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“’s cold,” Chuuya murmurs quietly, slurred together so much that if Dazai hadn’t known him for seven years, he wouldn’t have understood him.
“I know. Just for a little bit,” Dazai says as he fills the pitcher full of water to gently pour over Chuuya’s head again. He’d really like to properly wash his hair. It’s so caked with dust and dirt and blood, but Dazai doesn’t want him under the water for too long, he’s already shivering. So he’d like to at least brush some of it out.
It’s been a few days since he last used Corruption. Dazai’s made it a habit to check on Chuuya in some way or another after times like that, because recently, he hasn’t been tolerating it well, especially when he uses it for extended periods of time. Sometimes he’ll be too sore to move, sometimes he’ll get sick, sometimes it’s a combination of a few things - no matter the case, it wasn’t always like this.
He thinks Chuuya was already coming down with something before that day, so he wasn’t too surprised to find him passed out on his kitchen floor when he arrived at his penthouse just ten minutes ago.
He has a hundred-and-two-point one-degree fever, which paired with the fatigue and exhaustion from using his ability like that has really, really slowed him down. Dazai had to carry him into the shower even after waking him up, with surprisingly no objection from the latter. His complaint of the temperature just now is the first he’s said to him since he arrived. Chuuya always takes quite a while to come to his senses after he’s like this.
Dazai’s first thought was to shower him because of how filthy he was from their mission just the other day, but it seemed that wasn’t it. He’s covered in sweat from the fever, and Dazai’s fairly certain he wet himself at some point too. Normally, he wouldn’t let Chuuya live something like that down, but it’s a concerning thought that he didn’t even have the energy or will to get up and go to the bathroom.
He opts for the showerhead instead to wash his hair out the best he can, hoping the pressure will help clean it up a little. It’s lukewarm water, to help his fever, but he understands it’s probably pretty cold with the chills he’s feeling - and Chuuya normally showers with scalding hot water anyway.
Chuuya groans and pulls his head away once the water from the shower head hits him, and the way his eyes screw shut tells Dazai he’s probably got some sort of head injury, or at the very least, a headache. Maybe both.
“Want me to stop?” Dazai asks, trying to adjust the water pressure a bit so it’s not as harsh, and Chuuya relaxes just a bit.
He’s taken note of how Chuuya’s left shoulder is hanging slightly lower than it should. He’s been so out of it that Dazai hasn’t noticed, but he grabs his upper arm with his free hand and he’s met with a hiss. He’s probably dislocated his shoulder.
“You’re a mess,” Dazai sighs. Chuuya usually isn’t the type to avoid medical treatment. Dazai has his own reasons for doing so, but Chuuya generally takes good care of his health, so he’s not sure what happened here. Maybe that last use of Corruption really took him down. After all, he’s not sure how long he was passed out in his kitchen.
He shut off the water and hands the shower head up. He wants to tell Chuuya what he’s about to do, but he thinks it might be better in the end to just do it and get it over with, and apologize after.
So he does it. He puts him into position against the wall as quickly as he can before Chuuya can catch on, and he yelps from the pain as soon as Dazai hears it pop into place. He’s sure it’s very painful, it’s been a few days since it was dislocated and there’s no way the pain and swelling hasn’t gotten worse since then.
Chuuya leans forward into Dazai, and he's shaking much more than he was before, and Dazai holds him against his chest.
“I’m sorry. You know how bad those can get if you wait too long, Chuuya,” he says quietly. He hates how much he’s shivering. The whimpers of pain hurt him to hear, although he’d never admit it. He’s careful not to jostle his shoulder too much as he holds him.
Truthfully, Dazai hasn’t slept well at all since their mission, because he hasn’t heard a word from Chuuya. Sometimes Chuuya will read Dazai’s messages without responding when he’s feeling petty, but he didn’t even get that.
This morning, when he threw up last night’s dinner from the anxiety, he decided he needed to come check on Chuuya. Kunikida was even concerned enough to send him home right away.
They stay like that for a while before Dazai decides it’s best to get everything over with and get Chuuya to bed so he can rest properly, rather than on his tiled kitchen floor. He washes his hair, his body, all while Chuuya quietly stays leaned against the corner of the shower wall, shivering every now and then, his eyes unfocused and glassy. He doesn’t voice a single complaint the entire time.
Dazai is happy to finally be able to shut off the lukewarm water and towel dry Chuuya’s hair. Gently, of course, he doesn’t want to dizzy him on top of his suspected head injury. He’s already completely off-kilter.
He pats him dry and helps him over to the adjacent bedroom. Chuuya isn’t strong enough to walk on his own yet but Dazai keeps a hand on his waist to keep him steady. He sits down right at the corner, and Dazai backs up to get a good look at him.
He’s glad there’s no major injuries at least, nothing worse than some scrapes and little cuts, but he’s covered in dark bruises, which make the pale pallor of his skin much more obvious. He’s sure that’s part of the fever, but he can’t pin down exactly why he has a fever to begin with. Was he really sick before their mission? Does he have some sort of internal injury that’s gotten infected? Did using Corruption cause this?
Dazai grabs a random t-shirt and a pair of boxers from Chuuya’s closet and helps to dress him. It’s like dressing a doll. Chuuya isn’t unconscious, he’s still half-awake, at least, but he doesn’t make any effort to get dressed himself. He just lets Dazai do it and aids him here and there.
“Hey,” Dazai says, cupping Chuuya’s cheek and lifting his head just a bit to get a good look at his eyes. He’s not entirely there, but his eyes shift to look at Dazai after a few seconds. “You’re scaring me a little, Slug. Can you talk to me?”
Chuuya’s expression scrunches up a little like he’s confused, and Dazai’s stomach drops. He’s almost worried about him hallucinating. Dazai can’t count the number of times Chuuya has confused Dazai for one of his dead friends while suffering from a fever or some sort of major injury.
“Chuuya,” Dazai starts, running his fingers through his still slightly damp hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. They definitely need a trim. “Can you tell me my name?”
“Mackerel,” Chuuya grumbles under his breath, but his expression doesn’t change. He looks like he would fall asleep if Dazai pushed him backward.
That’s answer enough for him. As long as he’s not hallucinating.
“Okay,” Dazai says with a quiet sigh of relief. “You need to lay down, alright? I’ll see if you have athletic tape somewhere for that shoulder.”
Dazai trusts his mental state enough to leave him on his own for a few minutes while he goes through Chuuya’s bathroom drawers to find what he’s looking for, and thankfully, it appears in the third drawer without too much searching. Chuuya tends to keep things in his penthouse pretty orderly, but he’s noticed signs recently of things being a little out of place. Nothing major - a roll of toilet paper down with the cleaning products, a hairbrush on the floor, things Dazai would never think twice about - but they’re also things he knows Chuuya would never let slide.
He wanders back into the bedroom as he starts to take some of the tape off the roll, but Chuuya is still sitting there at the edge of the bed, his head hanging down, swaying ever so slightly. Dazai worries for a second he’s about to pass out, until he sees the hand pressed against his tummy.
"Dazai," Chuuya murmurs with a gruff moan. "'M gonna - gonna throw up."
Dazai appreciates the warning.
Chuuya somehow manages to hold it back until Dazai slides onto the bed next to him with the bin from his bathroom. He breathes over the bin for half a minute or so, letting the saliva drip down over the plastic. Dazai takes his free hand and starts to rub over his back, gently, and Chuuya groans at the feeling, leaning back into it just a bit and he spits a wad of saliva into the bin.
"Deep breaths, Chuuya," Dazai says gently.
Chuuya does as he’s told, taking in a few shaky breaths that aren’t nearly as deep as they should be, but soon enough, a gag follows a retch, and a torrent of vomit gushes into the bin.
“There you go. That’s good,” Dazai says quietly, patting Chuuya’s hair back as he throws up. Chuuya’s weak tolerance for alcohol makes him no stranger to throwing up like this, but this is the last thing he needs right now. The nausea is crystal clear on his face, and the pained moans that escape his lips between streams of vomit tell him it hurts, too. "You have anything here for nausea?"
"I don' need anythin'," Chuuya breathes out, spitting up a mouthful of stomach bile into the bin before he straightens himself up, eyes screwed shut and hand still heavy against his sore belly. "Jus' needed to get that out."
"If you say so," Dazai says, setting the bin down on the floor.
Chuuya somehow manages to gather the energy to crawl to the middle of the bed and collapse there, sinking into the pillow with a little whine.
He's lying down with his injured shoulder facing up, and Dazai takes the opportunity to carefully roll up his sleeve to apply the athletic tape. He watches Chuuya's face tense up as he does it. He can be as gentle as he wants, he's sure it hurts regardless.
Dazai sits beside Chuuya's shaky, curled-up form for a while, petting his slowly drying hair as Chuuya starts to relax just a bit, enough to give Dazai some relief.
He worries about him. Chuuya used to handle Corruption just fine, but if this is all really all just from the aftermath, even days later…
“Why didn’t you go to a doctor?” Dazai asks with a heavy sigh. He’s not sure why he cares. Chuuya’s an adult, he can take care of himself. And he usually always does.
“Dunno,” Chuuya croaks. His voice sounds scratchy.
“You don’t know?” Dazai confirms, a brow raised. “I found you laying in your own piss and I don’t have any clue how long you were there for.”
“Can’t remember,” Chuuya elaborates after a few moments of silence. He’s starting to sound a little more coherent, which is a good sign, but he doesn’t like what he’s just said.
Dazai’s shoulders sink. “Yeah?”
“I jus’ remember leavin’ with you,” Chuuya says quietly. He pauses, like he’s trying to see if he can collect anything else from his memory, but he gives up. “And…and then, the shower.”
“So you don’t have any clue what happened in between, huh?” Dazai says. Chuuya didn’t seem that out of it when they met before the mission happened. He wasn’t himself, but Chuuya’s never forward about his feelings, so Dazai has a hard time guessing if he was like that mentally, or from an oncoming illness.
“Nuh-uh,” Chuuya mumbles.
Dazai bites his lip. That can’t be good. “Has this been happening every time?”
Chuuya is quiet for a moment, almost like he’s waiting for Dazai to elaborate. Maybe he’s just confused. “Every time what?”
“Every time you use Corruption,” Dazai reminds him.
“S’that what happened?” Chuuya yawns. Dazai watches his eyelids start to fall just a bit.
Dazai feels sick. He didn’t even put those pieces together, with everything that’s going on with him? Part of him wants to believe this is just from a head injury he suffered during this mission, but he’s been getting worse about using Corruption.
Surely he’s fine. If Chuuya really thought something was wrong with himself, he would take care of it.
“My shoulder’s killin’ me,” he murmurs, adjusting it just a bit before realizing moving it at all causes too much pain for it to be worth it.
“No kidding,” Dazai sighs. "I'll get some ice packs. That might help."
Dazai slips out of the bed, and heads for the kitchen to look for something he can use. He knows there’s an ice pack or two in the freezer, Chuuya’s needed them for injuries before, but upon looking in the freezer, he finds it’s nearly empty. There’s a box or two, but normally, Chuuya has lots of things in here.
He opens the refrigerator out of curiosity and finds it to be the same way. Chuuya certainly has the money to be eating out every night, so maybe that’s what he’s been doing, but he likes cooking. It’s strange for him to really have nothing. His stomach twists. He hates that feeling.
Dazai takes two ice packs from the freezer before he hears Chuuya’s ringtone, coming from the bedroom. He remembers seeing Chuuya’s cell phone on the nightstand. He wonders who could be calling him.
Dazai leans in the doorway as he watches Chuuya’s uninjured arm reach for the cell phone, and of course, he’s hiding the screen from him with an annoyed scowl.
"Hey," Chuuya says through a sigh once he answers, laying back against the pillows. The voice says something, but it’s not loud enough for Dazai to be able to figure out who. "I know. 'M sorry. Haven't been feeling so great."
Dazai's glad he's being honest, at least.
"You don't need'a come. 'M fine, just gonna rest today," Chuuya says. “I’ll see ya tomorrow. Love you. Okay?”
The voice says something back, and soon enough, Chuuya tosses his phone to the side and lays his arm over his eyes with a heavy sigh.
"Love you?" Dazai repeats as he wanders over to the bed, climbing back in next to him to lay one ice pack under his shoulder, and the other right on top of it.
"Mhm," Chuuya says he shudders just a bit at the cold feeling, but he relaxes soon enough. "You're allowed to have a side piece too. So don't start."
"I didn't start anything," Dazai chuckles. He's referring to Kunikida, he thinks. "Who?"
"Who what?" Chuuya groans.
"Who was that?" Dazai clarifies.
"Who was what?" Chuuya huffs. He’s clearly annoyed, but he really doesn’t seem to know what Dazai is talking about.
Dazai bites his lip. Maybe he just needs to be reminded. "On the phone, Chuuya."
Chuuya takes his arm off of his face, revealing a genuinely confused expression. "The hell you talkin' about, Mackerel?"
Now Dazai feels like he's going to throw up. "Nothing, Slug."
Is Chuuya losing his memory?
Is using Corruption doing this to him?
Is this a head injury? Is it just because he’s been passed out for a while?
What is he going to do if Chuuya loses his memory?
"I'll be right back."
Dazai tries to be as nonchalant as possible as he leaves Chuuya’s bedroom, trailing off to the guest bathroom on the other side of his penthouse, out of earshot from Chuuya, because he thinks he’s really going to throw up. His stomach twists as he opens the door and he hastily leans over the toilet, and then gags once or twice before his stomach clenches and the bit of food he had for breakfast comes up.
He stays standing, his hands on his knees and he chokes up whatever he can manage. His head swims and these concerns repeat in his mind as fast as a car wheel going a thousand miles an hour. Why does it matter to him, if Chuuya loses his memory? He doesn’t need Chuuya. He’s fine without Chuuya. Clearly, Chuuya is the one who needs him.
At some point his legs get tired and he’s just left breathing heavily over the toilet. He doesn’t even have the will to flush, and part of him thinks he should go back to Chuuya, but his legs give out and he curls up in the corner where the wall and the shower door meet.
It’s not long before he hears the bathroom door creak open.
"Did you puke?" Chuuya asks, his voice shaky. Dazai’s tempted to lie, but he’s sure he can see the evidence in the toilet.
"Had too much to eat for lunch,” Dazai says. He knows Chuuya won’t believe him. Maybe he wants to lead him on. He doesn’t know.
"That's not like you," Chuuya murmurs. He’s leaning against the door frame, holding an ice pack up to his shoulder. "What's the real reason? You anxious about somethin’?"
He does throw up when he's anxious. "No, no. My stomach just...y’know.”
"Dazai," Chuuya sighs.
Chuuya drags himself into the bathroom and sits down beside Dazai with a pained groan. He feels warm next to Dazai as he leans against him, laying his head on Dazai’s shoulder. He huffs, sounding a little more than exhausted, like it’s taken a great effort for him to get here. “Can’t believe you made me walk all the way over here when I feel like shit.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” Dazai insists with a half-smile. “You worrying about me, Slug?”
“Yeah, you ran out of my room out of nowhere,” Chuuya huffs.
Dazai finds some solace in the fact that he hasn’t forgotten that.
“I’m worried about you too,” Dazai says quietly, and he’s not sure why he would say something like that out loud. He’s disgusted with himself, it almost makes him want to throw up again. Being so vulnerable with another person is so unadmirable.
“Bout me?” Chuuya starts, lifting his head and turning to look at Dazai, even if it seems to be filled with lead. “‘M fine, ‘Samu. I always feel like shit after Corruption.”
"I think you should see a doctor," Dazai says. He almost wishes he could lean his head on Chuuya’s shoulder, but doing that would likely break his neck. A shame, really.
"'Bout what," Chuuya sighs. “Thought you were playin’ doctor.”
"Your memory,” Dazai says quietly, feeling his stomach start to twist again.
Chuuya is quiet for a few moments. "My memory's fine."
"I'm serious, Chuuya,” Dazai says. He hates being serious.
"'M serious too, 'Samu. I don't need’a see a doctor. I’ll be fine in a few days," Chuuya grumbles. He’s really starting to sound annoyed, but Dazai is having a very hard time letting this go. "Quit worryin' about me."
"Do you remember who called you earlier?" Dazai bites. He doesn’t want to sound vicious. Maybe the bitter taste of the stomach acid in the back of his throat is making him sound that way. His stomach is never going to give him a break, at this rate.
Another pause. "What the hell're you talkin' about?"
“Someone called you, Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, pressing his palms against his eyelids because his eyes are starting to burn and he would rather throw up on Chuuya than cry in front of him. “I asked you who it was after you hung up and you didn’t know what I was talking about, and you still don’t.”
Chuuya is quiet again.
“Can you…can you get out? Please?” Dazai mumbles, keeping his face concealed from Chuuya. He hates the way he feels. He’s not physically hurting anywhere, besides maybe his stomach, but this worry and anxiety is just as painful as any wound. “I need to throw up again.”
“‘M not leavin’ you, Mackerel,” Chuuya says quietly, not seeming to care much that Dazai tried to kick him out of his own bathroom. Dazai thinks he’s started to realize that he might be contributing to the fact that Dazai’s stomach is twisting and turning so uncomfortably,
Dazai feels it, hot in the back of his mouth, and he would really rather just swallow it, but he stumbles forward and chokes up the stomach bile into the toilet to join the rest. He coughs before he can manage to gag again. It really burns, it hurts, tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he’s telling himself that throwing up right now is the only reason that’s happening.
Chuuya is still beside him, despite how sick he is himself, a steady hand on his back, mumbling some comforting words that Dazai can’t quite decipher.
“I’ll call a doctor, ‘kay? Maybe you can get looked at too,” Chuuya says quietly once Dazai is just left huffing out hot breaths over the toilet.
Dazai shakes his head. The idea of that almost makes him gag. “No, I don’t…I’m fine.”
“‘M’kay,” Chuuya says, to Dazai’s surprise. Dazai thinks he’s gotten the hint, now. “You still nauseous? I’ll get somethin’ for you.”
Dazai shakes his head again and somehow manages to force himself onto his shaky legs without much help. His stomach is still all out of sorts, but he knows nausea medication won’t be able to help. “Can we go lay down?”
Chuuya nods with a little sigh, using his ability to stand himself up without too much effort, taking Dazai’s hand like he’s leading him to his bedroom. Dazai’s been there a million times, there’s really no reason for him to do this, but he squeezes his hand tight. It feels nice.
“I’ll be right back. Gonna get a glass of water,” Chuuya says once Dazai curls up into the bed. Dazai’s facing away from him, but he can hear Chuuya take his phone before he wanders out of the bedroom.
Dazai knows he’s calling someone.
“Hey,” Chuuya starts. He sounds far away, like he’s in the kitchen, but Dazai can still hear him fairly well. “‘M sorry. I know I said I didn’t need anythin’, but…”
The voice says something, and Chuuya sighs, answering with a defeated yeah.
Dazai feels like he can relax a little more, and his stomach doesn’t hurt so much.
He curls up in the bed as if it’s his own, and before long, Chuuya returns to do the same, lying close beside Dazai, but far enough that Dazai can still see his face. He looks miserable. If he were standing, Dazai thinks he would certainly pass out.
“You look like shit,” Chuuya grumbles, his nose scrunched.
“I was just thinking about how much you look like shit,” Dazai tells him.
“At least I’ve got a good excuse,” Chuuya huffs. Dazai can’t argue with that, Chuuya’s the one with a fever. “You’re just worried about me. Freak.”
Dazai ducks his head in and cuddles up closer to Chuuya, a little flattered that he’s remembering that despite everything being so touch-and-go right now. His warmth is still a bit concerning, but it’s almost comforting. Dazai doesn’t know why, but he’s almost too tired to care.
“Take better care of yourself,” Dazai mumbles quietly.
“Take your own advice,” Chuuya says back, sounding just as exhausted as he looks. “Get some rest, shitty Mackerel.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.