Archive of Our Own

Despite living with it for almost ten years now, Arahabaki was still unpredictable to Chuuya.

Of course there were signs, signs Chuuya had learned over repeated trial and error, but there was nothing concrete. No pattern nor consistent specific triggers. Some days the god would rage and thrash, bringing hell on Earth to the redhead. Other days, it was dead quiet. It was almost as if Chuuya could forget it was even there.

He didn’t though. He never could forget. If not by its voice, or the feelings of aggression belonging to something else, then by the ever constant hum in his veins, a flowing wave threatening to lash out whenever it pleased.

Even with Corruption, Chuuya could never be sure how Arahabaki would act. Sometimes, before Chuuya passed out or if he was unlucky enough to still be conscious, it would scream, still high off of the rush of energy from Corruption, demanding to be let out again, to rampage through everything in existence. In instances like those, Chuuya’s blood would burn, as if his flesh was on fire, almost to the point of numbness. On especially unlucky occasions, Arahabaki would be like that after Chuuya woke up, stuck in the hospital bed, unable to move, truly trapped with the god. Other times, it would be completely silent, leaving Chuuya only with a feeling of morbid satisfaction that he knew wasn’t his own.

He wasn’t sure which of the two options unnerved him more.

But he didn’t consider Corruption periods to be when Arahabaki was most irritating. After all, he was on bed rest from his physical injuries anyways. The worst he’d have to do would be to fill out a mission report. One that usually went something like: ’We used Corruption. They died. The end.’

No, the worst times were when Arahabaki crept up on him on normal days. Days where he had work. Days where he wasn’t expecting it. Days where he’d been able to think of himself as human.

Those random occurrences were also the most, well, random. Sometimes it would spring up out of nowhere, on varying levels of intensity. He’d dropped more than a few drinks over those ones. They could end as quickly as they started, or they could go on and on. Sometimes, Chuuya would just wake up hearing a quiet murmur in the back of his mind. He could deal with it, but it was annoying as fuck. Like a kid clicking their pen nonstop behind you in class. Not that Chuuya would know what that was like. Sometimes the murmurs would die down after a while. A while meaning minutes, hours, or days interchangeably. Sometimes they would escalate, beginning a slow climb into the screaming hell it seemed to peak at. Which again, could happen over the course of minutes, hours, or days, depending on whatever Arahabaki felt like doing.

The worst it had ever gotten was one night, when he was still with the Sheep. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to the quiet whispers, and just couldn’t go back to sleep. He decided to go on a walk to clear his head, since he didn’t want to wake any of the others. They all slept in the same room, of the same dingy abandoned house in Suribachi city. A lot of them barely got sleep as it was, plagued by nightmares from their lives on the streets. (One terror in life Chuuya had been spared from. Dreams that never came to him.) He’d hate to have woken them up, especially if the voice got worse. He wasn’t particularly concerned about going out on his own at night, with his ability. And low and behold, the voice had gotten worse, progressing into unbearably loud screeches that made Chuuya’s eardrums pound, sounds he almost couldn’t believe no one else could hear. He’d ducked into an alleyway, no matter how strong his ability was he couldn’t do shit in this state, and slid down against one wall of the alley, hands clenched tightly over his ears. Half of him had been expecting it to end up like this when he got up. In the past, all he needed to do was wait, wait until the screaming subsided back to something bearable, then crawl back to the Sheep’s base. This had always been the peak of the episodes, after all. Even if it was going on for longer than usual, even if it felt like Chuuya couldn’t breath, It couldn’t get worse.

Until it did. Arahabaki’s screams rose impossibly louder, and Chuuya felt like his skull was about to implode. Look at it now he could even compare the experience to how it could be after Corruption, with each of his nerves feeling like they were actively on fire. He couldn’t see. Every other sense he had had been robbed from him, except where there was pain, except for where he was feeling too much. But the worst part was something else, something he’d never experienced before or since then. What felt like millions of hands, clawing at his skin from the inside, like they were trying to dig their way out with blunt, painfully dull nails. It was too horribly overwhelming, to intense, significantly adding to Chuuya’s panic.

He thought he was going to die that night. He hunched in on himself, clutching his arms desperately to try to hold himself together, to keep whatever was inside from getting out, he couldn’t let it get out, he didn’t know if it even could, if the sensation was even real, but he couldn’t think of anything past his most basic self-preservation instincts. It only lasted a minute. Probably even less than that. But it hadn’t felt like it. At all.

He sat in that alleyway for hours later, until sunrise, just sitting on his knees, shaking.

Chuuya never wanted to experience that particular torture ever again.

Bullet wounds and near-death scenarios be damned, dealing with Arahabaki was the worst, most painful part of his life.

Which of course, was why the only other person who knew about his episodes was his shitty-ass partner.

He’d hidden them from the other kids when he was with the Sheep, mostly to not burden them. He was supposed to be the strong one. They’d only worry about their safety if they saw him like that. Saw what he was.

The mafia was a different situation. His episodes were unpredictable. They could happen at any time. During missions, even. They could basically immobilize him if they got bad enough. They were a weakness. And if he was too weak, they wouldn’t need him any more.

They’d get rid of him, just like the Sheep did. So he hid them.

But even if he could hide them from Mori, Kouyou, and his subordinates, he couldn’t hide them from Dazai.

There was no way. They spent too much damn time together, and Dazai was too damn smart. That paired with the randomness of the episodes made it impossible for Dazai to not notice. With that said, he still didn’t tell him. Instead, he only waited for the time to come. And that time just happened to be at an arcade after a mission, four months after Chuuya had joined the mafia. It had been a sudden one, flaring up out of nowhere, making Chuuya freeze, hands latched tightly on the controls of the racing game he’d been playing against Dazai. When the brunette asked, Chuuya had come clean immediately, both because there was no point in trying to hide it, and because he didn’t want to argue with Dazai when there was a god yelling in his ears in the background. He’d only said that it wasn’t a big deal, and that he didn’t need to tell Mori or anything. That was the part Chuuya had been nervous about when it came to Dazai knowing. If the younger just relayed the information directly to Mori, it could be it for him.

Instead, Dazai nodded, before reaching out and touching the back of Chuuya’s neck with an uncharacteristic gentleness that sent shivers throughout the redhead’s entire nerve system.

“Does this help?”

And suddenly, it was as if a switch had been flicked. It was gone. Chuuya’s mind was completely silent. Even the ever present hum in his veins had disappeared, for the first time in his life. Dazai had used his ability on him before, but only for brief moments. Small touches, just enough to stop his ability, often in the midst of the fight. Chuuya never had time to take it in, realize what his ability was capable of doing for the older boy. And Dazai certainly hadn’t used No Longer Human on him when Arahabaki was speaking.

Soon after, they came to an agreement. Whenever Chuuya was going through an episode, he could come to Dazai if he thought he needed it. Simple as that. They didn’t have to talk or interact in any other way at all. Dazai would just keep contact with Chuuya until Arahabaki had calmed down, or until he woke up, if the god had started screaming late at night.

Chuuya was surprised about how honestly respectfully Dazai had been about the situation. Considering how one of the bandaged teen’s favorite pastimes seemed to be tormenting him, Chuuya half expected Dazai to just hold it over his head, use it to manipulate him into doing things for him, or whatever else the younger came up with. But Chuuya eventually did understand why.

Dazai and Chuuya weren’t exactly known for helping each other in any situation. They bandaged each other’s injuries, and trusted each other with their own lives on the battlefield, but there were factors that could get in between that. One time, Chuuya had refused to treat Dazai’s bullet wounds after a remark he’d made about one of the redhead’s subordinates. But the situation was different with Arahabaki. Someone else could treat their wounds. Someone else could pick Chuuya up from a bar in the early morning. Someone else could haul Dazai out of a river. It rarely was someone else, but other people were capable of doing those things. Dazai was the only person in the world who could silence Arahabaki. So no matter the current state of their relationship, Dazai would help Chuuya with his ability if he needed it.

But accidents happen.

“Can you do some shit for once in your life? Instead of just pawning it all off to me?”

Maybe it was the whispers that had been getting to him. Chuuya woke up hearing them, and he already knew it was going to be a bad day. They’d only gotten slightly worse throughout the day, which Chuuya could only notice after dealing with Arahabaki for so long. It was annoying, but it was completely bearable. He hadn’t told Dazai about it either. Only if it escalated, would Chuuya tell him. Dazai respected the agreement, but for the sake of Chuuya’s own pride, he’d only come to his partner if he absolutely needed it. Even in the worst of circumstances, he didn’t want to rely on him. But nonetheless, it built up his irritation over the day.

And he wouldn’t be telling Dazai now.

The argument had started over something small. It was after both of them had finished work, returning to Chuuya’s apartment. Chuuya could hardly remember what it was, maybe a door Dazai left open, or something slightly off the brunette had said. Either way, Chuuya made a comment, Dazai made one back, and they went from there, until they’d ended up in a completely different place from before.

“You’re more suited for that kind of legwork anyways. It’s only fair. You’ll eagerly do whatever you’re told to do, just because Mori asked.” Dazai waved a hand dismissively. “You’re such a suck up, Chuuya. It’s because you want people to give you praise, to tell you you’re useful. That’s all.”

Chuuya threw the un-filed report, the cause of this particular part of the argument, at Dazai’s face, which proved to be rather ineffective. Regardless, it didn’t deter the redhead’s anger. He knew Dazai was right, to some extent. And he knew that the younger knew that too.

“What the hell? It’s just work, the only reason I do everything is because you don’t! Your lazy ass would rather spend your time floating down a river. Not everyone has time for that shit!”

Chuuya jabbed a finger to Dazai’s chest. The other hand had been held in a clenched fist for a while now, nails digging into his skin. The argument was annoying and frustrating as it was, but the constant stream of whispers from Arahabaki made it worse. He couldn’t get a thought in. His mild headache that’d started less than an hour ago felt like a knife stabbing into his skull now.

“You know what? If I cared more, maybe I would do more of the work. Then, these reports might actually have some quality to them. In case you haven’t noticed, thanks to you, we’ve all had to do plenty of extra work. Kouyou had to find time to teach you basic reading and writing skills, because you were too stubborn to deal with any other tutor. I’m the one who makes plans for our missions. You’re a-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Chuuya hissed, grabbing the brunette by the collar of his shirt.

Dazai pushed his hand away, an apathetic expression on his face.

“Sure, stop listening when its convenient. Whatever. You’re still going to end up doing that report. And I have better ways to spend my time. At least I’ve earned it.”

Before Chuuya could respond, Dazai turned to the apartment door, leaving and closing it with just slightly more force than necessary.

Chuuya seethed. Good riddance.

He kicked the nearby coffee table in frustration. Unsurprisingly, one of its legs snapped, sending the table falling down to the floor. Good. He hated that yellowish color anyways.

Everything was just fine. He didn’t have to deal with shitty Dazai anymore. He didn’t know what he was talking about anyways. He was just saying whatever came to his mind. At least now Chuuya could finish that report.

But even if Dazai had left, Arahabaki was still there. Chuuya’s anger soured again once he noticed. It wasn’t as if he was expecting it to go away. But it would’ve been nice if it had.

He could deal with it though. It’s not like he had another option anymore. He picked the report off the floor, turning to sit at the coffee table, before being immediately reminded of its sudden destruction. He groaned, stalking over to his desk on the other side of the room.

It was fine. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to do work with Arahabaki whispering to him, and it definitely wasn’t the first times he’s had to do work when he’s pissed at Dazai, not exclusively too. He’d said it before, reports weren’t that difficult. Just annoying, sometimes. Chuuya would just finish the report, and then he could finally relax for the day. He pulled out a pen, and began writing.

It was about twenty minutes later when the voice got louder. Chuuya got the sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. If it wasn’t going to go away, the least Chuuya could hope for the god’s voice to stay quiet. The redhead gripped his pen harder. The first half of the report was done. The volume was still manageable. He could finish it. However, part of Chuuya got a feeling. A feeling that it would get worse. He brushed it aside. There was still a chance that it wouldn’t. He’d be fine.

So he kept working. He never knew what Arahabaki was saying. Even as the god screamed and whispered, he could never register anything that it said as words. Mqybe it was something in a language Chuuya didn’t understand. Or maybe it never intended to speak any sort of messages. Maybe the sounds it made were only meant to be cries of protest, something developing from whatever madness Arahabaki had. Maybe it did mean to torment him.

Chuuya blinked, looking down at the paper again. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes, and he’d only written one sentence. He gritted his teeth, focusing back in on the paper. It was just a report. He’d probably done hundreds of them by now.

But it was pointless. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but the voice rose slightly in volume again. He wouldn’t be able to get anything done like this. Anything of quality, anyways.

Not like you ever do in normal circumstances either. Dazai’s voice chimed in his thoughts.

The redhead groaned, digging his palms into his eyes. They needed to shut up. Both of them.

Even now, the voices were fine enough to deal with. Sure, Chuuya wouldn’t be able to focus on anything that requires any sort of mental fortitude, but he could handle it. He’d just relax a little bit earlier than he planned. The report could be finished when the voice died down, or tomorrow, if it didn’t go away by then.

Chuuya walked into his kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cabinet, as well as a kettle. He filled the kettle with water, placing it on the stove before going to grab a tea bag. There wasn’t much he could do about Arahabaki, but ginger tea at least helped with the resulting headaches. He slipped his phone out of his pocket as he waited for the tea to boil. He fumbled with the passcode almost three times trying to open his phone, cursing under his breath as he finally unlocked it.

Chuuya exited out of his messages with Dazai, glancing at the text he’d forgotten to check hours earlier about the redhead making something with crab for dinner that night. Chuuya often found himself cooking for the younger, both because of how often he stayed at his apartment and also because of Dazai’s issues with eating regularly. He could starve today for all Chuuya cared.

Even as the thought came to his mind, he knew he didn’t really mean it. It’d taken months to get Dazai to eat at least one plate of food a day. It wasn’t consistent, there were times when he still refused to eat, but it was progress. The brunette probably wouldn’t eat anything tonight, since he most likely wouldn’t come back to Chuuya’s apartment after the argument. He wouldn’t order anything, and wouldn’t go out to get food. Dazai couldn’t cook his own food either. Both because of the lack of a kitchen in his shipping container, and because he’d burn down half of Yokohama. Chuuya felt a pang if guilt. Looking at the texts, it was clear that Dazai had wanted to eat, which, while becoming more common, was still rare.

It wasn’t like the argument bothered him that much anyways. Sure, some of the younger’s comments had hit sore spots, but that happened all the time between them. They’d lash out, knowing exactly where to aim when they were angry at the other. Chuuya was still mad at him, but he’d be alright with Dazai coming back to his apartment. Things would probably be back to normal within a few hours.

But Chuuya didn’t text Dazai anything like that. Maybe it was the irritation from Arahabaki talking, but he didn’t know if he could handle another event like earlier without giving himself another migraine. There was also the possibility that Dazai wouldn’t respond, which would just make Chuuya frustrated all over again. And Chuuya was still mad, anyways.

He sighed, opening Kouyou’s contact. His head was pounding. Chuuya struggled to read the new messages, only managing to make out that their meeting time on Saturday had to be rescheduled, an hour earlier if it worked for Chuuya. He typed out a quick confirmation, before setting his phone down.

He’d thought about telling her about his episodes with Arahabaki. Recently, too. It’d been tempting, at meetings just like the one she was talking about, where they weren’t there to talk about work, but just anything at all. Even if she couldn’t make it any quieter for Chuuya, like Dazai could, it’d be nice for her to know. To understand it. But even if they were closer now, Kouyou was first and foremost a loyal mafia member. He couldn’t risk it.

The whistle of the kettle broke him out of his thoughts. He turned the burner off, letting the water settle for a moment before pouring it into his mug. He added a small bit of honey with it, just like how Kouyou made hers. Chuuya picked up the mug, moving to head to the living room.

A scream pierced through his skull. He dropped the mug in surprise, and suddenly there was boiling water on his feet, splashed up onto his pantlegs. Porcelain shards scattered across the floor, some of them making cuts against his skin.

“Shit!”

Chuuya quickly stepped backwards, but the water still stuck to his skin burned. He scrambled to grab towels, trying to dry his legs off, but most of the damages had already been done. He cursed, looking at the reddened skin. He probably should run it under cold water. He should probably clean up the mess.

But Arahabaki was too loud. It hadn’t settled at the volume of the initial scream, resting just under it. Chuuya could barely think. His eyes drifted to his phone on the kitchen counter.

He should probably text Dazai. Judging from the initial scream, it’d just get worse.

But Chuuya wouldn’t. Not today, as pissed off as he was now. He didn’t want to have to be dependent on Dazai. Especially not after the argument. Besides, what if Dazai refused? He’d been respectful about the agreement so far, but what if today was the day that finally changed? What if he refused to use his ability unless he made Chuuya do something in revenge? What if he just didn’t answer at all?

Chuuya clenched his fists. He could figure out what Dazai had meant to say earlier before Chuuya had cut him off. Burden. Inconvenience. There were so many words that could fit. But Chuuya wasn’t going to be any of those today.

He’d dealt with worse when he was with the Sheep. On his own. Without No Longer Human. He’d be fine.

Chuuya just needed to take a break for now. It could still die down. There was a chance that this would be the peak. It’d happened before.

Part of Chuuya knew that wouldn’t be the case. Things never tended to be easier, especially when it came to Arahabaki.

So, he made his way out of the kitchen, stepping over the shards of the broken mug. He sat on the couch, knees curled up to his chest. Almost subconsciously his hands raised to his ears. It wouldn’t do anything, Chuuya had long since learned that. It was more of an instinctual response to the noise.

He could already feel that familiar overwhelmed sensation creeping over him. Chuuya couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but at that point, he knew. He knew what was coming, and he was sitting there in dreaded anticipation. Every single one of his muscles was stiff, as if he could brace himself in some way. And then, it happened.

Arahabaki screamed, and this time, it didn’t stop. Chuuya’s hands curled tightly over his ears, facing scrunching up in pain. It felt like he’d been shot in the head. No, scratch that, it felt like he’d been shot in the head, and the fucker with the gun wouldn’t stop shooting.

Chuuya bit his lip to keep himself from screaming. His neighbors had heard one time, when an episode had come on to quickly and Dazai hadn’t showed up. It had been very difficult to explain. If Chuuya had to do that again, in the middle of this episode, he might kill whoever came to the door with his ability, on accident or out of pure frustration. He felt blood trickle down his chin. His heartbeat banged in his skull, each beat feeling like a hit from a hammer.

He needed to get Dazai.

He couldn’t deny it anymore. It hadn’t stopped. Chuuya couldn’t tell when it would. But he left his damn phone in the kitchen.

He got up wobbly, hands still clasped tight over his ears. His nails had dug through his skin by now. He had scars from when episodes like this had happened before. But he could barely register ever inflicting the cuts, too preoccupied with the screaming god in his head.

He stumbled to the kitchen, crashing into the side of the doorframe as he did. In his haze, he’d forgotten about the shatters of the mug on the floor, being reminded by the sharp pain of several shards embedding themselves in his feet. That did get through to him, causing him to back pedal into the counter in an attempt to get away from them.

It was too much. It was all too much. He just wanted it to stop.

Chuuya made it to the counter, making out the outline of his phone, detaching one of his hands from where it was digging into his ear and picking up the device. He leaned against the counter, trying to put in his passcode. He nearly got locked out of his phone, but eventually the messages from Kouyou he’d been looking at before lit up the screen. Exiting that chat, he managed to pull up Dazai’s chat.

Calling would be easier. But through Chuuya’s muddled mind, the texts were already right there, an it’d be more difficult to get to the call button, if it was even on his mind. He raised his fingers to the keyboard, which felt far too clunky and far too shaky to get anything out.

Dsqzi

Coem hwrr

He managed to get out those two texts, simultaneously trying to make his way back to the living room, pointedly avoiding the pile of porcelain shards. He raised his hand to try and type a third, until he saw something appear on the screen.

Seen

He stopped, waiting for a moment. Waiting for a text back. Waiting for Dazai to check his location, then text him back. Waiting for a call. Anything. Any response.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Through Arahabaki, through the frustration, through the pain, a thought came through.

”In case you haven’t noticed, thanks to you, we’ve all had to do plenty of extra work. “

What if this is what Dazai had meant back then?

That his episodes were part of those burdens?

Was he done putting up with them? Was that why?

Chuuya’s mind was locked in at that moment. Between that thought, and everything else going on in his head, he couldn’t take a moment to stop and reason through the situation. The prospect of Chuuya’s only refuge from Arahabaki disappearing made his stomach drop. It was never something that was his, but he’d grown used to it. He trusted that it would be there for him. No, not just it, No Longer Human, he trusted that Dazai would be there for him.

Before he could think to call or text again, his phone fell out of his hands, which had been shaking too much to keep a firm hold on it. He jerked forward, trying to catch it, but only ended up kicking it further away. He tried to search for it, but everything in his vision seemed to be blurring together, leaving him barely able to make out the living room.

Chuuya felt his legs collapse out from under him. It’d gone on for so long. It shouldn’t have gone on for this long. Maybe it had before, with Chuuya not noticing because Dazai was there to stop it. The only time it had gone on this long-

A new dread shot through Chuuya’s stomach.

It had to pass. The episode was long, but it couldn’t go on much longer. And if it did, that was a new one, but Arahabaki wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. Whatever happened, it just couldn’t be like that time before. It couldn’t.

But when had things ever been easy for Chuuya?

He could feel his blood start to heat up. He could feel the searing hot pain begin to dance its way through his bloodstream. He could feel fire jumping across every one of his nerves.

That was the only warning Chuuya got before the screaming grew once more, so incredibly, impossibly loud. Chuuya didn’t hold back his own scream this time, he couldn’t.

There’s no way it couldn’t be real. There’s no way that that sound wouldn’t shatter the windows of his apartment, and shake the walls of the whole building. It couldn’t be.

Chuuya’s nails dug deeper into his ears, almost as if in the process of trying to physically rip them off. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

And then came the hands. He’d almost forgotten.

The feeling came to quickly, spreading far too fast for Chuuya to prepare himself in any way. They were pressing against his skin, they were clawing for a way out. Hundreds and hundreds of them, worming just beneath the surface of his skin, writhing uncontrollably. He could feel every single one of them. It was too much.

Chuuya’s hands immediately clapped around himself, just like he’d done years ago, trying desperately somehow to keep himself together. But he couldn’t, not when it felt like his skin was getting ripped apart, when it felt like hell was trying to crawl his way out of him. He hadn’t stopped screaming since he began. He couldn’t hear it, woven perfectly into the tormenting chorus in his head.

It wouldn’t stop. Time was moving but it wouldn’t stop. More than a minute had passed. More time than Chuuya had ever felt this way before.

He began scratching at his arms. He could barely pinpoint why, as if there was any reason for anything he did like this. Maybe it was some vain attempt to try to stop the hands, to attack them so they’d stop, so he could end this nightmare. It didn’t help. Because there was nothing there but his own flesh. But there had to be, there had to be something else. Something he could do to stop this

Eventually he gave up, curled on the floor in the fetal position, hand returning back to cover his ears.

This is what death felt like. Chuuya was certain of it.

——————————

One Hour Earlier

Dazai had been able to hear the table break halfway down the hall.

“Good. I hope Chuuya stubbed his toe.”

It was a dumb argument, something that was nothing short of commonplace between them. But Dazai had been having a relatively good day. So of course Chuuya had to ruin it.

He made his way out onto the street, beginning the semi-long walk back to his shipping container. Things would probably be back to normal by tomorrow. Although, maybe Dazai wouldn’t be getting anything with crab in it for a bit. And maybe Chuuya would find his shoes glued to his doormat the next morning. But for now, Dazai would just have to be annoyed alone.

He took more of a scenic route back, checking out some bridges that’d be worthy contestants for his next drowning. He briefly considered jumping into a river right then, but if the attempt failed, his day would only get worse. So Dazai continued back to his shipping container without incident. He’d spent his time doing just about nothing for almost the next hour, flipping through books he’d either memorized or didn’t care to read, or doodling across the pages of said uninteresting books. It was fair to say that Dazai was sufficiently bored. That was, until he got the texts.

Dsqzi

Coem hwrr

Dazai almost snorted at the horrible misspellings. It’d barely been an hour, and Chuuya had already managed to get himself drunk. If he was asking Dazai to come get him, he was probably at some bar too.

Oh well. Someone else could pick up his dog today. Since he was so convinced that Dazai never did anything for him. Besides, when he saw Dazai’s face he’d probably try to hit him anyways. Chuuya wasn’t a violent drunk, just a forgetful one.

So Dazai ignored it.

Until his curiosity got to him, a little while later. Where exactly had Chuuya gone that was close enough to his apartment to get drunk that quickly? It wasn’t as if it took long for that to happen, notorious lightweight as Chuuya was, but from Dazai’s memory, most of the bars in Chuuya’s area hadn’t opened until less than half an hour ago.

He wasn’t concerned. Of course he wasn’t. He was just curious.

So, he pulled up Chuuya’s location. At least the location of his phone, which should be on him since he was, y’know, texting Dazai with it. But the little dog icon Dazai had put for Chuuya’s phone was still at the apartment building.

Chuuya getting drunk in his own home wasn’t anything surprising. His wine collection was displayed proudly in the kitchen of his apartment, full of different brands Chuuya would go on about for hours if Dazai didn’t stop him. But the question was, why would Chuuya text him to come to him?

It could be drunken texting about the argument for earlier. After all, Chuuya hadn’t specified for Dazai to come get him, only to come to him. Maybe in his drunken stupor he’d decided the best way to settle things would be to fistfight Dazai. But something about it was a bit off putting. Dazai couldn’t put his finger on it.

It’d be funny, to see how Chuuya would react in that state. That was it. So, he called him, preparing what he’d say if drunk Chuuya did indeed pick up.

But the phone kept ringing, left unanswered. Dazai called again, for good measure, but still, no one picked up. That was weird.

Chuuya’s phone should still be nearby. It was very unlikely that Chuuya was blackout drunk already, especially after an argument like that.

So why else would Chuuya text Dazai from his own apartment, clearly disorientated in some way, telling the younger to come to him, and then be unable to answer his phone five or so minutes later?

Could Chuuya have been injured in some way? Dazai frowned as he thought. Had someone broke into Chuuya’s apartment after Dazai had left? Chuuya should have been able to handle any sort of intruder, especially rising off of the anger from the argument. And looking at the current state of the Mafia, there weren’t any particular enemy organizations that’d be looking to make an attack at this point. It was still possible, but it didn’t seem right to Dazai.

And then another detail hit him.

Chuuya had been quieter ever since he’d walked into work that morning. Just a bit quicker to anger than usual too. On its own, it wasn’t any cause for concern, there were hundreds of causes that could’ve been responsible for him acting strange. But there was something else. Chuuya had been particularly rigged that morning, only relaxing momentarily when Dazai had poked him at the back of his head.

Dazai’s heart dropped.

There was a high chance that Chuuya was going through an episode right now. And he wasn’t there. He’d been late to look into the message because he’d been mad at Chuuya for a dumb argument. Now, Chuuya wasn’t responding.

If it was that bad already, Dazai couldn’t wast anymore time. He stuffed his phone in is pocket and shoved open the door to his container, bolting down the street to hail the first taxi he saw.

Chuuya had been dealing with it all day, so it couldn’t have been too bad until now. But it’d gotten to the point where Chuuya couldn’t even answer a call. At the rate times where Dazai wasn’t able to make it to Chuuya to nullify Arahabaki, the episodes never usually lasted this long. So something was different. He tried to call Chuuya again, with no luck, before sending a few texts.

Chuuya

Are you there

If you can see this I’m on my way

I’ll be there soon

They were all left on delivered.

Dazai got there not long after, slipping into the elevator and heading up to Chuuya’s floor. Even from the elevator, Dazai could see a small crowd of people lingering outside Chuuya’s door. He recognized some of them as the redhead’s neighbors. Dazai found himself glaring as he started walking to the door. He didn’t have the patience to deal with any nosy questions they had right now.

He could hear the screaming halfway down the hall. It was muffled, but it was unmistakably Chuuya’s. Dazai picked up the pace, shoving past the neighbors to get to the door.

“You know the boy who lives here, right?” One man stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “He’s been screaming for almost ten minutes, do you-“

“It’s none of your business.” Dazai gave the man a cold look, shrugging his hand off. “Go back to your rooms. It’s fine.”

The man stepped back, exchanging a confused look between the others. Dazai couldn’t care less, trying the door handle only to find it unlocked. Chuuya hadn’t even remembered to lock the door when Dazai had left. Pushing that aside, the younger slipped into the apartment, closing the door behind him and flicking the lock shut.

He rushed to the living room, he needed to find him, he needed to-

”Chuuya!”

Chuuya was there, hunched over on the floor, just beyond the entryway to the kitchen. His hands were clawed over his ears. Dazai could see blood dripping from his arms, on his hands, on his face, and he could only assume that it covered his ears too. He was still screaming, guttural, desperate sounds that genuinely made Dazai feel sick. His eyes were open wide, but they didn’t seem to be seeing anything. Tears streamed down his face. Even from here, Dazai could see that Chuuya was hyperventilating.

Dazai himself didn’t think he could move as fast as he did when he ran over to Chuuya then. He fell to his own knees, scrambling to get contact with the older. He managed to get one hand on the back of Chuuya’s head, and another on one of his arms. Dazai wasn’t even sure Chuuya registered him at first, still panicked and screaming.

But Dazai’s ability had already taken effect. And the brunette could pinpoint the exact moment Chuuya seemed to notice. The older froze, screams dying in his throat. Slowly, his hands detached from his ears. Dazai could see how they seemed stuck for a moment, held deep into his skin with dried blood. Chuuya was silent for a moment more, before he let out a sob. He started crying again, this time out of relief.

Dazai had seen Chuuya in a variety of emotional states since he’d met him. He’d seen him deeply, genuinely enraged, stupidly happy, grieving, almost everything. But he hadn’t seen Chuuya cry. Not like this. Even when the Flags had died, not when he’d lost his friends in the Dragons Head Conflict. Dazai was sure he did at some point, but never in front of him. He’d wondered what it would look like, to see Chuuya cry. He hadn’t broken, after everything they’d been through. Dazai had always been curious.

But now that he found out, he hated it. He never wanted to see Chuuya cry like this again. He wished he could make it stop- even if he could take away Arahabaki he couldn’t take away the residual pain that Chuuya felt. But he couldn’t.

So Dazai just gently pulled Chuuya into his lap, stroking his hair as he cried. He’d told Oda once, about how it recently felt strange for him to see Chuuya hurt. His friend had suggested that it was because he cared for Chuuya. Dazai hadn’t believed him then. But he did now.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. I’m sorry I wasn’t here faster.” Dazai whispered, adjusting his hold on Chuuya. “It’s okay now. It’s okay.”

The redhead didn’t respond. Dazai wasn’t sure if he could even hear him. He caught sight of the broken porcelain shards scattered on the floor, what he could make out to be a tea bag, and the puddle of water on the floor. Chuuya usually had tea to help with headaches. He’d been planning to deal with this on his own.

Dazai cursed the stupid fight in his head. It was such a dumb, small argument, he didn’t have to drive it forward, he didn’t really care about having to do the reports, and he especially shouldn’t have said anything about Chuuya inconveniencing anyone. That was probably half the reason Chuuya hadn’t contacted him sooner. He knew the redhead would take it to heart. But Chuuya barely reached out to others for help as it was, and even in the argument, Dazai had never meant that this was a burden to him.

Chuuya had fallen silent. Dazai looked down, only to see the older asleep. Good. From what Dazai had seen, the best thing that could help Chuuya now was rest. Carefully, so as not to wake him up, Dazai slid one arm beneath Chuuya’s knees, grabbing ahold of one of his hands with the other as he maneuvered it behind the boy’s back, and lifted him. Dazai wasn’t very strong, and Chuuya was fairly heavy, with relentless mafia training paying off well for the older, but Dazai would be able to make it to Chuuya’s room.

As he moved through the apartment, he couldn’t help but notice how small Chuuya looked in his arms. Not in the way that he was short, Dazai never let him forget about it, but in the way of everything else. Even if Chuuya was technically rather small, he never let himself seem that way. Dazai would definitely describe Chuuya as short, but never small, until now. It gave Dazai an odd feeling. It felt wrong for Chuuya to be so exhausted looking, so hurt.

He eventually made it to Chuuya’s bed, laying the older down and being careful to keep contact with him as he dug under the bed for the first aid kit Chuuya kept in his room, mainly for when they’d come back from missions late at night and not have the energy to spend another hour in the bathroom trying to clean everything up. He began wiping the blood from Chuuya’s arms. Over the time Dazai had known him he’d seen various effects from Chuuya’s episodes. But the scratching on his arms was different. Usually, any injuries tended to be around his ears. Which there were, deep cresecent marks and scratches covered the entire area next to his ears, and on them. Chuuya’s hair surrounding the area was caked in blood. This episode was worse than anything Dazai had seen before. And he hadn’t been there.

Dazai finished cleaning up the blood, gently bandaging any wounds that were still bleeding. He rolled up Chuuya’s sleeves the rest of the way, from where he’d presumably pushed them during the episode, to give the scratches more air. Dazai took notice of the small burns on Chuuya’s feet, rolling up his pant legs to get a better look at the damage. It must’ve been from when he dropped the tea earlier. He found the cuts from the mug shards too, bandaging those just as he did with the other injuries. He couldn’t do much for the burns, they were minor, and Dazai didn’t have the supplies on him right now.

He adjusted Chuuya into a comfortable position in the bed, before laying behind him. He grabbed both of the oldest arms from behind, wrapping his arms around Chuuya’s chest and pulling him closer, until his forehead touched the back of the others head. He didn’t want to lose contact with Chuuya while he was sleeping, not with the state he was in.

If it weren’t for the context, something about the situation was almost pleasant to Dazai. He didn’t dare think about why.

Dazai sighed, absentmindedly tracing small circles on Chuuya’s arms. That was enough, for today.

——————————

Chuuya groaned, blinking awake. He didn’t remember most of what’d happened before he fell asleep. How he’d dragged himself to bed was a complete mystery.

How Dazai was sleeping right next to him was also a complete mystery.

Noticing the younger pressed up next to him against him, Chuuya jumped up, which quickly proved to be a mistake as his head spun, and Arahabaki’s voice became a quick crescendo at the back of his mind. He was snapped out of it as quickly as it started by Dazai grabbing his wrist, rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Oh. You’re awake, Slug.”

So Dazai did come, in the end. Part of Chuuya was relieved, and not just because Arahabaki was silenced. As he started to wake up, more of his memory came back to him. Not much of it was solid, only replaying in brief flashes. Seeing Dazai in front of him. Dazai saying something. Falling asleep.

“Yeah. It didn’t fucking shut up though.” Chuuya ran his other hand through his hair, sitting back down on the bed.

His fingers passed by the bandages around his ears. Bandages Dazai had put there. Fixing up each others injuries was nothing out of the ordinary, but that was for gunshots, deep gashes, stray debris, and other, more dangerous, injuries from missions. Something about this situation felt more personal.

“Chuuya-“ Dazai started, but cut himself off, frowning.

The younger seemed to be struggling to put words together, opening his mouth and closing it again, but not getting past much more than Chuuya’s name.

“Oi, if you have something to say just get it out already. This is painful.”

Dazai shot him a semi-annoyed look, then sighed.

“I...lied.”

“Huh?” Chuuya tilted his head. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Mackerel.”

“Yesterday.” Dazai looked down, fiddling with the creases of Chuuya’s sheets. “When we were arguing, and I said that I had to do extra work because of you. That was a lie.”

“It was an argument.” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I know that. I said stuff, you said stuff, but most of it is just to get each of us mad. You don’t have to tell me that. Why are you-“

Dazai shook his head, using the other hand that wasn’t wrapped around Chuuya’s arm to grab his shoulder.

“No. That was...I...I...” Dazai swallowed, averting eye contact with Chuuya. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just...I need you to know, that this, this especially, will never be any kind of inconvenience or anything like that.”

He motioned to where his hand was clasped on Chuuya’s arm. It was one of the most genuine sentences Chuuya had ever heard from Dazai. It almost reminded him of how the younger sounded when he asked Chuuya if he wanted to use Corruption, reminding him that the choice was solely up to him. It was...strange.

“Okay.” Chuuya spoke stupidly, in a bit of surprise.

“And...” Dazai took a bigger pause. “I saw your texts. But I thought you were drunk. I was still annoyed too, so I didn’t look into it. Because of that you...went through this longer than you had to. I didn’t want that to happen. I’m...I’m sorry.”

Chuuya started at him, wide eyed, in total shock. The world was ending. He was sure of it.

Dazai Osamu had apologized. To him. Dazai. Chuuya would’ve sooner believed that Arahabaki was a space worm in his head than this.

It was just then that Chuuya realized he’d forgotten to respond, watching Dazai’s eyes flick over to him anxiously.

“It’s not your fault.” Chuuya began, pulling up his legs from where they were hanging off the bed and crossing them. “It was a mistake. That’s what you said. So...I don’t really blame you.”

It was Dazai’s turn to look at Chuuya in shock.

“Chibi’s being weird.”

“Says you. And don’t call me that!”

Chuuya gave him a light smack on the head, but there was barely any anger behind it. There was a moment of silence between them, but it was a comfortable one.

“What’s it like?” Dazai asked suddenly, turning to him.

“Hm?”

“Arahabaki.”

Chuuya shrugged, bringing his knees to his chest.

“It’s like someone screaming right into your eardrums. That’s about it.”

“Sounds like it sucks.”

“It does.”

Dazai’s eyes passed over the bandages on his arm. The scratches he’d seen there.

“What happened last night? Something was different, wasn’t it?”

Chuuya hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t really talked about Arahabaki, really talked about it to anyone. The closest he got was small comments, brush-off statements he never elaborated on. Dazai was the one person who knew about the episodes. And strangely, Chuuya trusted him.

“It got worse. Worse than normal. It...It wasn’t just the voices. It was like after Corruption, sometimes, where everything underneath my skin burned like hell.”

He took a pause for a moment, thinking of the best way to formulate what he wanted to say next.

“There was this other feeling too. It was like hands, everywhere, trying to, I don’t know, fucking claw their way out of my skin. That’s why...the things with my arms, y’know, that’s why I did that. If that’s what you wanted to know.”

Dazai was strangely silent, listening. Chuuya couldn’t really read the expression on his face.

“Has it ever been like that before?”

“Once. For a small bit. Back with the Sheep.”

Dazai nodded. There was something nice about telling someone else, Chuuya discovered. It felt like he’d finally put down something he’d been carrying with him for days.

“What time is it anyways?” Chuuya stretches his shoulders. “We probably have to go in a bit.”

“No we don’t. We’re off today.”

Chuuya frowned.

“No we aren’t.”

“We are now.” Dazai picked up his phone from on top of Chuuya’s pillow, dangling it in front of him.

“Of course, you called in before even knowing if Arahabaki was still a problem or not.” Chuuya rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother hiding the small smile on his face.

Oh well. Work could wait.

“I’m going back to sleep. See you in two hours or something.” Chuuya yawned, laying back down, dragging Dazai with him.

If he slipped Dazai’s hand from his arm into his own palm, that wasn’t anyone else’s business.

Arahabaki sucked. But he couldn’t always make Chuuya’s life miserable. Not anymore.