.”