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Dazai hadn’t shown up for work, and Chuuya was beyond annoyed. Not only was he stuck with his own paperwork, but now he had to deal with Dazai’s unfinished pile too. Of course, rather than wasting time on either, Chuuya decided to go track down the bandaged slacker himself.
After hours of searching, Chuuya was still frustrated. There was no way he’d let Dazai get away with ditching work again. “Where is that bandaged idiot?” he muttered under his breath, storming down the street.
He suddenly stopped when a faint groan caught his ear. Turning around, he spotted a familiar figure wrapped in bandages, slumped on a nearby bench.
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed as he marched over. "Where the hell have you been, Mackerel!?" His tone was sharp, but the anger had already faded—replaced by an unmistakable hint of concern.
Dazai didn’t immediately respond. His usual lazy grin was nowhere to be seen, and instead, he sat slouched forward, one hand clutching his side.
“Oi, are you even listening?” Chuuya snapped, stepping closer. His frustration grew when Dazai didn’t offer one of his usual smart remarks. Something wasn’t right.
As Chuuya got a better look, his eyes widened. Blood stained his coat and the bandages wrapped around Dazai’s arm, the crimson seeping through slowly. His clothes were a mess, torn in places, and his usually smug face was pale, a thin layer of sweat lining his brow.
“Dazai—” Chuuya’s voice dropped as he knelt in front of him, alarm replacing any remaining irritation. “What the hell happened to you?”
Dazai finally glanced up, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know... I thought I’d make things interesting on my day off,” he rasped, his voice weak but still laced with his usual sarcasm.
Chuuya clenched his fists. “Interesting? You’re bleeding, you moron!” He quickly scanned the area, half-expecting an ambush, but it seemed quiet.
“You’re lucky I found you,” Chuuya grumbled, his tone rough but hands gentle as he examined the wound. “Come on, we need to get you patched up.”
Dazai winced slightly, but his smile didn’t waver. “You’re always so worried about me, Chuuya. It’s touching, really.”
“Shut up,” Chuuya muttered, more concerned than he wanted to admit as he helped Dazai to his feet. “You’re not getting out of this with just a lecture.”
Dazai chuckled weakly, leaning more heavily on Chuuya than he’d probably ever admit. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Chuuya gritted his teeth as he half-carried Dazai down the deserted streets, his arm tightly wrapped around the injured man's waist to keep him upright.
The usual banter between them had fallen into silence, save for Dazai’s occasional labored breaths and the shuffling of their footsteps.
Chuuya’s mind raced, torn between anger and worry as they walked back to the HQ, going to the infirmary. He could feel the weight of Dazai leaning heavily against him, his body growing weaker with each step.
The closer they got, the more Chuuya’s frustration began to dissolve into something he hated to admit—concern. “Just a little longer, idiot,” he muttered, eyes focused ahead, “You’re not passing out on me now.”
As they reached the infirmary, Chuuya kicked the door open with more force than necessary, his patience hanging by a thread.
He hauled Dazai inside, his grip tightening as he felt the man's weight slacken further. “Hey, don’t you dare black out on me now,” Chuuya growled, dragging him toward the nearest bed. Dazai’s eyes fluttered open briefly, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “You... really do care, huh?” he murmured, voice barely audible.
Chuuya scoffed, lowering him onto the bed with a huff. “Shut up. I just don’t want to do your paperwork.” But as he watched the medics rush to Dazai’s side, his hands reluctantly unclenching, Chuuya couldn't shake the knot of worry that tightened in his chest.