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Objects began to lose their form in front of Dazai’s eyes. Lights blending together as he dragged himself down the corridor. It was 3:29AM and Mori had just finished ‘training’ him, if you could even call it that. It was more of a rigorous torture, designed specifically so he would lose himself.
He wasn’t sure if he was dissociating from the pain or just tired from the sleepless week he’d endured. And God, everything hurt. The blood dripping down his arms was sure to pool on the hard wooden floor, but he could sort it out in the morning, right now, his priority was making it to his room.
A small light appeared on his right, adding to his dizziness. Hands reached for him, he flinched back and suddenly he was back there. Mori’s cold smile, seemingly the warmest thing in the room as he told Dazai that this was all for his own good.
He wasn’t supposed to feel any of it.
He wasn’t human.
It was Chuuya’s voice which brought him back.
“Hey! Hey!” And then softer, once the brunet opened his eyes, “Dazai…”
Red hair and worried ocean eyes filled his vision.
He groaned, his mask sliding back over his features. Chuuya knew though, even without witnessing those few seconds where he had let it slip away.
“Leave me alone,” Was what Dazai tried to say, but it came out more garbled as nausea flooded through him and he retched onto the floor beside him and Chuuya’s pants. Why was he fully dressed at this time of night?
Chuuya frowned at him, his eyes, heavily shadowed with worry.
He was falling into unconsciousness, no matter how much he fought it. It wasn’t safe. He needed to get back to his room. But oh God, he would need Chuuya’s help, and to ask for it would mean he was weak. But to stay, would show Chuuya just how vulnerable he was.
Weakness wasn’t a thing you could afford in the Port Mafia. Mori had taught him that. He rarely cried anymore, although he still felt it. Pounding in his head, the thoughts he kept crushed inside him. The emotions he wasn’t supposed to feel.
He wasn’t human.
He didn’t deserve to feel.
Mori’s dark eyes, always watching him, waiting for him to slip and show more vulnerability so he could use it as an excuse to hurt Dazai.
And that was what led him here. Sitting by Chuuya on the cold hard wood of the corridor.
The day before, Mori had proposed to him the idea of using Chuuya’s corruption to sort out some problems with a small gang.
“It will be more efficient.” Mori had smiled.
It had been a trap, he was baiting Dazai, manipulating him so he could feel the pleasure of hurting him with Dazai only blaming himself but Dazai hadn’t realised that yet.
Dazai’s eyes had widened, and he instantly declined the proposal, saying it would do too much damage to Chuuya, and he wasn’t a tool, not easily replaced.
“Hmm, why should you care what happens to him?” Mori’s smirk had only grown bigger.
Dazai had caught his mistake too late, even as his expression turned cold, he knew Mori had seen the raw, unfiltered emotion he had shown.
Now, Chuuya saw him slipping into unconsciousness.
“Wait, Dazai, don’t fall asleep here. Let me help you into my room.”
This brought him back. No, he had to get to his own room, alone.
“Chuuya, go back to bed, I’m fine~” This time his words weren’t blocked by vomit.
Chuuya looked at him with… was that pity? Oh God no, he felt sick again, he hated pity, he hated feeling weak, he hated everything.
The world around him was blurring even more, the cold lanterns glowing brighter than he thought they could. It was too much, everything was too much. He couldn’t even make out the expressions on Chuuya’s face. He hid his own in his knees. Now painfully aware of the pain throbbing through his body.
“Dazai, I’m going to hug you okay? Don’t panic.”
He felt small arms circle around his torso. And although his first instinct was to pull away, he found himself relaxing into the smaller boy’s embrace.
“Please Dazai, let me help you. Just this once.”
Why was he being so nice? It would be easier if he was annoyed, or mad for being woken up. But no, here he was, hugging him of all things.
Dazai knew he would regret it in the morning, that even if Mori didn’t catch him allowing himself to be vulnerable with Chuuya, Chuuya would never look at him the same.
“Okay,” Dazai whispered quietly, and had it not been in the dead of night, where nothing stirred, Chuuya would have missed it.
Slowly, but readily, Chuuya raised himself up, then he supported Dazai, as he too got up—with some difficulty.
Even though Chuuya’s room was right next to where they were sitting, it took almost fifteen minutes for them to reach Chuuya’s bed.
“I’m sorry.” Dazai sat on the edge of the bed. His bandages were loose, his eyes bloodshot.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Chuuya was searching through cupboards on the other side of the room.
“For…” He felt his eyes water, tears that had waited so long to fall, finally did. “Feeling.”
Chuuya turned, shocked at Dazai’s statement. His arms full of bandage rolls and other supplies.
“Hey…” he said softly, approaching Dazai slowly, as if scared to frighten him. “I’m here, Osamu.”
The use of Dazai’s first name only caused him to cry harder. Chuuya didn’t deserve any of it, it was Dazai who pulled him into the Port Mafia.
Chuuya enveloped Dazai into another hug.
“You’re allowed to feel, it’s human.” Chuuya whispered.
“I’m not,” he replied too sharply, pulling away from Chuuya. “I’m not,” he repeated, over and over again. “That’s what he told me.”
Chuuya knew that Dazai was referring to Mori, that manipulative bastard. For the genius, Dazai was, Mori knew exactly how to manipulate him.
“Osamu, calm down.”
Although this was not the best thing to say. Dazai’s tears ceased to fall.
“Forget tonight,” he said coldly, and stood abruptly to leave. Then he hissed as pain shot through his body.
Chuuya caught him before he fell.
“Osamu, I know you’re human. I know it. I know what it’s like to not be human, which means I know that you are.”
Chuuya clutched him tightly. Dazai had forgotten Chuuya’s problems with his own humanism.
“Chuuya…” He whispered softly. “You’re the most human person I’ve ever met.”
Chuuya nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. Acknowledging the sentiment but still not believing it.
“Let me change your bandages.”
Dazai sat back down and Chuuya began to unwind the crimson-soaked bandages from Dazai’s arms, gasping, when he saw what lay beneath. He had known it was bad, but nothing could prepare him for the criss-crossed lines which spiralled up his arms. They were the source of the bleeding, but none—even the open wounds—looked externally-inflicted.
“Osamu…?” Chuuya looked up questioningly, but the brunet was avoiding eye contact.
Dazai, in all his panic and confusion towards the thoughts spiralling around his mind, had forgotten this part. And it scared him, how out of sorts he was. Normally he would have seen every outcome, but his emotions had once again blinded him. This is why Mori was so intent on… teaching him.
But for some reason, he relented against the strong urge to flee, to push Chuuya away and hide everything. He told himself he had already fallen to far, Chuuya already knew enough. The truth was far from it. Really, he liked this side of Chuuya, the one who was done pretending they hated each other. The one who now cradled his arms so gently, bandaging them.
“Chuuya,” he murmured, looking down at the hand which was being held by Chuuya’s.
“Hmm?” The other returned.
“Thank you.”
Chuuya embraced the other once more.
“I believed him…” Dazai’s voice—always so strong—cracked slighty.
Chuuya paused, and pulled away a little, his crystal blue eyes meeting those devoid of anything. He let Dazai continue.
“It’s hard not to… but…” Those eyes began to shine, with a small sort of determination. “How could it be so terrible to care about you?”