Chapter Text
Dazai wasn’t sure how long he’d laid in bed, but he assumed it had been an eternity.
Empty and discarded liquor bottles lined the top of his tatami mat, light filtering through them from his window where he had been too lazy to shut the curtains. Greens and reds cascaded throughout the room, minutely moving with each passing hour. A tangible way for him to tell how much time had passed since he locked himself in his own personal hell.
He was still in clothes and shoes from four days ago, soiled and dirty from an assignment that drained the last amount of energy out of his being. It wasn’t even difficult, wasn’t something that should’ve tipped him over the edge but it had anyway- sent him falling without measurement for the surface he’d die on.
There were unanswered texts and calls that continued coming through on his phone, still sitting plugged into the wall from when he thought the feeling would pass over four days ago. His teeth were unbrushed, hair unkept, bandages full of sweat and grime; he’d only gotten up to use the bathroom, which felt like a monumental amount of energy for something so meaningless.
Meaningless, as everything was in his life.
Dazai didn’t hear the sound of the lock on his dorm being picked, too far into the spiral to care about being shot and killed in his run-down place. He had heard the measured steps that came down on the floor at a rhythmic pace, expertly missing the crushed cans and liquor bottles that decorated his dorm.
It could only be one person- the same person who came to rip him out of every goddamn situation he found himself in, the only person who willingly put themselves in his corner. His coworkers would’ve made comments about his living conditions by then, they would’ve kicked the garbage out of the way as they made their way closer.
Only one person knew not to do that, knew not to draw attention to how sickly Dazai’s mind was when it manifested into a physical display of itself.
Dazai pointedly did not look to meet the eyes of the man he knew had come to get him.
“Get up.”
The words were gruff and harsh, cutting through the space in a way that transcended the nothingness in his stomach.
Dazai was a simple creature when he was broken down and reduced to ash. He complied and pushed himself up, arms shaking under his own weight from their lack of use in the past few days. The other man did nothing to try and help him, no sweet words or steady arms. Dazai could feel the gaze that was piercing through his skull, roaming over his body, cataloging him.
It took quite a few minutes but Dazai got himself up onto his knees, hands coming to grip his thighs as his head fell forward. He heaved a few breaths, utterly distraught with the amount of energy it had taken for him to simply push himself into a kneeling position.
One leg tried to come out from under him, he wobbled but placed both hands on his knee to push himself up. He swayed and continued to avoid eye contact with the person who had come to retrieve him- the person who had left many unanswered calls and texts to his discarded phone.
“Let’s go.”
There was no other option for Dazai but to follow, as if he’d ever considered anything different in his life. He followed the voice like a lifeline, as if it would bring him any sort of relief. Through the fog of his mind, he knew the voice alone wouldn’t tear him from this; right now it was just a command to follow, an order to see through to what he hoped was a change of circumstance.
His dorm was locked as he continued following the man, down the stairs and to the side alleyway, where a motorcycle sat. Dazai could feel the heat that was emitting from the recently used engine as he was guided to sit on the bike, arms coming to wrap around a slender waist as it revved.
Without his usual stream of calculation, Dazai let himself nestle into the man in front of him, pressing himself close and burying his face into their shoulder. He didn’t want to see the outside world, if he couldn’t see it then it couldn’t see him. None of it would be real, all of it would be chalked up to some sick and twisted nightmare from the worst depths of his mind.
He wasn’t sure how long they’d been on the bike before it came to a stop in a shaded parking garage, tilting to the side as it was turned off. Dazai stepped off the bike and blindly followed the other into an obscenely expensive apartment building.
One he had been to many times before, one he spent the majority of his time at.
One that housed the only person who could effectively drag him from the pits of hell.
Time slowed and crept into a dense fog as they entered and suddenly the pieces of vision that Dazai knew resembled reality showed him a living room drenched in a sick kind of comfort. Oversized couch, too many throw blankets, literature on the shelf, two coathangers, two coffee mugs, a bleeding heart on his sleeve.
A hand was on his back, pushing him towards a place where he would be unraveled, towards a place he disgustingly did not want to go to.
It was sick, the part of his mind that wanted him to stay rooted in place, wanted him to stay as sick as possible to prove underneath all his wretched things he was still a human. Dazai wanted to see how long it would take for his body to rot in these conditions, how long it would take for each part of him to fail without the proper care.
Someone else, his lifeline, his tether to reality, did not.
The hand pushed harder on his back and his feet moved without permission. Sweet cashmere and deep amber brought him back to his senses more as he recognized the inside of a bathroom that held more secrets than either of their respective organizations could ever wish to house.
His knees hit the ground before he could grip the countertop.
Still, there was no sound from the person who’d brought him here. No sighs, no arguments, no banter, nothing that could weasel its way into Dazai’s mind and make him want to run. It was a practiced routine, something they were both accustomed to much to Dazai’s dismay.
Dazai wanted to stay sick to prove something, the other man wanted to wash it away with his blood-stained hands to prove something exactly the same.
Hands were on him now, different than they had been before, gloves stripped off and steady as they came to rest on his shoulders for a few moments. Dazai knew this part of the routine and shut his eyes, trusting the other. The hands moved down to his shirt and unbuttoned it swiftly, pulling it off his frame with no help.
They moved upwards again, never leaving his skin, No Longer Human thrumming under each touch. The bandages on his neck were the next to be discarded, unhooked and taken away with the ones on his forearms to follow.
The hands trailed down past his hips and laid flat on the dip between his belt buckle and hipbones for a moment before his belt was being unfastened and pulled from the loopholes. A button was undone, a zipper pulled, hands trailing down his legs until shoes were pulled from his feet, trailing back up and then his pants were being shimmied off legs that weren’t doing anything to help.
A code was tapped into his thigh and the rough hands left his body in favor of a faucet. The sound of rushing water hit Dazai’s ears and he loathed what was to come. He could feel the heat that permeated into the space as the air turned humid.
Hands were back on him, starting at his shoulders until they hit his boxers, pulling them off along with his socks.
Stripped bare and defenseless in the presence of the only person who was allowed to see him this way.
It was never as liberating as he felt it should’ve been. Finding someone to be so intimately entangled with should have come as a relief, instead it came as a burden, and Dazai hated the other for it. Dazai wanted to stay sick. He needed to or else everything would be meaningless, more meaningless than it already was. If he wasn’t sick, he would have let himself get manipulated and groomed for no good reason, he would’ve committed atrocities simply because he wanted to.
Strong arms came up underneath his armpits and hoisted him to stand, knees bent as he was pulled towards the bath.
Dazai climbed in.
As soon as he was seated, the hands began working themselves on his body. First it was over his back, a washcloth wiping across his skin gently as it scrubbed the sweat and dirt from his body, dipping into the bathwater for a rinse just to come back again.
It was repetitive and predictable, the washcloth moving onto his chest, then arms, then legs.
And Dazai would allow anything to happen to him at this point, seated in the safety of the only support he’d ever accept. He’d willingly give himself to the man kneeling at the water’s edge, anything he wanted he’d offer up without hesitation.
It was a part of their bond that scared Dazai shitless on his best days; his willingness to relent the upperhand and trust that he could be vulnerable without repercussion.
The water drained, a chill ran through his spine as he pulled his knees up closer to his chest but let his arms continue to hang on his sides limply. He let his head fall forward as the bath was plugged again and refilled, the warm water bringing him closer to a place of reality.
This was always the part that broke him, he braced for impact as the water reached its maximum capacity and the faucet was shut off. He stared into the polished metal of the overflow guard, watching the naked hand retreat to grab a different washcloth and then discard the one that had just been used.
Dazai could feel it, the awareness coming back to each of his limbs, eventually crawling up into his chest and causing it to constrict. It was a tightness he hated, being plunged back into reality with nowhere to land except here- because where else would he land? It always had to be here, it was always the doing of these exact hands in this exact routine.
He heard the sound of a cup filling with water over the thrumming in his head and a hand tilted his head back. Water was poured onto his scalp a few times before soap was lathered in, massaging for just enough time to bring him clarity but not enough to teeter him further off the edge. The cup came back and washed it away and he tilted his head back down.
His throat was full of cobwebs being snapped by a rapidly growing warmth that was forcing itself upwards.
The tears spilled over his cheeks before he could stop them.
It’s what this routine did to him, every time, without fail- brought his guard down, stripped him bare and laid him out for the only person who’d ever want to take him wholly.
“Chuuya,”
“I’m here,” A gentle yet deep voice came from beside him.
Although the routine was old and practiced, this part never failed to shred him to pieces.
Tears wouldn’t stop flowing as the clean washcloth tentatively wiped over his face. Chuuya’s hand was anchored on his face, thumb on his cheek and the rest of his fingers behind his ear, practically holding him in place.
The bath was drained again and Dazai let himself take the help as he stepped out, leaning his full body weight against his partner, uncaring of the height difference that made it look awkward.
Chuuya was still in his work attire aside from his missing hat, face determined and schooled, his mismatched eyes holding Dazai in place as he swayed.
Dazai let himself be dried off and led to the large western-style bed, where he sat and awaited the comfortable clothes that would lull him to sleep.
It was more difficult than before to get himself dressed. Chuuya helped where he was needed, but ultimately stayed patient as Dazai missed the mark multiple times while trying to dress himself. Strong hands took the towel from his grasp after he was dressed and gently massaged his hair to dry it off some.
A hand was placed on his chest to push him backwards into the bed.
Dazai blinked up at the ceiling as he felt the smaller man curl up into his side, uncaring of his work clothes dirtying the bed. It was only in times like this where Chuuya was okay with something like that and it forced the warmth to push itself further up Dazai’s throat.
Without warning, Dazai turned into Chuuya’s chest and let out a sob, clutching the fabric of the front of his chest in a white-knuckle grip.
“I’ve got you,” Chuuya said into Dazai’s hair, holding onto his partner as the sobs wracked through his body.
The words only pushed him further into his breakdown.
“Not going anywhere, Osamu,” Chuuya breathed, “Let it out.”
Dazai choked and hitched forward, further into the only place he could draw out comfort.
Chuuya’s hand was steady on his back, running up and down as his frame shook from the intensity of his sobs. He was an immovable force, a beacon of hope in the worst parts of Dazai’s mind and for all of his darkness and violence- the better half of Dazai’s soul.
“Right here,” Chuuya said, voice steady and grounding as it guided Dazai through his sorrows.
Dazai was wrong, this was the worst part of the routine. Where Chuuya involuntarily forced him to break the pattern of emptiness by purging him of all the emotions trapped deep within him, giving him a solace he tried so hard to hate.
After a while, the sobs became tearless.
His throat burned from the intensity of it, his body shaking from the aftershock running through it. He stayed placed in Chuuya’s arms, the only place he wanted to be, latched onto him like a weakling.
“Not gonna let this get you,” Chuuya promised into his hair.
Dazai didn’t respond, he didn’t need to.
The sentiment was mutual.
They laid tangled together for what felt like hours, Dazai listening to the strong heartbeat coming through his partner’s chest, effectively securing him to the living world.
He opened his eyes to see the fabric of Chuuya’s vest and dress shirt blocking most of his view. He could make out the light of the bathroom still on, filling the space with a dim light, and his phone, sitting untouched on the bedside table along with a dog-eared book and his own pair of glasses.
If Chuuya noticed he had come back to himself, he didn’t make it apparent, simply continuing to run a hand up and down Dazai’s back and breathe into his hair. The edges of his vision began blurring to black as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy. He hunched forward, pressing himself infinity closer to the man holding him and breathed in his scent.
Dazai let sleep take him, relenting control in the only place he was allowed to.