#MORI AS SOON AS I START WORKING AGAIN TRUST I WILL BE THROWING MY MONEY AT YOU

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Human Qualification- Chapter 15

January 1

New year; new angst.

Happy (belated) birthday, Rika ( @leio13 )! I hope the second part of this fic counts as a sufficient gift!

Of course, I’d like to thank @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos for reading this over!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

“Good morning, Dazai, and Happy New Year.”

“...Morning?” Dazai was aware that his reply was incomprehensible. He could have groaned and made the same sound. But, his mind was still groggy, so he let the unintelligible murmur slide.

“Yeah, you slept through the bells.” Chuuya was busying around the room, fully dressed up. “Sorry. You looked so tired I let you sleep.”

“It’s just some bells. It’s fine.” Dazai was too distracted by Chuuya’s clothes. “...Are you going somewhere?” On New Year’s?

“Yeah, I was going to visit the shrine. Do you want to come?”

“Do I have to?”

“No, I guess not. No one is going to force you. But you did miss the bells.”

“Then I’m going to sleep.” As if supporting his words, a yawn forced its way from Dazai’s lips. “I don’t believe in such superstitions, in any case.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to pray for you, anyway?”

“Sure. Please ask for a beautiful woman with whom I can commit double suicide.”

Chuuya pushed Dazai’s forehead. “Who the fuck am I?!”

“I don’t want you to die, Chuuya.” Dazai grinned sweetly, a hint of malice glimmering in his teeth.

“How thoughtful of you.” The irritated hand on Dazai’s head lightened its grip. “Get some rest, okay?” After brushing the bangs from Dazai’s face for one last look (a mixture of affection and concern), Chuuya turned towards the door. “When I return, I will make you regret those words.”

“Do your best...” Dazai had fallen back into sleep before he heard Chuuya exit the apartment.

Dazai reawoke at an uncertain hour in the afternoon. Judging from the silence, Chuuya was not home—not that Dazai was particularly concerned; he trusted Chuuya’s judgement. What was surprising was that Dazai was hungry. The feeling had become nearly alien to him—so much so that Dazai was startled by cavernous trembling. The accompanying pain was not as usual, but, nonetheless, Dazai was determined to quench his hunger. If anything, Dazai was grateful that he still had an appetite at all (even if it showed up only on rare occasions).

Dazai’s body was not on his side, putting up a sluggish (but effective) resistance. His legs cried out in pain when he shifted his weight, and worst yet, the world rocked back and forward—or was that he? Nevertheless, clinging to the hope that food would give him strength, Dazai pulled himself to the kitchen. Each piece of furniture became a prop for Dazai to lean against as he scaled the walls.

Perhaps Dazai wouldn’t be able to cook something, but he could still heat up leftovers.

Or not. Dazai didn’t make it to the refrigerator. Sliding against the counter, Dazai’s foot got snagged, his grip disappeared, and he hit the ground with a thud. A low moan slipped from his lips as sparks ran down his nervous system. His vision filtered in and out of focus before Dazai registered the state he was in. The stinging pain froze his limbs, so he decided to wait a few minutes before standing up again.

In the meanwhile, Dazai didn’t want to waste time. What would he have for lunch? Eyeing the refrigerator, he tried to run through a list of the food inside. His head was scrambled, and items didn’t come easily to mind. After a slow minute, he finally recalled one of the leftovers—the KFC—it was shameful that was still there. He had told Chuuya he would eat it, but shortly after, his appetite had vanished. Putting aside his guilt, what else was in there? Once again, his brain failed him. It was a broken tape recorder, playing the same track again and again and again. KFC. KFC. KFC. Evidently, that was Dazai’s fate, to eat the fried chicken.

Of course, Dazai’s fate was much worse than he presumed. A few minutes had passed, but, physically, Dazai was the same as before: lying on the floor, pain shaking his limbs. A fog had settled into his skull, making coordination difficult. He kicked out one leg—it felt oddly distant, except the pain which flared up. And his arm—although he could feel the cold tiles below his palm and the ache which ran up and down, his arm did not feel like his own, and, either way, it couldn’t lift Dazai. All of Dazai’s strength had been knocked out of his body upon his impact with the floor. Not satisfied with his current situation, Dazai jerked his remote limbs several to no avail. Instead, whatever remaining energy he had seeped from his body into the floor. The Earth was a giant sponge, absorbing Dazai’s strength, energy, hunger, pain, and finally consciousness.

In the kitchen, time was frozen. The tick of a distant clock had slurred until it blended away into the white noise. Through the window, sunlight streamed so consistently not even shadows danced on the floor. Nothing moved. And yet, when Dazai was awake, time moved so unbearably slowly, although it was impossible to measure. Seconds were confounded with minutes, and minutes with hours. The only certain marker of time was the dreadful pounding of Dazai’s heart banging against his eardrums. Sometimes its beating would rouse Dazai, throwing itself into a frenzy. Sometimes it would lull Dazai back into sleep. Awake or asleep, nothing changed. Nothing moved. The only difference Dazai could find when opening his eyes was that everything was subtly more blurry until there was no point of opening them at all.

Dazai’s eyes shot open, and his vision came into focus. The sunlight was now a distinct golden yellow, pooling over him on the floor. It was the click of a lock which had stirred Dazai.

Chuuya.

“Tsuuya…!” Dazai’s calls started as low groans, growing in volume with increased desperation. Dazai hated the sound of his voice, the way he consistently failed to say his partner’s name. He could hear it distinctly in his head, “Chuuya,” but it never carried over to his lips. Somewhere along the way, it had become distorted—ugly. Without any regard to Dazai’s opinions, his body kept shouting, as though the words weren’t words at all but primal calls.

“Dazai?!” Chuuya raced over to Dazai’s side. “What happened?!”

“Tsuua.” That incoherence was all Dazai could sigh out. His throat burned.

“Dazai… what happened?” Chuuya inspected Dazai and must have realized that he wasn’t going to an answer because he swiftly disregarded his question. “I’m here, okay?” He gently scooped up Dazai. “Is this okay?”

There was a persistent ache, but Dazai figured that wouldn’t go away regardless. He nodded.

“Anyway, I’m sorry for being away for so long. Can you fucking believe that bastard, Mori Ougai, had a mission for me to do? On New Year’s?”

“Bastard,” Dazai spat. It was easier to talk about Chuuya’s experience than his own, which was still a haze of confusion and dread.

Chuuya softly lowered Dazai onto his bed. “So, how long were you on the fucking floor?”

“I don’t know...”

“You don’t fucking know?” Picking at his gloves, Chuuya paced in a small circle in front of Dazai. “What. Happened. Dazai?”

“I fell. That’s it.”

“‘That’s it?’ Nothing else happened?”

“No...” Anything else which may have happened had blurred into oblivion.

Chuuya inhaled sharply, bringing his hand to his forehead in frustration. “Sorry,” he exhaled. “Can I sit down?”

“Be my guest.”

“I’m sorry. If you say you don’t know what happened, I believe you. I just have no fucking way of knowing. How can I do anything...”

“Tsuuya. It’s fine. I just fell. That’s all.” How could Dazai tell Chuuya of the way his limbs abandoned him, the way he drifted in and out of consciousness, thinking—hoping—each time he closed his eyes it would be the last?

“I should have been there. This didn’t need to happen—if I had been fucking there.” Chuuya sighed, watching Dazai with regretful eyes.

“What? Tsuuya, I don’t like that look.”

“I’m going to stop working.”

“What?” Dazai lurched upward, but the pain quickly pushed him back down. “Tsuuya, don’t make any rash decisions.” He laughed, hoping that the idea would quickly be dismissed as a joke.

“It’s not a fucking rash decision. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We have enough money to last us indefinitely.”

“I’m not worried about the money. What about you, Tsuuya? Can you do it?”

“I can fucking do it. Who do you think I am?”

“But, do you want to do it?”

Chuuya averted his gaze. “I… I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being so fucking powerless. I want to help you.” He grabbed Dazai’s hand and made eye contact again. His blue eyes were pools of sorrow and desperation—this time, Dazai was the one to look away. “Please. Let me help you.”

“The last thing I want is to be a burden. As soon as I become a burden to you, Tsuuya, please...” please let me die. Dazai couldn’t ask Chuuya to kill him, and so the words remained unspoken.

“That won’t fucking happen, asshole.” Beneath Chuuya’s tough facade, his sympathetic eyes trembled, threatening to burst. It was unbearable to see Chuuya struggle with a problem that should have been Dazai’s alone. How Dazai wished for Chuuya to give up on him—but Chuuya would never do that. Even as Dazai deteriorated physically, and stress ate away at Chuuya, Chuuya would probably be by Dazai’s side. How Dazai longed for Chuuya to stay with him—but he could never ask for that.

Dazai swiftly changed the topic of discussion. “Oh yeah, Tsuuya, did you remember to pray for me earlier?”

“Yeah, I said ‘I hope this year Dazai can stop overthinking things in the distant future.’”

How did Chuuya read his mind? Dazai grinned sheepishly. “What about the pretty lady?”

“You’re going to have to find her yourself.”

“Well, until then, I have Tsuuya!” For better or for worse, Dazai would always have Chuuya.

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