Just a short update as an apology for the abrupt ending of the previous chapter. I'll be back with a full-length chapter in a little while!
Dazai's sharp inhale was bone-chilling, heart-wrenchingly fragile, touching something inside Chuuya that the short mafioso didn't know still resided inside of him after all his time in the Port Mafia. It had been years since he'd witnessed the devastating aftermath of Dazai succumbing into this kind of fractured and utter helplessness last, and truthfully, the sight didn't age well. As far as he knew, the Armed Detective Agency had actually managed to keep him out of that kind of purgatory for the entirety of his stay there.
The mafia executive watched frail, broken fingers clawing desperately through the air, pulling him in by an invisible string made up of frantic, desperate energy. He stepped determinedly towards his former partner, trying to quelch down the painful bile rising in his throat; if it was his breakfast or his emotions, he couldn't be sure, because Dazai looked like someone had ripped his heart out and left it in his broken arms, while the fractured man tried futilely to put it back in. The too-thin fingers sent chills down his spine and the translucent skin made it seem like he could look the complex man through and through. But the dark brown gaze was as bright as it'd always been. Awake, alive (most importantly) but in such disarray. (Chuuya thought he knew the extent of how defeated Dazai could become. But not even after the worst of punishments from Mori, could Chuuya ever remember to have seen his partner in so many broken fragments).
Once he had moved close enough for Dazai's lanky arm to reach his sleeve, he was weakly pulled down onto the cot by the strengthless digits. Dazai squirmed his way onto his lap, feeble hands grasping at anything, pulling himself as close as he possibly could. Instinctively, Chuuya wanted to push him off and snap; ask him where the fuck he had been this whole time and how the hell he managed to get himself into such a screwed up situation. But, that something inside of Chuuya was gone the moment a heated tear ran down Dazai's cheek and bled into the fabric of his jeans.
Chuuya's hand that he'd subconsciously rested atop of Dazai's head tangled into wavy strands, kneading his scalp carefully, fingers brushing through overgrown hair. Small whimpers left Dazai's breathless frame every time Chuuya's fingers met a knot in the tangled mess, but it only resulted in Dazai inching even closer. Eventually, the red-head could feel Dazai's short breaths through the fabric of his shirt.
"The fuck, Mackerell?" he murmured silently. "What did they do to you?"
Dazai whimpered painfully, and Chuuya's stare left the broken mess in his lap to peer accusingly at the other residents in the room. Fukuzawa stood stoically, unyielding a few feet from the bed, while Yosano had settled on a stool by the wall, obviously trying to hold her calm composture. Chuuya didn't know the ability-using doctor very well, but he believed in her powers and her genuine compassion for his ex-partner.
When his glance brushed over Akatugawa however, he recognized that the raven didn't seem to be holding up too well. Chuuya was used to his firey rage and passionate hatred, but now, he looked like the lost child he had once been, or perhaps, still was. His black-clad legs were trembling restlessly, hands fidgeting with nowhere to linger comfortably and he looked like he wanted to say something but never quite found the words. From what Chuuya knew about the relationship between the two, that might be just as well. As much as he wished Akutagawa would understand the hell Dazai was coming from and why he had a non-existent understanding of human interaction, he hoped Dazai also realized that he had gone way over the line with his young apprentice (even if the line couldn't possibly have surpassed whatever Mori could have deemed appropriate for Dazai).
Then again, Dazai had a long way to go with understanding how regular people looked upon the world. He had never experienced the love and warmth of a parent or a caring guardian. Neither had Chuuya for that matter, but he had at least experienced enough kindness from the Sheeps and Ane-san to realize that whatever the Port Mafia was offering when it came to raising children, was nothing less than fucked up. And leaving a child raised by them to raise another, was probably the worst fucking idèa ever known to man.
It truly showed now, the way Akutagawa was unable to even look at Dazai. His whole understanding of the world must have been shattered: Because in his head, Dazai was this undefeatable entity that never got thrown off or showed any sort of weakness (such a naïve child) and Chuuya was happy that they'd restricted Akutagawa's access to Dazai when in a similar state in his Port Mafia-days. If Akutagawa knew the truth about his mentor and, admittedly, idol, there was no way he could have developed the enormous strength he had now; a desperate and completely uncensored power that could only have been born from a blind need of recognition.
In truth, Chuuya didn't want to bring Akutagawa here today. Mori had insisted, probably another one of his sick mind games to somehow plant a seed of self-doubt into the already anxiety-ridden teen, to make sure he could keep his control over him and lessen the ex- executive's impact. Mori was worried that the cooperation with the ADA and, especially, the were-tiger would coax the young man to switch sides and follow Dazai into the light.
It still felt like a dagger being plunged into his chest whenever Chuuya was reminded of Dazai's betrayal. But right now, he had to push it to the back of his mind. Because Dazai was currently whimpering distraughtly into his lap, and above all (revenge, petty victories, and maybe even a viable explanation) Chuuya wanted Dazai to be safe. And as much as he absolutely hated the suicidal bastard (which he absolutely didn't but Dazai could never know that), it seemed like Dazai found some sort of solace in his presence right now. And if that was all he could give Dazai after whatever hell he had been through for the past six months; he'd be a fucking asshole not to give it to him.