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Summary
“Chuuya,” Dazai says, placatingly. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what, Dazai?” Chuuya snaps. There’s too much tension in his frame. He’s holding back with enormous effort. “You didn’t sneak into my apartment to meddle with something when you heard I was sick?”
Dazai had, in fact, broken in because he’d heard Chuuya was sick, and he wanted to change some (but not all) of his wine into vinegar, so Chuuya would never know which one he was getting until he uncorked it –
“I thought you were sick,” Dazai says, stressing the word. Everyone had acted like it was the flu. Dazai thought it was the flu. Chuuya’d already had his rut months ago, he wasn’t due for another until –
Unless –
“Corruption,” Dazai breathes out, too many pieces slotting together too quickly.
“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Boss says there’s no way to tell if it’ll trigger every time or not.”