Inception

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/13929189.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: Gen
Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Relationship: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed
Detective Agency & Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu
& Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Nakajima
Atsushi & Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Mori
Ougai (Bungou Stray Dogs), Izumi Kyouka & Nakajima Atsushi
(Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke & Dazai Osamu
(Bungou Stray Dogs)
Character: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray
Dogs), Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou
Stray Dogs), Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fukuzawa Yukichi
(Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency (Bungou Stray Dogs) -
Character, Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Mori Ougai
(Bungou Stray Dogs), Ozaki Kouyou (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fyodor
Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou
Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin
Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Past Child
Abuse, Past Torture, Emotionally Repressed, Dazai Osamu Needs a
Hug (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai-Typical Suicide References (Bungou
Stray Dogs), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Flashbacks,
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, light novel reference, Suffering Dazai Osamu
(Bungou Stray Dogs), Suicide Attempt, Mental Instability, Mental
Breakdown, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Brotp, platonic
soukoku, Isolation, Nyctophobia, Hallucinations, Stockholm Syndrome,
Nightmares, Dazai Osamu is a Mess (Bungou Stray Dogs), Cross-
Posted on FanFiction.Net, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Injury, half-
blind dazai, Protective Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs),
Protective Armed Detective Agency (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Collections: Fics For E To Read Eventually (Bungō Stray Dogs Fic Collection),
Bungou Stray Fics, ScribeSmith's Fanfic Library, miQ_y's fav fav fics,
Quality Fics
Stats: Published: 2018-03-10 Updated: 2021-08-19 Chapters: 11/? Words:
59010

Inception
by Animejessi

Summary

Akutagawa watched Chuuya as they walked to the Detective Agency, wondering what he
found out about Dazai that has his usually squared shoulders and strong posture suddenly
seem so… heavy. Like he was carrying the weight of the world. And maybe in a way he
was.
None of this could have been easy for Chuuya. In fact, Akutagawa was certain it had been
hardest on Chuuya to find out about Dazai’s past than on anyone else since he had been the
person closest to Dazai. If Dazai was going to tell anyone about this, it would have been
Chuuya. But he hadn’t. Chuuya had this discovery shoved in his face just like the rest of
them and Akutagawa could tell it hurt.
 Inception
Chapter Summary

The first time Ranpo laid eyes on Osamu Dazai, he knew something horrible had
happened to him. He had this... dead look in his eyes. Like he had been through hell
and couldn’t figure out how to crawl his way back out of it. Even when he smiled, the
empty look never faded from his chocolate-colored eyes and Ranpo could clearly see
that every emotion he displayed to the world was simply a show he put on. None of it
was real, but at the same time, Ranpo could also see how desperately Dazai wished
that it was; how much he wanted to feel something.

It couldn’t be easy to live life without feeling anything genuine. To have to fake
everything. It was probably this emptiness that caused Dazai’s desire for his own
death.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The first time Ranpo laid eyes on Osamu Dazai, he knew something horrible had happened to him.
He had this... dead look in his eyes. Like he had been through hell and couldn’t figure out how to
crawl his way back out of it. Even when he smiled, the empty look never faded from his chocolate-
colored eyes and Ranpo could clearly see that every emotion he displayed to the world was simply
a show he put on. None of it was real, but at the same time, Ranpo could also see how desperately
Dazai wished that it was; how much he wanted to feel something.

It couldn’t be easy to live life without feeling anything genuine. To have to fake everything. It was
probably this emptiness that caused Dazai’s desire for his own death.

Mostly Ranpo just felt sad for Dazai. He didn’t want to think about what he must have went
through to lose all sense of emotion and feeling. He knew if he thought hard enough—looked close
enough—he could get a pretty good idea, but that wasn’t something Ranpo wanted to have at the
back of his mind every time he looked at Dazai, so he let it go.

Still though, he watched Dazai curiously. Every time Dazai pulled a prank or did something crazy,
every time Dazai sounded like he was genuinely laughing, Ranpo would check to see if finally
Dazai had some life in his dead eyes, but to no avail. He saw how Dazai froze up momentarily
every time someone touched him, as though anticipating pain from even the simplest contact. As
though that was the only reason someone would want to touch him.

And most of all, Ranpo saw the rare, brief moments his mask would slip when no one else was
looking and Dazai’s face would go completely blank, matching the emotionlessness of his eyes.
He looked so lonely at those times—and Ranpo knew it was with that expression he tried to kill
himself—that Ranpo thought maybe it would be better for Dazai if he did know. Maybe then he
could ask Yosano for her help on the matter. She would know what to do, how to help him, unlike
Ranpo himself.

But still he refrained, it wasn’t any of his business and it didn’t effect him in anyway. As long as he
didn’t poke at it, there was no way it would come up. All’s well that’s well with him, after all.
That was the only time in his life Ranpo had ever been so wrong, and he regretted not pushing
aside his fears to help him.

Ranpo sat lazily on his swirly chair, feet lounged on the desk in front of him as he sucked on a
strawberry lollipop, humming a little tune. Today was a good day. He had finished a case for the
police the other day and now he could sit here as long as he wants, with no business that needs his
attention. This was his favorite part of his day, when he could sit in the Agency he and Fukuzawa
created together and watch the other members as they mingled about.

He liked watching them.

He liked that they were happy here, that they felt like they could belong here. They were his
family, though he wouldn’t say it outright, and he liked interacting with them. Dazai was especially
entertaining, as his wit and intelligence nearly matched Ranpo’s own. Dazai could keep up with
him and Ranpo found it quite refreshing. Of course, no matter what, Ranpo was still a lot better
than Dazai.

As Ranpo thought, Haruno passed by him carrying a stack of mail which she placed on an empty
desk near him. As she did so, one of the packages caught his eye.

“Haruno, what is that?” He asked inquisitively as she turned to look at what he meant.

“Hmm? Oh, you mean this envelope?” Haruno picked it up before holding it out to Ranpo, “I don’t
know, it doesn’t have a return address nor is it addressed to somebody specific. I thought it might
be an anonymous request. I was going to look at it later, but you can do it now if you want.”

Ranpo took the package and examined it, no longer paying attention to Haruno. It was just a simple
manilla envelope. Nothing distinctive about it at all. He didn’t know what about it caught his
interest, but now his curiosity was piqued. Ranpo removed his feet off from the desk, planting
them firmly on the floor and slowly unclasped the top of the envelope. Looking inside, he saw
what he thought were photographs. Humming slightly in interest, Ranpo removed one of the
photos with the tips of his fingers.

With the picture in full view, Ranpo’s emerald eyes widened in horror. The envelope fell from his
numb hands, crashing onto the floor and scattering the photos across the surface. Everyone,
shocked by the sudden noise, stopped what they were doing and watched in concern as Ranpo
abruptly stood up, not noticing his poncho falling from his shoulders as he continued looking at the
photo held within trembling hands.

Atsushi, being the closest to Ranpo and noticing his face rapidly draining of color, stepped closer
to Ranpo, “Ranpo, are you okay? What’s wrong?-“

Before Atsushi could get the question all the way out, Ranpo started to shout at the top of his
lungs, “President! PRESIDENT!! PRESIDENT!!!!!”

Each word got louder every time he said it and Ranpo didn’t stop yelling until finally Fukuzawa
hurried through the door, his usually stoic expression showing concern as he frantically searched
around the room for Ranpo. Spotting Ranpo, he swiftly made his way over to him.

“Ranpo,” Fukuzawa looked Ranpo for any clue as to what had caused his distress, “what has
happened? Are you hurt?”

Rather than answering Fukuzawa, Ranpo instead shakily handed the president the photograph he
held, trying his hardest to keep the growing tears at bay. Ranpo had seen a lot of things in his life,
but rarely had he seen anything that had effected him so much. The last thing he could remember
that had, had been his parents’ death and this was much worse, if simply because of the brutality of
it all.

Fukuzawa carefully took the photo from Ranpo’s trembling hand, ignoring everyone crowding
around the pair, before turning to study the object that had caused his ward so much grief.

What he saw in one simple photograph would give him nightmares for weeks to come.

In the photo, he saw a young boy of about seven years old. The boy was gaunt, looking starved to
the point you could count every one of his fragile, protruding ribs, and as pale as death. The
child’s dark unruly hair clung to his face, damp with sweat of great pain and no light reached his
wide, sunken, brown eyes. They were completely empty and filled with so much agony—so much
fear—it was a wonder his little heart hadn’t given out yet. Massive purple, black, and blue bruises
littered his skin and blood flowed freely from numerous lacerations—many deep enough to see the
white of bone, and if one looked closely enough remnants of terrible burns, through all that
crimson—carved along his arms, legs and torso, completely covering the floor the child lied on
and much of his discolored flesh.

Worst of all, as though this tiny child hadn’t suffered enough, cruel metal shackles encased his
bird-like wrists and ankles, holding him taut against the bloodstained floor. They cut mercilessly
into delicate flesh, rubbing them raw as the young boy thrashed violently, trying to get away.
Kneeing over him, a man twice his size slashed into his already abused body like butter. His
expression contorted into a permanent scream, forever caught by the camera for somebody’s sick
pleasure as they cruelly tortured this poor boy.

As Fukuzawa looked at this scene in absolute horror, nausea coursing through him at such gross
mistreatment of a child, something familiar struck him about the boy. Looking past the blood, the
bruises, and the face distorted in pure agony Fukuzawa realized he knew this boy. This child was...

“Is that... Dazai?” Fukuzawa almost jumped in surprise, having forgotten anyone else was around,
before looking over at Atsushi’s appalled face as the boy took the photo with such care it looked as
though he thought it would bite him.

Ranpo answered before Fukuzawa had the chance to think of any sort of reply for the now
traumatized boy, face contorted in self-reproach, “Yeah... yeah that’s definitely Dazai. Hell, I
should have known!! I should’ve... should’ve done something!”

“This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything,” everyone turned to look at Kunikida as
he spoke, voice rumbling with barely contained anger, not removing his gaze from the photo,
“None of us could have done anything, this happened a long time ago and Dazai didn’t tell us
anything. How could we have helped when he didn’t trust us enough to tell us?”

Kunikida was angry. He was angry at the people who would hurt a helpless child like that, and
took pictures for later enjoyment. He was angry at Dazai for never mentioning this to anyone just
like he never mentioned being part of the mafia before. Most of all, he was angry at himself for not
seeing how much pain Dazai must be in under what he now realized was probably a happy facade.
How could he not have seen it? Was Dazai that good at hiding how he felt that no one noticed?

“I don’t think it was about trust,” Atsushi whispered, looking at the floor, no longer able to look at
the photo, and wrapped his arm around his torso, one hand covering the poker burns he received
from the orphanage headmaster, “it’s... just not something that’s easy to talk about.”

The room was silent after that. Everyone caught up in their own thoughts. Naomi clung to her
brother for comfort, both wearing pained expressions, to the left of Kunikida; Kenji sat on a desk,
head hung in sorrow as Haruno placed a comforting hand on his back; Ranpo stood, grief-stricken
face staring pleading at Fukuzawa with Yosano hovering close behind; Atsushi still held himself
protectively, only coming out of it when Kyouka pulled on his sleeve.

He looked at her and when he did her shocked expression and pale face worried him. Noticing she
had Atsushi’s full attention, Kyouka raised a shaking hand and pointed at something on the ground
where Ranpo stood earlier, “Look. There are more photos.”

Atsushi turned his head in the direction Kyouka pointed and saw more photographs stacked atop
each other.

He cautiously walked towards them, Kyouka close behind, and paused on the edge of the pile.
Doing so, he got a clearer view of the contents of the pictures.

“President,” Atsushi said with trepidation as he knelt on the floor to sift through the other photos
Ranpo had dropped and gathered them in his shaking hands with the first one, “All of these...
they’re... they’re...”

Atsushi couldn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. On the floor, dozen of pictures depicted
various gruesome ways Dazai had been tortured—some seeming to be psychological torture rather
than just physical. As Atsushi stared blankly at the brutality being enacted on Dazai, he realized he
could see an age progression within the photos. Starting at what Atsushi thought was a five year
old Dazai, the images continued until he was as old as fourteen.

“He was tortured for nine years?!”

Atsushi jumped at the voice that suddenly sounded next to his ear and turned to see a fuming
Yosano. He had never seen Yosano this livid before and Atsushi felt a brief stab of fear as he
looked into her blazing gaze. As she reached out towards him, Atsushi couldn’t help the slight
flinch that went through him and didn’t protest when Yosano snatched the photographs right out of
his hands.

If it were possible, the anger in her expression grew more intense as she got a closer look at each
horrifying photo.

“This is just sick,” she growled heatedly, disgust and hatred clear in her voice as she looked at a
bawling six year old Dazai, mouth pouring blood as cruel hands held it open to pull more of his
tiny teeth out with pliers, “he was just a child. Who could do something so deplorable to a child?!
I’ll kill them.”

“Calm down,” Fukuzawa said calmly as he put his hand on Yosano’s shoulder, though you could
see the smoldering rage shimmering behind his hard eyes, “Getting angry will not help anyone
now, least of all Dazai. What we need to do now is figure who sent these photographs to us in the
first place, and most of all, why? What do they achieve by doing this?”

While this did nothing to ease the anger and horror at the situation, it did get everyone to stop and
think.

Yosano’s grip loosened on the photos, expression falling into solemnity as her anger had no outlet
to keep it fueled for long. Ranpo stepped closer to her, wanting to comfort, but not quite sure how
to when he himself was just as shaken as she.

Before he could even think of what to say or how to say it, the door to the entrance of the office
opened, drawing everyone’s attention, and in strolled the very person that had everyone so
concerned.

Dazai had on his usual lackadaisical smile planted firmly on his face, seeming to all as though he
hadn’t a care in the world. Just looking at him, no one could have guessed what horrors he lived
through in his life. He let nothing slip through his cheerful persona, but as the ADA members
studied him closer, now knowing what they knew, they could see the same dullness to his eyes as
in the photos.

Just how much did they miss? How much more was there about Dazai that no one knew, that no
one had bothered asking or even wondered about?

They watched as Dazai walked into the room, humming the tune of his suicide song
enthusiastically, not yet noticing the stares from his coworkers.

“Morning everyone! It’s such a lovely day to commit suicide, don’t you think?” He chimed in his
usual flamboyant greeting.

When he received no response, not even Kunikida’s griping about being late or getting to work, he
blinked in wonder, smile still stuck on his face.

He turned his attention to the others and saw them all standing in a circle with worrying
expressions as they all continued to just stare at Dazai. Kunikida and Yosano shared a weird mix of
anger and anguish on their faces. Ranpo’s eyes shimmered with regret and strangely enough guilt,
though Dazai could not fathom what Ranpo could possibly feel guilty about, especially when
regarding him. Atsushi’s face held so much sorrow and painful understanding that it physically
hurt Dazai to look at. Kyouka‘s usually impassive expression spoke of pure heartbreak and
confusion, and she held tightly onto Atsushi as though he was the only thing keeping her together.
Tears streamed down poor Kenji’s face—looking so horribly wrong on such a cheerful boy—and
he hiccuped softly while Haruno held him, not looking much better than Kenji herself. The
Tanizaki siblings had a shocked horror-filled countenance as they clung to each other, for once not
inappropriately, and they looked as though they wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t get
their voices out through all of the tears.

With each person Dazai examined, he became more and more confused about what had caused this
mass breakdown. He had never seen them all quite so upset before, and never all at the same time.

He looked to Fukuzawa, thinking he might find some stability from the stoic leader, but his
expression more than anyone’s disconcerted Dazai. Fukuzawa looked at Dazai with such sorrow—
such utter remorse and grief—it knocked the air right out of Dazai’s lungs.

For a moment he couldn’t breathe, all the air froze in his lungs and he thought he might actually
die from this. Never before had anyone directed such expressions at him. Never before had anyone
cared enough to feel emotions as strong as these for him. Everything about the situation was
foreign and he didn’t even know what had brought this all about.

Forcing himself to bring air back into his burning lungs, and pushing aside the strange heaviness
building within his numb, unfeeling heart, Dazai analyzed them more rigorously, trying to
determine what had brought this all about. That was when he saw how white Yosano’s knuckles
were as she tightly gripped a stack of papers. Pretending he hadn’t noticed their distressed states
and keeping up his blithe charade, Dazai casually waltzed up to the group.

“What are you all looking at over here, hmm?”

Not really expecting a response from the horrified group, Dazai came up to Yosano and stole the
photos right out of her hands before she could do much else but gasp in a cut off protest.

Smiling at how easy he took the photos, Dazai looked down at them and immediately froze. All
expression drained from his face abruptly, becoming hollow and blank, almost as though there was
never any expression on it in the first place. His eyes grew cold and lifeless—darker even than
before when filled with fake emotion—giving them a frightening flashback of what he must have
looked like when in the mafia. All sound around him faded away and, in its place, memories
crashed into him violently as his eyes refused to look away from the horrors on the first photograph
the agency saw.

Dazai remembered that day. He remembered screaming until his throat tore itself into a raw mess
and began drowning him in his own metallic blood. He remembered begging for it to stop only for
the pain to intensify because He didn’t like it when Dazai begged. He remembered his entire body
burning from agony to the bone like a raging inferno eating him alive and trying to keep in the
acidic vomit, knowing if he didn’t the torture would continue for another few hours. He
remembered tears falling from his young, emaciated face—when he had still had tears to cry—long
after his voice ran itself ragged, being the only thing he had strength left to do. The only way he
had left to deal with the pain, but not helping at all.

Then, Dazai remembered when the torture stopped. When that man came up to his prone form,
petted his hair in a way that could almost be described as gentle, loving even, and told him he did
this for Dazai’s own good. How one day, Dazai would understand why he did this to him and he
would be thankful—Dazai’s still waiting for that part to happen. Then he gingerly pick him up off
of the crimson soaked floor, whispering comforting words in Dazai’s ear, and took him to Mori to
have him looked after.

After what felt like an eternity to everyone else in the room as they watched Dazai stare vacantly at
the abhorrent photograph, he finally spoke, so softly they almost missed it, “Where did you get
these?”

Unnerved by his deadened tone, but not willing to comment on it just yet, Atsushi timidly
answered, “We... we don’t know, Dazai. It was sent anonymously so we just thought... it was a
case. We’re really sorry, we didn’t know... Are you okay?“

Dazai didn’t seem to be listening to Atsushi anymore. Instead, he quickly packed the photographs
back into the manila envelope they came in and stormed out of the room, coat flaring and
expression unchanging from its blank appearance. Ranpo, having finally gotten over his shock,
tried calling after Dazai, “Wait, where are you going? Dazai—Dazai come back!!”

But he didn’t, he just continued to walk away and everyone could only watch him go.

“What are we going to do now?” Ranpo asked, sounding lost and looking to Fukuzawa for
direction.

In response, Fukuzawa’s eyes filled with steel, “We look into every angle, every clue and resources
we have and find out who is responsible for this. Who sent it, why, how did they get access to it,
everything.”

As Fukuzawa spoke, everyone went into motion; making calls, writing notes, and searching
through piles of paper to see if anything else was sent, “We leave no stone unturned. One of our
own is in danger and we will not leave him to fend for himself.”

Pausing for a moment in his speech, Fukuzawa looked over at Yosano and Ranpo, who still stood
 beside him.

“We will need to get those photos back from Dazai if we have any hope of learning more,” looking
briefly uncomfortable, he continued, “and we’ll have to ask him about the... situation in the photos.
Do you think you can take care of that?”

Ranpo could certainly see why Fukuzawa asked Yosano and him. Yosano had knowledge in
medicine, injuries, and the effect they’d have on a person, being a doctor and all, so she’d be able
to understand the damage done to Dazai. She wouldn’t let up until Dazai allowed her to help and
could actively watch him for any signs of remaining damage, physical or otherwise, which Ranpo
had no doubt there were.

On the other hand, Ranpo would be able to deduce things Dazai wouldn’t say just by looking at
him to fill in the gaps and he could and would call him out on any lies he tried to get passed them,
and promptly inform Yosano. Dazai was a great liar, but even he wouldn’t be able to keep a level
tone when discussing something so painful.

With determination in their eyes, Ranpo and Yosano agreed, “Yes, President!!”

Chapter End Notes

What did you think? Was the pace too fast, too slow? What did you like or hate it? Tell
me what you think!! This is my first time posting something for Bungou Stray Dogs
so I hope I did okay.
 Into the Mafia
Chapter Summary

Realization hit Chuuya like a brick wall. The man in the photographs tortured Dazai in
so many ways and for so long with the sole purpose of eradicating every drop of
emotion Dazai had. Everything that made him human. He wanted to create a weapon.
An emotionless, merciless human weapon, willing to do anything and everything to
achieve any goal he gave it.

Chapter Notes

There are references to the Dazai and Chuuya Fifteen light novel, but nothing too in
detail.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dazai’s mind was completely clear, devoid of all thought but one as he stalked purposefully
towards the Port Mafia, route engrained in him through years of walking these paths, even while so
distracted. After a long while of walking, making it to the other side of Yokohama, he finally
caught sight of the towering black buildings the Port Mafia consisted of.

This is where things would get harder.

There would be hundreds of mafia members in and around the building, making it nearly
impossible to get into the building without a fight. That didn’t matter to Dazai though. He could get
in, and no one would even try to stop him. They wouldn’t even see him coming.

There were many reasons why people had called him the Demon Prodigy. Being able to gain
access into heavily guarded places with no one noticing was one those reasons. He put that skill to
use now.

As Dazai came closer to the building, he slipped passed the mafia grunts unseen, going through
their limited blind spots and ducking out of sight when they came too close to spotting him. He
was noting more than a shadow at the very edge of their vision, gone when they looked and
leaving them thinking it was nothing but a trick of their eyes. Swiftly making it to the front
entrance with his stealth, it was quick and simple work for him to figure out the code used to get in.
With how easy it was for him to break into the Port Mafia’s main base, Dazai would have thought
Mori had gotten careless if he didn’t know that Mori wasn’t really trying to keep Dazai out. He still
had hope Dazai would rejoin him, after all.

Dazai went though the building in a similar fashion. Knowing the building better than almost
everyone else, it was easy for him to slip into lesser used halls and doorways, avoiding the many
grunts attention as he made his way to the top floor Mori had set his office. The higher he went in
the building, the fewer grunts he saw. Instead, he came across higher ranked members. These were
the members who would remember him, the ones who had been here or lived long enough to see
the Demon Prodigy work. Being just one floor down from Mori, Dazai no longer bothered with
stealth.

Dazai almost didn’t see Hirotsu from the corner of his eye, so focused on his task, but he did notice
when Hirotsu stopped Higuchi from confronting him, pulling her behind himself as Dazai passed,
and felt his concerned gaze follow him as he went up another level to reach his destination.

In record time, Dazai came upon the large, looming mahogany doors of Mori’s private study, being
guarded by two beefy Mafia goons in their typical black dress suits. Without even having to pause
in his stride, the men hastily stepped aside, allowing Dazai entrance into the room with no trouble
whatsoever, proving to Dazai Mafia henchmen did, in fact, have survival instincts after all.

Good. He wasn’t in the mood to shoot anyone today. At least not yet. If that sentiment still stood in
a few minutes relied entirely on what Mori had to say for himself.

As the door creaked open onimously, revealing the low lit European-style room, Dazai was greeted
by the sight of Chuuya and Kouyou already in audience with Mori. At the sound of the opening
doors, the three occupants turned sharply to see who dared interrupt them, a reprimand ready from
Chuuya before quickly dying on his tongue when he realized it was Dazai.

And that brought up a hundred different reasons for profanities to spew forth from Chuuya’s
mouth.

“Oi, Dazai, what the hell are you doing here?! How did you even get in here?! There are at least a
thousand people out there that should have stopped you from just waltzing in!!”

The disgust and anger clearly shone in Chuuya’s voice as he stomped menacingly toward Dazai,
only for him to completely bypass Chuuya. He didn’t even throw his usual irritatingly, mocking
look—and why did Dazai’s empty expression bother him so much, why did it feel so wrong now
when it never had before?—at Chuuya as he advanced towards Mori.

As he approached, Mori covertly covered his surprise at Dazai’s unexpected appearance with an
empty smile.

“Ah, Dazai, have you finally decided to accept my offer to rejoin the Mafia and take your place as
an executive?”

He severely doubted it but, well, Dazai always did have the knack of surprising him.

Of all the responses he thought would come from that statement, having an envelope slammed onto
his desk definitely did not make it on the list.

Throwing out his usual caution when dealing with Mori, and without even the slightest inflection in
his voice—matching his blank expression perfectly—Dazai spoke, “What are you planning by
sending this to the ADA?”

Blinking slightly, but maintaining his smile, Mori looked from Dazai’s face to the manila
envelope, and back again. That was a look he hadn’t seen for a long while. Not since Dazai learned
to fake a cheery personality all those years ago.

While still watching Dazai, Mori opened the envelope with deliberate slowness, only looking down
onice he pulled out all of its contents. The smile immediately fell from Mori’s face as he realized
what he held in his hands. He sifted through each photograph carefully, spreading them out on his
desk to see them more clearly. As he did he remembered treating Dazai after each incident,
remembered every injury—all the blood, the wounds, the bruises and burns, every broken bone—
covering his small, shaking form. Mori may have been cruel and merciless, but even he could
never have inflicted such barbarity upon a child.

After thoroughly examining each of the photos, Mori warily peered back up at Dazai, “You know I
never took pictures of this. I was never that callous.”

Undeterred by the admittedly true response, Dazai stood up from his bent position and gazed down
at Mori, “You may not have, but you have all the files of the person who did. You were never
above using tools already at your disposal.”

His voice was little more than a murmur. Soft, but carrying loudly in the silence of the room,
holding everyone’s attention. His eyes didn’t let up for a moment as they lingered on Mori, intent
and focused as only Dazai could manage. Mori could see no anger, no hate, or disdain or even
condemnation in those dull chocolate eyes, and yet it carried such gravity, promising horrible pain
and torment in their dark depths. Normally, Mori would have found this amusing, right now
though, nothing about the situation amused him.

“I had no knowledge of these photos, Dazai,” Mori intoned seriously, assuring Dazai heard and
saw the sincerity in his words, “This is my first time seeing them. I never imagined he enjoyed
taking pictures of... this.”

The revulsion in Mori’s voice as he gesticulated at the images on his desk proved to Dazai the truth
in his words. With that, Dazai had to ponder on who else could have gained access to the photos.

Only one name came to mind.

“Dostoevsky,” the name came out almost in a hiss, the first approximation of real emotion to arise
from Dazai since leaving the agency.

His arms fold thoughtfully and his eyes darkened as he speculated on what plans Dostoevsky
wanted to accomplish from this.

No longer able to contain his discontent from being ignored—not to mention feeling lost, who were
they talking about?—as Mori and Dazai talked, Chuuya marched angrily back towards Dazai,
harshly grabbing his shoulder and turning Dazai to face him. As he did so though, he finally caught
a glimpse of the subject of their discussion. All hot anger fled Chuuya’s veins immediately, the
color draining from his face, as it instead filled with ice cold horror. He reached out a hand and
shakily grabbed a photo from Mori’s desk, bringing it up to his face to examine it closer.

The image disturbed him. In more ways than he could describe. Even more so because he realized
right off the bat the young child—no older than five–was, in fact, Dazai. He had never known
Dazai to show any sort of pain or fear before. He could be shot, stabbed, kicked and punched and
all he would do in return was mock and smirk. He wasn’t doing that here.

Not at all.

Here, Dazai screamed and cried. He struggled to escape the ironclad hold of steel chains as a man
at least in his sixties scorched the flesh of his arms and back with a blowtorch. The skin bubbled
and blistered, turning a raw pink from the flames as they licked at the soft muscle hidden beneath.
The chains around his thin wrists blazed an angry red under the unrelenting heat, no doubt melting
onto the skin it encased.

“Dazai, what... is this?” Chuuya’s tongue felt numb as he spoke, making it difficult to form words,
“This... this is you. What are these?! And who is that man?!”
His head shot up to stare at Dazai’s face as he yelled, paying no attention to Kouyou’s sharp gasp
and hasty back-step as she caught sight of the man Chuuya mentioned in the photograph from over
his shoulder, a long forgotten fear shining in her azure eyes.

Dazai’s eyes flickered to the picture briefly then met up again with Chuuya’s, confusion flitting
through his still dull chocolate orbs before clearing again in realization, “Ah. I had forgotten you
did not have the pleasure of meeting Him.”

Something about the way Dazai said that sent red flags flashing through Chuuya’s mind and his
eyes narrowed suspiciously. Just who was this man, to be able to hurt Dazai this way and still leave
him afraid after all these years?

“What do you mean by that? Just answer the damn question already! How could you not tell me
about this, Dazai?!” In his anger, Chuuya waved around the photo violently, and in the process
gave Dazai a slight glimpse of writing on the back.

Completely forgetting Chuuya’s questions, Dazai snatched the photo from his clenched fist and
turned the photo to the back for a better view of the writing. A single word was written there. Not
much to go on, but if this photo had writing on it, then chances were the others did too.

“Dostoyevsky left messages on these photos. He wants me to puzzle it out, the bastard,” Dazai said
as he turned back to Mori’s desk, studying the photos again. He flipped a few over and saw that
each photo only had one word, just like the first.

Now to figure out what order to put them in...

Staring at the photos, Dazai noticed that Dostoyevsky made sure to get photos of every year the
torture went on. “He wants me to put it in chronological order...” He spoke more to himself than
the occupants of the room as he went about moving photos into the right age groups. The tricky
part now would be organizing the photos of the same year into the right order.

Unfortunately for Dazai, he remembered that all too well.

As he arranged the photos, Kouyou watched with morbid fascination, trying to keep herself from
shaking as over and over again, she saw the man that had ruined all chance of her living in the
light,“You remember the exact order these things happened to you?”

Not looking at her, Dazai’s hand trembled the slightest bit as he put down another ghastly photo,
“It’s hard to forget when this is all I knew for years.”

Silence descended upon the room at those words, nobody knowing what to say.

Chuuya watched as Dazai placed photo after photo onto the desk. Next to the photo with the
blowtorch, Chuuya saw Dazai locked in a cage too small for him to fit comfortably in. He curled
tightly into himself, trying to make more room in the tiny space, but even doing that did little to
ease the pressure of the bars digging into his flesh. He looked severely malnourished and had
angry burns on his skin that hadn’t yet healed, identical to the ones in the previous photo.

Those pictures were taken relatively close together then...

Looking at each of the photographs with a critical eye, Chuuya noticed something odd. For one,
they seemed to alternate between physical and psychological torture, if the first two pictures were
any indication. Next, as Dazai aged through the photographs—six or seven photos for each year—
less and less pain and emotion showed on his wan face. When Chuuya’s eye finally fell on the
images of Dazai at fourteen, no emotion of any kind could be found. Even when the torture
methods grew harsher—if that were even possible at this point—and, in some cases, Dazai looked
to be close to his death bed, he didn’t show the slightest hint of pain. He just took it all with the
empty expression he wore now.

Sickening realization slammed into Chuuya like a brick wall. That was the intention all along. The
man in the photographs tortured Dazai in so many ways and for so long with the sole purpose of
eradicating every drop of emotion Dazai had. Everything that made him human. He wanted to
create a weapon. An emotionless, merciless human weapon, willing to do anything and everything
to achieve any goal he gave it.

‘A weapon like me,’ Chuuya couldn’t help the thought as memories of research notes and
Arahabaki flash through his mind.

And the scary thing was that it had worked. At least for a while. Until Dazai had defected, leaving
the Port Mafia.

Dazai was amoral at the core. His only reason for being with the Armed Detective Agency rather
than the Port Mafia was due to a promise he made to his dying friend, Sakunosuke Oda. He didn’t
care about good or bad, right or wrong. And now, Chuuya knew why.

Suddenly, a lot of things about Dazai clicked. Why he could be so cruel and ruthless one minute,
only to switch and suddenly be cheerful and friendly. How Chuuya could never tell which face he
showed was the real one and which was just for show. They were all for show.

As he scanned the photos while trying to keep a lid on the growing fury the more he saw,
Chuuya’s gaze froze on a particular grisly photo. Inside a cage—only big enough for a boy of five
feet to lie down in both directions—a ten-year-old Dazai tried to fight off two starving dogs. They
tore at him, ripping deep gashes into the flesh of his legs, arms, and torso with razor sharp teeth
and piercing claws. One of them appeared to have gotten a hold of his shoulder with its strong jaws
and Dazai’s stick thin arm pushed at its face with all his might, still kicking out at the other dog to
keep it from doing the same. On the surface, Dazai looked calm, but his eyes screamed muted
terror.

This picture brought back memories of times he’d seen Dazai interact with dogs and his deep
disdain for them. He always claimed that they were complete nuisances and a waste of time,
foolishly loyal for no reason at all. But Chuuya could tell he was afraid by how he always flinched
slightly whenever one got too close. Chuuya wondered now if Dazai was trying to hide his fear of
the animals or if he simply didn’t realize he was afraid. Chuuya leaned towards the latter theory,
seeing how so out of touch with emotions Dazai seemed to be.

At this point, Chuuya didn’t think Dazai could understand how he felt or even begin to interpret
feelings if he ever experienced them after everything he’d been through. He probably didn’t even
really know his own likes or dislikes.

Chuuya was pulled out of his musings as Dazai finished organizing the photos and began flipping
them over. With that done, he began to read aloud the message they held.

“Fear and pain is all you shall know,

nothing can stop it as it will linger and grow.
Your hollowed out heart shall burst and burn
as old memories begin to swivel and churn.
The broken, empty shell you are
shall be revealed, your mask too weak to bar.
Hollowed out and all alone,
despair will tear you deep to the bone.”

“Well, that’s quite poetic, isn’t it?” Mori says with morbid humor, drawing everybody’s attention
back to him.

Dazai gaze darkened as he focused back on the man in front of him. “How did he get a hold of
these photos, Mori? They were supposed to be locked up.”

Mori dropped all pretense of humor immediately, “I am wondering about that myself. If I didn’t
know these were here, then how did he? This presents quite a problem if the Port Mafia can be
infiltrated with no one stopping it.”

His tone and the way he looked pointedly at Dazai seemed to imply he meant more than just on the
Dostoyevsky front. Indeed, Dazai himself had waltzed right into the building with little to no
resistance, who knew who else has been able to slip past.

“Forget about Dostoyevsky for a damn minute,” Chuuya exclaimed loudly, taking hold of Dazai’s
arm once again, “Dazai, you still haven't told me who that man is!!”

Dazai removed his arm from Chuuya’s hold with surprising apathy and turned to collect the photos
from Mori’s desk. Once he placed them all back into the envelope, Dazai looked directly into
Chuuya’s sapphire eyes with his lifeless hazelnut orbs.

“Does it matter?” He questioned dully, “He’s dead anyway.”

And without a backwards glance, he left the room as abruptly as he had entered.

Chuuya watched Dazai leave through the heavy double doors, growing angrier—and more worried
—at Dazai’s continual evasion of his questions. As soon as the doors clicked shut behind Dazai,
Chuuya turned and yelled at Mori, momentarily forgetting just who it was he shouted at.

“What the hell was that, boss?! Who was the man in those photos?!”

How did he get away with doing that to Dazai, is what Chuuya really wanted to ask, unable to
understand how something like this could happen.

With a raised eyebrow at the usually respectful executive’s tone, Mori indulgently replied, “You
wouldn’t know him, Nakahara, as you joined a year after he already died, but that man is my
predecessor as boss of the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya’s attention immediately snapped to Mori, mind reeling. Quickly regaining his composure,
Chuuya glared at him with such incredulous fury, Mori could almost feel the heat of it on his skin,
“That’s the old boss? That psycho?! He looked completely insane, you saw what he was doing!!”

Rage filled Chuuya as he thought of the old mafia boss, the horrors he inflicted upon the city
during his reign.

Kouyou’s soft voice distracted Chuuya from his anger for a moment and he turned to look at her,
sapphire orbs filled with warring emotions. With her eyes to the floor and hands clasped tightly
together, Kouyou looked uncharacteristically subdued and vulnerable. “You are fortunate to have
joined the Port Mafia after Mori had taken over. There are no words to describe the horror of
Touson Shimazaki’s reign. You saw what he did to the city, but you didn’t see what he was doing
to the mafia. What it was before. There was no limit to his cruelty or his insanity. If he had still
been the boss even now, there would be nothing left of Yokohama but a pile of ash. Still, even for
him, this... I have never seen something so abhorrent. I thought even he was above this kind of
brutality, at least to a child.”

Her vulnerability vanished abruptly, replaced by a thundering rage as her attention focused on Mori
once more, “You knew the boy was being tortured and you never did anything about it?
Toughening him up is one thing, its necessary for survival, but the amount of damage I saw done to
him in those photos is despicable. Even for the Port Mafia.”

Mori leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk, he placed his chin on clasped hands and gave
Kouyou a grim look. “Not to the old boss, it wasn’t. He would go to any lengths to get what he
wanted. You should know that better than anyone, Ozaki, after what happened to you.”

“He was just a child!” Kouyou hissed angrily, not even trying to hold back her roiling temper, both
at the recent revelation regarding Dazai and at Mori’s allusion to her lost love.

“Yes, he was just a child, but he was his child. His very own son.”

Kouyou and Chuuya flinched harshly, as though they had just been slapped across the face. The
temperature in the room seemed to drop abruptly, leaving the occupants chilled.

“...What?” Chuuya haltingly asked, unable to correlate the cruel madman in the photos with the
word father. Dazai’s father, how could someone do that to their own child?!

He had never met this man, but the more he learned about him, the more he was glad he never
would.

“There was nothing I could do, not at that time. I couldn’t say anything either. The boss wouldn’t
have hesitated to kill me if I tried. Even though I was his best doctor. He was very possessive of
Dazai,” Mori stared off into the distance, eyes glazing slightly as he got lost in a memory, “All I
could do was patch him up and when I killed my predecessor, no one ever touched him again. I
made sure of it. But by then, I’m afraid he was irreparably damaged. It made him a good executive
though. Well, until he defected, that is.”

Shadows crept over Chuuya’s blue eyes at Mori’s words and he clenched his fists so tightly, they
would have drawn blood had it not been for his gloves.

“That didn’t stop you from hurting him though, did it?” Coldness clung to his voice and only
willpower and his loyalty to the Mafia prevented him from lashing out at the man.

Mori dismissively waved his hand, as though it was no big deal, “That was completely different.
What I did to Dazai was simply normal mafia training and the occasional punishment for falling
short of expectations or failed assignments. Only a few broken bones here and there. Nothing... too
substantial.”

“You never hurt me for failing,” Chuuya hissed accusingly, mouth curled into a sneer at the last
word, as though they had ever screwed up bad enough Dazai couldn’t fix it with one of his backup
plans.

He hated doubting Mori like this. He was the boss and Chuuya was nothing if not fiercely loyal,
but he couldn’t just push aside Mori hurting Dazai after knowing everything he’d been through.
Everything that had been done to him.

Mori smiled condescendingly at his apparent anger.

“At first, you were new to the mafia. You didn’t know how things worked. So, I gave you an
adjustment period to learn the rules. Afterwards... well, Dazai was in charge of strategies for the
operations and he was very insistent he received any punishments for mistakes. Maybe he liked the
life and fire in your eyes—a fire that had long since left his own—and didn’t want it squandered
by... overly harsh treatment.”

Mori paused before shifting his attention to Kouyou, “And besides you were placed under Ozaki’s
care. And as you know, she’s very protective. She wouldn’t have me laying a hand on you after I
had already delegated your care to her. Isn’t that right, Ozaki?” Mori asked as he looked at Kouyou
slyly, her expression growing cold as ice as the conversation progressed. Mori already had his
hands on one child. She wasn’t about to let him have another.

Chuuya completely froze at this new revelation. Dazai had been protecting him? All those times
Mori only had Dazai stay behind to take the hit for subordinates mess ups, it was because Dazai
didn’t want Chuuya involved? Because Chuuya had Kouyou to protect him?

Chuuya’s mind flashed to moments after assignments didn’t go perfectly as planned. He

remembered seeing the apprehension in Dazai’s lifeless eyes hidden behind a smirk as Chuuya left
the room, wondering again why only Dazai had to take the fall. “And you didn’t think that maybe
those few broken bones only exacerbated the trauma he went through before?!” Chuuya yelled as
he tried to wrap his mind around everything he learned.

“There was nothing I could do that would be worse than what had already been done to him.
Believe me, I would know. I’ve treated every injury he’s ever had in his life. At that time, Dazai
didn’t know what it was not to be in some kind of pain. If I hadn’t done what I did, if I had not hurt
him periodically, he would not have been able to function and then he would have been no use to
anyone, let alone himself.” The way Mori said all this was cold and clinical, showing no amount of
concern or remorse for having continued to torture Dazai.

Chuuya scoffed in disbelief, scowl deepening, “You expect me to believe that? You expect me to
believe you tortured him for his own benefit?! What a load of crap!!”

“It is the truth, Nakahara,” Mori cut in, losing some of his carefully kept patience at Chuuya’s
continued show of disrespect, “When Dazai was first allowed time to actually heal from his
injuries fully without receiving new ones, he came to me thinking something was wrong with him.

“He was ten years old at the time, and it had been weeks since his father last hurt him, opting
instead to focus more on Dazai’s strategy training and game theory. The boss didn’t just want
Dazai to be impervious to pain. He also wanted him sharp of mind. It would be no use to train him
to withstand all types of torture if there was nothing going through his head, after all, and
Shimazaki wanted the perfect weapon. Both in mind and in body before unleashing him into the
mafia. And even then, he only actually joined the mafia at fifteen, a year after his father was dead,
but I digress.”

Mori paused to collect his thoughts, leaning back in his chair. He watched Kouyou and Chuuya
carefully with his almost red eyes, studying their expressions at his words as he continued his
story,

“Usually, the boss would still torture Dazai between strategic lessons to make sure he wouldn’t
cave if someone were to try to get information out of him, but this time was different. This time,
there were no torture sessions. And for the first time, Dazai wasn’t constantly riddled with pain.
And so, a couple days after all his injuries were gone, Dazai showed up at my office and told me
something wasn’t right. I asked what he meant and do you know what he told me?

“He said he couldn’t feel anything. He said something was missing and he felt the hollowness
 within him even more than before. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him and he soon
became hysterical. It was... disturbing, to say the least, to see a child who had endured so much
pain he no longer knew how to show it suddenly be so afraid.”

Chuuya could imagine. He had never seen Dazai so much as falter, let alone break down with fear
as Mori described. He didn’t know what to say and could only stare on as Mori spoke once more.

“I had to slap him in order to calm him down, and as soon as I did, he stopped and looked at me.
He told me that that was the feeling he had been missing. The pain. And at that moment, I realized
Dazai had never been without pain before. Now tell me, Nakahara, how do you tell a ten-year-old
that they aren’t supposed to be in pain all the time?

“How do you tell him the... absence he’s feeling is natural? That he’s supposed to feel like that and
he wasn’t supposed to hurt all the time? He was able to deal with the lack of pain as he went
longer without it, but it would have been detrimental to his mental state for it to just stop. What
would you have had me do?”

“I don’t know,” Chuuya whispered, numb and his face devoid of all color. He knew Dazai was
messed up from the moment he first laid eyes on him, but Chuuya never realized just how messed
up.

Dazai was so damaged, it physically hurt Chuuya to think about it.

“Dazai hates pain, but he also doesn’t know how to live without it,” Mori murmured almost to
himself, but with his eyes locked onto Chuuya, “an interesting paradox, wouldn’t you say,
Nakahara? I wonder how he’s been fairing in the Agency with his... condition. I wonder if he’s had
to hurt himself just to feel some semblance of normalcy.”

Chuuya didn’t want to think about Dazai hurting himself.

He didn’t want to think about Dazai sitting in a dark room, cutting his arms open or scratching
incessantly just to feel something like he’d seen him do so many times.

He didn’t want to think about how broken Dazai was.

“May I leave, boss?” Chuuya finally asked, eyes wide and staring just past Mori’s shoulder. He
needed time to think.

“I don’t see why not. Today has been very tiring and we can continue our business another day.
You are dismissed.”

Chuuya bowed his head slightly in a show of respect before turning to leave the room, not noticing
Kouyou’s worried gaze following after him as his eyes steeled in determination. He needed to find
more information on this and he wouldn’t stop looking until it was in his hands.

If Dostoyevsky could get this information, then so could he.

Chapter End Notes

Touson Shimazaki is the name of a Japanese author I found when looking for a good
name for the old mafia boss. It sort of works for my purposes from what I found, but
I’m not sure at this point how much I will actually use.

There are no set dates for updates, they will come when they come, but I am working
on it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
 Fighting Through Despair
Chapter Summary

Atsushi turned his attention back to Dazai and could only watch as Dazai began to
shiver uncontrollably. Small whimpering noises left his mouth and Atsushi couldn’t
tell if they were due to pain or fear, but the longer it went on the more frantically
Atsushi tried to wake him.

He hated seeing Dazai like this and it scared him more than he would like to admit.
Dazai was always so strong and unfazed by anything. He always had a smile on his
face and a plan to make everything right again.

Seeing him curled on the floor like this, ill and shaking, possibly afraid if the noises
coming from him were any indication, really cemented the terrified child in the photos
and Dazai as being the same person.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dazai spared no glance back as he left the mafia headquarters, his mind so full of conflicting
thoughts, he couldn’t think straight. For once, Dazai didn’t know what should concern him more,
the fact that the ADA—not to mention Chuuya and Kouyou—now knew about the torture he
suffered through as a child, or whatever Dostoyevsky thought to gain from this stunt. Both issues
could prove to be a problem later—though admittedly one of them more deadly than the other—but
both screamed for his attention, tearing at his mind and giving him a pounding headache.

How would he handle this situation? How could he?

The ADA probably wouldn’t leave him alone after this and he couldn’t think about how to counter
Dostoyevsky’s plans when he was trying to placate the Agency’s worry. His thoughts continued to
go around in circles like this until he suddenly found himself outside of his apartment. He hadn’t
even noticed the darkening sky, signifying the end of the workday. He didn't realize he had been
gone that long. Looking around for any sign of his coworkers, Dazai hurriedly unlocked the door to
his room before they showed up. He could not mentally deal with them at the moment.

He opened the door to his dark apartment and stepped inside without bothering to turn on the
lights. Taking off his shoes at the entrance, Dazai made a beeline to the cabinet he kept his sake in,
tossing the manila envelope full of photos onto his single table. Maybe if he was lucky, he would
be able to drink himself to death and not have to think anymore.

Dazai reached his kitchenette and knelt next to the first cabinet on the left. Opening the door, he
pulled out three bottles of sake to start with and moved to sit next to a wall in what would have
been his living room if he had ever bothered to put furniture in it. He pulled the cork out of the sake
bottle before chugging down the burning liquid.

If only he could just stop thinking. Just for a minute, just for a moment. The thoughts wouldn’t
stop. Not only thoughts about Dostoyevsky and the Agency filled his head, but now thoughts of
Father and his bastardized childhood sprung up one after the other. And they just would not stop.
He never wanted to think about this again. Never wanted to remember the horrors he lived through.
It made the hollowness, the sheer emptiness, in him grow to a suffocating level. He was drowning
in it, and so he drowned himself in alcohol, hoping it might somehow fill the void deep inside him.

He drank through bottle after bottle until he couldn’t hold himself upright any longer, collapsing
into a miserable heap on his side. He laid there, eyes blurring at the edges and drooping in
exhaustion, thoughts finally finally muddled enough they didn’t haunt him, and curled into a ball as
sleep overcame him at last.

And in sleep, dreams of his past resurfaced.

Sometimes, when Father finished hurting him, he would let his caretaker comfort him. Not all the
time, only every few days when Father was too busy with Port Mafia business to ‘spend time’ with
him. He would accompany Osamu to Mori’s examination room to get treated and he stayed with
Osamu as he recovered, holding his hand, caressing his hair, and telling him things would be okay.
He was Osamu’s only friend and he thought of him as more of a father-figure than his real father
could ever hope to be. This man, Masao Horiki, never hurt him, never so much as rose his voice to
Osamu, and he was always so gentle with him, in a way Father could never achieve no matter how
much he tried—memories of pain overshadowing all tenderness he displayed when outside of the
torture sessions.

Masao would talk to Osamu. Whispering comforting words into his ear when he hurt the worst and
made sure he was as well as his situation allowed for. And when Father permitted it, he even took
him out to view the city, something he had never seen before. Osamu liked holding his hand when
they did. He liked how safe he felt with Masao and how he didn’t have to be afraid of when he
would inevitably hurt Osamu next like he was with Father. He often found himself wondering why
Masao couldn’t have been his father instead, why he had to be born to Touson Shimazaki when
Masao cared so much more.

Sometimes after a long day, when Osamu could no longer keep his weary eyes open, Masao would
let him sit in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around him protectively, rocking him back and
forth, and Osamu would think that comfort he felt was what happiness must be. It almost brought a
smile to his ever vacant expression and he would bury his face into Masao’s shoulder—taking in
his warmth and the comforting feeling of his large hands running through his unruly locks—and
wish he could stay like this forever. He still had to suffer through ‘training’ with Father, but being
with Masao almost made it bearable. It was the one good thing Father allowed Osamu to have.

He hoped it would always be like that, with Masao by his side. As long as he had someone, just one
person who truly cared about him and didn’t hurt him, Osamu thought he could try to hold on to
life, even if only for a moment.

Months passed and Osamu’s attachment to Masao grew to the point he didn’t want to go anywhere
without his caretaker. It grew harder and harder for him to be with Father, even when he wasn’t
actively hurting him, and he pleaded Father to let him stay with Masao. Promised him he would be
very, very good, do everything he said and bear the torture as quietly and bravely as he could if
only he would let Osamu stay with Masao when he wasn’t training him.

This actually seemed to cause Father pause. He stared at Osamu with his penetrating, dark eyes.

“You want to stay with Horiki?” he asked with his rough voice he tried to smooth out whenever he
spoke to his son.

Osamu nodded frantically in response to the question, hair flopping around his round eyes, “Yes.
Please, Father, please.”

He could see Father’s eyes darken briefly when he said please, and Osamu flinched at his
mistake.

Father did not like it when he begged.

The darkness fled as soon as it entered his eyes, though, and he seemed to consider the idea.

“Very well, Osamu, you may stay with Horiki when I am not training you.”

Something in his eyes should have sent warning bells throughout Osamu’s mind, but he didn’t
notice in his astonishment at his Father’s quick—not to mention surprising—approval.

For the first time, Osamu could feel a warmth begin to fill the emptiness he always had deep within
him. He gave Father a small, shaky smile, the expression awkward from lack of use, “Thank you,
Father.”

He soon found himself in Masao’s arms again, telling him Father had allowed Osamu to stay with
him from now on. Masao ran his hand through Osamu’s hair, ruffling it, and took his hand as he
led Osamu to his new living quarters.

For weeks, he lived with Masao and he had never been so light. The hollowness, while still there—
always there, threatening to swallow him whole into the depths of its nothingness—receded to the
point he could push it to the back of his head temporarily.

They went on more drives, when allowed, and not just to the city, but through parks as well. There
were so many people and Osamu found it overwhelming. He had never seen so many people
before, only really having had contact with Father, Masao, and Mori. When they first left the car
to actually walk around, he didn’t know how to react to the crowds and so he huddled close to
Masao in the hopes it would keep the people at bay, prevent them from touching him.

Soon, Osamu got a little more comfortable in the crowds and Masao took him into some of the
buildings. He would buy him things sometimes, ice cream or other sweets. Osamu found he liked
the treats, especially since he wasn’t given much by way of food in the first place and he marveled
at how they seemed to melt in his mouth.

Then, one day, on a day they usually went on walks, they instead went deeper into the mafia
building.

“Masao,” Osamu asked, his tiny hand enveloped by Masao’s large one as he pulled him along the
corridor, “where are we going?”

Masao didn’t answer and he tightened his grip on Osamu’s hand.

“Ow, Masao, that hurts,” Osamu winced slightly and blinked at the man in confusion, “what’s
wrong? Where are we going?”

When Masao still didn’t answer, Osamu suddenly didn’t feel so safe with Masao after all.

Atsushi worked hard throughout the day, looking through piles and piles of papers for any other
envelopes, any other sign or clue to help them learn more about the situation. The office was in
complete chaos as everyone did the same as Atsushi.
Even as focused as Atsushi was on his task, he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to
Dazai. He had never seen such an expression—or lack thereof—on Dazai’s face before and it
worried him. It didn’t help that Dazai hadn’t come back to the office since leaving earlier in the
day either.

Dazai could be anywhere right now, and Atsushi had the sudden horrible image of Dazai
submerged under a raging river, his body crashing harshly against rocks and water filling his lungs-

“Ah!! There’s nothing here!” Ranpo’s agitated voice brought Atsushi from his morbid thoughts
and he turned to look in the shorter man’s direction

Ranpo was pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “Everything
was done so meticulously and there’s no other evidence to be found! The only thing we have to
look at is with Dazai and who knows when he’ll come back today if he even does! I can’t deduce
anything if there is nothing to deduce!”

Ranpo deflated, plopping down into his seat and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling
dejectedly, and Atsushi’s fist crinkled the papers he held slightly as his anxiety grew.

If Ranpo couldn’t find anything, what help could Atsushi possibly be in this situation? He felt
inadequate and couldn’t stop himself from thinking he was somehow failing his mentor.

“I was really hoping I could avoid talking to Dazai about this. He’s been through enough as it is.
This could... really destroy him,” Ranpo mumbled, loud enough for the now quiet room to hear,
“and maybe, that’s the whole point of this in the first place. Maybe all this was done simply to hurt
Dazai.”

Atsushi tried to think of something encouraging to say, something useful, but nothing came to
mind. Fortunately, Yosano didn’t seem to have that problem. She went up to Ranpo, extracting
herself from the files she sifted through, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a
small smile when his emerald eyes met her violet ones.

“We’ll figure it out, Ranpo. You won’t have to talk to him alone. We’ll do it together and we won’t
let this destroy him. Not when we are here to help. Right?”

She looked around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes before landing on Atsushi’s and, taking in
his nod of determination and renewed hope, turned back to Ranpo.

“We won’t let this crime go unpunished.”

At her words, Ranpo eyes widened in realization, and he abruptly stood up, unwittingly dislodging
Yosano’s hand from his shoulder, and causing Atsushi to drop his papers in shock, “Of course! It’s
so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier! How could I be so stupid?”

Yosano blinked in surprise, allowing her hand to fall back to her side as she asked, “What? What is
it, what did you figure out?”

“Dostoyevsky,” Ranpo had a mildly wild look in his eyes as he gripped Yosano’s shoulders like it
could anchor him to the moment, “it’s the only logical conclusion! He’s the only one who could
accomplish something like this without leaving any kind of evidence and we already know he has
some weird obsession with Dazai since he has to ability to nullify all abilities! And isn’t that
basically what Dostoyevsky wants?! To get rid of all ability users?! Maybe this somehow helps
him accomplish that goal!” He separated himself from Yosano and pulled at his hair angrily, “How
could I have missed this?! I wasted so much of our time! I should’ve thought of this sooner!! How
could I have been so stupid?!!”

Yosano made to refute Ranpo’s self-deprecating statements but was beaten to it by the soothing
voice of the president.

“You are not at fault for this, Ranpo. You are understandably distraught by the situation as we all
are. Do not blame yourself when you have done nothing wrong.”

Fukuzawa’s words were directed at Ranpo, but Atsushi felt they were meant for everyone. They all
blamed themselves for not noticing Dazai’s inner anguish sooner and having to have it literally
shoved right under their noses before they even realized he hid behind false cheer. Atsushi could
tell Fukuzawa himself had some guilt over this, but he would not let that stop him from helping
Dazai, and so Atsushi wouldn’t either.

“Now that we know Dostoyevsky is behind this, we will be able to defend against him better. For
now, go home and get some rest. We will start up again tomorrow and try to get more information
from Dazai.”

“But President-“ Ranpo started to object as he turned to face the president fully, not wanting to rest
now that he actually had a starting place.

“No, Ranpo. We are all exhausted and it won’t do us any good if we try to do anymore. We need
the time to think over this trauma if we really want to help. Go home, you’ll be a lot more useful
after you sleep. This isn’t going to go away in just one night. At least give yourself that,” Fukuzawa
said, voice firm, but eyes soft and understanding.

It pained Fukuzawa to do this as well, but he knew it would be hard for everyone to think straight
when those photos were still so vivid in their minds.

Ranpo opened his mouth to protest again, but quickly thought better of it, and, clenching his teeth,
walked out the door in frustration. One look at Fukuzawa had everyone else follow suit. Atsushi
hesitated for a moment, but when Kyouka pulled on his sleeve, he gave in, leaving the Agency
with Kyouka by his side.

Atsushi and Kyouka walked towards the apartment in silence, neither knowing what to say and not
quite sure how to voice their thoughts either.

Finally, after the silence became too much, Atsushi spoke, “I don’t really know what to do.”

Kyouka turned to him imploringly and he continued, “I’m not smart like Ranpo or a doctor like
Yosano. I’m not even very practical like Kunikida. There isn’t anything I can really do to help
Dazai, but I want to. He saved me when I had nowhere else to go and he gave me this family. I just
feel like I should be able to do something to return the kindness he’s given me. But... I just don’t
know what to do. It’s frustrating.”

Kyouka gazed intently at Atsushi, causing him to shift uncomfortably and scratch the back of his
head, suddenly self-conscious, “...What is it?”

“Isn’t being there for him enough?” Kyouka asked in that soft voice of hers, sweet despite its
tonelessness.

“Huh?”

“You were always there when I needed you. You didn’t do anything special, but you didn’t need to.
Simply having you there, someone I knew cared about me and only wanted to see me happy,
helped more than you could possibly know,” affection filled Kyouka’s cobalt eyes and a small
smile twitched at the corners of her lips, “You saved me in more ways than one. You showed me
that I could live in the light if I wanted to, but most of all you believed in me, and that meant the
world to me. I think the only thing you need to do for Dazai is to be there for him.”

Warmth flooded Atsushi to the very core, tears filling his eyes at Kyouka’s words, ‘I was able to
help someone. Maybe I really am worthy of being alive, after all.’

Looking down at the ground as tears started to fall, he sniffled, “Thank you... Kyouka.”

Kyouka pulled Atsushi into a tight embrace and Atsushi returned her hug, hiding his face in her
hair as he cried, “Thank you.”

They held onto each other until Atsushi’s tears stopped flowing. He pulled away slightly, hands on
her shoulders, and gave her a shaky smile. “We should probably head home now. It’s getting late.”

She nodded, smiling back and they continued on their way.

By the time they got to the Agency apartments, the sun had begun to set. They walked up the stairs
and as they passed door after door, Atsushi paused by Dazai’s. He stared at the door in
consternation before gazing back at Kyouka.

“Do you think Dazai is at home? I’m pretty worried about him. I think we should check on him if
he’s there.”

Kyouka nodded in confirmation before saying, “Yes, I think that is a good idea.”

Atsushi nodded back before knocking on Dazai’s door quietly, “Dazai? Dazai, are you in there?”

He waited for an answer, but when he received none, he knocked once more, “Dazai, it’s Atsushi
and Kyouka, we just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay.”

He still received no response and after waiting for a few minutes with no sound coming through
from the other side of the door, he stepped away, turning back to Kyouka.

“I guess he’s not home yet.”

Atsushi’s expression showed concern, but he said nothing more as he headed towards their shared
dorm. Kyouka made to follow him but stopped as she heard a muted thud from Dazai’s room.

“Atsushi,” she called before he got too far away, “I heard a noise coming from Dazai’s room.”

She placed her hand on the doorknob as Atsushi came back towards her and tried the lock. The
door opened.

They stepped into the room and were greeted by the sight of Dazai curled up on the floor,
unconscious. Empty bottles of sake surrounded him and Dazai knocked them over as he thrashed
slightly like he was fighting off some sort of monster in his nightmares.

Atsushi rushed to Dazai’s side and tried to shake him awake.

“Dazai! Dazai, wake up! Are you okay? Dazai!”

No matter how hard Atsushi shook him, Dazai just would not wake. He tried slapping him to see if
that would get more of a response but to no avail. Looking around as though that would help him,
his eyes settled on the sake bottles surrounding him and he wondered if those were the reason
Dazai would not wake up now.

He turned worried eyes on Kyouka, only to see the expression mirrored on her face. Struggling as
he fought to get the words out, Atsushi finally squeaked out, “Kyouka get... get Yosano. Go get
Yosano!!”

Kyouka wasted no time and swiftly ran out the door to find the doctor. Atsushi turned his attention
back to Dazai and could only watch as Dazai began to shiver uncontrollably. Small whimpering
noises left his mouth and Atsushi couldn’t tell if they were due to pain or fear, but the longer it
went on the more frantically Atsushi tried to wake him.

He hated seeing Dazai like this and it scared him more than he would like to admit. Dazai was
always so strong and unfazed by anything. He always had a smile on his face and a plan to make
everything right again.

Seeing him curled on the floor like this, ill and shaking, possibly afraid if the noises coming from
him were any indication, really cemented the terrified child in the photos and Dazai as being the
same person.

Of course, Atsushi already knew they were, there was no mistaking his face for any other, but it
hadn’t really registered as real. Not until this moment, when the shock of it all had worn out and
became soul-crushing resignation.

Dazai let out another moan, and finally, Atsushi couldn’t take it anymore. He faced the door,
looking for any sign of help. When he saw no one, he began yelling.

“Help! Somebody, please! Dazai needs help!”

What had felt like hours to Atsushi had really only been a few minutes and by the time he started
calling for help, Kyouka and Yosano were only a few feet away from the door. They rushed into
the room, wild expressions on their faces, and were soon followed by Kunikida, who had heard
Atsushi’s shouting.

Yosano’s eyes soon fell on Dazai and she rushed over, slipping in next to Atsushi and gently
pushed him aside to get better access to Dazai. He moved out of the way, instead, standing near the
concerned Kyouka and pale-faced Kunikida to watch as Yosano worked.

Before doing anything else, she cast a cursory gaze over Dazai’s form, scanning for any sign he
had done himself harm. When she saw no blood or any external wound, she started patting him
down to make sure she didn't miss anything. Doing so, she couldn't help but notice the clamminess
of his skin.

’Probably from the alcohol,’ she thought, feeling his forehead and confirming he had a fever.

Looking back at the small group of people still hovering in the room as she worked, she said,
”Check around his apartment, see if there are any empty medicine bottles. We need to make sure
he didn’t take anything else with all this alcohol,” turning her attention back to Dazai as he
continued to shiver with fever, she added, “This could be extremely dire if he did.”

Kunikida, Kyouka and Atsushi immediately ran off to do as Yosano instructed, leaving her to
watch over Dazai. She stroked the hair away from his face as he moaned again and took the time to
really study him. She first noticed his pallor, skin drained of all color except the red on his cheeks
from fever. Yosano then noted the dark circles clinging to the bottom of his eyelids, signifying
many days of sleepless nights and wondered how often he slept in the first place. After what she'd
seen, Yosano wouldn't be surprised if he never slept more than a few hours at a time.

So many concerns filled her head as she watched Dazai and she didn't know where to even start to
begin helping him. These problems have been so deeply buried for so long, Yosano feared they
could never be healed. Not completely.

She wasn't convinced she was the right person to help him, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

Soon enough, Kunikida, Atsushi and Kyouka returned to the room.

”There wasn't anything else in his apartment, just the alcohol,” Kunikida informed her, the first
thing he said since seeing Dazai in this state.

”That's good then, we would have had to take him somewhere with medical equipment if he had
taken any drugs. As it is, it doesn't look like Dazai was trying to kill himself. This time, at any rate.
He just drank until he passed out. Luckily he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning in the process,”
Yosano carefully untangled her fingers from Dazai's hair and stood to better address the other
occupants in the room, "We should probably have someone stay with him though, just in case.
Kunikida, can you take Dazai to his room?"

Kunikida nodded and crouched next to Dazai. With a gentleness not usually associated with the
stern man, Kunikida maneuvered his arms underneath Dazai's legs and back, lifting him as gingerly
as he could. He carried Dazai to his room and slowly placed him on his futon, doing his best not to
jostle his coworker to much. Once Kunikida laid Dazai on the futon, he removed his coat, folding
it up next to his pillow, and pulled the blankets up to cover the fitfully sleeping man. He quietly
left the room and rejoined the others in the living room, where they all sat quietly for several
minutes before anyone spoke.

It was Atsushi who broke the silence, in the end, looking to Yosano as he spoke, “I’ll stay with
Dazai tonight.”

“I will as well,” Kyouka quickly inputted, not wanting to leave Dazai either.

Yosano smiled warmly at the two children, her eyes softening slightly from the worry that had
taken residence there since seeing the photos, “That is a good idea. Check on him every so often
and try to keep his fever down. If it gets worse, contact me immediately, understand?”

As they both nodded in confirmation, Yosano got up from her knelt position and started picking up
the empty sake bottles, “It might be wise to remove the rest of the alcohol from Dazai’s house as
well.”

Kunikida started helping her with the bottles and together they rid Dazai’s apartment of all its
alcohol. As they cleaned up, Yosano noticed the envelope on the only piece of furniture Dazai had
in his room. She picked it up and, peeking through the top, confirmed it to be the photos. She
quickly tucked it under her arm, knowing Dazai would not willingly give them to her, with the plan
to bring it back to the office.

Soon, all the bottles were cleaned up and removed from the room. Ready to leave now that there
was nothing else left for them to do, Yosano waved goodbye to Kyouka and Atsushi, “Take care of
him for us, I’ll be back to check up on you guys in the morning.”

“We will, thank you, Yosano,” Atsushi said as he waved back, trying to smile through his worry
for his mentor.
 Yosano understood his worry and, honestly, she could feel her own worry eating away at her, but
she pushed it aside to deal with later and said, “Don’t worry, Atsushi, Dazai will be fine. We’re
here to make sure of it.”

Atsushi’s smile became a little more genuine, and Yosano and Kunikida finally left.

As soon as the door closed, Yosano turned to Kunikida, “You’ve been very quiet.”

Kunikida didn’t answer for a moment, but he eventually shifted his attention to Yosano, revealing
his haunted eyes, “I’ve never seen something so devastating. It goes against everything in my Ideal
about how children should be treated, about how anyone should be treated. I can’t fathom how
anybody could be so cruel as to do that to a mere child. Children are supposed to be protected not...
not brutalized.”

His face contorted in angered pain, trying to comprehend how someone could be so callous, so
heartless to another human being. To Dazai. And they didn't notice anything.

Yosano watched Kunikida for a moment, sadness covering her like an unwanted blanket as her
thoughts turned to all the horrors she’s seen in her profession, grip unconsciously tightening on the
envelope under her arm.

“I’ve seen some pretty horrible things done to people who didn’t deserve it. I’ve tried to find some
explanation, some reason for these abuses, but the truth is, sometimes there isn’t a reason.
Sometimes, people are just evil and hurt others simply because they want to. The only thing we
can do is try to counteract that evil with some good of our own. And that’s why I became a doctor.
Despite everything I’ve seen, I still believe that the good in the world outweighs the evil. We just
have to look for it and help when we can. Fight for your ideal, Kunikida, but don’t despair when
something happens to break it.”

Yosano’s words resonated within Kunikida, repeating over and over again until they stuck. Yes,
the world doesn’t always follow his Ideal and bad things happen to good, innocent people, but
maybe... maybe he could be there to help put back the pieces when everything falls apart.

Maybe, he could be there to help Dazai, now that he knew what he hid behind those silly grins and
suicide attempts he had tried—and succeeded—to play off as a joke. Kunikida wouldn’t let himself
be fooled by Dazai’s cheerful masks again. He owed him that much.

Kunikida smiled weakly at Yosano, “Thank you, Yosano, I think that was something I needed to
hear.”

She smiled back at him before looking down at the manila envelope, “I just hope I’ll be able to
help Dazai as well.”

With that Kunikida and Yosano went their separate ways to their rooms, thoughts troubled as they
turned back to their suicidal coworker.

Chapter End Notes

Masao Horiki is a character from No Longer Human. He is actually the friend of the
main character Yozo and he didn’t do anything to help when Yozo’s wife was being
attacked.

Like always, tell me what you think and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! By the way,
does anyone know how Akutagawa refers Chuuya? Does he call him by his first name
or his last? Anyway, thanks for reading!!!
 Shattered Illusions
Chapter Summary

With barely a word to each other, Chuuya and Akutagawa left the record room.
Chuuya had taken the video out of the VHS player, putting it back in the box and
carried the box with him. They walked silently back through the corridors and went
their separate ways as they reached ground level. Chuuya held a firm grip on the box
as he made his way to his apartment, only nodding slightly when someone addressed
him.

Chuuya soon entered his apartment, taking his shoes off at the door before walking
farther into his apartment. He tossed the box onto one of his leather couches, not able
to deal what else it contained at the moment, and headed straight for his bathroom. He
turned on the hot water, not waiting for it to heat up all the way as he stood under the
shower head. He stood there for a long time as the steaming water beat down on his
skin, hands pressed taut against the tiled wall with his head bowed, and pretended he
wasn’t crying for his friend.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The long ride down the glass elevator left Chuuya with a lot of nervous energy he had no way of
alleviating. Even the captivating view of Yokohama through the spotless glass walls Chuuya
usually found so relaxing did nothing to calm his nerves. He kept thinking of all the things Dazai
had hidden from him. All the pain he pushed aside and endured in silence while Chuuya simply
thought Dazai as heartless and cruel. Images of a young Dazai drenched in sanguine pools and
angry scars flared through him and he itched for the comforting drag of a cigarette.

Chuuya let out a long breath as he waited for the elevator to reach ground floor and when it did, he
walked towards the hidden stairs leading to the underground levels where interrogations and
sensitive files were held. Before he made it very far, Chuuya was intercepted by a very frenzied
Akutagawa.

"Chuuya," he said as he came up to Chuuya, seeming like he had run all the way there with his
ever-present scowl planted firmly on his face, "I heard Dazai was here. He infiltrated the base.
Where is he, is he still here?"

"He's not here anymore," Chuuya answered, watching as Akutagawa's expression fell into a deeper
scowl.

Rather than continue on his way, Chuuya stopped to study Akutagawa for a moment, wondering if
he should share what he'd learned with the younger man. Akutagawa had always been deeply
devoted to Dazai; always searching for his approval. Even after Dazai defected, that hadn't
changed.

Chuuya wondered just how deep that devotion went.

Before Akutagawa could storm off in frustrated anger, Chuuya stopped him with a simple question,
"Akutagawa, how would you like to help Dazai?"

Chuuya gauged Akutagawa's expression as he turned back to face Chuuya in shock.

"Help... Dazai? I can... how? How can I help Dazai?" Akutagawa stumbled over his own words as
he tried to comprehend Chuuya's meaning. How could he help Dazai? What could Dazai possibly
need help with? He was Dazai! Untouchable, impervious, powerful Dazai.

Once he got past the shock of the question, Akutagawa stopped and really thought about what
Chuuya asked. If he really could do something to help the man who'd saved his life, then he would
do whatever it took to do so.Wait… narrowing his eyes, he considered the mafia executive, “...Is
this some sort of trick? Are you trying to see how likely I am to betray the mafia?”

“No, there’s no trick, Akutagawa. It’s just an honest question.”

“Then I... yes. Yes, I want to help. What do you need me to do?"

Chuuya let a smile creep onto his face, pleased he had judged Akutagawa correctly and continued
his way towards the lower levels.

"Follow me," he called over his shoulder and Akutagawa followed without another word.

Silence filled the space between them as Chuuya and Akutagawa walked down the stairway and
then through halls they as headed towards another stairway; this one leading to the real entrance of
their underground base. The underground levels had been built in such a way it would be hard to
navigate without prior knowledge of the setup. They didn't want just anyone stumbling into the
place and figuring out what they did here.

The farther in they walked, the louder it became. Several interrogations occurred at any given time
and screaming could be heard every few minutes. Soon, they made it to the lowest—and most
secure—level. Here, they kept all of their records and here they would find Dazai's. How easy that
would be was another question altogether.

Chuuya and Akutagawa entered the large file room and immediately Chuuya started giving
instructions.

"Search through the files and books, Akutagawa, look for anything that mentions Dazai, anything
at all," Chuuya ordered as he went to the closest filing cabinet. Remembering it was Dazai’s father
who would have made the files on Dazai, he added, “It might be under Osamu rather than Dazai.”

Akutagawa paused for a moment before moving to do as Chuuya wanted. He went to the cabinet
next to the one Chuuya searched through before asking, "How will this help, Dazai?"

"I'll tell you when we find what we're looking for," Chuuya murmured distractedly as he sifted
through page after page.

They did this for hours, going through all documents and desperately searching for any mention of
Dazai. So far, they turned up nothing important, only mission reports—detailing all the ways Dazai
had gotten hurt—during Mori's time as boss. There was such a lack of information regarding Dazai
before Mori Chuuya suspected a cover-up. It didn't surprise Chuuya, Dazai's father was the old
mafia boss, he probably wanted to keep what he did a secret, but it did frustrate him. Looking at
Akutagawa and his deepening scowl, Chuuya knew things weren't going well on his end either.

Just when throwing things around in anger started to sound rather appealing, Chuuya found a box
hidden behind everything far back in the room with the name Touson Shimazaki written on it.
Chuuya rearranged boxes and files until the one he wanted was uncovered. He then pulled the box
from off the shelf and lowered it to the floor before rifling through it. The noise drawing
Akutagawa's attention, he came over to Chuuya as he started to search through the contents of the
box.

"Why are you looking through that box? I thought we were trying to find information on Dazai,"
Akutagawa questioned, quiet coughs enunciating his annoyance as his patience wore thin with
hours of fruitless searching.

Chuuya briefly glanced at him before turning his attention back to the box in front of him, "Touson
Shimazaki was the old boss, as well as Dazai's father. If we're going to find any information on
Dazai, it's going to be in here."

Akutagawa stood still for a moment, stunned. He had known Dazai was an important member of
the mafia, anyone could see that just by being in the same room as him for more than a minute. But
the son of the previous mafia boss?! One would think Mori would have tried to kill Dazai in order
to keep his current position, not attempt to bring him back into the fold.

Chuuya continued sifting through the box and as he did so, he found several old journals and tapes,
each labeled meticulously. Picking up the journal closest to him, Chuuya read the title aloud,
"Osamu, Age Five."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Chuuya felt a heavy, ominous weight settle in the pit of his
stomach. He had a terrible feeling he knew what these journals contained. He opened the first page
anyway, needing to know what these journals said almost more than he dreaded it.

He turned to the first page and continued to read it out loud.

"Osamu is now five years old and I believe he is ready for his training to start. I thought long and
hard about how to best protect my son and I have decided that in order for him to be safe, he must
be impervious to everything that can hurt him. He must be able to withstand the harshest of
tortures and so I will torture him in a controlled manner until he is desensitized to pain. No one
will get to him through torture, no matter the kind they try to invoke.

Hunger is always a pressing ailment, always at the back of your mind, eating away at you until you
give in to it. It is a stain that will only bring about pain and weakness. I will start his training there
and he will learn to endure it. Endure it until he can no longer feel the agony of hunger. In order to
do that, I will starve him. He needs to be unaffected by hunger and so he will have to get used to
the gnawing feeling. Osamu will starve until he no longer feels the need to eat, and is no longer
controlled by its tempting call, and only then will he finally be free. It may take years to
accomplish, but it needs to be done. For Osamu's sake."

Chuuya's voice trailed off at the end of the entry, horrified and disturbed beyond measure. He felt
himself becoming sick just from reading one entry; he couldn't imagine how bad the others would
be. Chuuya saw the pictures, he didn't need to read about a madman's justification on why he did it.
Even though he probably should continue to read the journals if he wanted to know more about
what had been done to Dazai, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now.

Akutagawa didn't have the same reservations as Chuuya and when it became apparent to him
Chuuya would not continue reading, he snatched the book from his hands. With the journal now in
his possession, Akutagawa rapidly flipped through the pages, only stopping when he reached the
last fourth. With an odd expression on his face, one of fearful denial and angry disbelief, he read
more of the journal, hoping to prove he hadn't read what he thought he had.
"It has been months now since I have allowed Osamu into the care of Masao Horiki. Months for
him to develop a deep attachment to his caretaker. He believes Horiki cares for him, even loves
him. Perhaps it had been a mistake to allow Horiki into Osamu's life originally. The only contact
he had with other people before now was Mori, and Horiki has corrupted Osamu with false love
and tenderness, but this will end up being a good lesson for him, I think. I have allowed this
interaction simply to show Osamu no one cares about him. No one loves him. No one can except
for me. He will see how easily Horiki will turn on him and how he will not hesitate to torture him if
ordered. He will see how little it bothers Horiki to hurt him and he will know only I will ever truly
love him. Never again will Osamu be tricked by the so-called kindness of others. I will record the
results of this experiment on video."

As Akutagawa finished reading in a shaky voice, Chuuya numbly searched through the box. The
journal said something about a video... There were many videos mixed with the journals and files.
As he fished through the box to find the right video, his hand brushed against more photographs.
Reluctantly, he picked them up, quickly looking them over. He noticed that these were the exact
photos he had seen in Mori's office earlier. This paused all thoughts on the video for the moment as
he thought about the implications of this. How could these pictures be here if they were currently
in Dazai's possession? How could there be two sets of the exact same pictures? He doubted a man
like Shimazaki would make copies as these seemed to be for personal use and they were pretty
heavily guarded in the basement of the Port Mafia It just wasn't plausible...

Chuuya's train of thought derailed as a sharp intake of breath sounded behind him.

'Damn,' Chuuya thought, quickly turning to see Akutagawa's rapidly paling face, 'I forgot he hasn't
seen these before.'

"Akutagawa," Chuuya started slowly as he stood to fully face the younger man, "are you okay?"

Akutagawa grabbed the photos from Chuuya and didn't respond as he continued to look wide-eyed
through them, growing more and more devastated as he went. His hands started to shake. He was
not sure what emotion he's experiencing, but he knew he couldn't think straight. He felt like his
world was falling down around him and he didn't know how to stop it. The more he found out
about Dazai, the worse everything became. The amount of sheer agony he saw on his mentor's face
in these photos crushed him more than he could fathom, bringing up his own painful memories of
life before Dazai saved him. Before he could get lost in his spiraling emotions, a hand on his
shoulder grounded him to the present, reminding him Chuuya had been trying to get his attention
for the past five minutes.

"-gawa, snap out of it!" Chuuya shook his shoulder firmly, trying to get his attention.

When he noticed Akutagawa's attention focused back on him, he asked again, "You okay now?"

Akutagawa nodded shakily, handing the photos back to the executive as he tried to calm himself
down by pretending it never happened. With a hoarse voice, he asked, "Did you find the video?"

Chuuya stared at Akutagawa for a moment longer, determining if he should keep pushing or just
drop it before deciding he could deal with it later. Right now, he had a task he needed to
accomplish and he couldn't afford to get distracted anymore. "Not yet," he told the younger man,
pretending he didn't notice his still pallid complexion. He felt for the younger man, he really did,
but he needed to do this now. They could process it later.

He knelt next to the box once again and put the photos back where he found them before going
through the videos once more. It disturbed Chuuya at just how many videos he found in the box.
Videos he knew contained all the many horrible ways Dazai had been tortured.
Finally, after digging through dozens of journals, files, and videos he found one he thought
promising. This video was labeled Osamu: Horiki Experiment and since that had been the name of
the man in the entry, Chuuya thought it must be the right one. He was almost afraid to watch it,
knowing that nothing good would come of it, but he had already come this far and he couldn't turn
back now, no matter how much he wanted to.

"You see a VHS player in here? This thing is old," Chuuya waved the video as he gazed back at
Akutagawa, cocking an elegant eyebrow.

They both moved to the shelves and there they found an old television and a VHS player. They
quickly set it up and plugged in the video, sitting in quiet apprehension as they waited for the
video to play.

The video started with a pitch black room, only coming into focus after the camera had a chance to
adjust to the darkness and reveal a red glow somewhere in what Chuuya thought was the middle of
the empty room. Silence encompassed the dark room, creating an eerie atmosphere Chuuya
couldn't explain and screamed with bad vibes. The red light intensified and illuminated the door
directly in front of the camera, back around 25 feet from where the camera stood. In the darkness,
Chuuya thought the room empty until he caught sight of movement at the side of the camera and
he realized someone was actually in there. He quickly recognized Touson Shimazaki and
immediately an angry scowl made its way onto his face. And then he heard a voice from the other
side of the door.

"Ow, Masao, that hurts," the voice was soft and dulcet in a way only a child could achieve.
Chuuya could hear an innocence to it he knew was taken from him far too soon, "what's wrong?
Where are we going?"

Shortly following the young Dazai's question, the door opened, revealing a man in his mid 30's. He
measured to around 6'0" and had short brown hair. As he walked into the room, a little boy
followed in after him. He had a thinness to him that showed Shimazaki had kept to his earlier plan
of starving his son. Dazai was so small, so tiny Chuuya feared the man named Horiki would break
him just by the tight hold he had on his fragile little hand.

Horiki dragged Dazai in the room behind him. Chuuya watched as the boy stumbled, trying to keep
up and looking around the empty room. He stopped his cursory of the room when he spotted his
father and he froze all movement altogether. On the screen, Dazai stared at the cold, unsympathetic
face of his father and watched as he nodded towards Horiki. Chuuya saw the confused panic on
Dazai's face as he guessed the nod his father gave meant nothing good.

"What... what are we doing here?" His voice trembled slightly as he faced his caretaker and he
started pulling his arm, trying to get Horiki to let go of him, "Why did you bring me here, Masao? I
thought we were going out, it's not time for my training yet. Why are we here? Let me go, you're
hurting me! Masao!"

Dazai's voice became more panicked as he spoke and his words started to mesh together with the
speed he continued to spew them out, almost to the point they were too fast for Chuuya to
understand clearly. Masao didn't let up, however, and he proceeded to drag Dazai until he stood
near the red light, under the watchful eye of Shimazaki.

Suddenly, fluorescent lights snapped on overhead, chasing away the shadows and showing the
contents of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the abrupt change in lighting, Chuuya realized that
the room wasn't as empty as he originally thought. He saw a paraphernalia of tools on the ground
near Dazai: pliers, mallets, knives, even a red hot poker placed over the burning coals in a fire pit
he had somehow failed to identify as the source of the red glow. Dazai's attention immediately
went to the objects on the floor and he started his struggling anew, trying to escape the man he
thought cared about him.

"Please, Masao, what are you doing?! I don't want to do this! Let go! Please, let me go!" His voice
cracked as tears started to form at the back of his eyes, but he appeared to ignore them as he tried to
pry Horiki's hand off of his wrist with his other tiny fist.

His attempts were abruptly put on hold, however, as Horiki backhanded him, temporarily ceasing
all struggle from the small boy. Dazai stood, shaking, completely shocked at the treatment.

Chuuya guessed Horiki had never raised a hand against him before and was trying to figure out
what had changed. He had to clench his fists until they drew blood to stop himself from smashing
the TV down to dust. This video did nothing to quell the mounting rage building deep inside him,
but he forced himself to watch it anyway, all the while glaring at the screen. He could only
imagine how Akutagawa was fairing at the moment.

"Proceed, use whatever you wish on him," Shimazaki commanded, gesturing toward the tools on
the ground and drawing Chuuya's attention back to the events on the screen.

Following the order, Horiki made use of Dazai's sudden stillness and removed the boy's shirt,
revealing bandages already wrapped around his small frame. Dazai’s shaking increased and tears
fell faster down his face. His expression was one of resignation and it looked as though he knew
what would happen next, and still, no sobs or sounds of any kind escaped the boy. Next, Horiki
unwound the bandages, exposing still healing burns on his arms and back, and abruptly, Chuuya
determined this must have happened relatively close to the blowtorch photo.

'They didn't even give him time to heal,' Chuuya seethed and if he gritted his teeth anymore, he
just might break them.

Soon, all bandages were off and Horiki forced Dazai to his knees as he reached for the poker. The
next thing Chuuya knew, his ears rang horribly with the screams of agonizing pain as Horiki
pressed the poker onto Dazai's tiny back. It covered the entire width of his skin and Chuuya
watched, aghast, as he lifted the poker and placed it on him again.

He did this over and over until every inch of Dazai's back boiled red above already angry burns,
intensifying and building on top of them rather than replacing. Dazai's screams echoed through
Chuuya's head: pleading for Horiki to stop, begging him for forgiveness, apologizing for angering
him and asking what he had done wrong, as though this could somehow be his fault.

Just when Chuuya thought it couldn't get any worse, Horiki placed the poker back into the fire pit
and instead grabbed the mallet from off the floor. He turned back to Dazai—bent over completely
now and trying to hold himself up with his thin arms as sobs shook his entire frame. He stepped
closer to the boy and raised the mallet high above his head before slamming it down onto the
fragile bones of Dazai's left shin. The crack of bone and splay of blood sounded loudly in the room
before being entirely eclipsed by Dazai's baying shriek. It encompassed all other sound, both in the
video and within Chuuya's head. He watched Dazai drop onto his side, cradling his damaged leg to
his chest as he wailed in pure anguish.

Horiki made to strike him again with the heavy mallet, but Shimazaki stopped him with a raised
hand before approaching Dazai. He knelt next to the suffering boy before gently gathering Dazai
into his arms, shushing him softly as he did.

"Now, now, Osamu. I've got you," He petted Dazai's hair, rocking slightly in what Chuuya thought
was supposed to be comforting, "see, didn't I tell you? You can't trust anyone but me, my precious
Osamu. Only I truly care about and love you."

After what felt like forever, Dazai began to quiet as he grew used to the intense pain and Chuuya
could literally see his eyes dull slightly, losing some of the light from what remained of his
innocence. He could see the tenseness of Dazai's shoulders as Shimazaki held him and knew he
found no comfort in the man's touch.

"Everyone will betray you, torture you, at just an order from me. They wouldn't even think twice
about it, Horiki didn't. He was all for it, excited even. He was never your friend, Osamu, and he
doesn't care about you. Just look at him."

Chuuya turned his attention to Masao Horiki and he saw that Shimazaki was right. Horiki looked
like he enjoyed what he had just done to a child, a toddler. He had a sick gleam in his eyes, as
though he craved for the next time he could hurt Dazai. That bastard had pretended to care about
Dazai simply so that it would hurt more when he betrayed him. Looking back at Dazai, he could
tell Dazai saw the same thing in the man as Chuuya did. And it crushed him to the core.

Shimazaki spoke again, trying to make his voice soothing, but only succeeding in making it
sickening instead, "There is no such thing as friends in this world. People will pretend. They will
try to trick you, try to get close, but you must not fall for it. It will only hurt you, in the end, my son.
The only way to prevent this is to hurt them first."

At these words, Shimazaki pulled a gun out of his clothes and shot Horiki right in the forehead.
Dazai screamed, reaching for Horiki in desperation, but being held back by the arms of his father.

Sobs renewed, Dazai turned back to his father. He clutched his sleeve, and with a broken voice
asked, "Why, Father, why did you kill him?! He did what you told him to do, so why?"

Dazai's father caressed his sweat-soaked hair once more and smiling a true smile, as messed up as
that was in this situation. He simply replied with, "I killed him because he hurt you, Osamu. No
one hurts you and gets away with it."

With that, Shimazaki picked up his broken, sobbing child and left as the video faded to black.

Chuuya sat as still as he could, breathing through his nose slowly as he worked to calm himself
down, both from the rage and the disgust he felt after having watched that video. It had been worse
than Chuuya imagined. Letting your son grow attached to someone only to crush that trust and love
by having him tortured by that very person was beyond heartless, and frankly, it explained Dazai's
aversion to letting anyone close. He always kept people an arm's length away emotionally, you
could see it in the way he treated people. Even when he wasn't being actively cold, you could
always feel a distance when he talked to you, like he had a shield around his heart and he wouldn't
open it for anyone.

That's what had always frustrated Chuuya so much about Dazai. He just wouldn't let Chuuya be his
friend. His partner in his many plans, yes, but not his friend. Whenever he got too close to cracking
that shield he hid behind, Dazai would pull away and do something to piss him off, making him
forget that he actually wanted to be his friend in the first place.

Even with all his flaws, and despite half the time he truly wanted to kill him, Chuuya liked Dazai
and it frustrated him to no end that Dazai kept pushing him away. Especially since he knew Dazai
liked him as well. He could see it in his eyes whenever they bickered. A little light sparked in his
dim brown orbs, making him look just a little bit alive.

And now Chuuya knew why.

Dazai, even if only on a subconscious level, feared Chuuya, or anyone else he let close, would hurt
him like Masao Horiki. And seeing how he had been isolated for most of his life, only having had
contact with three people, all of whom had hurt him, he had no way of knowing there were people
who wouldn't. He protected himself in the only way he knew how, by withdrawing. Hell, with all
the torture he'd been through, he probably feared all kind of human interaction and not just the
emotional kind.

As he thought on it, Chuuya realized Dazai never really liked to be touched either. He would step
out of the way when someone tried to place their hand on his shoulder or, if he didn't react fast
enough, he would break contact as soon as it would seem natural to do so. And sometimes, Chuuya
thought he would see him flinch, but he always just passed it off as his imagination, thinking Dazai
had no reason to hate being touched. Dazai would also never initiate any physical contact unless he
wanted to intentionally piss someone off, preferring to keep his distance and found any excuse not
to touch anyone.

Dazai had all these glaring problems Chuuya had never realized before and he hated himself for
missing them. Most of all, he hated Shimazaki.

The worst part of all of this was Shimazaki's motivation for hurting Dazai.

Chuuya had thought Shimazaki was trying to create a killing machine out of Dazai, trying to torture
the human out of him and make something monstrous, but after reading those journals and
watching that video, Chuuya realized he did it out of some twisted sort of love. He genuinely
believed he was helping Dazai by what he did and, somehow, that just made everything so much
worse.

Chuuya could understand it if he tortured Dazai to create a weapon he could later use, but for him
to torture Dazai because he thought it would protect him? That, Chuuya could never hope to wrap
his mind around. It sickened Chuuya to think about how twisted, how inherently wrong, a person's
mind had to be in order to come up with an idea so messed up. At this point, Chuuya was more
surprised about how sane Dazai came out of it all.

While Chuuya dealt with his emotions, Akutagawa had his own he needed to work through. Before
today, Akutagawa thought Dazai was invincible and couldn't be seriously hurt. Sure, Dazai always
seemed to be injured in some way back when he had been part of the mafia, but that never stopped
him. It didn't even seem to slow him down. He would continue training Akutagawa just as harshly,
just as cold as he always did. Before, he would have murdered anyone who even suggested that
Dazai wasn't as invulnerable as Akutagawa believed.

Now though... now he knew Dazai had been hurt, maybe even irreparably. Now that he knew what
had happened to his mentor, the damage he suffered showed clearly in Akutagawa's own training.
What Akutagawa saw as severe, unforgiving, insurmountable training, Dazai saw as merciful. He
wasn't trying to be cruel to Akutagawa. He wasn't even really trying to hurt him. He was simply
training him in the only way he knew how. And to Dazai, who lived through torture for years
while being told it was training, it had been the best he could do.

Dazai thought training had to be mindlessly cruel like his had been, but even with that limited
knowledge of training, he still treated Akutagawa better than he had been treated himself. At least
with Dazai's training, Akutagawa actually had a chance to avoid pain and learn what Dazai had
been trying to teach if he had only listened, even if it was slim. And it had never been as harsh as
what Akutagawa just witnessed Dazai going through. Not even close. From what Akutagawa had
learned of his mentor's life, he never even had that much.

With how often Dazai talked about suicide and all his many failed attempts, Akutagawa had
 assumed it must have been a joke. Someone as capable and cunning as Dazai would have been able
to kill themselves by now if they really had meant it and yet here Dazai remained. He had never
been there for any of Dazai's real attempts, hadn't seen the aftermath of them or the desperation in
Dazai's eyes when he realized he had survived them, and so he didn't know just how serious he had
been. But he knew for certain that someone couldn't go through something like what he had seen
and not have serious issues after it. It made him think that, maybe, Dazai really did want to die and,
for whatever reason, he just couldn't manage to.

None of this excused what Dazai had done to him. None of it made it right, or even okay. It still
had been cruel and unfair and there were many ways Dazai could have done things differently to
teach Akutagawa to control his ability without the abuse. But it did explain it and now Akutagawa
understood Dazai's reasoning and knew he simply did not know any better.

It was a strange thing to think about his mentor, but it was the truth, he hadn't known better. He
hadn't known what he did to Akutagawa was wrong and that wasn't really his fault. Dazai had been
horribly abused and didn't know some basic, fundamental things that were obvious to everyone
else, but he still had to live with the consequences of that, just like Akutagawa did. And maybe,
with this new knowledge and understanding, Akutagawa could begin to forgive the harsh treatment
he had received at the hands of his savior. He could try to forgive the abuse, but nothing would
ever justify it.

With barely a word to each other, Chuuya and Akutagawa left the record room. Chuuya had taken
the video out of the VHS player, putting it back in the box and carried the box with him. They
walked silently back through the corridors and went their separate ways as they reached ground
level. Chuuya held a firm grip on the box as he made his way to his apartment, only nodding
slightly when someone addressed him.

Chuuya soon entered his apartment, taking his shoes off at the door before walking farther into his
apartment. He tossed the box onto one of his leather couches, not able to deal with what else it
contained at the moment, and headed straight for his bathroom. He turned on the hot water, not
waiting for it to heat up all the way as he stood under the shower head. He stood there for a long
time as the water turned from frigid to steaming, relentlessly beating down on his skin. His hands
pressed taut against the tiled wall with his head bowed and he pretended he wasn't crying for his
friend.

Chapter End Notes

Just so everyone is clear, I do not condone what Dazai did to Akutagawa. It was
wrong, even if he didn't know any better. By the way, do you think I should up the
rating? Is this too violent for a T rating? I hope you enjoyed and please, tell me what
you think!
 Passed the Point of Exhaustion
Chapter Summary

Dazai barely held back a flinch as she said “care”. Every time he heard the word, he
couldn’t help but think back on Father and how he “cared” about Dazai. He knew
Kyouka and Atsushi would never hurt him—wouldn’t ever want to hurt him—but the
dark flash of... something flared up within him anyway. It wasn’t a comfortable
sensation and he didn’t like the way it crept up on him, coiling tightly around his heart
and strangling all breath from his chest.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dazai awoke feeling sluggish, his body heavy, and experiencing a massive headache. He laid there,
completely still, and waited for his mind to clear. It took him a while before he became fully aware
of himself—a lot longer than he would have liked—and even then a fog still clung persistently to
the edges of his consciousness, causing his thought processes to be agonizingly slow. He wasn’t
sure if that was a good or bad thing yet, considering yesterday’s events.

That was, perhaps, why Dazai only now felt the weight of two heavy somethings on either side of
him. He spent a moment trying to figure out what they could be, but nothing came to him as he
tried to get his brain to work properly.

Well.

That sucked. It looked like he was going to have to use his eyes after all. Joy. He had been hoping
to avoid that for a long while. His eyes were going to hate him for this

Just as he thought, as soon as he opened his eyes light attacked retinas, temporarily blinding him
with its brightness and causing the pain in his already pounding head to intensify. He quickly
closed his eyes again, suppressing a moan before trying again more cautiously. After several
attempts, Dazai finally managed to keep them open for more than a few seconds and shifted until
he could see what laid on his arms.

White invaded his vision and for a moment Dazai thought his headache had decided to mess with
his vision again. Blinking a few times, he realized the whiteness was in fact hair. Atsushi’s hair to
be exact.

‘What’s Atsushi doing in my room?’ Dazai thought after a moment of staring before turning to look
at his other side to find Kyouka lying there.

Both of them were fast asleep and curled around him as though he were their favorite teddy bear.
As he laid there, confused and bewildered, he felt their body heat seeping into his skin already
clammy skin and suddenly he was suffocating. Dazai shifted under his covers, trying to maneuver
them off of him and untangle himself from the two children without waking them up. Things did
not go as planned and when he so much as twitched one of his arms, both teens shot up like they
were struck by lightning.
They quickly looked around the room to see what had awoken them before their attention fell on
Dazai and immediately noticed that his eyes were open.

“Dazai! Are you alright? How do you feel?” Atsushi fired off in quick succession, eyes filled with
concern and anxiety.

Kyouka wasn’t much better. She looked so worried, her eyes glimmered with forming tears. Dazai
wasn’t prepared for their overt concern and he was at a loss of what to do. Emotions were
definitely not his strong suit—seeing as he didn’t experience any emotions himself—and he had no
knowledge of what to do with the teary emotions directed at him now. If Kyouka started to cry he
didn’t know how he would deal with it; he couldn’t even help Atsushi when the headmaster of his
orphanage died.

In an attempt to appease their concern, Dazai forced himself to sit up through the heaviness of his
limbs, being careful to hide his discomfort, and faked a broad, undisturbed grin, “I’m completely
fine, no need to worry, see?”

They didn’t look convinced at all and gave him a rather unimpressed look as they watched him
with discerning eyes.

Instead of acknowledging their doubting stares, he adopted a puzzled look he did not feel and
asked, “What are you two doing in my room anyway, hm? You have a perfectly good room next
door, I believe.”

Atsushi and Kyouka shared a look before turning back to face Dazai as Atsushi addressed him,
“We came to check on you last night after... well. You know. We tried knocking on your door and
when you didn’t answer we figured you weren’t home yet. We were about to go to our own rooms
when Kyouka heard a noise. Your door was unlocked so we came in and you didn’t look very
good. We couldn’t leave you alone so we decided to stay here to make sure you were okay.”

Dazai guessed as much, he did end up drinking a lot and if he looked as bad as he felt, he couldn’t
really blame the two for their worry, as unnecessary as it was.

“Well,” he started, smile softening into something closer to real than his earlier grin, “that was
very kind of you, but I only drank too much. There really wasn’t a need for you to spend the night
here and you really don’t need to stay here any longer. I’m fine-“

The sudden wave off dizziness belied the truth of his words as he found himself nearly toppling to
the floor, only being stopped by the hands of Kyouka and Atsushi. His headache reminded him of
its presence as it flared to life, causing nausea to rush through him. He pressed his hand tightly
over his mouth and clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to vomit on poor Kyouka as he slumped
wearily against her.

“You are not fine and we are not leaving you alone until you feel better,” Kyouka stated with such
conviction and firmness, Dazai knew nothing he said could change her mind.

Dazai could only nod in resignation as both teens helped him lay back down on his futon. Lying
down like this eased the ache of his head and did wonders for calming his rebelling stomach, but
he didn’t like the vulnerability of the position; didn’t like being vulnerable in front of the children
he worked so hard to protect.

Once he was situated, he opened his eyes again just in time to see Kyouka wring out a wet cloth
and place it over his forehead. He reached for the cloth and opened his mouth to ask about it, but
Kyouka beat him to it.
“You still have a slight fever, this will help.”

Huh. Now that she mentioned it, Dazai did feel feverish. It was extremely hot in here and because
of his already mentioned discomforts, he had simply attributed it to drink, but a fever made much
more sense. He found it odd he hadn’t realized it earlier, but then he was never very good at
determining when he was ill. He usually pushed through it regardless; he couldn’t really afford not
to in the Mafia and with Father .

It took him a moment to notice Atsushi had been talking to him and when he did, he looked
quizzically at Atsushi, and blinking in an attempt to focus, intelligently replied with, “What?”

Atsushi furrowed his brows, worry flooding back into his eyes as he leaned towards Dazai, “I
asked if you were hungry.”

Was he hungry? Dazai thought about it, but he couldn’t really tell. It had been a long time since he
had been able to feel hunger, almost 12 years now. Ever since his Father decided to rid him of the
‘crippling sensation’ all those years ago, he could honestly say he hadn’t been hungry in a way he
could feel. His body still needed food, of course, but he often forgot and went days without eating.
The only reason he even remembered to eat at all was because his stomach would growl angrily
when he went too long without and he would start to feel fatigued and dizzy.

Dazai tried to remember the last time he ate, but he simply couldn’t recall, no matter how much he
thought on it. Dazai knew he should eat, knew he needed to if he wanted to continue to function,
except he couldn’t help thinking it was pointless. Why waste good food on someone who wanted to
die anyway? However, one look at Atsushi, his face expectant and filled with the need to help, and
Dazai could not say no.

“Only just a little bit,” he claimed and winced when his stomach decided that moment to give him
away, growling loudly to proclaim its dissatisfaction at being starved.

Atsushi smiled at the noise, getting up off of the floor to head towards the door.

“I’ll go make you something then.”

Atsushi made his way to Dazai’s small kitchenette and quickly found the fridge. He opened it,
expecting to find some sort of food in its confines, only to be greeted by an empty fridge, save for
the sole sake bottle Dazai had failed to drink the night before. He looked around the fridge and
found it strangely clean, almost as though it had never seen use. That couldn’t be possible though,
could it? Dazai had lived here for two years since joining the Agency so he would have had to use
the fridge at some point during that time, right? Atsushi would have thought that Dazai had merely
cleaned the fridge recently except Dazai really didn’t strike Atsushi as the cleaning type.

Atsushi closed the fridge, still crouching in front of it, and looked across Dazai’s apartment. He
once again noted how empty it was. Devoid of anything signifying someone lived here, excluding
the ominous stains that looked suspiciously like blood. His apartment was as empty as his
refrigerator and Atsushi didn’t know what to think about that. He moved on to the cupboard and
draws of the kitchen, hoping to found some source of food within the place, but that too came up
with nothing edible, finding only a few plates, utensils, and cups. Every drawer, cupboard, and
cabinet was bare. Frowning, Atsushi went back to Dazai’s room, the only place within the
apartment that showed someone lived there.

Dazai was still lying down, nodding along as Kyouka spoke to him when Atsushi stepped into the
room. He turned his attention to the boy as he sat down next to him and quickly noted Atsushi’s
troubled expression. Before he could comment though, Atsushi beat him to it.

“You don’t have any food in your apartment.”

Ah. Of course. There wouldn’t be any food in his apartment seeing as how he had never bought
some for himself. When Dazai was part of the mafia, Mori always had someone else buy food for
him and restock his fridge—probably as a subtle reminder to eat more, which he ignored—and so
he never had a need to do it himself. Not that he ate much of the food provided for him in the first
place, but it was there if he ever bothered to look. And if that still didn’t get him to eat. Well…
Mori had other ways of getting food into him. Now, he simply didn’t know what to buy or had the
motivation to buy it. He didn’t know what went into fridges or pantries or cupboards and if he
wasn’t going to eat it, why should he buy it? He could just go out to eat when he remembered he
needed to so why would he need food in his apartment?

Dazai smiled as he once again pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling slightly better now
that he had rested.

“I must have forgotten to go shopping. It’s fine, Atsushi, I’ll just eat later,” he said flippantly,
trying to ward off his concern.

Atsushi didn’t look like he believed Dazai for a minute and even Kyouka was giving him a
skeptical look.

“We have food in our apartment, Atsushi. We can make food with that,” Kyouka offered helpfully
as she kept an eye on Dazai to make sure he didn’t fall like he did last time.

Atsushi’s eyes lit up slightly at the suggestion, and he gave a small smile, “You’re right, I’ll bring
something here and we can make it together.”

After that declaration, Atsushi swiftly left the room, leaving Dazai and Kyouka alone. They sat
quietly for a moment before Dazai decided to break the silence, “Really, Kyouka, I’m fine, you
don’t need to stay here.”

“Yes, we do,” Kyouka bluntly stated as she stared at him with her penetrating blue eyes, “We care
about you so of course we’re going to stay here until you feel better.”

Dazai barely held back a flinch as she said ‘care’. Every time he heard the word, he couldn’t help
but think back on Father and how he ‘cared’ about Dazai. He knew Kyouka and Atsushi would
never hurt him—wouldn’t ever want to hurt him—but the dark flash of... something flared up
within him anyway. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation and he didn’t like the way it crept up on
him, coiling tightly around his heart and strangling all breath from his chest.

He hadn’t realized he spaced out again until Kyouka’s small hand wrapped around his own,
squeezing it in a comforting manner. He noticed then that his hands trembled beneath Kyouka’s
steady ones. When had that started? He lifted his free hand higher in order to see it better and not
understanding as it continued to shake. He clenched his fist in an attempt to get it to stop, but it just
wouldn’t. Soon, that hand too was encircled by Kyouka’s gentle touch, drawing his attention back
to her searching gaze.

“Dazai, you don’t look well, maybe you should lay down.”

“I’m fine,” he whispered back, wide eyed and confused as he tried to convince himself he was
being truthful. Trying to pretend none of this affected him as much as it did.

“You’re not,” Kyouka responded adamantly as she let go of his hand to feel his forehead, noting
the remaining fever, “You really should lay back down.”

Dazai shook his head and Kyouka didn’t push him any further on the issue, opting instead to wipe
his brow with the towel from earlier. Atsushi chose that moment to re-enter the apartment with
food in hand. He stuck his head into the room and looked at Dazai imploringly.

“I brought ingredients for omelettes, I hope that’s okay?” Atsushi questioned, waiting for an
answer from the older male.

Dazai simply nodded his consent, not really caring what Atsushi made at the moment, and watched
as Atsushi left the room to prepare the meal. Kyouka stood up as well, moving towards the door to
help Atsushi. She paused by the door and turned to Dazai, saying, “Try to get some rest,” leaving
him to his thoughts.

Kyouka entered the kitchenette to see Atsushi gazing blankly at the countertop, deep in thought.
She knew what was on his mind. It was the same thing that had been running through hers since
they had found Dazai passed out on the floor the night before. And that was how both of them
would do what they could to protect Dazai. Even if that meant protecting him from himself.

It was the least they could do after all he had done for them, bringing them both into the Agency
when they had nowhere else to go.

At the moment, after what they had seen, Dazai’s greatest danger seemed to be himself.
Dostoyevsky was there in the background as the greater threat—he brought about the current
situation, after all, and no doubt had further plans—but they could deal with that later. Right now,
they needed to focus on Dazai and see him taken care of.

“Atsushi?” Kyouka stepped closer to the boy and his gaze shifted to her. He didn’t smile like he
usually would and his face remained apprehensive.

“He doesn’t have any food in his apartment. Nothing. And now that I think about it, I don’t think
I’ve ever actually seen him eat anything, have you?” Atsushi asked with a hint of desperation in his
tone, hoping he had come to the wrong conclusion and was simply mistaken.

“No, I haven’t. He’s never eaten around me either,” Kyouka’s hands clasped tightly together with
her confession and Atsushi deflated, placing both hands on the counter in front of it as he leaned
heavily on it.

“Do... do you think this is because of what happened to him? In the photos?” His voice was soft,
almost a murmur as though speaking any louder would bring the horrors of the photos to life.

“I-,” Kyouka started, but the words got caught in her throat. Swallowing, she tried again, “it’s very
likely. There’s no way for us to know what else has happened to him and... he did look very thin in
those photos.”

Atsushi clenched his eyes shut at her words, bowing his head as he tried to suppress his tears. He
already knew what she would say, but it was still hard to hear. He allowed himself a moment to
compose himself before slapping his cheeks in a steadying motion.

“Right,” he said, taking a calming breath, “we should make the food now. I’m sure Dazai’s hungry
and we shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.”

They made the omelettes in complete silence, and they finished it quickly. Kyouka brought out
plates and utensils, setting them on the counter to allow Atsushi to put the omelettes on the plates.
They gathered up the food and made their way back to Dazai’s room, finding him in the same
position as when they had left. Atsushi knelt next to Dazai before handing him his food, “Here,
Dazai.”

Dazai blinked, not having noticed the two re-enter his room, before turning his attention onto
Atsushi. Seeing the plate, he grinned at the boy as he reached for the food, “Thank you, Atsushi!
This was very kind of you.”

“It was nothing, really,” Atsushi stated while attempting a smile of his own. He couldn’t manage
anything more than a small upturn of his lips though as his discoveries still troubled him.

Dazai didn’t seem to notice, however, and Atsushi attributed it to his remaining fever. Had Dazai
been at full health, he would have instantly noticed the forced quality of the smile. As it was, he
simply looked at the food now placed in his lap as though he couldn’t quite figure out what to do
with it.

“Do you need help eating it?”

Kyouka’s question seemed to spur Dazai into action and he started cutting pieces of his omelette as
he said, “No, no. I got it. I can manage just fine on my own.”

Atsushi and Kyouka watched with baited breath as Dazai ate his food, making sure he ate all of it.
He did with no trouble at all and they started to think maybe they were overreacting after all.
Something deep down told them they weren’t, but for now, they could pretend they thought
otherwise.

Once all the food had been eaten, Atsushi opined, “Kyouka or I should go out and buy some
groceries for your apartment, Dazai. You said you forgot to earlier and now would be a good time
to do it while its fresh on our minds.”

“That’s a great idea. Is there anything in particular you want, Dazai? One of us can go shopping
while the other stays here with you,” Kyouka quickly backed up Atsushi’s suggestion and they
both leaned towards Dazai in expectation.

Dazai was soon to shut that idea down, however, and he waved his hand in a dismissive manner,
“Usually I’m all for skipping work and everything, but isn’t it time for you two to head for work
right about now?”

“We told you we weren’t leaving you and we won’t,” Atsushi said stubbornly, puffing his cheeks
out in annoyance as he glared accusingly at Dazai.

This elicited an amused laugh from Dazai, finding Atsushi’s obvious annoyance endearing, “How
about I simply go with you? That would solve that problem, don’t you think?”

“But you’re sick and-,” Atsushi quickly protested the idea, but was interrupted by Dazai soon after.

“And I wouldn’t be doing anything different at work than I am here. Besides, I’m feeling better
and Kunikida will be rather annoyed to have three members of the Agency absent today. I’m sure
it isn’t written down anywhere in his Ideal to have absentee coworkers today. Imagine all that
paperwork poor Kunikida will have to take care of with all of us gone.”

Atsushi silently disagreed. He thought that after last night, with the state Dazai had been in,
Kunikida expected they wouldn’t be in to work today, but at the mention of paperwork, Atsushi
felt a stab of guilt at the thought of leaving Kunikida to do it all.
“Fine, you can come,” he reluctantly conceded the point, “If you start to feel sick again, at least
Yosano will be there to treat you.”

Dazai paled a little at the mention of Yosano. He couldn’t stand the thought of doctors and their
‘treatments’, not after all those times he’d had to see Mori back in the mafia, but he nodded anyway
to appease Atsushi. He still didn’t feel the best and the food sat heavily in his stomach, but he
hated the idea of staying in his apartment with only the two teens as company, where his thoughts
could creep up on him. He would much rather go to work and risk the potential threat of Yosano’s
medical room—where he knew she wouldn’t hurt him, but couldn’t push away the thought anyway
—than chance the horrors his thoughts would bring.

“Let’s go then!” Dazai said with fake cheer as he got up to get ready.

As the group walked to work, Dazai was up to his usual antics: making grandiose hand gestures,
soliciting women to commit double suicide with him as they passed, talking in an obnoxiously
loud, and yet strangely charming way, and all around making a nuisance of himself. This caused
Kyouka and Atsushi to relax, thinking perhaps Dazai had been truthful when he said he felt better.
They didn’t notice his thoughts were actually elsewhere the entire time or that his eyes looked
distant and his behavior a little too obnoxious, even for him.

Dazai really didn't understand the teens’ worry for him. He could tell it was about more than just
his bout of sickness this morning. No, he was certain it extended to the revelation they had of his
life before. Both of them had lived hard lives—Kyouka with the death of her parents and
consequent conscription into the Port Mafia, and Atsushi's unwarranted abuse at the hands of the
director of his orphanage—so he couldn't understand the distinct horror they felt when they found
out about his. His life had been no worse than their's, so why were they so concerned? It just didn’t
make sense and no matter how much he thought about it, his confusion did not lessen. He just
continued to grow more and more baffled.

Before he knew it, they had arrived at the agency. Here came the hard part. The four-story building
was the same as always, pleasant looking with a comforting atmosphere, but for some reason,
Dazai got the strangest sense of foreboding as he looked at his workplace. If Kyouka and Atsushi
were this anxious for him, he could only imagine how everyone else would react. He hoped they
would all act normal around him and not blow anything out of proportion, but he knew that would
be unlikely, especially with the way he stormed out the other day.

With a heavy pressure he couldn't explain weighing down on him, Dazai followed Atsushi and
Kyouka up the stairs to the fourth floor where everyone would be waiting for him. And, as he
feared, as soon as he entered the room all eyes were on him. He swiftly looked away from their
faces and avoided the eyes of everyone. He didn’t want to see what expression they wore. He
didn’t want to know what they thought or see the pity and worry in their eyes. He didn’t know how
to handle emotions like those. Anger and annoyance, those were emotions he knew and could deal
with, he did it all the time, he intentionally caused them most of the time after all. But sadness,
hurt, despair, any sort of emotional pain? They left him paralyzed. Completely at a loss of what to
do, and when they were directed at him, for him, he couldn’t help wondering why ? Why did they
care? What had he done to warrant their consideration?

Nothing . Nothing at all.

Dazai hid all these warring thoughts with a beaming smile and tinkling laugh he knew didn’t fool
anyone anymore as he greeted people without really looking, only absently noting when Atsushi
and Kyouka headed towards their own desks. That was probably why he didn't notice Kenji step
out in front of him until he almost ran into the boy. Dazai stopped short, pulling back to better see
the boy as he continued to stand in front of him. He looked down at Kenji and, seeing the earnest
expression shining through his wheat colored eyes, asked, “What is it, Kenji? Is there something
you wanted me for?”

Rather than answering right away, Kenji rummaged through a basket on a nearby desk, pulling out
a bright red tomato. He then held it out to Dazai, flashing a tender smile, “Here, Mr. Dazai, it’s a
tomato my parents sent me from back home. Tomatoes always help bring a smile to my face and
make things seem better. Maybe it will help you be happy too.”

Kenji waited for Dazai to take the tomato, smile still in place and an aura of optimism surrounding
his entire being. Dazai hesitantly took the tomato, words caught in his throat as he tried to figure
out what to say to repay Kenji’s kindness. He looked down at the tomato almost reverently, unable
to decipher what the warmth flowing through him was. It was just a tomato, and yet this tomato
was the first gift he had ever received. It shouldn’t affect him like it did, but he couldn’t push down
the weird sensation now that it filled him.

When he gazed back up, again attempting to express something, the words froze on his tongue as
he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Kenji. Immediately, Dazai’s hands went up, almost as if
he wanted to push Kenji away, but he stopped himself at the last minute. He didn't seem to know
what to do with hands, though, leaving them to hang in the air awkwardly as Kenji clung to him.
His heart started beating rapidly at the unfamiliar situation and he forced it to slow down, all but
holding his breath until Kenji let go of him.

When he finally did pull back, he shot Dazai a bright smile, “I hope you feel better, Mr. Dazai, and
make sure to eat that tomato!”

Kenji scampered off to the other side of the office with his vegetable basket in hand, leaving Dazai
stunned and confused.

‘Feel better?’ Dazai thought as he watched Kenji leave, ‘How did he know I wasn’t feeling well in
the first place? Do I look that bad?’

He didn’t think he looked sick when he got ready earlier, and while he still wasn’t at 100%, he was
much improved from this morning. Dazai walked to his desk in a bit of a daze and sat down on his
chair, placing the tomato in front of him. He sat and stared at the tomato for several minutes,
ignoring the worried looks and persistent hovering of his coworkers as he continued to look at the
tomato without touching it. He didn’t feel like eating it, but it had been a gift from Kenji and he
would be disappointed if he didn’t.

Before he could decide if he would eat it or not, his attention was drawn to movement at the corner
of his eye. He looked to his left and saw Yosano headed quite deliberately in his direction. He
mustered up all the false cheer he could and greeted her enthusiastically, “Yosano, hello! I’m very
popular today it seems.”

Yosano ignored Dazai’s cheerful greeting, opting instead to look him over with a critical eye before
asking, “Dazai, how are you feeling after last night?”

Dazai looked at her in confusion, before realizing that of course Atsushi and Kyouka called her
when they found him unconscious. They probably feared he had done something worse than just
drown himself in alcohol.

“I’m fine now,” Dazai said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he let out an apologetic
laugh, “I’m sorry for all the extra work I gave you last night.”
Yosano clicked her tongue at his response and put a hand to his forehead, checking his temperature
for herself. Dazai barely held back the flinch when she touched him and he mentally berated
himself. They weren’t going to hurt him, so why did he keep shying away from them? Still,
everyone kept touching him and if they continued to do so, he didn’t think he would be able to
contain his... discomfort.

Yosano stared intently into his eyes, noting how they widened fractionally at her touch and giving
a better look into his sadly lackluster chocolate orbs. They were beautiful eyes. It was a shame to
see them so hollow.

Finally, she removed her hand and straightened up, putting her hands on her hips as she looked
down at Dazai, “Well, your fever seems to have gone down, but you should still take it easy. If you
start to feel worse, come to me.”

Dazai smiled with a quick wink and a little salute before saying, “Will do, Yosa~no!”

She knew it was a lie, but she chose not to comment on it. There would be plenty of time for that
later.

Yosano walked back her spot next to Ranpo where he sat cross legged on his desk. When she got
there, she folded her arms and leaned against the desk on Ranpo’s left where they both watched
Dazai as he sat silently at his desk without even trying to bother Kunikida. Just from that, everyone
in the room could tell he was far more affected by yesterday’s events than he let on. Throughout
the day, Ranpo and Yosano continued to observe Dazai, trying to decide when to confront Dazai
about the photos. They didn’t want to push him too soon, but at the same time they needed to know
if they had any hope of helping him and figuring out what Dostoyevsky was up to.

They continued to watch Dazai until the end of the workday came upon them and Dazai had been
staring at the tomato ceaselessly for hours. Yosano could only imagine Dazai’s condition worsened
for him to be so enraptured by the fruit when he was normally so intuned with everything around
him. It was at this point Atsushi came upon them with a troubled look on his face, also watching
Dazai.

Ranpo caught Atsushi’s look immediately, “What’s wrong, Atsushi?”

At the sound of his name, Atsushi finally turned his attention towards the doctor and detective,
chewing his lip anxiously, “There’s... something I learned when I was at Dazai’s and it has me
worried.”

Immediately, Ranpo unfolded his legs, letting them drop to hang from his spot on the desk.
Opening his eyes, he looked intently at Atsushi, green eyes flashing worriedly, “What? What did
you find out?”

Yosano listened to the conversation, but kept her eyes on Dazai as he fiddled with the still whole
tomato. She had a feeling she knew what Atsushi was going to say.

“Dazai has no food in his house. None at all. His fridge is empty and so are all of his cupboards
and cabinets. He says that he just forgot to go shopping but... I don’t think they’ve ever had
anything in them. I don’t think Dazai eats very often,” he paused as he looked back at Dazai, “the
only time I’ve even seen him eat since meeting him is when Kyouka and I made him an omelette
this morning.”

That was worrying and exactly what Yosano feared Atsushi would say. She glanced over at Ranpo
and they shared a look. They had to talk to Dazai. Now . He was already doing damage to himself,
 and had been for who knows how long right under their noses. It was time they learned as much as
they could from Dazai before something worse happened they wouldn’t be able to fix.

Together, Yosano and Ranpo made their way over to Dazai, stopping when they were right next to
his chair. He did not look up at them, though they knew he was aware of their presence. They
could see it in the tensing of his shoulders. When it became apparent Dazai would not acknowledge
their presence without further prompting on their part, Ranpo spoke up.

“Dazai, we need to speak with you. About the photos”

Dazai finally looked up at the sound of Ranpo’s voice and he had such a look of bone-weary
exhaustion it left Ranpo feeling like he had been stabbed with a knife straight into his heart.

“Not today,” Dazai asked in a way that was not quite a plea, pain and melancholy shining through
his normally stoic eyes, “Can we not do this today?”

Ranpo and Yosano were left speechless by the uncharacteristically subdued behavior, and they
could only nod in response, no longer willing to pry answers out of Dazai when it seemed like one
wrong question would break him. They would have to wait for him to be in a better state,
physically and mentally.

“Sure, Dazai, we can do this later,” Yosano murmured sadly as she watched him attempt a smile
before leaving the office with the uneaten tomato, Kyouka and Atsushi following after him like
little ducklings.

They wouldn’t get answers today, but it became more and more apparent that they would need to
get them soon. It was the only way they could get even an inkling of what Dazai went through on a
daily basis just to force himself to continue living.

Chapter End Notes

School has been very stressful the last few weeks. I’m glad this semester is finally
over! Hopefully, now that I don’t have school work to worry about, I’ll be able to
write more. This chapter was hard to write so I hope it’s not bad. I hope you enjoy and
I’d love to hear your feedback!!!
 Ignorance Was Less Painful Than This
Chapter Summary

Yosano had noticed early on that Dazai faked his emotions. She knew he played them
up, overdramatized them, all so people wouldn’t realize just how false it all was. She
wasn’t blind. She knew these were all signs of serious trauma. Something had
shattered Dazai’s ability to feel genuine emotion and all the cheer and obnoxiousness
was just used as a way to hide how broken he was. Yosano knew that Dazai knew he
was broken. She saw it in the blankness that covered his face when he knew he should
be feeling something but just couldn’t figure out what expression he should make. His
expression at those times could almost be described as grieved, and Yosano thought
things like grief and despair were the closest Dazai had ever come to experiencing
genuine emotion.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

For the next few days, Yosano and Ranpo kept their distance from Dazai, anxiously waiting for the
time they could talk to Dazai. In the meantime, the Agency had been scouring every record they
could get their hands on, trying to figure out who the man in the photos were or what Dostoyevsky
planned to do with the information he had. Even Fukuzawa tirelessly looked, calling contacts,
pulling in favors, even talking to Taneda from the Special Abilities Department, but so far, nothing
was turning up.

No one seemed to know anything and it looked to the Agency like someone had worked very hard
to cover up any and all information about the man. Or was it information on Dazai that had been
covered up? Either way, they weren’t getting anywhere with their search. They were running out of
options and the only place they could think to get the information they needed was from the Port
Mafia or Dazai himself.

The Port Mafia didn’t seem to be a very viable option, and while it was almost certain they had
something on Dazai — Dazai had been part of their ranks since he was fourteen so they had to
know something about him, at least more than the Agency themselves—they wouldn’t give that
information easily. Mori would want to keep information on his favorite ex-executive as close to
the chest as possible and it didn’t seen likely he would be willing to share.

That left only Dazai himself. But that came with problems in and of itself. It was hard to tell how to
approach him in a way that he would actually give them information and, as much as it pained
them, with the mask he wore all the time they couldn’t tell if he would be okay if they asked him
these hard questions.

He definitely appeared to be doing better than he had been a few days back. According to Atsushi
and Kyouka, he had been eating, if only because they made breakfast for him every day to make
sure he ate it, but it was something at least. He had also gained back his exuberance, but there still
seemed to be something... forced about it. Of course, Yosano and Ranpo knew at this point that he
faked all of his emotions, but in Dazai’s behavior there was a difference between forced and faked.
What he was doing now seemed forced in a way that was unusual to what they had grown
accustomed to coming from the suicidal man.

And then there was the fact he hadn’t been trying to annoy Kunikida like he normally would, and
he actually did his paperwork. It had surprised them all when he first started doing his paperwork
without being forced or complaining non-stop, but not as much as how quickly he finished it all. It
had only taken him a few short hours before the huge stack on his desk was completed. It had
shocked Kunikida so much, he froze for a whole five minutes, just staring at the finished
paperwork, trying to figure out the prank. While all of this had been rather entertaining, this more
than anything told Yosano Dazai was not as fine as he liked to pretend. These weren’t things Dazai
would do if he was in his normal state of mind and it concerned Yosano more than she could say.

Another person who had Yosano worried was Kunikida. Ever since their talk, Kunikida had been
quieter, more contemplative. He watched Dazai like Yosano and Ranpo did and Yosano couldn’t
help but wonder what he was looking for. She hoped whatever it was, it wouldn’t make things
worse for the often times too serious man.

Dazai did his paperwork dutifully like he’d been doing the last few days. It helped him pretend
everyone wasn’t watching him like he would suddenly keel over in a mess of uncontrollable tears
—tears he hadn’t been able to shed for a long, long time— if they looked away; it helped him
pretend they hadn’t seen those photos and didn’t know what he hid behind layers of bandages and
silly masks. Still, there was only so much monotony he could take and paperwork was so boring.
He remembered now why he never bothered to do it when he had been part of the mafia.

Dazai dropped his pen onto his desk, pushing away the remainder of the papers in front of him, and
leaned his head lazily on his hand in a bored manner. His eyes roamed the room lethargically,
inspecting the room for something that could adequately abate his burgeoning boredom. His
searching soon led his focus onto Kunikida.

Kunikida, who busily worked on own paperwork, expression serious and pensive like it always
was. Kunikida, who had such humorous reactions whenever Dazai did something mildly irritating
or messed up his schedule. Kunikida, who looked completely stupefied when Dazai had given him
his completed paperwork that first day. He hadn’t bugged Kunikida in a while and now that he
found he actually wanted to for the first time in days, Dazai couldn’t let this opportunity pass him
up.

Dazai rips pieces of paper from a nearby notebook and wadded them up into tiny balls. Once he
had a sufficient pile of the paper balls stacked up Dazai threw one, hitting Kunikida square in the
forehead.

No reaction.

Dazai did it again and got the same non-reaction as before and so he did it again. And again. And
again.

There was a twitch this time. A little irritated movement of the eyebrow which Dazai found quite
encouraging. Wanting to see how long it would take before Kunikida blew up entirely, Dazai
continued to throw the wadded paper in the exact same place on Kunikida’s forehead.

The twitching was continuous now and, impressed with Kunikida’s perseverance in holding his
temper this long, Dazai threw the wads a little harder. It only took four more hits from the paper
balls before Dazai finally got the reaction he wanted.

Kunikida rose from his seat in an explosion of sound and Dazai soon found Kunikida’s hands
wrapped around the lapels of his coat. Dazai flinched at the rough contact, but grinned broadly at
Kunikida’s tirade as he shook him angrily. Kunikida was so easy to rile up Dazai just couldn’t help
himself. It was worth any discomfort physical contact gave him.

“Dazai!” Kunikida started in a furious tenor growl, “How many times do I have to tell you not to
bother me while I’m working?! How do you expect me to get any work done when you’re sitting
there throwing paper at my head?!”

“But Kunikida~, you looked so serious I thought you were going to fry your brains out! I was just
trying to help cool down the steam!” Dazai stated in mock worry belied by his mischievous smirk,
holding his hands up in faux surrender.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Kunikida sibilated, his grip tightening menacingly on Dazai’s coat and,
somewhere in the back of his mind, he made note of the way Dazai tensed further at the action,
“Just like how you thought I was going deaf and decided to help by screaming in my ear!”

“It worked, didn’t it? I successfully determined that your hearing is just fine!” Dazai exclaimed
jovially as he gestured dramatically at Kunikida’s head.

“Why you little-“

Kunikida’s face turned bright red as his anger skyrocketed. He raised his hand to cuff Dazai on the
back of his head, as per usual whenever Dazai did something especially irritating, but froze at the
last minute. He couldn’t shake the image of Dazai beaten, starved, and afraid from flashing through
his mind, and he just couldn’t bring himself to hit him as he’d done before. Not after everything he
learned and knowing just how much Dazai already suffered. And definitely not now that he felt the
tension in Dazai’s frame he had somehow missed every other time he had done this.

Kunikida took his hand back, clenching it to ward off his dark thoughts before dropping it to his
side, and removing his other hand from Dazai’s coat. As he did this, Dazai gave him the most
innocent look of bafflement; it sent daggers of guilt and dismay piercing through Kunikida’s heart.
He was bewildered that Kunikida hadn’t hit him and Kunikida didn’t know what he thought about
that, but it was all kinds of wrong.

Still looking up at Kunikida with his brown orbs round in puzzlement, Dazai asked, “Kunikida,
what’s wrong? You have a weird expression on your face.”

Kunikida furrowed his brows before heading back to his desk and readjusted his chair.

“Nothing,” Kunikida muttered after he was seated and pretended to be fully engrossed in his work
once more.

Dazai continued to stare at Kunikida as he worked, watching his tense shoulders as he fought
whatever emotions raged through his head at the moment.

“I’m sorry.”

Dazai’s voice had been little more than a whisper but with how silence permeated the room since
Dazai and Kunikida started up their usual daily banter, it carried as loudly as a yell.

Kunikida snapped his attention back to Dazai at the softly spoken words, shock evident in his
expression.

“What?” He started slowly as his mind worked to catch up with the situation, “Why are you
apologizing? What do you have to be sorry for? You did nothing wrong.”
A forlorn smile spread across Dazai’s face at these words and he wouldn’t meet Kunikida’s gaze,
“I’ve done plenty of things wrong. I was associated with the Port Mafia for most of my life, after
all.”

Dazai cautiously focused his attention on Kunikida, gaze heavy with too many things for Kunikida
to accurately guess at them all, but sadness and guilt seemed prevalent, “But right now, you are all
hurting because of me and I am sorry that I hurt you. You shouldn’t be in pain because of me. I’m
not worth it and I am sorry.”

“You’re not- You don’t have to-“ Kunikida stumbled over his words before trailing off, unable to
get them out through all the shock.

Kunikida couldn’t believe his ears, and even more didn’t want to believe he was hearing this.
Every time he learned something new about Dazai, it became more and more apparent just how
damaged he was. Dazai didn’t think he was worth the concern of his friends and thought that
because they were hurting for him he was the cause of their pain. It spoke volumes about how little
concern or consideration Dazai had been shown in his rather tragic life.

At a loss at what to say to such an earth shattering realization, Kunikida’s eyes shifted around the
room, a silent plea for help. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be in much the same dilemma as
Kunikida himself. When his eyes landed on Yosano, she stepped up to help in his place.

“Dazai, you shouldn’t be sorry that people care about you,” she said gently, placing her hand on his
shoulder as she walked up to him, “and you are worth it.”

“You are ,” she repeated when Dazai gave her a doubtful look, “Just because you were mistreated
as a child, it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

“I wasn’t mistreated,” Dazai protested, disregarding the last part of Yosano’s sentence and subtly
shrugging her hand off his shoulder when the contact became too much, “I was being trained .
Everyone in the Port Mafia goes through extensive training when being initiated. You should know
this already.”

“Wait, the mafia ,” Ranpo jumped into the conversation at this new information, “I thought you
weren’t part of the mafia until you were fifteen. A year after the torture stopped. Don’t tell me you
were brought into the mafia at five ?!”

If so, Ranpo had gotten a lot of things wrong, more than he thought possible. This would call into
question everything he thought about his detective skills. How could he have read Dazai so wrong?

At Ranpo’s outburst, Dazai blinked in confusion, “I did only join the Port Mafia when I was
fifteen, but that didn't stop Father from training me to be part of it beforehand.”

”That was your father ?!” Ranpo exclaimed almost before Dazai finished his sentence, ”Why
would he want you to join the Port Mafia and how could he do that to you?! That isn’t training! It’s
torture !!”

Dazai just looked more confused as Ranpo continued to shout. Normally, it would have been an
expression Ranpo would relish seeing on his face—proving once again he was the smarter of the
two—but now, in this situation, it just hurt to look at.

”Because he was the previous boss of the mafia, Touson Shimazaki, and he wanted me to be the
best,” Dazai started slowly, trying to comprehend everyone’s surprise, ”You didn’t recognize him?
I understand Chuuya not knowing who he was, but I thought at least some of you might have
known him. He was the boss for quite some time, after all.”

The room was left in complete silence after Dazai’s words. It was true that many of them had been
in Yokohama before Mori became the boss of the Port Mafia, but unlike Mori, his predecessor kept
mostly to the shadows. Not many people outside the mafia had seen his face and even Fukuzawa,
who had many connections in high places, hadn’t been privy to that particularly well kept secret.
There wasn’t even any information on him and no one knew anything more than rumors heard in
dark alleyways. This revelation on the man in the photos, who was not only Dazai’s father but also
the previous leader of the Port Mafia, solidified every horribly vivid rumor Ranpo had ever heard
about the man’s insatiable cruelty.

That evil man had had a child he could freely torture whenever he saw fit and the situation was so
messed up Dazai couldn’t even acknowledge that it was torture. Instead, he had somehow been
convinced by Shimazaki that it had been training . Ranpo knew how mafia members were trained
and that was not it.

Dazai shifted uncomfortably as the long silence and gaping stares continued, bringing Ranpo out of
his stunned musings.

”That is just so wrong on so many levels. No wonder you’re so screwed up in the head; you had a
psychopath for a father !!” Ranpo shouted none-too-gently as he stared aghast at Dazai, ”You...
You need to get checked out by Yosano. Like, right now. I don’t trust you to tell the truth about
how you feel or what he did to you. You don’t even think he did anything wrong , do you? No.
Don’t answer that, it’s obvious by the blank expression you’re giving me. Yosano, please, knock
some sense into him, will ya?”

Yosano nodded in determination despite her now washed out complexion. This was affecting her
deeply, but she wouldn’t allow her horror of it all to interfere with what she knew she had to do.
Dazai needed her care and she would give it to him in every way he would allow.

She walked up to Dazai, grabbing his arm in the gentlest way possible while still being firm, and
began leading him to the infirmary.

"But I’m fine," Dazai attempted to pull his arm out of Yosano’s hold, but she wouldn’t let up her
grip, "This happened years ago. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine , really."

“Dazai,” Kunikida started in the softest tone Dazai had ever heard coming from before, “just... go
with her. Let her help. Even if you’re only willing to talk, just let her try. We can see you are not
fine, even if you can’t. So please, Dazai, go with her.”

Dazai stared at Kunikida searchingly for a moment before giving him a stiff, reluctant nod before
dropping his eyes and allowing Yosano to drag him off towards her office.

As they left, Ranpo abruptly stood up from his chair and headed for Fukuzawa’s office, “I have to
tell the president about this. He needs to know what we’re dealing with.”

What Ranpo didn’t say as he walked away was that Fukuzawa would be able to provide him
comfort as well. He wasn’t attuned to dealing with situations like this and Fukuzawa had always
been his pillar of strength whenever he felt this lost.

Yosano had noticed early on that Dazai faked his emotions. She knew he played them up,
overdramatized them, all so people wouldn’t realize just how false it all was. She wasn’t blind. She
knew these were signs of serious trauma. Something had shattered Dazai’s ability to feel genuine
emotion and all the cheer and obnoxiousness was just used as a way to hide how broken he was.
Yosano knew that Dazai knew he was broken. She saw it in the blankness that covered his face
when he knew he should be feeling something but just couldn’t figure out what expression he
should make. His expression at those times could almost be described as grieved, and Yosano
thought things like grief and despair were the closest Dazai had ever come to experiencing genuine
emotion.

It broke her heart to think about it. Especially now that she was all too aware of what had been
done to him to cause it.

She didn’t want to think Dazai could only experience negative emotions, if even those only just
slightly, but whenever he made a despondent face filled with hurt or pain, she felt those were more
real than any other emotion he put on his face. To her trained eyes, his smiles, his laughter and joy,
all of those screamed false in a way Yosano never would have recognized had she not seen his eyes
flash with despair that first time. It had been after his first failed suicide attempt a few months after
he joined the Agency, and though he quickly covered up the look with his obnoxious antics, acting
like it had all been a joke, she saw the despair clearly. And suddenly, it clicked that every emotion
she thought he had before had been a show.

Now, every time he displayed a false emotion, Yosano saw right through it to the emptiness they
tried so hard to cover and she wanted to help him find his real emotions, so he wouldn’t feel quite
so alone. She made it her goal to only ever show Dazai her genuine feelings and emotions and
never lie to him, not even innocent white lies. When she was sad, she was openly sad. When she
was angry, she didn’t hold her punches. And when Dazai did something that made her happy, she
made sure he knew it. Yosano hoped that if she did this, Dazai would begin to make the
connections on his own and experience true emotions of his own.

She didn’t know how successful her attempts had been or if he even comprehended the feelings she
expressed, but looking at Dazai now, so lost and confused, trying to unravel why they cared about
him, she was more determined than ever to help him understand.

Yosano’s musings came to an end as they reached the infirmary doors and she entered with Dazai
close behind her.

As she continued farther into the room, walking up to one of the many counters and sifting through
the drawers, she noticed Dazai lingering by the door as he eyed the room suspiciously. He
obviously had no intention of moving from the spot unless commanded to.

Yosano turned to face Dazai and casually leaned on the counter as she wondered how to approach
this situation. She studied him for a moment, watching as Dazai’s posture remained cautious with
no sign of relaxing before deciding it would be best to just get on with it.

“Dazai, will you please remove your bandages so I can assess the damage?” She requested in the
most soothing voice she could manage.

It didn’t help and Dazai immediately tensed up, hand unconsciously covering the bandages on his
neck as though to protect himself from Yosano. “No.”

Yosano stood up straight and held her hands out in a placating manner as she stepped closer to
Dazai, “Dazai, I only want to help, but I can’t do that if I don’t know just how badly you have been
hurt.”

Dazai didn’t give in though, staring at her blankly with his deep brown eyes, “No. Someone once
told me I didn’t have to do everything I was told if I didn’t want to.”
For a moment, Yosano wondered at the fact Dazai had to be told something like that and at who
had been the kind soul to inform him he didn't have to be an automaton. Yosano then noticed the
fear lurking in the back of Dazai’s eyes and the way they would flicker towards her medical tools
anxiously before swiftly shifting back to her. A crushing sadness mixed with boiling rage washed
over her as she realized he had probably been hurt by tools meant for saving.

It was just another thing to add on the long list of reasons why she wished his father was alive so
she could torture him until he died a painful, agonizingly horrible death. Then Yosano could see
how he liked the pain and suffering he put Dazai through.

Eventually, sorrow won over her warring emotions and she pulled Dazai towards her, not missing
his sharp flinch or rapidly increasing breaths as she did so. She buried his face into the juncture of
her neck, wrapping comforting arms around his lean frame, and began petting his hair. She
murmured soothing words while caressing his hair and waited for him to relax his tense posture.

As she held him, she couldn’t help but notice how bony he was, confirming Atsushi and Kyouka’s
worries that he hadn’t been eating enough. Even through all his many layers of clothes and
bandages, she could see his thinness. It wasn’t to the degree it had been in the photos—skin tight
and stretched thin around bird-like bones, emphasizing his emaciated and fragile form—and he had
quite a bit of lean muscle on him, but he was still unnaturally thin. She had noted this before, of
course she had, but she told herself Dazai could take care of himself and that it wasn’t her place to
pry.

She thought he would come to her if he needed help.

Yosano hadn’t realize how wrong she had been and just how much his past had screwed him up.
He didn’t know how to ask for help or when he needed it. At this point, she suspected he didn’t
even know how to take care of himself.

Yosano held Dazai for a full hour before he finally lost the tension in his muscles and actually
started to relax into her embrace, but even then, she didn’t release him. As he relaxed, tremors
replaced the stiffness in Dazai’s body because though he knew Yosano wouldn’t hurt him, it didn’t
stop the fear from manifesting.

Yosano continued to embrace him, trying to stay his fear. She rubbed his back comfortingly,
running her hand along his sides and back up to run her fingers through his unruly, silky brown
hair, alternating between the two. As she did this, Dazai’s breathing finally began to even out and
his tremors went away before, suddenly, a surprised gasp escaped from his lips as Yosano
accidentally increased the pressure when rubbing his back.

She stopped immediately and looked down at Dazai in worry, “Did that hurt?”

Dazai looked up at her through the curtain of his brunette hair. Strangely shy and looking ashamed,
he softly spoke, “It... always hurts. Most of the time it’s bearable, but.. adding pressure when I’m...
upset ... just worsens the pain.”

Chronic pain. Dazai suffered from chronic pain, likely caused by all of the many injuries
accumulated on his body. It made sense, when she really thought about it. There was really no way
he could have gone through all that torture and not have lasting physical problems. She didn’t
know why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. It would explain his ridiculously high pain tolerance as
well. The amount of pain that would incapacitate anyone else was Dazai’s constant and when he
got hurt, that simply distracted him from all his other pain. The only reason the pain bothered him
now was due to his heightened emotional state.
“Can I... take a look at what’s causing you pain?” Yosano asked in little more than a murmur, not
wanting to upset him further.

Dazai closed his eyes wearily, “Not now... maybe… maybe sometime, but... I can’t .”

Yosano’s eyes softened in sympathy and she pulled him closer to herself, “Of course, Dazai, I
understand. I won’t push you anymore today. I just want you to know you can rely on me. For
anything.”

Dazai nodded before pulling away, Yosano reluctantly allowing him to go. He stood up on shaky
legs, drained from an emotional strain he didn’t understand and made his way to the door. Before
he could leave through the door, Yosano stopped him, “Dazai, you’re free to sleep in here if you
want to. You look exhausted.”

He stared at her, fatigue spelled clearly in his vacant face, “Yes... I think I’ll do that. Thank you,
Yosano.”

Dazai made his way to one of the infirmary beds, pulled back the curtains and climbed into the
covers. He curled up into the fetal position and wrapped his arms around himself protectively. He
soon fell into a light doze, unable to sleep any deeper with people around. Yosano watched and
mulled over all she had learned.

It’s a few hours later when Dazai determined it was time to get up. He hadn’t gotten much sleep—
what with any sign of movement instantly snapping him awake and alert—but he did feel slightly
better than before. He sat up and noticed the food placed on the table next to him which, after some
consideration, Dazai decided to eat.

After finishing a fourth of the food, he removed the covers and got out of the bed. Yosano was no
longer in the room, having left some time earlier, so Dazai exited the infirmary and went to the
main office space.

Upon entering the room, Dazai immediately noticed the absence of Ranpo and Yosano, a dark
concerned aura permeating over everyone’s head. Silence filled the room, only broken by the
shifting of paperwork and the usual cheerful chatter Dazai had grown accustomed to had been
squashed under the oppressive atmosphere. Dazai felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest as he
concluded he was the cause. It seemed he couldn’t be near anything without twisting it into
something dark and damaged.

He had done the same thing to Odasaku, to Masao... to Father .

If it hadn’t been for him, Father would have never gone mad. His love for Dazai had corrupted
him, destroyed him. And now he was doing the same thing to the Agency. Why did he always have
to ruin everything ?

The abrupt entrance of Fukuzawa, Ranpo, and Yosano disrupted the tense atmosphere, drawing
everyone’s attention to the President and making them aware of Dazai’s presence in the room as
well. Fukuzawa’s gaze swept over the room slowly until his calm blue eyes landed on Dazai. With
Dazai now fully in his sights, Fukuzawa steadily made his way towards him, gaze intent on the
younger man.

Dazai wasn’t sure what to do as the older man continued to get closer and it was all he could do to
not shy away when he finally stopped right in front of him. Fukuzawa seemed to study him for a
minute, looking him up and down for... something before his penetrating gaze met Dazai’s and
remained there.

Finally, the stern line of his mouth receded and he asked, “How are you feeling, Dazai?”

Dazai’s mind completely blanked out at the unexpected, and frankly uncharacteristic question,
coming from the President. It wasn’t usual for the President to go out of his way to talk to Dazai,
let alone show concern for him.

“I... I’m fine, President,” Dazai stuttered out, not sure what else to say.

Fukuzawa furrowed his brows, unfolding his arms into his yukata sleeves, his eyes never left
Dazai, “Are youcertain? You look pale and your eyes seem a little unfocused. You don’t have to
hide it from me.”

Those words sent Dazai’s thoughts into overdrive. The President thought he was hiding things.
Was he in trouble? He had never seen Fukuzawa angry before; what would his punishments be
like? Had he done something to entail being punished? How would he stop himself from making
the same mistake if he didn’t know what he did wrong?

Dazai’s words came out hesitantly and slowly as his mind rushed through possible mistakes he
may have made, growing paler by the second,“I didn’t... I’m not...I... I’m not hiding anything.”

At least he didn’t think so. Not intentionally, anyway. Had Fukuzawa found out about something
Dazai forgot he was hiding? No, Dazai didn’t forget things. Forgetting things was dangerous and
something he learned a very long time ago not to do.

Fukuzawa’s steely orbs softened in sorrow and concern as he watched Dazai become more frantic
under his attention. Fukuzawa raised his hand slowly and placed it on Dazai’s head, fully aware as
Dazai flinched violently at the contact, his alarmed chestnut eyes snapping back to Fukuzawa’s
own. Fukuzawa left his hand where it was, moving his fingers through silky locks and, making
sure Dazai’s attention remained on him, he said, “You are not in trouble, Dazai. I am not upset at
you for anything. You did nothing wrong. I am simply worried about you.”

When Fukuzawa’s touch showed no signs of turning violent, instead remaining kind and gentle,
Dazai stared at him in shock. In his experience, people like Fukuzawa—people with a presence and
disposition like him, full of power and authority—were not gentle. They were cold and distant,
ready to dole out pain and punishment at a moment’s notice.

Of course, distantly, Dazai already knew Fukuzawa wasn’t as aloof as he appeared, he had seen
proof many times in his interactions with Ranpo and Kunikida, even with Kyouka. He knew this,
but Dazai just never imagined that kindness in Fukuzawa would be shown to Dazai as well.

Dazai wasn’t like the other people here. He wasn’t good like they were and he certainly did not
deserve kindness. He was a stain and deserved every harsh treatment they could think to give him.
Dazai didn’t understand why everyone insisted on treating him like he was... like he was human.
He wasn’t. He learned that a long time ago and his ability, No Longer Human , was also proof of
it. How could he be human when his own ability prevented him from feeling ?

Fukuzawa’s hand shifted from Dazai’s hair to land on his shoulder, bringing Dazai’s attention back
to the present. The older man was still staring intently at Dazai and Dazai had to fight not to look
away. After another minute, Fukuzawa squeezed Dazai’s shoulder comfortingly before finally
removing his hand and folding his arms in their usual position.

“Go home, Dazai. You have had a very trying last couple of days. There is no need to push yourself
 further than you are capable. It can’t have been easy for you knowing we learned something of this
nature without your consent and I am sorry that we did,” Fukuzawa really did seem remorseful,
blue eyes dark and full of regret, but also teeming with something else, “But now that we know,
allow us to take some of the burden and help you figure what Dostoyevsky is planning. You don’t
have to do this alone.”

At the mention of Dostoyevsky, Dazai realized he hadn’t given the man any thought since he had
left the mafia headquarters that first day. He found it odd that something that important could have
slipped his mind until this moment. He knew how much of a threat Dostoyevsky was and yet,
Dazai had forgotten all about it. What was wrong with him? And when had the Agency learned
that Dostoyevsky was responsible for the photos? He realized he didn’t know. Dazai must be
more exhausted than he realized. It might be a good idea to leave Dostoyevsky to the Agency for
now, at least until he could actually think clearly.

Looking back up at the President, Dazai nodded in a slight daze and agreed, “Okay, President. I’ll
go home. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

Dazai didn’t wait for a response as he turned around and left the office, intent on getting home and
figuring out why it was so hard for him to think rationally lately.

Chapter End Notes

Here's the newest chapter! I hope that it's okay. Like always, thanks for reading and
please review on your way out!
 When Kindness Breaks Before It Heals
Chapter Summary

Chuuya made sure Dazai was looking at him before he said his next words, “I already
told you why I care, Dazai. You’re my brother and no matter how furious you make
me, I’ll always be there for you. You just have to let me.”

When he finished speaking, Chuuya pulled Dazai into a tight embrace. As he did so,
Chuuya heard Dazai’s breath hitch and felt him stiffen up, but that only made him hold
on tighter. Chuuya could imagine this was hard for Dazai. He was almost positive the
only people to have held him like this for any extended amount of time was that
bastard Masao and the homicidal manic Dazai had as a father. Dazai didn’t associate
hugs as something comforting or safe. He associated hugs with pain and deception and
lies; something to fear because there was no real safety to be had in the gesture. Unlike
Chuuya, Dazai didn’t have someone like Kouyou to be there for him. He never got
that gentle touch without it being used as a way to further hurt him.

Chuuya felt it was about time Dazai learned that touch didn't necessarily mean pain.

Chapter Notes

Hey, guys. Sorry for taking so long for this next chapter. Apparently, instead of having
more time to write during the summer, I ended up having less time. Turns out people
want to hang out with you more when you have time. Anyway, enough of that, I hope
you enjoy this next chapter and for those of you who have been waiting for more
Chuuya, here you go!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite what he had told the President, Dazai did not go home immediately. Instead, he wandered
the town, barely paying attention to the sights around him. The buzz of the town—the noise and
color of it all—soothed him, reminding him he could be out here and that he was no longer trapped
within the dark confines of mafia construct. All of that changed though as the streets suddenly
filled with large crowds of people, everyone in a rush to get home after a long week of work.

The feeling of calm quickly got replaced with unease as more and more people emerged from
surrounding buildings. There were just so many people and even though it had been years since he
lived in almost utter isolation, and he had since been around many people, he still found it hard to
be within large crowds such as these.

It was... difficult for Dazai to walk through the streets on these busy days when avoiding physical
contact was virtually impossible. People bumped into him constantly, accidentally touching and
pushing him, causing the part of him that hated being touched to go into overdrive. He started to
see danger everywhere, knives in the hands of shop clerks, children holding guns, mothers with
burning pokers. Dazai knew none of these were actually true, that no one in this crowd of normal
people had any intention of hurting him but he couldn’t stop the creeping paranoia from filling his
senses and suffocating him in its cold, relentless hands.

He had to get out of here.

Dazai began pushing through the crowd, making his way past the swarm of people as quickly and
as calmly as he could. He didn’t want to make a scene. Couldn’t afford to make a scene, but the air
was getting thin and if he didn’t get away from these people soon, a scene would be the least of his
problems.

Dazai didn’t notice when he reached the edges of the crowd. He didn’t notice how the people
around him grew less and less, thinning out drastically until he was the only one left. He didn’t
even notice where he was going or how long he had been walking until he found himself standing
on a bridge, looking over the loud roaring and angry crashing of the Tsurumi River.

This was where he had first met Atsushi. This was where he had once again failed to fall into his
long sought after, blissful, eternal rest. He had been so close that day.

He remembered the burning in his lungs from rapidly inhaled water dying down, becoming
something almost comforting rather than the agonizing stabbing pain it started as. His body
became numb to the biting cold of frigid water and he no longer felt the aching of angry bruises
from his body being relentlessly slammed into solid rock and sharp stone. Then, darkness crawled
from the corners of his vision, encroaching on the last light he would ever see before he finally,
finally got what he wanted.

Next thing he knew, he was on the sandy shore of the river, waking up from what he had hoped
had been his death, rescued by an orphan who was better off worrying about himself. He had never
been so disappointed in his life. He didn’t blame Atsushi, though, he had inconvenienced the boy,
after all. Any decent person would have done the same in his situation and even if Atsushi hadn’t,
something else would have, just like all his other attempts.

Dazai honestly thought it was unfair.

After so many attempts, so many times he had put himself in danger with unthinkable odds against
him, he should have been dead. It’s not like he made any real effort to protect himself. He never
gave himself a way out in case he changed his mind after he tried and yet every single time he
survived.

Looking at the water now, Dazai thought about how easy it would be to allow himself to be
swallowed up by the dark depths of the abyss below. Maybe this time, it would work. Maybe this
time, the empty dullness that was his existence would be extinguished once and for all.

Dazai pulled himself over the rail of the bridge and jumped.

Chuuya didn’t know what he was doing here. He had been antsy all week, unable to stop thinking
about what he had seen in that awful video and those nauseating photos. Because of that, his
temper had been shorter than ever and he snapped at everyone who even slightly irritated him. He
just couldn’t get it out of his head and no amount of fighting or wine or meditation did anything to
alleviate the horror he felt every time those images flashed through his mind. Most of all, Chuuya
agonized over why Dazai never told him .

They had been partners , for crying out loud! Chuuya had seen Dazai at his worst. He had taken
care of him after every suicide attempt, no matter how bad they got, even when he had to force
himself not to vomit or cry at the damage Dazai caused himself. Chuuya was the one who stayed
with Dazai after particularly hard missions, trying to calm his shaking when the pain of his injuries
grew to be too much and Dazai refused to take the medication that would ease it. He cleaned up
after Dazai when he drank himself into oblivion on bad days, making sure he was okay. He
dragged Dazai out of bed on the days he couldn’t force himself to get up and face the world. And,
finally, Chuuya had been the one who watched Dazai’s back every step of the way.

So why ? Why wouldn’t Dazai trust him with this when he trusted him with everything else? It
explained so many of Dazai’s dysfunctional behaviors and Dazai never thought to tell Chuuya so
he would understand , even if only a little. Suddenly, Chuuya had the thought that maybe Dazai
didn’t know he could tell him, and that made him furious .

Chuuya had no idea what sort of conditioning Dazai had gone through but it wouldn’t surprise him
if the inability to rely on anyone was part of it. Especially when Chuuya thought back on Masao
Horiki and what he did to Dazai. Thinking about it wasn’t getting Chuuya anywhere and there was
only one place he could get the answers.

And now, when Chuuya couldn’t concentrate on Mafia business any longer without completely
decimating something or someone, Chuuya suddenly found himself here. In Agency territory. By
himself. Hoping to catch sight of Dazai.

Why did he do this to himself? He knew Dazai wouldn’t give him any straight answers, not before
hours of grueling needling and occasional threats of pain and suffering if Dazai didn’t give in. It
was frankly more effort than Chuuya thought he had the patience for. But, if he was completely
honest with himself, Chuuya was worried about Dazai.

Worried enough he would suffer through Dazai’s evasions if he could just get something honest
out of his ex-partner.

Chuuya’s internal conflict came to an abrupt end as Dazai came walking down the street. He
couldn’t help but notice Dazai did not look well. His expression was blank—that in itself sending
off warning bells—and he looked like he would drop any second from exhaustion. Worse than that,
Dazai didn’t even seem to notice that Chuuya was in the vicinity, something he normally would
have spotted as soon as he left the Agency building, if not before. Now, he seemed to be too
distracted to notice anything .

Furrowing his brow in concern, Chuuya made to catch up to Dazai but before he could the streets
started to rapidly fill up with rushing crowds. Chuuya swore and resigned himself to following
Dazai from a distance until the crowds cleared up. As he did, Chuuya saw something odd in
Dazai’s behavior. While he tried to navigate through all the people, Dazai would shy away from
them, flinching every time someone’s shoulder made contact with his own. Pretty soon, Dazai
seemed to stop walking altogether and Chuuya—well attuned to all the subtle indicators of Dazai’s
mood from even the slightest change in his posture—recognized his distress immediately.

Confused by what he witnessed as he watched Dazai’s still form, Chuuya thought back to when
they were partners, wondering if Dazai had always been this way in crowds. He wracked through
his brain, thinking about all the times they had been in public places together only to come up with
nothing. With a sinking feeling, Chuuya realized he had never seen Dazai in crowded areas and
therefore had no idea how Dazai normally acted in them. Every time they were out in public, while
there were people, they had never been in large crowds. It wasn’t something they needed to do as
part of the Port Mafia and though Chuuya knew he went to the city on his own sometimes when it
was busy, he had no idea if Dazai ever did.

Dazai had this problem all this time and Chuuya never knew. It was yet another thing Dazai had
neglected to tell him.

Chuuya watched as Dazai sprang into action again, slipping his way through the crowd. If Chuuya
hadn’t known Dazai as well as he did, he would have assumed he had simply stopped to orient
himself before continuing on his way, but he could see past the ruse of calm and saw Dazai’s
growing panic.

Dazai was moving farther and farther within the crowd and before Chuuya knew it, he lost sight of
his ex-partner. Cursing loudly, Chuuya pushed his way through the people in the direction he
thought he saw Dazai go. People kept blocking him, some even muttering at him angrily when he
shoved too hard to get through. It took him way too long to get through the sea of people and by
the time he made it to the edges, Chuuya saw no sign of Dazai anywhere.

“Where would Dazai go?” Chuuya muttered to himself as he swept his eyes along the buildings
and street signs, trying to find any clue Dazai had taken one of those paths to escape from the
crowd. Chuuya’s frustration grew asthere continued to be nothing indicating Dazai’s presence.
After several minutes of looking, he decided to just pick a direction and hope it was the right one.

“Damn Dazai, why do you have to be so hard to find,” Chuuya grumbled as he turned to head
towards Tsurumi River. If Dazai wasn’t there, Chuuya would be wasting a lot of time trying to find
him the rest of the day. Because there was no way Chuuya would leave without finding Dazai first.

He continued his way to the river, looking in every direction in his search for Dazai before he
began nearing one of the bridges bypassing Tsurumi River. As he got closer, he noticed a figure
standing on the bridge, gazing out into the flowing water. Chuuya quickly identified the figure as
Dazai.

Signing in relief, glad he had chosen the right path, Chuuya increased his stride and raised his hand
in greeting, ready to call out to Dazai when he got close enough to be heard. Before he could get
any words out, however, Dazai climbed over the railing and paused only long enough to properly
push himself into the coursing river.

Time seemed to slow down as Chuuya watched Dazai fling himself into the river, falling quickly in
what was unmistakably another attempt at his own life. Chuuya’s breath caught tightly inside of
his throat as he witnessed yet another one of Dazai’s self-destructive moments. He didn’t even
notice he activated For The Tainted Sorrow , lessening his weight and increasing his speed as he
rushed towards the younger man, trying to reach him before he crashed into the roiling water
below.

As he started to fall, Dazai’s eyes closed, letting the peace of the moment encompass him. There
was no one around to save him now. No one to stop this, no one to prevent him from getting what
he’s desired for as long as he can remember. Finally, everything would be over...

Something gripped his wrist tightly, bringing an abrupt halt to his descent and pulling at his
shoulder socket painfully. For a moment, Dazai didn’t understand what had happened. He should
be falling, should be getting swept up in the cold, unforgiving currents of the river, completely
submerged in its darkness. Instead, he was dangling awkwardly from... something with a vice grip
on his arm. Opening his eyes, Dazai slowly looked up, meeting the uncomfortably intense cerulean
orbs of Chuuya Nakahara. He held onto Dazai’s wrist in such a bruising grip, Dazai wondered if
Chuuya’s fingers would bear the mark as well.

“Chuuya...” Dazai trailed off as soon as the other man’s name passed his lips.
This situation was so familiar, so common back when Dazai had still been part of the mafia, he
wasn’t sure how he should react. Even after all these years, Chuuya still somehow managed to find
a way to thwart Dazai.

Dazai didn’t have much time to ponder before Chuuya, with very little effort on his part, pulled
Dazai over the railing and dropped him unceremoniously back onto the bridge. Dazai landed hard,
jarring his now sore shoulder. He had all of three seconds of silence before Chuuya started yelling
as he towered over Dazai.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh , Dazai?!?!” Chuuya’s expression contorted into one
of pure outrage, but looking close enough, passed all the fury and red-hot anger, Dazai could see
the underlining worry and fear behind those blazing blue eyes.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answers to, Chuuya? It was pretty
obvious what I was doing. I don’t remember you being this stupid, hat rack,” Dazai replied
blithely, hoping to derail Chuuya’s thought process by insulting him. It usually worked, Chuuya
having such a short temper and all, and he really didn’t want to discuss his latest suicide attempt
with the shorter man.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, clenching his teeth so hard it hurt his jaw, and nostrils flaring as he
pushed down the instinctual impulse to retort back in anger and violence, as he was so apt at doing
when it came to Dazai, “I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to fall for it.”

“And what am I doing, Chuuya?” Dazai tilted his head, looking up at Chuuya with feigned
confusion and innocence even though he knew Chuuya would never buy it.

“You’re trying to make me angry so I’ll drop the fact that you tried to kill yourself again, well it’s
not going to work. Not this time, Dazai.”

Dazai could see the sincerity in Chuuya’s eyes and he hated it. What business was it of Chuuuya’s
if Dazai decided to hurt himself? Didn’t Chuuya say all the time how he hoped Dazai would die or
that he’d kill him himself? Why should it matter if he died by his own hand?

Everyone would be better off that way. He wouldn’t be able to corrupt any more people if he were
gone. There was no meaning to his life, no reason he should remain here. Nothing he wanted.
Everything was just so empty ...

“And why is this time any different, Chuuya?” Dazai said, dropping all pretenses and letting his
face fall empty, reflecting what was inside, “Nothing’s changed since the last time we were in this
position.”

“ Everything has changed , Dazai!! After what I know now, how can I-“ Chuuya didn’t get to
finish his sentence before Dazai interrupted him, leaving no room for Chuuya’s words to be heard
over his own.

“ Nothing has changed, Chuuya. The only thing that’s different is now you know about my father,
but for me, everything is exactly the same as it was before.”

There was no intonation to the words, no emotion, no anger, and that just made it worse. Dazai’s
words mirrored his expression, both lacking life and light and feeling. Chuuya was left speechless
to see it when normally Dazai looked so alive when talking to him. Even if it was mostly fake or
forced, Dazai always seemed to get some joy out of bothering Chuuya. Now, all signs of that spark
of joy were gone and Chuuya was left with the entirety of the damage Dazai’s father caused him.
Before Chuuya could think of something in response to Dazai’s statement, the younger man pulled
himself up off the ground and walked off, not looking back once as he made to leave Chuuya
behind. Chuuya wouldn’t be dismissed so easily, though, and caught up to the brunette until they
were walking side by side. He watched Dazai the entire time, trying to read his expression, guess at
his thoughts, but getting nothing from his blank visage. Instead, Chuuya deigned to keep his
silence and just kept watching him until Dazai acknowledged his presence.

Silence was unusual between the two young men. When they were together, they were loud,
rambunctious, and oftentimes violent. There was never a moment when they weren’t antagonizing
one another, trying to get a rise out of the other for their own satisfaction. If there was silence, it
typically meant one of them was injured—usually Dazai—and something had gone horribly wrong.
Now, Chuuya was contemplative, searching for answers he knew he wouldn’t get easily and Dazai,
for once, made no attempt to annoy Chuuya, instead, trying to ignore his very existence in the
hopes he would give up and go away. Chuuya had no intention to do so, however, and he could be
patient when he put his mind to it.

Dazai didn’t acknowledge Chuuya at all for a very long time while they walked but as they neared
the Agency apartment buildings, Dazai couldn’t afford to ignore him anymore, not if he wanted
him to leave him alone. Dazai grudgingly turned to look at the redhead, irritation darkening his
chestnut eyes and finally opted to speak to him.

“It’ll cause trouble for both of us if anyone in the Agency sees you following me, Chuuya. The
Mafia will suspect you of colluding with a traitor and have you executed. You would hate that,
wouldn’t you, Chuuya? Not to mention what the Agency would think, seeing how you have
resorted to stalking me,” Dazai said, making an effort to put on his usual smirk and derisive tone,
but falling short of it.

Chuuya seemed unperturbed, responding in a deadpan, “That’s not going to happen. Boss, seemed
concerned about you, so I doubt he’ll mind. And I don’t care what crap the Agency has to say
about it. We used to be partners. I know you better than any of them and I have just as much right
as they do to be worried about you.”

Dazai didn’t seem to know what to say to that. His brows furrowed in disbelief and confusion as he
stopped altogether to stare at Chuuya. He couldn’t imagine Mori being genuinely concerned for
him, not in the way Chuuya seemed to be implying, at least. He didn’t think he mattered that much
to Mori, or anyone else for that matter.

Dazai wasn’t someone people cared about. He wasn’t someone important or needed. The only
person who did care about him was Father and Dazai didn’t want to be in that sort of situation ever
again. He didn’t think he could keep his sanity if he went through it a second time.

And then there was Chuuya.

Chuuya always talked about how much he hated Dazai and how his life would be easier if he had
never met him. He made his disgust of Dazai pretty clear whenever they saw each other and now
he was saying he was worried about Dazai? Why would Chuuya worry about him ? It just didn’t
make any sense to Dazai.

Dazai opened his mouth only to close it again and blinked slowly as he tried to comprehend what
was going on. When it became clear Dazai wasn’t going to say anything any time soon, Chuuya
rose an elegant eyebrow as he gazed back at the taller man with a challenge in his eyes, “Well? Do
you have something to say or not? You’re usually so chatty, don’t tell me you lost your words
now?”
Dazai ignored the jab, staring for a few more seconds, before abruptly starting to walk again,
looking deep in thought.

Looking down briefly, Chuuya sighed long-sufferingly before stuffing his hands in his pockets and
following after Dazai, not bothering to catch up to him this time. Dazai seemed to be back to
ignoring him and this was something that should be discussed behind closed doors anyway. He
could let Dazai avoid it until then.

It wasn't long before they made it to the apartment and as Chuuya followed Dazai up the stairs he
noticed the rusty metal barrels and old broken down car in the yard out front. His eyes narrowed in
distaste and clicking his tongue, he turned back to Dazai as he worked his key into his lock, ”Why
do you live in a place like this, Dazai? You can afford a lot better. I know you still have all the
money you got from the mafia. You never spent any of it.”

‘Not that where you used to live was any better,’ Chuuya added to himself as he thought back to
that shipping container Dazai stayed in during his mafia years.

Dazai paused opening the door for a moment before saying, ”I was given this apartment by the
President and it's near everyone. I don't need anything else.” Dazai pushed his door open just long
enough to get through before trying to slam it shut behind him, only for Chuuya to jam his foot in
the door to prevent it from closing.

”Let me in, mackerel,” Chuuya growled, glaring at Dazai with his sapphire eyes.

Dazai stared back at him with his dull chocolate orbs before quietly saying, ”Just go home,
Chuuya. Why are you still here?”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed and he forcibly pushed the door open wider with his greater strength,
”You know why. Don’t make me break down your door. What will your agency say about that,
huh? Now let. Me. In.”

Dazai held the door for a moment, determining how serious Chuuya was in his threat to break his
door before releasing his hold on it and letting Chuuya in. Chuuya pushed through as soon as there
was leeway and started scanning the room as soon as he entered his ex-partners apartment. He
made note of the bare walls, the empty rooms, and the lack of furniture before his eyes landed on
the now faded brown stains in the carpets, signifying areas that had once been soaked in blood.

Mori’s words flashed through Chuuya’s head at the sight of the ruined floors, confirming the
boss’s theory on Dazai hurting himself, and for once Chuuya hated that Mori had been right. He
tried not to think about how many times the detective had harmed himself since leaving the mafia
—or even while in the mafia—and instead drew his attention back to the subject of his dark
thoughts.

“Your place is the same as always,” Chuuya observed aloud as he noticed Dazai in his kitchen
area, not bothering to wait for Chuuya to finish examining his room, “it’s as barren as its ever been
in the mafia. Don’t you have any stuff?”

“What for?” Dazai questioned blandly, opening his fridge and clicking his tongue as he revealed
that that, too, was empty. Muttering to himself, he closed the fridge door with a sigh, “Must have
taken all the alcohol when they were here last.”

Chuuya raised a brow at that, watching as Dazai stood and turned to face him after finding no
alcohol to distract him from the impending conversation. Leaning against the counter in what
anyone else would consider a casual gesture, Dazai met his hollow eyes with Chuuya’s bright ones,
“What do you want, slug?”

Chuuya took a deep breath and with the calmest tone he could muster, asked, “Why didn’t you
ever tell me , Dazai? Don’t you think this is something I should have known ? I could have helped
or-“

“Or what, Chuuya? How could you have helped? What could you have possibly done?” Dazai cut
Chuuya off coldly, not wanting to hear any more. Not understanding the concern clear in his voice.

“I don’t know!” Chuuya yelled back, angry at being interrupted again and frustrated because he
didn’t know, “ Something! I could have done something if you had just told me! I could’ve looked
out for you or been there for you more! I could have helped somehow, so why didn’t you tell me
?!”

Chuuya’s breath came out in short, angry huffs as he finished his tirade, waiting for Dazai’s
response as he painfully furled his fists to stop himself from shaking some sense into the
infuriating man. Dazai just looked at him emptily for a moment, expression giving nothing away as
he intoned, “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important and it held no relevance. What would be
the point, Chuuya? It doesn’t change anything about what I am or what I’ve done. And it certainly
wasn’t any of your business or something you needed to concern yourself over.”

Chuuya felt like he had just been slapped in the face at those words. ‘It wasn’t important ,’
Chuuya’s thoughts replayed Dazai’s words as shock fled and cold anger took its place, ‘It held no
relevance . It wasn’t any of my business . Nothing I needed to concern myself over. ’ He spoke like
his life, his suffering , had no value. Like it didn’t even matter , that people had hurt him so
ruthlessly .

Chuuya gritted his teeth harshly, clenching and unclenching his hands in an attempt to hold back
his urge to choke the life out of Dazai. He wasn’t even sure who he was more angry at: Dazai, for
saying something so ridiculous, so utterly preposterous Chuuya longed to kill him for saying it; or
the man who had deeply ingrained such thoughts into Dazai in the first place.

His rage threatened to overcome him, but Chuuya savagely squashed it down. Rage wouldn’t get
him anywhere with Dazai. It would only serve to make him more defensive and so, trying to force
an even tone to his voice, he repeated, “None of my business? You have been hurt so severely you
try to kill yourself every chance you get and you think this is none of my business?”

Chuuya’s voice shook slightly while he spoke, with what emotion, he wasn’t completely certain,
and he started making his way closer to Dazai. Chuuya softened his tone again when he noticed
Dazai tense the closer he got and with real calm this time, he continued, “You’re like a brother to
me, Dazai. A very messed up, insane, suicidal brother with more issues than I can count, but you
were always there for me, in your own screwed up way. You were always there to pick up the
pieces when I wasn’t able to. And honestly?”

Chuuya stood right in front of Dazai now, cornering him against the counter, leaving him no way
to escape. Dazai stared at Chuuya, chestnut eyes wide and painfully confused, and Chuuya stared
steadily back, making sure Dazai saw the sincerity in his words through his own azure eyes,
“You’re the closest thing I have to a family, besides Kouyou. So don’t you dare tell me this is none
of my business because it sure as hell is. So let me be there for you for a change. Let me help .”

They both stood there for a moment, Chuuya no more than a foot away from Dazai as the taller
man gawked at him, finding it difficult to piece words together like he normally would. What
eventually came out of his mouth was not what Chuuya expected.
“Why are you doing this to me?” The words sounded so heartbroken and mournful, Chuuya
wondered if Dazai even knew what Chuuya had just said to him.

Blinking in bafflement, Chuuya inquired uncertainly, “Why am I doing what?”

Dazai continued on as though he hadn’t heard Chuuya, talking almost to himself as his eyes
remained transfixed on the older boy and he backed farther against the counter. Chuuya didn’t
know if he did it out of fear, or if was something else entirely.

“Everyone is being so gentle with me, so... so considerate . Atsushi and Kyouka make me
breakfast every day because they’re afraid I’ll starve if they don’t. Kunikida won’t hit me anymore
like he used to. Yosano actually hugged me and even the President is paying more attention to me
than he ever has before,” he said the words like it was a foreign concept to him, like it was
unnatural for people to care about his well being, to be kind.

“And now here you are, suddenly acting concerned about me, like I mean something to you. I
don’t understand why ,” pure agony shown through Dazai’s words and as he spoke he shook his
head in denial, “This is not how people are supposed to treat me. It’s... it’s confusing and strange
and... and wrong . I hate it . Being gentle or, or kind to me is wrong and I want you to stop. I don’t
deserve it, so just stop .”

“How can you say that?” Chuuya asked in utter disbelief, “Do you think you deserved what your
father did to you? Is that how you think you’re supposed to be treated? How he treated you was
wrong and you didn’t deserve it. I don’t care what you think, but you didn’t deserve any of it and I
would kill him right now for all the horrible things he did to you if he weren’t already long dead.
No one deserves to be treated that way, not even you.”

Chuuya made sure Dazai was looking at him before he said his next words, “And I already told
you why I care, Dazai. You’re my brother and no matter how furious you make me, I’ll always be
there for you. You just have to let me.”

When he finished speaking, Chuuya pulled Dazai into a tight embrace. As he did so, Chuuya heard
Dazai’s breath hitch and felt him stiffen up, but that only made him hold on tighter. Chuuya could
imagine this was hard for Dazai. He was almost positive the only people to have held him like this
for any extended amount of time was that bastard Masao and the homicidal maniac Dazai had as a
father.

Dazai didn’t associate hugs as something comforting or safe. He associated hugs with pain and
deception and lies; something to fear because there was no real safety to be had in the gesture.
Unlike Chuuya, Dazai didn’t have someone like Kouyou to be there for him. He never got that
gentle touch without it being used as a way to further hurt him.

Chuuya felt it was about time Dazai learned that touch didn't necessarily mean pain.

And so he held on, refusing to let go even as Dazai snapped out of his shock and started trying to
push him away. Chuuya kept his arms wrapped firmly around Dazai’s shoulders, holding him close
despite the resistance Dazai put up.

As Dazai increased his efforts and he began to panic, Chuuya’s expression darkened in sorrow,
”Let go. Let go of me, Chuuya. Let go . Please , let me go .”

It was a painful echo of the words he used when begging Masao Horiki to do the same. More than
anything else Dazai could ever do, Chuuya hated hearing Dazai beg .
 Dazai’s knees soon gave out, Chuuya’s arms being the only thing holding him upright as his
breathing became haphazard, coming out in choking gasps as though Dazai couldn’t get enough air
in. Chuuya swiftly lowered both of them to their knees, trying to make him more comfortable while
adjusting Dazai’s head to lean on his shoulder. He could feel Dazai’s hot breath beating harshly
against the base of his neck and his hands clutching the sides of Chuuya’s shirt in a weak attempt to
push him away.

Chuuya’s throat tightened and he swallowed thickly, running his fingers through dusky brown
locks as he shakily attempted to sooth Dazai’s panic, “I’m not going to hurt you, Dazai. No one’s
going to hurt you. No one will hurt you, Dazai, I won't let them.”

Chuuya repeated those words over and over, trying to drown out Dazai’s own frantic mantra of ‘let
go’, but he didn't seem able to hear him. While his struggles decreased as time went on, his
hyperventilating remained the same. Chuuya couldn't get through to him with his words so he just
held him in his embrace, waiting for Dazai to calm down on his own. Eventually, it all became too
much for Dazai and he passed out, both from exhaustion and the lack of adequate air.

Chuuya simply sat there for a minute with Dazai limp in his arms. Swallowing down tears, he
looked down at his old partner, wondering what he was going to do, wondering what he could do.
For now, Chuuya gathered Dazai into his arms, carefully lifting him as he brought them both off
the kitchen floor. He carried Dazai to his room, laying him down on his futon before settling down
against one of the walls. He drew a knee up to his chest, wrapping an arm around it and placing his
chin on his knee.

Chuuya sat there, watching over Dazai with keen sapphire eyes for the rest of the night.

Chapter End Notes

As always, please tell me what you thought in the reviews. I hope this chapter was
worth the wait!!
 Nightmares in the Dark
Chapter Summary

Still clutching the lamp, Dazai closed his eyes and placed his weary head against the
cool metal, bringing in slow breaths one at a time. He hadn’t noticed there was another
presence in the room until he heard the shifting of fabric. His head snapped to just
right of the lamp he held, eyes focusing on the figure hidden in the shadows. As he
watched, the figure in the shadows moved onto his knees and Dazai saw a hand
coming towards him.

Reacting faster than he thought his near hypoxic state would allow, Dazai slammed
himself against the wall right next to the window, all the while cursing himself for not
having a gun anymore. The figure paused, not moving any closer, but also not
lowering its hovering hand. Dazai watched the figure and, as he stared at its piercing
blue eyes, he couldn’t help but feel he should recognize them. Framing those
paralyzing cerulean orbs was flaming red hair, reminiscent of a burning sunset.

The longer he stared, the more he felt the figure was missing something... constant.
Something always on its person. Usually there containing some of the wild blaze
exuding from its vivid red hair.

Chapter Notes

Sorry, guys, I have been really busy as of late. I also just started school again so my
updates will not be as often as they were in the past, but I will still be working on it!! I
hope you enjoy this chapter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Osamu sat there on his queen-sized bed, staring blankly at the off-white wall across from him as
emptiness shrouded his entire being. He had been doing the same thing for the past few hours,
never once moving from his position, trying to avoid the pain it would inevitably bring. It was all
he ever did now when left alone after the betrayal of Masao.

But mostly, it was all he could do through the constant agony Father put him through regularly.
And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t focus on anything besides the burning of his skin
and broken leg, the gnawing of his stomach, and the ache left in his heart by Masao. He may as
well have been a doll, only moving when directed to by Father.

Father would be coming to see him soon. It had only been a few days since his last visit—one
surprisingly not involving pain—but Father never liked being away from Osamu for too long.
Osamu wasn’t sure if this visit would be a social one, like the last one—without pain or suffering of
any kind when Father wanted to try and bond with him—or a training visit, which either consisted
of strategy training or a more ‘hands-on’ training with Father and his tools.

He never knew which one it would be but more often than not, it was the hands-on training. He
hoped it wasn’t but hoping never really got him anywhere so every time it popped up, he tried to
squash it down.

Soon, after only an hour more of sitting motionlessly, Osamu heard footsteps outside his door that
could only be Father. He stood quickly on his one working leg, leaning heavily on his crutch and
waited in muted fear—the only thing he ever felt past the void inside him—as Father unlatched the
many locks on his room door before taking a step inside.

”It’s time for your training, Osamu,” Father said and Osamu’s heart dropped further as Father
walked purposefully into his room, coming to stand right in front of the small five-year-old boy,
“Are you ready?”

Receiving no answer, Father knelt down in front of Osamu’s frozen form, stroking his thumb
across Osamu’s cheek rhythmically as he stared back with achingly wide, terrified eyes, “I only
want to help you. You understand that, don’t you, my precious child? This is for your own good,”
Father asked before wrapping his confining arms around Osamu’s thin, fragile shoulders, not
waiting for any confirmation.

Osamu immediately flinched at the unwanted and painful touch, heart pounding and dread pushing
past the haze as he waited for what always came next. Father never held him like this unless he
had just hurt him or was planning on hurting him very soon. Even if Father hadn’t already told
him he was here for Osamu’s training, Osamu would have known just from his bone-chilling
embrace. Osamu feared what Father had in store for him now as he loosened his hold on him and
Osamu caught the dark glint in his crazed eyes. Father pulled away, smiling at him in what on
anyone else would have been a comforting manner.

Osamu wasn't sure how much he could take today, not while he still hadn’t had a chance to heal
after the last training session. His skin was still blistered and raw from the pokers, sticking
painfully to his clothing and bandages despite the salve, and his leg had yet to heal from being
shattered by the mallet. Even the slightest movement shot screaming agony through his veins,
running straight to his bones. He watched in distant trepidation as Father let go of his shoulders
only to grab his hand, dragging him as Osamu limped silently behind to the lower levels of the Port
Mafia.

Once there, Father led him into a room he had never been in before. It was a small, closed off
room with no windows, cobblestone floors and walls, and the only light coming from the door they
entered through. In the center of the small room was an even smaller cage, barely big enough to fit
a child Osamu’s size. Looking at the cage, Osamu instantly knew it was meant for him.

Father’s hand tightened around Osamu’s when he had paused to examine the room and he pulled
Osamu until he stood right in front of the cage. Father let go of Osamu and knelt down to unlock
the metal confinement. Then he turned back to Osamu, wretched smile still on his aging face.

“This will be your training for now,” Father stated as he started undoing Osamu’s shirt and
bandages, dropping them onto the floor as he went.

Osamu winced at the sharp pulling on his damaged flesh as it clung to the fabric but didn’t
struggle while Father continued to unwrap his bandages. He knew better than that by now. He
couldn’t help the shiver as the cold air made contact with his mutilated skin and he felt extremely
vulnerable as the bandages slowly came off, exposing all his wounds.

Once Father had gotten the last of the bandages off, he just stared at Osamu for a moment,
admiring his handiwork with an adoring smile. Looking up from red, blistering wounds and
protruding ribs into Osamu’s glistening chocolate orbs, Father cooed, “Are you ready, my dear
child?”

Father put his arm around Osamu’s raw shoulders and directed him to the opening of the cage,
taking his crutch in the process. Osamu looked at the small enclosure, wondering if even he could
fit within it.

“Go on, Osamu, get in,” Father cajoled as if he was a stubborn child who wouldn’t take his
medicine.

Osamu had no idea what Father would do to him once he got in that cage. He didn’t want to go in
there but he feared what else Father would come up with to take its place. He got on his knees,
careful to keep pressure off his broken left leg and crawled into the metal crate. Once inside, he
turned so he sat on the iron floor and pulled his legs in as close to his chest as he possibly could
without them touching.

“You have to pull in more than that if you're going to fit, precious,” Father voiced before pushing
Osamu’s legs farther into the cage, causing his scarred back to press painfully into the bars
behind him.

Pain blazed through Osamu’s frame and he didn’t notice Father closing the door until it, too,
pressed into the skin of his legs. He gasped from the shock of it and tried to pull his injured leg
away from the bars. Osamu turned teary eyes up to look at Father, waiting for what was next, but
Father only walked towards the door.

“You will stay here until I come back for you,” Father told him without looking back and Osamu
blinked in confusion at his retreating frame.

“That’s... all?” Osamu asked with hesitant hope sounding in his voice.

Father reached the door before he finally turned to face Osamu. His dark silhouette smiled back at
him eerily as he said, “That’s all.”

And Osamu was immersed in total darkness.

At first, Osamu was relieved. Father wasn't going to hurt him today. But as minutes turned into
hours and hours turned into days, time seemed to mesh together until Osamu could no longer tell
how long he had remained in the dark, cramped enclosure. He grew more and more afraid until
this fear was all he could remember.

Complete darkness permeated the room around Osamu, not even a hint of light visible within its
confines. He lifted his hand, holding it shakily in front of his face but still, he couldn't see it at all.
His eyes were useless in the pitch black room and the nothingness threatened to swallow him
whole.

As though the dark wasn’t bad enough, the small room was surrounded by an oppressive silence.
No sound from the outside world made it to Osamu, even as he strained his ears for just the
slightest of noises. Osamu couldn’t hear anything besides the rapid hammering of his own heart
through his ears and his rasping, erratic breaths. He tried calling out, hoping someone would hear
him—save him from the dark, soundless room—but not even an echo made it through the thick
blackness.

It was so cold here.

No warmth could be found in the remaining layer of clothing and bandages on his lower body and,
even as tightly curled up as he was, none of his body heat seemed to make a difference. It was as
though the darkness sucked the very heat from his body, leaving him shaking, teeth chattering, and
desperate for warmth.

It wasn’t long before the darkness and the silence started playing tricks on him. He started hearing
things that weren’t there, seeing things that couldn’t be there in the darkness, and it shattered his
already fragile psyche. The voice he heard and the person he saw haunted his dreams when
exhaustion forced him to sleep.

Masao Horiki stood in front of him with a taunting sneer on his deceptively kind face, somehow
completely visible within the encompassing darkness. He crouched down, tilting his head in
mocking concern, asking, “Did you really think I cared about you? That I loved you?”

He started laughing, long and cruel and ugly.

“I can’t believe it!! How could you ever think I would love a disgusting monster like you?!” he
laughed again, “Oh, it was soo much fun, making you believe in a lie . I just loved watching how it
tore you apart when Shimazaki revealed it was all part of his games. The look on your face ! Oh, it
was priceless!!”

His grin as he looked at Osamu grew impossibly wide, splitting his face in half, “You are such a
fool.”

And then he faded away back into the darkness, leaving Osamu sobbing uncontrollably as he
tightened his damaged arms’ hold on his legs.

What felt like seconds—but may have actually been hours—passed before another vision of Masao
showed up. This time, the image of his caretaker had a bloody bullet wound seeping down from the
middle of his forehead. His expression looked agonized, full of crippling pain and suffering as
blood dripped down his face, hitting the floor with a loud pat .

It dripped and dripped, creating an ever-growing crimson puddle on the cobblestone floor. Osamu
watched it fall in horror, unable to take his eyes off of the man he thought loved him for so long.

The broken figure stared sorrowfully at Osamu before rasping brokenly, “Why did you let this
happen to me? Didn’t you love me, Osamu?”

The words came out slurred and mushed together as blood leaked into Masao’s mouth before
leaking out again. But even through the muddled words, Osamu understood every one of them and
his throat constricted painfully as they continued to flow, stabbing relentlessly into his already
shattered heart.

“You said you loved me, but you were pretending just like me, weren’t you? Something like you
isn’t capable of real love. I knew it all along. I could see it in your cold, empty eyes.”

Masao suddenly appeared behind Osamu, the blood from his mouth dripping down onto Osamu’s
shoulder as he whispered poison into his small ear, “You are a monster . An abomination . You
cause destruction and pain wherever you go. And you know what? The only person who could love
such a horrible creature like you is Shimazaki and you deserve everything he does to you simply
because you exist.”

And just like the first illusion, this one vanished with only Osamu’s screams as evidence it was
ever there in the first place.
Throughout the rest of Osamu’s isolation, specters would come and go, taunting and tormenting
him. Every time he thought they had finally left him alone, another would appear in its place. They
repeated the same thing over and over again, accusing him of being a monster. Every attempt he
made to sleep was interrupted by their ear-splitting screams until Osamu eventually stopped
trying.

All he could do was wail and press his shaking hands over his ears, trying desperately to drown
out the voices. For the first time in his life, Osamu wanted his father to come and get him.

Just when Osamu was certain he would go completely mad, the door creaked open, shining the
first light in days over the shaking, fragile boy.

It was Father.

He had come back for Osamu. A fresh set of tears spilled down his young face at the relief of
seeing the man who had put him in here in the first place but, at the moment, Osamu didn’t care
about that. He was simply grateful Father was here now.

He watched Father approach through tear-stained eyes and waited— hoped —for Father to let
him out. Soon, Father crouched in front of his tiny cage and it felt like it took forever for him to
unlock and open the door. Once he pulled the door completely open, Father spread his arms for a
hug.

Osamu didn’t hesitate to fall into them, latching on desperately as his cries continued to escalate.

Father held him for a moment more before finally speaking and Osamu thought it was the most
beautiful sound he had ever heard.

”You know I love you, don’t you, Osamu?” Father whispered in Osamu’s ear as he trembled in his
arms, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

Osamu’s small arms wrapped tighter around Father’s neck, clinging tightly to him for comfort and
savoring the warmth of his body heat, the sound of his rough voice, the gentleness of his touch,
and the light coming through the door after being in the cold, dark, soundless room for so long.
Osamu had never been so happy to see Father before and he hoped he would never let him go
again. He preferred even the pain of Father’s torture than what he had just experienced. Osamu
sobbed and sobbed into Father’s shoulder, leaning into an embrace he normally shied away from
for the comfort and safety it now provided.

This time, Osamu believed it when Father told him he loved him. He desperately clung to the idea
that Father really was doing this for his own good. That he really was just trying to help and that
this pain—both physical and psychological—wasn’t in vain. He didn’t think he could stand it any
longer, otherwise.

Through his endless tears and aching, heaving sobs, Osamu cried back, “I love you, too, Father. I
love you.“

He hoped it would be enough to stop Father from putting him back in the dark, cramped cage
again.

He didn’t see his Father’s smile, devious and self-satisfied, as he lifted him up and took him away
from that horrible room.

Dazai awoke with a barely choked off scream, not loud enough to be heard outside of his own
room. His breath came out in heaves, shuddering his chest violently as he tried to calm himself
down.

It was just a dream. He had to remember it was just a dream and he wasn’t really still in that
cramped cage. That had been years ago and definitely was. Not. Now .

The words Dazai spoke to himself appeared to be working until he blinked and realized his eyes
had been open the entire time. It was so dark , it almost didn't make a difference if he had his eyes
opened or closed and suddenly, Dazai couldn’t remember where he was. Maybe he hadn’t been
taken out of that dark room after all and he was still waiting for Father to come back for him.

Dazai’s heart thundered erratically in his chest and his throat constricted painfully, leaving him
struggling for air.

Had everything just been his imagination? Had he really just made up a whole life for himself
outside of this torment? But no, everything had seemed so real. He couldn’t have made up all those
people, could he?

He tried to think through the panic, sort out what was real and what was not but it was difficult
through his lightheadedness and lungs screaming in its need for oxygen. Dazai gripped his chest in
an attempt to ease the pain and realized there were no bars, nothing constraining him like in his
memories. He could move and if he could move, he wasn’t trapped and if he wasn’t trapped...

He sucked in a lungful of air, recognition coming to him, and promptly choked on it. Dazai’s
breaths came out sporadically as his body tried to make up for lost air.

It had taken him longer than it should have to remember where he was but even when he finally
did, the fear didn’t abate and Dazai couldn’t even his breathing out. It was too dark, making it
impossible for him to calm down.

Light.

He needed light .

Dazai turned painfully slowly onto his stomach, trying to get his body to work normally through its
refusal to breathe in more than short gasps. Once there, he spotted the dark outline of his floor lamp
through the limited light he now noticed coming in through the window. It was a few feet away
and Dazai tried to grab it but it was just out of his reach.

Struggling to get his limbs working correctly, Dazai started a slow half-crawl towards the lamp.
His vision had blurred around the edges by the time he reached the light source and it took a few
clumsy tries before he was able to turn it on. As soon as the room was illuminated, Dazai found his
breath.

Still clutching the lamp, Dazai closed his eyes and placed his weary head against the cool metal,
bringing in slow breaths one at a time. He hadn’t noticed there was another presence in the room
until he heard the shifting of fabric. His head snapped to just right of the lamp he held, eyes
focusing on the figure hidden in the shadows. As he watched the shadowed figure move onto its
knees and Dazai saw a hand coming towards him.

Reacting faster than he thought his near hypoxic state would allow, Dazai slammed himself against
the wall right next to the window, all the while cursing himself for not having a gun anymore. The
figure paused, not moving any closer, but also not lowering its hovering hand. Dazai watched the
figure and, as he stared at its piercing blue eyes, he couldn’t help but feel he should recognize
them. Framing those paralyzing cerulean eyes was flaming red hair, reminiscent of a burning
sunset.

The longer he started, the more he felt the figure was missing something... constant. Something
always on its person. Usually there containing some of the blaze exuding from its vivid red hair.

Dazai narrowed his chestnut eyes, trying to piece together how he should know this figure but it
just would not come to his unusually muddled mind. As he stared, Dazai noticed the figure’s lips
moving but he could not hear what they were saying over the roaring in his ears. The deafening
sound began to die down with the calming of his heart and the figure’s words started making it
through to him.

”-thing’s okay, Dazai. You know me. We’re in your apartment with the Agency. You’re safe here.”

And suddenly Dazai realized he did know the figure. It was-

”Chuuya?” Dazai croaked, throat dry after his frantic breaths.

”Yeah, ” Chuuya looked considerably relieved at the sound of Dazai’s voice and he lowered his
arm from its raised position, ”it’s me... You okay?”

Rather than answering Chuuya’s hesitant question and missing the worry exuding from his azure
eyes, Dazai simply blinked at him in confusion, ”What are you doing here, Chuuya?”

Any relief Chuuya felt at Dazai’s acknowledgment evaporated and he crinkled his brow in
increasing concern, ”You... don’t remember?”

Dazai blinked again and thought back to the night before. It all came crashing back to him.

“ Oh , ” he whispered in mortification, covering his face in shame at the memory.

Silence fell for a few minutes before Chuuya spoke up again.

“You had a nightmare.”

It wasn’t a question so much as an accusation, daring Dazai to deny it when the evidence was right
there in front of him. Dazai removed his face from his hand, looking up to see Chuuya glaring at
him with calculating blue eyes.

“...What?” Dazai said dumbly, reeling from the abrupt change in topic and wondering if he had
heard right.

“You had a nightmare ,” the words were repeated vehemently, angry at the perceived deflection,
“and you are going to tell me what it was about.”

Dazai sighed heavily before stretching out from his cramped position, loosely folding his legs
instead. He knew it was unlikely but he had hoped Chuuya wouldn’t ask about that, especially
when it was still so fresh on his mind. Of course, Chuuya would want answers now with how
severely Dazai reacted after the nightmare. Dazai once again wondered why—no, how —Chuuya
could care so much about something as despicable as him.

Dazai looked out the still dark window as a way to avoid Chuuya’s gaze, “It’s still dark out,
Chuuya. Let’s do this in the morning.”

“You know as well as I do that won’t happen! You’ll pretend nothing happened and push it aside
like you always do!!”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Dazai snapped, turning his own glare unto Chuuya as he continued
to press the subject, “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because you looked terrified ,” Chuuya hissed back as he leaned forward, now only a couple feet
away from Dazai “and I have never seen you so scared in my life. I’ve never even seen you slightly
afraid before. And then there you were, in your own room , so terrified out of your mind you didn’t
even know where you were. That’s something you need to talk about and I am not leaving until
you do.”

Chuuya paused, eyes still blazing as he waited for Dazai’s answer. Quiet filled the room while
Dazai thought of what to say to that. He would have just shot out a snarky response like he usually
did but something about Chuuya’s appearance stopped him. Chuuya looked... haggard. More so
than Dazai had ever seen him, even after using corruption.

His usually pristine clothes bore deep wrinkles that spoke of restless anxious movement. Both his
jacket and coat were conspicuously missing from his frame. Looking around, Dazai spotted them a
few feet from the door, tossed carelessly onto his floor in a messy pile. The hat Chuuya usually so
proudly wore on his head was nowhere to be seen, lost some time between arriving at Dazai’s
apartment to the current situation. It somehow felt wrong for Chuuya not to be wearing it now,
when Dazai could easily read his expressions and see the worry and anger and concern so clearly
written on his face. Dark circles formed under his eyes, probably from staying up to watch over
Dazai throughout the night. Even his hair was a mess and if Dazai had to guess, he would say
Chuuya had been running his hands through it continuously in anxiety for it to be in the state it was
now.

A heavy sensation suddenly formed in Dazai’s heart and throat, and he couldn’t bring himself to
argue with Chuuya any longer.

“It was about Father,” Dazai whispered woodenly, not looking at Chuuya as the words left his
mouth and missing the surprise on the other’s face, “I was five and he locked me in a dark room
for... days, maybe a week, I don’t know. The entire time I was there, I wished he would come back.
I begged for him to come back. When he finally came for me, I was so grateful, I didn’t even care
he was the one who put me there in the first place. He hugged me, and I clung to him.”

Dazai paused, trying to get moisture back in his mouth before reluctantly continuing, “I always
hated it when he hugged me because it meant pain, but at that moment, I didn’t care if he hurt me
again. I wanted him to hold me and never let go. And when he told me he loved me, I believed it. I
told him I loved him back, and I did . He hurt me in so many ways and I loved him.”

Dazai ended derisively and didn’t look up, instead opting to study his fingers, wondering how they
remained unscarred when the rest of him had not been so lucky.

“I still do,” Dazai whispered as though hoping Chuuya wouldn’t hear the admission.

He didn’t look up as Chuuya shifted his position or when the mafioso suddenly sat directly in front
of him. For a minute, Dazai worried Chuuya would try hugging him again, but he only put his hand
on his shoulder. Dazai still flinched away from the touch, but it wasn’t as bad as a hug and so he
didn’t shrug him off.

He looked up at Chuuya when it became apparent he wouldn’t say anything without some sort of
acknowledgement from Dazai and when he did, he wished he hadn’t. Chuuya’s face was a storm of
concern, sorrow, and grief as he looked at him. Dazai didn’t know what to do. In the past few days,
he had seen this expression over and over on the faces of everyone he knew and still, he had no
idea how to get rid of it or even how to react. He was a deer caught in headlights and for once, he
wanted someone to tell him what to do. How to fix this.

Dazai was tired of breaking everything.

Chuuya wasn’t supposed to care. Not caring kept him safe. No one was supposed to care and yet
they did. And Dazai was sorry he had somehow tricked all these wonderful people into caring
about a monster.

Dazai’s self-deprecating thoughts abruptly scattered as Chuuya headbutted him. Hard .

Dazai dropped to the floor, clutching his face and hissing in pain while hcxe reeled from the
unexpected attack. He heard Chuuya heave a sigh off to the side before his voice floated to him.

”You’re a real idiot, Dazai,” Chuuya said softly with a tone of voice contradicting his earlier
violence, ”You’re thinking about something unnecessary again, aren’t you?”

When Dazai dared to look up at Chuuya from the floor, he found his expression hadn’t changed.
Instead, it seemed to grow sadder than before.

”None of that was your fault. It was cruel of him to do that to you. It was sick and he used it to
make you reliant on him. You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

The blank expression Chuuya received in response answered that question quite clearly for the
mafioso.

“It’s when a victim of abuse develops emotional attachments to their abuser.”

“I wasn’t abused.”

A vein twitched in Chuuya’s forehead at the denial and he watched as the brunette finally sat up
from his crumpled position, “The fact that you are even saying that proves my point. You were
definitely abused.”

“It wasn’t abuse,” Dazai denied again, seemingly oblivious to Chuuya’s rising ire.

“If it wasn’t abuse, then what the hell do you call it, huh? ‘Cause I don’t see how it could be
anything else unless you’d rather I call it torture . It certainly was that as well.”

Chuuya was trying to keep his temper under control—he had yelled enough at Dazai as it was—but
he didn’t think he could contain his rage if Dazai continued to defend that monster.

“Abuse implies it was undeserved and you know as well as I do I deserved it more than anyone.”

Chuuya was struck dumb. When what Dazai said fully registered in Chuuya’s mind, he looked
desperately into Dazai’s eyes for any sign he did not actually believe any of that. All hope
vanished, however, when he saw the firm conviction within his hazelnut gaze. Dazai truly thought
he deserved the cruelty his father inflicted on him. Nothing he said yesterday had made it through
Dazai’s thick skull and Chuuya wasn’t sure if it ever would.

But that wouldn’t stop him from trying until it did.

The fury Chuuya had been pushing down came roaring to the surface all at once. Fury was the only
way he knew how to handle situations like this and he just hoped it wouldn't make everything
worse. He grabbed the younger man by the collar, dragging him up until they were eye to eye,
“Don’t. Ever . Say that again. You hear me? It isn’t true. Why can’t you understand that?”

Dazai gave him a look of such glaring incomprehension and disbelief Chuuya couldn’t look at him
anymore. He abruptly let go of his collar, shoving him in the process and turned away from him,
pacing. He ran his hands through his hair—it was becoming a habit at this point—and
unsuccessfully tried to breathe through his frustration. Dazai was so freakin’ messed up, Chuuya
wondered if he even knew how normal relationships were supposed to work.

Dumb question, of course, he didn’t. Just look at how things went with Akutagawa, and that was
toned down compared to what Dazai himself went through. Chuuya saw that Dazai understood
how he treated Akutagawa was wrong by how he treated Atsushi now in comparison but, at the
time, Dazai thought cruelty was the only way he could connect with people. He seemed to be
trying to make up for it now but try as he might it would never completely repair the damage he
did to Akutagawa. Just like Dazai hadn’t healed from his father and probably never would.

Chuuya stopped his pacing and wondered if that was the reason Dazai had been so nasty with him.
Had he been trying to connect in some twisted, screwed up way? Perhaps Oda was the only one
who saw Dazai’s clumsy attempts for what they were and that was how he could wedge his way
into the Demon Prodigy’s frozen, underdeveloped heart.

Dazai spoke up from his slumped position against the wall, drawing Chuuya’s attention back to
him, “I don’t understand why you are so upset about all of this. What happened to me is no worse
than what Atsushi went through in his orphanage or what you suffered as a science experiment.”

Chuuya whirled to face Dazai, glaring viscously at Dazai as he exploded with rage, “Yes, it was!!
You were mercilessly tortured by your father for years!! I don’t even remember anything from my
time in the lab! How can you even compare the two?! They are nothing alike!!”

Chuuya was going to mention how he was sure Atsushi, as terrible as his life may have been,
couldn’t have been treated nearly as deplorably as Dazai himself, but Dazai’s soft voice stopped
him before he got the words out.

“Just because you don’t remember it, it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or affect you.”

Chuuya stopped short and quickly deflated with a sigh as he dropped to sit cross-legged on the
floor, hands resting on his knees and face to the floor.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, all too aware of how those experiments affected him, leaving him with a
power he could not control and how it ravaged his body with every use. After a moment, he looked
back up at Dazai with searching eyes, “Tell me Dazai, do you think Atsushi and I deserved what
happened to us?”

Dazai stared at him like he had grown two heads and looked deeply insulted by the question, “Of
course I don’t. Is that what you think?”

Chuuya saw in Dazai’s eyes how horrified he was that Chuuya thought that of him and the mafioso
was quick to deny it.

“No, it was just a question, Dazai. I’m just wondering how you can think you deserved it when you
said yourself that we didn’t. Where’s the difference there? What makes you deserve it when we
don’t?”

“You’re not a monster.”

 “And you are?” He gently asked, trying to understand Dazai’s reasoning and catch Dazai’s eyes.

“ Yes ,” the brunette whispered, refusing to meet Chuuya’s gaze as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“Why?”

“You know why ,” Dazai snapped, finally looking up and Chuuya saw the hollowness within his
dull brown orbs, “You know better than anyone why .”

The redhead shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes, “You weren’t always the Demon
Prodigy. You didn’t get that title until you were fifteen. Before that, you were just a kid in an
impossible situation with no way to defend himself. And that wasn’t fair. You didn’t. Deserve it.”

Dazai dropped his gaze to his lap again. Chuuya leaned forward and adamantly repeated, “You
didn’t .”

Dazai didn’t acknowledge his statement and just continued to stare unseeingly into space. Chuuya
grew sad as he watched Dazai, who was usually so smart and clever and confident , unable to
understand how he was treated wasn’t somehow his fault.

This time, when Dazai asked for an out, Chuuya didn’t deny him.

“Can I go back to bed now?” The brunette asked blankly.

Chuuya almost flinched at the lifeless tone and hunched posture but answered anyway, listlessly,
“Yeah.”

As Chuuya got up to move back to his earlier position across the room, Dazai’s tenor voice
followed him, “There’s an extra futon in the closet as well as the yukatas.”

Chuuya looked back down at him in surprise but Dazai only curled further into himself. Chuuya
didn’t pursue the matter. He opened the closet and removed the futon and two yukatas, tossing one
to Dazai. He set up his futon next to Dazai’s, keeping his back turned as they both changed into
their yukatas.

Without saying a word, Chuuya settled down into his borrowed futon, back turned towards Dazai
as he got into his own. He didn’t comment when Dazai left the lamp on.

Chapter End Notes

As always, please tell me what you think in the comments. How did it flow? Is there
anything I need to fix? What did you like or dislike? Anything at all! I’ll see you all
next time!!
 Misconceptions and Miscommunications
Chapter Summary

“What do you know about Dazai? Huh?” Chuuya watched as Kunikida’s glared
faltered slightly, losing some of his conviction in the accusing words he had just spat
at Chuuya as he pressed on, “Did you know the reason he always tries to kill himself
by drowning is because he can’t swim? Or that he tried to do it yesterday and you
weren’t there to stop it?”

Kunikida flinched horrible at the words, taking a step back as though that would
protect him from the onslaught of heartrending words. “How about the fact that Dazai
is completely blind in his right eye, no vision in it at all? Did you know that?”

Chuuya’s face suddenly crumpled, his gaze dropping and instead of anger, sadness
shined in his cerulean orbs. When he spoke again, his voice came out more as a
haunted half-whisper than anything else, “Have you every held him for hours just so
he wouldn’t hurt himself? Or begged him to eat after watching him wither away
because he wouldn’t care for himself?”

Chuuya reinforced his glare tenfold and brought his gaze back to Kunikida’s shocked
hazel ones. He saw the pain filling in his eyes. The guilt and remorse. The horror
dawning on his face. But he wouldn’t relent now, not after Kunikida told him he didn’t
care.

Chapter Notes

First of all, I wanted to thank all my patient readers and everyone who reviewed on my
story. Thank you all so much! I loved reading your reviews and I am glad you all like
it! Thank you for your support. Secondly, I apologize for the super late update. My
mom has been sick since October and we just found out in March that she has non-
smokers lung cancer, so unfortunately, that means that updates will continue to be
haphazard but I will be working on it.

Anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter and leave reviews on your way out!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Just for a moment, as he hovered somewhere between unconsciousness and the waking world,
Chuuya was at peace. He felt warm. Warmer than he could remember being for the past several
days—when his thoughts filled him with ice and biting cold—and all his worries seemed so far
away.

He vaguely remembered being upset about something. Something important. Something heart-
shattering.

Something that needed a more delicate hand than he was used to giving but in his half asleep state,
none of that seemed to matter. He could just be , without the stress of his life getting in his way. Of
course, as Chuuya had come to expect in his hard twenty-two years of life, tranquil feelings like
that never lasted long.

He was brought out of his blissful peace by a pressing heat somewhere on his back. It wasn’t
painful or even necessarily unpleasant, but it’s unusual presence woke him nonetheless. His mind
started to clear and shattered all tranquility like a sledgehammer striking glass as memories came
rushing back. With consciousness came awareness and Chuuya realized the warmth between his
shoulder blades came from someone close behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, Chuuya saw Dazai curled against him, his head pressing into his back
seemingly seeking comfort. The hot air from his deep breathing combined with the close contact
seemed to be the cause of the heat on his back.

Chuuya was surprised Dazai had gotten so close to him. He never willingly made any physical
contact in his sleep, not even accidentally. It just never happened. Chuuya had seen Dazai allow
himself to freeze to the point of hypothermia without ever seeking warmth from another person.
Even while he was sleeping and the natural reaction would be to gravitate towards heat sources,
Dazai shied away from it. It was like he had some defense mechanism that made sure he never got
too close. He just couldn’t trust anyone enough to let them get close to him while he slept.

For him to be curled against Chuuya now was highly unusual, and yet, with everything that’s been
happening recently, it wasn’t exactly surprising. Dazai knew, even subconsciously, that Chuuya
wouldn’t let anyone hurt him while he was so vulnerable. And as he slept, the only way for him to
know Chuuya was still there was to get close, even as it went against everything he used to protect
himself.

At the same time this proved to Chuuya that Dazai did still trust him—as much as Dazai could
bring himself to trust anyone —it also saddened him. Dazai literally had to be going through hell
before he let himself seek the comfort he so desperately needed and Chuuya’s heart ached for him.

Chuuya sat up slowly, careful not to wake Dazai prematurely and took a moment to study the
younger boy while he was too unaware to wear a mask or put on a show.

In his sleep, Dazai’s shields were down, completely exposing him to the world. In his sleep, Dazai
couldn’t evade scrutiny with witty comments or playful antics. In his sleep, Dazai looked haunted.
The weight of years of harshness making an appearance on his young face. Light streamed through
the window, emphasizing his too pale pallor bringing out the dark circles under his eyes with
startling contrast, hinting at many long sleepless nights. Even through the layer of bandages,
Chuuya could see the sharp lines of his collar bones, emphasizing just how thin the taller man was.
He had gained some weight since joining the Armed Detective Agency but it was still too few. If
Chuuya had had any doubt Dazai was still suffering from his father’s cruel experiment of
starvation, it was now gone.

All of these were clear signs something was seriously wrong that Chuuya should have noticed and
questioned years ago. Maybe not when they had first met—Dazai had been so obnoxious back then
—but he should have noticed when he had learned to tolerate him better. Especially since they
spent most of their time together with all the missions they got assigned.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t often that Chuuya actually saw Dazai sleeping and if he did,
it was usually because Dazai had gotten himself hurt again. On missions, he would always go to
bed later than Chuuya and wake up earlier than him. Half the time, Chuuya thought he didn’t sleep
at all. But there were times when Chuuya was woken by soft unidentifiable noises in the middle of
the night and he saw how restless Dazai seemed. Like even in his dreams, he could never truly
relax.

At the time, Chuuya just brushed it off, assuming Dazai was only scheming more ways to make his
life miserable and didn’t bother taking a closer look. But even then, sometimes he would notice
how exhausted Dazai appeared in the mornings. How he seemed to curl into himself and his mind
seemed a million miles away. At those moments, Chuuya allowed himself to be concerned, if only
a little, and he did everything in his power to distract the younger boy. Get him out of his head and
forget whatever it was that pulled him in.

Now that he had an idea what those dreams were about, Chuuya wished he had tried harder and
cared enough to ask. How Dazai was able to hide what was apparent in his sleep everyday told
Chuuya that Dazai had a lot of practice in making people forget how unhealthy—how thin and
tired and empty— he looked or that they even cared in the first place.

Even as Chuuya nagged constantly about how Dazai needed to eat more, how he looked like a stiff
wind could blow him over, Dazai could somehow laugh it all off and turned the conversation in
another direction before Chuuya even knew what happened. It wouldn’t be until later, when Dazai
was off somewhere else and Chuuya entered his Mafia-appointed apartment for the night, that he
remembered he had been trying to get Dazai to eat something. And that he hadn’t seen him eat for
days.

And now, all those masks and evasions and facades were nowhere to be seen. Washed away in
sleep and utter exhaustion. Chuuya refused to look the other way any longer. He refused to just
stand by as Dazai destroyed himself with neglect and self-hatred. He would do whatever it took to
get Dazai through this, no matter how long that took.

And that meant he first had to get Dazai to eat.

With that in mind, Chuuya quietly got up from the futon. Noticing the light still coming from the
lamp, Chuuya turned it off. He watched Dazai’s face to make sure the slight darkening of the room
didn’t disturb him. When he saw no adverse reaction, Chuuya pulled away, thankful for the sun’s
comforting presence for Dazai.

With one last look back at Dazai, Chuuya ambled his way into Dazai’s barren living room, shutting
the door behind him. He walked through the kitchen, checking every cabinet, drawer, and
cupboard for signs of food. When he checked the fridge and still didn’t find anything, he knocked
his head against the fridge door and exhaled a deep sigh as he closed his eyes in frustration.

“Of course,” Chuuya let out another agitated breath, “Why did I expect him to have anything
here?”

Chuuya was drawn away from his self-recrimination by a polite knock on the door. Looking over,
he furrowed his brow, wondering which Agency member it could be. Before he could think on it
too long, a muffled voice carried through the door over to him.

“Dazai, are you in there? How are you doing?”

‘Ah, it’s the were-tiger Akutagawa was always going off about,’ Chuuya thought, pulling himself
away from the fridge.

Scratching the back of his head, Chuuya headed for the door, for once not caring he was only in a
yukata and not exactly up to his own standards of presentability. He abruptly pulled the door open,
revealing both Atsushi and Kyouka, shock falling over their faces at his unexpected appearance.
Chuuya made a quick note of Kyouka, happy to see her looking so well. The Agency had been
good for her, Kouyou would be glad to hear it. She had been worried since Kyouka left and even
though Dazai had promised she’d be fine, Kouyou couldn’t help being concerned about the young
girl.

Folding his arm loosely, Chuuya leaned against the door frame, expression level as he looked at
them, questioningly, “Yeah? What do you want?”

Snapping out of his shock, Atsushi started sputtering, “Wha-whe-ho-? What are you doing here?!
Where’s Dazai?!! Did you hurt him?!!!”

Grimacing, Chuuya put a finger in his ear to block out the sound of Atsushi’s yells, “Quiet down,
will ya? You’re giving me a headache.”

“Where’s Dazai ?!” Atsushi asked again, panic overtaking him as he no doubt imagined many
horrible things Chuuya had done to his mentor and prepared to push his ways in.

“Calm down. Dazai’s sleeping in his room. You’ll wake him up with all the noise,” noticing the
groceries in Kyouka’s hands, Chuuya nodded towards them, “That for Dazai?”

Eyes still wide in surprise, Kyouka looked down at the bag in her hands before looking back at
Chuuya with her no-longer-icy blue irises. She nodded in affirmation, and with her soft voice said,
“Yes, we’ve been trying to make Dazai breakfast everyday.”

A small smile made its way onto Chuuya’s face, ‘So they really do care about the mackerel, after
all.’

“Great,” Chuuya stated as he reached out, grabbing the bag from her and proceeded towards the
kitchen to put the items on the counter.

Atsushi and Kyouka shared a stunned look before turning their attention back to the Mafia
Executive. Cautiously, they followed Nakahara into the apartment, watching with confusion as the
man pulled ingredients out of the bag and started rummaging through cabinets to pull out pans.

Nakahara... was not what Atsushi expected.

He wasn’t anything like what Atsushi had come to expect from the Port Mafia. He wasn’t like
Akutagawa, all snarls and anger and hate. Though from what Dazai said about the man on the rare
occasion he brought up his past in the mafia, he thought he’d look... angrier. Always with a
perpetual scowl on his face and scathing words on his tongue. Atsushi had gotten the impression
that Chuuya— as Dazai liked to call him with glee in his eyes—was just an older version of
Akutagawa.

The man in front of him seemed none of those things.

Nakahara looked calm as he chopped the vegetables and meat with remarkable skill. His face was
smooth of any signs of the temper Dazai spoke of but as Atsushi looked closer, he noticed he was a
little red around the eyes. Like he had been crying. He also looked as though he hadn’t slept well
and judging by his yukata and disheveled hair, both indications he had just woken up, he had slept
at Dazai’s apartment last night.

Biting his lip, Atsushi looked at Kyouka again, hoping she would have some idea of what was
going on. She seemed to understand and chose that moment to speak up.
“Chuuya,” she started in a soft tone, surprising Atsushi with the familiarity she seemed to have
with the executive by using his first name, “What are you doing here? Is Dazai okay?”

Chuuya put the chopped vegetables and meat into the pan, bringing it to the stove before turning
back towards the children. He raised an eyebrow at them as he leaned back against the countertop.

“I told you he was in his room. I didn’t hurt him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Chuuya stated,
watching them with his red-rimmed blue eyes.

“No, I.. I didn’t mean that,” Kyouka said, stepping closer to the kitchen island separating them with
imploring eyes, “You look upset, is all.”

Atsushi wondered what sort of relationship the two of them had when Kyouka was trapped in the
mafia. He thought she had just been close to Kouyou.

Chuuya let out a coarse laugh, shaking his head in derision as a crooked smirk made its way onto
his face, “That’s definitely an understatement.”

He paused for a moment, the smirk falling off his face as fast as it had come, “Yesterday... I had to
stop another of Dazai’s suicide attempts. It’s been four years since I last saw him… Since I last had
to stop him from hurting himself and still it’s the same song and dance. But now... now I finally
know why he does it.”

Atsushi’s mind came to an abrupt halt. Dazai had tried to kill himself again and Atsushi had no
idea. He wasn’t there to stop it. If Nakahara hadn’t come along... Dazai would be dead right now
and no one would have been around to prevent it.

They were all so worried about finding the mastermind behind the photos so he wouldn’t hurt
Dazai again that they forgot Dazai was just as likely to hurt himself.

It was Kyouka who made the connection first and her hesitant voice drew Atsushi out of his
growing horror.

“You saw the pictures. Didn’t you, Chuuya?” Her voice was quiet, breath bated, and filled with the
same horror as Atsushi as he thought back to the horribly graphic images. He had to push back the
growing bile to keep from vomiting right then and there.

Nakahara‘s azure eyes hooded instantly at the mention, his voice rough as he answered, “Yeah... I
did. Dazai brought them over a couple weeks ago. Thought the boss had something to do with it.”

With the next words, the Mafia executive’s face darkened and Atsushi got the first glimpse at the
furious anger Dazai claimed Nakahara was capable of, “Even worse than that, I saw the journals
and the videos . What kind of sicko makes torture videos ?”

Disgust oozed off of the redhead’s voice and Atsushi was surprised at the genuine anger and
concern on behalf of Dazai. Once again, his thoughts on the Port Mafia were wrong. He hadn’t
thought anyone there cared about Dazai... well, except Akutagawa in his weird, obsessive way.

And then Nakahara’s words really registered in his unusually slow thinking processes. Suddenly
feeling impossibly cold, Atsushi asked, “Wait, did you say... videos ?”

The stormy expression remained on the shorter man’s face as he nodded, “Akutagawa and I found a
whole box full of them back at the base. You’re Dazai’s friends. I thought you should know.”

There was an indistinguishable roaring in Atsushi’s ears as he pulled out his phone. With numb,
trembling fingers, Atsushi sent a grim message to Kunikida.

[Kunikida. Chuuya Nakahara is at Dazai’s apartment. He says there are videos of Dazai being
tortured. Please, come quick.]

She knew she should sleep. She knew that sitting here staring at the same thing for days on end
wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t undo what had happened. It wouldn't make it any less real or
any less terrible.

She knew this.

But it seemed impossible to tear her eyes away. She couldn’t help but think that if she only looked
long enough the answers would come to her and she would finally be able to help in some tangible
way.

But everything was just too horrible and no amount of wishing or praying could change that.

Yosano sat in a disheveled slump on the floor of her Agency-administered apartment. Dozens of
nightmare-inducing photographs surrounded her, spread out so that each picture was in grisly
focus. The longer she looked at them, the clearer it became how completely out of depth she was
for this.

Physical wounds she can fix, no problem. Even with the unfortunate effect Dazai’s ability had on
her own, she had been trained with enough medical knowledge to get by without simply relying on
her ability. But not only were these wounds old—far, far too late to heal—they were too brutal to
not leave serious mental scars as well.

And those... those were the kinds of wounds she couldn’t even hope to heal. That, she also knew.
And it killed her.

But Yosano would not give up. If she couldn’t heal Dazai’s emotional scars—couldn’t ease the
nightmares or make Dazai see that none of this was his fault— the least she could do was find out
what had caused him lasting damage. And maybe then she could help him not be in pain anymore.

If she could at least do that much, they could work on the rest of it together. If Dazai could trust
her to, that is.

Loud pounding filled her small apartment, startling her enough she accidentally sent photos flying
in her surprise. Cursing softly, Yosano stood up, half heartedly brushing off her clothes and
straightening out her hair before heading to the door. By the time she started walking to her door,
the pounding had become frantic and she heard Kunikida from the other side.

“Yosano, are you in there?! Yosano, please, it's urgent!”

With her panic rising at the hurried voice of Kunikida, she quickened her pace, pulling the door
open as fast as she could, not caring as it banged against the wall.

“What, Kunikida? What is it? What’s wrong?” Yosano’s brow furrowed anxiously as she watched
Kunikida pull his fist back abruptly when he noticed the door was no longer there.

He took a moment to catch his breath before pushing up his glasses, “Atsushi just texted me.
Chuuya Nakahara is in Dazai’s apartment right now. He said there weren’t only photos... There are
videos, as well.”
Yosano’s eyes widened in horror at the revelation. As if the pictures weren’t enough, she couldn’t
imagine the horrors a video would contain. She hurried back into her room and pulled on her
shoes, sparing a glance at the photographs before following Kunikida back to Dazai’s room.

Chuuya worked methodically on the food, pretending he hadn’t noticed Atsushi send a text with his
phone. Honestly, he would be more concerned if the kid hadn’t contacted other agency members.
You don’t just leave a known enemy unchecked in the apartment of one of your own. Even if said
enemy showed no signs of becoming violent. It just wasn’t good sense and he would question
whether it really was safe to leave Dazai in their care if they didn’t take even the simplest of
precautions. He knew Dazai could take care of himself normally. For the most part, anyway, but
now... Now he didn’t think Dazai would even try. And he needed all the help he could get at the
moment.

As Chuuya took the food off of the stove he dished out four servings, being extra generous with
Dazai’s helping. Since the kids had brought the food in the first place, the least he could do was be
considerate and make food for them. When that was done, he set aside the food and once again
leaned back against the adjoining counter, waiting for them to either speak or for whoever they had
texted to come barging in.

The kids had gone quiet after he told them about the videos and who could blame them? The
photos were terrible, but the videos? That opened a whole other box of horrors. He wished he’d
never seen it but well... at least now someone knew and if it had to be anyone, Chuuya was glad it
had been him. The whole experience had been quite a shock for Akutagawa though. He had been
pretty subdued these last couple weeks and Chuuya sympathized. He really did.

It was hard learning that the person you looked up to—the person you idolized— was more broken
than you were.

Just as the silence started becoming awkward between the three of them, loud footsteps were heard
beyond the door to the hallway. It surprised no one when, in the next moment, the door slammed
open, revealing a harried Kunikida. Yosano appeared at the door in a much more sedate pace, but
her expression betrayed her worry. Whether that worry came from Chuuya’s presence or not
remained to be seen.

Kunikida caught his breath quickly as he looked around the room, no doubt looking for signs of
Dazai. Not seeing him, his face turned stormy as he instead locked eyes with Chuuya. He stomped
into the room, fists clenched tightly and came to a stop directly across from the mafia executive in
front of the counter. The shorter man had straightened up to his full height as Kunikida
approached, keeping his expression neutral and unbothered, his posture unconcerned.

It wouldn’t be a good idea to start a fight right now. Not when there were far more important
things to worry about.

“Where’s Dazai?” Dazai’s new partner ground out, his teeth clenched as he, too, was seemingly
trying to keep his temper in check.

Chuuya sighed heavily, “How many times am I gonna have to answer that question? As I told the
kids, he’s sleeping in his room, though I’m not sure for much longer with all the racket you’ve
been making. Do you even know how to be quiet. I mean, geeze, you couldn’t be any louder if you
tried.”

...So much for not picking a fight.

He wasn’t sure why he said that. He had intended to play nice so he could explain the situation
calmly to the Agency, but something about the man just irritated him. Chuuya tried not to think too
hard about why that was because he was too old to be jealous about Dazai’s new partner. And too
practical to be comparing the ways in which they were similar.

Damn. Why did Dazai always have to have angry, short tempered partners? Chuuya felt like the
world was laughing at him.

Kunikida’s eyebrow twitched and he took a menacing step towards Chuuya before Yosano stopped
him with a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge her, though, as he continued to try to glare
holes into Chuuya.

“What gives you the right to be here?” The words were spoken evenly but they sent a sharp jolt
down Chuuya’s spine, “What gives you the right when the mafia is the cause for all of this? Where
do you get off pretending that you care about Dazai when the mafia has completely destroyed him?
You have no right to come here now and act like you know anything about what’s good for him.
Dazai doesn’t need you around to screw things up for him and mess with his head !”

Anger consumed Chuuya at each hateful accusation. Every word sent waves of it throughout his
entire body, filling every pore, every muscle, every tendon until Chuuya was thrumming with it.
But this anger was different than he was used to. It didn’t burn him with its raging fire, clouding
his mind and eating away at his judgement until there was nothing left but blazing all-consuming
fury .

This anger came to him as frigid, bone-chilling cold. Intense and bitter and overwhelming. It froze
the blood flow in his body, bringing everything into stark clarity. Instead of overriding his
judgement like he was used to when he was angry, it enhanced it, allowing him to find words that
would hurt and cut and shatter.

This anger was reminiscent of Dazai, and how he could completely destroy someone by simply
using the right words. And Chuuya used this new cold, frigid anger because he would not stand
here and listen to someone accuse him of not caring when they knew nothing . Nothing about
Chuuya or even about Dazai. Because Dazai had tried so hard to hide the worst parts of himself
from the Armed Detective Agency. The parts of him that hurt himself and didn’t know how to
stop. Chuuya could tell, just by the way they act around Dazai. They had no idea how truly broken
he was. None of them had any idea just how much Dazai didn’t want them to see .

With ice in his eyes and glare cold enough to freeze someone in their tracks, Chuuya stared
Kunikida down. When he spoke, his words cut without mercy.

“What do you know about Dazai? Huh?” Chuuya watched as Kunikida’s glared faltered slightly,
losing some of his conviction in the accusing words he had just spat at Chuuya as he pressed on,
“Did you know the reason he always tries to kill himself by drowning is because he can’t swim? Or
that he tried to do it yesterday and you weren’t there to stop it?”

Kunikida flinched horribly at the words, taking a step back as though that would protect him from
the onslaught of heartrending words. “How about the fact that Dazai is completely blind in his
right eye, no vision in it at all? Did you know that ?”

Chuuya’s face suddenly crumpled, his gaze dropping and instead of anger, sadness shined in his
cerulean orbs. When he spoke again, his voice came out more as a haunted half-whisper than
anything else, “Have you ever held him for hours just so he wouldn’t hurt himself? Or begged him
to eat after watching him wither away because he wouldn’t care for himself?”
Chuuya reinforced his glare tenfold and brought his gaze back to Kunikida’s shocked hazel ones.
He saw the pain filling in his eyes. The guilt and remorse. The horror dawning on his face. But he
wouldn’t relent now, not after Kunikida told him he didn’t care .

“How about why he left the mafia? Do you even know what caused him to leave the only place he
knew in the first place? You don’t , do you? Because you never bothered to ask. You didn’t care.
To you, he was only a nuisance with an obsession for suicide. I bet you never took that seriously
either, did you? It was all just one big joke to you.Well, it never was for me. So don’t tell me I
don’t have the right. I have more right than any of you. He may be your partner now , but he was
mine first. And I care about him more than you can imagine .”

Stunned silence permeated throughout the room at the end of Chuuya’s angry litany. No one dared
to so much as breathe too loudly as though they were afraid it would set him off on another tongue
lashing. Chuuya didn’t even have enough energy to feel smug about it. He was too emotionally
drained and there was nothing to be satisfied with in this situation.

He looked out at the Agency and all he saw was how much this was hurting them too. At some
point during his rant, Kyouka had moved closer to Atsushi, grabbing onto his sleeve in hope it
would bring her some comfort and Atsushi looked as though his favorite dog had just been ran over
by a bus. Both of them were crying. Dazai’s doctor friend bit hard enough into her lip it drew
blood, her expression was tight and she looked like she was trying not to join the kids in their
waterworks. And Kunikida... all color had drained from his face, leaving every emotion available
for Chuuya to read like an open book.

Sighing deeply, Chuuya ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, trying to release any remaining
tension he felt.

“Look, I’m not here to fight. All I want is to help Dazai like you, okay?” Chuuya got a stiff nod in
answer and he nodded back, “Okay. Good.”

Another awkward moment passed before Yosano pulled herself together enough to say, “Atsushi
said something about there being... videos. Is that correct?”

Chuuya’s attention snapped towards Yosano and he saw Atsushi fidget from the corner of his eye.
The kid obviously thought Chuuya was going to get upset at him for telling his coworkers about
that. Luckily for him, Chuuya had wanted him to do that from the beginning. It was much easier
than tracking them down himself.

Damn, he really had to stop getting distracted. Nothing was going to make this easier so he might as
well get it over with as soon as possible.

Chuuya sighed again, grabbing the counter in front of him and slumping forward as though
everything had suddenly become too much to bear. Morosely, he said, “Yeah, that’s right. I found a
whole box full of videos and journals in the mafia records. I could only get through one of the
tapes. It was... it was horrible. His father was a real piece of work, the sadistic bastard.”

“You knew it was his father?” Atsushi couldn’t help but blurt out, blushing fiercely but resolute in
his question.

Atsushi still couldn’t believe Dazai’s own father did that to him. He heard that fathers were
supposed to care about their children. They were supposed to protect them and keep them safe
from harm, not torture them themselves. They weren’t supposed to be like the Orphanage
Headmaster.
Chuuya looked up from the counter and his piercing sapphire eyes locked with Atsushi’s
heterochromatic ones. Atsushi tried not to flinch under their fiery depths as he waited for an
answer.

“I didn’t know, at first,” Chuuya started, clicking his tongue as he noticed the food was getting
cold and moved to warm them up, “I didn’t even realize that was the old boss; that was before my
time there. The boss told me after Dazai showed up, demanding answers. He thought Mori sent the
photos since he was the only one who knew about, you know... everything.”

“ Did Mori have anything to do with it?” Yosano asked, anger building as she thought about the
other doctor. If he had anything to do with those photos... he would not enjoy what came next.

Chuuya shot her a sharp look, pursing his lips in order to hide an instinctual snarl at the implied
threat to the boss as he answered, “No. He didn’t. Boss was just as surprised as the rest of us at
seeing the photos. I haven’t even told him about the videos yet... I thought you should know first.
You are the ones watching out for Dazai now.”

At the last sentence Chuuya shot a pointed look at Kunikida as he set the last plate back on the
counter, still upset at their earlier conversation. Kunikida swallowed but did not look away. He
may not have been there for Dazai in the past, he may have made assumptions and accusations
without knowing the full—or even really part of the story—but he would rectify that, adjust his
viewpoint and not make the same mistakes again .

He nodded stiffly at Chuuya and before anything could be said between the two, Yosano cut in.

“And where is the... the box now? I assume you have it,” Yosano asked haltingly, unsure if she
actually wanted to see them for herself. If Chuuya Nakahara—best martial artist, one of the five
executive of the Port Mafia, and former partner of the Demon Prodigy—was this shaken by what
he had seen in them, she could only imagine how terrible it would be.

She had just been pouring over the photos, gruesome and ghastly and grim as they were, and
Yosano didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t blame Chuuya one bit for his hesitance.

“It’s back at my apartment. I’ll bring it over to the Agency later and then we’ll see about watching
the rest of those videos,” as Chuuya finished speaking, a crash was heard coming from Dazai’s
room, followed by half-hearted grumbling, “Looks like Dazai’s up.”

The sound of a door opening made its way to the kitchen and everyone’s attention fell on the door
as Dazai walked out. He looked even more disheveled than Chuuya. His yukata was crumpled and
low on one of his shoulders, revealing his bandaged wrapped shoulder and torso down to his
abdomen. The wrappings had loosened a little during his sleep and seemed to be coming undone at
the neck, but not enough to reveal the skin underneath. He was yawning and rubbing one of his
dark-circled eyes in an attempt to banish sleep from them before noticing he had an audience of
more than just Chuuya.

Dazai immediately blanched, becoming even more pale than he already was. He quickly pulled his
yukata tight around his frame even though nothing was showing in the first place and rushed to the
bathroom. They heard the door slam before a very audible sound of the door locking.

Chuuya let out a deep exhale, pushing Atsushi and Kyouka’s respective plates in front of them. He
picked up a fork and started eating, “You may as well eat that now. Dazai’s not gonna come out
for a long while.”

Feeling suddenly out of place now that it was clear there was no danger and Chuuya had agreed to
 bring the box to them when next they met, Yosano tapped Kunikida’s shoulder and indicated
towards the door. Kunikida nodded at the doctor before turning back towards Chuuya.

Clearing his throat, Kunikida stated as normally as he could manage, “Well, Mr. Nakahara, seeing
as you seem to have things... handled here, Doctor Yosano and I will be on our way. I leave Dazai
in your care.”

Kunikida bowed as rigidly and formally as possible. Chuuya waved a dismissive hand at Kunikida,
attention still focused on his food, “Yeah, whatever. You do that.”

Sparing one last glance for Atsushi and Kyouka as they cautiously started eating the food prepared
for them by a Port Mafia Executive, Kunikida turned on his heel and left the apartment behind.

Chapter End Notes

For some reason, I have a hard time writing Kunikida. He is not a type of character I
am used to writing but hopefully I didn't make him too out of character.

Also, if you guys have any ideas on future flashbacks for Dazai or future events, I
would love to hear what they are! They’ll help me get inspiration and figure out what
direction to go next.

Until, next time!!

 As the Pieces Fall in Place
Chapter Summary

Dazai glanced down at himself, checking for any loose wrappings when he noticed he
was shaking. His eyes widening in incomprehension, he held his hands out in front of
him, watching as they trembled inexplicably. He tried to will the trembling to subside,
like he normally did to prevent anyone from knowing he was injured or unwell but it
didn’t work. The shaking persisted and he didn’t know why. It just wouldn’t stop.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dazai slammed the door shut behind him, locking it and waited to see if anyone tried to get in. He
listened for sounds of footsteps or talking but couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his head
and the ringing in his ears. Each breath came out in panicked gasps and Dazai backed up until the
back of his legs hit the bathtub. Taking one quick look at it, Dazai climbed into the tub and curled
into as small a ball as he possibly could. He clutched his yukata tightly shut, pressing it against his
chest with so much force he was sure it would bruise later.

Did they see? Did they know ? No. No, they couldn’t have. He still had his bandages on and they
weren’t that loose... were they?

Dazai glanced down at himself, checking for any loose wrappings when he noticed he was
shaking. Eyes widening in incomprehension, he held his hands out in front of him, watching as
they trembled inexplicably. He tried to will the trembling to subside, like he normally did to
prevent anyone from knowing he was injured or unwell but it didn’t work. The shaking persisted
and he didn’t know why. It just wouldn’t stop.

He wasn’t cold or in pain or sick and he couldn’t be shaking from hunger either. Atsushi and
Kyouka had made sure to make him at least one meal a day and he tried to eat a couple bites each
time so he couldn’t be starving enough to be shaking . So what was it?

No matter how much he tried he just couldn’t stop trembling.

Dazai didn’t know what was wrong with him. Didn’t know why he was like this or what this... this
heavy pit in his chest meant. This hadn’t happened since he was a small child all those years ago.
Back then, he shook all the time and the heaviness in his chest had been there before the emptiness
took over completely. Why was he like this now ? What did it mean?

Suddenly, Dazai felt a presence at his back and phantom fingers skimmed along his upper arms. A
comforting gesture but one only reminding him of pain and punishment. Father’s haunting voice
filtered into his ear, a whispered breath that seemed to linger.

“Oh dear, this isn’t good at all, my Osamu, ” Father taunted in his ear, but it couldn’t be possible.
Father was dead . He had watched Mori murder him, slit his throat, bleed him out, watched him
choke on his own blood , he couldn’t- “Trembling is a sign of weakness, of fear , and you know
what happens to those who have weaknesses, don’t you?”
Dazai did know. Weakness brought pain. Brought hurt and darkness and hunger and heaviness and
drowning and dogs and fire and— There were too many things it brought and Dazai wanted to
experience none of them ever again. And he hadn’t since leaving the mafia. He’d been good for so
long . He couldn’t go back to that—

“ That’s right,” came the whispered voice again, “ we don’t want that, now do we, Osamu? You
were doing so good until now. You don’t want to be a bad boy, do you?”

He didn’t. He really didn’t. He tried so hard to be good, so hard at times it was suffocating. He
couldn’t fail now. They’d leave him. Everyone would leave him and he’d be all alone and-

“You’re already all alone, my sweet boy,” Father was in front of him now. His phantom hands
running through his hair and his expression twisted into faux concern, false yet somehow still so
convincing to Dazai, even after years and years of him being dead. “Have you ever wondered why
your ability is called No Longer Human, my son? Have you ever wondered what it meant? Why
you don’t feel anything ?”

He leaned in close, pressing his ghostly lips against Dazai’s ear, “You aren’t human . You never
were. You are a monster, Osamu. Inhuman, unfeeling, wrong . You’ve always been so wrong.
Completely numb to everything around you. How could anyone besides me ever care about you?
They can’t , and why would they want to? My little monster .”

The trembling worsened considerably and he found he couldn’t breathe. He already knew all of
that, but hearing it again after so long destroyed what little light he found for himself. He couldn’t
do this anymore.

Dazai shakily uncurled himself from his comforting ball and looked around the bathroom.
Immediately he noticed that someone had removed all his razors and pills, probably Kunikida or
Chuuya. He crawled out of the tub and made his way over to the sink. Grabbing the wooden panel
under the cabinet, he pulled it off and reached under the sink for one of the many knives and razor
blades he had hidden just in case.

Once he found one, he dragged it out and simply stared at the small knife for a minute. This was
the only way. The only way he could keep everyone safe from himself. He was nothing but a
monster. They didn’t know just how much of one yet. It would be best if he got rid of the monster
before they found out and realized he wasn’t worth the effort. Before they left him.

Dazai placed the knife unsteadily against his wrist, preparing to slice deeply into his corrupt, vile,
monstrous veins—

“ Dazai,” Chuuya’s voice sounded muffled through the door, surprising Dazai enough that he
removed the blade from his arm and turned towards the door, “ it’s time to come out. Your food is
getting cold and the kids are worried. I’m leaving some clothes for you outside the door. If you
don’t come out in 5 minutes, I’ll break the door down and come in after you, ya hear me?”

He could hear Chuuya standing outside the door, likely waiting for a response, so he put the knife
back in its hiding place before answering just loud enough to carry through the door, “Yeah… I
hear you.”

“ Okay. I’m trusting you, Dazai.” And then he walked away.

Trust. Dazai couldn’t fathom how Chuuya could possibly trust him after everything. It didn’t make
any sense. Chuuya, above everyone else, knew what he was and hearing that he still trusted him…
It was unthinkable, causing a suffocating tightness to form deep in his chest. He was going to ruin
it somehow. He was going to take Chuuya’s trust and trample all over it, he just knew it. That was
what always happened and Dazai doesn’t know how not to.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dazai silently put the panel back on the sink and went to get his
clothes. It wouldn’t be fair to leave Chuuya the mess to clean up when he killed himself. He’d wait
until he was once again alone.

Chuuya waited just long enough for the kids to finish their meal and exchange worried glances
between them before getting up and heading towards Dazai’s room. As calmly as possible, he got
dressed, tidied his hair into something presentable, and gathered together clothes and the bandages
he knew made Dazai feel safe, carrying them out of the room with him.

Walking steadily to the bathroom door, Chuuya ignored Atsushi and Kyouka hovering as he tried
the door handle. Unsurprisingly, Dazai had locked it beforehand and it refused to budge. Placing
the clothes on the wooden floor, Chuuya knocked only to receive no response.

“Dazai, it’s time to come out,” he strained his ears but heard no sound coming from the other side
of the door. He continued anyway with, “Your food is getting cold and the kids are starting to
worry.”

He still didn’t get a response and the continued silence grew deafening. He forced himself to stay
calm. In all likeliness, Dazai was probably listening and just couldn’t bring himself to answer yet.
Freaking out now wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“I’m leaving some clothes for you outside the door. If you don’t come out in 5 minutes, I’ll break
the door down and come in after you, ya hear me?”

Chuuya waited for an answer this time. If he didn’t get one… If he didn’t get one, he would break
down the door to make sure Dazai hadn’t done anything stupid yet. Maybe he’d be in time to save
him.

Before Chuuya’s thoughts could descend further into darker depths, he heard muted rummaging in
the bathroom before Dazai’s soft voice spoke up through the wood, “Yeah… I hear you.”

Chuuya let out a silent sigh of relief and unclenched his tense hands, “Okay. I’m trusting you,
Dazai.”

He moved away from the door and walked past the Agency brats to sit on the bar stool at the
counter. Hesitantly, Atsushi and Kyouka rejoined him, taking their own seats once again. Atsushi
fidgeted for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something before looking straight at
Chuuya with imploring eyes.

“Dazai, he…” he paused, biting his lips anxiously, “You said earlier that he’s blind in his right eye,
didn’t you? How… how did it happen?”

Chuuya sighed heavily, placing his elbow on the counter and leaned his head in his hand wearily.
He wasn’t surprised by the question, only… he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“Truth is,” he started slowly, pulling his thoughts together and keeping his eye on the clock, “I
don’t know what happened. It was already like that before I even met Dazai. The only reason I
even know is because…”

His mind flashed back to that first time he had seen Dazai without bandages over his face. They
were sent on a high risk, enemy-heavy mission with no back up and some scumbag got a lucky
shot in, slicing into the skin under Dazai’s eye without him so much as dodging. Chuuya had
chalked it up to carelessness on Dazai’s part—he probably needed to adjust to seeing with his right
eye again. It wasn’t atypical for Dazai to get injured on that blind spot.

But then it happened again. And again. And again . Some of the hits he took should have been
easily avoided now that the bandages were off and yet they seemed to hit him more often, not less.
It got to the point where the right side of his face was entirely covered in blood from various
wounds, not to mention the state of the rest of his body. Angry and distraught, Chuuya forced him
to sit behind the cover of a wall to prevent him from himself killed before going back into the fray.

Chuuya took out their last opponent in a hurry before coming back to the brick wall he hid Dazai
behind. His partner did not look good at all. His head hung limply, resting on his chest and even
from two feet away Chuuya could hear his ragged breathing. A pool of blood slowly formed around
Dazai, seeping into his clothes and staining his white button-up shirt a bright crimson.

Cursing, Chuuya hastily knelt down next to Dazai’s less injured side, noticing as he dropped that
Dazai appeared to be unconscious for the moment.

“What the hell , Dazai!? What’s going on with you today? You aren’t usually this much of a bullet
magnet. What gives!?”

He hesitated for a moment before cautiously pushing his hand against one of the worst injuries on
his side. Dazai groaned slightly from the pain, but remained unresponsive otherwise.

“Damn it, mackerel. Now I’m gonna have to carry you,” Chuuya muttered to himself as he
removed his hand from the wound and began to arrange Dazai’s arm over his shoulder. He didn’t
have anything that would stop the bleeding with him so he had to get him back to the Port Mafia as
soon as possible.

Chuuya wrapped his arm around Dazai and once he was situated comfortably, Chuuya carefully
stood up in order to keep the jostling to a minimum. With his free hand, Chuuya pulled out his
phone.

“Hey, pull up the car,” he hung up before he received an answer and turned his attention back to
Dazai.

His wounds were still leaking sluggishly and his face had lost the slight color it had to begin with.
They had to get back, fast. The car soon pulled up by a nearby curb and as Chuuya dragged Dazai
and his awkward height, he noted with growing concern that Dazai was barely more than skin and
bones.

He shoved his partner into the car more harshly than he intended and by the time Chuuya himself
got into the car, Dazai groaned in unhappy wakefulness. Chuuya watched as he put his hand
against his no doubt aching head and he felt his concern fading into rising fury.

“What the hell was that, Dazai!! Were you trying to get yourself killed out there?!” He yelled at
him with all the anger and he fear he felt that day, “If that was another suicide attempt, I swear I
gonna kill you myself .” Chuuya hissed through his teeth as he watched Dazai move his hand to
absently wipe at the blood flowing into his eye from above his right brow.

“What?” Dazai asked, sounding genuinely confused as he turned to look at Chuuya. As he

removed his hand from his face, he seemed to remember the situation they had just been in, “Oh!!”
A smile grew on the other’s face before he started chuckling softly, “I assure you, Chuuya, I was
not trying to kill myself. That would have been a horrible death! Not beautiful or painless at all.”
Chuuya’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance and he gritted his teeth, “Then what was it, mackerel?
Because I’m not finding it very funny.”

“I just forgot, is all,” Dazai said airly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

At this point, the twitch was becoming permanent and if Dazai didn’t stop beating around the bush
soon, Chuuya’s fist would become a part of Dazai’s face, “Forgot what !? Don’t avoid the
question, Dazai!”

“I forgot that I’m blind in my right eye.”

“...What?” Chuuya asked, deadpan. He must not have heard that right.

“I am bli~nd in that eye~,” Dazai repeated frustratingly slow, as though he were talking to a
particularly stupid child, “Usually I have bandages covering it, so it’s easy to remember to be
careful, but without them… well, I just… forgot.”

“You forgot that you can’t see out of your eye? How do you forget something like that, Dazai!?”

Rather than answering, Dazai just laughed again before promptly passing out from blood loss. As
soon as they arrived at the base, Chuuya rushed Dazai to Mori to get treated. Later that day while
Chuuya watched Dazai’s unconscious body wrapped in twice the bandages than usual, Chuuya
decided that if Dazai wasn’t going to be careful without them, he’d make sure Dazai always had
the bandages on.

“Let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty. You’d be surprised how much blood someone can lose before
dying, it was a close call.”

Before Atsushi or Kyouka could do more than gape in shock, the bathroom door opened and Dazai
shuffled into the kitchen. As he walked closer to the counter, Chuuya stared pointedly at him.

“Sit. Eat,” he commanded immediately, pointing to the spot he previously occupied and watched as
Dazai blinked confusedly at him before cautiously complying.

He eyed Chuuya as though he expected him to start yelling at him at any minute. And to be honest,
if this were any other time, in any other situation, if he didn’t know what he did now Chuuya
probably would have. That’s what he did when he was worried; when he didn’t know what else to
do. And how could he not worry when he knew that what he tried to get through Dazai’s head last
night—that he didn’t deserve what happened to him, that he wasn’t a monster—hadn’t sunk in and
probably wouldn’t for a very long time. But Dazai didn’t need that now, probably couldn’t take
being yelled at without turning it around on himself in the worst possible way.

“You’re not angry,” Dazai said it like a statement, face blank, though Chuuya knew it was a
question, felt the confusion and apprehension behind it. He probably didn’t understand why
Chuuya wasn’t railing him after he cut their conversation short the night before and locked himself
in the bathroom this morning. He would have before.

Chuuya raised his eyebrow in question as he placed a glass of water in front of the brunette, “Is
there a reason I should be angry?”

Dazai’s expression gave way to visible perplexity and his brows furrowed slightly like he was
trying to decide if Chuuya had somehow hit his head or got possessed since the last time he saw
him, “Um, yes? Probably?”

From his response, Chuuya got the impression Dazai was trying to give him the answer he thought
Chuuya wanted to hear, but had no idea what that answer might be. Chuuya wasn’t sure if he
should find that funny, cute, or just plain sad.

“I’m not angry,” he said simply, expression calm and nonthreatening. Not angry at you , anyway.

Dazai stared at him blankly, completely thrown by Chuuya’s unexpected behavior. After a
moment, he reached for the water Chuuya gave him with caution, taking a small sip before turning
back to pick at his food, baffled and floundering because of it.

Atsushi and Kyouka still hadn’t spoken, studiously watching their interactions as though that
would give them all the answers in the world. He must have just noticed their attention on him
because Chuuya saw Dazai shrink minutely at their intense stares, pulling more into himself as he
tried to put an unaffected mask on. In an effort to detract some of the attention off of Dazai, Chuuya
cleared his throat.

“Dazai, you’re going out with Atsushi and Kyouka today.”

“I am?”

““He is?””

They all turned sharply to look at Chuuya simultaneously, speaking all at once with equal amounts
of confusion and surprise at the statement, though the kids’ contained excitement as well. Chuuya
simply nodded in response, “Yep, I have stuff I need to take care of and I don’t want to leave Dazai
alone. Bring him back by six. If he’s not here by then, I’m going to come looking and I will not be
happy, got it?”

“But-but we have work!” Atsushi objected.

“Not today, you don’t. Now get going. Go shopping or something. Get crab, use some of that
money Dazai’s been sitting on. Restock his fridge, I don’t care,” Chuuya shooed them away,
getting a pout from Dazai for his troubles.

“I am not a child,” he whined and Chuuya hoped it was a good sign that he could even pretend to
be okay, “I don’t need to be looked after and I can buy my own food.”

“Right, right, that’s why your fridge is completely empty right now, isn’t it? Now go on,” Chuuya
didn’t call him out on his obvious charade, simply playing along. Dazai deserved a break.

Pouting again, Dazai stood from the stool and gestured flippantly at the kids, “Come, come. Let’s
go, Atsushi. Kyouka. Chuuya’s kicking me out of my own house. How cruel!!”

He dramatically exited his apartment in a flurry of motion, leaving a stunned Atsushi and Kyouka
behind. His sudden change of mood seemed to be something they didn’t see often and had a hard
time adjusting to. Kyouka was the first to snap out of it and she got up quickly.

“Wait, Dazai! Don’t leave without us,” she looked back at Atsushi as she too left the room, “Come
on, Atsushi. He’s leaving us behind.”

Atsushi blinked before turning his attention back to Chuuya, a question on his lips. Chuuya nodded
his head towards the door Dazai and Kyouka disappeared behind, “Keep an eye on him. He’s not
doing so hot. Could try something if you don’t watch out for him.”

Atsushi’s lips thinned in grim understanding and he nodded solemnly, “I’ll make sure that doesn’t
happen.”
He got up and walked to the door before stopping at the threshold. He looked back at Chuuya, “I
wanted to thank you… for being here for Dazai. I’m glad he had you to look out for him when we
didn’t know we had to.”

And with that, he too, vanished past the door, leaving Chuuya alone in Dazai’s barren apartment.
Now that he knew Dazai would be safe in Atsushi and Kyouka’s care, Chuuya had time to head
back to his own apartment. He’d shower, change, and then he’d bring the box of horrors to the
Agency. It was time to deal with it while Dazai was otherwise occupied. He saw no need to make
Dazai live through everything again.

Just as he was about to leave Dazai’s apartment and head for his own, Chuuya spotted Dazai’s
plate of food. It had barely been touched, just a few bites here and there—five at the most—while
the rest had just been pushed around the plate some. He sighed heavily at the sight, leaning all of
his weight on the counter.

He should have expected it. Getting Dazai to eat had never been easy and with the kids staring at
him… that just made him nervous and food even less appetizing than it already was. Taking a deep
breath the executive pulled himself up again and made to wrap the food up for later. He tried to
find it encouraging that the detective had made an attempt to eat. Chuuya would just have to give
the rest to him later. Now though, he had other things to worry about.

The long walk home gave Chuuya time to clear his head. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, the
mafioso let it out slowly in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves. When that had no effect, he
reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Tapping the bottom of the carton, he pulled out a
fresh cigar, placing it between his lips as he put the pack back. Bringing his lighter out, he cupped
the flame as he lit the end of his cigarette. Once it was lit, Chuuya felt some of the tension in his
bones fade away. He gave himself this moment to relax, if even for only a minute, before his
thoughts drifted inevitably back to Dazai.

How could he have ignored that Dazai was this bad? He had been with Dazai for three years and he
hadn’t done anything to help. He knew Dazai had no self-preservation, he knew he constantly
searched for ways to die and he never thought to find out why ?! How could he have turned a blind
eye when Dazai was literally self-destructing right in front of him?!

He saw all the signs, every step Dazai took into further decline. He knew there was so much more
to it than a really dangerous personality quirk or a childish cry for attention. But he never asked,
never dug deeper, never tried to really understand . Not because he didn’t care, but because he
didn’t want to know. Because he was afraid of the answers. Chuuya knew it had to have been
horrible for Dazai to act the way he did, but Chuuya wanted to pretend everything was fine because
otherwise Dazai’s suffering would be all too real. He wanted to pretend that Dazai wasn’t slowly
dying with each passing day or suffocating in mafia black surroundings. He hoped that by
pretending everything was okay and that Dazai was fine, it would eventually be true.

Now he knew, and nothing was okay. Dazai wasn’t fine and Chuuya had to try with everything he
had not to scream and cry or just destroy everything around him. No matter how temporarily
satisfying, that wouldn’t fix anything. That wouldn’t help Dazai or make anything better for him.
He had to be there for him. He had to be there and try to undo the damage Dazai’s father did to
him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Chuuya had to reign in his raging emotions and be the
support Dazai needed, no matter how hard or crushing or devastating things got.

Chuuya could do that. He may be short-tempered but he could keep his calm. It wasn’t a side of
him Dazai had ever seen since he had a real knack for pissing Chuuya off, but to his subordinates
he was as level-headed as they came. He could be that for Dazai, for as long as he needed it.
As he continued to walk, Chuuya realized that although he shed plenty of tears himself, he hadn’t
seen Dazai cry this whole time. Thinking back, he can’t remember a single time Dazai cried about
anything. Not when it hadn’t simply been for dramatic effect or as a ploy of some kind. He
wondered if Dazai even knew how to cry or if that was something else he had taken away from
him.

Chuuya hardly noticed as he entered the door to his penthouse apartment and crossed the threshold
on his way to his expansive bathroom. He paused at his granite counter to put his cigarette out in
the ashtray. His eyes drifted to his wine cabinet, briefly considering pouring himself a generous
glass before deciding against it. Chuuya had business to take care of at the Agency later and it
wouldn’t do to be drunk when he got there, no matter how much he dreaded being sober when he
showed the tapes again. Besides that, Dazai would be able to smell the alcohol on his breath and he
can’t be drunk around Dazai, not now when he was so fragile.

Instead, he walked over to his stereo, turned the volume as high as he could and blasted rock music
through external speakers placed all throughout his apartment. The music exploded so loudly, it
drowned out his thoughts leaving only the thrumming pound of the bass behind. Chuuya passed
the kitchen counter, sedately making his way to his bedroom.

Entering the room, he shut the door and leaned against it, completely drained. He stayed there for
only a breath before pushing himself away from the door and further into the room. Chuuya tossed
his hat in the general direction of his bed, carelessly shrugging off his jacket, vest, and shirt as he
stepped into his adjoined bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing uncharacteristically strewn across
the floor.

It took a matter of seconds to reach the shower and start the spray of water, engulfing himself in its
heat. The shower Chuuya took scalded his skin, but he didn’t care. The pain of it helped distract
him from his whirling emotions and the music muffled everything else. It was a welcome reprieve
and seemed to be the only way he could really find comfort and calm down since this entire thing
started. Any remaining strain in his muscles melted away under the assault of water and music, his
frayed nerves smoothing out until Chuuya could begin to think without devolving into self-
recrimination or murderous dialogue.

Everything became white noise as he methodically went through the process of showering. After
scrubbing his skin raw, Chuuya turned off the water, pulling a red towel off the wall hook and
wrapped it around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed another towel and
absentmindedly dried his hair with it as he ambled into his walk-in closet.

Ignoring his typical three-piece suits as he passed, Chuuya opted for something more casual and
grabbed a red t-shirt, a leather jacket, fitted jeans, and designer tennis shoes. Quickly pulling those
on, the mafioso debated with himself before finding an overnight bag and stuffing more clothes
into it. Throwing the bag over his shoulder, Chuuya exited his closet and, disregarding the mess he
usually wouldn’t be caught dead leaving around, his room. He was too tired and too stressed to
even bother with cleaning right now.

Depositing his bag on the leather couch, Chuuya pointedly ignored the box that was the cause of
all of this and made his way to the coffee machine. After downing three cups of piping hot black
coffee, Chuuya decided it was time to allow himself to think again. He turned off the pounding
music and was left in startling silence.

Grimacing at the sudden change, Chuuya turned back towards his couch and the cardboard box it
held on top. Dread bloomed deep in his gut as he glared heatedly at the container, half hoping it
would light on fire so he didn’t have to deal with it anymore. Just looking at it, picturing what he
knew was inside, made him sick to his stomach. Cursing softly, Chuuya forced himself to quit
dragging his feet and get a move on. This had to be done and the sooner he got it over with the
better.

Trudging reluctantly to his couch, Chuuya tossed his bag back onto his shoulder before cautiously
gripping the handholds of the box as though it were just waiting for a chance to bite his fingers off.
Shoving the box under his arm, the mafioso marched to the door to his penthouse.

As soon as he opened it, Chuuya saw Akutagawa on the other side, leaning against the wall with a
troubled look on his pale face. He briefly spared a thought as to how long the younger man had
been standing there and noted the casual attire he wore. Not here for work then. Good.

”Akutagawa, what are you doing here?” Chuuya questioned dully, too tired to put any more
emotion into his tone.

“You’ve been to see Dazai since we watched the video. Haven't you?” Akutagawa asked in a way
that wasn’t really a question. Getting a blank stare in response, he continued, ”I want to go with
you.”

Blinking in surprise a couple of times, Chuuya slowly repeated, ”You... want to go with me… to
see Dazai.”

At Akutagawa’s resolute nod, Chuuya deadpanned, ”You do realize that Dazai is with the Agency,
right? And where the Agency is, so is the tiger boy.”

Akutagawa’s eyebrow twitched at the mention of Atsushi, but his face remained determined.

“I’m aware. But if there is any way I can help Dazai, any way at all, I want to do it. And the only
way I can think to be of any use to him is if I can be around him. Please let me do this, Chuuya.”

Chuuya let out a long sigh, sweeping his hand through his hair as he considered Akutagawa’s
request. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Akutagawa was volatile at the best of times and
seeing Dazai in such a vulnerable mindset could make it worse. Not to mention how his blatant
dislike and jealousy of Atsushi would come into play when he sees how the boy has practically
been attached at Dazai’s hip since the start of it all.

But, Akutagawa does care about Dazai, perhaps more than was necessarily healthy but it was there.
And he had already seen one of the videos. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him in the dark about this
when thoughts about what had been done to Dazai have been plaguing him for days now.

Letting out one last sigh, Chuuya opened his eyes and stared Akutagawa down with blazing
sapphire, “Fine, you can come. But you have to be on your best behavior and do not pick a fight
with Atsushi. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I’ll… try not to antagonize the weretiger.”

“Good because Dazai can’t play mediator right now.”

That gave Akutagawa pause and he gave Chuuya a considering look, “Is Dazai really doing that
bad?”

Giving off a bitter laugh, Chuuya stepped through the threshold of his penthouse, closing the door
behind him. “Yeah, Akutagawa, he’s that bad. Just… don’t say anything to him about it, okay? He
is barely holding on a thread as it is.” With that, Chuuya walked off down the hall with Akutagawa
quickly following behind.
Chapter End Notes

Apparently, in my story Chuuya really likes to take showers. *shrugs* I hope you like
this chapter everyone!!

Special thanks to ChillyCowHead for their idea about sensory hallucinations. It really
inspired me for this chapter. Feel free to comment with ideas or theories!! I do read all
your comments and appreciate them a lot, even if I haven’t responded to them! Also,
I’m not sure how much I feel about the title of this chapter so if you can think of
something more fitting, I’d like to hear it.
 Burning Thoughts and Unanswered Questions
Chapter Summary

Akutagawa watched Chuuya as they walked to the Detective Agency, wondering what
he found out about Dazai that has his usually squared shoulders and strong posture
suddenly seem so… heavy. Like he was carrying the weight of the world. And maybe
in a way he was.

None of this could have been easy for Chuuya. In fact, Akutagawa was certain it had
been hardest on Chuuya to find out about Dazai’s past than on anyone else since he
had been the person closest to Dazai. If Dazai was going to tell anyone about this, it
would have been Chuuya. But he hadn’t. Chuuya had this discovery shoved in his face
just like the rest of them and Akutagawa could tell it hurt.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chuuya and Akutagawa’s walk to the Agency was peaceful, almost mocking in the way everything
stayed tranquil as their world fell apart around them. Everything they thought they knew,
everything that seemed so clear and straightforward ended up being so… convoluted.

Akutagawa didn’t know what he would be walking into. He didn’t know how things would be or
what he would see when he ran into Dazai again. He hadn’t seen his mentor since this entire thing
started. He hadn’t been able to reconcile the Dazai he saw, watched, idolized as a teenager—
strong, intelligent, unbreakable, resolute and so sure of himself—with the Dazai he now knew he
must have been the entire time—still strong and frighteningly intelligent, but already broken,
already so damaged it took everything he had to keep the pieces together, to hide just how far from
fine he actually was and how little control he had.

Would he be able to see that now or would he still be unable to glimpse past the facade Dazai
displayed to the world? Judging from Chuuya’s words, Dazai’s mask had fallen apart, showing
things he never wanted to reveal to anyone. Akutagawa wasn’t sure if he was ready to see that but
after the way Dazai had saved him—saved Gin —all those years ago, he owed him. Much more
than he could ever possibly repay.

And he owed it to Dazai to accept what was behind the act, beyond the coldness from before and
the cheery smile he put on now. Just as much as it was owed to Akutagawa to see who his mentor
really was. And despite his fears… he wanted to know.

Knowing wouldn’t make everything better for him. It wouldn’t remove the mental scars or
emotional damage. It wouldn’t suddenly cure the anger and disappointment he felt at himself—at
everyone —for not being good enough, never being good enough. But… it would help him
understand and, hopefully, it could mend the damage and help him start healing from it.

He thought back to a few days ago after he saw the video. He had been so angry, so distraught and
confused, he could hardly breathe. Akutagawa brushed past Higuchi with her concerned expression
and worried tone and didn’t stop for anything until he reached the safety and privacy of his own
home. Then he let Rashomon loose and started destroying everything in sight. Gin had shown up
shortly after.

“Are you going to tell me why you decided to redecorate our house, Ryuunosuke?”

The words weren’t accusing. They never were with Gin. She was the calm to his ever-raging storm,
the water to his fire, grounding when he most needed stability.

Ryuunosuke looked over at his sister, fist buried in the wall, and saw that she had taken off her
mask and let her hair down. She was watching him patiently with soft gray eyes, waiting for him to
answer but not demanding. She moved to sit on the couch across from him and sat down, tilting her
head as she looked at the hole his fist sank in.

He removed his hand from the wall, Rashomon detaching itself, and walked the short distance to
sit beside her before dropping his head in his hands. Gin remained quiet, allowing him to speak if
he wanted or let it drop entirely.

“I learned something about Dazai that I find… distressing,” Ryuunosuke stated after a long,
unbroken silence.

The assassin shifted slightly in her seat, releasing a small exhale as she turned to face her brother
more fully. It was the first show of emotion she had shown in this situation. Although their
relationship with Dazai had always been somewhat tenuous, both Akutagawa siblings cared deeply
about him. He was the reason they were both alive today and that gratitude remained.

“What did you find out?” It was only because he knew her so well that he heard the slight tremor
in her soft voice.

Ryuunosuke looked up from his slumped position and stared blankly at the wall across from them.
He swallowed thickly, “Chuuya and I… we found videos. Of Dazai when he was a child. He was
being… brutally tortured by his father. He was apparently the mafia boss before Mori. There
were… journals as well and in them, his father said he tortured him for training. That he had to
learn he couldn’t trust people because they would only hurt him. He was only five years old , Gin.
And there were a lot more videos. I can still hear his screams ringing in my ears.”

Akutagawa paused for a moment to swallow down the rising bile and reorganize jumbled thoughts.
He couldn’t quite articulate the horror he felt, but he needed to get this out before it consumed him
and Gin had always been the one he talked to.

“I never understood him before but now, I think I am beginning to. Thinking back on my training
under Dazai, after what I learned… what I saw … I don’t think he was trying to be cruel. He
would hit me, insult me, call me names, and sometimes when he was angry he’d shoot at me. But
the bullets never hit. What I saw, Gin, made me sick . He never broke my legs or burned me with
hot irons. He never made me distrust everyone around me just so I’d be isolated. He didn’t torture
me like he had been in those videos. I don’t think Dazai meant to be cruel, he just didn’t know how
to be kind because no one had ever been kind to him.”

Silence once again descended upon the siblings as his words sank in. Gin cared about Dazai but
like Ryuunosuke, she could never fathom why he had been so harsh when training her brother. The
dichotomy between how caring he could be sometimes with how ruthless he was when training
Ryuunosuke never made sense. And that was something she had a hard time forgiving even as they
had better interactions with the other man. This revelation presented an insight to the ex-executive
they never dreamed of having and suddenly everything started to fall into stark clarity.

“When it didn’t involve your training, I think he tried to be good to you. To us,” Gin started off
slowly, pulling her thoughts together as happy moments with Dazai—moments she tried to forget,
had to forget after he vanished from the mafia and labeled a traitor—flashed through her memory,
“Do you remember how, a few days after one of your training sessions, Dazai would bring you
calligraphy books or new tea leaves to try? Or how he’d take us out to eat and let us get everything
we wanted?”

At Ryuunosuke’s hesitant nod, unsure where she was going with this, Gin continued. “He always
made some sort of excuse whenever he did, saying they were gifts someone gave him that he had
no use for or that he had a job in the area and it would be a perfect cover to pretend he was taking
his siblings out to eat but… I always wondered how the gifts just happened to be things you liked
and why his jobs were around restaurants or bakeries I wanted to go to but never did. We never
told him about it and you would have been happy with anything Dazai decided to give you. Yet he
brought things you’d actually use and always after he’d been harsh during training.”

Ryuunosuke’s eyes widened as he remembered all those times Gin brought up. He had forgotten.
The mafioso had been so focused on getting Dazai’s approval and acknowledgment, he didn’t think
about the ways Dazai tried . With how erratic Dazai’s behavior towards him was, Ryuunosuke had
a hard time consolidating the two versions of him.

“I haven’t forgiven him for how he hurt you. Not yet, not completely. But he saved us, he gave us a
home and a purpose, and I think he tried to take care of us, to be kind. For those reasons, I think I
will be able to someday. Especially after everything you told me and the way I have seen him
change since he was in the mafia,” Gin looked at him with soft eyes, smiling gently as she looked
at her older brother, “I get the feeling you want to forgive him too. And if understanding him
better, learning more about him, will help you find peace with everything—whether you decide to
forgive him or not—you should do whatever you can to help with that.”

Ryuunosuke stared at his sister for a moment before nodding his head and dropping his gaze to the
floor. He had been thinking about what he should do since he left the records basement and was
glad his sister’s words went along the same thought process as his. He needed to learn about
Dazai, about this whole situation, if he ever wanted to be able to let go of the past.

Seeing the resolve on Ryuunosuke’s face, Gin asked, “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

Ryuunosuke looked back at the young woman, staring steadily at her, “I need to talk to Chuuya. If
there is anyone who knows how to get a straight answer out of Dazai, it’s Chuuya.”

Focusing back on the present, Akutagawa watched Chuuya as they walked to the Detective
Agency, wondering what he found out about Dazai that has his usually squared shoulders and
strong posture suddenly seem so… heavy . Like he was carrying the weight of the world. And
maybe in a way he was.

None of this could have been easy for Chuuya. In fact, Akutagawa was certain it had been hardest
on Chuuya to find out about Dazai’s past than on anyone else since he had been the person closest
to Dazai. If Dazai was going to tell anyone about this, it would have been Chuuya. But he hadn’t.
Chuuya had this discovery shoved in his face just like the rest of them and Akutagawa could tell it
hurt .

Before Akutagawa could think deeper on this, Chuuya abruptly stopped in front of a building.

“We’re here,” Chuuya stated, glancing back at Akutagawa with piercing azure eyes, “remember,
behave . We are not here to start a fight. So don’t , got it?”

“I understand, Chuuya, “ Akutagawa confirmed evenly, his voice determined as he finished his
sentence, “I came because I wanted to help Dazai. I’m not going to ruin that now by making
trouble.”

Chuuya stared at him for a good minute to assess the truthfulness in his words. Satisfied, he nodded
sharply and turned back to the building, “Good. ‘Cause this is going to be a hard day without any
unnecessary drama as is.”

They entered the building and proceeded up the stairs to the fourth floor. They braced themselves
before opening the door with the ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY plaque. When they walked in,
all the chattering and shuffling noise stopped abruptly as the occupants registered who had just
stepped inside. A tense silence descended over the room as they watched each other warily before
Chuuya broke it with his harsh voice.

“Where’s your president? I have something he’ll want to see.”

That broke the standoff and most of the people reluctantly went back to work as Kunikida and
Ranpo walked up to the mafia pair with a dismissive gesture and one of the secretaries went to get
Fukuzawa. Ranpo eyed the box tucked under Chuuya’s arm with a calculating glint.

“That’s the box you told Yosano about?” he questioned even though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, it is,” came Chuuya’s deadpan response, “You got somewhere private we can look at
these?”

“Yes, we have a conference room that should be fine,” Kunikida said, warily keeping an eye on
Akutagawa, “Did you really have to bring him?”

Chuuya looked back at the boy behind him, and true to his word, Akutagawa remained calm
despite the older detective’s pointed words. He turned back to the detectives with a look that dares
anyone to challenge him, “He’s fine where he is. Akutagawa watched the first video with me.
Dazai means a lot to Akutagawa so it’s only right that he be a part of this just like the rest of you.”

Kunikida pursed his lips, obviously unhappy about this decision but saying nothing against it,
“Very well, he can stay. But if he shows even one sign of aggression-”

“I won’t,” Akutagawa interrupted the older man before he finished his threat, “I only want to help
Dazai. That’s all.”

Kunikida glanced at Ranpo for confirmation about the sincerity of Akutagawa’s words. Receiving
a nod from the unnaturally serious man, Kunikida sighed in acceptance.

Just then, Fukuzawa and Yosano entered the room. Walking up to the group of detectives and
mafia members, Fukuzawa bowed his head slightly in greeting, “Chuuya Nakahara, I presume?
Yosano has informed me of the situation. You found something you thought we should see.”

“Just Chuuya is fine and yeah. You said there was a conference room? Let’s cut it with the
pleasantries and just get a move on. This isn’t gonna be easy to get through and Dazai doesn’t need
to see this crap again, so let’s finish it before he gets back. Yeah?” the mafioso bluntly stated,
raising an impatient eyebrow.

…Yeah, he may have told Akutagawa not to pick a fight, but Chuuya really wasn’t in the mood to
follow his own advice.

Fortunately, the Agency President didn’t take any offense at Chuuya’s brusqueness — something
he would never get away with in front of Mori and was actually relieved didn’t land him in trouble
with the Silver Wolf—and gestured to a door with his kimono-covered hand, “Of course, you’re
right. The conference room is beyond this door at the end of the office.”

Chuuya inclined his head in acknowledgement and slight apology for his short temper and walked
to the door with Akutagawa in tow. Before he opened the door, he noticed Kenji, Naomi, Junichiro,
and Haruno following along with the older detectives. He looked back to the president, giving him
a meaningful look.

“This isn’t something you want the kids to see. They should stay out here.”

Fukuzawa gave Chuuya a considering look. He seemed to understand the severity of the contents
in the box by the grim expression on the executive’s face because he turned back to the agency
members.

“Junichiro, Naomi, Kenji, you three should stay here. Haruno, you might want to remain here as
well, keep Kenji company. We’ll be back shortly.”

The Tanizaki siblings looked as though they wanted to protest, but one look into Fukuzawa’s steely
gray eyes and they swallowed their complaints.

Kenji was not so good at picking up such cues. “But president, please!” he pleaded. Tears brimmed
in his wide eyes, but even the situation could not rid them of their hopeful glimmer. “We want to
help Mr. Dazai too! How will we know how to make him feel better if we don’t know what made
him feel sad?”

Naomi put a hand on his shoulder, and Kenji looked back at her crestfallen expression and
immediately deflated. “It really is better if we don’t see this, Kenji. I just…” Lost for words, she
buried her face into her brother’s neck.

Junichiro clutched Naomi tight against his chest, swallowing hard. “Will you tell us if there is
anything we should do after? You know, to—to make things easier for Dazai? Or at least show him
we care?”

He wasn’t the closest to Dazai, certainly not as close as Atsushi was. He didn’t spend a lot of time
with him or anything, and only really interacted with him when Dazai pushed his work onto him or
pulled him into one of his schemes. But he held admiration for the older man. It was the same kind
of admiration everyone had for Ranpo—for his intelligence and complete understanding of every
situation—but there was a little more to it than that.

Dazai was able to protect people despite his ability not being suited to combat and that was
something Tanizaki longed to do. He was strong and confident, never balking in the face of
danger. Dazai was competent and the only thing Tanizaki didn’t look up to about the man was his
work ethic, or rather, his lack of.

He also noticed that Dazai always held himself at a distance from everyone. Even as he seemed to
constantly tease and play around with the members of the agency, Tanizaki never felt as though he
could see who Dazai really was. After finding out that Dazai had previously been part of the mafia
and managed to escape , Tanizaki felt the respect for Dazai grow. He had been awed by how the
bandaged man seemed to be able to maintain his smile and playful personality after living in such a
horrible environment, especially after seeing how hard it’s been for Kyouka to readjust. Tanizaki
couldn’t imagine he’d handle it the same way if he and Naomi had been part of the Port Mafia.

Now, with this new insight into Dazai’s life, into a life full of pain and fear and utter trauma, he
couldn’t help but feel Dazai wasn’t as okay as his personality would suggest. And though he was
concerned about the brunette and truly wanted to help in any way he could, he had no idea how to
deal with the knowledge.

Looking at his sister, he could see how upset she was at being barred from seeing what the Port
Mafia brought with them. He knew Naomi and Dazai had a strange sort of camaraderie—in which
they both took glee in scheming pranks—but truthfully Tanizaki felt relieved that Naomi would not
be exposed to more horrors than she already was.

It was Yosano who answered Junichiro’s question after a moment of pause, “If we come up with
anything that will help, we’ll let you know.”

She gave a small, encouraging smile but it was strained, as though she wasn’t confident that any of
them could really do anything. With an air of dread and crushing anticipation, the group followed
the mafia executive, the door clicking shut behind them.

Stepping into the Agency conference room, Chuuya wasted no time dropping the box
unceremoniously onto the table and rifling through its contents for the video. While he did that,
Kunikida, Fukuzawa, and Ranpo quietly sat on the opposite side of Chuuya while Akutagawa
followed Chuuya and Yosano took a seat next to Akutagawa to keep an eye on him. When he
opened his mouth angrily she fixed him with an intimidating stare that just dared him to try and
protest. He didn’t.

Chuuya masterfully ignored the exchange as he located the correct video and aggressively yanked
it out. He spared a moment to glare at the offensive object before shoving it in Kunikida’s
direction.

“Here, plug this in,” Chuuya commanded bluntly, not caring if he came across as rude. He was too
drained for that now and just thinking about what they were going to watch made him sick, “I hope
none of you ate anything recently.”

Kunikida, who had just been about to yell at the executive’s blatant disrespect, snapped his mouth
shut, the graveness in Chuuya’s tone dowsing all the heat from Kunikida’s annoyance. He took the
VHS from the mafioso like it was a live bomb and set up the projector without any further words.

For 30 minutes, not one person made a sound as the gruesome clip played out the scene in front of
them. Fists clenched to painful degrees, cutting sharply into flesh; expressions twisted with hate,
disgust and anger and pale with horror; and eyes burned with a need for retribution they knew they
could never get.

The silence remained as the video faded to black, leaving the sound of a sobbing child ringing in
their eyes and the unfortunate audience fought to process the brutality they’d witnessed.
Fukuzawa’s hand twitched to grasp for a sword not currently at his side. Kunikida removed his
glasses, head bowed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned heavily on the table, trying to
regain his composure. Ranpo’s eyes remained glued to the screen though it had long since ended by
now, expression trapped in wide-eyed horror, for once not calculating anything. Yosano pursed her
lips in a tight line to keep herself from biting them and ground her hands together so hard her bones
ached.

None of them knew what to say, what to do , that could possibly make any of this better. So many
of Dazai’s behaviors had been caused by this and there was nothing they could do, no quick fix
that could ever make this right. What they just saw—the physical and psychological torture they
just witnessed—no doubt left irreparable scars on Dazai’s mind and body. He would have found it
nigh impossible to ever trust anyone again after what Horiki and his father had done to him.
Though Chuuya and Akutagawa had already seen this video, already experienced the trauma that
came with its contents, they were no less affected by it. Akutagawa’s gaze blazed with murderous
intent, only contained by his promise to behave. Chuuya was right there with him but kept it in
check with his rapidly increasing reservoirs of calm.

“There you have it,” came Chuuya’s hoarse voice once he was sure he was able to control his
emotions, “You should read the journals, the guy is a world-class psychopath. Actually justifies
what he did as though it could ever be reasonable . I’m impressed Dazai came out as sane as he is
after all this crap.”

He haphazardly tossed said journal towards the agency members. He continued speaking as
Ranpo’s reluctant hand reached for the journal and Yosano grabbed the box to sift through the rest
of the contents, “There’re more journals. More videos, too, but that’s all Akutagawa and I looked
at. I thought… since Dazai is under your care now, you have the right to know just as much as we
do.”

Chuuya meaningfully met Fukuzawa’s eyes at his last words, eyebrow raised as though to say you
are taking care of him, right?

Fukuzawa met Chuuya’s gaze head-on, inclining his head to acknowledge the executive’s
unspoken question, “We appreciate your cooperativeness in this matter, though I do wish it was
under… better circumstances. We wouldn’t have had access to this without your help.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t do it for you,” Chuuya leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs as he brushed
his hair back behind his ear, “I can’t be with Dazai all the time and someone on this side of things
should know. He’s pretty messed up right now and he needs people to watch out for him, though I
guarantee he won’t be making that easy for anyone.”

Akutagawa’s expression darkened and he couldn’t keep his silence any longer. “I don’t see why we
needed to involve these detectives at all. I would have been more than enough to watch Dazai when
you were otherwise occupied,” fixing a glare at each member of the ADA, Akutagawa spat, “They
don’t seem competent enough to deal with this.”

Kunikida’s head snapped from it’s bowed position and he flung to his feet in outrage, face
contorting furiously, “Why you little- !”

“Akutagawa, think ,” the older mafioso snapped, expression hard and sapphire eyes cutting, “Dazai
left the mafia. You think he wants to be surrounded by members of the organization he fled when
he already feels this vulnerable?” Chuuya’s voice gentled, he knew where Akutagawa was coming
from, but he also knew how Dazai would take it. “You haven’t seen Dazai yet, Akutagawa. You
don’t know how… fragile the situation with him is right now.”

Fragile was a word Akutagawa had never associated with Dazai before. Fragile was a word you
used for fine china or porcelain dolls. Delicate things that, no matter how hard you tried to take
care of them, would break at the slightest touch. Dazai wasn’t supposed to be breakable.

But then… Akutagawa didn’t really know much about his mentor, did he? And he was quickly
learning all the ways in which the ex-executive had already been broken.

“Wait, hold on,” Yosnao’s voice cut in, disrupting anything Akutagawa would have said in
response, “Why are these pictures still here with the rest of them? I have them in my room right
now, so how can they be here as well?”

A pale faced Ranpo looked up from the journal he had been scouring, eyes landing on the photos
Yosano spread out onto the tabletop. Most of them were photographs they hadn’t seen before, but
sure enough, the pile Yosano indicated were the same photos the ADA had been sent a while ago.
Noticing something odd, Ranpo furrowed his brows as he studied them closer.

“This is strange. Not only are these the same pictures, which could easily be explained away as
there being multiple copies, but they also have the exact same markings on them,” Ranpo brought
one of the photos up to his emerald eyes to examine it more thoroughly, “Same age marks,
discoloration, ink smears, and water damage. Even the wear and tear from being handled too much
is the same. The only difference between them is the writing on the back of the photos Dostoevsky
sent.”

“How can that be? Even if it was a copy of the original, there would be differences between them,”
Kunikida asked perplexedly as he stared only at Ranpo’s face, trying to avoid seeing any of the
splayed photos as much as possible. Once was more than enough.

Looking up from the photo, Ranpo’s piercing green gaze bore into every single one of them. “This
is the work of a skill user, one with the ability to make a perfect copy of something they’ve seen or
touched before. That’s where things get a little more tricky.”

“If it’s something this skill user had to have some sort of contact with, that means at some point,
they were within the walls of the Port Mafia Headquarters,” Fukuzawa interjected as he followed
Ranpo’s train of thought. He narrowed his slate eyes, his hand on his chin pensively as he watched
his ward nod adamantly in acknowledgement.

“Exactly. Not only would they have had to make it in and out of the mafia without being detected
or setting off any alarms, they would have had to have known that those files on Dazai existed in
the first place. They didn’t just randomly wander in and happen to find these secure, top secret
documents and formed a plan afterwards.” His gaze drifted off to the side, seeing a puzzle that no
one else could.

“No, Fyodor knew they were there from the beginning and sent his men to break in to make copies
so he could torment Dazai. The question is, how did he get this information?” Ranpo focused his
attention on Chuuya, tapping on the journal as he continued. “From just this journal, I can tell
Touson Shimazaki was an extremely meticulous and calculating man, and Dazai was a well kept
secret, even from his own organization. He would have only allowed a select few to know about
Dazai and even then, these journals and videos were private .”

Chuuya’s fists clenched harshly around his arms at the word and he broke eye contact to scowl
down at the table, anger threatening to boil over. He saw the sick pleasure on Shimazaki’s face as
he tortured Dazai, the glee at completely breaking someone he was meant to love and protect. The
idea that he kept trophies of what he did so he could watch it over and over again so he could relive
it? That repulsed Chuuya on a visceral level. Oh, how he wished he could rip that man apart with
his bare hands.

Ranpo’s voice started up again, “He would have wanted to keep these all for himself, just like he
kept Dazai to himself. Not just anyone would have had the privilege of seeing those videos of his
precious son. If even Mori, his most trusted confidant, hadn’t known about his private collection,
who did? Who would have been able to provide Dostoevsky with this information?”

“From what I heard about the previous boss, he didn’t really trust anyone. He was paranoid to a
fault, so it doesn’t make sense for him to share this information with someone,” Yosano intoned
with her brow furrowed and took the journal from Ranpo’s lax grip to read through it herself.

“Unless he had some other reason for doing so.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to Akutagawa and his unexpected input. He hadn’t spoken up in a
while, considering Chuuya’s words until something Ranpo said stood out to him. Noticing he was
now the center of attention, he continued.

“He could have told someone about his… collection if he had some other purpose in telling them.
Something he could gain by exploiting his own secret.”

Ranpo nodded vigorously at Akutagawa’s words, pointing “That’s precisely it! Decent job, mini
Dazai. Seems like some of his smarts rubbed off on you.”

Akutagawa’s eyes widened in shock at the comparison and his face flushed a pleased crimson.
Being compared to Dazai in a positive light was perhaps the most flattering thing he had ever
heard.

“If that is the case, what did Shimazaki gain from sharing his, as you said, most prized possession
with an outside party and how exactly did Dostoevsky get involved?” Kunikida brought up, his
hand on his chin in thought.

“That’s what we need to find out and in order to do that, we’ll have to follow the breadcrumbs
Dostoevsky has led us to,” Ranpo stated as his eyes lingered on the box, “He wanted us to see this
and the only way we’ll learn why is by doing it. There is more to this than just the desire to hurt
Dazai.”

Fukuzawa brought his hands back into his sleeves, hiding how hard they were clenched together. A
member of his family was being hurt and they still hadn't figured out why , “What could his end
game be for doing this? Surely there’s an easier way for Dostoevsky to accomplish his goals.”

“Maybe,” Ranpo acknowledged generously, ”but this way is certainly doing a lot of damage.”

Before any more could be said on the matter, the sound of leather binding snapping shut pulled
everyone’s eyes towards Yosano.

“Well,” Yosano started, expression drawn tight and exceedingly weary as she placed the worn
journal down numbly, “I think we have seen enough of this for one day. If this is what it was like
for Dazai at five years old, things are only going to get worse from here on out. Let’s just… take
the rest of the day to process everything and we’ll continue going through the box another day.”

“Yeah, fine,” Chuuya sighed and leaned his weight on the table in front of him. He wore a heavy
frown on his face as he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “Dazai will be on his way here soon
anyway and seeing more of that’s only gonna make me sick.” The redhead stared consideringly at
the ADA members for a moment, “So, who’s taking all this with them? I don’t want to bring it
with me back to Dazai’s.”

Kuninida pulled back abruptly, startled, “You’re still going to be staying with him?”

Chuuya fixed an unimpressed cerulean gaze Kunujusa’s way, the annoyance in his voice palpable,
“Dazai just tried to kill himself yesterday, of course I’m still staying with him. I told you, I take
Dazai’s suicide attempts very seriously and after he fails one is when he’s most at risk of trying
again. I’m not leaving till I know he’s not gonna off himself the moment I take my eyes off him.”

From next to him, Akutagawa’s face shifted into a concerned frowned at the executive’s words,
not having heard about this before, and Kunikida paled to a ghostly degree. Everyone else just
looked grim, like they should have thought of that before Chuuya brought it to their attention.

“I didn't realize it was so bad. He… never really seemed like he was serious about suicide since
I’ve known him,” Kunikida glared down with a grimace, conflicting emotions playing across his
face. “He always made a big joke about it that I just… didn’t think it was real.”

Blowing air out noisily, Chuuya let his annoyance fade away. He had thought the same. At first.
Staring off to the side, the mafioso softened his voice, gaining a far away tone to it.“Dazai’s
always been great at pretending everything's fine… There’s no greater slap to the face about how
real Dazai’s suicide attempts are than when you find him with his veins split open and half of his
blood coating every surface.”

Chuuya’s eyes fell to the still splayed arrangement of gruesome photographs. “This is just further
proof how not fine Dazai has been this whole time. And how we all brushed aside the warnings
because we wanted to buy into the impenetrable mask he put on display.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but feel like he should have been able to see through it. Should have dug
deeper, pushed harder when he started noticing concerning behaviors from Dazai, behaviors that
didn’t stem from Dazai’s need to be as annoying as possible. Hell, he was with him a lot of the
time, knew Dazai better than anyone else, but he never tried to find the cause, never looked deeper
into why his partner acted the way he did. He had been a teenager, he didn’t know how to deal with
any of that and a part of him just figured if it was a big issue, Mori would deal with it.

Now though, Chuuya thought Mori might have been part of the problem and he wished he had
done more. If nothing else, Chuuya wished he hadn’t been so angry at Dazai all the time and saw
past the younger boy’s attempts to distract him from his concerns by being aggravating. He only
hoped he’d be able to help Dazai now.

A commotion out in the ADA offices cut the tension in the room like butter and Dazai’s overly
chipper voice carried through to the conference room, rapidly getting closer. They all shared a look
before scrambling to put the photos, journal, and video away. Kunikida shut down the projector
and pulled out the VHS, tossing it back into its container while everyone Chuuya, Yosano, and
Akutagawa worked on gathering the abundant photographs into a giant pile.

As they worked, Yosano met Chuuya’s eyes over Akutagawa’s shoulder, “I’ll take the box. I can
keep it in the infirmary here at the ADA. Dazai doesn’t go near that room unless he absolutely has
to, so there is little chance he’ll stumble upon it. We’ll also have easier access to it… for when we
look through the rest of this.”

Chuuya offers Yosano a quick nod of gratitude, grimacing as his eyes fall upon a particularly
grizzly photo, “Thanks. I wouldn’t have dropped this on you if I wasn’t concerned about what
Dazai will do on his own, so thank you for taking them.”

Before Yosano could respond, the conference room door abruptly opened, revealing Dazai with a
grin so broad, it was obviously faked with an exasperated Atsushi close behind. Chuuya’s mouth
pulled down in a sharp frown. If they were able to see through Dazai’s masks, then it meant he was
doing even worse than Chuuya thought.

“Hello, everyone!! Tanizaki told me I could find you here. What are you all doing in here, hmm?”
As Dazai spoke, his eyes surveyed the room, smile freezing on his face when he saw the
haphazardly stacked photo and falling completely when he spotted Akutagawa between Chuuya
and Yosano.

“You told Akutagawa about this?”

All pretense of emotion drained from Dazai’s face and tone, leaving only a dispassionate inflection
and an empty visage. His dull brown gaze cut into Akutagawa, nothing reflecting off of them as
though no amount of light could reach the soul beneath. Only an endless void, swallowing
whatever lick of life that may have once been part of him before it was crushed so thoroughly.

Without another word, the bandaged man turned on his heel and left the room and made his way to
the exit. Stunned at the sudden change in demeanor, Chuuya sat in the chair a moment before
snapping out of it and going after Dazai.

“Dazai, hey! Come back here!”

Akutagawa's expression fell, completely crestfallen, not understanding his mentor’s response and
watched the door long after he left. Atsushi looked between Akutagawa and the space Dazai once
was and felt a twinge of sympathy for the other boy. He knew how much he sought out the
brunette’s approval—how much it meant to him—and to be dismissed like that… it would be
devastating.

“What did I do to make Dazai hate me so much?” Akutagawa voiced, tone just as heartbroken as
his face

“That’s not it,” Ranpo interjected, sharp green eyes also focused on the empty doorway, “I can’t
tell you exactly what Dazai is thinking, he’s hard to read even for me. But I can tell you that that
wasn’t hatred. It was something… different.”

He’s gaze turned to Akutagawa and the mafioso was surprised by just how discerning they were,
like the emerald orbs could peer into his very soul. “You should ask him yourself. The answer
might surprise you.”

Glaring down at the stack of pictures, Akutagawa grimaced and gripped them tightly in his hands
before putting them in the box. Dazai’s answer might surprise him, that was true. But… it might
also be exactly what he feared.

After a moment of thought, Atsushi walked up to Akutagawa, putting a hand on his shoulder,
“Come on, Akutagawa. I’ll show you where Dazai lives.”

Akutagawa looked up at Atsushi, trying to determine if he was being sincere. Seeing no deceit in
the weretiger’s heterochromatic eyes, the mafioso stiffly nodded before abruptly standing up,
“Take me to him.”

With that, they were off leaving only Yosano, Fukuzawa, Kunikida, and Ranpo remaining in the
room.

“Are you sure that was wise?” Came Fukuzawa’s imploring tone as he studied the young detective
next to him, “This could end up backfiring.”

“Akutagawa is unpredictable at the best of times, and this certainly isn’t one of those,” Kunikida
added expression caught in a worried scowl, concern for his partner warring with his skepticism in
the wisdom of allowing mafia members so close to one of their own when he was already so
vulnerable.

Ranpo waved them off as he stood, reaching for the ceiling as he stretched with a yawn, “It’ll be
fine. We don’t have anything to worry about. Not in regards to that at least.” Focusing emerald
eyes on Yosano, he continued, “We should take care of these before someone else stumbles about
them.”

They all stared down the inconspicuous looking box, foreboding in its plainness. They couldn’t
suppress the rising anxiety and the coldness seeping into their bones as they thought of what deeper
 horrors were hidden in its confines.

Chapter End Notes

That’s the chapter this time. Tell me what you all thought!! Did anything seem too
repetitive or like you’ve heard it before? I hope not, but please tell me if it does. I try to
read over what I wrote before just to make sure nothing conflicts with itself and I am
staying with my own continuity, but I may have missed something.

Special thanks to rainbowplussome on tumblr who helped me work out some kinks for
the characters. You are awesome!!! I really appreciated your help.

Thank you all for continuing to read this and I hope you all enjoyed it!!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!