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There was something wrong with Dazai.
That was Chuuya’s first thought upon seeing the boss that morning. Granted, this was a thought that occupied Chuuya’s mind almost constantly— especially recently— and it was true in more ways than one, but today it meant something different.
Dazai was sick.
It was obvious in the sickly pale of his complexion, in the unhealthy flush sitting high on his cheeks, in the slight pinch of his brow. The way he periodically lifted his fingertips to knead at his temple.
The usual bruises underneath his eyes were so dark that he looked like he’d been in a fight. Chuuya could hear the slight hoarseness of his voice every time he spoke, which wasn’t often, seeing as Dazai refused to let anyone enter except for Gin.
And Chuuya, of course. But he was the obvious exception— glued to Dazai’s side whether or not he wanted to be.
It was like some twisted game of tug of war. Dazai pushed him away, yet he made Chuuya his top executive— forcing him to stay close.
And Chuuya hated him for it.
He hated Dazai, because as much as he despised him, a small part of him couldn’t help but still care about his former partner. After all, Dazai was the only person he'd managed to hold onto.
The only person he hadn’t lost.
He diligently ignored the traitorous part of him that whispered that he’d rather be stuck with Dazai than alone again.
The sound of a quiet sniff brought him out of his musings.
From his place at Dazai’s blind side, he could watch without being seen in Dazai’s peripheral. Though he knew that Dazai felt his eyes on him, he was apparently choosing to ignore it, for now.
Dazai’s hands were trembling slightly from the chills that wracked his thin frame. Chuuya wondered if his fever was getting worse.
For several days, it had been clear to him, just by looking at Dazai, that he was running a fever. However, today Chuuya could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.
This was getting ridiculous.
“Oi. Dazai,” Chuuya grunted.
Dazai hummed without looking up from his paperwork. He was squinting at the papers like they were giving him a headache.
They probably were.
“You got a migraine?”
“Hmm?” Dazai finally looked up to frown at Chuuya. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve got that sulky look you always get whenever you have a migraine,” Chuuya snapped, embarrassed to admit that it was something he’d noticed.
“What’s with the sudden concern? Don’t tell me Chuuya actually cares about me,” Dazai gasped, though the deflection missed its mark thanks to the glassiness of his visible eye.
It still grated on him, though, because as much as Chuuya spent every day trying to deny it, he did still care about the bastard. And although he’d never admit it, he was desperate not to lose him.
“Tch. Anyone with a brain would be concerned if they saw you right now. You look like death warmed over. How long have you been nursing that fever, huh?”
Dazai blinked, and it was a testament to just how poorly he was feeling that he let his surprise show at all. “Chuuya thinks I can’t handle a tiny cold? How little faith you have in your boss.” Dazai smirked, throat bobbing with the need to clear it.
Chuuya gritted his teeth. “I’ve let you deal with this for a week now, but it’s obviously not just a ‘tiny cold’ anymore when I’m starting to feel like I'm the one with a fever just from standing next to you.”
Dazai’s face went flat with displeasure, but before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Chuuya stiffened, ready to defend the Boss against any threat that may come through those heavy doors. He caught the way Dazai’s visible eye twitched at the noise before he schooled his features back into the mask of unshakable boss.
“Come in.”
Chuuya held back a grimace at the painful-sounding rasp, instead focusing his attention on Gin as she silently approached.
“Ah, Gin-chan.” Dazai visibly relaxed. “Are those this month’s reports?”
Chuuya heard the slightest hint of congestion slip into Dazai’s voice that he wasn’t quite able to hide.
“Yes, sir.” Gin placed the file on Dazai’s desk with a bow, giving him a barely-concealed look of concern.
Apparently, Chuuya wasn’t the only one who had noticed— though he couldn’t say that he was surprised, considering the fact that Dazai looked like absolute shit.
“Thank you, Gin-chan. That will be all.” Dazai dismissed her with a tight smile.
Gin hesitated for a split second before bowing again and turning to leave.
Chuuya caught her eye before she left the room and gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded back— relieved that someone else was aware of the situation and taking care of it.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Dazai turned his head to the side and delivered a single cough into his fist. It could almost be written off as a harmless clearing of the throat were it not for all of the other signs of illness.
“Oi,” Chuuya grunted as Dazai reached for the stack of reports. When he got no response, he repeated himself, a bit more harshly. “Oi!”
“Can't Chuuya see that I’m busy?” Dazai didn’t look up from the reports, intentionally nonchalant even as he pulled his coat tighter around himself and adjusted the scarf around his neck.
“I see that you’re planning to work yourself to death,” Chuuya snapped, slamming a palm down on the papers and earning a look of displeasure from Dazai.
“That won’t happen,” Dazai murmured under his breath.
“You sound pretty damn sure of yourself.” Chuuya leaned down to glare into Dazai’s face, barely an inch of space between them.
Dazai lifted his gaze from the papers to glare right back. “When have I ever been wrong?” he replied confidently— or, he tried to, but his voice cracked halfway through.
“Tch.” Chuuya removed a glove with his teeth, and before Dazai could protest, there was a hand slapped against his clammy forehead. “Freaking hell, Dazai, you’re burning up.”
It was a testament to how off of his game Dazai was that he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the touch.
“I’m fine,” Dazai brushed him off, a little more irritated— and a little more congested. Chuuya caught the way his nostrils flared in a silent sniff before he redirected his attention back to his work.
Chuuya gritted his teeth, fists clenching tight enough that the leather of his gloves squeaked. “You’re putting the whole organization at risk just because you refuse to admit that you’re sick?”
“Bosses don’t get sick days.” Dazai gave Chuuya a grim smile.
“Bosses also need to be in top shape,” Chuuya barked, grabbing a fistful of Dazai’s shirt and wrenching him forward so that he could glare daggers at him.
Dazai couldn’t suppress his wince at the harsh movement. It probably hadn’t helped the migraine that he was in denial about, but Chuuya was getting tired of his bullshit.
“C’mon, Shitty Dazai,” Chuuya continued, quieter but still gruff. “You’re gonna send yourself to an early grave.”
He’d never confess to the way that his throat threatened to close up as the words left his mouth.
Dazai glared up at him, not bothering to hide his displeasure— though with the way he was squinting, Chuuya couldn’t be sure if the irritation was directed at him or at the incessant throbbing in Dazai’s head.
He took in the darkening pink that had spread across Dazai’s freckled nose. The way his uncovered eye drooped with fatigue and watered with pain.
Honestly, Dazai just looked bone-tired. This persistent fever was probably more so the result of exhaustion and stress than any real illness.
He’d been working nearly nonstop ever since he took over the position of boss a year ago. The constant need to be vigilant against potential mutinies was almost as tiring as the uprisings themselves. Long days and late nights had become the norm, so it was hardly surprising that Dazai was so worn down.
All the more reason for him to go home and rest.
“The organization will still be here if you take a day off,” Chuuya quipped, giving Dazai’s shirt a final tug.
Dazai looked like he was about to protest again, but then a harsh shiver shook him, and he grimaced.
Chuuya shook his head. Enough was enough.
He manhandled Dazai to his feet, ignoring the gritted threats and complaints. “Bitch all you want, it’s not gonna change anything. I’m taking you home.”
However, as soon as Dazai was upright, what little color he still had drained from his face, leaving him white as a ghost. He blinked owlishly before listing to the side.
Chuuya lurched forward to steady him, but he was waved off as Dazai caught himself on the desk with a white-knuckled grip.
He couldn’t quite hide his wince at the way his migraine punished him for the sudden change in position.
Chuuya grunted, approaching despite Dazai’s protests, and supported him with a hand under his elbow until his wavering had ceased.
Ignoring Dazai’s muttered complaints— and probably threats— Chuuya typed out a quick message to Gin requesting a car. He knew that she would let him know if anything dire came up in the Boss’s absence.
Once he was sure that Dazai wasn’t going to keel over, Chuuya nudged him forward. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s go.”
Dazai tensed, then brusquely shook off Chuuya’s hand. “No, Chuuya. It’s not your call to-“ Dazai was cut off by a fit of weak coughs, his shoulders shaking with them.
Chuuya scoffed as he pulled Dazai forward, ignoring the choked-out protests. “Yeah, I think it is.”
“But-“ Dazai wheezed as Chuuya dragged him towards the door, where Kyouka stood, having slipped into the room unnoticed. She was waiting to escort them to their vehicle.
“No ‘buts.’ Our ride is already here,” Chuuya threw a devilish smirk over his shoulder at Dazai, who glowered, but then stumbled when his long, black coat got caught up in his legs.
Chuuya snorted, and if looks could kill, he’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Oi, focus on making it to the car on your own, two feet, because I’m sure as hell not carrying you.”
Dazai gritted his teeth, and Chuuya knew that the only reason that he was getting away with this attitude was because Dazai was too miserable to fight back.
But he let himself have this brief moment of satisfaction— of retribution— knowing that his karma would be served when they got to Dazai’s apartment.
◦☽𖤓☾◦
Chuuya closed the door behind them, watching Dazai stagger further into the apartment before coming to an abrupt halt— as if the autopilot he’d been running on had stopped functioning.
Chuuya toed off his boots and tentatively approached Dazai. He took in the grey pallor and unfocused gaze, and clicked his tongue in displeasure. Dazai’s condition had been rapidly deteriorating since they’d left Headquarters
“You’re dead on your feet, aren’t you?” When it didn’t seem like Dazai was planning on moving anytime soon, Chuuya reached up and removed Dazai’s scarf.
He wasn’t expecting Dazai’s legs to buckle the moment that the scarf was no longer weighing on him. It was as though removing the red cloth had given Dazai permission to be human again, rather than Boss, and all at once, the weight of his illness came crashing down on him.
“Woah, easy there.” Chuuya caught him under the shoulders before he could hit the ground. He could feel Dazai trembling with fatigue as he slumped against Chuuya. His teeth chattered mercilessly as his head came to rest on Chuuya’s shoulder.
“Shit, Dazai, you’re really fucking sick. Why can’t you ever listen to me?” Chuuya griped, shifting Dazai’s weight in his hold. He was far too light, and burning with fever. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
Chuuya dragged Dazai through the apartment until he reached the bedroom. He fumbled with the doorknob while Dazai sagged against him, and he bit out a curse.
“Fuck, alright, almost there.” The door finally swung open, and Chuuya hauled Dazai over to the large bed where he collapsed, chest heaving.
After a couple minutes of staring at Dazai, who was still sitting motionless on the edge of the bed, Chuuya sighed and removed his hat to run a hand through his messy, strawberry-blond waves. He sank to one knee at Dazai’s feet.
As he began untying the black dress shoes, he felt Dazai’s gaze zero in on him. Neither of them said anything, and it was a testament to how awful Dazai was feeling that he didn’t make some joke about Chuuya being on his knees in front of him.
As if Chuuya wasn’t acutely aware of the implications of being in this position.
Kneeling before his former partner, his constant rival, his current boss— it was disorienting, and he swore, if Dazai said a single word-
There was a soft gasp, and Chuuya looked up to see Dazai’s eyes fluttering before his face scrunched up and he stifled a sneeze.
He seemed to regret it immediately, though, as a pained look pinched his features and he brought his hand up to rub at his temple with a groan.
Dumbass. Chuuya rolled his eyes, and the tension left his frame, but he was reminded that he needed to get Dazai something for his migraine, or else he’d never be able to rest.
He pushed himself to his feet and over to the dresser, where he found a change of clothes that looked much more comfortable than the suit that Dazai was currently wearing.
He tossed the clothes onto Dazai’s lap, gesturing with his chin to indicate that Dazai should change, then left the room in search of a med kit.
By the time he returned, Dazai had managed to get changed and sat slumped over on the bed with his blanket draped over his shoulders, rather than just getting into bed like a normal person.
Chuuya clicked his tongue, then shoved a thermometer between Dazai’s chapped lips.
Dazai blinked in surprise before his face fell into a look of displeasure.
Chuuya smirked, turning back to rummage through the med kit for some fever reducer and pain meds. He shook a few pills into his gloved palm just as the thermometer beeped.
He turned to see Dazai tucking the device close to his chest, and he held out his hand with a glare. “Hand it over, Shitty Dazai.”
For a moment, Dazai looked like he was considering refusing, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the side of his head, a pained moan escaping him.
Chuuya snatched the thermometer out of his hand, replacing it with the meds. “Here, take these. They should help your headache.”
Dazai tossed the pills into his mouth, dry swallowing them with a grimace.
Chuuya shot him an exasperated look before directing his attention to the thermometer, which prompted a grimace of his own.
“You’re at 102.6°F, which is pretty much what I’d guessed.” Chuuya had known him long enough to recognize the different levels of feverish Dazai. He nailed the shivering brunet with a no-nonsense look. “How long have you had this fever? And no bullshit.”
Dazai grumbled something into the blanket.
“Dazai!” Chuuya’s voice was sharp.
“Since Atsushi-kun got back from the Tokyo assignment,” Dazai mumbled, a bit louder so that it was audible.
“Since- that’s almost two weeks, Dazai!” Chuuya exclaimed. He was trying to keep his voice low for the sake of Dazai’s head, but concern made his words reverberate in the space between them.
To his credit, Dazai did look the slightest bit ashamed.
Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but opened his eyes when Dazai broke out into a coughing fit.
Dazai sniffled, groaning miserably and squeezing his eyes shut as he swayed.
Chuuya sighed before pushing Dazai’s shoulder, trying to get him to lie down on the bed. He tucked the heavy blanket around Dazai, trying to make him comfortable, but his teeth still chattered relentlessly.
Dazai looked so pathetic like this, with his glassy eyes and fever-flushed cheeks. He looked nothing like the infallible, youngest-ever boss of the Port Mafia.
Chuuya couldn’t help but think of all the times that Dazai had fallen ill when they were younger— back when Mori was still the Boss. Back when they were still Soukoku.
Back before things had changed.
Without realizing he’d moved, Chuuya’s hand came to rest against Dazai’s pale, clammy forehead.
Dazai stiffened for a moment, but then surprised Chuuya by relaxing into the touch. He just barely leaned into Chuuya’s warm palm, but it was all the consent that Chuuya needed to allow his hand to drift up into Dazai’s damp curls. He began threading deft fingers through the long, thick hair, gently untangling it as he went.
Like this, he could almost pretend that they were partners again. Just two teens in the mafia— clinging to each other in order to stay afloat.
Before…
“Why is Chuuya helping me?” Dazai murmured, cutting into Chuuya’s ruminations as the hair was softly brushed away from his face. Dazai’s words were slurred with exhaustion and vulnerable from illness.
Chuuya’s ministrations didn’t falter, but his chest burned with conflicting feelings. He cleared his throat. “I’ve gotta keep you alive so I can kill you myself someday,” was what he finally settled on.
Someday far off in the future. So don’t you dare go and leave me before that, got it, Shitty Dazai?
Dazai hummed, and there was something distant about it. Chuuya chalked it up to the fever that had been slow-cooking his brain for almost two weeks.
“Go to sleep, bastard.” Chuuya gave Dazai’s too-warm forehead a soft flick, and ignored the whine that followed.
“I can’t sleep with Chuuya staring at me,” Dazai whined, congestion filling his voice.
Chuuya clicked his tongue. “That’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”
Dazai had always slept better with Chuuya nearby— something that they were both aware of, but Dazai was too embarrassed to admit.
Chuuya couldn’t exactly blame him, though, because he’d never admitted that he was the same way.
He sat down in a hard, wooden chair that he’d pulled up next to the bed, crossed his arms over his chest, and let his own eyes fall shut.
It was quiet for a moment before a raspy voice croaked, “Chuuya’s staying?”
Chuuya kept his eyes closed as he grunted, “Only until you fall asleep.”
It was quiet again, and then he heard the sound of rustling. He peeked one grey eye open to see Dazai curled up on his side, and his bangs draped like curtains in front of his fluttering eyes.
Chuuya carefully reached out to brush the bangs out of his face again, eyes widening when Dazai sighed in contentment.
This rare moment of quiet felt like an olive branch— reaching out to the memory of the partners they’d once been. The trust they’d once had.
Maybe, despite everything that had changed, the bond that they’d shared as partners wasn’t gone.
He sat back in the chair, grabbing a book off of the nightstand and settling in. Dazai was already practically asleep—months of running himself ragged taking a toll on his already susceptible body.
But Chuuya could spare a few extra minutes to watch over the idiot— for old time’s sake.