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Dazai was cold during their training sessions. Frigid anger beneath the wall of indifference, sometimes barely concealed. That violence always came through when they fought, piercing and sharp. And today was no expectation. In contrast, Akutagawa's anger was blazing hot. Not aimed toward his mentor but directed at himself. And he had only himself to blame. It was his weakness and incompetence, his inability to please his mentor. Again and again and again.
He saw it, the loathing.
He was never good enough.
The fist connected with his jaw, sending him to the ground, the back of his head cracking on the stone. His vision exploded into white stars of intense pain, ears ringing. He barely heard the footsteps treading away above the throbbing of his head.
Dazai had left. He had not been worth it, after all.
It was only natural.
He bit back a groan, struggling to sit up to drag his hurting body to the nearby wall. He would get up again, he would, but for now, it was just impossible. As shameful as it was to admit, as disgusted as he was with yet another failure on his part, he would not be able to stand straight even if he tried. Somewhere, a door opened again, footsteps echoing through the air over the pounding of his heart. Maybe Dazai had changed his mind, so if the humiliation did not kill him right now, maybe his mentor would finish the job.
He wanted to laugh, but he couldn't, he wouldn't, and instead wiped at the blood staining his left cheek. He did not make it any better. The stickiness was warm beneath his fingers. He vaguely wondered when another blow would come, maybe knocking him out this time, not that he minded, he would gladly welcome the unconsiousness, away from the pain, the aching that was engulfing him in ways more than one these days. Or well, maybe it was not that different from before he joined the Mafia, anyway. He—
"Akutagawa?"
He frowned. Somewhere from above, someone was calling his name and—
Soft fingers brushed his cheek, just above the cut the bullet had made when he had not been able to duck aside in time. It felt like fire. He jerked backward and away, and his head collided once more with hard and cold stone. He groaned, sour saliva quickly filling his mouth.
"Ah shit, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Clothes rustling, someone was crouching down. "Chuuya-san?" He opened his watering eyes and stared at the blurred figure next to him, trying to breathe through the pain, voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper, and he winced inwardly. It was then that yet another part of his body decided to give up on him, and he hardly had the time to lean to the side, as well as that was possible in his current state, as his stomach lurched violently. He gagged, spitting out blood mixed with spit, bile burning at the back of his throat. Yet another pain to put on his list. It was a fleeting thought that left as soon another heave surged through. He did not bring up much. He had not eaten enough, after all. It was when he was finished and empty and spent that he noticed the hand holding back his hair; the touch was warm. It was not uncomfortable. And yet—
He slumped back against the wall, and a moment later, the warmth faded.
"You've not been eating well, have you."
It was not a question.
Akutagawa opened his eyes. He had not realized he had closed them. He licked his dry lips. "It does not matter really, right." He was too tired to pretend. Chuuya frowned. And Akutagawa did not know why it would matter if he ate or not—why it would matter to Chuuya. Dazai was another matter. Because if he did not eat, he would be only more of a bother during training.
His stomach swayed again, merely the thought of food making him queasy.
"It does matter. At least to me." Akutagawa's head shot up, and he ignored the discomfort that the sudden movement brought. He opened his mouth. "But—"
Chuuya shook his head, drawing a bit nearer. "The health of the people around me is of my concern." His expression twisted into something Akutagawa recognized as anger. "Not everyone here thinks that it helps to be a fucking asshole during training. Or to be a fucking asshole in general." He let out a breath. "Dazai did this to you, didn't he."
It was not a question, and Akutagawa did not answer.
Akutagawa had never really spoken with Chuuya before. He mostly kept his distance. He had regarded Chuuya as a threat after all—one more obstacle to gaining his mentor's appreciation. He had been bordering on hostility the few times they met, and yet—
Yet, Chuuya was being— he was kind, Akutagawa realized. And he wondered when was the last time someone, other than Gin, had been kind to him.
It had been a while.
Chuuya's hands were steady and careful while he stitched up the deep cut on his shoulder Akutagawa had not even noticed before. It reminded him of the times Gin did the stitching for him. It was a bit weird, but it was not uncomfortable.
It did not hurt.
And for the first time in a long while, Akutagawa felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a small smile.
"Chuuya-san?"
"Mh?"
Their gazes met, and he inclined his head politely.
"Thank you."