Chuuya awoke to the feeling of warm sheets, aching limbs and a primal sense of fear buried deep within his bones.

It took him a moment to pinpoint where the panicked feelings were coming from. Then, there it was, almost like whiplash, as his memories of the previous events suddenly came rushing back.

A waterfall of information and devastation rained down in an onslaught against his mind.

Meursault. Drowning. Torture. Escapes. Bullets. Stabbings. Corruption.

"I almost thought you'd never wake up."

Chuuya turned his head towards the voice and there he was.

Osamu Dazai.

"Hey, Chuuya."

Dazai was seated on a chair at his bedside, a worn-looking book laying on his lap. A book that he was now ignoring in favor of looking at Chuuya, seemingly relieved to see that he had finally woken up.

Images of Dazai falling to the ground, blood spurting from his chest filled Chuuya's vision.

"Dazai, the bullet. You're okay?"

Worry and guilt clawed at Chuuya's insides. If only he'd been just a bit faster and more aware, then such an unnecessary complication wouldn't have taken place. If he'd been better, Dazai wouldn't have needed to intercept the bullet. If he'd been better, Dazai wouldn't have gotten hurt at all.

It was simple, as much as he tried, Chuuya was just never good enough. It was why he needed to know that despite his failure, Dazai was okay, because if he wasn't and it was Chuuya's fault, he didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Dazai was speechless for a moment, his brows furrowing.

"You were drowned, tortured, shot twice, stabbed in the stomach, overdid corruption, and still the very first thing you ask me is how my single bullet wound is?" Dazai laughed. "You're such an idiot. I'm fine, but that's still so sweet of you! I didn't know you were such a caring person! A single bullet won't be enough to kill me, though."

"Shut up, asshole," Chuuya scowled, all of his aforementioned empathy dissipating with Dazai's words, "how the fuck did we get out of that hellhole anyways?"

"I contacted Ango and got him to pick us up. He owes me." A dark expression momentarily covered Dazai's face, as though he were remembering some past event, before the usual mask slipped right back on. "Anyways, he dropped us off at this safe house with enough medical supplies to make sure we'll both be able to recover just fine. So far, it's been about a week."

Chuuya nodded, accepting the explanation. He was especially relieved to know that he hadn't just used corruption for nothing and Ango had indeed pulled through just like Dazai said he would, and got them out of there.

Then, his attention shifted to something else that Dazai had said.

"Wait. I've been out for an entire fucking week?"

"Yeah," past worries seemed to cloud over Dazai's eyes. Something that would be imperceptible to most people, but not to Chuuya, "you really overdid corruption the second time, especially having used it twice in such a small period of time. You shouldn't have done that, you know."

"Dazai, if I didn't use corruption, we'd be dead."

At first, Dazai seemed hesitant to agree, most likely out of sheer stubbornness, but eventually, he acquiesced to what Chuuya said, accepting the reality of things.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Dazai eyed the door, seemingly uncomfortable with the sentimental way that the conversation was going. "But anyways," he continued, changing the subject, "all of that stuff hardly matters now. I've actually been working on a project that I've been really wanting to show you once you woke up!"

Dazai reached down to grab something laying on the floor next to him, before offering it to Chuuya.

Relief filled him when he realized that it was his hat. However, that feeling quickly turned into fear, when he realized that the 'project' that Dazai was referencing probably involved it.

Chuuya took the hat from him, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Dazai, what the fuck did you do to my hat?"

"Look inside of it!" Dazai urged, his eyes lighting up dangerously, leaving Chuuya mildly terrified.

Peering into the hat, he finally saw what Dazai was talking about. On the inside of the very top of the hat, a patch was sewn in that spelled out 'hatrack.'

"Now your coat and hat are matching!"

Chuuya groaned, finding himself beyond exasperated with Dazai's cruel intent to ruin all of his favorite clothes.

"Damn it, Dazai. I'm seriously going to kill you one day."

Dazai just laughed, only managing to infuriate Chuuya even more.

They stayed like that, just bantering back and forth, until midnight fell, cloaking the room in darkness.

Chuuya was just barely managing to keep his eyes open, as Dazai went off on a tangent, complaining about all of the work that Kunikida was probably going to make him do when he found out that he was out of prison.

Chuuya didn't know much about the guy, but he could vaguely remember him from when he'd rescued the Agency from the Hunting Dogs.

Honestly, Chuuya had thought that he was probably dead after pulling the stunt he did.

He was glad to know that that wasn't the case.

Despite not knowing very much about Kunikida, he seemed like someone Chuuya would enjoy grabbing a drink with. Especially with how much Dazai complained about him. It was actually hilariously similar to the way that he complained about Chuuya himself.

Maybe after all of this was over, they could grab drinks at Bar Lupin and talk shit about Dazai for all the crap that he had put them both through.

The thought was rather comforting.

"Chuuya," Dazai complained, "are you even listening to me? It's going to be terrible! He's going to make me do so much paperwork and he won't let me leave until I do. He's a cruel man. He doesn't understand how useless it all is. I mean, what's the worst thing that could happen if I don't do it? Plus, I can probably trick Atsushi into doing it anyways, so it's not like it'll never get done. I never do any kind of paperwork in my personal life anyways. I mean, I don't think I've ever done taxes, and look where it's gotten me. I'm doing great!"

"Dazai, it's your literal fucking job to do that paperwork. And tax evasion? Really? Dazai, I'm in the Mafia and I still do my taxes. You need to get your shit together."

"Stop siding with Kunikida, Chuuya. It's annoying."

"Have you heard yourself?"

Dazai groaned, throwing his hands out dramatically. "Chuuya, I'm not annoying, but I guess that I'm not surprised that you don't get that. I mean with how short you are, you're brain can't be that big."

"Oh, just shut up the hell up you idiot."

"Make me."

A beat of silence fell between them. Their eyes met. An incomprehensible feeling swirled in his gut and slowly reached its way up to his throat. Distantly, he wondered if Dazai felt the same.

Dazai coughed, effectively ending the moment.

He moved to stand up.

"It's getting late. Uh… I'm going to head to bed. See you in the morning."

And then, he was gone, leaving Chuuya all alone and wondering what the hell had just happened.

Atsushi was panicking.

He stumbled through the streets of Yokohama with an unconscious figure held tightly in his arms.

His breath was short and quick. His lungs screamed for air. Yet, stopping and taking anything that resembled a break was simply something that he could not afford to do right now, so he pushed his body to go faster, ignoring his own evident exhaustion.

There was no room for failure. He had to make it before it was too late. He would never forgive himself if he was.

It was almost desperate, the way that Atsushi made his way through dark alleyways, almost tripping over his own feet several times in the midst of all of his own inner turmoil.

There was a safe house that he knew couldn't be too far from where he was. It was one that Dazai had told him about once, just in case he ever ran into a situation in which he needed it.

A situation like the one that he was in now.

Atsushi willed himself to go even faster. He didn't have much time. He couldn't fail. Not now. Not after how far he had come. Everything that he had done.

By the time he finally made it to the safe house, Atsushi felt like he was about to collapse. His arms shook with the strain of carrying another person for several kilometers.

He honestly wanted nothing more than to just lay down and go to sleep for years, but things could never be so simple.

Forcing himself to focus, Atsushi shifted the weight of the person in his arms, to punch in the door code and let himself in.

The box flashed green.

He opened the door and stepped into the small townhome only to be met with the barrel of a gun pointed point-blank at his face.

"Atsushi?"