#corruptiionblooded

“no, you didn’t, don’t worry.” ojoku had been quiet, yes - chuuya hadn’t actually heard him make any noise, he’d just sort of gotten the sense that something wasn’t quite right with his ability. at hearing the explanation, it’s almost easy enough to assume that it’s just due to their shared powers - chuuya’s had more than his share of nightmares because of it, so he wouldn’t be surprised if ojoku was similar - but something tells him it’s not quite that. 

well, the fact that ojoku was staring pretty fixedly at chuuya’s bedroom door might be the reason for that. rather than respond immediately, he jumps the back of the couch to sit next to ojoku, pulling his ability into his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“... wanna talk about it?” he won’t pry, so ojoku doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to, but... chuuya’s clearly worried about him. at the very least, ojoku’s gaze at the doorway makes him wonder if the nightmare had something to do with daichi, but... really, he won’t pry.

“you say that, but at least your host has stopped hating you.”

she’s seen them fight, of course - everyone in the mafia has, basically - but ever since she was freed again... she’s noticed that they don’t argue as much as they used to. they seem to be even on somewhat friendly terms, despite all the suffering using corruption has inflicted on chuuya himself. 

she’s jealous. out of everyone, she always thought that ojoku and herself would be hated forever. that they’d understand each other better than the others because their hosts don’t want them.

now it seems it’s only her.

Well, Chuuya could certainly say he wasn’t expecting that particular response.

“What gave ya that idea? I think we both know I’m not gonna die that easy.” He looked confused, if nothing else. Actually... The more he thought on that, the more likely it seemed. He could imagine he worried his Ability when the mafioso got himself into danger.

Chuuya sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from his Ability. He had to admit, he has been a big dick towards Ojoku. In a sense, it was refreshing - to see the embodiment of the one thing he feared and despised, and be able to hate it freely - but he had to acknowledge that his Ability did nothing to deserve that hatred. It was the other way around entirely - with Ojoku there, Chuuya was given a new level of safety - a way to stop his own destruction, even without Dazai there. 

once chuuya has determined the source to be his ability, he sighs and pokes his head around the glass, huffing quietly at the other.

“geez, seriously, how long were you standing there? did you want a shower or something? you could have just come in...”

he’s... fine with having been caught singing, because he knows he’s a good singer, thank you very much, but the thought that ojoku was just standing there for who knows how long... is chuuya really so used to his presence that he didn’t even notice it? honestly now, that would be careless of him if it were pretty much anyone else.

He’d been idly picking at the fiery red strands of hair, neither tugging on them nor picking them up, but merely pushing them around. It was a lazy Saturday with nothing to do and as they had fallen asleep in a heap once more the night prior, he had been too lazy to push Chuuya off and get ready for the day.

“Hmm?“ Despite being up way before his host, Ojoku still had the morning voice so it sounded deeper than it actually was. Although that didn’t matter for he chuckled amused under his breath and in the next moment started carding scarred fingers through the other’s hair. 

It’s still not quite something he’s used to, walking up like this with his Ability, but today it had been a rather nice awakening indeed - again, he’d almost mistaken Ojoku for someone else, but at least this time he’d realized quicker. Still, the feeling of hands playing with his hair wasn’t one he’d turn down ( unless it was too rough, but Ojoku was being gentle right now ), and so he figured he may as well make the best of it.

“Stop making that annoying face, oh my god, you look like I kicked a puppy or something.“ he hissed, teeth clenched and hands forming into fists. He had just finished eating the last canelé just as Chuuya came into the kitchen. Of course, said canelé was being saved by the host for later which obviously now didn’t exist anymore as the Ability ate it.

Sighing, Ojoku padded over and half-heartedly wrapped his arms around his pouting lookalike. He wasn’t one for hugs, after all. “Look, I even hugged you. Will you stop now?”

“I’d have preferred you kicked the puppy...” No, that’s not true - Chuuya doesn’t mind dogs at all and definitely doesn’t want any to be kicked, but he really did want that canelé. The canelé that his Ability just ate. The one that he’d been saving all day. He’s tempted to put a knife in his Ability’s back or drag him to Dazai to get touched and temporarily disappear as a form of time out or something, but...

really, dazai is feeling quite faint. if he was to be asked to pinpoint the exact reason why he feels that way, it may because he’s now literally soaked in what appears to be his own blood. he laughs weakly at the almost threat spilling from ojoku’s lips ( really, dazai would like to see the ability to try and pull him back to the infirmary by only his coat ) but dazai himself must be reminiscent of corruption, with blood bubbling at his lips and staining his face and clothes. he really isn’t doing too well at all.

‘ really, i’d -- i’d definitely get up if i could, ’ he replies rather weakly after a moment, words coming out rather shakily and slurred as a result of the pain dazai is being put through. and really, he dislikes pain on any good days, but to be around ojoku while he’s in pain? well that -- actually, he doesn’t mind it, strangely enough. ojoku can’t lay hands on him, so he’s hardly able to hurt him. ‘ honestly i’d rather just lie here and sleep. i’ve heard when you feel sleepy after sustaining injuries, it means you’re likely to die. ’

there’s a rather faint smile, tinged with a somewhat melancholy undertone. ah well. hazel eyes narrow before closing, one hand still covering one of his wounds, fingers sticky with crimson.