Archive of Our Own ^beta

Patient: Chuuya Nakahara, Male, Aged 16; Prognosis: Common Cold

Chuuya woke up in a cold sweat.

At age sixteen, he rolled out of bed and didn’t even wonder why his temperature was running oddly high, or his throat was scratchier than usual. He wiped his sweat away and left the bed like he would every day—mistake number one.

To be fair, he was still groggy from sleep and not entirely in his right mind when he stood in front of his bathroom mirror and started brushing his teeth. That’s why it took him a few seconds to realize all the sweat he wiped away from his forehead was back and that the world was spinning slightly.

His hand shot out to steady himself against the counter, and confused, he spat out his toothpaste and rubbed his eyes.

“ Fuck ,” he groans, rubbing more of his sweat off his forehead, “what happened to my voice?”

Scratchy, raw, alien-sounding.

He stares at the look on his face. Tired, his eyes droop, and his skin is as pale as his bedsheets. His lips are almost the same colour and cracked, and no matter how much water he splashes at himself or how he tries to fix his hair, he still looks like a mess .

If he were a year older, he’d groan and cringe at what was said next, but he was sixteen and still figuring out the world after being stuck in a laboratory since childhood and holed up with the Sheep.

“Is this some shitty ability? What the fuck,” he pulls his eyelids up, and they droop back down.

He sighs, walks back into his room, and puts his suit on. He was still working today and had a meeting in an hour.

He had to pause before buttoning his dress shirt (it’s a fancy meeting; he’d be in a t-shirt right now if he could help it) and fell back onto his bed, a profound, bone-stalling fatigue taking over him.

To give himself some credit, he did know people could get sick. He knows nasty illnesses, like cancer or heart failure, and he does know about common colds and the flu since he’s seen people from the sheep sick. He’s just never been ill himself before.

Therefore, he didn’t know how to recognize his feelings as a common cold .

He groans again, making his throat constrict and scratch against itself like rubbing sandpaper, and leans to grab his water bottle off his bedside table.

He checks his phone, too—thirty-five minutes until the meeting.

He stands and heads for the door, pocketing the phone—mistake number two.

To give himself just a bit more credit, he was new to the mafia. Very new. It wasn’t the kind of job that gave out sick days either, and he was working his ass off to become an executive, so he wouldn’t have taken one even if they offered it.

But, God , he could feel the sweat seeping into the back of his shirt, and the suit was uncomfortable in every wrong place, and the elevator was making him feel nauseous in a way it’s never before.

He skips breakfast (a minor mistake), deciding to starve through the meeting instead of sitting in the awful cafeteria with everyone. He might be the Mafia's most potent ability user, but he was still just a lackey at the bottom of the food chain. He got a room and bathroom but got to deal with everyone's bullshit for being new (and better than them) all the time.

Which, frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for.

Skipping the cafeteria and dodging everybody by heading out the back, fresh air gave him a sense of calm. It's like he was hallucinating everything wrong before, and he’s completely fine now, which he simply believed.

He got in the car scheduled outside for him and arrived at the meeting 15 minutes early—mistake number three.

Just getting ready had him bone-tired, sweaty and achy. He started to rationalize that he might just be overworked. He’s never seen anyone overworked look like he did, though.

He sat in the empty meeting room, sighing and slumping into his chair. He could use a glass of cool water.

“Ah,” A voice calls out as the doors to the meeting room open. “Looks who’s early! Aren’t you just the perfect subordinate!”

Chuuya groans. “Not in the mood, shithead,” 

Dazai skips to his seat next to Chuuya and next to where Mori would sit at the head of the table. He gives Chuuya a sly grin, and Chuuya just leans back and pulls his hat over his eyes.

“Wow,” Dazai starts, flicking Chuuya’s hat off his eyes. Chuuya sluggishly catches it before it falls on the floor, “somebody didn’t get a full night's rest.”

“I have a perfect sleep schedule, unlike you,” he growls back, but his tone’s less biting and more tired .

Dazai stares at him for a few more seconds before shrugging his shoulders and leaning back in his chair to play his mobile games, much to Chuuya’s relief. He needs just a few seconds of peace if he’s going to get through the next hour, which he doesn’t get.

The following person to enter is Kouyou, Which isn’t bad. Chuuya likes her, but sometimes she’s too much .

“Oh, what happened to you?” She asks as she sits down across from Chuuya.

Chuuya sighed, politely sitting upright in his chair and looking her way as he spoke, “I just woke up like this,”

Kouyou smiled a little behind her hand and long kimono sleeve, “Did you catch that bug going around, too? I heard it’s spreading through the apartments.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows perked up, genuinely confused. “A bug? What bug?”

More executives walk through the door now, cutting their conversation off with pleasant greetings and tired waves. Mori has yet to show, but when Chuuya catches that there are seven seconds until it hits the scheduled meeting time, he straightens up against his chair and fixes his suit jacket.

Right on time, Mori walks through the door. Meeting commenced.

Chuuya was listening; he would be stupid not to, but the overwhelming feeling of being not right made it hard to focus entirely on Mori.

Dazai wasn’t listening. He never did. Instead, he’d find something interesting that wasn’t outright disrespectful to Mori’s pride as a boss, not that he cared about that, either; he just didn’t feel like starting anything at six in the morning.

Sometimes, he’d imagine strangling the people he didn't like in the room, or imagine a new suicide method, or tap his fingers in Morse code just to mess with everyone (Dazai always made sure to tell the grittiest, most disgusting stories he could remember).

Chuuya being in every “executive plus Dazai Osamu” meeting Mori held was new, though, having only been to half a dozen in the past six months. Someone Dazai couldn’t stand and an easy enough target that took away all his attention from the meeting.

Making life miserable for Nakahara Chuuya was Dazai’s passion .

Dazai knew Chuuya hated when he’d bother him during meetings, saying it affected him getting up the ladder and yadda yadda. Whatever, not his problem. His problem was satisfying his greed for attention towards Chuuya.

Naturally, that meant he was utterly focused on Chuuya at this meeting, like a hawk stalking its prey.

He was listening when Kouyou said he had a “bug,” documented every physical symptom he could list off his head, and catalogued his tone and word choice. 

Satisfaction overfills Dazai. Chuuya had a cold.

Chuuya didn’t know he had a cold.

What a perfect anomaly to dedicate the rest of his day to instead of Mori’s ridiculous amount of paperwork he expects.

(He decided to tap out the Morse code for a story he heard of a man with an eye on his tongue who tried to give oral sex to his girlfriend. Don’t ask where he heard that one.)

The meeting was incredibly dull and probably pointless, Chuuya concluded, after sitting through 15-minutes-mission-talk and 45-minutes-Elise-talk, courtesy of Mori. As everyone was leaving the room, Kouyou snuck up next to Chuuya.

“You should visit the clinic in your apartment, hun.” she offered kindly, “You’ll most likely need antibiotics.”

Chuuya gives her a weird look, “Huh, okay, I guess,”

She chuckles a bit before Dazai enters the scene.

“Oh, poor, poor Chuuya. Are you not feeling good?” Dazai mocks a baby voice, overly exaggerating his eyes and making a fake baby cry at him afterward. 

“I’m feeling fine, you asshole! What do you even want from me?” He yells back, leaning into Dazai's space with his hands in his pants pockets. Dazai grins that Cheshire smile, one eye glinting with an amber brown.

Dazai laughs, following Chuuya into the elevator. “I thought I should show you the way to the clinic since you don’t know where to go. Out of the niceness of my heart.”

Chuuya scoffs, “Don’t be funny, Dazai. You don’t have any ‘nice’ bones in your body!”

The elevator ticks down slowly, and Chuuya grumbles. His breath tastes expired in his mouth like he’s rotting from the inside out. His throat scratches more and more with every word leaving his mouth. He’s tired, dizzy, and sweaty. Okay, yeah, he’s feeling like shit .

Dazai is not helping.

“Hey, Chuuya, do you think you’ll get me sick if we’re in an elevator together?” he gags, “Yuck. I should’ve made you take the stairs.”

“As if I’d take the stairs! You’d have to walk your lazy ass down 20 stories!” he shouts back, glaring hotly.

Dazai smirks, “On second thought, the virus is probably teeny-tiny to fit in your tiny body, so it could never infect me.”

Chuuya yells, swinging his leg low to hit Dazai’s lower calf, who jumps up in the air like he’s jump-roping Chuuya’s kick. The door opens, and Chuuya’s shoulder hits Dazai’s as he pushes past.

“You’re seriously following me back?” Chuuya asks, giving him a dirty look.

“Of course, it’s this or doing paperwork,” Dazai explains, one finger in the air animatedly. He gives him a grin before he tucks into the backseat next to Chuuya.

Chuuya rolls his eyes and leans against his door, exhaustion taking him out of his “I’m annoyed at Dazai, so I want to destroy half the city” mood.

Chuuya grumbles, “You’re such a weird kid,”

Dazai rolls his eyes back, “You’re a weird kid too, shorty.”

Chuuya grumbles and kicks his leg at Dazai, who dodges with a sly smile.

They don’t say anything more in the car ride back. They aren’t buddy-buddy yet, not nearly as close as Chuuya is with the Flags or even Kouyou. Angry banter is all they do now.

Yeah, maybe they’ve gone on a few missions together, busted rings and organizations of opposing crime, and possibly almost died in each other's arms at least once, but Dazai was a slippery-guarded fucker. To Chuuya.

Chuuya didn’t have time or motivation to break down his walls. After all, he was just a shitty sixteen-year-old.

The car pulls over, and Chuuya almost groans at having to move; he’s tired and steps out. Dazai follows behind him with a suspicious pep to his step.

“Now, Chuuya, the clinic is at the back of the second floor.” Dazai narrates, following a grumbling Chuuya into the apartment.

“Fuck the clinic,” Chuuya grumbles, “I’m going to fucking bed.”

Dazai hms, raising an eyebrow at him, “That isn’t very responsible of you, future executive.”

Chuuya jams the elevator door shut, spinning on his heel to glare down Dazai. “You wanna know one thing about me?” he says through gritted teeth, “No doctors. No clinics, no medicine, nothing. So fuck off and let me sleep this off.”

Dazai stares at him for a second before thinking about it, with a hand on his chin, “Well, then I guess I could show just a bit more niceness to you,”

“No, thanks. I don’t want any of you.” Chuuya sighs, leaning against the elevator and rubbing his eyes.

“Dogs always want their owners, Chuuya. Tsk, tsk .” he shakes his head, “I’m going to be Chuuya’s nurse!”

“My what ?” Chuuya asks, the elevator beeping and opening its doors.

Dazai hops out, his grin, “Does Chuuya want me to wear a sexy nurse outfit, too? I don’t know if I can go that far.”

Chuuya yells, chasing Dazai out of the elevator, “What the hell’s wrong with you!?”

Some gross demon possessed his life and is enacting its sick fantasy on him, is how Chuuya would describe this.

“Hmm, Google says I should put a wet cloth on your head. Ah! I found one of your socks!” Dazai calls, standing up from the floor and looking over Chuuya. He’s lying in bed with three blankets and his discarded suit over him (yes, Dazai arranged the suit to look like Chuuya is wearing it; yes, Chuuya threw it in his face after that). He’s not as dizzy now that he’s lying down. Still, he’s even sweatier and has a headache after listening to Dazai narrate the entire Wikipedia website on how to get rid of a cold.

He gave up on asking Dazai to leave. He gave up 30 minutes into this whole thing.

Dazai had left the room and reentered carrying his old sock, now soaking wet in cold water. It makes a damp slap noise when he hits Chuuya in the face.

“You’re the worst nurse I’ve ever seen,” Chuuya grumbles, wiggling one of his arms out from the mountain of blankets to throw the wet sock off his face. Dazai’s grin greets his eyes once he can see again.

“That’s not true,” he says with a smile, something plotting and turning behind his eyes like he’s piecing together the motives behind one of the terrorist organizations they’ve taken down together. It irks Chuuya; he’s always hated that look. Over the year he’s been involved with Dazai, it’s grown to be his least favourite look.

Chuuya closes his eyes, “Yeah, well, you’re one of the worst.”

Dazai makes a noise that sounds like he’s choking and fainting at once and says, “That hurts! I’m trying my best. Can’t you be a little grateful?” then pauses, “Maybe you don’t have enough room in you to hold too many complex emotions, I get it, it’s okay.”

Chuuya groans, “Enough with the height jokes! I’m growing!”

“Did you measure yourself recently? I don’t think you’ve grown even half an inch since I met you,”

Chuuya shoots him a glare, “For your information, I’ve grown an entire inch, thank you.”

Dazai just sighs, standing up and reading more of his Google search, ‘How to take care of short sick people .’ Chuuya tunes him out with his eyes closed.

He’s jaded. Between all the work he’s been putting in over the last year, hell, years of his life, never taking any breaks, and being sick, he thinks it’s all catching up to him at once right at this very moment.

For the first time in a long time, sleep takes him easy.

Waking up was not as easy.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Sings at him as soon as he registers where and what is happening around him. Opening his eyes was like another stab to his conscience; he spread them and had to see Dazai’s smug face.

He blinks, stares, rubs his eyes and face and groans. Loudly . “Why the fuck are you still here?!”

“I’m a live-in nurse, duh. Why would I not be here?” He questions, with that smug smile still on his face.

“Since when were you living here? Get out!”

Dazai stands up from the floor, sits next to Chuuya's bed, holds his finger up, and then pulls up a brown takeaway bag next to him.

He grins, “As a good nurse, I brought my patient soup!”

“Soup.”

Dazai shakes his head, “That’s what all sick people eat, Chuuya.”

Chuuya’s stomach growls. He sits up, throwing off some of the blankets weighing him down, and takes his phone from the night table beside him. It’s half past six.

He chokes, looking up at Dazai, “You let me sleep for five hours!?”

Dazai, who’s been busying himself by taking the soup out of the bag and setting it up on the night table, shoots Chuuya a disapproving look. “I didn’t know you’d fall asleep, and there was no way I was touching you and risking getting your slobbery germs all over me. You drool, you know?”

“Uhg!” Chuuya curses, rubbing his face (yes, there were drool marks), “You’re already in my space! You’re going to get sick!”

“Shh,” Dazai shushes, “Open wide!”

Dazai’s holding a spoonful of soup in front of Chuuya’s face. Chuuya doesn’t even know what to think anymore.

He pushes Dazai’s spoon-holding-arm so that the soup spills back into the container, then tries to yank the spoon out of Dazai’s hand, “I can feed myself, damn it!”

Dazai pulls back to keep the spoon, “Are you always this grumpy when you’re sick?”

“I wouldn’t know!” Chuuya yells with another tug.

“What, you’ve never been sick before?” Dazai yells back, tugging against Chuuya’s pull.

“Maybe, maybe not, just give me the damn spoon –!” Chuuya tugs hard, pulling Dazai’s weight with the spoon, which snaps in half. Dazai fumbles as he catches himself over Chuuya with the headboard, butting their foreheads together. The broken spoon pieces fall out of their hands and onto Chuuya’s lap.

Dazai, still with one hand on the headboard above Chuuya, looks between Chuuya and the broken spoon for a few seconds before spluttering, face a bit red, “That was the only spoon!”

Chuuya jerks his head back, banging it against the headboard with a wince. He sticks his arm into Dazai’s chest, pushing him back, “Forget it! Will you just leave me alone!? I never wanted your fucking help!”

Dazai quickly backs away, taking a few steps further from the bed than he needed to, “I never wanted to help you, anyway!”

Chuuya shouts back, “Yeah, I could tell! You’ve just been fucking around this whole time, haven’t you? I bet you rigged my place while I was asleep!”

“Why would I want to waste my time doing that?!” Dazai yells, throwing his arms in the air.

“Why are you wasting your time by being here in the first place?!” Chuuya retorts, pointing the finger at Dazai, childish anger taking over him, “Just get out!”

“No!” Dazai shouts, stubborn and childlike.

“Fuck you!”

“Right back at you!”

They exist there, huffing and glaring with raised arms and threatening eyes. The soup sits on the night table; it was cold when Chuuya woke up and is still cold.

Dazai’s shoulders slump, and he gives Chuuya that impassive look he usually carries, “Whatever, this isn’t fun anymore.”

Chuuya boils over, tipping, his emotions flowing out of him without a dam, “This was fun?! You were having fun ?!”

Dazai’s lips perked up, but his one exposed eye didn’t reflect the smile. “Of course, Chuuya, my favourite pastime is terrorizing the sick.”

“You’re a nasty person,” Chuuya states.

Dazai’s smile reaches his eyes now, “I know.”

The door doesn’t slam when Dazai leaves, and if Chuuya weren’t watching him go, he wouldn’t even notice that he had left. He sighs, rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms above his head with a tired groan.

He picks the spoon pieces up, gets up, grimaces at how sweaty he is, showers, changes, strips his sheets and sits back on his now bare bed.

He eyes the soup. His stomach growls, and he remembers how he skipped breakfast. Knowing Dazai, he also skipped breakfast because his motto was clearly ‘fuck taking care of myself if I’m just going to kill myself later .’ As if he goes through with his suicide plans, he’s too flaky for that. He halfheartedly wonders if he ate anything if he sat next to Chuuya’s bedside all day and into the evening.

He feels a little guilty as he sips the soup. They only had one spoon.

Chuuya wakes up feeling worse the next day.

He also wakes up because his phone is ringing.

He picks up the phone, groggy and with a raspy voice, “Hello?”

“Chuuya, it’s good to hear from you,” Mori greets back, and the sudden surprise of having your boss calling you right as you wake up sobers him faster than getting a slap to the face would.

He clears his throat off the phone, hoping his voice sounds more professional now, “Boss, I didn’t know you were calling. I apologize.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, and the sound of a little girl yelling in the background picks up on the phone, “Yes, Elise? Oh, of course!”

Chuuya sits and waits, taking a moment to drink from the water bottle on his night table.

“Ah, sorry, Chuuya.” Mori says unapologetically, “I’ve heard you’re not feeling well. Unfortunately, you caught that cold going around.”

Chuuya responds politely, “So I’ve been told.”

“Yes, well, it’s even more unfortunate because you’re such an asset to the Mafia,” he continues, “If other organizations learned that we had a weakness such as you being sick , well, I’m sure they’d jump at the opportunity if you understand?”

Chuuya straightens up, feeling guilty in a frightening and threatening way, “I understand. I assure you I won’t let this get in the way of any work I must do for the Port Mafia, Boss."

Mori laughs, then sighs, “Oh, don’t worry, I expected that much from you, but, as a doctor, I do understand illnesses very well. I’d like you to rest and recover as quickly as possible today. I want you back in the office tomorrow as per usual.”

Chuuya, stunned and on guard, says, “Of course, I’ll be back to health by tomorrow.” He doesn’t know how or what that means regarding his situation, but he will be.

“Perfect!” Chuuya can hear Mori clap through the phone, “I send you my well wishes,”

“Likewise, Boss.”

The call hangs up. Chuuya falls back into bed with a shaky sigh.

How do you get rid of a cold?

That’s his first Google search of the day.

He grimaces at every article telling him to visit a doctor. He’d rather pretend to be better and go to work as usual than see any doctors. He will if that’s what he needs to do.

Who do you call for this? Can he call anyone? Is this something to be embarrassed and secretive about? The Boss sure made it sound like it was.

He thinks over who knows that he’s sick already. He remembers Kouyou telling him about a “bug,” but he thinks he’d rather be unhealthy for the rest of his life than ask her what to do. Moreover, she’d most likely knock him unconscious and drag him to the doctor by his hair.

Dazai knows. Of course , it’s Dazai.

He picks his phone back up, scrolling through his contacts. He rarely taps on Mackerel . He does today. He hits the call button and waits, the call almost going to voicemail before a tired voice reflects his minutes ago answers.

“What could Chuuya want with me this early in the morning?”

Chuuya sucks in a breath, waits a few seconds, then lets it out. “Remember when I said I didn't need your help?”

Dazai chuckles, and Chuuya hears rustling, “Amidst the yapping and barking, yes. What about it?”

“Well, I guess I lied, not really because I meant it then, but I’m taking it back now.”

The phone is noisy from the other end, and he hears a door shut before Dazai speaks again, “Well, I guess I could make time in my precious day to come over and play nurse with Chuuya again.”

Chuuya’s shoulders dropped, realizing how tense he’d been about being so clueless. However, he still responds rudely, “What else could you have been doing that was so important?”

Dazai hums, “I had a new method I wanted to try out! And also maybe paperwork, but I was going to put that off for a few more days anyway,”

Chuuya snorts, “Okay, whatever, you suicidal freak. Be here in twenty.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” Dazai says before Chuuya hangs up.

Chuuya’s door opens ten minutes after the call hangs up. Although Chuuya is surprised and angry that Dazai somehow has a key to his room, he doesn’t say anything.

“Your nurse is back on the clock! Now, boss, where should I put my bags?” Dazai teases as he walks the short way from the door to the foot of his bed. He’s carrying a small plastic bag.

Chuuya raises his eyebrows at him, “What’s that?”

“No good nurse goes without their medicine,” Dazai says with a hand on his heart, but Chuuya’s face scrunches up.

“I don’t want any medicine. I told you that yesterday.”

Dazai places the bag on his bed, rifling through it, “Yes, well, if Mori wants you better by tomorrow morning,” he pauses and pulls a small pill bottle out, “you’re going to have to compromise.”

“How do you know–?” Chuuya sighs, “Actually, forget it. What’s that?”

Dazai shrugs, “Just a pain reliever,”

Chuuya considers it. He has taken quite a few painkillers in this past year and holds his hand out. Dazai grins and tosses it for him to catch.

Chuuya spends a reasonable amount of time reading the label. Dazai stands beside him, giving him an impatient look. “You’re going to fry your brain cells off if you try to understand every word on that bottle.”

“Shut up!” Chuuya growls, squinting at the tiny letters, “I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t trying to pull anything on me!”

Dazai sighs and shakes his head, “So, you trust me to stop your Corruption and save you from literal death , but not that I’d give you safe painkillers?”

Chuuya huffs and downs two little pills using the water Dazai hands him. “Happy now?”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“Great, hope it lasts you.”

Chuuya leans back on his pillows, closing his eyes with a sigh. Dazai’s voice pierces his quiet room, and he peeks at him, annoyed.

Dazai whines, “Are you seriously sleeping already? That’s so boring,”

Chuuya’s teeth grind together, “Aren’t I supposed to be resting and recovering ? Yes, I’m sleeping!”

Dazai shakes his head, tsking at him, “Sick people need to eat, and I happen to have brought breakfast over on my way,”

Chuuya peeks over at the plastic bag that Dazai reaches for again, eyeing yet another brown takeaway container.

“Is takeaway all you eat?” Chuuya asks.

Dazai snorts, “Do you think the food they serve you here is healthier than this?”

Chuuya doesn’t say anything because he knows he’s right. He swears he'll cook proper food once he has his kitchen. Dazai handed him the box and a fork and sat on the floor next to Chuuya’s bedside, leaning his back on the bed.

It’s just rice, eggs and beans all mixed in a sad-looking stir fry, but Chuuya’s hungry, so he doesn’t complain. He’s also grateful Dazai isn’t trying to feed him again. It’s also warm, unlike the soup he had last night.

The sound of Dazai’s mobile fighter game, similar to the one they played in that arcade just under a year ago, fills the silence as he eats. Weirdly, it’s not uncomfortable.

Chuuya realizes and says with his mouth full of food, “Are you not eating?”

Dazai peeks up at Chuuya, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes, “The patient shouldn’t worry about the nurse.”

“Who said I was worrying?” Chuuya responds. He’s not a prier. He doesn’t dig into people's business. In any case, he and Dazai aren’t nearly close enough to have any heart-to-heart like that, nor does he really care for one right now, so he drops it quickly.

After eating, he sets the garbage on his night table and relaxes in bed.

“Now, the patient should sleep,” Dazai adds, though he doesn’t look up from his game and stays sitting.

Chuuya rolls over so his back faces Dazai, feeling tired but in a different way. He doesn’t want to fight to keep his eyes open. It’s probably that sick effect from the pain relievers he read. “Already on it, doc."

He wakes up, and it’s still bright outside, which is a good sign. He checks the time on his phone, and it’s only been about three hours.

He yawns and stretches when he wakes up, turns, and sees Dazai’s ugly face staring back at him.

“Hungry?” Dazai asks.

Chuuya looks at a new takeaway box in his hands and nods, “I could eat,”

This time, it’s three samosas. Dazai clarified they weren’t the spicy ones since spicy foods wouldn’t be good for his throat. He tunes most of his rambling out.

Dazai’s still sitting on the floor playing games on his phone.

“Want one?” Chuuya offers, which isn’t like him regarding Dazai, but he’s feeling generous now.

Dazai grins, “Is Chuuya growing on me? Don’t tell me all my niceness has made you fall helplessly in love with me?”

Chuuya yells, retreating his hand and glares at Dazai, “You’re a real piece of work.”

Dazai winks, though it looks strange with one eye covered in bandages. “I’ve heard that one before,”

“ Uhg ,” Chuuya groans, stuffing the last samosa in his mouth as Dazai turns around to play his game with a laugh.

Dazai continues with a light tone, “I’d be bad if you fell for me. I plan to have a double suicide with a beautiful lady. You are not a beautiful lady, nor should you commit suicide,”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, “I’ve heard about that plan more times than I'd like to have,”

Dazai nods his head, “Exactly, then you realize just how bad falling for me would be. You should never do that.”

“Don’t plan on it,”

Chuuya rolls over to face Dazai. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

He wakes up, a little bit tired of all this sleeping he’s doing. Sleeping should be a blessing for someone like him who has trouble with it. In reality, he feels sluggish and disoriented.

“Good morning,” he groans, sitting up, not surprised to find Dazai in the same spot he was before he fell asleep, “what time is it?”

“Twelve. You were only asleep for an hour,” Dazai answers from his place on the floor. Chuuya stretches and hears his bones popping. He yawns, coughs, and his throat burns.

“I’m going to shower or do something. I might melt into my mattress if I lay here for another hour.” Chuuya says miserably, swinging his legs off the bed and almost hitting Dazai in the head.

Dazai snorts and shakes the pill bottle in his hands, making a racket, “First, your medicine.”

Chuuya sighs, though he’s not upset about the idea. His throat burns too much for him to handle. “Uhg, fine.”

Chuuya does get up to go to the bathroom, and he hears Dazai stand and pocket his phone from behind him. “I’m going to get lunch. Don’t miss me too much!”

Chuuya sticks his middle finger up in response.

Lunch is another random brown takeaway box.

Chuuya sighs, his wet hair dripping into his white shirt and bedsheet, “I think I might get sicker because of what you’re feeding me.”

Dazai shakes his head, picking up one of the towels Chuuya dropped on the floor before handing him the takeaway box. “What will get you sicker is sitting with wet hair,”

“Huh?” Chuuya growls when Dazai sits on his bed next to him, “I’ll dry it after,”

“Just eat lunch, Chuuya,” Dazai sighs, dropping heavy towel-covered hands onto Chuuya’s head, pushing it down a little. Chuuya scowls but opens the takeaway box. It’s pasta.

Dazai hums the tune to that stupid suicide song he made up. At the same time, he dries Chuuya’s hair, and Chuuya tolerates it because he understands enough to see the sentiment behind it. Or maybe he’s just doped out from the painkillers he took a while ago.

Chuuya purposefully leaves a quarter of the pasta left in the takeaway box before setting it aside.

Dazai notices, of course, and ruffles Chuuya’s hair harder as he says, “You should finish everything, nurse orders!”

Chuuya grunts, pushing his head back against Dazai’s manhandling, “You should take care of yourself. I don’t want someone half dead at my bedside!”

“Uhg,” Dazai groans, lightening up on how hard he’s roughing up Chuuya’s hair, “you have gross qualities. Especially this one.”

Chuuya swats Dazai’s hand, yelling, “What? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Why do you need to care about everyone, no matter who it is?” Dazai starts, dropping the towel on the floor and standing up, “It’s annoying. It’ll probably get you killed in the Mafia.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Chuuya shoots back, a fiery glare in his eyes.

Dazai hums, calculating and eerie, “It’s how you ended up in a shithole like this in the first place.”

Chuuya can’t argue with that.

Maybe if, a year ago, he didn’t trust Dazai, he didn’t care about the Sheep so much, or bother taking in all those stupid kids, Chuuya wouldn’t be where he is now. He doesn’t know where else he would be, though. He suits the back alleys and midnight operations.

Chuuya shakes his head, and Dazai returns to sitting on the floor, “It doesn’t matter now.”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Dazai reiterates.

Chuuya falls onto his bed, “And why do you suddenly care if I live or die?”

Dazai hums, his voice perking up and getting that fake, pleasant tone it usually has. “You’re right, I don’t care!”

“Whatever, stupid,” Chuuya mumbles, closing his eyes. He needs to stop sleeping so much.

He wakes up, and it’s dark outside.

“Fuck,” is what he says first.

“And good morning to you, too.” Dazai teases. He wakes up and sees Dazai’s annoying face again . Chuuya can’t wait until he’s better and all this is over. “Or well, good evening. It’s eight.”

Chuuya shoots up, yelling, “Eight?!”

Dazai stands and hands him a takeaway box, teasing, “It’s a bit of a late dinner since you were sleeping so soundly.”

It’s soup. Dazai gives him the spoon.

Chuuya eats without another word, already feeling like this is becoming a routine that he’s adapted to. Wake up, banter with Dazai, eat, and sleep. Something like that.

Is that any different from how every day goes?

Chuuya’s eyes catch onto his old pasta box, noticing it’s empty. He feels a little swarm of something good inside him like he finished watching a puppy compilation online.

Dazai sits on the floor, facing him this time. He holds a second takeaway box in his lap. Chuuya raises an eyebrow at him.

As if they can communicate through looks, Dazai responds, “I thought I should feed into your growing saviour complex.”

He opens a second takeaway of soup. He has his own spoon.

Chuuya just hums, giving him a little satisfied smile, to which Dazai responds with an awkward, lopsided one.

They eat in silence.

Dazai doesn’t finish his entire box, which isn’t unexpected. He holds the pill bottle out to Chuuya. “Take two more and fall asleep. Let’s hope you’re all better tomorrow morning!”

“Yeah, yeah. I better be after having to put up with your ass all day.” Chuuya says after swallowing two pills.

Dazai fakes heartache, “I slaved away to keep you healthy and rested, and that’s what I get?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes at him, “Well, I doubt you want me to thank you.”

Dazai stares at him momentarily, then laughs, “You’re interesting.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Dazai stands, and Chuuya leans back into bed, satisfied and tired from the painkillers (just how strong are these things?). Dazai pats Chuuya roughly on the chest, and Chuuya swats away his hand with a yell and curse.

Dazai grins, collects all the garbage, throws it in his plastic bag, slips his shoes on, and turns before leaving. “Sleep well, Chuuya.” Dazai calls.

Chuuya lazily sticks his hand up, waving, “I hope I never have to spend another day with you again.”

Dazai laughs, “Likewise,” before closing the door louder than he did the last time he left.

Chuuya falls asleep.

He wakes up the following day to his alarm clock blaring in his ear.

He rolls out of bed, goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, gets ready for work and is out the door in a half hour. The drive to the office is twenty minutes, and by the time he’s at his desk and has everything sorted for the day, it’s seven, right on time.

A coworker, a woman much older than him, walks by his desk, “I heard you took a sick day. You must be feeling better?”

Chuuya sighed, giving her a tired smile, “Well, I went through a lot of shit from an asshole I hate. So I guess I was rewarded, huh?”

She gives him a confused smile and laughs, telling him to have a good day.

At sixteen, Chuuya got sick for the first time.

Patient: Chuuya Nakahara, Male, Aged 17; Prognosis: Stomach Flu

Throwing up after using Corruption was normal. It was usually mixed with blood, but continuing to throw up (minus the blood) a whole day after disabling Corruption? Not normal.

Luckily, he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He was an entire year older and quickly realized the throwing up plus every other symptom he showed meant he was sick . Hooray!

He hasn’t been ill since he was sixteen, and after that whole ordeal, he had to go through a lot of questioning. Unknownst to him, Mori was testing the regenerative abilities he got from hosting a God in his body. Recovering from a cold after a day was not typical.

They concluded that he must resist sickness since he hadn’t been sick before age sixteen and because of how quickly he recovered. He guessed even being a vessel to a God of destruction had perks.

He was now ill, though, and that perk started sounding like a tease. Why not make him completely resistant?

Chuuya sighs, falling onto his ass on the cold tile floor of his office bathroom. Dazai had already bothered him by banging and yelling on the door, making jokes about asking him if he’d run out of toilet paper or fallen in.

As if he cursed himself by thinking about it, a loud banging echoed around the room, Dazai yelling through the door, “I’m starting to get scared. Did you fall in? I knew you were small, but you’d have to be teeny-tiny for that!”

Another new point to this ordeal is that he and Dazai now share an office. He was glad to level up out of his old crummy cubicle and into a lovely room with a high-rise view of the city, comfy chairs and privacy to die for. The room’s only downfall was that he shared it with Dazai Osamu. And Dazai had the unique ability to ruin everything good in his life.

“Shut the fuck up!” Chuuya yells back, feeling his stomach tense and his throat burn, “We have to get that report done tonight!”

“I know!” Dazai whines, “Maybe if you weren’t too busy messing around in the bathroom, we could finish it on time!”

Chuuya groans, loud enough on purpose so Dazai could hear him. “ We ? You mean me!”

The sound of picking his front door perked his trained Mafia senses, and he almost screamed out a line of profanities unsuitable for anyone of any age to say. Almost .

A rush of nausea hits him, and he lurches for the toilet, emptying his guts as the door slams open and hits the opposing wall. Chuuya gags into the bowl, empty only stomach acid at this point.

Dazai stands at the door silently. Chuuya might shoot himself with his gun in embarrassment. He gags another round of bile into the toilet.

Chuuya, embarrassed and annoyed, tugs his hair back roughly. It’s grown out and sits on his shoulder, a little too short to be tied back but too long to be convenient right now. He grimaces at the taste in his mouth as he flushes and sits back down tiredly.

Dazai steps up next to him and lightly touches his neck with his ability, No Longer Human. Chuuya sends him an annoyed glare; although he loves it when Dazai shuts the irritating fucker in his head up, he has no clue why he’s in his space like this at a time like now .

Chuuya growls, “The hell are you doing, fuckface?”

Dazai backs away, “I thought Corruption might still be affecting you,” he explains, “it seems not.”

“No,” Chuuya sighs, tired and feeling gross, “I’m just sick.”

Dazai thinks silently. Chuuya doesn’t even have to look anymore to tell the wheels in his head are turning, and he’s clicking pieces together. “Residue from Corruption?”

“The fuck if I know,” Chuuya states, getting that building nauseous feeling again and cursing the heavens for doing this to him. He readies himself to throw up again, prepared to direct his vomit right at Dazai if he keeps annoying him.

He gags, throwing up for the third time in twenty minutes. He feels his hair being pulled from his face gently and throws up with a little more confidence, knowing he isn’t going to have to walk around with vomit covering his ends now.

Dazai laughs, tugging his hair a little further back, “I haven’t seen Chuuya sick since we were sixteen,”

Chuuya heaves in response.

Dazai continues talking, “Do you want me to play nurse again? Wouldn’t that be funny!”

Chuuya dry-heaves one last time before pulling back and trying to get a hit on Dazai, who jumps back and lets his hair fall forward. “I am not dealing with you while I’m sick.”

“Come on! It wasn’t that bad!” Dazai whines, “Plus, this report is boring!”

Chuuya agrees. The report is boring.

“We have to get it done. Unless you want to work overtime tomorrow? You know Boss is going to make us if we slack off!” Chuuya yells back, standing on shaky legs.

Dazai grabs him by the arm, steadying him. It’s reminiscent of when Chuuya uses Corruption. Over the past two years, Dazai’s become attuned to noticing all the little signs that Chuuya is off his game–disabling Corruption is a life-or-death situation that can turn wrong in a matter of seconds, missing one sign that it’s going on for too long could cost both Chuuya’s life and everyone around him.

This isn’t Corruption, though. This is a sickness.

Chuuya shakes him off, “I’ll be better in a day,”

“You might be better in a day,” Dazai corrects. He’s only been sick once. That’s the only data they have concerning his sickness resistance. Not very reliable.

Does Chuuya care? No.

“I will . Because we have an infiltration mission tomorrow night.” He responds firmly, stalking out of the bathroom even though he just wants to lie on the floor and sleep. He flops down into his desk chair with a bone-tired sigh.

Dazai follows him and sits in his chair, silent. Chuuya doesn’t care. He has a report to do.

A few minutes pass before Chuuya runs for the bathroom again, not even bothering to close the door. You can hear gagging all around the office.

After emptying his stomach, Dazai sings mockingly, “If you can’t even sit in your chair for ten minutes without throwing up, we’ll be working overtime anyway. Might as well just go to bed!”

Chuuya shuffles back to his chair and falls into it. “You seem eager to leave. Do you have a date or something?”

Dazai scoffs, rolling his eyes, “No, but I have better places to be than with your stinky breath.”

“Oh yeah?” Chuuya irks, grumbling, “And where would that be?”

“The bar,” Dazai answers simply, then adds with a teasing note, “There are a lot of pretty, nice-smelling women there.”

Chuuya grumbles, tapping away on his computer, “Fuck, go then. I’d do more work without you babbling in my ear every minute.”

“Really?!” Dazai leans into his space, then covers his nose and leans back, “Stinky,”

“Fuck off!” Chuuya yells, and Dazai laughs, grabs his black overcoat, and runs to the door. He leaves, then pops his head back in.

“Try not to throw up on the report!”

“I’ll throw up on you , you waste of space!”

Dazai grins as he runs from a flying, wayward stapler shadowed in glowing red.

It’s not a far drive, and when he arrives, Dazai skips into the entrance of Bar Lupin with vitality to his step, grinning from ear to ear.

“Looks like someone ditched his partner again,” Ango lazily chimed over his ginger ale, with Odasaku waving at him in greeting.

Dazai sits beside Odasaku, grinning, “Lovely to see you as always, Ango. And for your information, my partner permitted me to leave early.”

“He must have gotten fed up with you,” Ango concludes.

Odasaku slides Dazai a whiskey, “How is your partner, anyway?”

Dazai whines and sips, “Do we have to talk about Chuuya now? I just got away from his small antics. I don’t want his image following me here, too!”

Ango sighs and shakes his head, and Odasaku gives Dazai a small smile, “I was only asking because I heard about your recent raid.”

“Ah,” Dazai hums, “Yeah, we used Corruption. It was nothing different, though, if anything safer than usual. It was a quick cleanup.”

Odasaku hums, and Ango stays quiet, taking another drink of ginger ale.

“I guess you’ve left him to do the report then. Poor guy.” Ango sighs.

Dazai grins, “Well, he’s not going to get it done tonight anyway, so who cares if I left early.”

Odasaku perks up at that, questioning, “Why’s that?”

“He caught a stomach bug,” Dazai laughs, “he can’t sit long enough without having to throw up to get anything done.”

Ango shakes his head, “First Corruption, now he’s sick. What bad luck.”

“Well, I hope he’s okay. He’ll have to go to a clinic when they open tomorrow morning.” Odasaku adds.

Dazai’s whiskey is already half empty, a light buzz covering his senses. “Oh, no. He won’t go to a clinic. He hates doctors.”

“Isn’t his boss a doctor?” Ango asks.

Dazai laughs out loud, hitting Odasaku on the shoulder, “That’s the funniest part!”

Odasaku frowned. “It’s most likely a bacterial infection. It won’t get better if he doesn’t take antibiotics.”

“Yeah, he says he’ll be better tomorrow,” Dazai adds, “for the infiltration. As if.”

Ango and Odasaku shake their heads, and Odasaku asks, “Then, how have you been, Dazai? You’re not sick, too, are you?”

“Of course not. He’s so small he doesn’t have enough germs to share!”

Dazai talks a lot. He always does, with Odasaku and Ango.

When he goes to leave the bar a few hours later, Odasaku pulls him aside and asks him to make sure his partner gets better. Dazai’s always been weak for Odasaku’s requests.

Chuuya may have underestimated this virus.

Dazai was right, maddeningly so. Chuuya can’t sit in his chair for ten minutes without feeling the need to throw up, never mind if he does. In the past hour, he’s only been able to write two paragraphs on their recent raid. Two out of thirty, he has to write. He’s doing overtime.

It’s past midnight, and usually, he doesn’t get tired quickly, but he is now. All he wants to do is sleep; knowing overtime is inevitable, he gives in and heads home. It’s a long, long drive.

Mori also upgraded his living space after moving to a roomier office. He no longer lives in a cramped dorm room–he has a kitchen, living room, and a nice balcony . It’s the place Chuuya’s proud of, even if Dazai says his decor is tacky. He worked from nothing and got here faster than any Port Mafia underdog ever has.

Opening his door was like walking into heaven.

Heaven didn’t allow Dazai Osamu in.

Yet there he was, sprawled out on his couch with booze breath and drool dripping onto the floor.

Chuuya kicks the couch hard enough it lifts and almost tips over. Dazai’s up in an instant.

“Ah, my patient has finally decided to clock out!” Dazai grins.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” Chuuya rages, tired and irritated, then throws his arms up in the air as a sign of defeat, “Fuck, I don’t care. I’m going to sleep!”

Dazai calls after him as he stomps to his bedroom door, “Your live-in nurse is here if you need him!”

Chuuya wakes up still sick. That’s fine. He still has about twelve hours until his infiltration operation. He’ll get better throughout the day.

However, his stomach reels when he opens his eyes, and he’s up, stumbling to the bathroom, still half asleep. He gags and heaves over the toilet, spit and bile coming out, even though he hasn’t eaten since before he started throwing up last night.

He coughs, leaning on the toilet seat, hears someone step close to the bathroom, and throws a dagger hidden in his waistband in the direction. It lands in the doorframe right by Dazai’s head.

“You’ve got bad aim when you’re sick,” Dazai comments, yawning and pulling the dagger out of his wooden doorframe. Chuuya goes to yell, but instead, he heaves and throws himself over the toilet bowl once again.

Dazai steps behind him, holding his hair back like he did in the office the night before. He doesn’t say anything as Chuuya coughs and splutters. 

Once Chuuya exhausted all he could from throwing up, he fell back onto his legs and sighed. Dazai still holds his hair and laughs sleepily. “You might want to go to a clinic.”

Chuuya scoffs, “You know me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dazai says, “which is why I’m stuck with playing nurse again.”

Chuuya grabs his hair from Dazai's hands and glares, “I’m not asking you to do anything. Why don’t you just go home? I let you crash on my couch. That's more than enough time spent with you."

Dazai shakes his head, “You weren’t even with me. You were sleeping in another room.”

“Close enough,” Chuuya sighs, rubbing his face. He’s tired and feels like he has weights strapped to every limb. He doesn’t want to get off the bathroom floor.

Dazai sits across from Chuuya, giving him a stern look before sighing, “Whether you like it or not, you have a bacterial infection. You need antibiotics. Stop being so stubborn.” 

“That’s so stupid,” Chuuya says, “I’ll get better. I have this fucking God in me.”

Dazai sighs, pulling a bottle out of his pocket and handing it to Chuuya. “If you want to be at least useful for the infiltration tonight, you must take this.” He pats Chuuya on the head, ruffling up some of his hair, “I got you banana flavour since you’ve never had that!”

Chuuya stares at the bottle as Dazai stands. “I’m not taking this!”

“Then you’ll just have to ask Mori to reschedule the mission,” Dazai shrugs, his one eye dark, “you know he won’t do that, though.”

Dazai leaves the bathroom, flushing the toilet as he goes. Chuuya stares at the bottle and opens it. It smells like bananas.

He curses, heaves, and uses the little measuring cup to measure how much he needs to take of the medicine.

“Took the medicine, I’m guessing?” Dazai grins when Chuuya leaves.

“You better be happy,”

Nostalgia flashes over Dazai’s eyes, “I’m ecstatic,”

Chuuya just rolls his eyes and huffs for him to stop lazing around his apartment.

Dazai was kicked out after he managed to scam Chuuya into cooking him breakfast. 

Nine came too fast for Chuuya’s liking, considering he was still dry-heaving an hour ago but was feeling better. More awake and alert, ready for the mission. He meets Dazai outside headquarters at half past.

“How’s my patient holding up?” Dazai asks as soon as Chuuya gets out of his car.

Chuuya tries to kick his legs from under him, and Dazai dodges. “Just peachy,”

“Still grumpy when you’re sick, I see,” Dazai grumbles.

“What’s there to not be grumpy about?” Chuuya mumbles under his breath as he steps into the backseat of their second car.

This was a stealth mission, at least. He wouldn’t have to go in, guns blazing and fists flying. He could stalk the shadows, a quick in and out without being noticed. That’s if he doesn’t start coughing and heaving on the floor in the middle of it.

“I’d say you could stand watch, but I need your ability to get the data we need.” Dazai converses childishly, tracing drawings on the fogged-up window.

“Yeah, I know,”

“Still throwing up?”

Chuuya sighed, “It stopped about an hour and a half ago.”

Dazai hums, looking out the window, “Let’s hope it doesn’t return.”

Of course, it does.

Of fucking course, because the world loves to see Chuuya Nakahara suffer.

At the worst moment, too. Unfortunately, their intel must have been wrong because some people they were avoiding who weren’t supposed to be here right now were a few meters away. Dazai had his arm over Chuuya’s torso, the pair crouching behind an old couch in the middle of the in-home library.

The group of people they were avoiding were conveniently conversing in the middle of the room, on the other side of the couch. One of them even dared to sit on that very couch.

And then Chuuya coughed, his hand balled up in his mouth as he swallowed down bile and coughed again. Dazai didn’t seem surprised, attention laser-focused on the group that had stopped talking and now stood silently in the room.

The mission immediately turned from a stealth mission to an assassination mission.

Chuuya swallowed hard as Dazai pulled out his gun and threw his arms over the back of the couch, letting out a few stray bullets that had the occupants of the room shouting and scattering like sheep running from wolves. One screamed a little too loudly, showing he was hit. Four out of five left.

“ Winning goat in despair ,” Dazai whispered in Chuuya’s ear, who swallowed another vomit.

Chuuya got the memo nonetheless.

Luckily, a library was an excellent spot for a sudden change in plans for Chuuya’s ability. He jumps up, noticing three of the men have guns drawn, and coughs. They fire, but bullets aren’t the greatest weapon against Chuuya; with a shield of gravity covering his body, he flings them back. Even though he misses them, they feel how outmatched they are in the silent stare-down Chuuya grants them afterwards.

The books on the shelves start glowing red, shaking as they squeeze out of their places on the shelves, dust flying up around the room. The room's occupants seem to know who Chuuya is because they yell for everyone to get out and take cover. It's too bad Chuuya’s faster, and so is his ability, For The Tainted Sorrow.

The books hit them like a terrible hail storm.

In the end, Chuuya can say he’s created the most grotesque murder with books he’s ever witnessed, somehow managed to make a library a deadly weapon, and probably ruined them for the rest of his life. All in a day's work.

And he does throw up on the floor afterward, much to Dazai’s amusement.

“Shut up!” Chuuya sways, “Uhg,”

Dazai’s at his side instantly, hauling Chuuya’s arm over his shoulder despite the awkward angle Dazai’s forced to couch into because of their height difference. “Easy, partner,” he teases, walking them to the room they’ve been trying to get into this entire time.

Chuuya doesn’t complain; with the God in his head quieted by Dazai’s touch and the weariness that’s too strong to hold himself up on his own now, he appreciates the steady weight to hold onto.

They retrieve the files, with more bloodshed than Mori anticipated, but it’s the Mafia; bloodshed is welcome, if anything.

Dazai drops Chuuya into the backseat of their getaway car, climbing overtop Chuuya and closing the door as the vehicle speeds up down the back roads of Yokohama.

Dazai grins at Chuuya, “Maybe it’s time you stop smoking. That sounded like smokers cough back there,”

“Shut up.” His tone is weak, but there’s an intense fire in his eyes, “You should stop trying suicide. Maybe you’ll actually kill yourself one day, then what?”

Dazai stares at him dumbly, then the corner of his exposed eye crinkles at the edges, “Then I’d be out of this place,”

Chuuya thinks for a bit before scowling, “And leave everyone behind?”

“I don’t have anyone to hang onto here,” Dazai says evenly, calmly, “who would I be leaving behind?”

“I guess all this working together hasn’t made us any closer?” Chuuya argues back, feeling some of his emotions bubble like boiling water as he glares down at Dazai.

Dazai laughs lightly, “Chuuya, you shouldn’t get too attached to everyone. Remember how you ended up in the Mafia?”

Chuuya scowls and looks away, “Yeah, you love to remind me of that,”

“I’m saying it’s a bad idea to get attached to me. Remember what I said when you got sick last year? You shouldn’t fall for me, even if im devishly handsome and charming.” Dazai grins, poking Chuuya in the side, who swats him away with a little pink colouring his cheeks.

“I’m not falling for you!” Chuuya shouts back, “We’re friends!”

Dazai quirks an eyebrow at him playfully, holding his hands over his heart and pretending to weep, “You think we’re just friends! You wound me, dear!”

Chuuya shoves Dazai lightly, yelling, “Shut up, oh my God , I can’t stand you!”

“Ah! I can feel my heart breaking! It’s in a million pieces!” Dazai cries, falling forward onto Chuuya’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why I thought we were friends!” Chuuya yells, “You’re such an insufferable bastard; I hate you!”

Dazai grins at Chuuya, still resting his head on his shoulder, “I hate you, too,”

Chuuya gets home, unfortunately, with Dazai tailing along and begging him to play a round of video games with him. He gives in just because he wants the company. He falls asleep on the couch, crunched over his controller.

He wakes up with a stiff neck and a calm stomach.

Dazai is lying on the other side of the sofa, with his legs thrown over Chuuya’s uncomfortably. He can’t tell if he’s pretending to sleep or actually sleeping, but it doesn’t matter.

Chuuya gets up and starts making breakfast.

At least he isn’t sick anymore. 

Patient: Chuuya Nakahara, Male, Aged 18; Prognosis: Ear Infection

“Chuuya, think about it , this will be the most fun we’ve had in forever !” Dazai pleads, practically on the floor, as he clutches the ends of Chuuya’s sleeves. His voice is suspiciously grating, and Chuuya’s head has been pounding extra hard for almost an hour now.

Chuuya throws him off himself, yelling, “Fun for you ! There is no way in hell I’m gonna have fun!”

Dazai grins, standing up and poking Chuuya’s side repeatedly, “You know, this mission was assigned to us specifically . Think of how disappointed Mori will be if you turn it down after only just being promoted to an executive, too.”

The cunning, manipulative bastard .

Chuuya was not new to covert or disguised missions, although it wasn’t usually his style. He was more of a brawler, but he trained directly under Kouyou. She’s a master at covert missions.

That’s why he wasn’t thrilled when he heard he’d be going on a covert mission with a fabricated identity, but it wasn’t that big of a problem. He’d just get it over with and move on. Then he heard the details .

Chuuya should've known it wouldn’t be a solo mission. He hasn't had a solo mission in almost three years since being partnered with Dazai in their team, Soukoku. He should've realized and thought more about it before agreeing to the mission.

He was set to go spy on a dinner party. The hosts and a fair number of the attendees were in organizations directly opposing the Mafia. It was a great chance to gain information and insight into the organizations and their upcoming moves. But, getting onto the guest list is difficult. They need an image of someone harmless, wealthy and influential enough to be there without ties to any organization. A newlywed couple of two wealthy heirs to well-known, clean family names would be the perfect disguise.

And that's the issue. Because the newlywed couple is Chuuya and Dazai. Chuuya Nakahara and Dazai Osamu are supposed to be a newlywed couple. It’s absurd.

Or, well, Haru Sato (Chuuya) and Akira Sato (Dazai). Those are just disguises, though.

Another downside was that Chuuya was almost sure he was sick. Probably. This sickness felt a little harder to detect than his previous two. Still, from the headache he has (yes, he’s checked, and he hasn’t sustained any significant head trauma recently) and how his eardrums feel like they’re pushing against his skull, something is wrong .

He was in the same room with Dazai for one minute before he asked if he was sick. Sometimes Chuuya worries they’re too in tune with each other nowadays. When it got to the point where they could read each other's heartbeats , Chuuya felt like it was enough; that felt like the plotline of a corny teen romance.

Chuuya feels the tiniest bit blessed that he doesn’t have to dress up like a girl for this; he has in the past, and it was the worst and most unflattering moment of his life. The little victories.

“I am going to make this incredibly clear for your shit-stained brain,” Chuuya growls, “I do not want to do this. I do not want to cooperate. I was assigned the mission, and I’m going to complete the mission despite that. Understood? Great.”

Dazai grins his manipulative grin, “That’s a great mindset, Chuuya. Perfect for an executive!”

Chuuya has only one idea of why the freak is so excited about this.

All they’ve been getting lately are reports and raids, both bottom-of-the-barrel boring jobs. This is new and exciting, and Dazai thrives on new and exciting. In precisely the same way he latched himself onto Chuuya when he first entered the Mafia, this was another experience Dazai could manipulate.

“I’m going to go plot with Odasaku and Ango!” Dazai cheers, his entire eighteen-year-old self excited over a simple covert mission. The moonlight shines into their office through the floor-to-ceiling window.

Learning about Odasaku and Ango was a new development, something he only told Chuuya about a few months ago. As soon as that dam broke, Dazai would not shut up . It seems like getting close to Dazai was like that with everything he held inside. Like a house waiting to be broken into, Chuuya was the unsuspecting burglar.

At least they were friends now, even though that line has become fuzzy lately.

His head hurts too much to keep thinking that train of thought.

“Whatever, I’m going to lie down,” Chuuya grumbles, upset at the headache he’s carrying around with him.

Dazai sends him a smile that never, ever reaches his exposed eye as he leaves their shared office, “Make sure you take some painkillers for that headache, shorty,”

Chuuya sends him the middle finger and swallows two small pills before riding his motorcycle home and getting some well-deserved nap time in.

He wakes up the following day to a throbbing pain in his head. When he opens his eyes and light hits them, it gets worse. It’s practically unbearable. He rolls on his bed and feels for his phone, squinting as he opens his messages. The contact Mackerel was always at the top of his list nowadays. He types him a quick message and flops down on his bed with a groan.

He hears the door to his penthouse open and sighs.

Dazai opens the double door to his room, giving him a strange look, “I knew you were sick,”

Chuuya groans at the sound of his voice piercing his oversensitive ears. “Yeah,”

Dazai notices the noise-sensitivity because he can now, and he comes to sit on the bed next to where Chuuya lies in pain. He hands him a small bottle of pills. Chuuya swallows the painkillers without complaint. He speaks softly, almost whispering, “It’s an ear infection. I need to go get some antibiotics. Rest.”

Chuuya nods and closes his eyes as Dazai leaves the penthouse, making sure to close the door quietly when he leaves.

Chuuya has to admit that antibiotics work wonders. He still has never willingly gone to a doctor while conscious, though.

After taking the medicine and sleeping for a bit longer, (you’d be surprised at how flexible he can make his schedule as an executive now. No wonder Dazai was always able to fuck off and do whatever he wanted), he was feeling infinitely better. He’s not cured but well enough to leave his room and greet Dazai on his living room sofa.

“Third year getting sick in a row. Do you think it’s a pattern?” Dazai jokes and Chuuya prays he’s not right.

“It better not be.” He grumbles, sitting on the sofa next to Dazai. He leans his head against the back and closes his eyes. “When’s the mission? Tonight?”

“Regrettably for you, yes.” Dazai answers, never taking his eyes off the game before him and violently hitting the controller buttons. “It’s fine. I can do most of the talking. We could manipulate your file to say you’re deaf, so you can wear noise-cancelling earplugs,”

Chuuya groans, “What’s the point of me even going then? Arm candy?”

Dazai grins and tugs one of Chuuya’s longer pieces of hair childishly; it’s grown far past his shoulders now, “You’d make the perfect arm candy,”

Chuuya weakly bats Dazai’s hand away, “Shut up. Let's just keep it how it is.” His cheeks are red.

Dazai shrugs, still grinning, “If you say so,”

They sit there in silence with only the sound of smashing buttons. Dazai muted the television, which he rarely did, and Chuuya appreciated it.

Getting the costumes for the mission was interesting.

Not only were they in crisp, matching black and white suits (nothing extravagant; they were just trying to blend in with the background), but Chuuya was made to tie his hair up. Dazai styled his hair so his exposed eye was more visible through his bangs, and his covered one was more hidden.

Getting the rings really sealed the deal.

“Chuuya, will you marry me?” Dazai is on one knee, holding the silver band in its box out in front of Chuuya.

Chuuya’s sure his face is at least a little bit red.

“Get up off the floor, you freak!” He hisses, trying to pull Dazai up, but he won’t judge.

Dazai frowns, a fake hurt expression, “That’s not how you accept a marriage proposal, Chuuya,”

“Yeah, and I thought your dream was to marry a beautiful woman and commit double suicide with her?” Chuuya fires back.

Dazai shakes his head, “I never said I wanted to marry a beautiful woman, just that I wanted to commit suicide with one.”

“Oh, that’s even better. Lead her right to death before she can have a chance at living a full life,”

A strange expression flashes across Dazai’s face as if he’s remembering something painful. He sighs and stands up off the ground, pouting, “You’re no fun,”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, “You’re a pain in my ass,”

He takes the ring from his own box and puts it on his own finger, leaving Dazai to do the same with his.

The headache was returning, and it was all these people's fault.

He’s never been surrounded by more obnoxious, loud and irritating people. It’s unreal. How many of them are there, and how are they all joined in the same place?

Of course, he’s stuck around these people while he has the worst headache of his life, one rivalling Post-Corruption.

Dazai could tell he was at his limit because the next time one of these little gremlin fuckers approached them, Chuuya politely, with a strain to his smile, asked to leave to get a refill on his champagne.

Dazai comes up behind him, placing his hand on Chuuya’s hip, “Not enjoying the company, hun?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and snorts, “I hope you aren’t enjoying them too much,”

“Of course I’m not.” Dazai takes a new glass for himself with his free hand and winks at Chuuya, “My eyes can’t leave my lovely husband.”

“It’s okay if you want to try to scope out your future double suicide victim here. I won’t stop you.” Chuuya sipped his drink and turned to face Dazai, the tips of their shoes almost touching and Dazai’s hand not letting go of his waist.

Dazai looks at the crowd and then back to Chuuya, humming, “Unfortunately, nobody here captures my attention quite like you do.”

“Well, aren’t you a flirt? You already put a ring on it; no need to try so hard,” Chuuya slips back into character easily, trying to recover the flow of the conversation and remove his personal self from the role. It’s proving difficult for the first time in his life.

Dazai grins, seeing the flip of attitude, “It would be a waste not to continue to flirt with such a pretty face, even if it’s mine already.”

Chuuya places his glass down on the counter, slips his arms around Dazai’s neck and feels him stiffen up. He finds his ear and whispers, “I’m going to the bathroom for some painkillers. Entertain our guests for me, love.”

He slides his hands down Dazai’s shoulders and walks away, peeking at the small smile on Dazai’s face. It almost looks like it reaches his eyes.

Things never do go right for them, though. It’s almost a curse at this point.

Who knew headaches would affect how Chuuya controlled his ability, even though he mostly controlled it through his mind? 

When one particularly clumsy lady trips over her heels in front of Chuuya, splashing her glass his way, he unknowingly activates his ability on the drink, preventing himself from getting soaked. The silence afterwards was deafening.

Dazai, the ever-quick thinker, attempts to minimize the damage by quickly grabbing the offending glass and Chuuya's hand, stopping his ability and claiming he caught it before it dropped. Even though most guests in that circle seemed to calm down at that, the more experienced ones kept an eye out. Suddenly, the carefree party was full of suspenseful, prying eyes.

It all climaxed when a few older gentlemen and a young lady invited them to a private room for more discussions.

They knew what they were walking into, so when the door locked shut behind everyone and the cold barrel of a gun pressed to Dazai’s forehead, nobody was surprised.

“You’re Port Mafia executives, Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara,” one man explained.

Dazai whistles, looking predatory, “Thanks! I forgot my name after playing as Akira Sato for so long.”

Chuuya just rolls his eyes.

Another grunts and shouts, “We know what you're up to! You’re trying to dig out information!”

“Not trying,” Chuuya replies lazily with a grin, “we did .”

“You can’t leave here alive,” the man with the gun states.

“I expected that much, you know, because of the gun and all,” Dazai teases.

“Haru!” Someone yells, and a bright green light covers the room and disorients the surroundings. Chuuya goes on guard. Ability users were different than random lackeys with guns.

That obnoxious one from before laughs, “You can’t activate abilities in Haru space! Any room She activates her ability in becomes nullified!”

Well, that’s pretty annoying. But Chuuya was trained to kick in skulls with his strength alone, so he wasn’t worried.

However, his headache was growing stronger. Stronger in a concerning way. It was turning from an ear infection headache into a Corruption headache. He flicks a gaze at Dazai, and his face turns cold.

Dazai hums, “Are you sure that’s what her ability does?”

No Longer Human was acting up.

That means For The Tainted Sorrow was behaving strangely.

Which means; Arahabaki .

The men laugh, obviously amused by the question. “How would we not know what one of our abilities does?”

Dazai picks Haru out of the bunch quickly. A green glow covered her body. She looked frustrated but caught on her tongue. Dazai remembers reading her file; she’s mute.

Wow, people just keep getting dumber.

Dazai sighed, placing a hand on his chest, “Don’t take this the wrong way, gentlemen, but coming from an ability user, I can say that’s not her ability.”

Stalling. This was a Shame And Toad situation.

Chuuya won’t be able to stop Corruption from activating here, not in this abilities space, because this ability makes users lose control of their abilities. They should use that to their advantage.

Chuuya already understood what was happening, and as he felt the slow creep of Corruption up his arms and around his cheeks, he got chills. This was too slow and agonizing. This was losing control of Arahabaki.

Arahabki wiped everyone out in less than three blows. Dazai was familiar with this crazed state and was prepared to dodge the attacks, but the others were not as organized. As soon as Haru hit the ground, the green light disappeared. Arahabaki didn’t.

Dazai jumped to the side, skidding to a stop behind Chuuya. Arahabaki was already losing interest in him as he wasn’t an enemy in front of his face. He wraps his arms around Chuuya, cupping his face from behind. The curse marks immediately vanish, and Chuuya slumps forward, caught by Dazai’s arms wrapped around his waist.

That wasn’t in the plan.

Chuuya woke up in bed with an all-familiar ache all over his body and deep in his bones.

He couldn’t tell if he was sick anymore. It wasn’t likely that he was since it had been more than a day, but he was feeling a new kind of pain that wasn’t any more welcomed than the previous ear infection.

Dazai was sitting in the chair just off the side of Chuuya’s bed, playing on his phone in his typical mafia attire. He perks up when he hears Chuuya groan.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he calls.

“How many days has it been?” Chuuya’s throat sounds hoarse from misuse.

Dazai puts his phone down, walks to Chuuya’s bedside and sits, “It’s only been one. You were hardly in Corruption for longer than two minutes.”

Chuuya sighs, relaxing back into his bed. At least he won’t be bedridden for a week, like in most cases. “Perfect,”

Dazai messes up Chuuya’s hair, and his arm weakly touches his away. Dazai laughs, “That wasn’t really in the plan, but it worked out, no? Mori already has orders to take down one of the organizations.”

“Well, doesn’t he work fast,” Chuuya sighs, anticipating the insane amount of paperwork in his future.

“As always,” Dazai groans.

Dazai gets Chuuya water and something to eat, a routine that’s become standard for Post-Corruption. Chuuya wonders how sixteen-year-old Chuuya would react to this. He’d probably gag and throw up.

Well, that’s the past, and now’s the present.

“Celebrate that you aren’t sick anymore!” Dazai cheers and Chuuya rolls his eyes.

“I’m still sick of you,”

Dazai makes an exaggerated upset face, “Aw, don’t lie,”

Chuuya huffs and flicks Dazai’s exposed eye and closes his eyes, wanting to rest and recover his body.

Before falling asleep, he feels the press of someone's lips against his forehead: a kiss.

It wouldn’t be until a few months later that Dazai betrays the Mafia.

Patient: Chuuya Nakahara, Male, Aged 20; Prognosis: Sore Throat

Chuuya was hoping the trend of getting sick once a year would end, and luckily, it did. It was probably because, after Dazai’s defect from the Mafia, he was battered and unconscious after almost every one of his solo missions. He guessed getting the shit beat out of you prevented you from having the time and energy to get sick.

He’d gotten used to independent missions for over a year; twenty was a good look on him. He rarely gets rushed in for emergency medical treatment for ruptured organs and broken bones. Being healthy has opened a new door for the world's germs to infect his body.

He’s annoyed when he wakes up with a sore throat and no voice, but only a little . He’s busier and needed by his subordinates more now than ever, so worrying about a sore throat isn’t at the top of his mental list.

Right now, he and his team are working on an emergency operation. A terrorist organization that’s just annoying enough to cause trouble for the Mafia but not strong enough to warrant an entire war. They recently destroyed one of the cargo ships out at sea full of trading goods they would use for a truce with another organization. Complicated and messy, he knows.

This is why he needs to tear apart the terrorists that destroyed the ship so that the Mafia doesn’t enter a war with the other organization they were trying to placate. If he acts a little more ruthless than expected because of this shitty virus, then that’s just how it is.

“Akutagawa,” Chuuya calls with a raspy voice, stepping down the hallway with the authority of someone in charge that he gained over the last year, “gather the Black Lizard and an army of about two hundred."

Akutagawa steps to the side, mumbling, “Yes, sir.”

If they want a fight, Chuuya will give them one.

The battlefield is much less messy than it was under Chuuya’s leadership now compared to a year ago, as clean as a battlefield could get. Even with his voice barely there, he still shouts orders across the port. Despite the dizziness in his step, he still rushes into the middle of the fight. Despite the pounding in his head, he learned to control his ability in a disoriented state after intense training, so it was perfect.

He is a Port Mafia executive, after all.

“That battle was extremely messy; it’s a miracle you ended up winning.” Kouyou chastises him. He’s having tea at her place, a soothing honey blend she says is good for the throat. His voice is squeaky, like a pubescent teen when he speaks.

He sighs, “It went better than I expected,”

“I thought I trained you better? Your entire squadron will suffer if you don’t care for yourself first.” Kouyou rarely speaks without her mouth covered or a contemplating glint in her eyes. Still, she lets her guard down just slightly out of respect for her longest tutee.

Chuuya knows his self-care has been lacking for a while now. Still, managing two executive positions and his health is challenging. “It’ll pass in a day or so. It always does,”

Kouyou shakes her head, sighing, “This is all Dazai’s fault. If he had never left, you wouldn’t be so overworked to the point of harm! Wherever he dropped off to, I hope he’s miserable.”

She’s developed a deep dislike for Dazai. She’s disguised her personal feelings as reasons benefitting the overall health of the Port Mafia.

“Can we not talk about that fucker? I don’t want to hear his name for the rest of my life.” Chuuya growls, raspy.

Kouyou rolls her eyes, “Yes, well, with how obsessed Mori is with that protegee of his, I predict you’ll even hear his name on your deathbed .”

Chuuya goes home an hour later, back to the same penthouse he had when he was eighteen.

He wakes up sick.

He’s never been ill for longer than two days.

He’s sweaty, sickly pale, and his throat is so congested it’s sometimes hard to breathe and swallow. He’s coughing and clearing his throat every minute and can’t speak for longer than a few, or else his voice gives out. He takes some painkillers, but he still goes to work.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Akutagawa says beside him, “but you seem ill. Should you be in the office today?”

Chuuya is considerate of Akutagawa’s lung disease, knows that any illness could put his life in danger, and has ordered him to stay a few feet away from him at all times. He sounds tired when he speaks, “I’ll be alright. I’m never sick for long,”

Akutagawa nods, not prying further because he’s a sixteen-year-old boy with no care for anything but his own goals, just like Chuuya was.

He goes to sleep and wakes up.

He goes to work. He’s still sick.

Akutagawa keeps sending him concerned looks. Even Kouyou comes to check in on him, horrified that he hasn’t gotten better yet. She almost dragged him by his hair to the doctor herself.

He’s sick on the fourth day. He finds a get well soon basket on his desk from the Black Lizard. He makes the trip down to their department to tell them he’s doing fine and will be back on his feet soon. It’s nothing to worry about.

That’s when Mori orders him to visit the doctor or have him treated by Mori himself . Chuuya opts for the lesser of two evils and goes to the doctor.

Chuuya goes to the doctor willingly for the first time in his life. He doesn’t sleep well for a while after; memories of old lab coats and too-thick needles fill his brain every time he closes his eyes

Patient: Chuuya Nakahara, Male, Aged 22; Prognosis: Influenza (Flu)

“Are you sick?” Dazai asks, the moon shining behind him.

Chuuya wishes he were dead, not in a suicidal way, but so that he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever Dazai wanted with him now. The truce between the Agency and Port Mafia was probably the worst thing to come out of this year, and having to work with Dazai as his partner again was the second worst. This year wasn’t turning out to be his year.

And, yes, he’s sick. He’s got the fucking flu.

Chuuya has no idea which fucker keeps infecting him with these viruses because if he ever finds them, they’ll wish they had an immunity to illness like he’s supposed to have. They’ll be dead.

Chuuya kicks the ground as he walks past Dazai, sniffling, “None of your business, asshat.”

Logically, he knows he and Dazai are working together for a general purpose: to protect the city they live in, Yokohama. Emotionally speaking, his and Dazai working together feels like an awful ploy from someone behind the scenes to wretch his heart out on a platter and shove it back down his throat in a way that makes his eyes tear up and throat burn.

Dazai shakes his head, stepping next to Chuuya and staring at him with both eyes, “I already know.”

“I know,” Chuuya replies, scoffing. Of course, he knows. “What do you not know about me?”

Dazai hums, thinking, “I kept enough tabs on the Mafia to know most of what happened during the years I left. As a precaution.”

“Sounds like something you’d do,” Chuuya grumbles, his body aching. The flu was probably one of the worst mashups of symptoms he’s experienced so far: fever, sore throat, runny nose, coughing, headache, body pains, and fatigue that makes him drag his legs as he walks. He was throwing up for the first night, too.

Dazai stares down Chuuya once again, unsettling him with both eyes. If he thought Dazai’s stare was terrible with one, two was a surprise waiting to hit him in the face.

“This should be easy,” Dazai states sing-songly, walking ahead of Chuuya, “Just don’t let that flu drag you down!”

Chuuya wishes the flu would make him pass out right then and there.

The mission was easy.

For the first time while working with Dazai, things went according to plan A. No Corruption, no casualties, no injuries.

They were infiltrating an old Angel’s Of Decay base. Their main objective was to gather any valuable data and leave nothing behind. The plan was to sneak inside, scope the area for helpful information, then plant bombs and detonate them on the way out. 

It almost felt too easy to leave the house and hit the detonator before climbing into the escape vehicle. Dazai gave him a grin that he reciprocated. It was their thing, even if they hated each other's guts.

In all honesty, Chuuya was glad it went so smoothly. This was day three of this flu, and he had managed to escape Mori’s eyes and his future orders to go to the doctor. If he got sick and ended up in his clinic, he’d get shit.

Chuuya pops two painkillers, leans back and closes his eyes, exhaling. He was burning up, he could tell; his body was crashing after the adrenaline rush, and it was hitting hard . He couldn’t wait to get to his penthouse and sleep off the rest of the day.

Though, Dazai keeps giving him weird looks, and it’s pissing Chuuya off.

“If you have something you want to say, spit it the fuck out.” He growls, sending a glare Dazai’s way.

Dazai stays silent until asking, “Have you taken antiviral medication? It’ll help.”

Chuuya laughs; it’s short and more of a wheeze because he coughs right after, but it is still a laugh.

“It’s funny that you think you have the right to say that, Dazai.” He grins, but it’s mean and cold. “What? Want to play nurse again, like old times?”

Dazai’s eyebrows furrow, and his lips thin into a line, staring at Chuuya. “How long have you been sick? I didn’t expect you to let the flu take you down this hard.”

“Huh?” Chuuya feels his anger rising, “I’m not letting anything take me down . I’m fucking working. I went on this shitty mission with you.”

“You’re an executive. Why don’t you take a day off to recover like you used to?” Dazai asks, voice going cold and stern like he used to speak back in the Mafia.

Chuuya laughs again, louder and harsher, “I’m one person filling two seats. Do you think I have the time for sick days ?”

“You’re filling my position, I know,” Dazai sighs, “at least take the proper medicine. Go to a doctor, get treatment.”

Chuuya slams his palm into Dazai’s throat, cutting off his airway. Dazai looks down at him impassively.

“Since you know me so well,” Chuuya seethes, “you’d know I don’t appreciate doctors. Unless you’ve been so busy with your new life that you forgot?”

Dazai gives him a questioning look, “I haven’t forgotten. How could I forget that ?” Dazai pauses, “I know you went to the doctor two years ago.”

Chuuya, exasperated, releases Dazai and throws his hands up in the air, “You know that too? I bet you also know how I couldn’t sleep for months after, huh? I was put on sleeping pills . Did you know that?”

Dazai looks pained; it’s vulnerable. Dazai has never let Chuuya see him like that before. “No,”

“Well, now you know.” Chuuya slams back into his seat, crossing his arms.

They stay silent for the rest of the car ride.

The car drops Dazai off at the Agency, and neither says bye when he leaves. They didn’t say bye four years ago, so why would they now?

Chuuya does sleep the rest of the night away until about two in the morning when the alarm from his front door sensors goes off on his phone. He’s groggy and sick but still on full alert, the gun he keeps under his pillow in his hands and his ability activated.

He stands near the door, kicks it out and points his gun into the empty corridor.

A brow bag sits on his doorstep.

Inside is antiviral medicine and the same soup Dazai gave Chuuya the first time he got sick when he was sixteen. The soup they fought a spoon over.

Chuuya sits at his kitchen island with a heavy heart.

The years between Dazai leaving and now are a blur of late nights, overworking, random flings, solid friendships and life . He’d destroyed organizations, killed too many people to count, made friends and enemies, and had lovers and one-night stands.

What has Dazai been doing this entire time? Apparently, he was trying to eliminate any trace of being in the Mafia and create a ‘better life’ for himself.

Coincidentally, without Chuuya. 

Chuuya would never give up those years without Dazai for anything, even if it meant keeping Dazai in his life.

But he so desperately wanted to understand why . Why was it so easy for Dazai to leave everything they had behind like it was nothing?

And now, why was it so easy for Dazai to waltz back into his life like nothing had ever happened? Like the relationship they created over the four years they were together, and the space when they were apart wasn’t actually a big deal ?

Chuuya takes the medicine and doesn’t check the bottle for tampering. Dazai had kept his trust in that regard, at least.

He eats the soup with bitter memories plaguing his mind.

He feels sick, more than just from the flu.

When Chuuya wakes up, he has a goal on his mind. One involving a lot of anger and preferably bloodshed.

He’s sick, but the medicine Dazai left at his doorstep makes it easier to manage.

He arrives at Dazai’s Agency dorm ten minutes after nine. 

He bangs the living shit out of the door. A crash and curse come from inside.

“I know I slept in Kunikida–” Dazai sings in a sleepy voice, cutting himself off once he sees Chuuya. “Ah, it’s the shorty.”

“What the fuck were you doing creeping around my place at two in the morning?!” Chuuya yells, jabbing a finger into Dazai’s chest.

Dazai frantically looks outside, grabbing Chuuya’s arm and dragging him inside. Startled, Chuuya doesn’t put his heels on the ground fast enough to stop from falling into Dazai when the door shuts behind him. He’s flustered as he shoves Dazai back a few feet.

“What the fuck–?!”

“Shh!” Dazai shushes dramatically, “I slept in, and I don’t want a scolding from Kunikida today!”

“As if I give a fuck!” Chuuya yells back, crossing his arms, “What gave you the nerve to show up at my house with medicine and that fucking soup of all things!?”

“Ah,” Dazai stills, giving him that mischievous grin he knows is all fake, “I took your woes to heart and decided to extend some generosity. Do you not appreciate a heartfelt gift like that?”

Chuuya sighs and rubs his face, shouting, “I never wanted your pity! Or generosity! Or whatever the hell that was!” He yells, throwing his arms out, “I just wanted to remind you that you know nothing about me anymore!”

“ Nothing ?” Dazai asks, his playful tone slipping, “That’s funny, Chuuya. How could I know nothing about my partner of four years?”

“– Anymore .” Chuuya corrects, “You haven’t been in my life for four years!”

Dazai crosses his arms, an overexaggerated, hurt expression on his face, “I may not know much about your personal life , but I’ve kept tabs on your work for the past four years–I know more than you think I do.”

“Enlighten me, Dazai,” Chuuya snorts coldly, “what do you know?”

Dazai stares at him momentarily, “I know that when you started getting solo missions, you ended up in emergency care after almost every mission.” His tone is cold and flat, as if he’s reading off a report, “You picked yourself up after that, though. I know working both executive chairs was overwhelming, but you’ve adapted. Which is very you, Chuuya.” 

Chuuya stares, listening. He would’ve preferred it if his struggles working on his solo missions were kept under wraps.

“You know about my work; what do you know about me ?” Chuuya demands. 

“I told you, I didn’t keep tabs on where you went and who you spoke to in your free time. Would you have wanted me to do that?” He says, voice growing rougher and louder.

Chuuya walks into his space, putting his palm on his chest, “What do you know about my feelings, who I’ve liked and hated, what I’ve personally gone through?”

“I don’t–”

“You don’t know , wow.” Chuuya finishes bitterly.

Dazai laughs coldly, “Well, I know you hate me.”

“You’re right on that,” Chuuya steps back, yelling, “but did you think I always hated you? Did you think I spent all that time getting to know you because I hated you?” 

Dazai growls, exasperated, “I don’t know, Chuuya. You tell me!”

“No!” He yells, “No, of course not! Are you stupid?! I liked you! I’ve been in love with you for years–!”

Silence follows. Sick, deafening silence. You can hear Dazai’s old dorm building creaking and working behind the walls in this quiet. 

Dazai opens his mouth, then closes it, and stares. Two bright amber eyes stared right into Chuuya’s hardened blue ones.

“Fuck–” Chuuya screams at himself, ‘This was not how this was supposed to go! ’

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Chuuya wanted to turn around and run. He’s not a coward, though. He won’t leave .

“... I liked you, too,” Dazai admits, and there’s a slight shake to his voice Chuuya’s never heard before. “I’ve been in love with you since we were seventeen, or I knew it then.”

Another silence fills the room as Chuuya stares hard at the man standing before him. He starts to distort in his eyes.

“I,” Chuuya’s speechless before an overwhelming rage explodes out of him, like the screaming of a kettle after it’s finished boiling. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious . Are you playing another one of your fucked up games right now?!” Chuuya screams , “I never expected you’d hit such a fucking low! I know messing with me was your obsession , but isn’t this too far?!”

Dazai holds his hands before him, “I think you’re misunderstanding, Chuuya–”

“You can’t just say you’re in love with me after abandoning me for four years!” He shouts, “You’re fucked up , Dazai. I don’t know what you expected to happen by saying that, but stay the fuck out of my life! If I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you!”

The door to Dazai’s room is slammed hard enough the hinges break.

Patient: Dazai Osamu, Male, Aged 22; Prognosis: Broken Heart Syndrome

Dazai feels like his heart is beating out of his chest.

He never expected or wanted that to happen the way it did.

He always imagined that confession, confessing something so guarded and jaded in his heart at the right moment when he knew it would all go well. The conversation spiralled faster than Dazai would have liked, and Chuuya was always a wild card. He could read him like a book, but predicting which of his explosive emotions would come out was never completely accurate. 

If he had waited and said things differently, they wouldn't be like this. He wouldn't be clutching at his chest like he was shot.

Chuuya wouldn't have left his house screaming that he wanted to kill him.

Dazai sighs. He can't change the past, just like how he can’t change Odasaku’s death or his decision to leave the Port Mafia. He just has to work with whatever little strands he has left.

He left Chuuya four years ago but wouldn't let him slip past his fingers again.

An old memory flashes in his mind, haunting him, teasing him.

Dazai, eighteen, on his knees fake proposing to Chuuya, even though it felt like he really was: “I never said I wanted to marry a beautiful woman, just that I wanted to commit suicide with one.”

Chuuya, eighteen, rolled his eyes and said the words that Dazai wished he could change the reality of: “Oh, that’s even better. Lead her right to death before she can have a chance at living a full life.”

Chuuya would never know he uttered Dazai’s fear out in the open as a joke that night.

Maybe this is for the best, Chuuya; without Dazai, he could finally live that full life he hoped he would. Dazai left with no words because he wanted Chuuya to live, to not get dragged down by his grief and suicidal ideations.

He wanted him to live .

The pain in his heart tortures him.

He lays back down in bed, closing his eyes.

Chuuya enters the office right after, looking for work. Unfortunately, the years turned him into a sort of workaholic. He destresses, celebrates, and grieves by pouring himself into it. Akutagawa greets him at his office door.

“Chuuya,” the twenty-year-old boy stares at him for a few minutes before coughing, “Boss says he has an urgent mission to discuss with you and–are you okay?”

Chuuya grins wickedly, knowing that whatever Mori has in store for him is exactly what he needs to calm the seething, searing pain of complete heartache and betrayal. “I've never been better, thank you, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa gives him one last sideways glance before nodding and returning to his desk.

Chuuya knocks before entering Mori’s office.

“Chuuya, it’s wonderful to see you,” Mori says from his seat at his desk. Elise lays on the floor, colouring markers directly onto the hardwood floors. Mori doesn't seem to mind.

Chuuya walks in and knees politely before standing, “I was told there was something urgent to discuss?”

Mori sighs, shaking his head, “Well, unfortunately, we’ve received news that an enemy organization is planning a raid this evening.” Mori rubs his forehead, “Usually, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get together adequate forces to defend our goods, but they seem to be ability users that mainly focus on combat, not defence.”

Chuuya understands where this is going, “You want me to wipe out all the ability users.”

“By any means necessary.” Mori clarifies, and Chuuya shrinks a little because ‘any means necessary’ usually means Corruption .

“Of course, boss,” Chuuya says with a bow.

Chuuya rushes back to Akutakgawa’s office.

“Prepare the Black Lizard. I want all of our combat ability users on the front field.” he commands, Akutagawa nodding with a hand covering his mouth, “We have an ability user raid to stop, so bring a backup of about four hundred men. Half will be defence and support. As soon as possible!”

“Yes, sir.” Akutagawa rushes to leave the office.

Chuuya hopes and prays he won't need Corruption. If he uses Corruption tonight, he will die.

Chuuya hits the battlefield like a meteor, in the front and centre. His army followed closely behind him. His opponents didn't look phased by his display, seemingly overconfident in their abilities. The order ‘by all means necessary’ rings through his head like a baby's cry. 

‘By all means necessary’ turned out to be necessary . 

Although his forces were formidable, they matched his opponents. Their abilities are fine-tuned for combat, irritatingly so.

With half his support down, a Black Lizard member and Akutagawa are overwhelmed by three ability users, and Chuuya is left speechless.

How did things end up this way?

Was he going to die by Corruption?

Isn't that how it was always going to end, anyway?

“Oh, Grantors of Dark Disgrace,” Chuuya mumbles, shakily removing his gloves, “Do Not Wake Me Again!”

Corruption takes him quickly and agonizingly.

Dazai was woken up by a frantic Atustshi.

“Something is happening down at the Port!” He yells, fumbling, “We need to go now!”

Dazai is up in an instant. Even though the pain in his chest makes him dizzy and light-headed, he still matches Atsushi’s pace, and they topple into the back of Kunikida’s car.

“What's going on?” Dazai asks.

Kunikida looks at him from the rearview mirror, “The Port Mafia is currently engaging an opposing organization. Apparently, things are getting messy.”

Dazai quirks an eyebrow, a tiny seed of worry planting itself in his gut, “What else?”

“We have reports that Chuuya Nakahara activated Corruption,”

Dazai yelled at Kunikida to drive faster.

It takes ten minutes to get to the Port from the Agency. Chuuya’s record for most prolonged standing in Corruption was seven minutes. Dazai’s chest lurches and squeezes.

The area surrounding the Port is covered in a dark black glow, smoke and debris, making it hard to see. Bodies are found up to two blocks away. 

“Shit!” Kunikida swore as he swerved to the side, narrowly hitting a corpse on the road, “I can't drive in this! Run the rest!”

Dazai mentally added another three minutes. Thirteen minutes . He isn’t going to make it–

He gasps as his chest constricts, his lungs blocking all oxygen from entering or exiting. He doesn’t stop running to catch his breath.

If Chuuya dies this way, will Dazai be able to survive his death? He barely survived Odasaku’s.

He takes a shuddering breath, his lungs opening up.

Why would Chuuya activate corruption if he wasn't around?

Another block, but his chest squeezes and almost knocks him over. He keeps running .

Did he accept this suicide mission because of their conversation? Did he do this?

Another contraction, worse than any before, has his sight dotting black. He can't breathe and doesn't even know how he’s still moving . Then he seens Chuuya.

Emotional, grumpy, trusting, wonderful Chuuya .

He's covered in dark red marks, his skin almost wholly gone. Blood drips from every single crevice of his body, and his blue eyes are nowhere to be seen. It’s agonizing to look at.

He needs to get closer, needs to get in his way, but there's a crater deep enough to be a lake surrounding Chuuya. It reminds him of when they were fifteen and first learned of Arahabaki.

Atsushi runs up next to Dazai, “What do we do?! He’s going to destroy the whole city if he keeps going!”

Dazai thinks hard . “He's going to die before he can do that!

Kenji comes up next to them, “Dazai, you need to get to the middle of that crater, hm?”

“Yes! I need to get to Chuuya,” he pants, heaving. His chest is on fire.

Kenji laughs, “I skipped dinner,” before he grabs the back of Dazai’s coat, and his idea fleshes out in his mind instantly.

“Do it!” He screams, and Kenji does.

Dazai hopes he can make it across. If Dazai dies meters away from him because he wasn't thrown far enough or too far, he won't be able to live with himself.

He’d be dead, and so would Chuuya.

If he isn't dead already.

Dazai feels his fingertips slide across Chuuya’s exposed arm. He stretches and grabs, straining his limbs, No Longer Human activating.

Chuuya crumples to the ground like a broken picture frame.

Dazai’s heart burns, he feels lightheaded, and he can't breathe. But Corruption is gone . 

He passes out, thinking about how it took fifteen minutes to get to him. 

“You're lucky your heart didn't collapse in on itself!” Yosano screams at Dazai, shaking her clipboard in his face.

Dazai chuckles, but the residue pain from his heart squeezing makes him wince a little, “Don’t be so mean, Doctor, I’m still recovering!”

“At least you’re not comatose, like Mr. Fancy Hat,” Ranpo calls out, sucking on a lollipop.

Dazai’s heart clenches, and the heart monitor he’s hooked up to starts beeping in alarm.

Yosano screams, “Ranpo!” before running to adjust Dazai in his cot. “He’s going to be fine. I got to him in time. You just need to give his body time to catch up with all the damages he’s received.”

The monitor beats more steadily.

“I know,” Dazai sighs.

Dazai was diagnosed with Broken Heart Syndrome, a heart condition that occurs because of traumatic or acute stress or injuries. It’s not fatal, but if ignored, it can cause lasting heart problems.

Yosano is an ability user. She healed him up just fine. He had to continue to be monitored for up to two weeks since his condition was so fragile.

He was released a month ago.

Chuuya was another issue. Thanks to the Agency’s truce with the Port Mafia, he was allowed to reside in the Agency’s office so Yosano could keep an eye on his vitals. Mori even sent monetary compensation, which Fukuzawa gave Dazai, who immediately burned it.

Everyone was waiting for Chuuya to wake up.

Dazai was waiting for Chuuya to wake up.

He finally did, after almost two months, comatose.

Dazai was the first to know and the first (aside from Yosano) in the doctor's office.

Chuuya sat upright on the bed with a glint in his eyes and an impassive expression. Dazai’s heart squeezed.

“Finally,” Yosano sighs, “I’ll let you work out your shit. Fix this heart issue, Dazai; I can’t keep worrying about whether you’re going to collapse any second of the day you decide to think about him.”

Dazai laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he waves her off, “No need to worry, Doctor!”

Yosano leaves quietly, leaving Chuuya and Dazai together in the dim medical ward.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says, and even saying his name makes his heart clench. Man, he has it bad.

Chuuya’s gaze falls on him, cold. “What do you want?”

Dazai steps closer to the bed, standing at Chuuya’s bedside, reminiscent of how he would sand at Chuuya’s bedside when he was sick.

Chuuya had other plans because as soon as Dazai was within arm's length, he lurched for the tray Yosano left out carelessly. It clatters to the floor loudly enough to alarm anyone within earshot. He picks up a scalpel.

It’s cold as it rests on Dazai’s throat.

Dazai’s heart screams.

“I thought I told you,” he grits, a flame in his eyes, “that I’d kill you if I ever saw you again?”

Dazai sighs, the metal rubbing against his vocal cords whenever he moves. “Chuuya, I have Broken Heart Syndrome.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows raise, and he jerks his hand back just a little to give Dazai speaking room, “What the fuck?”

“A heart condition caused by severe stress or trauma,” Dazai explains, voice soft, “I thought you’d killed yourself using Corruption.”

Chuuya glares, taking him in up and down. The scalpel is less of a threat and just hovers in the air between them.

“Why should I believe that?” Chuuya asks.

Dazai smiles small, “I can ask Yosano to verify that. She was the one that treated me.”

“Is that what she was saying about ‘fixing your heart’ or whatever the fuck?” Chuuya cuts in, voice sharp.

“Yes,” Dazai answers simply.

Chuuya drops his hand, sighs, leans back in bed and closes his eyes.

“Chuuya,” Dazai calls.

Chuuya peeks up at him, “What?”

“I love you,”

Chuuya stares at him calculatingly before responding, “Why should I believe that ?”

Dazai sucks in a breath before saying, his eyes falling to meet Chuuya’s, “I started showing symptoms after we talked at my place,” he pauses, looking down at the scalpel, and with a dry laugh, “I guess I was so distraught that you took my words the way you did, that my heart stopped working properly.”

“Why would you leave then?” Chuuya asks, his eyes falling and his mouth becoming a thin line.

“My best friend died,” Dazai explains, “he asked me to start a new life.”

Chuuya scoffs, “And that was enough for you to leave the person you loved behind?”

Dazai shakes his head, sighing. “Remember when you said I’d bring someone I loved to death before they could have a full life? I was terrified of that. I didn’t want to drag you through the worst moments of my life and ruin yours.”

Chuuya stares, dumbfounded, before yelling, “Huh?!”

“I didn’t–”

“No, shut the fuck up!” Chuuya interrupts, “Why do you decide whether I should see you at your worst? Fuck, you’ve seen me in Corruption for years now!”

Dazai looks pained as he says, “That’s not the same,”

Chuuya crosses his arms, “So, what? You were grieving a friend, crying and all snotty; what, were you suicidal, too? That’s nothing fucking new, Dazai!”

Dazai stands silently, saying, “I didn’t want to ruin your life.”

“Who do you think I am?!” Chuuya shouts back, “Did you think a few little breakdowns of yours would change my entire world? I’m stronger than you think!”

Dazai stares at him, takes him all in, and smiles. It reaches his eyes. And then laughs.

“Wow,” he says, laughing, “I feel fucking stupid.”

“You should! Fuck what you put me through because of that bullshit. You’re awful, Dazai!” Chuuya yells, pushing Dazai back lightly, but there’s a slight smile on his face.

“I really am terrible,” Dazai agrees with a smile.

Chuuya clears his throat and gives Dazai a silly look, “For the record, I love you too, asshole.”

Dazai cups Chuuya’s cheeks, watching them go red, and kisses him on the lips. It’s quick and soft before he pulls back.

“Oh,” Chuuya coughs after, “did you kiss me when we were teenagers? I swear I remember that.”

“Ah, so you were awake.”

“Asshole! Why didn’t you just say something?!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Dazai. Shitty fucking person.”

Dazai grins, twirling a piece of Chuuya’s hair on his finger, “Yeah, well, now you’re stuck with this shitty fucking person. ”

Chuuya rolls his eyes playfully before grabbing Dazai’s chin and giving him a peck on the corner of his lips. Dazai's chest has never felt lighter.

“Finally.”