Thread by @arkastadt

i'm dying at the idea of dark era skk doing their usual partner thing on a mission, taking out port mafia's enemies, being nerds, bickering, except that they unknowingly get hit with a proximity curse

They don't even notice at first because on their way back to the headquarters, they're together. Cleaning up in the bathroom afterwards, dressing each other's bruised and bloody wounds, they're together. They even sleep in the same room. Granted, Chuuya takes the couch, while

Dazai passes out on the floor like the heathen he is. It's only when Chuuya wakes up the next morning, his forehead coated with cold sweat, and sees that the spot where Dazai was lying just a few hours ago is empty, that it starts.

Violent, uncontrollable nausea.

Chuuya barely has enough time to get up and run to the bathroom before the entire content of his stomach empties itself in the toilet. A few seconds later, he feels another wave of that same awful spasm of his guts, but even then, it doesn't get

better.

As the fierce shivers wreck his body, Chuuya wonders whether he ate something bad. Or maybe, it's some weird side effect of using too much of his ability -- sometimes for the tainted sorrow and corruption feel too similar and so his body reacts accordingly.

Or maybe, he just caught a stupid virus because even though there is a god inside him, and even though everyone at port mafia seems to believe otherwise, he /is/ just human, in the end.

Obviously, Chuuya being Chuuya, he tries to ignore it and get up to get dressed and report

to Kouyou, except that suddenly his whole world tilts sideways, the edges of his vision blurring, and he ends up on the floor.

Well, so much for /ignoring/ it.

Somehow he makes it to his bed, crawling inside and using every last bit of strength that hasn't left his body yet to fish out his phone from the clothes he carelessly tossed on it yesterday. A phone call is all it takes to excuse himself from any work for the time being /and/

make Kouyou sound concerned on the other end of the line. Which is weird, and strange, and feeling delirious with dizziness Chuuya laughs into his pillow.

He blacks out the moment his eyes fall shut, and only stirs again when there's the sound of clumsy shuffling and

pots banging together somewhere in the other room.

It should be cause for concern. It might be some asshole who figured out the address of one half of the infamous double black duo. But he feels too week to even think, let alone worry.

And chances that it's an intruder are far less likely than that it's --

"Dazai," he murmurs, trying to sit up and failing miserably so he settles on merely lifting his head to get a better view. "T'fuck are you... doing here...?"

It might just be him, or the fever he's undoubtedly sporting, but Dazai looks like utter shit.

Dazai looks exactly like Chuuya's /feeling/ right now.

"You look awful," Dazai says before sitting down on the edge of the kingsized bed. His bangs are sticking to his forehead.

His clothes are very... different. Instead of his signature suit and coat, he's wearing a rumpled white shirt, and faded black sweatpants. His bandages are too loose, falling out at some places. And even though he's always pale, now it makes his skin seem nearly translucent.

Chuuya manages a huff, duly noticing somewhere in the back of his head that the nausea seems to be gone, at least. "You're one to speak, Shitzai."

"Did we even something last night?"

"I ate before we went out. Curry."

"But I didn't."

"No."

Maybe if they were normal teenagers with normal lives, getting sick at the same time wouldn't be that strange, but this is the mafia. It's a /big/ coincidence.

Dazai wipes a hand across his forehead and then slowly slides down until he can sit on the floor.

Only the back of his head visible.

"I think we were poisoned," Chuuya hears him say.

"Maybe, but... we didn't drink or eat anything from those guys last night."

"Who says it was the guys from last night?"

Chuuya's breath stills, and he sits up -- successfully this time. "You mean we were poisoned /here/?"

"It's more likely, no?"

"/No./ Why would anyone here do that?"

"Your blind loyalty is aggravating, chibi. Because this is the mafia.

Because we hold an insane amount of power for two eighteen-year-old children. Perhaps they got tired of your endless yelling. The possibilities are endless, really."

Chuuya wishes Dazai was still on the bed; that way he could kick him.

"Well, they weren't really good at doing it. I actually feel much better already." As the words leave his mouth, Chuuya realizes how true that is. Before passing out he was sure that either his body would crack from trembling so brutally, or that he would burn down, but now...

after a -- he checks his phone -- three-hour nap, he feels /insanely/ better. Bit by bit, he can even feel his energy coming back to him. "Did a piss poor job of it," Chuuya adds, feeling smug all of a sudden.

There's a moment of silence, then Dazai rises to his feet, staring at his hand before turning to Chuuya and tilting his head.

"Hmm. How curious."

"How /stupid./" Chuuya slides out of bed and passes Dazai. "Anyway, I need to piss. And I'm starving."

He's washing his hands when, out of nowhere, that dreadful but familiar feeling of nausea rises in him again. Fast.

/Oh god. Not again./

"Shit, shit, shit --" Chuuya grips the sink, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to breathe through the overwhelming fog in his body.

He hates this more than anything. Being sick. Helpless. Not having control over his own body.

The only times, he relishes in it is when corruption takes over, but that's because, for some weird, unexplainable reason, placing his life and body in Dazai's hands is a rush. A high.

Not a down, like this.

Not that Chuuya will ever bother to analyze /why./ Anything that has to do with that idiot shatters every principle Chuuya has ever believed in. Dazai's an enigma and Chuuya isn't smart enough to solve him.

He doesn't get sick, but he desperately needs

to lie down again.

He hobbles through his apartment and finds Dazai bent over, clutching his head as he stares at the floor.

"Okay," Chuuya mumbles, "I might have been too hasty with my words."

"Don't leave this room for five minutes."

Frowning, Chuuya gets back under the blankets. "Wasn't planning to." It feels like the momentary burst of energy was more of an end-of-life rally. He doubts he's dying, but back in the bathroom it sure felt like it.

Dazai says nothing, just sitting there like a corpse and breathing in and out. One breath after another. It looks creepy, but Chuuya knows exactly what he's feeling like, so he has no room to complain.

He lies in silence for a while, not quite there yet to fall asleep but

drifting in that fuzzy place in-between. And then Dazai jolts him back to full consciousness.

"Leave the room."

"Ha?"

"Leave the room," Dazai repeats, having the audacity to sound /annoyed./ "Go to the kitchen. Or the elevat--"

"Maybe you brain is damaged, but this is /my/ apartment! I'm not fucking going anywhere."

The sigh he gets in reply is the one Chuuya sometimes gives Yumeno when they're being an unreasonable brat. Which is /so/ not the case here. /Dazai's/ the brat if he thinks he can chase

him out of his own fucking bedroom.

"The door is right there," Chuuya snaps and points at it in case Dazai's actually sick enough not to see it. "Feel free to use it!"

Surprisingly enough, Dazai does get up. He grumbles under his breath, calling him stupid, but Chuuya ignores

him.

Fuck Dazai.

He's still glowering at the door when his stomach twists and Chuuya gasps at the sudden, blinding pain that guts him and doesn't stop gutting him.

Chuuya has been sick many times in his life before. His first memories are him clutching the dirt under

his fingers and dry heaving over and over while a fine mist hung in the air. Even after he somehow managed to get up and form words for the first time and find shelter under some broken roof that survived the blast, he kept getting sick. And much later, with the sheep,

stomach bugs, when you live off stolen food and the salvageable shit you find in the trash cans outside of restaurants and diners, were unavoidable. But every time, no matter how sick Chuuya got, his body, his /ability/ sped up the regeneration process.

Now, Chuuya feels no such thing.

This pain doesn't feel natural. It doesn't feel controllable. It feels like a handmade weapon directly ingested into his system.

Chuuya's eyes roll back, his body shaking and burning, and all he can do is lie there a--

Some of the pain eases.

Chuuya wildly gasps for air.

And then in the corner of his eye, he sees Dazai appearing in the doorframe. Wha...?

"Put two and two together," Dazai says, but his voice sounds weak and tired.

"The hell?"

"What do you feel every time we're not in the same room?"

"Happiness?" Chuuya tries.

Dazai doesn't look amused. "Try again."

Swallowing, Chuuya thinks. He woke up without Dazai. He was in the bathroom without Dazai. He was alone just now without...

He shakes his head. "No way."

The smile that Dazai's expression melts into is grim and bitter. "The logistics of it escape me, but you and I are bound to each other. If we separate..."

...they get sick.

"It can be a coincidence," Chuuya says. "We could be just sick."

"Oh, yes, and somehow the nausea magically gets better as soon as we're in close proximity? Come on, chibi. Even you aren't that stupid."

Chuuya presses his lips together and buries his face in his pillows. This is worse than being poisoned. So much worse.

"What I do not understand," he hears Dazai say before the bed dips as he must sit down, "is that we didn't leave anyone alive.

If this is the product of ability, then the user is long dead by now, which usually would have annulated the effects."

Clearly, this is not the case.

"Maybe we missed somebody."

"We didn't."

"I know you like to think you're god, but even you make mistakes sometimes."

Dazai doesn't argue further, but judging by the look on his stupid face he's 100% convinced that he's in the right. As always.

"So what the hell now?" Chuuya asks because whether there is a host or not, they will be long gone already. And this... this can't go on for long.

They're both executives. They both have their own shit to do outside of their double missions. And neither of them can afford to be reduced into a weak, vomiting mess every time they separate.

It's a death sentence.

Dazai sits down on the bed. "Usually, there is a condition to be met for the curse to get broken."

"Like what? Glueing ourselves together?"

"Not quite." The look that Dazai gives him, both bemused and tentative makes Chuuya's blood /pulse./

"You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Chuuya shakes his head. /No/, Dazai doesn't look like he's joking. And /no/, they can't fuck. Not because of this. Not because of anything. Not ever.

/No./

"No," he barks out. "Absolutely not."

"Suit yourself," Dazai says shrugging. "Where's your laptop?"

Still too busy glaring Chuuya doesn't even ask what he needs it for and instead wordlessly points at the armchair on the other side of the room. After grabbing it, Dazai settles next to him this time. /Close./

They've always made sure to leave a certain amount of space between them for so much time now, that having Dazai right there, their arms almost touching feels weird, alien, but also good.

It's probably the side effect of the shitty ability they were hit with.

Of course, you'd want to get closer to the person that makes you feel less sick.

Chuuya lets out a sigh and slides lower until he can lie on his side and watch Dazai type with a tiny crease between his frows. He must be researching.

After a while he asks, "You really think Google is going to help?"

"It will not give me a solution, but it might kick-start my brain into coming up with one."

"Wow, look at you," Chuuya murmurs, amazed. "Admitting that you aren't all-knowing."

"I never pretended to be, so this is a conclusion you came up with all by yourself, chibi. I appreciate the compliment though."

Chuuya makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "Because you fucking act like it."

"Again, you flatter me."

Oh, come on.

"I'm going to take another nap," he decides and turns around, making sure not to move farther away. Because of the /curse./ Because it's /easier./ "Wake me up when you find out how to end this shit and not a second sooner."

"As always making me do all the work ~"

Chuuya manages to doze off surprisingly fast. Soft rain is pattering outside, and it's warm and cozy in bed, and instead of feeling sick, he's feeling 100% content bundled up in his blanket.

And Dazai.

Dazai is there. For once not leaving.

He wakes up again when his stomach gives a sick lurch, /again/, and Chuuya weakly turns only to discover that Dazai's still there and looking the worse for wear.

Wha...?

Noticing his stare, Dazai lets out a shallow breath. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

It is.

"Why? We're --" Chuuya gestures at them. They're right next to each other. Close. Why is it fucking making them even sicker?

Unless...

"Not close enough," Dazai sighs, saying what Chuuya was just beginning to fear. "I'm starting to believe this isn't something that will drag

out for a very long time. It will get worse and worse."

Worse until they either... what, die?

"I can't believe this is happening," Chuuya mutters, shaking his head. "This must be a bad joke."

"It could be worse. You could have gotten stuck with Kajii."

Chuuya can't help but laugh at that even if this situation is anything but funny.

"Admit it," Dazai presses teasingly, "you're glad it's with me."

"Just because I'm glad I didn't end up bound to someone else, doesn't mean I'm glad that it's /you./"

"Well, I am." Dazai's words hang in the air. "That's it's you."

It's such an unlike-Dazai thing to say that it makes his heart race with suspicion.

Dazai wouldn't give away something so dangerous, something so diabolically precious, without knowing he'll gain something from it. His words are bullets and his hit ratio is deadly.

Chuuya casts a glance in his direction, but Dazai's already watching him.

But he doesn't find the careful, calculated gaze he expected. Dazai looks... Chuuya can't describe what he looks like because he's never seen the expression on him before -- at least, not long enough. Then a droplet of sweat rolls across Dazai's forehead though, and /oh./

Dazai's in pain. Maybe even in more than Chuuya.

And with a sudden start, he realizes what Dazai needs and what he craves right now to ease that wretched feeling of not having control over his own body.

Chuuya swallows. Then he lifts his blanket.

And after a moment of drawn-out hesitation, he starts to think his mental gymnastics have been for nothing and that Dazai's going to reject his silent offer, but no, Dazai shoves the laptop away and crawls under the covers. To Chuuya.

One might think it would be easier to find a good position, considering they've been fighting and basically living together for more than three years, knowing each other's ticks, gestures, and peculiar habits like the sound of their own heartbeat. And yet.

Dazai's fucking long and gangly, and when Chuuya tries to press himself into the touch, his sharp collarbones feel like knives stabbing him. "Jesus," Chuuya mutters, "why are you so fucking cold even when you're feverish?"

"If it bothers you so much," Dazai says, "then do something about it."

"Maybe I will!"

And because it's too late to retreat anyway, Chuuya finally manages to wrap himself fully and entirely around Dazai's body; every inch of them pressed together, creating a soothing warmth.

It's not just Chuuya's body heat, and not just the heat that comes from cuddling someone either. It's something deeper, something that reaches inside his bones and /craves and craves/ until his lungs are filled with trembling fire.

/It's the damn curse./

And yet, knowing that, Chuuya can't help but succumb to it anyway. He wiggles even closer until his nose is pressed against Dazai's shoulder, inhaling his scent -- so earthy and /Dazai/ like it's a drug, until Dazai's hands are molded to his waist, until

it feels like the lines get washed away and the only thing that remains is the two of them together. As it's always been.

Chuuya and Dazai.

Dazai and Chuuya.

The rest doesn't matter.

"This --" Chuuya finds himself whispering. "-- is not real, right?"

It's the curse.

It's whoever yields that damn ability that makes him feel that way, like he lives and breathes to lie here and be all wrapped up in Dazai.

"It's as real as life," Dazai replies.

Is it? Has he been craving this the entire time? Ever since the moment, he saw Dazai walking around in Suribachi city? Is this happening now because the curse stripped everything else away and reduced Chuuya to his deepest desires hidden in the hollows of his ribcage?

Or is this just a, more or less, drug-induced desire?

To be honest, Chuuya doesn't know.

He can't remember now being ever anything other than hungry, and greedy, and desperate for the pain to stop. And it's Dazai. Dazai, who makes it go away. Dazai, who makes him feel whole.