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Dazai was, on most nights, lucky enough to be blessed with a lack of dreams. On most nights, he slept, though restlessly, without that persistent, overwhelming feeling of dread looming over him in the morning. Sometimes that same dread persisted into the night, leaving him frazzled and panicked as a danger long gone wraps itself around his mind, refusing him sleep. Sometimes that same dread presented itself unexpectedly, as if a new, startling occurrence had spurred it on, when in reality, any dreams that might have created the issue werent ones that followed Dazai as he awoke, leaving him disoriented.
Tonight was, unfortunately, one of the nights where Dazai woke up only to feel an intense wave of anxiety for no discernible reason, his heart thrumming against his chest almost painfully as he rolled over onto his back.
He had always found it funny, almost, how people often described waking up from a nightmare. They'd describe gasping awake, or screaming, or crying, or something else of the sort, but Dazai had never done any of those things. No, Dazai simply woke up whenever his mind decided he'd had enough, or his body decided it couldn't take the stress anymore, or when he was forcefully woken up by his alarm clock, or even his roommate, on the particularly bad nights, and he'd continue on with his day.
The only signs that Dazai had undergone any sort of "out of the ordinary" experience prior to his waking was the sweat he felt seeping into his clothes, shivering under his blanket despite not truly being cold. The thought almost made him cringe, staring up at the ceiling for a moment longer before sliding out of bed; he needed a shower.
He could distantly recognize the feeling of his breath stuttering, growing shallow, as if he were afraid. The feeling of waking up to something inherently wrong had always seemed to mess with his head, whether that wrong was founded or not.
Creeping out into the hallway, Dazai found himself headed towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him quietly, so as not to disturb Fyodor. He took a breath, inhaling sharply as pain gripped his chest. Reasonably, he knew he was fine, that he was safe, but his body hadn't quite seemed to have caught up on that notion.
Turning on the water, Dazai hesitated. He had always had issues with undressing. It was stupid, to feel his body go rigid at the mere idea of it, to feel his already shallow breathing hitch and falter at the feeling of his own skin left uncovered. It was stupid, he hated it, he despised it, even, but the fear persisted, dull memories awoken by his nights unrest fluttering about in his mind.
Shaking the thoughts away, Dazai slipped into the shower. He stood there for a while, the water stinging, almost painful, as it hit scarred skin, as it pulled on the ache in his joints. He contemplated washing off, but the mere thought of something so solid touching his skin made his head spin, and so he threw that thought out the window.
He slid down the side of the wall after a moment, taking in a shuddering breath. He was so tired. He shouldn't have been; he fell asleep fairly quickly during the night, he hadn't woken up once, and his sleep wasn't plagued by dreams, not ones he could remember, atleast. And yet here he was, barely able to keep his eyes open, utterly exhausted. He couldn't sleep, even if he tried. His mind was too restless, too frazzled, too anxious for whatever horror it was expecting to occur.
His shuddering breath was soon followed by another, and another, and before he knew it, ugly sobs found their way out of his mouth and into the room, shame churning in his gut. He felt his nails slide down his arms, catching on the messy tears in his skin, but couldn't bother to find it in himself to care. The feeling of it, of skin on his own, made his heart race, practically gasping for air as he dug his nails in further, reopening wounds that never fully healed. It didn't matter how, he just wanted everything to stop, he just needed it all to stop.
He doesn't know how long he sat there like that, but eventually, the water ran cold, and his trance was broken by a soft knock on the door.
He idly recognized his inability to make any sign of acknowledgement to the others knock, burying his head into his knees. The feeling of it made him want to cry all over again.
"Daz?"
Fyodor entered the bathroom not long after, or maybe it had been hours, Dazai wasn't quite sure, but he knew it had to have been shortly after, realistically.
The water was turned off a second later, forcing Dazai to turn his head and drag his gaze over to Fyodor. God, he was tired.
Fyodor frowned, watching Dazai for a moment, before turning away and grabbing a towel, holding it out for Dazai. He didn't want to touch him.
Dazai took it after a moment, swallowing. He wrapped it around his own shaking frame before holding it tight, shivering at the sudden rush of cold air. His arms were sore, and a glance down made him aware of the poorly dried blood dripping down his arms in little beads. He wiped it away after a moment of silence, suddenly uncomfortable at the sight. Fyodor sat on the floor beside the shower after a moment, eyeing his arms. "Can I?" Somehow, distantly, in the back of his mind, Dazai knew what he was asking.
With a stilted nod, Dazai watched Fyodor slide something off the counter, and, with some caution, took hold of his arms and wrapped them up tightly, careful to avoid causing the other any further distress. With careful hands, he eased Dazai off of the floor when he was finished, securing the towel around their frame.
Dazai had always liked the way Fyodor handled touching him. He was always careful with it, but never once was he not rough in the way he touched him. He never prolonged it, never left the feeling of lingering hands.
He dully acknowledged he was no longer in the bathroom, now sat on Fyodor's bed, his towel having been replaced with a hoodie and a pair of shorts. Fyodor had rewrapped his legs, at some point. Fyodor was sitting down on the other side of the bed, watching Dazai through careful eyes.
"You back?"
Dazai took a moment before humming in confirmation, letting Fyodor ease him down and under the covers. His face must have done something funny when Fyodor pulled his hands away, because he quickly tucked Dazai into his chest, wrapping his arms around him as if cradling him.
"You're alright, I'm not going anywhere," he ran a hand through Dazai's hair before resting his chin on the top of their head. "You're safe now, маленькая ворона. Go to sleep."
Later, when Dazai would wake up from a nightmare all too familiar, Fyodor would be there, and he could, atleast for the night, give himself up to the lull dragging down his body, and sleep.