Chapter Text
Dazai didn’t notice the shift at first.
It crept in quietly, like fog rolling over familiar ground—subtle, disorienting, stealing clarity one step at a time. He sat curled on the couch in the Agency’s medical wing waiting room, legs tucked beneath him, fingers worrying at the loose bandage wrapped around his wrist. Not injured. Just grounding.
Kunikida sat nearby with a clipboard, posture straight but attention split cleanly in half. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked up from the page to Dazai, checking breathing, posture, tension. Chuuya leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, hat set aside on a chair like he’d planned to stay awhile.
Yosano had stationed herself in her office across the hall.
“I’m supervising, not hovering,” she’d said. “Call if he slips.”
Dazai told himself he was fine.
Then the room started feeling too big.
The lights buzzed faintly overhead. Paper rustled. A distant door slammed somewhere in the building, sharp and sudden. Each sound stacked on the next until his shoulders crept upward and his breathing shortened.
Kunikida noticed immediately.
“Dazai,” he said gently. “Where are you right now?”
Dazai opened his mouth to answer and nothing came out.
That scared him.
His fingers curled tighter into the bandage, nails pressing through the fabric. His chest felt tight—not pain, just pressure, like something heavy was sitting there and refusing to move.
Chuuya pushed off the wall. “Hey,” he said, already softening. “You okay?”
Dazai shook his head. The motion felt too big. His vision blurred around the edges.
Kunikida was at his side in an instant, kneeling to be level with him. “Alright,” he said calmly. “That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
Dazai’s breathing hitched. One sharp inhale, then another, too fast, too shallow. His thoughts tangled, slipping through his fingers like water.
“No—no, I’m—” His voice cracked, words crumbling before they could form. “I can’t—”
That was the breaking point.
Tears welled suddenly, spilling over without warning. Dazai curled forward, arms wrapping around himself as quiet, distressed sounds slipped out of him. Not loud. Just overwhelmed. Like he was trying very hard not to shatter.
Chuuya crouched on his other side, close but not touching yet. “Hey, hey,” he murmured. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
Kunikida glanced up at Chuuya, then back to Dazai. “Dazai,” he said, steady and warm. “Can you hear me?”
A small nod. Barely there.
“Good,” Kunikida said. “That’s enough.”
The world felt like it was tilting. Dazai’s thoughts slipped downward, away from sharp edges and heavy meanings, into something smaller. Softer. Safer.
Regression wrapped around him like a blanket he hadn’t realized he needed.
Chuuya recognized it instantly.
“Okay,” he said without hesitation. “That’s alright. You’re doing just fine.”
Dazai whimpered quietly, hands fisting in his coat like he didn’t know what to do with them. His breathing stuttered again.
Kunikida adjusted immediately, tone changing—slower, gentler. “Dazai,” he said. “May I touch your shoulder?”
Another pause.
Then a tiny nod.
Kunikida rested his hand lightly against Dazai’s shoulder, grounding without pressure. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re not alone.”
Chuuya shifted closer. “Can I hold your hand, kid?”
Dazai reached out clumsily, fingers catching in Chuuya’s sleeve before finding his hand. The contact anchored him. His grip was tight, desperate.
“Gotcha,” Chuuya murmured, squeezing back just enough. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kunikida glanced toward the hallway. “I’m calling Yosano.”
“She’s watching,” Chuuya said. “But yeah.”
Kunikida raised his voice just enough. “Yosano.”
She appeared almost immediately, arms crossed, eyes sharp but kind. One look at Dazai and she nodded.
“Regression triggered by overload,” she said. “Good response time.”
She crouched in front of Dazai, voice firm but soothing. “Hey. Dazai. It’s Yosano.”
Dazai peeked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“There you are,” she said. “You did the right thing letting it out.”
Dazai’s lower lip trembled. “Too loud,” he whispered, voice small.
“I know,” Yosano said. “But it’s quiet now. And you’re safe.”
She looked at Kunikida and Chuuya. “You two take lead. I’m babysitting.”
Kunikida nodded. “Understood.”
Chuuya carefully shifted so Dazai could lean into him more fully. Dazai did so immediately, curling against his side, forehead pressing into Chuuya’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Chuuya adjusted, one arm loosely around Dazai’s back, the other still holding his hand. “There you go,” he murmured. “Nice and easy.”
Kunikida moved to the other side, creating a quiet pocket between them. He spoke softly, rhythm steady. “Let’s breathe together, alright? In… and out.”
Dazai tried to follow. At first it was uneven, shaky, but with each breath, the tension eased a little more.
Yosano observed, satisfied. “Good. Keep it slow.”
Minutes passed.
Dazai’s crying dwindled to sniffles, then to quiet breaths. His grip on Chuuya loosened, fingers resting instead of clenching. His shoulders slowly dropped from around his ears.
“Tired,” he mumbled.
“I know,” Kunikida said gently. “You’ve had a long day.”
Chuuya brushed his thumb lightly over the back of Dazai’s hand—grounding, repetitive. “You can rest,” he said. “We’re right here.”
Dazai yawned, eyes fluttering. “Promise?”
Kunikida answered immediately. “I promise.”
Chuuya nodded. “Cross my heart.”
That seemed to settle something deep inside him. Dazai let out a long, shaky breath and melted fully into Chuuya’s side, eyes closing.
Yosano straightened. “Good. He’s stable.”
Kunikida looked up. “Should we move him to a bed?”
“Not yet,” Yosano said. “Let him drift first. Familiar voices. Familiar people.”
Chuuya adjusted his posture slightly, careful not to disturb Dazai. “You good there, kid?”
A soft hum in response.
Kunikida allowed himself to relax just a fraction. “You handled that well,” he said quietly to Chuuya.
Chuuya shrugged. “You did too.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind built on trust and shared responsibility. Dazai slept between them, breathing slow and even, safe and warm.
After a while, Yosano nodded once. “Alright. I’ll grab a blanket.”
When she returned, Kunikida carefully draped it over Dazai, tucking it around his shoulders with meticulous care. Dazai stirred briefly, then settled again.
Chuuya smiled faintly. “Looks like he’s out.”
“Good,” Kunikida said softly. “He needs it.”
Yosano crossed her arms, satisfied. “Call me if he wakes distressed. Otherwise, you’re doing fine.”
Once she left, the room remained quiet.
Chuuya glanced down at Dazai, expression softer than he’d ever admit out loud. “Stubborn idiot,” he murmured fondly.
Kunikida allowed a small smile. “Yes. But he trusts us.”
That mattered.
And for now, that was enough.