Chapter 9 - chapter nine

Compared to the other horrors in his past, of which there were many, Dazai's disgust of dogs was just dumb.

It wasn't a fear of them, no. Dazai was not scared of anything. It was a strong dislike. Closer to hatred than fear.

A couple years after the servants did what they did, after he hadn't left his room for a month for completely unrelated reasons… Mori decided to get him a dog. A puppy to 'heal' his 'trauma.'

Dazai, though, thought it was secretly an attempt to torture him even further.

It was a labrador retriever; the most basic of all therapy dogs. As if Mori had just looked up 'best therapy dog' and went with the top result. He at least tried to be a little different, or maybe he was just mocking Dazai's depression, as he got a soot black one instead of the typical golden.

To make a long story short, it did not help.

It was gross and annoying and dirty. It had no concept of personal space. It would get filthy with mud from outside and then suffocate him with affection that he did not want nor need, the dirt transferring onto him as well and ruining his nice white bandages. It gave him not a moment of peace and quiet, constantly bothering him for attention. It stunk.

He felt tainted enough without that insufferable beast adding to it. Now he felt the need to actually shower it off instead of just soaking in a cesspool of his own design.

Dazai hated it for the whole three months he'd had to keep it until he finally said enough is enough and threatened to skin the thing and use its fur to suffocate himself with if Mori didn't return it to a shelter immediately. Unlike his threats of suicide, mutilating animals would not be something Mori could just sweep under the rug and hide from his social network, and so he acquiesced.

So it wasn't that he had any trauma related to dogs or anything like that.

He simply hated them. 

The dog that then trotted into the main room of his latest hell, tail wagging and tongue flopping out of its mouth, was not an exception. It was both infuriating and satisfying that it was a labradoodle, exactly as he'd predicted.

Chuuya, however, gasped dramatically and immediately rushed over to it without giving Dazai so much as a backwards glance. Lucy squealed, Ranpo clapped, and even Kyouka's eyes lit up in excitement. It seemed that everyone was eager to see the thing.

That revolting cretin with big brown eyes and fluffy paws was equally as curious, if its restlessly wagging tail was any indication. 

Dazai remained where he was.

Even if he were a dog person, what could a stupid pet possibly do to relieve even a single symptom of his mental illnesses, let alone anyone else's? What use was a canine to psychological treatment?

No, he stayed sitting in his seat against the wall rather than joining in with the others as they gathered in a line to cuddle with the ball of fur. No one spared his resistance a second glance, too enthralled with the latest sensation that in his eyes was just a bothersome, scraggly dog.

Dazai was nothing compared to that perfect creature; that could coat the entire room with slobber and piss but in the eyes of all watching, seemingly did no harm.

He hated it so much.

"One at a time please! We have to be gentle with her." Yosano didn't bother actually enforcing that, she didn't need to. Everyone there was familiar with having boundaries broken. They couldn't do the same to an innocent, poor, cute puppy.

He would've hated the thing enough already for taking Chuuya's attention away from him, but on that front he was actually reluctantly grateful. Dazai did not enjoy the direction their conversation had been going, and not being believed, especially by Chuuya, hurt more than he was willing to admit. The attention on the dog spared him from anyone else bearing witness to his despair. 

It shouldn't have been a big deal. He was used to everybody assuming that his words were lies.

Truly, he should've expected it. He couldn't properly be the boy who cried wolf without getting eaten in the end. It was foolish of him to ever attempt to tell the truth, when he knew that it would do nothing good.

For a second it felt like he was being choked all over again, his throat closing up. He was unable to keep the snarl off his face, but he pretended it was because of the dog and not because of his beloved.

Despite most everyone else being distracted by the dog, Dazai felt eyes watching him. He looked around, surprised to see Fukuzawa was the one staring at him. There wasn't a moment of privacy in this damned place.

Dazai tilted his head. It was a little soon for another personal session.

Wrongfully, Fukuzawa seemed to take his confusion as an invitation, calmly walking around the crowd petting the dog that was currently resting its head on a thrilled Atsushi's lap. Once at Dazai, he stood next to him, facing the dog instead of looking down on him.

He hated how grateful he felt for that, for not being trapped against the wall, because he knew the social worker did that on purpose. He knew too much about Dazai, and it made him want to never look into Fukuzawa's disturbingly understanding eyes again.

The accommodations, while reluctantly appreciated, were unnecessary and condescending. Still, Dazai didn't protest them. 

Neither of them spoke at first, each waiting for the other to begin, but Dazai was an expert at staying still and saying nothing from years of staring blankly at therapists that didn't deserve his cooperation, and so Fukuzawa broke first.

"I often wondered why dogs were chosen as the animal ambassadors of emotional support," He was briefly caught off guard when the conversation didn't begin with some type of chastising, as that was the usual reason staff decided to talk to him, "I am more of a cat person myself."

He glanced at Fukuzawa once before looking back at Chuuya, who was very carefully petting the dog's head, eyes wide in awestruck adoration. The sight made his throat itch.

He considered Fukuzawa's statement instead of lingering on the redhead, not allowing himself to get jealous of a stupid dog.

"They're unbiased," Dazai responded after a moment of what would've been a comfortable silence if not for the loving coo's across the room, "Dogs don't know or care what someone is or who they are."

The disgust and resentment was audible in his tone, but the older man didn't seem to notice or care. 

"They just know to loyally follow whoever gives them the most treats."

Across the room, the dog's ears perked up at the word. It lifted its head from away from Chuuya's gentle hands, looking over at Dazai and Fukuzawa expectantly. 

Dazai hissed at it.

"One of the reasons I prefer cats," Fukuzawa smiled softly, ignoring his childish behavior, "-is because you have to earn their trust. It takes caution, patience, and persistence. Being accepted is much more rewarding, when they finally choose to let you close enough."

There wasn't really any animal that Dazai cared much for. He hated dogs, but other than that felt no particular way about anything else.

Chuuya had a lizard, which did interest him somewhat. A cold-blooded creature that ate living prey and existed in solitude sounded exactly like something he could relate to. A venomous reptile would be better though, as it could provide him with another unique suicide method that he hadn't tried yet.

The way Fukuzawa described cats though, with respect beyond just thinking they're cute, made him think a bit differently. 

He'd never been around a cat long enough to bond with it, and never had the urge to. Perhaps when he got out of here, he could convince Mori to get him a cat. It would undoubtedly be a better companion than that dog was...

But why was he making plans for the future?

Death.

That was supposed to be the only thing awaiting him outside the confines of this facility. Suicide by the most commonly used and effective method. A swift end to his sad existence.

A cat did not fit into those plans.

"I do like dogs too," Fukuzawa's steady voice pulled him out of his internal turmoil, "There is something quite comforting about a creature that doesn't see your flaws, and loves you dearly regardless of what kind of person you are or what you have done. They seem to know that every living being is deserving of love, and decide that they are the ones that need to give it."

"You give them too much credit. They're far too stupid to think like that," Dazai drawled, "And that kind of love is worthless anyway. It's only valuable when they do see your flaws, the darkest parts of you, and decide to love them too."

Even though he couldn't feel love himself, that was his idea of what it should be.

It's what he'd like to imagine someone could feel for him, if such a thing were at all possible.

A voluntarily unconditional love, not one born out of parental responsibility or with an agenda to their own end. Not ignorant of the imperfections like a dog would be, but aware of every part of him, even the very worst ones. Understanding the reason those exist, and deciding that he was worth accepting anyway. 

They marinated in that idea for a bit, watching from the sidelines as the other patients took turns hugging the dog.

Chuuya looked on the verge of tears as he clutched onto the curly fur. It made no sense to Dazai how a stinking mongrel could garner such a reaction. 

Acidic jealousy began to bubble in his stomach regardless of his attempts to stop it, and he looked away from the scene, focusing on the wall instead.

"You are wise for your age, Osamu." It was the first time someone had used his first name in a while. He turned to look at Fukuzawa, who was still facing the rest of the room, "I'm sorry for whatever reason that came to be."

It was unlike the other times people had pitied him.

Pity wasn't quite the right word for what he'd said, it was more like… sorrow. Sympathy for his past while acknowledging that it molded him into who he was in the present.

It sounded more personal than the usual emotional wall that the doctors on duty put up between themselves and the patients. Doctors weren't supposed to care so much.

But, like he'd acknowledged many times before, Fukuzawa wasn't a doctor.

Dazai didn't know what to say to that; 'Thanks for the compliment,' 'You don't need to be sorry,' 'It's fine'? None of the generic responses felt right, so he remained silent instead, feeling sick without knowing why.

His thoughts were muddled, and he couldn't identify what emotions he was having, only registering the physical effects on his body. A tensed stomach, dizziness, tightness in his chest, both the pain and nausea in his throat.

"Oh, I've been meaning to ask-" The unwelcome physical feelings reminded him of one of the few solvable problems he currently had, "Could I switch meds? One of them isn't reacting well with me."

Fukuzawa finally did turn to appraise Dazai, eyebrow raised.

"That's very responsible of you."

"I always am!" His return to the comforting defense of theatrics was a welcome thing.

Fukuzawa provided him with a similarly soft smile to the one he'd had talking about cats; an endeared one that Dazai would never expect to be directed towards himself. He blinked, just to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

"That you are. Unfortunately, medication is not in my area of expertise. I advise you ask Doctor Kunikida about it when you all come back from lunch. Although," his lips turned downwards in a slight frown, "It may extend your stay. You'll likely need to be under observation through the change."

That was fine. He wanted to stay longer anyway, which was not something he'd thought just a few days ago, but he still needed to help his chibi!

His previous plans of getting out as soon as possible and attempting succeeding a suicide again, had to be put on hold. Not that he really minded too much. After all, he had all the time in the world.

It moved differently in this place; time. Days and weeks and hours all seemed to blend together. The complete isolation from the outside world made it seem as if the facility was a place outside of time and space. There was a sense of always having been here, but at the same time feeling like it was nothing more than a quick vacation.

He couldn't decide whether it was disorienting or relieving, although he supposed that it didn't really matter either way. It was just an observation.

Unfortunately for everyone other than himself, the dog was only on the grounds for a little bit of their time, and it had other wards to visit.

It's time with them was brief, but the other patients didn't seem to mind beyond wanting to get one last pet in. They still happily talked about dogs together as they went through fake school and lunch.

Dazai didn't get the chance to talk to Chuuya again, and probably wouldn't until afternoon free time, but even then he wasn't sure what he was going to say. What could he say?

His statement earlier was more relevant than ever. The truth didn't matter.

Nothing he said would matter if Chuuya did not take the words seriously, and he wasn't in the mood to say words that lacked substance. It felt like a betrayal to Chuuya; painfully honest Chuuya, who was such a polar opposite of himself.

So instead of gravitating towards him as he'd done for most of his time here, Dazai decided to avoid him.

He still wanted to help with the blackouts, though purely because of a scientific curiosity and not any desire to do a good deed, or something nauseating like that. The investigation could be postponed though, especially since he was going to be staying longer.

Chuuya's deadline for release was still unknown, but since he still displayed his anger management issues nearly every day, it wasn't likely that he'd be getting out soon either.

Without actively seeking out attention though, Dazai realized how alone he actually was here.

Nobody seemed at all interested in being around him. 

It made complete sense. He had been annoying and rude to every other patient at some point during his time here.

He didn't blame them for not wanting to seek him out when they finally got a peaceful moment without his terrorizing. 

Dazai was a monster that exuded nothing but heartbreak into the world. Mother Earth would let out a breath of relief when he finally died, wishing she'd aborted him before he even came into existence. She would only mourn that her planet didn't start with one more mother and one less son.

That was the way it should've been. But things rarely happened the way they should have.

His mother shouldn't have birthed him, his father shouldn't have kept him, and life shouldn't have prolonged his stay.

Maybe the things that he'd experienced also shouldn't have happened, but wishing things were different wouldn't change anything.

It was all in the past. It had all already happened.

He didn't care, so he wasn't quite sure why he so badly wanted other people to.

A pressure built behind his eyes, like his head was starting to fill with water and his pupils were mere glass barriers, cracking under the suddenly overflowing skull. The waves pounded against the thin glass, seeking to get out and flood the room as well. He quickly looked down at the notebook he was still absentmindedly doodling in, aware enough to know what the headache meant.

He was not about to cry.

It was a reaction to the meds. It was just a headache.

There was no other reason for him to feel like a hole was tearing it's way through his chest, for him to feel so pitifully lonely.

Dazai closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, quickly calming his heart that had started racing while he hadn't been paying attention to it. That was yet another thing he needed to get control over again.

Could he be any more pathetic?

His throat still ached from being crushed beneath those villainous fingers that morning. The ache did not help with keeping his emotions at bay.

It hurt to swallow.

It wasn't a good hurt. 

He didn't even realize he was digging his fingers into his arm until Ranpo dropped loudly into the seat next to him, jerking him back into reality. 

A mask slid into place without thought, any sign of his mood completely hidden from view.

The habit was so instinctive that although it represented falsehood, felt as natural as blinking. It was so much a part of him that it couldn't even really be considered a mask any more; it was just him. A mask of his own face, sewn over his skin, redundant. Not even an observer as skilled as Ranpo could point out the seams.

Dazai spoke first, before Ranpo had the chance to do something awful like ask him how he was.

"What a shame, it looks like there was only room for one dog in this clinic. Did Chuuya at least have a good time meeting his brethren?"

Why did everything he say always have to be about Chuuya?

"Ask him yourself," Ranpo shrugged, casually rocking in his chair, "or are you still avoiding him?"

Dazai shot an icy glare at the other boy that was cold enough to make him freeze mid-rock. Ranpo actually shut his mouth for once, but Dazai didn't have the energy to feel either proud or guilty about it.

It wasn't supposed to be so obvious. 

Was Ranpo really that omniscient or was Dazai just losing his touch?

"I'm not avoiding him," Dazai denied in an even tone that left no openings for debate, "I threw a stick and I'm waiting for him to return it to his owner."

Ranpo nodded, apparently his intuition extended to knowing not to push him. Or maybe his death stare had scared him more than it was supposed to.

If he couldn't lie to Ranpo, he was glad that at least he could still intimidate him. Any method to keep himself as the one with the advantage, even if it was underhanded.

"By the way, why do you call him a dog all the time?" Ranpo's reply was cautious but curious nonetheless, as if he couldn't help himself from needing more information, just like Dazai himself, "if you hate them so much."

Not omniscient then, if he didn't know something so core to their dynamic.

He'd called Chuuya a dog since the very first day they got stuck together, despite his immediate interest in Chuuya and sour relationship with dogs.

Although rhe question made him think for a moment and realize that he wasn't exactly sure why he always compared Chuuya to a dog. It was just something that happened. Done originally to tease the boy and, admittedly, mostly continued because of how flustered it always made him.

Maybe it was deeper though, as therapy had taught him that everything was. Maybe it was his loyalty, or ability to see the good in everyone. Or perhaps it was because he was small and yapped a lot. Both could be true.

"Because I hate him of course! Chibi is so tiny and annoying, and he's smelly, and drools like a mutt with rabies-"

"Haaaaaaahhh?" Chuuya's voice rolled through the air, slamming into Dazai's ears, "What the hell? You're the smelly one, you stinking mackerel."

Some rolled their eyes at their bickering or laughed at his expense, with Dazai being the only one that pouted, though it was less from the insult and more in confusion.

He turned to fully face the other boy who, shockingly, had a teasing grin on his face. The same friendliness his taunts held in order to show others he wasn't too serious in his dislike, because no amount of anger could stop Chuuya from caring about hurting other people. 

But didn't Chuuya accuse him of lying? Wasn't he still mad at him for (rightfully) hating Fyodor? Couldn't he see the real truth; that Dazai was an evil thing that actually deserved to get choked out? 

He stared at Chuuya, eyes wide as they searched for any kind of hatred on his face.

He was supposed to hate him. That's how this was supposed to work.

And yet the only thing Dazai could see in that endless blue, was forgiveness. Naive and foolish forgiveness, but forgiveness nonetheless.

His stomach lit up in a storm of butterflies, the fluttering beats of the wings coinciding with his hammering heart.

The anguish he'd felt when he wasn't believed vanished into thin air, and he automatically forgave too, though he'd never really been upset with Chuuya for not believing him in the first place. Not when it had all been his own fault anyway. 

After all, Chuuya could do anything he wanted to Dazai, as long as he did it to Dazai.

Slap him, choke him, throw him to the ground and spit on him; he could never fault Chuuya for any of that. It was impossible for him to ever be mad at his Chuuya.

This was the reason, Dazai realized suddenly, that he was constantly comparing Chuuya to a dog.

He was bafflingly loyal.

Dazai had, in his eyes, done a bad thing. He'd lied. He'd taunted and bullied. He'd hurt people around him for nothing.

And yet, Chuuya came back. Unconditionally loyal. Regardless of who Dazai was as a person, Chuuya would wag his tail and lick his face, and always come back. 

They were friends.

"And don't act like that wasn't the cutest dog you've ever seen in your life."

Dazai rolled his eyes. The smile he couldn't hold down was real, matching Chuuya's grin. It felt unnatural in the best way.

"Chuuya is the cutest dog I've ever seen in my life," He breezed by, smirking at the immediate flush of red on the other boy's cheeks and continuing before he could react to that, "but that doesn't make him any less tiny and annoying."

"You're such a piece of shit," Chuuya muttered, visibly gritting his teeth as he fought and failed to get rid of the blush, "I'm still growing asshole!"

It would never get old for him, teasing Chuuya like this. Every time his face reddened it felt like a reward.

"It's cute that you think that."

"Cute… I'll show you fucking cute," Chuuya started to roll up his sleeves as if to punch him, which would have been amazing. 

Sadly, Kunikida stepped in before he could.

"Settle down, it's time for group." The afternoon doctor commanded, stepping into the room and revealing an unfamiliar kid behind him. Dazai tilted his head to get a better look.

It was clearly a new patient, based on the short height and that she had bright pink hair. She shuffled in nervously, avoiding eye contact with anyone and rubbing her elbow.

Insecure, possible anxiety, definitely depression and a fellow self-harmer (he could sniff them out from miles away), but otherwise not very interesting.

The shy new patient would've been fairly unremarkable, had Dazai not heard Chuuya's breath hitch at her entrance. He instantly searched the other's face for the reason.

Chuuya's eyes were wide, filled with shock that spoke more than any words he could've said. 

His heart wasn't just on his sleeve; it was plastered on his face with a neon sign pointed to it for extra measure. Every cell showing guilt, regret, fear, anger…

He was like a mosaic of emotions, light illuminating the transparent glass and bringing attention to the already eye-catching crystalline pieces.

He was beautiful.

"Chuuya…?" 

The new girl whispered and Dazai's head swiveled back to her, the holiness of Chuuya nearly making him forget about her entirely. 

Her recognition of him was undeniable. She knew him. And from the looks on both of their faces, that wasn't actually a good thing.

The world did not stop for their personal crisis though, and Kunikida disregarded the tension and snapped for everyone to bring their chairs into a circle.

Dazai's feet moved before the girl's, snatching the spot next to Chuuya, who had collapsed onto a chair next to Atsushi. The redhead's jaw was clenched, eyes never leaving the girl's, whose attention rapidly flickered between everything else in the room and Chuuya.

Dazai was inexplicably starting to hate her.

He abruptly scraped his chair closer to Chuuya, making sure the high metallic sound was abrasive enough to make people wince.

Sure enough, Chuuya flinched back to him, wasting no time in glaring at Dazai for the intrusion. He simply stuck out his tongue in return.

Kunikida loudly flipped open his notebook, getting everyone to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at both of them in particular (rude, they weren't even being as disruptive as they could be), before clearing his throat to begin. 

"Everyone, we will be doing introductions again this afternoon to welcome our newest patient. Then we can start the session. Yuan, if you'd like to go first."

He gestured to the pink haired girl, Yuan, who sagged into her chair like she would rather be anywhere else in the world, which was a feeling that unfortunately many of them were well familiar with.

"I-I'm Yuan… what should I say?" 

She directed the quieter last part to Kunikida, who gave her the usual spiel, just without a fun question. Kunikida was never as into those lighter additions as Yosano was.

"Okay... Okay." She nodded, shaking her head as if she were waking herself up. After that, she seemed to regain a confidence that wasn't there before, sitting up straighter in her seat with a determined pout on her lips. "I'm Yuan. I'm 16. And I'd like to learn better coping skills."

If Dazai rolled his eyes any harder, they would've fallen out of his skull. 

Fucking coping skills.

After her dull introduction, the rest of the circle followed with their own robotic answers, and the session officially began.

He saw Chuuya's leg bouncing rapidly in his peripheral vision. He didn't comment on it.

"Tonight we will be discussing our parents, or caregivers-"

Oh goody.

The mood in the room dropped like an anvil.

"-which I know is difficult for some of you to talk about, but it's important. It's not only about the relationship you have with your guardian, but also things they have done in the past that may have shaped who you are slowly growing into. No one is immune to retaining traits from the person or persons that raised them."

What was that saying? The son paid for the sins of the father.

In Dazai's case, he would have to say that the 'sins' he inherited from his father were every single trait he had. 

There were some parts of Dazai that were unique to himself, but he attributed every bad part of himself to his father. If he was inherently a monster, at least half his genes still came from Mori, so he must've inherited the evil from him.

"I'd like to start by opening the discussion to everyone. Please raise your hand and talk about anything having to do with your parents, other people's parents, the concept of parents, anything at all relating to the subject. There's no judgement here. You can truthfully say however you feel."

Why were doctors always upset they got such little participation, Dazai wondered, when they asked questions like that?

It was predictably quiet. Some people looked as though they might want to speak up, but no one wanted to be the first to go. Even people with good parental guardians didn't want to go. They'd feel as if they were flaunting something that the others didn't have, and that was not the intention.

He glanced over at Chuuya, only for him to still be looking at Yuan. He obviously just wanted this to end so he could talk to her. His leg tapped impatiently on the linoleum floor, as if he would leap out of his chair any second.

Dazai sighed, resolving himself to complain about Mori for the rest of the night (not quite something he was too opposed to), when Atsushi spoke up.

"Um. I've lived in an orphanage for as long as I can remember," The younger boy picked at his nails, avoiding anyone else's gaze, "B-but I guess we have a guardian. The orphanage director."

He murmured the last words, something heavy in his voice. Fear and hatred fought for domination, ending up as equally potent, and it told him everything he needed to know about Atsushi's relationship with his director, even if he didn't already know some tidbits from previous sessions.

"He's… awful," Atsushi continued pitifully, "to all of us, but I think he's the worst to me."

He didn't expand on it any more than that, wringing his hands out and keeping his multicolored irises glued to the floor. 

"Anxiety can make you think that people treat you differently than others, but I'm sure that's not the case-" Kunikida attempted to placate him, but it only brought forth a fire he'd never seen in Atsushi before, his head snapping up and an enraged expression looking completely out of place on the usually polite boy.

"No! He got the others to turn against me too! And he makes me work while everyone else gets breaks, and he yells horrible things at me, a-and he…" His lips shut, trembling, and the sudden fire he had was snuffed out as quickly as it had ignited.

Dazai's fists clenched. He could read between the lines, and he didn't like what he saw. 

Child abusers were the most despicable creatures on the planet. Physical, verbal, psychological, emotional, sexual- it didn't matter what kind of abuse it was. It was all irredeemable.

It made him sick, but that had nothing to do with his own abuse, truly. It was just the thing itself. 

"Have you gone to anyone about this? Any law enforcement or Child Protective Services?" Kunikida asked, as if a 15 year old knew how to contact CPS.

Well, Dazai knew, but that was just because he had an obsession with knowing things, including how to contact services that he wouldn't ever dream of calling.

But Atsushi was already living in an orphanage. Where could CPS even take him, besides here? 

Kunikida was doing his best, as unhelpful as it was.

The hospital could do very little to help with whatever happened to bring you here. They could only treat the mental aspect, not the physical. And even then, there was a limit to how much psychological help they could provide, evident by the lack of quality in this place's security.

Mental hospitals like these were given an inflated idea of their own purpose; which was only to keep someone from hurting themself or others.

Inpatient facilities were not about treatment. They were about detainment, and monitoring people deemed too unstable or dangerous to be left alone.

It wasn't the fault of the doctors though, who were trying their best to help. At least some of them. It was the entire system that needed to be reworked. 

Not that any of that was actually relevant to himself or his recovery. None of his thoughts were personal grievances. They were simply facts.

"Who would believe me?" Atsushi whispered, voice achingly defeated.

Dazai's throat spasmed again, forcing him to clear it painfully and let out an unfortunately grating cough. That question was a little too close to his recent problems for comfort.

Eyes snapped towards him, and it took all of his strength not to shrink under the attention. As it was, he made sure to focus solely on Atsushi, who at least seemed to be knocked out of his thoughts by the rough noise. Dazai gave him an encouraging smile, playing off his blunder and making it as if he did it on purpose. For all they knew, it was intentionally to distract Atsushi from his thoughts.

Atsushi didn't try to smile back, it was evident that he couldn't at the moment, but he did relax some of the tension in his shoulders, visibly taking a deep breath to calm himself. An expert use of a coping mechanism for anxiety.

Pride bloomed like a flower within him for the other boy, though it was more of a dandelion than a full sunflower bloom. Coping skills were all fine and dandy, but they were only the most basic level of dealing with reality.

"What do I do then?" Atsushi asked, turning his wide eyes to Kunikida, whose clinical face revealed nothing, "How do I… survive like this?"

A desire to survive. That was a completely different specialization than what Dazai could give advice on.

How to cope with the moment, how to make it to at least until all witnesses disappeared; he could help with that. He could help with prolonging the inevitable, and hiding a breakdown from the judgement of others.

In his world though, surviving was not a goal. It was a punishment. 

He had gone through a lot in his life, he wasn't delusional enough to deny that, but others had undoubtedly endured worse. Every time he heard about their stories, of which there were plenty in inpatient facilities, he could not grasp how they didn'tkill themselves.

To go through all that horror and still want to get out, to believe there was something beyond the pain, was baffling. Incomprehensible. It was like those historical books about war and genocide that he'd been obsessed with as a child. 

How had humanity persisted so long? What gene for perseverance did they have that Dazai lacked? To witness the worst atrocities humanity could commit, and instead of wanting to escape it, feeling an urge to stay, keep going, and try?

There were very few things in life that Dazai just couldn't understand, no matter how much he agonized over them.

The willpower spent on survival was one of them. He couldn't wrap his head around it, even after studying several books and interviews with people that had supposedly experienced the sensation.

There was of course the instinctual physical response that all human bodies possessed, but that didn't account for intent. It didn't explain it in a way he could understand.

None of his research could give him an answer as to why people wanted to live so badly.

"You endure."

It wasn't Kunikida that answered Atsushi's impossible question. Dazai slowly turned his head to look at Chuuya, beside him.

The redhead kept his eyes on Atsushi, unwavering. Regardless of whatever was going on with him and Yuan, all of his focus was on the anxious boy next to him. For him, the past mattered very little in comparison to the present.

Dazai almost couldn't breathe, captivated by the passion that permeated from every part of Chuuya when he got like this.

"You fight, and you refuse to give up, and you endurewhatever bullshit comes your way. Because if you don't-" Chuuya's breath hitched, and Dazai couldn't stop his fingers from twitching towards him, though he had enough restraint to not fully touch, "If you don't, they win."

He didn't elaborate on who 'they' were, and Dazai was hopelessly lost.

All of a sudden it hit him how little he actually knew about Chuuya.

He knew that he had blackouts, got in fights, had a sister, wrote poetry, and had no memory before seven years old. But what about his parents? Who raised him? Where did he grow up? What happened in his past to make him the way he was? He could hypothesize some things but he had no confirmation.

Yuan was suddenly much more interesting to him than she had been, since she could be used as a database for the backstory he needed to research. 

Although, it made him ill to realize that he didn't know Chuuya that well already. 

They were friends. Chuuya had unearthed feelings in him that Dazai never experienced before and wanted to over and over again.

Yet he was still an enigma. Completely puzzling. Wasn't friendship supposed to be equal? That's what he'd always heard.

Perhaps he hadn't revealed enough of himself to earn the right to Chuuya's life. The only things they talked about that weren't focused on solving Chuuya's problem were inconsequential and unimportant.

There wasn't much he'd said in group therapy either, other than boring past boyfriends and other mundane information that didn't seem to fit with his idea of such a godlike boy. 

The pedestal Dazai had put him on was beginning to crumble, and he could feel panic start to fill in the space. Replacing the worship was a resentment at having been the only one to provide answers in their relationship. Chuuya only ever gave him more questions.

The only thing he could do to stop himself from spiraling was to talk instead, forcing himself to focus on speaking and not feeling, filling the space with needless chatter, for no other reason than to deny his own overthinking. To divert his train of thought to a different track; a familiar one.

"Mori always wins," His mouth opened and spoke, though he was barely aware of it doing so, "My father," he spit out the word, at least conscious enough to show his hatred, "No matter what I do- he always wins. I can't outsmart him."

It pained him to admit, his voice cracking at the last sentence, although that might very well have been from his still sore throat, and that's what he was choosing to believe to be the cause.

However, it was the truth. Or at least, a truth he had known since as he could first comprehend truth. 

As hard as he tried to overcome him, Mori always seemed to be more than two steps ahead to stop Dazai from whatever schemes he'd cooked up. Even the ideas he'd prided himself on creating beyond the scope of Mori's lessons were all irrelevant when faced with the mastermind. 

Honestly, he wouldn't have been shocked if everyevent in his life, including the most horrific moments, were orchestrated by the puppet-master gripping his strings with bloody claws.

There was nothing he would put past Mori as having created, even the things he'd supposedly helped with in the aftermath. After all, kind words were just that; words.

As many times as Mori reassured him of his safety, it was equal to the amount of times that he'd had a direct hand in the damage that had been done. Whether it was injuries, such as the time he broke his arm falling from a bike that's wheels had mysteriously been deflated even though he'd justchecked them the day before, or when he'd gotten horribly sick from a meal that had been prepared for him, only for Mori to slap his own forehead and say 'Ah, I'd forgotten you were allergic to that, how silly of me!' or when Dazai thought he'd finally made a friend at school, that he was finally free of the loneliness that had gripped his throat throughout his entire childhood, only for that friend to suddenly move away because of his father's new job across the country, a job that was oh so conveniently offered through one of Mori's many connections. 

The only time he could recall his father caring for him without having been involved in the infliction itself, not including whatever stunt he was pulling during this hospital stay, was for the most heinous of all crime. 

Still, Dazai couldn't help but wonder if he had a hand in that some way or another too.

Regardless of his attempts at reconciliation with the revolting dog or the therapy, it was all too obvious. He'd been taught to trust no one, so of course he wouldn't trust the very person who'd taught him that.

He was a perfect son in that way, following the instructions with no exceptions for anyone, including family. Every aspect of his life until that moment had been carefully constructed to mold him into the apathetic machine of a person that he was. And he couldn't honestly say that he faulted Mori for that.

It made him stronger, didn't it?

Emotionless, controlled, a perfect protégé.

Not a son, but a prodigy.

"It's not about outsmarting," Chuuya glared at him like it was something obvious he should've known, as if he knew more about the world than Dazai did, "It's about not letting them take charge of your life. It's about the freedom to make your own choices, to not be controlled by some else."

A cruel grin snaked onto his own face unbidden, one that he had not felt in a while, because Chuuya knew nothing. 

Only Dazai did.

Always. He had always been and always would be the smartest person in the room. Always.

"Oh Chuuya, you really think you have control here?" 

It was his own voice, cold and low in his throat, and he felt once again as if he were simply a vessel for another being's desires. He felt hollow inside, lacking of any substance or emotion.

Why was he doing this? Didn't he just somewhat reconcile with Chuuya mere minutes ago? Why was he jeopardizing that for no reason?

He couldn't differentiate what he was feeling, what he wanted, and what he was doing.

His brain was flawlessly assembling a list of things that would poke Chuuya in just the right pressure points to incapacitate, but at the same time his heart was turning itself inside out repeatedly.

His intellect was as sharp as ever, but how he excelled in manipulation was equal to how lost he was when attempting to understand human emotions beyond the clinical, textbook version of them.

"You, out of everyone here, have the least control. Do you choose to black out and release yourself to that beast inside? Are you in control of that?"

Truthfully, he should've expected the punch. 

His head whipped to the side painfully and security closed in on them within seconds. With his hair covering his eyes, he allowed his face to fall dead for a moment, bangs hiding the blank look that would have hinted everyone in on the fact that he was nothing but a walking corpse.

A mere moment later though, he stretched his lips wide, painting on a cruel smile, and looked back to Chuuya, who was being restrained.

He couldn't stop himself.

"Was that your choice too? Or were you doing exactly what I wanted you to?" His cheeks felt numb, and not just because of the bruise forming on one of his cheekbones, "Neh, Chuuya~ are you in control right n-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Chuuya roared, still viciously struggling against the security guard, who signaled for another nurse to help him restrain the feral boy, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about! Fuck you!"

He didn't even seem to have a real argument, foaming at the mouth even when the security lifted him up as if he weighed no more than a toy, and carried his screaming figure towards the exit of the room.

It was almost out of character for him. Chuuya usually had at least some kind of defense, or some cruel words in his arsenal to pierce Dazai back, but this was just typical, boring rage. Where was the boy who had so effortlessly held fast against him every time he pushed?

The pedestal had completely fallen by now, leaving Chuuya scrambling through the debris like every other human being, all of them on their knees in the dirt, together.

He would probably be sedated tonight and left in the segregated room, just like Dazai had been a day ago. The thought gave him satisfaction, which in turn made him feel ill at his own response.

"Wait-"

He spoke up, not quite too late. 

Chuuya stopped struggling and glared at him, and Dazai got out of his chair, stepping towards him. No guilt on his face, but no teasing either. Blank as always, despite the maelstrom beneath his skin.

He didn't mean to, but he did mean to. 

Everything he did, he did purposefully. It was heartless, it was calculated, and it was carefully planned out in his forsaken mind.

This just wasn't the reaction he'd wanted.

"I'm sorry," No, that sounded wrong, "That wasn't what I'd intended." 

Which was partially true. He didn't intend Chuuya to have such a predictably boring response. He much preferred when the redhead surprised him. 

"The fuck does that mean?" 

Chuuya, no longer struggling, was released from the security's grip, although they remained in the room to monitor the situation. A little behind them, he could see Oda peeking into the room from his desk. And he claimed not to be a gossip.

"I was just curious."

That was a fairly neutral response, unlikely to enrage Chuuya further. As much as he wanted to see the other boy's destruction of himself and everything around him, that would not be accomplished if he were sedated and separated. 

Chuuya closed his eyes and took a deep breath, that pinched expression still on his face. Everyone was using their coping skills so well recently. The doctors must be so impressed.

After a certain number of breaths, which Dazai counted as being six, Chuuya opened his eyes again, the blue stabbing into Dazai like an icepick. Despite the disappointment he was feeling about the situation, Chuuya's sheer beauty never failed to twist his guts into knots.

"Haaah, you're so annoying," Chuuya groaned, the staff hesitantly allowing him to trudge back to his seat, "but-" A smirk appeared, "Hearing you apologize so pathetically is really satisfying."

Dazai rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't respond.

It wasn't worth the fight. None of it was worth it. It never had been.

Kunikida, along with everyone else in the room, looked on in bewilderment at how fast it all seemed to happen. The bruise forming on his cheek throbbed as a reminder of just how quick the time between Chuuya's punch and his apology was.

'Whatever chibi-kun wants to believe,' was what he wanted to say back. For Dazai to be embarrassed about apologizing though, he would have had to have some level of self-respect, which he didn't.

Unfortunately he also wanted both of them to remain with the group. He silently cooperated.

"I am very impressed with your conflict resolution skills boys! Good job both of you, although perhaps don't allow a situation to escalate to that level again-"

Dazai wouldn't exactly call whatever they just did 'conflict resolution,' but he could at least admit that it didn't end as badly as it could have. The pressure behind his eyes hadn't lessened at all, and he felt like he could fall apart at any moment, glass cracking and breaking into pieces just as Chuuya's pedestal had.

Still, he wouldn't be himself if he couldn't keep it together somewhat. 

Kunikida continued on with the lesson, completely outside of his peripheral vision.

He didn't really care what they were talking about, even if it was relevant to the cause of his problems. Maybe he'd tune in later, just to whine about Mori for some outlet of his frustration. Or maybe he wouldn't complain at all, and wait quietly until the session was over so he could interrogate Yuan.

None of it really mattered. Whether it be Chuuya or the therapy or Mori or anything about himself-

Nothing mattered.

That was something that he religiously repeated to himself in his mind, because if for even a second he was wrong, and things did matter, then the fortress he'd been building around himself for years would shatter. And for a genius who knew everything, he would have no idea how to start rebuilding.

Although Kunikida tried his darnedest, eventually it became apparent that no one else was nearly as engaged anymore. It looked like it pained him to do so, but Kunikida sighed and readjusted.

"Dazai, Nakahara, would either of you like to discuss what happened?"

Of course they couldn't just gloss over a fight like this, no matter how minor. They were in a mental institution, after all.

Regardless of whatever they had been talking about before, doctors had to be flexible enough to adjust their curriculum to better support their current patient's problems. And Kunikida took his job as a doctor very seriously.

He and Chuuya both sat with their arms crossed, not looking at each other. It was childish, but a part of Dazai was amused at that fact, despite his cheek still stinging. 

They may have deescalated the fight fairly soon after it started, but that did not mean that it was all fine and dandy.

The brat did punch him. 

He'd been too consumed by spite and inexplicable wrath before, but now that they were sitting in silence, he had the chance to reflect.

He could feel the bruise forming on his cheek, the throbbing a welcome distraction from the less desirable ache in his throat. Even though it was just more pain added to his already abused body, it made him a bit giddy.

Dazai wanted Chuuya to punch him again, and againand again and again.

Unfortunately he also wanted to remain in his presence, and couldn't do so if either of them were detained.

He resolved to wait until they were both free of this place so that Chuuya could beat him up without supervision.

Ahhhh, and there he went again, making plans for the outside.

How troublesome of his chibi to keep convincing Dazai to continue living for a little while longer. It was inconvenient and addictive. It was also something he was not particularly interested in thinking about.

"I was feeling self destructive." Dazai stated, matter-of-factly, "Chuuya was the easiest target, as he is very violent for his size, like a chihuahua. I deliberately provoked him into fighting me."

Seeing as he'd already done something out of his comfort zone, both ending and apologizing for instigating a fight when usually he would've just let it become a brawl, he might as well go through with the whole 'recovery process' of telling the truth and reflecting on his actions.

He did promise Fukuzawa he would try his method, as much as it annoyed him. He really didn't want to, and in moments of weakness had gone directly against their agreement, but alas.

There weren't really any other options if he wanted Chuuya to continue to be his friend. The other boy valued honesty and effort too much.

Dazai told himself that this was all a genius manipulation in order to keep the redhead close.

It had absolutely nothing to do with any possible prevention of his own loneliness. Or any foolish hope that maybe Fukuzawa's proposal would work. That there was hope.

That would be pathetic and ridiculous. 

Incidentally, Chuuya hated everything that came from Dazai's mouth, regardless of if it was the truth he'd claimed to want.

"Do you want to get punched again, asshole?!"

Yes.

The eagerness must have shown on his face, because Chuuya gave him a look of unconcealed disgust. 

"No," Kunikida intervened, eyeing the security guards who were still hanging around in the room just in case Chuuya really did punch him again, "That wouldn't solve the root problem. Other than Dazai being… Dazai, can you recognize any other reason that this would trigger a negative reaction?"

The doctor had no problem calming down his patients now, although that slight to Dazai was rude and uncalled for. He was suddenly very intrigued as to why he didn't get involved before the punch. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Kunikida, though the man didn't acknowledge him at all.

Did he foresee this all along? Did he know Dazai would end the issue himself, and he wanted to give him the chance to do it? Was this all a test, or was he overanalyzing and overestimating the intelligence of this doctor?

Kunikida's glasses reflected the lights of the ceiling, concealing his eyes from scrutiny. It only served to make Dazai even more suspicious.

Chuuya grumbled at the question, pissed off as always.

Dazai looked around at the other patients, checking to see if they were equally as annoyed that the group session had suddenly become about the two of them, but everyone was on the edge of their seats, excited to see where this would go. That bastard Fyodor's eyes were practically sparkling like he was watching a particularly interesting documentary.

"I guess the bandaged bastard manipulated me, just like he said."

Kunikida wasn't impressed with that response.

"He may have had a hand in orchestrating it, but you need to take responsibility for your own actions as well, Nakahara. It was your decision to respond with violence. Why do you think that was your first reaction? Was it Dazai's words? Were you already upset?"

Chuuya pursed his lips as he formulated a response, but he was interrupted before he could with a distinct mutter across the room.

His attention swiveled to that pink haired girl, who was looking at Chuuya like he was a rabid animal, seemingly over the earlier shock of just seeing him at all. Yuan looked around at everyone and let out a shaky breath, realizing that she was cornered with what she apparently had to say, and needing to reiterate the words mumbled under cowardly breath.

"It's because there's something wrong with him!" She burst out, voice alight with terror and frantic anger. 

Dazai's expression immediately darkened at the girl, who flinched in her seat, face paling. As she should. 

How dare she say such a thing about his Chuuya. 

Astonishingly unlike when Dazai provoked him, Chuuya said nothing, barely reacting beyond tensing his body further and sinking lower into his chair.

That was not a typical Chuuya reaction at all. Especially considering how he exploded at Dazai for saying something arguably less hurtful.

"Yuan," Kunikida's voice was stern, "there is nothing wrong with anyone here. Everyone just needs some help and guidance with-"

"No!" Yuan interrupted, a manic fear driving her words, "You don't understand- He's a monster. He's too dangerous! He should be in prison!"

Again he expected Chuuya to blow up as he always did when Dazai said things like this, because those words were like bringing a knife to a gunfight. They were practically begging him to disarm the safety and steady his aim. Instead of shooting though, Chuuya silently took the pathetic stabs to the chest, not even raising his own weapon.

Someone else needed to shoot her down if the idiot refused to protect himself.

"I'd be careful who you call a monster in here," Dazai flashed her a smile that promised intricate cruelty, already planning ways to torture the stupid girl later, "The most famous serial killers in the world were well known for how harmless they were assumed to be."

Yuan jolted, now shifting the fear from Chuuya to everyone else in the circle, before landing on Dazai again.

He kept his expression severe, smiling with poison and napalm in the trenches of his blackened eyes.

Even if Chuuya wouldn't fight back, Dazai himself had no problems ruining this girls life. In fact, he would revel in such a thing.

"She's right."

The whisper was so quiet and wrong that at first he didn't even realize it was Chuuya who spoke. 

Nobody made a sound for a second, they barely even moved. It seemed everyone knew that the world was off balance.

Personally, Dazai felt like a cat that had been rubbed the wrong way, fur sticking out of place, claws unsheathed and ready to break skin. 

That response from Chuuya wasn't right. He shouldn't just agree with something like that.

But he did.

"I-I am a monster." He stuttered, voice impossibly small. Chuuya wasn't supposed to stutter. He wasn't supposed to sound small. "I hurt people."

I've hurt tons of people, Dazai wanted to say, but then he remembered that he was an actual monster.

It wouldn't have been a good defense. Against such a direct attack, he was defenseless. And it felt awful.

"I hurt people too."

The pitifully quiet voice of Kyouka had Chuuya's own beat. But it was the shock of such an incorrect admission that jolted everyone. 

Kyouka? Hurt someone? The girl who barely raised her voice above a whisper so as not to startle the people sensitive to that? The same girl that always waited at the back of lines so that the other patients could get their food, meds, and vitals first? That girl?

Even Dazai, who trusted no one and no thing, could hardly see Kyouka ever doing something to deliberately hurt someone else. Looks could be deceiving, but their unconscious body language wasn't. There was not a single twitch in her muscles that veered towards physical violence, or even verbal violence.

"Am I a monster too?" Kyouka didn't explain herself, which just sent Dazai's mind reeling with the possibilities.

"None of you are monsters," Kunikida cut in, more firm than he'd been the entire meeting, now that an innocent little girl was speaking up (Dazai gagged internally), "That kind of thinking is extremely counterproductive to your recovery. Everyone has hurt someone, that is human nature. But everyone is also equally deserving of forgiveness for their mistakes."

"You don't understand-" Chuuya said, which was something that every person ever needing therapy had said, "I hurt everyone around me. I can't stop it. I'm on medication- I've been on medication, for fucks sake. I'm still hurting people. There has to be something wrong. Something wrong with me."

Dazai would argue that it was therapy itself that was wrong, and not Chuuya, but he was slightly biased with that opinion.

"I feel the same Chuuya, but that still doesn't mean you're a monster-" Lucy tried, so close to being helpful for once.

"He is!" Yuan stressed before Chuuya could defend himself again. Dazai felt his finger twitch with the desire to rip her hair out of her scalp. "There's hurting people on accident and then there's- what he's done. It's… no human could do those things!"

Now, Dazai was immensely curious as to what things Chuuya had done to garner such a visceral dread, but that did not take precedence over his need to protect Chuuya from this bitch.

He'd known Chuuya was capable of more violence than any of them had been witness to in here, but wasn't everyone? Every human being had the potential to commit atrocities. Chuuya wasn't any different than himself in that regard, though Dazai might've had even less morals preventing him from following through.

As it was, his imagination was running wild with ideas of what the redhead could've possibly done, ideas that were probably far from the truth.

Chuuya did not respond beyond clenching his fists and dropping his head down to stare at the floor.

It was all so wrong.

Then-

An unexpected shiver rattled through his bones without warning.

There wasn't any hint of an explosion, but Dazai feltit in the air.

It was impossible to describe. Like all oxygen had been sucked from the air around them and solely into Chuuya, filling him with an uncontainable pressure. A black hole of energy and emotion that of course could belong to nobody but Chuuya.

Touching was discouraged in mental hospitals. It was certainly not allowed in times of distress.

But nobody else seemed to realize that Chuuya blacked out and was sure to reign chaos in seconds. He didn't even quite understand how he knew Chuuya blacked out. 

A magical connection between the two was consistently becoming a more and more believable explanation every time this strange phenomenon happened.

Without wasting any more time thinking too hard about it, Dazai reached out and grabbed onto Chuuya's thin, pale wrist, watching in fascination as the boy shuddered violently, as if his fingers had brushed against an exposed electrical socket and shocked him out of his flesh. 

The air returned to normal as quickly as it had turned abnormal, the entire interaction occurring in mere seconds.

Chuuya blinked rapidly, lifting his head and looking at Dazai with a complicated expression on his face. It was so heavily saturated with different emotions that Dazai couldn't even begin to distinguish one from the other.

The skin beneath his fingers was warm and trembling, and he didn't want to let go. He wouldn't have, if not for the security guards straightening up at their unapproved touching.

He quickly snatched his hand back, though keeping his eyes glued to Chuuya just in case. 

It was only the second time they did this weird nulling touch thing, but it was just as strange and jarring as the first time, and yet another reminder of how behind they were on solving that particular issue.

"I'm going to need everyone to calm down," Kunikida unsuccessfully attempted to regain control of the room, no longer quite as immovable as he was before, "And Yuan, you need to apologize right now-"

"What did you do?" Ranpo interrupted him, focused on Chuuya and examining his body language almost as closely as Dazai always did.

He cursed the other boy for having no tact, but he also couldn't really fault him for it. They all knew how Ranpo was.

The rat Fyodor tilted his head too, speaking in an unnecessarily pompous tone, "I'm curious as well. There are many real monsters in this world, all of them truly irredeemable sinners that deserve far worse than death. What could you have possibly done to warrant being on that list?"

It was highly unusual to be so invasive about another person's past. Out of anyone, it was usually Dazai who would cross those boundaries without care. What gave the rest of the circle the audacity to assume they could have the privilege of learning Chuuya's past?

It disgusted him, but Dazai did not have enough control of the room at the moment to stop anything. Chuuya was the only one with an iron grasp on the entire group's attention.

"Kids, please- you don't have to answer any of that Chuuya-" Kunikida yet again tried to take the reigns on the conversation, and yet again failed to.

"Can everyone shut up for a second?"

Chuuya growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. They were trembling. He could see it through the fabric.

Miraculously, everyone listened.

The captivating redhead held control of the room like a gladiator atop a chariot. It was highly unstable and rickety, but he was so incredibly powerful that he nearly resembled a god.

How foolish of Dazai to ever claim that Chuuya was someone with no control, when he could command everyone like this.

He took back everything he'd said before. He'd already apologized, but anyone with eyes and ears could tell it was fake.

He needed to do it again properly. Perhaps by begging at Chuuya's feet, or offering himself as a human sacrifice to appease such an immortal figure.

Were it possible, there would be visible hearts in Dazai's eyes as he gazed at Chuuya. Fortunately for everyone, himself included, his eyes were as soulless as ever.

"Okay, I-" Chuuya started, pausing. It was yet another new trend that rubbed him wrong. Chuuya did not stutter before now, "I had an episode."

He sounded so ashamed when he said that. Like it wasn't a perfectly normal thing for anyone in that room to experience.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong, coming from Chuuya's mouth.

"My friends-" He glanced at Yuan and quickly readjusted, "-my classmates and I were hanging out in a cemetery."

Dazai, very inappropriately, burst out laughing.

The entire group glared at him and he couldn't even really blame them this time. But it was just so...

"Chibi," He giggled a little more before a cough cut him short, "that is the most cliché thing I've ever heard."

Chuuya looked seconds away from justifiably punching him a second time, but luckily for Dazai, a single reminder of the guards crossing their arms made him stop short. They couldn't stop him from seething with rage though.

"Is it also cliché to blackout and wake up covered in your friend's blood?"

That made his laughter fall pretty quickly, though a deranged smile stayed frozen on his face, unable to move.

It wasn't his intention to do this in the first place. And now Chuuya was upset. He was trembling.

"Is it cliché to put him in a coma," His voice shook, "and be glad that he is? Relieved, because if he wasn't, you would've killed him? Is that cliché too, Dazai?"

There really wasn't anything he could say.

"You feel what you feel, Chuuya," Kunikida was grim, but he saved Dazai from having to concoct a response to that, "You can't control how you feel, or what happened in the past. You can only control how you react to it. And the fact that you reacted by coming here and seeking help is something you should be proud of. It takes a lot of bravery."

The words made Dazai want to throw up, because they were just the same words therapists had been saying to him since his very first session. 

There was nothing brave about this. There was no pride to be gained from what they'd done. 

"I didn't choose to come here." Chuuya gritted his teeth, resorting back to anger instead of shame. Who or what that anger was towards was a mystery, but Dazai could guess that it was directed inwards. Even so, that emotion was better than the guilt from before. "It was a court mandated decision. Yuan is right. I should be in prison."

More answers to questions he hadn't even thought to ask. 

They were far more alike than he'd initially thought. Part of the reason he was so enamored with Chuuya was because he seemed to be such a complete opposite of Dazai. He was emotional, responsible, confident…or at least Dazai thought he was.

Instead, Chuuya had also been sent here against his will. He'd also hurt people. He also saw himself as amonster. 

A delusional idea crossed Dazai's mind that maybe they really were meant for each other. Two sides of the same coin. Facing opposite directions but ultimately a part of the same hard metal.

And maybe they were so alike, but they were also equally so different. Even though Chuuya was brought here involuntarily, he was actually trying to improve his faults. The effort to change was apparent in every word he shared.

Am I not trying now, too?

Reluctantly, he realized that he was.

And even worse, it was working.

He'd started thinking about the future. He'd started wanting things, desiring things other than his own destruction. He'd started caring about other people, and how he affected them. He'd started telling the truth more. He'd started opening up about his feelings more. He'd started to wonder, though still not actively want, to see what the world might look like if he wasn't so eternally miserable.

The realization made him dizzy, feeling like he was about to pass out.

The room started to spin and he was forced to admit that he was about to pass out. Just like with Mori before, he closed his eyes and controlled his breaths, ignoring that he was trembling as much as Chuuya still was beside him. 

Both of them were on the verge of collapse. The world was ending. Hellfire rained down over them all just because they had to face these stupid emotions.

He reopened his eyes, desperately looking around for Fukuzawa, the one he was going to blame this torment on, but he was not at this session. 

Regulating his breathing had only worked somewhat, his vision still completely covered in a fuzzy film that had his eyes darting to movement that belonged to nothing. It was like a static overlay was masking his sight from a cohesive reality.

Eventually, instead of the person he was trying to find, his eyes stopped on Dostoevsky.

The bastard's face gave nothing away, much like his own usually.

Unfortunately, he could only do so much to mask his body's natural behavior. Fyodor didn't need to smirk for Dazai to know that he could see him falling apart. To know that this was a weakness to be exploited in the future.

It sickened Dazai to have come to the point where another person could read him so easily. Gone were the days of blending into the background as an irrelevant child to be seen but not heard.

He would've expected the long game from him, as that would have been his own play, but instead Fyodor opened his own mouth to join the conversation, striking while he was weak.

"You are exactly where you need to be Chuuya," He gave the redhead beside him a warm smile, which had Dazai's fingernails itching with the urge to gouge out his eyeballs, "prison can't help people like us, trust me."

Like us. 

Trust me.

It was like he'd reached into Dazai's brain and plucked out the very words he knew would cut him deepest when it came to Chuuya.

"My parents were sent to prison, but they should have been sent to a facility like this," Fyodor continued, though literally nobody asked him to, "When you are sick, you need treatment, not punishment. Even if you hurt someone with your sickness."

There was something in his voice that just sounded so smug and infuriating that Dazai could barely hold himself back from sneering.

Dazai did not like a lot of people, but he only truly hated a select few. Although there was no particular reason for him to be on that short list, Fyodor was one of the people that Dazai felt such an indescribable hatred for.

Maybe it was because of how self-righteous he seemed to be, as if he held all the knowledge of the universe and believed he was the only one that did. It was juvenile, the way he seemed so confident in himself. 

Not that confidence was a bad thing, but with Fyodor it wasn't just that. He seemed to view himself as infallible. Above morality and humanity.

Now Dazai never claimed to be human, and in fact believed himself to be far less, but that was the point.

He was less.

Because any being that felt as if it was all knowing to the point of being above emotion was ignorant. Emotion was the most untouchable thing in the world. Above mere knowledge, of which anyone with a brain could obtain. It was not something that could be taught.

Dazai knew better than anyone that all the intelligence in the world was completely worthless next to the innate ability to feel.

Every logical battle, he'd been able to win easily.

It was those disputes that didn't run by logic; that were ruled by emotion or even magic, that truly defeated him. 

"What did they do?"

It took a second for him to realize that the question had come from himself. He didn't know what compelled him to ask. Maybe that gut feeling that always seemed to elude him.

There were rarely moments in Dazai's life where he followed his instincts, because human instinct separate from emotion was a weakness that he could control with enough concentration.

At the moment though, there was a monsoon going on in his stomach. He was sweating and faint beyond the affects of medications.

He wasn't a superstitious person in any shape or form, but he felt a cosmic force compel him to seek an answer from Fyodor. This metaphysical belief should have worried him, but for some reason he was much more concerned about what Fyodor had to say in response.

The rat didn't respond immediately though. He just smiled knowingly. Like he was the only one with an antidote in a room already filled with an invisible neurotoxin that he himself released.

It, unsurprisingly, didn't make Dazai feel any better.

However, the confidence that Fyodor had, which reeked of him believing he was the smartest one in the room, was enough to trigger Dazai's spiteful response.

A mask slid into place before his next blink. His face stilled, and the shaking had completely stopped. He was as still and emotionless as a robot outwardly.

Inwardly, every muscle and bone in his body was pulled tight to hold the rest of him together. He was still on the verge of passing out, but through sheer force of will, he lowered his heart rate and forced his torso to remain upright on the chair. 

Fyodor raised an eyebrow, but didn't look any less cocky. In fact, it seemed that his smile gained a tint of glee.

Dazai refused to react to it.

"They angered someone with more wealth and influence than themselves."

Pieces were slowly, agonizingly slowly, coming together in his mind. The picture becoming clearer, though still incomplete. Even with a form starting to take shape, his mind blurred it from himself.

He could tell when his brain was hiding something from him, he just had no way of bypassing it. The reason his brain would choose to repress whatever realization he was coming to eluded him. It was infuriating; having such little control over his mind despite having a near inhuman amount of control over his body.

"The person I hurt-" Chuuya's voice sliced through the tension between them, though he wasn't sure if the redhead did it on purpose or if he was oblivious to the two demons beside him.

Right, they were supposed to be talking about Chuuya's problems. Dazai had a nasty habit of making everything about himself.

"His family is poor too. It makes it all worse. Even if-when, he wakes up, the fucking hospital bill is gonna ruin him. I may as well have killed him," He spit it out bitterly.

Dazai watched him from the corner of his eye, not fully turning. 

It was no use for him to feel any type of way about being extremely not poor. What they were born into was out of all of their control. He could acknowledge that he was privileged for not ever having to factor wealth into his problems, but it did little to solve them. 

"Maybe Dazai-kun could ask his father to generously offer your friend free treatment. He runs a hospital, doesn't he? Doctor Mori Ougai?"

Fyodor tilted his head, faux innocently, as if he were completely oblivious to the connotations behind his inquiry.

But Dazai's blood froze in his veins.

Why did everyone know Mori? 

How did they know Mori? 

What the fuck did any of it have to do with him and why did it keep happening?

Bile surged to the top of his throat but he quickly locked his jaw shut before he could vomit all over the floor. The acidic taste remained in his mouth even after he swallowed the liquid back down, nearly making him throw it up all over again.

None of this was doing anything good for his already dizzy head and sick stomach. Even though he was positive that his expression was unchanged, he was equally as sure that his skin was significantly paler than usual. 

His body was not being very nice to him that night. To be fair though, he'd never been very nice to it either.

The corners of his vision started to darken and it was such an inconvenience to have to accept that he couldn't actually control his body this time.

He was definitely fainting.

Kunikida said something, or maybe Chuuya did, or maybe it was Yuan, or Fyodor, or Ranpo, or, orr, orrrr...

Everything sounded like it was being spoken through a high powered fan and he couldn't make out any words being said. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and when he could finally focus them again, everyone was standing up.

Wait, no. He was on the ground.

Oh. He hadn't really slept the past few days either had he? He'd fully sabotaged himself this time. Curse past Dazai. 

Rather than a nurse above him though, his view was filled with a flash of red waves and crystal eyes, scrunched up in concern.

Ah, his lovely Chuuya was a guardian angel above him. Despite his inherent distrust in everyone and everything, he believed that his safety would be taken care of as long as Chuuya was there.

With this thought comforting him, he let his eyes slip closed and succumbed to the rest his body demanded.

...

His lashes fluttered open mere minutes later, with him being helped into a sitting position by one of the nurses.

His vision was still blurry and his head was pounding, barely aware of his surroundings. A paper cup of water was put up against his lips and he let it trickle down his throat slowly. People were speaking around him but everything still sounded as if it were underwater. 

Dazai blinked slowly and took another sip of water.

There was no memory loss that he was aware of, he noted as he took stock of his body and mind. Other than when he was unconscious, which based on the position of everyone around him, wasn't too long. Once asserting that he was okay enough to be coherent, he took the time to examine who was surrounding him at the moment.

It was mostly nurses, with the rest of the patients being corralled away for night time meds and the short amount of free time they had before bed. Kunikida was also there though, kneeling beside him with a professional amount of concern on his face.

Dazai took another sip.

"I think I need to change my meds."

-Were the first words he spoke, voice rougher than he thought it would be. Though considering the circumstances, that made perfect sense. 

The well trained staff barely reacted, or perhaps they did and Dazai was just too out of it to notice. They simply refilled his water and urged him to keep drinking. He saw no reason not to.

Kunikida frowned, "I don't have the authority to do that Dazai, you need to speak with your psychiatrist." 

He rolled his eyes so hard that he nearly fell over again, only held up by the quick reflexes and strong arms of the nurses.

This was how it always was in these hospitals. 

'Oh we can't do that you need to see this other specialist-'

'Oh we don't handle that you need to set up an appointment with this other doctor-'

'Oh we don't know what's wrong we'll have to send you to someone else-'

And so on and so forth until you got so tangled up in the healthcare system that you've spent hundreds of thousands and gotten absolutely nowhere. What made this particular situation even worse was that his current psychiatrist was a complete imbecile. 

The therapist he'd had before being admitted quit mere days before his attempt, but his psychiatrist stuck with him, continuously prescribing him medications that always had some kind of adverse side effect.

None of them ever managed to actually do what they were intended to. They only messed up his brain chemistry even more than it already was. He hated being on them.

At least when he wasn't on his meds, he was too depressed to actually attempt suicide. It didn't matter that he also wouldn't leave his bed or even move at all for days at a time. He didn't need to! It wasn't like he had any responsibilities as the prodigal son of a ridiculously wealthy doctor.

There was no reason for him to get out of bed. Again, he was smart and well off enough to not have to care to look after himself. And perhaps it was only because he was speaking from a place of excess, but he doubted it would be much different even if he didn't have a large plush bed to burrow in.

"Doctor," Dazai sighed with the exhausted weight of someone much more heavily burdened than himself, "I'm tired."

He was only vaguely aware of what he was saying, but that was unequivocally true. Both in a physical and mental sense, though he wasn't sure which he was referring to when he said it. 

More than the simple sentence, it seemed that Dazai actually calling him 'doctor' instead of some disrespectful nickname was what really got to Kunikida. 

The man's eyebrows furrowed, looking uncharacteristically apologetic, "There's nothing we can do about it right now Dazai, I'm sorry. Try to get some sleep tonight, I'll see how else I can help and we'll figure something out tomorrow."

Oh right, it was nearly lights out. 

Another night sharing a room with that psychopath who only became more and more suspicious by the day. He didn't have the strength to stay sleepless and vigilant again. Unfortunately his body was much weaker than his mind, and he could already feel his eyelids growing too heavy to keep up. But there wasn't much he could do about that either.

He nodded miserably, "Okay."

The rest of the nightly rituals passed by in a blur.

He vaguely remembered Chuuya checking in on him with his usual gruff charm, as well as Atsushi, and receiving his meds without another complaint. It may have crossed his mind to not actually take them, but by the time he realized he didn't want to, they were already down his throat. He might've said goodnight to Oda at some point, but he couldn't be certain. There was no way he could've began reigning terror upon Yuan in his state either.

The last thing Dazai was aware of was the smug look on that rat bastard's face as he sat upon his own bed. But Dazai's eyes were already drifting shut as he melted into the stiff mattress and buried his head in the starchy pillow, hiding his face from the rest of the world, and the rest of the world from his face.

...

When Dazai awoke, it was with a reluctantly clearer head, though his energy was the same as it was without any sleep at all.

This time Fyodor wasn't in the room, but he could hear activity coming from the hallway. Morning vitals and breakfast were carrying on as they always did. It was no different than any other day.

Except for a small, harrowing change.

Just beneath his pillow, which had been disturbed beyond his own actions, as Dazai knew for a fact that he slept dead still as a corpse, his fingers brushed against a cold, miniscule, but unmistakable piece of metal.

There was no doubt as to who put that object there, like a demonic tooth fairy when Dazai was too drained to prevent it.

That man wasn't even in the room for him to throw accusations at, though part of him was grateful there was no one else to witness the immediate panic that tightened every muscle in his body, nor the wide eyed fear that he could feel flash on his features before he had the thought to correct it back into indifference.

It was difficult to sneak in contraband, but it was far from impossible. Dazai was well aware of that. To leave it as a gift for someone else was the harder part.

However, it was the motive for this act that made him tremble in rage and agony.

If Fyodor wanted to frame him and get Dazai in trouble with the staff, he would've hidden it somewhere else and told the nurses before Dazai could interfere. Even if Dazai brought it to the staff, they would hardly believe it was planted by anyone else, given both his history and penchant for lying.

There was no reason to place a blade underneath his pillow if the goal was to involve anyone else in any way.

No, this wasn't meant to get him in trouble with anyone but himself.

He'd all but shoved into his face the one thing that he knew Dazai wouldn't be able to resist. Thrust at him when he was already weakened.

And worst of all, it was working.

Without a second thought (but with overwhelming self hatred), Dazai slipped the blade in between the folds of his bandages so that it was hidden from sight, and went about his morning as if everything was normal. As if he hadn't just been forced into an impossible situation. As if his stomach wasn't rolling with the need to throw up, and the skin that wasn't covered with bandages; prickly to any and all touch.

It wasn't a fair play at all. It was a dirty, despicable tactic that only a real monster would do.

Not even Dazai would stoop to such a level, being so intimately familiar with the possible consequences and mental anguish that came with it.

However, he was weak. He was not immune to the temptations of his darker self, especially not now when his medications were off balance and his treatment was in shambles.

Dazai was unable to do anything but submit.