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It had been a week since Dazai had been diagnosed. He still didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. It just didn’t make sense. Autistic? Him? No way. He wasn’t– He was very good socially, and he didn’t experience any sensory issues, he didn’t form routines he was dependent on, or stim. He wasn’t autistic. Mori didn’t know what he was talking about. No one else has ever said anything about him being autistic before.
—
Dazai and Chuuya were out for lunch, they had just finished a mission. It was typical for them to end up ‘hanging out’ in some way after missions. This time they went to a restaurant as Chuuya said he was “fucking starving.” and “there’s no way you’re not hungry too.” So Chuuya dragged him to a restaurant.
“Dazai, there seriously is no way you aren't hungry, I didn’t eat breakfast this morning and there’s no way you did. Just check out the menu, I’m sure it’ll have something you like.” Chuuya waved his hand flippantly as he spoke. But, here’s where Chuuya was wrong. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t. Absolutely not. Instead of saying that though, he opted for opening his menu instead. The idea of eating made him nauseous. Still, his eyes scanned the menu. His brows furrowed. They had no crab dishes, so many options and not one of them included crab? He closed the menu and pushed it off to the side.
Chuuya looked up at Dazai, “So, what’re you getting?” Chuuya questioned. “Nothing.” Dazai replied with a shrug. Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed. “Nothing? Dazai, you have to get something.” Chuuya said, exasperatedly. Dazai frowned, “But I’m not hungry. Plus they don’t have anything I like here.” Chuuya was growing annoyed. “They don’t have anything you like here? There are plenty of options, I’m sure they have something you like here.” Chuuya responded. Dazai began picking at his bandages. He really wasn’t hungry. The mere thought of eating was nauseating, why couldn’t Chuuya understand that? Finally a waitress came to take their orders.
Dazai was swirling around his water with his straw, taking occasional sips while Chuuya ate.
—
Dazai was in his and Chuuya's shared apartment. Laying in his bed.
His stomach hurts. A lot.
He groans and peels himself out of bed, walking to the kitchen. He began looking through the cupboard. He frowned.
No canned crab? They always have canned crab. He mopped over to the living room.
"Chuuyaaa." He whined, "we're all out of canned crab." Chuuya looked up at him, "I thought you weren't hungry."
"I wasn't.." Dazai mumbled. Chuuya looked back at the TV, "Well we have plenty of other things. Find something else you want to eat." Chuuya spoke dismissively.
Dazai stared at Chuuya. What was so hard to understand? He didn't want anything else, he just wanted canned crab. "Ah nevermind. I'm not all that hungry after all!" Dazai chimed.
—
Dazai was looking through the cabinets for his bandages, all he could find were the ones Chuuya had bought.
Dazai pads over to Chuuya's room. Sticking his head in, "Chuuya, did you use my bandages?" He questioned. Chuuya didn't take his attention away from what he was doing, "Uh. I don't know, why?" Chuuya asked back.
"Because we don't have any of the bandages I like," Dazai said in mock offence. "Oh well just use whatever we have." Chuuya shrugged.
Whatever they had? What they had was itchy and horrible. It felt disgusting on his skin, and without his bandages his clothes never really sit right.
"I don't like the ones we have." Dazai frowned. "Well then, you must be fine without them." Chuuya responded.
Dazai rubbed at his arms anxiously, "yea, I guess so."
—
Dazai was rotting in his bed. He hadn't moved in quite some time. Everything was too much.
It'd been 3 days since he's eaten, 5 days since he last showered, and he was wearing disgustingly uncomfortable bandages that didn't sit right.
He felt horrible to say the least. He didn't even bother dragging himself out of bed for work today.
There was a knock on the door, "Dazai? You shitty bastard, you better not be dead in there." Chuuya called from the other side of the door. " 'M alive.." Dazai mumbled.
There was a pause. "..Can I come in?" Chuuya questioned. "..Sure." Dazai responded.
The door creaked open, and there stood Chuuya. He padded into Dazai's room, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"..You ok..?" Chuuya questioned quietly. Dazai thought for a moment. He thought about all the possible outcomes, he sighed.
"Chuuya, uh. Mori ran some tests and– uh. He thinks I'm autistic." Dazai breathed out.
Silence, the room was completely quiet. Dazai held his breath.
—
Chuuya was processing what Dazai had said, Mori thinks he’s autistic? Well, that did make a lot of the things he did make sense. Like a lot of sense. Oh. He feels bad. He hasn't always been the kindest person to Dazai, he had thought Dazai was just weird.
—
"Yea, that makes sense," Chuuya responded with a shrug.
Dazai gawks, wide eyed, and confused. That make’s sense? That makes sense? How? If anything, it makes no sense. None of this makes any sense. Chuuya wasn’t meant to respond that way. He’s making fun of you, a fool of you. His brain quipped.
Dazai shoots up out of his bed abruptly, “What? How does that make any sense??” Dazai shrieked.
“Well–” Chuuya tried to start, but Dazai was already rushing out of the room, out of the apartment entirely, the front door slammed shut.
—
Dazai was sitting on the beach, the air was crisp, as the water lapped at the sand. The cool air ran through his hair, ruffling it in the process. It didn’t make sense, he wasn’t– there was no way. Chuuya and Mori are just trying to make a fool out of him.
His eyes stung.
He took a breath, and tasted salt on his tongue. This was all so much, he didn’t understand.
His breathing quickly became ragged and harsh. He dug his nails into his palm, leaving angry marks. This didn’t make sense, why was he so upset? Nothing was making any sense.
He pulled his knees to his chest, placing his head on them, his breathing was short and sharp and hurt. His chest burned, his eyes ached. This was so stupid, getting so worked up over practically nothing.
His arms stung. His arms stung? Confused, he unfurled from his position, breathes still coming in short gasp, form still trembling. He glanced down at his arms and– oh. Bits of blood stained his white shirt, when had that happened?
He must’ve scratched himself, and reopened some scars– ah.
He got up and walked the beach absentmindedly.
—
Dazai was back at the port mafia owned apartments, he doesn’t really remember how he got here, but he did. And he was currently staring at the door knob to his and Chuuya’s shared apartment.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to face Chuuya right now; he had seen part of his little outburst. Humiliation and shame burned his cheeks. He took a breath, it lacked the taste of salt the ocean provided. He reached for the door knob, turning it carefully. Still the door opened with an obnoxious creaking sound.
Chuuya whipped his head around at the sound of the door, he was sitting on the couch. They stared at one another.
“Hi.” Dazai said quietly, rushing inside past Chuuya to his room.
Unfortunately for him, Chuuya follows. “Hey, Dazai–” Chuuya starts but cuts himself off, “are you bleeding?” Dazai glances down at his arms, his white dress shirt stained with blood. He shrugs.
Chuuya curses under his breath then goes to the bathroom, presumably to get first aid. Dazai sits on the end of the bed kicking his feet absentmindedly. Chuuya’s back as soon as he left. He kneels on the floor in front of Dazai and opens the first aid.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Chuuya questions. And what a stupid question it is. He stares at Chuuya. Chuuya rolls his eyes, “Do you still have whatever you used on you?” Oh. He should probably try to explain that he didn’t do this on purpose. Although he’s not sure why it feels so important for him to do so.
“No– it was an accident. I think I re-opened some scabs..” He doesn’t explain how he re-opened them, it’d be too embarrassing. Chuuya nods.“Can you take off your shirt? I think it’d make it easier for me to re-bandage your arms.” Chuuya states. Dazai doesn’t reply, just peels off his shirt. It stings a little where the dry blood is.
Chuuya then begins the process of unwinding his bandages. Somehow he always manages to do so, so caring and soft. He disinfects the cuts. He then reaches for the package of bandages, even in the dark of his room Dazai can tell they are the kind he likes.
“When’d you get those?” Dazai questions, eyes wide. Almost doe like. “I got them earlier,” Chuuya says with a shrug. Dazai’s mouth falls into a little ‘o’ shape as Chuuya begins re-bandaging his arm.
—
It's a couple weeks after Dazai’s outburst and he notices some things. Firstly, they always seem to have plenty of canned crab and bandages– both being Dazai's favorite brands. Secondly, if he and Chuuya are writing paperwork, and he starts slacking off, Chuuya doesn’t reprimand him as much, if at all. And if he and Chuuya are on a mission, he’ll offer Dazai his earbuds, mentioning how it can be a bit loud. And fourthly, if he and Chuuya are at a restaurant Chuuya always seems to know if it’ll have crab, or crab based dishes.
And that's probably not even all, just the ones he’s picked up on so far.
It’s weird, Chuuya’s being weird.
He doesn’t understand.
—
Dazai slowly notices more ways Chuuya is acting strange, if he and Chuuya are in a room together he’ll dim the lights, or sometimes turn them off completely. He doesn't blast his music nearly as loud anymore, shows and movies are also played at a receptive volume. If he and Chuuya are in areas with a lot of people, he’ll offer his earbuds, sometimes he’ll hold his hands squeezing occasionally. Chuuya even once just asked if he wanted to leave, and to tell him if it was "too much."
Dazai was becoming more and more confused at Chuuya’s strange behavior, even if it was nice..
Nothing was making sense.
—
Chuuya was making crab.
Dazai padded into the kitchen. “Chuuya, you’re being weird.” Dazai simply stated. “Ehh? How so?” Chuuya questioned but didn’t look away from what he was doing.
“Well–” Dazai started, but if he wanted to talk about this he’d have to talk about his outburst.. Ugh. “Well, when I uh. Told you that thing. You started acting differently. And it’s weird. Why?” Dazai spoke calmly, while his nails harshly dug into his palm.
This time Chuuya does look at him, “I’m not acting weird. I’m trying to accommodate you.” Chuuya said. Accommodate him? Accommodate him? What does that even- oh. It’s about the autism thing again. “I’m not autistic, I don’t need your accommodations.” Dazai spat. He dug his nails into his palms harder.
Chuuya walked forward slightly, and took Dazai’s hands in his own. Dazai’s face felt hot. Chuuya ran his fingers over his hand soothingly. Oh. “Dazai, I don’t think Mori would test you for autism if he didn’t think you were autistic,” Chuuya spoke softly, “Plus, the results showed you were autistic, right?” Dazai could only stare. But– he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t– his eyes burned.
Dazai shook again– oh. This again? Breathing hurt, he hates this, hates it, hates it, hates it–
Suddenly he’s sitting on the couch, and Chuuya’s kneeling in front of him. He looks concerned, and he’s saying something. What's he saying?
“--ok?” “Dazai–”
Dazai just stares. He’s unable to make out what Chuuya’s saying.
“Dazai, are you ok?” Chuuya says, concern evident in his tone.
Finally, like popping a bubble he can hear again. And things make a bit of sense, except he’s still breathing heavily and trembling and– and oh. Is he crying..? Oh that’s funny. If he weren’t feeling so horrible he’d laugh, but everything aches, so he doesn’t.
“Yea.” Dazai responds shakily. Tsk is all the reply Dazai gets, suddenly Chuuya is walking off. Is Chuuya sick of him? Tired of this? He must be, Dazai would be too, if their positions were swapped. But for some reason, this thought makes Dazai fold in on himself, somehow his breathing is even more erratic, he’s shaking so hard. Dazai claws at his face. Oh he’s so stupid–
Chuuya was probably expecting him to bring it up, expecting him to question all the weird things– this was probably the type of reaction he wanted, but now he didn’t want to handle it. Did Chuuya take videos of him, in his weakened state? The thought made him curl into himself further, a sob bubbling from his throat.
Suddenly Chuuya returned, once again taking his hand in his. “Shh, shh. It’s ok. I’m sorry, it’s ok.” Chuuya wipes at his tears, “You're gonna be ok, can you take a deep breath for me?” Shakily, Dazai tries to inhale deeply, “Great, great. Hold that for 5 seconds, and release for 3, ok?” Dazai does as he’s instructed. Chuuya’s touch grounding– his voice grounding, the instructions grounding.
But it's not enough– he’s still trembling, breathes coming out short and frantic, tears still gently run down his face. “Ok, good, good, great. Can you do that again? You’re doing so well, if the touch is too much tell me, ok?” Dazai nearly chokes on a sob, if Chuuya lets go of him, he’ll shatter– shatter, shatter, shatter– “Hey Dazai, breathe. It’s alright.” Dazai takes greedy gulps of air, releasing them slowly.
—
It took what felt like forever, but eventually Dazai managed to calm down. He’s extremely light headed and his body will still shake occasionally from the residual anxiety, but he’s no longer crying or shaking or feeling as if he’ll die any second.
He’s alright. And Chuuya’s still holding his hand, running his finger in soothing motions.
Breaking the silence, Chuuya speaks up. “Dazai, it’s ok if you're autistic, I don’t care,” Chuuya says with a shrug.
Why? Why don’t you care, you should care– I care why don’t you?
Dazai breathes in again.
“It's not like you’re the first autistic person I’ve ever met, it doesn’t change anything about you. Sorry if I made you feel like it would change anything.” Chuuya continued.
Dazai exhales.
“I would like it if you actually communicated your needs though, so we could avoid meltdowns and shutdowns. I’m sure they don’t feel great.” Chuuya mumbled.
Dazai breathed in a shaky breath, and nodded.