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“Dazai… what the hell did you do?"
It was a sentence Chuuya had said many, many times – but not like this. Not when there was so much blood. It coated the empty bathtub like paint, pooling at the bottom and disappearing in pencil-thin rivers down the drain. Dazai was propped up on the side, wearing nothing but dark pants and socks.
His chest was – oh shit, his chest.
Dazai’s shirt was gone, the bandages underneath peeled back to reveal pale, scarred skin. Burns, cuts, and bullet wounds littered his shoulders and stomach. There were new cuts, too; the skin around Dazai’s chest split in a way that Chuuya could only describe as surgical. Practiced. They didn’t look too deep, but he couldn’t be sure.
“We’re going to get you cleaned up, okay?”
Nothing. There was a small scalpel on the ground, the blade still shiny with blood. Chuuya kicked it away.
“Okay, Dazai?”
“...didn’t want you to see me like this,” Dazai mumbled, his words slurring into something barely comprehensible. The bags underneath his eyes gave him a sickly look that Chuuya didn’t like.
He knew Dazai wasn’t talking about the cuts or the empty bottles that still clattered in the sink. Chuuya’s eyes caught on the ribs that could almost be seen through the other man’s paper-thin skin.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Chuuya said. “You know that, right?”
There were medical supplies stashed under the sink – gauze, bandages, peroxide – as well as some unlabeled boxes that Chuuya didn’t open. He hoped Dazai wouldn’t need stitches.
Sitting on the cold ground and rummaging through an old, dusty emergency kit, Chuuya considered dumping Dazai outside a hospital. Or, better yet, wherever the Hell it was Mori lived. Make him someone else’s problem.
“You care about him, don’t you?”
“What? Fuck no.”
“Sure, that's why you're runnin' to check on him.”
“We’re partners, dumbass!”
Chuuya could almost hear the other Flags laugh. He had been out with them when he got the call, Dazai’s labored breathing on the other end. Chuuya wasn’t sure he even meant to call.
“Partners, eh?”
Chuuya knew Dazai well enough to know that he would rather bleed out alone in his apartment than see a doctor. They had argued about it more than once. Dazai could be a pain in the ass, sure, but Chuuya wasn't cruel.
He paused, his hands hovering over Dazai’s pale skin. “Can I touch you?”
Dazai took a shallow breath and nodded, closing his eyes.
“Don’t go to sleep.” Chuuya warned, pressing a wet rag to his skin. “Or I’ll drown you.”
For scaring me. For not showing up to missions or answering my calls. For making me care–
Dazai winced but didn’t complain when Chuuya helped him sit up, smoothing the adhesive bandages down as gently as he could. Cleaning the bathroom could wait – it was late and Dazai was barely conscious as is. Chuuya wasn’t even sure he owned cleaning supplies; he hadn’t seen any under the sink.
He went to the bedroom and came back with clean clothes, an oversized shirt and pants that were too short on Dazai’s long, gangly legs. He helped Dazai get into them one leg at a time.
When was the last time he bought clothes?
Chuuya could only sigh – another thing to worry about in the morning. He wrapped his arm around Dazai’s waist, practically carrying him out the bathroom and into bed. The sheets were clean, at least.
“Do you even sleep in here?” Chuuya asked, not really expecting an answer. Dazai had already rolled over, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting.
That's that, Chuuya thought. The couch looked nice enough – it would make more sense to sleep in the living room than go all the way back to his apartment. That, and he was exhausted.
Chuuya was stopped by a hand on his arm. “Where are you going?”
“To sleep?”
“Stay.”
Chuuya had only been in Dazai’s apartment a couple times. He’d spent the night even less. He didn’t think Dazai really even wanted him there, much less wanted him to stay.
“You’re an ass. You know that, right?” Chuuya grumbled. It would be nicer than the couch. He kicked his shoes to the side and slid under the large blanket, Dazai’s warm body next to his.
“Mhm.”