Chapter Text
The hospital room was quiet for once.
Suspiciously quiet.
No one panicking.
No one threatening murder.
No Dazai starting emotional warfare for fun.
Just the steady beeping of monitors and the occasional sound of rain lightly tapping against the window.
Dazai slept.
Or, at least, looked like he was sleeping.
He still looked terrible.
Better than before.
Less pale.
Less *dying.*
But sweat still clung faintly to his forehead, dark hair sticking messily against his skin. His breathing had evened out hours ago, though every now and then his face pinched slightly in discomfort.
Recovery.
Slow.
Annoying.
Very inconvenient.
Somewhere outside the room, footsteps approached.
Then stopped.
Then something heavy scraped loudly against a wall.
Silence.
Another scrape.
A muffled curse.
The door slowly creaked open.
Chuuya stood there.
Looking deeply offended by existence.
He held three horrifying stacks of paperwork under one arm.
And somehow, impossibly, was dragging an entire desk behind him.
A *whole desk.*
Because apparently this was his life now.
Babysitting a suicidal idiot while doing executive paperwork in a hospital.
Human suffering truly came in creative forms.
Chuuya looked exhausted.
Not normal tired.
The '*I slept badly tired'.*
His hair was messier than usual. His eyes looked heavier. There was a faint flush across his face he hadn’t bothered noticing because sleep deprivation had apparently stolen his common sense.
He was just…
Off.
Barely.
Mori had absolutely noticed.
Naturally, the bastard had ignored it.
*“Get the paperwork done while sitting with him.”*
*“Or I cut your salary.”*
Chuuya had considered murder.
Briefly.
Unfortunately, prison sounded inconvenient.
So here he was.
At nearly midnight.
Dragging office furniture into a hospital room like a man in the final stages of losing his mind.
Behind half-lidded eyes, Dazai was very much awake.
He had woken up nearly ten minutes ago.
Mostly because hospitals sucked.
Partially because sweating through withdrawal and recovery felt like divine punishment.
And now?
Now he was witnessing whatever the fuck this was.
He watched silently as Chuuya tried to maneuver the desk through the doorway.
Keyword:
*Tried.*
*THUNK.*
The corner slammed directly into the doorframe.
Chuuya froze.
Silence.
Adjusted.
Tried again.
Then immediately walked straight into the frame himself.
*BONK.*
“…Ow,” Chuuya muttered flatly.
Dazai bit the inside of his cheek so hard it nearly hurt.
No.
No laughing.
Absolutely not.
He valued his remaining organs.
Chuuya narrowed his eyes at the room suspiciously.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like a man sensing danger.
Dazai immediately shut his eyes.
Completely still.
Peaceful.
Angelically unconscious.
Chuuya stared.
A long pause.
“…I’m overthinking,” he muttered eventually.
Because there was no way Dazai Osamu had enough strength to be causing problems right now.
Hopefully.
Probably.
God, imagine.
With one final deeply irritated shove, Chuuya dragged the desk inside.
*THUNK.*
Into the wall.
“…Fuck this desk.”
Dazai nearly lost the battle.
His shoulders twitched once.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Chuuya turned sharply.
Silence.
Dazai remained motionless.
Perfectly asleep.
Innocent.
Harmless.
Chuuya squinted.
“…You better actually be unconscious.”
No response.
A long sigh.
Then Chuuya muttered something aggressively threatening under his breath and dropped the paperwork onto the desk.
Three stacks.
Three.
Entire.
Stacks.
Enough paperwork to classify as psychological torture.
Dazai almost opened his eyes just to laugh.
Instead, he listened.
Chuuya dragged over the chair.
Sat down with a quiet groan.
Paused.
Pressed fingers briefly against his temple.
Like his head hurt.
Or he was dizzy.
Then exhaled slowly and grabbed the first file.
“…I hate my job,” he muttered quietly.
A pause.
Then, much quieter:
“…And somehow this is still your fault.”
From the bed, Dazai smiled faintly against the pillow.
Tiny.
Sleepy.
And not even a second later—
Dazai lost it.
A wheezing, exhausted laugh escaped him first.
Then another.
And suddenly he was fully laughing into the pillow, shoulders shaking despite how much it probably hurt.
“Oh my god,” he managed between breaths. “Chuuya.”
Chuuya went completely still.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
He turned his head.
And stared.
The expression on his face looked genuinely betrayed.
“You were awake.”
Dazai pointed weakly toward the desk.
“You fought with a table.”
“I was carrying a desk.”
“You lost.”
“I just hit the fucking doorframe!”
“You hit *yourself,* Chuuya.”
Chuuya looked moments away from committing several crimes.
“You shut up right now.”
“You looked so offended,” Dazai wheezed. “Like the wall insulted you.”
For one horrible second, Chuuya tried to stay mad.
Then his mouth twitched.
Then again.
“…The desk was too fucking big,” he muttered.
That did it.
Dazai laughed harder.
And to his own betrayal, Chuuya snorted.
Quiet at first.
Then an actual laugh escaped him.
Tired.
Sleepy.
Real.
Dazai went strangely still for half a second.
Because there it was.
That laugh.
God.
His chest hurt.
And not from recovery this time.
Something warm and stupid pounded painfully against his ribs as Chuuya rolled his eyes, still half-laughing despite himself.
“You’re such an asshole,” Chuuya muttered.
Dazai smiled into the pillow.
Then Chuuya rubbed a hand down his face.
Then immediately frowned at the paperwork like it had personally insulted him.
“I hate this shit,” he muttered. “Why does every mission somehow end with paperwork?”
“Because the universe hates you,” Dazai said lazily.
“The universe hates *you.*”
“True.”
Chuuya flipped through another file and looked increasingly miserable.
“I swear Mori gets off on this.”
Dazai snorted.
“I’d rather stay in a hospital forever than do paperwork.”
Chuuya deadpanned.
“…You already are in a hospital.”
Dazai looked offended.
Then not offended.
Then vaguely betrayed.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m suffering.”
“As if.”
Dazai pointed accusingly.
“See? No respect for the arts.”
Chuuya sighed dramatically and pushed one stack aside.
Then another.
Then looked at Dazai.
“…Help me.”
“No.”
“Dazai.”
“No.”
Chuuya stared at him for a second.
Then, somehow, impossibly, this grown man pulled the biggest puppy eyes known to mankind.
Tired eyes.
Slight pout.
Absolutely shameless.
“I’ll owe you one.”
Dazai stopped.
Completely.
His brain short-circuited.
*Cute.*
That was the problem.
Chuuya had no right looking cute while sleep-deprived and threatening violence on a daily basis.
It felt deeply unfair.
“…You’re evil,” Dazai muttered quietly.
“Please.”
God.
Dazai sat up with the energy of someone making a terrible life decision.
Immediately regretted it because everything hurt.
Still reached out anyway.
“Fine.”
Chuuya slid over a stack.
Dazai froze.
“…Why is it so big?”
“Because,” Chuuya said suspiciously casually, “it all has to be done by tomorrow.”
Silence.
Dazai slowly turned.
“That’s impossible.”
Chuuya just leaned back in his chair.
Chuckled.
Actually chuckled.
Because, naturally, he had handed Dazai the biggest stack.
“Have fun,” he said.
Dazai looked genuinely betrayed.
“You manipulated an injured man.”
“You’re dramatic, not dying.”
“I almost died!”
“Skill issue.”
The next twenty minutes were torture.
Not because of the paperwork.
Though that was terrible.
No.
Because Dazai complained through *all of it.*
Loudly.
Dramatically.
“This handwriting is criminal.”
“It’s literally yours,” Chuuya muttered.
“That explains everything.”
Five minutes later:
“My hand hurts.”
“You’ve written three lines.”
“I’m recovering.”
“You’re whining.”
“I almost died.”
“You say that like it’s a personality trait.”
“It *is* a personality trait.”
Chuuya hated how easy this felt.
How normal.
The stupid bickering.
The quiet room.
Dazai occasionally muttering insults at forms like they’d personally offended him.
It reminded him of old nights.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
Stacks of mission reports.
Dazai stretched across chairs dramatically while complaining the entire time.
Chuuya yelling at him to shut up.
Then somehow still staying until sunrise.
Back then, it had been annoying.
Still annoying.
Probably always annoying.
And yet—
The room felt less awful with Dazai talking.
Less quiet.
Less empty.
Even the paperwork felt…
Not fun.
Absolutely not fun.
Chuuya wasn’t insane.
But easier.
Like the misery got split in half.
The realization hit suddenly.
Hard enough to make him pause mid-signature.
*This is better together.*
Chuuya immediately frowned.
No.
Absolutely not.
That sounded dangerously sentimental.
Disgusting, actually.
Sleep deprivation was clearly damaging his brain.
Across from him, Dazai groaned dramatically.
“I hate this.”
“You just hate existing.”
“Correct.”
Dazai flipped through another file.
Then looked horrified.
“Why are there so many forms?”
“Because actions have consequences.”
“You sound like Kunikida.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Dazai muttered something deeply offensive under his breath and kept writing.
Chuuya looked down at his paperwork again.
Tried very hard to ignore the weird warmth in his chest.
Failed completely.
Because somehow…
Having Dazai here complaining like an idiot made the whole thing feel weirdly okay.
By the time the clock crawled toward nine, the hospital room looked like a war zone.
Forms everywhere.
Half-empty coffee cups Chuuya definitely wasn’t supposed to have.
Dazai dramatically slumped against his pillows like paperwork had personally ruined his life.
Then suddenly—
“I’M DONE!!!”
Chuuya looked up so fast his neck almost protested.
“…That’s impossible.”
“It is not,” Dazai said smugly, dropping the pen like a victorious soldier returning from battle.
Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
Because no.
Absolutely not.
He’d had *two* stacks.
And he was only done with one and halfway through the second.
Meanwhile, Dazai had the biggest pile.
No way.
No fucking way.
“…How?” Chuuya asked suspiciously.
Dazai looked deeply pleased with himself.
“I’m talented.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Same thing.”
Chuuya stared for another moment.
Then sighed dramatically.
“…Fine. Whatever.”
Apparently defeat was real.
Stupid.
Annoying.
Infuriating.
But real.
“What do you want?” Chuuya asked.
Dazai perked up instantly.
“I’ll decide later.”
Chuuya looked immediately concerned.
“…I hate that answer.”
“You should.”
“…Ugh. Fine, asshole.”
Chuuya grabbed a smaller bundle from his stack and shoved it toward him.
“Do this one too.”
Dazai gasped.
“Cruelty.”
“Shut up and work.”
Dazai grumbled the entire time.
Very loudly.
Meanwhile, something strange started happening.
Paperwork kept…
Appearing.
Chuuya frowned.
Hadn’t he already finished this section?
Weird.
Another file.
Then another.
Odd.
Maybe he was more tired than he thought.
Sleep deprivation was beating his ass.
He barely questioned it.
Across the room, Dazai quietly suffered the consequences of his own stupidity.
Because hidden neatly under the hospital bed—
Half the original stack sat in criminal silence.
Turns out cheating only worked when you remembered you’d eventually have to finish the evidence.
Which meant Dazai was now technically doing *twice* the paperwork.
Still.
A win was a win.
And he had won.
Eventually, finally, blessedly—
The last stack was done.
Chuuya leaned back in his chair.
Exhausted.
Tired enough that his whole body felt heavy.
But weirdly…
Satisfied.
Proud, even.
Like they’d somehow survived something stupid together.
Across from him, Dazai looked half-dead.
“I’m never doing paperwork again,” he muttered.
“You said that last time.”
“This time I mean it.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes.
Then quietly reached over and took the remaining papers from Dazai’s hand.
“Enough.”
Dazai blinked.
“Hm?”
“You helped all day,” Chuuya muttered. “Go to sleep.”
There was something oddly firm about it.
Not annoyed.
Not teasing.
Just…
Certain.
Dazai stared at him for a second.
Too tired to argue.
Too warm, somehow, to make a joke.
“…Bossy,” he muttered quietly.
“Just sleep.”
Dazai huffed dramatically.
Then sank back against the pillows.
Still mumbling something about workplace abuse.
Five minutes later—
Completely asleep.
Chuuya looked over once.
Messy hair.
Half-buried in blankets.
Finally not in pain for once.
Good.
Then Chuuya rubbed at his eyes, ignored how weirdly tired and off he still felt, and pulled the last paperwork closer.
Just a little more.
Then he’d sleep too.
Probably.