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Chuuya woke up from his impromptu nap, noticing the lack of weight on the couch. He immediately jolted up, scanning around the room for the brunette.
Nothing was missing, nothing was moving, nothing was broken.
Dazai was gone.
Fucking hell.
He stretched out his arms, Dazai had his head on Chuuya's bicep, so that part was reasonably sore, nothing he couldn't shake off, though.
Right now, he was more worried about Mackerel wandering around Yokohama like... that.
Dazai was sick, he was flaky, he was vulnerable. He wasn't as sharp as his usual self, he could get kidnapped or drugged again, accidentally overdose on a new drug combination a shady dealer offered him, or get shot—
He isn't supposed to be out and about, not until he's completely better.
Chuuya went ahead and checked the bathroom, his bedroom, the empty room in his apartment.
Dazai wasn't anywhere.
If Dazai didn't want to be found, he wouldn't. The motherfucker is amazing at making himself hidden, disappearing into thin air.
To wake himself up more, he waltzed over to his bedroom, and opened the curtains, only to be met with the burning daylight—rays of sunshine shining through his window.
How long was he out?
The redhead rubbed his eyes, closing his curtain immediately, he loves natural lighting—but it's best to be hidden when you're one of Yokohama's most wanted criminals.
He headed over to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to splash some water on his face, and brush his teeth. When he was done, he exited the room, and went over to the kitchen.
Luckily, none of his knives were missing, at least the idiot wasn't off relapsing again.
Chuuya thumped his head against the kitchen island, always missing the cold marble pressing against his cheek and forehead. As he lifted his head up from the cool texture, he noticed a piece of paper on the counter.
Dazai's handwriting is never one to forget.
Mori called me to attend a last minute meeting, had to get all fancy and stuff. See you never, short stack!
Chuuya rolled his eyes in annoyance, grabbing the paper and crumbling it up in his fist. Shitty Dazai couldn't have gotten better in a mere few hours, he never fully recovered on the first place!
He always wants to make things worse for himself, than bitch and moan about it to Chuuya later—and at this point, Chuuya doesn't know if it's out of spite, or punishment.
There was nothing he could do now, though. This wasn't something that he could barge into and remove Dazai from, the brunette had to be there, boss' orders; his worse are absolute, and should be followed accordingly.
Chuuya looked over at the clock on the oven, it was four in the afternoon, meetings typically take about two, maybe more if you attend the after party.
For now, all Chuuya could do is wait, if Dazai doesn't show by eight, than the redhead would go look for his suicidal partner.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Dazai wasn't lying when he said he felt better, even if he was feeling like shit, he wouldn't skip out on the meeting—boss' orders are to be followed to the tea, and if he wants Dazai to attend a meeting, he will, no questions asked.
The air didn't feel as stuffy as it did earlier, and the walls weren't tilting, his stomach wasn't churning—and most importantly, he didn't feel like a roasted pig.
The brunette arrived to the meeting on time, not really caring what it was about; boss just asked him to attend, not pitch in.
Dazai coughed into his sleeve a bit, apparently he wasn't quiet enough because boss stopped talking.
"Did you catch a cold, Dazai?" Mori said after pausing mid-sentence, staring the brunette dead in the eyes to earn his full attention.
Dazai did not miss that murderous gaze.
He cleared his throat, "I'm fine, boss. Just need some water."
"Are you sure?" Mori stared, indirectly asking if Dazai was sick because if he was sick, Mori would have to check up on him later—after the meeting.
The brunette swallowed a lump in his throat, clearing it out in the process. No, he doesn't need Mori to play doctor.
"Just thirsty," Dazai responded, keeping his composure as calm as he possibly could, fighting the shivers trailing down his spine.
Mori blankly stared at him for a few more seconds—scanning for any signs of disease, or ailment. Dazai always looks a little sickly, the brunette doesn't have a self-care regimen.
Mori found nothing out of the ordinary, "Very well," he said, looking around the room for a drink. "Ace, pass him your cup, will you?"
"Agh, why me? That suicidal freak wants to die anyways," he shot Dazai a hateful gaze, he never liked the brunette.
"Are you defying my order?" Mori said cheekily, flashing a menacing smile.
Ace stiffened, turning his head and scoffing. "No, sir," he slid over his cup to the brunette. "It's fucking water, I'm not stupid enough to poison you."
"Do I need to cut off your tongue? Speak with professionality, Ace. Dazai knows how." Mori pitched in, violet eyes staring with not a hint of life.
Swallowing a lump forming in his throat, Ace coughed. "Apologies, boss, it won't happen again," he glared at Dazai, staring him down in that same jealous gaze.
"Thanks," the brunette kept his words short, taking a sip of the water and just hoping that Ace wasn't stupid enough to poison him. The boss was right there as a witness if Dazai's organs suddenly began spilling out.
The rest of the meeting went without any disturbances. Dazai swallowed every cough, playing it off as a big exhale, or breathing out of the wrong lung.
Hopefully, just hopefully, Mori didn't notice anything wrong.
The meeting was shorter than others, so as soon as Mori gave the cue that everybody was dismissed, Dazai fast walked out of the room, and rushed into a nearby bathroom.
He could've sworn he was coughing his lungs out.
Harsh and rigid coughs croaked out of him, he could feel the strain of his muscles tiring in his chest—his throat ached, he didn't want to cough anymore, it was burning his lungs.
He slapped a hand on his chest in a pathetic attempt to relief the pressure, it wasn't letting up—but the compress made the coughing a little easier to bare.
A bit of blood escaped his throat, double fuck. He had to blink back the involuntary tears forming in the crooks of his eyes.
After a while, his throat was simply too dry to cough anymore, and it let down. It hurt to breathe, it stung so fucking bad. He let out a few raspy breaths, his lungs trying to breathe in the air that wasn't contaminated by his sickness.
He turned on the sink and splashed some water on his face—it made the bandages on his face feel absolutely fucking disgusting, but that wasn't his main concern right now.
Dazai pressed his head against the cold, sink marble, hoping it would fend off the fever that never went away.
He should've stayed at Chuuya's house.
But he couldn't skip out on an executive meeting under the boss' watch, it's impossible, and he'd get punished after.
It was a lose-lose situation either way.
He walked out of the bathroom stall, hoping no one heard him pathetically dying in there (he wanted to walk out with at least some of his dignity,) and that's when he heard chattering coming from downstairs.
Kouyou was walking out of the women's restroom, parallel to the side where the men's washroom was. She was adjusting the sleeves of her kimono, and fixing an accessory she used to keep her hair up.
"Attending the after-party, Dazai-kun?" She asked, patting down her sleeve a couple of more times before looking at the brunette.
Dazai shook his head, he had to fake it really well here, Kouyou is a master at sniffing out façades, and Dazai is the king of putting them up.
"There's an after-party?" He asked, keeping his tone rather judgemental and numb. "What for? There were no important inquiries discussed at the meeting."
"That I'm unsure of myself," Kouyou replied, as the elevator dinged, and the door opened. "Coming?"
Well, he could either get in the elevator, and pray that his lungs don't choose to have a battle with Poseidon, or he could take the stairs down, and hope he doesn't faint.
Neither option sounded good.
He walked into the elevator with Kouyou, keeping his posture straight, and arms tucked away in his oversized black coat.
Kouyou seemingly kept her attention to herself, only glaring at Dazai once or twice.
"How is Chuuya doing?" She asked; whenever she converses with anyone, it's always about one of her disciples. She doesn't care for anyone else in the Port Mafia.
Dazai rolled his eyes, "My dog is fine, I took him out for a walk before I left."
She hummed, "He hasn't come down with anything, right?"
A series of shivers trailed down Dazai's spine, goosebumps patterning on his skin, the hair on his arms standing up like a wet cat.
Why would Kouyou ask that? Is she indirectly referring to Dazai? Kouyou would definitely ask the boss for a checkup, or she'd take matters into her own hands.
Both weren't good. Both of them were terrifying options, both of which would involve Mori.
"He's fine. If he was sick, I'd take him to the vet," Dazai scoffed, he wasn't on his best game today, but he never takes things in the Mafia seriously, everyone knows that.
Hopefully, that's viable here.
Kouyou sighed, the elevator stopped, which meant that they reached their destination.
"If he is feeling ill, bring him to me," she says, as she walks out of the elevator, not caring if Dazai followed her or not.
A huge wave of relief swooned over Dazai's chest, she didn't speculate anything. Thank God.
Dazai waltzed out of the elevator and into the main gathering room. All of the executives from the meeting were there, including Mori himself. There were a few Mafia members that were working their way up in the ranks present, Dazai didn't care about them enough to learn their name.
It's not like Dazai doesn't like after parties, typically, he goes there to be annoying, especially showing up to ones where he was personally told not to attend.
He entered the room, evading his colleagues, and saying by the newcomers. Most people were afraid of him anyways, he didn't have a very friendly aura (or reputation.)
At these parties, when he can, he brings Slug. Slug is fun, and easy to irritate. Something to keep him company, and on his feet.
He doesn't remember the last time he went to one of these things without Chuuya.
Mindlessly, Dazai found himself by a table with all the alcohol; moscato, whiskey, champagne, sake, wine, you name it, it was there.
Dazai swallowed a hazardous lump in his throat, but it hurt to do so. It felt like he was swallowing a razorblade, he's swallowed one before during one of his many suicide attempts, he knows the feeling.
He wobbled a bit in his stance, putting a hand on the edge of the table to steady himself.
The brunette kept his head down, so no one could see his flushed complexion, or how his neck bandages were unraveling.
He really, really should've stayed at Slug's apartment.
But he didn't. He did this to himself. He's facing the consequence of his own actions.
He lifted his head up, looking for something, anything to take the edge off.
Then, an idea clicked.
If he was drunk, than no one would believe he's sick. No one would have any reason to tell Mori, and Mori would have no reason to do a checkup on him.
Wasting no time, he swiped the nearest cup off the table. Was this a good idea in retrospect? No, and it's far from sanitary. But it was either this, or playing doctor with Boss.
He sniffed the liquid substance into the cup, making sure it was alcohol, and not disgusting water.
It smelled like whiskey, it had a spicy note to it; cinnamon and vanilla, with a faint scent of honey.
Jackpot.
He chugged the bourbon like juice—the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, hitting him like whiplash. He tilted his head up; bright, white lights shooting his eyeballs, and making them tear.
Dazai chugged the other cups on the table, luckily for him, most of them were whiskey or sake, a Mafia favorite, and something he knows how to keep down.
He isn't sure how long passed—he was too busy chugging down other people's cups of forgotten booze, he had to get really drunk to convince everyone that he wasn't sick.
As long as he keeps drinking, no one will question him, and that's all he needs.
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Chuuya was frantically looking around his apartment for his pair of black leather boots. Shitty Dazai still hadn't come back from the so-called "emergency meeting."
Honestly, it's stupid that Chuuya even expected him to come back. The asshole gets a dopamine rush out of being cruel and annoying.
He doesn't understand what Dazai gets out of making himself suffer. He knows the idiot struggles with his self-image and worth, and that his level of self-loathing is in the pits of hell.
The bastard doesn't eat until he's being forced, or passes out from malnourishment. He doesn't drink water, or anything besides alcohol—he's always nauseous, or on the verge of throwing up. He'll stay up, and refuse sleep days on end, until Chuuya is physically on top of him, and holding his eyes shut.
None of what Dazai does is normal, but life in the Port Mafia was never normal to begin with.
The difference between him and Dazai, is that Chuuya will try and build relationships with people, even if he's stand-off-ish, and was apart of an enemy organization, he still tried to make most of his situation.
He'll take care of himself, he attends celebrations to talk to people, he attends after-parties to contribute something to the community. He encourages people in his own cruel way, he has somewhat of a heart.
Dazai, however, does not.
He avoids, and avoids. He isolates himself to his container, or somewhere near a river. He doesn't converse with his fellow executives, and is incredibly unbarring to be around.
Why? Chuuya doesn't know.
Boss once told Chuuya that one of the reasons he pairs the two of them up so much, is so that Dazai will hopefully learn from him.
Mori has tried just about every form of negative reinforcement with Dazai, and to no one's prevail, it didn't do shit.
Dazai has people who care about him, those two guys he hangs out with at that sketch bar, Oda and Ango, they care about Dazai so fucking much. But they are two adults that are just too busy to take care of Dazai.
Chuuya always thought that those three have some what of a familial bond. And if something were to happen to tarnish that relationship into ruins, Dazai would fall apart, and maybe his grand suicide plan would actually work.
From what Chuuya is aware of, it's not like Dazai had any life before the Mafia. Why would he leave something that is essentially his home?
Chuuya is interrupted from his wave of thoughts by his phone buzzing in the back of his pocket.
It better be that dense idiot, Chuuya thinks, as he pulls his phone out, and opens it.
It wasn't Dazai.
It was Mori.
Chuuya fumbles around with his phone, his mind shooting out a million of possible scenarios as to why boss would be calling. Mori doesn't normally call during after parties, and Chuuya knows he's attending one right now.
He had no time to worry over what hasn't happened, so he gathered his composure, and picked up the phone.
"Boss," Chuuya swallowed, keeping his tone formal, yet normal.
"Nakahara, how has your evening been?" Mori says, the indistinct chattering of the people surrounding him being audible through the telephone.
"Well, and you?"
"Quite well myself, thank you for asking," Mori clears his throat, shooing off Elise. She always attends the after-party with Boss.
"Why did you call?" Chuuya tries not to sound too eager, he doesn't want to prolong this conversation any longer than needed.
"Oh, yes," Mori paused. "Dazai was here a few moments ago, but I can't seem to see him anymore. He appeared substantially wasted."
Chuuya internally slapped his forehead, wanting to sigh loud. He should've assumed that he would have to go scooba-diving tonight.
"Do you mind looking for him? I need to keep the celebration underway," Mori asked, it sounded more like an order, than a favor.
"On it, boss," Chuuya replied, turning off his phone without saying goodbye. It's not something you do in the Mafia, anyways.
Chuuya forgoed the thought of his leather boots, opting for red sneakers he'd wear when he was sixteen. They still fit perfectly, it's not like he's grown since then.
The redhead grabbed a spare jacket from the closet, Dazai might have fucking hypothermia, it was February, it wasn't the ideal weather to take a dip in the river.
Chuuya swiped his keys from off the counter, running down to the parking garage.
Maybe, just maybe, Dazai took a swim at the river he always goes to.
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It was windy, the remnants of excess rain from a few nights prior blowing off of the buildings, cars driving by and honking at slow-walking pedestrians.
Evenings like these are supposed to be enjoyed with a cup of hot chocolate or tea, watching a calming movie, or sitting by a fireplace. Maybe even talking about the world's endeavors with a loved one by your side, cuddling in bed or on a couch.
It's not supposed to be spent looking for your suicidal maniac of a partner near a fucking river.
Some parts of the water were still ice, making it a perfect trap to get stuck under there.
A couple of minutes ago, Chuuya fished out his partner's shoe from the water, his fingers immediately turned red, and started shivering at the touch of the cold.
Dazai could actually fucking die in this.
He sped up his walking, resisting the urge to use Tainted Sorrow, if he was flying in the air, it would make this hunt a hell of a lot easier and quicker.
Chuuya's gaze did not leave the water, he was barely blinking—he wasn't about to miss a bundle of brown hair dip under the water.
Oh my fucking god, where is that bastard? Chuuya thought, hitting the palm of his hand with his fist.
Chuuya, unfortunately, cares about Dazai, and until Chuuya himself is dead, Dazai isn't going to die on his watch, no matter how suicidal the idiot is.
The redhead ran down a couple of blocks, he was about to turn around when he saw a lanky body on the edge of the river.
Is that... shit. "Dazai!" Chuuya ran up to the shivering body, Dazai was already sick prior to taking a fucking swim in a river, now he's definitely going to have another ailment on top of the fever he has.
Chuuya hauled his lanky partner over the edge, bringing the cold body up to his chest.
"What the hell, Mackerel!?" Chuuya exclaimed, resisting the temptation to break his partner's ribcage.
Dazai only shivered in response, eyes half-lidded and not tracking.
Chuuya slapped his cheek a couple of times. He knows the fucker isn't lucid, but he wanted /something/ to know that he wasn't dead.
Staying in the freezing cold probably wasn't helping either.
"Your ability really sucks right now," Chuuya scoffed, untying the extra jacket he was carrying around his waist, and wrapping it around Dazai.
The brunette couldn't fight against Chuuya, his irregular breathing made it sound like he had ice cubes formulating in his lungs.
"Shitty Dazai..." Chuuya sighed out, getting up from the sidewalk, and carefully picking up his partner from off the ground. "What am I gonna do with you?"
Chuuya exhaled, making sure he was firmly supporting his partner's bottom—carrying him the same way he did back at his container a little over a week ago.
Unlike last time, though, Dazai didn't stiffen, he didn't retaliate the gesture, or fight when Chuuya started walking. He barely whined or groaned.
Chuuya really fucking hoped that this little snorkeling activity wasn't what warranted Dazai a trip to the hospital.
The redhead couldn't help but pause every couple of blocks to check on his suspiciously quiet partner, constantly keeping tabs on his fever, watching how his bandages were drenched in dirt and water. He'd have to take those off later.
There's something about Dazai being sick, though.
The idiot absolutely despises self-care, but when he's contaminated with the plague itself, he's much more docile, and easy to work with.
Chuuya can make him eat without having to choreograph a twenty page essay with citations. He can get him to sleep without much of a fight, only watching to make sure he wasn't having nightmare. God, if he's really feeling like shit, he can even get him to take a fucking shower.
Maybe he'd try that when they got home.
What snaps Chuuya out of his avalanche of thoughts is Dazai hacking out the worst sounding cough in all of Yokohama.
Chuuya pauses in his tracks, letting Dazai continue is torrent of coughs.
Dazai is both simultaneously trying to squirm away from Chuuya with the nonexistent strength he has left, and trying to cling onto his warmth.
"Slug..." Dazai groans, stopping his thrashing (for now.)
Chuuya doesn't even /want/ to say anything, he doesn't want to lash out at Mackerel and say the wrong thing, but he also doesn't want to do nothing.
Dazai would think that Chuuya is mad at him either way.
"Just..." Chuuya sighs, he's at a loss for words. "Don't squirm away, all right?"
Dazai nods, head falling limp on Slug's shoulder. He's too weak to cling onto him like he normally does, not entirely there, just present enough to not cough on Chuuya's skin.
Besides the occasional coughs, and sickly sniffles, Dazai is quite the whole way back to the car. And honesty, Chuuya wishes he wasn't.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
After a long day of worrying and searching for his suicidal maniac of a partner, they were both finally at the apartment.
Before Chuuya even kicked off his shoes, he immediately went up to the thermostat and turned it up a couple degrees, he's probably tamper with it more as the night continued.
He's pretty sure Dazai had fallen asleep on the ride here, he was only sniffling down, his throat was probably too dry to hack out anymore nasty coughs.
But Dazai was still drenched in wet clothes, the bandages on his face were hanging on by a thread, and Chuuya still had yet to see if any of Dazai's open wounds had developed an infection.
Unfortunately for Chuuya, when Dazai gets sick, it becomes his problem.
Chuuya wasn't going to give Dazai a choice, the brunette was in dire need of a bath, and the steam from the water would do his fever and lungs some good.
He'd also have to warm up some food and a warm drink, chamomile tea works best to put people to sleep, and it does wonders fending off sicknesses.
For food... Chuuya would probably have to settle with plain broth and noodles, he doesn't want to fight Dazai to eat vegetables.
One task at a time, though. He can't do it all at once, he's one person.
Chuuya walked over to the bathroom, keeping tabs on how Mackerel was groaning right now, the shift in temperature was probably waking him up, making this whole ordeal feel more real.
Chuuya flicked on his hospital white bathroom lights, feeling Dazai stiffen at the change in lighting.
"No..." Dazai whined, turning his head away from Slug's face.
"No compromises, Mackerel," Chuuya told him, setting Dazai on the toilet lid. "I'mma take off your bandages, alright?"
Dazai shook his head, weakly planting his head on Chibi's shoulder. "Noooo."
"They're basically falling off already, Dazai," Chuuya spoke, keeping his tone firm, yet soft. "This isn't up for discussion."
Dazai let out an annoying little huff of annoyance, he was too frail and sickly to physically fight Chuuya, and his throat ached too much to speak—all he could do was sigh and groan.
Chuuya sat Dazai upright, he'd have to keep readjusting the brunette since he wasn't able to keep his balance.
He started with the bandages on his face, it taking no effort to undo them.
Once, when Dazai was under the influence a little over a year ago, he told Chuuya why he wears the bandages. Chuuya thought it was just a fashion statement, or an underlying insecurity the brunette was hiding, but it turned out to be neither.
It was so that he could evade eye contact.
If Dazai had told anyone else about this fear of his, they probably would've laughed at him. But to Chuuya, it made sense.
Dazai's levels of self-hatred are /so low,/ it makes sense why he'd conceal one of his eyes.
It's a lot harder for people to know what youre feeling if your eyes are empty.
Our eyes tell a tale, they give away how we're feeling, what and if we're thinking, our identity. Our eyes give away so much about us, that Dazai thought it would be best to hide one away.
Chuuya finished unraveling the bandages, his now uncovered eye needing a moment to adjust to the light—his eyes weren't fully open to begin with.
"You good?" Chuuya asked, the younger always gets more nervous and on-edge when both of his eyes are out in the open.
Dazai subtly nodded, sniffling, not opening both of his eyes all the way.
Chuuya took this as a signal to work quickly. He started with removing Dazai's jacket and vest, tossing them on the floor somewhere, they'd need a trip to the washing machine later. Then he unbuttoned the brunette's shirt, preparing himself for the sight of grimy and unkempt bandages.
And he was correct, the bandages were more sticking onto his skin, than being tied around him. Gross.
The redhead unraveled the ones on the younger's arms, never missing the sight of both healed and unhealed gashes of cuts.
Dazai squirmed a bit, trying to loosely take his hand away from Slug.
"Hey, hey, hey," Chuuya rushed out, holding Dazai's hand in his. "I'm not mad, alright? We'll deal with them later, they're not new to me, Mackerel." He reassured, and he wasn't lying.
Being Dazai's partner meant having to patch him up from his series of suicide attempts. From cleaning up self inflicted wounds, to having to redo the stitches boss didn't do a good job on, Chuuya has seen every scar Dazai's gotten since his time in the Mafia.
Did it make Chuuya want to cry? Yeah, it did, because Dazai shouldn't have to be suffering alone.
They're both teenagers that got roped into the crime life without consent, at least Chuuya was. He wasn't sure about where Dazai even came from.
Both arms were unbandaged, some wounds were still bleeding, but not enough to be dripping off his arm. Chuuya would grab some bandaids later, he doesn't intend in wrapping Mackerel back up like a mummy.
He repeated the process with Dazai's pants, telling Dazai what he was going to do, and when he was going to do it. This process would've been a lot harder if the brunette was more lucid.
Chuuya started the water, keeping a hand on Dazai so that he wouldn't lean too far.
When the tub was a little under halfway full, Chuuya assisted the younger in getting in, making sure he was rested easily against the porcelain walls.
"Try to keep your head up, yeah? I'mma grab something from the sink," Chuuya explained, knowing that he wasn't going to get a response from the brunette.
Chuuya made quick haste about grabbing the lavender scented bubbles, and shea butter milk bath softening oil. The idiots skin was rough, and the softening oil would help tend to his chaffing wounds.
The redhead walked back to the tub, it being only a little bit more full than it was a few moments ago, Dazai hadn't moved either.
Chuuya dumped a lethal amount of lavender bubbles and softening oil into the tub. Hoping it would relax his suffering partner, and after a few moments, he stopped the running water.
There was nothing much to discuss, though,. Typically Dazai the yapper of the two, but he wasn't exactly verbal right now.
Chuuya leaned against the tub, watching to make sure Dazai didn't try to snorkel for the second time today.
The floral scents coated the entire bathroom, even relaxing Chuuya a bit. Dazai sat there mindlessly, watching the bubbles come closer to him, assisting in hiding his body he didn't like looking at.
"Slug?" Dazai spoke out of the blue, his throat already sounding less clogged up, it's the first full word he's said in /hours./
"Yeah?" Chuuya replied, wondering what Dazai was going to say.
"How did you know I was in the river?" Dazai sounded so fucking ashamed, and he definitely wouldn't be bringing this up if he was lucid enough to be considered "okay."
Chuuya sighed, swirling some of the bubbles in the water. "You and rivers have a toxic relationship," he chuckled, placing a mountain of bubbles on the brunettes head.
"Aren't you mad?" Dazai sunk into the water, voice getting smaller by the second.
And, to be honest, Chuuya was more disappointed than he was mad. It hurts him that Dazai will turn to substances, not even asking for comfort until the comfort finds him. With every attempt, every kidnapping, every episode, Chuuya has been there and tried to /save/ and /support/ his partner, he isn't sure how else to show it anymore.
He doesn't want to dismiss any of the trauma Dazai's faced, and he's proud of his partner for sticking around, even though he's won every single round of russian roulette he's ever participated in.
But it makes Chuuya feel... helpless. That no matter what he does, he has to go to Dazai in order for him to get the comfort he so desperately needs.
"No, I'm not mad," he replies, not knowing what else to say. "Just glad you're okay, is all."
Dazai huffed, dropping the subject for now.
"Can I wash your hair?" Chuuya asks, it was going to happen either way, because Dazai reeks of dead fish and feces.
Dazai nodded, letting him know it was okay. Chuuya better be quick before he changes his mind.
He grabbed a pitcher that was sitting beside the bath tub, scooping it up with water.
"Head back," Chuuya said, placing his hand on the brunette's forehead so no soapy water would get in his eyes.
Dazai tilted his head, looking up at the bathroom ceiling, counting the popcorn texture on it. Last time, he only got to one hundred and eighty-nine, maybe he'll beat that score this time.
Once Dazai's hair was nice and wet, Chuuya grabbed peach scented shampoo, Dazai likes the smell of peaches, it's the main reason he chose it.
He poured a deadly amount of it into his hands, it's not often he gets to wash Dazai's hair, and he wants to make sure the scent is engraved into his scalp.
Gently, he begins washing the brunette's hair, making sure that no strand is left behind, and that every crevice is accounted before.
He made sure to use the pads of his fingers, occasionally scratching Dazai's scalp as some form of praise.
"Head back again," Chuuya says, grabbing the pitcher from the water.
Dazai groaned, but complied to Slug's order. He was liking the bath, he didn't want it to stop because he got too annoying to be around.
Chuuya chuckled, scooping up some soapy bath water, covering Dazai's forehead with his hand, as he dumped the water on his hair, repeating the process until the soap was gone.
The redhead also had some peach scented conditioner that he'd been meaning to try. He lapped it on Dazai's scalp, putting emphasis on the ends of his mocha curls.
"Want me to brush it?" Chuuya asked, rinsing the slimy goo off in the water.
"MmmHmm," Dazai hummed, infatuated by a particular mound of bubbles shaped kind of like a cat.
"Got it, don't drown," Chuuya joked, as he stood up to get the brush from the sink.
Speaking of cats, that reminded Dazai of Neko.
Maybe, just maybe if he's good. Chuuya will let Dazai have her again, and warm her up like he did last time.
Chuuya came back a few records later with a brand new brush, sitting back down on the floor. Then he started brushing through Dazai's hair, making sure it didn't pull.
Dazai could almost fall asleep if it weren't for Chuuya gently tapping on his face to keep him awake. Stupid Slug won't let him take this as a frickin' spa day.
He didn't have to brush through his hair for long, the conditioner did a good job at thoroughly untangling Dazai's curls, the brushing was just an added bonus.
"Wanna sulk for a little more, or do you want to get out?" Chuuya asked, Dazai's fever already looked better than it did before the bath.
Dazai lazily nodded, the steam of the bath cleared up his nostrils and throat, and now that he's clean, he feels naturally sleepy.
Chuuya chuckled, lightly petting Dazai's head before he started to drain the water.
He grabbed a bath robe with a hood from a hook he had in the bathroom, it was very soft, and he pretty sure he remembers Dazai almost stealing it one time.
"Need help getting out?" Chuuya asked, placing the robe on the sink.
Once again, Dazai nodded, too tired to even try standing up without some sort of assistance.
Chuuya rolled his eyes, and shook his head with a smile, helping Mackerel out of the tub, lazily placing him to rest on his shoulder.
"Don't whine, ya big baby," Chuuya joked, grabbing the soft robe from the sink top, and putting it on his partner. "I'mma carry you again, alright?"
The brunette groaned, but putting no fight when he was hoisted up into Slug's arms.
Dazai's never been this... physically intimate before. He's extremely touch starved, but touch repulsed at the same time, it's just another thing that's wrong with his stupid head.
Touching someone means letting your guard down, trusting them not to hurt you—and that's something Dazai isn't familiar with.
And he know Slug wouldn't hurt him with serious intent, maybe when they're mad and bickering, but not out of the urge to kill. But even knowing this, he's terrified of being vulnerable, getting to know another human being for what they are, not what Dazai makes them to be.
He sucks at life, and life hates him.
Dazai was too lost in his thoughts to even notice that Chuuya was setting him down, he didn't retaliate, the robe was doing a good job at retaining what little body heat he had lift.
"No running away," Chuuya told Dazai, it's not like the younger /could/ run away anyways.
Dazai didn't track where Chuuya went, he assumed he didn't go far because he could /still/ hear him breathing, and that was good enough for Dazai.
He likes being alone, but hates being lonely. And Slug does a good job at making sure he doesn't feel confined in his solitude.
Slug came back with a pair of blue flannel pajamas, an oversized Detective Conan shirt, and a black hoodie. He also had a light purple bottle of (what Dazai assumed to be) lotion, a small box and another smaller container jumbled in with the items as well.
"All of these should fit you fine..." Chuuya was more talking to himself than to Dazai. Slug has a tendency to think aloud, another reason why Dazai became an executive before him.
Chuuya set the clothes on the bed, grabbing the bottle of lotion and the suspicious looking container of substance.
"Oi, don't look at me like that," Chuuya scoffed out, and Dazai loosely pointed at the container. "Oh, that? It's a cream for your arms, it has lidocaine." Chuuya explained. "Is... that okay?"
Dazai sniffled, it looks like the steam from his bathroom wouldn't last forever.
"S'okay," he replied, turning his head down, too exhausted from today's events to keep it up.
Chuuya nodded, popping the lid off of the little container, and putting some of the ointment onto his fingertips. He didn't to the irritated the ones that were already bleeding.
He carefully massaged into the wounds, asking if he was being gentle enough, maneuvering over the more sensitive looking ones. He's done this before, but Dazai always thrashed and whined during those times.
This time, well, Dazai is adorably sleepy, and horribly sick. He's so sensitive when he isn't lucid and docile, especially when he's no longer a mummy participating in a year-round Halloween competition.
Chuuya repeated that same process on Dazai's' other arms and thighs, still avoiding the scars and cuts that ached more.
"You okay with bandaids? Just so that your skin can breathe," Chuuya asked, grabbing the little box of bandaids he had brought with him.
Instead of nodding, Dazai sniffled, that was quickly becoming his preferred method of communicating, it was something he could go without using his throat, plus it probably felt good to clear his sinuses.
Chuuya opened the box, revealing a bunch of colorful bandaids—these ones were the better kind, and they were on sale. It made sense for him to purchase them.
Another thing he likes about this brand, is that they don't come off easily, you have to really peel under the sticky part for it to come undone, and for someone like Dazai, it's perfect.
Chuuya applied some pink, yellow, blue, and green bandaids all over Dazai's skin, massaging them in place to ensure that they wouldn't come off while Dazai went to bed later tonight.
Once the bandaids were done and over with, Chuuya started covering his partner in lavender scented lotion, it also doubled as a softening oil. He hated how dry Dazai's skin was, the fucker probably has undiagnosed eczema with how many rashes he gets per week.
"Okay, we're done with that," Chuuya says as he finished massaging the last bit of lotion into Dazai's tummy. With how little the younger was fighting, he assumed that the brunette had dozed off somewhere during the impromptu spa day.
And he was right, Dazai's head was lazily resting on his shoulder, fighting to stay on there. That position wasn't good for his sinuses, though.
"Mackerel," Chuuya tickled the brunette's cheek, "We gotta dress you, idiot."
Dazai whined back into consciousness, sitting more upright, wiping the tiny trail of drool he had forming on the corner of his mouth.
"We just gotta do the clothes, okay?" Chuuya chuckled, he grabbed the clothes off of the bed.
He quickly put Dazai in a new pair of underwear and the blue flannel pajamas. He felt how Dazai melted at the softness of the fabric.
The pants didn't fit all the way, you could still see his ankles, but Chuuya would grab some fuzzy socks to compensate for that later.
The shirt came next, Chuuya got it at a convention, but the vendors ran out of his size, so he got an oversized one, and since Dazai was so lanky and scrawny, he swam in it as well.
Chuuya took a couple of steps back, admiring his work. Dazai looked so fucking comfortable, still a bit too hot for the hoodie, though. But if Dazai wanted it, Chuuya couldn't fight him.
The redhead walked back to the younger, hoisting him up in his arms again, making him whine.
"Hey, you're not sleeping until you take something for that fever," Chuuya meant business, Dazai could complain all he wants, he is not in good conscious, going to put him to sleep without some sort of medication in his system.
They did the familiar dance back to the kitchen, Dazai keeping his head furrowed in the crook of Chuuya's neck.
"Oi, no falling asleep now, Mackerel," he scolded, scratching Dazai's scalp.
He still had some of the white hot chocolate from earlier today, and Dazai really liked it. May as well reheat it since the idiot would probably refuse anything else.
Chuuya reheated the hot chocolate, adding more milk in the process so it wasn't so thick.
Dazai let out some occasional groans and whines, nuzzling his head against Chuuya.
"After you drink something, you can go to sleep, Mackerel," Chuuya explained, that reminded him though, he should grab the medicine from the living room.
Chuuya lowered the heat on the stove, he didn't want to the sweet drink to burn.
He walked over to the living room, swiping the liquid cherry medicine and fever reducers off of the table.
Still wanting to keep an eye on the stove, he waltzed back to the kitchen, with Dazai and medication in hand.
Carefully, he set Dazai on the counter, it'd be easier to get him to take the medicine this way.
"We're going another round of medicine," Chuuya says, his tone meaning business.
Not happy with that response, Dazai whined, turning his ahead, and then flimsily attempting to rest his head on Slug's shoulder again.
"Nope, you take the medicine, or no Neko."
Evil, pure and utter evil.
Yet for some reason, that is what snapped Dazai out of his mini tantrum.
"You wouldn't dare," he feigned, mouth left agape.
Chuuya nodded his head, "You're taking the medicine," he says, pouring the artificial cherry substance into the tiny lid.
The brunette groaned, he wanted the stuffed animal, but was she worth taking icky medicine for?
Chuuya shoved the lid filled with cherry medicine into Dazai's hands, "Drink it."
Dazai rolled his eyes, cursing Chuuya under his breath. If he wasn't so comfortable, maybe he would've fought Slug a little more.
He once again, took the medecine like a shot, thickly swallowing, and gagging through the process. The drama queen.
"Blegh," he groaned, throwing the lid into the sink (and making it in.)
Chuuya nodded, "Good job," he praised. "You think you can stay up there while I get the hot chocolate?"
Dazai nodded, only because he wanted a few seconds away from Slug so he could be mad in peace.
Chuuya turned his attention to the hot chocolate, and Dazai watched as he stirred it in the pot, and grabbed plastic cups from the cupboard nearby. Slug was always good at timing things like these, while Dazai can't even serve himself juice without spilling.
"Want whipped him and cinnamon in it?" Chuuya asked, looking over at the brunette who was kicking his feet against the kitchen island.
"Yes," Dazai gave a direct reply, something he /never fucking does./
Chuuya quickly grabbed the whipped cream from the refrigerator, adding it to the cups filled with the sweet drink. He grabbed the cinnamon from the space beside the stove, he forgot to put it away after using it earlier.
Chuuya quickly dusted the cinnamon on top of each of the cups, giving Dazai the blue cup, while he kept the orange one. (Dazai assigned them each a color, it's a secret rule that Chuuya is forced to follow.)
"Living room?" Chuuya prompted, watching as Dazai wilted on the kitchen counter, he couldn't keep his balance forever.
Dazai nodded, that was quickly becoming another habit of his while he's ill.
Instead of being carried, Dazai insisted on walking there, just so he could keep sipping on his drink (the heat radiating off the cup reminded him of the stuffed animal, he wanted her so bad.)
Eventually, they both made it to the living room with no spillage involved. They were both nicely planted on the couch, Chuuya covering Dazai up in the same fuzzy white blanket he had fallen asleep with earlier that day.
"You never finished the movie," Chuuya remembered, already turning on the television.
Dazai didn't reply, too busy sipping on his drink, and longing for the warmth of the stuffed animal.
Chuuya resumed the movie, he was a fast drinker, so his drink was gone within a few minutes. Dazai, on the other hand took his time, whether it be because he was savoring it, or because he wanted an excuse to not finish it all.
As Chuuya shifted around in his seat, something was stabbing him in the ass, a lump in the cushion.
Chuuya tilted to the side, looking for what was making him so fucking uncomfortable, only to pull out a familiar plushy.
It was the stupid cat.
Chuuya sighed, almost wanting to laugh. He glanced over at Dazai, who was too infatuated with the movie to notice that Chuuya was walking away, and back into the kitchen.
Immediately, Chuuya threw the stuffed cat into the microwave (he loves throwing the thing,) and warming it up for two minutes. He wanted to make sure it was extra toasty for Dazai. Ridiculously sappy.
The microwaved beeped, signaling it was done heating up the toy, and Chuuya grabbed it out. Pretty content with how warm it was.
He walked back over to the living room, and Dazai was laying down, using the side of the couch as a makeshift pillow—not the most comfortable position for someone who's so congested to be in.
That didn't stop Chuuya from tossing the stuffed animal at his partner, and he could've /sworn/ that Dazai smiled at the sight of the calico kitty making a reappearance.
Chuuya hopped back on the couch, watching as Mackerel cuddled the plush close to his chest.
"C'mere," Chuuya couldn't resist, pulling the brunette to lay on his chest instead of the hard couch cushion. It would be a better position for Dazai to be in, anyways.
Typically, when Dazai sleeps, it's nightmare plagued. Sometimes, he wakes up in a cold sweat, or screams aloud. Other times, he flinches awake so quietly, and dissociates for a few hours. And sometimes he doesn't say anything about it at all. Locking himself in the bathroom, and relapse at his scarred flesh.
When that happens, Chuuya has to kick down the door and patch up his mummy cosplaying partner.
He hoped that it wouldn't be the case this time. Dazai seems to rest the tiniest bit better when he has some form of human contact while he sleeps—Chuuva's never said anything about, though. Knowing his partner, he'd most likely start avoiding Chuuya even laying a pinky on him.
So he says nothing.
Mackerel put no fight when being manhandled, instead he cuddled into Chuuya's chest and let out a few relaxed huffs. The medicine was about due to kick in.
Dazai let out a few sleepy yawns, eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each moment that passed by. Of course he refused sleeping until his brain shutdown, the idiot has an addiction to making /every little thing/ harder for him.
"Slug?" Dazai slurred, he was going to get off the train to go to dreamland any minute now.
"Yeah?" Chuuya replied, scratching his partner's scalp.
"M'sorry for gettin' sick," the brunette mumbled, it was almost inaudible. Half of Dazai's face was comfortably buried into the older's collarbone area.
Chuuya sighed, Dazai's levels of self-loathing never ceased to go away. "You don't need to apologize, Mackerel."
"S'always—" He yawns, "—Becomes your problem..."
Chuuya fucking adored how vulnerable Dazai got when he's sleepy, every harsh edge around him becomes smooth, he didn't seem like the Port Mafia renowned 'Demon Prodigy' when he's comfortable (being sick with the Black Death itself probably contributed, too.)
"Well, yeah, you're my partner. What do you expect?" Chuuya started to pet Dazai's soft mocha curls, the peach scent was still going strong.
"Don' know... To be handed to Mori or somethin'" Mackerel fully closed his eyes, bringing the warm stuffed animal closer to his face, so be could cuddle it, grabbing a fistful of Chuuya's shirt at the same.
The redhead scratched Dazai's scalp, further lulling him to dreamland. "I wouldn't do that to you, Osamu," Chuuya whispered, watching as his partner's breathing evened out. "It's s'okay, go to sleep."
Dazai didn't reply verbally, but Chuuya could feel Mackerel's body melt against him, as he let out one last tiny huff.
Maybe, just maybe, one day Dazai will learn to trust Chuuya as much as he does on the battlefield.
But for now, Chuuya will help Dazai fend off whatever plagued him this time.