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Chuuya has been trying to find Dazai for the last twenty minutes after having gotten a cryptic text from the other. The message reads a simple, ‘I love you, Chuuya.’
He laid in his bed, worrying for a minute or two since they usually never proclaim their love for each other by such vocal means even if they were nearing their eighth month of dating. He finally got off his ass after he tried to call the brunet to which the other hung up immediately.
He knows what this means. The years he’s spent keeping the bandaged man alive following each one of his suicide attempts makes the situation very clear in his mind.
The ginger had thought that Dazai’s mental health was getting better which is why he wasn’t panicked when the man didn’t come home last night, especially considering how he hasn’t tried any serious methods of suicide in quite a few weeks. Besides, Chuuya knows that there are bad days in depression, it just means he’ll have to show the mackerel some extra love and care.
He finally catches sight of him when walking down a street. It's a sight he knows to expect, yet a heavy pit still forms in his stomach, dropping down into his guts.
The brunet is standing atop the railing of a bridge, back turned to the water, arms spread out. His beige coat is flying behind him while his feet inch ever so slowly to the edge, posture stiff. It’s like he’s working past a mental barrier in actually committing the final act of his life.
Chuuya stands there rigidly still, lungs shakily inhaling before coming to a stop. He feels his fingers twitch, joints creaking, something stuck in his throat. It’s dead quiet in the cold night air with nothing but the sound of trees swaying in the wind.
His chest is tight, heat flashes through his body at an irregular pace.
Pushing beyond his unworking muscles, he uses his legs, sore from previous missions, to run as fast as he can.
“Dazai!” He yells. The rest of the world fades away leaving just the brunet in his vision.
The other’s head whips around to face him, and just as if just the sight of his partner calms him down in a time like this, his shoulders fall ever so slightly. Getting closer, Chuuya can see the desperation leaking into brown eyes. He thinks the moon shines them with a touch of red.
Dazai says something, words too quiet for the ginger to hear, but he’s able to read his partner’s lips.
“I love you,” The way he says those three words like it will be his last, like the mafioso would just let him die here. His heart crushes into a million shards, piercing his surrounding organs and making viscous blood drip into his cavities.
And he fucking loves the brunet as well. He loves him too much to let him die even if it’s his one wish in life, even if he has no control over it. Only in the small, secluded corners of his mind would he ever admit that he has no idea what he’d without the detective.
The other’s face morphs into a smile. It's something so carefree, so happy that it’s sickening, a way of him saying I’ll finally succeed.
His guts tie themselves into knots while he tries to reach the brunet in time, heartbeat pulsing so loud that it’s deafening. He watches as Dazai takes one definite step back, falling into the river behind him as if just seeing Chuuya made him happy enough that he could go through with his plan.
He makes it to the railing right as the splash resounds. It’s loud to his ears, breaking through the fog and causing them to pop.
Bubbles rise and spread, the river now turbulent from the disturbance. It doesn’t get time to fully ripple out and return to a calm state before Chuuya is hopping onto the railing, diving off a few seconds later.
His only thoughts are consumed by Dazai, everything he thinks about is saving the bandaged man.
The frigid water hits him in an instant, a shiver running from his arms, through the nerves of his back, and fizzing out somewhere in his legs. Even with the cold shutting down his joints, he thrusts himself downwards. He opens his eyes, keeping them wide despite the sting the liquid around him brings, in order to locate his lover. He kicks his feet and propels himself with his arms to reach Dazai’s body in time.
Stretching a hand out, he grabs a hold of the brunet’s bolo tie, finger’s clasping around the blue opal in the middle. He brings his other hand to the top of his own head in order to keep his hat in place.
Chuuya pulls them to the surface in what feels like hours, lungs burning with the need to intake oxygen, gasping for air once he’s able to. Dazai’s limp figure is thrown to the side of the lake while the ginger crawls next to it, panting heavily for any sort of relief to his aching respiratory system.
He turns his attention onto the unconscious man laying next to him, body unmoving with no sign of breath. Immediately rushing over to his lover, he opens the other’s mouth to listen in on his airway, hearing little to nothing coming from the man.
It makes him sick to his stomach. The way Dazai might die here is too much for his heart to bear.
He quickly purges the thoughts out of his mind for the sake of being focused on the situation, not freaking out. Chuuya puts one hand down onto the middle of the brunet’s chest, placing his second hand on top and interlacing his fingers.
He pushes down quickly, arms completely straight, before letting the chest return to its resting position. He repeats this action thirty times, ignoring the fatigue accumulating in his wrists. With still no signs of life coming from his lover, he desperately takes a big inhale, sealing his mouth around pale lips and breathing into it. He lifts his head up, taking notice of the way his torso is still motionless. Giving the other one last exhale into his mouth, he continues on with the chest compressions.
It’s strange how he feels dripping down his cheeks, his eyes wet while his bottom lip wobbles.
He doesn’t know when exactly Dazai starts breathing again, just that the bandaged man begins to choke on the water at some point as he tries to cough it out. The ginger turns him on his side in an attempt to help him, wiping his eyes and cheeks to get the tears away from them.
Once water is done spilling from the other’s mouth, the mackerel just sits there, staring helplessly at the ground. His dead eyes shift to look into the older’s, hair dripping, clothes soaking.
The mafioso rushes forward, pulling the brunet into his arms. He pushes Dazai’s head into his shoulder, his own face resting on the detective’s neck as his arms squeeze the waist of his partner tightly. The taller doesn’t reciprocate, but Chuuya didn’t expect him to.
“I love you,” The ginger whispers, his voice cracking.
He doesn’t receive an answer, just the feeling of Dazai nuzzling further into his body. After a few minutes, he stands, grabbing Dazai’s hand to help the man up. They walk back to the hat-wearer’s penthouse in silence.
Leading Dazai inside, he feels the slight twitches of the other’s hand against his own, reminding him that the idiot jumped into a river during January and now he’s probably freezing. He would need to be properly dried, have his bandages changed, and don new clothing before he’d be able to comfortably relax. These are all things that matter to Chuuya, especially since it would be harder getting the brunet to open up tomorrow if he is still stuck in his head tonight.
Beginning the process of drying his mackerel, he leads the man into the bathroom, sitting him down on the toilet lid, and grabbing a fluffy towel he was sure wouldn't irritate the other’s skin. He taps one of his bandaged arms to gain his attention. Empty eyes turn to stare at the ginger, most likely upset that Chuuya foiled another suicide attempt.
Ignoring the message he is trying to send, knowing it won’t help either of them if he yells at Dazai for being depressed, he requests, “Do you want me to dry your hair?”
Everything always turns out better when he asks instead of forcing the other into personal situations. If he doesn’t handle the man with care, even more so during his bad days, every bit of trust between them could be lost. It’s something Chuuya never wants to happen, not after they’ve come so far.
The taller’s head slowly moves up and down in a nod, silently agreeing to the question. He takes that as his que to gently press the towel to Dazai’s soaked, brown hair before softly rubbing at the stands.
His body is most likely dirty from the river water, not to mention his already greasy hair getting drenched in the unclean liquid as well. But considering he just tried to drown himself a few minutes ago, the ginger won’t attempt to make his partner take a bath. It’s a cruel way to remind him of his failure. The substance would only make him think about what he wished would end his life, yet he would be pulled away from the cold clutches of death just as he could begin to taste it.
He moves on to pat the hair dry while the brunet’s eyes vacantly stare off into a corner. They stay in these positions for longer.
Eventually, Dazai’s body falls forward, face pressing against Chuuya’s chest, slightly damp hair becoming wet again from the moisture dripping off of the ginger’s clothes. He hears a small hitch in the other’s breath before a sob falls past the brunet’s mouth. Shaky hands reach up to grasp at the back of the shorter’s vest, pulling on the fabric, trying to get Chuuya.
It’s heart-breaking to see his lover in this state, like a knife twisting and turning in his chest to make the cut deeper, yet a certain warmth engulfs him at the same time. Rarely does he get to see the detective be so vulnerable. Only in times of extreme distress does the brunet seek solace from those he trusts, usually without crying. It means that the trust between them is strong, everlasting.
The older’s arms wrap around Dazai’s frame, attempting to provide the comfort his mackerel so desperately desires. Squeezing the other’s head into his torso, he hears as another whimper escapes cracked lips, vest, undeniably, becoming wetter with new fluids. He kisses into the hair he was previously drying while whispering soothing words.
The crying soon stops and Dazai lies limply in his lover’s arms, most likely exhausted from the weeping and the suicide attempt. Towel discarded on the countertop, Chuuya continues to hold his mackerel close, stroking, now almost dry, pieces of hair.
Once he’s sure the other’s ready for a slight conversation, he continues on with trying to dry the brunet, “Do you want to change your clothes?”
He feels a small nod against his chest.
Getting him out of his sopping wet outfit wasn’t a problem for either of them. It was the bandages that Dazai hesitated at. He realized it as he caught the other staring at them with desolate irises, not making a single motion to move, but with enough gentle coaxing he started to take them off. Albeit, it was a slow process, the younger taking his time to stare at each section of his body for quite a few seconds before moving on.
During the minutes his partner spent peeling away, Chuuya dried his own hair and skin, changing into a simple T-shirt and shorts once he was done.
He softly kissed the other’s scars after the white gauze was fully removed, reassuring the brunet that he was beautiful before handing him new bandages. When the mackerel didn't make a move to rewrap himself, Chuuya put them on in the way he knew the taller liked, making sure to tape and clip them properly so he wouldn’t have to hear complaints about his handiwork later.
Afterwards, he handed Dazai pajamas similar to his own, letting him change by himself so his care wouldn’t seem too overbearing.
Now he stands in the living room covering his lover with a pile of blankets, hoping the other would start to warm up while he makes drinks. Kissing him on the forehead, he goes to leave to the kitchen but is stopped when a voice interrupts him.
“Is Chuuya not going to sit with me?”
Despite the words clearly intended to be taken as a joke, there is a sadder undertone that makes the ginger’s heart melt, “No, Stupid.”
“But I’m cold,” Dazai holds out the last word as his face turns into a pout.
He grits his teeth. The brunet is clearly feeling better, so it would be best to refrain from yelling, “That’s why I’m about to make us some hot chocolate.”
“Chuuya can’t warm me in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be back before you can even say ‘Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru,” He lifts the taller’s chin up, turning it to the side to kiss the other’s cheek, “Put on a shitty show you’ll like to entertain yourself.”
Letting out a noise of complaint, the younger reaches for his arm but retracts it when Chuuya steps away.
He gives a quick, “You’ll be fine,” at hearing the brunet’s whine before exiting to prepare the mugs.
Quickly grabbing two mugs, he fills them both up with milk, one slightly emptier than the other. Dazai wouldn’t be able to stomach a whole glass of any liquid even more so after almost drowning. Therefore, it would be best to make less rather than waste a whole glass.
He puts his cup into the microwave and starts the timer for one minute as a deep voice saying ‘House’ echoes throughout the living room. That shitty bastard must have turned the volume up to get on Chuuya’s nerves.
He loudly sighs, deciding not to mention it when he gets back. Tonight is supposed to cheer Dazai up so they could have a civil conversation about his suicide attempt tomorrow. He won’t let a TV show ruin that.
After a ding sounds, he removes the mug full of milk and begins to combine the light brown powder into it, repeating the same process with the other cup once thoroughly mixing his own hot chocolate.
Two mugs in hand, he steps back into the living room, heading over to the portion of the couch inhabited by a smelly mackerel.
“Be careful, it’s hot,” He warns, placing the mug into the other’s awaiting grasp. He then goes to sit with his lover by using one hand to lift the blankets up before slipping in.
Dazai takes a deep breath, coughing a little bit from his still weak lungs, before blowing on his hot chocolate. Then, after only a few seconds of trying to cool the substance down, the idiot sticks his tongue into the drink like a cat, immediately pulling it out when he feels the temperature.
He quickly turns his head to show Chuuya his burnt appendage, whining obnoxiously loud.
The ginger purses his lips, trying hard not to insult his partner while he gently rubs at his back for comfort. Apparently, the bandaged man took this as a sign to wiggle in closer, touching his freezing feet against a slightly warmer body.
The mafioso squeals, body going rigid as he yells, “Get your cold toes off me!”
The brunet just chuckles, digging his feet further into his lover.
They sit in silence after that, watching the movie with Dazai occasionally pressing his chilly body parts into the ginger’s skin causing displeased noises to escape past the shorter’s lips.
Eventually, the taller is lulled to sleep by the quietude of their night, body slumping onto older. His breaths even out with a soft rasp to it.
Noticing this, Chuuya takes the mug out of the younger’s hand, lightly setting it onto the coffee table in front of the couch. He then turns down the volume of the movie without jostling his sleeping lover since it would be harder to get him to bed after he’s already awoken.
Gently, he maneuvers the mackerel’s head to rest on his chest as he places his own skull onto the arm of the couch. After readjusting the blankets to cover their bodies once again, Chuuya pulls the other into a caring embrace, eyes closing to fall asleep as well.