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Lippmann closed the door behind him as he left the Boss’s office. As he started down the hall, he spotted a dark figure approaching.
It was Dazai Osamu— the Boss’s protégé.
As the distance between them closed, Lippmann noticed Dazai’s unusual countenance. Dazai normally carried himself with an air of nonchalance, but he maintained a posture of confidence.
Indifferent yet omniscient— that was the aura the Port Mafia’s Black Wraith exuded. It was why so many feared him— they couldn’t get a read on him.
However, Lippmann made a living by donning masks, so he possessed a unique discernment when it came to chameleons like Dazai.
No, Lippmann wasn’t afraid of Dazai, which was why he donned a cheerful mask of his own as he approached him.
“Good afternoon, Dazai-san.” He bowed in respect, catching Dazai’s small dip of the head in return. “Off to see the Boss?”
Dazai always looked mildly suspicious whenever Lippmann addressed him. The other Youngbloods didn’t give him the time of day unless it was necessary, so he seemed to expect Lippmann to do the same, and was always surprised when he didn’t.
It wasn’t that the other Youngbloods were afraid of Dazai— they were far too capable and deadly for that. But Dazai’s proximity to the Boss was a bit of a deterrent when it came to his approachability.
After taking a barely-noticeable pause to mentally readjust, Dazai returned the cheeriness and doubled it. “Yep! Mori-san’s making me do his dirty work.” He rolled his visible eye before turning his head to deliver a light cough into his fist.
Lippmann let out a consolatory chuckle, playing along in a way that wouldn’t incriminate him for insubordination. Ever the diplomat. “I’m sure he’ll be grateful for your prompt arrival.”
Dazai hummed, hitching a shoulder as a barely-concealed wince stole across his face. “Mori-san is always grateful for my presence. I can’t imagine what he would do without me.” His face darkened into a mysterious smirk.
A threat— Lippmann noted— to himself, as well as to anyone he might relay the message to, including Mori himself.
This was a perfect example of why people in the mafia were wary of Dazai. They didn’t hear the unspoken motive like Lippmann did.
It was a measure of defense. For a small, 15 year old in the mafia, especially one so close to the newly-installed Boss— his alibi, in fact— his best line of defense was making people too scared to try anything before anyone could.
He didn’t even have an offensive ability. Maybe that was why he clung to Chuuya so mu-
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d best not keep Mori-san waiting anymore than I already have.” At Lippmann’s inquisitive look, Dazai continued, “I was supposed to meet with him at 2pm.” He grinned widely.
Lippmann glanced at his wristwatch. It was currently just after 4pm.
He looked back up in time to see Dazai stumble as he started forward. Lippmann quickly reached out to steady him, but was immediately brushed off. Dazai recoiled from the touch as if Lippmann were some dangerous bacteria.
Lippmann was surprised by the reaction until he caught a glimpse of the apprehension in Dazai’s face— the way he looked like he was bracing himself for something— rejection, perhaps?
Lippmann immediately backed off, not wanting to make Dazai any more uncomfortable. He brushed his hair behind his ear, busying his hands so that the boy could relax.
Lippmann did a quick scan of Dazai’s skinny frame. He was a bit paler than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes that indicated a lack of sleep. And then there was the way his shoulders were braced, as if he was in pain.
Dazai must’ve noticed Lippmann’s assessing gaze because he straightened with an exaggerated gasp. “Lippmann-san, how forward of you! Unfortunately, I’ve already given away my heart to Lady Death, so I must decline your advances.”
Lippmann nodded, an understanding smile on his lips. “My significant other greatly appreciates your honorable sacrifice.” He took the opportunity to excuse himself before Dazai could riposte, giving the boy an out. “It was nice seeing you, Dazai-san. Take care.”
Lippmann heard a croak, then another small cough, and finally a “you, as well, Lippmann-san,” from behind him as he strode down the hall— something prickling in the forefront of his mind.
◦☽𖤓☾◦
Lippmann arrived at Old World just in time to witness Chuuya releasing an annoyed groan as he pocketed his phone. He banged his forehead against his pool stick a few times before letting it come to rest there.
“What’s the matter, Chuuya?” Albatross called from his seat atop the bar. “Mad that Iceman is about to wipe the floor with you?”
Chuuya’s phone buzzed and this time he growled as he pulled it out to look at the screen. He typed furiously before shoving the device back in his pocket.
“Ok first of all, no way in hell.” Chuuya pointed at a grinning Albatross. “It’s that damn Dazai again. Won’t leave me the hell alone.”
“Ooh, hear that? He’s real mad,” Albatross stage-whispered to Doc.
“I’m surprised he even has the time to keep pestering you, what with all the work the boss always has him doing.” Piano Man brushed some chalk dust from his black pants as the clack of the pool balls filled Old World.
“Trust me. When it comes to harassing me, he’ll make the time,” Chuuya grumbled as he took Iceman’s place at the pool table.
Chuuya started lining up his shot as Doc piped up.
“Sounds like someone has a little crush,” he tittered, IV bag swaying as he moved.
Chuuya gagged. “As if. It's not a crush— that piece of shit just lives to make me suffer.” He pulled his stick backwards in preparation for the hit, but at the very second he propelled it forward, his phone buzzed again.
Chuuya’s finger twitched on the stick and his shot went wide, missing his target by a millimeter. He cursed loudly and snatched his phone out of his pocket, powering it off without a glance as the other Youngbloods whooped and clapped Iceman on the back at his favorable prospects.
Iceman, for his part, looked entirely unphased as he took a long drag from his cigarette. He made his way over to the table to line up his next shot, while Chuuya stomped over to the bar, slumping onto a stool with a huff.
Lippmann took that as his cue to make his presence known. “Is something wrong, Chuuya-san?” Lippmann approached the redhead, who sat sulking— a storm cloud hovering over his head.
“He’s just pissed because he’s about to lose to Iceman,” Albatross winked as he took a swig of his beer.
“Only because that bandaged bastard won’t leave me the hell alone!” Chuuya nearly knocked over his stool as he jumped up to point an angry finger at Albatross, who did nothing but grin.
“Dazai-san?” Lippmann feigned oblivion, a line appearing between his finely-sculpted brows.
“Ugh, don’t say his name. Even the sound of it makes me sick,” Chuuya slumped back onto his stool, pulling his wine glass closer to him.
“I ran into him on my way out of the Boss’s office, just before I came here,” Lippmann dropped the information casually.
Chuuya rolled his head towards Lippmann, arching a brow with disinterest. “Let me guess: judging by the fact that he’s texted me 27 times in the last two hours, he was slacking off again?” It was phrased like a question, but Chuuya’s tone said he wasn’t asking.
“He implied that the Boss was making him his errand boy. To be honest, I was surprised the Boss had him doing anything. He looked unwell.” Lippmann was frowning as he tucked his hair behind his ear.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Tch. Dazai always looks unwell. Bastard hardly eats or sleeps, what do you expect?”
Lippmann merely hummed as Albatross and Doc threw each other sideways glances.
“Well, anyway,” Piano Man broke the silence, “Care for a drink, Lippmann?”
“Oh, I can't stay. Boss has a job for me down at the port. I just stopped by to drop this off.” Lippmann handed Piano Man a large manila folder. “Actually, I believe it was supposed to be Dazai-san’s job,” he continued over the sound of Chuuya’s scoff, his tone thoughtful. “Boss must be aware of his current condition.”
“What was Dazai-kun’s condition?” Doc’s eyes glittered under his bangs.
Lippmann shook his head. “He looked paler than usual— tired, and a bit off balance. If I had to guess, I’d say he was experiencing some sort of discomfort, too.” Lippmann patted Chuuya on the shoulder in a goodbye before starting for the door. “I really can’t say much more than that. Chuuya-san knows him better than I do— he’d probably be a better judge.”
“Hah?!” Chuuya started to attention. “Oi, don’t associate me with that waste of bandages.”
A collective sigh echoed through the bar, but before Chuuya could protest, Lippmann was speaking again.
“Well, I’d best be off. See you all around.” Lippmann left with a perfected wave of his hand, the bell on the door signaling his departure.
Chuuya frowned down into his wine. Despite his irritation, he couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with Dazai.
Not because he cared, or felt bad for him. Because he didn’t.
It was just because he’d been trained to be aware of his partner’s state… for missions and stuff.
The fact that the Boss had given away his job to Lippmann didn’t bode well for his state. Dazai had worked under much worse conditions than illness.
He had to, with his shitty immune system, or he'd never work.
When Dazai wasn’t feeling well, he always tried to make it Chuuya’s problem— annoying him and clinging to him more than usual. Probably trying to get Chuuya sick too— though it never worked.
But when he was seriously ill, Dazai would isolate himself— not wanting to show any weakness that he couldn’t control. This inevitably led to Chuuya finding him half-dead and having to drag him to the infirmary.
For now, Dazai was apparently well enough to bombard Chuuya’s phone with texts every five minutes, so Chuuya decided to put it out of his mind.
“Stupid Dazai,” he muttered into his drink.
He desperately hoped that Dazai wouldn’t eventually make this his problem, too.
◦☽𖤓☾◦
The next morning, Chuuya squinted his eyes open to bright, morning light sneaking in through the blinds, and he could already feel that something was off.
Maybe it was the hypervigilance he’d developed in the Sheep that tipped him off. Maybe it was the innate sense he’d been afflicted with since he joined the mafia.
Maybe it was the phantom smell of fish.
Chuuya groaned, burying his face in his pillow and willing the nuisance to be just a bad dream.
Five minutes later, his skin was still crawling with the presence, and he knew it was a lost cause to pretend otherwise.
Chuuya wrestled his blankets off and threw himself out of bed. He shoved his feet into slippers and stomped out to the living room, where, sure enough, a stinky mackerel was taking up space on his couch.
“Oi. Shitty Dazai.” Chuuya’s sleep-rough voice rumbled through the early morning quiet. When he got no response, Chuuya lifted his foot and lightly kicked him. “Bastard. What d’you think you’re doing here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to sleep.” Dazai’s voice sounded tired, though far too awake to have been asleep recently. He lay on his side facing the back of the couch. He was curled up in the fetal position, with one of Chuuya’s thick blankets pulled up to his ears.
“Tch. Sleep at your own place.” Chuuya gave his shoulder another kick, and was surprised when Dazai just shrugged it off.
“Go away, Slug.” Dazai mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around him.
Chuuya scoffed. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to ‘go away’ in my own house?” He grabbed the edge of the blanket and started pulling it off of Dazai, but he only held on tighter.
“Stop it, Chuuya,” Dazai growled, and oh, that was different. Dazai hardly ever got angry, or at least he rarely showed it. But he certainly sounded irritated now.
It was definitely unwelcome.
“Or what? Your scrawny ass will kick me out of my own apartment?” He barked a laugh. “As if.”
Chuuya may be a light sleeper. He may be an early riser.
But when he hadn’t had his coffee, everyone knew to steer clear of him. Everyone knew not to test him.
Everyone, that is, except Dazai.
However, Chuuya couldn’t say he was surprised, seeing as the guy had approximately zero sense of self preservation.
“I’m gonna give you five seconds to be on the other side of that door before I kick your ass out,” Chuuya gritted out. “Five.”
Dazai didn’t even twitch.
“Four…” Chuuya’s eye did, though. “Three.”
Dazai shifted uneasily.
Finally. “Tw-”
“Shut up!”
Chuuya leaned to the side to dodge a messily thrown punch as Dazai shot up on the couch. He was breathing hard and glaring at Chuuya, but as soon as the momentum of the movement caught up with him, he swayed slightly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth.
He started to list sideways, and Chuuya moved to grab him by the shoulders before he could topple off of the couch, but Dazai shrugged out of his reach. He clutched the armrest with a white-knuckled grip to keep himself upright.
Chuuya frowned as he looked his partner up and down. What’s his problem? Is his vertigo acting up again? It would certainly explain the unwillingness to stand up. Or maybe he had a migraine?
“Oi, Shitty Dazai. Do you have a migraine?”
Dazai gave a tiny shake of his head, but seemed like he regretted it because his brow pinched in further discomfort.
“Ok, vertigo?” Slight exasperation slipped into Chuuya’s tone.
It was too early for this.
Dazai’s jaw clenched, which Chuuya took to mean no.
Chuuya was so focused on racking his brain for what could be wrong with his partner that he missed the way Dazai braced himself before swinging a leg up to kick the backs of Chuuya’s knees in.
Chuuya let out a startled yell as his legs gave out, and Dazai finished the move by shoving him with all his strength.
Chuuya fell backwards, hitting his head on the coffee table before he could catch himself. The back of his head hit the low, wooden table with a hard thwack, and his vision briefly went white.
He grabbed at the spot where the table had made contact, hissing as he prodded at the rapidly-forming bump. He pulled his fingers away to see a faint red stain.
He was bleeding. He must’ve gotten cut on the sharp corner. He shot Dazai a venomous glare from where he sat, still sulking on the couch, but looking just a little bit guilty.
“What the fuck, Dazai?!” Chuuya shouted, feeling his blood boil when Dazai winced. The shout hurt his own head, too, but he ignored it.
Dazai grumbled something unintelligible, reaching up to tug lightly on one of his ears.
Chuuya snarled as he surged up to grasp Dazai by the collar, wrenching him forward so that their noses nearly collided.
Dazai’s eyes briefly went unfocused at the unexpected change in position, but he recovered quickly enough to glare back at Chuuya.
“Listen, you piece of shit, I don't know what your problem is, and I don’t fucking care. Stop making it my problem,” Chuuya growled, hot breaths puffing against Dazai’s face as he gave him a little shake for good measure. “Get the hell out of here before I make you regret it.”
Dazai shoved himself out of Chuuya’s grip, but whatever he’d been intending to say was cut off when his face contorted in agony. He caught himself on the armrest of the couch as he wobbled, and his other hand rose to clutch at one of his ears.
Chuuya growled, completely out of patience for the bastard, but then there was a knock at his door.
Chuuya was surprised when Dazai startled at the sound, having yet to remove his hand from his ear and suddenly looking like a deer in headlights.
Chuuya rolled his eyes with a growl, shouldering his way past Dazai to open the door.
Albatross was leaning against the doorframe, looking far too perky for this early in the morning. He had a to-go cup of coffee in one hand— having quickly learned it was a necessity when dealing with a groggy Chuuya.
“The hell are you doing here?” Chuuya crossed his arms.
“Hey, neighbor.” He winked. “I heard a commotion and thought I’d check to make sure you were behaving yourself.” Albatross peeked over Chuuya’s head and noticed Dazai sulking on the couch.
“The fuck did you think I was doing that would warrant your help?” Chuuya glared, ignoring the urge to follow his gaze to the brat occupying his couch.
“I thought maybe you two were ‘wrestling’ again,” Albatross waggled his thick eyebrows with a grin.
If looks could kill, Albatross would be six feet under.
Chuuya gritted his teeth, but before he could set the record straight, Albatross was speaking again.
“Anyway, did you forget? I’m here for your driving lesson!” He tossed his car keys into the air, catching them with a smirk. His hot wheels keychain jingled in unison with the groan that Chuuya let out.
He had forgotten. The night before, Albatross had suggested that they go for a spin since they both had the day off, but it had slipped Chuuya’s mind amidst all the chaos of the morning.
And now he had a mackerel bastard who refused to get out of his apartment.
“Gimme a second,” Chuuya muttered, closing the door on a grinning Albatross.
He stalked back over to the couch, where Dazai was once again curled up under the blanket. He had his face buried in a throw pillow, which Chuuya yanked out from under his head.
Dazai winced, curling in further on himself, shoulders hitched up to his ears.
“I’m done playing around, Dazai. Get the fuck out. Now,” Chuuya snapped.
Dazai mumbled something into the cushion, reaching up to tug at his ear.
“What’s that, you didn’t hear me?” Chuuya whacked him on the head with the pillow
An aborted whine slipped out before Dazai could stop it, and Chuuya paused, brows furrowing because it sounded genuine. He ripped the blanket away from Dazai’s face.
Dazai’s expression was pinched— cheeks flushed in his pale face and lips tight with pain.
Chuuya scowled and slapped a brusque hand to Dazai’s forehead, cursing when he felt the unnatural heat there.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Chuuya groaned as he threw his head back. “You’re sick again?”
Dazai ignored him, lifting the blanket to cover his face once more.
“Oi, bastard, I’m talking to you.”
In lieu of a response, Dazai started writhing and groaning under the blanket.
Chuuya ripped the blanket away from his face and was met with the sight of Dazai clutching his right ear, expression a portrait of agony.
“What’s wrong with your ear?” Chuuya reached down to remove Dazai’s hand from his ear, glaring when Dazai pulled away. “Lemme see it.”
Dazai glared right back, but then reluctantly let go of the appendage, relocating his hands to grip fistfuls of the blanket with white knuckles.
Chuuya grimaced as he took in the hot, reddened skin of Dazai’s ear. That, combined with the sensitivity to noise, difficulty keeping his balance, and the obvious pain he was in led Chuuya to a clear conclusion.
He clicked his tongue in displeasure. “It’s probably an ear infection, dumbass.”
Dazai snatched the blanket from Chuuya’s hands and ducked back under it with a mumbled, “Stupid Chuuya.”
Chuuya threw his head back with a long, exasperated groan. The fact that Dazai had chosen to come to Chuuya when he was this miserable made Chuuya feel strange. They hated each other, yet they didn’t really have anyone else to go to.
To some degree, Dazai must believe that Chuuya would be able to make things better. He was obviously desperate enough to test that theory.
The thought filled Chuuya with a familiar sense of responsibility— something that was practically his identity in the Sheep, especially when the younger ones were unwell or injured.
“You’re a jerk when you’re sick, y’know that?” Chuuya dropped the pillow onto Dazai’s face and went back to the door. He opened it to find Albatross whistling a chipper tune.
“Ready to go?” He jerked his thumb behind him with a raised eyebrow.
Chuuya threw one last glance at the pathetic lump of misery in his apartment and sighed. “Sorry, man. Gotta take a rain check.”
Albatross blinked at him in surprise, gaze flitting past Chuuya into his apartment. “For real? I thought you hated that guy.”
“I do,” Chuuya growled, snatching the still warm coffee out of Albatross’s hand. “Thanks, I’m gonna need this.”
Albatross opened his mouth to protest as Chuuya swung the door shut, but ended up just shrugging— not even bothering to try to figure the teens out.
Chuuya took a long sip of his coffee as he made his way towards his bathroom. There, he pulled out a thermometer, a bottle of fever reducers, and a few cotton balls. He grabbed a bottle of water as he passed the kitchen.
He could feel the caffeine starting to kick in as he made his way back over to Dazai, and his hatred toward life was already diminishing.
“Alright, sit up.” Chuuya set his supplies on the coffee table and turned to glare down at the miserable lump on his couch.
Dazai curled up tighter and whined, the sound muffled under the blanket. Chuuya ripped the blanket down and forced the thermometer between his lips.
“If you spit that out, I will physically carry you to the door and throw you out,” Chuuya jabbed a finger at Dazai’s chest.
Dazai scowled, but it was interrupted by another wave of pain in his ear. He let out a wounded noise, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting not to bite down on the thermometer.
Chuuya crossed his arms, but couldn’t help the empathetic pang in his own ear. He’d seen plenty of the younger Sheep get ear infections, so he knew how painful they could be. If Dazai hadn’t improved by the next day, he was probably gonna have to haul him to the infirmary for antibiotics— an experience that he knew neither of them wished to have.
Maybe he could get Doc to swing by and take a look at the idiot instead, if it came to that. He hoped it wouldn’t.
The thermometer beeped, and Chuuya lifted it up to squint at it.
103.4
He winced. No wonder Dazai was in such a bad mood.
He shook out three tablets of ibuprofen, handing two to his partner along with the water bottle, and popping the leftover one into his mouth with a swig of coffee.
One coffee table collision plus one sick Dazai equaled one hell of a headache for Chuuya.
To his relief, Dazai swallowed the pills without putting up a fuss, which said a lot about how much he was hurting. He immediately returned to his curled up position, tugging fruitlessly on one of his ears.
“Hey, quit that.” Chuuya batted the offending hand away. “That’s not gonna help anything. Here, put these in your ears.” Chuuya tore a cotton ball in half before holding them out to Dazai, who stared dubiously at them. “Keeping your ears from being exposed to the air should help the pain some.”
Dazai begrudgingly took the cotton and stuffed them into his ears. He winced and made a move like he was going to remove them, but Chuuya grabbed his wrists.
“Oi, just give it a second. You didn’t have to shove them in there,” he chastised, keeping hold of Dazai’s wrists until his shoulders lost a bit of tension. The pain lines on his face smoothed slightly, and he let out a long breath at the tiny modicum of relief.
Chuuya smirked, mentally patting himself on the back for his obvious success.
But then Dazai ground his fists into his eyes— like an overtired toddler— and to Chuuya’s horror, his bottom lip quivered.
“O-oi!” Chuuya hovered nervously, hands reaching out but not touching the obviously distraught teen. “What’s the matter now?”
Dazai shook his head, still rubbing his eyes with his palms.
“Shitty Dazai,” Chuuya lowered his tone, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Dazai sniffled, biting his lip to stop it from quivering. “Don’t feel good.”
And oh… Chuuya’s heart might’ve cracked a little at the show of vulnerability that was so out of character for his partner. Chuuya often forgot that Dazai was still just a kid of 15.
Technically, they both were, but— despite the stubborn baby fat that clung to his cheeks— Chuuya was the older one in this situation, and Dazai was counting on him to make it better.
Dazai must be more out of it than Chuuya had realized to be showing this much honesty.
“C’mere, Mackerel.” Against his better judgment, Chuuya opened his arms.
Without a moment of hesitation, Dazai let himself slump forward until his forehead collided with Chuuya’s torso. He kept his arms at his sides, coughing as Chuuya patted his head.
“It hurts, Chibi,” Dazai whimpered, the words muffled into Chuuya’s tank top.
Chuuya grunted in lieu of a response, because yeah, no shit.
Dazai yawned, face scrunching up with the force of it against Chuuya’s middle. Chuuya ran lithe fingers through Dazai’s fever-soaked curls.
“You tired?” He asked, even though the answer was obvious. He doubted Dazai had been sleeping well with how much pain he was in— a hunch that was confirmed when he felt Dazai nod into his shirt.
“C’mon.” Chuuya maneuvered Dazai into lying back on the couch, ignoring his whine as he pulled the too-warm head onto his lap. “The meds should kick in soon, then hopefully you can get some sleep.” Chuuya grabbed the tv remote and put on a chill movie— just something to keep Dazai’s mind off of the pain until the pills took effect.
Dazai shifted, still consumed by the agony of his ears, so Chuuya slipped his fingers back into the thick curls. Dazai went still as Chuuya deftly massaged his scalp, giving him a more pleasant sensation to focus on, and it didn’t take long for his body to fully relax.
Chuuya’s lips twitched as he watched Dazai in his peripheral— eyes getting heavier and blinks fewer in between until they finally slipped shut. He glanced at the time to see that the meds had just kicked in, and sighed.
Hopefully Dazai would sleep for a good while, and be better off when he woke up.
In the meantime, Chuuya made himself comfortable. He wouldn’t be moving for a bit, and he’d been woken up early on his day off, so he might as well take advantage of this opportunity and get some rest, too.