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Dazai blinked his eyes open, the world blearily coming into focus along with the pounding in his head. He groans, rubbing his eyes and pressing the heels of his hands until he sees stars. The banging is more spaced apart now and Dazai belatedly realizes it isn't his head pounding but rather someone at his front door.
Dazai reaches blindly, feeling around his pillow until his fingers curl around his phone, pulling it from its place and flipping it over. The light from his background causes him to squint as he reads the time: 3am. Who the hell was at his door at three in the morning?
A thud sounded in place of the knocking, the unmistakable sound of someone falling against his door and Dazai finds himself pushing aside his blankets in a mix of frustration and worry. He pulls a gun from his nightstand, padding barefoot across the wooden floor, cold feet making no noise. He turns the knob slowly, standing slightly behind it. It flies from his hands and only halts from banging into the wall by Dazai shoving his knee into the space to stop it, a limp body falling through the area created.
He registers almost immediately and with great relief that the body is no one from the agency, too small to be any of the older members and too big for Kyouka. He sees the red hair a moment later, and the shaking shoulders as he registers the body as Chuuya, Chuuya who is laughing .
“Hey, mackerel.”
Dazai bends down, registering the thick jacket Chuuya never usually wears buttoned around the gravity user up to his chin. Chuuya is still limp in the doorway, head lolling back as he grins up at Dazai.
Dazai reaches a hand out, brushing Chuuya’s hair from his face, “Chuuya,” he says quietly, noting the red flush across his ex partner’s cheeks but the lack of slurring in his voice, “Are you drunk again?”
“The fuck do you mean again ? You haven’t seen me drunk in years, you stupid fish,” Chuuya bit out, an almost sort of pride in his words. His voice quieted to an almost grumble as he spoke again, “Besides, that was always more your specialty.”
Dazai gracefully decided to not mention three months ago when Chuuya had turned up at his door so drunk he’d had to call Kouyou to pick him up. Chuuya had banged on his door, yelled at Dazai for leaving him, refused to let go of his hand, told him he was pretty, and then passed out on his couch. Dazai could only hope Chuuya hadn’t thrown up on the way back with Kouyou and he doubted Chuuya remembered much, if any, of the night.
“Do you know what time it is? Why else would you be here this late?” Dazai raises an eyebrow.
Chuuya snorts, “Probably around eleven. Did these agency fuckers actually get you to hold normal sleeping hours? They’re turning you into a grandpa, tacky bastard.”
“Now I know you’ve been drinking. Slug, it’s three in the morning. Do you want me to call Kouyou to come pick you up? Or at least get off my floor? You can’t be comfortable in that coat though maybe chibi thinks it makes him look bigger.”
Chuuya laughs and the sound sends a chill down Dazai’s spine. It sounds disjointed and self-depreciating, wrong to Dazai’s ears in so many ways that only years of knowing Chuuya puts any meaning to. He immediately starts searching Chuuya for something wrong, the dark of the hallway and the black of Chuuya’s clothes making it all the more difficult to tell.
Dazai stands, looking out behind Chuuya “Are you being followed?”
“Yes, I'm a complete idiot and don't know how to do my job,” Chuuya grumbles rolling his eyes, “They’re all too dead to follow.”
“Why are you here?” Dazai asks, the question more of a command now, the tone one he knows Chuuya will recognize.
“Oh,” Chuuya says the word like it just occurred to him to clue Dazai in, “I got shot.”
“Can you stand? We need to get you to where I can see you.”
Chuuya pushes himself to his feet, nearly falling, despite his use of tainted sorrow , before Dazai is pulling Chuuya’s arm around his own shoulder and dragging him into his bedroom. It tells Dazai just how bad off Chuuya is from the fact he doesn’t protest. Dazai dumps Chuuya on his futon, rushing back to close his door and pulling out his first aid kit from underneath the sink. He pulls the plastic off of it on the way back to Chuuya and flicks the lights on.
“Where were you shot?”
Chuuya sits up on his elbows, staring at the first aid kit, fists squeezing so hard Dazai knew his nails were going to leave crescent shapes in his skin.
“Chuuya, where,” he snaps out.
Chuuya swallows, shaking hands fumbling to unbutton his jacket, “Stomach.”
Dazai swats his hands away, quickly removing the jacket himself. Without the thicker material hiding it, Dazai could see the blood soaking into the vest and dress shirt. He pushes them up, “Lay back.”
Chuuya laughs again, the sound thin and strained, “You know, four years ago you couldn’t wait to get me like this. I’m getting the feeling you don’t find me sexy anymore.”
Dazai reaches a hand beneath Chuuya, feeling his back for an exit wound, not trusting Chuuya to tell him, “I can’t believe I ever found a slimy slug like you sexy.”
“Dazai-” Chuuya tries.
“I’m just looking.”
He really should call Yosano. Chuuya was bleeding too much, his hands too clammy and shaky, his face too pale before they’ve even begun. He pulls Yosano’s number up on his phone in case he needs to call as a last resort. If they got that far, Chuuya wouldn’t be conscious enough to care.
“You can’t-”
And Dazai knew what Chuuya was protesting without needing to hear him out, “I’m going to have to dig it out.”
“If you fucking get off of me, I can push it out with tainted .”
“You’re not supposed to do that and you fucking know it. Mori said if it hits something on the way out wrong you could kill yourself. We both know it needs to come out.”
“I’ll leave it and Mori can take it out.”
“You might not survive it back to the mafia and we both know you’re going to like Mori taking this out even less.”
Chuuya closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Dazai watches as Chuuya takes a second breath, the way Chuuya tries to look brave for the both of them, as he nods. Dazai knows as soon as he starts to pull that bullet out Chuuya will fall apart. The next two hours are going to be hell for both of them.
“I can get some ice,” Dazai offers as he pulls the tweezers from the first aid kit, his voice softer than he means it to be, “It might help you stay present.”
“Shut the fuck up and get on with it already,” Dazai hears the shake in Chuuya’s words, hears the way he’s barely holding on even before Dazai has started, the fear in his voice. Chuuya hadn’t done well with medical care since the first day Dazai had known him and it had taken him another year before he put together Chuuya’s origins and why that might be.
Dazai dumps alcohol over the tweezers, soaking the futon and setting his elbow strategically on Chuuya’s hip in preparation for when Chuuya starts trying to run from him. If they were lucky, Chuuya would pass out either from blood loss or pain.
Dazai brings the tweezers to the wound and sees Chuuya’s hands turn to fists again in his peripheral vision, watching the way he shakes. He shouldn’t stop here, Chuuya was desperately trying to hold it together and he was only going to be able to manage it for so long, but Dazai does anyway, unsure where Chuuya’s mind was, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“ Hurry up you stupid asshole,” Chuuya’s breath is coming faster and Dazai begins digging into the wound without warning.
“Fuck!” Chuuya squirms and Dazai is glad for his foresight to hold him down. He digs deeper, trying desperately to find the bullet as Chuuya groans above him, “Dazai get the hell out of my body before I fucking find all your suicide books and burn them.”
“Why chibi, I didn’t know you cared so much!”
Dazai ducks the hand that swings for his head, catching Chuuya’s arm and pinning it beneath his leg, the tweezers finally pressing into something other than soft flesh as he does.
“Dazai, I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Chuuya’s voice is thick and shaking.
“Aw, slug is so sweet, making my dreams come true!”
Chuuya begins struggling in earnest under him, his breathing coming heavy and fast, “Get off of me.”
Dazai ignores him, hands slick with blood, and concentrates on finally pulling the bullet free, dropping it into his already ruined sheets. He reaches back for the alcohol solution, upturning it into Chuuya’s wound before Chuuya can protest.
Chuuya screams and Dazai uses gauze and his sheets to wipe away as much of the blood and alcohol as he can manage.
“Get away from me. I’ll break your fucking jaw,” Chuuya’s struggles are weaker, too weak to do much anymore and Dazai loosens his grip on his ex partner’s hand. His breathing is fast and stuttered and Dazai does his best to ignore the twisting in his chest as he picks up the needle and thread, his own hands shaking far more than he expected.
Dazai’s front door bursts open and Dazai is cursing his past self for forgetting to lock his door as Kunikida and a panicked Atsushi crash through the door.
He raises his voice, not looking back and trying his best to shield Chuuya’s bloody and crying form from view, “Get out.”
“Dazai, this is not-”
He drops his hands, filled with needle and thread, to his sides, turning to glare at Kunikida and Atsushi who hovers uncertainly, “Get out right the fuck now. I will explain later .”
“Yosano-” Atsushi tries.
Chuuya begins thrashing with a new vigor at the voices and Dazai struggles to hold him for a moment, wondering if he really will have to find a way to knock Chuuya out.
“Can’t help! Now leave before I make you,” Dazai had taken an oath to Oda but he wasn’t above using force to get what he needed. Chuuya was bleeding out and he didn’t have time to argue with his coworkers.
The door slams shut behind them, Chuuya managing to slip about a foot away before Dazai gets a hand around his ankle and drags him back, “We’re almost done,” he promises, knowing Chuuya is far past reason, that it wasn’t this room or Dazai he was seeing anymore.
He catches Chuuya’s wrist as he comes in with a swing, slamming it into the floor with enough force he knows Chuuya will be bruised tomorrow. He throws a leg over Chuuya’s, using his knees to pin him in place and grabbing Chuuya’s other hand as he resorts to his nails, managing to get a fairly deep scratch on Dazai’s arm.
“I’m trying to help,” Dazai tries again, almost begging as he moves Chuuya’s arm across his body to hold both his wrists in one hand, “Let me help.”
“Not again, get off. You can’t do this again, you’re not helping me. Please, please let me go. I promise I’ll behave, please - -” Chuuya breaks off, a sob building in his throat until it rips out of him mid sentence.
Dazai takes a shaky breath, threading the needle with his teeth, no longer concerned with infection. They could deal with infection later, it was more important to get Chuuya stitched up and calm at this point.
Chuuya went limp beneath him, “I’ll stop, I’ll stop, please, please let me go. I’ll do whatever you want. I didn’t mean to, please ,” his breaths hiccup as he cries, gasping for air.
“We’re almost done,” Dazai promises, taking advantage of Chuuya’s stillness, unsure if it was from exhaustion or simply Chuuya trying to convince him to get away. He stitches quickly with one hand, praying to any god who would listen he’ll be able to finish, “I was really hoping you’d pass out.”
“ Osamu ,” it’s a plea for help and the word cuts through Dazai’s chest as Chuuya gets quieter, almost as if he’s no longer talking to anyone at all. With one word Chuuya has cut through every barrier Dazai had put up as soon as he had realized Chuuya was hurt. He feels broken open and raw.
“I’m sorry,” Dazai whispers, knowing Chuuya is far past hearing anything he could say, “I’m so sorry.”
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, you’re hurting me. You’re a liar. Please,” his words are nearly unintelligible as Dazai finishes the stitches, thanking whatever gods may exist that Chuuya was too tired to fight him anymore. He drops the needle, clipping the sutures short so they won’t catch on anything. They’re far from the neatest Dazai has done on Chuuya, but they would hold and that was all that mattered.
He pulls his hands away, gathering his tools as Chuuya curls up in his bloody sheets. Chuuya always looks so childlike after these types of instances, small and frail and breakable. He looks nothing like the sheep member Dazai had met that first day who had him on the ropes. Dazai hates seeing him like this, seeing him so torn apart by things he could hardly remember. He has blood in his hair, his face, his arms and Dazai longs to take a cloth and wipe it away. Instead, he lets Chuuya cry, backing away and locking himself in his bathroom.
His hands and bandages are covered in Chuuya’s blood and he peels them off slowly. He thinks about how out of it Chuuya was, how Chuuya still came to him rather than the mafia. He wonders how many times over the years Chuuya was hurt and Mori had to sedate him to help him, how many times Chuuya woke in a panic. He wonders if he had told Chuuya where he was going, if Chuuya would have come with him instead.
He mechanically drops his clothes in a separate pile than his bandages, stepping into the shower and watching the red filter down the drain. What if Chuuya hadn’t made it to him in time? Would Mori have told him if Chuuya died?
He doesn’t remember picking up the soap, but the next thing he knows the red in the drain has been replaced with soap and clear water, the shower itself turned cold and his fingers white and stiff with it. He turns the tap off, grabbing a soft towel from the rack that he doesn’t remember putting there. He wraps it around his shoulders, sitting there until his hips and knees ache from the pressure.
***
Chuuya is asleep when Dazai finally emerges from the bathroom dressed in the softest clothes he owns. He finally finds that cloth, wiping at Chuuya’s skin until most of the blood is gone. He leaves Chuuya in the sheets, unwilling to wake him quite yet and sits at his table with a pile of paperwork he had been avoiding.
He doesn’t move when Chuuya stirs hours later, far past the time Dazai thought he would wake. He signs his name on a report, listening as Chuuya curses softly. A moment later he hears his bathroom door close and his shower start. Dazai stands, his knees and back protesting with the effort after sitting for so long. He gathers the sheets from his futon, throwing them straight into the trash before he remakes it and rolls it up and placing it in his closet.
He’s in the middle of burning eggs when Chuuya steps into the kitchen. He takes them off the eye, moving them around the pan as quickly as he can manage before he dumps them on a plate.
Chuuya stares at the plate before looking up at Dazai and raising an eyebrow, “I hope those aren’t for me.”
He’s in Dazai’s clothes, the shirt drowning him enough Dazai isn’t fully convinced he’s wearing pants. He can feel his face burning, so they weren’t going to talk about the elephant in the room, “Shut the fuck up.”
“Aww, Dazai, you’re usually more eloquent. Do I have you that flustered?”
“Slug can’t fluster me. He’s too short for that.”
“We both know your size kink doesn’t go in the direction you’re implying.”
“It’s been too long for you to still know my kinks. Maybe I found out I like bigger men better.”
Chuuya stands, sliding out his chair and backing Dazai into the counter, hands on either side of him, tilting his chin up and narrowing his eyes, “You wanna bet?”
Chuuya watches Dazai swallow slowly, eyes flicking to Chuuya’s lips and back to his eyes, “You were just shot.”
Chuuya scoffs, pushing off the counter and picking up a piece of toast as he plops back into his chair, “Looks like I won the bet.”
“You didn’t win anything!”
“Oh, please. I was just shot? That was your only reason for not fucking me right here. I think our answer speaks for itself. You gave yourself away as desperate.”
“Doesn't Chuuya remember? He was always the desperate one. Don't you remember me pinning you against the wall? How you'd-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What?” Dazai grins, advancing on Chuuya until he mirrored their position from before, arms either side of Chuuya and leaning heavily on the chair’s armrests, “Before you make me? Maybe I'd like that.”
Chuuya leans back in his chair, tilting his chin up, “I thought you liked being a good boy for me, that you wanted to be,” he brings a hand up, lightly caressing Dazai’s cheek, “My pretty little boy.”
He sees Dazai’s throat bob, “What if I just want you?”
Chuuya shoots up, shoving Dazai back against the counter and grabbing the front of Dazai’s shirt to pull him to his level as Dazai’s back slams into the counter. Chuuya ignores the twinge of pain in his side as he meets Dazai’s lips, hands sliding down Dazai’s chest to hold him at his waist.
Dazai’s lips are just as soft as he remembered, he brings a hand up to cup Dazai’s face as Dazai presses closer. They fit together just like they had four years ago and something in Chuuya’s chest aches knowing how much time they had lost. Dazai’s lips move against his own and what started as a heated kiss has turned into something with just as much urgency but softer, as if they were both trying to extend the moment as long as possible. Dazai tangles one hand in Chuuya’s hair, the other pulling him closer by his waist
“Son of a bitch,” Chuuya jerks, bringing a hand to his side and pressing it against where he’d been shot.
Dazai’s hands hover around him, unsure where they should land, his eyes wide pools of worry.
“I’m fine, I think we should continue that line of activities,” Chuuya drops his hand, placing his hands on Dazai’s chest and leaning up to try to capture his lips again.
Dazai puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, “You were shot.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow, “That wasn’t stopping us before.”
“Chuuya,” there’s a reprimand in Dazai’s voice that almost reminds Chuuya of Kouyou and he groans, “Let me see it.”
Chuuya steps across the kitchen, picking up the eggs Dazai had burned and throwing them in the trash before lowering the temperature on the stove and placing the pan back on it, “It’s fine. I checked it this morning.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust your word on this.”
Chuuya hums, cracking a new egg into the pan with one hand in a way that makes Dazai jealous of the other man’s cooking abilities, “After breakfast. You tried making me some, the least I can do is make sure you don’t poison us both.”
“Aww, chibi doesn’t want to die with me?”
“I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Not with that bullet wound you won’t.”
“I can kick your scrawny ass no matter if I’ve been shot or not. Do you have any ham or sausage or anything?”
Dazai gives him a flat look when Chuuya glances up, “Do you know me at all? You’re lucky I had eggs.”
Chuuya lets out a long suffering sigh as Dazai winds his arms around the shorter’s shoulders, careful to avoid anywhere that might hurt Chuuya. They sit like that for a moment as the eggs cook. The sun is filtering through Dazai’s small window and catching Chuuya's hair and turning it a fiery red. His eyes are like cornflowers and his hair still wet from his shower and beginning to frizz. Looking at Chuuya standing there in his shirt Dazai can’t help but think that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen Chuuya.
Chuuya dumps the first egg on a plate and begins a second. Dazai just holds him, not impending his movement as he shakes salt and pepper into the pan.
“I missed this.”
Chuuya just hums in response and the lack of a concrete answer hurts Dazai more than he would like to admit. Chuuya will answer and give his thoughts in his own time, that’s how it always was. Dazai could not force or pressure Chuuya to reveal his feelings any sooner than the other boy wanted to. He would need to be patient despite the worry that this would end persisting in his chest.
Chuuya plates the second egg, pulling out a banana Kunikida had given Dazai a few days ago and cutting it to place half on each of their plates.
“Go sit.”
Dazai kisses his cheek and complies, picking up his fork and cutting into his fried egg, “So,” he ventures, “How did you get your dumbass shot?”
Chuuya chokes on his bite, coughing and quickly picking up his glass of water to down some, “I think you waited until I took a bite on purpose.”
“Is it really so hard to tell me? I bet Chuuya has been overworking again,” Dazai waves his finger, “What a bad habit and they say I’m the self destructive one.”
Chuuya slaps Dazai’s hand down, “I’m not self destructive.”
“Oh, so you weren’t over working? I’m so proud of my dog!”
“My work-life balance had nothing to do with me getting shot,” Chuuya insists, shoving egg in his mouth.
“Oh, yeah?” Dazai pitches his tone in a way he knows will get under Chuuya’s skin, “So you were over working. Has Ane-san tried to get you to take a break yet?”
“She gave up two weeks ago,” Chuuya admits.
“Well it looks like Chuuya gets to take his break here! I’ll be the best nurse.”
“You’ll end up killing me is what you’ll do,” it was a lie and they both knew it. Dazai wasn’t a stranger to pulling Chuuya from his work binges, forcing him to take a break and sleep under the guise that it was going to get them both killed if Chuuya wasn’t at his best.
Dazai gathers the now empty plates, rinsing them off and placing them in the sink to wash later, “Let’s go lay down. I can cuddle you.”
Chuuya nods, going to Dazai’s couch without protest and laying back on it. His face is still pale, and Dazai can see the way he subconsciously is careful of his side. He needs to check the wound again, possibly get Chuuya to put disinfectant on it.
“You’re staring,” Chuuya mumbles, eyes half closed and arm over them.
Dazai grabs a spray-on disinfectant from under his sink, walking over to Chuuya, “I can’t help it, chibi is just so pretty.”
Chuuya moves his arm, getting a better look at Dazai, “I’m not going to tell you what happened.”
“I don’t expect you to,” and despite the fact that Dazai desperately wanted to know, wanted to track down and arrest anyone who might have been involved in hurting Chuuya, he knew it was better this way. Dazai and Chuuya, Chuuya and Dazai. Double black, soukoku, partners in crime, no matter who or what they were, this was how they worked. They didn’t talk about these things. They wouldn’t talk about how Chuuya was shot or how he turned up at Dazai’s door instead of going to Mori. They wouldn’t talk about how Chuuya called for him last night, how despite the fact Dazai was right there Chuuya couldn’t recognize him and still called his name as a plea so soft it was almost a prayer.
Chuuya hums, patting the couch next to him, “Are you going to hold me or what?”
Dazai squats in front of Chuuya, “We need to look at the wound first. You promised me after breakfast.”
Chuuya groans, “It’ll be fine.”
“I dropped the needle on the floor and had to thread it with my mouth. It will not be fine if you get an infection.”
Chuuya sticks his tongue out at Dazai and Dazai rolls his eyes, pushing the large t-shirt up to discover Chuuya was in fact wearing some of Dazai’s shorts. They’re loose around his waist, the drawstring pulled tight and the distinct lack of the waistband of boxers has Dazai’s brain short circuiting.
Chuuya pokes the top of his head, “Oi, are you staring at my midriff or looking at the bullet wound?”
“Can’t I multitask?” Dazai pulls his eyes away from where Chuuya’s boxers should be and back up to his stomach, “You’re not nauseous, right? I’m not sure what all it hit.”
“I’m fine, Dazai. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Dazai pokes at the edge to feel for any heat and Chuuya hisses at the contact. Dazai raises an eyebrow, “You’re a liar.”
“Well, of course you poking at it is going to hurt!”
“I don’t think you have an infection yet,” Dazai takes the can and sprays the wound before Chuuya can react.
Chuuya flinches, grabbing his wrist and squeezing so hard that Dazai wonders just how much Chuuya works out his grip strength. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing hard again, whether from the pain, the shock of the cold spray, or something else, Dazai can’t tell
“Let me go,” he says softly.
Chuuya’s fingers slowly uncurl from his wrist, “Don’t ever do that again. I’m not some fucking animal you can spray and hope doesn’t bite.”
“But Chuuya is my dog, so that’s exactly what you are.”
Chuuya leans his head back against the couch, tension in his muscles disappearing as he does so, “I could have done it myself,” he crinkles his nose, “I hate the smell of that shit.”
“But then I’m not caring for my dog,” and Chuuya would have spent a good hour working himself up until either he managed to pull together the courage to do so or Dazai ended up spraying it anyway.
“Are you actually going to sit with me or was this just a guise to get me on your couch?”
“Chibi makes me sound so conniving.”
“Get your ass up here. I want to be hugged.”
Dazai laughs, standing and sliding onto the couch next to Chuuya, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and letting him lean against him. He plants a kiss on the top of Chuuya’s head before resting his chin there.
“Dazai?”
“Hm?”
“What are we?”
“What do you want to be?”
Chuuya is quiet and Dazai thinks for a moment that this might be something else that they don’t talk about, something that sits between them until they end up yelling at each other or coming to terms with it individually. Dazai doesn’t want it to become that. He wants to be able to take Chuuya into his arms and hold him. He wants to be seventeen again when he pulled Chuuya behind office doors and they would kiss until his lips were numb.
“What if we’re just us?”
“We’ve been just us for years. Where has that ever taken us?”
“What do you want to be, Dazai?”
“I want to be yours.”
Chuuya pulls back just enough to study Dazai’s face, “We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“And in the four years I haven’t seen you I still thought of you every day. Then you walked in and I thought for a minute that you might hate me,but you were the same as ever.”
Chuuya smiles softly, laying his head back on Dazai’s chest, “You know, I understand why you left. I thought for a long time too that I was angry, but I realized I missed you more than anything.”
“So? Do you think we can try again?”
Chuuya lets out a long breath, a small laugh at the end, “Yeah, yeah alright. We can try again.”
Dazai grins, wrapping his arm tighter around Chuuya. They sit in silence enjoying each other’s company as the sun travels across the sky, Chuuya’s head ends up in Dazai’s lap and he runs his fingers through Chuuya’s hair gently. Chuuya drifts off at some point. Dazai has no plans to wake him despite the stiffness that has entered his muscles from sitting in one place for too long. Chuuya has more color in his face now, though he’s still paler than usual. Even like this, face squished against Dazai’s legs, mouth open, and hair so tangled Dazai knows Chuuya will complain about it later, he’s gorgeous.
Chuuya had come to him and Chuuya was his. They had years of history and years apart and none of it stood in their way. Dazai knew they would have problems, knew that they would have more problems than most. None of it matterd as long as they had that connection between them. Chuuya had trusted him with his life, both in and outside of corruption, and now Chuuya was trusting him again with his heart. Dazai didn’t plan to leave a second time.
Dazai stretches one arm upward, despite the lack of sleep pulling at his eyelids, Dazai forces himself awake. He wanted to watch Chuuya sleep just a little longer. Chuuya was something to be treasured and Dazai would hold him as if he were something precious as long as Chuuya would let him.