Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dazai doesn’t know what he’s doing here. For one, it’s a really stupid thing to do when he wants to disappear without leaving a trace. And, plus, if Mori ever finds out this meeting took place, he’ll grill Chuuya for answers until he breaks. (Not that his loyal puppy would, but it’s better to deviate from that ugly possibility anyways.) If Dazai is half as smart as he claims to be, he’d turn around and leave without saying anything. But maybe he’s not that smart, or maybe Chuuya just has that effect on him. The type of effect that dumbs him down and causes him to make questionable decisions. 

The door in front of him, he’s been staring at it for a few minutes now and he still can’t make up his mind about it. Should he knock or not? 

The decision is taken out of his hands, ripped from him more like, when the door opens. 

Dazai is frozen on the spot, blinking stupidly into space, looking down at Chuuya who is equally as surprised. They stare at each other for a long moment. Chuuya is dressed like he’s going out and doesn’t want anyone to recognize him, same as Dazai is. (He burned his suit just a few hours ago, it was very cathartic.)

Now, Dazai has his reasons for being out in baggy clothes and a cap when it’s the middle of the night. The question is, why the hell is Chuuya going out dressed the same way? 

“What are you doing here?” Chuuya asks, his voice low. He’s not looking at Dazai, his eyes busy skirting from one side of the empty hallway to the other. 

“I, uh…” Truthfully, Dazai wants to know what he’s doing here too. 

Chuuya’s eyes find him, after making triple sure no one is around to see them. He takes in a sharp breath, then lets it out. Then yanks him inside, shutting the door with a barely audible click. Dazai finds himself with his back, literally, to the wall. Chuuya takes off his shoes and walks inside. Dazai does the same, following just because he has no idea what he’d do if left to his own devices. 

The living room is trashed. Emptied bottles scattered, shattered furniture, punched-in walls, a broken TV that is reflecting static into the dark room. They come to a stop, standing on opposite sides of the couch, with Chuuya’s back to him. 

“I guess this must be fate’s twisted fucking way of sending me a message,” he says to himself. “So since you’re here, Dazai, I have something to tell you…”

Dazai nods. He’s not sure he’ll be finding his voice any time soon. 

Chuuya faces him, the left side of his face illuminated by the flickering light of the TV. He’s glaring down at the floor, shoulders tensed around his shoulders. “I’m… pregnant…”

Dazai doesn’t recognize what Chuuya’s saying, can’t make sense of it at first. He repeats it in his head, hoping it will come together and sound like words he can understand. But it doesn’t. He knows the words separately, but to put them together is crushing them into sand, feeling like static. Ever since Oda’s lifeless eyes stared back at him, Dazai hasn’t been all that present. Large periods of time are being erased, stolen from him. He’s in one place one minute and in another the next. His usually sharp mind has lost its edge. Loathe as he is to admit it, these jumps in time are out of his control. 

Chuuya doesn’t know this. Hell, Dazai would be surprised if he knew that Oda, a low level member, died just a few days ago. He only has the facts presented to him, which are: he has just told Dazai he’s pregnant and Dazai has yet to make a move. 

“Are you going to say something?” he asks hysterically. “Or are you gonna stare at me until something changes.”

Pregnant. Chuuya is…

“I don’t care what you say,” Chuuya says defiantly. “I just thought I had to tell you because it’s technically yours too.”

This is too much. Dazai can’t take it. He already feels the fog lapping at his heels, rising like the tide. He’s slowly losing time again. He’s going to go under and Dazai can’t be sure when he’ll come back. He wants to disappear, there’s nothing more he’d love than to stop feeling this crushing atlas-worthy weight on his shoulders. But he won’t, because that wouldn’t be fair. Chuuya deserves better, has deserved better for years. 

He forces one shaky step forward. Then another. And another. 

He’s toe to toe with Chuuya, who is staring up at him like a soldier ready for war. Gearing up to take the hit and roll with it. The fog is up to his knees now, the constant knot in his throat strains when he gulps. 

It takes a few shaky tries, little gasps that are not words, before he can quietly grit out, “Oda died.”

Chuuya’s surprise is predictable. The sympathy he oozes out of every pore is not. It’s not like he knew Oda, and Dazai knew he’d be at least dispassionately disappointed at another life lost. But this isn’t that. Chuuya is looking up at him like this pains him too. It’s like he’s physically melting, those tense shoulders loosening slowly and hanging limp. His eyes that were guarded, impenetrable steel, give way to something that’s softer and welcoming. 

“Oh,” he exhales. 

The words Dazai needs are a little easier this time. “...I came to say goodbye.”

“Oh…”

A warm hand rests against his cheek, Dazai presses into it while closing his eyes. Another hand joins it, cradling his face to angle it down. Their foreheads touch, Dazai slowly opens his eyes. Chuuya is right there.

“Chuuya, are you sure? About…?”

“I took five different tests. I’m positive.”

“You want to keep it?” he asks quietly. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

A baby. His baby. Their baby. 

An innocent soul that will be forever entangled with their mess. A little thing that will depend on him to nurture and to care for it. A baby that will grow and turn to him for guidance when Dazai has no idea what the hell he’s doing on a good day. Dazai remembers his parents, of course he does. It was only about four years ago that he saw them last. But far beyond what he remembers from their last few years, he also remembers his childhood in sharp, aching, detail. Starting as a typical arranged marriage, Dazai is pretty sure his parents were always destined for ‘unhappily ever after.’ His father, who worked a lot and spent his nights in his office because his mother didn’t want cheating bastards under her roof and his mother, who never wanted children to begin with but, as is the duty of any well-bred woman, gave in and procured a son. Dazai, their only child and heir. 

They had great hopes for him, back when he was a blank page full of potential. Back when he’d been an infant and his future was limitless. Back when he had no personality of his own, and as such, could not disappoint in any way. With parents like that, how can he hope to be any better? Rotten apples are sired by rotten trees. 

He’d hate to spread his poison to a baby. His baby. Their baby. 

The hands cradling his face tighten. “Hey,” Chuuya says fiercely. “Look at me.”

Dazai hadn’t realized he’d gone away for a bit there. As he comes to, he finds that they’re sitting on the floor. Him sitting and Chuuya kneeling. “There you are,” he says. “You good?”

“...yeah.”

Chuuya frowns. “You went away.” 

Dazai kind of wants to smile. Chuuya gets like this sometimes, all sweet and caring. A phenomenon that is brought forth in far and few in between instances. Only ever in dire situations. What’s so dire about this situation though?

“Fuck, okay. I know this is a lot,” Chuuya says, being very quiet. “I didn’t know about Oda before I told you. I’m very sorry.” 

“It’s…” not okay. Not even a little bit. It just is. 

Chuuya licks his lips nervously. “I don’t really know how to go about this, Dazai. I mean, you said you were saying goodbye? Are you going to-?”

“No,” he says, forlorn. “Not killing myself.” He can’t. He made a promise. 

“Then, do you mean what I think you mean?”

He nods. 

“You’re…” he swallows. “Defecting?”

“Yes.”

Chuuya gets a bit out of breath. “O-oh, okay. Okay.” His hands shake. 

“I can’t stay here anymore,” he tries to explain. “I promised, Oda—he said he-” Dazai can’t get himself to say it. What he promised. What he vowed. “I can help people, can’t I?” he asks desperately. 

Chuuya nods quickly, blinking rapidly. “Yes,” he says shakily but with conviction. “Fuck, of course you can.” 

The Chuuya from a few years ago would have scoffed and walked away. But that was the Chuuya that hadn’t seen past the curtains. That version was kept at arm’s length on purpose and only saw what Dazai let him see. But after they got together one night, drunk and stupid, Dazai found it harder to put up walls. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Chuuya saw the slightest glimpse of light inside him and grabbed it with both hands. 

Exposing himself and his squishy, vulnerable insides, Dazai hadn’t planned on it. Chuuya took it by force and carved a place for himself. And so it’s with all the sincerity in the world that Chuuya smiles shakily and tells him he’s good. 

“Of course you can.” 

“Why can’t I believe you?” Dazai whispers, his voice breaks. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s the truth…Dazai, the dark is killing you. It’s making you worse. Not you as a person but your soul. I don’t think you were meant to live in the dark.”

Chuuya, ever the optimist. Chuuya, a hopeless, naïve boy. 

If anyone wasn’t meant to live in the dark, it’d be him. 

“Chuuya doesn’t either,” he points out. 

“Dazai.” Chuuya looks up with determination, bringing their faces closer together. So close their breaths collide. “It’s okay. If you want permission, you got it.” 

Dazai is shaking his head before he even knows what he’s going to say. “I’m not leaving you, Chuuya, I can’t. You just told me you’re- That you’re-!” 

A soft, gloveless thumb swipes underneath his eyes, right where there’d be tears if he could cry. “You came to say goodbye, that’s all I need. So you can go, Dazai. Go be good, do all you need to do to see what makes living so worthwhile.” 

“What the fuck.” A hand curls tightly around Chuuya’s wrist. “I am not leaving you.”

“It’ll be hard enough to disappear from Mori’s radar on your own. What? You want to add me and raise the difficulty? If I go with you we could get caught and then none of us will be free.” 

Logistics, numbers and percentages. That’s the language he knows best. Plans he arranged, countermeasures, red herrings. All of that, Dazai has been doing these last few days. Tirelessly working out a seamless transition. Chuuya was never in those plans because he would never agree to leave with Dazai anyway. His family is here, that much is painfully clear. But now a baby is part of the equation, something that was never in the realm of possibilities. 

Add in two new variables, watch it all unravel. 

It makes no sense, none whatsoever. But Dazai, when it comes to Chuuya, can never think logically. He was so sure he could leave Chuuya behind and forget about it all. He could console himself in the fact that Chuuya wouldn’t be alone, and that he would survive the chaos that would erupt after his defection. But this baby changes things, it changes a lot and nothing at all. 

“I don’t care,” he says, squeezing Chuuya’s wrist harder to make a point. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this on your own.” The thought of Chuuya taking on all of these new responsibilities on his own, it kills him. Dazai knows how Chuuya would have reacted to his defection, were he alone. He’d survive and he’d flourish. But this pregnancy throws a wrench in his prediction. It’s uncharted territory, a huge blank and he has no basis to stand on. He can’t predict something he has no frame of reference for, that’s not how it works. 

Dazai could leave Chuuya before because he knew he’d be okay, his success coming at a ninety-nine percent. But with a baby, that prediction is nothing more than wishful thinking. Without a prediction he can lean against, how the hell can Dazai just leave? How can he walk away while not knowing if Chuuya will be okay?

Blue eyes thunder. “You were about to leave me behind a few minutes ago, what’s so different now that I’m pregnant.” Chuuya wrenches his wrist back. “I’ve survived many things before I even knew you. I’ll survive worse after you as well.” 

“You could,” he agrees, trying to keep a level head. “Survive this on your own. But I don’t want you to.”

“Now that there’s a baby you change your mind? I wasn’t enough but this is?”

“Chuuya, I wanted you to come with me, I wanted to ask you!” he explodes. “But asking you to leave with me would be asking to abandon your family and I can’t do that. I know I’m cruel and mean and I’m such a sick perversion of a human being but I can’t do that to you. Not you.” 

Chuuya’s family extends to those he’s close with. Dazai doesn’t work like that. His inner circle, now reduced from three to one, has always held Chuuya in the middle. He thought he could be the bigger person, do the right thing. But even now he must be selfish and ask what is not his to have. 

“You stupid fucking—” Chuuya starts. Dazai’s hands, curled into fists, are taken into a gentle hold. Chuuya cradles his hands, untangling them carefully and pressing his open palm against the flat of his stomach. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re my family too. I think now more than ever.” 

“You’d be leaving your family,” Dazai says desperately. “I didn’t want to put you in this position because I know how much you care about them.”

“I know.” 

“You can’t leave them just because of me,” he says incredulously. “I’m not worth it, Chuuya.”

Chuuya brings him in, hugging him fiercely. “Dazai,” he whispers in his hair. “I would have said yes if you asked. Pregnancy or not.” 

Dazai crumbles into pieces. “I don’t get it,” he whispers. “I don’t get it at all.” 

“I know.” Tighter. Safe. “I know.” 

They're a heap on the floor for what feels like hours. Dazai is the first to lean back, taking Chuuya by the shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. “Tell me you’re sure.”

Chuuya stares back, head on. “I’m sure.” 

Dazai slowly gets to his feet and presents a hand for Chuuya to take. “Then let’s disappear.”

Chuuya takes it and the next morning the news reports on an apartment that burned and the corpse of the tenant, a charred mess. The funeral takes place a few days after that, closed casket. Chuuya now has a death certificate, the quickest way to erase a trail and start anew.

It’s week six of the pregnancy and Dazai has been a mess ever since they ran away. 

Apparently his competence and energy was a product of adrenaline and necessity. When all is said and done and they’re secure in a safehouse far from mafia territory, the well is suddenly dry and Dazai can hardly find the heart to get out of bed to even piss. Chuuya doesn’t have that problem. If anything, recently it seems as if going to the bathroom is his favorite pastime. Be it to piss or throw up his dinner from the night before, Chuuya spends most of his mornings hugging the toilet and groaning misery to himself. When he finally walks out of the bathroom he looks as if death has warmed over and is living inside his skin. 

His nausea had been going full swing since before they defected, if anything it seems that with each day it keeps getting worse. From what he’s seen, nausea is the only symptom yet to manifest. Dazai knows from secondhand information that mood swings are also very characteristic of pregnant people. He hasn’t seen any of that yet, although to be fair, he hasn’t been all that present these past two weeks. 

It’s been rough for the both of them, each for wildly different reasons. 

It’s October twenty-second when Dazai wakes up at around dawn, a little bit clearer in the head than he’s been in a long time. He opens his eyes to the distinct sound of padding footsteps leaving the bedroom and going to the bathroom. It’s still dark out, so would this technically still count as morning sickness? Dazai listens to the now familiar sound of Chuuya retching his food, plus the ensuing pants and groans of exhaustion. 

Dazai lays on the couch, spreading out his limbs selfishly. Their safehouse is small, a tiny house in the suburbs with one bedroom—because Dazai was supposed to come here alone—a bathroom and a separate living room and kitchen. It’s nice. Nicer than his earlier living conditions but being cramped together has its side effects. Dazai knows he’s been painfully short on Chuuya, needlessly impatient and irritable, and he doesn’t mean it. Against his halfhearted wishes, it’s like this angry monster takes over him when Chuuya does anything. It’s ridiculous, he knows it is. Even as he’s snapping at Chuuya he knows he’s overreacting, but he can’t stop it. 

Chuuya has been acting more careful around him, gingerly avoiding his triggers by not speaking to him or alluding to his existence in any way. They haven’t spoken to each other for a few days now, not a single word. It’s better this way, he thinks. The last time they had a conversation… Dazai can’t really remember but it hadn’t ended well. The broken plates at the bottom of the trashcan attests to that. 

It’s very depressing to live like this and he knows it’s wrong but in the same way he can’t get out of bed sometimes even though he wants to, he also can’t stop being so angry even though he’s very aware he’s in the wrong. 

Dazai is thinking these things when it’s dark out but when he looks over to the window again, the morning light starts to peek in. He didn’t bother to shut the drapes yesterday which he should probably do for their safety as much as the safety of his corneas. This happens a lot, him losing time. He can be doing nothing at all and a blink later hours have passed without him knowing. It takes a few false starts but eventually he rolls his useless body to the side of the couch and trudges to the window, shutting the drapes with an angry flick. His head sloshes from side to side and the edges of his vision get blurred. He hasn’t been eating, hardly drinking either. He has to wonder how the hell he’s still able to get up. 

On his way back to the couch and the now permanent lump where he spends most of his days, Dazai stops. 

Chuuya hasn’t left the bathroom, Dazai can see that the light of the bedroom is still on. But then, why is there an apparent lack of moving or groaning or panting which always comes hand in hand with dreaded morning sickness. That hasn’t happened before. Following his morning sickness Dazai always listens in to Chuuya’s ritual of moaning, huffing and leaving on tired legs. 

Now there’s nothing. 

He hasn’t been speaking to Chuuya, that is true, but he hasn’t stopped noticing him. It’d be impossible at this point, a hobby that’s years old. The same way he doesn’t think about breathing, he doesn’t think about the constant space Chuuya takes up in the back of his mind. Which is why he knows it’s not normal at all for the house to be this quiet while Chuuya is awake. 

An awful feeling settles in his gut as he walks to the bathroom, a feeling that grows the closer he gets and the more apparent the silence becomes. 

Dread that weighs heavy on his stomach, the cold sweat on his brow, the blood that turns to ice. He hates this feeling, he wishes he could cut it out and burn it. 

Dazai rounds the corner, half expecting his worst nightmare, and comes to a stop at the threshold. He flicks the lights of the bathroom on. 

It’s not what he’d been imagining at least. 

It's close enough. 

Slumped against the wall opposite of the toilet is Chuuya. His chin digging into his chest, pale and barely breathing. Unconscious. 

Something inside him almost breaks. 

“Chuuya!” he shouts, throwing himself to his knees to bring Chuuya into his lap. The paleness is even worse up close. His face is paper white. He’s not conscious, not responsive. Dazai wipes the saliva from his mouth, slapping lightly at his cheek. “Hey, Chuuya! Come on, slug, wake up for me, okay?” 

Chuuya doesn’t respond, not even a flicker of his eyelids. Dazai looks around, the vomit inside the toilet is as it always is these days, mostly stomach acid since Chuuya can’t keep anything down. It’s not a lot either.

Dazai looks back down at Chuuya and really, almost, slaps himself when it clicks. 

Of course. 

Chuuya hasn’t been eating a lot. Dazai noticed weeks ago that Chuuya has been avoiding certain foods on purpose, holding his breath whenever he opens the fridge, going to vomit if Dazai is heating something up in the microwave, as rare as it is to see him eat at all. He doesn’t know what specifically makes Chuuya nauseous but regardless he knows that after throwing up so much the poor slug is often too exhausted to get up and make himself something to replenish what he’s lost. From what Dazai has noticed Chuuya has been sustaining himself off one and a half meals a day, if that. Adding to that is the fact that every morning he throws up anything he might have been able to keep down the evening before. Chuuya is dehydrated, starving and really low on sugar. 

“Okay, okay,” he says to himself. “It’s okay, slug. You’re going to be okay.” 

He blinks hard, keeps his breathing even, tries to avoid the fog at his heels. Tries to force away the image of another person he loves slowly dying in his arms. 

Dazai slides Chuuya into a sitting position, pulling an arm underneath his knees and another behind his back. When he gets up a dizzy spell strikes him, putting a light on the fact that Dazai has been taking shit care of himself. He takes them to the living room, slowly laying Chuuya down across the couch. Dazai places him on his side, carefully arranging his arms so he’s comfortable. He runs to the kitchen, keeping a careful eye on Chuuya. 

The pantry is a sad sight, but there wouldn’t be anything useful there. Dazai is looking for a towel, a clean one. He rummages around for it, making a mess. He finds clean hand towels in a cabinet by the stove. He takes one, grabs the biggest cup he can and fills it with water. On his way back to the living room he snags a chocolate bar he asked to be sent to the safehouse a week ago and never got around to eating. 

Chuuya is just as he left him, breathing a little heavily now but still dead to the world. Dazai sits on the coffee table, sliding it closer towards Chuuya’s head. He puts all he brought by his hip. Slapping Chuuya’s cheek a few times does nothing at all. He’s half tempted to check for blood under his nails. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. The corner of the hand towel is dunked in the glass of water. He doesn’t wring it out. He slips himself behind the limp body taking up the couch, legs bracketing Chuuya and letting his limp head rest against his stomach, slightly propped up. The wet tip of the towel is pressed lightly over Chuuya’s lips, letting a few drops slip past. As he does this he also leans in to pull Chuuya’s legs up, feet pressed against the couch to help with blood flow. He keeps wetting Chuuya’s mouth with the towel, moistening it again when it gets too dry. He does this a few times, static crawling up his ears and cheeks the more time passes and nothing changes. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What is wrong with him? How did he let this happen? He had all the facts but never bothered to put together the entire picture. He could have prevented this, he could have done something . 

Dazai is dangerously close to a heart attack when Chuuya’s eyelids flutter, though they don’t open. 

“Chuuya?” he asks desperately. “Hey, wake up, slug. Come on, wake up. Open your eyes.” 

“Mnh…” Chuuya tries to squirm away from the towel but a hand to the side of his head prevents that. “Wh— huh…?” 

“There you are,” he sighs in relief. Chuuya is very confused still, looking up at him with bleary eyes. “Do not fall asleep, okay?” 

Chuuya moans in pain, trying to shy away from the strong light coming from their window. Their drapes are cheap, they don't keep the light out that much. They're not, after all, the black out curtains that Chuuya is used to. Dazai shields his eyes with his hand. “Talk to me so I know you’re still awake.” 

“I d’nno what ha…happen'd,” he says breathily. 

Dazai helps Chuuya lean against his chest, stretching to get the glass of water. “Take slow sips, okay?” Chuuya doesn’t make a move to hold the glass but Dazai wasn’t expecting him to. He tilts the glass for him, keeping an eye to not go overboard. “You threw up everything in your system and passed out. Chuuya, if I hadn’t checked on you, you would have stayed like that for who knows how long.” 

Chuuya doesn’t respond, taking tiny sips, body like melted wax on top of him. Dazai doesn’t demand an answer, that last little comment was mostly for himself. Verbalizing the blame on the one responsible. Chuuya’s hands, folded over his stomach, are shaking. 

“D’zai…" he tries to warn. "'m g’nna throw up."

“Fuck, okay. Lean over here, I don’t have a bucket or anything with me.” 

Chuuya slides down his chest and leans over the side of the couch, resting his cheek against Dazai’s knee. He gulps a few times, panting hard. “But th’floor…” 

“Don’t be stupid, forget that,” he says. His hand over Chuuya’s forehead is keeping him steady, keeping his head up. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Chuuya gags a few times then throws up as he said he would. Dazai frankly doesn’t really care about the floor or the mess, he’s mostly worried about the little bit of water he just downed being gone from his body again. Chuuya heaves desperately, making sounds of pain. Dazai wasn’t about to take Chuuya to the bathroom and risk him passing out again. He also couldn’t run to get a bucket they don’t even own. The only thing he thinks would work is the tiny trash can by the sink. But that would need to be emptied and cleaned. Any strong smells and Dazai is willing to bet that Chuuya will throw up harder. 

Moments pass without anything else coming out and Chuuya chokes a few times, spitting over the side of the couch and slumping in defeat. He’s shivering. 

Dazai brings him back to his chest, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Chuuya wrinkles his nose, still out of breath. “‘m sorry…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Dazai’s hand brushes Chuuya’s sweaty hair away from his eyes. His eyes are closed. The hand goes back to cover them. “How’s the nausea now? Have anything else you need to get out?”

“...no.” 

He didn’t think so. “Okay,” he sighs, the adrenaline waning. “Good.” 

What a fucking rush, he thinks. And not even the good kind. Chuuya looked half-dead there in the bathroom, if Dazai hadn’t gone to check on him, what would have happened? What if he hadn’t woken up when he did, what if by the time he came back to himself he found a dead body. Chuuya, dead. Choking on his own vomit. Eyes white, unseeing, unfeeling. Another corpse. Dazai shivers, bringing Chuuya in tighter. 

If that had happened…

He doesn’t think there would be anything in the world capable of preventing his death. 

They stay in silence for a good few minutes, Dazai attempting to keep calm and slow his breathing. He almost doesn’t hear it. Were he not as painfully in tune with Chuuya he would have dismissed the sound as what it was: a sniffle. He knows it’s not. 

Horrified, Dazai yanks his hand back, looking dumbfounded at Chuuya who is silently crying. His shoulders shake with barely there whimpers that are cut off stubbornly. “Chuuya?!” 

Chuuya shies away. 

“No, no, no. What’s wrong? What hurts? I’ll call Ango and we’ll go to a hospital—” Fuck, did he overlook something else? Was he so in his head he failed to notice something crucial again?! 

“No,” he chokes out. “Nothin’ hu-hurts.” 

“Chuuya, you’re crying.” 

Pointing it out is apparently the worst thing he could have done, Chuuya seems to take it as a challenge and starts sobbing. 

Whatever it is that lives in Dazai’s chest and pumps black sludge through his veins decides to clench painfully. He’s well and truly freaking out now. “Chuuya? Tell me what’s wrong, what is it?! I’m kind of losing it here!” 

Chuuya turns on his side, facing the couch. A hand goes to muffle his cries but it’s not enough. An enormous dam breaks through his shaky fingers and Dazai can hear it clearly how Chuuya just breaks down. This isn't good in any way. Chuuya is already dehydrated and Dazai is making it worse by making him cry. He has to put an end to this soon. Dazai really doesn’t want Chuuya to pass out again. 

“Come on, Chuuya, please. It’s okay, you don’t have to talk. Morse code, here. Here’s my arm.” He puts his arm right underneath Chuuya’s face but he doesn’t move, just keeps crying. Dazai gently takes one of Chuuya’s hands and presses it against his arm, rolling up the shirt sleeve.

Chuuya hesitates, staring up at him helplessly. 

“Come on, slug, tell me.” 

He begins to tap. 

-. --- - .... .. -. --.

‘Nothing.’ He’s literally saying, ‘nothing.’ 

“Seriously?” he asks, Chuuya cries a little bit harder. Genuine open crying, the type Dazai hasn’t seen or heard in years. The kind he’d never imagined Chuuya would allow himself. Dazai bites his tongue harshly. With a gentler tone of voice he says, “Chuuya, you can tell me, okay? I won’t make fun of you, I won’t say anything. I promise.” 

Shuddering, gasping for breath, Chuuya looks up at him through tears in his eyes. It's an eternity of waiting but finally, hesitantly, Chuuya grabs his arm again, this time tapping out an actual message. 

- .. .-. . -..

Tired. 

.... ..- .-. - ...

Hurts. 

Chuuya hesitates here, starting to tap something and stopping before it makes any sense. 

Dazai squeezes his shoulder. “I promise I won’t say anything.” 

Finally, a word. 

-- . .- -.

Mean. 

It takes him a moment to gather the three words together into something that makes sense. And when he gets it he feels like an idiot. 

Pregnancy is rough on anyone, it’s a mess of hormones and changing bodily functions. It’s uncomfortable symptoms that have no one true cure. Adding to this is the stress of running away and oh god—Dazai being a huge, insensitive jackass. Chuuya has been tired, hungry and hurting for weeks now and Dazai has been no fucking help. He’s been like this for days on end, not putting any regard to the person that has left everything he knows for him and is now in dire need of support. He’s been dismissive, contemptuous and derisive while Chuuya’s been shouldering all of this. Alone. Wasn’t the whole reason he wanted Chuuya to come with him, no questions asked, so he could help him through this? And what has he done this entire time? He has made Chuuya’s life not easier, but even more difficult. 

Chuuya is still crying, face flushed and wet. His shoulders hitch with every attempt to stop. He’s gasping a little, short on breath. 

“Oh, slug,” he sighs. Smoothly he grabs Chuuya by the waist and pulls him up on his lap, a shivering little bundle sheltered by his arms. Wet cheeks touch down on his collarbone. A steady hand massages the top of Chuuya’s spine and goes down to the tailbone. Repeating the motion over and over. Chuuya grabs a fistful of his shirt, trembling. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m really sorry.” 

“I hate you,” Chuuya gasps. 

He winces. “I know. I’m sorry. I won’t be mean again.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

“Watch me.” He keeps a steady arm around Chuuya’s back as he goes to lean towards the coffee table. With chocolate in hand he goes back to bracing against the arm of the couch. He snaps a square off and rubs Chuuya’s back encouragingly. “Here, chocolate. You need a little bit of sugar in your body.” 

Chuuya sniffs and leans back a bit, looking all sad and tired. His heart squeezes even more. Dazai puts the chocolate on his tongue and guides Chuuya back into the crook of his neck. He’s hugging himself, goosebumps breaking out down his arm. Dazai rubs them as gently as he can. “Okay,” he reassures. “It’s okay.”

They stay like that for a good while, Chuuya breathing heavily and Dazai trying not to freak out. Chuuya is exhausted, like he just ran a marathon and can’t catch his breath. It’s apparent in how he can barely move without collapsing afterwards. The slightest change in his position and he’s extremely tired. Dazai keeps trying to comfort as best he can, putting into practice all he has seen in movies and read in books. It feels dishonest to act the way he thinks he’s supposed to. He hates it. It’s as if he’s lying in a way, acting like something he is not: nice. But Chuuya needs this, someone to lean on. 

“I feel stupid,” Chuuya whispers. “I ne-never cry…” 

“Hormones, slug. It happens.” 

“I don’t like it, I’m never like this.” 

Dazai smiles a little. “Like what?”

Chuuya sniffs. “A giant cry-baby.” 

“I don’t mind a cry-baby, it’ll be good practice for that thing you’re cooking in your belly.”

“God, do you have to word things in the worst possible ways?”

He shrugs. 

“Dazai,” Chuuya says. 

“Yes?” 

A shivering gasp. “I’m hungry…” 

Dazai almost makes the mistake of laughing. “What would Chuuya like?” he asks with a barely-straight-face. 

“I hate everything that we have,” he points out. There’s that question answered. Chuuya’s aversion extends to only things that appear in their pantry apparently. 

“Tell me what you’d like to eat.” 

Chuuya sighs, curling in and pulling his legs up. Dazai rubs those too. They really need a blanket here. “I want soup.”

“Tomato soup or miso soup or..."

“Fish soup.” 

“Okay,” he says, taking out his phone with a bit of maneuvering. He begins to type. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Ango.” 

“Isn’t it too early in the morning? And we aren’t supposed to get our supplies for another two weeks.” 

“Ango never sleeps, Chuuya,” he says. “Plus, this is important. You can’t eat anything else without throwing up and unless it wasn’t painfully clear, you need to eat.” 

“Mm…”

“And,” he adds because Chuuya is clearly not convinced. “Ango owes me so it’s alright.” 

“...okay.” 

Ango complains about it for a bit but then Dazai points out that Chuuya is pregnant and very hungry and nauseous and that does it for him. All they have to do after that is wait. Chuuya has calmed down enough to keep eating his chocolates and drinking water, slowly and bit by bit. He kind of looks like a bunny like this. Dazai hides his smile against Chuuya’s temple. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly. 

“Shaky,” Chuuya admits. “But not like I’m going to throw up or pass out. My face doesn’t feel numb anymore.” 

He melts in relief. “That’s good.” 

“...Dazai?”

“Mm?”

“Can we stay like this?” Chuuya asks quietly. “Until the food gets here.” 

He laughs a little, Chuuya tenses. “We can stay like this however long you want. I wouldn’t want another waterworks show.” 

Silence. 

And then, another sniffle. 

“Oh, shit-”

“You said you wouldn’t be mean!” he cries. 

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant it as a joke!” 

Chuuya cries again and they’re back to square one. He hugs him tight, pulling his own legs up to cradle Chuuya in his arms. “I’m sorry, bad joke, bad timing. I’m getting used to this.” 

Chuuya sniffs again, hiding his face against his shirt. Crying without stop. Angrily, he says, “I’m being stupid again.” 

“No more than me, slug.”

Damn, he’s really fucking this up, huh? Dazai thinks on this for a bit: the problem and solutions. He’s really clueless, that much has been made painfully clear. Dazai looks down at Chuuya and decides to do the next best thing. Gather information. 

“Chuuya,” he says softly. 

“Hm?”

He debates how to word this and realizes maybe the truth is the best course of action. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I keep messing up,” he starts. Chuuya keeps quiet. “So, can you tell me what I’ve been doing that has been upsetting you?”

Chuuya tenses. 

“My last promise still stands,” he says. “I won’t make fun of you or say anything mean.” Chuuya stares up at him with a quirked brow. “Anymore,” he amends. 

Dazai takes it as a good thing that Chuuya thinks carefully over his response, fighting against the thought that there are so many things he’s been doing wrong that Chuuya has to parse through the entire, long list. Eventually, he sighs and leans back a bit, pressing his cheek against Dazai’s shoulder. 

“You don’t talk to me,” he says and instantly averts his eyes in embarrassment. 

“Okay,” Dazai says easily. “What else?”

“That’s mostly it, with you.”

“What about things that upset you in general?”

“Ugh, stop saying ‘upsetting,’ it sounds like you’re talking to a child.”

“Fine, what pisses you off.” 

Chuuya perks up at the change of words. He gathers his words a bit quicker this time. “I’m so tired all the time and I hate cooking.”

“Okay.”

“I feel like I’m alone all the time. When I wake up because of morning sickness it’s like the house is empty.” Dazai doesn’t even need to say anything for Chuuya to keep going. “The smell of the trash is disgusting, it makes everything worse. I hate how stale the air is. My back hurts so much. I can’t tell what I’m feeling at any given moment.” He stops.

"Yes?" 

“That’s it.” 

Dazai takes it all in. “Okay, so from now on, I'll keep you company whenever you get morning sickness. I'll make us food from now on, but don’t go expecting something fancy, alright? My specialty lies in the simple things."

Chuuya rolls his eyes, probably recalling his burnt toast and dried ass eggs he prepared for Chuuya on his last birthday. “I’ll take out the trash more frequently, and we can keep the windows open during the afternoon so the air doesn’t get stale. And as for your mood swings, sorry I don't have anything that could help.”

“You could…keep doing what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Not making fun of me for it. It helps. I know I’m acting crazy but the shit I feel is still real. So when you don't make a big deal out of it, it almost makes it feel… I dunno. Justified, I guess.”

“Then I’ll do that too. Until you're-” He was about to say normal. “All better,” he says. “I’ll do all those things for you, okay?” 

“Okay.” Chuuya sniffs a bit, he knocks his head against Dazai’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now take a nap, Ango won’t get here for a while.”

Chuuya scoffs but gets more comfortable and lies down heavily. Ango won’t be arriving for another twenty minutes, and Chuuya will not be letting go any time soon. Dazai decides to make the most of the situation by going over what’s been happening, calibrating how he should change his attitude from now on. Clearly, their usual ribbing is for very specific moments where Chuuya isn’t so emotionally raw and vulnerable. 

Clearly. 

God, he should also start making a list of no-no foods and foods that are okay. He has to change the grocery list he gave Ango, and oh, fuck, they need vitamins, right? They’re not getting much sun these days and Chuuya needs to take care of himself. 

How the hell did he not think of any of this before? 

Dazai lays them down, with Chuuya’s back to the couch. 

He has to make sure to keep him hydrated, with how much he throws up, it’s definitely a concern that this will happen again and he can’t let that happen. Chuuya is already dealing with so many things. 

Time passes so slowly that Dazai at first isn’t convinced they’re not stuck in time. The rising sun outside their window begs to differ, however. The TV remote is far away, he can't reach his phone anymore, and any books they own are in the bedroom. Chuuya shivers a little, Dazai curls around him protectively. 

He is such a fuck up. 

Chuuya doesn’t deserve this, he’d probably be better off without him. 

A half hour after calling him, Ango knocks on the door twice, then three times. Their food is here. Dazai twists his neck to look and yup, Chuuya is asleep. Mm, that’s good, he hasn’t been sleeping uninterrupted since this whole thing started. Very carefully Dazai slips from under Chuuya and very, very carefully sidesteps the puddle on the floor. He’ll have to clean that up before Chuuya wakes up. Who knows, maybe the sight or smell will start him off again. 

Dazai goes to the door, looks back one more time and decides that his own shit has to wait. Chuuya needs someone, and unfortunately all he has is useless, pathetic Dazai. The least he can do is his best. It’s not Chuuya’s fault that Dazai is such a parasite. 

The door opens. “Welcome!” he fake-smiles. 

He’ll do his best. 

He has to.

It’s November and week eight goes…

It goes. 

Chuuya is very forgetful these days, he can never seem to remember where he puts stuff or what he’d been doing a few seconds ago. Dazai can’t really say anything because it will end up with Chuuya upset. Whether or not he cries or hits him with something is always up in the air, but the end result is the same: Chuuya shuts himself in the room and doesn’t come out until he gets hungry. This new rotation of food aversion has expelled meat from their home, he only wants to eat fruit which is not sustainable in any way but try telling a pregnant slug that. Dazai can still feel the indents left on his arm from the time he was punched. 

The morning sickness is as bad as it was at the beginning, the difference now is that Dazai routinely joins Chuuya on the bathroom floor. This whole nausea thing is really messing with Chuuya’s appetite, going against what Dazai is trying to do which is keep Chuuya fed and healthy. He can’t be too hard on him though, once a person has seen their food thrown back out so many times, the pleasure of tasting something good loses its appeal. Dazai himself can never see curry the same. 

Every early morning Dazai trails sleepily after Chuuya to the bathroom to help him get through the worst of it. Chuuya is so used to vomiting that he’s hardly phased. Though sometimes he gets really upset and cries into his shoulder about being tired of this shit. Dazai hugs him through it and leads him back to bed when it’s all said and done. Chuuya often falls right asleep after crying. 

As promised, he tries to be nicer and he thinks it’s going well. He doesn’t make Chuuya cry that often and when he does it’s over silly stuff. It’s throwing him for a loop, this new side of his always violent doggy. Chuuya is normally aggressively independent. Aggressive, period really. These days he’s wrung out, emotionally and physically. He sleeps a lot, sometimes Dazai has to be with him and sometimes the sight of him is enough to make his tiny dog bark at him. 

This is one of those times where his presence is welcome and encouraged. Chuuya sleeps on his side, bundled up like a burrito on the bed. Dazai lays on his back, reading through his third book since they started huddling down in the safehouse. He’s been reading the same page for the past ten minutes but it isn’t working out. The setting sun is making him sleepy but he’s not able to actually sleep if he tries, so Dazai has the delightful pleasure of balancing on the edge but never quite falling asleep. Chuuya groans a bit and moves closer, pressing his forehead against Dazai’s arm. Dazai keeps quiet, waiting out Chuuya’s ‘waking up’ routine. 

His blue eyes are slits, staring up at him angrily. 

“What did I do?” he asks, smiling a bit because although sometimes annoying, it is a little funny to see what he has done to annoy Chuuya on any given day. Sometimes it’s so stupid he can’t help but find it really, really amusing. 

“You’re breathing too loud,” he grumbles. “It woke me up.”

This is one of those times. Dazai tries, he really does, not to laugh but he chuckles a little and that just makes Chuuya angrier. A finger pokes him on the cheek. “Don’t laugh, I’m angry.”

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I’ll try not to breathe so loud.” 

Chuuya nods a bit then looks down. He presses his head harder against Dazai’s arm. “I’m hungry…” 

“What does his highness want to eat?” he asks as a way to gauge what the mood is here. If Chuuya snaps at him then it’s a good time to tease him a little, if he doesn't say anything then it is not. 

“Fuck you.”

A good mood then. 

“Well?” he prompts. 

“...apples with chocolate.”

He nods a bit and goes to get up. “Wait here,” he sing-songs. Before he can even sit up Chuuya has a hand bunched up on the front of his shirt. Dazai follows the arm back up to Chuuya’s face. 

“Problem?”

Chuuya frowns a little, not looking up. “Don’t go.” 

“Then how will I get Chuuya’s precious apples?” 

“Stay,” he says. 

Dazai lays down again, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a pastime of his these days. Getting lost in thought, though any thoughts about Oda are ruthlessly thrown in the backburner. If he ever so much as humors the memory of his friend, Dazai always ends up losing time and wakes up hours later in the same position. Chuuya never says anything about it, usually leaves him be and goes about making himself stuff to eat or something to do or something to read. Dazai doesn’t like it though. What if he loses time when Chuuya needs him again and he’s just a husk on the couch? 

A cold hand covers his eyes, blocking the sun. Dazai closes his eyes. 

“What’s this for?” he asks playfully. 

Chuuya doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t retract his hand. 

Dazai plays around with the spine of the book resting on his stomach. Oda would like this book, he thinks. He personally doesn’t like it that much, it’s a bit too preach-y but his friend would. 

Hm. 

Dazai goes to get up again. “I’ll just go get you those apples, okay?” 

The hand on top of his eyes presses him to the bed. 

“Chuuuyaaa!” 

“Don’t worry about that.” He snuggles a little closer, throwing a leg on top of his lap. “I’ll be fine.” 

Dazai tries to get up again. He fails. 

He can’t stay like this. With his eyes forcefully closed he can't read and if he can't read he can't get distracted and if he ever stays without anything to do for any amount of time Dazai can’t help but spiral. It always comes back to that awful day. 

Chuuya sighs a little. “You haven’t stopped moving since I passed out, you know. Don’t go thinking I don’t notice, idiot.” He chooses his next words carefully. “You’re keeping yourself busy, aren’t you? On purpose so you don’t think about…” 

Oda. 

Sometimes he forgets but it’s times like these that Dazai remembers Chuuya is far from stupid and never unobservant. 

“I can’t think about him,” he admits as airily as he can. “If I do, I can’t be sure I’ll recover any time soon.” 

“I know,” Chuuya says. “But I don’t mind if you go away for a little bit. If that's what needs to happen, then so be it. I’ll still be here when you come back.” 

“What if you need me when I’m gone?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Last time—” 

Chuuya passed out. He was unconscious, pale and shivering. 

“Was a one time thing,” Chuuya says firmly. “When you lose track of time and wake up again I know you’ll come find me.” The hand over his eyes shakes him a bit. “Dazai,” he says with emphasis. “It’s okay. You can mourn. I’ll be okay.”

“But-”

“I mean it.” 

Apart from feeling guilty about ‘going away’ Dazai is also scared. It’s always a hit or miss whether his spiral will leave him raw or leave him drenched in apathy. He doesn't like it, this new superpower of his. It’s painful, even when he’s revisiting good memories the good feeling sours once he realizes that it’s just a memory, and it can’t come back. When it’s bad memories it’s just as bad. 

“You can’t keep this bottled up,” Chuuya tells him. “And anyway, when you’re back I’ll distract you all you want. We can play something or watch something or you can make me dinner.” 

He smiles. “Is that for my benefit or yours?”

“It can be both.” Chuuya’s hand smooths over his hair and caresses his cheek on the way down. Dazai opens his eyes slowly. He's nudged to face blue eyes and now they’re face to face. “You’re helping me a lot, Dazai. So let me do the same. It’s the least I could do, right? And I don’t like being a freeloader. Unlike you, you stupid fish.” 

Dazai grins a bit more. “Freeloader, am I? What about my hard manual labor?” 

“What fucking labor?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about when I massage your pop-rocks back, hm?” 

Chuuya clicks his tongue. “That’s not an extra benefit, I’m pretty sure that was included in my contract to stay here.” 

“Daily pampering?” 

“Read the fine print next time, you illiterate dick.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

It’s very boring sometimes, the days don’t seem to pass, the hours stretch into years. It’s agonizing to look at the calendar and see how little time has passed and how much more has to come until they’re free to leave. Dazai was never overly fond of work but at least it was something to do, something that occupied his time. Nowadays all he does is useless stuff he really couldn’t care less about. A new record on a game, or a new book finished, it’s stuff that doesn’t change anything in a real way. 

It sucks, it really does. 

“I’ll try,” he says finally. “To mourn.”

Chuuya nods victoriously at him now, rumpled and sleepy. 

But it sucks less with him here. 

If Dazai were alone he’d be spiraling so fast he wouldn’t know which way is up. Dazai is pretty sure that if Chuuya were alone he’d be a hazard to himself and the baby. How someone so competent is so useless at taking care of himself is a scientific mystery. (Then again if he had stayed in the mafia he would have had Kouyou there to pick up the slack, maybe it would have gone alright.)

They stay like that for the rest of the evening, Dazai doesn’t go away right then, but he will later on. And then, after hours have passed he’ll come back to himself only to find that Chuuya has cooked them dinner and a plate is waiting for him on the bedside table, a tiny swaddled dog wrapped around him in bed.

Week ten of the pregnancy gets a little rough. 

Technically they were supposed to have their first ultrasound around week seven to eight, but Ango hasn’t found them a good way to get check-ups yet. Can never be too careful. It hasn’t been that long since they ran away. The witch hunt for them is probably still in full swing. This particular bit of news hit Chuuya harder than he’d thought. He’s been withdrawn ever since.

Added to this are the ligament pains, the mood swings and the never ending nausea. 

Chuuya is hugging the toilet again, Dazai behind him rubbing his back.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps. 

Dazai backs off with practiced ease. 

“Add ham to the list of shit this baby is rejecting,” he says into the bowl, his voice echoing faintly. 

“It shall go in chapter eighteen of the saga.” 

“Ugh,” Chuuya groans again. He gulps abruptly and gags before expelling even more stomach acid. His last meal was thrown up about three flushes ago, now it’s mostly water. “Now you can touch me,” he says miserably. 

“Okay.” Dazai goes back to massaging his back. “How do you feel about braving the arduous trek to the bed?”

“Talk like a normal fucking person for once.” 

“Can you stand or not?”

“Yes, just give me a moment.” Chuuya breathes heavily into the toiler a few times, then slowly leans back. “We need more mouth wash,” he says, looking up at the counter where the one liter mouth wash is about to be emptied again. Chuuya has been making use of it constantly. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s get out of here already.” 

Dazai gets up first and leans against the sink, flushing the toilet while waiting for Chuuya to do the same, prudently avoiding looking at him or saying anything. Those two rules were learned through trial and error. And a punch to the arm that one time. Chuuya gets up on shaky legs eventually, gurgling the mouthwash and spitting it out mechanically. They go back to the bedroom together. Dazai’s side of the bed is barren, without a single blanket or pillow to his name. Chuuya’s side is a mess of fluffy things which he faceplants into. Dazai goes to his side, tiredly climbing in. It’s barely four in the morning, way too early for breakfast, especially after that little show Chuuya put on in the bathroom. 

And yet…

“Dazai…”

He knows that tone. 

“Yes?” he asks, hoping, praying that he’s wrong. 

“I’m hungry.”

There it is. 

Dazai doesn't let it show on his face, he’s a professional by now. However, if he were allowed the luxury of expressing his displeasure, Dazai would definitely be rolling on the ground by now. 

“What would Chuuya like?” he asks, just barely able to keep the exhausted edge off his voice. 

Perhaps he misjudged his capabilities, or maybe he’s just really fucking tired. Whatever it is, Chuuya sees through his little facade. His face falls instantly, but he erases it just as quickly. He looks away and rolls on his side to turn off his light. “Nevermind, maybe later.” 

Ah, he fucked up. 

“Hey, Chuuya-”

“It’s fine,” is the too prompt response. “We can eat breakfast when we wake up.” 

Somehow, Dazai is no longer tired. “Chuuuyaa,” he calls out, elongating the vowels in that way Chuuya hates. “Chuuuuyaaaa…” 

A huff. “What?”

“I think I’m in the mood for pancakes,” he says conversationally. “Maybe even some ice cream. Or, we can put those together.” 

Chuuya rolls over to look at him. His eyes are slits, and the bags underneath them are dark. “Stop it,” he says. “You don’t have to do that, idiot.” 

“Do what?”

“I can handle not eating for a few more hours,” he says honestly. “I won’t die. And it’s too early to get food anyway. No soul is going to deliver shit at this hour.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Besides,” Chuuya debates whether to say this, visibly struggling with how to say it or if he should say it. “What I want… I don’t think you can even get it through delivery.” 

“Oh?” he asks. “Sounds like a challenge. Lay it on me.” 

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Sleep, Dazai.” He goes to turn around again. 

Dazai grabs him by the shoulder so he stays where he is. “Tell me, I wanna know. You got me all curious.” 

In the dark it’s hard to tell, but because Chuuya is so pale the flush that begins at his neck and goes up to his ears is apparent the moment it happens. 

“Tell meeee,” he says obnoxiously. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Why?”

“I feel stupid saying it.”

Okay, correction. He really fucked up here. And just when Chuuya was finally telling him what he needed without Dazai having to resort to undignified begging. Now they’re back to square one. 

“I double pinky swear that I won’t laugh or make fun of you or anything at all.”

Chuuya stares at him for a long time, furrowed brows making it evident what he thinks of that declaration. Dazai shuffles closer, putting his face right up in Chuuya’s. “Tell me your secret.”

“Ugh!” He rubs his face with his hands. “Remember that street food vendor that makes takoyaki? The one near the office? I’ve been craving that.”

Dazai blinks. “What, like that specific one?”

“Not specifically, just…street takoyaki.”

“That’s not that weird.”

“Yeah, but I want that now.” He pauses. “It’s not even five. I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’ve emptied my stomach of everything in my system.”

Dazai shakes his head. “Not weird.” And it’s really not, truthfully speaking. For obvious reasons, they can’t go to that one vendor near the office, but they can get the next best thing, which is whatever is nearby. “We can get you your street takoyaki.”

“This is the kind of thing they don't deliver. And we can’t go outside to get it ourselves.”

“Not yet,” Dazai agrees. For the time being it’s still too dangerous to even step out their damn front door. Technically they can’t go out at all until at least a year, but Ango and him have already reached the conclusion that this rule will have to be stretched whether they like it or not. With Chuuya pregnant, in case of an emergency, they’ll need to get out of here and into a proper hospital or medical facility which will happen way before the one year mark. Anyway, regardless of extenuating circumstances, Dazai was already banking on some leeway at around the six month mark. Of course with a lot of counter measures in place, a ridiculous amount of careful planning and nearly over the top disguises. 

Now, they can’t very well waltz out and get themselves some street food, but Ango can. Dazai rolls over and reaches for his phone, quickly typing out a message. Chuuya shuffles close to see what he’s writing. 

“Bothering him again? You’re not paying him enough to deal with this.”

“I’m not even paying him,” he says. “He owes me.”

“Uh-huh, hell of a favor.”

Ango texts back immediately. 

>Can I not get a moment of peace with you two involved<

“He’s on board,” Dazai cheers. “ETA forty minutes.” 

Chuuya squirms a little and comes closer, putting his cheek against Dazai’s shoulder. 

“That’s fast.”

“He was already up.” The phone goes back to the bedside table. “There, now all we have to do is wait. No sad doggy tears necessary!”

A tiny sniffle gets his attention. Dazai can’t help it, he smiles, decidedly not looking over his shoulder and laying down on his side. Spoke too soon, huh? 

Chuuya puts his face between his shoulder blades. “I’m not crying,” he says, voice muffled by his shirt. 

That declaration isn’t Chuuya trying to lie, it’s him telling Dazai that what is happening behind his back should not be acknowledged unless he wants to get his throat slit. 

“Of course not,” he says, closing his eyes and trying to sleep until Ango gets here. 

Chuuya ends up sniffling for a few more minutes. Dazai is sure he'll fall asleep like this any second when, under his breath, Chuuya says, “Thank you.”

Dazai doesn’t say you’re welcome because that would go against the implicit sub-obligation to the earlier command. He just takes a deep breath, throws one hand back and rubs Chuuya’s back. Chuuya takes the hand in his and they pretend to sleep until those distinct knocks sound at their door.

By week twelve the nausea is easing and Chuuya has more energy. He has begun to work out in the living room, which Dazai greatly appreciates. Better than cable by a long shot. Especially the days he works on flexibility. God bless yoga. 

His belly has been starting to show, a little bump that’s hardly noticeable with clothes. Chuuya is still excited, Dazai has caught him a few times with his shirt up, running the palms of his hand over his stomach. It’s admittedly very endearing. 

Aside from that, all is well… except one thing. Something odd has been happening. For some reason Chuuya keeps locking himself in the bathroom to shower for long periods of time. Dazai has gone there to see if he’s okay multiple times and received a curt, “I’m fine, dickhead!” 

Truly, Chuuya has such a way with words. 

He always comes out all flushed. He has wondered why Chuuya feels the need to be so secretive. By this point Dazai has become intimately acquainted with all of his bodily functions. Well, mostly one, but morning sickness is more than enough. 

Chuuya goes into the bathroom again, right after his latest workout. Dazai stares after him, scrutinizing the closed door with narrowed eyes. He gets up silently and goes to knock on the door. 

“What?” is the angry response. 

“What is Chuuya doing?” 

The water turns on. “What do you think, smartass.” 

“Uh-huh…” He takes a step back. He wants to know. He needs to know. Dazai waits around in the hallway for a few minutes, making real sure that whatever is happening, he’ll be able to walk in on it. His lockpicks make quick work and in seconds he can twist the doorknob and silently ease it open. The shower is letting out steam by the top of the curtains and the mirror is a foggy mess. The heat clogs his clothes and skin, and the stream is so strong he could probably be stomping and Chuuya wouldn’t even hear him. He sneaks closer and rips the curtains to the side.

“What are you hiding from— Uh, Chuuya. Why are you masturbating in the shower?”

Chuuya is leaning heavily against the wall, hair plastered to his burning face, pink going far below his neck and into his chest. His milky thighs have been spared the embarrassed flush, looking all wet and long and slender, clenched around an equally elegant hand. The characteristic red hue of his skin could be the blazing hot shower pelting him but Dazai is pretty sure it’s not. The hand in between his legs is incriminating enough on its own, Chuuya’s mortified face sells it completely. For better or for worse, Dazai’s blood instantly rushes south.

Chuuya moans. “Oh my fucking god.”

That does not make things better. 

Suddenly the confusion that merged into shock has now evolved into indignation. “Why the hell was I not invited?”

Chuuya’s hand goes around his middle while the free one tries to bury his face behind it. “Stop being an asshole,” he groans. 

“It’s a genuine question!”

Chuuya, still being rained on by the shower, slowly curls into a shameful little ball on the floor. Dazai goes down too, thighs pressed against his calves. He waits patiently. Chuuya still has his hand over his face, voice coming out muffled.

“I’ve been pent up lately.”

“You mean horny?” he asks instantly. 

“…yes.”

The water of the shower is really criminally hot, Dazai is only getting sprayed by stray drops and it’s singing his skin down to the bone. He leans behind a bit, nudging the knob to the side through the curtains and puts the temperature at a more reasonable degree. Chuuya doesn’t seem to notice.

“Are you gonna explain? You’re still not answering my question.”

Chuuya looks at him through the wet strands of his hair, resting his arms over his knees and hooking his chin on top of that. “It’s stupid. It’s happening all the time, I feel like I’m going insane. Or like I’m fifteen again.”

Dazai thinks back on those times. He nods sagely. “Good times.”

Chuuya slaps his arm. “Focus!”

“I still don't understand why you didn’t tell me!”

“We have sex regularly, but now, what I need… it’s so stupid.” He groans. “And really fucking embarrassing, the shit that sets me off.”

It’s true that they have sex regularly, no complaints from him at all. But to say that even more fooling around is a bad thing is a bit sacrilegious in his book. Or an oxymoron. Can’t have those two in the same sentence, it just doesn’t add up. 

“Give me an example.”

If possible, Chuuya gets redder. He curls into a smaller ball on the floor. “Oh god.”

Dazai rocks back and forth. “Tell me please?” he tries. 

He mumbles something under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“...you…out.” 

“What?”

Chuuya growls in frustration, hanging his head in his hands. “Like when you look at me while I work out.” 

“Oh.” Dazai thinks back on that. Was he ever particularly lecherous during those times? He doesn’t think so. But then, isn’t that kind of Chuuya’s point? That every little thing is setting him off. “I still don’t get it.” 

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not that embarrassing.

“That’s the least embarrassing one.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Ugh! Stop! I’m dying.”

He is starting to look a little faint there. Makes sense. The water is scalding. “Let’s get out of the shower to have this conversation, alright?” 

“Okay.”

It takes a while but Chuuya eventually comes out of the shower, by then Dazai has been waiting around on the bed for fifteen minutes. Chuuya comes inside finally, wrapped only in a towel and still a little pink on the shoulders and face. 

He sticks by the foot of the bed, arms crossed, defiantly looking off to the side. 

“Chuuya,” he drawls. 

Chuuya flinches a little, still not looking over at him. 

“What are you doing so far away? Join me.” 

“We can talk like this.”

Dazai calibrates the response of each of his possible replies and goes with the one that has the most chance of success. “Alright. We'll talk like this then.”

Chuuya nods a bit to himself. 

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“I don’t like having no control over my body.”

“By not having control, that absolves you of any kind of blame, no?”

“I hate it,” he emphasizes. 

Dazai has to wonder why the hell, this, out of all the cravings, Chuuya is choosing to abstain from. If one were to ask him, this is the one they should be celebrating. Admittedly though, that's only the really shallow observation he could make. The deeper one takes into account Chuuya’s eternal complex with his own autonomy. The one that has been taken advantage of time and time again. A slave to others, to what’s inside of him. A baby is the least evil or destructive perpetrator to date, Dazai included, but still. 

“It’s bad enough that I can’t control my bladder, my stomach or my emotions, now this too? It’s not fair.”

Uh-oh, waterworks. Dazai can see the signs. The subtle waver to his voice, the glistening quality by his eyes and the red tip of his nose. Dazai slides off the bed, stopping when they’re toe to toe. He wraps hands around Chuuya’s shoulders and brings him in, breathing in freshly shampooed hair. He lays down his cheek on top of the wet strands, looking off to the side. Chuuya really is too huggable, the perfect height to embrace. 

“That sucks,” he says. 

“It does.”

“If it helps I can think of a way to spin this.”

This is his specialty, spinning lies, weaving half truths, running laps around others until they’re so discombobulated they don’t know which way is up or what the hell is down. Chuuya wraps his own arms around Dazai’s middle, thumping his forehead against his throat. 

“Lay it on me I guess.”

“If self autonomy is what you want, then wouldn’t choosing how you get yourself off fall under that category? I mean, with the peeing and puking thing—” Chuuya makes a sound of disgust. “—that’s something you simply have to do. The food thing too, there’s only one way to eat, right? But with this, you get to choose how to go about it.”

“It’s still one more thing that I can’t control. If I get all pent up, I usually can’t think until I get off. It wasn't this bad before, not even when I was getting my testosterone shots.”

Oh, yeah. Dazai smiles a little. That had been fun. To Dazai, a sexually charged teen, Chuuya had been a dream wrapped in a fucking miracle. Always down to fuck and fool around in shoddy closets or empty offices. (And that one time in a public bathroom.) Good—No. Great times.

“How you get off is still your decision.”

Chuuya doesn't respond, unconvinced. 

“Okay,” Dazai says. “How about this? You get to boss me around however you want, no questions asked. That way it’s like equal exchange, right? I’m letting you borrow my autonomy for the time being.”

“Huh?”

“Whenever you want, however you want it,” he says. "You can use me.”

Chuuya looks up at him. “That’s really…isn’t that a bit wrong?”

“Not if I’m into it,” he points out, then grins. “And I am.”

“Your logic makes no sense.”

“It does if you really want it to.”

Chuuya is still on the fence. Dazai tips his head back with two fingers to his chin. 

“Chuuya can’t control these things, but he can control me. How many people can say that, hm?”

A slow smile breaks across his face. “So, essentially, I can use you as my personal sex toy?”

He grins. “It’d be my pleasure.” His voice drops playfully. “So what will it be today, sir?”

The effect is instant. Chuuya’s legs move, subtly pressing together. With an evil smirk he says, “I want you—”

“Chuuya,” he interrupts teasingly, poking him in the cheek. “Order me.”

The smile grows. “You’re going to get me off. With your fingers. To start.”

“Roger.” He skips over to the bed, falling back and sitting obediently against the headboard. “Front to back or back to front.”

“My back to your chest.”

Dazai slaps his lap. “Take a seat.”

Chuuya scoffs a little but he’s smiling, miles from the unhappy little slug he'd been in the bathroom. He sits down between Dazai’s legs, back to chest as they said, towel coming undone by his hips. Dazai leans back against the headboard, situating himself in a more comfortable position. Chuuya is sitting there, all primly without moving a muscle. Dazai wraps an arm around his middle and pulls him closer, hooking his chin over Chuuya’s shoulder, staring down at his fluffy covered lap. 

“What’ll it be today? What’s your poison?”

“Slow then rough.”

“Got it.”

“And you don’t get to come until I say so.”

He shivers, then presses a chaste kiss to Chuuya’s cheek. “Okay.”

Dazai doesn’t go for the gold right away, that’d be a rookie mistake. By this point he’s a seasoned veteran. Dazai instead slides his hands up and down Chuuya’s inner thighs, soaking in the smoothness, the firm muscle. He doesn’t go farther than what the towel is showing, purposely keeping it tame. He lets out a deep sigh through his nose, the warm air hitting Chuuya’s wet shoulder. He stiffens in his arms. One of his pruny hands circles around Dazai’s wrist, halfheartedly pulling it a bit closer to where he wants it. Dazai obeys, just the one hand sliding under the towel and grazing his embarrassingly soaked cunt. He doesn't do anything other than pass over it and going up to massage his hip. The towel has come loose, exposing more of his skin.

"Dazai..." he sighs. 

"Yes?"

"Hurry the fuck up." 

"Yes, yes." 

As his highness demands, Dazai's hand travels down again, using his ring and index finger to spread him open. Chuuya's legs are slowly opening up, loosening. He wets his fingers like this, rubbing without ever attempting to go in. 

Chuuya moves his hips in wave-like motions, grinding up into the palm of his hand however he can. Dazai puts one hand on his hip to prevent that and keep him settled. Chuuya groans, stretching his head back, giving a delicious opening to the unmarked expanse of his neck. Dazai latches on with just a tiny bit of teeth. Chuuya jumps, his shoulder knocking against Dazai’s face.

The grip around his hip digs in, putting a bit of pressure where his nails meets delectably softer skin, wanting nothing more than to leave a mark. 

Dazai blows hot air into the shell of Chuuya's ear, causing a massive shiver that comes up his spine. At the same time, while that's happening, his ring finger easily slides inside. 

Chuuya jumps. 

It's always so fucking arousing when he goes inside the first time. The soaked warmth around his fingers, the soft muscle closing in on the intrusion. It's only one finger, and they fucked yesterday so a second finger would go inside without problem. That's not the objective though. He knows how Chuuya likes it and it's like this.

His ring finger curls upwards, the pads putting pressure on the walls closing in. Chuuya clenches around him, letting out this especially pornographic gasp. A helpless little thing that he doesn't even try to act like it didn't come out of him. 

He keeps going like this, fucking into Chuuya like he likes it. Dirty. Messy. The sounds it's making, it's so obscene and insanely fucking hot. Dazai can't get enough of it, so he adds his middle finger as well. Chuuya tries to stop his whimpering but the more Dazai pumps inside, the more futile it gets. Dazai drives into Chuuya without mercy, curling his fingers upwards. Chuuya is trying to move his hips up, running away from the pressure against his g-spot.

Dazai doesn't let him run away, he uses his arm to hug Chuuya back into his chest, forearm flush against his stomach. Chuuya's legs are shaking a little, they attempt to close around his hand. Dazai uses his own legs to trap Chuuya's, keeping his paler thighs hooked on his knees and forcibly keeping them spread. Dazai looks down and stares all he wants. 

Sufficiently soaked he extracts his fingers, slowly hovering over Chuuya's neglected clit. Just the barest of touches has him yelping. He rubs in slow, purposeful circles. Legs try to close again. He doesn't let them. Chuuya wouldn't want him to. 

One of Chuuya's hands goes over Dazai's, the one keeping him pressed against his chest. He's just grabbing, holding on while he pants out weak breaths. Dazai bites down on the skin presented to him, all warm from the shower, still wet with droplets that quench his thirst. Chuuya always tastes so good, he could eat him whole. 

Chuuya is starting to lose control, his thighs are shaking and the hand holding on is tight. Dazai inserts his two fingers back inside, this time upping the speed and really dragging against that one spot, plus letting his palm drag against Chuuya's clit, allowing him to grind as he pleases. 

"Ngh, a-ah, D-Dazai..." 

"Yes?" he asks. He's painfully hard right now, the sounds he's hearing only add fuel to the fire. He holds on to his restraint, as he promised. But then Chuuya makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder, looking all disheveled and teary and suddenly, self control just got a whole lot harder. 

"I want to sit on your dick." 

And what can he say to that but, "God, yes." He takes out his fingers, dragging his palm over the adorable nub, up to Chuuya's stomach, a mean little trick that makes him yelp. "How do you want it?"

"On your lap. Now." 

Dazai does as he's told, helping Chuuya get on his knees and straddle his lap.

Chuuya starts to say something but stops, then laughs a little. 

"What? What is it?"

"I keep forgetting—I was going to ask if we have condoms," he laughs again. 

Dazai bursts into a short laugh as well. "Ship has sailed for that failsafe I'm afraid." 

"No shit," Chuuya says, sitting more securely. He slaps Dazai's leg. "Get those off." 

Dazai shimmies out of his pants, letting them fall down the side. He shrugs out of his shirt as well, which is balled up and put to his right. Chuuya has his glorious hands around his shaft, jacking him off with his saliva and a bit of precome. Dazai sighs in ecstasy. 

Chuuya lifts himself up, lines up and slowly goes back down. The initial breach is a heavenly, soft give of wet warmth. They both sigh once Chuuya bottoms out. Dazai has his hands lazily around his hips.

Chuuya leans back a bit. "Make it good or you don't get to come."

Dazai takes it as the challenge it is. 

They start slow. Chuuya begins to bounce up and down with the help of Dazai's grip and gravity most of all. Little gasps are punched out of him, music to his ears. Dazai's fingers tighten around his hips, not helping a lot quite yet but just holding. 

He has an idea. 

Chuuya has his eyes closed, putting his concentration in reaching an orgasm. Dazai suddenly takes a firm hold of his middle, bucks up his hips and slams into Chuuya while bringing him down. 

"Ah!" Chuuya crumbles, all shaky and vulnerable on top of him. Legs tight around him, hips moving in tight circles. He's clenching around him, sucking him in. It's maddening. He does it again just to hear that sound. 

"Ngh-" Chuuya glares up at him through glassy eyes. "Again."

So Dazai does it again, and then he doesn't stop. 

"A-ah! Ah! Ah!" 

Every single breath he lets out Dazai wants to bottle up and keep with him. He wants to listen to those whimpers, those gasps until he fucking dies. 

"D-Dazai," he pleads. "Da-Dazai..." 

"Tell me."

"I wa-wanna come." 

Chuuya's legs are shaking so much, pressing against his middle, trying to squeeze him dead. Dazai pushes hard into him, over and over again. It doesn't matter that his muscles are burning or that he's sweating all over their recently cleaned sheets. All he can care about now is Chuuya and the delicious heat surrounding his cock. 

It's fucking god. 

Chuuya taps his shoulder desperately. "I'm gonn-gonna-!" 

Dazai doesn't let up, he keeps the same rhythm going, then places one hand over his stomach, his thumb straying downwards and playing around with his clit. It's the double stimulation that Chuuya was looking for, his eyes squeeze shut and he tries to squirm away at the same time as he tries to get Dazai deeper. 

Chuuya's orgasm face, Dazai could put it up on a fucking wall. He could use it as his wallpaper and stare at it always. If only for the unwanted eyes he would gouge out if they saw Chuuya in that way, he'd probably do it. The orgasm makes Chuuya shake and arch and twitch and moan. Breathlessly trying to keep up. After it's done Chuuya is a limp thing, passed out on his chest. Dazai isn't done though, he continues the merciless grinding. 

"Dazai, I ca-can't! I just-!" 

"One more for the road?" 

"Ohhh. Fuck, yes."

Chuuya whines loudly in his ear. Dazai continues to pound into that heat, chasing his own peak feverishly. The sounds that are punched out of Chuuya are sinful. Dazai goes at it harder just to hear it more. He's twitching, squirming. Whimpering pathetically. It doesn't take long, second orgasms never do. He comes again, trembling in his lap. 

Dazai stops for a moment, whining pitifully in his ear. "Chuuya... Can I—please? Can I?" 

"Yes."

The last few thrusts are clumsy, he's too far gone to really care about the pace he had set. Only truly aware of the spike in arousal that has reached its climax. He comes inside, moaning into Chuuya's hair. He thrusts a few more times, truly milking out the sensation.

Chuuya whines at each tiny movement, like a tiny squeaky toy. 

Cum leaks out from Chuuya, but neither of them care at the moment. Chuuya is even fluttering around him. It kind of makes him want a round two. 

Dazai sighs at the ceiling in contentment. He brushes Chuuya's bangs from his face. 

"How was that? Good enough for a follow up audition?"

Chuuya snorts and laughs. "Yeah," he says tiredly. "You got the part." 

"Any time you want it, shorty, I'm here to be your personal dildo." 

Chuuya pushes his hand into Dazai's face, laughing again. "Shut the fuck up." 

Pregnancy has its upsides. 

The next day Ango lets them know he managed to get a doctor that does home visits. Chuuya’s mood lifts immediately. When the doctor gets there she’s very professional and to the point which they both appreciate. She applies a gel onto Chuuya’s stomach and presses the transducer thing on top of his stomach. From the little screen they can see nothing more than black background and grey swirls. 

“What am I looking for here?” Chuuya asks dryly. 

The doctor smiles a bit, pointing out on the screen. “You see this here? That’s your baby."

Dazai can't discern what he's looking at, as far as he's aware the doctor could be fucking with them. But then he looks at Chuuya and if he's in the same boat as Dazai, he doesn't show it. His blue eyes are wide and a little wet, taking it in. 

Whatever Dazai may think, it doesn't matter. When she asks if they'd like a picture they both say, "Yes."