Archive of Our Own

Chuuya’s personal phone was ringing. He wasn’t expecting any calls and not many people had that number. It was early in the day, too. The few people who did have that number only contacted him at night. He was home, today being a rare off day from the stress and hustle of the Mafia. His cell was in the other room, so he had to get up to get it.

Mackerel was across his screen.

That was a little odd, as they usually text if it’s not urgent. Dazai never called unless it was something important or he was shitfaced. Considering it was barely 11am Chuuya figured it was the former.

He answered it. “Something wrong, vagabond?”

There’s some shuffling on the other line, and he hears the weretiger speak.

“It’s him! Kunikida-san he answered!”

The phone changed hands.

“Good morning, Nakahara-kun. We wouldn’t be contacting you if it weren’t important so bear with me here-“

“Where’s Dazai?” Chuuya cuts him off.

“He’s with us. We’re at his apartment. You know where he lives, yes?” Glasses asks him.

“Yes. Give him the phone.”

“I can’t do that, Nakahara-kun. We think you might be able to help us though. You and he were childhood friends, right?”

They met when they were fifteen, but Chuuya highly doubts he had any friends before him.

“The closest he has to someone like that. What’s this about? Is he injured?”

“It’s not that simple. He has been affected by an ability that he’s ...incompatible with. We’re currently trying to find someone he’ll recognize. Atsushi suggested you.”

The weretiger signed him up for this? And Dazai actually got hit by an ability? That affected his memory? Chuuya didn’t worry about Dazai often, but the hesitation and wariness in Four-eyes’ voice along with his low tone made him realize something was amiss.

“I’ll be there soon.” Chuuya concedes.

“Thank you, Nakahara-san!” The weretiger expresses gratuitously.

“Shh!” Kunikida shushes him.

“Sorry sorry.”

He ends the call and leaves his apartment.

*

He doesn’t bother knocking on Dazai’s door, just tries to walk right in. The door is locked and he considers kicking it down. Just as he’s about to lift his foot the weretiger opens the door, and steps outside. He closes it behind himself.

“Thank goodness you’re here! Listen there’s really not much I can say to warn you about what you’re about to see. All I can ask is that you speak softly and don’t make any sudden movements. We don’t really know what to do beyond that, but we’re hoping he’ll calm down if he sees a familiar face.”

Chuuya’s stomach tied into a knot. What was so wrong with Dazai’s memory that he needed to be that careful with him? What weren’t the detectives telling him?

“Let me see him.” Chuuya pushes Atsushi out of the way and goes inside.

Dazai’s place is small. Only four rooms, a bathroom and a bedroom in the back, a small front room with a couch and tea table, and a kitchen to the side. When Chuuya enters the front room it’s dark, the only light coming through the window of half open blinds. Glasses is sitting on the floor and Dazai is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Chuuya asks, barely remembering to be quiet.

Atsushi follows behind him and points to the small table in the middle of the room. Chuuya feels like this has to be a prank. Dazai must be really good at blackmail to make these idiots go along with him.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Nevertheless, a horrible taste fills his mouth and a wrenching pain twists his gut.

Four-Eyes shakes his head before speaking softly.

“Dazai-kun, we brought your friend here to see you. Can you come out to see him?”

Chuuya goes a little closer and bends down to look under the table.

There’s a child hiding underneath it. Dirty brown hair, baggy bandages, and even baggier clothes. Curled in on himself and covering his eyes. Visibly terrified, and shaking like a leaf in a storm. Chuuya can tell right away just how bad this is.

The Agency didn’t know anything about Dazai’s real past, from before Mori, and before the Mafia. They had no idea that the terrified little kid hiding underneath this tea table isn’t even Dazai. This is a human trafficking victim named Tsushima Shuuji.

Chuuya was not about to tell them that either. Out of respect for Dazai’s privacy and because Dazai didn’t even know Chuuya knew. Once Chuuya had obtained his Executive title he researched everything there was to know about himself and Arahabaki. When he had the access his curiosity got the better of him, and he looked into Dazai’s history. It was mostly hospital records from an unprecedented and innumerable amount of suicide attempts, but at the very end of the file was a folder. That folder detailed Dazai’s life before he became Dazai. He is pretty confident that Dazai did not know that folder existed, because if he had Chuuya is sure that it would have been ashes in the ocean before Chuuya got to it. As he had done the same himself, deciding that to be his penance for ever seeking out that information to begin with.

That folder told the story of a child who’d been through the worst hell imaginable. One who was kept in damp, cramped, dark places. One who was tortured, tormented, starved, and abused in every way possible.

Chuuya didn’t wonder why Dazai was so suicidal anymore after reading that. Chuuya also didn’t wonder about why he was completely closed off emotionally, or why he named his ability No Longer Human. Apparently Dazai went several years of his life without even speaking, and without ever seeing the light of day. It comes as no surprise that he would separate himself from the species of monsters who did what they did to him. Dazai didn’t want to relate to humans; Chuuya understood that.

Chuuya could hardly bear to look at the trembling child concealing himself from view, but his heart lurched violently in his chest.

He inches closer to him and speaks softly.

“You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone touch you again.”

The child peeks at him from between his fingers. Wide eyed and distressed, before pointing at Kunikida and hiding his face again.

“Did you seriously put your hands on him?” Chuuya can’t hide the aggravation in his voice even though he’s speaking quietly.

“We had to get him out of there. We brought him to Yosano-sensei to see if he could be examined, but he wouldn’t let her get close. Atsushi and I tried to hold him still, but we gave up on it pretty quickly.” Kunikida admits, and at least has the decency to sound guilty.

“I’ve never heard a kid scream like that.” Atsushi says softly.

“He’s got a pretty extreme case of PTSD.” Kunikida supplies.

Chuuya shakes his head, remembering what was described in the folder.

“It’s not PTSD.”

“What? Of course it-“ Four-Eyes protests.

Chuuya cuts him off again. “This is C.E.R. Conditioned Emotional Response. Much worse. I’m surprised you managed to get him here. He doesn’t know me, not yet. What did the doctor say? Explain to me the nature of this ability.”

“She said he looks around seven, but it’s impossible to tell exactly because he’s so malnourished. She says the sensitivity to light, sound, and movement is a telltale sign of captivity and abuse. She wants us to try to get him to eat and drink, and says we should be really respectful of his boundaries. He won’t talk to us and he hates being touched.” Atsushi tells him.

“We caught the ability user, and this ability is called Le Jardin des supplices. It puts you in the exact body, mind, and emotional state of the most painful moments of your life. It also regresses your memories and psychology to that time period.” Kunikida explains.

Chuuya felt nauseous. “How long does it last?”

“24 hours and he was hit around 9:45 this morning.”

Chuuya’s heart shatters into several small, sharp pieces, and cuts up his insides.

“Four-Eyes, I need you to get him some clothes. Nothing bright, no words or characters on it, and no scratchy material. Neutral colors, and cotton are a safe bet. Weretiger, I need you to get him something to eat. You know what he likes, yeah? Get him mandarin juice for vitamin C and banana soy milk for calcium. He’s deficient in both and he likes those flavors.” Chuuya gives orders easily, as that’s what he does.

The two detectives stared at him blankly for a moment, the weretiger’s mouth gaping open.

“Do what I said. You asked for my help and I know better than you do. Besides, he’ll feel safer left alone with someone who didn’t manhandle him.” Chuuya says pointedly, but still gentle out of consideration for the child curled up under the table.

The detectives can’t argue with his logic as it is as faultless as usual. Kunikida gets off the floor and heads towards the door.

Then he stops, and thinks for a second before turning back to Chuuya.

He holds out Dazai’s phone.

“Our numbers are in there. Call us if you need to.”

Chuuya takes the phone from him and presses the home button. It’s locked.

“What’s his passcode?” Chuuya asks him.

Atsushi answers. “You didn’t know? It’s you.”

Chuuya knows his expression is one of disbelief, because Glasses sighs.

“Spell your name. Romanized.”

Chuuya types 248892, and it unlocks.

He quickly locks it again and puts it in his pocket. If his cheeks are red the detectives don’t say anything about it.

“We’ll be back soon.” Atsushi says and they part.

Softly closing the door behind them.

Sitting back down, Chuuya gets a little closer to him, but leaves about a meter of space between himself and the table. He lies down on the floor, placing his hand under his cheek, and tries to see if he can see any wounds or injuries on the boy’s body.

There’s no visible bleeding, but there’s lots of bruising. The looseness of the clothes expose his neck and collarbone. There’s a huge handprint on his throat, and it’s hardly faded. As fresh a wound as one made the night before. His hands are cut up, but the gashes are old. And his wrists.. Chuuya gulps. At first, he wants to believe it's a trick of the shadows, but the discoloration is too thick and you can tell that there was something previously constricting the skin there. The damage is severe, the flesh seems to be in the loo of rotting; Necrosis.

It takes all of Chuuya's willpower to breathe.

The boy peeks at him again from between his fingers. Chuuya barely smiles at him, closed lips and not too widely. He doesn’t want to be perceived as a threat.

He waves, slow and steady, and speaks softly and comfortingly. “Hi Shuuji. I’m your friend Chuuya.”

He takes his hands off his face slowly. Jaundiced skin and his cheeks are gaunt. His eyes are bugged out, and questioning. There are bruises that look like fingerprints on his cheeks. Chuuya hates how he knows exactly what they’re from.

The boy points at his own chest, as if asking ‘Me?’

“Yes. I know you. You don’t know me yet, but that’s okay.” Chuuya informs him gently.

He blinks at Chuuya, confused and not quite understanding.

“You’re safe with me.” Chuuya repeats clearly but still quiet. “I won’t let anyone touch you again.”

The boy doesn’t look like he believes him, but he’s not covering his face anymore and seems slightly more open to interaction.

It’s not much but Chuuya takes it as a small victory.

“You don’t have to believe me, but those guys who brought you here are your friends, too. They didn’t mean to hurt you at the doctor’s. They were just worried about you.”

He glares at him, distrusting, but doesn’t cover his face again.

“I told them they’re not allowed to touch you anymore, so you don’t have to worry about that happening again.” Chuuya reassures him.

The child makes a strange expression, Chuuya can’t begin to decipher what it means.

“You’re my friend, Shuuji. That means I have to protect you.” Chuuya reminds him. “A long time ago we promised we’d always have each other’s back, and even though you don’t remember that right now I’m still holding myself to it.”

The boy is looking at him wide eyed with intrigue, but skeptical.

“You know how you can tell I’m your real friend?” Chuuya asks him.

He shrugs with a frown.

“They kept calling you another name. I knew your real one.” Chuuya tells him in a whisper.

This gets a reaction. A genuine, visceral reaction.

Shuuji, (it feels weird thinking of him with that name, but right now it is accurate) has realized that Chuuya is being truthful with him. His eyes blink rapidly, and his dry lips part just a bit in shock. Pressing them together, he nods at Chuuya, slow but sure. It’s not much movement, but enough.

Chuuya smiles at him again, kindly.

“They are still your friends though. When you get older you decide to change your name, so other than me and you: Nobody knows who Tsushima Shuuji is. Those guys are good guys, police detectives. But they’re not very good at their jobs because they have no idea who you are.” Chuuya tells him honestly.

Shuuji blinks at him curiously, gazing with not as much distrust as before, but more like he finds the situation bizarre.

“Do you know you have an ability?” Chuuya asks him.

The boy shakes his head, indicating no, he isn’t aware of it yet.

“It’s an incredibly powerful ability. The strongest one there is.” Chuuya compliments him.

Now he’s back to looking disbelieving. Not that Chuuya can blame him because to his own ears he sounded like he was exaggerating, but he’s partially right. This kid has the strongest ability of anti-ability.

“I can prove it to you.” Chuuya tells him.

This gets his attention. He blinks at Chuuya expectantly.

“Your ability is the strongest because it can turn off the ability of anyone you touch. I can show you that it’s true because I have an ability too. The only problem is that I'll have to get close enough that you can reach me. I won’t touch you though, so is that okay?” Chuuya wants him to initiate the contact, to build a little trust between them. He hopes the boy will take his word for it on this.

He looks wary, unsure, and Chuuya can’t blame him.

After a lot of internal debate, in the end, he nods.

Chuuya scoots closer to him so that he’s just outside of the edge of the table. The boy squeezes his eyes shut, but doesn’t flinch away or move. Chuuya removes one glove and rolls up the same sleeve, exposing plenty of skin for the boy to choose from. He hopes he’s presenting himself as non-threatening.

“When I activate my ability my skin glows red, you’ll know you’ve stopped it because it’ll disappear if you touch me.” Chuuya explains softly, whispering because of their proximity.

Shuuji opens his eyes again, and Chuuya can’t really read his expression.

“Are you ready?” Chuuya whispers.

He nods.

Chuuya places his arm on the ground, just outside of the shadow beneath the table. Sunlight turns the light red of his arm hair golden. Upon the activation of Tainted, his skin glows.

Shuuji’s eyes light up, not a lot, but he’s earnestly interested. He’s probably never seen an ability up close like this before. He watches Chuuya’s skin glow for a few more seconds before a small, wounded hand reaches out to him. It’s slow and tentative, and Chuuya stays completely still.

His fingertips brush against the back of Chuuya’s wrist and instantly the red glow vanishes. He snatches his hand back right away, but not because of the contact, rather.. he’s looking at his own hand. Enthralled.

Chuuya moves back, putting more space between them again. Reinforcing his dedication to respecting the boy’s boundaries.

“I told you. You’re super cool, Shuuji. The strongest ability user there is.” Chuuya compliments him.

The boy puts his hand over the bruises on his throat, and shakes his head.

“Weak.” It’s the first thing he’s said and it almost makes Chuuya cry. His voice is raw, raspy, and feeble. Worse than like he hasn’t drank anything, and more like his trachea is damaged. Chuuya recalls Atsushi’s words, and it’s painful to imagine that voice trying to scream.

“That’s not true.” Chuuya whispers intently. “You’re so strong, and incredibly smart.”

He shakes his head again.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” Chuuya tells him, soft and sincere.

Shuuji frowned at this, but he doesn’t deny Chuuya’s words with a motion.

Chuuya felt like they were starting to get somewhere. He was prepared to diligently build his rapport. He wanted Shuuji to have faith in him— faith that he would protect him no matter what. Seeing Dazai at his weakest, most broken point caused him more anguish than he imagined he could feel. He hated every second of Dazai’s suffering and never dreamt a day would come where he’d be forced to confront Dazai’s past.

“Just because bad things happened to you does not mean you are not strong. People actually become stronger based on the hardships they endure. I know what you’ve gone through, so believe me when I say you become stronger because of it.”

Shuuji is visibly put off by this. Chuuya understands, he probably didn’t want anyone to know what he’d experienced.

“No.” He speaks again, still hoarse but more stern this time.

“You are though, Shuuji. You’re very capable and courageous.” Chuuya thinks a better phrase for courageous is ‘unafraid of death’, but decides against sharing that with the kid.

“No.” He repeats himself. “I..” He chokes a little, as it’s evidently hard for him to speak. “Never tell.”

Chuuya has never felt so guilty for intruding on Dazai’s past and privacy than in this moment. Shuuji confirms he would do exactly what Dazai has done all these years. Never speak of any of this to anyone.

He can’t be honest with him now. He can’t tell him he found out from a file. That’d break all the trust he has worked so hard to build.

“I’m your best friend, Shuuji. I know everything about you that there is to know. I even know things that you don’t know. We’ve known each other for a long time. We’ve talked about a lot of things. I’m the only one who knows. I’m the only one who has ever found out. Your secrets are safe with me.” Chuuya tries to comfort him, and not outright lie to him at the same time.

Those dull, sad eyes glimmer at him, almost hopefully.

“You’re probably wondering why those guys and I are so much older than you and still calling ourselves your friends. Did they try to explain to you that you were hit by an ability?”

Shuuji nods.

“You’re a smart guy. You’ll be able to understand. The year is 2020. You’ve been age regressed and your memories and psychological state have been, too.”

This shocks him. His eyes go wide and his lips part, and you can tell his brain is running a mile a minute. This is the first time that Chuuya can really recognize the Dazai he knows in this kid. His surprise and bewilderment are rather discernible and unique, but the gears turning in his head are extraordinary and unparalleled.

“The doctor was trying to figure out how old you are. Do you know?” Chuuya asks him.

He shakes his head.

“You don’t know when you were born?” Chuuya tries to clarify.

“No.” Shuuji whispers.

“Do you know what year you’re from?” Chuuya questions.

He holds up his hands. First holding up two fingers, then none, then five on one hand and two on the other.

“2007?” Chuuya asks for confirmation.

He nods.

“Do you know what season?”

He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Right. The bad guys didn’t let you go outside. I’m sorry I asked a stupid question.” Chuuya apologizes to him for being dumb.

Shuuji doesn’t seem mad at him, actually he just shrugs.

“You were born on the nineteenth of June in 1997. It’s September right now so you’re actually twenty-three, but you’ve been taken back to when you were ten.” Chuuya tells him.

Shuuji blinks at him, absorbing the information rather calmly.

“That makes you a Gemini-Cancer cusp. I’d say you act more like a Gemini, they’re characterized as being aloof, intelligent, and impulsive. Cancers are more emotional and nurturing, but you end up being like them in some ways as you are kind of moody. You make friends easily and being a detective is kind of like a police officer so lots of people feel safe with you. You’re curious about everything and always wanting to learn more. You’re logical too, and while I wouldn’t call you empathetic you are sensitive. People confide in you a lot, and consider you very trustworthy, but you don’t really talk about yourself. It’s hard to get you to open up, so I doubt you have to any of your coworker detective friends. You’ve always been more open with me though. That’s why I know you so well.” Chuuya is trying to distract him right now, take his mind off all the pain and horrible things. Tell him about the person he becomes, rather than the person he’s been reverted to being.

He seems like he’s interested in Chuuya’s words at least. Not enthusiastic, but attentive. Those sunken eyes are watching him closely.

“The detectives will be back soon. I had them go get you clothes and food. When they get back do you want them to stay? If they make you uncomfortable or if it’s too many people I can ask them to leave.”

The child tilts his head into the floor before shutting his eyes tight. He rubs his face with both hands, heavily on his eyes and cheeks.

“Hey hey. It’s alright. I get that you don’t trust them, so after they drop off the stuff I’ll make them leave. Someone does have to stay here and watch over you though, so that’s going to be me.”

He uncovers his eyes then and looks at Chuuya carefully.

“You’d rather it be me than them, right?” Chuuya clarifies.

Shuuji is hesitant, but nods. Clearly indicating that Chuuya had built more of a bond with him in the past forty-five minutes than with those brute detectives in the past few hours. It felt strange to think of them as more brutal than himself, but at least he didn’t try to hold down a screaming, abused child. Dumbasses.

“They’ll want to check on you, and talk to me. So I can’t guarantee that they won’t come back. They know you’re safe with me though so they’ll probably leave you alone for the most part. I promise they weren’t trying to hurt you, they just don’t know you like I do. I know they scared you and truthfully I’m mad at them for handling you like that.” Chuuya remembers to speak softly even though his tone gives away that he is, in fact, upset with the detectives for their conduct.

Shuuji looks taken aback by this. Chuuya figures nobody has ever been angry on his behalf before. Especially not regarding the way he’s been treated.

“When I said I’m not going to let anyone touch you again, I meant it.” Chuuya tells him. “I promise you, Shuuji. As long as I’m here, nothing bad is going to happen to you again.”

For the first time it looks like he believes him.

His expression is almost tranquil, and the tension in his frail frame shows signs of starting to unwind.

Then the door opens.

Shuuji jolts violently and goes back to covering his eyes.

Chuuya sits up and looks behind him; It’s the weretiger.

“Shhh.” He soothes the cowering child. “It’s just the younger one. He brought you food.” Chuuya lets him know.

He doesn’t peek this time, and he’s trembling again. So much for that moment of peace.

“I got him what you said, and some of his favorite foods and snacks. I’ll cook him something.” Atsushi offers quietly.

“No. Just set everything in the kitchen and put away what needs refrigerated. Then you can leave. I’ve got it from here.” Chuuya denies him.

The weretiger sputters. “Wh-What? I can’t just leave him!” He whispers indignantly.

Chuuya sighs. “Remember what the doc said? About respecting his boundaries? He doesn’t want to be around you guys right now.”

The weretiger opens his mouth to protest, but Chuuya cuts him off.

“Let’s just say you guys fucked up your chance with him. You’re not going to get that back. I’m aware that you didn’t mean to hurt him, but the fact is that you did. He’s not going to be comfortable enough to come out, let alone eat or change, if you guys are here. So once again, do as I said. You can call and check in, but you really have to go. I will take care of him for you.” Chuuya outlines his reasons, and is blunt as per usual.

The weretiger relents, grimly nodding to Chuuya and heading into the kitchen.

While the weretiger is putting things away in the kitchen the front door opens again. Chuuya watches the Four-Eyes enter the room with two shopping bags. He sets them by the couch.

“How is he?” He asks Chuuya.

“He was better, until you two got back.” Chuuya doesn’t see any reason to lie and spare their feelings.

“How so?” The older detective inquires.

“He’s from the year 2007. He understands he’s been age and memory regressed. He believes that I’m his friend because I haven’t lied to him, and I haven’t touched him. I got him to uncover his eyes and nod. I also showed him his ability and-“

“How? He’d have to touch you for it to work?” The weretiger enters the room then, asking questions.

“I communicated with him and allowed him to initiate the contact. He’s going to be fine left alone with me, but I’m sure he won’t come out if you guys are around. So thanks for your help, but I’ve got it from here.” Chuuya explains and thanks them for getting the stuff.

“We should be thanking you. That’s more progress than we could have hoped for, even though he doesn’t recognize you. I had no idea you’d be so good with traumatized kids.” Four-Eyes tells him.

“I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. I'm just aware of his issues and considerate of his feelings. We’ve known each other for quite some time, so while it hurts to see him like this I’m not ignorant of how he should be treated.” Chuuya responds evenly.

Then he leans down to look under the table again.

Shuuji is still trembling, but he’s peeking between his fingers at Chuuya.

“Hey I’m going to go talk to them in the kitchen before I make them leave. I’ll be right back and I’ll be watching over you the whole time, okay?” Chuuya speaks softly to him.

He barely nods, but Chuuya takes the acknowledgment.

The mafioso stands and motions for Glasses to follow him into the kitchen where the weretiger is standing in the entrance.

They circle up and the detectives look to him expectantly.

Chuuya speaks low enough that the child won’t overhear. “Weretiger, I need you to check the bathroom and his bedroom for anything that can be used to harm yourself and take them for the time being. Scissors, pills, guns. He’s too at-risk right now to even think about leaving stuff like that lying around, not to mention he’s just a kid. Glasses do the same here, and put his kitchen knives on top of the fridge where he can’t reach them. After you’ve suicidal-child-proofed the apartment you can go. I’ll make sure he eats, sleeps, and I’ll let you know if he starts speaking.”

Chuuya decides against telling them that Dazai has already spoken to him. The content of the conversation was just too personal and raw. The detectives didn’t need to know. They don’t argue with him. Their expressions are actually rather solemn and sympathetic. They nod and set off on their task.

Chuuya goes back to the living room and lies down on the floor again, a meter from the table.

“They’re checking the area for danger and then they’ll be gone, alright? We just have to double check that there’s nothing and no one that could hurt you. We’re very serious about keeping you safe.” Chuuya whispers as he explains why the detectives are walking around the apartment.

The boy spreads his fingers apart ever so slightly and Chuuya waves to him. The floorboards creak as Atsushi walks by and he closes the gap again.

Chuuya just lies there keeping watch for the few moments it takes for the detectives to clear out the hazards in his home.

Finally, after filling up three plastic bags of dangerous items, they’re standing at the front door.

“Thanks again, Chuuya-san.” The weretiger expresses his gratitude quietly.

“If you need anything do not hesitate to call us.” Glasses reminds him.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll keep you posted.” Chuuya acknowledges them and they take their leave.

Chuuya locks the door behind them before lying back down on the floor.

After a few silent moments Shuuji removes his hands from his face. Chuuya catches his eyes and he starts to speak.

“Gone?” Shuuji asks hoarsely.

“Yeah they left.” Chuuya confirms.

The tension in his shoulders starts to wind down again.

“There’s something that you do that will probably make you feel better. You always wrap your injuries and cover up the marks. That’s what those loose bandages are from. If you want, I can get you some clothes and bandages ready and you can take a shower and wrap up and get dressed?” Chuuya offers.

The child shrugs and averts his eyes.

“I’ll just go ahead and take care of it, so it’s ready when you decide you want to come out, okay?” Chuuya compromises.

He nods, but doesn’t meet Chuuya’s eyes.

Chuuya sits up and gets into the shopping bag.

He gathers him an outfit consisting of plain gray sweatpants, a dark blue, long sleeved, cotton shirt, and wool socks. Quickly ripping off the tags. He was glad the detective had the foresight not to get anything short. Dazai never wore anything that wasn’t full coverage and this kid needed to feel as concealed as possible.

He took the clothes into the bathroom and took a roll of bandages out from his first-aid kit and placed everything on the counter.

As he turned around to leave he was shocked to see Shuuji’s head peeking around the side of the doorway. So shocked he froze, worried that sudden movement might scare him off.

The kid spoke so softly and so strained it was hard to hear.

“Guard the door.” A simple request that Chuuya never considered denying.

He nodded and exited the bathroom to the opposite side of where he stood. The boy snuck past him to shut and locked the door behind him. Chuuya’s heart surged in his chest. He believed him, trusted him, and even asked to be protected. Chuuya had been partially worried that he’d push him away, or refuse his efforts to help. It seemed like those fears were unfounded though. Shuuji was unlike Dazai in this way, as Dazai didn’t like depending on others or asking them for anything. Chuuya chalked it up to Shuuji being a scared child and Dazai doing everything in his power to never depend on anyone. He realized Dazai cares an awful lot about being perceived as weak, while Shuuji was convinced he was.

Soon enough he hears the shower turn on.

Chuuya leans heavily against the wall and lets his mind wander to that file. The folder contained a mostly redacted copy of a birth certificate. The only things that weren’t blacked out were the child’s name and date of birth. Both parents’ names were marked out, along with delivering doctor, and biographical information. Chuuya didn’t like thinking this, but it was a major possibility that the reason his parents’ names were censored was because they were the ones who gave him up in the first place. That’s a hell of a lot worse than being an orphan or cloned in a laboratory. It also begs the question of how long had Shuuji been held captive? If he had any memories of a time before at all?

It made Chuuya nauseous to think about so he shook his head to clear it.

Just then Dazai’s phone started ringing.

Chuuya took it out of his pocket and read “Yosano Akiko” across the screen. He was sure that was the doctor so he answered.

“Hello?”

“He has spoken to you, hasn’t he?” The woman didn’t sound as accusatory as her phrasing, but more so hopeful.

“Not much but a bit yeah.” Chuuya admitted.

“What has he said? Anything about who did this to him? I heard you found out how old he is.”

“He wouldn’t be comfortable with me sharing his words, at this point I don’t think he even knows who is responsible. And yeah he’s ten.” Chuuya tells her.

“He’s never mentioned anything like this to us before. We had no idea that something this horrible had happened to him. Has he let you close enough to see the bruising on his neck?”

“If you heard him speak you’d hear the damage. His trachea must be hurt badly. There’s discoloration on his wrists and he’s severely malnourished. I had the weretiger get him drinks with vitamins and calcium.”

“I see. And I know, I thought he was much younger from just the short look at him. That’s good though. I heard you’ve been surprisingly calm and very helpful. Did you know about this already?”

Chuuya sighs.

“He doesn’t talk about this and he wouldn’t be okay with me sharing with you. I understand you’re just trying to do your job, but I can’t betray his trust. Please understand.” Chuuya doesn’t know why he’s being so polite with her, but maybe it’s because he understands her concern and curiosity. As his physician, she probably felt like she of all people at the Agency was entitled to this information. Despite that, Chuuya refuses to give any insight, because it is insight that he is not even supposed to have.

“So you do know what happened to him then. I suppose you’re the best equipped to care for him after all. What’s he doing right now? Atsushi-kun and Kunikida said he was still hiding when they left.”

“He’s taking a shower. When he gets out I’m going to try and get him to eat. He’s got heavy dark circles so after that I’ll try to get him to sleep. God knows he needs it.”

“You already got him to bathe? That’s remarkable! From his touch aversion and motion sensitivity I was really sure that was going to be hard.”

“I’ve kept reassuring him that I’m here to protect him and that I won’t let anyone touch him. I keep him informed about everything I’m doing and what I had the detectives do, which built a lot of rapport. I’ve found that letting him know what to expect, being reassuring, and extremely respecting his boundaries is the key. I got him clothes and bandages ready for whenever he was going to shower and he must’ve followed me. He walks really softly so I didn’t hear him but he was right behind me. He asked me to ‘guard the door’ while he is in there so I assume he really trusts me.”

“You’re impressing me, Nakahara-kun. Do you think you could convince him to let me give him a physical exam later this evening? I’m really worried that there are more injuries I didn’t get to see or treat.” The doctor asks him.

“Just Chuuya is fine. I’ll talk to him but I can’t give you a guarantee. He was very clear that he didn’t want the detectives around so I’m not sure I’ll be able to persuade him to let you get close.”

The shower turns off.

“It means a lot to us that you’re doing this. We are grateful for your help.”

“I’m not doing this for you. I haven’t spared those idiots’ feelings, and I’m giving you no guarantees. I’m just doing what’s best for him. Now I’ve got to go. He’ll be out soon.”

“Still. Thank you so much.” The sensei sounds hopeful, but this whole conversation has drained Chuuya.

He hangs up without answering her.

None of this, not his new partner asking, or his new student suggesting him were the reason Chuuya was here right now. He couldn’t give a damn about the Agency if he tried. Chuuya cared about one thing in this whole atrocious situation, and that’s Dazai’s safety. Shuuji is just a child, and he deserved at the bare minimum someone who respected his limitations enough to speak to him about everything going on around him. Dazai has always been smart, and even in this weakened state he would be able to understand what’s going on as long as people are patient with him.

The detectives trying to hold him down and dragging him around did not display that they knew that. The lack of basic respect for him had angered Chuuya. When Dazai returns to himself, Chuuya wonders if he will remember what transpired during his reverted state.

He’ll have to ask the detectives about what to expect regarding that.

The sound of the door knob turning jolts Chuuya out of his thoughts.

Shuuji peers at him through a sizable crack in the door. His brown hair is no longer matted with grease and grime. Fresh bandages are sloppily wrapped around his neck, as if by unsteady and out of practice hands. The clothes are a little loose on him on account of his severe malnutrition, but look alright enough as far as length going by his height.

“I’m going to get you some lunch. You can follow me into the kitchen or sit in the living room, okay? The area is safe; You don’t have to hide unless you want to.” Chuuya explains and offers. Though he hopes Shuuji doesn’t retreat back under the table.

The boy nods, mouth a thin line, and expression unreadable. Even as a child, the blankness of Dazai’s face is impossible to decipher. Though he doesn’t look terrified anymore, but perhaps a bit sheepish. He could be contemplating or uncaring, too.

Chuuya turns his back to him and starts for the kitchen. Straining his ears to listen for when Shuuji’s footsteps begin and where they end. If he follows they are too soft, and he hears nothing.

Upon investigating it turns out that the weretiger got him a kanimeshi bento. Chuuya rewarms it for him briefly, but it is still decent from having been picked up recently. When he takes it out and grabs chopsticks he turns around to find Shuuji sitting at the table he had been hiding beneath prior.

Chuuya brings him the bento and sets the chopsticks on the table. Shuuji looks ravenous. Chuuya can only guess whether or not he’s had a proper meal so far, and doesn’t want to. Chuuya moves away to sit on the farthest end of his couch away from him, and pretends to be more interested in his phone than his progress.

He is glad he is paying attention.

Shuuji picks up the chopsticks but evidently has no idea how to hold them. Fumbling with both hands, then trying to stab the meat and rice. Chuuya gets up and heads back into the kitchen.

“Hold on. I’ll get you something else.” Hurriedly, Chuuya tells him before he starts using his injured hands.

He returns in seconds with a spoon and Shuuji takes it from him right out of his hand. Quickly shoveling the food into his mouth as if it’s his first time eating in weeks. Chuuya worries he might choke himself and goes back into the kitchen to get him something to drink.

Returning to set down a mandarin juice and a glass of water on the table, before going back to his spot on the couch.

In those few seconds of retrieving hydration for him Shuuji inhaled almost half of the bento. Chuuya watches him gulp down the water to make sure he doesn’t drown himself. Glad that he is starting to pace himself instead of continuing with that fast eating habit.

Shuuji sits really close to the table, his chest almost pressed against it. His legs are underneath it as though he is still trying to conceal himself. It is a world’s improvement from the cowering of before. Chuuya is very pleased he was able to relax enough to eat and drink slower halfway through his meal, too.

Shuuji finishes his lunch pretty quickly, and sips his juice. Chuuya can tell from the slight change in his expression that he likes the mandarin. He has not spoken a word in quite some time, but he is much more open now that they are alone.

Soon after that thought Shuuji turns his head towards him. Brown eyes locking with blue. He blinks once, then twice before lowering his head in a silent ‘thank you’.

“If you want or need anything else, let me know.” Chuuya tells him earnestly.

Shuuji’s mouth quirks a bit, and it seemed involuntary. It was not a smile, but wasn’t a grimace either. Honestly, as a child, Dazai might be even harder to decode.

He picks up the chopsticks again, having no idea the proper technique for holding them.

“How are these?” A rasping voice asks Chuuya.

It’s an important question, and Chuuya rationalizes that children often learn how to use them later or pick up the skill from watching their parents. That makes the bizarreness of the situation more feasible. Chuuya stands slowly.

“I’ll grab some too and show you.” He starts towards the kitchen.

Shuuji holds out his arm, extending the utensils towards Chuuya.

“Take these.” The rough voice offers.

Slowly, Chuuya does.

“Can I sit with you?” Chuuya asks him.

Shuuji scoots farther away from him, but still remains half under the table. Giving himself more distance and personable space. Satisfied after he adjusts, he nods. Chuuya sits at the adjacent edge, crossing his legs beneath him and giving Shuuji ample room.

Muscle memory kicks in and Chuuya’s grasp on the chopsticks nestles them properly between his fingers. Holding the top one like a pencil and the bottom still, he shows Shuuji the motion made for grabbing and releasing.

“The top one is the one that moves, see? When you’re learning it’s okay to start lower so you have more control— like this.” Chuuya explains to him.

Shuuji watches closely and nods in comprehension.

“Here, now you try.” Chuuya holds them out to him far enough that he has to close the distance himself.

He does.

Chuuya watches him use both hands to try and perfectly place them between his fingers. It’s cute to see such a concentrated look on his face. To see such a simple task take up his focus makes Chuuya feel the tiniest bit better about all that has happened today. Never in his life did he think he’d be teaching Dazai how to use chopsticks.

Though, he’s already got the hang of how they are meant to be held.

Those eyes that were distressed and wide not long ago are now narrowed with concentration. Chuuya watches him practice the motions for how to grab and release. It’s pretty endearing.

Eventually he deems his progress sufficient because he looks to Chuuya instead of his hand, presumably for feedback.

“Yeah you’ve got it.” Chuuya tells him with a small smile. “You can use them with dinner tonight.”

Shuuji nods again, and Chuuya doesn’t think he is imagining the slight satisfaction on his features. The redhead moves slowly, getting up from the table and sitting on the couch. Allowing Shuuji more of the room.

He sets them down and focuses his attention on Chuuya.

It’s nearly as unnerving as when Dazai stares at him. Reminiscent of when he is picking Chuuya apart in his mind, by dissecting his intentions and motives, and predicting his next course of action. This somehow is different from that, too. Shuuji’s childish observation is more curious than analytical in comparison. Still, Chuuya cannot help but feel he is being judged.

“I’m not scared of you.” Shuuji informs him decidedly, voice still hoarse from damage and disuse.

“That’s good.” Chuuya remembers to speak quietly through his internal eureka of thankfulness.

Really he is grateful that he was able to earn Shuuji’s trust so quickly. Unfathomably glad that he was able to get through to him and help through this difficult time.

“You’re like a girl; nice and look like one, too.” Shuuji informs him bluntly.

Chuuya continues to smile gently, but feels his eye twitch. This kid is definitely the Dazai he knows. Some things really never change. It’s sweet Shuuji finds him to be a kind person. Also realizing that no matter what’s going on with Dazai’s age and state of mind, he can find a way to make fun of Chuuya for not only his emotional sincerity, but also his looks.

“Your doctor is actually a girl. She called me to ask you if she can come check up on you this evening. How do you feel about that?”

Shuuji pushes his bento trash out of the way and lays his head on the table instead of answering right away.

“You said already..” Shuuji frowns. His face starts to twist in that way Chuuya recognizes as him getting overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

Chuuya sighs in defeat.

“I know, Shuuji. I told her that I wouldn’t guarantee anything. She will understand if you don’t want to be seen or touched.” Chuuya informs him gently.

Evidently he had pushed too far, and did not want to reverse the progress they had made to this point.

Shuuji’s eyes close and he presses his cheek into the table. They are not squeezed shut as tight as before, and he is not squishing himself with as much pressure either. Even so, to know his question to be the cause has Chuuya wishing he hadn’t been so harsh and quipping with the ‘girly’ comment. Shuuji is just a kid, even as smart as he is, he probably wasn’t trying to offend him. To react even close to the same level of sass he usually used on Dazai was careless of him.

The boy does not answer him and does not open his eyes.

“Why don’t you try sleeping for a bit? Your bedroom is at the end of the hall or you could take a nap in here on the couch?” Chuuya suggests.

After observing him for this time it has become apparent to Chuuya that part of his sensitivity must stem from an inherent lack of integral needs. His temperament improved with the establishment of boundaries. His comfort level increased after he bathed and dressed properly. Most definitely his openness with Chuuya expanded immensely after he ate. So Chuuya holds onto hope he will be even better after some real rest.

Shuuji’s eyes open again, managing to be both blank and skeptical. Dark irises glance towards the hallway from which they had previously come, then to the couch Chuuya was sitting on, and back again. Without bothering to cover his mouth; the boy yawns widely.

When he’s done he looks back at the couch.

“Move.” Shuuji lacks any force or question behind this word. Even out of context it would have sounded like an answer.

Wordlessly, Chuuya does. Standing and stretching his arms up before getting out of the way and providing ample personal space.

Shuuji climbs onto the sofa. Immediately curling into a ball and facing away from Chuuya. The redhead moves forward, purposefully loud, and takes the blanket folded over the back of it. As he does this, he speaks.

“I’m going to put the blanket over you so you don’t catch a cold, okay?”

Barely, Chuuya notices his brief nod.

Unfolding it and spreading it over him takes one motion. Gravity assisting to quicken the process. Shuuji’s hand grasps the blanket as it settles over him and slowly stretches out his legs.

“I’ll try to be quiet, but I’m going to clean up while checking around. If you need or want anything at all, I’ll be nearby.”

Shuuji doesn’t respond, no nods or words, but Chuuya knows he didn’t fall asleep that fast.

As quietly as he can, Chuuya leaves the room. The kitchen is his first destination. Dazai’s sink is not full of dirty dishes, but there’s enough to busy him for a little while. He takes the time to clean out his fridge and disinfect his counters.

There wasn’t really anything like this he hadn’t done for Dazai before. Back in their mafia days, he stayed over at Dazai’s penthouse for days at a time. Nowadays Dazai prefers showing up at his penthouse uninvited. As he tiptoes through the living room he realizes he’s spent quite a lot of time tidying up after Dazai over the years.

Once in his bedroom he starts by making the bed. The question he had thought earlier presses at the forefront of his mind. Will Dazai remember all of this tomorrow?

Will he remember hiding under the table for hours?

Will he be angry at the detectives for touching him?

Will he remember the way Chuuya taught him to hold chopsticks?

Will he hate Chuuya for knowing about his past and never once mentioning it to him?

Will he ask Chuuya to leave, and will Chuuya ever be able to reach out to him in good conscience again?

The quiet has begun to ring in his ears and Chuuya needs to know before he drowns in the uncertainty of his own thoughts.

Closing the bedroom door, and pulling Dazai’s cell phone from his pocket to type in his own name is simple enough.

The home screen is a view from the top of the Red Brick Warehouse. A place he and Dazai had been together on numerous occasions. Sometimes on what he would generously describe as ‘dates’ and for .. other excursions as well.

Chuuya barely notices his own outline in the photo, but sure enough he is there.

Hurriedly, Chuuya clicks on his contacts and begins scrolling until he sees the doctor’s name.

She answers on the first ring.

“Chuuya?”

“Yes.” Chuuya confirms.

“How is he?”

“He ate and now he’s hopefully sleeping. I asked him if you could give him a check up and he refused. I’m sure you know there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“I see. I’m glad you are there for him.”

“I want additional information on the ability.” Chuuya wastes no time getting to the point of his call.

“I’m afraid all we have is the effect and time constraint. Our interrogator is out of commission, and no one has gotten anything else relevant out of the ability user.”

“Let me talk to him.” Chuuya demands.

What was he expecting? Of course the agency would be essentially useless without Dazai.

There’s a pause.

“I’ll have them call you from where he is.” The sensei agrees.

Chuuya hums an agreement and hangs up.

Anticipation is grinding him down, or maybe sharpening his mind. The quiet is becoming comfortable again as he sits at the edge of Dazai’s bed. This place is the same though the circumstances are different. Now, more than ever, there is nothing Chuuya wouldn’t do for Dazai.

The phone rings and he picks it up without greeting the caller.

“Bonsoir. Monsieur Octave Mirbeau speaking.”

“I want the details of your ability.”

“Now, isn't it parvenu to introduce oneself before making demands?”

“I am no gentleman and I don’t care about anything other than getting what I ask for. Explain your ability or I will get my explanation in person.”

“How is he enjoying Le Jardin des supplices?”

Chuuya inhales steadily, calming his fraying nerves.

“Je suis membre exécutif du conseil de la mafia portuaire. Je ne suis pas les mêmes règles. You will answer each of my questions ou vous le regretterez énormément.”

The bastard swallows audibly enough for Chuuya to hear over the phone.

“Je comprends.”

“Describe the nature of your ability’s activation.”

“Internal. Within the target’s mind the pain already exists, I enhance the most painful memory until it manifests physically. I know him to be the contre. My ability affected him because it was already within him.”

“And the effects will wear off in a full 24 hours?”

“The physical ones, oui.”

Yes, Chuuya notices the amused hilt to his tone.

“Then he will..” Chuuya trails off, reality sinking in.

“Of course he’s going to remember it.” The ability user scoffs. “Not like he ever forgot. Le Jardin doesn’t open old wounds, it replicates them. The worst feeling and experience in one’s lifetime reproduced verbatim. Their exact body, mind, heart, and memories are reduced to the lowest point in their capacity.” He laughs, the cruelest and most wicked laugh Chuuya has ever heard.

“With that steel trap mind of his.. He seemed like the one that would be the most fun to rebreak. When he comes back from this he’ll be impossible to put back exactly as before.”

Chuuya makes his peace before informing Mirbeau of his timely demise.

“Tu es un homme mort qui marche. Vos dernières respirations seront dessinées dans un jardin d'épines.”

Refusing to wait for a response Chuuya ends the call. The only answer was the right one, and truthfully he had already decided what the bastard deserved before he’d even spoken to him. Hearing the sick satisfaction he got out of torturing Dazai only solidified Chuuya’s response.

No one knew the true extent of what Dazai had gone through, not even Chuuya. Some things were better left unsaid, some stones were better left unturned, and at the very fucking least the person who was personally affected had the ultimate decision of whether or not they wanted to confide in anyone.

Chuuya had already broken Dazai’s trust with the file. Destroying it had done nothing to erase the impact this had on him, and killing Mirbeau would hardly begin to atone.

Nevertheless, this is what Chuuya had to go off of and where he had to start.

Running a hand through his hair, he sits down again. Unlocking Dazai’s phone and calling the contact ‘Atsushi’. The weretiger’s first name.

“Chuuya-san?” He answers as quickly as the sensei had.

“Are you with the others?” Chuuya asked him.

“Ah, I’m with Kyouka-chan, Kunikida-san, and Ranpo-san.”

Chuuya pictures the faces of those there and decides that half of them probably don’t need to hear this conversation. Though it may be best to tell them in front of the two lacking common sense.

“Put me on speaker.” Chuuya orders.

“We can hear you.” Atsushi informs him.

“I talked to Mirbeau. I only had one question and I got the answer. Dazai is going to remember this.”

They don’t respond, which is good because Chuuya wasn’t in the mood to listen to them anyways.

“None of you are ever allowed to bring this up or question him. If he ever chooses to talk to any of you about this—it has to be entirely on his own terms. I am already livid at the lack of emotional intelligence that your shoddy cop op has orchestrated thus far, so I figured I would have to spell it out for you.”

“You figured correctly.” A voice Chuuya vaguely recognizes as the one who lured him into the book answers him.

“Why shouldn’t we investigate?” Glasses asks.

“Whoever did this to him should be held accountable.” The weretiger adds.

“If you were to say something to him, do you really think that would change anything? None of us can go back and fix this for him. None of us have anything we can say or do about it now. Too much time has passed between now and then. We don’t know anything about who could have done it. We don’t know where or when or how long it went on. There are too many variables that would need more answers, and it simply isn’t fair to put him through that. If he ever talks to someone about it, it needs to be on his own terms. It's not up to you or me to decide when or how or if he confronts this at all.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as they process the idea of boundaries. Chuuya feels angry with them again. Is it so hard to understand that the person who is suffering and will suffer the most from this is Dazai? Do they not see how unfairly they’ve treated him?

The thin line of anger and pain in Chuuya snaps.

“The gross negligence of none of you knowing how to handle this is my only issue. If even one of you had half the brains he does you would have said you were police or detectives and there to help him or whatever— Instead you made yourselves look more than stupid, you terrified an innocent child who even didn’t know you!”

“Dazai doesn’t deserve to be prodded at or interrogated. He has worked with you people for a few years now and that means if he had wanted to he could have done all of that work on his own. He has his own reasons for never telling you about this, and for not seeking justice through your means. ‘Justice’.” Chuuya scoffs. “You’re not understanding the most basic thing about right and wrong. The person who was hurt has the final say so, and Dazai chose not to say anything. That’s the decision you have to respect until if or when he does otherwise.”

“Anyway, you guys of all people don’t get to use this to think of or see Dazai differently. To you he will always be Dazai. That’s the person you all know. That’s the person you came the closest to comprehending. When this is all over I hope you’ve learned something about boundaries and give him room to breathe.” Chuuya finishes and doesn’t hesitate to end the call.

The whirlwind of tumultuous emotions inside of him are angry and despairing.

He wants to kill Mirbeau for exposing Dazai’s past so gruesomely to everyone he wanted to hide it from the most. He wants to ring the detectives necks for not recognizing the sensitivity required of the situation. And obviously he wants to know and kill whoever was hurting Dazai all that time.

He pictures Shuuji with the bruised handprint around his throat, and the dead, discolored skin of his wrists.

Rage and hopelessness threaten to consume him. The heartache will not lessen by crushing Mirbeau or by telling off the detectives. The only thing he can really do is be there when Dazai returns, and take care of Shuuji in the meantime.

He stands and wipes at his eyes. Clearing his head of the more violent thoughts. He opens the door to find Shuuji standing outside of it. Leaning against the wall in the hallway.

His expression is bleak. The blankness of his fixated stare at the floor is worrisome, but the cold glaze over his eyes is the worst part. Chuuya is certain Shuuji had been listening in to at least some of his phone conversations, and probably heard him crying.

Chuuya doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He isn’t sure there is anything he could say or do now. The stinging sensation in his eyes burns in silence.

It’s not fair to show how much this hurts in front of him, but Chuuya isn’t insensitive or calm enough to pretend everything is fine either.

Shuuji is smart, and by now he probably has no doubts that Chuuya is on his side.

“You.. meant what you said, right?”

Chuuya blinks at him, unsure of what he was asking.

“You said you were going to protect me.”

Chuuya nods with no hesitation.

“You have a reason, right?" The boy questions.

Chuuya nods slowly and puts his palms over his eyes.

Hard pressing into the tissue and willing away a breakdown he has felt building up ever since he looked under Dazai's tea table.

"I care about you. Other people do too, but it's not the same. You know me better than anyone else and for years I’ve been by your side. I'm the closest thing you have to a best friend now and..I'm sorry."

Chuuya doesn’t know what specifically he’s apologizing for. Too much has gone wrong and he has not done enough on his end. There are parts of him telling him not to blame himself, that what happened to Dazai as a child, that what happened today with Mirbeau, and everything with the Agency was out of his control.

But he can’t accept any of it. And Chuuya always changes the things he can’t accept.

He has a wrathful god in his veins and the natural force of the universe on his side.

How could he let this be the catalyst to make him crumble?

Chuuya uncovers his eyes to find Shuuji staring at him.

“Don’t waste your tears on me.” The child whispers solemnly.

Chuuya stills, willing himself to go numb or at least stop showing his emotions on his face.

“It’s making me uncomfortable.” He concludes, making a weird face.

Chuuya sighs, a halfhearted chuckle leaves his aching chest.

"Sorry." Chuuya apologizes again and moves to the furthest wall of the hallway to walk past him.

Chuuya doesn’t look back to see if he followed.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Chuuya asks instead.

Shuuji mumbles something and all Chuuya makes out is “light behind my eyes..”

That explains enough.

The front room was the brightest room in the apartment. Chuuya can’t picture a time where he actually witnessed Dazai sleeping in a well lit room. Though he knows he loves to pretend.

Chuuya remembers instances of his partner fake sleeping to listen in on conversations, and get out of work.

Unfortunately, Chuuya has a tough time remembering the moments he saw Dazai sleeping at all.

The insomnia was no joke to this day, and Chuuya paid close attention to Dazai’s sleeping habits when he was especially irritable and mean.

Shuuji lacked all the bitterness of Dazai’s adulthood. Though, the apathy and dejectedness was more concerning to Chuuya. There were so many times Chuuya found himself comforted by Dazai’s constant complaints and taunts.

Chuuya moves to the kitchen and begins making tea. While it boils he grabs Shuuji's banana milk and brings it to the living room. The boy is sitting halfway under the table again, resting his cheek against it, and staring off into space.

The late afternoon light shines on him. His dark brown hair takes on a reddish tint, the yellow jaundice of his skin is washed out by the sun, but the bruises on his jaw are darkening with each passing hour. Chuuya has watched those marks turn from the hard press of fingertips to the grip of an entire hand.

Stomach churning, he sets down the milk box without a word.

He goes back in the kitchen and tries to focus on brewing a cup of jasmine green tea.

Checking the time as it steeps.

Bringing his hot cup along with him he goes back into the living room to find Shuuji feigning sleep on the table. When resting his eyes like this, Chuuya sees the ghost of a child who fell asleep due to boredom with their studies. Not the self-taught survival tactic of listening to your surroundings and focusing on even breathing.

Chuuya remembers Meursault, and how Dazai possesses a fine-tuned self control that can manipulate the beating of his own heart.

It's scary to think that is also something he taught himself in order to survive the pain he was experiencing.

How many hours had Dazai spent learning to control his body's visceral response to torture, to sensory deprivation, to his own mental state?

One of Shuuji’s dark eyes winks open and he stares Chuuya down blankly.

Chuuya does understand where the detectives are coming from.

Where had he been all that time?

"Do you want anything to eat?" Chuuya asks him.

The kid shrugs.

"A little or a lot?"

He shrugs again and Chuuya decides to prepare dinner.

The weretiger also got him some crab lo mein and a fried seafood box. Chuuya decides to warm the noodles for now and reheat the seafood later if Shuuji is still hungry. Chuuya grabs another spoon alongside the chopsticks in case the noodles prove to be too much of a challenge.

Once the noodles are steaming, Chuuya takes everything out to Shuuji.

Shuuji has mangled his milk carton open, but it doesn't look like he has finished it yet.

"Careful, it's hot." Chuuya informs him before leaving the room to get him some water.

Filling a glass and returning to the tea table, Chuuya sits down across from him with his tea. He sets Shuuji's water close to him, and averts his eyes from the sight of him eating. Chuuya has tried not to make him nervous or stare or watch him eat obviously. Sitting directly across from him makes that both harder and easier. He can see how he's doing without staring, but Shuuji can watch him easily, too.

As the hot tea relaxes him, Chuuya feels exhaustion seeping into his bones. A heavy, sinking feeling drops his posture and his eyes fight to stay open. Today has been so long and evening is approaching. Chuuya tries and fails to suppress a yawn.

When he opens his eyes he sees Shuuji diligently managing his chopsticks. They help pace him so Chuuya doesn't have to worry about him choking himself. Chuuya leans an elbow on the table and closes his eyes.

"When you're finished there's more food if you want it, if not you can wash up.. get comfortable."

Chuuya gives him suggestions and avoids telling him what to do using ands, ors, musts. Shuuji could say he wants to do or is going to do pretty much anything, and so long as it's not dangerous, Chuuya would support him.

As of now though, Shuuji doesn't seem like he has any ideas. He doesn't ask for much of anything, and he hasn't voiced many concerns. Chuuya is lucky that Shuuji is even sitting at the table where sunlight can reach him. Chuuya is grateful that he got the kid to eat and drink and take a shower. When Dazai's depression gets out of hand; it can be hard to manage even that.

Chuuya has hopes that his gentle guidance won’t be misinterpreted as controlling or manipulative. Dazai, when he returns to himself, will have a lot to work through already. The mafioso doesn’t want to be seen as an issue that needs solving. Though, Shuuji clearly saw the toll this took on him. Unfairly as it may be; Chuuya physically aches even now.

Certain uncertainties are folding over themselves in his head. The knowns and unknowns and shouldn’t have knowns but still do, all tangled and misshapen. Harsh words and stern demands influenced by dire circumstances and the understanding only Chuuya possessed.

Clear tide pools open to the shadows of a dark forest. Their eyes meet and nothing is said, but as every time before, an entire conversation is had.

Chuuya is open, generous, and truthful. Palms open, head bowed, gaze honest; allowing him to make the first and final say so, and never pushing any pressure points.

Da-Shuuji observes, cautious, calculative, patient. Partially shielding a weakened body from line of sight, shoulders hunched, fleeting eyes taking everything in; preparing, steeling himself for survival in each conscious moment. The tentative trust he has placed in Chuuya is the barest minimum.

Perhaps you won’t hurt me.. those mahogany irises seem to say as they look away.

A quick glance to the door, a slight shift of weight, and even softer hitch of breathing when the ceiling creaks from footsteps on the above floor.

But someone will.

Chuuya meant when he said he would stand in the way of that. Honestly, Chuuya has taken more hits for Dazai than he has anyone else. Knowing too, that Dazai has weathered more blows for Chuuya than the gravity manipulator had ever let anyone before.

Memories of a tentacle smacking Dazai against the stump of a tree flash in front of him. Chuuya feels sick remembering the instant he thought Dazai had lost a limb. Crafty bastard used his cast as a distraction from the sling keeping his actually injured arm close to his chest.

The executive was scared, few instances had he seen Dazai so haggard and beaten. It wasn't all a farce, and he had been smart to appear physically weaker in an obvious order to protect himself where he was hindered. The genius tends toward risk and danger, all the while complaining about how much he hates pain and suffering.

Chuuya glances at Shuuji, managing his chopsticks with shaky, scarred hands.

Dazai decides when and how to use his weakness to his advantage, but he had no choice in this matter at all.

As Mirbeau had said, this pain, these experiences, were already within him.

Chuuya comes closest to grasping the anomaly of human nature that is Dazai and still finds himself irrevocably lost and unsure of what he would do or should do.

If he had been in Dazai's place, knowing the extent of what little was described of his conditions in the file, where would he be today?

Chuuya wonders if he would have even survived as long as Dazai has.

There were many things about Chuuya's life that were unfair. He had no parents, no birth, no childhood. Some scientists shoved an angry god in him and Chuuya was a kid in a test tube who could not consent to that. Now, ever since he accidentally destroyed a town, he has been used and fighting nonstop for years.

Forget a candle, it didn't hold a match to what Dazai had been through.

Other than Oda and himself, Dazai has never allowed anyone close. Nevermind let anyone in. Chuuya was absolutely positive no one at the agency was close enough to him to be able to take care of him when he needed them most. That resolution got him through Dazai's front door and the realization of what he was dealing with concluded his response.

Chuuya would see this through, and he wasn't dumb enough to think there would be an ending to it.

If Dazai didn't push him away or shut him out, he was determined to be here for him, and to protect him. He knew he would do whatever it took to keep him safe. That is from anyone, anything, and himself.

"Comfortable?" Shuuji's raspy voice questioned skeptically.

"There are sleep clothes here for you. If you want, I can put them in your bedroom, so when you're ready you can go in there to change and sleep." Chuuya explains cautiously.

Shuuji doesn't respond outloud.

His hand reaches for the glass of water and his sleeve slips down his wrist. The bandage there is loose, revealing the blackened, leathery skin consuming the flesh meeting his hand. Breath catches in Chuuya's throat and he turns away to cough violently.

Damn it.

Honestly he wishes Shuuji would have let the doctor see him, but he really didn't know if she could have helped.

There wasn’t any point to doing reconstructive surgery when Dazai would return in the morning, but fuck maybe some proper first aid?

Then again, wouldn’t her merely examining him have caused more pain than it was worth?

Steadying his nerves and steeling his stomach, he turns back to his tea. Hopefully, he could play it off as a sore throat if he sipped it carefully enough. There's so much Dazai could take away from a reaction like that, and Chuuya knows Shuuji is capable of similar.

A moment passes before he dares another glance at the boy.

Shuuji's eyes catch his own instantly. Watching, waiting, taking in his reaction. Chuuya nods briefly, slow in acknowledgement.

The boy pushes his empty food container aside and pulls his arms close to his chest. Hands clasp under his chin before he pries them outward, with seemingly great hesitation. A light tug on his shirt sleeve has his eyes peering inside at the wound.

"It looks scary.. doesn't it?" Shuuji says quietly.

Chuuya shakes his head no, not wanting to speak a lie.

"Does it hurt?" He asks instead.

Shuuji shakes his head. "It stopped.. a while ago.."

That sounds dangerous.

"Can I ask you something?" Shuuji whispers.

His hands dive under the table, his shoulders curl in on himself more, and his eyes no longer raise to meet Chuuya's gaze.

More than anything, Chuuya hates how terrified he sounds.

"Anything." Chuuya assures him.

"Do I..still have my hands?"

fuck

Chuuya's stomach falls to his toes.

"Yes, yes of course you do." The executive answers hurriedly, the frightened quiver in his voice palpable in the setting sun.

That was something he had thought about.

Chuuya feels dizzy.

"And my fingers?" Shuuji says, even softer.

Something he agonized over.

Chuuya nods. "Yes."

Shuuji doesn't say another word.

The terror Chuuya heard in his voice, the hesitation he saw in his body language, and the agony written on his face dissipates slowly.

All that remains is the apathy, and beneath that the same apprehension Chuuya witnessed before.

The boy nods his head and takes a deep breath. Chuuya averts his gaze. Images begin to flash through Chuuya's mind of Dazai as a teen.

White cuffs of his dress shirt stained with blood. A broken arm in a sling, and bandages around his eye. The giddy laughter coinciding ear-ringing gunshots as he emptied a clip into a dead man.

Unlike Dazai, Chuuya has a hard time analyzing why people do what they do, act the way they act, and say what they say. So many times Dazai has said horrible things to Chuuya that they both know he didn't mean. The executive doesn't know how to interpret the way Dazai depends on him and pushes him away. How does he know that Chuuya would take more verbal abuse than anyone else? How does he know what bothers him and what comforts him? Is Chuuya really this easy to read or has Dazai just learned how to do this to anyone?

If Chuuya, the person closest to him alive today, never understood him, never pressed him for answers; Did he have any right to feel any type of way about this?

What more could he say?

What else could he do?

"I will protect you."

Is that what he considered almost dying alongside him innumerable times to look like?

"I wouldn't lie to you."

Forgoing lying by omission altogether then?

Chuuya was supposed to be the one person Dazai could depend on. The one person he could accept help from even though it was unasked. So, how come Chuuya couldn't overcome how utterly helpless he felt?

"Chuuya," a tired, hoarse child's voice snaps him back to the tea table in front of him.

"Hm?" Chuuya struggles to respond and ends up forgetting to use words.

"Be careful with thinking so much at one time." Shuuji deadpans.

This cannot be real. Chuuya smacks his cheeks for good measure. It still is.

"Am I really that obvious or are you just that good at noticing?"

Shuuji shrugs. "Probably you."

Chuuya closes his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

*

Drifting, in and out of sleep, Chuuya’s back leans against Dazai’s bedroom door. The last time he’d checked the time it was five in the morning. Ultimately, deciding to stop doing that as he had been waking up every eight minutes to count down the time left.

A muffled stumbling sound comes from behind the door and Chuuya is instantly on his feet. Hand meeting the doorknob before deciding against turning it. Inhaling shakily he starts to say,

“Dazai! Are you—“

“No.” That’s his voice. But no, he doesn’t sound okay..

“No? What shoul-“

“Don’t.” That time was softer, more strained.

“What? But- what should I do?”

“Chuuya.”

The executive couldn’t stop himself from opening the door and entering his room.

It is nowhere he hasn’t been before. The sunrise peeking through the window is not light that didn’t hit him yesterday. The bed Dazai is hiding in is not a bed in which he’s never slept.

The detective, his ex partner, and currently undefined companion is curled up in his comforter. A tuft of longer, messier brown hair is peeking out from a much larger and lankier form wrapped up in blankets. The relief Chuuya feels at the sight is short lived, as he realizes this is the first time he’s heard Dazai breathe when his head wasn’t against his chest.

Other than an exaggerated sigh, or an intentional annoyed foot tap, you won’t hear him make a sound. That’s why he’s so loud and obnoxious when he’s comfortable. He’s making himself be heard in the only way his body and mind are comfortable knowing how.

When did Chuuya get so used to the silence?

"fuck.." Dazai whispers

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.." Dazai hisses, a panicked, shrill sound Chuuya has never heard anything like from him.

Chuuya recognizes the onset of the panic attack that could devolve quickly into a mental breakdown. He takes one step towards the bed and stops in his tracks. What was he supposed to do for him now?

He wants to be here for him, but he doesn't know how Dazai wants him to be here.

Choked, despairing breaths wrack the frame beneath the blanket.

"Dazai, what should I-"

"stay" Dazai cries.

Chuuya can hear the thick crack of his voice through the sob.

There's no more hesitation. Chuuya climbs into bed next to him, and remains sitting up. Close enough that Dazai can reach for him if he needs to, but not touching him yet.

Soon enough, Dazai's hand reaches out from the comforter. Chuuya sees the scars along his knuckles from fist fights, the bony crookedness of fingers that never healed correctly from breaks, and his wrists..

Dazai never lets anyone see his wrists. This is the first time Chuuya has ever been faced with one.

Chuuya takes his hand and holds on tight. Dazai squeezes him back as hard as he can. Chuuya doesn't feel it, he only registers the feeling of Dazai's rough scarred skin against his own.

The deep, discolored wound wrapped around him Chuuya saw before.. is somewhat still there. The lower limb itself appears to have suffered severe atrophy. Surgical scars piece together flesh, indicating that they tried to repair it, but other self-inflicted scars riddle its endeavor. The damage he had seen there, the sheer amount of necrotic tissue, did not look like it would have healed without surgical intervention.

To this day, Dazai must have very limited sensation in his hands. Chuuya has been touched by his hands more than any single person, he is certain of that. How had he not noticed the difference in pressure?

Chuuya's eyes fill with tears he refuses to shed. It wasn't fair of him to cry for Dazai, to feel sorry for him, or to ask him anything. This was Dazai's burden, this was Dazai's secret, and Chuuya kept his distance and tried to respect that.

Years have come and gone with Chuuya letting himself be held at arm's length, accepting everything Dazai gave him, and loving him in the only ways Dazai allowed.

Chuuya is haunted by Shuuji's voice, by the raspy anguish, the ghost of someone he loves who needed his protection.

Chuuya feels the same way now.

Well, on some level he always had.

Somewhat haunted ever since he read that file, Chuuya knew why Dazai was obsessed with death, viscerally averse to pain and discomfort, and why Chuuya would never-even as the one closest to him-see his skin.

At least, he thinks he was never supposed to.

Dazai’s hand in his. Their palms are pressed together. As though they were fighting alongside each other all over again. Listening closely, Dazai’s breathing slows into shuddering breaths. Panic subsides, despair remains. Fingers holding on tightly. Chuuya recalls the first time they had done so, as kids against Rimbaud. How Dazai had seemed so uncaring and ready to die previously, but when it came down to it..

All he had to do was take Chuuya’s hand.

So what if Chuuya read and subsequently destroyed Dazai’s file?

So what if Chuuya only lied in order to spare Dazai’s feelings?

So what if Chuuya was never supposed to see Dazai's flesh?

It's too late now, and all Chuuya wants is to hold him close anyway.