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The apartment is silent as Chuuya steps through the front door, toeing off his shoes and hooking his overcoat over top of a sad looking trench coat. The only sound is the hum of the ac and the brush of fabric as socked feet pad into the kitchen, flicking on the lights. It’s strange, a marked change from the soft thrum of noise he’s usually greeted with.
Usually there’s the sound of the tv, or the shower running, or the distinctive clicking of a handheld game console bouncing across the wooden floors. Tonight though, there’s no sign of Dazai, and if Chuuya hadn’t seen his scuffed shoes at the door, hadn’t covered that ratty coat with his own, he would’ve thought the man was still out making a nuisance of himself. As it is, the silence is unnerving.
The redhead checks the fridge, only to wince and close the door not long after scanning its contents. He’s really too exhausted to even think about cooking, so he shifts gears and starts thinking of cheap delivery, instead.
“Oi, mackerel. I know you’re home. Come out so we can order something to eat- I’m not cooking for your lazy ass tonight.” His voice echoes through the apartment but there’s no response, and Chuuya sighs, resigned to using what’s left of his energy to deal with his idiot partner.
A quick check of the living room shows an empty couch and a dark television, so he makes his way slowly into the bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming in muted from the window where the curtains are drawn, but it doesn’t do anything to disguise Dazai’s figure, sprawled across the entire bed like a dead fish. Normally the sight would be humorous, or even annoying, but the combination of unsettling quiet and the fact that it looks like Dazai fell on the bed hours ago and just never bothered to move has Chuuya holding in his ire, for now.
“Tch. Dazai. Time to get up.” He rounds the bed and puts himself squarely in Dazai’s line of sight, hands on his hips as he watches the other man’s eyes blink open dully. He looks exhausted, more so than Chuuya, and doesn’t move more than is necessary to turn his head away, muffling whatever he says into the sheets.
“Sorry, you wanna try repeating that?” This kind of behaviour from Dazai isn’t... unexpected, but it’s rare, these days, and Chuuya’s lacking in the patience he usually has for it. Instead he waits Dazai out, eyeing him critically while he tries to ignore the fact that all he wants is a large glass of wine and a hot bath before he passes out.
Groaning, Dazai shifts again, lifting his mouth far enough off the bed for Chuuya to just barely hear the “Don’t want to,” that escapes dry lips.
Blue eyes narrow, and Chuuya steps closer to the bed, settling himself on the sheets an arms length away from Dazai but making no move to touch him. Up close, he can see the rigid set of Dazai’s spine, and the way his hands are twitching where they rest on the sheets. Sighing, he plucks the hat off his head and runs a gloved hand through his hair, thinking through their options. Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Dazai actually has an idea what’ll get him out of the black pit of exhaustion he sometime falls into. If Chuuya’s lucky, this’ll be one of those times.
“What d’you want then, huh?” That only gets him a half-hearted shrug, and an arm comes up to idly pick at the bandages that wrap around a slim neck. Chuuya breathes sharply through his nose in annoyance and puts his hat down on the bed. Time to start being proactive then.
“When’s the last time you changed your bandages, dumbass? You leave them any longer and they’re gonna start smelling worse than usual.” Despite the dim light, it’s obvious that the usually pristine bandages around Dazai’s neck and arms are looking dingier than normal, and the subtle salt smell of sweat is unavoidable, this close. The man needs a shower and some clean bandages, but if the last five minutes are anything to go by, that’s unlikely to happen without some forceful shoving.
Without waiting for Dazai to grace him with another shrug, Chuuya stands up and walks out of the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. He sets to work, setting up the tub to fill and letting the sound of rushing water echo off the tiles. As steam starts to rise, he fishes out a container of his favourite bath salts and throws a handful into the water, giving it a brief stir with his hand before he puts the salts back and wanders back into the hallway.
Instead of heading back into the bedroom, he detours, heading into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of wine. Dazai will complain about the lack of ‘good alcohol’ but Chuuya’s not about to let him drink anything stronger than water while he’s too far gone to even form full sentences.
Chuuya drops his wine glass off in the bathroom, checking the temperature of the water and putting the glass down on the counter nearby. He pulls out the largest towels they have, big fluffy monstrosities that only ever get pulled from the closet on days like this, and sets them down too, just next to the tub. Done with the set up, he turns off the water. The bathroom is already starting to warm up, hot damp air curling over the tiles and mirror and bringing with it the scent of sandalwood and myrrh.
Closing the bathroom door in an attempt to keep the warmth in, Chuuya pads back into the bedroom. He still doesn’t make any attempt to force Dazai up, instead choosing to focus on getting himself out of his own clothes. First the gloves, on the bedside table, then the jacket and waistcoat, hung up in the closet, and finally the shirt and trousers, tossed in the hamper that’s looking just a little overfull. Down to his boxers, Chuuya turns to face the lump of clothes and bandages taking up space on the bed that hasn’t yet moved more than an inch since he got home.
“Dazai. You gonna make this easy on me or are you gonna lay there like a useless lump all evening?”
The only response is the rustle of fabric as Dazai rolls onto his back, blinking one eye at Chuuya from under his hair before shifting just enough to sit up before doing still once more. Chuuya sighs and moves forward, grateful for the small mercy that is Dazai willing to move under his own energy for once. Not that Chuuya couldn’t carry him, but the bastard’s lanky and his limbs are hard to manage, and that kind of effort isn’t on the table tonight.
Slowly, Dazai gets to work unbuttoning his vest, and then his shirt, leaving Chuuya to pull the clothing off his shoulders. The brunet doesn’t bother to stand up until absolutely necessary, pants pooling on the floor with the weight of his belt as he does. Eventually he too is only clad in his underwear, picking absently at the clips holding the bandages at his throat until Chuuya huffs in annoyance.
The bandages come off easily enough, though Chuuya notes with displeasure the reddened and dry skin that’s revealed with every loop of fabric.
“You look like the before picture in a moisturizer ad.” The words have no heat behind them, and soon enough the bandages are tossed in the trash can next to the bedside table. Taking one of Dazai’s wrists in his grip, Chuuya tugs at him until he follows the shorter man into the bathroom, scented steam enveloping them both. Dazai pauses just far enough inside the door for Chuuya to close it and step around him, dropping his boxers and grabbing the wine glass he left before gingerly stepping into the water.
This is new, but Chuuya wanted a bath, damn it, and he’s not about to let Dazai’s weird moods keep him from his own self care. So far Dazai’s been quiet, going along with the motions without making so much as a peep about it, but the truth is Chuuya’s never seen the man take bath that wasn’t forced on him by virtue of injury. As a result, he’s letting Dazai dictate what he does next. The tub’s fairly large, so even with Dazai’s ungainly long legs, it won’t be too cramped, but Chuuya is determined to make Dazai make the choice himself.
The water is just this side of too hot, and the heat is a welcome balm against sore muscles so Chuuya relaxes further into the water, taking a sip from his wine and watching Dazai over the rim of the glass. Just before he can open his mouth to prod Dazai into making a choice, the man shucks his underwear and climbs into the tub to join Chuuya.
Immediately the breath rushes out of Dazai’s lungs like air leaving a slashed tire, and he slumps, boneless against Chuuya’s chest. He slides even deeper into the water until his head is resting back on Chuuya’s shoulder and takes a single deep breath in, letting it out slowly as the heat and salt starts to work on his tired muscles.
Chuuya just chuckles and takes another sip of wine before putting the glass down next to the tub.
“Regretting all those times you mocked my baths yet?”
“Hmmm, not quite. Too much effort.”
“What’s too much effort? The regret? Or the baths?” At that Dazai turns his head and tucks face into Chuuya’s collarbone. The redhead feels the catch of chapped lips against the thin skin there as they pull into a grin.
“Both. Mostly the baths, in this case. Why expend this much energy just to lie in a tub for thirty minutes? Seems like a waste of time.” His sentences are getting longer, more coherent, and Chuuya feels a tension he didn’t realize he was still carrying unfold from his spine. As irritating as Dazai is on a regular day, there is little more unnerving than when he withdraws into himself like he had earlier.
“Because it’s relaxing? Because sometimes it’s nice to stop and enjoy things just because they’re nice and not because they benefit your damn schemes?” Chuuya’s always believed in the idea of enjoying things simply to enjoy them. The simple pleasures, like good wine, soft silk and soothing scents. It’s a nice change of pace from the otherwise hectic and violent energy he’s surrounded with most days.
Grabbing his wine glass again, Chuuya takes another sip, savouring the taste. His other hand lifts from the edge of the tub and brushes through Dazai’s hair, slowly untangling the brown curls with his fingers. He can feel Dazai’s smile growing larger, his face growing warm from the heat of the water.
“Ah, but Chuuya, everything benefits my schemes~!”
Blue eyes narrow as Chuuya looks down at Dazai where he’s still pressed into the side of Chuuya’s neck. An eyebrow raised, he scoffs even as he continues petting through Dazai’s hair.
“... Are you trying to tell me you planned for me to draw a bath and get you in it?”
“Not... exactly, but I’ll confess the bath isn’t nearly as much of a disappointment as I was expecting. It’s actually quite... nice.” Warm breath washes across Chuuya’s throat in a sigh, and Dazai curls in closer, obviously reveling in the combination of warmth and calming scents.
For a few minutes there’s a lull, no sound except the occasional slosh of water and the tinkling as Chuuya adjusts his grip on the wine glass. Eventually Dazai breaks the silence again, voice subdued in the damp heat of the bathroom.
“If you... were to do this again I wouldn’t say no.”
Chuuya knows that tone. That’s the tone that Chuuya’s come to realize means Dazai’s asking for something he thinks he neither deserves nor has the energy to fight for. But he still wants it. And wants it strongly enough to say something, as obscure as that something might be.
“Fine.” He won’t make a big deal out of it, this time.
“But don’t think I’m letting you out of this bathroom until you put some cream on your skin. Up close you look like sandpaper. It’s gross. I can feel your dry patches catching on my skin and it’s making me itchy as hell.”
Dazai just laughs at that, and behind his wineglass, Chuuya grins.