Archive of Our Own

Awareness trickled in gradually. 

It was a luxury Dazai didn’t experience often — getting to wake up slowly. Although he wouldn’t admit it aloud, the warm weight on top of him was responsible for the phenomenon. 

Soft snores filled the room as Chuuya slept, sprawled out across the taller teenager’s chest. Dazai cringed at the feeling of drool on his shirt, but mentally applauded himself for staying still. It seemed the pacifier he’d given the little had long since fallen out. The night before had been a long one and he was sure that the redhead in dire need of rest. The eyebags that still stuck out on the pale face served as a testament to the redhead’s exhaustion. 

He thought back to the flurry of emotions proceeding many tears from just a few hours ago. Small inconsistencies in Chuuya’s behavior that Dazai had previously noticed had become much more apparent once they’d moved in together just over a month ago. It hadn’t taken much time for the teen to put the pieces of a glaringly obvious puzzle together. In all honesty, he should’ve realized earlier. 

Chuuya was a little. And if last night was any indication, he was quite a young one. 

Dazai felt a vague sense of regret about the events he’d likely played a hand in earlier. Sure, he thought it would be funny to give his roommate a scare while his guard was down, but he hadn’t intended for the resulting breakdown. 

Perhaps he should’ve taken a second longer to notice the older boy’s hunched posture and makeshift blanket robe he’d formed around himself. And maybe Dazai should’ve had more tact when mentioning Chuuya being little. 

Dazai had thought the other was merely embarrassed over his classification, not in flat out denial. Once again, the signs had likely already existed, but Dazai seemed to find himself uncharacteristically flailing when it came to approaching the raw humanity that Chuuya carried himself with. 

It was distinct from the way the taller teen approached others, as nothing more than pawns to move as he saw fit. There was little regard for anything other than extracting the necessary information and moving on. Somewhere along the way, Chuuya had wormed his way into a unique role, somewhere between partner and tentative friend.

Despite his recent blunders, he was certain that it would be best to leave before Chuuya woke up. There was little hope to truly avoid a confrontation, but it didn’t hurt to delay the inevitable until a bit later. 

It wasn’t easy to extract himself from under the other teenager. He was gentle in sliding himself out from under Chuuya and untangling the fist in his shirt. Chuuya mumbled something once Dazai had fully escaped, but stayed asleep.

He picked up the pacifier sitting on top of the covers with consideration. Chuuya was on the verge of sleep when it had been placed in his mouth. He probably hadn’t even understood what had been placed in his mouth at the moment, accepting the item for what it was and moving on.

In the probable chance that he woke up back to his usual mindset, seeing the soother would only cause him to panic. The item was swiftly placed into his front pocket to be hidden away later. 

Leaving the door cracked open, he meandered over to the laundry room to move Chuuya’s grey blanket from the washer to the dryer before heading to the kitchen.

Thankfully, the mess from last night had been cleaned up under the guise of Dazai needing to grab the plushie he had for Chuuya. He had never cleaned with such speed before, ferociously sweeping up the broken glass and drying the floors with a vigor usually only spared for the most titillating of missions. In theory, it could’ve waited until the morning, but Dazai was hoping to spare Chuuya from seeing the evidence of his own breakdown if he woke up around the same time. 

As per usual, that proved to be the correct choice as he heard footsteps approaching from behind less than half an hour later. They sounded hurried. 

Dazai busied himself with putting two pieces of bread into the toaster to stave off the confrontation if only for a few blessed seconds. It was too early for this.

“Toast?” Dazai sat down at the dining table with two plates of toast, taking a bite of his own piece. He braced himself for yelling, or some kind of argument, only for Chuuya to silently walk over to the fridge to grab butter and join him at the table.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was an undeniable, palpable tension in the room as they munched on their meager breakfast. 

Chuuya shifted around in his seat as he ate. The food felt heavy in his stomach. 

He would have to be the one to start talking, he realized belatedly. This was Dazai’s way of putting the ball in Chuuya’s court. He was being given the ability to drive the conversation. 

There was little use in mulling it over. He might as well just bite the bullet and get this over with as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he started, the apology tasting like ash in his mouth, “about last night.”

There. It was out in the air. 

“The great Nakahara Chuuya apologizing?” Dazai gasped dramatically, “To me of all people?”

“Shut up,” the teen snapped. He leaned over the table, arms out to grab at the other, before pausing.

No, Chuuya needed to stay calm. He couldn’t let this devolve into an immediate argument, despite how much Dazai tried to get under his skin. And Dazai was very, very good at doing that. He took a deep breath to center himself before continuing.

“You should’ve just left me there. You didn’t need to clean up after my mess.”

“And leave the tiny slug alone? I don’t think that would’ve gone over well,” the teen shrugged halfheartedly, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

That, Chuuya acquiesced, was a fair point. Much of last night was a blur, but he remembered how much of a mess he’d been. He hadn’t been in the right mindset to be very helpful, much less pick up after himself. Either way, he was back to normal now. He could’ve fixed his mistakes this morning when he woke up. 

But the wording was bugging him. He got the impression that he wasn’t being called “tiny” as a usual reference to his height.

“I’m not—“ he stuttered before restarting, “Whatever you thought you saw last night is wrong.”

Now all he had to do was convince Dazai of his point. 

“Okay.”

“Because if you—“ Chuuya paused as he registered the response, “What?”

“Are you going deaf, slug? I said okay. You were going to tell me that last night was a fluke, right?” The brunette explained, “Then, I’ll believe you.”

The older boy fumbled, reeling from the easy dismissal. Even when Chuuya was correct about something, Dazai wouldn’t accept it without any qualms. Something was up here.

“What’s the catch?” He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. This was not going the way he anticipated.

“Why would there be a catch if what you said was true?” 

Dazai spun the butter knife in his hands. 

Before Chuuya could respond, the bandaged teen continued, “I’ll believe what you say, that is, if you can prove it. Don't regress at all for the next month, and you win. You aren't a baby.”

Well, there it is. 

The comment was expected, an unspoken challenge against what he said. 

Chuuya wanted to rip that smug look off of his face. He wasn’t going to back down from a challenge, an open chance to prove Dazai wrong. 

He let out a sharp laugh that lacked any mirth, “Bet’s on, mackarel. I don’t do that shit anyways.”

Because it was true. Chuuya doesn’t regress because he didn’t need to. It was a fact that had been emphasized by multiple others throughout the last few months. The rare moments he let himself relax were just that, letting his mind wander and not dwell on anything complex. That was what anyone would do when they had the opportunity, especially those who had a schedule as busy as his own. 

This would be a piece of cake.

It took less than a week for things to go to shit. 

After that night, it seemed Chuuya’s brain had decided to react the same way and try to tumble down into a smaller headspace following any experience that was remotely stressful.

Which, in his profession, meant literally every experience. 

He fought to stay afloat while working, barely hanging on most of the time. There was no reason to explain why he suddenly needed this. Trying to stop it felt like refusing to let him breathe.

Six days in, and Chuuya was decidedly not holding it together. After a half-assed mission with much more collateral damage than necessary, he arrived back to his apartment to find it blessedly empty.

At least something decided to go his way today.

He trudged his way through choking down instant ramen and getting ready to knock out. The plush mattress of the bed felt heavenly on his sore muscles.

As his body relaxed under the covers, a familiar fuzziness encroached in the corners of his mind. It made him feel warm. A finger started to find its way to his mouth and—

No. 

Chuuya had to physically sit up to stop himself from falling in too deep to the point of no return. Of course getting too relaxed would give an opening for the haze of regression to creep in. The teen mentally berated himself, forcing himself out of bed and away from the temptations of succumbing to comfort. 

He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t prove Dazai right. Not if he could help it. 

Quiet footsteps echoed around the room as he opted to pace around the room instead, focused on mentally fighting off the haze permeating his being. This was pissing him off. Chuuya just wanted to sleep in peace without his stupid brain deciding to act like a goddamn child. Was that really so much to ask?

It was, apparently. 

Fuck his stupid mind that can’t stand being an adult for more than five seconds and fuck that shitty fucking mackarel for doing everything he can to make Chuuya miserable and fuck Dazai’s stupid face that made it so hard to say no—

Shaky hands pulled at his hair. He was working himself up. Glancing at the clock, the screen told him it hadn’t even been half an hour since he got to his room. Chuuya looked back at his bed one more time longingly. 

He was tired, the temptation to just give in was so strong. It couldn’t happen, though. If he indulged this side of him, it’d be harder to continue ignoring it the same way he had all these years thus far. 

Dragging himself to his desk, he took out some reports instead. Nothing made him feel older than the mind-numbing paperwork that he was assigned to completing. The workload was doubled for Chuuya as well, given that the dumb mackerel refused to do any of his own.

The work blended together in a blur until the sun started to peak out. Chuuya wasted no time going to headquarters as dawn approached.

He was not avoiding Dazai. He was just getting antsy and wanted a change of scenery, that’s all.

The first few hours upon his arrival were spent in the training rooms, breaking punching bags and working out until he could barely stand.

It only made the ache in his chest worse, but at least he didn’t feel like he was on the verge of being a sniveling brat anymore.

The next few days were just downhill from there. Everything passed by him in a syrupy haze as he went through the motions. Sleep continually evaded him, trying to drag him back down into regression the moment he started to doze. He’d jerk awake as soon as he realized it and keep himself busy with something else. Working out, paperwork, or even just pacing around the room like a madman.

The most shocking part about the routine was the fact that Dazai hadn’t said a single thing about it. Sideways glances were traded, but no smartass comments were made his way. Well, none other than the usual teases.

To be fair, Chuuya had been going out of his way to make sure they intersected as little as possible. Leaving before Dazai left his room, coming back when he was sure the other was busy— his paranoid scheduling was rivaling Dazai himself at this point.

He may have escaped that, but he wasn’t able to avoid the keen eyes of Ane-san and those on his team. Thankfully, they knew him well enough not to push too hard, so he wasn’t forced into talking about anything.

Things came to a head when Akutagawa knocked on his door.

“Mori-san is asking for you.”

Fantastic. That was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. He shuddered as he recalled their last meeting—

“It would be a shame if we have to reconcile again. I’m afraid we may have to resort to more unconventional methods to correct this problem of yours next time.”

No fucking thanks. Chuuya would rather pull a Dazai and jump into a river than see the boss right now. 

“Tell him I’m occupied. We can schedule something later this week,” he ground out.

Akutagawa must’ve given an affirmative that he didn’t catch over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears because he was gone the next time Chuuya looked up.

Mori’s requests were never actually suggestions. “Asking” was just a nice way of saying “you’ll do as I say if you truly value your life.”

So yeah, Chuuya was fucked. He glanced at his laptop; it was already the evening. When had it gotten so late? He could’ve sworn he just got here. 

It was as good a time as any to leave, then. No time was wasted in packing up his things, stuffed into a bag with little care for tidiness. He darted out the door, making it a single hallway down before a voice interrupted him.

“Chuuya-kun.”

Ice shot down his spine at the chilling voice. Chuuya froze on the spot. Shit.

“Mori-san,” he tried to aim for a detached tone, “I was just leaving.”

“I was just informed that you denied my request to meet. How odd, fleeing home and abandoning your duties doesn’t appear to be ‘too busy’ to me.” 

Chuuya opened his mouth, searching in vain for something to say. Thankfully, he was saved from whatever idiotic excuse that was about to come out when Mori spoke up again.

“I suppose next time I can skip the middle man and come straight to you, since you seem so keen on running away. Come, let’s go to my office.”

The teen turned around slowly, letting him attempt to smooth out his features. The less ruffled he looked, the better. He forcibly untensed his stance as he walked with Mori, ensuring he remained a few steps behind.

Mori sauntered through the maze of halls lazily, dragging out the walk. The silence could be cut by the man’s scalpel, it was so thick. 

At the door, Chuuya took a breath in. Then out.

“Let’s have a chat about your behavior,” he crowed with a deceivingly light voice, “I noticed that you didn’t seem to heed my advice the last time we spoke. Would you like to explain yourself?”

In. Out. Deflect.

“I’m not sure what you may be referring to, boss.” 

Mori hummed, leaning back in his seat. In the corner of the room, Elise toppled her card tower over and started whining. The clamor went ignored.

“Then I suppose you don’t recall my warning to you last time, either. It seems you didn’t make good on your promise, Chuuya-kun. You must know what that means. Come here.”

He slowly walked over, around Mori’s desk until he was right next to him. 

They had done this before. He just had to follow the steps laid out for him.

A pale hand grasped his collar, gently rubbing it before swiftly pulling it down with such force that Chuuya fell to his knees with a thud. 

In. Out

His attempts to keep his eyes on the floor were obstructed by harsh fingers now tugging at his hair, forcing him to gaze into cold violet eyes. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Chuuya-kun. I must say, I had the callow hope that you’d learn to get over this childish rebellion of yours on your own. It seems you leave me no choice but to interfere.”

Chuuya swallowed thickly. The unsteadiness he’d been feeling all day had grown twofold in a matter of seconds.

He wanted to leave.

In. Out.

He knew he couldn’t until this was over.

“Do you know why I had you train under Kouyou-san?” 

Mori didn’t wait for a response before continuing.

“Well, I’d partially intended for you to learn some manners from her. You were awfully crass when you joined us — a street rat. However, her particular area of expertise lends itself to passing her lessons down to her pupils. You surely noticed by now the demographic she often works with.”

It would be odd if Chuuya hadn’t seen it. Nearly every single member Kouyou had personally trained or mentored fit into the same group: traditionally attractive young women.

And then there was Chuuya.

Chuuya had quickly noticed that he was the only exception to this rule. He was the only actual minor, and also the only male in Kouyou’s line of brothel-related work.

He’d only been sent on a mission for that particular department once. Thankfully, he was able to subdue his target before things had gone too far.

That didn’t stop the panic that had followed as soon as he left the building. He ended up in some random alleyway, curled up and shaking. 

Kouyou had found him in that same panicked state many hours later and promptly decided that he wasn’t yet ready to take on more of those missions yet. 

The teen wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for that, but he kept his mouth shut. At least he didn’t have to deal with it right now.

Another yank at his hair had him breaking out of his internal thoughts, remembering just where he was. The man in front of him tsked when he noticed the attention had returned to him.

“It seems Kouyou did a poor job of passing down her manners to you. We'll have to work on that,” he frowned before continuing, “As I was saying, my dear Chuuya-kun, I had recognized your potential for following into that field of work as soon as I laid my eyes on you.”

Mori leaned closer as he stroked his hand across Chuuya’s face, tracing his features.

“Such unblemished skin, paired with these delicate features. Really, it’s a wonder no one got their hands on you before I did.”

As he spoke, Chuuya could feel the man’s warm breath on his face. It took everything he had to remain still, mind yelling at him to get out. His ability buzzed incessantly under his skin.

Instead, he stared into dark eyes that held an emotion he didn’t want to identify. He’d played this song and dance more times than he could count; he could do it again.

Mori’s other hand began exploring his body, slowly dragging across every nook and cranny. His body tightened as it moved lower, settling on his upper thigh.

“Mori-san—“

A finger on his lips. A shushing sound.

“So tense, darling,” the older man purred, “It’ll feel better for both of us if you relax.”

Despite the suggestion in his words, the hand moved back up. It found its way under his tucked shirt, resting on the bare skin of his chest.

“Just like a doll. It’s lovely.”

They were so close that Mori’s lips brushed against Chuuya as he spoke. It felt wrong, it felt dirty. 

Chuuya’s mind was so loud that he couldn’t distinguish a single thought anymore. The world seemed to fizz out around the edges the longer he stayed in this position.

“I’m the only one who can fix this silly defiance of yours. You must learn to have self control. Faulty tools have no place in the mafia.”

He hated this. He wanted to go home.

The only thing he could do was remain still and pray that things would end soon. 

“In any other case, I’d just send you to the curb and you’d never be seen again. But my use for you is not yet fulfilled. Really, you should consider yourself lucky to be breathing.”

Mori chuckled. It held no mirth. 

As ice cold lips brushed over his own once more and something shattered somewhere in the back of Chuuya’s mind. 

He wasn’t here. This wasn’t really happening. He was a spectator of his own body.

“Ah, there we go. Do you still have the urge to act like a child?”

“No, Mori-san.”

It was true. Chuuya didn’t feel the teetering cliff of regression because he didn’t feel much of anything. 

The world was grey. Nothing was real. 

“It seems this meeting was helpful, then. What do we say when I help fix you, Chuuya-kun?”

“Thank you, Mori-san,” he didn’t have to think to utter the phrase. It was ingrained in his system by now.

“That’s a good doll.”

Mori moved impossibly closer in his space, hands moving somewhere else and—

Knock, knock 

The sound of knocking at the door made the boss pause in his movements. 

Chuuya heard someone speak through the walls, but the actual words escaped him. What he did understand, though, was that it made the figure in front of him loosen his grip on his body. 

Without someone holding him up, he started to slump. It seemed like a good idea to lie down right about now. Before he could, a hand returned on his hair and pulled him to his feet. 

“Out.”

The word was crystal clear, cutting through the haze for a painful moment. Chuuya understood the message regardless — he needed to leave now. He may have said something in response, but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. 

Chuuya wobbled, feeling lost. It took an embarrassingly long time to coordinate himself enough to take a single step, then another. 

He heard footsteps approaching behind him. His mind screamed at him. 

Run.

With a sudden burst of energy, Chuuya darted out of the room. His legs trembled as he flung the door open, wasting no time in his escape. He kept his head bowed and eyes trained on the ground– he wouldn’t be able to bear looking at whoever got to see him in such a frazzled state. 

Hopefully it was someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut. Rumors of the destructive ability user running out of the boss’s room like a damsel in distress would spread quickly amongst the Port Mafia.

The static grew louder. It was hard to focus on anything except putting one foot in front of the other. 

He blinked and he was outside. Another blink, he was in front of his apartment door. 

How had he gotten here?

It took many attempts to coordinate his hands enough to unlock the door and get inside. The walls towered over him, changing shape every second, and the rooms were unfamiliar.

Nothing was real. This was all just some fucked up dream. 

Chuuya hoped he’d wake up soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this.

Dazai came back to the apartment to find Chuuya in the living room. The first red flag was that his hat was nowhere to be seen, making bright red hair stand out more against the dark tones of the furniture. 

The second was that he sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. His back was arched straight and hands sat in his lap, a strange contrast to his preferred position of leaning back with his feet on the coffee table as he lounged around. 

He paused for a moment, trying to gather any more clues to understand what may have happened. 

His eyes couldn’t spot any blood stains — neither someone else’s nor the slug’s own. That was something. At least nothing had to be immediately tended to. There weren't any visible bruises, either.

So no physical damage. As Chuuya hadn’t had any missions today, the lack of any external harm aligned with his schedule.

Something mental, then. 

After their conversation over breakfast that felt like ages ago, Dazai had calculated that it would take Chuuya about three weeks before he gave into his regression once more. It was three times later than the recommendation for littles to regress once a week — at minimum — but the taller boy knew that Chuuya would be holding out for as long as he could before dropping.

Unmoving on the sofa, he gave no indication he’d heard Dazai walking in. The lack of awareness could mean he was little, but he was far too still to be in that headspace.

That meant it might’ve been an unrelated breakdown. Something else must have happened to leave Chuuya in that state.

What had happened, he wasn’t sure.

Damn his partner for always throwing Dazai off his game. His predictions were rarely wrong, yet he’d fumbled once again when it came to Chuuya. Dazai had mentally scheduled the redhead’s breakdown for next week, he wasn’t prepared to deal with it right now.

It had been a long week for both of them, barely able to see each other and take a moment for themselves. The teen knew that it was in part due to the shorter boy’s insistence on avoiding him — which was very obvious and lacked any kind of subtlety — but it was rare for them to interact so sporadically.

Dazai was tired, too. He didn’t know how to deal with an unresponsive Chuuya on top of his own woes.

He sighed. There was nothing he could do to change the past. Dazai meandered over to take a closer look. There was no reaction when he sat down on the couch, close enough to reach out if needed but still far enough that their bodies didn’t touch. 

He took in the state of the person before him, quickly noticing the way the other was staring straight ahead into nothing. 

“Slug?” 

There was no response, no reaction to indicate Chuuya had heard at all. Dazai wasn’t surprised, but he’d still called out to verify his hypothesis. 

It seemed the redhead was far away, somewhere deep in the recesses of his own mind. It was a state that Dazai was intimately familiar with whenever a wave of depression decided to hit him harder than usual. The feeling was an apathetic blanket over his shoulders, but it would stick to him stubbornly despite his attempts to shrug it off. 

Chuuya was good at helping when the world felt duller around the edges. The way he felt so much, so strongly, successfully cut through the heavy fog every time. Through inane stories and a fiery presence, he’d helped the other through his slumps in a way nothing else had before. 

Today, though, the roles were reversed.  

Dazai wasn’t like Chuuya — he couldn’t slash away at the apathy with brute force and passion. He would have to take a different approach. 

After a moment of contemplation, he stood back up. Maybe Dazai himself couldn't quite remedy the situation, but perhaps a few comfort items could. 

He walked into Chuuya’s room, grabbing the teen’s grey blanket and paused to search for the stuffed dog toy Dazai had given him. There was no way he’d thrown it away despite his adamance about not being a Little. After searching through his drawers, Dazai landed on the desired item under stacks of sweatpants and t-shirts. 

Bingo. 

The slug was so predictable, he mused to himself while making his way back to the living room. He could always count on the other teen to be driven by emotion before anything else. 

Putting a comfort item under your most comfortable clothes? What a simplistic decision. 

A quick U-turn was made to his own bedroom before going back to the other boy, finding a pacifier that was stuffed in his closet for safekeeping.

With slow movements, Dazai spread the blanket across Chuuya. As anticipated, there was still no outward reaction. He also placed the plush in his lap, guiding him to pet the faux fur. 

They remained like that for a long while, a bandaged hand encompassing a smaller one as they lightly glided over the soft material of the toy. It seemed to ground him incrementally, Chuuya’s fingers eventually twitching when coming in contact with it.

“Hello~ Anyone home?”

Chuuya hummed noncommittally. He didn’t seem to truly process the question, responding entirely subconsciously.

For lack of anything else to do, Dazai turned on the television to some classical music channel the redhead seemed to enjoy. He found it a tad too pretentious for his own tastes, but he didn’t mind having it on if it gave Chuuya something additional to latch on to.

Eventually, Chuuya paused in the guided ministrations and instead pressed his hand on the plush’s back. He made intermittent attempts to clutch at it, but he struggled to truly get a solid grip. His fingers moved in a delayed manner whenever it fell through his grip once again.

“Whatcha doin’ Chibi?” Dazai threw out another question to fill the space. A tilted head is all he got as an answer, but at least this time Chuuya seemed to understand that he was being spoken to.

After a moment’s hesitation, a bandaged hand moved to cup Chuuya’s jaw, turning his head to face Dazai. It was odd — seeing blue eyes usually so full of life now dulled and staring into nothing.

Those eyes looked more dead than alive.

The thought made him swallow uncomfortably. He swiftly shut down that train of thought before it went any further.

“Hey, look at me,” the instruction was contrasted by the gentle tone it was paired with. Those empty eyes slid to meet his own with a sluggish blink.

“It seems the dog can listen to commands.” 

He gave the teen a pat on the cheek using his hand still on his face.

It felt wrong for the conversation to pause there, usually being immediately followed by yelling and an acidic jab back. There wasn’t any shift in expression at all.

Chuuya’s eyes seemed to wander away on their own volition, only to be pulled back after a few taps on his cheek. The hold on his jaw stayed firm even when he tried to move elsewhere once or twice as his attention weaned.

“Hi.” 

He again tried once the other had started staring at him, or through him rather.

“Hi,” Chuuya whispered, more akin to a puff of air escaping than actual vocals.

“Where have you gone?”

Orange eyebrows furrowed somewhat at the question, imperceptible if he hadn't been looking for it already. It took him some time to respond with an uncertain sound. It seemed he didn’t know where his mind had floated off to, either.

That was alright, though. Dazai didn’t mind helping him get back down to Earth.

“We’re in the living room, Chibi. It’s just you and me. It’s safe, you can come back whenever you’re ready.”

He gave the smaller hand on top of the plush a gentle squeeze. A few seconds later, Chuuya weakly squeezed back.

It seemed that Dazai’s voice was more effective at grounding him than anticipated. With that information filed away for later, he started chatting about some recent missions he had. Nothing too heavy, of course, really mostly complaints about other mafia members.

Little by little, the slug seemed to return to himself. He started tracking theatrical movements with clearing eyes and started squeezing Dazai’s hand of his own volition.

“Can Chuuya tell me where he is now?” He asked a repeat of his earlier question. 

A long pause as the request was processed.

“Couch.”

That wasn’t a very verbose response but at least it was something. It was a big improvement from half an hour earlier.

“My dog is sharp as ever! Really, I can always—" the beginnings of his next rant were very unfortunately cut off. 

“Dazai?”

“Chibi.”

They had a staring contest. Chuuya broke it first, looking down at his lap. He let go of Dazai’s hand to place it on his toy, petting it lightly. His lips turned down in something akin to a grimace.

“I… I don’t- something is—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, voice wobbling. Tears cascaded down his delicate features reminiscent of a waterfall.

If this was Chuuya in his usual mindset, Dazai would’ve made a joke right about now. It was tempting, but he held his tongue. 

The brunette wasn’t good at this — treating others softly. It simply wasn’t his nature and the Port Mafia didn’t exactly have any role models in that department. Once again, Chuuya had pushed him far from familiar territory and he was unsure how to proceed.

“`s bad,” he drawled out with seemingly great effort.

The statement was overly vague, juvenile language not going unnoticed.

It gave Dazai more insight into his partner’s headspace. Chuuya’s haze was more than just dissociation, there was a child contributing to the glazed-over look as well. 

He wondered, for the second time, what had happened to pull the slug into this state. Nothing notable had happened, Dazai would’ve known about it by now if something did go down.

Perhaps Kouyou or — worse — Mori had something to do with it? Those were the only two capable of throwing Chuuya this far off his game with words alone. That implied that they had something to hold over him, though.

Maybe something regarding corruption? Something related to his past?

His skin itched. Dazai hated not knowing. He had nothing to work with, no pieces to put together the convoluted puzzle he was trying to solve. 

He focused back on Chuuya, who seemed to be fading away the longer he was left without stimuli. That wasn’t good. 

“I just started getting the slug back. Don’t leave already.”

Another furrow of brows. Well, at least he was still responsive. The boy was chewing on his lip now, a sure sign that he was tipping over into something younger. 

“Dazai…” Forming the word seemed to take great effort for the boy, “you were right.”

Oh. He was referring to the confrontation that started the tension rising over the last half month. 

When it came to juggling variables to uncover the truth, Dazai was never wrong. Chuuya tended to be aware of this fact, despite putting on a show to argue against it.

Whenever Chuuya genuinely fought Dazai’s calculations, he usually got all pissy when he ended up being incorrect. He’d never verbally conceded after digging his heels into the ground in opposition. The admission that the taller teen was right, that Chuuya was actually a little, was a first in his book.

Was Dazai supposed to comfort him? Congratulate him on finally figuring out the obvious? Or offer condolences on his classification? 

The facts had been glaringly clear from the start, so why was the older boy this torn up about it? There were other littles in the mafia. Sure they were few and far between, but they existed. 

Dazai rarely interacted with those littles — the mere idea of a vulnerable child near him tended to repel him enough to stay far away. He found himself regretting it now, wanting to help for the first time in his life but having no clue how to do so.

He was starting to have an inkling that Mori played a role in this distress. Chuuya’s classification would just give him one more thing to dangle over his head, another way to control his prized pawn. It would also explain the adamant denial of the facts right in front of him.

A hiccup interrupted his speculation. Right, there wasn’t time to pause and think. The Chibi needed to be consoled. He didn’t quite seem little yet, but he looked to be well on his way down.

He gave him an awkward pat on the head as consolation, “There, there. You’re already small, now you’re just acting your height.”

So much for not making fun of him like this. The taller teen was flailing, but he was doing his best with what he had, okay?

That evidently wasn’t the right thing to say because the crying only intensified. 

Great. Shit. Dazai could literally never be a caregiver even if he wanted to. All he's ever done is make Chuuya cry whenever he was regressing—

He didn’t expect for Chuuya to voluntarily close the gap between him, racing forward to stuff his face into Dazai’s chest and clutching at his white button up. The brunette sat stock still, not expecting the sudden movement.

He stiffly wrapped his arms around the smaller’s back. Look, Dazai didn’t do all this affection shit. The closest thing he’s had to a hug in years is Chuuya passing out on him after using Corruption.

Holding him now, Dazai’s stressed in a way he hasn’t been before. He’s being trusted to be here during what’s likely one of Chibi’s most vulnerable moments. He rocked them back and forth, trying not to think too hard on the implications of that.

There wasn’t much to do now except let the tears run their course. And he did exactly that, waiting patiently for Chuuya to calm down. 

Once the cries had dwindled down to something much softer, he decided to test the waters.

“I think someone may be feeling a bit little right now. Am I right?” 

He knew he was correct, the boy in question was clearly somewhere between headspaces, but it would help to make sure that they were on the same page. 

Chuuya tensed in his hold and shrugged a single shoulder after a pause. At least it wasn’t a straight up refusal anymore.

Spurred on by the reaction, Dazai hummed as he rocked them back and forth.

“That’s alright. We can talk more about that when you’re back from wherever you are," He felt rather than saw the other boy tilt his head. 

“Chuuya is somewhere in his head,” Dazai explained. He tapped on the redhead’s temples to punctuate the comment, “We need to get him out.”

The confusion remained palpable, but the shorter teen didn’t seem keen on voicing his thoughts. His hands shook where they were clutched onto Dazai’s shirt. 

It appeared that regression and dissociation made for a distressing mix. Not surprising. Both messed with one’s perception. That meant it was time for a distraction.

Dazai used his socked feet to grab the toy plush that had fallen down at some point during the interaction. Swinging it over to his hand, he gave it a little wiggle to encourage the other to look up.

Lo and behold, the slug peeked his head out at the sound of a shaker. Blue eyes widened comically as he saw the item, even more so when it was placed into his lap. He picked it up and shook it, entertained by the noise. It was reminiscent of last night when Chuuya had first seen the toy.

Cute was not a word that Dazai usually associated with Chuuya — unless, of course, referring to his meager height. In the snapshot that was before him, however, he considered pairing the two words together.

Chuuya truly was different in this state. It was dissonant to see someone who was so quick to act impulsively appear so hesitant. 

Though, he supposed that the same could be said about himself at this moment. He’s sure most of Yokohama would lose their minds at seeing the Demon Prodigy in such a domestic setting. 

“Alright then,” Dazai exclaimed, ignoring the flinch below him, “let’s get out of these uncomfortable work clothes, yeah?”

He unceremoniously scooped up the shorter boy into a princess carry, whose breath caught in his throat at the sudden change in position. Dazai marched to Chuuya’s room and plopped him on the bed while he found a suitable change of clothes. Thankfully, he had an extensive wardrobe of loungewear to choose from. They were all quite boring to the eye, but they made up for the lacking visual appeal with their quality.

It was easy to pinpoint the redhead’s favorite pair of sweatpants. He wore them fairly often, whenever there was downtime or a slower day in the apartment. Pulling out the largest t-shirt he could find, Dazai moved back to the little.

Chuuya watched him move, confusion written all over his features. It had the added benefit of getting him to be more present, so Dazai counted it as a win.

“Arms up, Chibi.”

The command was followed with the speed of someone following the sentence without consciously deciding to do it. Dazai swiftly unbuttoned both his vest and shirt before replacing it with the oversized shirt. Before he could continue, Chuuya scooted away.

He picked up the sweats himself and started the process of removing his jeans. He was wobbly as he sat on the bed and shimmied them on, but it struck the brunette as an odd choice. Until now, Chuuya hadn’t taken any initiative to help out. Of all things, he chose to take over when it came to dealing with changing his pants.

There was something going on there. Dazai made a note of it for later contemplation.

It also may have just spoken to Chuuya’s current headspace. He still seemed reluctant to fully relinquish control and fall into his regression. 

That would be changed by the end of the night, though. Dazai would make sure of it.

Only to rub the fact that the older teen was wrong, of course. No other motivation.

“I’m also going to change out of my itchy clothes,” he prefaced, “So I’ll be right back.”

In his room, he wasted no time on his task. His jacket was haphazardly thrown off and he switched to whatever outfit he found first in his drawers. In record time, he returned to the other bedroom. The teary eyed look Chuuya wore when he got back told him he hadn’t been fast enough. He had a death grip on his plushie and was staring off into space.

The chibi had some separation anxiety when little, it seemed. 

Dazai sat on the edge of the bed while the other sat stock-still. It was obvious he wanted to close the distance, but didn’t do anything about it. 

“Are you hungry, tiny slug?” 

Chuuya bit his lip and shook his head. Another clear fib because Dazai was certain neither of them had gotten time to eat all day. 

Where the brunette was a light eater, Chuuya had no such reservations about making time to eat. His appreciation for a good meal was perhaps a product of being on the streets for so long. He was sturdy on the belief that food was something to be cherished.

This was another weird discontinuity. Usually, he’d easily take the chance to eat a decent meal after a busy week.

At least it was easy to tell when the slug was lying when he was like this. And this was one of those moments.

“Well, I’m hungry,” he sighed, “So you can come with me while I grab something to eat.”

Steadfastly ignoring the incredulous look he received at the statement, he hauled the smaller teen into a proper hold and lugged him to the kitchen. Sure, Dazai never admitted he was hungry — given that he usually wasn’t — but a man could change.

Dazai hadn't changed at all and was blatantly lying, but what the slug didn't know didn't hurt him.

He bounced Chuuya on his hip, trying to guide him to regress fully for his next plan: give the baby a bottle. Earlier this week, when Dazai had noticed his roommate avoiding seeing him, he’d planned ahead. A bottle and some formula was all he bought, hidden in the nook of his own snack drawer so the other wouldn't see it. The effort was going to pay off today.

Before that, they could eat something simple to help drop his guard. Opening the fridge, he searched around for something that didn’t require much prep. A container of grapes caught his eye.

Bingo. 

Mentally thanking adult Chibi for his love of fruits and having a balanced diet, Dazai took them out and placed them into a plastic bowl, albeit a little awkwardly since he was doing it one-handed.  

Taking them back to where the two started, Chuuya was placed on the couch and his lap was once more covered by his throw blanket. Dazai stretched himself out right next to him, making sure they were actually side by side this time.

He plopped a grape in his mouth and hummed. They were actually pretty good. A grape was held out to Chuuya, who had been watching the display, which he wiggled invitingly. Chuuya just shook his head.

Stifling a sigh, he shrugged and ate it himself instead. Couldn’t the dumb dog see that this whole show was just to get him to eat? Dazai wasn’t trying to actually eat, god forbid he actually modeled healthy habits himself, his own plan was backfiring.

No matter, he’d jump further into his plan. He reached forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and turned it on to Netflix. There were too many shows to pick from that Dazai had never heard of in his life. He paused on one that had an animated child in a blue hat that looked quite ridiculous. Chuuya wore stupid hats, too, so maybe this would be a good pick. Plus, it looked like there was a dog in the show that was similar to the toy he’d gotten. 

Pocoyo, huh?

This was the perfect choice for Chibi, he decided and promptly pressed play. Clearly the boy didn’t agree because he frowned at the animation.

“‘S for babies,” he mumbled with a childish pout, “Not a baby.”

“We already went over this,” Dazai sighed, “Chibi is already teeny tiny. It’s fine if he’s even tinier than usual right now. Now shush, we’re missing the show.”

He pointed at the TV, where a bright pink elephant with a backpack was walking around. It successfully dragged Chuuya’s attention back to the screen.

A few minutes in and he was clearly hooked. Slender fingers picked up a grape and pressed it to Slug’s lips, who opened his mouth and chewed on it without looking away from the show. 

Exactly as planned. Chuuya was too easy to fool. 

The process continued for most of the episode until Chuuya started to refuse eating more, pursing his mouth closed and tilting away when another piece was offered. Most of the bowl was finished at that point, so Dazai didn’t push any more. He cleared the rest of the grapes himself, adult Chuuya yelling in his head about not wasting fresh food.

The setup had worked wonders, it seemed. Chibi had started to actually get into headspace at this point, if the blanket corner that had found its way into his mouth was any indication.

Dazai decided against giving him a pacifier just yet. It wouldn’t do if a bit of embarrassment at the item encouraged Chuuya to claw his way back up to an adult mindset.

A few more minutes in and Chuuya’s blinks got slower and lasted longer. As he started to lean over, Dazai scooted over just in time for his head to land on his shoulder.

It was nice to see him letting loose after almost two weeks of rising tension. The stress was felt by Dazai, too, so he appreciated a moment to slow down. The sounds of the television faded into the background as he listened to Chuuya’s breath even out. 

An afternoon nap wouldn’t hurt, he decided, the little appeared to be in dire need of one.

Unfortunately, this meant that Dazai would be stuck here until further notice. Chuuya wasn’t asleep yet, so any movement carried the risk of shaking him out of his tentative doze.

So there he sat, not daring to move a muscle, as he waited. He wasn’t too tired himself and, even if he was, the younger strongly doubted he’d be able to take a proper nap. Sleep evaded him even at night, so there was little hope to find it at a time like this.

Dazai ended up changing the show to some action movie he vaguely recognized, taking care to keep the volume as low as possible. The story was easy to predict, but the cheesy acting and special effects were entertaining enough to keep him occupied.

By the time he’d started a second movie, the lump on top of him started to stir. Dazai had assumed earlier that Chuuya would wake up and still be small, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the shorter teen woke up back to normal just to prove him wrong. He held his breath, searching for clues of Chuuya’s current mindset as he awoke.

The figure in his lap went stiff. Not a promising sign.

Dazai watched as Chuuya sat up slowly, pulling himself out from his lap and robotically sitting with his hands in his lap. The toy fell to the ground, forgotten.

“Not a word, Dazai.”

Chuuya’s voice was low, but the slight wobble in his voice eliminated any chance he had of being threatening. His shaking hands, pressed into fists, also ruined the image.

“Not a word about what? Saving my sheepdog from floating away and letting him be the baby that he is?” Dazai’s tease was genuine. Surely, Chuuya didn’t think that this could go unaddressed forever.

The way blue eyes darkened and averted their gaze told him otherwise. 

“Fuck you. I’m not a damn baby,” he scowled, volume raising as he did so. Dazai simply shrugged.

“Well, I won the bet, didn’t I? That means that we talk about this.”

“We’re not talking about it because there isn’t anything to talk about, shitty Dazai.” Chuuya growled as stood up on unstable feet, tugging harshly on ginger strands. 

This conversation was not going the way he was hoping. 

Scratch that, it was going exactly as Dazai had predicted. Most of their confrontations ended up like this, with Dazai on the defensive while Chuuya took the offensive. It was taunting and deflection against insults and a short temper, resulting in no progress being made and someone ultimately storming off. For the sake of their missions, sensitive topics were quickly made note of and avoided at all costs.

Clearly, Chuuya wasn’t attempting to stray from their usual script at all today. If Dazai hoped to make any progress, it would be up to him to change things up.

The question of why he even cared, what was motivating him to approach a problem that was entirely Chuuya’s, was something to be explored another day. That thought was briskly pushed in the back of his mind and stuffed into a box. There was no time to ponder on their odd relationship.

He’d complain about being forced to do all the heavy lifting another day. For now, Dazai attempted to channel his inner Oda and remedy the situation. Preferably before Chuuya blew the entire building up with them in it.

“Chuuya’s mind was simply doing what it needed to. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he tried assuaging. It tasted foreign on his tongue.

“What I need is for you to leave me alone,” Chuuya said, voice cracking, looking up at the taller teen.

The thinly veiled gloss over his eyes told Dazai all he needed to know. The other was fighting the pull of headspace tooth and nail. The growing distress written all over his face was dwindling the hope of somehow pulling him under without a resulting breakdown. 

“No can do, Slug. Denial isn’t a nice look on you, it’s even uglier than your usual fashion.”

“Why are you so insistent on this?” His voice was raising, “You usually don’t even pretend to give a flying fuck about my issues. Go back to minding your own business.”

Dazai sighed. Chuuya might as well have been chasing his own tail with the circles this conversation was going in.

“Who else is going to look after a mutt like you? Consider this my charitable act of the month.”

Orange locks invaded his vision as the shorter teen leaned into his space, pressing an accusing finger into a bandaged chest. 

“I don’t need anyone to look after me. I can deal with this myself—”

“No, Chuuya, you can’t.”

Chuuya reeled back as if he’d been slapped. Maybe the tone had been too harsh, but spelling it out seemed like the only way to get it through his thick skull. 

“I found you half-dissociated on the couch an hour ago for fuck’s sake, you can’t possibly believe you’re doing fine. Look at yourself, Chibi. All you’ve done the past two weeks is prove that you can’t manage this alone. I don’t care that you regress. What I care about is that you’re gonna burn yourself out before you even make it a year in the mafia if you keep denying this.”

Chuuya remained quiet, wide eyes boring into Dazai’s own.

“Whatever anyone else has gotten into your head is wrong,” Dazai said softly but no less firmly, “You’re a regressor, Chuuya. You can’t keep denying something that you need.”

He knew he was being a hypocrite. Dazai was the last person to preach about addressing his own needs. This wasn’t about him, though. This was about the still figure in front of him. 

The staring contest continued. The taller teen waited patiently for a response, knowing that it would take a moment for the other to gather his words. They stewed in silence for another minute before it was broken by a shaky voice.

“How?” The question was raw, likely blurted out before even registering the thought, “I’m not made for this. Where would I even start?”

“This” seemed to encompass all too much. Not made for comfort, not made for soft words instead of harsh edges, not made to experience a childhood that he never even had. There was so much weight behind it, resignation seeping into Chuuya’s bones as he found more and more reasons to walk away from the situation.

“I don’t know.”

Had it been any other situation, Dazai would’ve found humor from the shock encompassing Chuuya’s face. 

It was an understandable reaction, really. Dazai always knew what the next move was, both in and out of missions. He was a wealth of knowledge that Chuuya couldn’t hope to compete with. Dazai himself was sure he hadn’t uttered those three words out loud before. Even in the most difficult of fights there was always something to hang onto, some next step or plan to be made. In the rare moments he was truly at a loss, they both knew he’d rather bite his own tongue off than admit it. 

Where Chuuya’s pride came from his strength, Dazai’s came from his brain. Everyone knew better than to question either trait.

But in this case, the statement was the raw truth. Dazai didn’t know how to do this any more than Chuuya did. They both were raised in violence and cold corners. Any vulnerability was a blatant show of weakness, and any show of weakness meant death.

Dazai was well out of his league here. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to pretend otherwise.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

“We? Why do you even care?”

And wasn’t that the golden question — yet another one he didn’t have the answer to. Dazai had already asked that himself and came up with nothing. This wasn’t the first of Chuuya’s struggles he’d borne witness to. Usually, Dazai had no trouble dusting his hands off from the problem and walking away. He tended to feel relieved to be free of the burden and had no qualms going back to their usual routine.

This time should’ve been no different. Chuuya was even giving him an out, a free pass to look the other way and not worry about it. Something about the idea made his chest clench where his heart would be. 

Maybe it was pity, maybe it was the fact that it was harder to ignore when living under the same roof, or maybe it was something else entirely. But at the root of it, his reason was the same.

“Because we’re partners.” Dazai said, the title holding a weight it hadn’t before. The statement was earnest in a way that made him feel exposed, but he chose not to shy away from it, not if he wanted to get Chuuya to listen. 

He stood up, telegraphing his movements as he placed his hand on a broad shoulder. He wrapped his arm around Chuuya, pushing him into his chest. Trapped in a stupor, the smaller boy didn’t resist.

As soon as his face met the silky material of a dress shirt, he felt his walls start to crumble.

“I—” he hiccuped, “I don’t understand.”

“That’s alright. I’ll be here until you do,” Dazai whispered, “For now, you can let go.”

Those words, paired with fingers carding through his hair, was the final straw. Chuuya let out a whimper muffled into Dazai’s chest as he finally dropped. 

A tear escaped, then another. Like a dam broken, Chuuya was suddenly sobbing. He tried to choke it back, but cries and gasps continued pouring out. Broken apologies and pleas were coming out of his mouth without his permission. What he was apologizing for, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the frustration of falling back down, or maybe it was the guilt of forcing Dazai to take care of him.

With each gasp of air, Chuuya spiraled further and further into his regression. He clutched blindly at Dazai in a frenzy, who held him tightly and shushed his cries. 

He wasn’t even sure what he was crying about at this point. Everything just felt so overwhelming, too large for him to wrap his head around, which spurred the tears to keep falling. 

“There, there Chibi. It must be hard, huh?”

Chuuya nodded his head into the fabric, trying in vain to calm down. Nothing was alright, he’d lost control of himself and this is where he’d ended up.

“So many big emotions for such a tiny body,” Dazai cooed as he rocked them back and forth gently, “We’re okay. Just let it out.”

So he did.

It could’ve been minutes or hours before he finally calmed down, eyes finally running dry of tears. Exhaustion ran over him like a truck and he could do nothing but lie limply against the warm hold. Chuuya’s eyes started to close, on the brink of dozing, before his thumb was pulled out of his mouth.

He whined, unsure of when his finger got in his mouth once again, but missing the comfort as soon as it was gone. Before he could work himself up again, something new was pressed against his lips.

“That’s bad for your thumb, baby. Use this instead.”

Caught up by the nickname, he didn’t fight when the rubber nub slipped into his mouth. 

Baby? The title was too gentle to be given by Dazai, no hint of teasing in his tone. If he’d had the words, Chuuya would’ve asked about it, but his tongue felt too heavy to make an attempt. It would’ve been difficult to speak around the item in his mouth, which he now registered as a pacifier.

In his haze, Chuuya didn’t think to question where it had come from. He was basking in the comfort of having something to suck on.

“That’s it. Chibi’s doing so well.”

The praise washed over Chuuya and left him feeling warm as he melted further, sighing through his nose in contentment. His emotions were still swirling somewhere in his gut, but they didn’t seem as pressing anymore. In Dazai’s arms, things felt a little less scary.

The moment was interrupted by a soft growling noise. It took an embarrassing few seconds for the little to realize it came from his own stomach. Dazai’s chest rumbled with a laugh. At the noise, Chuuya pressed his face further into Dazai.

“Sounds like someone is hungry,” he chuckled, “Lucky for you, since I’m such a genius and am an amazing planner, I have just the thing you need.”

Curiosity piqued, the shorter boy let his body be manhandled until he was sitting atop of a bony hip and being carried to the kitchen. He huffed when Dazai placed him down on the counter, not releasing his grip on his collar. 

“Just a moment, slug. I need two hands for this,” procuring the plush from thin air, he pressed it into Chuuya’s chest, “Hold this for me while I work, okay?”

Reluctantly letting go of Dazai, his hands sunk into the toy instead. The taller teen shuffled around the kitchen like a man on a mission, while Chuuya was left by himself on the cold countertop. 

He absolutely did not pout at the poor replacement for the brunette’s hold, but was quickly distracted with the new stimulus.

The beads inside of the belly were fun to squish. He smiled around his pacifier when he pressed a palm against the dog, listening to the nice sand-like noise they made. Another squeeze and the sound came back again, Chuuya kicking his feet back and forth in satisfaction. Preoccupied with his game, the boy didn’t notice a pause in the movement next to him. 

Dazai stared at the scene before him, hands falling to his sides, and was hit with the startling realization that this was a child. 

He’d known this before, of course. No shit an age regressor regressed in age.

That was a fact he’d understood in theory, but seeing the evidence in front of him was something else entirely. The sight of Chuuya letting out quiet huffs of excitement when interacting with the toy made something squeeze in his chest.

The slug was a baby, an innocence gleaming in his eyes that neither teen had gotten the luxury of feeling before. They were battle-hardened, more experienced with destruction and loss than most adults. It left an undeniable chip on both of their shoulders, usually seen only when the moon shone bright after a particularly chilling mission destroyed any hope of decent rest for the rest of the night.

Seeing his partner’s sharp edges softened, no buzz of defensive and anxious energy expertly hidden by razor-sharp insults, knocked the air out of Dazai’s chest. He would never get to experience what Chuuya was, would never be able to sink into a headspace that dulled the ache in his heart, but he felt more at peace than he had in years. Dazai’s walls could be taken down at this moment, if only for a bit. 

He could almost pretend this was his life, taking care of his partner and enjoying gentle moments in their apartment, without any skeletons in the closet. Maybe it could be, someday. Maybe it could be just them two against the world, nobody else to stop them from living freely and enjoying the little things.

Dazai had to physically shake his head to stop that train of thought. There was nothing good that could come from letting his imagination run wild.

Instead, he returned to the task in front of him where a baby bottle sat, mocking him. Measuring out the right amount formula, he poured it into the cup filled with already warm water. The bandaged teen was thankful he’d the foresight to do a bit of research and buy these items two weeks ago (and really, the slug should be so grateful he was prepared). Truthfully, he thought that they would need to be taken out earlier given the rapidly crumbling routine Chuuya had going on the last week, but Dazai had underestimated his dog’s stubbornness.

The power of Chuuya when he was trying to make a point was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

Shutting the lid, the teen shook the bottle to mix it up. His short perusal online told him that the next step was checking the temperature by placing a drop on his wrists, but he paused as he looked at his bandaged arms.

Oh well, he’d just have to skip that step. The drink wasn’t too warm. 

Probably.

Cut him some slack, Dazai had zero clue what he was doing here. Reading an article or two online didn’t magically make up for his lack of experience in this field.

Chuuya startled when the taller boy picked him back up again, one handed this time. He hadn’t really paid attention to what he’d been making, too caught up with the toy he was holding. At this point, he was starting to get used to being lugged around. It was admittedly nice to not have to walk himself, he’d probably be unsteady on his own feet right now.

Getting to sit on Dazai’s lap was not expected, though. Given how bony the other boy was, it took some adjusting to find a comfortable placement. Their height differences complimented one another perfectly in this position, he realized. Feeling safe and encompassed by Dazai, the fuzziness only increased.

“Is the baby ready to have a bottle?” A transparent bottle was wiggled in his eyeline, the liquid inside sloshing around. That’s what he must have been holding in his other arm. 

If he had been feeling less hazy, there was no doubt Chuuya would’ve smacked the offending item away. The grasp of regression had fully taken hold of him, so he instead just felt hungry at the sight. A bottle felt so much easier than solid food right now. 

This was… for him? It didn’t seem like a poke at his headspace, more like a genuine effort made to accommodate him.

And how did Dazai keep conjuring things out of thin air? It had nothing to do with how easily distracted he was in this state. There must be another explanation, Chuuya decided. Dazai must have some kind of secondary ability to make proper gear appear into his hands. Yes — that must be it.

Dazai started moving the bottle in figure-eights, making a — quite frankly — ridiculous engine noise. The action was so silly that he couldn’t stop the soft giggle that escaped him. 

The movement faltered when he laughed. Chuuya took the opportunity to try to steal the object. Clumsy hands attempted to grab at it but it was unusually difficult to coordinate his fingers. They weren’t listening to him as he tried to wrap them around and take it. Dazai’s hold remained strong and Chuuya whimpered shakily, tongue too heavy to properly convey his frustration. The bottle remained steady, taunting him. 

“Chibi is too tiny to feed himself right now,” Dazai said while removing Chuuya’s pacifier and moving the drink closer, “I can’t just let my dog starve.”

Finally, the soft tip of the bottle reached his mouth.

Chuuya couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he involuntarily melted against Dazai. Orange eyelashes fluttered shut as he suckled contentedly. Warmth flooded through his body as milky sweet formula made its way down his throat. 

Eventually, the liquid ran out and was replaced once more with a soother. His tummy felt full and settled. Chuuya barely registered it as he was rocked slowly, snuggling impossibly closer to his partner.

There were no thoughts in this moment, just a feeling of peace encompassing his entire being. He floated down into the enticing pull of sleep without even noticing — nothing else mattered other than the embrace of his partner and a hand carding through his hair.

Dazai continued his motions long after the little’s breaths evened out and sleep overtook him. It was nice, just being able to exist like this.

He remained there for far longer than necessary, soaking in the warmth of the other boy. It took an embarrassing amount of time to bring himself to stand up tentatively without waking Chuuya. The redhead was completely limp, completely vulnerable in his arms. He must’ve been exhausted, Dazai mused, after such a stressful few weeks.

His chest clenched as he forced himself to deposit Chuuya into his bed, untangling fingers that grasped his shirt. Tucking him in, he watched as the little nuzzled close to his plush and huddled into the blankets.

Once he was sure the other wasn’t in danger of waking back up, Dazai walked back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

As he lay on his bed, Dazai was surprised how quickly sleep called to him. It wrapped around his body with a welcoming embrace and invited him down.

His mind was blessedly quiet.

Maybe, he thought, we can do this. Maybe they could let themselves have these moments more often. Despite the tears, Dazai thought that they’d had an alright time together. It felt like a special secret that only they shared.

Just Dazai and Chuuya against the world. 

Dazai thinks he’d be okay with that. 

(Sometime in the future, not even three years later, Chuuya will run into this very same room after a call from Mori on his flight back, nearly breaking down the door in his frenzy. The room, now barren of life, will be turned upside down in search of clues to find a man who did not want to be found. 

Clothes that were left behind will be thrown out of the dresser and the blankets on the bed will be torn off. 

The world shall stop turning as he sees, in the final drawer, a plush in the shape of a dog and a pacifier resting there innocently. With shaking hands, they’ll be picked up and hugged to a small chest as knees fall with a harsh crack onto the ground.

In his hysteria, Chuuya will think back to this very day. The memory of naive hope and a warm embrace he may never feel again make him sink further into the hard floors. 

He’ll laugh and laugh and laugh until they twist into violent sobs paired with wheezes, trying to fight for air that rapidly escapes decaying lungs. The walls shake with a wretched scream, barely muffled by the soft fabric of the toy he holds close. 

As the world fades to black, he would mourn. The world will fall apart around him as he cries over losing the only person he’s ever loved.)