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It was always a pain in the ass when Chuuya was forced to resort to Corruption. It’s not that he was entirely against it, it was just… a lot. Whenever they had to turn to Arahabaki, it usually meant things were not looking good, and that usually meant it was Chuuya’s job to do damage control by causing more damage, to both the area and himself. It wasn’t all that bad, it could be worse, but his sanity and consciousness being pushed to the back of his own mind so that a God could take over was hard, and the agony of coming back to a destroyed body afterward was never fun… and the worst part - the worst part was the kindness that Dazai showed him after everything was said and done.
Chuuya was not used to tenderness from those around him. He was not supposed to be something capable of care and goodwill, he was to be used as a weapon of mass destruction. But seeing Dazai of all people, the infamous demon prodigy, known for his unfeeling nature and cold demeanor, show him warmth and compassion ? It did not sit right with him.
So here Chuuya was, in a post-Corruption haze, lying in bed with his mind running a mile a minute and Dazai curled up at his side.
He could not recall the last time he’d seen Dazai genuinely fast asleep. The mafioso never slept so soundly, always awake at the flick of a wrist or the drop of a pinhead. For once, Dazai looked comfortable. He was curled into a loose ball as if he were a cat, legs tucked in, back leaned up against the redhead. Had he always slept so weird, so protective of himself?
Chuuya’s everything hurt , he immediately came to realize when he moved his arm from under Dazai’s crushing weight. It always did. Something about a God pushing you past your limits made your body unable to handle the weight of breathing or anything else afterward, even when you’ve done this same thing more times than you can keep track of. He knew he was the Port Mafia’s trump card, but that didn’t make the process any easier. Nothing made it easier. He just had to manage.
Slowly, as not to aggravate his aching joints, Chuuya reached up to thumb at a burning sensation on his face, only for his finger to come in contact with gauze and tape. Arahabaki didn’t care much for what damage it did to Chuuya, but apparently Dazai did, and had bandaged a cut on his face.
The redhead used what little strength he had to pull himself into a sitting position so he could further assess the damages he had done when using Corruption. From what he could tell, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been; the cut on his face, a gash in his leg he had no way of knowing how deep, his palms absolutely torn to shit. But his wounds were bandaged and taken care of- the thought of Dazai doing that for him ? It made Chuuya’s stomach churn with uncertainty. He wasn’t supposed to be treated so kindly- Dazai should have left him to rot.
Beside him, the boy in question stirred, stretching and barely opening his eyes, as if Chuuya just thinking about him had caused the devil to rise from hell.
“Ah, Chibi wakes,” he purred, voice gravelly from sleep.
“Yeah, because your fat ass is taking up half the bed,” Chuuya growled, though he had toned back the usual bite in his bark. Something about the image before him of a groggy, still half-asleep Dazai curled up in his bed with him made Chuuya’s usually tough exterior soften.
“So mean,” Dazai mumbled, unfolding himself from his previous position, attempting to lie straight in bed like a normal person. “Chuuya should lay down,” he said after he was comfortable, patting the pillow beside him where Chuuya’s head had been not five minutes ago. The redhead rolled his eyes, but obliged, lying on his back again.
They had sleepovers sometimes. When Dazai was feeling particularly bad, after they escaped a mission just barely with their lives, when they needed each other in the wee hours of the morning. But there was something so… intimate about Dazai lying here beside him in his own bed. Usually, he forced the bastard to sleep on the couch or the floor. But Dazai was here beside him, breathing, alive , and he was alive too, even if he didn’t deserve to be.
Chuuya glanced over at the brunette. The other had closed his visible eye, and with the way he was breathing steadily and slowly, he might have drifted off to sleep already. He looked rather peaceful.
“Why is chibi staring instead of sleeping?” Or not. Dazai’s supernatural ability to tell when someone was staring at him struck again. The executive did not move, but slid his eye open to stare back at him.
Chuuya turned his gaze back up to the ceiling, cheeks slightly red. “I was not staring ,” he growled, earning a chuckle from Dazai.
“Whatever you say, slug.”
And then of course, more silence. Except, Dazai kept his eye glued to the side of Chuuya’s face; he could feel the other’s gaze, practically burning a hole into his soul.
His soul . Did he have one of those? If not, did he once have one?
“Dazai,” he mumbled, glancing over at the executive. Dazai blinked back at him, face blank.
“Chibi,” he replied effortlessly, as if he had expected Chuuya to pipe up.
“Why is it that you’re here?” It was a stupid question, really, and he already knew what Dazai would say- call him a stupid slug, tell him to go back to sleep. It was a bitter tune they danced to, where they always avoided getting too personal, and always replied with the shallowest of answers they could fabricate. It had been interwoven into them, this wordless music. Maybe Mori had implanted it. Chuuya had learned to read in between the lines fast because there was no way in hell Dazai was ever going to fork over information of his own free will. The Demon Prodigy was sharp, keen, genius, and didn’t bother himself with revealing personal information. He was above everyone else, like an angel staring down on it’s creations. Vaguely, he wondered if Dazai would let him in if he genuinely tried, or if he flew up so high that he wouldn’t be able to follow.
Dazai lifted his head up, blinking at Chuuya a few times before he put out an uncouth, “Heh?”
Carefully, he shuffled around under the covers until he was lying on his side facing Dazai. The brunette flopped back down so that they were staring at each other, face to face, so close that Chuuya could feel it when Dazai breathed.
“Slug better repeat himself,” Dazai said, his voice airy and lighthearted.
“I was just… thinking,” Chuuya began, not entirely sure of what he wanted to say.
“I wasn’t aware that was something Chibi could do!”
Chuuya kicked Dazai’s shin under the covers, the brunette yelping at the sudden impact.
“Chuuya is so mean to me…” He muttered, pouting like a child.
“Are you going to let me talk or do I have to hit you over the head next?” Chuuya growled, rolling his eyes at the other’s grin.
“Fine, fine, I guess I can let you state your piece.”
Chuuya sucked in a breath, looking down at the sheets due to this sudden feeling of embarrassment. They weren’t supposed to be personal. They weren’t supposed to be this close.
“Why is it that you treat me so… human?” He mumbled. Wow, this piece of lint on the sheets sure was fascinating! He rolled it into his fingers gently. Why was he asking this again? He didn’t expect a real reply. “No doubt you carried me back here, you cleaned and bandaged my wounds, you changed my clothes, you lay me in my bed, and then you, you stayed.” He bit the inside of his lip. “Why?”
They had done this thing so many times, but Chuuya never had it in him to ask. Maybe, he winced at the thought, because he was afraid of the answer. Of what Dazai would say. Of Dazai scoffing at him and flipping over in bed and refusing to talk. Of Dazai grabbing his coat and leaving Chuuya in his apartment alone.
“You’re serious?” Dazai’s playful manner had dropped to a more serious tone, causing the redhead to look up from the string between his fingers he had been focusing so intently on.
“What? Why wouldn’t I be, asshole?” Chuuya said in exasperation. At that, Dazai’s face twisted into something that Chuuya almost did a double take at.
Concern?
Dazai was unpredictable. Just when Chuuya thought he’d nailed him down, the demon would change how he acted, would let himself just be a little vulnerable, would make Chuuya remember that Dazai was just a kid. He was just a kid. They were just kids. And yet here he was questioning why someone, someone who, by some cruel twist of fate, was his closest friend, was kind to him.
“Chuuuuuyaaa,” Dazai whined. Something touched Chuuya’s face; he hadn’t even realized that Dazai had moved closer until he felt the brunette’s warm hand cupping his cheek, and whether he meant to or not, he sunk into the touch. Intimate was no longer a word Chuuya could use to describe the situation he had found himself in. Actually, his mind was suddenly very very blank at Dazai cradling his head. He made a move to stuff his face in his hands, but Dazai stopped him, blocking his attempt with his arm.
They were still kids. They were so used to the slice of a knife, the sight of blood, the stench of death, when they should be learning that this sort of touch shouldn’t be foreign.
“Chuuya is so dumb,” he huffed, earning bitter confusion from the redhead. “You are human. You are deserving of care.” Dazai’s words were too tender to be his own.
“Why?” He repeated without even thinking about it. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking why about at this point. Why did Dazai think he was human? Why did Dazai think he deserved to be cared for? Why did Dazai carry him back here and tend to his wounds and now was practically holding him in his arms?
“You’re asking me why you’re deserving of care?” Chuuya nodded slightly, eyes darting down to Dazai’s chest- anywhere away from those dark, intense eyes. “You are ridiculous,” the brunette huffed, a lit of annoyance in his tone.
Chuuya pulled away from Dazai’s hand and forcibly scooted himself back in bed. “What the fuck?” He growled, but his anger vanished and face fell at Dazai’s unnaturally soft look. He was pitying him, wasn’t he?
This was frustrating him. “Just… forget it.” He mumbled, moving to turn to face the other way.
Dazai’s arm flew out and grabbed his wrist, and Chuuya looked at back him.
“Chuuya, do you honestly, genuinely think you don’t deserve to be taken care of or cared for? You really think you’re not human?” Dazai’s eyebrows were upturned into a frown when Chuuya nodded again. “Why is that?”
Now it was Chuuya’s turn to let out a confused, “Huh?”
Dazai gripped his wrist tighter. “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be called human?”
Chuuya swallowed. Memories of Verlaine’s words telling him he was just lines of code, of holding a dying version of himself flashed in his head, and he shut his eyes tight. Dazai had said he was human not so long ago. Did he still think that?
“A scar on my wrist isn’t enough to prove that I’m not the clone.” The other Chuuya’s dying expression still burned in the back of his mind. It would never leave him, the empty look as his life faded away. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. The original .
“Chibi.”
“What, Dazai?” He opened one eye to stare rigidly at the other, and Dazai let go of his wrist.
“Chibi are you listening?”
“Yes, asshole! Yes I am!”
“No you’re not.”
Chuuya weakly punched Dazai’s arm before he pulled back and shoved his hands in his face. Dazai was not very good at providing any sort of comfort. Why had he even bothered to ask him? To confide in him at all?
And then, Dazai grabbed his wrists again, leading them away from his face. Chuuya looked up, Dazai’s intensely dark eyes trained on him. “You are not the clone,” he said, his tone so confident that Chuuya’s belief in such wavered for a moment.
The redhead opened his mouth but hesitated for a moment under Dazai’s fervent gaze. “How can you be so sure?”
His reply was so quick that he must have truly believed it. “There is no person on this bitch of an Earth smart enough to create you , Chuuya.”
Chuuya laughed. Maybe it was because it was not the answer he had been expecting. Or maybe it was out of sheer desperation. He could have sworn a grin made its way onto Dazai’s lips, if not for just a moment.
“Maybe you’re right, Dazai,” he hummed. Dazai pushed a strand of hair out of his face.
“Of course I’m right. I always am.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I hate you,” he said, smiling as he did so. Dazai may not have been smiling, but the glimmer in his eye was one Chuuya had rarely seen before- warmth.
Sighing, Chuuya closed his eyes. For once, there was no version of himself dying in his arms.
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