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Following an arduous mission where Double Black had been dropped in the middle of nowhere via helicopter, a terrorist ability user needing to be dealt with, Chuuya didn’t think he was asking much by wanting to sleep peacefully that same night.
The gravity manipulator was coated from head to toe in blood (which was and wasn’t his), faint markings from Corruption still etched into his skin like tattoos. Chuuya could also barely open one eye, a cut on his eyebrow having dripped downwards, crusting the lid shut. Then there remained the embarrassing fact that he partially used Dazai as a crutch, a slight limp making walking on his own unfavorable.
His partner didn’t look much better, though.
Dazai’s arms shook dangerously as they carried Chuuya’s weight, the bandages layering them filthy with crumbs of dirt from the soil he’d been flung into. He even kept his slimy mackerel jaws sealed for once, a telltale sign that his vocal cords were overused from screaming Chuuya’s name over the winds of Corruption.
At least Chuuya assumed that was the reason until the menace in question defied the silence.
“Chibi’s heavy,” the demon prodigy complained as they tackled the stairs of the motel they were staying at for the night. Exhaustion layered his voice, making it obvious he desired rest equally.
“Shut up,” Chuuya grumbled, no actual heat lacing his words. Dazai acted like he wanted to be in this position, relying on him. “We’ll get to our room soon, and then we can both wash up and go to sleep before reporting to Mori tomorrow morning.”
“It is tomorrow already.”
“You know what I mean!”
Arguing with Dazai resembled a brick wall. He could say anything at all and his partner would retort with an identical statement—only he often delivered it with an annoying sense of wit. Chuuya sighed and accepted defeat willingly for the first and last time, mind drained of every thought as he imagined his head hitting the soft material of a pillow. A cinderblock would work too if it allowed him to reach unconsciousness faster. Chuuya wasn’t particular.
The redhead’s eyes slowly slipped closed for a moment while picturing the scenario, grip on Dazai’s shoulder nearly going slack and falling off. However, Chuuya’s lids fluttered open again reluctantly when the pair came to a sudden stop. Mere inches from his face, their room number glittered beneath the dingy light of the hallway.
“The key, hatrack.”
Gazing up at Dazai blearily, Chuuya failed to put two and two together despite noticing how expectant the other’s expression was. Yet when the bastard took getting their key into his own bandaged hands, reaching into Chuuya’s pocket roughly, he snapped back to reality in an instant.
“Hey! Get your hands off me, mackerel!”
Dazai sighed, too tired to find humor in their current setup. “If I did that, you’d face-plant miserably. Plus,” he held the key in front of Chuuya’s complexion tauntingly. “if I wanted to steal something from you, I wouldn’t be so obnoxiously obvious about it.”
A moment of silence passed between the two where Chuuya clicked his tongue and Dazai fumbled with the lock. Groaning, the door then opened after Dazai successfully inserted and twisted the key, and it revealed… one bed.
“Shit,” the gravity manipulator cursed rather loudly. “This can’t be right— I swear I picked a room with two beds! Damn idiots must’ve gotten the reservation wrong.”
Not remarkably bothered, Dazai shuffled them through the door regardless of the mistake, depositing him into the nearest chair. “Well, we’ll have to share I suppose. Just no kicking me with your tiny slug appendages. I’d like to be bruise-less when facing Mori later.”
Chuuya blinked, surprised by how oddly mature Dazai was being instead of throwing a tantrum. “You’re not…. mad at all?”
“I am. But what do you want me to do? No one’s awake at this ungodly hour.”
He had a point that Chuuya hadn’t considered. Besides, complaining further wouldn’t exactly change their situation—even if both of them wished it would.
“Fine, I won’t kick the shit out of you tonight,” Chuuya grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to wash up first, though.”
“But Chuuyaaa.”
“No buts! You should be lucky I don’t make you sleep on the floor!”
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Once he felt far cleaner than any job ever left him, Chuuya expected himself to crash immediately. However, his brain was adamant about fighting off sleep, unwilling to settle even when the gravity manipulator began listening to the sound of Dazai showering just a wall over.
He stared at the ceiling, the white color of it ominously gazing back as if it had eyes.
It reminded Chuuya of nothing he’d ever seen but at the same time everything he had. All the people whose pulse went still on his watch. The words Rimbaud said to him and Dazai the day Chuuya’s life started and ended. The surfaces that were barren before he used Corruption, becoming bloodied once he ravaged.
Usually he didn’t allow himself to ponder these things. Thinking about the past was like putting a nail in his own coffin until all Chuuya could see was red. But his emotions were weak, worn down by the tiredness that hung overtop his eyes, so he couldn’t stop the dam from falling brick by brick.
Plus Chuuya was alone, which was the optimal setup if he wanted to cry.
And as soon as he became aware of it, he was crying. He reached a hand up to wipe the tears away, refusing to let Dazai see him so weak once he finished freshening up. Although, no matter how hard Chuuya scrubbed at his eyes, the wetness never seemed to cease.
Him breaking down was long overdue, he supposed. Regardless of how many missions Mori threw the infamous Double Black into back-to-back, it didn’t lessen the blow from the ones before. In fact, deflecting only made everything worse.
Back when he led the Sheep, Chuuya could cry whenever he wanted. While he may have been their leader, they were young, which let him wear his heart on his sleeve instead of shoving it deep down.
“Awww, did my little dog miss me so much that he couldn’t catch a wink without his loyal owner by his side?”
Dazai’s voice did more than cut through his thoughts, startling Chuuya so much that he shot straight up in their bed.
No, no, no. He couldn’t let the cracks in his composure become noticeable; it would reveal just how unfit he was to be in the Port Mafia’s strongest duo. Dazai especially couldn’t see him like this, likely preparing to taunt him for the rest of eternity.
“Chuuya?” suddenly Dazai was breathtakingly close, kneeling close to the side of the bed where Chuuya laid. He gripped the redhead’s wrist lightly, fingertips cold but grounding.
Chuuya’s eyes widened, a teardrop trickling down the side of his face as he processed the scene unfolding before him. Dazai was… comforting him? It was unexpected since he never factored care into the demon prodigy’s capabilities, choosing to view his partner as someone who simply didn’t.
Noticing Chuuya’s distinct shock, Dazai threw his head back and sighed dramatically. “Chibi looks far more surprised than he should be. I do have a heart underneath all these bandages, after all.”
“Wow, is that a joke?” Chuuya said, somehow finding the nerve to speak where a sob wasn’t clinging to his throat. “I didn’t expect a sense of humor and a heart to be beneath those bandages.”
“Believe what you want, Slug,” Dazai refused to take the obvious bait behind his partner’s words. Instead, he opted to ruffle Chuuya’s still-wet hair obnoxiously.
“Quit it.”
Despite huffing out his reply, Chuuya’s mood had increased significantly—almost like he hadn’t been crying a mere moment ago. He grinned, an odd sense of comfort fueling the expression; comfort at being uplifted from one of his lowest moments. Yet that didn’t lessen the weirdness behind the whole situation, the fact that he and Dazai were often at each other’s throats having painted the other boy as nonsensical.
Would Dazai proving Chuuya wrong change things between them?
Honestly, Chuuya didn’t care. In their nearly four years as Double Black, Dazai had proved him wrong countless times. Whether it was when Dazai brought him back from the depths of Corruption, or when he befriended Oda and Ango, Dazai couldn’t be confined to a singular box.
It was normal. An exception that Chuuya had carved out specifically for the mackerel whenever he opened his slimy fish lips.
So as Dazai slipped under the covers, their ankles grazing slightly as the former made himself comfortable, Chuuya smiled—even though he knew his partner could see it. He then reached toward the bastard, fingertips settling on Dazai’s wrist, a steady pulse bleeding through his bandages.
Dazai merely stared back at him, eyes half-lidded in a manner Chuuya had never seen them in before. Tired. Soft. “Chuuya wearing that expression while looking at me is… unsettling…”
The gravity manipulator watched as the bastard’s cheek fully smushed against his pillow, line of sight giving into sleep where small snores left his mouth. With the hand he’d been tracking Dazai’s pulse with, Chuuya brushed hair away from his face before settling his hand comfortably against Dazai’s cheek.
This made Dazai twitch momentarily, eyebrows furrowing, before he settled again.
“Still fighting me, even in your sleep, huh?”