Work Text:
One of the first times Chuuya had used corruption he was in a coma for six days, seven hours, and thirty-two seconds.
It was different than the other few times he had unleashed the power. It was quicker, savage, and much more animalistic. His limbs jerked as if he was a mere marionette doll attached to fraying strings. His laugh was a maniacal howl, far too unhinged to associate with Chuuya.
Dazai, one of the most infamous Port Mafia executives, did not feel. He did not love, he did not cry, and he didn’t fear. But something about corruption twisted his gut as if it was a towel, wringing it out of all its contents.
There was always something unpredictable about the power, and Dazai did not like unpredictable.
Using corruption was a calculated risk and he would not receive calculated results. At least, not this time.
They had been surrounded. If Dazai was correct then the boss probably planned this, neglecting to leave out the key information that the organization ran on two fronts instead of just one warehouse. Possibly to see how the two of them reacted as a duo in the fatal situation.
All plans had been wiped off of the table ‘Shame and toad’ wouldn’t save them now, nor would ‘Tree Shade’
Then of course there was the power. Chuuya had been the one insisting to use it even if he knew the drawbacks it would have on his body, arguing in hushed whispers as they took shelter behind an upturned table.
And Dazai wouldn’t deny it, if there was a possibility they were going to walk out of the ambush alive then this would be it.
Though maybe Dazai should have conjured up another plan because of the state of Chuuya’s body was left in. (it was in shambles, just as their surroundings now were.)
This was the longest corruption had lasted, Dazai unable to scramble across the terrain as fast as he normally would with the gravitations being thrown his way.
When he came close to Chuuya to wrap his hand around his partner's wrist it felt as if the skin on his face was scalding, peeling away from the pure force just in front of him. The very air quivered with anticipation as Dazai drew close to Chuuya.
When Dazai’s touch nullified Chuuya’s ability, it was as if the atmosphere let out a sigh of relief. The echoing howls were now only lost in the wind.
Though Dazai sorely wished he was allowed the luxury of a breath in relief, his job had not been completed. Chuuya’s had. He single-handedly crushed both organizations as if they were insignificant insects, and now it was Dazai’s turn to spur to action.
Chuuya immediately slumped over, becoming deadweight in Dazai’s arms as he lowered him to the ground.
“Rest now, Chuuya,” Dazai spoke, and it wasn’t lost in the deafening howl of Corruption.
Though the extent of this round of Corruption seemed much harsher than the other ones Dazai had seen. Chuuuya couldn’t even keep himself on his feet, much less stay awake. His eyes had rolled to the back of his head. Dazai received no response when he tapped Chuuya on the cheek (ignoring the blood that smeared it) not even a twitch.
Dazai quickly slipped his burner phone from his pocket, how it was not crushed was beyond him though he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth because there was no way he would be able to haul Chuuya out of here without an emergency extraction team. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to pick Chuuya without him falling apart.
Just as he had sent the coordinates to Mori (who probably already had a team on standby) was when Chuuya started to make some rather concerning noises.
With only the sounds of the rubble settling around them, it wasn’t hard to pick out the sound of rattling. Leaning down, closer to his partner, Dazai realized that it was Chuuya’s chest. His breathing in and out was producing the sound.
And now that Dazai paid closer attention, coming down from the adrenaline high, he realized that the blood (that usually stopped) was still flowing from the corners of Chuuya’s lips and nose. The blood from Chuuya’s eyes had stopped, though the tracks made for a horrendous sight as if Chuuya had been crying blood.
There was definitely extensive internal bleeding. If Chuuya’s rib had punctured a lung then they only had minutes at most-
Then Chuuya jerked in his lap.
He remained unconscious.
Dazai barely had time to curse under his breath before Chuuya started to seize violently. With fast and nimble fingers Dazai unfastened the choker around Chuuya’s throat, one of the only articles of clothing that remained unshredded, and discarded it so it wouldn’t restrict Chuuya.
It wasn’t safe to lay him on the ground with all of the debris around, so Dazai made due and turned Chuuya on his side, head remaining cushioned by his legs so he suffered no more needless injuries.
Something cold coiled around Dazai’s insides, a viper that heeded no mercy as he continued to watch Chuuya convulse in his lap. The seizure could not have lasted for more than forty-five seconds, but the time elapsed felt stretched as Chuuya jerked, as if the god restrained in his body was trying to claw its way out.
Then it was over, the dead stillness of the night creeping back into Dazai’s bones as Chuuya’s hazy eyes cracked open. They had no light in them.
Chuuya heaved, vomiting to the side. He didn’t have the strength to hold himself up (and Dazai knew that Chuuya would later be humiliated by the experience, so he would never bring it up.) so he held him steady and kept fiery locks out of the way as he expelled whatever food he eaten had throughout the day from his system.
Blood mingled with the vomit.
Then Chuuya was back on his lap, breathless and skin burning to the touch as a fever overtook his system.
“Chuuya?” Dazai asked, voice steady but small. “Are you with me?”
The clouded haze in Chuuya’s eyes as he stared straight up told Dazai that he was not.
Dazai stared down for a second before diving for his pulse point, pressing two fingers down where his jaw and neck met until he felt it. A distant and unsteady flutter, but it was present.
Chuuya wouldn’t die on Dazai, no, he was simply too stubborn for that. And Dazai’s calculation rang true as he remained glued to Chuuya’s pulse point for the next fifteen minutes, shushing Chuuya when he faded in and out of awareness, making a garbled noise of pain, whimpering in a very un-Chuuya-like way.
“You’re fine,” Dazai didn’t even realize the words had left his lips after a particularly electrifying wave of pain coursed its way through Chuuya’s system, making him throw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream.
He had never seen Chuuya in such a condition before and could live the rest of whatever short life he had left without seeing it. (Though the vision would always be ingrained in the back of his head, appearing during the sleepless nights.)
The medical team arrived shortly after and managed to stabilize him.
Dazai was there nearly a week later when he woke up.
Sometimes Corruption wasn’t as bad. When Chuuya used it for a short amount of time and Arahabaki was in a particularly good mood, he didn’t pass out on the spot.
During those times Dazai would loop his arm around his shoulder and the two of them would stumble away from the devastation they had wreaked. He could always recall the metallic taste of blood on his tongue when Chuuya would need his assistance because the closeness made his skin ignite, fire ants crawling in his veins. Touch was unwelcome, invasive, but later down the line, he would discover that it was different with Chuuya.
Corruption always managed to destroy Chuuya more than any enemy ever could.
When a retrieval team didn’t come for them, it was up to Dazai to get them to the nearest safe house, arms aching with exertion as he took the brunt of Chuuya’s weight for miles as they left behind nothing but a trail of blood.
It was always a close call, narrowly avoiding the authorities. The red and blue sirens would blare dangerously close behind them, but Dazai had never failed and he wouldn’t now. He swiftly turned the corner of a shady alley, reaching up on the ledge of the doorway to feel for the key and unlock the safehouse.
Shouldering past the door was always the most relieving part of it, and dumping (setting) Chuuya down on the couch was the only thing that could rival that feeling.
Scanning the safehouse was always a priority, to make sure that no one was waiting for them in the darkness. The electricity hardly ever worked, and this safe house was not an exception, so Dazai lit a lantern he had found and carried it around as he retrieved the necessary supplies.
When he returned he set the lantern down on the coffee table in front of the couch and bent down to nudge Chuuya’s less injured shoulder, jostling him out of a hazed sleep. It had become routine at this point, for Dazai to help him up (Corruption was the only time he had ever been openly gentle.) and assess his injuries.
Chuuya’s skin was battered, bruises already blooming in an array of purples, greens, yellows, and blues. They had become Dazai’s least favorite colors over time along with red. Dazai was more of a purple and orange enthusiast.
Blood still stained every inch of visible skin as if Chuuya had been bathed in blood, some flaked and some smeared. If they had been caught by the police then Mori would have had a hard time retrieving them from jail.
His chest rose and fell unsteadily, hitching every so often. Cracked ribs, possibly three of them.
Chuuya had been in better condition, but he had certainly been in a much worse.
With a dismissive brush of Chuuya’s bangs, Dazai placed the back of his palm against his forehead to discover what he had predicted. Chuuya’s fever would also need to be treated. If only they were at the infirmary where Mori held the special painkillers specifically meant for Chuuya (with how fast his system burned through them, he needed what was considered a lethal dose to work.)
But ibuprofen would have to work. Dazai dumped a generous amount in Chuuya’s shaky palm and let him take as many as he saw fit, tilting his head back to swallow it down with a glass of water.
Then of course came more pain.
Dazai wordlessly handed over a cloth for Chuuya to bite down on as he got to work on helping strip the shreds of clothes that stuck to Chuuya like a second layer of skin.
Fixing injuries was methodical work. Dazai would stitch up the too-deep cuts and ghost his fingers over the bruises while Chuuya hissed and threw his head back occasionally. Sometimes he would fall asleep while Dazai was working, and it made it easier to press down on his tender skin, but harder to maneuver him.
Though Dazai’s touch always remained light. He knew that corruption was excruciating because Chuuya once said so himself. He claimed that every touch was like lighting a fire in his insides, it was gut-wrenching and made nausea crawl up his throat. (Dazai made sure to keep a bucket handy in case it was one of those times where he would vomit until he was reduced to dry heaving.)
There was not much to stitch up this time around, though Dazai didn’t enjoy the prospect of wasting his precious bandages on Chuuya’s torso to keep his ribs in check. But he did it anyway, wincing slightly at the air that escaped Chuuya’s lungs when he finished the work, tugging it securely into place.
The rag fell from Chuuya’s cracked lips and Dazai handed the water off to him. After greedy sips, he panted, “Are… are we d-done here?” His voice was but a mere rumble strained from all of the laughing and howling that not-Chuuya had done.
“It seems so unless you’re hurt internally. Not much I can do about that,” Dazai shrugged and turned back to close the medical kit. They had used most of the supplies in it. He opened his mouth to ask if Chuuya could hold down any food, but halted when he noticed that the redhead had already drifted off to sleep.
“Always so rude,” Dazai murmured to himself as he helped Chuuya into a lying position and threw a blanket on him (only because he would complain about having a crick in his neck the next day and Dazai did not want to deal with that.)
He also didn’t want Chuuya to complain about the blood still coating his body and Dazai was not about to fall asleep without a proper lookout (if he would be able to fall asleep in the first place) so he blew out the lantern and dumped the remaining water onto the cloth.
“You’re so much work, though I suppose that an owner should take care of his dog.” Dazai continued, dabbing the cloth along Chuuya’s cheek and ridding it of any flaking blood, successfully staining the cloth red.
There was always something that made a weird flip-flopping sensation seize his chest when it came to working under the dim lighting of the moonlight with only him and Chuuya. To wipe the blood away as he slept soundly, trusting Dazai with his life.
Dazai was too emotionally compressed to even begin to wonder exactly what the feeling was and what about it seemed so treacherous.
He finished half past midnight when there was no trace of crimson left on Chuuya’s body and hair (that he had dutifully brushed through for half an hour. It was enticingly soft.) he set the cloth aside.
This was when Dazai normally had the rest of the early morning hours to himself to formulate plans in his mind. To keep him distracted from the pained look in Chuuya’s mind every time he was pulled from the stormy sea of corruption, and that piercing laugh that did not belong to his partner even if it reverberated in his chest.
In the morning a car would be waiting outside the safehouse with a driver who would never speak to them to drive them back to headquarters. They would check into the infirmary where the nurses would then take on the responsibility of caring for Chuuya and occasionally Mori would even check in on his condition. (Whether it be because he did not wish to lose such a major pawn in his schemes or because corruption was an experiment to him, Dazai didn’t care.)
Though spending the night with Chuuya, Dazai had learned to expect the unexpected.
And he certainly didn’t expect for Chuuya to twist in his dead sleep, grumbling under his breath.
“What was that chibi?”
Chuuya’s face twisted slightly, “I want a llama.”
Dazai snickered, moving to sit on the coffee table to better catalog Chuuya’s reaction. He missed his normal phone, but it had been abandoned back at headquarters upon their departure for the mission.
Sleeptalking Chuuya wasn’t rare. He did it an annoying amount of times whenever he and Dazai had a joint mission together and they were forced to share the same room because Mori was a cheapskate when it came to them.
Though it always provided plenty of entertainment.
“You want a llama?” Dazai repeated and Chuuya hummed in agreement.
“Mackerel.”
“Oh,” Dazai smirked, “you want to name your llama mackerel?”
Chuuya didn’t respond for a while, and Dazai had thought he had fallen back asleep until he spoke again, loud and nearly making Dazai jump out of his skin.
“No! Don’t porp… purpose t’ me in the meat aisle!”
Dazai’s finger twitched around the imaginary camera. How he ached for his phone, this was prime blackmail material.
“Who’s proposing to the chibi in a meat aisle?” Dazai asked half curious and half teasing.
“mmmhh, Mackerel.”
“The llama Mackerel?”
Chuuya’s eyebrows scrunched up and his bottom lip jutted out, “No,” he slurred, “th’ person mackerel.”
Dazai briefly had time to mull over that Chuuya was dreaming of Dazai proposing to him in a meat aisle of some store with a pet llama, but before he could touch much further on the subject, Chuuya shot up ramrod straight on the couch and swung his legs over it to stumble up.
His eyes were half-lidded and distant.
Chuuya also slept walked. It was all fun and games until he walked all the way down to a hotel lobby and Dazai had to chase him down.
Luckily enough, he didn’t seem to bother any of his injuries as he moved around the safe house, though he would if he continued to bump into objects as he was.
“Chuuya~” Dazai called, moving swiftly to put his hand over the corner of the table to block Chuuya’s leg from hitting it. “Let’s go back to the couch.”
He took hold of Chuuya’s elbow and attempted to lead him back to the couch, but he remained stubbornly rooted in place.
Of course, Dazai couldn’t simply wake Chuuya up, he had learned the hard way to never wake a sleepwalker when he had scared Chuuya half to death and earned a bruise to his eye when he didn’t manage to avoid the fist to his face.
“Oh, being mean tonight are we?” Dazai asked and Chuuya stumbled to the side slightly. He moved like a new sailor on the deck of a ship out in rough seas but finally managed to get back to the couch without incident.
And with a frown, Dazai realized just how hot to the touch Chuuya’s skin had grown.
Most times after Corruption he broke out in a fever, and most times all they could do was wait it out. In some cases, it grew so bad to where Chuuya was delirious and shouting to nothing, and in others, it was only a slight change in temperature.
This seemed like it may be one of those ‘all hands on deck’ cases, so Dazai scooted the bucket closer to Chuuya and retrieved yet another blanket he had managed to steal from the closet to layer it over the other blanket.
He settled to watch over Chuuya in a somber routine.
Dazai had gotten this tacky blanket as a gag gift for Chuuya’s seventeenth birthday. It was light blue and suffocatingly thick, he pointedly got the largest size possible just to tell Chuuya it was from the children's section and see his face grow red as he clutched the blanket that dragged on the floor. It had the paw prints of a dog on it, the finishing touch to make the red-faced Chuuya scream in utter rage.
It was one of the best gifts that Dazai had given besides the choker when he claimed him as his dog. (He didn’t get the purchase because he noticed the way Chuuya rubbed at the code ‘A5158’ branded into the back of his neck. That was totally not the reason.)
And this blanket too was pulled into the routine of post-corruption.
Chuuya would always end up with the tacky quilt laid over him when they returned back to the headquarters clinic. Dazai smirked when he placed the thing over Chuuya’s other blankets. It absolutely swallowed him and made his ashen skin even paler, but he knew that Chuuya (who normally ran hot) never truly managed to feel warm after using Corruption. So it was an appreciated addition.
Ane-San and Mori would visit the clinic occasionally.
When Kouyou first saw the quilt, she pulled her sleeve up to cover her smile, the equivalent of hysterical laughter. Though she looked incredibly fond when she visited, brushing through his fiery hair with perfectly manicured hands until she had to see to her other duties.
When the boss visited things were always much tenser. Chuuya remained asleep for most of the first few days after Corruption, so he luckily remained unconscious to escape Mori as he visited and checked on his vitals and the painkillers being offered to him.
Though through it all, Dazai was the only one who stayed.
It wasn’t because he liked Chuuya or anything, that was completely impossible.
He and Chuuya had a silent agreement about hospital arrangements. Neither enjoyed being in the environment, Chuuya always had bad memories springing to life in clinics, and objectively while hurt they were at their weakest. Especially when Chuuya could hardly lift a finger at the moment. Being so vulnerable at the hands of doctors and nurses never sat right for either of them.
So Chuuya would oversee any emergency surgeries Dazai endured and Dazai sat right at Chuuya’s bedside when he ended up put on the sidelines for two weeks.
Of course, the routine remained the same until Chuuya was nearly assassinated and Dazai brought it up with Mori to move them to an isolated room where only a few people knew existed, deep in the heart of headquarters.
When that had happened Dazai knew his paranoid mind did come of use after all.
After Chuuya had used corruption it hadn’t been like the time where he was put into a medically induced coma or where his heart had stopped, but it was still intense. It overtook his muscles, making them so tense that they refused to move according to Chuuya’s demands.
He had been laid up in the bed for the better half of a month, Dazai being the primary person to care for him since the mafia nurses were all forced to endure the job and were scared out of their minds, or simply didn’t care.
So Dazai had settled into the role with little attitude just because of the badly concealed winces and noises of pain Chuuya made. It was truly pitiful, and no one should see it besides Dazai.
Over the week he had skimmed over all of the novels he intended to read, and wrote on Chuuya’s face in sharpie when he passed out after Dazai held the straw to his lips so he could drink water. Drawing on Chuuya’s face never got old.
Snapping a picture of Chuuya with his face all marked up and drool on his lips, Dazai had stashed his camera away, his job of humiliating the chibi for the day done.
Now he only needed to attend the executive meeting that Mori refused to exempt him from. Dazai had skipped out on meetings before, and when he did the boss had only sent them on harder missions, and Chuuya obviously couldn’t handle a mission in his current state, so Dazai grumbled as he rose from the uncomfortable plastic chair.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said to Chuuya, even though the redhead was unconscious and lightly snoring. When Dazai’s grip on his hand released, Chuuya shifted uncomfortably but didn’t open his eyes. Without the nullifying touch, Arahabaki whispered in his ears, but Dazai would be gone for an hour at most and he knew Chuuya could hold on for far longer than that.
So when he returned, head distantly buzzing over the new information he had collected, to see Chuuya fast asleep and with someone else in the room, well, it was a bit unnerving. Even after Corruption, if someone was in the same room as him that wasn’t Dazai, Chuuya would at least have his eyes open, or be tense and aware.
But it didn’t seem to be the case this time, in fact, he seemed more pliant than Dazai had ever seen him before.
Paranoia crept up Dazai’s spine as he took his spot in the chair, gaze sharp as the woman in nurse attire clicked and unclicked the pin in her hand, jotting down notes on the clipboard that held Chuuya’s health information.
Dazai narrowed his eyes, “has there been a change in his health?”
The woman looked at him for the first time, equally as sharp eyes sizing him up before she offered him a not so reassuring smile, “no, just protocol updates.”
During all of the time they had spent in the port mafia infirmary, none of the nurses seemed to care about ‘routine updates.’
Either they had landed themselves a good worker, or a snake.
“Was there a change in shifts? I haven’t noticed you before.” Dazai pressed, just to test her reaction.
She shrugged easily. The scrubs didn’t quite fit her body correctly, a size larger. “Yes, I'm new. It's my first day in this place.” She said ‘this place’ as if she was disgusted just with the very prospect of stepping foot into the mafia infirmary.
Well, she sure had the role down. Dazai would be impressed if he hadn’t seen through her act when he first stepped into the room.
He continued to watch her with a burning gaze, to collect information before he struck, because she would not harm Chuuya as long as he was at his bedside.
There were no notable features on her, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun and not much of her tanned skin showing from beneath the scrubs. Though Dazai finally found his identifying feature when she reached for Chuuya’s IV drip to adjust it, her sleeve lifting only slightly to show a tattoo on her inner wrist.
Anyone else would have missed it, the small tally mark.
One person. She had killed only one person, making her fairly new to the job. She worked for the enemy organization, the one that bordered the port mafia’s territory because they were all prideful bastards and marked their kills on their bodies as a way to assemble a hierarchy of types.
She must have seen the target on Chuuya’s back and assumed he would be an easy kill given his age.
Dazai leaned forward, finger brushing over the ‘call’ button on the side of Chuuya’s bed before he rested on the redhead's wrist. “Say, what is an enemy organization’s assassin doing, creeping into the infirmary like a fox in the henhouse? Taking down the weak? Not very noble of you, in fact, it’s cowardly.”
Dazai knew how to hit her type's buttons, and discarding her kill as cowardly when she showcased them so proudly on her skin would get under her skin.
Points to her, because she simply raised an eyebrow, “do I need to treat you for a concussion, sir?”
“Hmm, no, I am perfectly fine. Though I wish I could say the same for you.”
Then she finally sneered, showing her true colors. “I need you to exit the room right now sir.”
Dazai’s thumb brushed idly over Chuuya’s wrist, “and let you assassinate my dear partner? Not a chance.”
Like a flash the woman reached in her scrubs and protruded a knife, it glinted under the bright lighting as it sliced through the air. A panicked newbie. A seasoned professional would have kept up the act or completely escaped the situation to live another day.
Dazai supposed the organization wanted Chuuya’s head because she could have easily killed him before.
Just as fast as the woman moved, so did Dazai, grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip from across the bed and twisting it before using her momentum to pin her to the bed.
Dazai may not be the most gifted martial artist but he knew enough simple maneuvers for the appropriate situations.
The woman spat out curses into Chuuya’s prized blanket and Dazai only pressed harder until there was an audible pop.
If this woman were more experienced, or a bit bigger perhaps, then she would have been able to wrench her way past Dazai’s grasp before the door flew open to reveal Kouyou and her subordinates.
Dazai immediately pushed the disoriented assassin away for the executive to deal with while he darted to Chuuya’s wrist to slide the needle out of his vein.
He tilted Chuuya’s chin and his head lolled to the side limply.
Now it made sense of why his partner was not alert. The assassin had injected another dose of painkillers, successfully knocking him out cold. Chuuya’s system burnt through medication fast, but even the amount that had been administered could have been lethal if he had been given anymore.
It was safe to say that he and Kouyou had a word with the boss to switch Chuuya to a more secure location for the rest of his days of recovery after Corruption.
And the woman had never seen the light of the day again. Or, for the remaining hours that she was alive at least.
Corruption dehumanized Chuuya.
Humanity seemed to be a reoccurring theme with Chuuya and Dazai. Because Dazai himself was no human, he had abandoned that title when he became unable to feel anything anymore. (Except for that pesky fluttering in his chest that he had never completely managed to stamp out.)
And Chuuya was the most human person Dazai had ever met, he felt strongly, all of his actions were announced with passion. Though he too didn’t feel human for the mere fact of how his life began.
Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc.
Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. The nullification was like a wave of fresh air as if Chuuya had been breathing with polluted lungs for his whole life.
Dazai was the pathway that connected Chuuya to his humanity.
Dazai knew this all too well, though he never expected the conversation to ever be a topic of discussion between them, more of a silent agreement as most things were.
And he would have avoided it if it hadn’t been for Chuuya.
His labored breathing was only interrupted by the wet coughs that rattled his diaphragm. The fit lasted for a full minute until Chuuya’s face turned blue from exertion, Dazai gave his back hard pats as he turned him over on the bed until it passed.
Dazai turned him to his back and gave his cheek a light tap when he had been drifting off into another realm again.
“Chuuya, hear my voice?”
The redhead wheezed.
It wasn’t exactly to talking point but it was a reaction. The best Dazai had gotten in a while.
Chuuya shouldn’t still be in this bad of a condition. It had been three hours since he had used corruption and usually, by now he would be calmed down, but blood was still pouring freely from his nose and mouth, sometimes even spilling out of his tear ducts.
The red lines on his skin had been slow to recede when Dazai touched his icy skin.
Arahkabi must be feeling extra vengeful today.
The mission was not even supposed to involve Chuuya’s power. He hadn’t used it in a while, no notable enemies to decimate, but they had been caught off guard this time and without any medical extraction.
Without a safe house, they would truly be dead by now.
Though at the moment Chuuya didn’t look far from it with his slumped figure. Dazai had already stitched up the external injuries but now it was up to Chuuya to suffer through the ordeal and fight for his life.
It would have been so easy to let go, in fact, Dazai himself would have let go a long time ago.
But this was different. There was a vacant look in his usually lively eyes, and he lay like a rag doll as if the elements had ravaged him one too many times.
He was giving up.
Dazai felt a cry well up in his throat, and if it happened to escape he wondered what it would sound like. A wail? One like Chuuya?
Instead, he leaned over Chuuya, grip bruising as he put a hand on his cheek.
“Chuuya?”
No response.
“Chuuya, open your eyes.”
His partner cracked open his eyes, staring in a fevered haze. He didn’t look present at the moment.
“Hmm?”
The words got lodged in his throat. Dazai was not good with words. “Just… keep fighting. Dogs aren’t supposed to give up on their masters.”
Chuuya coughed again, breath was whistle as he struggled. “‘M not giving… giving up on y-you. ‘M giving up on m...me.”
A burning ball of hotness lodged itself in Dazai’s throat. If anguish was a feeling he could experience then he was sure this would be what it felt like.
“No.” He said firmly, “stop that.”
Chuuya looked at him with defeated eyes, and Dazai saw himself in them. “This… isn’t a-about you.”
True, though Dazai felt a snarl tear through his throat. He had experienced everything with Chuuya.
“You won’t let me die,” Dazai argued, “I just want a peaceful suicide and you get in the way every time. But now I can’t do the same for you?!”
If every movement didn’t hurt Chuuya then Dazai was sure he would be sitting up, face twisting in disgust. But he remained annoyingly calm.
“Be...because” a painful wheeze “I can't- can’t handle...this anymore. “
This, being Corruption. This being Arahabaki chained in his body. This being a weapon.
Dazai was a selfish bastard, but Chuuya wasn’t supposed to be like him. Chuuya wasn’t supposed to die before him.
Chuuya was everything good in this world.
“And...and you,” Chuuya continued, painstakingly slow as he gathered his train of thought. “You can’t-cant die… because-“
“Chuuya-“
“Because I care.”
Chuuya’s eyes were hardened sapphires as he stared into Dazai’s rust-colored ones.
The ball lodged so far down Dazai’s throat that it stung.
Chuuya wanted him to live on because in some twisted way he cared for him-
Dazai was overwhelmed, releasing his iron grip on Chuuya’s wrist and stumbling back. The movement would have been a small change for anyone else, but for Chuuya it was a whole shift in environment as he was plunged back into a world of crimsons and blacks.
He immediately gasped, more coughs wracking his body as he reached blindly for Dazai until the brunette took notice and lunged forward, clasping Chuuya’s hand in his.
They stayed there for a few moments, just breathing (well, in Chuuya’s case gasping) as they looked into each other's eyes. At least now Chuuya seemed more aware, though Dazai knew before death that there was always a time of awareness. Chuuya wouldn’t be aware for much longer.
And the redhead, he was shaking violently, his teeth chattering. Dazai almost apologetically pulled the blanket closer and a protest left Chuuya’s lips.
Dazai halted in pulling up the covers.
“...chibi, I get it. I’m selfish and I won’t let you die but-“
“N-no,” Chuuya hissed, licking at the blood on his lips. “It’s… I just.” He struggled just as Dazai did with words, but he could take an estimated guess on what his partner was trying to convey.
There was nothing more Dazai could offer to Chuuya but his touch, so in a brave show of… caring? Dazai pulled back the covers and slid in next to him.
It was a small bed and their noses were nearly touching. Dazai could feel the redhead's breath fan across his face, but for once he couldn’t bring himself to care about the close proximity because it seemed to be exactly what Chuuya wanted.
Still shivering, he moved impossibly closer, breath hitching every other painful inhale.
“D-don't let…let go.” He murmured and Dazai felt bloodied nails dig crescents into his skin. It was a wonder Chuuya could even feel his fingers in his condition.
Then he continued on a fevered rant, “w...without you. You’re-you’re touch, I-I’m not human.”
Dazai’s chest throbbed.
“It...it feels nice.” Chuuya shivered some more, and Dazai pulled the blankets up more.
And really, Dazai didn’t know what to say. What to do. A rare time in uncertainty because he was cunning and knew how to strategize, plan, to verbally tear someone apart.
But with those same lips that degraded and ordered, it seemed impossible to help, to heal.
“You’re human.” He said, minutes later.
Chuuya had grown still.
Dazai wanted to stomp. He wanted to punch Chuuya over and over again and knock some sense into his tiny body that yes, he was human, and yes, he needed to live because if Dazai had to then so did he.
Dazai furiously grabbed the sides of Chuuya’s face, pressing his forehead against his partners.
“If you need a reason to live then it’s me. You said you cared about me? Well, you can’t beat me in competitions like that Chuuya, no stealing my thunder because you can’t die when I care.”
The words came out easier than Dazai thought they would, completely unplanned and with no hidden meaning beneath his tone to be picked apart and analyzed.
It was the first time he had been completely truthful with no ulterior motives in years and the phrase had been more of something Chuuya would say to him.
Chuuya’s eyes flew open, wide and alive, and the aching ball in Dazai’s throat had been diminished.
His lips shook “y...you’re serious.”
“Dead.”
Something passed over the both of them, and when the moment was over everything was back to normal post-corruption with Dazai’s soft touches and Chuuya basking in the light of being human.
Miraculously Mori showed up at the doorstep just as Chuuya’s pulse was about to wither away.
It was the one and only time Dazai had been relieved to see the doctor.
Settling back into the routine of corruption after four years would be impossible. Dazai was a traitor to the port mafia and no longer had the honor of sitting at Chuuya’s bedside and brushing his hair away from his face while humming under his breath no matter how much he wished to.
And Chuuya had changed. Without Dazai around he had been freed from the burden of ever having to use corruption and be on forced bed rest for weeks. But of course, when their paths collide again four years later during the guild incident, Chuuya was plunged right back into the state.
Dazai could tell he was terrified to go back there, with the way his fingers minutely trembled as he stripped himself of his gloves, of the chains holding him back from descending to a point of no return.
But he pushed through it anyway, because the chibi had always been stubborn and loyal to a fault.
And it had been years since Dazai had seen Chuuya let the god take over his body. It was both a compelling and a repugnant sight to look at. Like a car crash that you can’t tear your eyes away from, devastatingly beautiful.
Though once the enemy had been eliminated (they always had) Dazai swooped in as fast as possible, (though probably slow according to Chuuya, even with Dazai’s twisted ankle.) and just as they had done many times before, Dazai let his ability flood Chuuya and bathe him in white light.
“Rest, Chuuya,”
And he was conscious as they fell, even able to talk and move. He had been caught in the throes of corruption for a rather short amount of time, so Dazai supposed the drawbacks would be less severe. Thankfully.
“Get me… to the extraction point.” Chuuya had grumbled, willingly initiating touch for the first time in four years by putting a fist to his chest before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over in a dead sleep.
“Sure thing~:” Dazai claimed, though of course, it wasn’t true. He would call the team to come to pick up Chuuya, because if Dazai picked him up himself then he could easily fall apart and-
The strange feeling would occur again. One he had only associated with Chuuya, the light sensation that made him feel as if he was levitating. (It was absurd because with his cancellation he should be grounded.) But he had locked those emotions away-
It had been hard.
After he left, some nights all he could think about was the redhead, and the emotions of… longing… was far more crushing than the others.
He had learned to adapt to it, it was easy to preoccupy himself with other activities. But the fluttering in his chest… he couldn’t dispel or forget that if he tried.
So he reached into Chuuya’s pocket and unlocked his phone (the same password as always, so predictable.) And sent their location to the black lizard, who would be waiting at the rendezvous spot.
Dazai paid no mind to the farmer boy, who sat to the side, utterly perplexed and defeated. He seemed to be rethinking his life choices, so Dazai left him to it.
Chuuya had turned over on his back in his sleep, limbs all sprawled out like some kind of overgrown child, even if the look could fit him with his utter shortness. His cheeks were tinted pink, meaning there would be a small fever involved but not too much of a notable one.
“Chuuya Chuuya Chuuya, what ever can I do with him…” Dazai pondered out loud “I could hang him upside down on a tree branch or drag him to an anthill.” He continued listing possibilities, each one more evil than the last, even if he bent over to wipe the blood off of Chuuya’s face with a handkerchief.
Chuuya always hated blood on his face, even when it was gone he could still feel the ghost of it lingering. Dazai recalled how he always scrubbed his skin raw when he was able to get up and move around after a mission. It made him feel dirty, so Dazai took the honor of wiping off every trace of blood from his face and neck.
Chuuya wouldn’t be conscious to see the way Dazai looked at him.
To see the way he folded his coat and placed his hat next to the neat pile.
To see the way Dazai uncapped the pen he had kept in his pocket because it was the same pen he had used to draw on Chuuya’s face years ago.
But what he did get to see when he woke up made up for it.
He was back at the port mafia headquarters, back in the same room he used to spend weeks in. The blue blanket he had somehow kept through the years was spread over him, hanging over the sides of the bed.
The only thing that was missing was the hand in his. Dazai at his side to make sure Arahabaki didn’t whisper taunts into his ears, to make sure no assassins tried to take his life in his state of weakness.
It felt like an empty and desolate place.
Though Chuuya didn’t have much time to linger because Ane-San entered the room, a hardened look on her face. She had been worried. Though for some strange reason her lips twitched upwards in a small amount of amusement.
Before Chuuya could ask what she found so funny, she delicately placed a mirror in his lap, and Chuuya took it with numb fingers to be greeted with the sight of his marked-up face. Black ink, just as he had always used to.
The design on his face changed each time, though this round looks like it had been slightly rushed.
Hearts. Little hearts were drawn under his eyes. Dazai knew damn well he would never live this down, and before he could go jumping out of bed to find the bastard and strangle him, the writing on his right cheek caught his attention.
It was a series of numbers.
And if Chuuya guessed right then it was...Dazai’s phone number?
He had lost his other phone number, Chuuya knew this because his calls never went through and his texts were left unanswered. There had always been a small inkling of doubt that maybe Dazai had just been ignoring him, but of course, he would get a new number along with a new life.
And later, when Chuuya was left alone in the cold room with no company, he tested out the theory because dammit-
If Dazai was going to make him go through Corruption again then he would stay for the consequences and help Chuuya through them. To Hold his damn hand because his skin itched with Arahabaki’s power to an extent to where it almost burned.
The call didn’t go straight to voicemail, in fact, Dazai answered on the first ring as if he had been waiting. He probably predicted exactly when Chuuya would call him and what he was going to ask for.
“Yes yes Chuuya, I'm on my way. Open up the window for me, will you?”
Chuuya snorted, “I’m on the third floor, how are you even going to get up here?”
“I’ll find a way. See ya~”
The line clicked off.
Chuuya slept soundly for his next two weeks on bed rest.