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Chuuya’s feet steadily trail behind Dazai’s, his ears flat against his skull while his tail stiffly points downwards.
It’s only been around eight hours since their previous conversation about the state of his teeth. The man had gone to bed shortly after, saying he needed to get up early for tomorrow. True to his word, his new owner had emerged from his futon earlier than usual, telling him all about the doctor’s visit he’s about to go on.
He was given new clothes for the trip as well, having been shirtless for the past few weeks with only bandages along his abdomen, pants, and underwear to cover him up.
Minus the fact that the bastard gave him his own fishy clothes, causing them to hang low on his hips and shoulders, the pants needing to be rolled up several times just so he could walk; it felt good. Clean and fresh was what he was used to now, despite his upbringing on the street. His old master, someone he wished to never name again, had introduced him to the finer things in life like wine and meals prepared by a personal chef, specifically clothes that had been tailored to his body.
When silently questioned about the baggy coverings, the bandaged man had told him that he didn’t have anything else remotely close to his dog’s size, so he’d have to deal with it until they went shopping.
At first, it angered him. Dazai had probably given him clothes that are over-sized for the brunet himself. He considered showing his kidnapper a piece of his mind, but he knows better, ever aware of the fact that Dazai’s kindness could always be a lie. His jaw has also been in a lot more pain today since, recently, someone decided to go poking around in it.
Which is why he can feel eyes drag across his small frame, sending waves of heat into his chest as anxiety rises with each step he takes. They’re most likely looking at him because he’s without a leash, Dazai not having one since he wasn’t really planning on gaining a dog. It makes him self-conscious, knowing that he’s defying his own master’s wishes and is looking the most hideous he has been in a while.
Usually his features are fawned over, but right now, with his greasy, rat’s nest of hair along with his unruly appearance, nobody would ever believe he’s even capable of being pretty.
The most curious out of the staring bunch is some boy who has white hair with a black streak and some big, dumb eyes. He’s also a hybrid, some sort of ears and a striped tail growing out of him similar to that of a cat. He tried to approach the duo walking into the building at one point, but with a slight look from Dazai, the cat-hybrid backed off.
He can spot another one of his kind — albeit they have different animal features than him, looking as though thin yellow feathers are protruding out of his black hair — lazing around in the back, swiping a sucker around his mouth like it isn’t the middle of a workday.
He finds his anger rising at such a simple act as someone slacking off, annoyance peeking through the frightened feeling that already fills his body, especially when those previously closed eyes slowly open to stare directly at him, green irises gleaming with a sense of knowing and amusement.
It causes a faint growl to begin to rumble in his chest at the sight of being watched, quickening his pace to stand more in tune with Dazai, feet barely missing the back of the brunet’s work-shoes.
He’s aware of what’s bothering him so much, why he subconsciously tries to grate his teeth together before catching himself to not aggravate their pained state.
His past masters’s home always ran on a tight schedule to keep the place neat. The chefs started breakfast at seven thirty, wrapping everything up in time to be eaten by nine; the maids awoke at five in order to clean up the messes from last night and get the mansion prepared for the morning, also waking him up to dress him in clothes that his master would’ve picked out the prior day. They then would adorn him in accessories and tidy up his unruly hair, clipping his nails if they grew too long.
For these acts of service, Chuuya had tried to help the servants of the house in any way possible, no matter the soft dismissal they would give him.
Except, on some rare moments he’d be allowed to work with the more simpler tasks when they were short staffed for the day or if he was insistent enough. He’d quietly fold laundry in the others’ presence, set the table in the way the maids taught him, ignoring the back of his mind where thoughts of what punishment he’ll have to undergo for acting like anything less than a pet reside. Each time, his owner would drag him back by his hair, harshly throwing him in the bedroom where—
He snaps out of those thoughts when his jaw tightens, his teeth pressing together in a sharp way. It happens just in time to hear that raven haired man with a dumb hat demand for more candy, causing the other hybrid to nervously open a drawer and hand him another sucker.
He decides that he hates that stuck-up guy with his stupid cape and his perpetually shut eyes while his feet ruin the wooden desk they prop themselves up on. An aggravating man, no doubt doing it for his own benefits and forgetting that other people have feelings besides him.
Chuuya quickly follows Dazai into the room labeled Infirmary , unwilling to look at the brunet’s coworker for a minute longer. Any anxiety that he previously had from this visit is immediately multiplied by ten when he steps in the achingly white room, the scent of chemicals filling his enhanced nose. It makes him nauseous while his headache gets worse.
A doctor is standing there the second they enter, appearing to have been awaiting their arrival. Heat flashes in his chest at the sight and his brain urges him to take a few steps back before running away. Instead of indulging in his instincts of flight, he curls his hands into balls, his growl deepening. He ignores how the vibrations irritate his mouth as he digs his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to lessen and control the pain.
Despite the warning, the doctor only gets closer, heels clacking loudly against the floor. She pauses a few steps away, her eyes raking against his small frame.
Eventually, the back-haired woman before him speaks up, causing him to jump ever so slightly, “I’m Yosano, I’ll be your doctor for today.”
He stiffly nods in confirmation, blatantly ignoring the extended hand. After noticing that no movement has been made to reciprocate the hand shake, Yosano pulls away, turning her back to the hybrid and walking over to a surgical bed.
“Before anything else, I’ll need to do a quick examination, so, please, come sit on this table for a moment,” She continues.
He doesn’t make an attempt to follow the woman, having it ingrained into his mind to get orders from his owner before he decides to do such an act. He stands there for an achingly long minute, feeling the confused looks stare into his bones.
“Chuuya,” The doctor says his real name, Dazai having most likely told her, “You need to come here.”
He simply bows his head downwards so he’s staring at his feet. He wonders how long he stays in that position before a hand rests against his shoulder blade, causing him to jump and look to the side. His eyes meet brown ones, an unreadable emotion swirling in those irises.
“C’mon, Slug, you need to see Yosano.”
With that confirmation, he sets into motion, the trembling in his legs increasing with each step he takes.
Eventually, he’s seated on the edge of the slightly cushioned bed while Yosano grabs a pair of gloves from a box resting upon her desk. She walks towards him as she’s adjusting the latex to her fingers, dragging over a wheeled stool with her foot. She pauses once she’s in front of him, eyes glistening as if he were an experiment under her gaze, and she places herself on the white stool.
“I’ll need to have a look inside of your mouth, so please sit still for a moment,” Yosano waits for an answer with her words despite not asking one, prompting him to obediently open his mouth to allow her inside.
As the fingers get closer to his teeth, heat begins to rise in his body and his heart pounds loudly in his chest. He can feel as his breaths speed up at the thought of the gloved digits prodding his mouth, at the doctor being anywhere close to him. Still, he stays there, knowing that Dazai wouldn't want to be at this infirmary for longer than he has to.
Yosano reaches his face, and he pulls back, shying away from the person before him. She looks at him with patience, something akin to pity also being shown in her magenta eyes. It makes a faint growl rise in the back of his throat, his mouth falling shut ever so slightly, while he grips the sheets of the mattress in his hands.
He's not keen on another person poking his teeth again, especially when they’re a doctor. He knows his fear is irrational, it always has been, but there’s truth to it based on the fact that he’s a hybrid, that she could do anything to him and nobody would even think about helping—
He hears footsteps to the side of him, and he goes rigidly still. He’s prepared for his owner to grab him, maybe pry his jaw open or pull on his hair until he obeys. Contrary to his belief, nothing of that sort happens.
Instead, Dazai calmly walks over before crouching down to the side of the stool, making no motion to reach for the ginger at all.
“Chuuya,” He starts, “You’ll be alright. Yosano isn’t going to look inside your mouth at all. She’ll just do the procedure, okay?”
He nods at the words, quickly agreeing to anything the taller has to say. His gaze shifts over to the black-haired woman, noticing the irritation that paints her features, the glare that she sends to Dazai. His blood goes cold at the realization that he made her mad, that his owner is now going to be reprimanded by her.
He’s worried that it’ll be taken out on him, the anger that he must’ve caused Dazai because he was being high-maintenance overriding the nice demeanor the brunet usually keeps up.
He always ruins things for himself as well as everyone he’s ever met.
Unbeknownst to his distress, Dazai stands up, gesturing for Yosano to do the same. They both walk over a few paces and the woman pulls the curtain once far enough, giving themselves more privacy.
They clearly want him to be in the dark on what they’re going to talk about which only serves to spike his nerves. They aren’t being quiet by any means, but he can’t hear them over the thrumming of his heart that pounds loudly in his ears.
They’re most likely conversing on ways to punish him, trying to decide how to make this visit more painful. Dazai had said something about a procedure earlier, maybe that means they’ll be performing surgery, extracting every tooth until he’s a gummy mess. His owner would want to hurt him for ruining the check-up, so they probably won’t give him the proper anesthesia dosage just to make him learn a lesson.
Panic wells in his bones and he can feel himself trembling. He’s too hot and too cold at the same time, sweat flowing from his pores, his joints creaking as they stiffen. He doesn’t want his teeth removed and be forced to eat liquids for the rest of his life because he’s unable to chew.
And, if that’s the case, then he wouldn't be pretty anymore. He’s sure a toothless person is much more hideous to look at than someone with fucked up teeth. But if his owner was going to make him undergo the procedure, then Chuuya is sure he wouldn’t care about a pet without teeth.
He’s probably only thinking of benefits for himself. His dog’s mouth would be in constant pain for a while, which would be enough of a punishment for his actions today, but it would heal on its own with time. As another plus, there wouldn’t be the possibility of being bitten anymore, even though Chuuya would never imagine doing something like that.
He’s not a fan of any of his options, but he can bear them if it makes the brunet happy. If he’s able to stay on that man’s good side for longer than a few weeks, then there’s a possibility that he won’t be disciplined as much for simple mistakes.
He can feel the sheets being pulled from their spot, the sound of his claws scraping against the fabric. He quickly lets go, worried about what would happen if he accidentally ripped them even though his nails were cut too short and blunt to do anything of the sort. Placing his fingers in his lap, he tightly grips the hem of Dazai’s shirt.
“Chuuya,” A woman's voice speaks up, metal scraping against metal as the curtain is moved back to its open position, and his head snaps to the side to face her, “We’ll be doing something different for this doctor’s visit than originally planned.”
He tries to keep his face blank despite the trickle of fear that settles in his mind. His eyes quickly turn to Dazai. The man hadn’t been very talkative during the trip to the agency nor when they got here. It’s weird, foreign, and so far from the chatterbox he’s come to know him as.
“Dazai has informed me about your condition, so we won’t be doing the examination anymore; we’ll just skip that step and move onto the surgery.”
Surgery? So they’re actually going to steal his teeth. He should’ve ran away when he had the chance — the night after he was kidnapped would’ve been perfect, and he could always live on the streets just like he used to. He purposefully elects to ignore the fact that he was about to escape, he just had to mess it up for himself, like always.
She sits down before continuing, “Basically, I’m not a dentist, so I’ll be taking care of you with my ability. It’s one that heals all open wounds within a few seconds which means you won’t need to worry about the recovery time or anything similar to that.”
Relief doesn’t fill his body at the reassurance that all his injuries will be fixed in a snap, instead a feeling of foreboding pools in his stomach, alerting him of the eventual drawback to this blessing.
“The only issue is that, for my gift to work, you will need to be close to death. For your situation, I’ll only make a swift incision across your throat, just above the Adam’s apple.”
He shakes his head, the movement making the throbbing in his skull increase. Leaning back, he attempts to get away, feet pushing against the edge of the bed to help himself. The movement pinches his stomach painfully, stitches being moved in an uncomfortable position. A growl rumbles out of his chest, and he has to consciously keep his teeth from grinding together.
They want to put him down under the guise of a surgery, like some mutt. It’ll be quick at least, but he isn’t about to die in this way.
His mouth feels as if dull knives are pressing against his gums and teeth, the everlasting taste of iron coating his tongue, giving him even more of a reason to run away. His eyes snap around the room. He catalogs every exit he can see, still keeping watch of the people in front of him.
Sensing his panic, Dazai steps forward, one hand reaching towards him, almost grazing the ginger’s knee. “Chuuya, it’s okay. You’ll be fine.”
He wants to scream out “ leave me alone ”, but he can’t. Instead, he just increases his growls which he can almost feel himself shaking from. It doesn't deter the brunet at all, though, the bandaged arm only coming closer until it rests against his knee.
Immediately, he freezes, the hand touching him quickly pulling away. It causes the feeling of ants under his skin, crawling and squirming around, leaving him itchy. He sits there obediently while he waits for what Dazai will do next.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” The brunet says, “You’ll be perfectly fine. You shouldn’t feel a thing. But if at any moment it starts to hurt, just tell us and we’ll stop, alright?”
It sounds sincere, yet he can’t find himself trusting those words, knowing that they’re most likely a lie. Nonetheless, he nods stiffly and, like a good pet, he slowly loosens every joint in his body, allowing Dazai to place his hands on his shoulders.
Gently, he’s pushed into the bed so that his back rests against the mattress.
Panic surges through his chest at the action, thoughts on what his owner is about to do to him flashing though his mind. He expects the man to climb on top of him, and has half the mind to make himself utterly still in order to keep avoiding punishment.
Except, as soon as Chuuya is situated, the brunet only pats his shoulders before taking a few steps back. Yosano is immediately filling his place, directing his attention due to her heels clicking. “Sedation will make this process easier on you, so I’m going to insert an IV into your elbow. It’ll just be a light prick, and, mainly, you won’t feel a thing.”
His mouth is still thick with spit as she ties the tourniquet around his upper arm, and his head feels light as soon the doctor starts preparing the needle. He tries to squirm away, but he can feel the edge of the bed, and he knows what might happen to him if he made a fool out of himself by falling.
“Chuuya” — his eyes snap over to the perpetrator of such a noise — “Did you know that crabs will eat anything; like seaweed, worms, bacteria, dead animals, or even trash?”
His cheeks heat up with shame at being dumb, for not knowing what probably is a well known fact about crabs. Slowly, he shakes his head, mind only semi-aware of what the woman next to him is doing. Dazai starts walking to his opposite side while the ginger twists his neck to follow.
“Well, I wouldn’t really expect you to, considering you’re just a slug,” the bandaged man smiles down at him.
Chuuya gives him a warning growl in response, a heavy weight settling in his chest for being called stupid.
“Alright, alright,” Dazai says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “You’re only a slow slug sometimes…But aren’t crabs so fascinating? Like Alaskan Snow Crabs! They can live in the cold, which is odd because normally crabs are more tropical, and they have two types. One is bigger and sweeter while the other is pretty much an average crab…”
The detective continues his long speech about crabs for a few minutes, detailing how they taste, the different species, how one might catch a crab, and even telling all the ways he could commit suicide as a crab.
“And various animals keep evolving into being crabs! Isn’t that wonderful?” Dazai has somehow found himself in a chair, two hands holding his chin up while leaning onto the bed with his elbows, “I think I’d like to turn into a crab someday… Wouldn’t you like to as well?”
Chuuya is just about to nod, agree for the sake of being complicit rather than reflecting his own opinions on the situation, when he feels something sharp stick into his arm. His blood runs cold while his body instinctively stiffens; his breaths turning short as he looks over at his arm.
Nausea pools in his stomach at the sight of his skin, the bump from the needle poking through.
Conscious of the fact that he might pull it out if he stares any longer, he quickly averts his gaze back to his owner. He's not at all happy with his predicament, but he can at least try to be a good pet.
Dazai’s jaw is still being cupped by his hands while a soft smile ghosts across his countenance. The action soothes a little part of Chuuya knowing that, from the other’s body language, he won’t be punished for what he’s done.
For some reason, he finds himself wishing for the bandaged man to continue on with his ramblings even when there’s no hope of him doing so.
They sit in silence for some time, the ginger’s eyes eventually drooping ever so slightly, a drowsiness filling his body and slowing down his joints. His breaths have evened out by now along with his heart’s beating. He’s been drugged before, but it’s still frightening to be externally calm when his mind isn’t.
Yosano takes this time to return back to doing the operation, having been writing something down at her desk.
“Alright,” She says, pulling a pen out from her lab coat, “Please turn your head to the side so I can mark down a few things on your neck.”
Just as he’s told, he twists his head to the side, facing Dazai once again. This time, though, the brunet is sitting normally. His back is mostly straight with only a slight slouch and his legs are spread apart, hands fisted together in his lap.
He can feel as the doctor touches his neck, pushing and rubbing various points on it before the cool tip of a marker is pressed into his skin. It first puts ink underneath his ear before lifting and dragging itself down the sides of his neck.
His skin crawls as it brushes the edge of his muscles and into the dents of his skin, his goosebumps rising at the coldness. Eventually, it’s over — something Chuuya is thankful for. He can hear as she caps the marker as well as the rustling of clothes.
Except, when he turns back to view her actions, his eyes catch the syringe she’s currently picking up.
His breathing immediately speeds up at the realization that he’s going to be stabbed with yet another needle. He darts his eyes to his owner, wanting to know whether or not to be good. Dazai looks perfectly calm, brown irises staring at him with something akin to sympathy in his gaze. It signifies that he should quit acting so fearful and, instead, be more like him.
He tries really hard to steady himself, but the footsteps of the doctor only come closer to his body, and he knows the needle is with her. A rumble starts in his throat as he growls at the people next to him.
Dazai leans closer, voice firm yet gentle at the same time, “Chuuya, it’s just anesthetic. It’ll make everything painless.”
He bares his teeth at the man before him, trying to look threatening. The effect is most likely dampened by the state of his mouth, and he swears he can see Dazai’s eyes soften.
But it flies out of his mind as all he can think about is how stupid he is, having already regretted his actions. He knows he shouldn’t have done that, had those behavioral lessons engraved into his mind the first few weeks of living with his master. He has royally fucked up now, maybe enough that he’ll be stabbed again but be unable to escape like last time.
He uses his heavy arms to prop himself up, quickly pushing into a sitting position.
“Hey! Be careful about the IV!” Yosano shouts at him as she rushes over to the bed. He suddenly becomes hyper aware of the needle attached to him, the way the object feels as it pushes around from inside of his arm, as it stabs into him just like the other needle is about to do.
Whines build up in the back of his throat, but he keeps them in, knowing how much it hurt when he was disciplined for them by his old master.
Suddenly, he can feel the brush of fingers against the crook of his elbow. Panic sets in his mind, and he reflexively swings out his arm to hit the doctor away. He hears the pained noise, can see the slight moment of anger passing through her countenance when he snaps his head over to face her.
Immediately, he knows the mistake he made.
His eyes flicker between the two people next to him before settling on his feet in front of him. He brings his knees to his chest, tightly folding into himself.
All that’s ringing through his mind is “ get away ”, to leave before he is punished or eventually killed. He’s prone to being aggressive, evidenced in all of the scars he has across his body from street fights and his master getting angry.
Every time he sustained these injuries he should’ve learned how to behave; it’s stupid and unreasonable that he doesn’t know by now.
His own hands reach up to cusp the sides of his face, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling it downwards. Welcoming the sting, he digs his nails into his skin as well, each hurtful touch soothing while simultaneously feeding into his panic.
His body feels hot all over as his lungs struggle to take in any air, the atmosphere around him stifling. Everything is too much for him to handle. His clammy hands, the mattress underneath him, his mouth being a constant stinging mess. It feels as if all his senses are being heightened.
A new wave of pain is sent through his gums as each simple breath of air or the vibrations coming from his throat brush across his exposed nerves. His stomach pinches and twists with nausea, his mind being ever aware of the wound on his side.
Despite all these distractions, he can still sense both needles — the one in his arm as well as the one actively about to stab him. The image of the doctor holding up the needle replays throughout his brain, a repeating loop which only adds to his spiral.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he hopes to block out the rest of the world, see it pass on without him and not be forced to stay at this hospital for any longer.
He knows his fear is irrational, it always has been. Even before his old master told him that doctors wouldn’t treat hurt hybrids like him nicely, he was still deathly afraid of anything medical.
Suddenly, gentle hands curl around his own, fingers dislodging the ones wrapped in his hair. He flinches at the touch, his mouth reflexively snapping shut. Immediately, all he can feel is pain; hot and overwhelming with no reprieve. His growls die off into a gasp, and the hands holding his quickly pull away.
“Chuuya.”
He’s startled when Dazai speaks up, his body trying to squirm further into the wall behind him. It only ends with his back uncomfortably digging itself into the bed’s railing, but it isn’t a concern of his, not when he’s unable to focus on anything besides the woman.
“Hey, Slug, look at me.”
It’s an order. One that he should be able to complete even if he’s distressed, but he can’t seem to will his eyes open and do the one thing his superior is asking of him because the doctor is still there waiting for his attention to shift to Dazai so she can stab him with a needle.
A wave of exhaustion creeps into his mind, air somehow thickening with every frantic inhale, making it impossible for him to gain any of it. His lungs sting violently without the adequate amount of oxygen to fuel them, adding on to the pain that swirls inside of him.
“It’s okay if you can’t. I won’t hurt you.”
Widening in shock, Chuuya’s dilated pupils frantically look into normal ones.
Would Dazai keep his word and leave his pet uninjured? Promises like this aren’t typically made to him, especially if he’s making a scene due to insignificant reasons. There must be a benefit that the brunet is trying to obtain by saying such things to his dog, but what could he possibly want?
Eyes somehow opening further, he suddenly realizes that he’s been tricked into doing what Dazai wanted. His owner didn’t mean anything with those words. All that he wished was for Chuuya to raise his eyelids and look at him. He never intended to let the ginger imagine a scenario where he won’t be punished for not following orders.
However, the longer he stares into rusty brown irises, the more he notices how they shimmer with a strange and oddly sincere emotion. It makes his fingers loosen their grip while he tries to decide the trustworthiness of the man.
Nothing about the expression his countenance wears appears to hold deceit. In fact, everything about his face looks ordinary. The only change in his features is the soft upturn of his lips that show no malice or ill-intent, proving his innocence.
Still, he can’t bring his eyes to look away from the man in front of him.
A warm, fluttery feeling creeps up into his chest. It’s much nicer than anything he’s experienced before, even when he was with The Sheep, nothing ever came close to this .
After a moment, Dazai calmly speaks to him again, “Are you ready to continue?”
Still staring at the brunet, Chuuya swallows thickly.
The need to shake his head and object clouds his rational thinking. Realistically, he knows that the procedure he’s currently undergoing is for the benefit of his body and that it would permanently eliminate the pain in his mouth, but the never ending thoughts of how he’ll be post-surgery still runs through his head.
He has to remind himself of the possibility where he’ll feel fine after having his neck cut open. Dazai might want him to be functional with his mouth instead of useless, barely even able to eat, and with the way he thinks this procedure would go, dead; so he has at a least a little bit of comfort in knowing he won’t be put down, even if his mind still refuses to believe it.
Still, he’s aware of how cruel living would be to him, especially when yet another stranger decides to use him for their personal gain.
He shudders at the thoughts of what this one would want him to do, but he still nods, albeit reluctantly, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to change the situation. Besides, his owner is probably expecting him to stop wasting time and just say yes.
“It’ll be okay,” Dazai reassures, having most likely noticed his hesitation, before wrapping his cold fingers around Chuuya’s. He gives them a tight squeeze. “Just try to focus on me.”
Chuuya takes it as an order, snapping his gaze over to the brunet’s and his hands. He tries not to let his breathing get too loud, even if his lungs burn with the need to take in more oxygen and his skin is covered in goosebumps.
The hair on the back of his neck rises as the needle continues to get closer to him. His mind almost slips away to that pointy object, but the pressure of fingers digging into his hand grabs his attention once again.
He stifles the flinch he feels as soon as the sharp end of the needle pricks into his skin. He curls his hands into fists, the one being held squeezing the bandaged man’s palm tightly until the joints crack.
In an instant, his motions freeze, his mind racing to figure out what Dazai may do for his brutish act. The doctor takes this time to slowly push the needle inwards.
His breaths pause, and his chest aches. Everything feels hot when the syringe stops moving somewhere inside his throat. He scrunches his eyelids shut, his grip once again tightening itself on Dazai’s hand. But, despite that, the brunet never shakes him away.
If he wasn’t so afraid right now, he probably would have appreciated the sentiment, even with the knowledge of his future punishment.
He’s nauseous when the needle glides out of his skin soon after it injects the medication into his bloodstream.
Although he was told that the liquid would make him unable to feel the pain from being murdered, the thought of his owner and the doctor lying to him plagues his mind. Considering he’s a hybrid, there’s a high possibility that the medication won’t do anything they say and it’ll only end up making his discomfort worse.
Moreover, he can’t stop imagining what will happen to him after he’s unresponsive due to the drugs. Would they take advantage of him like his previous master did? Keep him locked away and used for their pleasurous activities?
He can’t keep going through that kind of torture, a repeating loop serving only to break him.
A voice cuts through the panicked thoughts clouding his brain, “Chuuya, you’re doing so good.” It sounds far away even if he can feel the speaker’s hand in his.
He wishes that he wasn’t stuck in a haze, unable to process the distant, comforting words he so desperately wants to hear reassure him throughout this procedure. They might even be able to convince him that everything would be okay, that Dazai isn’t lying about what will happen during the operation.
The man has already achieved his goal of persuading Chuuya to undergo this treatment. Now, the ginger believes that anything the brunet says has the potential to influence his thoughts, that he’d even be able to coax the hybrid’s mind into thinking this situation isn’t terrible.
Except, the space inside of his brain feels as though cotton has been stuffed inside of it. Every sound muffled beyond understanding, even the slight words being whispered to him.
His fingers start to tremble with fear when he’s not able to make sense of anything, let alone what he’s being told. He tries to stop them from moving but finds himself unable to move almost as if his mind is floating away from his body.
More sounds he’s unable to fully process filter through his ears from above.
Is his owner asking for him to do something despite having the knowledge that his dog won’t be able to complete the task? He’s never been given orders before, but did Dazai finally want to command Chuuya?
His stomach uncomfortably twists at the thought. If he doesn’t manage to fulfill his duties, he’ll be punished, exactly like last time he was disciplined for defying his master’s rules.
His murky mind can’t remember much except for the way he had been dragged through the halls of a mansion by ginger locks, his hands clasped tightly around ones that were fisted in his hair, hoping to alleviate the pull, while his legs thrashed in any direction they could go. He can faintly feel the sensations of himself being harshly thrown onto the extravagant bed. Ghostly pleads of forgiveness he remembers screaming echo through his mind as he feels the man forcefully push past his flailing limbs and continue to climb on top of him.
Eventually, he can discern fingers rubbing across his trembling knuckles, the only outside comfort he can perceive.
“Chuuya,” Words finally break through the cloud inside of his brain, “Can you try to breathe more slowly? You were doing so well before.”
Immediately upon hearing his owner’s request, he attempts to make his inhaling and exhaling move at a moderate pace. It’s an order he can finally complete to prove that he’ll be a good dog, that he won’t need to be punished for not understanding the original command he was given.
At last, he manages to control his breathing enough to appear as though everything is okay. If he pretends to be alright despite the internal fear clawing at his stomach and complete one of the only tasks he has been given, his master might continue to spoil him with the gentle touches that he involuntarily craves.
His hand is squeezed tighter while praise filters through his ears, “Good boy, Chuuya. Keep doing that.”
Something flutters inside of his stomach once he registers what is said to him. It’s light, tingly, and everything he needs in the moment to continue doing what Dazai asked of him.
His old master never referred to him as good before. He prefered to use words that would degrade and make the ginger feel sick with a sense of failure until the only thing his hybrid could think about was ways to gain a single compliment.
The new change leaves an elevated feeling in him, as if the constrictions around his heart have finally been removed.
He finds himself enjoying this new emotion, but just as quickly as it came, it disappears. The hand tightly gripping his own releases, causing a panic to settle somewhere deep inside of Chuuya’s gut instead. The only thing that could stabilize him enough to the point of quelling his fears and stopping whatever haze that settled in his mind is now gone.
Desperately, he reaches out to clutch at the retracting palm in an attempt to retrieve it. A cloudy blur filters his vision, making it difficult for his sluggish limb to find what he searches for.
He manages to clasp at the fingers before pulling them close, wanting nothing more than to keep them by him forever. He knows it’s an unreasonable thought, but no one else’s touch he’s received has ever felt this gentle, this good. He needs it to stay and continue providing the solace he suddenly requires.
The palm holding his own loosens its grasp further as the calming voice enters his ears once again, “I need to remove my hand for a second so Yosano’s ability can work. You’re going to be okay.”
It’s foggy and the information isn’t able to process in Chuuya’s mind due to the panic overshadowing his reasoning. The only thing circulating through his brain is how the comforting touch is trying to leave him.
Groaning, he tries to roll onto his side, to face where the fingers are pulling away to, but is suddenly stopped by gloved palms applying pressure onto each of the ginger’s shoulders and restricting any further movement. The distress flowing through his veins worsens as he struggles to break free from the doctor’s tight grasp.
He slowly growls in warning, informing the woman of the precarious situation she’s found herself in. He needs to return to his owner and….
And do what?
He’s not exactly sure why he even wants to be with that man let alone what he’d do with him. It might be out of his natural instincts to protect, but it’s not as if Dazai needs to be saved at this time. Yet, he still squirms in the doctor’s grasp, body growing weaker with each passing minute as the drugs work through his veins.
Eventually, a pressure is relieved from one of his shoulders, and he can sense as Yosano moves her hand in the air.
This probably means something important. Either the woman trusts him enough to let go or she’s just trying to get the procedure over with as quick as possible, but he won’t take this opportunity for granted.
He lifts his free arm to the side, fingers opening and closing sluggishly as he desperately tries to reach Dazai again. He isn’t sure what drives his willpower, not when his mind is as muddled as it is, but he knows that he needs to hold onto that hand.
Maybe it’s because he’s never had someone to comfort him without an ulterior motive set into place, or that the feeling of a cold palm in his was the nicest touch he’s had in a while.
Finally, he feels his hand brushes against the flesh of another, his fingertips gripping onto the bandages underneath them. He only knows it’s Dazai because of those wrappings, his vision still discoordinated and blurry for some reason.
He doesn’t calm down, his growls still present, but a certain ease is put into his mind with Dazai being next to him.
The hand squeezes his calmingly, and he tries not to be so affected by it, of which he doesn’t even get the chance as suddenly it’s slipping away from his grasp, his own arm falling limply onto the mattress from the loss of its support.
At the display, his growling ceases and is, instead, replaced by a pathetic whine that manages to escape his lips. The realization that he’s being abandoned on a stiff hospital bed finally sets in, dread running deep in his bones.
He reassures himself that it’s fine if Dazai doesn’t wish to hold his hand — his master certainly never wanted to. But he’s never been declined so violently, never had someone silently take a few steps away from him like his owner does.
He doesn’t get much time to dwell on these thoughts when his attention is caught by movement happening above him. He sluggishly turns his head, trying to glare at the woman despite his inner turmoil.
In a last attempt to escape the scalpel coming towards him, he kicks his feet across the sheets, his shoes catching on the thin fabric ever so slightly. Whines slip out of his throat, ones that he can’t bring himself to care about since the knife continues on its path to his neck and, in a swift motion, puts pressure just underneath his Adam’s apple.
He’s expecting pain yet it never comes, only the pressure of his airways being cut off greets him.
He attempts to breathe, something he shouldn’t have tried since, immediately, he can sense how blood spills into his lungs. He coughs and chokes on the thick liquid that coats breaths, his brain screaming at him to stop trying, to hold his breath and let the doctor do her thing. Despite the rational thoughts he still struggles against the other’s grasp, his instincts taking over, completely negating any common sense.
He can sense the vibrations of someone talking, a deep, calming voice pushing past the blood rushing through his ears. Yet none of the words make sense in his muddled mind.
It frustrates him, and he wants to keep fighting off the blackness that surrounds his vision, but the inky grasp of death latches onto his mind, making everything turn dark.
Chuuya’s body rolls across the lumpy bed in an attempt to stay asleep despite how little fatigue currently clouds his mind. If he opens his eyes now, the doctor will come back and ruin the peacefulness that surrounds him by trying to invade his space with her needles or prying fingers.
Admittedly, he can’t recall why he’s so terrified of her all of the sudden. It must’ve been when she tried to look inside of his mouth or when she stabbed the IV into his arm. Otherwise, it would’ve happened during the fuzzy, distorted memories he can’t seem to grasp the full concept of.
They scare him — the missing gaps in his timeline where his owner and the woman could’ve done anything to him without his knowledge of their actions, himself probably being too drugged out of mind to do anything about it.
He should probably ask what happened during his memory loss, even if he’ll just be greeted with a story full of lies.
A deep ache suddenly makes itself known inside of his mouth, forcing him to hold back a pained noise and a light tremble.
His teeth were not fixed from the doctor’s risky procedure, a metallic taste still present atop his tongue, but the hurting has dwindled significantly. Only occasionally would a strong ache pass through his jaw like what just happened. It’s somewhat relieving, the pain not being nearly as intense as it had been these past few weeks, even if his spit is thick when he swallows, and his gums sting along with the suction.
An idea crosses his mind; a thought that's only a hopeful wish, which he’s not naïve enough to believe in.
Although he knows that his teeth have the highest probability of not being changed from their shaven state, there is a chance that the ability actually healed something.
Lightly, he presses his tongue against unhealed gums before cautiously moving to feel the bone attached to them. If even a little bit of pain flashes in his jaw, he’ll be quick to remove the organ pushing into them and return it to its normal position in the back of his mouth.
However, instead of the agony he expects to experience, all he feels is a slight pressure. A small sting accompanies it as if he’s pushing on a loose baby tooth, but the pain caused is hardly enough to warrant his panic.
One section of his mouth isn’t going to dictate the rest of it, though. He’ll need to see if the changes that were made also happened to be reflected onto the other parts. The most likely answer being that it has.
Despite the rational logic, he continues to move cautiously, worrying about an unexpected pain igniting his nerves still ever present inside of his mind. This fear forces his body to be careful when lifting his tongue and using it to inspect the other teeth inside of his mouth, taking note of the differences between the space before and after his surgery.
After a few more moments of searching, he comes to a basic understanding. Besides his gums, almost everything seems to be restored to its natural state. His teeth are back to sharing similarities to a dog’s once again and the wound that should be on his neck has closed, leaving almost no doubts that the woman’s ability did what Dazai had promised.
His tongue begins to move once more. This time heading to the molars in the back of his mouth. He passs by a patch of raw, bleeding gums, the teeth sharp in the area as well. It must’ve been one of the only things that wasn’t, at least, slightly healed and, now that he’s noticed it, the small ache in his jaw suddenly turns sharp.
A pained whimper escapes his lips at the unexpected sting, his hand rushing to clasp over his mouth and muffle the noise. His ears push backwards in discomfort as another throb crosses his mouth. It’s not as bad as he thought it was, the shock of the situation heightening the feeling in his mouth.
Shuffling can be heard from behind the curtain surrounding his bed. They sound similar to light, carefree footsteps, but there’s something more deliberate about them that’s strange to him. Why would somebody purposely intend to have the pitter-pattering of their feet heard?
He isn’t able to ponder on the strangeness of the situation for long since a loud screech of metal rings throughout the room. The curtain pulls away quickly, nothing but a hand able to be seen. The nails of it are short and chewed, leaving Chuuya to almost instantly identify the person visiting him as his owner rather than the doctor.
A strange emotion dances through his insides when the familiar fluffy, brown hair peeks into his small area. The ears that have flattened against his head begin to rise against his will when the rest of the man’s face is in view.
“Chuuya’s awake!” The brunet cheers, immediately rushing to his side.
He half expects his owner to start calling for the doctor, something he’s seen happen on multiple TV shows that his master used to play, but the man never makes a move to get Yosano. The only thing he does is sit on a vacant stool and gently grab one of Chuuya’s hands. An action so peculiar that he begins to imagine the possibility of Dazai taking his disdain for her into consideration when he opened the curtain and greeted him.
He lightly curls his fingers around the palm, an odd feeling of calmness washing over him. It’s the idea of Dazai intentionally keeping the doctor away to lessen his stress that increases the serenity inside of his mind.
Strangely, the pain inside of his mouth also doesn’t hurt like it did before, as if his brain can’t manage to focus on the agony that he’s supposed to be suffering through, somehow entranced by the feeling of his owner’s small, calloused hands.
It’s hard for him to comprehend the reason behind his tranquility. Such a simple act as holding hands shouldn’t be having this much of an effect on him yet it does. Perhaps it’s the gentle touch that he’s never truly received before or that he’s still being taken care of even though he’s already fixed.
Whatever the reason, his hand being caressed so carefully adds to the feelings swirling inside of his stomach. His gaze wanders over to the man sitting beside him, mind silently wishing that their palms would never part.
Dazai’s smile grows wider when the ginger's eyes meet his. “You did amazing!” He cheerfully says, fingers tightening the grip they have on Chuuya’s hand like before. Only, this time, they don’t stop squeezing. “I’m surprised that such a slug was able to go through that and live.”
For some reason, a hot flush runs across his cheeks, his heart fluttering in anticipation before his fingers twitch with need. He quickly averts his eyes as emotions he’s never felt before swirl inside his chest. It makes him embarrassed to not know what words he could use to describe these feelings.
Dazai’s voice cuts through the confusion, “We’ll leave once your tiredness wears off. So, until then, we can relax! I’ve heard that it’s good for recovery.”
Although Chuuya doesn’t feel drowsy in the slightest, he nods to show that he understands. If Dazai wants them to stay for longer, then he won’t say anything to change that. Besides, it’s not like he can go against the bandaged man’s words in the first place.
He shifts his legs slightly to get a little more comfortable as they wait for the “tiredness to wear off”.
His eyes fixate on how their fingers clasp together while he silently wishes that his owner would do this action again once he’s recovered. Even though he wouldn’t need the reassurance that the hand holding brings, it would feel nice to be held this gently during a time where he can appreciate the act of kindness in a different setting. Preferably on his owner’s futon.
Despite how the bedding isn’t as lavish and the fabric isn’t as comfortable as he’s used to, he still manages to favor sitting on it after trying to find multiple spots to lay in.
The dirty, stain covered mattress used to sit in the middle of the room, but, after a few days of Chuuya living at this new estate, it had somehow migrated towards the corner that he commonly sits in and has stayed there ever since.
When it first invaded his space, he tried to settle anywhere that wasn’t his owner’s bed as it would be indecent for him to do so. Although it meant staying on a wooden floor without any cushioning, forced to deal with the painful aches spiking through his joints, he refused to step near the futon in fear of punishment.
The last time he tried to spend a night in a bed that wasn’t his own happened to be during the frigid month of December, at the height of its coldness.
He was freezing in his master’s desolate mansion that evening and, because of his knowledge from living on the streets combined with his sleep-addled mind, he decided to crawl into a place which contained somebody. This action would not only conserve his own body heat, but the other person’s as well. It was a practical decision to keep his master warm and benefit himself in the process.
However, after he curled up near the man, he was almost immediately thrown off of the mattress onto the hardwood flooring. His joints ached from the fall while his mind scrambled to figure out what he did wrong. It was only when he was being dragged to the door did his master tell him.
“Dogs like you don’t get to sleep on beds. They deserve to be put where they belong.”
He wanted to justify himself, but a harsh tug on his leash interrupted him and pulled him forward after his legs struggled to keep up. He stumbled by the force of it, involuntarily making a loud whine that filled up the silent hallway. His collar was roughly yanked again in a warning. Hastily, he bit his lip, keeping another one of the annoying complaints trapped in his throat.
“ Since you want to act like a real mutt so badly, I’ll show you where one of them should sleep .”
He was led to the outside, everything being covered in a blanket of fresh snow that piled to his ankles. Each step taken with his bare feet increased the numbness in his toes before it climbed to the rest of his body.
He was pushed to the side of a pole while his leash was quickly wrapped around it. At some point, he was instructed to sit. Mind too focused on the cold to think the order through, he blindly followed the task, laying his naked ass across the freezing, wet floor.
He was forbidden to wear clothes during the nighttime when no guests were present in the mansion. It allowed his master to have an easier time accessing his body for intercouse. At least, that’s what he was told. He thinks it’s just fun to watch him shiver on the floor — the bedroom always being kept cooler than the rest of the house.
He wasn’t able to think about the situation anymore when a certain feather-light coldness landed upon his arm, melting only a few seconds afterwards. It was a snowflake. His master intended to keep him here until he froze, until he learned that the coldness of the mansion wasn’t anything compared to the outside.
His body restricted tightly in an uncontrollable shiver, nerves feeling they were lit on fire instead of touching ice.
“ Stay .”
It was an order. One he desperately needed to follow unless he wished for a worse punishment due to his incompetence.
Every inch of his pale skin, now reddened from the frigid air, was covered in the snow, trembling beyond relief. His joints began to ache horribly, nerves setting on fire with stabbing pain.
Somehow, the leash felt tighter around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. The cold was too much for his slowing muscles, pins and needles pulsating throughout each limb. His eyes tracked the man as he walked away and left him in the snow with only his own skin as warmth. Thoughts of how much longer he’d be forced to stay in the frosted gardens and endure the ice digging into his bones ran throughout his mind.
Almost immediately, he turned his attention to different ideas. It wouldn’t help anything if he fantasized about the end of his punishment instead of how he was going to survive this.
His palm suddenly twitched while a sharp pain accompanied it.
On that night, he was able to see his fingers turn to a light shade of purple, but now, as a strong squeeze to his hand switches his attention to the man sitting beside him and, subsequently, pushes the negative images away, he can make out the differences of his present hand to his hand in the past. It gently reminds him that there’s an offering in place allowing him to lay wherever he wants without explicit permission.
Even if it’s self-implemented, there’s an exception to this freedom. He always makes sure to stay away from the brunet’s kitchenette and the small hallway it’s attached to. That would be an indecent place for him to sit in, especially considering how he needs to look appealing for his owner, a task he’s clearly incapable of fulfilling currently.
Although he hasn’t really been doing that recently, it’s important that he tries to present himself in a nice way. If he doesn’t attempt to, he won’t be wanted anymore. A lesson his old master engraved into his brain through his teachings.
But, other than his own rule, he is free to roam wherever he pleases, another positive to document from spending time with Dazai.
He feels a strange warmth settle in his chest at these thoughts of his owner, similar to the heat he felt when the man held their hands together. His lips curl softly as the hotness remains, filling his insides with a pleasurable emotion he still isn’t able to name.
Suddenly, his owner starts talking about miscellaneous things again, mainly subjects on crabs, dogs, and suicide.
When he moves to a story speaking of a humorous, failed attempt at killing himself, Chuuya’s eyelids begin to droop despite being fully awake and, strangely, he doesn’t do anything about it. He knows that going to Dazai’s dorm would be better than sleeping on this uncomfortable bed, but it feels so nice to indulge in this moment.
His eyes eventually stop trying to open and stare into the irises of the man talking. Everything would be fine if they stay here like Dazai wants. Even if it’s only for a little while longer.