Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chuuya wakes to a dark room, body hot and tangled in blankets, with a searing pain in his left cheek.

The first thing he's fully aware of is the sounds that are coming out of him, strained, ragged breaths and hitched gasps so desperate and pathetic he automatically raises a hand to his mouth to suppress them. Next, he realizes he's practically burning up. Sweat slides down his forehead, and he feels it sticking his t-shirt and wrinkled shorts to his skin. He yanks his hands out from under the duvet, the cool air relaxing, and swipes his hair out his face so he can see.

"Dream," he hisses, voice choked up and hoarse with disuse. "I had - a dream."

Then, too late, he recalls the most important thing - that he is on a mission in Osaka, in a hotel, and he is not alone.

Dazai is standing above his bed, face unreadable in the dark.

Chuuya sits up on his elbows and fumbles for the light switch to the lamp next to his bed, wincing when it switches on and squinting up to try and get a better idea of the situation he's found himself in. Dazai is dressed in a long sleeve white shirt and sweatpants - Chuuya has no idea how he isn't boiling in the summer heat - and his hair is a wreck in the way it always seems to be on the few rare occasions Chuuya has been unfortunate enough for him to be waking up from a sleep in the same vicinity as him. Dazai's expression is perfectly composed, body language giving away nothing.

"Good morning," he says pleasantly, like nothing at all had happened. 

Chuuya grabs his phone off the sideboard and switches it on. Above the several text notifications he can see have pinged in while he was asleep, it reads; 03:39. "Wha-?" he mumbles, still trying to get his bearings. 

"You had a very loud nightmare," Dazai calmly explains. He hasn't moved from where he is standing, uncomfortably close. "I had to wake you up."

After a moment of feeling around for the light switch again, Chuuya switches it off and sinks back down onto the sweaty mattress.

"Don't go back to sleep," Dazai says, and there is a surprising hint of demand in his voice. Chuuya feels something at the end of the bed sag, signifying Dazai has finally sat down, for whatever reason he does anything.

"Wasn't gonna," Chuuya grunts. His head is swimming, and he can't think. "But why?"

He hears an intake of breath from Dazai's direction, and shifts to try and see his silhouette in the dark. "Chuuya," says Dazai, suddenly serious. "You were trying to activate Corruption in your sleep."

This is enough to wake Chuuya up completely, the warm sweat covering his body turning ice cold.

"What?" he whispers, voice harsh.

His mind, so sluggish a second ago, is rushing a mile a minute to try and understand if this is somehow a joke or a prank, but he can't understand why Dazai would lie about such a thing. Usually Chuuya is alert very quickly in the mornings, unlike his partner who is terribly lazy and would sleep 'til two if not woken up. What has messed him up so badly? Oh, right. "Dazai," he mumbles urgently, scrubbing at his face. "I had a dream. I don't have dreams, Dazai, but I had a dream."

"I know," says Dazai irritatingly - is there anything the bastard doesn't know before Chuuya somehow does, even when it's happening in his own damn mind? "You were thrashing and muttering to yourself in a weird mix of Japanese and French. Then you started saying that thing, so I slapped you to wake you up."

Now that he thinks about it, he can feel the slap mark on his cheek. He had thought maybe had just hit himself on something in his sleep. However, on this occasion, he can't even bring himself to feel anything but confusion. "I started saying… the phrase to awaken Corruption?" he asks, coughing into his fist to try and clear his throat.

"Yep," Dazai confirms. He crosses his legs and turns to fully face Chuuya in the dark. The slightly pulled curtains shine moonlight across the bed; Chuuya doesn't like that, as a result, he can't see Dazai's face, but Dazai can see his. "You were like - ohhh, waaa, waaa, grantors of dark disgrace!"

"Fuck off," Chuuya spits, embarrassed. He kicks out at Dazai from under the covers, trying to get him to quit the mocking falsetto and wildly waving arm movements that are apparently supposed to convey what Chuuya had been doing in his sleep. The blankets are suddenly too confining, so he fully sits himself up and shoves them off him, shivering in the waves of cold air. "I don't fucking sound like that."

"You do," Dazai says confidently. Then, before the older boy can interrupt - "I didn't know if you managing to say the full line would actually activate Corruption, or if I'd be able to nullify it in time if you did." Chuuya can hear the grimace in his voice in his next words. "I slammed my ankle into your bedstead trying to get over here, by the way. It really hurts!"

"Good," Chuuya mumbles, half heartedly. He's shaking, he notices absently. Badly. He hugs himself and tries to catch his breath, but the air feels so far away from his lungs and it isn't the right kind, either. It's not salty enough. He needs out of here, something, because he really can't breathe very well and his chest is rising and falling at a pace far too rapid, his skin still too hot and head throbbing with every movement.

There's a silence between the two of them. 

"Want to go stand out on the balcony?" Dazai offers out of nowhere. He says it so casually Chuuya has to take a moment to understand.

"You gonna shove me off?" he mutters, teeth chattering. "Or jump?"

"Maybe the latter if I'm lucky," Dazai says cheerfully, and seems to take his response as a yes, as well, because he then leaps to his feet with the kind of energy Chuuya wouldn't expect him to have at this time. He begrudgingly follows him as Dazai throws open the door to the balcony and skips out, mostly because he really does need the air, but partially because his head is still a mess and he needs to talk to someone about what just happened. Any other time he'd call Kouyou, the only person left in his life that he trusts not to mock him for vulnerability and also someone he knows will always give honest, good advice, but he knows she is for sure asleep at this time and won't wake until exactly seven am when she always does. He also knows she wouldn't mind him waking her, but he would feel pathetic doing so. Besides, Dazai is still here, and he wouldn't respect Chuuya's privacy enough not to listen in anyway. 

So Chuuya steps out onto the cold slab of the balcony floor and feels the rush of freezing air immediately chill his skin pleasantly, blowing his hair out his face in the process. The view is gorgeous out here. He can see the entire city unfolded beneath them like a lit up dollhouse, tiny cars travelling miniature roads like an intricate Hotwheels kit set up among the plastic looking buildings. Far away, he spies the sea. As he always does when he's upset, Chuuya wishes he could be there with his feet in the water, smelling the burning ocean air. He thinks back to the photo the Flags gave him of his four year old self, clutching his mother's hand with the water in the background. Maybe that's why he's always felt so drawn to it. He doesn't know.

"So?" Dazai says, interrupting his thoughts and sharply bringing him back to the present. Chuuya turns to see the boy's face in full view and is startled by how - decent he looks in the moonlight, with the shining city in the backdrop. "Your dream? Are you going to talk about it?"

"Not to you," Chuuya mumbles, already wondering how on Earth to even describe what he'd come up with in his mind. "Are dreams supposed to be - like - I don't know. It didn't make any sense."

"They tend not to," Dazai says. There is a glass table with an umbrella attached to the middle of it and two chairs pushed nearly under, but neither of them sit there and instead lean against the barrier that stops them from falling over the edge. "Dreams are confusing and disconnected from each other, but the events you see in them, the things you feel are influenced by reality. I can describe it in a more scientific way if it'll make you feel better."

Chuuya scoffs at the offer, frankly offended that Dazai is feeling the need to try and comfort him at all. It's unnatural. "I just," he starts, already feeling embarrassed by the way he wants to try and justify his confusion. "In fucking - movies and anime and shit, people's dreams are always, like, perfect recreations of memories or real life events or whatever. This wasn't - it was weird. I don't know why it felt so terrible."

Surprisingly, Dazai doesn't immediately make fun of him. He is definitely smirking a little, but seems to be fighting it back, something Chuuya feels honestly grateful for. Maybe Dazai won't be a dick just this once. "Dreams aren't really like how they're mostly portrayed in media. I won't bore you with an attempt at an explanation as to why if you don't want one, because there can be a billion reasons for having weird dreams from going to bed stressed to being pregnant, which I do hope you're not. I don't like children and I especially wouldn't like any child you produced. Eugh! The thought makes me shudder."

"You're disgusting," Chuuya snaps, flushing. "Why do you think about shit like that? Fucking freak."

Dazai snickers. "I just say whatever comes to my mind. It's not my fault my brain is unwell!"

Chuuya mentally takes back what he thought earlier about Dazai not being a dick. "Not fucking talking about this anymore," he mutters, and moves to head back inside, resigning himself to a night of anxious tossing and turning rather than continuing to sit out here.

To his surprise, Dazai grabs his hand as he tries to leave. "You can't go back to bed," he says firmly. His dark, normally blank eyes actually have a hint of emotion in them, but Chuuya can't tell what it is. "What if you try waking up Corruption again and I can't stop you?"

"Then you stay awake while I sleep," Chuuya hisses, yanking away from the younger boy and stumbling against the door. "I need the fucking rest. We have a mission to finish tomorrow and I can't be as exhausted as I am now if we're gonna do it right."

"Who cares about the mission?" Dazai says carelessly. Chuuya can't believe how casual he can sound about saying such a thing. "This is more important. Do you know how much harm you could cause, losing control of yourself without an enemy to take out your power on? You could kill half the city before I even got a chance to get close to you."

Chuuya glances over the edge of the balcony again. Thinking about Suribachi City. God, he's so damn tired. "You can't be with me every night," he mutters. "Even if I stay awake tonight and we finish the mission no problem tomorrow, we'll still be going home to different places and sleeping in different beds in the evening. You can't keep watch over me all the damn time."

"I could if you'd let me," Dazai says seriously.

Chuuya stares at him. Searching for any sign of sarcasm or joking. But Dazai looks entirely sure of himself, a frown on his face, brown eyes wide. "What are you fucking talking about?" he hisses. "Like hell am I letting you sleep in my house. You can fuck right off with that. We don't even know if me saying the phrase would awaken Corruption if I did it in my sleep anyway."

Dazai smirks. "As if Arahabaki, god of chaos and destruction, is going to care to differentiate between your sleeping and awake minds. How do you think this works, chibi? There aren't rules to it, it's not like a game of keidero you can just make up as you -"

"Ok, I fucking get it," Chuuya shouts. He clenches and unclenches his fists, scowling hard because he hates the logic Dazai's attempting to use on him. "It was probably just a one off thing, anyway. I've never dreamed before. I probably won't again. It's not something that you of all people need to concern yourself with."

Dazai's gaze bores into his soul, and Chuuya stares right back, determined not to be the one to back down from this first. Eventually, Dazai looks away and shrugs exaggeratedly. "Suit yourself," he says, as if he no longer cares, and heads back inside without another word.

Chuuya knows better than this. He knows this is not a subject Dazai will just leave him alone on. Narrowing his eyes, he stares after the younger boy for a moment, then follows him back into the hotel room.

As he suspected, Dazai doesn't let up. Unfortunately - and he hates to admit it - he was right not to.

The mission the two of them were on is finished neatly as expected, despite Chuuya's exhaustion that he complains about endlessly the entire day. Once they've finished and taken the train ride back to Yokohama, during which Dazai plays nothing but Animal Crossing for the whole two hours while Chuuya tries to amuse himself with the games on his phone, they report back to Mori and then go their separate ways. Chuuya is utterly relieved to finally be free from Dazai's incessant Dazai-ness, and vows to not indulge any of his shit the next time they end up on a mission and especially to try and make sure they don't end up having to stay anywhere overnight. To celebrate his freedom, he calls Kouyou and then goes out to get food, determined not to let how tired he is make him lazy by ordering in instead. It's not even nine pm by the time his eyes start sagging. He's always had a very strict sleep schedule, and having it disrupted by Dazai was extremely irritating. This is why he finds himself in bed by ten pm, only barely having gotten changed out of his clothes from the day before entirely passing out.

He dreams again. It's not exactly the same one as last night, but it's similar in premise. Images and sounds flitting through memories, little things he didn't think he remembered, voices he knew long ago. But there is something about it that's even more wrong that he can't figure out. It's wrong in the way that he feels half asleep and half awake, but like he's not even really there. The events of the dream fade to give way to something new. It's painful. Chuuya, from somewhere far away, feels himself thrashing in pain, screaming with a guttural howl that doesn't belong to him. What's happening to me, he asks, and receives no response other than a rush of bloodlust rising in his chest, in his whole self. His body sings with it.

Then he is himself again, very suddenly and painfully. He's so disoriented he doesn't recognize that he's screaming still until something clamps over his mouth, something cold and fleshy - a hand. Chuuya's vision is blurred, but he recognizes that black hair, that white shirt and dark tie that he can make out. Slowly he understands that he's no longer in his bed, he's on the hardwood floor instead, and his body is thrumming like there have been a million drugs shaken up inside him while he wasn't conscious. On reflex, he bites down on the hand that's muzzling him, hard, and he hears a voice cry out right before his head swims and he finds himself falling into darkness.

Dazai is holding him when he wakes. It can't be any more than a minute or two later, but he's laying flat on the ground now in a strange position. His limbs are jerking slightly, out of his control, and he immediately feels so nauseous he wants to fall back asleep. "What, what, what?" he finds himself repeating in a slurred voice, over and over again.

"You used Corruption," comes a calm tone from far away. "Then you had a seizure. I moved you away from what's left of the bed so you wouldn't break your arms in your sleep, even if I think that would be a little bit funny."

Chuuya only really takes in one part of that whole spiel. "I used…?" he tries. His tongue feels unnaturally heavy in his mouth.

Finally he glances around the room, and almost passes out again at the sight of what he's done. His bed has collapsed right down the middle like something blew it apart, and everything in the room has been pulled in towards it as if a black hole had awakened there. Which it had. Chuuya struggles to maintain awareness, trying to understand what had happened to him. The last thing he can remember is falling asleep hours ago when the sky was still light with summer sun. He's never felt so sickly disoriented in his life, and he fucking hates that he has to rely on Dazai to explain this to him.

Dazai, who's been keeping a hold on one of his hands the entire time, gives him a self satisfied smile. "Isn't it lucky that I was here, despite your insistence that your near use of Corruption would be a one time thing?" he teases, eyes dark and wicked. "Chuuya should be so grateful for me taking time out of my very busy schedule to keep him safe."

Chuuya plods through his sluggish mind and comes across a line of thought. "If you were already here," he says, blearily, "then how did I activate Corruption?"

Dazai shrugs. "Maybe I let you activate it fully, just a little. To teach chibi a lesson."

A fury rises in his chest, sharp and hot and a pure contrast to everything else his body is currently being consumed with, and he attempts to sit up so he can be sure he won't pass out again. "You - you let me -" he starts, so angry he feels actually sick, staring right into Dazai's soulless, fish-like eyes. "You let me use that - fucking thing? When you could have stopped me?"

"I had to teach you a lesson," Dazai repeats. "Otherwise you wouldn't believe me when I woke you up again. I was planning to let you destroy the whole room, but I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to stop you before you left my reach, so you're lucky I didn't. Where's my thank you, little slug?"

Chuuya hates how right he is. Hates how all consuming his emotions become when he's like this, hates how he's too weak to take his emotions out on anything, hates how badly he's shaking and how Dazai has to keep a hold of him, No Longer Human keeping Tainted under wraps like he's a dog on a leash. He can't even summon the energy to shout or scream, just to whisper hoarsely with each heavy breath he takes. "I trust you with Corruption," is what he manages to say. "I trust you with that, Dazai."

"I know," Dazai replies, and his tone is surprisingly gentle. He is looking at Chuuya like he is something broken that he is delighted to be able to piece together again. Chuuya has to turn away before his gaze consumes him. "I won't make you regret it, Chuuya. But I had to show you that the danger was actually real."

"Yeah," Chuuya mutters. "I know. I know. I wouldn't have believed you otherwise."

He lies back again, but this time lets his head fall on Dazai's thighs. Comfier than the floor. He hears Dazai's breath hitch with surprise, giving Chuuya a brief sense of satisfaction, and he closes his eyes. "I need a new bed," he says softly. "Need to fix my stuff."

"We can sort that out tomorrow," Dazai says, too cheerily. Cold fingers stroke Chuuya's hair off his forehead, and he hums with appreciation. "You sleep now. I'll make sure you don't go all crazy again in your sleep."

Chuuya wants to ask if Dazai plans to sleep, if he plans to sit here in this position all night, with Chuuya on his lap, but the offer of you sleep now is enough to send him off immediately, drifting into a dreamless rest.

He wakes up the next morning to two Port Mafia grunts in his room with boxes under their arms and against the wall, staring down at him.

"Apologies, Mr Nakahara," one of them says. "Uh, Mr Dazai instructed us to fix up this room and gave us the address - we didn't know you would be here, I'm terribly sorry."

Chuuya gets himself off the floor, wincing at how painful it is and how every one of his limbs crunches with every movement. He doesn't care how nice Dazai might have been last night, fuck him for leaving him on the floor like that without even grabbing a cushion from the living room couch to shove under his head. Not that he really expects more from Dazai. "It's alright," he informs the grunts, easing their expressions from fear to confusion in a moment. "It'd be great if you could fix up this room, yeah. Don't touch a thing you don't have any business being near anywhere at all in the house. I've got cameras installed and I'll know in an instant." Agonizingly, he gets entirely to his feet, swaying with headache and nausea and everything else that comes with the aftermath of Corruption, even if he'd only used it for a moment. "Once you're done, make sure the door is shut tight. I have an auto locking system, so don't worry about that. I'll be out all day. Leave a message with Dazai if there are any complications."

He grabs some random clothes from his closet and leaves the concerned grunts behind, frankly not caring about what they do after he's gone. He was lying about the cameras, but he'd been considering getting some installed - however, he's certain Dazai would immediately find them and mess with them, so there's no point. He gets dressed in the bathroom, hissing every time he uncovers another glaring bruise, and then grabs his hat and sets off out the house. On the way down the elevator, he checks his phone and sees a text from the contact marked as Mackerel - Sent some guys to your place to fix up your room. I don't know if you'll wake up before they arrive or not but it will be funny if you don't.

He texts him back, irritated. I did not wake up before they arrived. Hope you fall in the fucking river and can't get out.

It takes from the time he gets out the elevator and halfway down to a place he knows serves good Japanese breakfast food before he gets a message back.

Lol! (That's "laugh out loud" for the stupid dogs among us.) (You.)

He doesn't grace that with a response.

They don't need to make any arrangements for Dazai to let himself into Chuuya's apartment that night while he's watching TV in the living room. The grunts had done a decent job, and his new bed is fairly sturdy and made up nice as if he's sleeping in a hotel. He took a photo of it to send to Kouyou, knowing he'd never bother to make his bed that nice any other day of his life. I refuse to believe you did that, is her response, and it makes him laugh.

He hasn't told Kouyou what's going on yet. Maybe just because it's embarrassing enough that Dazai knows, maybe because he doesn't want to admit to Kouyou that he'd been lying every time he'd told her he'd been doing better lately and it's gotten so bad in his own head that he's somehow awoken the part of his brain that allows him to dream and now he's having nightmares so horrible that he's using Corruption in his sleep to get away from them. Either way, he's deciding to keep it from her for now, at least until he's got this under some semblance of control. Kouyou is dealing with enough lately without his shit on top of it. He's a seventeen year old boy - he doesn't need his mentor figure to hold his hand through the rough times anymore.

"Hey there, partner," is how Dazai greets him when he finally gets in. Chuuya had heard him picking the lock but opted to continue watching his show instead of getting up to unlock it, mentally timing how long it had taken him to do so.

"Fifteen seconds," he says in response. "You're slacking."

"I wouldn't be if you didn't have such a complex lock system," Dazai complains before coming over to the couch where he's sat and plopping next to him unceremoniously. "What are you watching?"

"Some K-drama," Chuuya says, trying to act more casual than he feels. It's unnatural to be allowing Dazai into his apartment like this without some kind of fight, because he hates Dazai being in his space like this. It's bad enough that the younger boy is sometimes here when Chuuya isn't and sends him ominous photos of his living room or bathroom from his many burner phones to try and scare him, but it's worse not being able to kick him out when he's here. Worse to need him to be here. He hates this lack of control over his own damn ability. "I'm trying to improve my Korean."

"Bor-ing," Dazai sings, reaching for the remote before Chuuya can stop him. "I want to watch a movie."

"Quit it," Chuuya snaps. He grabs at Dazai's arm, trying to knock the remote out his hand, but he holds it above where he can reach. "I'm only letting you in here because I need you to help me figure out what's fucking wrong with me so that I stop letting the fucking God of Calamity take control of my body to destroy my room in the night. You don't get control over my TV. I pay for the damn thing."

Dazai lowers his arm with a smile, but there is a curious glint in his eye. "If Chibi's certain," he says, and lets go of the remote into Chuuya's lap. He has to admit he's surprised Dazai gave up without a fight, just like that. "It's your bedtime anyway, isn't it? Sleepy time for Chuuya? Do you need me to heat you up some warm milk and sing you a song?"

"Oh, fuck off and kill yourself," Chuuya snaps. Already he's irritated, and Dazai's only been here two minutes. He switches off the TV with a click and leaves them in only the warm light of the lamp. "You're sleeping on the floor, by the way. If you wake up and hear me talking, then you have permission to touch me. Only then, you hear?"

Dazai had begun protesting childishly at the idea of sleeping on the floor, stomping his feet and crossing his arms like an actual five year old. "I'm helping Chuuya and not getting any respect in return!" he shouts, pouting dramatically. "I deserve better than this for giving up my nights to keep you safe!"

Chuuya is already considering kicking him out and risking toppling the building in his sleep. He had been stupid to have higher expectations for how this would go just because Dazai had been a little nice to him last night. "You're sleeping on the damn floor," he says firmly, on his way out the room and into the hall, expecting Dazai to follow. "Tomorrow we can start trying to figure out what I need to do to fix this whole mess, then you can go back to your nice, comfy bed in your own house. If that'll be a problem, you can leave now." He turns to face the boy, aware of the fact that he's only fueling him with his anger. It's plain to see in the smile on his face. "Will that be a problem?"

"Hmm," Dazai hums, as if he's thinking about it. "I suppose I'll live." Then he shoulders past Chuuya and into his room without a care in the world. He doesn't even spare a glance at the work the mafiosos had done to fix it up, instead heading straight for the futon that Chuuya rolled out for him and throwing himself on top of it. "Goodnight, Chuuya! Don't let the bedbugs bite!"

Chuuya eyes his suspiciously from his place in the doorway. "You're going to sleep just like that?"

"That I am," Dazai says sweetly, rolling himself up in Chuuya's futon. "I'm a very light sleeper. I'll wake up if you start talking, so no need to worry!"

That's really not what Chuuya's worrying about anymore. "Alright," he says warily, and heads to his closet to grab sleepwear. There's no point giving Dazai the same don't touch anything spiel he gave the grunts from earlier. He knows he wouldn't even considering listening. Chuuya goes for a quick shower and brushes his teeth, mind racing the entire time trying to figure out what Dazai's ulterior motive is - because he definitely has one, he would not be caring so much about Chuuya's or even any Yokohama citizens safety this much on a regular basis - and by the time he returns to the bedroom, Dazai is supposedly asleep.

Supposedly. Dazai is a notorious liar and faker. Chuuya studies him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the open vulnerability in the way his mouth hangs slightly open and his hair falls over his eyes. Eyes, because Dazai has removed his facial bandage. Chuuya's seen his other eye before, of course, but has never received an explanation as to why he wears a bandage over it when the eye looks entirely fine underneath. The only clue he's received that shows Dazai doesn't just wear the thing for show is that when he isn't wearing it, Dazai will usually keep the eye closed, especially when he's trying to see something up close. Chuuya's never been able to entirely conclude what's wrong with him, but guesses that it's an issue that could probably be solved with glasses if Mori cared and Dazai would admit that he was scared of doctors.

He gets into bed. Dazai hadn't even brought a change of clothes, and is still in his work shirt and pants. Chuuya, just before he gets comfortable and falls asleep, vows to wash that futon once he's gotten himself sorted and Dazai's out of his home, or at least out of his bedroom and onto the couch, which is probably the best he can ask for. He's not entirely certain that Dazai doesn't have fleas.

Surprisingly, he wakes up to the morning sun.

Chuuya is only given about a moment of peace to appreciate this, however, before he realizes that he is no longer alone in his bed. At some point during the night, Dazai, that fucking bastard, crawled in beside him and is now asleep facing him, curled up into a little ball and hugging himself in his sleep. One of his hands is next to Chuuya's arm, as if he'd been holding him in his sleep. Chuuya's mouth has dropped open at the absolute fucking audacity of Dazai's actions. What the hell is wrong with him?

Before he can give Dazai the opportunity to wake up and make fun of him, he sits up and shoves him as hard as he can so he falls off the bed.

Dazai wakes with a shriek as he hits the ground. Chuuya had taken all the blanket during the night, so at least he doesn't take it with him as he goes. He pulls it tighter around him. "You freak asshole!" he shouts, utterly furious. "What the fuck's wrong with you, huh? I told you to stay on the fucking floor! Why's it so hard for you to do one damn thing, huh?"

Dazai's dark head of hair pops up at the side of the bed, brown eyes scanning for any further signs of being hit before he stands and flops onto the edge of the bed.

"I got cold," he whines.

This only makes Chuuya angrier, somehow. "I don't fucking care!" he snaps. "We made a fucking agreement! That was my one damn boundary!"

"But you didn't have a nightmare," Dazai says innocently, eyes wide. "Did you?"

Chuuya… hadn't. Not that he can remember. "Coincidence," he replies with a snarl. "Having you in my bed would probably give me more nightmares on any normal night."

Dazai snickers and moves closer before making a sudden grab for the covers. Chuuya yanks them back, having expected him to do this, then launches a kick in Dazai's direction. It hits Dazai in the stomach, and the boy groans in pain before letting go and leaning back, clutching his midsection.

Chuuya ignores his show of misery and picks his phone off his side table to check for messages.

However, his heart picks up when he sees he has texts from - from Kouyou, from Gin, from Mori. He actually gasps when he reads what they've said. I'm going to take it that Dazai has your phone, is what Kouyou has said. What the fuck, is what Gin has said. Interesting, is from Mori.

"What - did you do with my phone?" Chuuya asks, suddenly dreading the answer.

Dazai lies down on the bed beside him, not looking bothered. "Ah? Just a few texts to a few people in your contacts. It was boring after you fell asleep."

Chuuya opens his phone and nearly passes out on the spot when he reads what Dazai has sent to not just those three people, but to several other people in his contacts that have not yet replied. "Jesus, Dazai," he cries, clapping his hands over his face. "You fucking - you sent that shit to Mori!"

The younger boy is on his own phone now, humming to himself and kicking his feet. "It's fine. Mori knows how to take a good joke."

"From you, maybe!" Chuuya shouts. Immediately he begins typing out apologies and explanations as fast as his fingers will fly across the keyboard. "Ohh, my god, I'm actually going to be killed. I'm actually, seriously going to be killed."

"Mori won't kill you," Dazai scoffs. "You're his favourite apart from me and Elise."

He says this with something like contempt in his voice, which Chuuya can't decide on whether it's fake or real. He decides it's fake and continues doing what he was doing before, praying to God that this isn't going to be the end of him.

Mori, fortunately, responds right away. Yes, I figured perhaps someone had gotten a hold of your phone. Perhaps you should consider a change in security. Good luck.

Chuuya breathes a sigh of relief. Mori had been the one person he'd really worried about, apart from Kouyou, who'd said in her reply message that she figured it was Dazai who had sent it. Everyone else he can deal with later. 

He turns his attention to the boy in his bed.

"Mori text back?" Dazai asks without looking up like he's simply wondering about the weather.

In response, Chuuya breaks his nose.

Dazai is immediately off his bed, clutching his face and shouting in pain. There is blood on the bedcovers now, which is terribly annoying. "Don't ever," Chuuya starts, breathing heavily with the adrenaline of what he's just done, "pull shit like that again. Ever. You're so damn lucky I didn't go for one of your limbs. Do you miss your broken arm? I can bring it back if you want."

Dazai giggles through all the blood pouring down his face and onto his white shirt. "Chuuya's so sensitive. I could have made those messages actually sound like they came from you, so really, you're the lucky one." His eyes are manic. "Remember, Chibi, whatever I do, I can always do worse."

Chuuya, instead of getting angrier like he wants to, deflates.

Dazai is correct. He is much more sly than most people give him credit for. Chuuya knows he can do far worse than what he'd done. Still. Still. "Fuck off out of my room," he snarls. "If you're not gonna go by one of the only boundaries I set, then this arrangement is over. Now get the hell out, Dazai, I fucking mean it."

The younger boy looks down at him with a suddenly unreadable face. "We're not going to talk about how Chuuya didn't have a nightmare last night because of me?" he wonders. "I feel like we should talk about -"

"It was a coincidence," Chuuya shouts over him, and gets out of bed to stand and be on a - slightly more equal level to Dazai. "It had nothing to do with -"

"But it did," Dazai says, grinning widely. He looks crazed with the entire bottom half of his face covered in blood that he's not wiping away. "Does the dumb, brainless slug want to know why?"

"I don't -"

"Chuuya did have a nightmare last night," Dazai announces, triumphant, and Chuuya stops in his tracks. "You were thrashing and turning and whining, but when I touched you, you stopped. Then I laid down next to you and you were fine."

Chuuya can only breathe deeply, struggling to calm his anger. "I don't believe you," he says softly.

Dazai's gaze is calculated and wicked. "The same way Chuuya didn't believe me about the dangers of using Corruption in his sleep?" he asks innocently.

He doesn't know what to say to this. Doesn't know what to think of this development. Why is Dazai's presence calming his nightmares? What sense would that make when Dazai had been present both when he'd started having them in the first place and the night before when he'd blown up his bed?

"That doesn't add up," he says weakly. "It just doesn't."

"Then we can test it tonight," Dazai says. His tone shows no sign of holding any joking. "I'll sleep on the futon and I won't move this time, promise. We can see if it has any effect on your nightmares."

Chuuya is just exhausted of this at this point. "Whatever," he mutters, defeated. He rummages in his closet, looking for an outfit for the day. "Fuck you, man, you asshole. Go clean yourself the fuck up and get the hell out before I start breaking limbs."

"I thought we were going to try and work out what the cause of you suddenly being able to dream was?" Dazai asks. He makes no move to go clean himself up. Blood drips from his nose to the floor.

Frustrated, Chuuya grabs some plain pants and an off white shirt and vest before marching over and grabbing Dazai's hand. It's cold and covered in calluses and dry skin. "Unlike Mr Executive over here who can just slack off and get paid anyway, I have work I need to be fucking doing. We can talk later, and when I say later I mean it. I'm not replying to any texts and if you show up within fifty feet of me at all today I'm filing for a restraining order. Now go get cleaned up." He walks Dazai to the hall and shoves him in the direction of the bathroom.

Dazai is smiling serenely. "Shouldn't Chuuya clean me up since he was the one that punched me?" His voice is thick with blood.

"Like hell," Chuuya replies sharply.

Dazai just shrugs. "Alright. I'll just wipe the blood on all Chuuya's towels and his shower curtains and -"

"Oh, fuck you," Chuuya spits, and this time grips Dazai's wrist with more force than necessary to bring him into the bathroom. "I'll fucking clean your damn face. You're so pathetic it makes me sick, by the way."

"So I've been told," Dazai says. He looks rather delighted that his threats actually paid off. "Chibi, if you're washing my face, will you bandage my eye as well?"

He nearly receives another punch for that.

Dazai arrives in Chuuya's home at the same time that night. This time, Chuuya has prepared for him arriving and left the door unlocked. The boy enters looking very surprised, eyebrows lost in his hair as he takes in Chuuya on the couch, this time playing Street Fighter instead of watching a show. "I started picking the lock before I even thought to open it normally," he says as he walks in like he owns the place, hanging his jacket on Chuuya's coat rack. He's wearing a short white vest over his shirt today, sans his tie. His hair is wrecked from the wind, and his face is pink. Weirdly, the sight of him makes Chuuya's own face warm, and he immediately looks away, fighting back the thought that keeps trying to surface in his mind whenever he looks at Dazai too long.

He looks good. It's sickening, truly, what Chuuya's brain comes up with. He puts intrusive thoughts on his mental list of things he'll one day talk to a doctor about and rolls his eyes at the boy's words. "Well, I fucking knew you were arriving, didn't I? Dick."

Dazai's grin grows as he sits next to Chuuya. "Language, Chuuya! Why, with all the swear words you use on a regular basis, one might think you were compensating for something!"

Chuuya lets go of the controller for a brief moment and punches his arm, delighted to see the splint and dressing he had to put on Dazai's nose that morning is still there. (He's also irritated that it somehow doesn't marr his good looks, not that he wouldn't die before admitting such a thing.) "Swear words are fucking fun. You should try them sometime."

"I don't need swear words to communicate well," Dazai says smugly. "You would only need to use such terribly vulgar language -" He says this in a mocking tone. "- If you had the vocabulary of a monkey."

Chuuya doesn't let his jabs get to him. "Why waste time with fancy words when a good eat shit and die, motherfucker does the job just as well, and faster?"

He sits back as the victory screen flashes in front of him, pleased. Dazai looks unimpressed. "If you say so," he says. "You know, I'm surprised you can win against the game's AI. I would have thought it would be too difficult for your slug brain to understand."

"Nuh-uh," Chuuya says firmly, and gets up to turn off the TV. "I'm not letting you bait me into playing video games against you all night again. Get up, you're taking a shower. I got you clothes to wear as well so you're not wearing your dirty clothes in my damn futon."

Dazai seems surprised by several of the things he's just said, which pleases Chuuya further. He loves catching Dazai off guard. "I don't want to take a shower," is what Dazai eventually comes out with. "Chuu-ya, I'm too tired. I want to go to bed."

Chuuya scoffs. "Oh, as if you wouldn't have gladly stayed up 'til five in the morning playing Street Fighter with me if I hadn't turned the console off."

The smirk on Dazai's face says it all.

Chuuya brings him to his room and takes out the clothes he went out and bought him today. He hadn't exactly wanted to spend more money than he already has to on this asshole, but at least this purchase benefits Chuuya in a way that the many meals he's paid for for Dazai on the occasions he "forgot his wallet" never did. "Here," he says, throwing the pile in Dazai's direction. He seems momentarily torn between catching them to show off and letting them fall to annoy Chuuya, but decides on catching them instead. "Put these on after you shower. There are also bandages in the bathroom. So nothing to complain about."

Dazai is shifting through the clothes with a disdainful expression. "These are foul," he announces, and drops them to the floor. "I won't be wearing these."

"Oh, be serious," Chuuya groans. "It's just a plain black shirt and pants. You're literally fine."

Dazai complains about it endlessly, but does eventually go shower after Chuuya has to practically beg him. Getting Dazai to do anything is a piece of work, even if it's something Dazai wants to do, just because he knows Chuuya is easy to rile up. He really wishes he could mask his emotions as easily as Dazai. While the other boy is in the bathroom, Chuuya gets changed as well and sits on the bed texting Kouyou goodnight. He still hasn't told her. She hasn't questioned why he was with Dazai at two am the other night or why he had his phone, and it's a little worrying that she hasn't said anything because that means she's assuming things, and it's never good to allow Kouyou to assume things. He thinks he'll let her know what's going on soon. It's only fair - he never keeps secrets from her, and this really is something he'd like her advice on.

Dazai emerges from the bathroom in the new outfit with his hair still sopping wet, dripping onto his shirt and the floor. "I gave you a towel," Chuuya says, annoyed.

Dazai only sticks out his tongue and goes to sit on the futon.

Chuuya drags him away. "Fuck no," he says, and sighs out of exhaustion. "Where's the towel, Dazai?"

"I left it on the bathroom floor," he replies.

Chuuya goes to get it and comes back to find the boy on the futon on his phone. "Come here," he demands, and Dazai raises an eyebrow at the tone of voice before actually doing as he says without a fight. Likely just curious as to what he's about to do. Chuuya has him stand with his back to him and then puts the towel over his head, ruffling it without caring about Dazai's pained yelps whenever his hair is pulled. After he's done with that, he heads across the room to look through his drawers for something, and Dazai watches him with wide, interested eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and Chuuya's surprised by the quiet tone in which he voices the question.

Chuuya finds what he's looking for and holds it up. "I'm drying your hair," he says. Dazai blinks, face unreadable. Chuuya gestures for him to sit, and he does. On his way over he grabs a brush and then sits beside Dazai and plugs the hairdryer in.

"Why?" Dazai wonders, tone flat.

Chuuya wishes he knew himself. "Because you're gross," is what he voices aloud. "I'm not letting your gross, wet head ruin my good futon."

This makes Dazai snicker, and he's about to speak when Chuuya turns the hairdryer on to drown him out and begins fixing his hair. Dazai sits surprisingly still as the hot air flits over his head and Chuuya drags the brush across his scalp. A small twinge of satisfaction goes through him at the silence that follows. At one point he spares a glance at Dazai's face and finds his eyes are shut and he has a very slight smile on his face. He doesn't know how that makes him feel. He doesn't know how to explain it.

When he turns off the hairdryer the silence continues as Chuuya keeps brushing through tangled locks and finds something interesting. Dazai's hair curls a little at the ends when it's newly dried.

After he's finally finished, he leans back and is satisfied with his work. His fingers find the side of Dazai's face for a split second, and he pulls away quickly, but the face the other makes is worth it. The way Dazai's eyes widen like he's staring at something truly beautiful and not just at another boy his own age. It makes him both want to run away and lay down to sleep on this very futon at the same time. "There you are," he says, aware of the slight hoarseness of his own voice. "As ugly as usual, but you're at least fucking clean."

A nice save. Dazai, however, doesn't seem keen on speaking at all, and instead just keeps staring in that terrifying way that makes Chuuya's skin feel warm. "What?" he snaps, turning to put his stuff away. "Quit staring, creep."

Dazai seems to snap out of whatever haze he was in and giggles. "Are you sure I can't sleep in your bed tonight?"

"Fucking positive," Chuuya replies, trying to hide how he flushes at the question. What the hell is Dazai implying? Creep. He knows they're not like that.

They couldn't be like that. It would be wrong in every way, and he knows it would likely end terribly, especially on Chuuya's end, because that's how it always goes.

Chuuya is a force of chaotic nature with a multitude of curses on him and the people he ends up loving. Everyone he cares about leaves in one way or another. He learned that long, long ago, even before the Sheep, before the Flags, before every subordinate he got close to. He kills people without even touching them. Chuuya thinks he would give up his ability in a heartbeat to be able to just love someone and keep them in his life for as long as he needed them, for as long as they loved him too.

It hurts to think about for too long. Especially here, with Dazai sitting and hugging his knees to his chest, looking younger than ever with his hair fluffy and two chocolate eyes wide, wearing clothes Chuuya bought for him just so he would sleep comfortably and not dirty his futon. Chuuya thinks that whatever this vague attempt at a weird truce that himself and Dazai have sort of come to, where Dazai is in his house and Chuuya isn't screaming himself hoarse throwing his belongings at the boy trying to get him to leave while he laughs, will not last. He thinks himself and Dazai are living on borrowed time.

Dazai will eventually leave him too, one way or another. Chuuya knows it as certainly as he knows he himself will die before he turns thirty. The only question is when.

He quietly gets into bed, facing away from where Dazai is.

Dazai, to his surprise, doesn't make any quips and simply lies down.

He's awoken to someone shaking him violently and to words being shouted at him that he can't understand for a moment.

Then he sits up as fast as he can manage with his mind still half in a dream and squints into the darkness.

"Told you," Dazai whispers.

Chuuya groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. The remains of his dream float behind his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Dazai, like it isn't the stupidest question in the world. 

"Like hell do I want to talk about this with you," Chuuya mutters.

He checks his phone. It's two thirty in the morning. Dazai comes round and sits down beside him on the bed, leaning against the head of it and fiddling with the bandages on his arms.

"You haven't told Kouyou, though," Dazai states. Chuuya shoots him a withering glare that he can't see in the blackness.

"You don't know what I do during the day," he snaps. "Maybe I've gone to see her."

"You haven't," Dazai says certainly. "I know where you've been at all times the last few days. I would have known if you'd been in her office."

This is something that finally stirs something like anger in his chest towards Dazai again. Finally an emotion he can recognize, an emotion that's normal. "What the fuck?" he shouts, not caring how his voice echoes in the silent room. "Are you fucking stalking me or something? How are you doing that?"

"I'm trying to figure out what the cause of your nightmares might be," Dazai says as if it's obvious. "If it's something you're doing during the day or someone you're seeing. But really, I've ruled it down to two possible causes now. You won't like either of them."

"I would never have liked it," Chuuya mutters. He wants to get angrier at Dazai. He does. "What are they?"

Dazai shuffles forward in the bed, closer to Chuuya. "One," he begins. "Someone is using an ability against you. That would explain why you don't dream when I'm touching you, if I'm nullifying it."

Chuuya brings a hand to his face and bites the tip of his finger. "Seems plausible enough," he mumbles, already thinking over whether there are any ability users he knows of that could possibly do a thing like that, or if there's anyone he knows that would have files on it. He thinks, however, that if there were, Dazai would have found them already.

"Two," Dazai continues. "Your nightmares have been brought on due to stress and the inordinate amounts of trauma you've been through in the past year alone, and the touch of another person is comforting."

"It's gotta be the first one," Chuuya says immediately.

Dazai looks at him in the darkness. Chuuya wonders what he's seeing. "Why is Chibi so certain?"

"Because I go through trauma every day of my life," Chuuya replies flatly. It sounds stupid out loud, but it's true. "Since I was ten I've been killing people, from kid's sexual abusers to a guy that claimed to be my brother. Nothing has happened to spark something like - and even then, why would they start now? Seriously, nothing - nothing particularly terrible has happened in the last few days to make this start happening. It doesn't make sense."

They're both quiet for a little too long. Chuuya is panting from the breath he exerted in his rush to defend himself.

"Chuuya," Dazai says calmly. "What are your dreams about?"

Chuuya falters.

"I said I don't want to talk about this with you," he says, almost desperately. His fight or flight instincts are kicking in, and he can't decide whether he needs to kick Dazai out, now, or kill him. He thinks he wants to kill him just to make him shut up. The urge is frightening, here and now.

Dazai scoots even closer to him, so their knees are touching. Without warning, he reaches out and touches Chuuya's hand, gently.

"I think it would help," he says.

"Hypocrite," Chuuya whispers. "You never allow people to help you."

Dazai chuckles dryly. "I'm a lost cause. It's different."

"No," Chuuya says, and suddenly claps his other hand over Dazai's, trapping him there. "You are not. Shut the fuck up with shit like that, you stupid bastard, you're seventeen. No one's a damn lost cause at seventeen. You're just a stupid fucking kid. Stop saying awful shit about yourself like you're some kind of inhuman monster."

The last part makes Dazai smile, no humor on his face. "Does Chuuya see that this is perhaps advice he should be giving himself?" he says, quirking an eyebrow.

Chuuya shakes him. "Does Dazai see that he's fucking deflecting?" he snaps, and this only makes Dazai laugh. Like it's all a joke.

"Tell me about your nightmares," says Dazai, again.

Chuuya is overwhelmed, anger like a weight on his shoulders. "Why are you so determined to help me when you spend your days and nights trying to make my life a fucking misery?" he demands to know.

"Because Chuuya's no fun when he's miserable," Dazai replies without a pause. "Once I've made him cry, it's just a bit depressing."

Heat spreads across Chuuya's face at that. "God, you're a dick," he hisses, upset.

"Agreed," Dazai says. "So?"

Chuuya takes a deep breath.

"It's not always the same," he mutters. "And it's confusing. It usually starts with - with someone in an enormous building trying to show me around, like they're - welcoming me into their group, or whatever. The first time it was the Port Mafia building. This time it was a library I used to visit with the Sheep years ago when we were learning to read. But the people aren't usually people I recognize. Probably just - faces I've seen before. Just shapes."

Dazai is listening intently. Chuuya wishes he'd make a joke or something so he could get angry at him again and not have to think like this.

"Then, a lot of different things happen depending on the night," he continues. "Like, for a while it's confusing and it's not necessarily bad, just weird. Tonight there was a period of time where I was travelling across a plane on top of a train with… with a Sheep whose name I don't even remember and some French football player, shooting ducks in the water with toy guns." He chuckles at the absurdity of it. "Like, it doesn't mean anything. It's just stupid shit."

Dazai still is silent.

Chuuya swallows. "Then I… find myself in a neighbourhood I don't recognize," he continues, voice getting smaller. "And there should be people, but there aren't any at all. But there's fire. And then I see - I see - myself, in a glass tube, and someone faceless is swirling me around like I'm a toy. And then I'm in there and I'm drowning or something. And then suddenly I'm not and I'm somewhere else and…"

He stops. This time, the quiet goes on for about four minutes before Dazai talks. "Do you want to finish?"

"Verlaine shows up," Chuuya whispers.

There is a sigh from beside him.

"Chuuya," Dazai says softly. "You know what the other day was -?"

This is what causes the emotion to rush back to Chuuya, and he gets to his feet in a second, chest suddenly hot and tight like something is squeezing him. "I want you to leave," he says, breathing too quick to be normal.

Dazai doesn't budge. "Chuuya."

"Don't," Chuuya nearly shouts, and he grabs for Dazai in the dark and ends up gripping the side of his neck. "I want you to go. You being here isn't fucking helping. You're making everything worse, so you need to leave, I mean it. Dazai, I mean it."

He still doesn't move, doesn't even react. Chuuya wants to beat him until his face does something, until he makes a sound or proves he can feel. "Why aren't you talking?" he cries, and shakes the boy, shoving him back to slam his skull into the headboard. "Answer me! Say fucking something!"

Dazai laughs. Laughs. "It's not me you're angry at."

Chuuya yells and punches blindly, hitting Dazai square in the chest. The younger boy barely makes a sound. "Yes, it is! You're making me talk about all this shit and you're making it fucking worse, because there's something about you that always makes me want to talk more and I hate it! I need you to - I need you out!" He heaves, clutching at his own chest. "I need you to stay away from me forever. I need you out my business."

"Chuuya," Dazai says. "Breathe."

"I can't," Chuuya gasps, and he really, really can't. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

Gentle hands guide him into a sitting position and Chuuya lets out a whine, unconsciously placing a hand on his neck to take his pulse and prove he isn't dying. "I can't fucking breathe," he whispers again. "I'm going to - die, I'm going to - fucking - kill you -"

He leans forward until his forehead touches Dazai's shoulder and shakes until he can catch his breath.

"It was the one year anniversary of those ragtag mafiosi you liked being killed by Verlaine," Dazai says lightly. "Almost certainly why you dreamed for the first time that night. The stress leading up to the anniversary, plus the aftermath of Dragon Head, plus everything else. Really, I'm surprised you didn't start having nightmares sooner."

Chuuya shudders as Dazai reaches up to swipe the hair off his face.

"Fuck you," Chuuya spits. "Fuck you, Dazai, fuck you, man. You're a sick fuck. Is there no-one more miserable than me whose trauma you can get off on, huh? You're such an ass. Fucking bastard. Bet this is so funny to you, yeah? Making me admit that I'm having nightmares of Verlaine k-killing me, over and over, and I'm having to use Corruption again and again to try and get him away while having no control over myself and not even b-being alive anymore. Does it feel good? Making me admit that?"

He heaves, dizzy, scared for a moment he'll throw up. As soon as he has his wits about him again he shoves himself off Dazai, shaking, trying to work out what his face is saying in the dark.

"It does," Dazai replies in a whisper. "It feels great."

Chuuya digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, considering attempting to claw them out if only to scare Dazai maybe even a little. He wants to hurt someone. Just one phrase - oh, grantors of dark disgrace - just one phrase and he could have everything he wanted. Dazai dead. Yokohama razed to the ground. Eventually Arahabaki would become too much for him and his body would give up and he'd die. He's considering that now, he is, when Dazai takes his wrists and pulls his hands away from his face.

"I'm supposed to be the suicidal one," he says, as if he can read Chuuya's thoughts. "We can't both have the same shtick."

"Don't you want someone to commit a double suicide with you?" Chuuya mumbles, half heartedly.

Dazai snorts. "Yeah, a pretty girl, not an ugly, smelly, slug. Why, is Chuuya offering?"

Chuuya is too tired to respond. He lies down on top of the covers and buries his face in the pillow, exhausted.

Dazai lies next to him. He stares at him, eyes boring holes in his skull. Chuuya feels like enough of this could kill him for sure. He'll die before the morning if Dazai keeps looking at him like that.

He falls asleep like that, with Dazai drawing circles on the skin of his arm.

There are no more nightmares that night. Chuuya's alarm is like a drill in his damn brain, and he practically wails at the sound, fumbling blindly to find his phone and turn it the fuck off. He feels like dogshit. Maybe he'll even try and get a day off work, if that is somehow possible. He's still so tired.

He's startled to find Dazai still with him when he turns. "Watching me sleep?" Chuuya mumbles before sitting up with a groan. "Creep."

"You love me really," Dazai says brightly. He doesn't look like he's planning to move, and Chuuya thinks he must have woken to the alarm as well. He looks exhausted. There are bags under his eyes.

Chuuya realizes with a shock that he's gotten more used to seeing both of Dazai's eyes than just the one. With such differing jobs within the mafia, especially since Dazai's more recent promotion to executive, they rarely see each other at work. And now Dazai is here every night. In his bed. Softer and younger looking every night. He actually looks his age like this, curled into Chuuya's bedsheets with his hair sticking in all directions and red markings from where the pillow had stuck to his face on his cheeks, ordinary clothes rumpled with sleep.

He never responded to Dazai's jab. Well, it's too late now. Chuuya just rolls his eyes and gets to his feet shakily, the aftermath of his breakdown last night evident in the way his body responds to sudden movements.

There is something about Dazai that makes Chuuya vulnerable just by being around him. Dazai finds everything in him that hurts and pours salt into it, cutting vertical slices across old wounds that even Chuuya hadn't known were there. There is something about Dazai that makes Chuuya want to talk and talk and talk and never shut up regardless of whether Dazai wants to hear because he cares or because he's feeding off his pain like some kind of fucking leech.

There is something about Dazai that makes Chuuya want to hold his face in his hands and say silly things like I would gut you given the chance but I also think I love you. Maybe Dazai would like him to say things like that. Admitting what he regretfully feels for Dazai would be a death sentence on him, immediately.

It always fucking is.

Chuuya arrives home later than usual that night. He walks around and doesn't find Dazai, and he thinks maybe he won't show up tonight. He doesn't know how that makes him feel. Then he hears his shower running from the hallway, and he relaxes. He shouldn't really be relaxing, knowing Dazai's in his house.

He waits for the sound of running water to stop and then the man himself enters the room a few minutes later. His hair is wet and dripping. "Evening, slug," he sing-songs, plopping down on the bed. Without anything more than a sigh, Chuuya goes to get the hairdryer. Dazai hums warmly as Chuuya's fingers drag through his hair across his scalp, and he leans back into him whenever he pulls away.

"If you want me to do your damn hair, you can just ask," Chuuya tells him, tugging harder than there is reason to. "You don't need to go through the spiel of pretending you don't know how to do it yourself. I'm not stupid."

"Hmm," Dazai replies articulately. "I think Chuuya's pretty stupid."

He earns another sharp tug on his hair for that, making him yelp with pain.

They sleep that night in the same bed without a word to each other needed. Dazai reaches out across the space between them and holds Chuuya's hand. Chuuya feels nauseous, biting the inside of his mouth until it bleeds while Dazai drifts off to sleep.

It becomes a routine.

Chuuya does not tell Kouyou. What is he supposed to say? Even if she already suspects his feelings for Dazai, which she certainly does, they'll be confirmed the second he talks about the position he's somehow allowed himself to be put in. Then he'll be lectured, over and over. He can already hear what she'd say. As much as I hate to say it, Dazai is Mori's. They're disgustingly similar. Chuuya, don't break your heart over a boy like that.

She'd be disappointed. He's disappointed in his own damn self. How and why has he allowed this to happen?

How has he allowed Dazai to get closer and closer, every silent night they spend together, until Dazai's body is pressed against his and their legs have tangled up? Why does it make him feel the way he does? It's disgusting. He thinks he should go to Kouyou just so she can knock some sense into him.

"Dazai," he whispers one night into the blackness. "I think we should stop doing this."

He's surprised by the composure in his own voice. Dazai makes a noise, eyes fluttering as they open. He must have been nearly asleep.

"Why?" he asks.

Chuuya doesn't know what to say in response, really.

"I don't need you in my bed every night to keep nightmares away," he mumbles. "It's silly."

"Keeping you from activating Corruption and destroying Yokohama," Dazai reminds him, and closes his eyes as if that sentence was answer enough. Maybe it was. But Chuuya hasn't dreamed of Verlaine or of Corruption in weeks. He doesn't think he's dreamed at all.

Until one night a few days later, when he finds himself awakening early in the morning with a gasp, reaching for something to cling to in the dark. Dazai is there in an instant, holding his arms and staring into his face with wide eyes. "Nightmare?" he whispers, and if Chuuya didn't know any better, he would say there is something in his voice like disappointment.

"No," Chuuya whispers back. "Just… a dream. It wasn't bad."

Dazai blinks. "Was it good?"

"Don't remember," Chuuya mumbles, struggling to recall. "It was nice. I liked it. It wasn't a nightmare." He pauses. "First dream I've had without Verlaine in it."

"That's good," Dazai says softly. "Good for Chuuya."

He falls asleep again in seconds. Chuuya does not.

"What would you say," Chuuya begins, legs bouncing despite the fact that he crossed them over so they wouldn't do that. "About a situation in which someone has recently found out they care a lot more about someone they really hate than they thought they did?"

Kouyou raises an eyebrow, tea stilling in the air where she'd been bringing it to her lips.

"You're talking about yourself and Dazai," she says lightly. "Correct?"

They're in her office within the central Port Mafia building. Chuuya finds himself in here much less than he'd like to, being as busy as he is, but the time he does spend in here with Kouyou is precious. Her office is painted a dark green, and she has large paintings and photographs around her walls, surrounding a darkwood desk where she has organized stacks of papers and boxes around a slim computer. There is a patterned white rug on the floor that almost serves as a warning not to get it dirty if you're a guest. A large window shows the view of the sprawling city below, framed with thin white curtains thay reach the floor. Pretty knickknacks line the shelves on her walls, things she's collected on her various travels outside Yokohama that she's told the stories of many a time when Chuuya had asked. There are plush dark chairs against the walls, and a golden lamp stands in an alcove behind the desk, tall and beautiful like the woman whose office this is.

Chuuya has finally gathered the courage to go to her and he wishes he hadn't. Love and romance isn't something the two of them discuss. It just isn't. Chuuya is vaguely aware of Kouyou's past experiences with it and knows it's difficult for her to talk about, so he doesn't expect good advice, or even any at all. He just feels shitty, leaving her out of this newly important part of his life. Even if it's embarrassing as hell to explain to a woman he's grown to see as less of a senior and more of a sister figure, not that he'd ever tell her that directly.

"What would make you say that?" he says in response, stirring the herbal tea she'd offered him. There is a fancy tea set on the end of her desk that looks extremely expensive. It's one of her most prized possessions, he knows. When he was fifteen and far more full of anger than he is now just two years later he had accidentally broken one of the teacups in a rage and immediately sobered under the older woman's threatening gaze. He'd never seen her so angry. He'd never felt more like an asshole.

Kouyou drags her teaspoon along the gold rim of her cup, expression schooled into neat politeness. "I understand that the two of you spend a lot of time together. I figured it was most plausible."

He figures it's a good idea to give up the ghost. "Yes," he mumbles, and watches the leaves in his tea spin instead of looking into his mentor's eyes. "I wanted to mention to you sooner, but I thought I could predict what you'd say and I didn't like it, so I didn't say anything."

Kouyou, age twenty one and already far older than all her years, only sighs at his words. "Chuuya," she says firmly, and he flinches. Her tone softens just a little. "Explain to me exactly what you're talking about. Don't try and pretend you're talking about somebody else, don't use metaphors, don't change the subject, simply tell me straight. What is going on?"

Feeling rather foolish, he explains the entire situation, or at least as much as he feels comfortable telling her. While Chuuya is grateful to have someone in his life that he can talk about any issue he comes across, something like this is just embarrassing to discuss.

When he's finished, the room falls into silence. Chuuya feels like he's going to explode.

"You know what I'm going to tell you," Kouyou says softly.

Chuuya's heart sinks. "I know," he answers. He hadn't expected any other response.

The older woman leans forward, every motion deliberate as she sets down her tea and reaches out to brush against Chuuya's hand. "If it were any other boy, or girl, I would tell you to go for it. To allow yourself some happiness in this terribly dark place."

"But it's Dazai," Chuuya whispers miserably. He feels a little sick, and is only still holding his tea for something to do with his hands. He's barely drank a drop. "I know."

"Love like that leads to disaster," Kouyou tells him, "every time. Especially here. I wish there was a way it could be different - I wish there was a way I could offer you the happiness you deserve, Chuuya, I do. But Dazai's blood is mafia black and his heart even more so. You will never be the first priority of a boy like that. You will always come second to whatever catches his interest in any given, fleeting moment. I have known him longer than you. I knew what he would be like from the start."

"Is there any chance you've misjudged?" Chuuya asks, covering the serious manner in which he's asking with a quiet, false laugh. Kouyou sees right through him.

"I am a very good judge of character," she says firmly, and lets go of his hand to sit up straight and take up her tea again. "I wouldn't have had you as my protégé if I wasn't."

Despite himself, Chuuya goes pink at the compliment. Words like that from Kouyou are high praise, but he also can't help but believe she's only saying it now because of what the conversation is about. "I don't understand why I even care about him," he says. "He's done nothing but make my life hell, but…" 

There is no but. He doesn't have a way of continuing.

"I'm sorry," Kouyou says, and she sounds genuinely apologetic. Her dark eyes are full of a sadness that doesn't suit her. Too tragic for a face like hers. "I would give you anything in the world if you asked, Chuuya. You know I would."

"I know," he repeats again, and smiles, composed again. "But this is one thing you can't give me."

He gets to his feet, tea unfinished. Kouyou frowns, but doesn't move to follow him. "Chuuya," she says softly.

"I'll see you hopefully tomorrow, ane-san," Chuuya says politely as he makes his way to the door. He grabs his coat from the rack and slings it round his shoulders before putting his hat back on as well. "If not, I'll make sure to message you. Keep me updated on whether the younger recruits we were discussing decide to stay. I'm willing to find them a place if need be."

"Chuuya," says Kouyou again, and their eyes meet above the desk. "Please make good choices. And if you don't, do what you can to remove yourself from as much of the fallout as you can."

He knows what she's saying with this. He smiles, and for the first time since he came in here, it's genuine.

Dazai is already on the couch playing Crash Bandicoot when he comes in. "Hey," he says, and the dark of the room with the light of the paused TV screen frames his hair in white. He has the bandage over his eye again, but he's wearing one of Chuuya's old hoodies. When that had started happening, he doesn't know. "How did talking to Kouyou go? If it went badly I've got a few new games that I got with your card we can -"

He stops talking because Chuuya moves towards him and round the couch to grab his face and lift it up towards his in a sudden kiss.

Dazai gasps against his lips, but after a moment seems to get the rhythm of what they're doing and presses back into him, knocking their noses together as he explores the new situation with him. Chuuya slowly sinks onto the couch and becomes the shorter one yet again, which is ok because now Dazai can take the lead and kiss deeper, deeper until Chuuya's head hits the armrest of the couch and he breaks the spell by giggling like a child at the ridiculousness of what they're doing hits him. Dazai pulls himself away just a little, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at Chuuya, now beneath him. Dazai's lips are only a little redder than his face, and they're parted prettily to reveal his front teeth. Beautiful. It's irritating how beautiful he is. It makes Chuuya want to kiss him until he can't breathe, until he's can't say a word but Chuuya's name. He also kind of wants to break his nose again. Very conflicting wants, and yet so similar.

"That was rather unexpected," Dazai breathes, the warmth from his lips radiating onto Chuuya's. His breath smells like crab. Chuuya wrinkles his nose, and Dazai laughs softly, understanding what the face is for.

"You kiss me this time," Chuuya replies hoarsely. "And if it sucks you're sleeping on the floor tonight."

It definitely does not suck. Dazai is, in fact, very good. Chuuya thinks he could do this for the rest of his life.

(He knows he can't. Knows this won't last, and eventually, he will find himself breaking down in Kouyou's arms exactly as she predicted, the aftermath of the whirlwind that is Dazai felt in every corner of the mafia. But maybe that's precisely the reason to do it; maybe he should allow himself this, this fleeting warmth found in the arms of a boy he's beat the shit out of before and will beat the shit out of again. Maybe he can allow himself to be selfish, just this once, and leave the pain for his future self to clean up after.)

For now, the kiss is good, and his bed is warm, and Corruption doesn't appear in his dreams anymore.