Chapter Text
Everyone knew that Dazai was bad at this type of existence. Something about him didn’t meet the same standards others had for life. He was lacking in a lot of areas that involved doing anything but what was required of him.
To go above and beyond. To thrive because he was making the Mafia thrive, is what Mori asked of him. So he did it. He was able to joke around and pretend it was fun because he took it so seriously and did everything so thoroughly all by himself. He had a promising future because he was too well prepared and too smart to die. And he was immune to suicide. Doomed to be in this life forever.
Mori says it was his intelligence that got him here, that those who were jealous of his right hand man position were truly jealous of his brain. Any danger he was in was because of that brain of his. Mori said it affectionately, voice doting and falsely cheery.
He wanted to throw up. He never actually would, could control himself better than that but Mori always adored him for his brain. Tore him apart once he got what he wanted from it.
It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Once he was excused for the day he didn’t even bother with his whole get up. It was late, the building was closed for the day and those who remained were just on late night missions or high ups who would not dare question him. So he only did bandages where it was bleeding and righted his clothes.
On a second thought, he also bandaged his eye and choked himself with the ones on his neck. He threatened to hang himself when he got home and Mori laughed at him, told him to go home so he could prepare up for his mission in a few days and not to bother Chuuya too much.
He hid inside the coat Mori had gifted him but never allowed himself to falter. Especially on the lower floors where more people were likely to be. His perfect posture relaxed into a loose personality and no one suspected a thing. Pain shook through him all the way until he got home but he could easily feign lucidity. He knew tonight would be a rough one but it would be solitary, so it would be alright.
It could never be something found out in this life. Had to cope with this life like everyone else did. Sometimes his brain did its thing but it was nothing anyone else would find out about. He took comfort in that. No one would be able to unravel everything. There was a safety behind his locked bedroom door. Mori had taken away his living alone privileges so it was more difficult when bouts of this came along but he could easily ignore Chuuya.
Had done exactly that when he came in the front door.
Excessive complaints from the kitchen about how he had skipped out on cooking again were blocked by his locked bedroom door. He would not be doing that tonight. He would be in here until his mission in three days otherwise he knew he would not be able to complete it.
The reprieve and calmness that came with this state of mind were not deserved or welcomed but the crash that happened afterwards would not allow for him to do his job. He knew how pathetic he sounded being out of commission because of his mind but he’s tried so many ways to fix this and nothing had ever worked.
Allowing himself exactly thirty seconds of self pity he whined to himself about why this had to happen to him. One of the many things he had to pretend to have a hold on and he didn’t even understand what it was or why it happened. Then mechanically did what he needed to. Stupidly, he had taken some of Chuuya’s comfy at home clothes and, stupidity increasing by the second, changed into them before he had taken care of more pressing matters. Like the still bleeding mess soaking his bandages.
But giving into comfort had only given his brian permission.
While changing he had been periodically checking the lock on his door. Even knowing that Chuuya could break down the door with no effort, probably without using his ability, seeing the thing turned vertically had eased him. He still visually checked it while heading to his closet, then hesitated before going over to physically try the door handle. Once he had assured himself where he never usually had to, he could pull the closet door open and dug around for the small throw blanket he was hiding. That along with his stuffed animal were in a backpack with the box of video games inside his closet. He couldn’t make it actually look like he was trying to hide them because what if Chuuya got nosy. He hesitated before shutting the closet door and apologized mentally to his bunny because a blanket was a lot easier to explain than a toy. He had to take the precaution no matter how sad the bunny looked at being left behind, he could still hear Chuuya shuffling around harshly in the other room.
Still, his blanket did it for him. His body calmed in a way that it hadn’t in the last fifteen minutes of obsessively checking his lock. The green fabric was assurance while balled against his chest, allowing him to sink further into it. Having the covers over his head and his blanket held to his chest was how he remembered hugs to feel. He was even able to rub the corner of his blanket over his cheek in soothing circles. He could have this for five more minutes. Chuuya would be done with dinner soon, Dazai could hear him stomping around the kitchen still. He would have to change out of the other’s clothes and put his blanket away but he still had time.
Except he overestimated his skills when his brain was mush like this. Time he couldn’t register passed and his arms still hurt. He had let himself sit there and try to disregard the pain but the bandages weren’t really doing their job. He knew Mori wouldn’t do anything that would cause him to die but with every pound of his heart the feeling was getting more crushing. He knew the wounds should have stopped bleeding by now but they hadn’t. He wasn’t going to do anything about it, being in his own world under his blankets did not give him enough energy or incentive to care.
With that, his chest got tight and his face was too hot. He couldn’t cry, it was absurd for him to cry over something as menial as being in Mori’s office. Doing his job. It was kind of funny that the thought about how stupid he was for wanting to cry over something normal was what finally broke him. They dropped down, and ran annoyingly over his nose because he was laying on his side. Even his fist to his mouth did nothing to help.
“Shitty Dazai,” he flinched when Chuuya banged on his door, his mind immediately doubting the certainty that it was locked. Not that he would be able to do anything about it now, he held onto his blanket tighter and turned his face into his it. He half regretted leaving his bunny stuffed animal hidden away in that backpack.
”I called you so many times. You better be alive in there.”
He wished he wasn’t. That meant he would have to deal with Chuuya and whatever he was irritated about on top of whatever mess he had under his bandages.
“I’m coming in if you don’t answer me, asshole.”
“No.”
“Good to know you’re not dead,” Chuuya bit out in a tone that made him want to cry more, but again, it was something that was normal. He could— he would be fine. “Dinner is ready.”
“That would be a dream~” he forced himself to say after sitting up. “Dying to Chuuya’s hand. Ahh, I can only imagine.”
This was deflection, not conversation. It didn’t need to make sense.
“You’re lucky I don’t actually kill you for making me cook again tonight. Come eat otherwise I’m feeding your half to the strays.”
“Such a big heart,” if Chuuya was in here he would let his eyes shine with something mocking but he could only keep them locked onto the door knob, “Feeding the helpless kitty-cats outside. One might wonder how you landed a job in the big bad Mafia.”
“Whose fault was that?”
“At least you’re not one of those gangly strays anymore.” Dazai blinked and swallowed down his doubt. Talking was so difficult right now.
“Yeah, now I just have to deal with one. Come and eat, Mackerel.”
“Fish can’t be stray animals, stupid,” and through the tightness in his chest and the tears he was trying to push away, amusement bubbled up. This was nowhere near their usual banter, he knew Chuuya could tell something was wrong and something had shifted in the conversation, but it wasn’t a lie that there was comfort in familiarity. He tried not to but a small laugh slipped its way out.
Chuuya just yelled at him and threatened to break his door down and kill him. If it was anyone else yelling at him like this when he was in this state of mind, he would have a breakdown right then and there. But Chuuya was just so funny with all that anger pressed into such a tiny body.
When Chuuya did finally calm down, he told him to get his ass to the table to eat. Usually he would placate the other before he put his nose where it didn’t belong but he’s sure he was still bleeding under the bandages. It would be too noticeable unless he changed them before dinner. Some blood had already got on his blanket and when he noticed more tears sprang to his eyes.
I’ll be out in a minute, he should say but instead: “Chuuya?”
At the sudden tone shift Dazai’s tone, Chuuya’s copied. “Yeah?”
“I think I need stitches.”
“What did you do?”
It stung a little bit but he understood. It still made more tears fall but Chuuya’s dealt with his suicide attempts more than anyone should have to for Dazai to blame him. Whatever was going on with his head needed to stop right now. Chuuya could have all the suspicions he wanted about Mori but Dazai could never let him know. Chuuya knew how to deal with self harm, he didn’t know and shouldn’t have to deal with:
“Wasn’t me.”
He pouted and his world fell out from under him a second later. Words came out faster than he could think, he could only imagine what Mori would do if he found out his prodigy was this unruly. Squeezing his fists into the blanket and trying to ignore the blood that had soaked into it, his brain scrambled to think of something to play this off — he should never be scrambling to think but here he was. There was quiet for a long time while Chuuya debated the best way to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
“Can I come in?”
Not the question he expected but still, “No.”
“How do you want me to give you stitches if you don’t let me in?”
“No,” he repeated, only pouting more. Letting Chuuya in means that he had to change out of the comfy clothes he was wearing. It smelled like Chuuya and while that alone was enough to make him cringe, he was relaxing into it. Chuuya was stinky and Dazai would never willingly want to be surrounded by that but he was still the one that was unwaveringly pushing his way into Dazai’s life. And it was so childish of him but he wanted to let him in and say consequences be damned. He’s sure he could fool Chuuya.
It would be so much easier than giving himself the stitches he would probably need. He would love to bleed out, but never because of something Mori did.
Not that stitches were exceedingly difficult but it was a different type of childish, not the annoyingly loud type to draw attention away from his slip ups. He squirmed to kick the blankets away before using the back of his hand to wipe his eyes.
“You’re bleeding?” Chuuya asked after a stretched out silence where Dazai tried to at least not let Chuuya in on the whole crying bit.
“Hmph.”
“Brat,” he heard Chuuya huff and then more shuffling outside the door. The still locked door.
“Where are you bleeding?” Chuuya tried again.
“I don’t want to be.”
“Then either you have to let me in or fix it yourself.”
He whined, bending forward to press his face into the bed, arms still throbbing in reminder but he was also irritated. “Hurts,” he admitted but echoing distantly in the back of his mind, he could hear how this conversation was supposed to be going. Dazai was meant to have annoyed Chuuya into yelling at him to fix it yourself by now. He couldn’t put together the proper sentences to do that.
“Are you dizzy?”
There was too much honesty bouncing between them for any of this to be real. The other shoe would no doubt drop soon.
“Not really.”
“If you pass out I’m breaking the door handle, got it?”
“I said not really.”
“Go to the bathroom and get the first aid kit.”
“No.”
“I’m not going to leave you in there if you’re bleeding out and not doing anything about it, Osamu.”
“So dramatic but fine.”
“I don’t hear you getting up,” Chuuya called, patience running thin after a minute of Dazai trying to question his life choices.
“Don’t wanna.”
“Then—“
“Chuuya can come in.”
“I can?”
“If you promise not to say anything about this ever again.”
“Sure, whatever.” The door handle jiggled. “But it’s locked.”
This was… it would be fine. Maybe Chuuya didn’t realize that anything was different here. He wasn’t as clueless as everybody thought when it came to using his head instead of his fists but maybe Dazai was being more subtle than he thought. He’s sure Chuuya could easily be distracted from whatever was going on with him by Dazai saying that he stole his clothes so he didn’t ruin his own while he was trying to bleed out.
“Chuuya is so impatient.” It could have been so easy after that but his mind went blank when he opened the door. Holding eye contact would be his best play here so he could give off some type of confidence to distract from the toll this was taking on him. When he looked at Chuuya, there was something there. Chuuya always cared too much and no matter what he did to his face, it was always there. Dazai hated him. He turned to go back under his covers and to his blanket but Chuuya was already rushing into the bathroom when he saw the red instead of white that the bandages were.
Probably didn’t help that there was a mess of red staining his covers. And his blanket. If he was a weaker person, that thought would have made him cry. How do you get blood to come all the way out? He never bothered, Mori gave him so much clothes that he could throw out whatever was ruined. Not his blanket though. He had bought that for himself when he was out on a mission far enough away that no one would recognize him by chance. From some small business that said all their items were handmade. Not that it mattered one way or the other for him, the stupid thing had just caught his eye while he was in a practicality good mood and had enough cash on him.
Chuuya didn’t let him get back into bed though, pulling Dazai into the bathroom where he had the first aid kit open and started cleaning the counter. He turned the tap down when it started steaming and tested the heat by washing his hands before wetting a towel. Bandages came undone in a sticky mess and were tossed into the trash lest Dazai try to say they were reusable. It was routine. Chuuya knew all the steps by heart and Dazai could predict what would happen so there was little reason for anything to go wrong for Dazai here.
“They’re not bleeding that bad,” Chuuya sounded relieved after applying light pressure to his left arm with a towel. “Maybe earlier, but they seem okay now.”
His right had apparently stopped bleeding but the left one was still going sluggishly in a few places. Mori always put too much thought into this.
And comparing the two of them, it could be seen that were were too many non-strategic moves by Dazai tonight. However he shouldn’t be dwelling on his mistakes but thinking how to fix them because the next thing out of Chuuya’s mouth was, “You said you didn’t do this?”
Chuuya kept on with the process of treating the wounds while he waited for an answer, pulling an arm under the warm water of the skin to be cleaned.
There was an out, a hint of disbelief in that voice. Screaming right in front of him that he could get out of this. An easy little lie. Mori cut him with a scalpel. On his arms. Always made to look like self harm, so much so that when Dazai caught glimpses of his scars he didn't care enough to try to discern which one of them left it. There were always memorable ones that were obvious to him but that's besides the point.
Chuuya would belive him if he lied here.
All he had to do was make it sound like he had been lying earlier and done. Chuuya wouldn’t question it. “Oh, I did. I was just trying to bleed out undisturbed!” Cheery and dismissive, happy that he had been engaging in his favorite pastime.
It was so easy that he swears he actually said it.
All up his forearm was throbbing and the warm water and soap wasn’t helping. He could feel every drop, everything that had happened crashing down. Everything cascading over his skin like water while Chuuya watched.
Maybe Chuuya just… wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t happen to look.
“What?” The horrified sound pushed past Chuuya’s lips like he hadn’t meant to say it in the first place. So shocked at the sight of tears falling. Chuuya’s never seen him cry and Dazai would have loved to keep it that way.
“You know, I think I’m all better now," he panicked instead of answering the earlier question but he thinks it would be forgotten now anyways. He wasn't allowed rush away though, pushed to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet seat so Chuuya could pat dry his arms. It was a good distraction for both of them but it didn't stop his eyes from overflowing. "I don’t think these will need stitches. I hadn’t actually looked when I said that, silly me. So you can run off and do whatever it is ruffians do after dark.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes — how rude — and muttered for him to shut up but his voice sounded funny. It was empty of any indicators for what he was feeling, and Dazai couldn’t guess, so he’s sure that Chuuya didn’t know what he should be feeling either.
Blinking quickly to stop any more evidence from falling was the only option right now. He refused to wipe away what was already dripping down his face because touching it meant admitting they were there. He was at a loss but he would never admit it, would usually find a way to turn it back around to either make Chuuya be the one at the disadvantage or just to embarrass him. There had never been a situation like this.
Then Chuuya had to make it so much worse by patting his head. All of Dazai’s efforts were ceded and he head butted Chuuya’s stomach to hide his face. Only logical option. “I hate Chuuya.”
One hand stayed on Dazai’s head to hold it in place so he could reach to put the towel on the counter without moving them too much.
“These aren’t deep enough for stitches. I guess they were just bleeding a lot because of what was used to—“ Chuuya stopped that train of thought when Dazai slightly tensed. “You know. So, no stitches. Unless you want them?” Chuuya waited for a quip back but Dazai couldn’t right now. Chuuya wins, he can tease him all he wants tonight.
“Just antibiotics and you can have your bandages back.”
“I hate Chuuya,” he repeated in response, sniffling and sputtering all while trying to keep his voice even.
“Tell me about it.” Chuuya grabbed the antibiotic cream from the kit without jostling Dazai around. He only wrapped his arm around the others head when he started trying to swallow the whimpering that happened when he muffled sobs.
“Do you want me to put this on now or do you want to shower?” He tapped the small bottle on Dazai’s shoulder.
“No.”
“You’re difficult like this, huh?”
“Like what?” Dazai pulled away, panicked to look at Chuuya and see exactly what he meant. Not the best idea to put his messy face on display, but Chuuya couldn’t figure it out.
“Nothing,” Chuuya ruffled his hair. “I meant when you’re hurt.” It was a weak lie but Dazai let it comfort him that Chuuya wasn’t going to acknowledge anything he observed.
Dazai stuck his tongue out at him and made an exaggerated noise along with it.
“When was the last time you showered?”
“After our last mission.”
Chuuya blinked while wrinkling his nose, then turned to pull the handle on the shower. “It’s been a week. Get in.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Call me if you want help with your bandages when you’re done. I’m gonna go deal with the mess on your blankets.”
There was a bump in chest at the mention of his blanket and Chuuya seeing it, but there was nothing wrong with having a throw blanket in his bed. A soft pale green thing that had an embroidered frog in one of the corners. It held a strawberry too. Easily explainable, it wasn’t weird because Chuuya didn’t know the context of why he had it.
“Will they come clean?”
“Yeah,” Chuuya said easily and softened his expression at the way Dazai brightened, “but some might have to soak overnight.”
While Dazai wasn’t sure if he could sleep without it when he was like this, he would not complain. He wasn’t the one that did the laundry here, cooking was typically his job. If he tried to wash the blanket himself, he would end up with a stained blanket and uncontrollable hyperventilation when nothing worked. Not ideal. He’ll lock his door and hold his bunny instead. Or maybe not sleep. He’s never slept with the stuffed animal because he didn’t want to accidentally get caught. Chuuya could come into his room for any number of reasons to wake him up. Dazai wasn’t about to get caught cuddling a toy.
“I have extra blankets if you get cold,” Chuuya called over his shoulder as he shut the bathroom door. The sound of blankets being tossed around could be heard almost immediately. Should he tell Chuuya not to put his blanket in the washing machine? The woman that sold it to him said not to, but maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Dazai usually hand washed it when Chuuya wasn’t home and left it to hang dry in his shower. He’s never put so much effort into caring for something he had. It couldn’t be ruined.
When he opened the door to tell Chuuya that, the green blanket was thrown by the bathroom door and the boring white sheets and covers he had were all piled in Chuuya’s arms.
“What are you doing? Go shower.”
He pointed to the green blanket, “Don’t put it in the washing machine.”
“I wasn’t going to. I won’t mess up your things. No matter how it would be great revenge for how annoying you are.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, promise. I’ve done laundry before.” Then a little less bitterly, a little less Chuuya-like, a little less of them and their hatred, “The stain should come out, good as new.”
“Chuuya would make a wonderful maid,” every time he tried to deflect this it was more dejected. Teasing Chuuya was fun but he was sleepy and his brain was fuzzy. Successfully making himself annoying enough to distract people from his issues took so much concentration and thinking on his feet. He had to say the right thing in the right tone with the right delivery otherwise people would get concerned with the dark things he said. He had too much going on for people not to see too much, so disguising it as a joke worked wonders. Except tonight, with Chuuya taking everything too seriously.
“Go shower,” Chuuya interrupted his thoughts with his offended screeching and a pillow launched right at Dazai’s face. He didn’t dodge but he lifted his hands to catch it when it plopped against his face.
“Mean,” he shouted, trying to hide his giggle. So what if being mischievous and annoying was funny sometimes, Chuuya had entertaining reactions.
“You’re wasting water.”
Dazai wiggled in his spot, threw the pillow back at Chuuya before turning back into the bathroom. Pointedly looking away from the mirror, he took off and folded Chuuya’s clothes, but it was hard not to catch a glimpse when he was unbandaged in short sleeves.
The shower was warm enough to make him sleepy. Sleepy thoughts were almost incoherent and wandered without his permission, he wanted his blanket and Chuuya’s clothes back, they could eat dinner at the table and then he could slip back into his bed unquestioned. Sleeping with a full tummy sounded peaceful right now. His bunny could be there too. He wanted it all, he wanted to stop wanting things. He didn’t deserve these blissful musings and Chuuya didn’t deserve to have to take care of him anymore than he already does. Dazai had to be on watch at all times after an incident where he hurt himself too badly and Mori was fed up. Chuuya didn’t ask for any of it. Dazai really had trapped him.
With his normal scheming. It didn’t matter. He’s hurt so many people and he’s glad one of them is Chuuya. He hates Chuuya.
He got out of the shower before he was tempted to let himself wander further, and put the clothes back on instead.
“Chuuya?” He called.
“What?” The sound got closer to the bathroom door. He still didn’t touch the handle. Dazai breathed out a small sigh and laughed at himself for it. Chuuya hadn’t been close enough when that particular fear of his was showing, so him noticing it was inconceivable. No accommodation was being made for his silly fear, but it still meant everything to Dazai that it was happening.
“I found a way to kill myself with these bandages~” Fuck if he wasn’t exhausted. He hopes Chuuya can hear past that remark and take it as permission to come in. He had already done up his eye and neck, in addition to shoving his feet into socks no matter now much he hated them. Most of his skin was covered so Chuuya wouldn't have to see too much for tonight.
“Dummy,” Chuuya shook his head when he opened the door and Dazai was on the floor with bandages tangled around his hands, completely unraveled from the spool. “What happened?”
“I dropped them.”
A raised his eyebrow. That wasn’t the full story.
“And caught them.”
Right.
He had technically caught them.
”Tired to catch them. Then tried to catch them again when that sent them flying.”
He could see it all over his face, Chuuya didn’t believe him.
”Fine. They might’ve slipped a second time when I was trying to roll them back up. Enough with the interrogation.”
Chuuya laughed, “I haven’t even said a word.”
”Help me,” he whined and drew out the last vowel.
“You look like a cat who got into the toilet paper.”
“I want a cat,” Dazai stared at Chuuya with a gasp and some kind of wonder in his eyes. It was a surprise, and Chuuya found himself not wanting to deliver the disappointment.
“We can’t,” he said as he took one end of the bandages and started raveling them around his freshly washed hand.
“I would be a good owner.”
“They’ll only like you because they’ll mistake you for a dead fish.”
“I want that cat from outside.”
“The gray one?”
“Her name is Puppy.” She was incredibly nice for an outdoor cat. She was trained, so Dazai is sure her owners couldn’t take care of her and she ended up in the streets, awfully skinny when he had seen her the first time.
“Right,” Chuuya nodded along as if he had been listening and not digging through the cabinet. He traded Dazai a new spool for the mess he gathered up on the floor, muttering about floor germs not touching open wounds. Whatever, whatever.
After washing his hands Chuuya used his fingertip to spread the antibiotic cream over the now angry red skin. When Dazai started getting jumpy, Chuuya took note even if it was so indistinct. He had a steady enough hand that it didn’t really hurt that bad, but he made his touch gentler anyways.
“Nhh,” Dazai pulled his arms away when Chuuya went to wrap them. “No.”
“What?”
“I don’t want them,” he decided suddenly, and shook his arms to get rid of the irritating phantom feeling that came with itchy and sweaty bandages.
“I just put cream on your arm though. It might be messy.”
More whiny sounds and he leaned forward to thump his head against Chuuya. It was an awkward position because they were sitting across from each other on the floor, but it got his message across.
Chuuya pet his hair a little. “These were bleeding quite a bit. How about bandages while we eat, and then you can sleep without them if they don’t reopen?”
That was a big risk of infection. He knew Chuuya was trying to pacify him right now, but it was fine, whatever, Dazai didn’t care.
He failed when he went to scratch at his arm because Chuuya caught his hand, their fingers laced together when Dazai tried to pull away. He was still hiding his face against Chuuya after a minute of them just breathing, but he squeezed their hands to let go and offered up the arm. “Okay.”
“Okay,” was repeated back before easily wrapping his arms up.
After dinner, Dazai threw a fit about going to bed. Chuuya reminded him he was so tired earlier, but Dazai did not want to sleep anymore.
“You don’t want to sleep?” Chuuya asked even though Dazai had made it obvious.
“No,” he thumped his head hard on the table. As hard as he could without getting in trouble.
“But you’re tired?”
They've been through this already. “Chuuya is dumb.” He turned away from his idiot partner and refused to look at the other when he collected their dishes off the table.
“I’m not going to force you to bed,” Chuuya said from the sink and listened to Dazai thump his head against the table again in response. So dramatic. “But if it’s because of that blanket you’re gonna have to find a replacement for tonight.”
“Not that.”
“Mhm,” Chuuya agreed.
“It’s not.”
“I believe you.”
“You don’t,” Dazai was pouting and sliding himself to slouch in his chair until he was almost laying down.
“Why don’t you go find something we can watch on TV then?”
”You just wanna ‘rid of me,” he bemoaned.
”Yes.” Chuuya was evil, Dazai was in complete and utter sorrow over this.
“You’re not gonna make me sleep?”
“I was kind of hoping you would fall asleep on the couch,” Chuuya admitted, knowing it was no good to try to lie to Dazai. He’s briefly heard of little headspaces before, but he’s definitely doing more research on them after tonight. He knows what’s going on here, but he needed to understand it better. Dazai isn’t going to say a word about it, and Chuuya saying something would end up with Dazai feeling called out and shutting down, and today Chuuya’s been shown so much that he knows wasn’t meant to be seen. They could take it slow. “But if you can’t, we can just watch movies all night.”
“Tricky.”
Chuuya hummed before he went to the table to shoo Dazai out of the kitchen.
“There’s blankets in my room. I’ll bring you one.”
“I don’t need one.”
As they finished settling on the couch, Chuuya watched Dazai snuggle in the oversized gray throw blanket he brought from his room.
“Chuuya promised,” Dazai started, looking at something past the TV while refusing to acknowledge the presence of another person in the room with him, “never to mention this again?”
It was so funny how different Dazai talked, how unguarded he seemed without his usual masks of confidence, among other things.
“Yeah,” Chuuya reassured him where he normally wouldn’t have to. Even if Chuuya did bring it up, when there was something Dazai didn’t want to talk about he was a master at changing the subject.
Humming with one nod of his head that he believed him was all the warning he got. Then, Dazai flopped over to lie down right in his lap. The unfamiliarity of the situation made them both stiff and awkward. Not that they weren’t both amazing at pretending to be oblivious. Chuuya had one of his arms slightly pinned under Dazai, but pulled it out as quickly as possible to rest it over Dazai’s body. The other hand hesitated, but ultimately threaded through Dazai’s greasy hair. Chuuya shook his head at that, he told him to shower. Idiot.
Now that they were actually settled, Chuuya played the movie. They went along with each other, and didn’t say a word as if that would make it so they didn’t have to acknowledge these displays of affection throughout the night. As if Dazai wasn’t regressed right now. As if Chuuya was certain that it was the right term. As if Chuuya wasn’t going to research everything there was to know about this. And as if he wasn’t going to try again for something like what was between them right now because there was a way he could actually help now instead of finding Dazai passed out and in need of medical attention. As if Dazai hadn’t melted the second Chuuya’s fingers touched his hair.
“You promised.”
“All I asked was if you were feeling better than yesterday.”
“You promised.”
“I did,” Chuuya reached out and ruffled his hair. He’s never been more surprised in his life when that’s what started the tears. “But Osamu, you can’t expect this to just go away.”
The only two times he’s seen Dazai cry in his life, all within twenty-four hours. No matter how much Chuuya has read up on the subject of little space and caring for someone regressed, he’s got a lot to learn.
“You promised.”
“I know what I promised.”
“You pr—“
“We both know what I promised not to bring up. And it was not about how you were feeling.”
Dazai was silent.
Taking the risk, Chuuya opened his arms. Dazai fell right into the hug, mumbling about not being a baby through sniffly sobs.
Chuuya held back his affectionate laugh, knowing it would be taken the wrong way. He hadn’t even brought anything up about Dazai being a baby or childish, nothing along those lines. Dazai was usually so concerningly good at hiding every single little thing about himself. And— Chuuya was so mean. Laughing at Dazai in his head, and then laughing at his own joke at Dazai’s expense.
He rubbed Dazai’s back in an attempt to help calm down the gasps and little hiccups, squeezing Dazai as tight as he squeezed him.
“All better,” Dazai exclaimed suddenly, pulling away from the hug and springing up from the couch. Chuuya caught his bicep without hesitation because, no matter how differently he acted when he was little, this was still his Dazai.
Nothing had to be said for Dazai to know he didn’t buy it at all.
“Chuuya worries too much. I’ll be just fine.”
“We never finished that movie last night.”
“And cuddles are within the things that we don’t have to bring up yet,” he continued, just to tip Dazai over that little bit of hesitance.
Dazai blinked. Maybe he was only in the remnants of what that annoyingly inconvenient headspace did to him but there was still enough left where he did not have to be told twice.