Work Text:
Dazai sighs, annoyed. This is the tenth time he’s called Chuuya only to get no answer. “What a slimy slug..” he mumbles, snapping his phone shut. He places it back in his pocket and turns, heading in the direction of Chuuya’s apartment.
This is an odd first for Dazai: being blatantly ignored. People are nominally too afraid to even look him in the eye, let alone ignore him. However, Chuuya has always been different from others in Dazai’s life. Even his boss, Mori, is afraid of getting on his bad side; but Chuuya isn’t afraid to push his patience off a cliff.
Always the exception.
— — —
When Dazai enters Chuuya’s apartment, it’s quiet. A little too quiet is Dazai’s opinion; especially considering how loud Chuuya typically is, even in the comfort of his home. The first thing he notes is how messy it is, something out of the ordinary for Chuuya’s home.
The next thing Dazai notes is: Chuuya’s shoes at the door, meaning he is home. Dazai hums, eye twitching, as he walks forward— over clothes thrown about, smashed porcelain and broken glass, and even over a knocked over chair— calling Chuuya’s name.
“Chuuya! I know you’re home; your shoes are at the door.” He pokes his head in the bathroom, nothing but a mess of water and shattered glass; then he looks into Chuuya's home office, still no Chuuya, just a smashed computer monitor and papers thrown about. Then he opens the door to the master bedroom. “Chuuya?”
His voice is dripping with false kindness— one that hides his growing frustration— and his visible eye darkens to almost black; Dazai hates being ignored, especially by people he enjoys the company of. And Dazai loves Chuuya's company the most.
The bedroom is no different from the rest of the apartment: a mess of clothes and shattered glass. Only this time, he finds Chuuya.
Any anger or frustration Dazai had before begins to fade at the sight before him.
Chuuya is currently in the middle of his bed, still wearing his work clothes from the day before. His breathing is shallow and light, hardly audible to Dazai’s ears. His blanket is folded around him, as if he kicked off in his sleep, and his pillows lay on the ground.
Dazai approaches the bed, as quietly as a mouse, and carefully sits on the corner of it. His dark eyes drilling unusually soft holes into the side of Chuuya’s head. “Stupid dog…” he mutters softly.
— — —
Chuuya wakes up with a jolt, his head pounding so hard, he fears it may crack open like an egg, his brain being the yolk. As he sits up, he places a hand on his head, fingers going through greasy, unwashed hair.
“Fuck..” the pain in his head has traveled down to his eyes, making his vision blurry and broken. Pain spreads like a virus: down to his fingers and toes; his body is stiff and difficult to move.
A contrast to yesterday, where all he did was move. Trashing his home, like a tornado destroying everything in sight. The yelling voice in his head becomes louder and louder, trying to take control of his mind and body; yells become screams as the voice begs for more. His mind becomes a broken record of begging for more destruction as he begins to lose control of his body.
It went on for hours, Chuuya throwing his prosalen plates and and glass cups, folders and stacks of important documents, smashing his bathroom mirror, and tossing his furniture about. Only when his body began to grow tired and his mind began to silence did he stop.
And, with his breathing heavy and body exhausted, he finally crawled into bed. Within seconds, Chuuya was asleep, curled into a ball and face damp from tears he didn’t know he shed.
He sighs and, after much more effort than necessary, slides off his bed. He slowly shuffles around his dark room, bare feet taping against the warm carpet. It’s only when he turns the light on in the room does he notice: it’s clean. “Huh?” He definitely doesn’t remember cleaning up last night.
Chuuya opens his bedroom door, wary and confused, his body tense and on guard. He has no memory of cleaning last night, nor does he remember inviting anyone over or calling someone to clean. Yet, his nose fills with the scent of lemon and cleaner.
He cautiously makes his way down the hall, eyes gazing into his office and bathroom— that are also clean; he even has a new computer and bathroom mirror.
The smell of lemon fills his entire home, like his home has become the inside of a lemon dessert. However, as he nears the kitchen, Chuuya smells warm and fresh food.
“I was about to throw a party to celebrate your departure into the afterlife,” Dazai says from the table. He’s currently organizing papers back into their assigned folders.
“Shut your mouth!” Chuuya frowns, his head still pounding. Part of him is grateful it’s Dazai he finds and some stranger, he is in no condition for a physical altercation right now. The other part of him is annoyed to find Dazai at his dinner table; not in the mood to deal with this slimy, fish-faced asshole. Never is, but especially now, when it feels like a bolder is pounding harshly against the inside of his skull.
“What an ungrateful dog I have…” Dazai pouts, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s bright and beautiful ones. Eyes Dazai could spend the rest of his life gazing into. The only sea he might be allowed to drown in. “I clean his home and he yells at me.. so rude!”
Chuuya’s eyes widened slightly, guilt beginning to eat at his anger. “You..?” His question trails off as he realizes Dazai isn’t lying this time. “Why?”
Dazai closes the folder he just finished organizing and moves to rest his head on his palm, leaning across the table. “What kind of owner would I be if I allowed my dog to live in such filth?”
“I’m not your dog, jackass,” Chuuya hisses out, annoyed.
“No? But—” he stands, walking towards Chuuya and leaning close to his face, their breaths intertwined— “you lost the bet.” His tone is mocking and ear piercing.
Chuuya kicks Dazai in the stomach— tries to, anyway— “get out of my face, stinky, fish-face!”
“You wound me, Chibi,” he whines, backing up and placing a hand over his chest. “So much anger for someone so small.” Chuuya clenches his fists, holding back from punching Dazai square in the face.
“Whatever..” he grumbles, turning away and heading back down the hall. He needs a shower, his dirty body a complete contrast to his freshly cleaned home. Plus, he still has work to do, even if it’s just in the office.
Dazai makes himself comfortable back at the table, a smile on his face. Chuuya is the cutest thing Dazai has ever seen; it makes him happy. Especially now that his curly, red hair is puffy and messy and his face is red from sleep and his voice is softer and huskier than usual.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Chuuya never talked about what happened that day, even when Dazai asked for the hundredth time that week.
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, following the shorter teen around like a stray dog. “Why won’t you tell me what happened? It’s important information you know~!”
Chuuya stops walking and turns on his heel. “Do you ever shut up?” He glares up at Dazai, annoyed by his insatiable curiosity on the matter. Honestly, Chuuya half expected Dazai to already know the answer— he’s smart, intensive, always four steps ahead— but oddly, it seems Dazai truly has no idea. It’s strange, but would explain why he’s been questioning it so much.
Chuuya scoffs and japs a gloved finger into Dazai’s chest. “You know what? If you keep your mouth shut the rest of the day, I’ll tell you. Yeah?” He then turns away again, not wanting to deal with Dazai’s nonsense anymore.
Dazai smiles, smugly and hums. He doesn’t say a word, knowing that Chuuya keeps his promises. So he just nods and follows as Chuuya continues down the hall.
— — —
At 12:17am, the two shuffle into Chuuya’s apartment. The place still smells of lemon and hints of coffee from this morning. They slip off their shoes and coats, Dazai still staying quiet, and flop onto the couch.
Chuuya sighs, looking at Dazai, who is sitting calmly next to him. Dark eyes stare blankly at nothing and his long limbs are folded politely. He looks—
Odd.
And Chuuya doesn’t like it anymore. Not that he would ever admit that. Not even on his deathbed.
“You can talk now,” he muttered, curly into the corner of the couch.
Dazai snaps from whatever thoughts he’s having and turns to Chuuya. “Really?” His eyes lighten from almost black to a soft caramel color, and his body relaxes.
Chuuya nods, “I’m going to tell you now anyway, so..” he trails off with a shrug. He then turns his head away from Dazai, ready to be honest, just as promised.
“What happened last week, happens more often than I’d like to admit,” he starts, hesitating on how honest he should be. Telling the whole truth won’t hurt; not like Dazai can help anyway.
“There’s a voice— a scream, to be exact— that’s consistently sounding off in the back of my head. Like an alarm you can never turn off, and sometimes gets unbearably loud. So loud that I can barely hear my own thoughts and it makes my whole head rattle.”
He closes his eyes, hearing the faint yelling in that back of his mind. Then he opens them again and looks back to Dazai, who is staring intently at him; like it’s the most important information Dazai will ever get to hear.
“It screams for chaos and destruction, so, when it becomes too much for me, I start feeding into the chaos my mind begs for. Destroying anything in my path, like a wild animal.” Chuuya has now curled deeper into the corner of the couch, hoping that it will swallow him whole.
He has never been so vulnerable and exposed before. He’s spent many years building these walls, needing to be strong and in control; his life depended on it. And he’s not sure whether he loves or hates the feeling. It’s a new feeling, a different kind of vulnerability. It’s not like the soft faces and tones he used to have with the younger kids in the Sheep, and much different from holding Yuan as she hugged him tightly when she mourned her late parents.
One of his walls is cracking, he just hopes Dazai doesn’t notice. That last thing he wants is for it to crumble, especially under the odd sense of security Dazai’s presence provides.
“Have you tried pain medicine?” Dazai’s gaze is still drilling into him, but this time he’s a bit closer.
“Yeah; doesn't work. Nothing does. Not even hard street drugs or alcohol works, just makes it worse.” Chuuya frowns, noticing Dazai getting closer. “What are you doing?”
Dazai hums, slowly and cautiously reaching his hand out to Chuuya’s wrist. “Testing something.” Chuuya tilts his head, confused and curious.
When Dazai wraps his long, slender finger around Chuuya’s wrist—
The screaming stops.
Chuuya’s head feels light and airy, like it’s become a cloud of clarity. His thoughts become clear and the feeling of constant irritation disappears.
Then, he feels sleepy. His mind is ready to rest after being full for so many years.
“Feel better?” Dazai’s voice is light, soft, and kind, his eyes staring up into Chuuya’s. And Chuuya can do nothing but yawn and nod, too tired to respond. “Rest now, Chuuya. You’ve done enough.”
Chuuya has never slept so well in his life.
— — —
Dazai stared as Chuuya fell asleep, his light eyes shining with awe at the sight. Chuuya’s small frame curled up on the couch, his head falling back against the cushion, and his wrist trapped in Dazai’s gentle grip.
A warm feeling has been flooding his mind, making his black heart turn gray. An odd yet lovely feeling that makes his chest tight and mind happy. Dazai has an idea of what the feeling is— but he doesn’t want to admit to himself that he's fallen in love.
However, that feeling itself is pleasant, like being wrapped in the warm embrace of spring air.
Only one flower grows in the garden of his heart, but it's bright and beautiful, and Dazai will wrap his soul around it; keeping it safe in a cage of darkness, and water it with gentle care. He’ll watch in awe— eyes lit up like a Christmas tree— as that flower grows and blooms, effortlessly lighting his whole heart and soul.
Dazai rubs his finger over Chuuya’s wrist, feeling his pulse beat softly. The ginger teen is quietly snoring, head still laying against the back of the couch. Dazai moves forward, closer to Chuuya’s face, before placing a hand on his cheek.
He hums, thumb circling Chuuya’s cheekbones gently. His face is as soft as his wrist and dusted with freckles. Chuuya looks pretty and soft from this angle, ironic, considering his personality is the opposite soft.
Chuuya stirs and Dazai holds his breath. Luckily, he just stretches out; short legs over Dazai thighs, head resting on the armrest, one arm over his stomach, the other hanging off the couch. His snoring grows louder as he falls deeper into dream land.
Dazai smiles, eyes closing, as he lets go of Chuuya's cheek. “Aww.. my dog wants to cuddle? How adorable.”