Consciousness returns to him slowly, alertness making its way through his body slowly, bringing awareness back to his limbs. He’s warm and comfortable, swaddled in something soft that makes him heavy and sleepy.

He’s tempted to go back to sleep, but now that his mind is awake,+

his body is starting to follow.

When it’s clear that sleep won’t be returning, he gives a frustrated and growl and opens his eyes.

He’s expecting to see—

Well, he’s not sure /what/ he’s expecting to see, but it sure as hell isn’t a ceiling he doesn’t recognize whatsoever.+

He sits up quickly, throwing the comforter off his body.

The rest of the room, and the bed, is just as unfamiliar. There's a window to his left, letting in a small ray of sunshine. The door, left just slightly ajar, is directly in front of him.

It looks like a /normal/ room,+

with a dresser and a closet, and a nightstand.

Almost normal, at least, because there are signs hung up in various parts of the room, and stuck to parts of the furniture.

The top dresser drawer is adorned with a pink sticky note saying "socks and underwear", the closet has +

"hats" on the left side, there's "accessories" on a jewerly box on the dresser.

Who has a room like /this/? Why does /anyone/ need to be told where their own stuff is? Where the hell is he?

A larger sign, propped up against the wall on the nightstand, catches his attention. It+

says simply, "read me". Underneath it is a plain, worn journal, with several folded pages.

Next to it, there's another stack of journals, with a handful of pens scattered on top.

Chuuya swings his legs over, getting out of bed. It's /strange/ but surely there's no danger in+

just /reading/ it, right? He might learn something.

Before he can grab it though, the door swings open and Chuuya whirls around defensively.

In the doorway stands a man, tall and dark-haired, gracing him with a big grin.

“Good morning!” The man crows, waltzing into the room+

like he owns it. Maybe he does. Maybe this is /his/ weird-ass room.

“Who are you?” Chuuya demands. He looks vaguely familiar, but in a way that doesn’t bring to mind any names or memories—

Just the vague, nagging feeling of familiarity.

“Me? Oh, I’m Dazai Osamu,” the man says+

with a flourish.

Chuuya stares. He doesn’t recognize that name, though it does ping some strange, warm feeling in his chest. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

The sudden mischievous twinkle in Dazai’s eyes makes him take a wary step back.

“My, my! You’re at my house, and as+

for how you got here...you tried to seduce me. Were quite insistent about it, actually, would hardly take no for an answer! And when I was finally giving into your charms— you fell asleep, right in that bed. It was quite tragic and disappointing.”

That...doesn’t sound like him.+

But, considering that he doesn’t actually remember last night (or yesterday at all, really....), he can’t exactly rebuke the information.

He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed and awkward. “I, uh.... sorry?”

Dazai’s manic grin melts into something smaller, +

softer, a little bittersweet at the edges. “Don’t worry about it, chibi.”

“Chibi?Who the hell are you calling—“

“ANYWAYS,” Dazai talks over him loudly, “Are you hungry?I can make you breakfast.”

That’s... definently not what Chuuya expected out of this situation, but now that+

he mentions it, he /is/ really hungry. “Yeah, thanks.”

Dazai smiles at him again, turning to lead the way out of the room. “Great. I was thinking western breakfast? Hope you like pancakes.”

Chuuya /loves/ pancakes. He follows closely on Dazai’s heels.

The rest of the house+

doesn’t have that many signs. There’s one declaring the bathroom, and a few scattered over the kitchen that label where the dishes and utensils are stored.

Chuuya tries not to judge, but he’s never heard of anyone who needed to be reminded where the bowls were kept in their own+

house. It’s definitely strange.

Dazai gestures for him to sit at the dining table as he starts cooking. He absentmindedly starts humming a song under his breath as he mixes the batter.

It makes Chuuya feel kind of useless and awkward, just seeing here watching him, and+

eventually he can’t stop himself from asking the obvious question. “So um... what’s with the signs?”

He realizes immediately that that is an invasive, kind of rude question to ask someone who is making him breakfast, so he tries to backtrack. “You don’t have to answer or +

anything, I was just...curious.”

Dazai waves him off, pouring batter into a pan. “It’s fine. They’re for my husband. He’s forgetful, so a reminder helps.”

Well, that just makes a Chuuya feel even /more/ awkward. Because apparently he tried to hit on this guy, who is /married/,+

but he was thinking of flirting with him /today/ too, because he’s /cute/, he seems sweet, and he’s really the perfect height to /climb/—

But he’s /married/

Figures.

“Oh. Guess I should apologize to him for last night then, huh?”

Dazai laughs. “Oh that? I was just kidding.”+

/What?/

Before Chuuya can do anything, like yell, Dazai sets down a plate stacked high with pancakes in front of him. A bottle of syrup appears at his elbow.

“Eat up, chibikko. It’s good for your growth.”

Chuuya scowls, but the pancakes smell /heavenly/ and the syrup is his+

favorite brand. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Dazai sits next to him with a cup of coffee and a small, single pancake. He takes a long sip, sliding something over the table towards him. “Here’s your phone, by the way.”

Chuuya makes a grateful noise through his+

mouthful. Dazai hides a smile in his coffee.

He unlocks his phone with muscle memory, slightly surprised at the plain background that pulls up. He doesn’t have any notifications, and a good chunk of his apps are random games.

Opening the messaging app, he checks to see if +

there are any clues about his whereabouts yesterday. Maybe he told someone where he was going, what he was doing. Maybe someone is looking for him.

The last text was from four days ago, to a contact labeled MACKEREL. It’s a simple “where are you?” text attached to a location+

drop.

‘MACKEREL’s only response is a “coming, don’t move.”

Chuuya frowns. That’s not helpful at all.

Dazai clears his throat. “So, got any plans today?”

He takes another mouthful, stalling for time. No, he definitely does /not/ have any plans today, and even if he /did/, +

he would /absolutely/ drop them in favor of more time with tall, dark and delicious.

Married, he reminds himself. Then promptly ignores his own conscience by saying, “Not so far, but I’m open to suggestions.”

Dazai cuts a tiny piece of pancake off, chewing slowly. “Great! +

Then would you like to accompany me to the craft store? My husband needs a new journal, and you look like the kind of guy with good taste in journals.”

That’s flirting. That’s /clearly/ flirting, and Chuuya really should be outraged, but all he can feel is a budding sense of+

warmth in his stomach.

Well—

/He/ doesn’t know Dazai’s husband. It’s not like he owes the guy any loyalty, and if Dazai is going to flirt with him and ruin his own relationship, might as well have fun with it, right?

Chuuya looks up at him, smiles slow and sweet. “Sure.”+

Dazai looks delighted. His food is only half-finished but he seems more interested in his coffee. “Wonderful. Finish up, and then we can go.”

Chuuya looks down at himself with a frown. He’s wearing pajamas, though he doesn’t remember where he got them or when he put them on. +

They fit surprisingly well.

But he can’t go out in public like this. “Do you have any clothes I could borrow?”

Dazai nods. “Yeah, you can borrow some of my husbands clothes. You’re about the same size.”

So Dazai has a /type/ then, huh? Likes the small, lithe guys? This is+

going to be easier than he thought.

Chuuya takes one last bite of his delicious pancakes, taking his plate to the sink and washing it quickly. The signs /do/ come in handy, because once he’s finished drying, it’s a simple task to find the plates and put his away. +

“Just check the closet of the room you were sleeping in, and wear anything you want. He won’t mind.”

The idea of Chuuya sleeping in Dazai’s husbands bed makes him feel a little wrong, like he violated his privacy.

But it’s too late to fix it now, so he just nods and heads +

back to the room.

The closet is filled with expensive, stylish clothes. Chuuya actually feels bad about trying on a couple pairs of jeans until he finds a pair that hugs his legs and ass nicely.

Using his clothes to seduce his husband. Surely this is some sort of new low for+

Chuuya. Surely there’s a limit somewhere?

The clothes feel kind of icky, knowing they belong to someone else, but they look good. Dazai was right, and they fit almost perfectly.

He skips the accessories, because he /does/ have morals and he draws the line at stealing another+

mans jewelry.

When he exits the room, Dazai has finished his food and is sipping on the last of his coffee.

His face lights up when he sees Chuuya. “Ready to go?”

Chuuya smothers the urge to fidget. “Yeah.”

Dazai downs the last of his coffee, and puts the mug in the sink.+

There are several pairs of shoes by the door, in two distinct sizes.Dazai hands him one of the smaller pairs and goes about lacing a bigger pair onto his own feet.

Chuuya just shoves his feet into the pre-tied shoes, wiggling his toes around until it’s comfortable. Dazai shakes+

his head in fond exasperation. Chuuya fights the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

After locking the door behind them, Dazai leads the way to the local train station, making idle conversation.

He doesn’t really talk about his husband. Chuuya doesn’t want to talk about him+

either. He’s much more interested in Dazai himself.

When it gets too crowded, Dazai reaches back to grab Chuuya’s hand, interlacing their fingers. He squeezes reassuringly, bringing their hands up to his chest so he can keep Chuuya close by.

Chuuya’s heart trips at the gesture+

and he can’t help but to step closer, glueing himself to Dazai’s side. Dazai is warm, and his grip is tight but not confining, and sometimes he glances down at Chuuya with this smug, soft little grin—

Whoever the husband is, he clearly doesn’t appreciate Dazai enough, if he’s +

just going to let him out of his sight to go shopping with some stranger that Dazai just met.

No worries though. Chuuya will appreciate him plenty.

They dock the train, and Chuuya doesn’t /need/ to press himself bodily against Dazai when he lets go of his hand to hang onto+

the rail above, but hey—

Safety first, and Chuuya can’t reach the ceiling handles himself, so he’ll just have to hold onto Dazai instead.

Dazai arches an eyebrow at him, probably amused at his public daring, and Chuuya just smirks up at him. +

Dazai leans down, and Chuuya throws all pretense to the wind, standing up on his toes and pressing closer, because it looks like Dazai is going to kiss him, and he doesn’t even /care/ that there are dozens of strangers in full view, he just /wants/—

Dazai bypasses his lips to+

huff a warm, amused breath into his ear. Chuuya doesn’t try to cover the half-disappointed, half-wanting whimper he lets out.

“You are not being very subtle, are you? Hanging all over me in public, with everyone watching,” he murmurs, making Chuuya shiver and press closer when+

his teeth catch the edge of his ear, teasing. “/Shameless./“

Chuuya turns his head, pressing his cheek to Dazai’s, and now it’s /his/ turn to make him shiver as he whispers back, “What can I say? I see something I like and I go for it. I’m not shy.”

He can feel Dazai’s smile+

grow, and /oh god/, is that his tongue tracing the spots where his teeth just were, hot and wet and /skilled/?

Screw shopping.When they get off this train,Chuuya is going to drag them both into the nearest bathroom and sate his /hunger/—

But then Dazai is straightening back up+

leaning away with a self-satisfied smirk. “No, you certainly aren’t.”

Chuuya pouts up at him. He wraps his arms tighter, demanding he come back down here, but Dazai just laughs at his desperation. Jerk.

Still, it is a /nice/ laugh, and it makes Chuuya’s stomach feel all warm+

and tingly.

Dazai nudges him as the train slows. “Come on, this is our stop.”

Chuuya reluctantly lets him go, but he reclaims Dazai’s free hand, interlacing their fingers so he can’t let go.

Dazai doesn’t seem to mind anyways, tightening his grip and rubbing his thumb over +

the back of his hand in rhythmic circles.

He follows on Dazai’s heels as he cuts a path through the crowd with his tall, broad frame. If Chuuya was on his own, he probably would’ve been crowded and jostled the entire way out, but with Dazai, hardly anyone touches him.+

Dazai only lets go of his hand when they arrive at the store, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter first.

He does, grateful for the blast of cool air conditioning. He didn’t realize how hot it was until now.

Dazai beelines for one of the back aisles, pausing to+

greet a few of the employees. It’s obvious he’s well-known here, and must come here semi-often.

Feeling awkward again (because surely the employees will recognize that he’s /not/ Dazai’s husband and are probably judging him /and/ Dazai right now), Chuuya follows slowly.+

The wall of writing utensils catches his attention, and he pauses to look them over. He’s always liked pens, liked colored ink and the way it looked when it was put on paper. He liked the possibilities, the ability to create words where there was nothing before.

He runs his+

fingers over the calligraphy pens, admiring their simple elegance. He’s always wanted to learn calligraphy.

There’s a long row of colored pens hanging a row beneath, and in the middle there is a red-inked pen. Chuuya pulls it off the hanger, admiring the way that the ink seems+

to be a deep purple-red. Like wine.

“Hey!” Dazai— funny how Chuuya can recognize his voice ready— calls, bounding up to him with all the exuberance of a neglected puppy.

He skids to a stop in front of Chuuya, pulling his hand from behind his back with a flourish. “What do you+

think?”

In his hands is a journal. White, with a crab pattern. Some of the crabs are wearing sunglasses, some of them have a big creepy smile, some of them have hats, and a few have a coconut cup in their claws.

Chuuya stares.

It’s absolutely fucking hideous. +

Like the ugliest journal in this whole store, probably.

“Uh,” Chuuya stalls for time, scrambling for something nice to say, but no dice,”that is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dazai gasps dramatically,clutching the journal to his chest in offense. “How could you say that!”+

Chuuya crosses his arms. “Have you /seen/ that thing?”

“Yes and it’s /beautiful!/ The best journal in this whole store. In the city, even! One of a kind!”

Chuuya rolls his eyes but he can’t help the small smile at Dazai’s melodramatic antics. He’s like a spoiled child. +

Dazai finally catches sight of the pen package that Chuuya is still holding. “Did you find something you like?”

He snatches it out of Chuuya’s hands before he can protest,adding it to the small pile of items in his arms.

“No, it’s fine.I forgot my wallet at your house I think,+

so we can just put it back—“

At least Chuuya doesn’t have to come up with an /excuse/ to go with Dazai back to his place, because he really is missing his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it. You can pay me back later,” Dazai says, winking obnoxiously at him. +

Before Chuuya can protest anymore, he’s already sweeping away, presumably heading to the front to pay for his items.

He contemplates following him but... sounds boring. He’ll wait here and keep checking out the pens and Dazai can just find him when he’s done.

+

Someone comes running up to him a moment later, panting. It’s a man, slim and wearing the employee uniform.

“Do you know where Dazai went?” He pants, shoving his uneven white hair out of his face.”His special-order stickers came in and I want to make sure he gets them!”

Chuuya+

gestures in the direction Dazai took off in. “He went to pay, I think.”

“Great!” The employee shouts and then he’s taking off at a dead run. “Thank you Nakahara-san! See you later!”

...How does he know what Chuuya’s name is? He’s never been to this store in his life and he’s+

/certainly/ never met that straggly boy in his life. He’d remember that strange black streak in his hair anywhere.

...Has Dazai talked about him before? That wouldn’t make sense because, as far as Chuuya knows, they met /last night/.

...Maybe the employee is just a friend of+

a friend, someone that he met once, and just doesn’t remember?

Strange, but plausible. Chuuya is usually good with remembering names and faces, but he supposes he’s not perfect.

Dazai comes back a few moments later, with his purchases stuffed in a plastic bag around his wrist.+

“Ready to go?” He asks.

Chuuya nods, stepping away from the utensils section. That calligraphy pen on the top shelf is /really/ nice and he’d love to buy it, but he doesn’t have money and Dazai /already/ bought him something.

He makes a mental note to come back for it later.+

“Do you mind if we run one more errand before going home? It won’t take long. The building is only a few blocks from here,” Dazai says as they exit the building. He waves behind his shoulder at the shop employees, but his eyes are on Chuuya.

He shrugs. He’d prefer to go home so+

they can get to the /fun/ stuff, but what’s a few more minutes? The best part is the anticipation.”Sure.”

Chuuya reaches for one of the bags, so he can help carry the stuff, but Dazai just switches the bags to the other hand so he can lace their fingers together again.

Despite+

himself, Chuuya blushes. He doesn’t correct Dazai, just squeezes his hand and looks away in embarrassment.

The walk to the next building is short, just like Dazai said. After only a few blocks, he’s tugging Chuuya off the sidewalk and into a clean, air-conditioned building.+

They enter what looks like a waiting room. There’s several chairs, empty, and a receptionists desk near the front with a pretty blonde girl manning the desk.

“Wait here, I’ll go check in,” Dazai mutters, dropping his hand.

Chuuya rocks on his heels, stuffing his hands in his+

pockets for lack of something better to do.

To be honest, this place /looks/ like a doctors office. Clean, sterile, with bland paintings on the wall and a door that assumingly leads to some back offices. It’s hard to tell from the angle, but the receptionist looks like she’s+

wearing scrubs underneath her light jacket.

Kind of strange that Dazai would bring him to his doctors appointment, but hey, weirder things have happened. He doesn’t mind waiting for him in the waiting room.

Except the name the nurse calls, after Dazai comes back and coaxes+

him into sitting down by opening up a magazine and reading off an article in an embarrassingly loud, obnoxious voice—

Is “Nakahara Chuuya? We’re ready for you.”

/What?/+

Chuuya looks at the nurse calling his name in confusion. She smiles at him blankly.

He looks back at Dazai, but he just waves his hand like ‘go on, they’re waiting’.

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants and making his way over slowly.

The nurse lets him in the door+

with a welcoming wave, pushing the door open so it stays open long past when he walks through.

“Hi. How are you, Nakahara-san?” The nurse says, leading him down a long hallway.

Chuuya scratches the back of his head. “Good, I guess. I’m just...confused? I don’t remember having+

an appointment today.”

The nurse gives a blank smile, fake in it’s sympathy. “Oh, that’s okay. Sometimes that happens. Luckily you have someone to remember them for you.”

...Just how did Dazai know that he had an appointment? If /he/ didn’t remember, then how the hell did+

Dazai know?

...He did have Chuuya’s phone for an unknown amount of time this morning. Maybe Chuuya had written down his appointment on his calendar app, and Dazai just saw it? Chuuya’s usually pretty good at writing things down...

The nurse notes his height and takes down his+

weight.

“60 kilograms,” the nurse says absentmindedly.

Chuuya grimaces. He’s gained a little, and he was doing so well on his diet too.

He’s led into a room, where he’s told that the doctor will be in to speak with him soon, and he’s welcome to sit.

Before the door can+

fully close, it’s swinging open again and Dazai is sneaking through.

“Dazai!” Chuuya hisses, scandalized, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in here!”

Dazai snickers and moves to the chair by the window. “What, you gonna tell on me, chibi?”

Chuuya snarls. +

The door swings open again, and this time it’s a doctor with a clipboard in hand.

“Ah, Nakahara Chuuya. May I call you Chuuya?” She says, moving to the computer and turning it on.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He prefers it, actually.

She smiles at him, pulling on a pair of latex+

gloves. “Great. You can call me Yosano. Now, please take a seat and we’ll get started with your checkup.”

A checkup? That doesn’t sound too bad. Assumingly, he would /know/ if the appointment was for something /serious/, but apparently he’s been a bit flustered lately, so maybe+

he had just put it out of his mind.

But a check-up is good. A check-up is great.

He lets Yosano check his blood pressure and his breathing without complaint. She checks his ears and asks him to open his mouth to check his tonsils.

“Everything looks great,” she says, slinging+

her stethoscope back around her neck as she sits down on a stool. “So, Chuuya, how have you been feeling lately?”

Chuuya shifts in place, feeling strangely put on the spot. So far, Yosano has completely ignored Dazai, but his presence makes Chuuya feel a little nervous.+

“Uh,” he starts dumbly, “good, I guess? Nothing to complain about.”

Yosano nods, making a note on her computer. Then she turns, looking at Dazai.

Chuuya follows her gaze. So far, Dazai has been playful, teasing, mischievous. He’s always had a smile on his face, ready to make+

a joke or make Chuuya smile. He’s been so /easy/ to get along with, so easygoing and /fun/.

Now though? Now he looks /serious/, sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him. He looks like this is important.

Then he opens his mouth, and starts speaking. +

“He’s been good. There was a bad week around the anniversary of the accident, but it was mostly just depression and lack of appetite. He came out of it fine. He’s been less moody, and he’s a lot better at taking his meds. The routine I’ve made has been helping a lot, I think.”+

/What the fuck?/

One, how the /hell/ does Dazai know all that?

Two, why the /hell/ is he talking about Chuuya like... like he’s some—

Like he’s some fucking patient he’s been taking care of?

Dazai doesn’t look at him, eyes fixed on Yosano, expression determined. “He’s also+

complained of a headache a few times. I gave him some ibuprofen and that helped, but I thought you should now.”

Yosano nods. “That should be nothing, but I’ll prescribe something for the headache. If it gets worse, or the medicine doesn’t help, book an appointment immediately.”+

Chuuya opens his mouth to ask them why the hell they’re talking about him like he’s not here, like he’s some invalid, like he’s some fucking /ghost/
who can’t speak for himself.

“Now for the important question,” Yosano sighs,”any change in his memory?”

Dazai looks grim. “No.”+

None of this makes /sense/. Chuuya doesn’t /understand/.Why doesn’t he know what they’re talking about? Why are they talking about his memory? Is that why he didn’t remember the appointment?

What is /happening?/

Yosano turns back to Chuuya. He resists the urge to snarl at her,+

but he’s pretty sure his expression is /far/ from happy.

“Your turn, Chuuya. I have some questions for you, if you’d be willing to answer them for me.”

Chuuya grits his teeth. Well, it seems like his life has apparently been poked and prodded, and Dazai /apparently/ knows+

everything about him, god knows how, so /what the hell/. Why not. “Fine.”

Yosano smiles at him, something that is tinged with sympathy and gratefulness. “First, I’m going to give you three words, and I want you to remember them, okay? I’ll ask you about them later.”

He nods. +

“The words are house, car, and dog. Understand?”

He nods again, repeating the words under his breath. House, car, dog. House, car, dog.

Yosano turns in her stool to face him fully. “I’m going to start with the questions now. Do you remember how you got here? Did you drive or+

walk, or take a cab?”

Chuuya casts back in his memory. He remembers walking /into/ the office, but before that...it gets a bit blurry. “We walked,” he says, and based on his sore feet, he takes a guess, “and we took the train.”

In his periphery, Dazai nods in affirmation. It +

pisses him off a little. He /knows/things, he /does/, why don’t they /trust/ him?

Yosano notes down his correct answer. “Good! Now, did you go anywhere before coming here? Anywhere at all that you can remember.”

Chuuya screws his face up.There’s something there, on the edge of+

his memory, like a half-forgotten dream he had weeks ago. It’s like there’s something blocking his memory, and if only he could just /dig/ deep enough, he could remember. He just has to try harder—

There’s a flash of something that looks like crabs. Something wine-red. White+

bangs, black streak.

“We.... we went to a— a store?” He struggles, trying to force out the words when he doesn’t really /know/ what he’s talking about. “Dazai got...something with crabs on it. And a red pen.”

His head throbs, the beginning of a headache, and he raises his hand+

to rub at his temples. “Someone... someone knew me. My name, I think.”

Dazai looks concerned as he watches Chuuya, but his voice is steady.”Atsushi. He’s very sweet, remembers the name of anyone who visits more than once.”

Yosano touches Chuuya’s knee. “You’re doing great, but+

don’t push yourself,okay? If you don’t know the answer, that’s fine.We’ll just move onto the next question, no worries.”

“I’m fine,” Chuuya says through his teeth, “give me the next question.”

Yosano sighs, sounding like she’s heard this argument before. “Okay. Can you tell me+

anything about where you live? Anything at all.”

Chuuya thinks hard. Logically, he /knows/ that he has a home, that he /came/ from there, so /why/ is he coming up blank when he tries to remember?

It’s like—

Like he walked into a room, knowing what he needed to do, but just +

as soon as he went to /do it/, he /forgot/. It’s on the tip of his tongue, on the edge of his memory, and he /knows/ he should remember this.

That’s the most /frustrating/ part.He should know this. It’s easy. It’s /there/, hidden deep within his foggy brain, he just has to /dig+

deeper/—

Something small and white, pasted onto the door of the cabinet, catches his eye.

It’s a label. It says simply “gloves”.

And something about that just—

It just fills him with such a sense of security, of safety, of /home/, that the answer finally comes to him.+

“There are signs, right? Signs that say things. They’re for—“

Then it dawns on him.The doctor appointment he didn’t remember,the fact that he’s struggling so hard to remember anything that hasn’t happened in the past 30 minutes—

He looks at Dazai.”They’re for me, aren’t they?”+

The expression on Dazai’s face is so gentle and heartbroken, and yet somehow /knowing/, like they’ve had this conversation a dozen times before. Like he’s told Chuuya over and over, and each time—

Each time he forgets, only to feel the pain, the shock, again anew when he has to+

be told /again/.

More than his own shock, /that’s/ the thing that finally breaks past the wall of disbelief he’s surrounded himself with.

It doesn’t /feel/ real. But Dazai’s face, his reaction, /that/ is real.

“Yeah, chibi. They’re for you.”

His voice, low and gentle, like+

he’s trying /so hard/ not to hurt Chuuya any more than he already is... /that/ is real.

God. He hunches forward, covering his face with his hands as he fights back the urge to let out a scream.

How many times has he gone through this? How many times has he been told that his+

brain is broken? How many times has he felt this wild disbelief-pain, and how many times has he forgotten?

A strangled laugh bubbles up in his throat. Well, at least he /won’t/ remember, once he gives it enough time. He’ll hurt again, but he won’t hurt /forever/.

Is that+

better or worse?

“Chibi....” Dazai sighs, his hand finding its way to the back of Chuuya’s shoulder, rubbing in soothing circles.

Chuuya shudders. He doesn’t /not/ want comfort, but it’s all just so much, so /overwhelming/ right now. He can’t handle this. He can’t do it. +

Yosano clears her throat. “Dazai, why don’t you go set up another appointment? I’ll want to see him again in six months.”

There’s a pause. Chuuya can feel his hesitation, and he prays that Dazai can recognize when Chuuya needs him to back off a little.

He wants him, he /needs/+

him, he just—

He just needs a minute. A minute to process, a minute to /think/.

Dazai’s hand slides off his back. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and then softer, to Chuuya, “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

He nods, not daring to look up yet. He can feel tears on his face, on his fingers.+

The door swings open, then shut again.

Yosano, thankfully, allows him a moment to compose himself in silence. She types on her computer, probably adding more notes to his medical file.

He takes measured, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the mess of emotion in his chest. He’s+

not even sure what he’s feeling, exactly, only that there’s a /lot/ of it and it’s all tangled up in his chest and filling up his lungs.

But past that is the driving need to /know/.

He clears his throat, wiping his hands over his face to clear away the tears. “What happened to+

me?”

Yosano spins around to face him, her gaze calculating and wary. She’s probably debating just how much to tell him, and how to avoid upsetting him even more.

When he gives her a desperate look, she sighs and reaches over to grab the box of tissues on the counter. +

She offers him the box, and waits until he’s taken a piece and started wiping his face to start speaking.

“You were in a motorcycle accident a little over two years ago. Your injuries were minimal but... your helmet was crushed. By the time the doctors managed to get it off,+

there was a lot of bleeding and damage in your brain. They took you into surgery, and they did the best they could. Unfortunately, the damage to your right temporal lobe, particularly the hippocampus, was irreversible.”

What does that even /mean/? He doesn’t speak doctor.

When+

he throws a look that says ‘explain in a way I can understand’, the side of her mouth tips up slightly.

“The hippocampus’ main function is to encode short term memories into long term memories. Simply put, you have a unique form of anterograde amnesia. It is almost impossible+

for you to form long-term memories.”

He swallows hard. That sounds bad. He /felt/ how bad it was, but hearing it in such clinical, clear-cut language makes him feel hopeless. “Can you fix it?”

He’s pretty sure he knows the answer. It’s been two years after all.

Dazai might+

not have given up on him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a /lost cause./

Yosano looks away, expression turning unreadable. “Complete recovery is... extremely unlikely. You might get better, but you’ll never be the same as you were before.”

He’s grateful that she seems so+

unaffected by this, because if he had to deal with his /own/ emotions /and/ hers, he might crack under the strain.

As it is, the information cuts him to the core, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

He is a lost cause. “I’m gonna be like this forever? There’s no hope?”

+

Yosano takes a step forward, forcing him to look at her. She doesn’t touch him, but the sudden intensity of her stance is just as arresting. “Don’t say that. Don’t /ever/ say that.”

Why not? It’s true. His expression twists with a mixture of defeat and hopelessness.+

“You get+

better every time I see you. You get /stronger/.”

He throws her a disbelieving glare. Being able to remember /three/ things from the /whole day/ is /hardly/ progress.

Her expression turns wistful, and a bit sad. “When we first met, you couldn’t remember anything past five +

minutes.Back then,you could’ve never had this conversation. It wasn’t the worst case I’ve ever seen, but it was /bad/. You were always so confused and scared. It was so hard to watch.”

She reaches out for him, brushing her fingertips over his cheek gently. “But Dazai never gave+

up on you. He was there, everyday, reminding you. And believe me, you have never been an /easy/ patient. When you get confused or scared, you get /angry/.

But he never gave up. He took you home, built something approaching a /normal/ life for you. He gave you a routine, a safe+

place, and /unwavering/ support. He’s been the rock you’ve been clinging to, for these two years.”

The tears well up again, and this time, it’s not out of fear or confusion. It’s just pure... pure overwhelming /awe/ and /gratefulness/, that someone would /ever/ go to those+

lengths for him. That’d he matter /that/ much, to someone.

Yosano smiles at him softly. “And when you started to /improve/? It was like a /miracle/. The situation was never easy on Dazai, but when he realized what he was doing was /working/, that he was actually /helping/? I’ve+

never seen him so happy. And every day you get better, every day that you are happy and /alive/— that makes him happy. It’s never been easy, not for you, or for him, but it /is/ worth it.”

She steps back again, putting her hands in her pockets. She’s back to looking almost like+

the clinical, unaffected doctor again, except for the gentle, open expression on her face. “I’m not saying you’ll be fixed. I’m saying that Dazai has been fighting for you, every single day. Don’t make him fight for you alone. Fight for yourself, because there /is/ hope.”+

Before he can say anything, or even figure out /what/ he’s going to say to that, the door swings open again and Dazai steps back in.

When he sees the fresh tears welling up in Chuuya’s eyes and spilling down his cheeks, he throws an accusatory glare at Yosano.

He doesn’t say+

anything though, he just crosses over to Chuuya and cups his face gently. He wipes the tears away gently with his thumb, looking down at him with such a concerned, gentle, sympathetic look that a few extra tears make their way down his face.

He leans down, tipping Chuuya’s face+

further up.

He hesitates when he gets close, like he’s not sure if he’s /allowed/ to be this close, but Chuuya presses up with a soft noise of need, of desperation.

Dazai’s lips whisper over his cheek, tender as he brushes a line of soft, barely-there kisses over his cheek.+

It’s gentle, comforting, like he /knows/ how fragile Chuuya is, and he’s trying /so/ hard to keep him safe and unharmed. Like he’d never do anything to hurt him, or to push him too far.

“You okay?”

Admittedly, it’s a stupid question. Of /course/ he’s not okay. But the care in+

Dazai’s tone makes up for how stupid the question is.

Chuuya closes his eyes, bringing his hands up to clutch on Dazai’s wrists. Searching for stable ground, for the unmoving rock in his storm. “I wanna go home.”

Dazai presses a longer, lingering kiss to his temple, and then+

he’s withdrawing. “Alright. Let’s get you home, chibi. You’ve had a hard day.”

Chuuya lets Dazai tug him off the examination table, lets him wipe one last tissue over his face to clean him up.

Chuuya keeps a firm grip on his arm, clutching him close as he leads the way out of+

the doctors office and onto the street.

He doesn’t remember the trip to the train station, and not just because of his condition.

He’s not paying attention anymore, too overwhelmed with sorrow and love and grief.

He just holds onto Dazai and trusts that he’ll lead Chuuya+

to safety.

This time,when Chuuya wraps himself around Dazai on the train, its out of a desperate need to /hide/. He feels too raw and vulnerable to be /seen/, let alone by strangers.

Dazai seems to sense that, because he lets Chuuya bury his face in his chest without complaint+

or teasing. He threads his free hand in Chuuya’s hair, holding him in place and brushing soothingly through the strands, and lets him cling onto him. Lets him savor the solid warmth of him, unwavering and steady.

Chuuya syncs his breath to the steady rise and fall of the chest+

beneath him, and just lets go. He doesn’t have to worry.

Dazai is here.

At some point, he nudges Chuuya out of the train. He leads them into the station, and out onto the street.

Chuuya only lets go when they arrive back at the apartment because Dazai has to reach into his+

back pocket for the keys.

Dazai lets him in first, and locks the door after them.

Chuuya stands by the door, and looks around. Nothing about this place /looks/ familiar, and he’s not sure about the layout, or where /anything/ is—

But there’s a door further down the hallway,+

closed. There’s a sign on it, bright pink.

‘Bathroom’.

Despite the fact that he feels like he’s /lost/, like he may /never/ be found—

The signs, and Dazai’s gentle grip on his wrist, lets him know that he’s not /alone./

He kicks his shoes off belatedly, following Dazai+

blindly into the hallway. Dazai sets his bags down on the floor, to be dealt with later.

He opens the bathroom door and tugs Chuuya inside. “Want a shower, baby?”

Chuuya nods. He can’t wash away the knowledge (more accurately, he won’t /have/ to, because he’ll forget /soon+

enough/) but he can certainly wash away the aftermath of today. He can wash away the pain and folder of today. He can just sit in the water and just...forget.

Literally. Chuuya lets out a soft, self-patronizing snort.

Dazai sends him a questioning look, but he doesn’t ask.+

He simply gets started on gently, unhurriedly stripping Chuuya. It’s not sexual, and there is no pressure, just the gentle way Dazai’s fingers curl in his shirt and tug it up.

Chuuya raises his arms and his vision cuts out for a moment, blocked.

When it comes back, the first+

thing he sees is Dazai’s expression, gently amused as he brushes Chuuya’s ruffled hair out of his face.

The next thing to go are his pants, and then his socks. He steps out of them easily enough, resting his hands on Dazai’s shoulders for balance as he kneels in front of him.+

When it comes to his underwear, Dazai looks up at him in permission before taking them off.

Chuuya nods again. He’s sure Dazai has seen it all before, and he doesn’t care. He’s never been shy, and he’s just too tired to refuse this gentle, all encompassing care. +

They’re pulled off, and then he’s naked. Physically, emotionally, mentally.

Raw, vulnerable, /defenseless/.

He jumps a little when the shower is started, and it only takes a few moments before steam starts to fill the room.

Dazai réels him in with a hand on the back on his+

neck, pressing another firm kiss on his forehead. “Go. Shower. I’ll bring you clothes and then I’ll make you something to eat, okay?”

Then he’s exiting the room, leaving the door open just slightly.

Chuuya is left standing there, hunched over the ache in his chest, to collect+

the scattered pieces of his soul.

He doesn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that he’ll stand and have a /productive/ shower/— he climbs in and immediately sits on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and letting the water pour down on him.

The steam makes it hard+

to breath, but he compensates with deep, heavy inhales.

He’s confused. It’s hard to remember /why/ he’s upset,and he only knows that there’s an aching, tangled mess of emotions in his chest. He’s upset and he doesn’t remember /why/, only that he /should/ be, and that just makes+

it worse, the idea that there’s something /to/ be upset about, and he /is/, but /why/ is he, why /should/ he—

“Mrow?”

Chuuya’s head lifts,jerked out of his thoughts by a demanding noise.

Outside of the shower, sitting primly with it’s tail tucked around it’s paws, is a /cat/.+

Orange, with white on its paws and chest, and /very/ fluffy.

And currently staring at Chuuya with an expression that says ‘Really? You’re better than this. Get off the floor.’

Chuuya sniffles, huffing a laugh. The cat meows back at him, a makeshift conversation. +

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, kitty.”

Chuuya heaves himself up, gathering up the energy to wash his hair under the watchful eye of his feline dictator. Whenever he slows, or starts to lean too much on the walls, he gets a firm “mrow!”in reprimand.

“You’re mean, you know that?” Chuuya+

tells the little beast.

The cat meows back at him, standing up and arching it’s back to show off it’s fluffy tail, like it’s /proud/ of itself.

He shuts off the shower when he’s done, reaching for the nearby towel.

The cat only allows him to briskly dry himself off before its+

rubbing against his calf, weaving in between his legs and flicking its tail in demand for attention.

Dressing himself without tripping over the little beast is a challenge, but he manages. He’s hardly gotten his shirt on before the cat is clawing at his pants, demanding.

+

Chuuya scoops him up, and the meows immediately die down into a pleased purr. It rubs its face against his, claws kneading at his shoulder.

He pads out of the bathroom, running his hand over the cats soft fur. It’s comforting, to be so obviously adored by an animal.+

He follows the sound of cooking into the kitchen.

Dazai is there, plating a meal of katsudon with efficient movements. He doesn’t see Chuuya immediately, and he watches for a moment, admiring his smooth, relaxed movements.

He looks good. Confident. Sure of himself. +

Chuuya clears his throat, and Dazai looks up immediately. He gets the privilege of watching his blank, focused expression melt into something warmer, softer.

Chuuya bounces the cat in his arms. “You have a cat?”

Dazai snorts. “No, /you/ have a cat. The little terror barely+

tolerates me, but he /loves/ you.” He carries two sets of plates over to the dining table, gesturing for Chuuya to sit. “His name is Arahabaki. God of destruction. Suits him. Always destroys my curtains,” he mutters the last part under his breath.

Chuuya chuckles, dropping+

Baki onto the couch before taking a seat. “No wonder he doesn’t like you, if that’s the way you talk about him.”

Dazai points his fork at him accusingly. “He didn’t like me /before/ I started talking about him, I’ll have you know.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, snickers. “I’m sure.”+

Dinner is easy, full of gentle teasing and easygoing banter. It’s a simple distraction that Chuuya chases after fully.

He can tell that Dazai /is/ concerned, based on the way his eyes flick over his expression, and the way his eyebrows draw together when Chuuya takes slow, tiny+

bites. He doesn’t really have an appetite, but he eats a little, mostly for Dazai.

When they’re done, Chuuya takes the dishes before Dazai can even push his chair back.

He feels so out of control, so hopeless, and it’s hard to tell /why/. He needs something to do, something he+

/does/ have control over. Something physical, with clear directions and clear rewards.

Dazai watches him for a moment, but Chuuya ignores him, washing every inch of their plates with a dedication befitting a much more difficult task.

Eventually, Dazai leaves him to it and +

goes to the living room. Chuuya can hear the TV turn on after a moment, filling the dark room with sound and light.

Perhaps one of the best parts about Dazai is that he knows when Chuuya just needs /space/. Chuuya doesn’t want him to leave he just—

Wants a moment, to himself.+

He washes the dishes diligently, then dries every inch of them. He puts them away and even takes a few extra moments to make sure the dishes are all stacked in order of size.

The TV changes channel, becoming louder and darker, and now that Chuuya doesn’t have anything to do—
+

It’s /so/ inviting.

So he goes, tip-toeing into the room. Dazai is lying on the couch, his head propped up on the arm of the sofa. He has one hand on his chest, and the other tucked behind his head.

His eyes are on the TV, but it doesn’t look like he’s watching. It looks like+

he’s /thinking/, lost in thought and /worried./

Chuuya wants to wipe that expression off his face, to pull him out of his mind and give him something else to think about, something to enjoy.

He crosses over, and he /could/ nudge Dazai’s legs to ask him to make room, but he +

doesn’t. Instead,he swings his leg over, and sits over Dazai’s hips, settling his weight evenly.

Dazai’s hand slides down to catch his thigh, squeezing him nicely, and his head turns to look.

It’s dark, with only the TV to light up the room, but god, Dazai looks /so/ handsome.+

The shadows emphasize the cut of his jaw, and the way his eyes seem to swallow all the light, black and endless. His nose catches the light, strong and straight and proud, leading Chuuya’s gaze naturally to the full pout of his lips.

His arm, bent behind him, has lean cords of +

muscle.

He just—

He looks /so/ good. Like he’s /supposed/ to be this untouchable, unknowable thing, and only Chuuya gets the privilege of knowing the thoughts behind that head of pretty, unruly dark hair. The only one who gets to /see/ the emotion behind those guarded eyes.+

Like he’s some dark, unaffected thing—but at Chuuya’s touch, he becomes soft again.

The glint of something shiny at Dazai’s throat catches his eye. He looks down.

There’s a chain around Dazai’s neck, resting loosely. Hooked on the chain, laying in the dip of Dazai’s collarbone+

are two rings.

Chuuya reaches out without really thinking, picking up the rings and holding them in the palm of his hand.

One of them is simple, just a silver band engraved with something that Chuuya can’t read. The other is adorned with small sapphires, only slightly more+

eye-catching and gaudy.

They’re simple. Beautiful.

Chuuya presses his thumb to the gems, voice thick. “You’re married?”

Dazai’s hand squeezes him reassuringly, just before his mouth tips up in a smirk. “Yes. To you, even, so you don’t have to worry about stealing me away, +

little home-wrecker.”

Chuuya gasps in offense, smacking him in the chest with his friend hand.”I would /never/!”

Dazai laughs, his hand coming from behind his head to catch Chuuya’s hand and hold it to his chest. “Don’t try to fool me. I saw that calculating look in your eye.”+

Chuuya thumps him again.

Dazai winces only a little bit. “It’s flattering, really! To know you want me so much you’d ruin my relationship to get your filthy little hands on me. Don’t be embarrassed!”

Chuuya groans. Dazai is always so ridiculous.

He weighs the rings in his+

palm again, deciding just to change the subject. “Why don’t we wear them?”

Dazai’s expression closes off, just a little. It makes Chuuya ache, seeing Dazai trying to think of what exactly to tell him to keep him from getting upset.

“Well,” Dazai sighs,”you don’t like waking up+

with yours on. And if I wear mine when you don’t wear yours, it makes you feel weird. So I wear them around my neck, so they’re always close.”

Chuuya closes his hand around them. He hates the symbolic gesture of it, the figurative and literal weight around Dazai’s neck. Like +

their relationship is a hangman’s noose Dazai has deliberately and willingly wrapped around his neck. Chuuya can’t bear the weight, and so Dazai will bear it for both of them.

“Why?” He chokes out, “why are you still here? Why do you still love me?”

Dazai lets go of his hands,+

reaching up to cup his face in his hands. He draws Chuuya down, so he can press a few kisses to his cheeks.

He doesn’t kiss Chuuya on the lips, and for that, he aches.

After a moment, he pushes him back again. “I am here, chibi, because falling in love with you every day is+

a privilege, not a burden. I’m here because you need me, and I’ve always needed you.”

Chuuya grips his wrists.He’s glad he cried so much in the shower, because now he doesn’t have any tears left.He just feels empty, wrung out. “But.. you can never have your own life. A /normal/+

life. You always /have/ to be thinking of me, don’t you?”

Dazai smiles at him,gentle.His hands are large, covering his cheeks completely and making him feel secure, /held/. “Wanna know a secret, doll? Before your accident, I spent every waking moment with you. And when I wasn’t+

/with/ you,I was /thinking/ about you, and when I wasn’t thinking about you, I was /dreaming/ about you.”

Dazai squishes his face a little bit,smiling childishly at the way his cheeks puff up. “And even before that,before we were together? I spent almost /all the time/ thinking+

of ways to get you to /notice/ me.”

Chuuya leans closer,entranced by the soft, welcoming smile on Dazai’s face,the melodic timbre of his voice, the way he seems so full of /love/ and it’s all for him, it’s /all for Chuuya/—

Dazai lets him, shifting his hands to let Chuuya lean+

forward, getting close, closer, closest—

And it’s just as their lips are about to meet that Dazai finishes, “so you see, Chuuya? You’ve been my entire life for as long as I can remember.”

Then Dazai closes the distance between them, and kisses him. +

Chuuya’s world seems to hold its breathe, every worry and thought giving way so he can focus on /this/, the slow inexorable way Dazai is kissing him. Warm molasses spreading through him like slow wildfire, making him melt.

His bottom lip slots naturally in between Dazai’s and+

Dazai takes advantage of that, running his tongue over the plump flesh lushly.

His mouth opens on a gasp that Dazai follows beautifully, coaxing him into the next movement, and the next. He breathes directly into Dazai’s mouth and Dazai breathes life back into him, tugging his+

head slightly to the side so he can direct their movements better. The wet of Dazai’s mouth slides over Chuuya, inviting and /so/ delicious.

He presses closer, wanting to be kissed harder, /faster/. He wants /more/, everything Dazai will give him—

But Dazai keeps him at a +

careful distance, forcing him to enjoy the soft press of their lips together. The next movement is slower, ending with Dazai’s lip resting between his own, soft and full. Chuuya pulls it into his mouth a little, sucking on it lightly just to hear Dazai’s breath catch at the +

suction.

He goes to nip at him, demanding, because he /likes/ this slow kissing, but he wants /more/, he wants to feel /taken over/ by Dazai, wants to forget and just /feel/—

Then Dazai is releasing an amused huff at the movement, mouth pulling into a self-satisfied smirk. +

He pulls back, moving down, and then /he’s/ the one sucking Chuuya’s lip into his mouth and he’s /not/ shy about it.

His lip pulls with the movement, a tinge of pain. Dazai is sucking hard, rhythmically, and he can feel the blood rushing through his veins, growing hotter.

+

Teeth sink into his lip, not painfully, but just hard enough that he can feel the sting of it, the way Dazai /could/ hurt him, but he /doesn’t./

His tongue flicks over the trapped flesh, made sensitive by teasing, and Chuuya can’t help the low sound that escapes him, pushing +

closer, rocking down—

Dazai’s phone gives a shrill alarm, making Chuuya jump and pull away.

They’re both breathing hard, and the warm wash of Dazai’s breath over his face just makes Chuuya feel more excited. He leans back in, fighting the alarm will go off on its own, they +

can go back to kissing and then keep /going/—

Dazai stops him, pressing their foreheads together as he fights to regulate his breathing. His hands, which /were/ rubbing over his cheeks soothingly, have gone tense with frustration and restraint.

He sighs, and Chuuya can /feel/+

the frustration in it, and he doesn’t know /why/—

“It,” Dazai pauses to press a firm kiss to his cheek, “is your bedtime.”

...what? His /bedtime/? But Chuuya thought—

“Don’t you want me?” It’s embarrassing that his voice breaks in the middle, but he wants /so/ much and now+

it feels like Dazai doesn’t want him /back/—

Dazai’s hands tighten on his face, and he’s surging up, practically bending Chuuya backward as he claims him in a ferocious, possessive kiss.

/Finally/, Dazai is kissing him like he wants. Just the way he likes, /demanding/ his+

response. He kisses him like he knows /exactly/ how he likes it, biting down on his lip again until Chuuya is gasping, and then invading his mouth with his tongue, tasting the roof of his mouth, the inside of his cheeks, his teeth.

Chuuya relaxes into it, fighting not to be +

swept away by the intensity of it. It feels like Dazai is /claiming/ him, demanding a piece of Chuuya to call his own, and Chuuya /wants/ to give in, wants to let him take and /take/ until there is nothing left of him that Dazai hasn’t touched, hasn’t pleasured, doesn’t /own/— +

But then Dazai is breaking the kiss /again/, and Chuuya is making a growling, frustrated noise because /dammit/, he /needs/ him.

Dazai presses their foreheads together, keeping him from moving. Chuuya wiggles in frustration, and /oh/, that’s a /decent sized/ bulge meeting his+

movements, and Chuuya wants it /so/ much, it’s /big/ and it’s /his/—

“I want you, /so/ bad,”Dazai admits, voice hoarse. Chuuya wants to keep him talking, wants that voice in his ear as Dazai fucks him /through/ the mattress.

He preens, arching up to press their chests together+

and rocking his hips down in the same movement. He’s so /close/ to getting what he wants, he just has to tempt him a little /more/.

One of Dazai’s hands leaves his face, clamping down on his hip and stopping his movements completely. He pushes Chuuya off him, putting some space+

between them.

“I want you /so/ much, /but/ it is your /bedtime/.”

Frustration and anger surge up in equal measures. His hands, wrapped around Dazai’s neck, tighten and dig his nails in. “I’m not a /child/,” he snarls.

Dazai sighs in exasperation, sounding like he’s heard+

this argument a hundred times before. “No, you’re not,” he agrees, “but you /are/ someone who functions best with a /routine/. They /help/.”

He pulls back even farther, reaching back to unwrap Chuuya’s hands from around his neck. “Do you know how long it took me to /persuade/ +

you into going to bed on time? I’m not going to undo /weeks/ of work. You’ve been improving /so/ much with more routine, so /please/ don’t make me choose between keeping you happy and keeping you /healthy./“

Chuuya looks away, equal parts embarrassed and frustrated. He still +

/wants/, but hearing the frustration in Dazai’s voice, and the way he /asked/ and the way he /cares/... it makes it hard to insist.

If taking care of Chuuya, and making sure he sticks to a routine makes Dazai happy, then fine.

He’ll just /suffer/ with blueballs. It’s fine. +

Chuuya heaves a sigh, and Dazai must evidently read that as his victory, because he’s smiling at him again, and murmuring a low,”thank you.”

Chuuya wraps his arms around his neck again, leaning forward to press his forehead to his shoulder. “At leafs carry me to bed, then,” he+

grumbles.

Dazai chuckles. “Yeah, okay, brat,” he agrees, affectionate.

Before Chuuya can respond, he’s lurching upwards, making Chuuya gasp and cling to him to avoid falling.

His hands are firm under Chuuya’s thighs, holding him effortlessly in place as he takes them both+

to Chuuya’s bedroom.

The layout still doesn’t look familiar, and the furniture is unrecognizable, but it doesn’t feel /scary/ now. Not when Dazai lowering him gently to his bed, forcibly unwrapping his arms and legs from around him.

Chuuya doesn’t want to let him go. “Will you+

sleep with me? Please?”

Dazai hesitates, and he sounds so sad as he replies, “I /can’t/, princess.”

Chuuya clings closer, fighting to keep him close as Dazai tries to disentangle them. “Why not? /Please/.”

Dazai grips his wrist firmly, pinning it to the bed beside his head. +

“I /can’t/, Chuuya. When you wake up beside me, you think that we— you think that I—,” his face goes pale, and wan, likes he’s fighting off the urge to be sick.

His grip loosens, and he drops Chuuya’s wrist in favor of stroking his cheek. “I won’t put you through that pain and+

fear, okay? I /promise/ I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Then the fear that Chuuya is fighting, the thing he’s /really/ afraid of, comes spilling out of him. “What if I forget you again?”

He’s glad it’s dark, so he can only see the vague outline of Dazai’s expression fading +

into something sorrowful and sympathetic. “Then I will be here, to remind you. As many times as you need.”

“Promise?” Chuuya whimpers, desperate for reassurance. He doesn’t want to feel alone again, even if he knows, in this moment, that he never is.

Dazai drops a kiss on his+

forehead again, and his voice is so /sure/, so /certain/ when he says “I promise” that Chuuya feels a tiny part of the knot of fear inside him begin to unravel.

He lets Dazai pull away, and drape the blankets over him. He’s sure Dazai covers his face just to watch him flail +

in indignation.

“Goodnight, Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs.

Chuuya watches him walk away, turning off the light as he goes. It feels like he’s watching his own funeral procession, because the /Chuuya/ today won’t exist /tomorrow./

Dazai will be left mourning a thousand versions of+

him, alone.

Dazai steps into the doorway, just about to mostly close the door behind him on his way out—

The question bursts out of him. “Is it worth it? Am I worth it?”

Dazai looks back at him. From this distance, in this light, he can’t make out his features, only a sense+

of welcoming darkness, like all that Chuuya was, all his fears and problems, could be swallowed by Dazai, and it would be welcomed.

“Ask me again in the morning,” Dazai says, and then slips out of the room.

Chuuya is left, cuddled up in bed with a mountain of pillows and +

blankets, silently fighting off a confusing swirl of anxiety and fear.

He breathes through it, counting his inhales to distract himself.

Eventually, the pattern takes over and he falls asleep.

+

——————

Chuuya wakes suddenly, lurching upright into a sitting position, looking around frantically.

He’s sure he had a bad dream, but the images are quickly fading. More importantly, as he looks around to find the source of anything that woke up him—

He doesn’t recognize +

/anything/. Not the room or the layout, or the furniture, not /anything/.

Where the /hell/ is he? And /what/ kind of weirdo puts /sticky notes/ over the furniture to signal where they keep their damn /underwear/?

A stack of journals on the dresser catches his attention. On top+

of one is a sign that simply says “read me.”

Chuuya looks around. It’s early, and the light from the window is still gray, so it must be near dawn. There’s no clock to confirm, but the apartment outside is silent.

He probably has a few minutes, so what’s the harm? He can read+

the weirdos journal.

The journal is worn and faded when he cracks it open, and the handwriting inside is nothing he recognizes.

It reads:

// Dear Chuuya,

I know this must be frightening and confusing to you, waking up without recognizing where you are. It must feel very+

strange. But let me tell you a few things, and just believe me, okay?

This is your room. Your house. It looks stupid and you probably think it’s very ugly, but it’s yours. There’s a reason it looks weird, but you won’t believe me if I tell you.

So please, if you only believe+

one thing, let it be this:

In a few minutes, there will be a man that shows up. He’s tall, and lanky, and he looks a bit like he’s got the fashion of a mummy (or so you say).

His name is Dazai.

Dazai is... a good man. You can trust him. He’s not perfect and he makes a lot of+

mistakes, but he tries. Sometimes he’s mean without realizing it, but I promise you that he cares for you.

He makes you pancakes every day even though he hates western breakfast and especially pancakes. He reads you poetry even though he thinks poetry is a bit pretentious. +

He buys you wine and drinks it with you, even though he doesn’t like the taste.

He does this because he /loves/ you. He does all these things for you, /because/ he loves you.

So please, when you see him, trust him, okay? If you’re scared, he will help. If you’re confused +

or unsure, he’ll help you. If you’re angry or frustrated, he’ll fix it.

If you believe nothing else, please believe that Dazai will do /everything/ in his power to make sure that you are happy and healthy. //

Chuuya runs his fingers over the handwriting. He doesn’t recognize+

the handwriting, so it must’ve been written by someone else.

Now that, usually, would make alarm bells ring in his head, fearing that he’s being manipulated. But something about the depth of emotion hidden in the letter, shown by intermittent gouges, like the person dug the pen+

too hard, and the discolored splotches of long-dried tears—

It touches something inside him,and instead of feeling anger and fear,he just feels a distant sense of confusion.

He puts the journal back carefully, placing the sign back on top of it. He’s not sure what this journal+

means to /him/, but it clearly meant something to /someone/, and he can respect that.

He takes the journal off the top of the other stack. It’s white, with a hideous crab pattern that he’s /sure/ he would never buy for himself—

But something about it makes a smile grow on his+

face.

He cracks it open, but it’s entirely blank. Nothing has been written in it yet.

There’s a wine-colored pen on the desk,and he debates writing something, but he’s not sure what he would write. His confusion at waking up at a new place? How weird and unreal this all seems?+

Before he can figure it out, the door swings open, revealing a man.

Chuuya whips his head around, feeling like a kid caught with his hands in something he wasn’t supposed to touch.

The man is tall, lanky, dark-haired and with a stupidly large grin on his face as he waltzes in+

like he owns the place. “Good morning!”

Chuuya looks at him, looks back at the journal. He doesn’t /recognize/ the guy, but he matches the description in the journal, and something about him just puts Chuuya at ease.

He’s always trusted his instincts more than his mind, so if+

his gut says to trust him.... then he will.

“Dazai, right?” He starts.

When the guy looks confused, a bit uncertain and with an undercurrent of /thrill/, Chuuya gestures towards the journal.

The guy doesn’t /look/ disappointed, but he seems to relax into some pre-existing+

belief. Like he’d gotten his hopes up, only for the result to be exactly the same.

Chuuya feels...a bit ashamed about that. He’s not sure why.

“Yep, that’s me. Dazai Osamu, at your service.”

Chuuya looks away, stalling for time by slowly putting the crab-journal back in its+

place.

He looks at his hands afterwards, because he’s not sure what to /do/, but there’s something building in his chest, something he doesn’t understand.

“I think,” he starts, breathing out shakily, “I think today is going to be a good day.”

He’s not sure /why/ he says that+

only that, in some part of him, it feels true. Like it’s inevitable.

He looks at Dazai hesitantly. He’s leaning his head against the doorframe, smiling at him fondly.

“Yeah? Me too.”

They stare at eachother for a long moment, not /speaking/ but /conversing/ in a way that+

doesn’t require /words/ or /understanding/.

It just /is./

Dazai pushes off the wall. “Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast. I was thinking pancakes.”

That... that sounds good. The journal /was/ right— Dazai /will/ take care of him. Even if he doesn’t understand it fully+

and even if he doesn’t know exactly /why/ it’s happening.

That’s okay. If he’s confused, Dazai will help.

Chuuya smiles, feeling it in his cheeks. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

And so another day begins.

+

// ANNNNNDDDd thats it. That’s the story. I had a lot of fun writing it, and the angst/fluff of this whole piece was just perfect for me thank you all for tuning in, for ur reactions and your enjoyment! I hope you enjoyed and I’ll see you next time