Serendipity.

”The fortunate discovery of something beneficial or agreeable through luck or accident.”

Serendipitous.

In one word, that would be how Dazai would describe his and Chuuya’s relationship. They were far more complex than just being defined in one word, yes, but the point stands.

They met at fifteen, through a lick of fate; ergo, Mori assigning Dazai to oversee Arahabaki’s case.

Dazai absolutely would not have lived past eighteen years old if he did not meet that man when he did. Of course, Dazai still relapsed into his old bad habits on occasion, but to have someone who will tenderly kiss his cuts until they heal definitely softens the blow.

Dazai was always reckless with his body. He never wanted to live in the first place, so why bother taking care of it? Existing is a mere nuisance to him.

Chuuya hates this. He doesn’t hate much about Dazai, contrary to popular belief, but the bastard’s tendencies to play with his life never failed to piss Chuuya off to no end.

Tonight, Chuuya was sitting in the emergency room. His leg was bouncing, his face buried in his hands. Dazai had gotten severely injured on a mission—one that Chuuya had advised him not to go on, for the record, but the damn mackerel just couldn’t listen—and now, Chuuya was here.

The redhead felt like vomiting and sobbing at the same time; however, he did neither. He couldn’t show such vulnerability in an open place as a hospital. His emotions were reserved for he and Dazai’s penthouse alone—which they would definitely be going back to tonight. Chuuya would make sure of it.

He wasn’t sure he could do it without Dazai.