Work Text:
Assuage
Today was one of those days.
One of those days where breathing was harder and moving was harder and life, in general, was harder.
Dazai rose from his bed, shaking like a leaf with each step. His shipping container was small, meaning there was not a lot of ground to cover. Still, his steps forward felt unsteady as his entire body threatened to topple over.
Considering having breakfast, he checked his meager refrigerator, disappointed to find a single apple and three slices of stale bread. With an unamused sigh, he closed the refrigerator door and returned to his bed. As much as he hated going to the HQ, he was guaranteed to find a cup of coffee and clean bathroom to use, which was more than he had available at his current abode.
Exhausted, his limbs felt heavy and sluggish. He thought about calling out from work even though his day was not terribly busy. Choosing to ignore the idea, Dazai groaned, accepting his fate.
He forced himself up and grabbed a change of clothes, deciding it was best to be on his way.
--
With a cup of coffee and piece of toast in his system, Dazai felt a little better. Certainly not well, but better than he had felt when he first awoke.
He made it a few hours into the day, ignoring the way the world tilted on an axis. He was fine. There was nothing to be concerned about, because everything was fine. In fact, it was better than fine. Maybe, if he was lucky, whatever was bothering him would kill him and he would not have to finish out the rest of the day at work! The thought excited him more than the physical distress weakened him.
Alas, the day continued and he did not die. Instead, he found himself at his afternoon training session with his favorite slug. He felt fifty shades of miserable.
It was a training session like any other. Chūya antagonized Dazai through Dazai’s weak attempts at attacks, Dazai mocked Chūya for missing strategic openings, and Kōyō watched, annoyed at it all.
“Come on shitty-Dazai, you can punch me harder than that!” Chūya yelled out as Dazai’s fist collided with Chūya’s chest.
Dazai smirked, “I had to crouch down for that one.”
“Fucking weak tall-ass.”
“Pipsqueak.”
“Say that again, asshole!”
“Pipsqueak.”
“I’ll fucking show you!”
Chūya tackled Dazai to the ground. Dazai wheezed as the action knocked the air out of him.
Another typical Tuesday afternoon.
Except the feeling continued to seep into his chest, melt into his bones, rip at his insides.
Ignoring could only get him so far.
He tried. Tried ignoring the way his face felt hot but body shivered. Ignoring the exhaustion that threatened to swelter him. Dazai tried to ignore all of these things.
Now, on the ground gasping for air, he felt the shards of broken glass in his throat, his head pounding painfully, pulsating and thrumming and aching, feeling as though his brain was about to break out of his skull.
His vision swam, clusters of little black circles dotting the world in front of him.
“Are you seriously out of breath from just being shoved?” Chūya gaped, looming over Dazai despite his small stature. “You really are out of shape. I suppose that’s what you get for fucking starving yourself.”
Dazai tried to speak up, to protest, to complain, to—
His voice caught in his throat. It could not escape, would not escape. All he could do was gasp for air. Chūya stared, confused, eyebrows wrinkled together.
“You’ve got nothing to say to that?”
Dazai tried to get up, but his muscles tensed, refusing to obey. He wanted desperately to speak, to laugh it off, to pretend everything was fine, fine, fine.
Nothing worked.
“Dazai?” Chūya asked, growing worried at the prolonged silence.
Dazai swayed in his seated position before collapsing onto all fours. His visible golden-brown eye was noticeable reddened, his cheeks flushed, starkly red against his pale pallor.
“What’s going on?” Chūya knelt down, realizing none of this was a normal part of their training routine.
Dazai fought to breathe, lungs crushing under the weight of it all. “I—”
Everything went black.
--
Waking up in Mori’s office was categorized under the list of Dazai’s “Least-Favorite” activities. Whether it meant he failed another suicide attempt or passed out from restrictive food intake, landing himself in Mori’s clutches was never a move he was interested in making.
His entire body was tense, pain radiating throughout his thin frame. The achiness stung, piercing beyond even the highest of pain tolerances.
“Your fever is incredibly high,” Mori said as Dazai blinked blearily, struggling to open his eyes. “I’m shocked you lasted as long as you did. Nearly proud, dare I say,” Mori chuckled to himself. “But really, must you be so dramatic? I’ve told you time and again, when you’re feeling ill, you should come see me. Why do you insist on ignoring my aid?”
Because
because
because asking for help would
would mean
and Mori
he
the things he
he does he does he does
when Dazai wakes up and he feels something has been in—
where it should not—
where—
and it—
it hurts and it hurts and it
“I’m not ill,” Dazai coughed, barely able to sit up on the sick bed.
“And I’m not a mafia boss,” Mori rolled his eyes, unamused, “your temperature is soaring. I don’t need to be a doctor to tell you that you are unwell.”
Dazai hissed, slowly, steadily shifting his weight until he was sitting up. He panted at the exertion feeling a bit like a loser for barely being able to change positions without being out of breath.
“What happened?” He asked, voice raspy.
“You and Chūya-kun were training. He said you seemed ‘off’ and then you passed out. He took you here because unlike some people, Chūya-kun and Kōyō-san listen to their superiors.”
Dazai coughed, but did not reply. He was busy ignoring the shattered glass that was once more stuck in his throat. He looked down at his hands in his lap, noting how they trembled as his full body vibrated from the chill.
“I suppose you would like to know what comes next?” Mori prompted. Dazai, unwilling to exert any more energy on the man, simply nodded. “Well, there are two options. Option one, you stay here with me and I nurse you back to health. God knows it’s safer in my office than that little shipping container you call a home.”
“Option two?” Dazai questioned quietly, anything but eager to spend the rest of his Tuesday afternoon with Mori of all people.
“I instruct Chūya-kun to look after you. Granted, he won’t be nearly as good of a nurse as I would be, but I am rather busy and do have business to attend to—”
“I’ll go with the stupid slug,” Dazai said bitterly, unhappy about either option. If he had things his way, he would curl up in his shipping container and wait for death to claim him. Or perhaps, if he was feeling ambitious, he would cuddle up on Oda’s couch and whine until Oda brought him curry and rubbed his back, telling him the pain would go away soon and everything would be okay.
Of course, these options were not on the table and Dazai found himself choosing the significantly lesser of the two evils.
“Can I go now?” He asked, attempting to stand. Mori shushed him, pressing his feeble frame back down against the bed.
“Not so fast. Chūya-kun is out finishing his training session with Akutagawa-kun now. You’ll have to wait here until he returns.”
“Fucking fantastic,” Dazai muttered under his breath.
“Don’t be like that,” Mori tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “we have plenty of time to spend together and have some fun while we wait.”
Dazai loathed this.
Despised feeling like a ragdoll, feeling empty and lost and anything other than human.
“How much fun can you actually have with me like this?” He asked, honestly curious.
An ominous chuckle, “You’ll see.”
Something pricked his shoulder and within a matter of seconds, the world once again went black.
--
This time, he awoke in an apartment, surroundings unfamiliar at first glance. Dazai gasped for breath, struggling to recall the events leading up to the dark fogging his brain.
“Where—where am I—”
“You’re at my place, idiot,” Chūya answered him gruffly. “The boss said ya passed out again.”
“I—” A pause. Because he did but, it wasn’t, it wasn’t that he meant to that he— “I was awake,” Dazai stammered, “I was awake! He, he gave me—”
“He gave you what? Medicine?”
Tranquilizers. Something to steady him, make him numb and docile and
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Dazai quieted, silence spreading in the room like wildfire.
“Mori was taking care of your sick, sorry ass,” Chūya added begrudgingly.
“Sure,” Dazai scoffed.
“You’re so ungrateful! You know, we could have left you on that training field or in your stupid shipping container to rot—”
“I never asked for you or stupid Mori-sama to play savior and take care of me—” Dazai retaliated before breaking into a fit of coughs. His chest burned, everything hurt. “Fuck. I want to leave.”
“Well too fucking bad,” Chūya mumbled, “I’m being forced to take care of you, so you’re stuck here. You know, I had to carry you all the way from HQ to here? You’re so fucking gangly and boney, it’s annoying. What do you want for lunch? I can make soup. Something simple.”
The thought of solid food made him nauseous.
“I’m going to throw up if I eat anything.”
“Right. Throwing up from nausea. Not because you’re sticking your fingers—”
“Shut up,” Dazai hissed, cutting him off. “That was one time.”
“It was definitely more than one time,” Chūya snarled, “don’t think I’m stupid. I’ve fucking heard you. You may think you’re sneaky, turning on my bathroom fan and running the sink water, but I know what you do whenever I make you eat dinner.”
“Whatever,” Dazai denied, “broth is fine.”
“No, you’re having soup, not broth.”
“What’s the difference?” Dazai asked, feeling a little stupid.
“Broth is basically fancy vegetable water. You’re having soup with actual vegetables and chicken and shit in it.”
“Chibi’s putting shit in my soup? Nasty,” Dazai teased.
“Watch what you say before you really do end up with shit in your soup!” Chūya barked back.
“Mean. Bullying the sick kid.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t be sick if you actually, you know, took care of yourself for more than two seconds.”
Dazai shrugged, unaffected by the accusation. He hated to admit it, but Chūya did have a point. Dazai was notoriously awful at any and all means of self-care. Whether it was not sleeping for weeks at a time, throwing up the one meal he ate per day, showering only when forced to, Dazai was supremely good at self-destruction.
“I’ll go heat it up,” Chūya said, heading towards the door.
Dazai stayed put, snuggling further under the covers. He was thankful to be settled in the guest bedroom, that way the stinky smell of slug would not linger on him after he left the following day.
With Chūya out of the room, Dazai began to assess the damage of his “doctor’s appointment” with Mori. His thighs ached, his groin throbbed, his mouth tasted like—
He was used to this.
Everything was fine.
Involuntarily, he shivered. He pulled the covers up further until they were practically covering his face. He exhaled deeply, doing his best to quell the trembling of his body. He was shaking because he was cold and sick and had the chills, no other reason.
Dazai was not shaking because of—
“It’ll be ready in five!” Chūya called out from the other room, pulling Dazai out of his spiraling trance. Not bothering to respond, Dazai practiced clenching and unfurling his fists.
Clench.
Unfurl.
Clench.
Unfurl.
Clench, clench, clench.
Forgetting was a blessing and a curse, two sides of the same coin. On one hand, he had no interest in learning what could have possibly happened to him behind closed doors.
On the other, not knowing somehow made everything exponentially worse. Dazai yearned for closure, needed to know how he was used, how—
A cough wracked his body, sending shivers down to his toes, through his spine, and up to the top of his head. God, he felt like shit.
“Here,” Chūya’s gruff voice cut through the fog as he returned to the room, steaming soup in hand. He placed it down on the bedside table. “Careful.” Dazai crawled slowly out of his blanketed cocoon. “Sip it slowly.”
He did not bother trying to eat. Instead, he glared at the food as though personally affronted.
“Come on,” Chūya pestered, “we don’t have all day.”
“I’m waiting for it to cool down,” the lie tasted gross on his tongue, the way all lies did.
“I mean sure it’s hot, but it’s not that hot,” Chūya reasoned. “Just try a little.”
Relenting, Dazai picked up the bowl, straining to hold it in his weak hand. He lifted the spoon with his other hand, but it shook so bad he could barely get any liquid on it.
“Jeez, you really are sick if you can’t even hold a bowl of soup,” Chūya said, nearly surprised. “Want help?”
Dazai placed the soup back down on the table, “Is chibi-Chūya offering to spoon-feed me like a baby?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Goo-goo, ga-ga?”
“I repeat: Disgusting. With a capital ‘D.’”
“‘D’ as in ‘Dazai!’”
“‘D’ as in ‘Disgusting.’”
“‘D’ as in ‘Dying?’”
“Jesus, you’re so ‘D’ as in ‘Dramatic.’ You’re not dying.”
“Maybe I am~”
“You sound way too happy about that.”
Dazai grinned before breaking out into another fit of coughs.
“Jeez, fine. Let me do it,” Chūya huffed, grabbing the bowl and spoon. Contrary to his jokey demeanor, Dazai did not like being spoon-fed. It made him feel uncomfortable. He hated not being in control of what was going into his mouth, not being allowed to decide the portion size, being forced to eat anything at all. Still, this was Chūya. It was nonsensical to put up a fight against him considering even at his fittest, Chūya was still stronger and more aggressive than him.
Reluctantly, Dazai ate the soup one bite at a time, choking each spoonful down with extensive labor. He made it through half of the bowl before shaking his head.
“I don’t want anymore.”
“You should really finish it,” Chūya pushed, “when’s the last time you ate a full meal?”
“I had toast this morning.”
“Real nutritious.”
“I feel sick.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“You’re ignoring my answer.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“God, you would think that you’d be less annoying while you’re sick!”
“ME? Be less annoying? You wound me, chibi!” Dazai sighed dramatically in a “woe is me” manner.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Chūya eyed the soup, “Fine, I’ll save the rest for later. But you are going to finish the damn bowl tonight, even if I have to force-feed it to you. Understood?”
“Rodger that,” Dazai said through another coughing fit.
“Oh, right, I have meds for you.”
“You couldn’t have given those to me earlier??” Dazai growled.
“Well you were being annoying,” Chūya shrugged. Dazai glared. “I mean, and you need to take them with food. So.”
“Slug’s so mean. Abusing a poor, innocent, sick kid.”
“You’re anything but poor and innocent, damn bastard.” Chūya left, bringing the bowl back to the kitchen as he went to exchange it for the medicine Mori had given him. He returned moments later with two small pills and a glass of water. “Swallow.”
Not even bothering to ask what meds they were, Dazai did as he was told. He grabbed the glass of water, chugging it with the pills.
“Easy—you’ll make yourself choke from drinking that fast,” Chūya warned. Dazai ignored him, finishing the glass of water in one go.
The little bit of food and all the arguing had made him tired and he found his eyes drooping.
“Get some rest, stinky mackerel,” Chūya said, taking the empty glass from his hands. “I’ll get you some more water.”
“Slug is so—” a cough, “caring.”
“Yeah, I can be when I feel like it,” Chūya mumbled before exiting the room.
Another series of coughs.
This was going to be a long day.
--
When Dazai awoke later, it was nearly four. Not quite afternoon, but still too early to be considered evening. It was winter, chilly outside but toasty inside. Except in Dazai’s case, where his entire body felt like it was on the verge of freezing over.
He shivered. At least the medicine helped him sleep more than a few hours. That was better than his track record as of late.
Looking out the window, he saw little flurries trickle down from the sky. It was pretty. At times like this, as much as he missed his shipping container, he was nearly thankful to be in a room with a view and heating better than a small, sparingly used space heater.
As he sat up, Chūya came in to check on him.
“Hey. How’re ya feeling?” Chūya asked.
Dazai looked down at his lap before the words spilled out, “I want Odasaku.”
Chūya knew of Oda, but had never met the man in person. Dazai sure loved to talk about him though. Chūya did not understand what was so interesting about a mafia grunt, but figured if someone could keep Dazai of all people entertained, they must be somewhat fascinating.
"Wanna call him?” Chūya suggested gently.
Dazai shook his head.
“I don’t wanna bother him,” he responded, uncharacteristically small in his tone as he shrunk in on himself.
“Since when have you ever cared about bothering anyone!?” Chūya gawked, genuinely thrown off.
“I don’t care about bothering slug or Mori-sama, or Ango-kun, but Odasaku is different,” Dazai explained. He had a feeling his words were not making much sense, but he did little to rectify it.
“Right,” Chūya said skeptically. Then, he sighed as he sat in the armchair nearest to the bed. “What else do you want to do? We could watch a movie or something? Have a snack?” He was optimistic, though knew very well Dazai would not be interested in eating anything else in the near future.
“I feel like shit,” Dazai coughed aloud.
“Did you bring your DS? We can play video games?”
Dazai squinted, the lights feeling all too bright with his throbbing head.
“I don’t think I can stare at screens,” he said hoarsely. Chūya frowned.
“Wow, it must really be bad if you don’t want to play video games.”
Dazai nodded, then coughed out a small, “It hurts.”
“You’re such a baby,” Chūya said without malice. Truthfully, he was thankful for Dazai’s whining. The minute Dazai goes quiet is when he knows things are bad. While he was still talkative and annoying, it would be manageable.
“Want me to ask Mori-sama if I can give you more meds? He said to only take two, but maybe you can have another one.”
“Maybe,” Dazai replied, voice distant. He curled up in the bed, wishing for his body to stop betraying him.
"Alright, stay put. I’ll give him a call.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Dazai replied in between an additional wave of strained coughing.
As Chūya left the room, Dazai reached over to grab his phone and check his messages. Staring at the screen physically hurt. Little squiggles clouded his vision and Dazai wondered if Chūya had given him a mild concussion during the training session.
Equal parts content and disappointed, Dazai saw he had no new messages. On one hand, it meant no more work was added to his plate. On the other, he wished Oda would reach out. Of course, Oda had no way of knowing Dazai was unwell, but that did not stop Dazai from longing for him to reach out and check on him. Realistically, he knew all he had to do was call Oda and his friend would come to make sure he was okay. Reaching out was never his specialty.
“Alright,” Chūya said, returning to the room, “Ane-san is going to bring over some lower-dose medication. Mori-sama said you can take it every four hours. It should make you sleepy too, so you’ll get more rest.”
Dazai nodded, then sneezed. Chūya handed him a tissue.
“Want tea?” Chūya asked. Dazai hummed in affirmative. “How’s chamomile?”
“With honey?”
“Sure.”
Chūya left the room to prepare the tea, leaving Dazai by himself.
Ordinarily, Dazai spent a lot of time alone. He did not mind it, more often than not, but on days where it felt like his entire body was turned against him, it was particularly difficult. Especially after time spent with the boss.
A pathetic whimper slipped out of his lips at the memory of his boss and their earlier activities.
Chūya returned to the room upon hearing the sound. Dazai must have been louder than he realized. Chūya looked at him worriedly, “You okay?”
Dazai bit his cheek hard. He felt like shit and everything hurt and the memories chewed at his insides and he wanted to die and—
“I want Odasaku,” he found himself begging for his friend once more.
Chūya’s expression softened, noticing his partner’s clear distress, “Let’s give him a call. I’m sure he can stop by.”
“But—I don’t. I don’t want to bother,” he coughed, “I don’t want to bother him.”
“Let’s just give him a call and he can come over on his own time. Ok?”
Dazai sniffled before nodding in agreement.
“Do you want to call him? Or do you want me to?” Chūya offered with a kindness that only someone like Chūya could muster when dealing with someone as irritating as Dazai.
“I—I can call.”
“Okay. I’ll check on the tea while you do that.”
Chūya left the room as Dazai pulled up Oda’s contact in his phone. The dial tone rang out once, then twice. On the third ring, Oda picked up.
“Dazai?”
“Odasaku!” Dazai cried before breaking into another coughing spell.
“Hey. You okay? You don’t sound too good.”
“I’m okay,” Dazai protested weakly before sniffling, “just a cold.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
A long pause.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Dazai nodded, then remembered they were on a voice call and there was no way for Oda to see his gesture. “Can Odasaku bring me curry?”
“Oh. Yeah, I can do that,” Oda answered simply, “I have to run some errands for the kids, but I can come by in a few hours. Where are you?” He silently prayed Dazai was not alone and sick in his shipping container.
“I’m at my dog’s place,” Dazai answered.
Oda hummed, “Alright. Send me the address and I’ll stop by.”
“Thanks Odasaku! You’re the best,” Dazai said with a small smile on his face.
“It’s no problem. I’ll see you later.”
“See you.”
They hung up as Dazai heard a knock on the door.
“Ane-san,” Chūya greeted as he opened the door, “thanks for coming.”
Kōyō followed Chūya into the guest room to check on their patient.
“How are you feeling?” She asked primly.
“Like shit,” Dazai answered with a grin.
“I gave Chūya medication to administer to you. You are to take no more than one capsule every four hours. If I find out you’re abusing this medication, there will be consequences.”
“Like?” Dazai asked with an instigating raise of his eyebrow.
“All future medications will need to be administered through Mori-sama, if you do not cooperate,” she warned. “I’m sure you don’t enjoy being babysat like that, do you?”
Dazai simply huffed.
“Now make sure to get plenty of rest,” she said sternly.
Dazai stuck his tongue out. Gentler, Kōyō’s gaze lightened. She reached over to feel Dazai’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You have a pretty high fever,” she said, “have you eaten anything today?”
Dazai nodded.
“I gave him some soup,” Chūya answered, bringing a mug of steaming tea into the room. “And I put extra honey in your tea, mackerel.”
Dazai accepted the beverage, placing it on the bedside table as he waited for it to cool down.
“Did you eat anything else? Any solid food?” Kōyō asked, her concern thinly veiled with irritation.
“‘m not hungry,” Dazai replied. Kōyō did not like the answer.
“You’re skin and bones,” she said with a tut, “Mori-sama will be very disappointed if you don’t eat something else.”
“Who cares,” Dazai said with another cough, “Mori-sama can go suck my—”
“Chill,” Chūya cut in, “don’t say anything stupid about the boss.”
“Odasaku is bringing curry later,” Dazai added.
“So you’ll try and eat that?” Chūya prodded. Dazai nodded.
“Good,” Kōyō replied. “Take your medicine. I must be on my way.”
“Thanks ane-san,” Dazai said.
With a rare, small quirk of her lips, Kōyō offered the tiniest of smiles, “Feel better.”
Kōyō left, leaving Chūya and Dazai to their own devices. Dazai swallowed the capsule with some water then sipped at his tea.
“Chibi. I’m bored.”
“You should get some rest,” Chūya suggested. Dazai shook his head.
“Can we watch something?”
“Oh. Sure. You think you can make it to the other room by yourself?”
Dazai eyed his surroundings before making an attempt to sit up and swing his legs to the side of the bed. He stood up on shaky legs of a newborn fawn, stumbling over himself. He was thankful to be dressed in the comfortable clothing from his sparring session earlier, simply wearing sweatpants and a compression shirt over his bandages. Still, the bandages itched as he sweat, feeling the least bit comfortable.
“You good?” Chūya asked as Dazai struggled to walk in a straight line. Before Dazai could answer, Chūya was rolling his eyes and swinging Dazai over his shoulder. Dazai yelped as he was picked up and tossed like a ragdoll.
“Put me down chibi!” Dazai flailed, failing miserably at getting his captor to set him free.
“Relax, we’re just going to the living room.”
Dazai kicked as hard as he could, which, admittedly, was not very hard at all, “I can walk!!”
“Sure you can,” Chūya said with a sarcastic lull. Dazai grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before he was haphazardly placed on Chūya’s dark velvet sofa. Upon landing, Dazai sneezed.
“I’m cold.”
“I’ll get a blanket.”
“Everything hurts. I hate this. I hate pain.”
“Quit whining, will ya?” Chūya laughed in exasperation, “You’re such a big baby.”
Dazai pouted, but contently wrapped himself in the fluffy blanket Chūya supplied. He looked like a little Dazai burrito, his face poking out from beneath the soft fabric.
“You’re ridiculous, did you know that?” Chūya said with snark.
“Chibi-Chūya’s a meanie,” Dazai replied in a childish tone.
“Oh I know, I’m sooo mean for taking care of your sick ass and nursing you back to health.”
“You should just let me die!”
“You’re not going to die from the common cold.”
“I would if you let it get worse!!”
“Well too fucking bad for you. Mori-sama would have my head if I let you die. And besides, isn’t dying from sickness like this painful? You were complaining two whole seconds ago about how much everything hurt.”
“Meh,” Dazai simply stuck his tongue out, curling up in a ball at the farthest end of the couch.
“What do you want to watch?” Chūya changed the subject. He suggested, “Cheesy horror films?” An avid nod. “Alright. From the eighties, or contemporary?”
“Eighties!”
“You’ve got it.”
They spent the following hour and a half with Dazai coughing, predicting every jump scare, sneezing, and solving the plot of the movie within the first five minutes.
Chūya feigned irritation, but was honestly glad to see Dazai perking up at the movie. Before they knew it, they had reached the last five minutes when the doorbell rang. Dazai sat up excitedly, not unlike an eager puppy. “It’s Odasaku!!!”
“You stay put,” Chūya gestured for Dazai to stay in his place, “I’ll get it.”
For once, Dazai did as he was told, watching anticipatingly as Chūya went to answer the door.
“You’re uh, you’re Dazai’s friend? Oda-whatever?” Chūya greeted awkwardly as he opened the door.
“Oda Sakunosuke,” Oda interjected, “are you Chūya?”
“Yep,” Chūya answered. They lingered at the door before Chūya gestured for Oda to follow him inside, “You can come in.”
“Thanks.”
Oda removed his shoes at the entryway and hung up his tan jacket. He approached the blanketed lump of Dazai on the sofa. Chūya grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen.
“Oda—” Dazai coughed aggressively, “saku!! Odasaku came for me!!”
“I did,” Oda responded, looking at Dazai with worry in his eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“Mean.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a train. But not in the fun way.”
Chūya choked on his water, “How the hell is there a ‘fun way’ to get hit by a train??”
Oda ignored the banter, placing a large plastic bag on the coffee table, “I brought the curry.”
“You think he’ll eat that?” Chūya asked skeptically.
“He requested it,” Oda said with a shrug.
“Oh right, you mentioned.” Chūya turned Dazai’s way.
“Yep~”
“I mean hey, I won’t complain,” Chūya said, still pleasantly surprised, “by the way, you want anything? Tea? Water?”
“I’ll take some tea,” Oda said, “thanks.”
“Chamomile okay?”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
Chūya excused himself to ready another mug of tea as Dazai cuddled into Oda’s side on the couch.
“What exactly happened?” Oda asked, “When you called, I honestly didn’t expect you to be at Chūya’s apartment of all places.”
“The idiot passed out while we were sparring,” Chūya replied before Dazai had a chance to spin a farcical tale. “I took him to Mori-sama, who then told me to look after him.”
Oda frowned at the mention of the boss, “How did that go?” He whispered to Dazai. Dazai understood the question underneath.
Are you okay?
“About the same as usual.”
No worse off than normal.
“Can I touch you?” Oda asked respectfully.
Dazai nodded. Oda pulled Dazai tighter into his side protectively. Though he did not know the specifics of what went down between Dazai and the boss, he knew it was inappropriate. More than once, Dazai had shown up on his doorstep bloodied and bruised and begging not to be touched. The occurrence was more than enough to paint a picture of what was going on behind closed doors.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Oda questioned.
“Just staying here is already helping~” Dazai replied, nuzzling into Oda’s side.
When Chūya returned with the mug of hot tea, he was caught off-guard by the sight. Sure, Dazai had a tendency to be touchy when he was being annoying, but not once had Chūya seen the boy warm up to someone this much on a physical level.
“You two are close?” Chūya posed.
“You can say that,” Oda responded.
Dazai nodded, “Odasaku took care of me when I was unwell. More unwell than today!”
“Interesting,” Chūya noted. “I’ve gotta run some errands. You two okay staying here by yourselves?”
“Sure,” Oda replied.
“Don’t let the mackerel do anything stupid. The last thing I want is for him to burn my apartment down to the ground.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Oda promised as Dazai hmphed.
Chūya gathered his things and went to the door, tossing on his coat. “See ya in a bit.”
“Bye chibi! I’ll make sure to read your diary while you’re out!”
“I don’t have a diary!”
“Yeah you do! It’s that book under the loose floorboard in the bedroom—”
“How the hell do you know—you know what? Never mind. Bye. Don’t die.”
Chūya left. Dazai held onto Oda tightly.
“He seems like a good guy,” Oda remarked.
“He’s a feisty chihuahua, but yeah, he’s pretty alright sometimes I guess.”
A hum. A pause.
“You said you were with Mori-sama before this?”
“Yep.”
“And he—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dazai eyed his lap, downcast.
Oda nodded, “Okay. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“As safe as I can be with a mafia boss breathing down my throat, I guess,” Dazai answered before coughing. “At least the meds are kicking in. I feel better than I did before.”
“That’s good,” Oda agreed, “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better.” A pause. Then, “Do you want some curry?”
Dazai chewed his lip nervously.
“I won’t pressure you,” Oda added, “but I do want to make sure you have some food in you.”
A tiny nod, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll have some of Odasaku’s curry.”
“Alright. But you need to let go so I can go get some bowls.”
Dazai shook his head rapidly, “No. Odasaku can’t move!”
“It’ll just be for a minute,” Oda eased.
Stubbornly, Dazai shook his head again.
“No.”
“Guess we can’t have any curry then,” Oda said with a sigh.
Grumpily, Dazai relented, “Fine. But I’m only letting you leave to get bowls.”
“You got it,” Oda ruffled Dazai’s hair, making the younger teen blush a bright shade of burgundy. Oda stood up and fetched two bowls and some utensils from the kitchen. He served the food so they both had a small portion. Dazai did not like being the only one eating at a time, so Oda had made sure there was enough to share.
Without much prodding, Dazai took a few bites.
“I’m really glad you’re making an effort to eat,” Oda complimented, “that makes me happy.”
Dazai blushed once more, “Don’t get used to it,” he huffed. “This is just because my throat hurts and the curry feels good.”
Oda chuckled, “Alright.”
“I hope I didn’t interrupt Odasaku’s plans today,” Dazai said quietly as he finished up his portion, pushing the bowl to the side of the coffee table.
“I just had some errands. I’m seeing the kids later today but that’s about all that was on my to-do list.”
“Mori-sama didn’t assign you any grunt work?”
“Not today,” Oda answered, “there’s plenty for me to do tomorrow though.”
Dazai sneezed, sniffled, and coughed. Oda could not help but smile at the adorableness of the gesture. Here was the Port Mafia’s youngest-ever executive, and he was cuddled up in a blanket, sneezing and coughing like a small child. It reminded Oda of just how young Dazai actually was. Mafia executive or not, he was barely sixteen years old. Too young for a life of pain and strife and crime.
“Want to watch a movie?” Oda offered.
“Yes please!” Dazai answered.
They turned on another eighties flick.
--
When Chūya arrived back to his apartment an hour later, he was greeted with the sight of sleeping Dazai and Oda, cuddled up on his couch, the screams of the horror film in the background the audio backdrop to the scene. Though he did his best to be quiet, Oda stirred at the entry.
“Chūya?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I didn’t even realize I fell asleep,” Oda whispered. Carefully, he placed a pillow under Dazai’s head in place of his lap, freeing himself to maneuver to a standing position. He walked over to Chūya in the kitchen. “Kid’s out like a light.”
“That’s good. That idiot barely sleeps as it is.”
“Yeah. He needs the rest,” Oda agreed. “I appreciate you taking care of him.”
“Somebody has to,” Chūya mumbled under his breath.
“He really likes you.”
Chūya pinkened, quickly deflecting, “Ew! That’s gross!”
Oda chuckled, “Anyways, I should get going in a bit.”
“Oh,” Chūya said, seemingly disappointed, “I think Dazai might be sad to wake up and see you’re gone.”
“Huh. I didn’t think of that. I guess I’ll wake him up.”
“Yeah. Maybe you can convince him to take a bath too? He stinks.”
A chuckle, “I’ll try my best.”
Oda returned to the living room. Gently, he nudged at Dazai’s shoulder. Dazai stirred, eyes blearily blinking.
“Oda-saku?”
“Hey,” Oda greeted, “I have to get going soon.”
“Oh,” Dazai looked downcast, “okay.”
“But I thought maybe I can help you take a bath before I leave?”
Dazai sighed, “I don’t wanna.”
“Your bandages look like they could use a change,” Oda remarked on the yellowing fabric that clung to Dazai’s frame. “Might as well do them both at the same time.”
“Will Odasaku carry me?” Dazai asked, eyes wide and innocent.
“Hey!” Chūya yelled as he entered the room, “How come when I carry you, you throw a temper tantrum??”
“Because chibi-Chūya’s such a brute!” Dazai whined.
“Sure, I’ll carry you,” Oda replied.
“Hypocrite,” Chūya muttered. Dazai ignored the insult, eager to climb into Oda’s arms like a koala cub clinging to their mom. Effortlessly, Oda carried Dazai to the bathroom before setting him down on the toilet lid as he began running the bath.
“Chibi?” Dazai called out from the bathroom, “Do you have extra bandages?”
“Uh—I’m not sure. Check under the sink,” Chūya answered.
Unfortunately, no bandages were found.
Dazai glanced down at his old grimy ones, not excited about taking them off.
“Here—” Chūya opened the bathroom door, holding out an oversized hoodie and large sweatpants, “these are your spare clothing from that mission a few weeks ago. I think the hoodie will cover most of your skin. And maybe it’ll be a good thing to give your skin a break from being wrapped up all day.”
Dazai’s gaze shifted uncomfortably, the way he always got when his bandages were brought up in conversation.
“We won’t say anything,” Oda added, eyeing Chūya, who nodded in agreement.
“Okay,” Dazai said softly. “But only Odasaku is allowed to stay while I take the bath.”
“Fine by me,” Chūya responded. He placed the clothing down next to the sink, then looked at Oda, “come get me if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Chūya left. Dazai fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably.
“How do you want to do this?” Oda asked carefully, “I can look away? Help you? What would be the best for you?”
“Odasaku can um. He can help me.”
It would not be the first time Oda had seen what was under Dazai’s bandages. Still, he felt gratitude that the boy trusted him enough to let him in in such an intimate way.
With the utmost caution, as if handling a baby bird, Oda helped Dazai remove his clothes and then unravel the bandages. It was a silent affair and before either of them knew it, Dazai was sitting in the comfortingly warmth bath, his entire body submerged in bubbles.
Oda could not help but worry as he had eyed the bruises around Dazai’s thighs. There was scarring, which he was familiar with, but the bruises were recent. Something told him he would not like the answer of how they got there.
“Odasaku’s staring. Maybe he’s in love with me?” Dazai jested. Oda merely ruffled his damp hair in reply.
“I’m glad you called me,” Oda said, “and that you ate the curry. I know how hard things like that are for you.”
Dazai looked down at the bubbles in front of him.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Always.”
--
Following the bath, before leaving, Oda helped Dazai dry off and change into the oversized clothing. Though he was still sensitive about having his skin exposed under the clothing, he tried his best not to think about it. Chūya had also seen Dazai without his bandages before, so really this was not new. Still, it made him anxious.
“How’re you feeling? You can take more meds now if you want, it’s been a few hours.”
Dazai nodded sleepily, reaching his hand out for the small capsule Chūya administered. He swallowed it with some water.
“You tired?”
“Hmm.”
“It’s getting kind of late anyways. Let’s get you ready for bed.”
Dazai nearly fell asleep while standing before Chūya dragged him back into the guest room.
“I changed the sheets while you were in the bath, so they’re fresh or whatever. Get comfy.”
Dazai blinked up at Chūya.
“What’s that look for?” Chūya asked gruffly.
Dazai blinked again.
“What?!”
Another blink.
“Never mind! Just get in bed!”
Dazai, shockingly silent, did as he was told.
“Need anything else?” Chūya asked.
For a moment, he thought perhaps Dazai had already fallen asleep, things were so silent. As he turned to leave however, a little voice spoke out.
“Will slug stay with me? Until I um. Until I fall asleep?”
A pause, then, “You want me to stay?”
“Mmhmm.”
With the shake of his head and a chuckle, “Alright you big baby, I’ll stay with you.”
Chūya lifted the covers, joining Dazai under the blankets. He was not nearly as feverish as he had been earlier in the day and Chūya had a feeling he was well on his way to recovery.
“Chibi?”
“Hm?”
“You suck.”
“Rude.”
“But um. Thanks. For playing housewife.”
“Get some rest, mackerel.”
“Goodnight, Chūya.”
“‘Night.”