Chapter Text
The lights from the port city gleamed against the black drop of the surrounding night. The view from the towering building was breathtaking. The living quarters inside this tower was dripping in luxury. Each furniture piece hand picked and hand carved, each floor tile placed with precise precision, decor chosen by a skilled team of expert decorators.
Sitting in a plush armchair, a young man stared down at the city view below him. His face was void of emotion as the soft tick tock from the large grandfather clock supplied the only noise in the room as time passed by. The young man felt numb to the world. He felt that way for some time now. It was no one’s fault but his own. It was his fault for being so difficult, for being so emotional, for wanting to live in the light instead of staying in the dampest dark corner of the world where he belonged.
His world began to crumble almost a year ago. His past finally caught up with him. The Port Mafia, the underground organization he tried so hard to escape. Those years in hiding all for nothing. In exchange for help the Armed Detective Agency had to make a deal with the devil, the Port Mafia Boss. One agency member in exchange for the Mafia’s aid, and the mafia always collects what it is owed.
Dazai Osamu did not give the Agency President a choice. He would not allow anyone else be befored into the Mafia life. Especially those who belonged in the light, deserved to be in the light, No, his blood was Mafia black and if anyone should go to the Mafia it should be him. And go back he did. Not without punishment of course.
The old Port Mafia Boss did not let him come back without being fully reminded where he was now, how he had no means to escape again, how he was nothing but the Demon Prodigy that he was oh so carefully groomed to be. He wasn’t granted his old position as an executive, but instead was kept directly under the Mafia Boss’s thumb. He spent weeks under the Old Boss’s tender care before being forced back to the field and worked past the point of exhaustion. Hours and days began to blend as he was sent mission after mission, paperwork done in between during layover time, meals were scares, sleep even more so. The only break he would get was when his body would collapse from neglect. And even that was short lived as he would be forced awake and sent out again to be worked to the bone.
Then Mori Ougai stepped down and in his stead, Nakahara Chuuya rose as the new Port Mafia Boss. His life did not get better when his former partner took over. Those who wanted to challenge Chuuya’s seat as Mafia Boss had to be disposed of, spies weeded out, old and new enemies disposed of. Dazai continued to work without breaks. And any mistakes were met with harsh punishment. Both to get back at him for the past and to establish dominance as the new Mafia head.
Chuuya did his best to establish that their roles are now reversed. He was no longer the master but the dog. Even going so far as to have him crawl on his hands and knees, a dog collar tight around his throat, and a leash attached, handle tight in Chuuya’s hand. The petite Mafia Boss smug as he tugged Dazai throughout the Mafia headquarters. Forced to endure the public humiliation of being paraded around like a pet in front of those he used to be in charge of. Or the just too small dog cage that left him painfully uncomfortable in the Mafia Boss’s office where he would be forced to stay in during meetings or whenever Chuuya decided he wanted his ‘dog’ nearby as he did paperwork. Of course he wouldn’t forget his new ‘food bowls’ either, placed at the foot of Chuuya’s seat at the head of the table during busy dinners. He had always viewed himself as less than human, now even more so. His existence had been reduced to nothing more than a dog of the Port Mafia.
That's when his life completely blended together into a whole blurr. All the long hours worked, every meager meal he might get once in a blue moon, every insult, every humiliation, punishment for ‘acting like a bad dog’. Even the shock collar that Chuuya liked to use on him just became a normal part of his daily life. He was sleep deprived, starved, exhausted, unable to fight back, to offer even the slightest resistance, to do anything but accept his new place as Chuuya’s dog.
Then the accident happened. He was sitting in the backseat in one of the many black cars the Mafia owned. Lazily working on paperwork as he struggled to stay awake, nodding off in a daze every so often. The driver pitied him, purposely driving slow so he could finish the paperwork before they made it back to the Mafia Headquarters.
Suddenly, he felt a large force hit his back, knocking the breath from his lungs as the car caved in at his side. Pain shooting from the right side of his body as the car began to flip. His head hit the side of the car due to the force of impact. He was grateful for the seatbelt keeping in place as he was unwillingly thrown through several loops. Glass shattered, paperwork flew, airbags released, and the smell of copper began to fill the air. There he was, strapped in the car, sitting upside down.
He felt flush as blood began to run to his head, he felt wet as blood dripped down his forehead onto the car ceiling. The right side of his body throbbed in pain but he could bring himself to move a limb. Spects of white filled his vision before he slipped unconscious.
Dazai woke up weeks later in a hospital bed. Wrapped up in more bandages than he ever wore before. Medical staff buzzing around him nonstop with private twenty four hour care. Once he was more coherent he learned the car was hit by a drunk driver who ran the red light. Both he and the driver lived but the drunk died after being thrown from the car for not having a seatbelt and the windows down. Chuuya was furious he had no one to make pay for ‘hurting his dog’.
Dazai half expected to be forced out of the bed and back to work when Chuuya first stormed in the room after hearing he woke up. Even if the lower right half of his body was numb. However, he was surprised when Chuuya did not grab him by his hair and drag him from the bed like Chuuya has done before when he was being a ‘lazy dog’. Instead the Mafia Boss pulled a chair to the side of the bed and petted his head. It was the kindest Chuuya had been to him in months so he couldn’t help but close his eyes and lean into the warm touch.
Apparently, due to his poor health Dazai had gone septic fast, almost full blown organ failure, and had to hook up to so many IVs and machines just to keep him alive. Even if everyone should know by now he was strictly a Do Not Resuscitate. However, his wishes do not matter when the Mafia Boss says ‘do whatever it takes to save him’. Guess almost losing him so fast gave Chuuya quite the scare. He even began to change how he treated him since that day. He was kinder but that didn’t mean his life got better, he was still the Mafia Boss’s dog. Instead of a working dog, he was now a spoiled pooch fed with a silver spoon. Figuratively and literally.
No more cramped cages, now he had a plush couch just to himself in the Boss’s office. No more tight dog collars that would get caught on the bandages on his neck making it hard to breathe. Now the collars were tailored made, looser but decorative and eye-catching. No more dog bowls and forced to eat on the floor. Now he sat by Chuuya’s side, hand fed by the boss or a servant as he was “too weak” to feed himself, so says Chuuya.
No more missions, he was strictly desk duty, if he ever worked at all. Not that it mattered, he couldn’t walk without assistance anyways. His right leg had gone numb and was weaker now. He used a cane to support his right side now when he walked. If he was allowed to walk, at even the slightest hitch in breath or hint of fatigue Chuuya would order him to a wheelchair or simply carry him bridal style himself.
“Dazai.”
The brunet blinked, the voice cut the silence and drew him back to reality. Turning his head towards the source of the sound, Dazai saw Chuuya standing there to his left just a few feet away, watching him with his arms crossed, a displeased look on his face.
“I called your name three times.” he said, his tone hinted that he was not pleased at all.
Dazai swallowed the lumping in his throat before he spoke, “Sorry Chuuya, I was,” he stammered, “I was distracted.”
Chuuya looked unamused as he strode forward, stopping when he was right by Dazai’s side. Leaning down, he rested one hand on the armrest and the other he brushed some hair away from Dazai’s eyes, tucking the hair behind his ear. The action caused the brunette to tremble slightly. This went on ignored as Chuuya took to petting his hair gently.
“You missed dinner. What have I told you about skipping meals Dazai?” he asked, his voice stern.
Dazai averted his eyes, looking towards the floor instead of meeting Chuuya’s piercing gaze. “You told me not to miss any meals because I,”
“Because you have poor health,” Chuuya cut in, “How do you expect to get to a healthy weight and maintain it when you skip meals?”
Dazai subconsciously moved his left hand to grip his right jacket sleeve, nervously thinking of what to say. Since the accident Chuuya hasn’t punished him but the present past still lingers and phantom pain of crisscrossing lashes on his back made him weary of saying something wrong. “I’m sorry Chuuya, I forgot.”
Chuuya snorted, “Of course you would forget. With that brain damage I’m surprised you still remember you need to eat.”
Dazai pulled away from Chuuya’s hand, eyes wide, taking in what the other had just said. “Brain damage?” he repeated, looking to Chuuya for answers.
“Yes, Dazai, brain damage,” Chuuya asserted as he straightened his back, “Did you forget that as well as dinner?”
“I don’t have brain damage.” the younger male exclaimed.
Chuuya stared down at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he let out a heavy sigh. Chuuya then wrapped his arm around Dazai’s shoulder before he pulled him closer so Dazai’s head was resting on his chest.
“You do have brian damage, Dazai, because of the accident, remember? It’s okay if you don’t. The doctors said you wouldn’t remember things like you used to.”
Dazai’s mind raced, trying to remember the countless conversations that he sat through with the Mafia’s doctors. Not once did they mention brain damage. At least, he didn’t think they did. Did they? Was it as Chuuya said and he forgot?
Honestly, he just remembers sitting numb in bed as those doctors went on and on about a plan of care, calorie and protein intake, physical therapy, and more. He may have fallen asleep once or twice. But Chuuya stayed awake, he stayed by his side as he was bedbound. Chuuya directed his therapy and medications, along with every other aspect of his life now.
“I’ll have some steamed crab and rice sent up, how does that sound?” the older male inquired. Not waiting for a response before using one hand to pull out his phone and send a text.
Dazai didn’t speak. The revelation of possibly having brian damage due to the car accident was too heavy on his mind. Instead, he simply nodded. He did like crab. He could really go for some crab right now. Anything to take his mind off of things.