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Chuuya’s eyes open groggily, lazily looking around at his surroundings before widening.
He shoots up almost immediately despite his aching stomach and every other joint in his body, feeling the way they spike with pain as he sits, back propped against the headboard of a bed. His skull feels light when he coughs, absentmindedly rubbing a hand lightly against his stomach in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort.
His eyes dart around the room, which is too dark to actually see anything, but he can make out the phosphenes that morph in his vision until he isn’t sure what he’s looking at. He ignores the way his chest gets tight, the way his heart jumps at the sound of a lock clicking. He doesn’t know what he has to be so fearful of, nothing has happened to him recently.
He can’t recollect anything apart from waking up in a rice field. And that isn’t even helpful since he doesn’t even know why he was there in the first place.
“Chuuya, you've been gone for a week,” Dazai’s voice suddenly rings throughout his mind.
That’s right, he was missing for seven days, of which he was most likely tortured judging by the injuries he remembers seeing on his stomach. His attention is shifted to his torso after thinking back to it.
Feeling the neckline of the T-shirt he’s currently wearing hang lowly across his collarbone, and seeing the tacky design on the front, he concludes that it must be his partner’s. He relaxes ever so slightly at the thought of the brunet being here with him. It means that the locking noise was just his mackerel, that he’ll be safe here.
He briefly wonders if Dazai left, but his worries are quelled when he hears shuffling outside of the room he’s in.
He wishes to see the bruises he’s sustained. Now that he’s more in his right state of mind, he can reasonably assess his situation and make his own guesses rather than rely on his lover who has been acting so strangely, not telling him a single piece of information.
But when he lifts up his shirt, all he sees are white bandages covering the entirety of his abdomen causing him now to be acutely aware of the tight pressure that wraps itself around his head, neck, and thighs, along with his torso.
It’s not all that odd that he’s been bandaged considering his job in the mafia. It’s just that he didn’t have these last night which means Dazai was the one to patch him up. He bites his lip to keep a smile off of his face, ignoring the fact that his heart stutters when the way his lover cares for him burrows into his mind.
Gradually, his eyes adapt to the surroundings. He already knows he’s in a hotel based on what he recounts from last night, but it feels much better seeing the room to check for any danger since he still isn’t exactly sure how he was kidnapped.
After a few minutes of just sitting here, he gently pushes himself out of the blankets, feet padding softly onto the ground. The cold air breezes past his bare limbs, only having boxers on to fight back the chill on his bottom half.
His legs shake as he stands, the exertion causing him to let out a few coughs. It’s hard to get to the door without stumbling from his overall dizziness as well as the trembling that refuses to subside. Once again, he wonders what the hell happened to him?
It’s frustrating how he can’t remember a whole week of his life, but Dazai said he’d reveal it all in the morning. He’s holding him to that even if the other never actually promised it. For all he knows, it could’ve been a lie, something to placate him in the moment of his freak out.
He soundlessly twists the knob, slowly nudging the door to go unnoticed. He shakes his head to get rid of these thoughts. The brunet will tell him, he’s not going to leave him in the dark about missing aspects of his existence.
Chuuya doesn't shut the door behind him and, instead, stares into the living space ahead of him in an attempt to see Dazai.
The room consists of a pullout couch facing away from the bedroom door and towards a TV; a coffee table sits just between the television stand and sofa, on it is an array of dishes. A kitchen is attached to the side, unused in the way nothing resides there.
He looks to the side, at the big window taking up the entirety of a wall. It’s night, the city’s illumination bright against a dark atmosphere. Currently, the only light actually on in the apartment is the TV.
He finds the bandaged man sitting on the couch, watching the news with the volume completely turned off. The subtitles are on at least, so he isn't a complete weirdo.
The ginger takes a glance at the broadcast and reads a few of the words that pass by on the screen.
‘The leader of this organization was found dead outside of the—’
Looking at the picture next to the reporter, he ignores the rest of the letters, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. When he sees that face, a whirlwind of emotion fills his already hazy head. He doesn’t know how, but he recognizes that guy.
His eyes go wide, suddenly recalling something which he can’t exactly place.
He senses that man’s face in his mind, obscuring his vision despite it being imaginary. He can see those hands getting closer to his skull as the other holds a blindfold.
It covers his eyes, everything going dark. He’s only able to discern the touches of those hands, now wrapping around his throat, squeezing so tightly he thinks his neck will snap.
He can’t see, can’t breathe. At this point he’ll suffocate and all his attempts at surviving this will be in vain because Dazai—
A finger brushes against his cheek, and he flinches back.
“Chuuya,” His lover calmly says, removing his hand and dropping it back to his side. The red-head wants the arm to come back, to hold him, to ground him into the present time. He wants to know what happened to him, he doesn’t want to remember it. “What’s wrong?”
He pauses, glancing back over to the TV only to find the screen completely black. The bandaged man must’ve turned it off upon seeing his reaction. It feels nice to be cared for like that.
“I knew that guy…” He finally speaks, lifting his own hands up to caress his Adam’s apple. He focuses his attention on his partner’s eyes, observing the emotion swirling in them which he has yet to discern. He knows that look, the way it stared at him last night when he was about to bathe.
Dazai wets his lips, his irises fixate just behind the mafioso, avoiding the ginger’s own eyes, “You most likely would.”
“Tell me what happened,” he demands. Except, the taller makes no move to speak. He just stands there for a moment, eventually lifting a hand to grasp at gloved ones. Chuuya pulls his arm away, taking a step back while coughing, “No! You’re going to tell me what the fuck happened to me!”
It takes a moment for the other to respond, like he’s deciding what exactly he wants to say. He starts a few moments later, “You were taken by an organization for a week. There, you were tortured, and we couldn’t find you.”
The brunet’s sentences are short, missing out important details. It makes him more confused than before, wondering why they weren’t able to find him. He waits for more of an explanation but nothing comes. It’s frustrating to have, once again, lost his memories, let alone having someone he trusts with his life deliberately keep them from him.
He goes to speak, but he’s cut off just as his mouth opens.
“Why don’t you come eat? Some food might be good for you.”
His hands ball up into fists, teeth gritting in annoyance. He knows that interrupting their argument was intentional too, that the other clearly doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He wishes to yell and scream at his lover, but he can’t bring himself to with how tired he is.
Crossing his arms, he looks back at the table where his meal awaits. The smell is sickening, making him both want to gorge himself on the food and vomit everything in stomach.
“I’m not eating,” He settles on saying, “I wanna go home.”
Dazai smiles at him. It’s sad and guilty, like he knows how hunger claws at his stomach as well as the reason why, “You can eat in the car.”
They spend the next few minutes cleaning up, with the bastard doing all the work while Chuuya clings to his arm. Even if he’s mad at his partner, he still finds solace in the other’s presence. Plus, it’s nice to watch the bandaged man put effort into something like this, trying to get them into the vehicle as fast as possible.
He also demands the brunet for pants, knowing the mackerel wouldn’t give him any if he doesn’t ask.
The drive to their shared apartment passes by in a blur with his face uncomfortably smashed into the window and arm resting against the car door. The hand that’s next to Dazai is being gently held, most likely trying to keep him calm.
It’s almost as if he knows that the quick explanation didn’t satisfy the ginger’s curiosity, that he deliberately decided to keep his words brief in order to “protect his dog”.
It makes the shorter’s already injured stomach churn with anger. How could he keep this information away from him? All of the days he’s lost due to a poor memory, it doesn’t make any sense as to why his lover would want to hide what truly happened during that week.
He tugs his fingers away and rests them onto his legs. The other’s palm, now without Chuuya to grasp, moves to grip at the steering wheel.
It’s stupid how the suicidal man thought that holding his hand would be enough to placate him. Only the truth being poured out of Dazai’s mouth could have that effect.
In a blink, he loses more time. His mackerel now stands outside of the window the older is staring at, with a certain expression that’s impossible for Chuuya to discern what he’s thinking even after seven years of partnership.
He gives a slight cough and adverts his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t move since it would be too exhausting to do anything else.
The door suddenly opens, revealing chilling night air combined with a downpour of rain. Something that he can’t remember ever starting despite looking out of the window their whole drive here.
His weight that was originally slumped against the car drops to the floor when nothing is able to hold him up anymore. Mentally, he attempts to use his ability as a way to soften the fall only to be met with hands wrapping around his body.
“You shouldn’t try to use your ability yet,” The soothing voice of his lover cuts through a haze, “It won’t work.”
The rain flows onto his face, through his hair, and into his clothes, making everything drenched in water. The liquid causes his shut eyes to snap open in fear. Hastily, they travel to Dazai’s own, studying the expression placed so carefully on the brunet’s face.
Eventually, he recognizes it as one of guilt, even if the other refuses to believe he’s capable of feeling such things, but what does he have to be guilty about? It doesn’t make sense if he feels bad about keeping information away from the ginger since, not only does he believe hiding what actually happened to him is for protection of his dog, he also had the same look yesterday during the bath.
Why the hell would Dazai Osamu need to feel guilty? Unless…
Soon enough, the puzzle pieces click into place. He was the reason Chuuya got kidnapped. He isn’t sure how he would’ve been the cause of that situation, but something tickles the back of his mind on the matter, like a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue.
He was— He did—
Dazai’s face is in front of him, just like the last thing he remembers, except, this time, he can tell that worry plasters itself onto his countenance.
“Are you ready to be kidnapped?”
Is he? He doesn’t feel too sure about it as certain anxiousness rises in his chest. The background knowledge that he was deliberately captured fills his mind. He hears silence, meaning he probably didn’t agree.
He doesn’t want to remember this, knowing now that his partner was the reason he was tortured. That aspect wouldn't have slipped past his mind when he configured his plan. He wishes his thoughts weren’t true, that his lover hadn’t put him through all this just for the mission to go his way.
The gravity manipulator is brought back to the present as a hand touches his face. Looking around at his surroundings, he realizes that he’s now upright in the passenger seat without any of Dazai’s limbs touching him besides a palm on his cheek.
He pushes the brunet away from himself at the memory, “You did this to me.”
“Chibi, I—”
“Don’t ‘Chibi’ me, asshole. You purposely got me fucking tortured!”
The suicidal man stares at him soundlessly, something akin to shock on his face. The cold, rainy atmosphere doesn’t help with his mood as the brunet confirms his suspicions.
“Why would you do that to me? Did you want to see me suffer like this?” — he coughs a few times at the strain yelling puts on his voice — “I’m not some stupid ass dog that will come to your every beck and call no matter what you do.”
“You wan—”
He can feel his heart crack at the fact that his partner would do something like this. Waves of anger ripple over his body, “No! You don’t get to—”
“Chuuya!” Dazai suddenly yells before returning to his normal, calm voice, “You wanted to be kidnapped.”
He opens his mouth, ready to continue arguing when he’s cut off once again.
“You agreed to the plan so you could get information from the organization we were trying to defeat,” Pausing, he looks to the side as if he’s ashamed, “The people who captured you then transferred to another location so I couldn’t get you back. Ranpo was on sick leave, and we couldn’t figure out where you were.”
The ginger’s eyes widen in shock. Despite how angry he wants to be, he knows that everything the other just said makes sense. Plus, with how much trust he puts into the younger, he knows Dazai won’t lie to him, but the detective must not fully be convinced that he believes him as he continues on with his speech.
“I truly didn’t know. Chuuya,” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, “I’m sorry .”
One thing he’s certain about is that the brunet never apologizes; he never has, never will. He’ll fabricate excuses, make it up with actions, but he’ll never say those two simple words with that much emotion on his face.
He decides that maybe it’s the truth spilling past his lover’s teeth, that maybe those guilty facades were genuine, and he really didn’t mean to cause him this anguish.
Looking at the taller expectantly, refusing to admit that he was wrong about the situation, he demands, “I want compensation.”
He turns his countenance away in mortification at having to ask the bandaged man for something before his mackerel’s hand gently grabs his chin, forcing him to face rusty brown eyes.
Dazai’s chapped lips then press into the ginger’s for a light kiss, causing butterflies to float around in the shorter’s stomach. He gently rests a hand on the other’s cheek before pulling away, “What do you want for compensation?”
“I want many things, but first, kiss me again.”
“Slug’s so dumb,” The brunet’s hands drag him into a warm embrace, “But if that’s what Chuuya wants…,” He leans down to give the ginger another buss, pressing their lips together slightly as the shorter reciprocates with more force.
Eventually, they pull away, rain still pouring over the younger, “Let’s head inside.”