Archive of Our Own

Dazai was terribly confused all the time. He frequently finds his mind beginning to race at any situation he’s thrust into, no matter the stakes.

At times he cannot think. He tries to twirl plans around his fingers and expertly weave them into a masterful strategy that guarantees success. He tries to piece together the tiny hints left behind by the many characters he runs into, but his mind has considerably slowed over the past few years.

He blames it on Chuuya. Since Dazai drove him into joining the mafia, everything has begun to crash and tumble down a rather steep hill, with sharp-thorned roses littering the grassy expanse.

Punishments have gotten more frequent—and no, this is not because Dazai is slacking; it’s because Chuuya manages to slip up on most missions Dazai accompanies him on. You could very well blame this on Chuuya, given it is genuinely his fault, but the constant punishments can very well be faulted on Dazai; because even though Dazai claims to hate the very man that caused him a considerable amount of stress and annoyance, he for some strange reason takes responsibility for every little mess Chuuya made.

Now, considering the frequent punishments, Dazai’s mind has quickly become tangled. It didn’t help that Chuuya seemed adamant about being the most agitating pest on his shoulder (that he adored teasing) and that they were together most days of the week. So the combined tiresome dog that trotted on his heels and the regular blood loss sessions, Dazai couldn’t get his brain to function.

Dazai’s most recent screw-up—one he considered relatively insignificant—was all because Chuuya had insisted on returning to put a particularly annoying target out of his pitiful misery.

Usually, Dazai was the one out of the duo who was compelled to spill more blood than necessary, so it was surprising. What was also surprising was that Dazai had agreed to Chuuya’s request. (Read: command. Chuuya would have gone either way, although Dazai had already deciphered this, and at the time, he just wasn’t in an irritable mood and decided not to be particularly bothersome)

Chuuya had succeeded in his grievance-fueled murder, and Dazai had watched, slightly bored, as his partner slaughtered the one man they needed information from. 

Dazai wasn’t going to rid Chuuya of this urge. He wasn’t going to demand Chuuya to stop—Dazai would have done it without a care in the world, and he wanted Chuuya to have that freedom, too. Call it a soft spot for his partner or merely a way to dive deeper into his study of this strangely human phenomenon, but it wasn’t exactly unnecessary.

Yes, it backfired on Dazai every time, given the second he agreed to Chuuya’s unplanned requests, it would all collapse the second they returned to debrief with Mori. Though Dazai couldn’t find it in himself to care, given how entrancing it was to observe his partner in his most emotional times. 

Dazai didn’t think there would ever be a time Chuuya’s ability ceased to mesmerize him or even the raw feeling Chuuya brought whenever he put his heart into their missions. Dazai would always watch as Chuuya yanked the passion out of his chest, only to dip it into the poisonous pits of assignments. He would continue to be confused, observing how his partner never stopped, despite the venom that would snake its way into his core every chance it got.

The moment they had arrived back at headquarters, Mori himself had greeted them, requesting their presence in his office. Dazai knew from personal experience that this meant dreadful things, and he hoped that Chuuya would gladly follow along with his halfhearted plan at carrying the quite loaded blame on himself.

Dazai strolled into the office first, Chuuya trailing closely behind him. A small voice in the back of his head whispered for him to grasp his partner's hand and squeeze it until the colorful tingle of comfort burst through their skin and lit up as if their contact drove together their very souls. 

Mori had taken his respectful seat in the center of the office, hands clasped together as his eyes grazed the expansive view with a dull gleam of boredom. His legs were crossed, and he looked as elegant as ever. 

Dazai wanted nothing more than to descend the elevator, never to return, or to get on his knees to express his sincerest apologies. He couldn’t make up his cluttered mind, forcing his fight or flight to attempt to rip its way through the thin cloth muffling his thoughts.

He stopped his stride at the perfect placement, standing between the giant wooden doors that greeted them every time they exited the elevators and the singular chair Mori was perched on.

Chuuya seemed to notice the rigid stance Dazai quickly adapted into and stepped up beside him. Their shoulders were close enough to brush if one of them shifted their weight a small amount, and Dazai couldn’t help but glance at his partner. It was a quick glance that barely let Dazai study Chuuya’s expression, and he wished it had been longer.

The room was eerily quiet, and Dazai fought the urge to fidget. He held his arms tightly beside him, feigned as he forced his hands to still. If this were any other situation, he would seek the strange comfort of his coat pockets. However, considering the action had morphed into a show of power over the years, Dazai knew Mori would appreciate the newfound compliance.

The feeling of piercing blue eyes boring into his temple caused him to glance at his partner again quickly; this time, he held the look. Chuuya stood similarly to him—hands steady by his sides and legs perfectly straight while his feet were pressed together. Dazai couldn’t help but notice their parallel to a duo of nutcrackers, frozen like dolls, only to come alive when the time was right.

Dazai had no idea when their timing would come, but he knew it wasn’t now. He knew they were doomed to meet their fate, all because that same fate had no remorse for people like them.

No remorse for the pair that were seen as monstrosities.

Dazai’s eyes quickly darted back to Mori when he heard a subtle shift of the cushion. Mori was studying them now, eyes piercing through Dazai’s thick armor as if merely a thin sheet of paper meant to be recycled for something new. 

Chuuya shifted beside him the smallest amount, and Dazai lightly elbowed him. 

Mori’s brows raised at that—presumably deducing how far Dazai would go for his partner. He had seen that exact stare when Mori had first discovered Dazai’s friendship with Oda, which was then quickly followed by Ango. It was a dangerous gaze that meant Dazai had lost any semblance of secrecy he thought he had a tight grasp on. 

“Would one of you like to recount your mission tonight?” Mori asked, false security seeping out of his tone like poison. Dazai could feel his eyesight going hazy the harder he kept his gaze locked on his boss, and he distantly wondered if Chuuya would fall for Mori’s faux pleasantries.

Chuuya cleared his throat, presumably preparing to speak, but Dazai beat him to it. 

The second he opened his mouth, the room darkened. He separately knew that this wasn’t real—his vision had taken on a sense of plastic insincerity as if to slowly try to convince him this situation was all inside his head.

“We managed to arrange a meeting with the weapons dealer. He prepared a location in an abandoned warehouse skirting the edges of mafia territory.” 

Dazai could feel two sets of eyes on him as he talked, but he had no clue if it was genuine regard or if he was somehow hallucinating. His vision had fully darkened now, and even though he kept a fixed watch on Mori, the only thing he could make out in his line of sight was a blurred silhouette of what he still assumed was his boss.

“We had originally coordinated to meet the dealer two-on-two to show a sense of security between the deal. Though the second we entered, around a dozen men arrived through the opposite door.” 

Dazai had predicted this, to his disappointment. They had genuinely been needing this shipment, given the rumor that spread like wildfire through the countless crime groups in Yokohama. The whispering was about how the mafia was vulnerable, becoming the primary target because they supposedly had a unique shipment arriving that night. 

Although the mafia wasn’t required to confirm this, this rumor was entirely accurate. The shipment was unknown to even Dazai, and it seemed only Mori knew of its contents. 

If Dazai and Chuuya hadn’t been innovative in their planning, countless other parties would have ambushed their meeting with the arms dealer. Luckily for them, which could also be seen as a misfortune, only one group had attempted to steal their package. Dazai hadn’t been looking forward to the double cross from the man who was supposed to sell them the supposed unique utility.

“I had my suspicions but couldn’t count on them then.” Sadly a lie; he couldn’t reveal that this presumed attack could have been avoided if he had gone with a plan eerily similar to one Mori would provide. 

“The men attempted to ambush us and steal the shipment for themselves—” which was peculiar, given it was their shipment in the first place. Dazai had been hysterical at the revelation. “—but I promptly ordered Chuuya to take them all out.”

At this, his eyes trailed over to his partner. His vision clumsily cleared in tiny dots, enough to the point where he could see the hints of confusion on Chuuya’s face. He was undoubtedly hastily trying to figure out Dazai’s angle in this situation, and Dazai knew there was a significantly low chance of that happening.

Chuuya would never guess Dazai would purposefully take the blame all because his callous heart was twisted with poisoned vines—vines that threatened to squeeze him into an agonizing death if he refused to follow their demands. Dazai found his actions awfully abnormal but still wouldn’t back down.

“Were any left alive?” Mori asked listlessly, causing Dazai to snap his gaze back to the man. Now this was where things became complicated, given that Dazai had to lie and face the consequences of Chuuya’s actions.

He held back a frustratingly loud sigh as his vision quickly darkened again. Times like these were strange, when he felt as though he was dozens of planets away, buried deep under peculiar sand with no worries in sight, but could somehow be aware of the situations in his surroundings.

“No, Sir. Chuuya was hesitant to finish the last man off, but I….” Dazai purposefully trailed off as if ashamed of what he was about to admit, and he certainly would be if it were the truth. “I found the target considerably annoying and ordered Chuuya to terminate him.”

If he were truly a normal seventeen-year-old kid, this answer would make complete and utter sense. If Mori were a more understanding boss, this sentence would entice a considerate look to cross over his face. These were two things that were admittedly and regrettably untrue. Because Dazai had seen and done countless things that could somehow manage to seemingly ban him from being a simple teenager again, and Mori was the most ruthless boss Dazai had ever had the misfortune of working under.

Mori hummed in faux consideration, which Dazai almost fell for, despondently. He most likely would have if not for the knowing presence of Chuuya, who, for some strange reason, seemed to ground Dazai’s mind and clear his hazy thoughts. Mori glanced up—or Dazai assumed; the sun was beginning to set, which caused his already clouded vision to decline.

“What ended up becoming our shipment?” Mori’s voice dropped dangerously low. Dazai shivered, and his eyes instinctively drifted toward Chuuya.

Chuuya seemed to be fighting the urge to stare at Dazai with his jaw slack—his eyes occasionally darted from Mori to Dazai as if trying to urge him to make eye contact subconsciously. They eventually did the second Dazai glanced toward him. At that moment, Chuuya attempted to convey a silent question, but regretfully, Dazai’s vision was too vague to make out the specifics.

“The shipment disappeared the moment the men died. My guess is that either one of them escaped, or it was a setup, and they never had it in the first place.”

Mori hummed in thought again, and Dazai knew this was another ruse. “And who’s taking responsibility for this?”

Dazai could practically feel the agitation swirling off of Chuuya in polite yet intense waves. He knew Chuuya would volunteer in a split second, given that it was his mistake, but Dazai wouldn’t let him. 

“I take full responsibility, Mori-san. I ordered Chuuya to kill the main dealer knowing he wouldn’t refuse given our positions.” Dazai added a small, polite bow at the end, hoping it would peel off any excess grievances Mori may have with him.

“I see.”

Dazai shivered. His mind was hazing over the longer he stood still, and his usual precise focus was melting. His legs felt like jelly as he watched Mori slowly stand up. Dazai was admittedly terrified of being in front of the boss in states like this. His senses were failing him, giving him an obvious opening of vulnerability that Mori would no doubt exploit.

He felt Chuuya lightly nudge his arm but was too gone to acknowledge it. He kept his eyes trained on Mori as he retreated to his desk at the back of the office. He made no signal for the duo to follow, so Dazai and Chuuya stood in wait patiently.

“You are dismissed for now. I expect your return on Monday for your next mission. This conversation is not over.”

Dazai didn’t register the loud breath that breached his lungs and escaped out of his mouth without consent. He didn’t register the urgent tug on his arm as he was led through the office doors and into the cramped elevator. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the faraway voice, the insistent nudging on his arms, the tapping on his shoulders, and the palms cupping his cheeks.

His mind had disappeared the second that breath had slipped from his lungs. The rigid posture his body took on the second they were called to debrief their mission had fizzled out like a light, and he had no idea where it went. His shoulders slumped into awaiting arms, although he had no idea who was holding him up.

Dazai didn’t understand why Mori hadn’t kept him for the expected punishment after their meeting. This situation had never happened before and shouldn’t have happened in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to be left terribly unaware and empty like this . 

Dazai was used to the fight being sapped out of his body, only to be pulled tightly back in the second that scalpel marked its first signs on his skin. He always expected to be forcefully returned to his mind only to be tortured for the rest of the day.

What was exceedingly unanticipated was not being able to return back to himself. Dazai didn’t expect to be dragged back to an unknown apartment by a hazily familiar face, both strangely comforting as he was led through the doors by solid hands.

Dazai was painfully unaware of what was expected of him. He had been left oblivious to Mori’s true intentions and was now ignorant of the needs of the person hovering over him. 

He could feel those warm palms on his cheek once again and somehow registered his slow blinks as his eyes attempted to scan the source of the strange hands. The glint of blue sharpened his gaze the smallest amount, and his hearing begrudgingly began to clear.

“Shit, Dazai, are you here? What the fuck just happened?”

Dazai suddenly rapidly blinked and quickly realized how close the familiar face was. His hand instinctively darted up to the ones on his cheek, and he clasped them as if they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Chuuya was in front of him, close enough to the point where their noses would touch if he leaned forward any farther. He had worry painted in his eyes, and something tugged at Dazai’s chest, causing a horrible ache to begin rotting away at his heart.

“Chuuya?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he unconsciously kept his partner’s hands linked to his face. “Where am I?” His voice was slurred, apparent signs of his muddled thoughts. 

Chuuya seemed reluctant to continue holding Dazai’s face, but he relented his hesitation as he awkwardly sat beside him. Dazai sluggishly shifted himself so they sat on the couch, facing each other. 

“I brought you back to my place since I don’t actually know where you live.” 

Dazai studied the captivating blue of Chuuya’s eyes as he talked. His thumb trailed small circles over Chuuya’s hand, and he could feel his eyes drooping.

Even if it was a considerably dull feeling, he was silently thankful that Chuuya hadn’t abandoned him in that god-awful shipping container. Dazai knew that if he had been left alone in this state, it would be agony trying to return to the living.

“Good dog,” Dazai hummed, his hands slightly slipping from their grip on Chuuya’s. The second they let go, the warmth from his face disappeared but was quickly added to his own hands. He glanced down to see his fingers intertwined with Chuuya’s, and some part of his brain wondered what exactly the two were doing.

He leaned his head to the side, resting on the back of the couch. Chuuya merely stared at him as if he had grown two heads. 

Quite frankly, Dazai was too tired to care. He closed his eyes as he felt the calming motions of Chuuya’s thumbs rubbing his knuckles and realized he was quickly falling asleep.

“Wait, Dazai! You can’t just—”

Dazai blindly swatted Chuuya’s cheek before bringing a finger up to his lips. “Shhhh,” he whispered, dropping his hand back onto the couch. He knew he owed his partner an explanation, but he would never be able to get it out in this state.

Despite Chuuya’s annoyance, Dazai once again felt those warm hands grab his own, and he fell asleep with a small smile. All his worries about this coming Monday had disappeared, and the only thing on his mind was how strangely safe he felt with the one man that caused him the most exasperation. 

Now, what he should really be worried about was the following day, but he wouldn’t know of that until he woke up. Yet even then, his mind would be clouded as he was led through the throws of the morning, only to disappear without a trace, leaving Chuuya to stumble to the headquarters in search of him.

He could feel the stares every moment he passed that dreaded door. The eyes punctured his skull and dipped deep into the depths of his consciousness, swirling around his thoughts like mere coffee creamer on a particularly windy day.

It had been an entire day that Dazai had been waiting, limbs tightly locked in anticipation. Mori had requested his presence at his office at twilight, and now Dazai found himself passing by members as they left work for the day.

The eyes tracked him as he strolled languidly to the elevator, hands shoved deep inside his pockets, fists clenched as his nails dug into his palms; he always hoped he left the deepest marks on days like these. They always acted as a reminder of what exactly he had done wrong.

The elevator doors slid open slower than usual, and Dazai wondered if it was a trick pulled out of his mind like a rabbit would a hat or if Mori was committed enough in their mutually agreed game to change the very workings of the mafia headquarters to mess with Dazai’s mind.

He pointedly ignored the looks he received from his subordinates and equals alike, eyes set straight as he stared blankly forwards. Low whispering gently whooshed into the elevator just as the doors closed, and he caught the quiet voice of who he recognized as Chuuya talking to someone unknown.

Dazai didn’t doubt that Chuuya had arrived only moments after him, evident in how he managed to miss the elevator. What was left up for questioning now was whether or not Mori had specifically called Chuuya in along with Dazai or if Chuuya had come on his own accord.

Dazai’s eyes lazily watched as the hazy orange numbers signaling what floor he was on slowly snapped to the next, rising; fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen; it was a steady ascent, and it almost managed to lull him into a peculiar state of hypnosis as he felt his body sway which way and that, his head threatening to fall to the side from how heavy it felt on his shoulders.

He distantly wondered if Chuuya would be waiting for the elevator to descend or if he knew it would take hours to open again.

Dazai truly had not a single clue as to who knew about Mori’s strange yet understandable habits when it came to controlling the people under him. There had been countless days when Dazai was forced to listen to a subordinate attempt to discreetly complain about the dozens of miniature actions Mori performed to make the headquarters reflect a type of psychological science study.

The most obvious example being his complete control over the elevator leading straight to his office. Dazai had experienced this innumerable times. He could always tell when the boss was particularly bored because he would suddenly find himself stuck on a floor for hours, waiting patiently for the elevator to work again.

A sharp ding echoed through the metal walls, and Dazai’s eyes zeroed in on the wide double doors at the end of the narrow hallway. He briefly glanced at the guards lining the floor, a low orange glow illuminating them from behind.

He walked as casually as possible, attempting to hide his lack of attention. His mind quickly slipped out of his feeble grasp, and he immediately found he couldn’t do anything about it.

As he walked up to the doors, they slowly opened with a low creak. Dazai ignored the persistent urge to either turn around and forcefully lock himself in the elevator or somehow find a way to break that dramatic window that Mori was always found perched behind.

Dazai’s eyes zeroed in on the boss, who was, in fact, staring out of the window. He was standing rather close to it, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders straight. His inky black coat was wrapped perfectly around his frame, while the red scarf swirling around his neck lay intricately in line with the collar of his jacket.

Mori simply hummed as if he knew precisely when Dazai would arrive. Dazai didn’t doubt that, but it sparked an eeriness that felt like spiders roaming his brain, pricking their legs through his skull and sending shivers down his spine. He was convinced cameras had been sewn into his skin during his many visits to Mori’s clinic.

“Dazai,” Mori greeted, voice flat. It seemed the boss was aiming to get straight to the point. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Dazai relaxed his hands and squared his shoulders as he raised his head, making unwavering eye contact with his boss. At times like these, Dazai found it did nothing to resist the inevitable punishment and instead tried his best to let himself take it with even a semblance of pride left in his chest.

“Yesterday's mission.”

Mori hummed in approval, and Dazai felt ashamed at the warm feeling swirling in his chest. He always felt a strange sickness bubbling up in his stomach every time Mori praised him, but a childlike need for that recognition consistently hopped along after it.

Mori wordlessly stepped back from the window, unclasping his hands from behind his back. Dazai’s eyes never left his face as Mori strolled over, pausing directly in front of him. The two stared evenly at each other, and Dazai tried to hold his gaze.

Sadly, as Mori’s hand wrapped around his wrist and suddenly yanked him forward, Dazai couldn’t help but drop his gaze to the floor. He felt like a scolded dog who did something so horrible he couldn’t make up for it for the rest of his life. Dazai entirely believed Mori would throw him out after a piffling mistake, and he was stuck trying to determine if that was a preferred outcome.

Mori constantly had that look in his eyes that showed Dazai would never be good enough for him. Even if rumors about the boss of the Port Mafia being scared of the demon prodigy spread like wildfire every few months, Dazai knew that Mori would always look down on him.

Dazai stayed silent as he was led out of the double doors he had just entered through, a slight scowl on his face. Dazai quickly found that, despite Mori’s annoyance, Dazai would always act the way he did. Admittedly, his pride was low. There were parts about him that someone would look down on and spit upon, yet he still had pride. He would always find ways to defy Mori, whether that be finding a roof to jump off or simply planting a frown on his face.

Recently, all he found he could do was show his displeasure in small ways, now being one of them.

“Get that look off your face, Dazai-kun; you know this is your fault.”

Dazai suddenly looked up and discovered they were standing outside Mori’s infirmary. This was strange, given Dazai had entirely no idea on how they got there. He hadn’t even processed the time waiting in the elevator nor the walk through the halls of one of the top floors. His shoes felt rather tight around his feet, and he shifted his weight carefully as he attempted to be discreet. It wouldn’t do to show his discomfort.

As they walked in, Dazai’s eyes trailed over the main room, the walls lined with shelves full of medical instruments and books of all kinds. Dazai could remember when he had first joined the mafia, sneaking into this room and stealing every single one of Mori’s books to find an intriguing way to die. The walls had always been a depressing white, but Dazai found he never minded with the countless fascinating drugs and tools scattered around.

Two trays were sitting in the middle of the office, full of things Dazai couldn’t make out. The walls were bare of any windows, the room being located in the center of the building. Sometimes Dazai would fantasize that one was there, simply to imagine himself hurling a chair at the glass to shatter it before jumping out and ending this agonizing existence. 

The floor was mostly clear, the only other thing sitting on it being a stray desk that looked as though it had been carelessly shoved into a corner, never to be used again. Dazai’s eyes floated down to a counter in the bottom left corner, and his gaze zeroed in on a tiny glint that flashed in his vision. 

It reminded him of when Mori had brought him here, around the time of his binding into the mafia, and he had lost his usually calm sense. He had thrown a glass at the man's head before fleeing through the door, only to be snatched back up by a guard and sedated for the rest of the night.

Dazai preferred not to think about that event, but that piece of broken glass always missed during cleanups polluted his mind.

The only signs that showed someone was using this main room, given what looked to be dust resting gently across every surface, being the stray door at the back. It had an ominous look, slightly cracked open to reveal a room infested with darkness. Dazai knew he would be dragged through that door any second for a night full of pain and attempted to ground himself for it.

Mori still had a firm grip around his wrist as Dazai fought to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t show weakness or reveal how severe the dread swelling in his mind was. If Mori caught onto that, which he did regularly, Dazai knew the night would go far worse than expected.

Since somehow, Mori never failed to surprise him.

“Dazai-kun,” Mori said, leading him to that fated room. “Tonight will be a bit different.”

Dazai furrowed his brows as he watched Mori flip on a light. 

The room was immediately doused in a bright beam that punctured Dazai’s irises and caused him to squint his eyes. He ignored the amused expression that stretched across Mori’s face as he scanned the small medical room.

A table sat directly in the middle, specifically a cold metal that felt imprinted on Dazai’s skin. He always found it strange that Mori operated on him as if he were merely a corpse. 

The room wasn’t as cluttered with books and tools, but the required instruments that Mori frequently used were set up neatly on a small metal tray. There were cabinets full of what Dazai knew was drugs and gauze, as well as surgery tools and the knives Dazai had hidden his first night there.

Dazai silently walked over to the table, pointedly ignoring Mori’s watchful gaze. He sat down and expertly swung his legs up before lying ramrod straight as he stared at the ceiling blankly.

“Well?”

Dazai folded his arms over his chest as he side-eyed Mori. He kept his mouth shut as he slowly brought his left hand up to his right wrist before pinching the edge of his bandage and slowly beginning to unroll his arm.

Dazai let his eyes drift back to the ceiling, deliberately ignoring his scarred skin. He unwrapped his bandages expertly, twirling them around up until his shoulder. He let them trickle down to the floor, knowing the carelessness would irritate Mori. He let his arm rest on the edge of the table, the chill of the metal sending uncomfortable shivers up his limbs.

Dazai once again found it easier to comply, knowing what would happen if he didn’t. He had spent countless nights, shivering and alone, locked in this rancid office high off of his mind. Seeing ghosts from a past left far behind him, hearing voices wiggling their way through his ear to rot his brain—

Dazai would rather not think about it.

“Like I said before, today will be a bit different.” The sound of a scalpel scratching against the metal table reached the depths of his head to puncture his hearing. Dazai winced at the thought of it leaving marks along the usually pristine surface. He wondered if Mori felt the same or if the psychological torture outweighed the imperfect scars on the inanimate object.

Dazai stayed silent. It felt as though stones were crowding his mouth, pinning his tongue to the back of his throat as he kept his eyes glued to the light above him. He could tell it was slowly implanting itself into his vision, preparing to blind him, but he couldn’t find himself to care as he heard a sigh escape Mori’s lips.

Dazai could see Mori strolling over to the counter out of the corner of his eye. He watched as the doctor rolled up his sleeves before twisting the knob of the sink, preparing his hands.

It was bizarre how careful Mori acted during certain occurrences. At first, Dazai had fully expected him to carelessly trace cuts into his skin to accomplish the most damage, but Mori treated Dazai like an empty canvas. 

Footsteps echoed through the room as he strolled back. Dazai snapped his gaze back up to the ceiling.

“I expect you to stay lucid to your best extent. You know this is only to help you.” 

Time felt like it had slowed the second Mori brought his arm down, scalpel in hand. Dazai tried; he really did. He wanted to be good and lay, docile and unmoving, as he took his punishment. Mori reminded him constantly, “Dolls don’t move, Dazai-kun,” and he tried his best to listen.

Yet as the first cut made its way onto his forearm, Dazai couldn’t hold back the wince. He almost blamed his strangely mortal reaction on Chuuya. His partner had probably infected him with that nauseating humanity, and now it was trickling out of Dazai’s wounds. 

Dazai found it strange how the anxiety swirling in his gut somehow managed to clash with the peculiar calm that washed over his mind the second he felt that sting of pain. Whenever he found himself inflicting wounds on himself, attempting to replicate Mori’s expertly drawn lines, his mind clouded in bliss. However, the small voice of panic at the back of his mind was ferocious now more than ever, begging to be let out to force Dazai to flee.

Dazai closed his eyes, knowing he shouldn’t give in; this was inevitable. He kept his face expertly blank as the second line made its way next to the first. He could almost feel the blood from each separate wound pouring into each other. 

Mori let out yet another sigh, causing the scalpel to veer off course slightly. The sudden change in routine—a routine Dazai wasn’t fully aware of learning—made Dazai suck in a sharp breath as he fought the urge to wince. “I expect you to use your power for the mafia’s gain, not your own measly grudges.”

“And—” another slice, Dazai could feel the blood dripping down. He could hear the occasional drops hitting the ground, an uneven rhythm every time. Drip…slice…drip, drip… “—I hope you’re aware that I know exactly what happened in that ambush.”

Dazai felt his body involuntarily tense up as his eyes snapped open. Mori looked at him with that stomach-churning expression, mouth downturned in disappointment and eyes sharp with annoyance. Dazai always wondered how his boss managed to show these terribly complex emotions, given he had always assumed Dazai was merely a replica of the doctor above him.

Dazai flexed his hand restlessly. He should’ve seen this coming and realized Mori’s angle on this terrible situation. His eyes darted down to watch the scalpel wedge into his arm, creating a fourth slice across the heavily scarred skin. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut again, clenching his fists over nothing, yet he had a death grip on that paltry air. It whispered into his cuts and sprinkled sharp pains into his limbs, forcing an intense sting to stretch through and infect his mind.

“I simply don’t understand why you would do that. Do you, Dazai-kun? It isn’t because you worry for him, is it?”

Dazai felt his head shaking before he even realized what he was doing. How he acted like a vulnerable child each time he found himself in this room was foreign to him, and he hated it no matter how much it happened. He wanted to show Mori he didn’t care and that Chuuya was just another subordinate, but neither would ever believe that.

Mori hummed at the response, dragging the scalpel across a barely healed scar, causing Dazai to gasp. “Are you above words, still, or are you finally in a talkative mood?” 

“He’s not—” A groan escaped his lips at the rapid slice down his bicep. “I don’t care; he’s just an obedient dog. He’s nothing. ” When Mori's hand pinned his arm to the table, Dazai fought the urge to yank it away.

“I don’t believe you.” 

Dazai squinted his eyes to glare at his boss, ignoring yet another swipe down his skin. “I didn’t fucking ask you to—” Mori suddenly brought his hand directly over the fresh cuts and squeezed, causing a startled scream to break out of Dazai’s throat. 

Mori raised a brow in amusement as he watched Dazai attempting to wrangle his emotions back inside his chest. He tilted his head as his eyes zeroed in on Dazai’s neck, pausing his operation on his arm as he leaned forward, expecting the boy’s open chest.

“If I opened you up here and now, I wouldn’t expect to find a single thing. Your heart is as isolated as a ghost town, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see tumbleweeds spilling out of your gut.”
Dazai stared at his boss as if he had grown two heads, but Mori continued to study his chest as if it was a terribly intriguing relic. This gaze looked dangerous, causing Mori’s eyes to spark a look of glimmering glee.

Then, without warning—which Dazai never got—Mori brought the scalpel up over Dazai’s head before plunging it into the bare skin peaking out of Dazai’s dress shirt. 

It didn’t puncture far enough to cause any damage, yet there was surprise and pain written over Dazai’s face as his eyes widened and his mouth popped open in a silent scream, although he would argue it was more of a wince. 

It was strange to see this side of Mori, the side that was bordering on entranced insanity. To this day, Dazai would never truly know if it was an act to unnerve him or if Mori was genuinely messed up in the head to be intrigued by this type of pain. 

Dazai’s eyes blurred as he stared up at the ceiling, gaze unseeing and empty as Mori dragged the scalpel across his chest, grazing his neck, showing how close Dazai was to death.

Wasn’t that somewhat hypocritical of him to wonder if Mori was truly sane? If Mori was in awe of causing pain and felt a strange sense of glee torturing Dazai, Dazai was equally insane as he stared death in the eyes, entranced by the lure of sweet release from this world.

“I partnered you with Chuuya-kun only because of the power you share. I didn’t expect you to get attached; it’s like a child drawn to sugar.” Mori scrawled over his skin like an artist strung over a canvas, arms expertly swiping along as he painted a ravishing yet vile work. 

Dazai felt his head fogging over, and he wondered if his body was finally reaching that point of danger. He could still hear the drip drip drip of his blood hitting the floor, realizing it finally had developed an even rhythm. The scars being formed on his skin still felt like a despicable violation as Mori permanently detailed those intricate marks over it, leaving a reminder of the burden of life and how far it went to abhor Dazai.

Dazai struggled to keep his mind grounded as he felt the telltale sign of blood loss sinking its teeth into his neck. He could practically feel how irregularly his heart would beat and how chills snaked down his spine.

“This is what happens when you care for people, Dazai-kun,” Mori murmured, never ceasing his proficient slashes. “In the end, all you need to trust is yourself. No one except yourself will get you where you need to go.”

Dazai wearily shook his head, his lips moving in an attempt to get a word out. Somehow, there was a sense of wrong lodged in Mori’s statement, yet Dazai’s mind was far too muddled to catch it. 

“If it got out that you covered for your partner because you worried about him, you’re reputation would crash and burn.”

As Mori etched over a fresh cut, Dazai couldn’t hold back the grimace. “I don’t care about him,” he whispered, scrunching his eyes as he clenched his teeth. He needed to stay present, or he would lose his entire sense of self.

Mori’s smile pierced Dazai’s skull like a laser. “Yes, Dazai-kun, you don’t. You always saw him as a tool, no? I was rather surprised when I heard you trying to shelter him because it was just so unlike you.”

The strain it took for Dazai to keep himself from drifting further up into the stars made it impossible for him to deny the words poisoning his mind entirely. He groaned as the scalpel was pulled away from his skin, yet he couldn’t find himself feeling relieved. Mori’s words spread through his brain like a virus, reaching every corner as it sprouted through his body, arching its infested vines through his cuts and twirling around his limbs.

Mori hummed in thought, and Dazai heard a sink turn on as water rushed out of a faucet. He could still hear the rhythmic drip of his blood on the concrete floor, and he was quickly trying to decide if it bothered him.

Tap, drip…tap tap, drip, “I realize I may have gone a bit far…but what can one do?” Footsteps gradually made their way back to the center of the room, and Dazai tried his very hardest to open his eyes. He groaned in annoyance when they stayed stubbornly shut.

A hand running across the new cuts made him jolt away only to slam his elbow into the table. He winced as his head lolled to the side. A hand caught it from rolling off the edge, and Dazai finally managed to squint his eyes up at Mori, who was towering over him with an almost fond expression.

“I do apologize, Dazai-kun. I truly hope you learned from this.” Dazai couldn’t help but lean into the hand cupping his cheek, suppressing a whine as it was suddenly pulled away. Dazai watched him stroll over to the cabinets at the back wall.

“I’m aware of how much pain you’re in, so I’ve decided to reward you with that concoction of drugs I gave you all those weeks ago. It’s merely to help with what I can only guess is agonizing discomfort, although I can never predict how…human you are. I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t feel a thing.”

Dazai furrowed his brows at the flurry of words. The only thing that processed through his muddled mind was drugs and human , which did little to fill him in on the context of what had been muttered.

Dazai winced at the sudden feeling of a needle piercing through his vein. He briefly wondered how Mori had gotten back to his side so swiftly, but the thought was stolen from his mind. It unnerved Dazai how he could feel that unknown liquid shooting through his veins, taking the unsteady waterslide of his blood. He frowned at the familiarity of the sensation, the hazy memories of the countless drugs pumped through his system spinning at the back of his mind.

“Sadly, I’ve run out of bandages, so I’ll send you off to hopefully find your own.”

Dazai forced his eyes open again as he watched Mori place the needle on the tray beside him. His gaze instinctively drifted over to the cabinet in the corner of the room, and a wave of confusion washed over him when he spotted dozens of gauze.

Before he could fully question it, a hand gently wrapped around his wrist. Another was placed on the back of his neck, and he was hauled up into a sitting position. The sudden movement caused an involuntary groan to escape from his lips, although he was proud to say he held back what would have been an embarrassing whine.

He purposely forced his drooping eyes to stay glued forward, not wanting to look down at the shreds he was reduced to. Mori stood beside him, yet his presence resembled that of a ghost. Dazai couldn’t fully process that anyone was in the room with him, the only thing at the front of his mind being the way his head was slowly slipping from his fingers as it melted into the ground below.

Dazai could tell he was hunched in on himself as hands let go of their sickeningly comforting grasp, and he was suddenly thrust into a world of the unknown. It was as if those unfamiliar hands had thrown him into the deep end of a pool, but that same pool somehow morphed into a never ending lake that resembled a raging ocean in the dead of night. 

He blindly stumbled out of the small operating room, tripping over books and metal tables as his eyes zeroed in on the exit. He brought his right hand to his shoulder, clutching the stray bandages threatening to fall off. Dazai wanted to keep whatever dignity he had left, and a voice in the back of his head knew he would lose most of it the second he stumbled out into the middle of the headquarters, bare and vulnerable. 

Yet before he managed to get a foot from the main door, a hand grabbed his wounded arm and yanked him to the side. He blindly let himself be dragged through the hall, his eyes glazed over and mind blank. If he were in a better mindset, he would feel unfamiliar shame seeping directly through his bandages and soaking its way into his heart.

Strangely, the only thing on Dazai’s mind was how warm the hands were. As he blundered after this unfamiliar being, cuts stinging in the wind, his eyes tried to focus on the body before him. He was immediately assaulted with a bright orange that felt so achingly familiar that he swore his heart skipped a beat.

“Chuuya?” He whispered, fearful that any louder and he would shatter the precious fog that had made itself comfortable over his mind. He ignored the way his voice cracked as his throat burned, intent on staring down what he now assumed was his partner in hopes of catching any type of reaction out of him.

Surprisingly, the person didn't so much as falter. Dazai was still being dragged through the halls, which he quickly realized was leading to the elevator. He learned this because his eyes landed on those familiar buttons over the sliding doors, and his eyes scanned what he now knew was inside. The flurry of blended events did nothing to calm Dazai’s jumbled mind. 

They were now stopped, frozen in this confined box, as they watched the doors slide close. 

Then, the figure finally turned around to look at him. Dazai couldn’t help but get sucked into that alluring cerulean blue that swirled around like waves in a roaring ocean. This ocean was beautifully harsh as it roared through the many miles of open water in which it was free to unleash itself.

Dazai felt those warm hands that had previously taken his wrist in a death grip reach up to his cheeks and clutch his face. The figure's expression soured and Dazai could feel an unknown stickiness coating his cheeks. He distantly realized it was blood, but it never truly processed in his mind.

Dazai wondered if the drugs had finally kicked in and he was merely seeing an angel or if he had finally lost his mind.

Dazai felt a thumb swipe something wet away from his eye, and he furrowed his brows in confusion. Was he crying? Had Mori’s sessions finally reduced him to the child that he had once thought disappeared years ago?

“Dazai, shit, what the hell—what fucking happened?”

Dazai looked blankly at Chuuya as he watched tears mirror his own, slipping down his partner's face. Dazai couldn't help but mimic him, bringing his hands up to cup Chuuya’s cheeks in his palms. 

“Why is Chibi crying?” The haze in Dazai’s eyes showed no incentive to clear anytime soon. “You’re such a baby,” he whispered as if it was some hilarious secret that was shared between just the two of them. 

Chuuya’s eyes developed a swirl of anger, and Dazai watched as the storm worsened, the waves crashing down on the rocks at the shore. 

“You—you look like a zombie . How are you not dead?”

Dazai opened his mouth to reply, but the sudden ding of the elevator snapped the two partners out of their intimate conversation. Dazai’s eyes lazily glanced over as the metal doors slid open, revealing a vastly empty parking garage. 

Dazai was entirely content with staying in this small box to continue their conversation, but Chuuya seemed to have a different idea. He gripped Dazai’s wrist once more and dragged him over to what Dazai assumed was his car. Dazai could feel his legs wobbling and quickly remembered the amount of blood he had lost. Was he dying? Was this his time?

Would he die in Chuuya’s arms, or would his partner leave him stranded in his shipping container to pass on, shivering and delirious in the dark?

Dazai didn’t— “I don’t have bandages,” he mumbled into Chuuya’s shoulder as his partner opened the passenger side door, keeping Dazai propped up against his body. 

Chuuya glanced down at Dazai with confusion—although Dazai couldn’t see it, he could easily imagine it—and slid Dazai into the seat. “I have some, you dense mackerel.”

Dazai weakly smiled at the name as his head lolled to the left, crashing into the middle armrest of the car with a loud thump. Chuuya winced as he scrambled to the driver's side before quickly slipping into the seat and starting the vehicle.

“Don’t you dare fucking pass out, you piece of shit. We just have to get to a hospital—”

Dazai would have jolted up in panic if he had the energy, but he was delusional and weak from Mori’s punishment. Instead, he let out a strangled groan. 

“Nooo,” he whined, squeezing his eyes further shut as Chuuya glared down at him. “Don’t wanna.”

Chuuya let out a scoff that perfectly revealed his frustration in his tone. “You’re dying; I’m taking you to one.”

Dazai used his arms to push himself up to look at Chuuya. “I’m f’ne, drugs…my bloods g’ne.” Dazai watched as Chuuya used a quick second to briefly glance into Dazai’s eyes, studying if he was telling the truth or not. The downturn of his lips told Dazai that he had found his answer before his head snapped back to the road.

“Fucking fine, but if you die—”

“You’ll kill me yourself…I know what Chuuya was about to say.” He sighed, slumping back over the armrest. A small giggle broke his way out of his throat, undoubtedly confusing his panicked partner. “Eith’r way, I get to die.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dazai. You’re not in your right mind.”

Dazai hummed as his eyes slipped closed. He couldn’t feel his injuries anymore, despite them being on perfect display for the world to glower at. Instead, it felt like misty clouds were passing through his body and lifting him into the sky, forcing him to merge with them as he melted into pure liquid. 

There was a hand shaking his head and a voice trying to break through his muddled hearing, but those clouds were whispering enticing invites to stay with them till the end of time, and he couldn’t find it in himself to pass it up.

When Dazai woke up, he first noticed the weight pressed against his back. He was covered in thin silk sheets that stretched to the crook of his neck. There was a warm breath that would breeze past his ear every few seconds, managing to send a chill down his spine.

The second thing he noticed was the hand interlaced with his own. It was almost as warm as the body behind him, slightly cooler, which he assumed was due to his own lack of heat. Dazai furrowed his brow as he soon realized that he was squeezing this hand, meaning he presumably initiated the hand-holding in the first place.

He cracked his eyes open, and they immediately locked onto the window before him. Perfectly straight maroon curtains hung over them, only allowing a sliver of light to peek through. The light was projecting perfectly onto Dazai’s chest, revealing that he was wearing clothes that were entirely not his own.

The clothes were loose, showing off his heavily bandaged torso and arms. Dazai felt a wave of confusion crash over him at the new bandages wrapped around him, and a feeling submerged under his drowsiness felt panicked at the thought.

The unknown body beside him suddenly groaned, and Dazai narrowed his eyes at the window as if it had been the one to produce the sound. 

The body shifted, and Dazai could imagine it moving onto its back. That’s also the moment he realized that he had been cuddling with this unknown person and had been the little spoon.

Then, their hands parted. Dazai involuntarily frowned at the loss of touch, although it was a rather peculiar experience, given his complete revulsion to skin contact. He wanted to turn over and ask this unfamiliar person what he was doing in this quite comfortable bed in what looked to be a nice room…yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Dazai was genuinely contemplating acting as if he had died in his sleep. The situation was terribly bizarre, and his usual sharp-witted mind was wilting at the end as his brain attempted to knit together the exact position he had found himself in.

Dazai knew that the body was still next to him by the light pressure in the bed. He tried to scan the room for any signs of where exactly he was, but all he could see were red, grey, and black decorations and a rather plain white carpet pinned under the furniture.  

He tried to slowly shift his head so he could find where the door was but suddenly froze as an arm was unexpectedly placed around his shoulders. He narrowed his eyes when the arm gradually pulled him closer to this unknown person, and he finally decided that playing dead may not be a way to get out of this odd situation. A dull pain pulsed through his body, and he distantly wondered if he had been injured recently.

As he felt himself become flush with the relatively warm body, he opened his mouth, readying himself to say something. Yet as he did so, he found that no words would tumble out. So he closed his eyes with annoyance, not fully ready to let this stranger know he had already woken up.

Dazai then realized he felt content in this moment. He hadn’t a clue of any recent events or how exactly he ended up here, yet he found that his mind wasn’t racing a mile a minute. 

Although, as Dazai had recently found out, things like that never truly lasted. He heard the person beside him sigh before shifting once more. Dazai felt the arm around his shoulders being drawn back before a set of hands maneuvered him down to his pillow. 

“How fucking long can someone sleep for?” The voice muttered before the weight on the bed fully disappeared. Dazai felt as the breath from his lungs was quickly sucked out, his eyes immediately shooting open as that familiar voice drifted through his ears.

“Chuuya?” He gasped, eyes locking on to a familiar head of orange hair. The man in question whipped around, freezing in the center of what Dazai now knew was his partner’s bedroom.

Chuuya’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was narrowly parted in what looked to be surprise. His face was tinted with a small amount of red, and Dazai wondered what was running through his mind. “How long have you been awake?” 

Dazai pushed himself up onto his elbows as he absentmindedly slid the sheets down to his waist. “Why—” he paused, pursing his lips as he stared at Chuuya. Now that he was thrust into this situation, he quickly realized how genuinely unnerving it was to have his mind practically blank; the only indication of what he knew was his partner standing in front of him.

Dazai couldn’t help but get quickly lost in his own thoughts as he attempted to dig up any details he could remember from the past few days. The last thing he remembered was being ambushed with Chuuya and feeling a sense of dread well up in the pit of his stomach when Chuuya had gone against orders.

Dazai had yet to know if having Chuuya with him while he tried to remember the events after that was a good thing. Did Chuuya even know himself? Dazai could only assume that Mori had punished one of them, and given their history, Dazai knew it had likely been himself.

Though that posed the question, why couldn’t Dazai remember?

Suddenly, a palm was cupping his cheek, and Dazai returned his gaze to his partner. Chuuya looked at him with apprehension , and if Dazai didn’t know any better, he would think that Chuuya was worried for him.

“Dazai—”

“What happened?” Dazai interrupted, steeling his face as he stared up at Chuuya. He wouldn’t let himself be tricked, so he had to gather as much information as possible. If Chuuya was the reason for his sudden loss of memory, he truly had no clue what he would do.

Chuuya’s lips curled down in distaste, and he heaved a weary sigh. His hand left Dazai’s cheek, and Dazai felt a jolt of unease shoot up his body at what felt like a rather familiar sensation swirling around in his mind. The feeling of soft fingers curling around his chin before dropping his head onto a hard surface—

“I…couldn’t find you last night, so I was going to ask the boss, but, you know,” Chuuya held Dazai’s gaze, attempting to assess his partner's mental stability. “You walked out of the infirmary half dead. So I took you home after you refused to go to a hospital, and here we are.”

Dazai kept his expression expertly blank as he slowly glanced down at his arms. That quickly explained his new bandages, yet it didn't explain why he couldn’t remember. Dazai never forgot those sessions, which meant—

“Tonight will be a bit different.”

Dazai’s eyes widened, and he felt a phantom sting shoot up his arm. He jerked his hand up to his chest and glared at Chuuya, who was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. Dazai distantly wondered if he had.

“Don’t—” Dazai cut himself off. Don’t what? Was it Chuuya that had penalized him? Dazai glanced down towards the crook of his arm, and he stared at it, attempting to see through the thick bandages winding around his limbs.

“Dazai, I’m not doing anything,” Chuuya murmured, raising his hand to placate Dazai’s paranoia. “I promise.”

Dazai shook his head and pushed himself further into the bed, away from Chuuya. Some part of him felt this horrendous, heart-aching panic when he put that small amount of space between him and his partner, yet he didn't know why. Dazai didn’t care about Chuuya; he didn’t. He couldn’t. 

Dazai narrowed his eyes into sharp slits as if his very gaze could puncture anyone trapped underneath it. “Why am I here?”

Chuuya didn't attempt to close the distance between them as he slowly lowered his hands into his lap. “I saved your life, you ungrateful shit.” The words were muttered with far less bite than usual, and Dazai scrunched up his face in contempt at the unfamiliar tone.

“Well, thanks,” he muttered sarcastically. “I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Dazai had no idea what he had been planning when he pushed himself off the bed, ignoring Chuuya’s strangled warning. What he wasn’t expecting was the wholly encompassing pain to shoot through his body, forcing his legs to buckle and his mind to empty.

He wasn’t sure if the arms pulling him back to the bed were a welcome touch, and he attempted to wiggle out of the grip.

“Let go, you tiny—” Dazai was cut off by a strangled groan being forced out of his lips as his head hit the bed's backboard. He brought his hands up to his skull and held the point of impact as he squinted his eyes at Chuuya.

Chuuya was sitting in front of him with an exasperated yet worried look. “You wouldn’t make it one step away from the bed, you stupid mummy.” 

Dazai couldn’t help but notice a strange glint swirling around in his partner's eyes. It broke through each time Chuuya’s gaze rested on him for longer than a few seconds. It was something unfamiliar, and Dazai didn't like the unknown.

Dazai slowly crossed his arms—unconsciously aware of the pain that would shoot through his limbs if he jostled his injuries too much—and leaned further back into the bed. His eyes lazily scanned the room as Chuuya stared at him in silence.

The curtains draped across the window looked like they had been forcefully glued together. The walls were terribly monotonous, one accented in a dark, maroon red, while the rest were a shaded gray. There was a dresser on the wall opposite, sitting next to the door without a care in the world.

Dazai’s eyes drifted back to the window to his left, and his gaze trailed down to a small rip at the bottom. He squinted, his focus entirely drawn to this strange addition to Chuuya’s usually perfect bedroom.

“You did that,” Chuuya suddenly said, causing Dazai’s eyes to snap back to his partner automatically. He gestured back to the rip with distaste. “You said, uh, that there was something out there last night.”

“What?”

“Well, don’t ask me! How am I supposed to know what goes through your drugged mind.”

“What?” Dazai snapped, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What do you mean drugged?” 

Chuuya’s face dropped in regret, and he suddenly looked awful. His eyes were wide and guilty, and Dazai silently compared him to a puppy that had torn up the couch.

“Last night, you said you were on drugs.” Chuuya was hesitant as he spoke, similar to the last few times he risked filling Dazai in on prior events. “You…do you really not remember anything?”

Dazai stayed silent as he stared at Chuuya. His gaze was slowly hazing over as his mind became torn between the present and the past. His mind was full of echoing sentences, dark silhouettes, disembodied voices, and sharp pains running through his arms.

“He’s out there, Chuuya; you have to block the window.”

“What?”

“He’s looking at us.”

Dazai dug a finger into his forearm and winced as it brought him back to the present. “I don’t remember,” he muttered, ignoring Chuuya’s fixed gaze on his hands. “I don’t see why you think it's any of your business.”

Chuuya scoffed. “I saved your life; you could at least say thank you.”

“Of course you did; it's a dog's job to protect its owner, after all.”

Chuuya’s face twisted up in offense. Dazai watched his fists clench, and he wondered if Chuuya would attempt to punch him. He didn’t think he would mind; Dazai thought he deserved it enough.

“I’m not a damn dog, you piece of shit. I don’t see why you can’t just lower those walls for once in your miserable life! You’re like a fucking robot!”

Dazai’s face immediately dropped, his eyes going cold. He should’ve expected that. Mori had attempted to sear that into his mind countless times, going as far as to directly scorch his shoulder with words Dazai would rather not think about. He should’ve known Chuuya thought the same. Mori had said not to get attached, and now he was sitting in his partner's bed, vulnerable and somehow hurt—

“You’re more of a robot than me, given you’re a damn lab experiment,” Dazai spat back, knowing exactly how to puncture Chuuya’s equally high walls. He watched Chuuya’s eyes flash in pain, his expression taking on something similar to a wounded animal. Dazai could feel guilt seeping into his heart, attempting to drown his skillfully crafted defense.

“I know you don’t mean that,” Chuuya muttered, standing up and rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’m going to go make some food, so you better glue your ass to that bed and stay.” 

“I hope you don’t come back,” Dazai whispered after his partner. He could tell Chuuya had heard him because his shoulders hunched in on himself, and he slammed the door behind him. Dazai flinched at the noise before quickly berating himself for the embarrassing show of vulnerability. 

Dazai reared his head back when he processed the direct command, and his lips curled down in distaste. When did Chuuya decide he was free to order Dazai around? He was understandably surprised by how easily his partner moved on from what Dazai had thought was a put-together insult.

Now that Dazai was alone, he could feel his mind attempting to crawl back to the previous night. It was strange how eager he was to remember, given Dazai knew exactly what happened. What was the point in remembering every little detail? Wasn’t his guess good enough?

Dazai could hear Chuuya rummaging around in the kitchen and was tempted to sneak out of the apartment. Yet the second he thought about moving, his limbs felt heavier. He tried to sit up, but his head immediately dropped back into the pillows, and he let out a frustrated groan.

“Chuuya, you can’t go out there; he’s waiting.”

Dazai’s eyes trailed over to the window. He could distantly remember watching Chuuya close the curtains, taking a relatively long time to cover all the cracks. He knew he should feel ashamed of his delirious mood the night prior, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Who the hell are you talking about?!” Chuuya had yelled in a flurry of panic, assumably overwhelmed at the sudden burdening events Dazai had let trail behind him the second Chuuya found him outside that infirmary. 

Dazai could only remember so much, and knowing that one of those memories was his disgraceful paranoia made that uncomfortable pit in his stomach grow. He could hear Mori in his ear, yet he couldn’t pinpoint whether it was the version Dazai had hallucinated or if he was remembering the time he spent on that freezing table.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he instinctively moved his wrists to ensure they weren't restrained. He glanced down at his arms and frowned at the thick bandages wrapped around his limbs.

“I realized I may have gone a bit too far…”

Dazai jolted as he slammed his hands over his ears in a panic. Mori’s voice had been so clear then that he wondered if his boss was hiding somewhere in this very room. His eyes were wide, and the pressure he was applying to his head forced a dull headache to wiggle through his ears.

Dazai’s eyes shot up as the door cracked open, and his gaze zeroed in on Chuuya’s short frame standing in the doorway. He held a bowl of soup and a small glass of water, his foot propping the door open as he studied Dazai’s cowering frame.

“Are you alright?” Chuuya asked, strolling over to place the meal on the table beside the bed. “You don’t look—”

“I’m fine,” Dazai muttered, reluctantly peeling his hands away from his head. His eyes snapped between the food and Chuuya’s patient expression, and a sudden childlike shame punctured him through the gut. He felt nauseous. 

Chuuya crossed his arms as if he knew what was happening in Dazai’s mind. “You better fucking eat that; I wasted the rest of my ingredients.”

Dazai reached for the bowl and slowly brought it onto his lap. He glared at the liquid sitting peacefully inside. “Sorry,” he muttered before grabbing the spoon and shoveling a bite into his mouth. He risked a glance over to his partner and fought the urge to smile at the shocked expression on his face.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. Please, he’s coming—”

Dazai ignored the distant memory from last night. He wondered if something similar to this had happened, but he couldn’t entirely remember. It confused Dazai how easily he was submitting to his guilt, that cursed word flowing out of his mouth with the frailest resistance. He wanted Chuuya to be mad at him, yet whenever he pictured it further, it made him want to flee under the bed and hide like a frightened dog.

“What?” Dazai asked innocently, tilting his head. “Is the slug hearing things?”

“You—” Chuuya huffed as he cut himself off. “Nevermind.”

Dazai shrugged as he put yet another spoonful of soup into his mouth. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but if this fixed the slight tension clouding the room, he would do it. Even if he didn’t care about Chuuya—which Dazai knew he didn’t, Mori had helped him figure that out—he still knew their partnership would splinter if they genuinely fought.

If a rift opened between them, threatening to swallow their shallow relationship whole, it would quite definitely backfire on the entire mafia. Mori had purposely stuck them together because of their efficiency and power, which meant they could easily be considered one of the many backbones of the port.

“Are your cuts hurting again? I got painkillers earlier, so if they were, I could bring you some,” Chuuya unexpectedly asked. Dazai stared at him with muted surprise. Was that care seeping into his partner’s tone?

Dazai glanced down at the soup and watched it swirl as he lifted the spoon from it again. “No, I don’t need medicine.” He ignored the newfound pain curling up his forearm, and fought back the urge to scowl at Chuuya now that he had reminded him.

“I don’t believe you.”

Dazai winced at the familiar words, and Chuuya seemed to notice. He narrowed his eyes, and Dazai felt his scrutinizing gaze searing into his skin. He fought the urge to squirm as he held eye contact.

“It’s just two pills, Dazai; not the end of the world.”

Dazai placed the half-empty bowl of soup on the bedside table and crossed his arms. “I’m not in pain, so stop being an annoying dog. You’re supposed to believe me, you small-brained pea.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Wow, two insults in one; you’re improving.” He grabbed the bowl and turned to leave, causing Dazai to furrow his brows. “Drink your damn water, or I’m forcing those pills down your throat.

“Someone's grumpy,” Dazai muttered. His eyes trailed to the glass, and he reluctantly picked it up. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip, fighting the urge to spit it back out.

“Who’s the dog now?” Chuuya suddenly asked, causing Dazai’s eyes to snap back up. Chuuya smirked at him with a knowing look, and Dazai felt an unfamiliar annoyance brewing in his stomach.

“Shut up.”

Chuuya shrugged and disappeared out the door. Dazai glared at the glass of water and set it back on the table. If Chuuya decided to be like that, Dazai would be even worse. Even though the pain was sinking its claws into his limbs and shredding through his skin like paper, he wouldn’t yield.

The door creaked open, and Chuuya walked in after it, although his hands were empty this time. His eyes immediately zeroed in on the abandoned glass of water. 

“Dazai,” Chuuya began, slowly approaching the bed. “Do you want to take the pills?”

Dazai stared at him with slightly wide eyes, and he shook his head. He watched as Chuuya’s gaze minutely softened and wondered what his partner was seeing in him. Chuuya lowered himself down on the bed for the third time.

Chuuya reached for the table drawer and slid it open before pulling a bottle out. He shook them in front of Dazai’s eyes. “These are the painkillers. All you need to do is take two. You can wash them down with water.”

Dazai shook his head and scooted back. He wasn’t scared; Dazai thought that he was perfectly fine. Yet the thought of putting more drugs inside his body made him want to flee. Chuuya didn’t seem to understand that, which frustrated Dazai to an extreme level.

Chuuya’s lips curled down, and he suddenly grabbed Dazai’s wrist. Dazai let out a yelp of pain as he was dragged forward, and his eyes widened in panic. He tried to pull away, but the grip tightened, and he felt his eyes haze. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the pain of the panic.

Chuuya seemed to realize his mistake, and he let him go, but Dazai felt the energy sap out of his body, and he slumped into Chuuya’s chest. It felt strange that despite the danger flashing in his mind, Dazai felt safe. 

Before he met Chuuya, Dazai never would’ve thought he would be slumped against someone, hurt and vulnerable, without it being Mori. Mori wouldn’t be this gentle. He wouldn’t be scratching his fingers through Dazai’s hair without trying to be threatening.

Chuuya was gentle. He somehow let the humanity swirling in his heart trickle out in even waves, pampering everyone nearby. Dazai found that he was quickly becoming accustomed to this strange, unfamiliar delicacy.

“Sorry,” Chuuya mumbled into his hair. Dazai realized that he was being kissed on the head. “I forgot about your wounds.”

“You’re trying to give me medicine for those wounds, you stupid Chibi.”

Chuuya let out a soft snort. “Shut up.”

Dazai looked up at Chuuya and slowly realized he was now in his arms. It seemed his mind was still buffering. It felt nauseatingly domestic, and he wondered if this was what happened last night. Was Chuuya being this gentle with him? Was he that far into his mind that his partner had decided to care for him instead of the usual insults and assaulting?

“I’m not taking medicine,” Dazai muttered, pushing himself away from Chuuya’s chest. He couldn’t let himself fall into this trap. Mori had helped him realize—

“Dazai?” Dazai acknowledged him with a hum as he lazily tilted his head up to look at his partner. “Mori’s not here, I promise.”

Dazai’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, he tilted back into the pillows with a yelp. He had forgotten how weak his body was, and when he had attempted to keep himself sitting up, that thought had floated away from his mind. Chuuya watched him with an alarmed expression, and Dazai glared at him.

“Okay, you know what? You’re going to get some rest, and if you can’t, you’re taking the medicine.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Chuuya stood up and suddenly stripped himself of his jacket. Dazai watched him as he walked around the bed before sitting on the opposite side. Chuuya silently lowered himself into the bed, lying beside Dazai, facing his partner.

“I’m sleeping, which means you would be so bored if you stayed awake.” Dazai sneered at the comment. “And think about it, if you fall asleep now, you won't have to take the medicine.”

“Promise?”

Dazai ignored the brief surprise that flashed over Chuuya’s face. He wasn’t acting childish; he was merely ensuring he wasn’t being lied to. It was an important step to take whenever making deals.

He just wouldn’t admit that he was acting as if he was about to hold up his pinky in wait to make that promise. Dazai needed to remind himself that there wasn’t a thin, red string connecting him to Chuuya and that they were work partners brought together simply to cause destruction and nothing else.

Chuuya let out a light sigh. “I promise, Osamu. Is that enough for you?”

Dazai’s eyes widened at the use of his given name, and he felt the air being stolen from his lungs as he lost his voice. He couldn’t reply, entirely surprised as he stared deeply into Chuuya’s intensely blue eyes.

“I guess that’ll do,” Dazai whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt an arm wrap around his waist—gently, Chuuya being aware of his wounds—before he shuffled closer to his partner. He could feel Chuuya’s breath softly hitting his face, feeling like a feather brushing over his features.

Dazai knew that this wouldn’t last. He knew that Mori was right; he didn't care about Chuuya. Dazai wasn’t capable of love. Chuuya would most likely leave in a matter of days, given how harmful Dazai acted towards him. He had called Chuuya a lab experiment. Dazai wasn’t good for him.

Yet the way the sheets brushed against his neck as Chuuya carefully pulled it over their bodies, tucking them in with something akin to tenderness, made Dazai’s heart ache. He wanted whatever it was that could be between them.

“Are we talking about this later?” Chuuya suddenly asked, puncturing through Dazai’s derailing train of thought.

Dazai frowned. “I got disciplined because of my mistake. It’s nothing major.”

A piece of hair was brushed away from his face, and he sighed in content. “Dazai, that was my mistake, remember?”

Dazai’s eyes lazily opened, and he stared at Chuuya in confusion. “What?”

“You covered for me, which was stupid, by the way. Why the hell would you do that anyway? It was my mistake!”

The sudden outburst made Dazai’s head hurt. A dull ache pulsed through his skull, and he quickly realized that he would rather sleep than discuss this.

He brought a finger up to Chuuya’s lips and shushed him. “I’m tired, remember? We’re sleeping.”

“No, actually, I want to know what the fuck happened.”

Dazai closed his eyes. “I’m asleep; I can’t hear you.”

A scoff left Chuuya’s lips, and his breath drifted past Dazai’s ear. Considering the unresolved insults and Chuuya’s jumble of questions, he knew this conversation wasn't over. Dazai would continue to stall, though, and he was successful in his attempts so far.

Chuuya seemed to quickly relent as he tightened his arms around Dazai’s middle and pulled him further flush with his chest. Dazai nuzzled his face into Chuuya’s neck, not entirely sure what he was doing but deciding to do it anyway.

Despite Mori’s reminder that Dazai couldn’t care for Chuuya, he was content with pretending for tonight. It felt like they were frozen in time, a small bubble encasing them, holding their faux love inside. Dazai knew it would pop eventually and that Chuuya would see Dazai for what he truly was, but his mind was fogging up, and his breathing was evening out.

“Please, don’t leave,” Dazai’s own voice echoed through his mind. “I can’t—don’t touch me.”

The memory of Chuuya attempting to patch up his wounds was trying to worm its way through his dreams, and he found it impossible to stop it.

Chuuya hauled Dazai into the bathroom as Dazai clutched his head in his hands, mumbling incoherent words to himself. He could feel Mori’s presence outside the bedroom door, and the second Chuuya locked themselves into the bathroom, Dazai knew that Mori was right outside.

He let himself be manhandled into a sitting position on the floor, yet his eyes were closed, and his hands covered his ears, preventing anything from breaking through his defenses. He could hear Mori’s voice whispering in his head, poisoning his mind with words he could never find himself denying.

“If I told you I had made you out of scrap metal sixteen years ago, you wouldn’t be able to deny it,” Mori’s voice said, throwing Dazai back to one of his many nights spent in that dreadful operating room. “Even someone as smart as yourself would never be able to find a mechanical part similar enough to a heart for you to feel true love.”

Dazai let out a muffled sob into his knees as Chuuya continued to fret over him. The presence of his partner before him had been plucked out of his mind by the hallucination of Mori, his hands covered in thin gloves that had been marked in Dazai’s blood.

“Dazai, you’re bleeding out; just stay still.”

Dazai squirmed away from Chuuya’s outstretched arms, his back hitting the porcelain bath. The walls were achingly bright against his strained vision, painted a bland white that matched up with every surface in the room.

“Stop, stop, please,” Dazai muttered, clutching his head. He couldn’t get the vision of Mori out of his head, and Chuuya’s bright orange hair was threatening to morph into that inky black. Purple was invading his sight, and the cold surface of the bath behind him felt unnervingly similar to the metal table he had been on mere hours ago.

Mori was back, this time invading the inside of Dazai’s closed eyelids. He wasn’t safe anywhere, it seemed. 

“We are similar, you and I. I understand you the best, Dazai-kun.”

Chuuya lowered himself onto his knees in front of Dazai’s cowering frame. He grabbed Dazai’s wrist and yanked it forward, causing Dazai to stumble along with the pull's force.

Chuuya had already cleaned the wounds before, yet Dazai found he couldn’t remember that happening. He wondered if it was due to his drugged state when leaving the infirmary.

Chuuya was holding a roll of bandages, and he expertly began to wrap them around Dazai’s arm, despite his weak attempts at struggling. The direct contact with the cuts made Dazai wince in pain, and he could see a shine of regret swirling in Chuuya’s eyes.

“The sooner you stop squirming, the sooner this will end.”

Dazai squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, although his arm relaxed the smallest amount. “He knows, Chuuya, he knows; you have to leave. He’s here—”

Chuuya shushed him, his voice quiet and calming. “Dazai, no one is here. You’re in my apartment; it's just us.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—” he cut himself off with a gasp. 

Dazai’s eyes were hazy and unfocused. He could feel the effects of the drugs pumping through his system as he continued to spiral into his delusions. He couldn’t help but feel as though Mori was standing directly behind him, holding a scalpel with a grin on his face.

Dazai jolted as a sudden sharp pain shot through his chest, and he glanced down to see Chuuya wrapping the holes littered over it. His eyes widened at the memory, and he started struggling once more, kicking out, attempting to escape the pain and the memories.

“I hope you learned you’re lesson,” Chuuya suddenly whispered, and Dazai whipped his head up in surprise. His partner was staring at him with that same smile he had seen on Mori, and his eyes were purple—

“Dazai! Dazai, you gotta wake up,” a voice shouted, and Dazai watched as the words drifted into the bathroom and printed themselves onto the white walls. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was blood or expired paint dripping onto the floor.

Dazai sat up, and his eyes shot open. He felt hands clutching his shoulders, and his head drifted over to the person beside him, realizing it was just Chuuya. His partner stared at him with panic in his eyes, and Dazai couldn’t help but notice how helpless he looked.

“You were having a nightmare; you’re not with Mori, alright?”

Dazai furrowed his brows in confusion and sucked in an unexpected breath. Chuuya seemed to realize his puzzlement and let out a weary sigh as he dropped his hands into his lap.

“You were mumbling and apologizing, and you said the boss’s name, so I just assumed—but that doesn't matter. You’re fine, alright?”

Dazai fell back into the pillows and stared blankly at the ceiling. He didn't want to return to that bathroom or the operation room on that vile metal table. He wanted everything to stop or for Chuuya to hold him in his arms until he suffocated to death.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Dazai kept his mouth shut as he felt Chuuya’s weight beside him. A hand cupped his face, and Chuuya tilted his head towards him. Dazai stared at him with weary eyes, and the two lay silent and tranquil for longer than expected.

At some point, Dazai closed his eyes. Chuuya’s thumb rubbed soft circles into his temple, and he felt that calm wave wash over him again. There was the sound of faint rain pattering outside the window of the apartment, a flurry of drip drip drip drip echoing through Dazai’s mind. He fought the urge to squirm. 

“I’m tired, Chibi,” Dazai mumbled into Chuuya’s hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Don’t let him come back.”

Chuuya hummed in acknowledgment, no doubt having no clue as to what Dazai was talking about. Yet he agreed, which sent a ripple of what Dazai could almost consider adoration to lick at the edges of Dazai’s chest like miniature waves lapping at the beach.

“You’re alright.”

Dazai let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t love you,” he unexpectedly murmured, the lull of sleep clouding his judgment and removing the filter he usually had covering his mouth. Chuuya sucked in a sudden breath beside him, yet he didn't lose his temper.

“Why can’t you?”

“Mori reminded me…he told me I wasn’t capable.” Dazai snuggled further into Chuuya’s chest, oblivious to the apparent affection he was showing his partner. Chuuya smiled into his hair as he pressed a kiss on his head.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Mori’s a great judge on love.”

“He knows me the best.”

Chuuya only shook his head. “What would you say if I told you I loved you?”

Dazai’s breath was stolen from his lungs, and he had an overwhelming urge to open his eyes and look up at Chuuya. Yet his eyelids weighed against his face, and his body sank further into the bed. It felt like he was drowning in quicksand, yet it was strangely comforting because he knew Chuuya was at the bottom, waiting for him to drop through.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” Dazai whispered, though his voice was strained with grief. “You’re lying.”

Chuuya hummed in content. “Are you telling me how to feel?”

Dazai frowned as he fell further into the fluffy clouds of slumber. He wanted to reply and deny Chuuya’s words once more, but he found his mouth had fallen asleep, and his mind was quickly following.

The last thing that filtered through his hearing, preparing to drown his dreams in that lovely phrase, was precisely six words. 

“I love you, I really do.”

His mind felt like the sun was shining directly through his ears, the bright beam warming his thoughts. He was brought back to that same bathroom, and Chuuya was still kneeling in front of him. Yet this time, the walls were clean and pristine, and Chuuya was staring at him with such a loving gaze that it hurt.

“I love you” echoed through the walls and filtered into his ears, splattering his skull with the letters spelling out that short phrase. Dazai wondered if he was hallucinating. There was a high chance he was still under the influence of drugs.

Although once again, Dazai was content with believing this lie for as long as it decided to go on. He subconsciously snuggled further into Chuuya’s chest as he was submerged in the soft clouds of sleep.