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The sun is annoying.
That was the single thought the plagued Dazai’s mind as he awoke from his slumber. The sun rays felt like they were burning into the back of his retinas every time he dared to open his eyes.
The only thing that seemed to take his mind off of the sun drilling into his eyes was the handcuff that kept him shackled to the bed.
Dazai has tried many times(to no avail) to get the cuff off of him. It as nearly impossible due to the fact that the drugs he was constantly given made him out of it. Now it was a point in his (mundane) afternoons, that trying to wiggle his wrist out of the handcuff was now apart of his routinely “schedule”.
1. Wake up
2. Eat
3. Nurse Check-ups
4. Wrestle with handcuff
5. Chuuya
6. Take a nap
7. Repeat
Now it was the time of day for Dazai’s almost ritualistic try at his shackle. Dazai tried to twist his hand a bit (as an another pathetic attempt to release himself). However the handcuff’s hold on his wrist was unrelenting as usual.
As he twisted his hand, the cuff dug into his skin, making his unbandaged wrist turn a purplish red.
Dazai hissed in pain and ceased his movements, once again faced with the sun’s ultraviolet rays. Dazai sighed in defeat and tried to turn his body away from the sun the best he could.
Of course Dazai could only wish to be able to get away from the sun.
Aside from the handcuffs, tubes of IV that stuck into his arms were stopping him from completely turning away from the sun without any sort of pain. There were multiple of them surrounding Dazai’s (itchy and uncomfortable) bed. There were so many of them that Dazai could only dream of guessing what the IV bags were actually administering.
“Damn this is pathetic,” Dazai pondered to himself. If you allowed any of Dazai’s past selves come to look at him in this state, they would have all laughed.
Dazai hated being in this bed, but he hated being in this room even more. He wouldn’t have minded being in this itchy, uncomfortable, citrus-smelling bed, but the room—— was god awful.
The chamber was at the highest part of the Port Mafia Headquarters. The only way to get to it was a flight of stairs from the boss’ (now Chuuya’s) office. Most people had no clue that this room existed. Even Kouyou didn’t know about this room.
Oh how the Demon Prodigy has fallen. Kept trapped in here like a fairytale princess.
One may wonder and ask, “How was the O so great Port Mafia Boss, Dazai Osamu, captured and reduced to a ‘sickly’ hospital patient. Dazai would have reluctantly replied with saying “Three words: failed suicide, Chuuya”. And that was all that needed to be said. Anyone could fill in the blanks as to why Dazai is still in this room.
All because of the furious petite mafioso.
Like how Dazai always said, Chuuya is his dog. So as his ‘dog’, Chuuya took it upon himself to keep Dazai from putting himself in danger.
Dazai speculated that Chuuya just didn’t want to be lonely dog (which is understandable in it of itself), but he didn’t have to drag him here!
The room was spacious and hospital like (probably due to its white interior that resembled an insane asylum and the strong smell of disinfectant). It was around the size of ER room. The chamber was mostly desolate and devoid of any “furniture” except for the heart monitor, IV machines, and nightstand crowded with medical supplies next to Dazai’s bed.
It was stuffy at worst and empty at best. Dazai wished it was empty most of the time, but that was only wishful thinking.
Every day, right when the sun begins to break through the layers of clouds in the morning, nurses swarm into his room. They would stick him with needles, like a vegetable, and stuff him with flavorless food. It honestly reminded him of his adolescent years with Mori.
Dazai never wanted to live like this. Being constantly monitored, observed, injected all the time. It was starting to piss him off. What pissed him off more was the fact that his plan completely failed, backfired even.
His plan was simple. Tell Atsushi and Akutagawa about the book and die. Simple. Simple as taking candy from a baby. However Dazai didn’t account for Chuuya not going on the overseas mission Dazai had (last minute) assigned him. It was either Chuuya saw right through him or he had gotten careless trying to quicken his plan.
Now ever since that day, he has been confined to this bed and kept drugged out of his mind.
Dazai wouldn’t say he regretted jumping off, hell, he wouldn’t say that at all. That day was supposed to happen. He was always destined to die by his own hands. Whether it be a toaster into the bathtub, a slit to the wrist, or the good ol noose, Dazai was always destined to die. It was nothing personal, it just was his time to leave.
Of course that stupid hat rack had to ruin it all.
The stupid slug, Chuuya, the loyal dog that he was, didn’t let him die that easily.
Dazai remembers as clear as day when Chuuya grabbed his arm from one of the buildings windows, using all his strength to hoist him back onto solid ground.
Another thing that Dazai vividly remembers about that day was Chuuya’s scornful expression as he clung onto him. He wore his usual angered demeanor, but showed an emotion that Dazai hadn’t seen in years. Betrayal. A feeling that was buried deep into Chuuya’s heart since the Sheep had turned their backs on him. And to think that Dazai was able to bring out that emotion again in Chuuya. (Same guy who swears that he hates him)
As Dazai was lost in thought, the door to his jail cell room was creaked open. The only person that came into here after the nurses left was the now mafia boss, Chuuya Nakahara.
It was no surprise to Dazai that the slug was here. Almost immediately after Chuuya was finished with any meeting or paperwork he would briskly walk up here to “greet” Dazai. (Or just bask in the fact that Dazai is in such a weakened state, Dazai wasn’t really all too sure).
Chuuya stood in the doorway glaring at Dazai. They stared at each other for a solid 5 minutes until Dazai couldn’t take the uncomfortable stare Chuuya was giving him.“Has the chibi come to mock me again?,” Dazai said breaking the silence.
Chuuya was something like an apathetic doctor in this sort of situation. He would always come in after the nurses and insert Dazai with some type of drug with little to no signs of emotion. Maybe the occasional sadistic grin. If Dazai dared to complain about any of this harsh treatment, he would get a wack on the side of his head. (Chuuya has obviously done worse, but being in a drugged state makes the smack feel like the equivalent to a punch)
After Dazai made his statement, Chuuya pushed himself off the door frame and began walking towards the stand next to Dazai. The stand was cluttered with medical supplies and medicine that the nurses had left behind just hours prior.
Chuuya grabbed a syringe from the nightstand and stuck it into one of the bottles. He began to slowly pull the plunger to fill it up. The liquid from the bottle slowly went into the syringe as Chuuya gave Dazai a sharp glance.
“Are you gonna poke me with more fluids, Chuuya?,” Dazai slyly asked as if he didn’t know the answer already. Making a subtle joke about the multiple IV tubes in his arms.
Dazai had already figured it out long ago, but seemingly in order to keep Dazai from trying to escape or create any form mischief, Chuuya had started injecting him with additional drugs to keep him docile. Which was the reason for his ‘visits’. (Also keeping him from escaping his handcuff) And he hired the nurses to make sure he doesn’t react badly to the drugs and to pump him full of more drugs.
“Quick your yapping, mackerel, you’re acting like all of this isn’t your fault,” Chuuya angrily muttered as he continued to measure out the amount of drug he wanted in the syringe.
Chuuya had already grown tired of Dazai’s mouth (even after a few minutes of being in the same room with him). With his patience thinning he hurried up with filling the syringe.
When Chuuya finally got his desired amount into the syringe, he turned to Dazai giving him a shit eating grin.
This wasn’t good.
Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s cuffed hand and held it down onto the bed. Dazai gave him a dissatisfied look, but didn’t try and struggle (maybe because he knew that it got him nowhere except being punched). Chuuya then tied an elastic band around Dazai’s upper arm trying locate his veins.
“Ow Chuuya! That hurts. Do you have to tie it so tight?,” Dazai whined at Chuuya’s brutality.
Chuuya’s gloved hands began to scope around Dazai’s arm for any veins he was able to puncture with the syringe. Dazai began to whine again as Chuuya pressed down on his already bruised arm. Dazai truly believed if Chuuya kept poking him with needles everyday, his whole arm will be littered in purple bruises.
“Geez, for someone who’s only skin and bones, it’s hard to find a vein,” Chuuya mumbled.
In his search of Dazai’s vein he harshly pressed down on one of Dazai’s many bruises making Dazai groan in pain.
“Can you quit being such a brute, you hatrack?!,” Dazai winced.
“You’re gonna be fine, you bastard, it’s just a little pinch. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten used to it by now,” Chuuya replied as he began massaging Dazai’s now inflamed bruise somewhat apologetically.
After some massaging Dazai’s bruise, he punctured Dazai’s skin with the needle. Dazai then slightly whined at the sudden pain in his arm.
“See, it wasn’t that bad. Like I said, you bastard, you’re gonna be fine. Maybe if you would stop your whining, the process would quicker,” Chuuya bluntly said while putting the syringe back onto the nightstand.
“I’m not going to be fine, Chuuya,” Dazai said uncharacteristically dull.
Ah the dramatics.
Chuuya knew this was coming. Dazai’s usual breakdown after taking the drug. In which his facade would slowly fade away, uncovering how he truly felt. (Even if it was annoying).
Chuuya would put money on it that the drug made Dazai more and more emotional each time it was given to him.
“I can’t say I miss my life before, but this— this is hell. Everyday I’m reminded of the fact that I’m chained to this bed. I can’t stand up, I can’t piss by myself, I can’t do anything. It’s like I’m a shell. Like a corpse rotting in bed,” Dazai wailed to Chuuya.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore, Chuuya just— please, put me out—- kill me-,”Dazai pleaded desperately holding onto Chuuya’s black coat.
Before Dazai could finish his statement Chuuya gently put his arms around him.
“I’m sorry, Osamu, but I cant. I can’t do that. I just— can’t let you go,” Chuuya slowly said into Dazai’s shoulder turning his head towards Dazai and giving him a small peck on his cheek.
This trick usually worked.
Chuuya was never quite sure if it was just the drugs making Dazai act so emotional, but at some point, Dazai would begin to mope about either being shackled to his bed, about his suicide plan failing, or generally about being alive. After Dazai let out all of his complaints for the day, Chuuya would swoop in to give him a warm hug and words of reassurance.
He would continue by saying things like “You’re gonna get used to this and this all will feel like a bad dream” or “Everything is going to be alright”. Something along those lines.
It didn’t really matter if Chuuya believed his own words. All that mattered was that his empty promises kept Dazai complacent.
Dazai quieted down from his crying and nuzzled into Chuuya’s arms.
“Worked like a charm,” Chuuya smugly thought to himself.
Chuuya began to rock Dazai back and forth softly. Before long, Dazai had fallen sound asleep in Chuuya’s arms.
With Dazai now asleep, Chuuya laid him back onto the bed and began to gently apply bandages to Dazai’s newest bruise.
Chuuya would occasionally treat Dazai’s bruises, but most of the time he would leave them be. Chuuya almost considered them to be small, insignificant victories against Dazai. The bruises showed that Chuuya was also able to hurt Dazai, just as much Dazai has hurt him.
After all Dazai has done to Chuuya, he had the audacity to off himself without a single word. Without a single word to Chuuya at least.
Chuuya began to grit his teeth in frustration as he squeezed an unconscious Dazai’s bruised wrist.
As almost coming out of a trance, Chuuya realized he was viciously clutching Dazai’s wrist.
He quickly let go of his wrist, noticing he had unknowingly made his bruise blush new shades of purple and red that could now be visible from under the bandage.
Chuuya didn’t mean to squeeze his wrist that hard. He didn’t mean to.
Yet he felt like something was telling him to do it again.
A sudden, deep urge had washed over him to twist Dazai’s wrist until he could hear the bones snap. And the insatiable need to hear Dazai pleading with Chuuya to stop.
Chuuya was never one to enjoy seeing someone cry, but his tears were so—refreshing.
Being able to make Dazai cry gave Chuuya this sense of—superiority after all those years of being under Dazai’s thumb.
Being forced to stay by his side just to be discarded in the end was something that Chuuya would never forgive.
So naturally, Chuuya decided to take his revenge on Dazai.
Dazai’s ultimate punishment was to live. Live to see himself become a shell of what he used to be. Made to live and see himself become something that he couldn’t even recognize.
Having to continue living in this vegetated state of either sleeping or eating in this room for the rest of his miserable existence.
Making it so that he has to live like a slowly decaying corpse pumped full drugs until the day that Chuuya deems it fit for him to die.
Dazai’s own personal hell.
Made and created by Chuuya.
His one and only— loyal dog.