À Tes Souhaits (Bungou Stray Dogs, Chuuya) - Part 3/3 Completed

[alias]

Hello friends!  If you haven't already noticed from my ravings in my anime drabble thread, I AM OBSESSED WITH BUNGOU STRAY DOGS.  And a loooooong while ago I promised a multi-chapter fic tormenting Chuuya.  I am finally here to deliver.  Funnily enough, this actually ISN'T the original sick!Chuuya fic I had been planning, but this one happened and I ran with it.  It started off as a tiny little scene of Dazai teasing Chuuya, and then turned into a whole 3-part monster filled with fluff and angst.  I cannot get enough of these two, I swear.  They seriously occupy so much of my waking mind, so please come join me in Soukoku hell.    All three parts are already written, and the next two just need to be edited, so I'll probably post them all within the next two weeks.  

Some notes:
-This takes place during Dazai's Port Mafia era.
-I subscribe to the headcanon that Chuuya is part French, and thus speaks it fluently.  So that is why the French.
-"À tes souhaits" is the French equivalent of "bless you."  I like to imagine Dazai likes to pester Chuuya with this knowledge.
-I ship these two to the moon and back like nobody's business.  M/M.  You have been warned.

Helpful notes for those unfamiliar with Bungou Stray Dogs, but want to read the fic:
-Dazai and Chuuya are partners in the Port Mafia, and their name as a duo is Soukoku, which translates to "Double Black."
-The characters are all "ability users," meaning they each have a special power unique to them (much like mutants in X-Men).
-Dazai's ability is called No Longer Human, and it allows him to nullify the ability of anyone he touches.
-Chuuya has the ability to manipulate gravity, but the true form of his ability is called Corruption.  Corruption is like a destructive entity that possesses him that he has no control over, and the only way to come out of it is for Dazai to nullify it.  If Chuuya activates Corruption and Dazai does not nullify it, Corruption will rage until Chuuya's body wears down and he dies.

Alright, I'll stop boring you with my long-ass intro.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ^.^  

*****
 

À Tes Souhaits
CHAPTER ONE: Awaiting the Inevitable
 

There was something wrong with Chuuya from the moment he walked through the door.

No, scratch that; there was something glaringly amiss with every aspect of Chuuya’s demeanor from far before he crossed the entrance into Mori’s office, and no length of hat brim or sculpted scowl could conceal it from Dazai as the little mafia strode in and stood at attention before the boss.  Though seeing as the redhead refused to offer his dear partner so much as a glance of acknowledgement, it appeared that “concealing it” was precisely what Chuuya was determined to attempt to do.

Oh, Chuuya.  When will you learn?

Mori had called the pair to his office to discuss strategy, as he was wont to do a few days before any grand operation.  As routine as they were, tactics meetings like these ones were still held in the utmost formality.  The window shades were always drawn shut, the doors were locked with at least two guards cuddling heavy machine guns posted outside of them, and the mob boss leaned over his desk from his thrown, while his two subordinates stood across in deference.  The colluding most often involved a series of diagrams and building maps splayed over the boss’s desk, where plans A, B, C, D, and so on where all laid out with perfect precision to ensure that no matter which foreseeable—or unforeseeable—direction events turned, the mafia would still wrangle the situation into their favor.  Depending on how much intel had already been gathered, the meetings could last anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, and they always involved accounting for any number of unknown factors; they crafted procedures for if there were an ambush, if an unknown ability user showed up, if the police surprised them, and a dozen other circumstances that could potentially occur.  Dazai didn’t like the formality.  And he certainly didn’t like half of the present company.  But it was a necessary hoop he resigned to jumping through, because he knew the mafia’s ability to always seize the advantage in a situation was the linchpin of their reign over the city.  And, of course, no one could craft a dozen back-up plans quite like he could.

The meetings were but a crumb of the satisfaction he got from actually watching all of the events play out the way he had predicted.  He usually just had to bite the bullet and endure them.  However, to his delight, it seemed that his partner was unintentionally about to make this particular one far more interesting.

They were an hour in to the scheming, with plans A-D already cemented in, and Chuuya still had not let his eyes meet Dazai’s.  He’d communicated with him, sure; it would have been impossible to construct any kind of feasible procedure if they didn’t share insight and know what the other was going to do—it was their ability to do so that made them such a formidable duo.  But even throughout their dialogue, Chuuya kept himself turned away from his partner at just enough of an odd angle that the fringe of his hair almost completely shielded his face.  Given the demure involvement Dazai was required to dedicate to the discussion, he was only able to steal quick glances askance every now and then to piece together the puzzle.  But that didn’t matter; Chuuya was so fucking readable it was more than enough.

Dazai had formulated his best guess within a few minutes of being in the redhead’s presence, and the evidence supporting it unfolded slowly throughout their time in the boss’s quarters.  Even without a straight view of his face, Dazai could plainly see the darkened sockets Chuuya’s eyes had sunken into, etching his face with a look of fatigue and drawing further attention to its otherwise lack of color.  For as tired as he clearly was, his posture remained sturdy and upright—so sturdy and upright, in fact, that the overcompensation for trying to appear normal was embarrassingly obvious.  And the anomalies didn’t end at his appearance.  From the first word he’d uttered, Chuuya’s voice had taken on a strained quality, and it grew more hoarse and clipped as the minutes stretched on and demanded more elaboration.  It didn’t take a detective to conclude that Chuuya was under the weather.  Somewhere around the top of the second hour, his ability to veil these little aberrations began to dwindle.

“If we station our heavy-hitters here, and here,” Chuuya pointed to two locales on the diagram, “then we can withhold their appearance until the action begins and use them as a trump card.  Alternatively, we c—”

The word hooked in his throat, and his fist darted to his lips as he ducked away to clear it with a short cough.  Dazai kept his expression carefully flat against his urge to smirk at the soft pink that blossomed over Chuuya’s cheeks.  Mori merely blinked, waiting for Chuuya to continue, though Dazai was certain the snake was following the same progression of quirks just as astutely as he himself was—perhaps with less intrigue.  Chuuya cleared his throat.  “Excuse me.  Alternatively, we can lead with our heavy-hitters and take the straightforward approach of intimidation.”

Mori rested his elbows on the desk and brought his fingers together point by point.  “Both options have their benefits.  Which one will serve us better will depend on…”

The boss droned on, but Dazai stopped listening.  He used the moment to steal another glance at his partner.  Chuuya was blatantly struggling, and it was adorable.  By now his knuckle had come to rest under his septum, and as staunchly as the redhead tried to pay attention to the discourse, the vacant look fluttering over his eyes was threatening to break his game.  His hand tightened into a fist.

Oh, this is excellent.

Dazai had never, ever, ever, seen Chuuya successfully suppress a sneeze.  Plenty of times he had seen him try, and a handful of times had watched the little guy battle it for as long as humanly possible until he couldn’t breathe and it finally claimed him, usually with a vengeful ferocity he wouldn’t have been subjected to had he just given in early on.  Under Mori-sama’s audience, it was evident that Chuuya was clinging to the hopeful delusion he would find triumph this time.  How funny.

He was going strong for the time being.  After a moment of clenching his jaw so tightly that Dazai could see the sleek muscle along his cheek twitch, Chuuya managed to withdraw his hand from his face and maintain his composure.  Any lesser observer might have been fooled; the hatrack kept his expression carefully stern, all the lines drawing it flat and unmoving, emotionless.  A commendable mask, but it hid nothing when he inhaled only half as often as he should.  Dazai knew he could only hold out for so long.  Chuuya had hit his peak.  Now the only way to go was down.

“And if all this is to fail?”  Dazai redirected his gaze to the boss, keeping the spectacle in his periphery.  Mori met each of their eyes before continuing.  “If we are met with an as yet unforeseen obstacle that robs us of our advantages?”

He looked to Dazai, then Chuuya, not caring which subordinate provided him with an answer as long as he got one.  Dazai whipped his head toward his compatriot, beaming with the most honest smile he had worn all week, and swooped an open hand in front of him in a benevolent gesture to offer Chuuya the gift of speaking.  Chuuya swallowed hard against the undoubtable urge to glower, then he spoke carefully.

“In that case,” he said roughly, then swallowed again to smooth his voice, “I will release the true form of my ability and annihilate any threat posed to us.  It will result in destruction and involve a massive clean-up, but that is why it is a last resort.”

Mori’s fingers interlaced, and he tapped his thumbs together in front of his lips in consideration of the proposal.  His gaze did not waiver from Chuuya, and Dazai wondered if the boss was waiting for precisely the same thing he was.  When it didn’t come, he nodded.  “Very well.  I’ll trust yours and Dazai-kun’s discretion on whether or not the situation calls for resorting to that tactic.”

“It will not be a decision made lightly,” Chuuya assured.

“Good.”  At last, Mori’s chin came to rest over the bridge of his hands, and the smile that made Dazai inherently nauseous spread across the mob boss’s face.  “Then I am satisfied with our tactics for this operation.  I look forward to seeing which events play out.”

Chuuya nodded, and Mori picked up his pen and began writing, as if the two had already left.  That was the dismissal.  The meeting was adjourned.  After three hours of standing like good dogs before their master’s feet and poring over every minute detail of the day to come, from the number of expected enemies and down to the hairline crack in building’s floorboards, the conference ended like a swift bullet to the chest.  The restrained sigh that escaped Chuuya’s lips was audible.  The redhead was already mid-turn and posed to make his exit, eager to escape the audience of the boss for the catastrophe he was trying so valiantly to keep under composure.  Dazai surrendered his full gaze, and he could see the relief plastered over Chuuya’s face, could see the thoughts streaming through his head as the little mafia thanked all the gods that he was going to make it out of Mori’s office with his dignity still intact.

Well, that just won’t do.

“One more thing, Boss.”

Mori’s pen stopped, and Dazai watched with delight out of the corner of his eye as all the muscles in Chuuya’s body froze.  The boss set his pen down, and he brought his immaculately white-gloved fingers together once more.

“Yes, Dazai-kun?”

Dazai smiled.  A beaming, guileless smile, as Chuuya rotated degree by strained degree back around to face Mori.  Dazai could see—no, he could feel—Chuuya’s composure dissipating, as every ounce of control he could muster was burning up like a candle out of wax.  He wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer.  Dazai would only have to stall for another minute.

“A trivial matter when it comes to course of action, but it may behoove us to have a second team of cleaners on standby….”

Dazai spewed the inconsequential words, stretching each sentence to as long as he could get away with to buy more time.  It was a tactic he couldn’t impose for more than an extra moment, a look of boredom already dulling Mori’s eyes as he droned on (and he was quite certain the boss sensed his ulterior motive, he just didn’t care); but one extra moment was all he needed.  

A short gasp seized Chuuya’s throat.

“…think it would be better to have Team A lined up…”  Dazai rambled, then finished.  Mori began his response.  Just a little bit longer.  He was so close.  Chuuya’s outline was rigid as stone next to him.  Dazai chanced a quick glance.

Chuuya was holding his breath.

Game over.

“heh’kNtCHShiuh!!”  Mori was mid-sentence when Chuuya lost it, and the redhead’s hand darted up to his face as he lurched mercilessly to the side, nearly bent double by the force of it.  Even at the last second Dazai could tell he had tried to strangle it, but his voice cracked through anyway with such relentlessness that even the guards propped outside the door probably heard it.  Just one would have been beautiful enough.  Then like a gift from the heavens, Chuuya’s breath hitched again.  “Hh!-huhTSHhjzh’u!!”

A wonderfully awkward moment of silence followed the second one as both Chuuya’s partner and his boss stared unabashedly at him.  Mori never returned to his sentence, most likely deeming it useless at this point, and he regarded Chuuya with a wide-eyed kind of expression that almost looked like bemusement, but a feigned version of it.  Chuuya sniffed, his wrist still firmly planted under his nose, and there was a pause of bated breath where Dazai was certain all three of them were wondering if there was going to be a third.  Chuuya righted his posture and rubbed his forefinger under his nose.  His cheeks were a brilliant shade of scarlet.  “Excuse me,” he said at last.

A weightless smile slid across Mori’s face, not quite the delighted smirk that Dazai wore, but a grin that was etched with something that made Dazai’s insides coil and soured his enjoyment.  He knew Mori had been just as astute about Chuuya’s degradation throughout the meeting and had, until now, elected not to comment on it.  Now, it seemed the situation demanded his attention.

Dazai supposed that was probably his fault.

Chuuya stood in obedience like a dog waiting to be whipped.  Though when Mori spoke, his voice betrayed no outright intent of punishment.

“Have you taken ill, Chuuya-kun?”

Tell the truth, Chuuya, Dazai thought to himself, and he shot his partner a sideways glance that said as much.  Chuuya pretended he wasn’t there.  Mori will know if you don’t.

Chuuya’s spine straightened, and his chin dropped down a notch as he looked Mori in the eye.  He swallowed before speaking.  “Not to any extent I am concerned with.”

Well, that wasn’t a lie.  No extent of illness would concern Chuuya if there was work to be done and appearances to be made.  The stubborn hothead would still get up and go to work without concern even if he had a fever of one hundred and five, provided that he was still conscious.

“That’s good.”  Mori’s face seemed to slacken with relief.  Another feigned expression.  “I want to be confident that your health won’t compromise your safety—or success—during the operation in a few days.”

Chuuya kept his gaze hard.  “I can assure you that it won’t.”

“I don’t doubt that you haven’t the slightest intention of letting it.”  Mori’s fingers fell between one another, a gesture that always intwined Chuuya and Dazai both, as if to mimic the knotted leashes that restrained them in his office until dismissed.  “It does, however, make me ponder the ramifications that seem to arise from your repeated use of Corruption.”

Dazai let no tick of discomfort break his impassivity, but he had to admit—only to himself—that the same thought had crossed his mind far before they entered into this little discussion.  Corruption, the true form and full extent of Chuuya’s ability, never released him easily—or willingly for that matter.  It was a ravaging force hellbent on decimating everything in its wake, including the body of its host, and the preservation of Chuuya’s life depended on Dazai’s ability to step in and nullify its power.  The scenario was always the same.  A short string of poetry from Chuuya’s lips, a soundless crack that ruptured through the atmosphere as if rending the force of gravity itself, and then the destruction.  Annihilation.  Of anything and everything that stood in its way.  Every time, Dazai watched from the side as Chuuya’s skin began to turn black and blood spilled from his face, and a laughter that wasn’t his own clawed through his chest as the person that Dazai knew to be Chuuya was swallowed by an entity that was something else entirely.  Every time, Dazai brought him back.  Every time, just for a fraction of a second, before his hand could meet Chuuya’s skin, he hoped—prayed even—that it wasn’t going to be too late.  And every time, it was Dazai who carried his partner’s unconscious body back to base.

“How so, sir?”

Chuuya spoke with as much confidence as he could muster, but he still couldn’t cover the fact that he knew exactly what Mori was getting at.  Mori continued, like a doctor going over his patient’s specs, and maybe Dazai was the only one who could see the very un-doctorly demeanor underneath it all.

“From your operation reports, you and Dazai-kun have resorted to using Corruption twice in the past month.  The first resulted in your hospitalization for two days.  The second, for four, from which you were discharged just last week.  My concern is that the frequent release of this tactic is having a degrading effect on your immune system.”  Mori paused, then his eyes narrowed.  “And of course, it begs the question of whether or not Corruption will be able to persist with the same efficacy.”

That's it, then.  Dazai knew the boss’s true intention would drip out eventually.  Hiding behind flowery words of concern didn’t suit him.  What Mori was really concerned about was preserving one of his best weapons.

Dazai bit into the side of his tongue to keep his expression flat.

“I see what you mean,” Chuuya acknowledged. 

“After all,” Mori went on, “I’m certain the last thing any of us would want is to see you caught in an unfortunate situation that depended on your release of Corruption, only to try and have it fail.”

Chuuya’s head tilted into a short nod.  “I agree.”

“I thought you would.”  Mori’s face jumped into a disgustingly cheerful smile.  “So I think it would be wise to take the next few days to consider a new last resort, should the need arise.  And in any case…”  Something sharp glinted across Mori’s eyes that resembled the flick of his scalpel, and as he continued his voice floated with a delicate passion as if he were speaking about a Renaissance art piece.  “With a display of such raw… exquisite power… it is more magnificent to keep as a rarity.”

“Of course, Boss.”  Once again, Chuuya nodded, this time sinking into a bow.  He had to.  They both knew that was the formality.  Dazai would have done the same were he the one being addressed.  But it stabbed him every time to see that the redhead did it out of sincere respect, and not just obligation.

“I look forward to seeing what strategy you devise.”  Mori picked up his pen again.  “And do make sure to take care of yourself, Chuuya-kun.”

With that, they really were dismissed, and Chuuya wasted no time in giving one final “Yes, Boss,” before whipping around and making a beeline for the door with strides much longer than Dazai would have thought possible for his short legs to maintain.  Dazai’s eyes met Mori’s, locking in to a silent stare without words that didn’t need to be spoken, and when Dazai broke it to turn and follow Chuuya, he felt something wrench with a resistance that was unexplainably tangible.  The sensation of violet eyes piercing the back of his head stayed with him until he crossed the doorway and the mafia boss’s office doors closed behind him.

Chuuya was tapping his foot with a ferocity that threatened to chisel a dent into the floor when Dazai approached behind him, undoubtedly hoping that the elevator would arrive for a swift escape before his partner caught up.  But clearly today was not going to be a day where things went Chuuya’s way.  His shoulders stiffened as Dazai stepped beside him, and the redhead’s desire to punch him in the face emanated so blatantly from every inch of his diminutive stature it was practically sounding an alarm.  But he kept his fists to himself, and apart from the profusion of rancor that he was still in Dazai’s presence, he elected to pretend like his partner wasn’t there.  Evidently he was hoping for a quiet ride down to where they could part ways without a word.

Dazai decided to indulge him in that aspiration just for a little bit.

A short growl escaped Chuuya’s teeth when the elevator pinged—really, Chuuya, could you be any more transparent—and at last the doors slid apart.  He immediately stomped to the farthest corner and propped himself against the wall, crossing his arms over one another and burning a hole into the floor with his eyes.  Free from the cage of Mori’s office, Dazai let the grin he’d been suppressing spread comfortably over his face.  It was like watching the bubbles rise in a simmering pot of water, one after the other, faster and faster, awaiting the roiling boil…  

He barely even had to wait for it before the heat was too much for Chuuya to bear.

The redhead’s voice hissed out through his teeth.  “I hate you more than I can possibly express.”

“Good work for trying to express it anyway!”

“You—!” Chuuya started, and seemed to grapple with a variety of insults and accusations he could throw at Dazai, but decided against all of them in anticipation of his partner having a riposte ready for each—which, naturally, Dazai did.  His sentence instead trailed off on an unfinished consonant sound as he brought his molars together.  “Don’t talk to me for the rest of the elevator ride.”

“But I’ve missed talking to Chuuya!”  Dazai leaned against the same wall and sidled up next to him, taking note of the little dimple that formed in his cheek when he cringed.  “Chuuya has been screening my calls for the past two days!”

“Because I didn’t wanna talk to you then either.”

“Really?”  Dazai flung his voice up playfully, tilting his head to throw Chuuya more into the spotlight, “I assumed it was because you knew your voice was wrecked and didn’t want me to find out you were sick.”

In lieu of a response, Chuuya tried for a controlled deep breath through his nose—which really didn’t help his case any since it resulted in a prolonged whistling that stretched the length of the inhale, and also just made the congestion in his chest more evident.  Dazai watched the pink dust over his cheeks yet again.

“At first I thought,” Dazai prodded on, “that perhaps you were with a new girlfriend.  But upon coming to my senses I cast that option away pretty quickly, on account of how outrageous it was.  I mean I know some women like the tsundere type, and some like the boy lolita type, but I’m not sure there are many women who like both in one.”

“Do you seriously want to die in an elevator?”

“So my next guess was that you were avoiding me because you were hiding something.  And what exactly that was became obvious from the start of your internal struggle in the boss’s office.”

Chuuya was now turning his head as far away from Dazai as he could twist it, and Dazai had a pretty clear idea as to why.  Blessedly, they still had a fair many floors to go.

“It’s a shame you didn’t tell me though,” Dazai whined.  “I could have gotten the good stuff from the infirmary for you.”

Chuuya might have been pretending not to hear him.  If he was, his efforts were becoming rapidly distracted by the thing Dazai was certain the redhead would not be able to suppress before they parted ways.  His breathing had slowed to short, careful sips.

“You were probably thinking you could take care of yourself, but unfortunately Chuuya I don’t think wine is good for a cold.”

“Will you just sh-uh—hh!—s-shut up?”

There it is.

Dazai let his grin sharpen.  “Okay.”

Taking Chuuya up on his request, Dazai closed his mouth, and waited.  The acquiescence made the redhead break his stubbornness and actually whip around to look at him, which soon became clear as a mistake on his part.  Letting his guard down for one second was all it took for the short hitch to jump into his throat, and his hand snapped to his face as quickly—and as blatantly—as a flash of lightning.  Chuuya grappled with his nose, his grip clasped so tightly to his mouth that he was probably in danger of suffocating, and probably would indeed prefer to lose consciousness instead of succumb to the spasm in front of Dazai again.  The battle was even more hilarious than the one Chuuya had put up in the meeting with Mori, as evidently instead of simply sneezing he would rather look like an idiot obviously trying not to sneeze, who was going to end up sneezing anyway.

The fight did not last long.

“H’ihnkTSHjSh’iih!”  Chuuya’s form convulsed forward, and his voice broke through his fingers as the spasm destroyed his attempt to stifle.  One would think that, after however many thousands of sneezes he must have tried to suppress in his life, only to end up at the same outcome, Chuuya would give in at this point and stop thinking he could actually stop himself from sneezing.  Of course, by a similar line of logic, one would also think that watching the same sequence happen over and over again would get boring.  And yet, Dazai still found it damn entertaining every single time.

“À tes souhaits,” Dazai chimed.

“Shut uh—heh’kGtSSHiuh!!”  He lurched again, his voice wrenched even higher this time, somewhere up in the octaves it bounces to when he’s overreacting to some little thing that Dazai did.  Dazai gave it fifty-fifty odds that there would be another right on its tail.  The elevator came to a stop at the bottom floor, and the doors slid open at last, but Chuuya didn’t move.  Another short gasp stole his ability to do anything.  His hand kept its starfish clamp over his face—because a fat lot of good that had been doing so far—and his chin tilted up, rising another notch with each tiny flutter of breath.  “h-heh’t—!…”  His chest seized, right on the edge of plunging him into it, and then like a cheap whore the sensation flitted away unsatisfied.  Chuuya emitted a sound of fury that was somewhere between a huff and a growl as he stormed out, and Dazai’s gut was left with a dropping feeling as if the elevator had plummeted down from the top floor with the force of gravity.

The outside air was thick with a frigid moisture, with spring well underway but Yokohama still refusing to thaw after a long winter.  The hour was just cresting dinner time, though the heavy clouds overhead shaded the city with the illusion that the sun had already set.  Dazai kept a pace behind Chuuya and a sidestep to the right, making a note to himself that the little mafia had not, in fact, taken the avenue that would lead to his flat.  His posture stiffened as they walked—a notable difference in his usual fluidity of motion that was always imbued with a natural grace—and after the first block he actually shrugged his arms into his sleeves, in a rare divergence from letting his coat drape loosely from his shoulders.

“Are you cold, Chuuya?”

Chuuya’s shoulders drew themselves even higher.  “Your apartment is that way,” he pointed behind them.

Dazai pointed east.  “And yours is that way.”

“Are you really going to follow me!?”

“Just wondering where you’re going.”  Dazai stuck his hands in his pockets and skipped up to parallel his partner.  “We’ve already established you don’t have a girlfriend, so it’s not to her.”

“Where I’m going is none of your fucking business—”  There might have been more to that sentence, but if there was it was stolen by a coughing fit.  Chuuya’s fist flew to his lips as he choked on the last word, devolving into an attack he had far less success in restraining than the short one that had plagued him in Mori’s office.  Even over the short course of time Dazai had been with him today, he could see that the redhead was getting worse, and it was evident that he was rapidly nearing the pit of it.  Dazai wouldn’t be surprised if a fever was simmering under that dumb hat of his.  The little hothead could only stave it off for so long, and at this point any rational person would stomp straight home and into bed, not off to somewhere under the unsettlingly gray sky to run errands.

Rational was never really Chuuya’s forte.

“You’re going to get caught in the rain.”

“I didn’t ask for your input!”  This time Chuuya stopped, pivoting on his foot and stomping down with the other one to face Dazai.  His shoe hit the ground with a small cracking noise, and Dazai suspected a trace of his ability seeped into that tantrum.  In the next second, Dazai’s collar garroted him from the back of his neck, hoisting him downward to a level that matched the short-statured angry bean, and Dazai had to admit he was a little impressed that even through the encumbrance of sickness Chuuya was still able to maintain his notorious swiftness of attack.  His black glove twisted into the fabric of Dazai’s shirt.  “As you’ve so astutely noticed, I am really not in the mood to put up with your bullshit.  I am tired, I feel like shit, and I am done with you.  So if you don’t fuck off right now I swear to god I will mutilate you in a place you will not want to have to bandage.”

In another movement too quick for Dazai to react to, the heel of Chuuya’s palm was against his sternum and Dazai was sent stumbling backwards, just barely managing to stay on his feet.  Chuuya whipped away with the flap of a sleek black coat and was already half a block down the street by the time Dazai steadied himself, the pressure point still throbbing in his chest where he was probably going to get a bruise now.  He watched the little ball of fury descend the street and the tail of his coat ripple with the force of his gait.  Chuuya was almost out of sight when in the midst of his stride his body buckled forward, staggering him with another sneeze that made him have to make a quick grab to save his hat.  Dazai could just barely hear the grumble of frustration as his partner rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

Dazai decided he would oblige the poor guy.  For now.  He knew where Chuuya was going anyway, and he didn’t fancy also getting caught in the downpour just to follow him.  It was a sad mélange of cute and pitiful, watching his partner attempt to take care of himself, while knowing he was just going to end up in a bigger puddle of misery for it.  Dazai never quite grew accustomed to that feeling, on the rare occasions it flared within him; of being eager to watch the crash and burn, while at the same time enduring the twinge of pain that wrenched his gut.  He wasn’t altogether sure he was pleased with that latter part. 

In any case, he couldn’t stop Chuuya from doing what Chuuya was bound and determined to do.  That was fine.  It gave Dazai plenty of time to get to where he needed to be.

He just had to make a pit stop first.

*****
(To be continued...)
 

Edited July 16, 2017 by alias
Updating Part 3 in thread title

[Ti🌸]

I nearly choked on my drink when I saw this?!!! (I've been quite consistently stalking the drabbles page eagerly awaiting more content from you!)

Perhaps you already know how much I LOVE these two. And the fact that there's two more parts to come?! ? For goodness sakes Chuuya, yeesh! You are certainly something.

I've been trying to write lately, and reading your work reminds me again that I have a LONG way to go to write anything worth reading. But I'm also more inspired and motivated reading such wonderful, descriptive writing.

Can I just also say, aside from the obvious things that your writing style is, like, really pretty? I'm not great with words myself, but the atmosphere you create is just so fluid and pulls me into a trance or something.

At any rate, I'm certainly looking forward to reading more whenever it may happen to come out! And thank you for sharing as always!

[laura]

OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! I'M ACTUALLY SCREAMING RN AHHHHHH! (Everyone: oh my gosh calm down it's just fanfiction... Me: IT IS NOT JUST FANFICTION IT'S ART THAT I DON'T DESERVE TO EVEN LOOK AT IT'S AN ACTUAL SIN PLZ KILL ME!) 

I have been diligently checking the forum every single day for the last month to see if you had posted and I was about to cry of happiness when I saw this.  It's not even okay how perfect this is, i'm already in love.

You already know how absolutely obsessed I am with Soukoku (especially Chuuya) and your writing of them has more than exceeded my expectations! I swear everything you write is already absolutely perfect but every time you update with something else it still gets better and I start crying all over again!  ARE YOU AN ACTUAL ANGLE THAT'S THE ONLY EXPLANATION I HAVE FOR HOW PERFECT THIS IS!?!?!?! 

I don't think i've ever said this before but your insanely extensive vocabulary is reallyyyy impressive. Some of these words I even have to look up cause I don't even know what they mean lolll (i'm so dumb, don't judge me). But it really makes your writing look professional and makes everything super descriptive which is what I live for when it comes to sneezes.  I WOULD ACTUALLY PAY TO READ YOUR STUFF IT'S SO PERFECT WE I DO NOT DESERVE YOU!

CHUUYAAAAAA OMG MY POOR BABY!! He's just the most precious cinnamon bun it's sooo adorable! Oh my god I FREAKIN LOVE how hard he tries to hold back his sneezes but totally fails pshhhh he's so precious. And my favorite thing in the whole world is when people get so embarrassed after sneezing or if they sneeze at a really awkward time and totally embarrass themselves and start blushing omg I can't it's just so cute!!!! Dazai if you don't freakin propose soon I'm doing it, just sayin. 

Ummmmm... honestly this comment doesn't do you justice AT ALL but I just need to say how absolutely, totally, insanely thankful I am for all the Soukoku writing you've graced me us with. I really really really super adore it and I am SO EXITED for the next 2 parts!!! HIT ME WITH THE SNEEZY SOUKOKU I AM READYYYY!!! 

 

[alias]

@Tippy Ahhhhhhhh I'm so excited you're excited!!!   Your comments always make me SO happy and you always say such nice things and you have no idea how much it means to me!  You give me confidence to keep writing. <3 And YAS these two, GAH!  I am so hopelessly obsessed with them, and I CANNOT STOP fantasizing about sick!Chuuya.  Chuuya is just... beautiful perfection.  He's all I wanna write... all I wanna draw... all I wanna cosplay... I CAN'T STOP! XD  And duuuuuuude PLEASE WRITE!  I would LOVE to see a fic from you!!!  You got this!!!  Just dive in and go for it and it will be awesome.  Judging by all of your wonderful comments, you do quite well with words, so I think you should go for it.   Thank you so much!

@laura  OMG YOUR ENTHUSIASM GIVES ME LIFE!  I'm so happy to have pleased a fellow Soukoku fan.  I get so happy reading your comments and seeing that you appreciated all the heart and soul I put into these babes.  <3  Hehehe yaaaas Chuuya is a chronic tries-to-stifle-every-damn-time-but-never-succeeds-er. XD  You'd think he would learn.  Naturally, the only thing to do next is turn up the torment.    I'm not sure who's having more fun, me or Dazai.  Dude thank you so much for all of your detailed and extensive comments!  Your compliments are so kind and they give me confidence and inspiration to write more.    It brings me so much joy to see how much you enjoyed it and it makes me love sharing! *hugs you forever*

On to part two!  Here are a few more helpful notes in case you need them:
-Corruption (the true and destructive form of Chuuya's ability) is activated when Chuuya utters the phrase "Oh, grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again."  (Fun fact, this is a line of poetry from the real-life Nakahara Chuuya, in the poem Sheep Song).
-I apologize for Chuuya's foul mouth.  He's quite frustrated at the moment.

Other note:  In the previous chapter and in this one, I used the honorific -sama for how Chuuya addresses Mori.  I don't know if this is the most accurate, but it seemed right, since I believe Chuuya regards Mori with a great deal of respect.  I think Dazai would be more likely to use -dono or -san, but I have him also using -sama in these instances because he was sort of speaking in terms of how Chuuya would reference Mori.  I do not speak Japanese, I only consulted a Japanese-speaking friend about it, and she gave me some insight, so this is just my guess.  Feel free to chime in if you have other thoughts about it!  

Away we go!

******

CHAPTER TWO: The Invalid and the Idiot

 

Dazai was right.

He hated that.  With every splashing stomp Chuuya trod from the pharmacy back to his apartment, that was ten times more unpleasant than his now sopping wet clothes, the burgeoning ache that seemed to be seeded just under his skin, and the stupid fucking itch that had been ever-present in his sinuses since before he woke up this morning.  And he was one-hundred percent certain that right now, the bastard was sitting somewhere warm and dry and watching the ocean of rain pour down onto Yokohama with an indulgent smile splitting his face.

“Fuck him…” Chuuya growled to himself, though it only served to remind him that his throat was burning too.  He lengthened his strides.  At this point his coat had taken on so much water that it was rendered completely useless.  In fact, all of his clothing was doing nothing but clinging to his form and hugging the freezing moisture closer.  Even his hat couldn’t protect his hair from the deluge anymore, and the strands stuck to the side of his face in curled, wet clumps.  He clenched his fist more tightly around the plastic bag in his hand and told himself that the cheap meds better be worth it.

The trek did not go by fast, even at his dogged pace.  The sun had long since set by the time he finally reached his apartment building, the temperature dropping along with it, and when he crossed the threshold he was shivering so violently that he almost dropped the sack of drugs he had endured all the torture for.  When he finally reached the elevator, he surrendered to the strain and let himself collapse against the back wall.  He stood there for longer than he’d be willing to admit before realizing he needed to push the button.

Getting his key into the lock proved to be a more difficult feat than it should have been.  Hell, trying to get his numb fingers around his keyring and pull it out of his pocket proved to be a more difficult feat than it should have been.  After scratching the blade end against the keyhole and missing the mark three times, he was about ready to switch tactics and kick the door in instead.  It also didn’t help that the itch buzzing through the back of his nose chose this moment to remind him of its presence and make the task that much more difficult.  His breath leapt, and he tried to resist the urge to let his eyes flutter so he could get the fucking key in the fucking hole.  “Hh-heh—!”  Dammit!  He jammed his tongue into the roof of his mouth in a desperate attempt to stave it off, at least until he got inside.  Miraculously, the key found its socket, and he wrenched the door open just in time for the spasm to throw him through it.

“Ehh’tNChSSHiuh!!”  He staggered, having to catch his balance with a few unsteady steps.  His mind finally unravelled itself enough to allow him to bring his hand to his face, though far after the fact and doing no good to actually cover the outburst.  He pressed the back of his glove against his septum and growled his discontent as he kicked the door to slam it shut behind him.  The irritation was by no means quelled, though whether or not it was going to assert itself again was beyond Chuuya’s ability to predict.  He crunched his fist harder into his face to threaten the symptom back into submission, as if he had any sway over it one way or the other.  He supposed it didn’t really matter at this point, since he was alone in his own home.

“À tes souhaits.”

The voice really should have surprised Chuuya.  It should have made his heart leap out of his chest, and immediately drawn him into a fight stance, with his knife unsheathed and already taking the first stab at the unwelcome intruder.  Perhaps a stranger’s voice would have activated that instinct.  And any other voice that he knew might have activated the surprise as well.  But as this one roped his insides, reeling his gaze upward to greet it, there was a small part of Chuuya—in the corner of his mind where Dazai reigned—that already expected the bastard to be there.

“I’m changing my locks.”  Again.

Dazai sat with one leg crossed over the other at the kitchen counter, sipping something hot and steaming from one of Chuuya’s mugs.  “That won’t help.”

“You know, sane people don’t break into their partners’ apartments and just make themselves at home when they are completely unwanted.”

Dazai’s expression fell flat, and for a second Chuuya almost thought that his little insult actually had an effect.  But no, that would have been far too easy.  Dazai’s unbandaged eye hardened, then scaled Chuuya from his hat to his shoes, and he could tell that the look that sharpened Dazai’s face was not from the words he’d said, but more likely from the hoarse sound shaping them.  Chuuya felt a heat prickle at his cheeks as he heard it himself.

“You shouldn’t have gone out, Chuuya.  You sound like a truck ran you over.  The rain doesn’t suit you.”  Dazai’s tone was grave, like a cop reading him his rights—in some alternate universe where any of them actually got caught for their misdeeds.  

“I was getting cold meds,” Chuuya growled, maybe a little too defensively.  He brandished the bag at the intruder, as if that would serve any kind of purpose to his argument, then flung it to the side so he could take off his shoes.  A trickle of water dripped from his hat brim when he tilted his head down, collecting in the puddle that was already growing at his feet.

Dazai watched him without saying anything for a good thirty seconds, and Chuuya made a point to pretend like he wasn’t there.  Forgoing the laces, he stepped on the heel of his shoe, and it released his wet sock with a squelching, suction noise.  The second one did the same thing, and he ignored it, then tore off his gloves with his teeth and chucked them down next to his shoes, where they landed with a splat.  He turned away to hang up his hat and overcoat, and nearly lost his footing in the slickness of the puddle he had just acknowledged.

“Did Chuuya forget?”  Like changing the channel on the television, Dazai’s tone bounced back up to its playful peal, and Chuuya’s muscles automatically tensed in response.  “I told you I would bring you the good stuff!”

It was probably the fuzziness in his head that kept him from seeing it before, or maybe the pounding ache between his eyes, but now as he turned his attention back to Dazai, he saw the paper bag that sat solitary on the counter.  Dazai held it up to draw his attention, then tipped it over and dumped the contents into view.  A vast medley of prescription-worthy medications toppled out over the surface, all of it a far cry from the over-the-counter crap he had picked up on his heavens-forsaken trip to the drugstore.  Chuuya blinked, and his eyes swiveled back and forth between the counter and Dazai’s crooked smirk a few times, before he realized his mouth was hanging open and he looked like an idiot.  He jabbed a knuckle to his head.  Something of the sort trickled in his memory… something about raiding the infirmary… bringing him meds…  No, Chuuya would have remembered if Dazai had said he was going to be showing up at his apartment.  Unless… did he just miss it?  Fuck.  His head was not cooperating.  And he loathed it even more for making him second-guess himself.  He looked to the rain-soaked bag on the ground, then back up to the far superior assortment on the counter.  Every single irritation, ache, and exhaustion he was feeling seemed to all throb at once.

To hell with it.

Chuuya hung his pride up with his coat, picked through the back-alley pharmacy on his counter, and tossed back three pills with the glass of water Dazai pushed toward him.  The liquid stung his throat, and he coughed after he swallowed, having to chase it with another drink.

“I hate you,” Chuuya grumbled when he’d regained his faculties.

“You’re welcome.”  Dazai beamed and swiveled on the stool with glee.  

“If you get your ass kicked for stealing all that, I had no part in it.”

A soft laugh hummed from Dazai’s lips as he relished in some thought that Chuuya’s comment kindled, and Chuuya was very certain he did not want to know what tactic he’d enacted in pilfering the infirmary that made him react like that.  The lunatic elected to keep it to himself, and when Chuuya sat down the water glass, Dazai slid him a mug of steaming liquid identical to the one he was sipping—another thing Chuuya hadn’t noticed sitting on the counter.  This one Chuuya ignored, and he whipped back around to finish divesting himself of his sodden outer clothing.

“So what’s your motive?”  Chuuya yanked at a sock that refused to slip off his foot.  “What are you trying to accomplish this time?”

Dazai propped his elbow against the counter, watching the struggle.  When the sock finally gave and Chuuya had to hop awkwardly to keep from falling over, he threw it at him.  It would have made a better point if the soggy garment flew further than halfway.  Dazai’s eyes followed the sad projectile, then sparkled back up at Chuuya.  “Can’t I do something nice for my partner?”

“No,” Chuuya shot back.  “You literally can’t.  Don’t make me laugh.  You don’t do nice things for people.  And even if you’re pretending to be nice, it’s undoubtedly part of some grand plan.”

The accused sipped his beverage, and Chuuya couldn’t see his face.  Dazai shrugged.  “Maybe Chuuya is my exception.”

“Bullshit.”  He could think of a million examples to counter Dazai’s statement.  A million times Chuuya was his toy and Dazai exploited every way he knew how to piss him off and make him miserable.  From the moment four years ago when Mori-sama uttered the words “Meet your new partner,” to this very afternoon when Dazai held him sadistically in the boss’s office, Chuuya had not lived through one breathable moment with Dazai where the bastard didn’t incite the urge to strangle him.  He had a novel’s worth of incidents.

Unfortunately he wasn’t going to get the chance to voice any.

“H-h!—”  Dammit, not again.  As if Dazai’s torment wasn’t enough, his own body was just as eager to knock him on his ass.  Chuuya put his back to Dazai—whose eyes were no doubt already hooked on him as if he were a circus attraction—and clamped his bare hand over his face.  The contact with his own skin made him flinch, remembering just now that he had taken his gloves off, and the brief pause was enough to cost him the fight.  “h-eht’NjCHSSh’iih!!  ih’GhNXtsh’hh!!”

The double wrenched him forward, and trying to stop it knifed a pain between his eyes.  He didn’t dare turn around yet, positive that a third was lurking just behind the first two and would mob him the instant he let his guard down.  He sniffed and stood rigid, waiting for it, but after too much time passed there was only so long he could stand there idle without looking like a complete and utter idiot.  He scrubbed his fist against his nose in a hope to bat away as much of the itch as he could, then wheeled away into the hall without looking at Dazai.

“Are you finally going to change into dry clothes?”

“I’m—h’tjSShCHiuh!”  Goddammit!  Chuuya’s hands shook in fury—or it could have been because he was fucking freezing…  Maybe a combination of both.  He flung open the hall closet and the door clattered against the wall, and it probably left a dent but he didn’t care enough to check.  He snagged a towel, slammed the door shut, then stomped back into the kitchen to look pointedly at his uninvited guest.

“I’m going to take a long, hot shower, which will give you plenty of time to get the hell out.  You better be gone by the time I’m done.”

Without giving Dazai the chance to respond—or the opportunity to watch him lose his composure again—Chuuya stormed off into the bathroom and let that door slam behind him too.  He wasn’t even in there for two seconds when he sneezed again, and his voice ripped through his throat and bounced off the hard walls in an echo, as if only to mock him and provide immeasurable entertainment to the asshole outside who had undoubtedly heard it.  When he recovered, he yanked the shower faucet as hard as he could and let the cascade of water drown out any other unexpected outbursts.

It took him a minute or two to finally strip off all his clothes, his already tight pants having adhered so staunchly to his skin that he had to brace himself against the wall and heave at the cuffs just to get them to pull away from his thighs.  He left everything in a damp heap on the floor, and he knew that he was going to hate himself for it later, when his head stopped swirling and every inch of his body stopped aching, but right now all he wanted to do was stand under the hot shower and stay there until his electricity went out.  Clouds of steam billowed from over the shower curtain, and he stepped in without even testing the temperature.  The sudden heat against his cold skin made him jolt, and it was almost too much to bear, but he was too tired to bother adjusting the knob.  He wished it felt more soothing than it actually did.

He made a half-hearted attempt to shampoo his hair and wash himself, and after a while he lost account for how long he’d just been standing under the faucet.  The steam worked its way into his chest, and he coughed in a broken way that relieved some of the tightness, though he couldn’t decide if it made him feel better or worse.  Eventually, the heat was doing less to keep him warm and more to make him dizzy, and he cut the water flow sooner than he had told himself he was going to.

Chuuya started shivering the second he stepped out of the shower, and he let a slew of curses chatter from his teeth.  It seemed the universe was determined to not let him get comfortable.  He dried his hair and slipped into a bathrobe, which he wished was longer and thicker, though even if it were he wasn’t sure it would do much good.  If those fucking meds didn’t start kicking in soon… well, there wasn’t actually anything he could do about it, but he felt the need to threaten someone anyway.  Dazai, probably.  Blaming Dazai was always a safe bet.  He wondered if the bastard had actually left…

Chuuya buried his face in his towel.  This sucked.  He thought of all the times he had gotten the shit beat out of him when an operation didn’t go according to plan, or when he went too hard on a sparring match in training, and still he would trade this for all those bruises and broken bones, because even though they were painful at least those injuries stood for something.  This though, this was just pathetic.  How did this even happen?  He was not one to be flippant with his health.  At his position in the mafia, there were too many occasions that required his presence—and his alert presence, at that—that he meticulously took measures to avoid falling ill.  How did it catch up to him?

Oh, grantors of dark disgrace…

Chuuya shook his head as the words trailed through it, unbidden, and as he thought them something hot and eager seemed to claw from the inside of his stomach.  Like something dormant that heard the memory, and wanted out.  He planted his hands against the sink and shook his head again.  He was rewarded with a new bout of vertigo that made him clench the counter edge more tightly.  Well, if that is the reason, he thought to himself, then this is just another war wound to deal with.  And besides, it’s a fluke thing anyway.  This won’t happen again.

He brought his fist down over the countertop and met his reflection in the mirror… and wished he hadn’t.  He watched his reflection cringe at him, and before he could stop his own traitorous thoughts he wondered if the sight was that atrocious when Dazai greeted him not half an hour ago.  The scarlet flush over his cheeks beamed vibrantly against the blue of his eyes, which in turn were cradled in crescents so dark he may as well have been bruised after all.  The rest of his face was just a pallid canvas to sallow features.  Great.  He scowled at the image, trying at least to imbue it with a more formidable essence, and as if in defiance to this notion, his body made him audience to its own antics as a stuttering hitch stole his breath and his eyelids began to flutter.

“Hh-hh!… heh’NGhXTt!!”  He ground his teeth together to try and stop it, but the effort just made the spasm implode painfully through his head instead.  He buried his face in the towel, which was all the itch allowed him to do to prepare for its instant retaliation.  “h’gNXSHjshf!  h-ehh’gKtCHshieh!  uh’yCHSSHhmf!!  heh-eh…hh!—”

The attack bent him double, with the only thing keeping him from crashing into the floor the one-handed grip he managed to maintain on the edge of the countertop.  He was left on a gasp, waiting for another that seemed keen on tormenting him with its delayed arrival.  After again being made to look like an idiot frozen in place, he decided it wasn’t going to come, and he chucked the towel onto the pile with his clothes before storming into the hallway.

Apart from the ruckus he himself was making, the apartment was quiet.  Exactly the way it should be.  Though that didn’t necessarily mean it was empty exactly the way it should be.  He trod back toward his living room, footsteps as light as if he were awaiting gunfire to erupt from around the corner.  You better be gone, asshole.  He slowed as he approached the kitchen, then peered into the room.

There was no one there.

He scanned the rest of the front room, every corner of it—and even checked the coat closet because really he wouldn’t have been surprised if his partner decided to leap out of there.  All clear.

Good, he thought to himself, though the thought didn’t actually alleviate the pulse between his eyes like he’d hoped it would.  Well, at least now he could suffer in peace and quiet.  And maybe actually get some work done.  Typing up a pre-op report right now was going to make his head spin, but if he was going to feel like hell either way, he may as well be productive.  He traversed the hallway again and made his way into his bedroom to get his laptop.

His stomach leapt into his chest when he found someone already using it.

Lying front-down on the bed with his legs kicked up behind him, Dazai typed away on Chuuya’s password-protected laptop, not even giving him a glance when he walked in and lost his voice to a yelp.  The bastard had made himself comfortable, having stripped off his shoes and overclothes as if the apartment were in fact his own and he wasn’t trespassing in his partner’s bedroom.  Chuuya’s fist shook as it formed a tight ball.

“Are you hoping to give me a heart attack or something!?”

Dazai kept typing, his expression casual and unchanged.  “No.  I was hoping you’d be wearing a towel, and then would drop it in surprise at the sight of me in your bed.  But you came out in a robe.”

“You fucking—”

“The robe looks nice on you though.”

Dazai’s eyes finally ticked to him, and something in Chuuya’s stomach did a backflip.  He knew he should be saying something, some kind of retort or jibe, but his jaw was stuck hanging open, unable to form around any words at all.  The moment stretched on in a short-circuited kind of stall, and maybe it was the cold or the vertigo but there was a brief fraction of a second where Chuuya thought he might actually faint.  He forced himself to blink—which was about all he could do—and as the lag carried on he felt the heat flood to his cheeks yet again.  Dazai’s gaze scaled up from his legs to lock into his eyes.

“Even when your face looks like shit.”

“—asshole!” Chuuya barked at last, and the corner of Dazai’s lips curled upward.  This was too much.  He was tired, his body hurt, and this was just too fucking much.  Chuuya marched toward the bed and swiped his laptop out from under Dazai, who didn’t so much as flinch.  He immediately turned away and walked it over to his desk, taking a seat with his back to the bane of his existence.  Ignoring him, then.  If telling him to leave wouldn’t work, he would ignore him until the idiot got bored and left on his own.  Any other day, and he would have hurled Dazai head-over-heels out the window.  The ache in his muscles throbbed at the mere thought of trying that now.  Plus, he wasn’t sure the robe’s modesty would survive such a maneuver…

“I was beginning to wonder if you drowned in there.”  The bed whined as Dazai hopped off, and Chuuya could feel his figure approaching behind him.  Another sensation seemed to flip in his stomach, and he assured himself it must have been another symptom of this godforsaken illness.  He opened the laptop and pulled up a word document and tried to think of words to type.  His fingers quavered over the keys.  Why is it so damn freezing?  He was sure he was on the verge of a sentence when a bandaged arm swung around and planted a hand over his forehead.

“Hey!”

“Chuuuuyaaa.”  Dazai sighed and Chuuya threw a punch, but the bastard had already stepped out of the way.  “You didn’t do your fever any good by overheating yourself.”

The chair pressed against his back as Dazai leaned into it, and Chuuya responded by curling forward over his computer.  He typed in the date and title, and had to backspace more times than he would have liked because his unsteady fingers kept striking the wrong keys.  Ignoring him.  Ignoring him.  Come on, he had written hundreds of these stupid reports before, he practically had them down by rote.  The bastard was sure to be reading over his shoulder.  How were they supposed to start again?  He stalled for too long.

“Chuuya.”  The tone was different than the one that sang his name a moment ago.  More serious and straightforward.  Another way to try and win his attention back.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” Dazai asked flatly, as if he genuinely didn’t know.  His form cast a shadow over the screen.

“I’m writing an account of our meeting today.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s protocol, dumbass!  Do you really ditch your responsibilities so often that you don’t know the basics?”

Dazai sighed, and for a gullible second Chuuya thought that meant he was giving up.  Instead, the lanky man swiveled on his heel as if he were about to walk away, then continued the twirl until he was at the side of Chuuya’s desk, where he could hover over him head-on.  He stuck his head over the laptop.

“You misunderstand me.  I’m asking why are you writing that now?”  He spoke with a smile, but it wasn’t a gleeful smile.  For all the dozens of masks Dazai’s face could contort itself into, that one was one Chuuya could decipher, because he had seen it many times before.  It was the same one he flashed to their opponents when negotiations were turning sour, and the fools who thought they could cheat the Port Mafia hadn’t yet realized they’d already lost.  A smile that usually appeared a few seconds before bodies hit the floor.

Chuuya tried to fuzz out his periphery so he couldn’t see it and kept typing.  “It has to be done sooner or later.”

“Right.  So do it later.”

“Mori-sama is going to want it sooner.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Mori-sama wants.”

His tone flipped again, and the sharpness of this one was enough to make Chuuya skip a breath.  There was a penetrating kind of quality to it, like a cold knife being pressed to your neck, and while Chuuya didn’t think the wielder would actually slit his throat… he also wasn’t sure if he was willing to call his bluff.  Dazai’s gaze seemed to take on a solidity, prodding him despite all his effort not to concede to it, and suddenly he wasn’t typing anymore.  The short moment of letting his guard down was all Dazai needed to slide the laptop from under his fingers and swiftly clap it shut.

“Time for bed, chibi.”

“Fuck off—” was the only response Chuuya could find.  Why is the bastard still here?  He reached an unsteady hand out to reclaim the device, and it took him way too long to notice that Dazai had swept it up, and his hand was lying flat over the empty desk.  The room gave a tilt.  Was this the drugs?  Or was it the drugs failing to do their job?  His hand relocated itself to his head.  Dammit, this was pathetic.  He didn’t get sick like this.  He didn’t need to rest, he was fine.  What he needed was for Dazai to shut the hell up.

“Chuuya…”

Another change in tone, but this one he couldn’t read.  Hell, he was only half certain he even heard Dazai say something and wasn’t just hallucinating at this point.  If he could just gather himself maybe he could work up enough energy to throw the idiot out the door after all.  He needed to get the report done.  He also needed to come up with a new last resort tactic to present to the boss.  He needed to focus.  He needed—

“H-hh!… hah’ktSSHjshiuh!!”

He needed to get into something warmer than this damn robe.

A hard shiver coursed down his spine.  Maybe this was all Dazai’s fault to begin with.  Maybe the bastard had planned it… somehow.  He’d probably cranked down the temperature in this place on purpose just to drive him nuts.  And maybe it was the drugs he’d so generously provided that were making Chuuya’s head feel like it was on a cheap carnival ride.  “heh’t—!”  Chuuya braced a hand against his nose.  “h’tNjChSSHh!!”

Okay, that symptom he had trouble coming up with an excuse for.

“Hold on tight!”

Chuuya hadn’t yet interpreted the meaning of Dazai’s string of nonsense before his chair was sliding across the room.  He promptly followed the suggestion before he could topple to the floor, one hand securing itself to the seat and the other instinctively flying to his head to protect his hat that wasn’t there.  Steering from the back, Dazai swung him over to the side of his bed, tilting the chair off half its wheels before bringing it to a sudden stop that was far too reminiscent of his vehicular operation for Chuuya’s comfort.  Chuuya swayed to regain his balance.

“What the hell are you doing!?” he spouted as he leapt out of the seat before Dazai could take him on another ride.

“Helping!”

“Giving me whiplash is helping!?”

“Well, it got you up, didn’t it?”  A smirk zipped across Dazai’s mouth, and he pointed a sharp finger to the mattress.  “Bed!”

Chuuya cemented his stance into the floor and curled his hands into fists, and he could feel his brow line twitching under his own menacing glare at Dazai’s audacity to try and command him around like a fucking dog.  He gained at least a little satisfaction when he saw Dazai’s own stance fortify itself, preparing for the possibility of having to block one of Chuuya’s incoming kicks.  Chuuya cocked up his chin, challenging him to make a move, but Dazai seemed keen on waiting for something.  Why.  Is.  He.  Still.  Here?  Chuuya doubted he’d get an answer that wouldn’t make his brain boil if he asked him again.  Plus, any wise person would know better than to venture into the realm of wondering why Dazai did any of the things that he did.  No, there was no use.  Dazai had no collar, and no leash.  No way to control him.  The best thing Chuuya could do was treat him like an obstacle to avoid.  He eyed his laptop back over on the desk, then took a careful step toward it.  Dazai took a longer one to obstruct his path.

“Get out of my way,” Chuuya growled through his teeth.

“Chuuya.”  Again with his name.  How did he always have so many different ways of saying his name?  His voice was a low purr, with an edge like a blade scraping concrete.  “I’m going to ask you one last time to get into bed.”

Dazai closed more distance between them, asserting his height and towering down from a good head’s length above him.  The measly ploy for dominance meant nothing to Chuuya.  He had learned long ago how to not let others use his stature against him.  Not only that, but how to weaponize it.  Small bodies were harder to hit, quicker to move, harder to see coming.  If anything, Dazai reminding him that he was tall and lanky only gave Chuuya more confidence.  The shorter man locked his eyes into his partner’s with an upward stare and dared to press his face even closer.

“What are you gonna do, fight me?”  Chuuya laughed over his bared teeth, and he almost hoped Dazai would try.  He may have been ready to collapse.  He may have been down to his last dregs of energy.  But spending it would be worth it to flip Dazai on his ass.

Dazai laughed right back.  “Oh, no.  Of course not.”  He shook his head.  “Even in the state of health you’re in, you would still have half my ribs broken before I could get you in a grapple.  I know I can’t fight you.”

It sounded like a win, but Chuuya knew it wasn’t.  The gleam in Dazai’s eyes was too sharp, the twist in his smirk too confident, and before Chuuya could prepare himself for whatever plan the bastard was concocting, Dazai’s lips were already pressed into the tangles of his damp hair.  “So I guess I will have to persuade you.”

He hadn’t seen him move.  Sometime between that hypnotic chuckle and entrancing glare, Chuuya missed the attack, and suddenly there was no distance between them, and Dazai’s breath was on his neck and Dazai’s hand was somewhere far south of that and Chuuya forgot how to inhale.  Wait…  His mind tried to retake control, but something else had a grip around it.  A something that snaked through his ears in Dazai’s low voice.  It seeped through his muscles like a liquid and made his fists uncurl, his knees lose their strength, and if there was a part of his mind that was still protesting he could no longer hear any trace of its snarls and shouts.  Chuuya’s head tipped back on its own accord.  He could feel Dazai smile against his skin.  The light ridges of teeth stroked his earlobe, and Chuuya regained his breath in one short gasp.

He lost his breath again just as swiftly when it snagged in his chest, lurching him into a coughing fit that he jerked away to cover.  It was the opening Dazai needed.

Chuuya’s feet were off the ground before he realized he’d been scooped up from behind.  A cry of objection tried to wriggle its way from his lungs, but it turned into nothing but an unintelligible squawk as the throes of the spasm choked it.  Dazai had him in his arms, cradled like a fucking princess, and Chuuya kicked in retaliation but he was already being dropped onto the bed.  The impact only riled his lungs further, and as he continued to cough Dazai maneuvered above him and sat on his legs.

Chuuya could feel the flush spread over his face as the fit dragged on, and he smothered as much of it as he could with his forearm—less out of courtesy and more to obstruct Dazai’s view of him as some miserable, pathetic spectacle.  He panted through the last of it and pierced Dazai with a stare full of all the fury he couldn’t seem to make his body fight with.  “Get… off… me.”

Dazai scratched Chuuya’s abdomen with his finger tips.  “Only if you promise to stay, like a good boy.”

“I’m not—hh!”  Goddammit, really?  Again?  This whole day was a never-ending parade of torment, and it would seem that the more determined he was to ignore it, the harder it fought back.  He lost his argument to a series of unsteady gasps, each one teasing him long enough to make him think the sensation went away, only to steal his breath again and make him look ridiculous.  He cupped his hand over his mouth, and dammit did this really have to happen when Dazai was right there on top of him?  He closed his eyes, as if that would somehow make it all go away.

“H’tjSSHchh!!”  He lurched weakly, and of course another one was right behind it to punish him for trying to hold it back.  “hah’TjChSShhu!”

Dazai enjoyed his position way too much.  “Can I take that as your acquiescence?”

“No!—hKNSSH’ih!!”  Chuuya tried to use his free hand to push himself up, but with his legs securely pinned he didn’t get very far before slipping back down onto his elbow.  That didn’t stop him from trying again, though the onslaught of the other object of his torment made it decidedly more difficult.  “uht’TSSHjCheh!  UGH!—why are you… hehk’NgkSHih!… d-doing this—h-hk!”

“I already told you.”  Dazai bent down so close he was practically begging to get sneezed on.  Much closer than Chuuya would prefer him to be even in a normal situation.  “You clearly can’t take care of yourself anyway, so I’m helping out.”

“Even if th-hat were… t-true…” Chuuya pressed his wrist against his nose, fighting to finish his sentence, if anything, “you have nothing to—h-hh!—gain from this…”

“Hm…”  Dazai smiled, but Chuuya failed to comprehend what about that was amusing.  “What answer would you accept then?  Would it be logical enough to say that, as one-half of Soukoku, I feel responsible for the state and functionality of my partner?  After all, if Chuuya doesn’t work, then I immediately lose half of my tactics.”

That was an answer Chuuya could accept.  When he heard it, however, something tight twisted in his chest, and he couldn’t decide if what Dazai said was making him angry or not.  It did make perfect sense.  Any time they were out working an operation, Dazai took some step on his own accord to ensure that he was the one who maintained control over the situation, and more often than not he managed to succeed in calling the shots no matter how hard Chuuya resisted.  So the fact that the asshole would do the same thing now didn’t surprise him.  It might have nettled him more than it usually did though…

As if sensing the immediate future, Dazai swiftly withdrew from his close vicinity, and no sooner after did Chuuya’s body lurch forward, and he buried what he could of his face into the back of his wrist.  “hah’aht—‘HGKSSHjhieh!!  nguh….”  

It barely even heaved him into a partial sit-up, and yet the one spasm took as much effort as a whole set of them.  His chest burned down into his abdomen.  If he had a mind that was any less boggled he would have used his position to hoist himself up and push Dazai off of him, but his body acted on its own, and not a second later his back had flopped back down into the mattress.  A groan escaped him, then a sigh, and as every muscle in him seemed to turn itself off, he became more aware of the pillow enclasping his head like a cloud.  Chuuya sniffed, and he rubbed his nose for a while before being convinced that the atrocious thing wasn’t going to happen again.  He let his hand fall back lazily by his head.  His gaze then found Dazai through heavy eyelids, and the brown eyes beamed down at him as Chuuya burned through the last of his fight.  The bastard thought he was going to win.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a tragedy if Chuuya let him.

Chuuya closed his eyes, then opened them.  He took a slow breath in, let it out.  His face twisted into a scowl.  “Alright, fine,” he husked.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dazai raised one eyebrow, but Chuuya knew it was just for show.  The bastard had predicted this outcome far before Chuuya even entered the room.  “You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.  Now will you get off me?  You’re crushing my legs.”

Satisfied with this response, Dazai rubbed Chuuya’s abdomen one last time as if praising a pet, then swung his legs over and spun off the bed until his feet tapped down on the floor.  

His departure was like losing a heated blanket, and the instant Chuuya was alone on the bed he started to shiver again.  With effort, he wriggled the comforter out from under him and burrowed between the sheets, entangling himself in them to try and make up for the loss of the warm body.  It barely sufficed.  His teeth ground against each other as he found himself comparing the two, and he shivered.

“Get some rest, chibi.”  Dazai smiled down, and Chuuya glared at him.  And then, “See you tomorrow!”

His voice leapt back to the singsong tone for the farewell, and just as erratically, without preamble and with no explanation, he whirled away on his heel, and pranced toward the door to make his exit.

“Hey wait a minute—!”

Dazai froze, and so did Chuuya.  It took a beat for Chuuya to realize that the exclamation came from himself, like a reflex as sudden and involuntary as a sneeze.  He hadn’t commanded it, and yet he found himself bolted upright in the bed, his jaw hanging open around the call.  He snapped it shut.  His partner looked at him, waiting for him to finish, and Chuuya tried to wrap his mind around all the things spinning through it.  Dazai was leaving?  After all that?  That was just… it?  Well, good, that was what he wanted… wasn’t it?  Another quake cascaded down Chuuya’s spine, the cold air pressing a new ache through his skin, and he slid back down into the covers and rolled onto his side, away from Dazai, away from that questioning, delighted, knowing face of his.

“So getting me to go to bed, that was your ploy?” Chuuya grumbled into the pillow, and his body tensed as he fought with himself over whether to say anything at all.  “That’s boring…”

Chuuya couldn’t see the bastard’s face, but he could still tell there was a smirk on it when Dazai spoke.  “Did you think I was going to stay and keep you company?…  Or is that what you were hoping?”

A scoffing sound escaped Chuuya’s teeth, but that was it.  He felt his face blaze with heat, and he buried it into the pillow, sure that somehow even through the back of his head full of damp, messy hair, Dazai could still see.  He curled into a ball around an armful of the blankets, and he was still cold.

The floor creaked under Dazai’s footing.  When he spoke again, his voice was closer.  “Do you want me to stay, Chuuya?”

Chuuya’s throat seized, but he couldn’t form words, couldn’t open his mouth.  What did he want to say?  He took way too long to come up with an answer.  

When he felt the bed give under Dazai’s weight, he decided he didn’t need one.

Dazai crawled under the covers slowly, in a gentle movement that was markedly different from the way he had leapt over Chuuya just a moment ago.  He moved in close, and then he paused, as if giving Chuuya a chance to change his mind.  When Chuuya did not, Dazai wrapped himself around Chuuya’s curled form and slipped an arm around his waist, and as the new body insulated the bed with more warmth, Chuuya’s chest lost a sigh.  A part of his mind—one that seemed to be fading by the second—whispered to him that he should still kick Dazai out.  Tell him to be on his merry way and quit using Chuuya as a toy to play with.  Chuuya thought about it, and sank into the embrace instead.

His mind settled then.  The room still spun, but not as violently.  His body still ached, his lungs still burned, and the pang in his head still throbbed with every heartbeat, but the cacophony of everything else somehow dulled, nullified by Dazai’s touch as if No Longer Human could reach into his thoughts and emotions and calm all the chaos there too.  Maybe he was still being manipulated.  Maybe Dazai enjoyed Chuuya like this—sick, pathetic, and not thinking straight.  Maybe Chuuya didn’t care.

A tremble wracked his body as the cold air made its last stand before being consumed in their combined heat.  Dazai enclasped Chuuya tighter, and Chuuya searched out with his feet until they met Dazai’s and their legs were entwined.  A pleasant sound hummed from Dazai’s lips as they pressed into the back of Chuuya’s neck, and the warm breath trailed his spine.

“Chuuya must really feel like shit,” Dazai cooed into his hair.  “Usually it takes at least three glasses of wine before he lets me into bed with him.”

“Ha!—” Chuuya tried for a sarcastic laugh, but the effort devolved into a roll of coughing, and he gave up and curled into it.  A weak groan slipped out with his exhale when he was done, and Dazai placed a kiss against the back of his shoulder.  That was a hell of a lot closer than the too close from a minute ago, but now it was different.  This whole thing was different.  Okay, yeah, it certainly wasn’t the first time Dazai had stayed over, but surely the idiot knew there was no way in hell he was going to get sex out of it this time.  But even compared to those times, this was… quiet?  He didn’t trust it.  It was like creeping up on a target location to find everything still and serene, only because the assassins waiting to ambush were holding their breaths.  He would be a fool to walk into that and let himself be comfortable.  Chuuya wondered what waited to ambush him here.  He wondered what, against his better judgement, against everything he knew about the mafia and about Dazai and about himself, still swayed him to sink into comfort now.

“Close your eyes, Chuuya.”  His voice was soft.  Not the low purr meant to manipulate him into bed, nor the edged growl meant to intimidate.  It was just a soft, tender suggestion, and Chuuya didn’t trust it.  He also didn’t want to know how the hell Dazai could tell that his eyes were still open when he was cradling him from behind.  How did they even end up here?  From any point in the day, he hadn’t imagined the night would have concluded like this.  But he was certain, without any doubt in his mind, that Dazai had.

Chuuya didn’t trust any of this.

He closed his eyes, and resigned to it anyway.

*****
(To be continued...)

[Ti🌸]

Holy crap! Where do I start?!

Not gonna lie, Chuuya. I was also not surprised by what you came home to.?

It's amazing how descriptive you are without making the story feel like it's paused or dragging. I often have a hard time finding a good balance when I try to write myself, so that's an aspect I really admire.

And I'd like to piggyback on the vast vocabulary thing. I had never before come across the word "wont" and there are a handful of others that I'd never think to try integrating into writing that's not an English paper. I've heard that you need to read a lot to enlarge your vocabulary, so I'm assuming you've done a lot of "research" over the years.

I really appreciate your support too! I've only ever written one thing to completion that I posted here like a year and a half ago, and it's nothing big. I'm working on a bigger project now, and there's a good possibility I might be posting something new in the next few days thanks to your lovely comment.

I think it goes without saying that I enjoyed this part immensely. (Been stalking the forum like every few hours?) I never thought I could be so intrigued by a scene where, if you were to sum it up in a few words, a guy was "just" looking at a mirror. I grinned like an idiot at the end, and I'm sure you know why.

Anyways, I'll return to refreshing the page hourly haha! Can't wait for the last part!

p.s. I don't know why but the part where Chuuya tries to throw his sock at Dazai and fails miserably was one of the funniest things I've ever pictured. Just thought you should know that.

[laura]

Oh my gosh wow. This was so adorable, pathetic and hilarious all at the same time. God I just wanna smack Chuuya sometimes, WHY DID YOU GO OUT IN THE RAIN UGH WHAT AN IDIOT! (Dazai: I know right.) 

I feel so bad for Chuuya. I mean don't get me wrong I LIVE for the suffering, but this makes me feel so guilty because of how much he's struggling.   The poor thing is just so exhausted I just wanna wrap him up in 20 blankets and cuddle him until the end of time. Ah! I'M SO GLAD THAT'S WHAT DAZAI DID! Them cuddling is ADORABLE. And I love seeing how much Dazai actually cares about his petite mafia. And I LOVE how Chuuya is okay with showing a more vulnerable side of himself to Dazai because he trusts him.  

Chuuya's sneezes are so freakin cute I can't. He's just so pathetically adorable. And I love how concerned Dazai is despite himself. At the end, when Chuuya's just so exhausted that even his sneezes come out exhausted?!?!?! THAT IS LIKE MY FAVORITE THING EVER GAH IT'S SO CUTE!

This whole part was fantastic and a joy to read. OH THE FEELS! I absolutely love the whole hurt/comfort aspect of it.  IT'S LIKE YOU JUST KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I WANT AND THEN WRITE IT BEAUTIFULLY AH I LOVE YOU!

(PS: Chuuya don't worry your face can never look like shit, and I guarantee you that Dazai still thought you were hot as hell.  AND OK THE TOWLE THING?!?! I even blushed at that part. Dazai what the fserjvbduivii you can't just say things like that i'm gonna have a freakin heart attack.)   

 

[alias]

@Tippy I'm so glad you liked it!  ^.^  I worry sometimes that I'm dragging on too long, so it's good to hear otherwise!  Gods, if only I could write as passionately about original characters as I do sick anime characters.    Pahaha funnily enough, if I'm not mistaken, I learned the word "wont" from someone else's fic on here, and it stuck with me.  I do love my fair share of books though (Neil Gaiman being my fav author).  Speaking of reading, I took it upon myself to track down the fic you mentioned posting a while ago, and I very much enjoyed it.  It was so adorable and I really hope you post more stories! <3  Oh man I'm so glad you found the pathetic sock-throwing funny because it's really funny in my head too.    Nice try, Chuuya.  Thank you again for your marvelous comment! 

@laura Bahahaha Chuuya is too stubborn to do the smart thing sometimes, poor babe.  I'm so glad you're happy with how things played out because I am a CUDDLE FIEND but when it comes to these two, I feel like the only way I can feasibly get them there is by kicking the shit out of one of them first, and making him so miserable that he completely lets go of all his reservations and gives in to being comforted.  Ngl as I was writing this chapter I was like, "Can I be Dazai please so I can just cuddle sick Chuuya into oblivion..."  Seriously I can't get enough.  I'll definitely be tormenting the lil redhead some more after this, perhaps in drabbles.  He is my absolute favorite sick character right now.  I'm so happy you like all the feels (get ready for some more).  Thank you for all your nice words!!! 

Thanks so much to everyone else who has read and followed along!  I hope you enjoy the final chapter, where I'm dialing up the angst.

Helpful Notes:
-The mention of "key holder" is a reference to Chuuya's character song, "Darkness My Sorrow," and my interpretation of it.  You can find it on youtube if you're interested in listening to it (side effects may include zealous head-banging, playing it on repeat, and rocking out to it in your head for weeks on end).

******

CHAPTER THREE:  Grantors of Dark Disgrace

 

Dazai found sleep with reluctance.

It was easy to stay awake at first.  Between all the racket of Chuuya’s intermittent coughing and sneezing, accompanied by frequent squirming and groaning when he couldn’t find a position to settle in, it would have taken a special ability to be able to filter it all out and fall asleep.  It took a while for the redhead to doze off, but despite all of his restlessness, he never wriggled away from Dazai’s embrace.  Eventually, when it seemed all his symptoms finally decided to give him reprieve, he flipped over to his other side and pressed his head into Dazai’s chest.  After that, the only noise that escaped him was a light snore.

Dazai let himself drift soon after that, falling somewhere in the shallows between the sea of unconsciousness and the shore where he cuddled his redhead.  Every now and then dreams would start to formulate, and he would push them away before they could fully claim him, favoring instead the feeling of the warm body nestled in his arms.  It was a feeling that Dazai didn’t find—nor seek—often; a feeling that let thoughts of missions and tactics and violence and everything else bob by on waves and leave him floating in the saltwater, immune to them.  And while he had no delusions or even desires about staying there forever, he relished in the transient state for what it was: peaceful.

He was torn from it by the sound of laughter.

At first he thought it was a cough, from the way it churned in Chuuya’s chest, like some bestial claw scraping at the edges of his lungs.  But it broke from his lips with an unbefitting mirth that brought Dazai back to full consciousness.  The redhead stirred against his shoulder, eyes still closed and awareness somewhere far away.  The laughter was fractured, just pieces of the full paroxysm that slipped from a distant dream as a hoarse, weak chortle into the depths of the night.  Under different circumstances, Dazai might have found the occurrence interesting, or funny, or even cute.  But this one dug something foul in his gut.  Because it wasn’t Chuuya’s laugh.  Though it was a laugh he’d heard from Chuuya a few too many times.

Somewhere within Chuuya, where it was dark and seldom visited, Corruption was awake—perhaps it was always awake—and it rattled the bars of its cage.  Dazai knew it couldn’t get out, not without Chuuya’s allowance, and certainly not there in Dazai’s arms.  But he could still sense it, as if it emanated with the heat of the smaller man’s fever; the thing within him had tasted too much freedom, had been unleashed too often that maybe it thought it could challenge its master’s authority and overtake him when he slept.  Another broken ripple of laughter that wasn’t Chuuya’s shook the redhead’s form.  Dazai pulled him closer.

It had to be a dream.  Just a nightmare infused with the monster’s memory where the thing raged freely.  Dazai let it continue for a few minutes, watched it, observed.  And he wondered, were he not touching Chuuya, if the thing really could take control.  He was tempted to let go and find out.  See if Corruption had grown strong enough to seize the reins through its cage and lock its master up instead.  That would certainly be problematic, if that were the case.  The scenario played out in his mind without invite, of him waking one morning to find Chuuya’s apartment building in a crater of destruction, empty all but for dust and debris missed by the monster’s hungry maw, its lifeless vessel discarded at the center of it all…

Dazai banished the imagery from his thoughts.  He wouldn’t have that.  He was the key holder to that beast’s cage, and it would bend to the will of No Longer Human.  He would wait and watch by his sleeping partner’s bedside every night if he had to, if that’s what it took to keep the beast in chains.  

But he needed to know what the thing was capable of.  

Gingerly, Dazai began to slide his arm out from under Chuuya’s form.  He wouldn’t need to move far, just enough so that he wasn’t touching him.  If the thing could seize control on its own, that would be its chance.  He got about halfway free, and then he looked down at his partner.  He froze.

Chuuya was undoubtedly still asleep, and deeply so.  His eyes were still closed, and he hadn’t responded in the slightest to Dazai’s shift of movement.  Corruption’s laughter still coughed from his chest in short, fragmented wisps.  But there was something else to his face.  Something that was very awake, wherever it was.  It pinched a furrow into his brow line.  It crunched his eyes so tight that they were just a set of dark, jagged slashes.  It parted his lips over his teeth to form his mouth around a soundless scream.  The expression was discordant from the crazed glee that slipped from it, and just as surely as Dazai knew that the laughter was not Chuuya’s, he knew that the emotion contorting his face was.  He didn’t know where Chuuya’s consciousness was.  Didn’t know what pit of hell Corruption suffocated him in, what it was doing to him, what it was making him see.  But from the outside, from Dazai’s vantage point gazing down at him into the nightmare where Chuuya was stuck, it was the first time he had ever looked at his partner and seen what was, unquestionably and unequivocally, fear.

“Chuuya.”  Dazai jostled the smaller man with his elbow, not realizing he’d abandoned his plan until he heard his own voice.  “Chuuya, wake up.”

Chuuya’s body writhed, but the effort didn’t rouse him.  His face twisted into tighter agony, and between chortles of the other thing’s merriment Chuuya’s own voice clenched into a whimper, as if he were trying to surface, reaching up through the depth of dark water.  Dazai reached down for him.

“Chuuya,” he repeated, this time louder, and he braced both hands around the redhead’s shoulders to shake him awake.  “Wake up.”

Dazai was ready to slap him across the face if it didn’t work, but then, just as he finished the second command, the redhead’s stormy blue eyes sprang open wide, and he floundered upright with a gasp as his senses and faculties returned to him.  He flailed for just a moment, his head darting around to take in his conscious surroundings, the rest of him drowning in the sheets, and then his breath hooked on the congestion in his chest and he curled over to succumb to a coughing fit.

Dazai remained leaned against the headboard, allowing the space between them.  He waited for Chuuya to finish, and when the desperate hacking ceased he waited a little longer, letting the redhead catch his breath and acclimate to his room.  Chuuya’s hands shook where they gripped into the mattress, and his body swayed with each shallow inhale and exhale.  He looked godawful.  And sounded it too.  As much fun as Dazai had toying with him on a daily basis, and—admittedly—the fun he got out of tormenting him just earlier today, this was a sorry state to see his partner in.  But it was still a hell of a lot better than the one he’d been in a moment ago. 

When Chuuya didn’t lie back down, Dazai spoke, laying his words out flat and stoic.  “Are you alright—”

“I’m fine.”  Chuuya’s answer was immediate, overlapping the end of Dazai’s question.  He coughed again at the use of his voice, and then heaved a harsh sigh that collapsed his shoulders, but didn’t actually release any of the tension in them.  Dazai’s patience carried on for another beat before he spoke again.

“Go back to sleep.”

He didn’t give it as a suggestion, nor as a command.  Chuuya had a propensity for not following either.  Guidance, perhaps then, would have been what it was.  Dazai didn’t expect him to follow that either though, and so he wasn’t surprised when Chuuya instead got up and out of bed without saying a word.

His steps were unbalanced when he moved, and he wobbled like a drunkard toward the bathroom, colliding a little with the doorframe before passing through it.  Dazai listened to him take a piss, flush, wash his hands.  He waited as Chuuya stalled in there without a sound, probably doing nothing in particular.  Maybe just looking at himself in the mirror.  Finding an anchor.  Dazai stayed where he was.  After about a minute the door swung open again and Chuuya staggered back out.  Seeing him now head-on, it took effort for Dazai to maintain his bland expression.  The dim light cast his sunken features into darker shadows, all the while illuminating his sickly pallor and giving him a look akin to a corpse—mind you, a corpse that still maintained its haunting beauty, whose delicate features were immune to the tarnish of some cold or flu.  It sharpened his already-sharp edges and glistened his already-sparkling eyes; an image that was at once both lovely and eerie, both appealing and worrisome.  Dazai watched.  But Chuuya didn’t so much as glance toward the bed before continuing on into the hallway and the rooms beyond it.

Dazai had a feeling from the second the redhead got out of bed that he knew what Chuuya was doing, but he decided to wait one more moment and give him the benefit of the doubt.  It was more for Chuuya’s sake than his own.  Maybe the stubborn invalid was just getting himself a glass of water.  Dazai was sure that was one way he’d occupy his time at least.  When he heard him still dawdling around in the kitchen after another minute, that’s when Dazai decided to get up, taking one of the blankets with him.

Chuuya didn’t acknowledge him when he came out of the bedroom, but it was obvious from the way he meandered from cupboard to cupboard, with too much determination to look like he was doing something, that he knew Dazai was there.  Honestly Dazai didn’t know why the redhead even tried to hide anything from him.  It did pit Dazai between two choices though, neither of which promised a favorable outcome.  He could coax Chuuya back to bed where the fever dreams awaited—an option the redhead was clearly resistant toward—or he could let Chuuya keep pretending to be busy while his fever skyrocketed because he refused to rest.  He watched his partner as he thought about it, wondering how long it would take for Chuuya to run out of random things to do in the kitchen.  There was a tremble to his hands with each little movement, made more evident when he picked up a cup or tried to pour water into the coffee maker.  He definitely needed to go back to sleep.  His body certainly wanted him to, and he seemed to hold himself in active opposition to it, his eyes blinking too much to keep open, and the cords of his neck tightened as if struggling against being strangled.

Chuuya spilled coffee grounds on the counter as he dumped a scoop into the machine.

“Three in the morning is too early to be up, Chuuya.”  Dazai delivered the suggestion in the same flat tone as before.  Chuuya said nothing.  His voice dropped lower.  “You need to sleep.”

This time Chuuya couldn’t keep ignoring him.  The redhead scowled, and then swallowed with effort.  “Well you made me go to bed at like nine o’clock,” he argued, his voice fragile, but still with no dearth of his usual snark, “so I’ve gotten my sleep.”

Dazai let a smile take over his mask, and decided to try a different route, pitching his timbre to a playful bounce.  “You lay down at nine, yes.  But you didn’t stop sneezing for long enough to fall asleep until after midnight.”

Chuuya hissed through his teeth, and Dazai was pleased to see that he wasn’t too sick to get overly angry.  The redhead jammed his thumb into three different buttons on the machine.  “I wasn’t—hh!”

Chuuya’s breath hitched in on his protest, the mere mention of sneezing seemingly enough to incite the reflex back to action.  His tired eyes narrowed to a squint, a glazed expression falling over them as though his consciousness hadn’t quite put together what was befalling it yet, and dammit even when he was irate and miserable and tired and sick he still somehow managed to look adorable as fuck.  Dazai almost felt guilty for thinking so.  Almost.

A moment of nothing.  Chuuya held his breath, his jaw set tight.  

Maybe it needed encouragement.  

“Are you going to start sneezing again—”

“NO.”  Chuuya ripped away from Dazai’s view and braced his knuckle under his nose.   Barely a second passed before he rendered his own assertion false.  “ht’TSSHchieh!!  h’eh—!… nhh… ‘nKGSSh’ih!!”

The entirety of his tiny little body convulsed as the spasms snapped him forward, flinging his already disheveled hair into his face.  A groan escaped him as he straightened back up, and Dazai assumed it was meant to be angry but really it just sounded tired.  Through the scraggly kinks of ginger locks, his eyelids rested heavily over their screen like a broken curtain, glazed and dazed over and trying to stay awake.  Chuuya sniffed as he rubbed a knuckle under his nose, then he shivered.

Dazai sighed.  “À tes souhaits.” 

“Merci—”  Chuuya’s eyes popped open, and his voice tried to halt itself upon realizing it had succumbed to the reflexive etiquette.  He stammered for a moment, mouth hanging open as if he could suck the response back up, and when he couldn’t he resorted to slouching and aiming a sidelong dirty stare at his partner.  His teeth chattered through the scowl, and another bout of shivering overtook him.  This one didn’t abate.

Dazai almost smiled, but the satisfaction in wheedling the French response from his partner was soured by his pitiful condition.  Chuuya’s arms clenched tight to his sides, the thin robe a poor choice of coverage for the cold hours of the night.  Dazai stepped up behind him, unfolding the blanket he’d been carrying, and when the redhead didn’t object, he draped the cover over his quaking shoulders.  Chuuya accepted the offer wordlessly, and Dazai wrapped his arms around him and cocooned him in the sheet.  Chuuya didn’t object to that either.

A heavy sigh tumbled from the sick redhead, and the weight of his body sank backward into Dazai’s embrace.  It made Dazai’s chest flutter in a weird way, how easily the stubborn hatrack resigned to him now.  It was a tug-of-war on his insides, where on one side he was happy to have the redhead in his arms, and on the other he clutched the smaller man in a different way; a way where Chuuya had finally reached a level of torment from which Dazai could get no enjoyment.  He didn’t know what that feeling was, but it wasn’t happy.  It was almost its own kind of sick, growing hot every time the redhead quaked under his arms.  Nauseating him every time he saw flashes of nightmares in those dulled blue eyes.  Stabbing him every time that pallid face contorted with discomfort.  Dazai didn’t know what it was.  And so he just held him, close.  If there were an emotion to it, he decided it was best left alone.

After a few seconds of quietude, Chuuya started to fidget, again fiddling with the coffee machine he had undoubtedly used thousands of times, yet couldn’t seem to make work for this one.  Dazai curled his arms around him further, nuzzling through clumps of tangled orange locks to plant his lips on Chuuya’s cheek.  Chuuya’s hand fell back to the counter, stalled for a moment longer, and he tilted his head in a rare welcoming of the affection.  Dazai obliged by nibbling more kisses down his jawline, and when the touch made his eyes flutter shut, Dazai stole the opportunity to snake a hand over to the cord on the coffee maker and unplug it from the wall.

Heat radiated from Chuuya’s skin against his lips.  It seemed that the drugs he’d taken were about as helpful as a glass of water on a burning building.  Chuuya was only going to get worse if Dazai let him continue to dawdle.  And Dazai probably only had another minute or so before the stubborn little thing became antsy again and squirmed out of his hold.  He didn’t want to let Chuuya go.  He didn’t want to watch him force himself to stay awake and tire himself out because he was afraid to fall asleep.  Didn’t Dazai know they would get here?  Hadn’t he predicted the night was going to be filled with games of coaxing Chuuya right and left, playing with him and pushing his buttons, watching him get angry and frustrated and then concede to be taken care of?  Hadn’t he imagined it was going to be fun?  He had.  And it had been.  But he hadn’t predicted that Corruption would want to play.  He wondered though, if that’s exactly what he should have predicted.  Should have seen the circles darkening under Chuuya’s eyes week after week, after too many times Soukoku had to use their famed “last resort,” and should have seen him bounce back with less and less energy each time, his body deteriorating under his very command but his stalwart loyalty and dedication to every mission never dwindling in the slightest.  The more Dazai thought on it, the more he thought that maybe this game was Corruption’s to begin with; the monster wearing down the walls of its cage, stronger every time it’s let off the leash.  He wondered… if it could simply destroy its vessel and break free.

No, he asserted to himself, and he kissed Chuuya’s cheek again, and he bellowed it in his head so that if by their touch Corruption could sense him he would make it hear him.  He hugged his partner’s frame tighter.  I won’t let that happen.  Chuuya is mine, and you can’t have him.

He drew a line of kisses down the redhead’s neck, staking his claim against the fever that raged inside, then nipped his way back up and brought his forehead to rest against the side of Chuuya’s.  Another sigh slipped from the chibi’s lips, though this one for a decidedly different reason.  Dazai whispered into his hair.

“Reviens au lit avec moi, Chuuya.”

This incited a snort from his charge, which in turn incited a cough.  “Your French is deplorable,” Chuuya husked.

Dazai indulged himself with a smirk, only a little offended because he thought his pronunciation was pretty damn good.  He hunched over and rested his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder.  “Seulement parce que mon instructeur est déplorable.”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say.”

“Liar.”

A shiver trailed Chuuya’s spine as Dazai hummed the accusation into his ear, and that was his opportunity.  One more second and he would miss it.  It would be a low move, for sure, taking advantage of Chuuya when his senses and his reaction time were compromised, but at this point it was his best option.  Not to mention, this was probably the only time, during their whole partnership and the future of it, that he was certain he could get away with using the exact same trick on the poor sap twice.

Dazai secured the blanket tight around the redhead’s frame, then slid his hand down under his knees and scooped him up in his arms.

“OI!”  Chuuya’s feet had barely left the floor when he started thrashing.  “Dazai!  I said I didn’t want to go back to bed!  Knock it off!”

Dazai carried him swiftly out of the kitchen.  “And I said you need more rest.”

Chuuya fought with a strength Dazai would not have guessed he could so readily call up at a time like this, kicking and squirming so fitfully that he didn’t even realize Dazai wasn’t taking him to the bedroom.  “PUT ME DOWN.  I’m not kidding—!”

Chuuya lost his command when his lungs fought back against the shouting, and he was overtaken by a bout of coughing.  Had Dazai’s conscience been a more habitable place for guilt, he might have felt it then, as he watched the redhead curl forward with the broken spasms, trying all at once not to cough on his captor, and to free himself, and to avoid tumbling over onto the floor.  “Dammit!—” he sputtered through the fit, “I swear… I will… kill—”

The squirming runt didn’t get to finish his threat before Dazai dropped him onto the couch.

A noise that was somewhere between a yelp and a battle cry escaped Chuuya on impact, and he floundered over the cushions to regain his bearings, doing little more than entrapping himself more intricately in the blanket cocoon.  His head whipped around distrustfully, as if he’d been dropped into another dimension instead of his own living room.  Dazai gave him a few seconds to burn out his fury.  When the glint in his eyes no longer flashed with murder, Dazai turned on the tv with the remote, and plopped down into the open space right next to him.

It took Chuuya a pause to decide what he was going to do next, whether it be untangle himself from the blanket and storm back into the kitchen, make good on his promise to do Dazai in, or lie back and concede that this was definitely better than either of those, and Dazai used the moment to just look at him.  In the dark of the late hour, the light that spilled from the television coated the sheen of Chuuya’s skin, and on his pallor gave him a glow that made him look ghostly, almost ethereal.  Again it was difficult, even in his weathered shell, not to see a thing of beauty.  The hatrack absent of his hat, and his gloves, and his choker, and all his other extraneous accessories, he was simply Chuuya; Dazai knew every lithe line of his form, every curve of his posture, every shadow, every edge, and every soft point, and still, he never tired of studying it.  He watched the rise and fall of Chuuya’s chest shrink as the redhead steadied his breath, and Chuuya looked back at him.  Dazai gave him no facial expression, nothing he could misread—or read too accurately, for that matter.  He just leaned back into the cushions, and opened his arm to rest it along the back of the couch, stretching toward his partner.  Then he turned his head, and gave his attention to the television.

He could feel Chuuya still looking at him from the side, and the indecision emanating from his presence.  In his periphery he saw the chibi’s head swivel to the television, then back to him, then to the screen again.  Dazai flipped through the channels, and he settled on a drama he didn’t care to pay attention to, but was tolerable enough to watch.  It droned for a few minutes, and neither of them said a word.  Then, perhaps because he was cold, or tired, or perhaps for another reason entirely, Chuuya sidled along the couch, and filled the space that remained between them.  

He nestled into the cove of Dazai’s open arm, his knees drawn up and close to his body under the bundle of blanket, and let his head drop on Dazai’s shoulder.  No grumbles.  No words.  Chuuya’s body fit perfectly into his, like two puzzle pieces snapping into place.  In many ways, it was no different than the late nights they had been together before.  It had the same aesthetics; tacit, not because they had nothing to say but because there was nothing that needed saying.  Heated too—though to be fair, that could have been the literal heat burning from Chuuya’s fevered body.  It was also tired, in a kind of fatigue that strung them together and kept them knotted.  Fatigue that came from hours of meetings, and planning, and business deals, and fighting and shootouts and violence when business deals went south.  Fatigue that drove them to wear themselves out further, that he remembered in hazy flashbacks of headboards grinding marks into walls and bodies fitting together in another way.  But something else wove its way around them now that hadn’t been present for those times: a feeling he wanted to simultaneously lean into and rip himself away from, and it carried a darkness in it that no matter which he did, he was sure it would end up swallowing him.  He hated it.  He loved it.  He could ignore it entirely, or he could let it have him.

Dazai let his arm fall around his partner, and his chin to the matted nest of orange hair.

“This show sucks.”  Chuuya broke the silence after about ten minutes, uttering the complaint in a feeble croak.  Dazai had to agree, though he hadn’t exactly been watching it.  He offered up the remote, but the redhead just crinkled his nose.  “They all suck.”

Dazai allowed himself a chuckle as he flipped through the channels again.  “Well, you see, most people are sleeping at this hour and not watching TV.”

“Tch,” Chuuya scoffed, and he readjusted so that he was sitting up straighter, as if in dissent to the notion.  Dazai didn’t push the argument, knowing that it had no efficacy at this point.  Quiet fell again between them for a while.  Every now and then one of them would make a comment about what they were watching, usually prompting Dazai to turn the channel again in search of something else, and they were brought back to the same ones more than once.  Fatigue began to wash over him as the late hour stretched on, pulling at his eyelids and making him yawn, and he knew getting through work tomorrow was going to be hell, but he stayed awake.  The shows were boring, the talk was minimal, but he stayed awake.

“Dazai…”

The name came muffled through the blanket, and Dazai looked down to find the redhead had half of his face buried in it.  He thought about pretending he didn’t hear, seeing if Chuuya would say his name again—if only because he wanted to hear it again.  But no.  That was a game for another time.  Not now.

“Mh?”

Dazai could feel Chuuya curl the blanket tighter to himself, then shift farther away from his vantage point.  There was a long pause before he spoke again.

“You don’t have t—hh!”  Ever the traitor to his will, Chuuya’s breath hitched, and he squirmed in frustration as he secured his fist against his nose.  “Dh-heh… dammit!”  He tried to hold his breath, and his body went rigid, and despite his evident tribulation Dazai couldn’t help but find it mildly amusing that the redhead still thought he could suppress his sneezes.  Dazai waited patiently through the stalling gasps for him to be proven wrong yet again.  “hh’t… ‘NkSSCHh’h!  ih’tJSSHsh!!…”

His form crunched forward with each one, shuddering on his attempt to contain them.  Against all his effort, he was choked by his breath a third time as it leapt into his throat, and the impending reaction held him captive without a clue of when it would come—though Dazai could easily count it down.  Chuuya’s face crinkled in the torment of waiting, until the last one took him with fury.  “HAH’tTCHShjiuh!!”

His legs kicked out from the blanket as the spasm nearly sent him sprawling off the couch, and Dazai clenched his shoulder to keep him steady.  “Jeez, Chuuya.  If you wanna tell me something, use your words!”

“Shuddup.”  Chuuya sniffed, scrubbing an angry fist against his nose, and when he was satisfied that a fourth wasn’t following close behind, he flopped back into the couch, defeated.  Dazai reached his free hand over the side of the couch and drew out a tissue from the box he had placed on the table there earlier—he’d anticipated the couch might be one of the places they’d retire for the night—and offered the sheet of cotton to his sniffling companion.  Chuuya accepted and made use of it without a word, then crumpled it up and disposed of it in the pocket of his robe.  His head crashed back against Dazai’s shoulder.

The redhead took a slow inhale, the congestion churning in his chest evident in the calm midnight, and he exhaled in a sigh as he searched to pick up the words he’d lost a moment ago.  He swallowed hard before he found them, and they still came out hoarse.  “You can leave.  If you want to.  You don’t have to stay.”

Dazai hummed, as if considering the offer.  As if he hadn’t already known that was exactly what Chuuya was going to say.  “Maybe I should,” he chimed.  “I’m certainly not going to get any sleep here with all the ruckus you’re making.”  He groaned, drawing his tone into a whine.  “And I have to work all day tomorrow.”

Chuuya’s form went still under Dazai’s arm, and then he began to stir out of the blanket, lifting himself from where he reclined.

Dazai didn’t let him get very far before he heaved him back down and smothered him in an overzealous hug.

“But how can I leave Chuuya when he is so cute and cuddly!!?”

A disgruntled noise muffled against Dazai’s shirt as Chuuya squirmed to free himself, and Dazai couldn’t see his face but he could imagine that it was twisted into something funny.  Dazai kept him tight for a few more seconds before showing mercy, and Chuuya wriggled out of his clutch with grumbles of something that sounded a lot like “Bastard.”  Though however irritated he was with Dazai for it, it wasn’t enough to stop him from sinking right back down at his side.

“Besides,” Dazai spoke softly this time, letting his finger twist itself into a lock of ginger hair, “who better to take care of you than your partner?”

Chuuya writhed a little, as if ruminating on this notion and not sure whether or not he wanted to reject it.  “I don’t need a nurse,” was his half-hearted reply.

Dazai smiled.  Funny words for someone who lay so comfortably in his embrace.  “I’m not your nurse.”

“Or a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter.”

“Or a bodyguard.”

“Hah.  I know you don’t need one of those.”

“Good.”  But Chuuya still squirmed.  He only seemed to manage to bury himself further into the cove of Dazai’s form.  “So.  What are you then.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, uttered quietly into Dazai’s shoulder as if he hadn’t decided whether or not he really wanted an answer to it.  Dazai stalled a measure just for dramatic effect, before realizing he wasn’t actually certain what the answer was.  He took another moment.  Then another.  And Chuuya stirred amidst the awkward silence but didn’t try to fill it.  Until finally, Dazai came up with something he quite liked.

“Your key holder.”

The words sank in quietly, drawing no immediate response, and Dazai offered no further explanation.  But he knew Chuuya was thinking about it by the way he went motionless.  The television was all that moved, volume carrying on in a hum and colors changing in flashes of too-bright lights to provide the only sense of time still passing around them.  Dazai didn’t count the seconds, or even estimate them.  He just kept the redhead in his arms.

“I think lack of sleep has made you delirious,” Chuuya concluded at last, and he made a scoffing noise that almost sounded believable enough to be genuine.  It was all Dazai needed.  He hugged the chibi closer, drawing a short grunt from his chest.

“But Chuuyaaaaa,” he teased.  “Aren’t you the one with the fever?”

Dazai shifted to face his partner, and he cradled the back of Chuuya’s neck, gently bringing the redhead’s forehead to meet his own.  Chuuya resisted at first, instinct tensing his muscles and twisting his face into a scowl, but as soon as his skin touched Dazai’s, his shoulders collapsed, and he relaxed into the contact.  They rested there for a bit, eyes fluttering shut, and the arcs of their noses hooked into one another.  The fever blazed between them.

“Still hot,” Dazai purred, and he pulled back, but only a little.  His hand slid from behind Chuuya’s head, trailing through his hair as it moved, tracing the thin, porcelain line of his jaw, and then stopped to cup the side of his face.  He felt the weight of Chuuya’s head as his partner leaned into his palm, and he replied by stroking a thumb over his soft cheek.  Dazai waited for Chuuya’s eyes to open, and when they did, he held their gaze in his own.  

“Do you dream about it every night?”

Something flashed across Chuuya’s eyes, constricting his pupils and dulling their thunderous blue, and he didn’t need to say yes.  He didn’t need to admit to the darkness Corruption swallowed him in.  Didn’t need to describe the chokehold the beast kept on his throat, or paint the crimson shades of its rage and content insanity.  Didn’t need to confess his pain, or fear.  Chuuya didn’t need to say anything; Dazai saw it all in that one brilliant explosion across his pupils.

He wouldn’t have that.  No.  If that’s what was tainting Chuuya’s head, then he was going to give his partner something else to think about.

Dazai’s fingertips slid down the remaining length of Chuuya’s jaw, and he brought his thumb and forefinger to pinch the redhead’s delicate chin.  He tilted Chuuya’s head up, just a notch, and Chuuya’s eyelids fell to a soft squint with the motion.  Dazai’s lips curled with a hint of a smile, and then they found Chuuya’s.

He placed the kiss carefully, like dipping his toes into a pool to test if it was warm enough to dive in, and let it linger.  Longer than he’d originally planned, but once he was there it was hard to break away, especially when the pair of lips that he nipped into lingered right back.  He trailed his teeth along Chuuya’s bottom lip, tugging just enough to claim it for himself.  When Chuuya’s mouth moved to hang on as Dazai started to pull away, he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his teeth, and he dove back in to satiate the request.  The second time was harder, and Dazai’s tongue flicked in to taste him before they parted.

Something between a snarl and a smile of his own wedged itself into Chuuya’s face, and Dazai enjoyed the vibrant flush it painted over his cheeks.  Chuuya tipped his head down and hid both in Dazai’s shirt.  “Idiot,” he grumbled as he settled back in.  “Now you’re going to get sick.”

Dazai nestled his head once more over the mane of red hair, and he hummed.  “If I do, then Chuuya will take care of me!”

“Like hell.” 

Dazai only hummed once more, combing tangles from the redhead’s curls until a slow sigh allowed his small body to finally relax.  The chibi drifted into a slumber soon after their last words, and Dazai hoped it was dreamless.  If it turned out to be otherwise, then he would step in.  He would step in as many times as he needed to until Chuuya could sleep soundly and wake up healthy.  He would stay for as long as he needed to until Corruption knew it couldn’t fuck with his partner on his watch, and until the beast crawled back into the miserable cage that it came from.  He would hold on to Chuuya forever if that’s what it took.

“I won’t leave you.”  He whispered it, his lips sweeping the corner of his partner’s too-warm forehead, and there, if only in that moment, hidden away in the middle of the night, in a room away from the mafia and away from the blood and the black muck that swallowed them, he meant it.

*****
Fin.

[lalaland~]

I'm not familiar with this fandom but I absolutely loved this. Wow, your writing is phenomenal! Everything was described so clearly, it was like watching a video in my mind rather than reading. 

[Ti🌸]

So sorry I haven't commented! I actually read this last part a few hours after it was posted haha! I was wondering where this final chapter was going to go. I really like your interpretation of Corruption. I never thought of it as an entity in itself, but it made perfect sense and was written beautifully as always. And how I love Dazai claiming Chuuya as his own in the face of Corruption. Obviously I loved all of it, but I'll call special attention to the fact that they ended up in front of the tv like that. It's like they're allowing themselves a moment of respite from the rest of their lives, even though it's because Chuuya's feeling miserable. Most people take that mundaneness for granted. I know I do.

As always, despcriptions are on point, and I've been reminded that I must expand my vocabulary. I'm wondering how things would play out if Dazai got sick. I can't really imagine it haha!

Also, thank you so much for your kind words about my writing!! It makes me so happy that you were curious enough to go to the trouble to track it down! I've actually been working on something recently and was trying to get it out before I commented, but I couldn't wait any longer.

You're like one of my inspirations and have given me a ton of motivation, especially over the past few months, so thanks for sharing, as always!

[RachTheCool]

Ahh woww, I love bungou stray dogs and I love Dazai and this was just GREAT!!! Wow. You have the skills of a god, like, are you sure you are human??? Like srsly??? How do you always manage to get the characterization, writing, scenario, EVERYTHING so perfect!? I've only seen season 1 so far so im not that familiar with Chuuya, but woowww you are making me love him. Stop it! 

[laura]

UGH, i'm so sorry I took so long to comment! I suck. I also read this within 24 hours of you posting it and just never got around to commenting. 

Holy crap I freaking loved this. The whole story was so descriptive and well written. You do not even know how hard I fan-girled whenever I saw you update this fic. I LOVED how every time Chuuya sneezed you included like the whole build-up and Chuuya's internal struggle and everything. Awwww, Chuuya's trying so hard to stay in control of himself but he can't poor babe. You wrote him so adorably I am literally melting over here from how lovable he is.

Dazai is also soooo sweat in the last part! It warms my heart that Dazai shows he's human when he's around Chuuya like this, instead of the demonic prodigy he want's others to believe he is. He's so worried about his petit mafia awwww these two just kill me inside. I love Dazai taking care of Chuuya because Chuuya is a stubborn butt that won't do it for himself. I also found it so endearing how Dazai was claiming Chuuya as his own against Corruption. He's like a jealous boyfriend lol. (Bitch you can't have him, he's mine!)  

My absolute FAVORITE part of this whole fic was when Dazai blesses Chuuya and Chuuya says thank you back reflexively.  SO ADORABLE~! CHUUYA IS 2 PRECIOUS FOR THIS WORLD! AND IN FRENCH TOO! *dies* (Chuuya is totally french he has red hair and blue eyes, ffs.) There are honestly so many moments in this fic where Chuuya is just so pathetic and the fact that he tries not to be just makes him even more so. (Like when he's looking at himself in the mirror and tries to scowl, only to end up sneezing. Or when Dazai picks him up and carries him to the couch while Chuuya's squirming and trying to yell but instead he just coughed for like 5 minutes straight and only tangled himself up more in the blanket. ) All of these moment tugged at my emotional heart. (I swear i'm not crying, shut up.) 

 

OHHHHHH GIRL YES!!!! PLEASE keep tormenting my baby in other fics! Their are not enough Soukoku fans on this forum! (I'm writing a bunch of random drabbles for them also and hopefully I can post them soon. It's just hard for me cause i'm never satisfied with them and once I think it's good the next day I re-read it and i'm like, "Wtf is this? You thought this was good?" Lol, but i'll strap on my balls and just post um soon though, I promise. (It's the least I can do to somewhat pay you back for writing all this Soukoku beautifulness!)) But yes oh my god we need more Soukoku on here!

This was such an amazing read and I absolutely loved it! These past several months have been pretty difficult for me. (I'm currently in that stage of life where I have no idea what i'm doing or what i'm going to do and I basically have an existential crisis like every hour.) But just knowing that you were writing more Soukoku was really helpful as far as encouraging me to just keep going and hope that everything works itself out lol. (It's a great motto, ik.) Which it did for the most part so yay!  

But anywaysssss (shutting up with the sob stories now), I really really enjoyed this and I am, of course, super exited to read whatever else it is that you post next!  (I'm not stocking you, what are you talking about?)        

  

[Elyze]

I am completely unfamiliar with these characters, and the genre as a whole, but I really enjoyed your writing. With the short background you gave it was easy to follow the story and I understand why you like these guys. Great job! Oh, and I really enjoyed your style of spelling out the sneezes. I swear I could hear each one in my head when I read them and they sounded perfect!

[alias]

Oh my goodness thank you to all of you for the kind comments!  Sorry it took me so long to reply, I was on a long camping trip and didn't have internet (also sorry for bumping this thread back up when this isn't an update, but I can't leave nice comments hanging!).
 

@lalaland~ I'm so happy you were interested even though you're not familiar with the fandom!  Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. ^.^  I'm glad you enjoyed it!

@Tippy Aaaaaaah I'm so glad you like how I wrote Corruption, cuz I was kinda worried it would end up being too abstract or something and wouldn't fly.  I like to headcanon Corruption as a sort of bestial entity that lives almost like a parasite inside Chuuya, that won't be satisfied until it devours him completely.  And of course, Dazai is NOT gonna let that happen.  When it comes to them resigning in front of the tv, I like to think of that as a really rare occasion.  I don't see them as being particularly cuddly throughout their relationship, and it takes Chuuya feeling like complete and utter shit and Dazai being worried about him to get them both in a place that calm and vulnerable.  I'm a sucker for making characters vulnerable.  I'm glad you liked that part. ^.^  Thank you so much for following along and always fueling my inspiration and self-esteem with your comments!  I look forward to whatever stories you end up posting!  

@RachTheCool Omg you make me blush. ^.^ Dude there is not enough Chuuya in the anime or the manga, so I gotta write him just to satisfy myself, haha.  I love him so much I can hardly handle it.  Thank you so much for your nice words!

@laura Eeeeeee I'm so glad you enjoyed watching Chuuya struggle as much as I enjoyed tormenting him .  Omg Dazai is TOTALLY jealous boyfriend.  I imagine him as being quite possessive when it comes to his lil mafia, so Corruption can back the f off.  And yayyyyy all those parts you mentioned are some of my favorites too so it makes me happy you enjoyed them!  Especially the French.  I love imagining Chuuya as French and Dazai being annoying about it.    OMG PLEASE POST DRABBLES YES.  Dude I will be all over that.  The forum needs more Soukokuuuuu!!!  Thank you so much for always leaving such uplifting and enthusiastic comments.   I'm sorry to hear that things have been rough for you lately and I hope they continue to smooth out!

@helyzelle Thank you so much for reading!  I'm ecstatic that you enjoyed it even without being familiar with the show, and so glad my background descriptions were not in vain!  I'm so glad you like the spellings too because I tend to spend a lot of time on those, meticulously making sure they are right, haha.  Thank you for your nice comment!  

[lalaland~]

@alias I forgot I commented on this and I'm laughing because this exact fic is what made me decide to watch BSD and now I'm obsessed, so, thank you for dragging me to BSD hell. (lmao)

After watching the show, I have to add that the characterization in your fic is absolutely brilliant.  The dynamic is perfect (and I love skk), and, honestly, it's a difficult dynamic to write so I applaud you.  This is a masterpiece- is that going too far? 

Edited August 9, 2017 by lalaland~

[alias]

@lalaland~ OMG YOU HAVE MADE ME SO HAPPY.  Yaaaaaas join us in BSD hell!!!  And I'm so happy you approve of the characterization.  Quite honestly I have an emotional attachment to this fic, so your kind words and praise mean the world to me. 

[WolfPack]

I love this so much! I'm total Bungou Stray Dogs trash!