Chapter Text
The first thing Chuuya became aware of was pain.
Not sharp pain. Not the kind that screamed.
This pain was deep. Buried under skin and bone like rusted metal left inside him too long. It sat in his joints, his ribs, his skull. It crawled sluggishly through his veins every time he breathed.
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
The room around him swayed before he even opened his eyes, darkness pressing against him from every side. There was a dull orange glow somewhere nearby — streetlight bleeding through curtains, maybe — but it only made the shadows uglier.
His mouth tasted like blood and cheap whiskey.
What—
He inhaled too fast.
Agony detonated through his chest.
Chuuya jerked upright with a strangled gasp, immediately regretting it as nausea slammed into him hard enough to make his vision white out. Something wet slid down the side of his neck. Sweat. Blood. He couldn't tell.
His heartbeat thundered violently.
Too loud.
Too fast.
For several horrible seconds, he couldn't remember where he was.
Actually—
He couldn't remember much of anything.
The realisation came slowly. Confused. Drunkenly delayed.
The room meant nothing to him.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. The blankets twisted around his waist felt foreign. Even his own hands looked wrong when he lifted them into view — bruised knuckles, shaking fingers, dried blood crusted beneath his nails.
Who—
His breathing hitched.
No.
No, no.
Something was missing.
Something enormous.
Panic surged hot beneath his skin.
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to think, but his thoughts slipped apart like broken glass.
Fragments.
Just fragments.
Red.
Gunfire.
Gravity distorting.
A voice yelling his name—
What was his name?
His stomach lurched violently.
No.
No, he knew that.
He had to know that.
"...Chuuya," he whispered hoarsely into the dark.
The name felt right.
Didn't it?
His pulse hammered harder.
He pressed trembling fingers against his temple, trying to force memories back into place, but all he got was static and bursts of unbearable pain.
Something black swallowing the sky.
Bones cracking.
Hands grabbing him.
Heat flooding through his veins like poison.
Then nothing.
Blank.
Gone.
His breathing turned ragged.
What happened to me?
No answer came.
The silence felt suffocating.
Chuuya shoved the blankets off himself and nearly collapsed the second his feet hit the floor. His legs buckled hard enough that he had to catch himself against the bedside table with a curse.
The room spun viciously.
He was drunk.
No—
Higher than drunk.
His thoughts floated wrong. Delayed. Numb around the edges.
There were empty bottles scattered across the floor beside the bed. Pills too. Some crushed into glittering dust across the wood.
His stomach twisted again.
Had he done this?
Had someone else?
He couldn't tell.
Couldn't remember.
Fear crawled cold down his spine.
The apartment was silent except for his uneven breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside. No voices. No movement.
Alone.
The word hit him harder than it should have.
Chuuya swallowed thickly and staggered toward what he assumed was the kitchen, using walls and furniture to keep himself upright. Every step hurt.
His body felt wrecked.
Like something had torn through him from the inside out.
He reached the counter eventually and braced both hands against it, staring down at himself.
Bandages wrapped around his arms.
More around his torso beneath an oversized black shirt.
Bruises everywhere.
His throat tightened.
What the hell happened to me?
Again, nothing.
His gaze drifted across the kitchen until it snagged on a phone lying face-down near the sink.
For a second he just stared at it.
Then, slowly, he picked it up.
The lockscreen lit the dark in pale blue.
Chuuya flinched instinctively at the brightness, squinting down at the screen through blurred vision.
There was a picture on it.
Him.
The recognition came instantly despite everything else feeling fractured and unreal.
He stared.
The man in the photo looked... expensive.
Not just rich.
Luxurious.
Like someone sculpted from arrogance, violence, and beauty in equal measure.
Copper hair spilled like silk beneath the glow of city lights, messy in a way that had to be intentional. His clothes were dark and elegant, perfectly fitted against a lean but powerful frame, every sharp line of him radiating confidence so natural it bordered on dangerous.
Jewelry gleamed faintly at pale wrists and fingers.
His posture alone screamed authority.
Not loud authority.
The effortless kind.
The kind people obeyed without realizing they were doing it.
And his face—
God.
Sharp blue eyes half-lidded with irritation. A smirk curling at the corner of his mouth like he already knew he was the most beautiful person in the room and was only mildly inconvenienced by everyone else existing in it.
Strong.
Flamboyant.
Hot.
The word surfaced through the haze before Chuuya could stop it.
Hot.
He blinked slowly at the screen.
"...Damn."
The voice barely came out above a whisper.
A strange warmth curled low in his chest despite the fear clawing through the rest of him.
Because even stripped of his memories, even bruised and shaking and half-drugged on a kitchen floor—
He could still recognize beauty when he saw it.
And apparently he was beautiful.
No.
Beautiful wasn't even the right word.
The man in the photo looked untouchable.
Like someone people stared at when he walked into a room.
Like someone dangerous enough to ruin lives and charming enough to be thanked for it afterward.
Chuuya found himself weirdly mesmerized.
That was him?
Really?
His gaze drifted lower over the image again, taking in the expensive coat draped perfectly over broad shoulders, the elegant gloves, the confident tilt of his chin.
There was strength there too.
Not bulky.
Not overwhelming.
Controlled strength.
The kind hidden beneath grace.
Like a blade disguised as jewelry.
Something painful twisted faintly in Chuuya's chest.
Not fear.
Not quite sadness.
Something closer to longing.
Like he was staring at someone he desperately wished he remembered being.
Because that man looked certain.
Powerful.
Alive.
And right now Chuuya felt like a ghost wearing his face.
He didn't understand why.
Anyways, his thumb shook slightly as he unlocked the phone.
The passcode came automatically.
Muscle memory.
That scared him more than anything else so far.
Contacts.
Maybe someone there would explain things.
Maybe someone would know him.
Names blurred together meaninglessly as he scrolled.
Ane-san.
The contact picture showed an elegant woman in a kimono, beautiful and composed even through the tiny image on the screen. Something about her made warmth flicker faintly through the static in his mind, but it vanished before he could grab onto it.
The contact also sat near the top of the screen with eight missed calls beneath it.
Eight.
Chuuya stared blankly at the number.
A text notification rested underneath the calls.
Ane-san: Chuuya. Answer your phone immediately. If you used th͟e͟ k̶r̶—̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ again without proper recovery, I swear I will drag you back myself.
The middle of the message blurred strangely in his head.
The second he tried focusing on the word, his skull pulsed violently.
Static flooded his thoughts.
Krh—rrpt—tion.
Nonsense syllables.
His stomach twisted uneasily.
He scrolled further.
Hirotsu-san.
The contact picture showed an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes softened by exhaustion.
Five missed calls.
One voicemail.
The voicemail transcription sat beneath it in clipped formal text.
Hirotsu-san: Chuuya-san, please contact us as soon as possible. Your condition after the crrh—uhpt—incident was unstable. The Boss is concerned.
Again.
That strange broken word.
Like his brain physically refused to process it.
Every attempt to read it dissolved into meaningless sounds.
Krrh.
Uptn.
Shhhtion.
Pain stabbed behind his eyes.
"What the hell..." Chuuya muttered weakly.
His thumb dragged lower.
Boss.
No contact photo.
Just a black screen beside the name.
The contact alone made his shoulders tense instinctively.
Three missed calls.
No voicemail.
Just a single text message.
Short.
Direct.
Boss: Report your condition immediately.
That was it.
No comfort.
No panic.
But somehow the lack of emotion itself felt heavy. Intentional. Controlled.
Like someone very dangerous trying not to show concern.
Chuuya swallowed.
None of the names felt familiar.
Not truly.
But the emotions attached to them did.
Ane-san's messages felt sharp and protective.
Hirotsu-san sounded steady. Worried in a quieter way.
The Boss—
The Boss felt like pressure pressing against the back of his neck.
Authority.
Expectation.
Something in him knew instinctively that disappointing that person would be catastrophic.
His breathing became uneven again.
These people knew him.
They cared enough to call repeatedly.
To search for him.
To worry.
And Chuuya couldn't remember a single one of them.
Panic clawed higher into his throat.
Who was he to these people?
What kind of life did he have?
Another notification suddenly appeared across the top of the screen.
Tachihara: If you're alive answer your damn phone already. Hirotsu-san looks two seconds from killing someone and Kouyou-san threatened the entire medical team.
Chuuya blinked at the message.
Then another appeared immediately after.
Tachihara: Also if you used the khh—rrption thing again you're actually insane.
Again.
That word.
Broken static buzzed painfully through his skull.
Khh—
Rrr—
Tion.
The harder he tried understanding it, the more wrong it sounded.
Like his mind hit a locked door and bounced violently off it.
He pressed shaking fingers against his temple.
Fragments flickered again—
Red-black light swallowing everything.
His veins burning.
A voice screaming.
Then nothing.
Gone.
His phone nearly slipped from suddenly numb fingers.
"...Nope," Chuuya whispered weakly to himself.
He did not like whatever the hell that was.
At all.
Then his eyes caught on one contact.
Suicidal Manic.
Chuuya stared at the words.
Something warm flickered faintly beneath the panic.
Not memory exactly.
Instinct.
A pull.
His thumb hovered over the name.
Why does this feel—
Safe.
The realisation made absolutely no sense.
The contact name sounded insane.
Every survival instinct he had should've told him not to call someone saved as Suicidal Manic at three in the morning while half-conscious and bleeding through his bandages.
But instead—
Instead Chuuya felt like if he didn't hear that person's voice immediately, something terrible would happen.
His hands shook harder.
Before he could second-guess himself, he pressed call.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Chuuya almost hung up.
Then—
"Chuuya?"
The voice on the other end was rough with sleep.
Low.
Warm.
And suddenly Chuuya couldn't breathe.
Something inside him lurched violently at the sound alone.
Relief crashed through him so hard it hurt.
He didn't know this person.
He was almost certain he didn't.
But his body reacted like it did.
Like it knew him better than Chuuya knew himself.
There was silence on the line.
Then the voice sharpened instantly.
"...Chuuya?"
Concern now.
Alert.
Dangerously awake.
"What happened?"
Chuuya opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
His throat closed unexpectedly tight.
Because he didn't know.
Because he didn't know anything.
"I..." His voice cracked badly. "I don't remember."
Silence.
Not empty silence.
The kind that suddenly becomes very, very careful.
"What don't you remember?" the man asked quietly.
Chuuya stared blankly at the dark kitchen tiles.
"...Anything."
The word barely made it out.
His chest hurt.
"I don't know where I was," he whispered. "I don't know what happened. I don't—"
His breathing faltered.
"I don't know who anybody is."
The confession shattered something inside him.
A horrible sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
Not quite a sob.
Close enough.
The voice on the other end went deadly calm.
"Are you hurt?"
"...I think so."
"Are you alone?"
"I think so."
A sharp inhale from the other side.
Then immediate movement. Rustling fabric. A door slamming.
"Listen to me carefully, Chuuya." The man's voice was steady now. Certain. "I need you to stay awake for me."
The words settled strangely inside him.
Familiar.
Commanding.
Comforting.
Chuuya slid slowly down the kitchen cabinets until he hit the floor, clutching the phone tightly against his ear.
"...Who are you?" he asked weakly.
Silence again.
Not offended.
Not surprised.
Just... sad.
Then:
"Dazai."
The name hit like a pulse against his skull.
A flash—
Brown eyes.
A laugh.
Warm hands stained with blood.
"You always call me when things get bad."
Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut as another burst of pain tore through his head.
"Dazai..." he repeated faintly.
The name felt carved into him somewhere deep.
Like something his body remembered even if his mind didn't.
"Yeah." Softer now. "I'm here."
Something in Chuuya cracked apart completely at those words.
Because he believed him instantly.
Without question.
Without understanding why.
His voice dropped to something small and exhausted and frightened.
"I think something's wrong with me."
Dazai was quiet for only half a second before answering.
"I know."
The honesty of it hurt worse than a lie would've.
Chuuya curled tighter against the cabinet, dizzy and shivering.
"...Did I call the right person?"
Another pause.
Then, impossibly gentle:
"Yeah, Chuuya."
A car door slammed somewhere on Dazai's end.
"You did."
The words settled over him heavily.
Warm despite the cold crawling through his body.
Chuuya let his head thunk back against the cabinet door, breathing unevenly into the silence between them. He could hear movement through the phone — the rumble of an engine starting, tires against wet pavement, Dazai muttering something under his breath that Chuuya couldn't make out.
He should've asked more questions.
Should've demanded answers.
Who am I?
Who are you to me?
What happened?
But exhaustion dragged at him too hard. His thoughts kept slipping apart before he could hold onto them.
Then—
A low sound drifted from somewhere deeper in the apartment.
A groan.
Chuuya froze.
The noise was rough. Half-slurred. Deep enough that it was definitely a man.
And unfortunately—
Unfortunately it sounded disturbingly close to a moan.
Dazai went dead silent on the other end of the line.
Completely silent.
Chuuya blinked slowly toward the dark hallway.
"...What was that?" Dazai asked.
The softness in his voice had vanished.
Now it was sharp.
Careful.
Dangerously controlled.
Chuuya frowned weakly. "I..."
Another groan echoed faintly through the apartment.
Longer this time.
Dazai inhaled.
Very slowly.
"...Chuuya," he said. "Who is there with you?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know?"
"I don't remember anything, remember?" Chuuya snapped automatically, then winced at the sudden spike of pain in his skull. "Fuck—"
The unknown man groaned again.
A muffled thud followed it.
Dazai was quiet for exactly two seconds.
Then:
"Are you telling me," he said with terrifying calm, "that you woke up injured, high out of your mind, with some man in your apartment making noises like that?"
Chuuya stared blearily toward the hallway.
"...Maybe?"
The engine noise got louder.
Dazai accelerated hard enough that Chuuya heard tires screech faintly through the phone.
"Maybe?" Dazai repeated.
Something dangerous simmered underneath the word.
"I don't know!" Chuuya said, frustration bleeding into panic again. "I don't even know if this is my apartment!"
Another sound came from the hallway.
A weak pained mumble this time.
Still definitely male.
Still unfortunately sounding indecent.
Dazai went so quiet that Chuuya suddenly became very aware of his own heartbeat.
"...Did you sleep with someone?" Dazai asked finally.
The question hit Chuuya like cold water.
"What?"
"Was there someone with you tonight?"
"I don't know!"
"Do you usually bring strangers home when you're injured?"
"How the hell would I know?!"
Dazai exhaled sharply through his nose.
Jealousy.
Even with his memory shredded and thoughts sluggish from drugs and alcohol, Chuuya recognized that emotion immediately.
It poured through the phone in waves.
Possessive.
Ugly.
Barely restrained.
And weirdly—
Weirdly it made something warm flicker in his chest again.
"...Why do you sound pissed?" Chuuya muttered.
There was a brief choking silence.
Then Dazai said, far too quickly, "I don't."
"You do."
"I absolutely do not."
"You sound insane."
"You're calling me while potentially naked beside another man."
Chuuya blinked slowly.
"...Am I naked?"
Another silence.
Dazai made a sound like he was physically suffering.
"Please don't say things like that right now."
Chuuya looked down at himself with visible effort.
Shirt.
Pants.
One sock.
"...I think I'm clothed."
"Only one sock is somehow worse."
Despite everything — the pain, the panic, the confusion clawing through his head — Chuuya let out a weak, startled laugh.
The sound escaped before he could stop it.
Dazai immediately went quiet again.
Not angry this time.
Something softer.
Like hearing Chuuya laugh had punched straight through him.
Then Chuuya shifted slightly against the cabinet—
And hissed sharply in pain.
Not from his ribs this time.
Lower.
His entire body abruptly tensed.
Dazai caught it instantly.
"...What was that?"
Chuuya frowned weakly, hand instinctively moving toward his neck first, then lower, confusion clouding his expression.
"I..." He swallowed thickly. "Everything hurts."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"Chuuya."
The tone changed immediately.
Serious.
Demanding.
The kind of voice that expected obedience without effort.
Chuuya's exhausted brain responded automatically.
"...My hips hurt," he admitted quietly.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then:
"...Your what."
"My—"
"I heard you."
The car engine roared louder through the phone.
Dazai sounded one step away from homicide.
Chuuya blinked blearily down at himself again, trying to understand why that mattered. His thoughts felt sticky and delayed.
"My legs hurt too," he added helpfully. "And my back. And I think there's bruises—"
"Are you injured," Dazai interrupted tightly, "or sore?"
"...Both?"
A horrifying pause followed.
Then Dazai spoke with the terrifying calm of a man actively losing his mind.
"Chuuya."
"Hm?"
"Did someone touch you tonight?"
The question made something cold crawl down Chuuya's spine.
Not fear exactly.
Something heavier.
His fragmented memories flickered violently—
Hands pinning his wrists.
Gravity warping.
Someone shouting.
Heat.
Too much heat.
Then static again.
"I don't know," he whispered.
Dazai cursed viciously under his breath.
Another groan came from deeper in the apartment.
Dazai snapped instantly:
"Is that him?"
"Him who?"
"The man apparently dying in your apartment!"
"I don't know who he is!"
Chuuya tried pushing himself upright.
The second he moved properly, agony ripped through his lower body hard enough to make him choke on a noise.
Dazai went utterly still on the line.
"...Chuuya."
His voice had gone frighteningly quiet.
"What?"
"Do not move."
Too late.
Chuuya's stomach rolled violently.
His head spun.
And then he noticed it.
Dark marks scattered across exposed skin beneath the collar of his shirt.
Bruises.
Bite marks.
His breathing stopped.
"What..." he whispered.
Dazai heard the change immediately.
"What do you see?"
Chuuya stared blankly downward.
"I think..." His voice shook. "I think I had sex with someone."
The silence that followed felt catastrophic.
Somewhere through the phone, Dazai nearly hit something with the car.
Tires screeched violently.
"Dazai?" Chuuya said weakly.
"Are you bleeding?"
"What?!"
"Answer me!"
"I don't know!"
"Can you walk?"
"Barely?!"
Another curse.
Fierce. Panicked.
Dazai sounded genuinely terrified now.
Chuuya couldn't understand why.
Then Dazai muttered something sharp and frustrated under his breath.
"...I'm gonna have to use Kunikida's car."
Chuuya frowned immediately.
"...Who?"
A beat passed.
Then Dazai answered quickly:
"Don't worry about him."
"Who is Kunikida?"
"The owner of the car I'm stealing."
"What?"
"Borrowing."
"Dazai—"
"Chuuya, focus."
The command cut clean through the haze in his mind.
Dazai's voice lowered again.
Careful now.
Controlled in the way people became when they were barely holding panic together with their bare hands.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully."
Chuuya swallowed hard.
"Okay."
"Are you alone in the kitchen?"
"...Yeah."
"Good."
"That's good?"
"Very."
More screeching tires.
Dazai was definitely driving illegally at this point.
"Do not go near the other person," Dazai continued. "Do not let him touch you. Do not try to wake him up."
"What if he's hurt?"
"I currently do not care."
Chuuya snorted weakly despite himself.
Immediately afterward he regretted it when pain flared through his ribs again.
Dazai heard the sharp inhale.
"...Stay awake for me."
There it was again.
That awful gentleness.
Chuuya curled tighter around himself on instinct.
"...Why are you being nice to me?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Silence answered him.
Not awkward silence.
Wounded silence.
Then quietly:
"Because it's you."
Something in Chuuya's chest twisted painfully.
Because he still didn't remember this man.
But every instinct he had kept reaching for him anyway.
Like his body knew something his mind had forgotten.
The apartment creaked softly around him.
Rain tapped against the windows.
And through the phone, Dazai suddenly said, very softly and very seriously:
"If someone hurt you, Chuuya... I'm going to kill them."
The certainty in his voice should've been frightening.
Instead—
Curled on the cold kitchen floor, drugged and aching and terrified of his own missing memories—
Chuuya felt safe for the first time since waking up.
Like hearing Chuuya laugh had punched straight through him.
The apartment then groaned around Chuuya as the unknown man shifted somewhere out of sight again.
A heavy thump followed.
Then silence.
Dazai's voice sharpened instantly. "Make sure to stay where you are."
"Yeah, you said that, genius."
"Good. Don't move."
"What if he's dying?"
"What if he's not?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Dazai said darkly, "I'm trying very hard not to commit murder before three in the morning."
Chuuya snorted weakly despite himself.
Again, that strange warmth twisted inside him.
Familiar.
Easy.
Like this was normal somehow.
Like arguing with Dazai belonged to him in a way nothing else currently did.
His head tipped back against the cabinet again, exhaustion pulling harder by the second.
"...Dazai."
The immediate response came softer than before.
"What is it?"
Chuuya swallowed.
"I still don't remember you."
The words felt cruel.
Necessary, but cruel.
Silence answered him briefly.
Then the sound of Dazai turning a corner too fast.
"I know."
No anger.
No bitterness.
Just something heartbreakingly tired.
Chuuya closed his eyes.
"...But I called you anyway."
Another long pause.
When Dazai finally spoke again, his voice sounded dangerously fragile beneath the calm.
"Yeah," he whispered.
"You did."